Part of the problem with hating to be a whiner and trying to rarely complain about health issues is that when you really really really really really need to talk about it, you don't know how.
You don't know how to start.
You don't know how to ask someone to listen. I mean seriously, who actually loves to hear a litany of someone else's health complaints? I don't.
I mean if you're sick, sorry, wish I could help but I can't. I can't be there in person in most cases. I can't drop by with homemade chicken soup. I can't pet your head and say "there there."
I don't want you to feel that way about me. I don't want you to worry, I don't want to feel like an inconvenience, I don't want to bore you if you just don't care.
On the other hand, I want you to pet me on the head and say "there there." I want you to hug me and comfort me and tell me I'm going to be fine.
But I don't know how to talk about it. I don't know if I should be more concerned or less.
Yet the thought of pity freaks me out and sympathy makes me awkward.
**AS FAR AS I KNOW IT IS NOT THE BIG C so cross that off the list for the moment. That may be the ONE thing that isn't broken.
But I am overwhelmed and scared and depressed. I'm confused with all the things.
I feel lost and alone and, for one of the few times, really lonely.
I don't know what to do.
So don't say anything. Don't ask me although I want to be asked, because I really have to process everything first myself, plus I'm not sure about anything at the moment.
I just wanted to tell you.
Showing posts with label bitching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bitching. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 26, 2021
Sunday, May 03, 2020
Quarantine observations.
I know a lot of people are really struggling - those of you who take for granted the ability to just get up and go, whenever, wherever.
Who holler HEY KIDS LOAD UP! We're going to the park!
Who load up your dogs for a trip to the dog park or on a hike or a stroll through the neighborhood.
ESPECIALLY if you're social distancing from your loved ones, from your kids, your spouse, your best friends. It's hard.
Some of us, like 24/7 caregivers...well a lot of us are used to it. To The Alone.
To Lonely. We don't get out much because we CAN'T get out much. We don't take any of those things for granted because we've been without for years and years and years.
Some of you are experiencing a little piece of our regular lives, and I hope you carry that bit with you and remember it when we have to say "I'm sorry, I can't" for the eleventy thousandth time. Or if we do reach out and you have sort of brushed us off as "punishment" in the past, because you thought we weren't making an effort.
Remember the feeling. Forgive us. Don't forget us. Please.
Drive thru window employees have been so much friendlier in tone and in words, AND my orders have been 100% correct way more often since the dining rooms have been closed. I vote that all fast food restaurants keep the dining rooms closed forever because this has been THE SHIZZ.
Some people are learning how to tap into patience they never knew they had.
Some people are realizing how impatient they have always been.
I have learned that some people I might have tolerated are actually stupid garbage people with zero common sense and ridiculously hypocritical and illogical. #ByeFelicias
On the upside, LOOK AT ALL THE THINGS OF WHICH YOU FIND YOURSELF CAPABLE.
You're not just managing your household - and sometimes doing it alone for the first time.
You're managing to deal with your kids on a more full-time basis. You're homeschooling or learning how to help with online classes. You're cooking more which means more cleaning. You're becoming more self-sufficient, even with little things like manis and pedis and haircuts.
You're being inventive, creative, innovative, imaginative, in ways you haven't had to in years, if ever.
You're making it work, you're working smarter, you're finding solutions.
You are completing projects that you might have begun years ago.
You're spending facetime with friends and family more often than you did before.
ALL THE THINGS - with the exact same amount of hours in a day.
ALL THE THINGS - when you used to say "I don't have time for XX."
Doing more. Doing better. Managing your time. And probably even finding more time for reading and movie watching and teevee bingeing.
Be proud of yourselves, give yourselves a little back pat and arm punch and know that you are making it work.
YOU ARE HANDLING YOUR SHIT LIKE A BADASS SO KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK.
YOU GOT THIS. STAY HOME. STAY MASKED. STAY HEALTHY.
Keep helping those of us with fragile immune systems and poor health stay safe.
We appreciate it, we really do.
Who holler HEY KIDS LOAD UP! We're going to the park!
Who load up your dogs for a trip to the dog park or on a hike or a stroll through the neighborhood.
ESPECIALLY if you're social distancing from your loved ones, from your kids, your spouse, your best friends. It's hard.
Some of us, like 24/7 caregivers...well a lot of us are used to it. To The Alone.
To Lonely. We don't get out much because we CAN'T get out much. We don't take any of those things for granted because we've been without for years and years and years.
Some of you are experiencing a little piece of our regular lives, and I hope you carry that bit with you and remember it when we have to say "I'm sorry, I can't" for the eleventy thousandth time. Or if we do reach out and you have sort of brushed us off as "punishment" in the past, because you thought we weren't making an effort.
Remember the feeling. Forgive us. Don't forget us. Please.
Drive thru window employees have been so much friendlier in tone and in words, AND my orders have been 100% correct way more often since the dining rooms have been closed. I vote that all fast food restaurants keep the dining rooms closed forever because this has been THE SHIZZ.
Some people are learning how to tap into patience they never knew they had.
Some people are realizing how impatient they have always been.
I have learned that some people I might have tolerated are actually stupid garbage people with zero common sense and ridiculously hypocritical and illogical. #ByeFelicias
On the upside, LOOK AT ALL THE THINGS OF WHICH YOU FIND YOURSELF CAPABLE.
You're not just managing your household - and sometimes doing it alone for the first time.
You're managing to deal with your kids on a more full-time basis. You're homeschooling or learning how to help with online classes. You're cooking more which means more cleaning. You're becoming more self-sufficient, even with little things like manis and pedis and haircuts.
You're being inventive, creative, innovative, imaginative, in ways you haven't had to in years, if ever.
You're making it work, you're working smarter, you're finding solutions.
You are completing projects that you might have begun years ago.
You're spending facetime with friends and family more often than you did before.
ALL THE THINGS - with the exact same amount of hours in a day.
ALL THE THINGS - when you used to say "I don't have time for XX."
Doing more. Doing better. Managing your time. And probably even finding more time for reading and movie watching and teevee bingeing.
Be proud of yourselves, give yourselves a little back pat and arm punch and know that you are making it work.
YOU ARE HANDLING YOUR SHIT LIKE A BADASS SO KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK.
YOU GOT THIS. STAY HOME. STAY MASKED. STAY HEALTHY.
Keep helping those of us with fragile immune systems and poor health stay safe.
We appreciate it, we really do.
Saturday, January 11, 2020
Oh well HAI 2020!
So just to catch you up on how my 2020 is going so far.
The other evening I left to go pick up Minion from work, and some dude was walking back and forth across the driveway (I live in a little "compound" with 4 little houses and a 4 car garage with apartments over top of them and we share a horeshoe drivearound driveway), and it looked sort of like he was either arguing with someone on the phone OR possibly looking for something because the light was on his phone.
My parents live next door so I called & told my dad to keep an eye on him, and just about that time the dude crossed the street into the neighborhood over there.
Later that same night...
Around 10 pm there was a knock on the door...and for the first time in the 25 years I've lived there, I am a little ashamed to admit that I was too afraid to open the door.
Yes. Too afraid.
So I'm all WHO IS IT and a young voice said, "I need help."
THIS IS WHY I AM ASHAMED, BECAUSE I DID NOT OPEN THE DOOR.
Also I did not even use the peephole because I have seen WAAAYYYY too many crime shows and read WAAYYYYY too many thrillers and I did not want to get shot in the eye I KNOW SHUT UP BUT PARANOIA.
The porch light was on, I asked what he needed, what could I do to help - he said,
"I'm 14, I'm about to get jumped!"
I said WHO IS GOING TO JUMP YOU? Stay there on the porch and I'll call the cops for you!
He said, "Okay okay, I'm leaving!"
And I yelled (still not opening the door) WAIT, I'm calling the cops TO HELP YOU! Stay up on the porch!
And nothing. So I call my dad next door and by the time I have that conversation, there is no one around anywhere except a couple walking their dogs across the street.
So basically I was so scared that I did not try hard enough to help.
Minion thinks it was a setup, and she's glad I did not open the door.
But someone asked for help.
I can't decide how I feel about it, except to feel bad that I was too afraid in my own home to open the front door when I've never (knock wood) had a problem of any sort in 25 years.
In fact my former babysitter's cousin is actually the only person who has ever stolen from me and if I ever run across THAT little bitch Ima beat her ass, I promise you that.
Two days later...
Okay, so for the past year or so I've had this...I don't know, kind of like narcolepsy where I just fall asleep in an instant. It happens at my desk all the time. Probably I'm just not getting enough "good" sleep, since I am old AF and have all the burning acid reflux and up 3 times to pee and drainage that makes me cough and I sleep in 2-4 hour chunks.
ANYWAY.
I'd slept in the recliner for some terrible reflux, woke up and Minion brought me coffee, and I nodded off before I could drink it.
Woke up AN HOUR later, requested a re-heat, and she left it in the microwave a leetle (lot) too long because it was about boiling.
She DID warn me that it was superhot.
I had it in my hand and...wait for it...
Next thing I know I am awake and screaming and scalded.
So I have 2nd degree burns and weepy blisters allllllll down my right side, from boob to hip.
And of course my arm is constantly hurting the ones on my boob and standing up and sitting down keeps burstin open everything on my hip.
Seriously it is so very ugly and gross, but keeping it clean and gauzed and it's finally starting to heal in most of the places -- the worst was having to soak the bandages off in my hip in the shower today because it was stuck very tight.
I KNOW, GROSS, TMI.
And so with no insurance and no $$, we're taking care of it at home and Minion is serving as an excellent nurse EXCEPT Nurse Ratched occasionally looks at the stuff when we're changing the dressing and her mouth crinkles up and her eyes go wide and I'm like STOP DOING THAT WITH YOUR FACE.
But it's itchy and healing and uncomfortable but at least we can Neosporin most of it now, so it doesn't sting too much.
Oh yeah, and my transmission thunked hard into first gear today, so there's that.
Some days I wish I was one of those people who could ask for gofundme help, but it's just not in me.
I'm just going to sit here and be thankful for a roof over my head, the warmth of the heater, the food on the table, friends to cheer me up, family, and the capacity to work & earn my way forward.
I need a vacation from my life.
So, how's your year so far?
Thursday, November 07, 2019
♫♪ Talkin' about my generation ♫♪
The last few days I've had to sit back and laugh as I watch all the "Generation Wars" ramping up, much like the "MommyBlogger Wars" a few years ago.
I can't even keep track of what generation I'm supposed to be, GenX I guess because really that one sounds the coolest so it probably is mine.
Also WTF even is Generation Jones? Because apparently I'm at the tail end of that as well, being born in 1968.
I'm going with JoneX. That's my generation.
If you're cool enough I'll let you use that for yourself but don't hold your breath.
My generation is punk and goth and indie music. It's huge hair and cutout sweatshirt necks. It's layered tank tops and leg warmers and shiny metallic jazzercise tights. It's British Knights and Kaepa tennies with the upside down laces. It's bulky thigh length sweaters over turtlenecks with sweater skirts over long john pants. It's clove cigarettes and Strawberry Hill wine. Culottes and (American style) knickers, prairie blouses, Jams shorts and Jellies shoes. It's fingerless lace gloves and layered tutus over torn fishnets with combat boots. It's poodle perms and big round frames for our glasses, sparkly blue eyeshadow and green mascara, banana clips and feathering combs and those stretchy round plastic comb-like headbands.
We were weird and unique and we liked it that way. I still do.
I mean seriously WE are the only ones who ever learned how to actually program a VCR to videotape multiple soap operas on multiple channels during the day while we were in high school/college classes and then program them to tape movies off HBO, Showtime and Skinemax so we could watch all the movies when we were stuck at home and not out carousing and cruising The Strip with our friends.
WE ALONE could squeeze that fourth movie on that VHS tape by carefully running back the credits to the end of the movie, and starting the next at that SPLIT SECOND after the HBO logo ended at the beginning of the next movie, all using three remote controls for TV, VCR, and cable box.
TOP THAT, YOU ROKU FIRESTICK DVRers with your fancy voice controls!
Also we had the bestworst music. You either love it or you lovehate it, and even the country music was so much better.
I know we all think our own was probably the best (and although I don't really like kids of any age, I find the current group of youngsters/young adults are bright and tolerant and learning to fight fortheir right to paaaaaartay what's right)... but I mean really, in the grand scheme of Things That Actually Affect Your Really For Real Life...does it matter?
It appears that ALL the generations have some things in common, like the willingness to argue over EVERY. DAMN. STUPID. THING. EVER and also take themselves far too seriously in the broadest generalizations.
Have we just run out of better things about which to argue?
Is this like why Hollywood keeps making the same exact movies over and over, like we truly need YET ANOTHER WHOLE VERSION/GENERATION OF A CHARLIE'S ANGELS MOVIE OMG NO THANK YOU PLEASE!
Some of y'all need to just
I can't even keep track of what generation I'm supposed to be, GenX I guess because really that one sounds the coolest so it probably is mine.
Also WTF even is Generation Jones? Because apparently I'm at the tail end of that as well, being born in 1968.
I'm going with JoneX. That's my generation.
If you're cool enough I'll let you use that for yourself but don't hold your breath.
My generation is punk and goth and indie music. It's huge hair and cutout sweatshirt necks. It's layered tank tops and leg warmers and shiny metallic jazzercise tights. It's British Knights and Kaepa tennies with the upside down laces. It's bulky thigh length sweaters over turtlenecks with sweater skirts over long john pants. It's clove cigarettes and Strawberry Hill wine. Culottes and (American style) knickers, prairie blouses, Jams shorts and Jellies shoes. It's fingerless lace gloves and layered tutus over torn fishnets with combat boots. It's poodle perms and big round frames for our glasses, sparkly blue eyeshadow and green mascara, banana clips and feathering combs and those stretchy round plastic comb-like headbands.
We were weird and unique and we liked it that way. I still do.
I mean seriously WE are the only ones who ever learned how to actually program a VCR to videotape multiple soap operas on multiple channels during the day while we were in high school/college classes and then program them to tape movies off HBO, Showtime and Skinemax so we could watch all the movies when we were stuck at home and not out carousing and cruising The Strip with our friends.
WE ALONE could squeeze that fourth movie on that VHS tape by carefully running back the credits to the end of the movie, and starting the next at that SPLIT SECOND after the HBO logo ended at the beginning of the next movie, all using three remote controls for TV, VCR, and cable box.
TOP THAT, YOU ROKU FIRESTICK DVRers with your fancy voice controls!
Also we had the bestworst music. You either love it or you lovehate it, and even the country music was so much better.
I know we all think our own was probably the best (and although I don't really like kids of any age, I find the current group of youngsters/young adults are bright and tolerant and learning to fight for
It appears that ALL the generations have some things in common, like the willingness to argue over EVERY. DAMN. STUPID. THING. EVER and also take themselves far too seriously in the broadest generalizations.
Have we just run out of better things about which to argue?
Is this like why Hollywood keeps making the same exact movies over and over, like we truly need YET ANOTHER WHOLE VERSION/GENERATION OF A CHARLIE'S ANGELS MOVIE OMG NO THANK YOU PLEASE!
Some of y'all need to just
Friday, October 18, 2019
cuttlefish and underwear.
You notice how when every single tentacle of your life is weighted down with stress (yes tentacle because CUTTLEFISH ARE AWESOME and I plan to come back as one only you will never see me because they have the best camouflage ever even better than Mystique because they can change color and texture AND HALF AT A TIME like when you order a half pepperoni half ham & pineapple pizza and Mystique could not even do that AT ALL)...
What? I forgot what I was saying.
Oh STRESS, tentacles, right.
For me, having the stress lifted off one or two of those areas completely causes a nearly tangible effect, and I can feel the weight lifting. It's like I have a full body sigh and everything relaxes, from my neck to hips to toes, my guts and lungs and brain, all at once. I can actually feel my shoulders settling down to...well, shoulder height, instead of being all crunched up under my ears when I didn't even realize they were there.
Honestly the feeling is close to euphoria. I mean I don't feel like going dancing in the rain or coming to a Halloween party at your house (NO THANK YOU SORRY AND IF I ALREADY SAID YES MY APOLOGIES BECAUSE I WILL NOT BE SHOWING UP) or anything like that, but the utter sense of relief...it's like magic.
Losing the stress also made me realize exactly how many stress triggers I have. WOW. You don't even know. I mean I'm horrible online all the time anyway and you already knew that, but I've been a pretty horrible person in real life the last couple-three years too.
I had so many triggers that I didn't even know what they all were.
SO many buttons just waiting to be pushed. Or touched. Or breathed on.
Things have been pretty dire around here the last few years.
I mean I've pretty much been poor-ish most of my life and it's nothin' but a thing...but the last 2 or three years, it's been a trial.
Seriously some weeks the budget was like ... is Joshua going to have chicken in his stew this week or will he have to go vegetarian?
eBay sales used to support us but some months we're lucky to make a hundred bucks and that's no exaggeration. Of course I'm so damn mad at them anyway, because they keep changing the formats and the layouts and the requirements to be a "Power Seller." I mean I'm a TOP SELLER but I can't get my stuff on the first pages of keyword search because I don't take all their..."advice," and if it was left in their hands I'd list everything for .99 or best offer with free shipping and free returns and list 1K items per week. THEN I'd get noticed and sell more while of course losing money on everything.
ANYWAY.
I was stressed over money every day but didn't even realize how bad it was on my body & mind.
So the thing happened and Becca got a new job, which equals happier attitude (and less GIRL IMA RIP OFF YOUR ARM AND BEAT YOU WITH IT from me) and more money and BOOM, less stress.
Then I got some side jobs I can do from home which are actually earning $ AND the biggie (and also one of the points I've been getting to here) - I FEEL PRODUCTIVE.
Then I got some side jobs I can do from home which are actually earning $ AND the biggie (and also one of the points I've been getting to here) - I FEEL PRODUCTIVE.
I am contributing more to my own household, AND taking back the majority of support of my family, which makes me feel useful and less like a loser at life and motherhood and all the things.
Being productive and busy and useful build a YUGE barrier against depression and anxiety for me.
I mean money doesn't buy happiness but I can tell you it almost brought me to tears when Becca asked if we had enough so she could get new underwear and I was able to unhesitatingly say YES! and bravely added AND GET ME SOME TOO PLEASE without even stopping to calculate.
If you've ever been actually, truly poor, you'll know just how excellent that feels.
It's like the thrill of victory.
I guess what I'm getting at here is that I slowly feel like the person I was 10 years ago is kind of waking up again. The little things that could (and have) sent me into a shrieking frenzy are not so important now.
My shoulders are where they should be (most of the time).
The stomachflutter of anxiety is nearly completely gone many days in a row
The angst is at least a foot away from me and sliding.
OH, I still have plenty of stress to go around, but at least it's more focused now, like on this boy of mine. That's never going to go away, and it's easier to carry.
Maybe Becca's not pushing my buttons so much because she's happier.
Maybe I just don't notice her doing it because I'm less stressed.
Maybe I'm finally on the downhill side and sliding to the finish line of menopause.
Maybe I'm evolving. (fingers crossed for cuttlefish evolution!)
Whatever it is, I'll take it.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Because #FakeUpworthyTitles Get More Traffic! Amazing! Unbelievable!
Dear "Responsible Parents",
We're in the middle of Prom season and graduation is just around the corner, so I thought the time was ripe for a reminder of What Not To Do on Prom Night and/or Graduation Night, and that is DO NOT RENT A ROOM AT A HOTEL FOR YOUR KIDS.
Oh sure, it gets the little brats out of YOUR hair, and you might rationalize it by thinking, "No probs, just Suzie and a few of her friends hanging out afterward and having a couple of harmless beers. At least they'll be off the streets!"
NO.
As a former hotel General Manager, let me just clue you in on WHY IT IS NOT COOL:
1. The hotel staff is not a babysitting service.
You essentially abdicate responsibility for your kids - who, in fairness, *might* be decent kids when they're around you or their friends' parents (Eddie Haskells, all of 'em, FYI), but turned loose as pseudo-adults unsupervised in a hotel room? Not so much. They will be loud, obnoxious, entitled little shits disturbing all the real hotel guests. The front desk will be inundated with complaints regarding the rooms your kids are in. The front desk will be calling the manager, who will (hopefully) call the cops and have your brats removed from the property.
2. Your children will not be having a tea party.
Keep your head in the sand if you want, but someone will bring plenty of booze, weed, pills, roofies, and yes, in some cases there will be meth or cocaine. You think your kid will be the holdout? HAHAHA. There will be drunken shenanigans, property damage, puke in the corners, kids trying to break into the pool area when it's closed, running up & down hallways at 2am, etc etc etc.
3. There will be sex happening. Sometimes even date rape.
Sometimes that's why there's puke in the corner of the room or even a dresser drawer, because Little Suzie is giving Little Johnnie a beejay in the bathroom while 10 of their friends are just outside the door. SUPER cool, right? And did you miss the part about DATE RAPE? Open your eyes, it happens.
I have been threatened on more than one occasion by pissed-off parents, blaming ME for putting their precious little snowflakes out on the streets in the middle of the night. I usually replied that then perhaps they (parents) should've answered their phones when I called to have their kids picked up. And sometimes it was the cops as well, not just me, putting the kids out and confiscating booze and dope.
Keep your kids at home - you can leave if you want. Let them burn cigarette holes in YOUR carpets and bedspreads. Let them smash YOUR lamps and write on YOUR walls and mirrors with shoe polish. Let them vomit in YOUR plants, nightstands, trash baskets, corners, floors, sinks, bathtubs, and patios.
Or better yet - be a fucking parent and realize that prom night/graduation is not a free-for-all.
(Also, they steal all the towels.)
We're in the middle of Prom season and graduation is just around the corner, so I thought the time was ripe for a reminder of What Not To Do on Prom Night and/or Graduation Night, and that is DO NOT RENT A ROOM AT A HOTEL FOR YOUR KIDS.
Oh sure, it gets the little brats out of YOUR hair, and you might rationalize it by thinking, "No probs, just Suzie and a few of her friends hanging out afterward and having a couple of harmless beers. At least they'll be off the streets!"
NO.
As a former hotel General Manager, let me just clue you in on WHY IT IS NOT COOL:
1. The hotel staff is not a babysitting service.
You essentially abdicate responsibility for your kids - who, in fairness, *might* be decent kids when they're around you or their friends' parents (Eddie Haskells, all of 'em, FYI), but turned loose as pseudo-adults unsupervised in a hotel room? Not so much. They will be loud, obnoxious, entitled little shits disturbing all the real hotel guests. The front desk will be inundated with complaints regarding the rooms your kids are in. The front desk will be calling the manager, who will (hopefully) call the cops and have your brats removed from the property.
2. Your children will not be having a tea party.
Keep your head in the sand if you want, but someone will bring plenty of booze, weed, pills, roofies, and yes, in some cases there will be meth or cocaine. You think your kid will be the holdout? HAHAHA. There will be drunken shenanigans, property damage, puke in the corners, kids trying to break into the pool area when it's closed, running up & down hallways at 2am, etc etc etc.
3. There will be sex happening. Sometimes even date rape.
Sometimes that's why there's puke in the corner of the room or even a dresser drawer, because Little Suzie is giving Little Johnnie a beejay in the bathroom while 10 of their friends are just outside the door. SUPER cool, right? And did you miss the part about DATE RAPE? Open your eyes, it happens.
I have been threatened on more than one occasion by pissed-off parents, blaming ME for putting their precious little snowflakes out on the streets in the middle of the night. I usually replied that then perhaps they (parents) should've answered their phones when I called to have their kids picked up. And sometimes it was the cops as well, not just me, putting the kids out and confiscating booze and dope.
Keep your kids at home - you can leave if you want. Let them burn cigarette holes in YOUR carpets and bedspreads. Let them smash YOUR lamps and write on YOUR walls and mirrors with shoe polish. Let them vomit in YOUR plants, nightstands, trash baskets, corners, floors, sinks, bathtubs, and patios.
Or better yet - be a fucking parent and realize that prom night/graduation is not a free-for-all.
(Also, they steal all the towels.)
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Things I Wanted To Say
Just a fun little exercise in which I relieve the pressure of Not Engaging and point no fingers.
(#NINAY Lisa)(heehee)(I knew you would ask)
1. You haven't heard from me because sorry, I can't bear watching you make the exact same decision over and over again when it's destroying your life.
2. I question the state of your mental health.
3. You actually are an idiot in a good disguise.
4. Grow up and get over the one-upmanship. This isn't high school, that ship sailed about 30 years ago and it's very unattractive.
5. There comes a time when you have to stop dressing like you're still in your 20s. You're not actually as cute as you think you are.
6. Stop gender-neutralizing your "friends" when you talk about "them" because that's always a dead giveaway.
7. I only ... creatively fictionalized...my answer a little bit so I wouldn't hurt your feelings, because you are important to me.
8. Your ability to turn even good things into whiny complaints has made me wash my hands of you.
9. If you're promoting the message of hate and intolerance while calling yourself a Christian, you aren't one. Period.
10. It hurts my feelings a tiny bit when you go out of your way to publically thank people...except somehow never Me. Ridiculous of me to be hurt, but nonetheless, it does.
11. None of these are about any of you.
(#NINAY Lisa)(heehee)(I knew you would ask)
1. You haven't heard from me because sorry, I can't bear watching you make the exact same decision over and over again when it's destroying your life.
2. I question the state of your mental health.
3. You actually are an idiot in a good disguise.
4. Grow up and get over the one-upmanship. This isn't high school, that ship sailed about 30 years ago and it's very unattractive.
5. There comes a time when you have to stop dressing like you're still in your 20s. You're not actually as cute as you think you are.
6. Stop gender-neutralizing your "friends" when you talk about "them" because that's always a dead giveaway.
7. I only ... creatively fictionalized...my answer a little bit so I wouldn't hurt your feelings, because you are important to me.
8. Your ability to turn even good things into whiny complaints has made me wash my hands of you.
9. If you're promoting the message of hate and intolerance while calling yourself a Christian, you aren't one. Period.
10. It hurts my feelings a tiny bit when you go out of your way to publically thank people...except somehow never Me. Ridiculous of me to be hurt, but nonetheless, it does.
11. None of these are about any of you.
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Let it GO, let it GO!
I read a lot of blog posts, facebook statii, and tweets that advise us to "just let it go."
"Let go of the hurt."
"Let go of your past."
"Put down the baggage and walk away."
"Let go of his neck because you're going to get charged with murder."
HOW DO YOU DO THAT?
Well, I mean except for that last thing, you just have to loosen your grip a little.Before the cops get there.
But seriously, how do you know if you've actually let it go?
It's still in your mind, right? You still remember it, yeah? It's not like you can take a Magic Eraser (although WOULDN'T THAT BE COOL??) and rub out the bits that you don't like.
So when people say they've "let it go", does that just mean they never speak of it again? Do they somehow box up the problem like "out of sight, out of mind"? That doesn't seem like letting go, it seems like burying it deeper in the dark so it can grow into giant fungus.
Because I don't understand how you can make the thoughts, and the feelings that accompany those thoughts, just disappear. I DO NOT GET IT.
I carry a lot of baggage -- I don't mean to. I don't DWELL on it. It's just there. The thoughts & feelings from the experience are there. I'm not holding grudges or still mad or upset about THIS or THAT or THE OTHER THING...I've forgiven people for hurting me - even if they don't know it.
So I think okay, I've let it go.
And then a situation arises that's similar and reminds me of THIS or THAT or THE OTHER THING -- so the memory returns and the feeling returns and although I wasn't *trying* to think of it, I wasn't *looking* for it...BOOM! Right back in the suitcase I'm carrying around.
So someone tell me...how do you really let something go? Or is that just another of those phrases that really means nothing when applied to Real Life?
#AskingForAFriend
"Let go of the hurt."
"Let go of your past."
"Put down the baggage and walk away."
HOW DO YOU DO THAT?
Well, I mean except for that last thing, you just have to loosen your grip a little.
But seriously, how do you know if you've actually let it go?
It's still in your mind, right? You still remember it, yeah? It's not like you can take a Magic Eraser (although WOULDN'T THAT BE COOL??) and rub out the bits that you don't like.
So when people say they've "let it go", does that just mean they never speak of it again? Do they somehow box up the problem like "out of sight, out of mind"? That doesn't seem like letting go, it seems like burying it deeper in the dark so it can grow into giant fungus.
Because I don't understand how you can make the thoughts, and the feelings that accompany those thoughts, just disappear. I DO NOT GET IT.
I carry a lot of baggage -- I don't mean to. I don't DWELL on it. It's just there. The thoughts & feelings from the experience are there. I'm not holding grudges or still mad or upset about THIS or THAT or THE OTHER THING...I've forgiven people for hurting me - even if they don't know it.
So I think okay, I've let it go.
And then a situation arises that's similar and reminds me of THIS or THAT or THE OTHER THING -- so the memory returns and the feeling returns and although I wasn't *trying* to think of it, I wasn't *looking* for it...BOOM! Right back in the suitcase I'm carrying around.
So someone tell me...how do you really let something go? Or is that just another of those phrases that really means nothing when applied to Real Life?
#AskingForAFriend
Saturday, May 24, 2014
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Brand THIS: A BigAss Change
After...what, 8 years?...I am going to change the name of this blog. YES YOU HEARD ME CORRECTLY. I don't give two shits about all the fancy "You are a brand. Be your brand. Represent your brand" talk. I am not a brand, I am a person. I am a blogger. I am a mother. I am a friend and a daughter and a sister and an aunt. I am not a brand. Although if I WAS a brand, it would totes be designer quality. Is all I'm saying. See, when I started this particular blog in 2005, it was sort of a riff on our local newspaper, The Daily Oklahoman. Back in the beginning, I kind of had it set up with sections and labels mirroring the newspaper. Somehow that whole thing got left by the wayside some years ago. ALSO (and more importantly) THERE ARE TOO MANY OTHER BLOGS USING THE SAME NAME. Even facebook pages! I DO NOT LIKE THAT. So I'm going to be going with one of my tag lines as the new Name. So if you still have blogrolls or whatever people are using nowadays AND if I'm still on that whatever, We (the royal We, you know, because I am the Queen of My Blog) will hereafter be known as Brain Soup For The Dysfunctional Soul. Or "Brain Soup" for short or if you're just too damn lazy to type out the whole thing. So go. Update. DO IT OR I WILL CUT YOU LIKE A CHEAP STEAK.
Sunday, August 04, 2013
blah blah blah
I just deleted my paragraph for today because it was very ranty and I wasn't in the mood to take any shit from anyone over it. So instead, I decided to tell you about my paragraph for tomorrow. Many years ago (some of you will remember because you participated!) I did a little thing here with "Stream Of Consciousness" typing - close your eyes (NO LOOKING at the keyboard or the monitor!) and just type whatever thoughts are going through your head at that moment. It's a fun little peek into your thought process. It doesn't have to mean anything or even make sense, but I invite you all to try it and drop me an email or FB message so I can look into your brain for a minute or two. Right now I'm trying to decide if I should do mine before or AFTER coffee. Maybe I'll do both.
Friday, February 19, 2010
The One In Which I Get All Yelly And Mean And Offend People
(well, maybe it's not the FIRST one in which I've gotten ranty and mean)
Okay, so the other day I was on Twitter and someone in my stream was involved in a conversation with people that I do not follow. I was interested enough to click through a few people (whom I ALSO do not follow) and came across some dude who was getting all judgy and shouting "HEY PEOPLE QUIT BITCHING ABOUT MISSING OUT ON SOCIAL EVENTS BECAUSE YOU HAVE KIDS! FAMILY IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING! I WOULD GIVE UP ALL SOCIAL EVENTS IF I HAD MY KIDS FULL TIME!"
Or words to that effect.
And I agree - family IS the important thing.
But here's the what: You DON'T have your kid(s) full time. You have ZERO FUCKING IDEA what it's like to have your kids with you 24 hours a day. ZERO. NONE. NADA.
You're FREE to flit about at a moment's notice. You're free to drop what you're doing when your friends call and say HEY MEET ME AT THE BAR/RESTAURANT/BEACH/WHATEVER.
You don't have to have 3 weeks advance notice so that you can arrange a babysitter.
Also? If you have "regular" or "normal" kids that you can leave alone, you STILL have no idea what MY life is like.
I realize that we ALL have things we take for granted, even when we don't mean to. But I resent people who think like THAT guy trying to make people like me (oh, not ME personally, I don't even know the dude) feel bad for occasionally wishing for a short escape from family.
My twins just turned 15... and I have been a single parent for about 13 of those years.
My son is severely disabled, as most of you know -- he's like an infant. He doesn't do anything for himself, he can't hold a cup, he has to be fed and lifted and carried and diapered.
You can image the number of babysitters, including family, who are just CLAMORING to sit for me. Uh huh.
(If you guessed "NONE", you would be correct)(that is NOT A COMPLAINT, it is a simple FACT)
Besides the fact that I can't AFFORD a nanny or babysitting service, not many people want to be responsible for watching a kid who is heavy but has to be lifted, who has to be cared for as though he is a 3 month old, who has a seizure disorder.
They say "it's scary". And so it is.
I AM NOT COMPLAINING. I AM SUPREMELY HAPPY AND THANKFUL FOR EVERY DAY THAT MY CHILDREN DRAW BREATH. I am not blaming anyone for the way things are, for my situation. I deal with it, I try not to bitch about it very often - it's my job as a parent.
But I am mostly tied to my house. My son is too heavy to carry and he has a special wheelchair, not a regular one that can just fold in half, so it takes about 20-30 minutes just to take it apart to load it in the car.
I go practically NOWHERE except to work while the kids are in school. Or to the grocery store. And for the last 2 years I have been so lucky to get away for a weekend to go to Blogher, and it took at least 2 months of arranging to get THAT figured out, even though it was their FATHER who was to have them at that time.
AND since we're on the subject: working at a daycare, being a camp counselor or a teenage babysitter is a whole different animal than being a parent. The feelings you have are different, the LEVEL of the feelings you have are different, your thought processes are different.
So if I say I'm sad to miss out on this event or that social gathering, don't tell me how I SHOULD act, how I SHOULD feel, how I SHOULD parent.
Don't you DARE imply that I am LESS THAN AN EXCELLENT PARENT simply because I might occasionally say "OH I WISH I COULD GO TO 'this event' OR 'that social gathering'".
You talk to me when you've walked a couple of miles in my shoes. Until then? SHUT YOUR LAMEHOLE.
And also, fuck you and the high horse you rode in on, pal.
Okay, so the other day I was on Twitter and someone in my stream was involved in a conversation with people that I do not follow. I was interested enough to click through a few people (whom I ALSO do not follow) and came across some dude who was getting all judgy and shouting "HEY PEOPLE QUIT BITCHING ABOUT MISSING OUT ON SOCIAL EVENTS BECAUSE YOU HAVE KIDS! FAMILY IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING! I WOULD GIVE UP ALL SOCIAL EVENTS IF I HAD MY KIDS FULL TIME!"
Or words to that effect.
And I agree - family IS the important thing.
But here's the what: You DON'T have your kid(s) full time. You have ZERO FUCKING IDEA what it's like to have your kids with you 24 hours a day. ZERO. NONE. NADA.
You're FREE to flit about at a moment's notice. You're free to drop what you're doing when your friends call and say HEY MEET ME AT THE BAR/RESTAURANT/BEACH/WHATEVER.
You don't have to have 3 weeks advance notice so that you can arrange a babysitter.
Also? If you have "regular" or "normal" kids that you can leave alone, you STILL have no idea what MY life is like.
I realize that we ALL have things we take for granted, even when we don't mean to. But I resent people who think like THAT guy trying to make people like me (oh, not ME personally, I don't even know the dude) feel bad for occasionally wishing for a short escape from family.
My twins just turned 15... and I have been a single parent for about 13 of those years.
My son is severely disabled, as most of you know -- he's like an infant. He doesn't do anything for himself, he can't hold a cup, he has to be fed and lifted and carried and diapered.
You can image the number of babysitters, including family, who are just CLAMORING to sit for me. Uh huh.
(If you guessed "NONE", you would be correct)(that is NOT A COMPLAINT, it is a simple FACT)
Besides the fact that I can't AFFORD a nanny or babysitting service, not many people want to be responsible for watching a kid who is heavy but has to be lifted, who has to be cared for as though he is a 3 month old, who has a seizure disorder.
They say "it's scary". And so it is.
I AM NOT COMPLAINING. I AM SUPREMELY HAPPY AND THANKFUL FOR EVERY DAY THAT MY CHILDREN DRAW BREATH. I am not blaming anyone for the way things are, for my situation. I deal with it, I try not to bitch about it very often - it's my job as a parent.
But I am mostly tied to my house. My son is too heavy to carry and he has a special wheelchair, not a regular one that can just fold in half, so it takes about 20-30 minutes just to take it apart to load it in the car.
I go practically NOWHERE except to work while the kids are in school. Or to the grocery store. And for the last 2 years I have been so lucky to get away for a weekend to go to Blogher, and it took at least 2 months of arranging to get THAT figured out, even though it was their FATHER who was to have them at that time.
AND since we're on the subject: working at a daycare, being a camp counselor or a teenage babysitter is a whole different animal than being a parent. The feelings you have are different, the LEVEL of the feelings you have are different, your thought processes are different.
So if I say I'm sad to miss out on this event or that social gathering, don't tell me how I SHOULD act, how I SHOULD feel, how I SHOULD parent.
Don't you DARE imply that I am LESS THAN AN EXCELLENT PARENT simply because I might occasionally say "OH I WISH I COULD GO TO 'this event' OR 'that social gathering'".
You talk to me when you've walked a couple of miles in my shoes. Until then? SHUT YOUR LAMEHOLE.
And also, fuck you and the high horse you rode in on, pal.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
PHD - Post Holiday Depression
Sometimes I feel like I don't matter.
I don't say that so that everyone will go OOOH, OF COURSE YOU DO! and give me some validation.
Okay, maybe it is a LITTLE bit.
Sometimes I need validation as much as the next guy...if the next guy is incredibly needy and sometimes wallows in a bottomless pit of zero self-esteem.
It's the holidays and the wintertime getting me down. The upside is that the holiday hoopla is almost over and I can relax a little bit.
Sometimes I feel left out.
No, it's NOTHING that you've done/not done that makes me feel this way.
Yes, I have issues about not being good enough or smart enough or well-read enough or pretty enough or (fill in the blank) enough.
I'm not the only one, though, right?
Seriously. You can admit it to me. I won't tell anyone.
Promise.
Which brings me to another issue...I apologize if I've ever made you feel as though you don't matter to me, because you definitely do.
See, a lot of people think that because I don't ask questions and dig and pry into their lives, it means I don't care.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
I WANT to know. I want to know the details. I want to be involved, I want to comfort you, and sometimes I just want to know the good gossip.
Some of my friends are quite comfortable with butting in and nosing around and digging into the root of someone else's problems or issues or troubles; I'm just not built that way.
I've always thought that if you WANT to tell me, you will. Also? I don't want to put someone in the position of having to lie to me if they simply do not want me to know something.
NOW I find out that guess what? You WANT to be asked. You WANT me to nag to get at the truth, because it shows that I truly care.
So, I'm sorry that I haven't asked and probed and gotten all up in your bizness.
What's weird is that I've never felt like it was my place to do that to YOU, but I've never minded someone doing it to ME.
But I will step outside my comfort zone and be nosier, because I want you to know that I care and that YOU MATTER TO ME.
Your friendships are the strong, colorful threads that weave the beautiful tapestry of my life.
I don't say that so that everyone will go OOOH, OF COURSE YOU DO! and give me some validation.
Okay, maybe it is a LITTLE bit.
Sometimes I need validation as much as the next guy...if the next guy is incredibly needy and sometimes wallows in a bottomless pit of zero self-esteem.
It's the holidays and the wintertime getting me down. The upside is that the holiday hoopla is almost over and I can relax a little bit.
Sometimes I feel left out.
No, it's NOTHING that you've done/not done that makes me feel this way.
Yes, I have issues about not being good enough or smart enough or well-read enough or pretty enough or (fill in the blank) enough.
I'm not the only one, though, right?
Seriously. You can admit it to me. I won't tell anyone.
Promise.
Which brings me to another issue...I apologize if I've ever made you feel as though you don't matter to me, because you definitely do.
See, a lot of people think that because I don't ask questions and dig and pry into their lives, it means I don't care.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
I WANT to know. I want to know the details. I want to be involved, I want to comfort you, and sometimes I just want to know the good gossip.
Some of my friends are quite comfortable with butting in and nosing around and digging into the root of someone else's problems or issues or troubles; I'm just not built that way.
I've always thought that if you WANT to tell me, you will. Also? I don't want to put someone in the position of having to lie to me if they simply do not want me to know something.
NOW I find out that guess what? You WANT to be asked. You WANT me to nag to get at the truth, because it shows that I truly care.
So, I'm sorry that I haven't asked and probed and gotten all up in your bizness.
What's weird is that I've never felt like it was my place to do that to YOU, but I've never minded someone doing it to ME.
But I will step outside my comfort zone and be nosier, because I want you to know that I care and that YOU MATTER TO ME.
Your friendships are the strong, colorful threads that weave the beautiful tapestry of my life.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
How dumb ARE you?
Dear Everyone who will ever consider running for President of the US:
DON'T. FUCK. AROUND. ON. YOUR. SPOUSE.
Seriously, have you NOT been paying attention the last 40 or 50 years?
SOMEBODY ALWAYS TALKS. And then your poor spouse and kids get slapped in the face with YOUR weakness and infidelity over & over again.
It's simple: if you cheat on your spouse or your taxes, the story will come out.
IT WILL.
So suck it up, keep your dick in your pants, and don't humiliate your wife & kids.
mkay?
Good.
Sincerely tired of political foibles,
Monty
ONE MORE THING.
Make sure you grab the podcast for last week's Friday Night Live - GEORGE-A-PALOOZA!
Lots of fun things happened.
You'll see.
Or, rather, HEAR.
DON'T. FUCK. AROUND. ON. YOUR. SPOUSE.
Seriously, have you NOT been paying attention the last 40 or 50 years?
SOMEBODY ALWAYS TALKS. And then your poor spouse and kids get slapped in the face with YOUR weakness and infidelity over & over again.
It's simple: if you cheat on your spouse or your taxes, the story will come out.
IT WILL.
So suck it up, keep your dick in your pants, and don't humiliate your wife & kids.
mkay?
Good.
Sincerely tired of political foibles,
Monty
ONE MORE THING.
Make sure you grab the podcast for last week's Friday Night Live - GEORGE-A-PALOOZA!
Lots of fun things happened.
You'll see.
Or, rather, HEAR.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Bits and Pieces of General Nothingness
Music WAS my boyfriend, but he couldn't satisfy me.
Probably because I didn't have one of these.
The only spirit I'm filled with during the holiday season (besides, well, spirits, like booze) is the spirit of the Mean Green Furry One.
His name starts with "G".
You know.
Grouch, Oscar the.
I've been using all my best odd thoughts on twitter.com.
That hardly seems fair, does it?
Like:
I have too much emotional baggage to fit comfortably in the overhead compartment.
And:
My children are nearly thirteen years old and I still have no idea how to be a parent. It's a wonder they're not feral.
Does this body make me look fat?
Does my ass make these pants look fat?
Where's my trashcan?
S.
Grouch, Oscar the
Probably because I didn't have one of these.
The only spirit I'm filled with during the holiday season (besides, well, spirits, like booze) is the spirit of the Mean Green Furry One.
His name starts with "G".
You know.
Grouch, Oscar the.
I've been using all my best odd thoughts on twitter.com.
That hardly seems fair, does it?
Like:
I have too much emotional baggage to fit comfortably in the overhead compartment.
And:
My children are nearly thirteen years old and I still have no idea how to be a parent. It's a wonder they're not feral.
Does this body make me look fat?
Does my ass make these pants look fat?
Where's my trashcan?
S.
Grouch, Oscar the
Monday, November 05, 2007
Strike this.
I could be wrong here--after all, I don't really know how guilds and unions work and what's more, I could give a crap.
However.
Seems to me that if you work for an organization that provides you with a measure of job security, wages above that of the national average AND excellent bennies (because, you know, SOME of us don't even HAVE benefits of any sort with our jobs), you should shut your fucking pie-holes and do your jobs.
Srsly, it's not like your company asked you to murder somebody. Well, at least if they did it's only on paper in a script.
What are the writers striking for, again? Damned if I can remember.
OH YEAH, that's right! A bigger slice of the pie. More of the CHA-CHING from DVD sales/rentals/whatever.
Greedy bastards.
I think when people like that go on strike, they should be forced to take jobs working minimum wage with NO benefits and NO job security AND SEE HOW THEY LIKE THAT.
Is all I'm saying.
However.
Seems to me that if you work for an organization that provides you with a measure of job security, wages above that of the national average AND excellent bennies (because, you know, SOME of us don't even HAVE benefits of any sort with our jobs), you should shut your fucking pie-holes and do your jobs.
Srsly, it's not like your company asked you to murder somebody. Well, at least if they did it's only on paper in a script.
What are the writers striking for, again? Damned if I can remember.
OH YEAH, that's right! A bigger slice of the pie. More of the CHA-CHING from DVD sales/rentals/whatever.
Greedy bastards.
I think when people like that go on strike, they should be forced to take jobs working minimum wage with NO benefits and NO job security AND SEE HOW THEY LIKE THAT.
Is all I'm saying.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
What? What did I do?
Dear Coffee,
How are you, my friend? You know, we've been together a really, really long time, ever since my grandma first served you to me in that green mug (remember that green mug? It was so cool, and I always got to be the one to use it because I was the oldest grandkid and I called it) with a half a cup of milk and a tablespoon of sugar.
Man, Coffee, Grandma always fixed you up just right. (and Grandma, if you're in heaven reading this over my shoulder right now, HI! And stop reading over my shoulder, it creeps me out a little bit. And I love you!)
Anyway.
Coffee, my true love, I have enjoyed you in all your many forms...black, with sugar, with cream, with flavored creamer, in lattes and cappucinos and frappucinos (I have no idea how to spell all that stuff, so suck it)...I have loved you often and I have loved you well.
You know I have.
So what I want to know is what have you done to yourself? You've obviously been letting yourself go...I can't even feel the caffeine anymore! You have not been showing me the buzz-love in ages. I drink a whole pot of you in the morning and I still feel like going back to bed.
Sometimes I DO go back to bed for a 30 minute nap.
THE HELL?
That's not supposed to happen. Uh-uh, nohow, no way.
Where is that rush of caffeine pleasure? Where is my jolty, shaky goodness?
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH IT?
I can drink you at night and still fall right to sleep.
I miss you, Coffee. I miss your caffeine zip.
No, I did not purchase your brother, Decaf Coffee, by mistake. I double-checked to make sure.
WHY HAST THOU FORSAKEN ME?
Look, if you don't do something to juice up the caffeine bite really soon, my flirtation with Red Bull is going to become a full-fledged affair.
Is all I'm saying.
Wanting us to be the way we were,
Monty
How are you, my friend? You know, we've been together a really, really long time, ever since my grandma first served you to me in that green mug (remember that green mug? It was so cool, and I always got to be the one to use it because I was the oldest grandkid and I called it) with a half a cup of milk and a tablespoon of sugar.
Man, Coffee, Grandma always fixed you up just right. (and Grandma, if you're in heaven reading this over my shoulder right now, HI! And stop reading over my shoulder, it creeps me out a little bit. And I love you!)
Anyway.
Coffee, my true love, I have enjoyed you in all your many forms...black, with sugar, with cream, with flavored creamer, in lattes and cappucinos and frappucinos (I have no idea how to spell all that stuff, so suck it)...I have loved you often and I have loved you well.
You know I have.
So what I want to know is what have you done to yourself? You've obviously been letting yourself go...I can't even feel the caffeine anymore! You have not been showing me the buzz-love in ages. I drink a whole pot of you in the morning and I still feel like going back to bed.
Sometimes I DO go back to bed for a 30 minute nap.
THE HELL?
That's not supposed to happen. Uh-uh, nohow, no way.
Where is that rush of caffeine pleasure? Where is my jolty, shaky goodness?
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH IT?
I can drink you at night and still fall right to sleep.
I miss you, Coffee. I miss your caffeine zip.
No, I did not purchase your brother, Decaf Coffee, by mistake. I double-checked to make sure.
WHY HAST THOU FORSAKEN ME?
Look, if you don't do something to juice up the caffeine bite really soon, my flirtation with Red Bull is going to become a full-fledged affair.
Is all I'm saying.
Wanting us to be the way we were,
Monty
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Why Thursday Sucks in three part harmony.
Terrifying moment of the day:
So I was at a drive-thru window because it's HOT outside and I needed a big iced tea (oKAY! So it was a big iced tea AND a grilled chicken snack wrap)(and small fries) and all the windows were down and I turned my head and BAM! GIANT RED WASP IN MY FACE!
Well, he was a few inches from my face, but really anywhere closer than five feet is TOO CLOSE.
I handled it okay, though...I screamed and nearly crashed into the building whilst frantically feeling around for the window roller-upper button, bobbing and weaving in the seat trying to keep it from getting ALL THE WAY INSIDE where it would be free to fly about and terrorize me, in which case I would have had to park the car and walk home & watch the wasp do a little victory dance because he 'jacked my ride.
(Okay, so it was a CRISPY chicken snack wrap and not grilled. STOP INTERROGATING ME!)
Dear Mom,
Yes, I know how you're always right and how you never ever forget stuff. Remember how you bought my son a bed without telling me? That was cool, and I really appreciated it! I mentioned at the time that I had no way to haul off the old mattress & box springs. And DAD was the one who put the old stuff on my front porch, telling me he & my brother would (eventually) haul it to the dump.
And the mattress & box springs sat there. And sat. And sat. And sat. AAAAND sat.
Look, I know I said I was going toREMIND ask dad & Shawn to haul it off this past weekend. Well, I FORGOT.
Yes, I asked Shawn to help me get the stuff off my porch last night and put it in the garage.
Yes, Shawn wasn't paying attention & smashed his finger between two panels of the garage door.
Yes, I feel TERRIBLY guilty about it because he was hurt while helping me. Did you know I've smashed my finger in that door before? I have. I probably didn't mention it because really, what's the point? It hurt, turned purple, healed up. Shit happens.
Here's the point: When I call to see if there's anything I can do, to check on my brother, and ask if the finger is broken, it is NOT NECESSARY for you to say, "Probably it's broken. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE THEM HAUL IT TO THE DUMP, not the GARAGE!"
Yeah, that doesn't have anything to do with anything, but thanks for twisting the knife in my already guilty-feeling heart.
You really need to stop doing that, because as the oldest someday I'll be in charge of picking your nursing home. You want to remember THAT.
Love,
Your stupid irresponsible daughter
Dear Sperm Donor,
I just wanted to tell you that I find it...interesting...that you go on and on about how you can't afford to drive all the way up here from Texas (which is why I usually meet you halfway between your house & mine), but your wife can drive from Texas to Arkansas to see her grandbaby.
I find it even more interesting that since your wife wants to come up here to the city to "see her son's condo that he just moved into", you can afford to make the weekend trip.
I find it most interesting of all that you won't give me a straight answer regarding whether or not you'll be keeping BOTH kids overnight or just your daughter. You'll have to "get back to me on that".
Until you do, I can't make any plans for that weekend.
Fuck you very much.
Dislike,
The-lady-who-is-tired-of-hearing-your-sob-stories-about-how-you-don't-have
any-money-but-yet-you-took-a-second-job-to-pay-THOUSANDS-in-chemo-for-your-DOG
because-it-had-leukemia-and-you-have-two-new-cars-and-new-house-but-I-had-to-BEG
for-$60-to-SPLIT-your-daughter's-band-supply-costs.
So I was at a drive-thru window because it's HOT outside and I needed a big iced tea (oKAY! So it was a big iced tea AND a grilled chicken snack wrap)(and small fries) and all the windows were down and I turned my head and BAM! GIANT RED WASP IN MY FACE!
Well, he was a few inches from my face, but really anywhere closer than five feet is TOO CLOSE.
I handled it okay, though...I screamed and nearly crashed into the building whilst frantically feeling around for the window roller-upper button, bobbing and weaving in the seat trying to keep it from getting ALL THE WAY INSIDE where it would be free to fly about and terrorize me, in which case I would have had to park the car and walk home & watch the wasp do a little victory dance because he 'jacked my ride.
(Okay, so it was a CRISPY chicken snack wrap and not grilled. STOP INTERROGATING ME!)
Dear Mom,
Yes, I know how you're always right and how you never ever forget stuff. Remember how you bought my son a bed without telling me? That was cool, and I really appreciated it! I mentioned at the time that I had no way to haul off the old mattress & box springs. And DAD was the one who put the old stuff on my front porch, telling me he & my brother would (eventually) haul it to the dump.
And the mattress & box springs sat there. And sat. And sat. And sat. AAAAND sat.
Look, I know I said I was going to
Yes, I asked Shawn to help me get the stuff off my porch last night and put it in the garage.
Yes, Shawn wasn't paying attention & smashed his finger between two panels of the garage door.
Yes, I feel TERRIBLY guilty about it because he was hurt while helping me. Did you know I've smashed my finger in that door before? I have. I probably didn't mention it because really, what's the point? It hurt, turned purple, healed up. Shit happens.
Here's the point: When I call to see if there's anything I can do, to check on my brother, and ask if the finger is broken, it is NOT NECESSARY for you to say, "Probably it's broken. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE THEM HAUL IT TO THE DUMP, not the GARAGE!"
Yeah, that doesn't have anything to do with anything, but thanks for twisting the knife in my already guilty-feeling heart.
You really need to stop doing that, because as the oldest someday I'll be in charge of picking your nursing home. You want to remember THAT.
Love,
Your stupid irresponsible daughter
Dear Sperm Donor,
I just wanted to tell you that I find it...interesting...that you go on and on about how you can't afford to drive all the way up here from Texas (which is why I usually meet you halfway between your house & mine), but your wife can drive from Texas to Arkansas to see her grandbaby.
I find it even more interesting that since your wife wants to come up here to the city to "see her son's condo that he just moved into", you can afford to make the weekend trip.
I find it most interesting of all that you won't give me a straight answer regarding whether or not you'll be keeping BOTH kids overnight or just your daughter. You'll have to "get back to me on that".
Until you do, I can't make any plans for that weekend.
Fuck you very much.
Dislike,
The-lady-who-is-tired-of-hearing-your-sob-stories-about-how-you-don't-have
any-money-but-yet-you-took-a-second-job-to-pay-THOUSANDS-in-chemo-for-your-DOG
because-it-had-leukemia-and-you-have-two-new-cars-and-new-house-but-I-had-to-BEG
for-$60-to-SPLIT-your-daughter's-band-supply-costs.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Because I hate everything.
This has been a...challenging week.
Enrollment Week. Yeah, I know. Didn't I bitch about that last year? And the year before that? Pretty sure I did.
THIS year there were even MORE of the everfucking hoops through which I had to jump...and an apparent last-minute rule change that caused my daughter to miss the first day of school. Which caused a whole other round of difficulties.
I meant to tell you all about it, but it sounded like so much whining and complaining that I decided not to.
Plus then I decided I hate typing as well.
And blogging.
And getting up out of my chair. And a bunch of other stuff. Like simpering females and star-fuckers and people who align themselves with 'popular' people in hopes that it will rub off on them. Never mind, this list is endless.
Plus I have PMS. And wicked cramps. And I cried when I watched a damn COMMERCIAL last night. I don't even remember what it was a commercial FOR. I think it might've been M&Ms.
Then, to addinsult to injury injury to insult, I got a big ass prickly sticker stuck deep in my finger and it hurt a WAY LOT to pull it out.
So I thought I'd cheer myself up by searching keywords to see which posts they'd pull up and stick one of 'em up here.
**originally posted September '05
I went through a brief period in Hormonal Jr. High School where I read nothing but romance novels~I couldn't get enough Harlequin, Sillhouette, and historical romances.
O! The things we thought those books taught us as young girls~how it was supposed to feel when we were truly in love, and how we would suffer at least one big misunderstanding that would tear us apart from our loved one, but True Love would always triumph in the end.
Then I got married. And divorced. And then I lived with a man. And we had children. And then split up.
And I learned that those books left out a significant number of details that we really should know and learn how to deal with.
Thus I present to you a short list of
10 Things The Romance Books Don't Tell You How To Handle
1. Skidmarks
2. Morning breath
3. The first time you fart during sex
4. Smelly feet
5. What happens when you fix beans & cornbread for dinner, and then sleep over
6. The first time you have to poo when he/she is at your house.
7. All sorts of body odors in all sorts of places
8. A little something hanging from your nose (or his) when you're on a date.
9. Hairy backs and shoulders on otherwise perfect-for-you men
10. First Date Food In Your Teeth
Just the tip of the iceburg, folks. And don't act like you've never felt the anxiety from at least one or two of the things on that list.
Got any to add?
Oh and PS: Quick tip. DO NOT, no matter how tempting it is, eat a frosted cinnamon Pop-Tart before bed, as it can cause bizarrely tumbled and twisted and scary nightmares.
Although I guess it could've been the Sour Cream & Onion chips, too.
OH and PPS: I just now glanced at my stats and there were FOUR SEARCHES for Chicka Latte Girls.
The HELL?
Enrollment Week. Yeah, I know. Didn't I bitch about that last year? And the year before that? Pretty sure I did.
THIS year there were even MORE of the everfucking hoops through which I had to jump...and an apparent last-minute rule change that caused my daughter to miss the first day of school. Which caused a whole other round of difficulties.
I meant to tell you all about it, but it sounded like so much whining and complaining that I decided not to.
Plus then I decided I hate typing as well.
And blogging.
And getting up out of my chair. And a bunch of other stuff. Like simpering females and star-fuckers and people who align themselves with 'popular' people in hopes that it will rub off on them. Never mind, this list is endless.
Plus I have PMS. And wicked cramps. And I cried when I watched a damn COMMERCIAL last night. I don't even remember what it was a commercial FOR. I think it might've been M&Ms.
Then, to add
So I thought I'd cheer myself up by searching keywords to see which posts they'd pull up and stick one of 'em up here.
**originally posted September '05
I went through a brief period in Hormonal Jr. High School where I read nothing but romance novels~I couldn't get enough Harlequin, Sillhouette, and historical romances.
O! The things we thought those books taught us as young girls~how it was supposed to feel when we were truly in love, and how we would suffer at least one big misunderstanding that would tear us apart from our loved one, but True Love would always triumph in the end.
Then I got married. And divorced. And then I lived with a man. And we had children. And then split up.
And I learned that those books left out a significant number of details that we really should know and learn how to deal with.
Thus I present to you a short list of
10 Things The Romance Books Don't Tell You How To Handle
1. Skidmarks
2. Morning breath
3. The first time you fart during sex
4. Smelly feet
5. What happens when you fix beans & cornbread for dinner, and then sleep over
6. The first time you have to poo when he/she is at your house.
7. All sorts of body odors in all sorts of places
8. A little something hanging from your nose (or his) when you're on a date.
9. Hairy backs and shoulders on otherwise perfect-for-you men
10. First Date Food In Your Teeth
Just the tip of the iceburg, folks. And don't act like you've never felt the anxiety from at least one or two of the things on that list.
Got any to add?
Oh and PS: Quick tip. DO NOT, no matter how tempting it is, eat a frosted cinnamon Pop-Tart before bed, as it can cause bizarrely tumbled and twisted and scary nightmares.
Although I guess it could've been the Sour Cream & Onion chips, too.
OH and PPS: I just now glanced at my stats and there were FOUR SEARCHES for Chicka Latte Girls.
The HELL?
Monday, August 06, 2007
Always on Monday
So I grabbed my styrofoam cup (one of the good pieces of drinkware, you know) from the dining room table, looked into it and noticed that it was still about 1/4 full of Dr. Pepper, filled it the rest of the way up (with the last of the Dr. Pepper), and took a big icy-cold gulp.
Hey, guess what?
It hadn't been Dr. Pepper in the cup.
It was old coffee.
From yesterday.
*sigh*
Hey, guess what?
It hadn't been Dr. Pepper in the cup.
It was old coffee.
From yesterday.
*sigh*
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