Drazil = 1. Me = 0. Just for now anyway.

Well….while I’d love to report it’s a gumdrop farting living in Care Bear land kind of day….I simply cannot.

You know – after the last two weeks of me crying in my Cheerios and whining every single day – I’m surprised anyone reads this anymore. BUT then again – this is life. Up and down, good and bad. And my bad is not hellish or tragic…it just ain’t no Skittle bath either.

Join me while I throw out some random thoughtage for Thursday:

• I went to the Dr. for my STUPID finger. I waited one hour for the doctor to see me for five minutes. Once again, to be clear – I went for my finger. The nurse had to be an over-achiever and weighed me AND took my blood pressure. When she told me to weigh – I almost kicked her with my high heeled boots and flipped her my middle infected finger. Why do you have to weigh me for my finger? Can’t we just weight my finger?
• Mmmkkaayyy – soooo – finger is infected. Antibiotics will be taken. BUT here’s the kicker. My BP was 155 over 114. Ouch. All the nurse would say is, “Um…he’s gonna want to talk to you about this.” Shitballs. Again I say – just look at my effing FINGER!
• First of all my BP is always high when I go anywhere due to the social anxiety but it usually goes down once I’m there. Not this time. That doctor said to me – you’re going to need to take meds unless you make some lifestyle changes. Oh you mean like work out and eat better? Novel idea. When in God’s name should I fit that in Mr. Doctor Man?

Then he said he liked my rings so I decided not to kick him.

• My BP could have been up due to the fact that just prior to the appt I found out we will be re-ordering two pieces of countertop AND the gorgeous light I picked out won’t work. The contractor installed it and figured out it hangs too low. Rambo called to tell me and said we couldn’t take it back cuz we opened the box. Um – yes – I think not. There’s no way I’m keeping a $150 light because you people with penises opened the box. Shove the light back in there and tape it up – it’s going back to the damn store. Period. 
• Regarding the countertop…one piece is our fault. One piece is the contractor’s fault. Doesn’t matter at this point…he’ll uninstall and re-install for free as she should and he’s doing some other extras like crown molding and such for me. I’m too tired to demand more. I just don’t care. That may be wrong but I just don’t have the energy to stand up for much else. Tomorrow the remodel should be complete – until the new countertops come in and he’ll have to come back and install. 
• Speaking of this remodel….here’s a little diddy that pissed me off beyond belief. I ran into a frenemy at Walmart the other day. She said, “Don’t you have to work today?” I said, “I never work Friday afternoons. I’m getting some paint.” She said, “Paint for what?” I said, “We’re doing a kitchen remodel – countertops, floor, lighting, paint, etc.”

And then she had the balls to say, “Must be nice having all that state money.”

Excuse me for a moment while I shove this cart up your ass. State money? Oh you mean the measly hourly wage Rambo makes for guarding the worst criminals in this state? State money my ass. Lady, I work three jobs. Rambo works three jobs. We work our asses off in between parenting and life and setting dumbasses like you straight.

This woman doesn’t work. She is a stay-at-home mom by choice…just like I choose to work 3 jobs. She chooses not to have the money to do remodels – like I choose to have the money to do so. I am NOT knocking people who choose not to work outside the home …I am knocking people who give me shit for doing the opposite.

My reply to her was, “Yah, all that state money is buying us FAKE wood floors and FAKE granite countertops.”

I should have told her once she pulls her head out of her ass – she can come by and see my new kitchen in all its fakeness.

• Lastly – no word from the Principal yet on our talk last week. This puts us at 1.5 weeks since then. Apparently I have to make the effort to contact him and address this and get a final solution because it’s not important enough to them to get back to me. What the fuh? 
• To prove how exhausted and chubby-feeling I am lately – I will tell you this. A package came from Old Navy and Gap for me last night. I know the package is filled with dresses and shirts and fun girly things. Normally I’d rip that sucker open before I even got inside the front door.

As of this morning – that package sits – unopened. It looks pretty good on my new countertops. I’m just afraid after the finger weigh-in and high blood pressure incident that none of it will fit. And I’m too tired to try it on anyway.

Tonight all I have to do is payroll for one Board and finish the State reporting and paint a little trim. Then I plan to watch Tangled and not move my ass for at least 10 minutes straight.

Drazil and his attitude have taken over my body. And for now, I’m letting him.

Just for now……

Karma, middle fingers, rocking chairs and chicken poop...

Karma can kiss my fat baby’s ass. Karma is a poopy-head.


Why am I mad at karma you ask? I’ll tell you. TWO pieces of my new kitchen countertop are wrong. Wrong size and a corner cut is wrong. I have to re-order and re-pay! I want to scream. I want to kick karma in the balls – if karma is a boy. I told Jenny this stuff happens to me via karma because really I’m not a very good person. She told me to stop talking smack about her best friend or she’d kick my ass. She’s confused – she should be kicking karma’s ass.

So yes – little delay. Little extra money. Apparently THESE are the reasons I work three effing jobs. Not to have money for shoes and clothes and trips – but to pay for ignorant mistakes during a kitchen remodel. (and yes – I will post pics when done)

The day isn’t a total loss. Oh wait – yes it is. Today I get to go to the doctor. I might be dying.

Okay I made that up. The dying part anyway. I had a hang nail a few weeks ago. I think I pulled out an artery or something when I clipped said hang nail cuz ever since then my little side of my finger is puffy and red and swollen and it hurts. So it’s been three weeks of me whining and putting off going to the doc cuz the social anxiety the doc causes is worse than my finger pain – until today. I’m going to get my nails done Friday and my little fingernail doing guy is going to push on my cuticles and I might poke out his little eyes with his file when he does from the pain…so I have decided to fix it before then.

It’s on my middle finger. So I get to leave work early, spend insurance money, get hives – all to walk into a busy doctor’s office to hold up my middle finger and say, “Fix this.”

If he starts rolling on the ground laughing at me – I won’t even kick him when he’s down there. It IS ridiculous.

Lastly, I forgot to tell you all my big fun celebrity news!

I met Lisa Ling on Sunday night. My sister got to interview her for a full 20 minutes! I didn’t even get hives.

How the hell does that work? I go to see an Uncle or a friend – and I’m sick to my stomach and covered in red blotches. I meet a woman who works for Oprah and has been on The View and – nothing. There’s something just not right about me.

The drama and exhaustion and general ick feeling of last week has followed me into this week. To stave off that feeling of general disgust – Jenny and I have been dreaming of our cabin in the woods. I think I’ve mentioned before we want to retire together – in the country – each with our own log cabins just feet apart.

Chickens. Dogs. Gardens. Rocking chairs. Etc. And shitloads of Skittles.

Today we have decided we will exercise each day even in our log cabin retirement days. You know – by walking to get the mail at the end of the short driveway. Either that or walking to the garage to get the four-wheeler to get the mail at the end of the short driveway.

Hey – call us crazy – but either we dream of rocking chairs and chicken poop or we do the ugly cry and drip snot into our Pepsis.

You choose.

Just call me Bob Vila-ette.

While I have been known to describe myself in many, many ways…I’m not sure I’ve ever told you I’m stubborn. Or maybe the word is focused. Driven? Deranged? Like a train going in one direction at top speed – unable to veer off to another track until the original trek is completed?


Yup. I get an idea in my head and my day is then 100% focus on that one idea. Nothing else matters. I draw sketches. I research. I see the outcome in my head. I can’t sleep because my hands are itching to finish the project. I am never more sure that I can complete something.

Last night – my mission was the new wood floor for our kitchen/dining room.

Now yes – let’s be clear. I whined about how exhausted I was all day. I had some more reporting to do for the State when I got home. Supper to cook, tv to watch, a Rambo Skittles bath to take and family time to spend. BUT none of that was happening until I did what I had planned.

Let’s also be clear that we hired a contractor to install our floor. Let’s be really really clear that every time I told Rambo I wanted to start the floor on my own BEFORE the contractor arrived – his first and only reaction every time was, “Didn’t we hire a contractor to do that?”

Silly boy.

I had picked four different colors of wood. I wanted a random pattern. My contractor thought I was nuts when we told him. He hates random patterns. Is afraid it’ll look dumb. And four colors? And on and on. Blah blah blah – from a man who wears Carhart jeans and cowboy boots with a hammer hanging out of his back pocket. You got the contractor thing down pat…but design and style….well, leave that to me would ya?

You are wrong buddy. And I’ll prove it.

Also note this wood floor will be going around my huge fireplace that is flanked by jagged rocks. That means quite a few pieces will have to be custom cut to go around jagged edged rocks along the bottom. It will be tedious. And then the gap will need to be painstakingly filled with black caulk. My little brain is worried my contractor will half ass this – mostly because he’s a man with no patience…not because of lack of skill.

So my plan? I’m going to start the flooring myself. Me, my boobs and my vagizzle. I’m going to do all the way out to the edge of the rocks so he doesn’t have to custom fit anything. I’m going to show him how 4 different colors in a random pattern will work.

I’m going to change my name to Bob Vila-ette too. Right about now I’m repositioning my vagina like men move their balls and I’m yelling “I am woman – hear me roar.” Now hand me the damn hammer.

Rambo insisted he remove the trim for me. I let him so as not to kill his ego. But then?

I began the floor - myself. I painstakingly cut around every jagged rock. (I’m installing adhesive wood flooring by the way) I measured so my floor was straight. I had Rambo help me chalk line. I chose the random pattern.

Rambo even left the house to go change the oil in our car. I was a woman – alone – with nothing but some wood and a plan. And I was empowered.

Rambo came back in and helped me finish a few rows and I called it done.

It’s fantastic. Don’t tell me my vision won’t work unless you can prove it Mr. Contractor man.

Said contractor showed up this morning – in love with my floor. And probably shocked that I did it. Maybe Rambo forgot to mention that part.

On to the next train ride folks. The wood floor journey has concluded.

Now I have a burr up my butt to paint a whimsical scene on another wall. I live in a split foyer ranch home so you walk in my front door and you can go up stairs or down stairs to whatever level you want. On the wall leading up to the main floor I want to paint grass along the landing and steps. A little girl blowing bubbles. A tree. Sun. Some flowers. A bird or two. Simple yet pretty.

And I refuse to pay money for stencils or wall stickers so I’m going to do it freehand like I did my cattails. We’ll see if it turns out. Today all I can do is research shapes and designs and make my sketches and imagine pictures in my mind of how it’ll be.

Stubborn-ness….yes. Focus….yes. Drive….yes.

Only one direction at a time though thank you. Any more than that and Draz’s head explodes. And me and that azzhole have become friends. We’re forming a mutany against Sheniqua soon.

Stick around ….it might be fun.

Beginning in a cemetery....

Remember last week when I said Drazil stopped being a lizard for a moment? And he turned into a fire-breathing dragon to help me get through that lovely school situation?


Well, he’s still a dragon. (Oh and still NO word from the school on that.)

Puff – the magic dragon to be exact.

Puff – not as in smoke. Puff – as in I look like an oompa-loompa….minus their weird hair and odd skin tone.

This week March will end. Wanna know how many times I’ve worked out so far?

Three.

Wanna know how many times I ate like a wooly mammoth and came out looking like the mammoth gave birth?

Nearly every day.

It’s that perfectionist in me. It’s all or nothing. On or off. Up or down. Black or white.

I can’t find the elusive balance. The freaking middle ground. It’s hidden up Sheniqua’s ass. I’d question her about it but she’ll probably start whipping Oreos at me and those suckers can hurt when whipped at your eye. And really – it’s nearly illegal to waste a good Oreo like that.

I am disappointed. My chipmunk cheeks are poofy. My muffin top could fill two bakeries. My lack of toning hurts my eyes to look at. I’ve even skipped the scale a few mornings – because I’m afraid of what I’ll see.

Life got in my way this month. I’m not going to pretend it didn’t. The part time jobs sucked the life out of me. There are days when I scheduled time to breathe because it felt like there wasn’t time for that if I didn’t write it down. Rambo worked shitloads of overtime. I even put in my share of 14 hour days.

Then brilliant me planned a kitchen remodel this same month. I spent the weekend painting every wall and crevice and ceiling in my dining room and kitchen and if I see another paint brush in my lifetime I’m going to shove it up someone’s ass. The contractor can take away my 10 year old countertops...I’ve said goodbye to them properly if you catch my drift. I can only think of test driving the new ones.

If I have to deal with one more government official regarding city revenues and taxes and such….I’m going to sic Explosive Man on them and sit back and watch the fun.

You think I’d be happy a little. Martha Stewart is on vacation. There is no one across the hall wearing panties that match her napkins that match her curtains all while blowing her nose like a whale.

The whole thing isn’t really funny. I’ve treated my body like a sack of dog poo this last month. I did it consciously. I let myself have this time to not make exercise and diet a priority always knowing that April would come and deadlines would be met and things would slow down and I’d pull my chubby ass back up on the health wagon.

And I will. I have new batteries in my HRM. I have new songs downloaded on my MP3. I have new workout clothes. I have new boobs.

I’m lying about the boobs. I just threw that in there to see if you were still reading.

I’m mapping out a new run route. Get this. It’s in a cemetery. Spooky no? Not really. Right in the back of my house beyond the tree line is a cemetery. It is in fact the reason the previous owner sold the house to us. She swore it was haunted and the cemetery freaked her out.

For me – it’s a source of peace. I see many people taking care of graves and sitting and talking to their loved ones, flowers and balloons set out and smiles and tears. And for me – it keeps my life in perspective. When I want to sell my kids – I have been known to look out the window to see friends of ours standing at the grave of their 2 week old son and I’m immediately grateful for the health of my heathens.

When I have a fight with my mother…I have later seen a girl in high school sitting at her mom’s grave whose father killed her…speaking to her through a headstone…and I realize I’m lucky.

And other days I walk over there and I pick up flowers and tidy gravesites and put new flowers beside my Grandma’s grave and I love that even in death – she “lives” just a walk away.

My new route will indeed include this cemetery road….because it really is all about perspective and what really matters. I have to get back to what really matters to me. March was just an intentional and temporary detour….because my mind and body needed permission to stop caring for a bit.

April will find me back where I want to be. Back to caring.

Back to what really matters.

I’m going to find it all….beginning in a cemetery.

BYOC Friday!!!!! ♥♪ Bring Your Own Crazy ♥♪

In case it has escaped your notice….it is indeed Friday. And with Friday comes BYOC…Bring Your Own Crazy. Five little questions you can paste into your blog and answer in order to get to know your fellow bloggers better and to give your blog brain a break.


Enjoy!

1. How do you handle criticism?

In a word…I don’t. (I guess that was two words) I mean honestly – have you seen how I react when I get a bazillion good comments from a posting and one nasty one from an anonymous poster? I forget the bazillion good and focus on the one bad and begin to think they could be right. I guess in reality – I set my standards high and over-achieve constantly – just to avoid criticism because I can’t take it. THAT my friends – I did not say was healthy – I’m just being honest. And in all honesty – until I typed that sentence I never thought of it before like that. Holy epiphany. And not a good one.

I get stellar job reviews so I don’t have to hear criticism. I take on too much and never say no. I excel – to protect myself. Wow.

That’s really not excelling at all is it? Or at least not excelling for the right reasons.

2. Who had or has had the greatest impact on your life?

Rambo. He’s been #1 in my life since I was 15 and has literally saved my life when I was a suicidal teen. Without him – I wouldn’t be here typing this today. When I felt I was unlovable and better off dead….he loved me anyway and vowed to prove me wrong.

3. If you had a friend that spoke to you the way YOU speak to yourself – would you keep them as a friend and for how long?

Good God – these are serious today huh?

Um…I’m really not sure. I don’t think I’ve ever had a human being in my life that was as cruel to me as I have been to myself in the past. I would love to say I’d kick them to the curb but at some points in my life I would have believed their every word so I’m not sure. Today I can say no way. I do not surround myself with people who are toxic to my mental or physical health.

4. Do you think crying is a form or weakness or a form of strength?

In my heart – I know it’s a strength BUT with that being said – I was taught NOT to cry. Ever. If I ever did – I was told to stop. That it helped nothing and solved nothing. So I learned to cry in solitude – a lot. And hide it – a lot. In present life – I’m not a person who cries. I work with women who cry weekly due to hormones and stress and general life and I think that’s completely normal and even physically good for you and I actually envy it. BUT the meds I’m on make crying difficult. The tears do not come. I do feel sadness and stress BUT it rarely brings me to tears. They just don’t come. Something has to be really really emotion provoking and wrong for my body to cry. I actually miss crying – it’s a good release and relieves sadness and stress but I can’t make it happen. I actually find it easier to cry in happiness than sadness but I think that’s due to becoming sappy with age.

But with that being said – I do not feel it’s weakness. Especially in men – it takes a man with big balls and a huge heart to let tears fall with no shame. I respect the act of crying immensely.

And I have vowed never to tell my children it’s not okay to do. I will not strip them of that validation…because it rips your heart out.

5. Repeat question: Summarize your week in blog land and in real life.

Real life? Um – I’ve been complaining every day in my posts. It’s rather sickening and I fear the trend may continue. Rambo will be working two double shifts, I have walls and ceilings to paint and more PT work to do. And my house is a mess from the kitchen remodel that began. It is not a place of sanctuary like usual and it makes my heart panic. That being said – I have two days that do not require makeup, my hair being done or fake smiles to be plastered on my face. THAT my friends is priceless – even if I’m covered in paint.

Oh and not one word from the Principal yet.

Blog life? I know we all say thank you all the time…but the comments I received on the school situation mean more than you can ever imagine to me. To say I’ve conquered some difficult things and hours this week is an understatement – and everything I do is ten fold because of my severe social anxieties. Without your advice and your cheering me on and lending me your dragons – I wouldn’t be healing and growing. And W wouldn’t have the mother I am today.

Many of you asked friends and relatives in your lives for advice and passed it on to me – and each time – I was humbled by that effort. I will never forget the significance of your time and prayers and advice.

So thank you…again. For those of you going to Chicago – when I squeeze you extra tight – this week is the reason why. I will not forget.

The next moment.

Normally one of my big mantras is “stay in the moment”…because usually I live in the past or future so much that I miss the moments that happen now.


This week I’m throwing that entire mantra out the freaking window and I hope it gets run over by a semi carrying a load of hogs. That’s how I feel about staying in the damn moment.

I cannot. I refuse to. Let the “stay in the moment” Gods curse me. Drazil can take it – he’s a fire breathing dragon now remember?

This week is all about the future. The “next” moment. It seems thinking about the next moment is the only way I can get through the now moment.

On Monday it was – “if you can make it to Wednesday – you’re home free.” Then on Wednesday it became “if you can make it to Thursday you’re good as gold”. Today – Thursday – it’s become “if you can make it to the weekend without admitting yourself into a mental institution you’re gonna make it.”

All I can do each day it seems is think about what’s next? Move all your furniture – your contractor is arriving tomorrow. More training at night – no time to eat or sit down – suck it up and put on your Superwoman panties so you can get past it to the next day. Barely any sleep for days…maybe there’ll be sleep tomorrow. Remember your couch? Maybe soon you’ll get to sit on it again.

It’s fun being dramatic no?

Oh and in case you’re wondering…Rambo is fine. I’m not sure if I mentioned that a portion of the prison he works in has become general population so that means these men are NOT in solitary. Yesterday Rambo saw an inmate walk in from rec and saw him wipe his face and thought the inmate was sweating at first glance. Upon a closer second look – he realized the inmate was full of blood and wiping it off his face. Someone beat the crap out of him. All hell breaks loose then. It still amazes me the difference between a busy day for Rambo and a busy day for me. Honestly I try not to think about it.

Also – the Principal did not talk to or ask W any questions yesterday. We have not heard from anyone yet. I know they are busy but in my world – this is a top priority. I guess it’s not in theirs.

I got home from my second night of 4 hours of training and was met by Banana telling me that while in the bath when Rambo turned his back for a second she decided to try out one of my razors. She cut herself a little and scared the crap out of herself. I told her “you shouldn’t play with Mommy’s razors.”

Her reply? “Someone should have telled me that before Mama.”

Yes – indeed. My fault. So sorry. Cuz I’m sure she wouldn’t have done it had I told her that (she forgets I’ve told her 100 times in the past.) This from the same child who when I went to wake her up this morning I found her standing on top of her tallest dresser – trying to reach a stuffed animal on a shelf. Lovely.

Oh and news flash. I now pee Mountain Dew. I think if I cut myself I’d bleed Mountain Dew. I don’t think it’s helping though. I look like donkey caca because I’m so tired. I may have to crush up some sweet-tarts and mix it in the Mountain Dew. It’s like the legal version of meth.

So there you have it. Wednesday complete. W got to her meeting. I trained for 4 hours. Even painted my nails somewhere in there. Furniture moved in less than an hour. Banana went to the dentist and nearly cut her leg off. Rambo survived a bloody mess. And I even managed to comment and read some blogs.

Now the only thing I want to know today is - where the hell is Friday?

Living in panicked penis world.

Okay, ready? On the count of three – let’s all panic.


Then I’ll feel better…cuz I won’t be panicking alone. It’s that whole misery loves company thing you know?

I’m a chicken today – with my little head spinning around about to be cut off. I’m not farting gumdrops today – I’m shitting tornadoes.

As if Monday and Tuesday with 16 hour days, mosh pit worries, school meetings, and Board meetings on little to no sleep weren’t enough – I believe the little angels upstairs who are usually busy guarding over loved ones…have decided to take a break and play “Let’s f*ck with Draz and see just how much she can handle before she explodes”. The little twirps.

I say BRING IT ON. I’m not the same Draz I was even a year ago. I laugh in the face of spontaneity. I revel in uncertainty. I dream of being pulled in 16 different directions.

I’m like Martha Stewart and Betty Crocker rolled into one – complete with socks that match my underwear that match my napkins – minus the apron.

All week long I kept telling myself – just get through Tuesday and you’re home free.

Um…not so much.

I feel the need to write down the little challenges that are today – because – it calms me. Believe it or not – if I see it in type – it seems less daunting.

Here we go.

Let’s start with last night about midnight. It decides to thunderstorm. I’ve emailed God and asked him to hold off on any thunder until the weekends but I’m pretty sure he skipped that email and went on to others that really mattered. So we have thunder on a Tuesday night.

30 seconds later…we have Banana in our bed.

“Mama, I need to cuddle you.”

Yup – I don’t care what you do. You can sit on my head and play Barbies right now as long as I don’t have to open my eyes. So we cuddle. She sleeps and Rambo sleeps. I do not…because Banana is a squirmer. At one point about 1am I do remember rolling over and holding Banana tight in her silky pajamas. I remember feeling her breathe and thinking it comes close to the most precious feeling on Earth and I’m incredibly lucky….right as Banana rolled over and grabbed my hand to hold.

Then reality slapped the shit out of me and 2am came and I went on the couch. Let them sleep. 3am Rambo comes out and I hear him say, “Baby, what are you doing out here? Come back to bed with me so I can hold you.”

I say – there’s no room. Banana is in there. He says, “No she isn’t.”

Apparently she left. No one alerted the media. So I get up – go back to bed. 4am Rambo wakes me up to kiss me goodbye for the day. What a restful night. *sigh*

I get to work. Crazy busy. Fine – who cares. I’ll just eat pasta from Pizza Hut and start a Mountain Dew IV drip and be fine. While I coordinate and beg the sitter to take Banana to the dentist today because I cannot. While I coordinate with my mother telling her if Rambo has to work overtime she’ll have to pick up Watermelon from school.

While I coordinate with my PT woman trainer about coming to her house tonight to finish my report due in now only 8 days. While I coordinate with the other clerk – asking her to come meet us too so we can finish this crap.

While I realize Watermelon also has a 6pm meeting I have to take her to.

And then the phone rings and it’s my contractor. Work on our kitchen remodel was to begin next week – with a warning call first. He’s calling TODAY to say can he start TOMORROW?!!

Apparently he has a penis and therefore has no idea how to PRE-plan or PRE-warn his customers.

So he’s asking can I clean off every speck of countertop, move every curio cabinet, kitchen table, the grandfather clock and coats and “amuck” that is generally in one’s kitchen and dining room – tonight – in the 1 hour I have before I go to trainer woman’s house? So then I can paint the entire ceiling this weekend – because yes – that is what I want to do more than anything.

All this depending on if Rambo even comes home tonight cuz I can’t do it all alone. That stuff is heavy. Funny thing with that is that Rambo usually emails me ALL day long. A lot. Today?

One email at 6am and I haven’t heard from him since. Now to anyone whose husband works at a normal job – that’s no biggie. Rambo working in a Supermax prison and no email = scared Draz.

By noon I finally email him and say “Are you okay?”

One reply. He simply says, “It’s been a morning from Hell. I am just calming down.”

Jesus idiot. That tells me NOTHING. I need details. Are you hurt? Did you get assaulted? Did you have to suit up on an inmate? Is the FBI there again? We have one hour to nearly demo our damn kitchen tonight SO tell me if you’re coming home!!!!!!!!!!!!

The answer to that – “We can move stuff. I’m going to need some dessert. Want to have tacos tonight?”

Another person with a penis. I have no idea if he’s hurt or what happened because all the man can write about is sex and food….because in penis-world - sex and food rank right up there with breathing air and pooping on the priority list.

Yes, just try to be jealous of me. I live the life of a Princess.

I’ll be alright. I’ll go get a candy bar. Chocolate fixes everything. That’s a proven fact.

Anyone wanna bet on what time the migraine man arrives?

No worries. Like I said…I’ll survive. I’m a stronger me. I may be shitting tornadoes and my eyes are puffy and nearly closed shut and my body is screaming “Woman – have you ever heard of sleep?”…..but Ima gonna divide and conquer.

God help the Principal if he calls today to tell me B denied everything.

Today – Drazil is no ordinary lizard….he’s gonna have to be a damn dragon if we’re going to make it through the day.

He might even have to breathe a little bit of fire.

Snorting Mountain Dew.

Let’s just put it out there.

I’m a wuss of epic proportions. Thriving on routine doesn’t really do me any favors. This week is anything but routine and my little Negative Nancy brain is almost planning a massive migraine at the end of this week.

I completed my day that began at 6am yesterday and ended at 11:30pm. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. That’s not that big of a deal if the entire time I didn’t have to be thinking. Like with my own brain.

By about 10pm, I couldn’t answer questions without slurring and talking like I’d been hit with a baseball bat. No one should do anything that has to do with shared revenues and mill rates and water main breaks past 5pm in my opinion…least of all after 9 previous hours of already intense brain work.

What the hell was I thinking?

4 hours in and the report that is due to the State for the 2nd PT job by March 31st only has 15 errors in it (yes, I realize I waited until the last minute to do this report). I’m told this is really good. Sounds terrible though, doesn’t it? I mean if 15 errors is good I wonder what is bad.

Minutes before I saw these 15 errors, the woman training me let it slip that "the entire town's revenues and grants and fundings are based off this report we're doing now."

Um yes...it's time to stop for the night.  I have to go throw up now.  No pressure or anything.

*Sigh*  The bad news is I have to do this again on Wednesday night. The good news is it should be just for a few hours.

Today is the full time job, the meeting with the Principal and teacher and then straight to a Board meeting for the 3rd PT job. Somewhere in the middle of all this I’d like to breathe and try to fart a gumdrop or two. Oh and see my kid’s faces…to remember what they look like.

Yes, this is the part where you all say in unison, “Draz – you dumbass – you signed up for jobs A, B, & C – cuz you have a Superwoman complex AND because you need to supplement your shoe fund. Stop buying shoes or shut up.”

I think we all know I’m not going to stop buying shoes right?

In my defense, it’s just a bad time. It’s the first of the year so many reports and taxes and such are due so it’s balls to the wall……and soon, it’ll calm down.

By the way, Rambo made it home from his moshing bliss at 1:30am. I have no idea if he’s bloody like he usually is when he comes home from those or if he has a voice – it was 1:30am people – this mama was sleeping. I remember asking him a few questions but he couldn’t hear me over the ringing in his ears. I will say I made sure that all night long I texted him “suggestive” texts so as to drive him nuts because he was far away and couldn’t do anything about it.

Serves him right. Anyone who willingly goes into mosh pits deserves to be tortured in some way in my opinion.

I will probably pay for that tonight. I hope anyway. *wink wink* I may be tired…but I’m not dead.

Bring on the Mountain Dew. Maybe I’ll try to snort it. Wonder if that would work?

I’ll go into that school meeting wired and high on snorted Mt. Dew. Here’s hoping you don’t see me on the news tonight.

I'm taking all your advice with me and I'll report tomorrow!

Living on quicksand....

Am I?


Undecided
Wish-washy
Unable to take a stand
Wavering
Disloyal

OR

Am I?

Unwavering
Standing by my convictions
Passionate
Unyielding
Standing on solid ground
Assured

I. Don’t. Know.

In regards to the “situation” at school with Watermelon…I just don’t know. Instead of feeling more sure of my stand on the whole thing – I am more confused than ever.

I am ever-changing and evolving and there is much to be said for the whole – “take a step back and cool off” method of parenting that so many swear by.

I will tell you that Thursday night when my child came home crying – I could have ripped a fire-breathing dragon’s head off. Hell – I *was* the fire-breathing dragon. In that moment – I could have fought any war and won.

And now? Days later, tons of viewpoints later, emotions calmed down later….I don’t know. I am faltering instead of standing tall as a mother with convictions and it doesn’t feel so good.

I feel like I'm living on quicksand.

I want you to know I read every comment from all of you and I took them all in. I got multiple viewpoints from my relatives too. At this point – my anger is from my child being reprimanded by a teacher’s recess aide…who is known to hate children (um…fired from bus driving) – and not so much from the fact that she was in trouble to begin with (screaming probably isn’t appropriate). I am enraged that my daughter who I have explained is sensitive and emotional – was in a room with that woman – alone and telling her she had no character – with the door shut…to fend for herself.

Part of me wants to protect her from that and part of me wants her to see sometimes life sucks and it’s not fair – BUT – she survived and beyond that environment – she is loved beyond belief.

Can I always rescue? Should I? How the hell do I ever know the tone, the volume of the teacher’s aide’s voice, the things that were said, how it went down?

I cannot. I should not. I will not.

And so Rambo and I have a meeting tomorrow night with Watermelon’s actual teacher and the Principal. The aide will not be present. If I’m honest – I don’t know what I’ll say. My anger has faded a bit. I feel deflated. I am questioning whether I have the right to ask that my child not be reprimanded by an authority figure without my presence. Is that realistic? If every teacher had to have a witness to discipline – not much would get done. Don’t I have to trust teachers to do their job?

Maybe. And that’s the key. This was not a teacher. No training, no degree.

Oh and by the way, said teacher’s aide pulled Watermelon aside Friday in the hall and said, “Watermelon, are you alright? I thought about you all night.”

WHAT? I thought Watermelon was the one at fault and in the wrong and worthy of a lecture alone in a room by you? The one with no character or self-control? The one you left sobbing? And now you worried about her all night? Is that the definition of a mixed message or what?

I think you felt guilty. You may have gone too far. You may have found out about the meeting we set up tomorrow. I think you’re covering your ass – cuz you’ve been down this road before.

Beyond this “crap” happening, I went to a family outing on Rambo’s side this weekend. I did well…minimal hives and stomach upset. I was proud of me. Physically my body said different. When I got home I got sick. Whatever.

Today I work a good 15 or so hours. Mentally exhausting brain-work and some of that involves going to another person’s house and working side-by-side with someone for 4 to 5 hours. Believe you me when I say I’ll be mentally preparing for that event all damn day.

But I’ll go and I’ll do it and I’ll survive and I’ll conquer and I’ll be a stronger person for it. Rambo will be moshing the night away and at least my own hives will keep my worry about him away.

Not to mention it makes me realize the man Rambo is…he pulls 16 hour days with minimal sleep all the time. Me? Just this once. And you’d think I was climbing a mountain barefoot with one arm and no eyes.

So to all my followers who work 16 hour days with worry about your children and husband always in the background and hives up your ass and dreams of napping in your head….I’ll get through this day for you. It’s seriously impressive.

And tomorrow? Well…let’s just say I can’t think about that today…..because the truth is I don’t know donkey shit about how the school meeting will go or even what I want from it or even if anything I want is realistic?

Who has the “How to Raise a Child” book right now? I need to borrow it. For – like – ever.


P.S.
Today is my bestie anniversary with Jenny!  2 years ago we had a ceremony and made it official.  I'm kidding.  LOL.  Ah...where does the time go?  I love you Jenny...to the moon and back again.

I stopped believing.....................(more bullying madness)

When it came to dealing with Watermelon and the bullying situation – I’ll admit I wanted the fairy tale ending. I wanted the “Made for Lifetime” movie script – word for word. I wanted to stay naïve and believe in people and their goodness.


I should have known better.

Here’s the latest.

A couple of times in the last week or so, Watermelon has said that Rose is being mean again BUT she lets it go and isn’t all consumed by it and she’s still a happy kid and her and I both know Rose is not going to instantly become a nice girl every day overnight. Watermelon is handling it and for the most part things were okay.

Until yesterday.

A lot of Watermelon’s problems come from sports – and being good at them. Many of the fights start with her winning or getting Rose out or beating a boy at something – and some kids, especially boys – don’t take losing well – especially to a girl. And Watermelon does not understand that. She plays to her ability and usually wins because she is good at it.

Yesterday, she was playing a game with 5 or 6 kids and she ended up getting a kid who is new to the school out. Right away the other boys start saying Watermelon shouldn’t have done that cuz the boy is new and she should be nicer….while Watermelon thinks “Um, isn’t the point of the game to get people out?”

They all start in on her I guess – including Rose at this point. She’s an athletic girl like Watermelon. Again – the cause of many of their problems.

It’s been a few days of this and when it became multiple people yelling at her - Watermelon said, “Mom, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I screamed – at the top of my lungs. I just screamed.”

The recess teacher of course, saw the whole game being played and them yelling at Watermelon (and did nothing) and saw the scream.

Let me tell you about this “teacher”. She is not a teacher. She used to drive the school bus and was FIRED….because she was so disrespectful, insubordinate and had so many complaints against her from parents. She is not a person who likes kids. She is generally a mean person – even to adults. So when they fired her from bus driving – the school gave her a job in the freaking library.

WHAT?

She can’t be nice to kids who walk by her for a moment and sit in a seat but you’re going to put her in a library filled with kids all day????

So yes – she has no training as a teacher. She is not a teacher. She abhors kids.

She was the person who saw Watermelon scream. She takes Watermelon inside.

Now – my first thought as a smart adult would be – hmmm…this child who is never loud or in trouble or disruptive felt the need to scream bloody murder out of nowhere – I wonder what would cause that?

Nope. When Watermelon said “I couldn’t take them picking on me” – the teacher asked her to point out who did it. Great – now you made my kid tattle to you which makes the 5 kids like Watermelon even less. She lightly told them to knock it off and sent them on their way.

Oh after of course, the teacher also told them they couldn’t play the game anymore….which then made the kids even more mad at Watermelon – because now it’s her fault they can’t play the game. Nice.

And for Watermelon? The teacher took her in a room and shut the door and proceeded to lecture her and even yell and tell her she has no self control, she isn’t showing any good character traits and on and on.

In a room alone. My 10 year old. A nasty lady. Yelling. I can barely type the words.

I am livid. I can’t even explain to you what Rambo is.

I want to know what character trait that teacher was using when she took it upon herself to take Watermelon in there and scare the shit out of my 10 year old?

I can agree Watermelon shouldn’t have screamed….but…Watermelon said this teacher saw all of this before she screamed and did NOTHING. When Watermelon came back to the classroom crying after being yelled at – her own classroom teacher – did nothing. Didn’t ask if she was alright. Nothing.

Mind you – I’ve told this actual teacher Watermelon is emotional and sensitive…events like this change and shape who she is. And I’m pissed.

The Principal wasn’t around when this all went down…I have no idea if that would have helped or hindered.

The main thing is I never ever want my child alone in a room with an adult who is raising their voice to her. Ever. Even if she’s in trouble – they can talk to her about it when I’m around. Period.

I forgot to mention that last year on a day when there wasn’t school – Rambo went there to grab Watermelon’s report card. The school was open for that. When Rambo went in he heard yelling – loud yelling. He realized it was coming from the Principal’s office and realized he could hear the yelling THROUGH the closed door. Later on – the door opened. Out walked the Superintendent of our school. Out walked the Principal.

And out walked a 6th grade student.

No parent.  No one on the kid's side.  He was all alone.

They had yelled at a kid so loudly you could hear them through doors – by himself – probably scared as hell. To this day – I have no idea if his parents know that happened because Rambo didn’t know the kid so we couldn’t tell the parents. Even if the kid had done something wrong – which he probably did – what gave them that right?

If that was my kid – I’d be outraged. That night Rambo went to the school board meeting and stood up and told everyone on the board what he saw and heard and told them if he ever heard that they took his kid alone in a room and raised their voices – there’d be hell to pay. The Superintendent said to Rambo, “My door is always open if you want to discuss this further.”

Rambo said, “The only way I’ll ever speak to you again is if a police officer is present.” And he walked out.


And now this? An authority figure – who isn’t even a damn teacher – took my child in a room and shut the door and told her she had no character….because she screamed when the teasing was too much.

Wow.

Suffice it to say my heart is hurting. I can’t do anything without wondering if Watermelon is okay. I can’t get the thought of her fear in the moment that teacher shut the door out of my head. I can’t get that moment back and make her know everything is okay and she’s safe. I can’t change what it did to her.

I could barely hold in my tears as she cried telling me not to send her back there today. I could barely hold back Rambo from going back up to that school and getting his own justice with his own words.

I have scheduled a meeting on Tuesday to discuss this with the actual teacher and the Principal. We want assurances that the Principal will talk to the teacher who yelled at Watermelon. Beyond that – I don’t know what we want.

I want it over.

I want to believe in people’s goodness again. I want to hold Watermelon in my arms and erase the hurt.

I want to be strong enough to go in there Tuesday and not come unglued on everyone.

But I’m at my limit. And Rambo is well over his.

Rambo doesn’t get mad. In the 20 years I’ve known him…I’ve rarely seen it. The only times are when someone hurts me or his girls or when a prisoner goes too far. The last time someone tried to hurt me the guy ended up beaten to a pulp with other guys having to pull Rambo off of him….and that was high school. Obviously, Rambo isn’t going to physically harm anyone because he’s no longer in high school….but….

Suffice it to say I wouldn’t want to be the person on the receiving end of his anger.

So yah…I’m worried, scared, full of anxiety, angry and hurt.

Do you think I’m over-reacting? Please be honest.

BYOC Friday!!!!! ♥♪ Bring Your Own Crazy ♥♪

It’s BYOC Friday – Bring Your Own Crazy! Five little questions – some funny, some serious – that you can copy and paste to your blog. We do this in an effort to get to know each other better and to give our blogging brains a break! Enjoy!

Side note: Some of the questions today or upcoming may be repeats BUT some newbies have asked that I ask them so if you don’t mind re-answering that’d be great for all the new bloggers who are getting to know us “oldies”!

1. Regardless of what stage you are in - in your weight loss, get healthy journey – do you still consider yourself “fat”? Was there a point when you stopped feeling that way?

• Hmmm…I guess I don’t consider myself fat BUT the funny part of that is that I don’t consider myself skinny. I know I’m not at 226 where I started but I’m not at goal either and I have a hard time seeing my body the way others do. I do know that before I had my tummy tuck when I was at goal (153 to be exact) – I remember miraculously LOVING every part of my body (except the hanging skin). I remember feeling thin every day. That was something…almost magical. THAT is where I want to be again.

2. Tell us about your first kiss.

• Ahhh…6th grade. I was petite and he was HUGE. Like as in 6 feet tall Ima gonna be a professional linebacker guy. He made the comment once that my entire butt fit in his one hand. Why on Earth I let some guy touch my butt in 6th is beyond me BUT I also let him kiss me. And I was scared to death. I ran to my friend’s arms and cried I was so scared. He was the nicest guy on Earth and we’re still friends to this day. He still tells me I was his first love and that the last day he ever cried was when I broke up with him. Holy guilt trip huh? LOL

3. Describe your parenting style (either current or what you hope to do or what you would do if you ever had kids)?

• Crap – I’m not sure I have a style. I, frankly, think I suck at it. I’m too selfish to be a good parent. I like afternoon naps and sleeping in and time alone with Rambo and mundane things like that – that don’t happen often when you’re a mom. I’m pretty laid back though.

Honestly, if my kids say they aren’t hungry – I say okay – then we won’t eat until you are. If they want to eat a rice krispie treat for breakfast on a weekend – I eat one with them. If they want to take a huge bubble bath at 1pm – I say “have at it”. I do this because all of those things are things I never would have been allowed to do – ever. And I think life is too short to not do stuff like that. My girls have all the things I never had – including a father who is present, available and in love with them….and shows it every day.

We’re both big on respect. We don’t tolerate disrespect or being mean and snotty. Pretty basic parenting I think. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done and I’m pretty sure I’m scarring them both in some way but that remains to be seen right?

4. How would your best friend describe you?

• This is hard. No idea why. Maybe I’m just in awe that I can answer this question. It’s taken me all my life to finally find my best friend sooo just the fact that I can answer this is enough for me. I think Jenny would say I’m nice. She always tells me I look smoking hot. She’d say I was a good mother and friend and worker too.

5. Repeat question: Summarize your week in blog land and in real life.

In real life – I’m being tested at every turn. Apparently, God is trying to tell me something – so I’m trying to stay open and willing to see the positive in things…but in reality – I feel like I’m living in a big shit storm. I’ve had migraines and a cold – so I haven’t worked out like I would have liked. I’m worried about some political things happening in our state that affect Rambo’s job. I’m preparing to have lasik surgery soon with Rambo. Things have taken a turn for the worse with Watermelon (I’m posting later on that). Part-time job deadlines are LOOMING while the full time job is crazy busy too. Rambo is working shit-tons of overtime so I miss him like crazy.

It’s just an “odd” time for me…but I shall survive. I am woman – hear me ROAR….right?

In blogland – um yes – I am sucktastic as well. I barely posted and barely commented and I feel guilty and regretful for that. My followers are so important to me and always fill my life with comments and love and when I can’t reciprocate that – it hurts my heart. Here’s hoping next week will be better.

Love to you all! ♥♥

I just can't title this post.

There will be absolutely no rhyme or reason or flow within this blog post. There – I said it. I feel better now that you’ve been warned.


• I was watching that show “Heavy” the other night and a therapist had two people dig a hole in the dirt and then throw donuts, pizza, candy, and everything bad for you into the hole. Burying the food was the metaphor. Burying who they used to be and what they used to put in their bodies before they changed. They did it. They literally threw brownies in the dirt - and pizza and donuts and everything. And they yelled at the food and screamed, “Goodbye!” They said they didn’t want the food anymore.

Well, I’m just here to tell you that I’m crazy because even 5 years into becoming healthy I still would not and could not throw pizza into anything unless it was a bigger pizza I could fold it up into. If say a pizza or candy bar or chip is in my hands and my fingers are wrapped around it – the only place it’s then going is in my mouth. It’s not leaving my hands for any other reason.

I never don’t want junk. I’m losing weight and working out but you can bet your sweet ass that my still cellulite-y ass still had a Milky Way for breakfast today. If someone asked me to throw a Milky Way into a hole I’d take off running – with the Milky Way. That’s just sacrilege. Wasteful. Crazy. And mean to the Milky Way. I mean it’s not the candy bar’s fault is it? I couldn’t believe they did it. I cried – for the food. Never, ever have I stopped wanting the crap stuff that got me to 226 pounds…and I doubt I ever will. I mean, yes, I crave healthy food but I sure as hell crave bad food just the same as I did when I started this journey. Do you?

• My sister graduates from college in May. Anyone have any creative, meaningful graduation gift ideas I could steal? A long time ago, I had an artist sketch a tattoo for her and I that we were both going to get some day but then she decided she doesn’t want any tattoos. There’s a lot of meaning in the picture and I thought about having Joey make it into a piece of artwork and framing it but I’m not sure if that’s something that she’d even like….so I’m torn…and need more ideas.

• All of you runners out there – which now includes my best friend Jenny …do any of you have a favorite runner’s drinky thingy? I have decided I do not want a waist band that carries a water bottle. I want one that your hand grasps around and straps to the back of your hand so it stays on and you don’t really even have to grasp it. There are so many online – anyone have any they LOVE and would recommend for long distance running? I have to have one when the real marathon training begins.

• There’s a good chance I may try a Zumba class Sunday. Now…you’re all probably saying, “Woot – Draz is finally going to join the rest of the mobs who’ve been doing Zumba for eons now and get on board.” Well yes, and thank you BUT the more pressing matter in all of this is – Draz doesn’t do public exericising.

Public is scary enough – add exercising and it’s downright puke-worthy. I may throw up before I even get there. The good thing is I’m not going alone – I mean duh. Isn’t that a given? I could never do something so fear and anxiety provoking alone. I may or may not go. It may be too much and Zumba and hives may not mix. Zumba and Xanax however – I have heard – are great together.

• Another exercise question for you pros out there. I know some of you are jump roping. Quick, convenient, easy and effective for toning. My question is – is one way of jumping better? I mean when you jump do you do the “hop up and down using your front tippy toes” or do you do the “one foot over, then the other foot follows” kind of jump. I would think the first would be more of a workout. Does it matter? Yes – yes – yes – I’m anal. We’ve established that already, haven’t we?

• Do any of you do real sprint intervals when you interval train? By this I mean when you are on the treadmill or running and you do intervals – (like 2 minutes at a high speed which makes you run back to a low speed where you either walk or jog slow) - do you ever literally sprint – like all out dead run as fast as you can no breathing I might trip and fall I’m running so fast and my boobs are slapping me in the face for 20 seconds and then recover? I’ve never done that kind of interval training – the all out sprinting like I’m running the 100m dash in track back in high school kind. I’m going to start though. It could be a heck of an endorphine rush. 20 seconds is the max sprint on the treadmill or just a short distance if I’m running the halls or outside. I’ll keep you posted on how I like it.

• I would just like to say I have so many deadlines for my part time jobs that I’m going to try to fly up a witch’s butt so I can ignore all of it. I have a 16 hour day coming up because of it. Though I’m technically unable to whine about this – because Rambo does 16 hour shifts at a prison constantly – Ima gonna….cuz I’m a girl…and it’s whine-worthy don’t you think?

• Speaking of my upcoming 16 hour day – would you all like to know what Rambo will be doing that day while his wife slaves away? Moshing. Screaming. Devil-horning. If you don’t know what any of those are – well – you’re not missing much.

Moshing is when a bunch of – usually high and drunk – MEN (women aren’t that dumb) – form a circle and then randomly people fly into the middle of the circle head on to each other – slamming their bodies into someone they’ve never met until they are pushed back out to the outer circle. Rambo loves moshing. Probably because it’s dangerous. I have watched him do it and he usually comes out bloody. And he’s usually the only one not high or drunk….which makes it worse. At least the other men have an excuse as to why they’d do something so dumb. Jesus. Anyway – Rambo loves this event so much he’s going to a heavy metal concert alone the night I work. (clearly this man does not share my social anxieties) It is good I work – or I’d just worry. Good God.

• Lastly – anyone got any BYOC questions for me tomorrow so I can redeem myself after the XXX rated ones? If you do – lemme know via my email and I’ll do my best to include them. It can be anything your little mind is dying to know about your fellow bloggers (if there’s anything left to know after last week).

Love to you all!

Do you know how to swim?

Well, suffice it to say my feet are firmly planted in “life is too hard to live right now” Land. Things are definitely not going according to plan BUT – get this?!


I’m not sinking. Not even close to drowning. Don’t even feel the need to put on a life vest. Haven’t even felt a gush of water fill up my lungs enough to make my eyes bulge out.

If you’re thinking that’s not impressive….well, for me it is.

You see, I’m a control freak. And a routine whore. And damn near OCD about knowing what’s going to happen before it happens. I put the P in planning.

Spontaneity is my evil step-sister. It doesn’t belong in my family.

I detest things that “just happen”. I’m the kind of girl that needs a warning…so I can prepare.

When things like migraines pop up and force me to take days off work and sleep half the day away – not only do I physically shut down – but I mentally lose my grip too. When Rambo works so much overtime that the girls and I don’t see him…my heart starts to hurt – physically and mentally.

When I’m too tired and worn out from the exhaustion of dealing with things that happened that I didn’t plan or couldn’t control…I start to shut down. I don’t work out like I planned to. I don’t get work done on my PT jobs like I should. I don’t comment on blogs like is my routine. I don’t do anything I normally do.

And the downward spiral begins. I start to regress. I back away from anything human unless it’s Rambo, my girls or Jenny. I stay home. I give up. I stop moving, eating and drinking…because Drazil says, “What’s the point? You plan and plan and it all goes awry. Give up. It’s just easier.”

I get angry. I get sad. I get irritated at life. I question my work and my worth. I want to let go of the effort that life takes to live.

Except this time – I don’t.

This time – somehow – my brain is telling me, “Meh, hang on…just a little bit longer and you’ll feel better. You can do this. You can outlast this stint of shit and get back to roses in no time.”

My brain is telling me that instead of hating these things I can’t control and these things I hate like colds and migraines and plans going wrong – that I should take them all in – and literally embrace them. I’ve long known it’s not good to be so stuck on routine. Being that way means when things don’t go as planned, I literally feel shell-shocked, almost paralyzed...unable to cope.

That’s no way to live because we all know – life never goes as planned.

The fact is I can deal with these things. I cannot work out right now but dammit I will again soon. I’ll be damned if I’m going to throw in the towel. So I feel like elephant shit? So what? That doesn’t mean eating Twix will fix it and I know that. I can still control my diet.

I have to realize I’m stronger than any bad day or week or feeling. I possess the inner will to conquer whatever comes my way – be it planned or not. Life isn’t about planning…it’s about rolling with the punches and being open to whatever happens in every moment.

The truth is – in planning – I lose sight of the unplanned. I lose sight of little things that happen that I couldn’t control that could change my life. I focus so much on the planned that I miss the unplanned moments.

It is true I don’t feel well – physically or mentally – but even so…I can say I am okay. Something in me knows this is temporary. Something in me knows there is a lesson here…and God is trying to show me something – if I allow myself to listen I’ll hear the message….and I’ll be stronger and wiser and more complete if I can get through this.

I’ve heard it said before that if you’re out in open water and you can’t swim – the worst thing to do is panic and start flailing. You’ll surely drown – out of fear or exhaustion.

It’s the same for me now. Everything seems out of control. I have no desire to write. No desire to open my planner. No want to complete tasks. No need to work out and sweat. No initiative to do what it takes to be me.

Normally – warning bells would be ringing loudly in my ears by now after typing the above. It signals a depression relapse could be around the corner. Strangely, that’s not happening this time. The bells are silent. I almost feel confident in not knowing what’s on the horizon. I am looking forward to meeting this upheaval in my life with focus and drive and the intent to come out a better me on the other side.

I’m not going to panic. I know how to swim.

The truth is all I have to do is find the courage to use the tools that I already have. Like my legs. If I’d just believe in myself enough to stand up…I’d realize the water is only knee high….

…and I can walk onto dry land any time I’m ready.


So how about you?  Are you drowning....or do you know how to swim?

A little Saturday fun!

My lovely, little BFF did this on her blog, so I'm gonna do it on mine.  Join in if you want!

Sorry about the quality of my pic...my camera sucks donkey balls.

Let's Play! I love seeing handwriting, so show me yours. Pretty please? With a cherry on top?


1. What is your name?
2. What is your blog name?
3. Write: the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.
4. Favorite quote
5. Favorite song
6. Favorite band/singers
7. Say anything you want
8. Pass it along to a few bloggers
 
Happy Handwriting!

BYOC - Bring Your Own Crazy...the PG version.

For those of you who can’t do the *naughty* BYOC today, I thought I’d throw out the normal PG rated version so everyone can participate.


Enjoy!

1. If you were a salad, what kind of dressing would you want on you?

• Fat free thousand island or fat free ranch baby!

2. What is your quirkiest habit and how long have you had it?

I’m not sure if this is “quirky” – but I’m a grammar whore. As far back as when I was 15 and Rambo wrote me love letters – I corrected them with red pen. Isn’t that ridiculous?

Another dumb habit everyone in my life makes fun of me for? I sleep with two stuffed animals Rambo gave me when we first started dating. They are more than 20 years old now and they don’t look too pretty BUT it’s hard to sleep without them. When we go away even for a weekend – I pack them. If I forget – before we leave – Rambo always grabs them for me. I sleep with one on each side of me…and yes, each one has its certain side. My mom and sister think it’s dumb and tease me all the time.

3. If I looked in your fridge, what’s the first thing I’d see?

Mountain Dew. Lots of the straight up non-diet yellow sugary goodness. And not much else right now…it’s kinda empty.

4. Who or what inspires you and why?

As a woman - Jenny. I never have and probably never will meet another woman who gets me, yet questions me and is proud of me yet pushes me to be more. And to have known her since I was young – to see her grow up and become a mother and a wife and then have the honor of calling her my best friend is nothing short of amazing to me. She says, does and is all the things I want to be. She makes me a better me.

In daily life – my girls inspire me – to see the little things in life.

As a man - Rambo. Without him, I am not me. There are no words to describe the kind of man he is or the kind of father he is. It just can’t be done.

5. Repeat question. Summarize your week in blogland and in real life.

I answered this on the “naughty” BYOC – but I’ll answer again.

I’ve been sick with the flu and migraines and that has sucked the life from me so I haven’t been commenting. I hope to catch up this weekend. Rambo is home so I’m super stoked about that! YAY!

Find the joy.

I left Care Bear land and took up permanent residence in Hell over the last few days. My new name is Negative Nancy.


I will resume my post as Positive Patty soon…but it ain’t happening today.

There will be no “I love my body” pictures today. Let’s not even go there.

Rambo had to work overtime again last night and I swear to you on all that is holy – every five minutes from one of the girls I would get, “When is Daddy coming home? I miss him.” I hate that they are sad and miss him but I hate hearing the question because then we all miss him more. When he’s gone, the key is staying active and busy.

That is – if you’re head isn’t going to explode and you can move. I had a small headache all day but that’s all part of this stupid flu going around. By the evening I had a full blown migraine. Normally I never let myself get to that point but for some reason yesterday – I did. By the time I took a pain pill – I was in “someone please cut my head off and bury it in the sand” mode.

I needed dark. And quiet. And sleep.

But none of things was gonna happen – because I’m a mom….without Rambo to be exact. Ack.

The bright spot in all of this is that Rambo is off this weekend. Thank God. He always gets off two in a row before he works another six. Here’s hoping my feet are firmly planted in Care Bear Land by tomorrow.

Oh and yes – I haven’t worked out in a week. I just can’t. I feel like dog poo poo every other five minutes and I just can’t. My BFF Jenny has taken over where I left off. She’s a workout Queen and because of her I “want” to get back to it – and I will. Have no fear – Mrs. I Love to Sweat is absent – but she is not gone.

Also, I tried to read blogs last night and comment but I just couldn't...I'll catch up this weekend I promise.

By the time Rambo actually got home, I was in the fetal position and I told him to kill me.  He was pretty sure we were headed to the ER for a "cocktail" but it lessened as time passed.  Today, I'm at work..and about to take another pain pill.  God help me!

One last thing. I have an image in my head that I’m going to cling to all damn day long – so as not to kill each person I come into contact with.

Banana – the five year old – especially missed Rambo last night. She went to sleep in his prison guard shirt. It’s a short sleeved size XL shirt. On her it’s a long-sleeved to the floor dress.

This morning she came in my room while I was getting ready…all sleepy-eyed with her eyes squinched tight against the light. She stood there and I swear to you I’ve never seen anything more precious.

She had on pajamas that consisted of a tank and matching shorts with ruffles – yellow with elephants all over them. And on top of that – still Rambo’s shirt. Hanging to the floor – nearly swallowing her up.

In her sleepy little voice she showed me every single badge on her Daddy’s shirt – as if I’d never seen them before. As she walked away with her shirt dragging, the kitties decided the tails of the shirt were playtoys. So she walks – and 2 cats try to drag her down and she giggles. Off she goes to put on snow boots – big furry pink obnoxious snow boots people.

And that is how she went to the sitters.

Yellow elephant pajamas covered by her Daddy’s prison guard shirt and fluffy pink snow boots. What a sight.

You couldn’t look at her and not smile.

I can guarantee you she won’t take that thing off until Rambo is home. It’s like her love and her pride for him all mixed into one shirt.

I emailed Rambo at work and told him and he said, “Man, I wish I had a picture of that.”

He’ll carry the image all day…and so will I.

It’s the little things people. You gotta find joy in the little things.

Or you’ll stab some poor guy’s eyes out with a fork.

The Call.

Sooo – remember the other day when I said something miraculous happened and I was a big smurf ass and left you all hanging like it was gonna be as life-altering as when Charlie Sheen gets sober or something?


Well…turns out it was so huge that I, being the complete scatterbrain that I am, forgot to finish the damn story. Yes, yes…professional idiot blogger right here folks.

Anywhoozle…here’s the jist of what I consider the miraculous event.

Mrs. Fatass called me. Like she dialed my number and called me.

Are you rolling your eyes? Are you throwing your hands up and shouting, “That’s it?”?

Seriously though…if you know “our kind” – you know this is huge. You see, MF and I suffer from some pretty severe social anxiety. The kind that makes you physically ill, makes you sweat like you’re about to be dropped off a cliff, covers you in hives, makes you shake, and basically paralyzes you.

Family, friends or strangers – doesn’t matter – the fear is the same.

A big part of our social anxiety is the phone. We rarely pick it up to call someone or pick it up when someone is calling us. The literal sound of the ring can cause panic and my blood pressure and heart rate to spike.

Let me also say that when I do have to make a phone call that I can’t avoid…I plan every freaking word. I know what I’m going to say and when. I plan every detail out. I know what I’ll say if it’s voice mail and let’s just get this straight – I *want and need* it to be voicemail. I don’t really want to hear a live person on the other end. That’s just too much.

Hence, this gumdrop-farting woman LOVES email. I never have to speak to or look anyone in the eyes. I don’t have to try not to throw up.

Back to the phone call day. That same day, Jenny had called me. After years of being best friends – I now pick up the phone willingly and even call Jenny myself. She is one of few.

We had a great conversation and we laughed our ample butts off and I was on a “Jenny just called, I answered, and I’m not covered in hives” high. The minute I hung up the phone from Jenny, my cell phone rang.

WTF? First of all – my cell phone doesn’t ring. No one calls me. They know I won’t pick up. Most people aren’t aware I have a cell phone. I just started texting a few months ago.

But yes, it was not a mirage – the phone was indeed ringing and it said in bright neon flashing numbers (okay fine, they were just normal numbers) – Mrs. Fatass.

We’re not going to go into how wrong it is that I have officially entered someone in my phone as Mrs. Fatass. It is what it is.

Now MF and I have texted before. When she travels I know she’s fighting off convulsions about every other second, so I routinely text her and say things like,

“Breathe…your head is going to fall off if you let it turn blue like that again.”  or
“Put down the drink – people started to look at you funny after you ordered your fifth one in five minutes. Try Xanax instead.” or
“You are one hot fatass and that’s why people are staring at you. No one even noticed your face is covered in hives.”

You know – real supportive stuff.

BUT – we do not talk. We do not chat. We do not call each other. We mutually know we cannot and do not even want to. It’s just too much for either of us at this point.

Well until Mrs. Overachiever decides to change the plan. Mrs. O. Hmmm…doesn’t roll off the tongue like Mrs. Fatass does it?

In the split second that I was still on a high from talking to Jenny – I picked up said ringing phone. I said, “Hello?”

Silence.

Then multiple swear words I cannot repeat here.

Then finally, “You picked up the phone? You answered? What am I supposed to do with that? You never answer! I wanted voicemail. I have it all planned out! Now I don’t know what to do. What are you doing picking up?”

Um, shit. I don’t know. I think I'm sorry.  Should I hang up now?  The hives are coming. Why did you call?  Is someone dying? Is the Earth falling in on itself? Has Elvis come back from the dead for real? Why are you calling me on a real phone like normal people do?

Let’s just say there was mucho stuttering and lots of laughing at ourselves and when I finally asked again why she called – she simply said, “For nothing. No reason. I’m calling because I can. Because I’m medicated strong enough to do something so simple. Because I was thinking of you and I wanted you to know that. Nothing more, nothing less.”

If I wasn’t choking down puke in my mouth, I probably would have choked back a tear or two.

While it is funny…I know it’s also profound. And I know the amount of difficulty behind it. I know the anxiety she felt in literally dialing each number. I know that in those few digits – she contemplated backing out close to 100 times. I know it was a step.

You see, while again, the anxiety can be funny – it is also exhausting. Many of you call people all day – and never miss a step. Knowing I have to make even one phone call all day requires planning, courage, working up to it and rehearsing and it can suck the life out of me. Going somewhere is the same. I can literally get physically sick.

If I have to go somewhere beyond the normal routine of work, I plan all day every detail – because planning somehow gives me a little bit of control. I have to worry about what to wear based on what sweat won’t show through. I know that when I get home – if I go instead of backing out – I will be exhausted beyond belief – mentally and physically. I will have social jet lag. And I will have earned it.

It is not fun – or funny. It is tiring, embarrassing, and it makes you feel “different”. Sooo – while admitting it and blogging about it are the first steps MF and I have taken….we want more.

We want to heal. MF has sought counseling and meds and I’ve sought more blogging and fighting the fears and forcing myself to be out there. We feed off each other’s successes knowing the gut-wrenching tension it causes in our bodies – but knowing – if she can do it, there’s a chance I can too.

MF and I only talked for approximately five minutes or less. We mutually understand how difficult it is and that it has nothing to do with how we feel about each other as people. Remember, I get these exact same symptoms when I deal with people as close to me as my siblings.

At about five minutes in, MF said – I have to hang up. This is too much for me. If I have to go on, I may spontaneously combust. This is my limit. I have to go.

Me? Well, I said me too. I’m done. Anymore and I’m going to shit M&Ms instead of farting rainbow gumdrops and the people that count on those gumdrops for sustenance are gonna be pissed. Shitty M&Ms can’t hold a candle to farted gumdrops you know?

I said, “Thank you – for calling – you know I know how hard it was.”

She said, “No problem. But next time I call – don’t pick up the damn phone alright? Let it go to voicemail. I don’t have the stamina to do this again.  You messed up my plan.”

Deal. Me neither. Not just yet anyway…

I went back to work. Happy as a Care Bear. Covered in hives.

And just a teensy bit proud of us both.

Guilt.

Today is shitabulous.  Downright sucktastic.

Why you ask?  No reason.  Other than guilt. 

I'm at home today.  I spent the weekend feeling crappy.  I had something in between a cold and the flu with moments of feeling just fine in between it all.

And it was finally Rambo's weekend off.  Nice.  Figures. 

I slept terribly last night so I called in sick today.  I slept until noon.  Now I'm home, feeling fine, and feeling guilty.  I have shit to do at work.  I should not have stayed home.  I'm fine. 

Why am I so weak mentally that I need to take an entire day off just to reconfigure myself and breathe like a normal person?  Why can't I go balls to the walls every day like everyone else?

Oh and no Mom talk. The moment didn't present itself.  We weren't alone and a conversation like that requires time alone in my opinion.

Because I've been sick I haven't worked out in days.  Again - I suck. 

I may be joining the gym again because I figured out that it's free so hey - why not right?

Good God - I have no idea where this post is even going or what I'm saying. 

No worries - tomorrow I will have my feet squarely planted back in CareBear land and I'll be shooting gumdrops out my ass like bullets out of an AK-47. 

I promise.

*Bring Your Own Crazy*

Sorry this is late guys.  It's noon and I just woke up.  I'm a sick little puppy.  But today is the "Mom talk" day so I'm up and getting ready.  Wish me luck.

BYOC - for any newbies here - is 5 little questions you can copy and paste to your blog and answer in an effort to give your blog brain a break and to get to know each other better!  Enjoy!

1.  If you could be a weather forecast, what would you be and why?

*  Rainy for sure.  Hands down.  I love rainy days for a multitude of reasons.  Rainy days as a child meant I would have my Dad for the day if he was off work because rain would prevent him from working outside.  As I got older, rain matched my emotions a lot and I didn't have to pretend I was happy because everyone else was pissed it was raining too.

2.  Would you break the law to save a loved one?

*  Crap.  This one is tough.  I suppose it depends on the severity of the law.  Like I'm pretty sure I'd risk jaywalking to save someone I loved but if you up the anty to robbing a bank or something.  Um no.  I'm a chickenshit but then again - I've never been forced to make the decision either.

3.  If Happiness was the national currency, what would make you filthy rich?

*  Probably writing.  Or napping.  Yes napping would do it.  I mean, really - what's better than a nap other than dessert before the nap?

4.  Can you sum up your life in a six word sentence?  (Example:  My heart continuously expands in joy.)

*  Shitballs.  Who picked such stupid, hard questions?

Um...here we go. 

My world astounds me every day.  (Clever no?  That could be in a good or bad way, but it's true.)

5.  Repeat question.  Summarize your week in blogland and in real life.

Blogland is good.  I've been a posting maniac this week and it's because when I feel inner turmoil - writing helps.  I wrote about a talk I will have with my mom and your opinions really made me think...and I love that about blogging.

In real life - Watermelon loves Rose.  It's exhilerating and exhausting.  Little girls are just a lot of work but it's all good.  Rambo finally has a weekend off but like I said before - I'm sick.  Figures.  I also haven't worked out due to feeling like dog shit.  Which mentally then makes me feel like elephant shit.

It's just one big pile of shit here in CareBear Land.  There will be no farting gumdrops - that's for sure.

I'm a chicken....with lips.

Why yes – it is Triple U Thursday – Unclothed, Unashamed, Unhidden. The day where I post a pic of one body part and tell you how much I love it – in an effort to gain more self-love.

It is difficult to do. I usually post pics for a few weeks and then take a break. Today I’m doing both.

I mean I’m posting a picture – but it’s not a hard one to do. I’m working out like Richard Simmons on sterroids and my weight is not going down so I’m a bit frustrated so I picked a body part I neither love nor hate. It just is.

So feel free to call me a chicken – cuz right now I’m not brave enough to focus on a “real” body part.

And let me say this particular body part seems “odd” in pictures.

They are my lips.

These lips kiss my babies goodnight and kiss them good morning.

These lips speak words of love and sometimes words of anger.

These lips can sing in the shower – loudly.

These lips kiss Rambo with everything I have.

These lips tremble when I’m crying with sadness.

These lips laugh and smile when I’m happy.

They are mine – and I love them – just because of that.

Feast your eyes upon dark lips, light lips, half smiling with teeth lips and smooching lips!

Shocking events, taco meat and a serious sex question.

Holy apeshit! I feel like I have so much catching up to do and yet the fact remains that I posted three effing times yesterday. Obsessed much? You poor people. You have my permission not to read any of this bull caca…but the writer in me is bursting to get this out as a form of personal therapy so here we go.


A couple of happy things before I go all deep and crazy on you.

You’re all going to crap your pants when I tell you this. No wait. Let me rephrase that. You are not allowed to crap your pants when I tell you this because I hate POOP remember? Oh but if anything was ever poop-your-pants worthy – this is so it. Are you ready?

I got home last night and my girls and I were getting out of the car. La-de-da…same as every other night. Watermelon nonchalantly says to me, “Mom, remember that one time we went on a shopping spree and I took two of my friends with us?” (What shopping spree? How can I – the Queen of shopping sprees – not remember such an event? Oh yes – in order to prepare I must have been high on Xanax thereby not remembering a single moment.)

I say, “Um, sure. Why?”

She says, “Can we do that again except this time I’ll bring two different friends?”

I do an about face to find my 10 year old Watermelon smirking at me bashfully and I say, “Who do you want to bring?”

BLOODY HELL – are you ready for this?

She sheepishly says, “Rose.” And then, “We’ve been doing really good together, Mom.”

Score! Score! Score! Jesus, Mary and Joseph – this whole standing up for your kid and confronting things head on and asking for help works! Who the hell knew? Can you guys believe this stuff? I mean really – this should be damn Hallmark movie or run on the Lifetime sappy woman channel or something right? At the very least, Oprah should want to do a whole segment on it don’t you think?

There is some bad news though. I regret to inform you that Watermelon won’t be in our family for long.

We’re kicking her out. Banana and I were having taco meat with chips last night and she said to me, “Mom - you, me and Dad like taco meat, but Watermelon doesn’t. I think we need to kick her out of the family for that. Don’t you?”

Ah yes. You no likey taco meat – you no longer my daughter. Simple as that. Good God.

And lastly, on a serious note and a more shocking note – I have a question. Now this question is too brilliant for me to have come up with on my own. My dear friend Karen posed it to her followers and I think it’s important, I think it’s bold and I think it’s relevant and all the answers were so interesting to me. Sooo I’m posing it to you all. I hope Karen doesn’t mind but I know many of you take anti-depressants so I’m seriously interested in your feelings on this but it’s quite personal so obviously only share what you feel comfortable sharing.

Alright – here it is. What do you think is more important – taking meds to create mental stability or a healthy sex life filled with orgasms and sex drive?

It’s a known fact that anti-depressants affect libido and sex drive and the ability to climax. How do you deal with this? Are you pissed? Do you contemplate stopping the meds or is the non-O factor a non-factor for you? Any tricks that help deal with this side effect?

Do tell.

I told Karen that for me it’s become mental. I have to mindfully stay in the moment and feel the emotions and sensations and though it takes longer, I can get there every time. I remember a time when I was off meds and I couldn’t believe how fast and more intense it was…a cruel taste of what I could never have really. Then again, I have never felt held back or mad about this. My meds keep me alive – if I were dead there wouldn’t be any O’s you know?

The sex drive part has never been a side effect for me. I know the meds affect everyone differently but I’m glad that part hasn’t seemed to affect me.

How about you? Do you notice these side effects? How do you deal? Does your partner notice?

Um and yes – that’s it. I’m not quite sure how to end a post after asking such a question so I’m just going to say this. Thank you for answering – your words could help many.

And secondly….

The End.

Intention Review....

Since it’s the first of another month, I want to review my 2011 Intentions that I set in January. I’m a little nervous about this but putting them in front of me at the beginning of each new month will keep me accountable.


Here is my list and progress (or lack thereof):

1. Practice self-love

* I think I’m doing well on this one. While I’m currently taking a break from posting self-love portraits of each of my body parts…I’m not done. I will continute this until every body part is covered. That’s the physical self-love. The mental self-love is still a daily struggle but I’m working on it.

2. Incorporate daily meditation.

* Epic fail…unless you count my brain going a million miles a minute for 2 hours before I can fall asleep. I must make this a priority in March.

3. Complete ½ marathon.

* It’s in the works – I’m back to running and still have plans to complete this in September.

4. Be enough – have enough – feel enough.

* I’m sorta good with this one…I feel grateful every day for the people and things in my life. I’ll always struggle with internally being enough but at least I’m aware of it right?

5. Continue frequent blogging.

* Um yes – this makes post #3 today – I’m a bit obsessive.

6. Renew wedding vows.

* Yup – still plan on doing this.

7. Continue Dave Ramsey plan – embrace coupons.

* Success on the plan as we just paid off the car this month. Fail on the coupons – man that’s time consuming….

8. Think outside the box – try new things – face fears.

* This is a work in progress…

9. Keep food/fitness journal current.

* Success….I’m still journaling since I started on January 1st!

10. Reach out more – tell people how I feel – ask for help – embrace my backbone.

* Big success. I recently cleared the air with an old friend from high school by telling her how I feel. I will be telling my mother exactly how I feel this week (blog post to come on this) and in doing so – I will be embracing my backbone at the same time.

So there you have it – my 10 intentions for 2011.

And don’t forget the mantra:

Embrace the Real. Love the Journey. Find the Peace.

Did you make a resolution or intention list, a mantra or a word? When is the last time you looked at it?