It's just Me, Drazil & Sheniqua....

Do you guys remember Rose?

2012-02-16T12:44:00.000-06:00

She was the little girl that Watermelon – my 11 year old – was being bullied by. That was last year. This year – just as we girls are known to do – Rose has changed her mind and she is friends with my daughter. They’ve both figured out that they are quite athletic and that has given them something to bond over.

However, my Watermelon is wary. She understands Rose on a level I’m not sure even Rose understands herself. Rose acts the way she does and says the things she says – because she’s protecting herself. Because she’s been hurt by her parents so much. Because she is deathly afraid of being alone and unloved (aren't we all?.

She still likes to dictate what the girls all wear and who they like and who they should play with. She needs to control “something” since her life is so out of control at home. She is the only one of the girls that has had multiple “boyfriends”. Even though she’s 11. Talk about reaching out and trying to find love huh?

And academically – things aren’t great. For example – each child has a reading level points goal. If you reach the goal – there is a reward you can attain each quarter. This quarter the kids got to go for ½ the day to meet a local pro hockey team and get autographs and hear them speak.

Every single kid in Watermelon’s class went.

Except for Rose.

She only had to read one small book – worth 5 pts (a very purposely low goal was set for her) – and yet she didn’t do it. Now yes – it’s partly her fault because she’s old enough to know what she had to do. But do her parents know she was the ONLY one who couldn’t go? Did they ask her how her reading goal was coming along? Can you imagine how that made her feel – being left behind? Her greatest fear?

My heart breaks for her.

She doesn’t do well in other classes either. It’s been said her older cousins do all her homework for her. Which – in essence – does her no good.

Anyway – I got home last night and Watermelon said she needed to talk to me. She was clearly scared to say whatever she had to say. She said:

You know how Rose calls me on my phone a lot.

Yes. (she does – and I put up with it because I know it’s most likely because Rose is alone and bored)

Well – she’s been calling me for a while because she wants answers to all our homework.

Oh crap.

But I don’t give her any. I make up a lie and tell her I’m not done with it or I didn’t bring it home. Or now I don’t answer the phone. And mom – I feel so bad and guilty that I’m lying to her. But I know it’s wrong to give her the answers. (thank you Rose for making my kid feel guilty for doing the right thing.)

Shit.

She’s also been calling Alex. Alex has been giving her the answers.

Do Alex’s parents know about this?

Yah – they said they didn’t care. (Nice. I could kick those parents.) But Alex told our teacher what Rose has been doing. She took us both in the hallway and asked us questions and told us that if Rose calls again – we can tell Rose that we can’t give her answers because the teacher told us not to.

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Again – JESUS. Why are people so stupid? Rose is now going to KNOW that Watermelon and Alex told on her and who do you think will pay the price for that? Why did the teacher take them out together in front of Rose?

So all day Rose questioned the two girls…asking what they talked to the teacher about. And heartbreakingly – her biggest question to Watermelon and Alex?

Will you still be my friend? Do you still like me?

That’s how easily this child sees friendship, love and loyalty fleeting from her. She doesn't even have any idea what the teacher was talking to them about yet...but she's already scared it's about her. I don’t know whether to hug her or kick her. I’m angry her parents don’t sit down with her – even if they are tired – and help her with her homework like we do with Watermelon. I’m angry Watermelon is once again dragged into Rose drama.

I’m just angry. And sad and torn.

To top it off – Rose asked Watermelon to go swimming at a hotel with her this weekend. I said NO – without hesitation. I told Watermelon I was sorry but I cared too much about her to let her go anywhere with Rose because I can’t trust her parents to watch them. In water no less.

Watermelon wasn’t mad. I swear to you that I saw a flicker of relief in Watermelon’s eyes when I told her she couldn’t go. She said Rose asked her all day WHY she couldn’t come. She said I can’t tell her you don’t trust her parents or she’ll be mad Mom.

Yah. She would be. And she’d make Watermelon’s week hell in school for it.

So Watermelon is torn too. She knows Rose has it tough and she’s hurt. But she also knows right from wrong and knows the motives behind Rose’s words and actions.

It’s sad. The whole damn thing is sad.

And I’m smart enough to know that this kind of thing is going to keep on happening every year throughout school. It’s not going to get any easier.

Unless her parents start actually acting like adults suddenly.

PS - Just so you know - NO - I do NOT think I am a perfect parent. I am absolutely not. I sure as hell try to be though...and that's more than I can say for Rose's parents.

Me is dead...courtesy of Tabata.

2012-02-16T08:46:00.000-06:00

This post is being written by Drazil…because Me is dead. She suffered a massive heart attack doing some stupid workout video called Tabata. I don’t know who the hell she thinks she is. Apparently someone quite younger, more flexible and athletic. Of which – in actuality – she is none.

You should have seen her in all her pretty, blinged out workout gear. We talked her out of wearing the leotards and 80s legwarmers ~~and she only cried for a little while about that~~.

She was all, “I’m so going to do all EIGHT Tabata drills. I’m a warrior. This DVD has nothing on me. Hell – I might do it twice. I don’t even need water.”

Me and Sheniqua laughed our asses off. I made sure to put some negative thoughts in her head just to make her doubt herself. Sheniqua was a bit concerned because lately Me has been kicking ass in diet and exercise but we held our ground. Chicks in exercise DVDs with the stamina of stallions and beefy thighs do not scare us.

Me started off strong but it wasn’t long before she was winded and swearing under her breath so much that Satan would have been embarrassed. At one point the girl on the DVD said something like, “Come on girls, I know it’s hard but we only have 6 more sets to go!” and we heard Me yell, “Really asshole? Only 6?”

Sheniqua and I couldn’t help but point and giggle.

By the second set, Me yelled at her little girl to “go get her a water bottle before she feinted.” So much for being a big dog and not needing water. That Me is a damn idiot. This Tabata shit is hard core. No way in hell will you catch my little lizard legs ever attempting such insanity. Sheniqua was sweating buckets just “watching” the DVD.

Anyway – Me completed 6 Tabata drills and a warmup and cool down. And now she’s dead.

Well almost. She’s alive enough to bitch and whine constantly. She says her lips are the only thing on her body that she can move without screaming out in pain.

All day so far we’ve heard:

Holy f*ck a duck – even my boobs hurt!
OMG – I think I’m going to need IV fluids because I sweated out every drop of fluid I had in me last night.
My God in heaven – I think even my eyelashes are sore.
I should probably not go to work because none of my joints will bend without a major effort on my part.
It’s hard to breathe because my lungs are still recovering.
Ohhhhhhh – even my armpits hurt.

And lastly – heard from the bathroom this morning after she looked in the mirror – after a blood curdling scream: Jeeeeeeesssuuussss – I’m still CHUBBY!

I told you Me was an idiot. She thinks being this sore and working out like a maniac should produce instant thinness. Dream on babycakes!

So tonight Me says she’s going to do the treadmill so as not to break her amazing workout stream she’s got going this week. Sheniqua and I are going to do everything in our power to make sure she does nothing but watch Grey’s Anatomy with a bag of Skittles on her lap and a Mountain Dew IV in her arm.

We are a little skerred though. Me seems to be on a mission. I mean – don’t tell her I said this but – that Tabata shit is badass and I’m actually proud of her. I mean I want to put duct tape over her mouth so she quits whining about how she feels like she broke every bone in her body but still….she’s pretty amazing.

Tell her I said that and I’ll deny it until I turn purple.

Wandom Wednesday.

2012-02-15T08:25:00.002-06:00

Let’s leave Elmer and his gun alone so he can hunt down Drazil like the snake that he is. We shall move on to “wandomness”….cuz it’s Wednesday…and because there’s no whyme or weason to what I’m going to say today.

• Did I tell you guys that I am officially a gang member? Oh wait – I might have used the wrong word there. It might be called a “club” member. But it produces a lot more shock-filled gasps when I tell people I’m in a gang. A biker gang no less.

Yup – I joined Rambo’s biker club. Translation: Rambo signed me up and paid my dues without my permission. Fine. Whatever.

If you know anything about biker gangs (why would you want to?) – they wear leather vests or coats that showcase their “colors”. The “colors” are their patches and insignias telling the world the name of their “gang”. And beyond the name patch – they cover the rest of their vest in other patches. Rambo has memorial patches on his vest of friends he lost and skull patches and his nickname as a patch and so on.

My point? Well – I have to find a vest to wear my “colors” on. Every woman in the club wears a black leather vest – covered in patches and their “colors”.

My problem? I refuse to wear a plain black vest like all the others. I just cannot do it. I have found pink and purple and red vests but I don’t want a solid color. I want a black vest with pink on the sides or pink embellishments and is adjustable.

I have searched the entire internet and so far – nothing. Anyone got any suggestions? If not – I may have to get out my bedazzler and go to town.

• Monday night Rambo and I worked out for ½ hour. I did the treadmill and he did the eliptical and lifted weights. Last night Rambo did the eliptical and I did the treadmill for 65 minutes. I ran the first half hour and in the second half I did 8 sets of Tabata with my fastest sprint being at 7.2mph. Now yes – I know that isn’t rock star fast but it’s my first treadmill Tabata so I’m okay with it.

• I want to be a life coach so that I can tell people they are stupid and that they are screwing up their lives and if they would do exactly as I say everything would be rainbows and lollipops. And the bonus would be that they’d pay me for such sage advice.

• I was invited to go to “midget wrestling” last weekend. I’m not kidding. I refused to go because I was afraid they’d think I was part of the show. I’m only 5ft 3in and Ima kinda chubby.

• Watermelon now gets an allowance. I’m trying to teach her about money because my parents never taught me. She has to take her allowance and split it up evenly in thirds. She can spend 1/3. She has to save 1/3. And she has to give 1/3 to a charity. She can pick any charity she wants. She will physically put her money in her savings account at the bank when I take her. She can spend the spendable 1/3 on anything she wants.

It’s going great. She’s learning the value of a dollar. She picked US Troops as her charity so she’s feeling good about that.

The part that makes me happiest though? She keeps a running tracking journal of each category. Down to the penny. OMG – is she my kid or what?

Maybe soon she’ll start a budget. For the next five years. And stare at it and tweak it for hours – like her mama does.

• Lastly – guess where I get to go in March? Don’t pee your pants or anything – it’s not good. It’s a turkey banquet. I can’t even make this crap up. People of all ages and sizes gather in on place – because of turkeys. It’s madness. And get this? People PAY to go.

I’m so screwed when it comes to Rambo and his hobbies that I must partake in. Biker gangs, semis, turkeys, guns, and hunting. I mean why didn’t I marry a person who loves pink ponies, crystals, diamonds, high heels and anything cheetah patterned?

I suppose it’s because I wanted to marry someone who was straight. Ha!

Some reviews as promised.

2012-02-14T04:00:00.002-06:00

I promised you guys a couple of reviews and I am finally getting to those today.

First off...remember this? My Himalayan light that is supposed to create world peace? Well - fine - I might have exaggerated a bit there but it was supposed to promote calmness and peace and even help with asthma and such. It looks like this.

Wellllll - the light doesn't seem to do anything for me medically BUT I will tell you the soft, amber glow is calming to me. I can't even tell you why. It doesn't get hot so I leave it on almost all the time - right on my computer desk.

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And remember this CD? Guiding relaxation and breathing techniques?

Well this one is a winner winner chicken dinner. Let me preface this by saying I have MANY relaxation CDs. None of them really "tripped my trigger" BUT this one - I loooove. For some reason the breathing techniques in this one seem amazing - for me. I found myself doing the exercises and thinking, "My God - I can "feel" this working. I'd love to tell you how the guided relaxation techniques work - but I can't. I have heard the first two sentences and no more......because that's how fast I fall asleep.

How do like them apples?

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Here's a little something I just bought because I was born with black eyes. Seriously - I can sleep for 24 hours straight and still wake up with the hugest, darkest bags under my eyes. It's sick I tell you.

So I'm constantly searching for the newest miracle under eye concealer. Which led me to buy this:

I have not used "that gal" yet. The erase paste is what I've seen very good reviews on for under eye circles. I like it - but - for me - I don't think it's any better than other concealers for WAY less money at Walmart.

The lemon aid - LOVE this. I read that a lot of women wear this and NO eyeshadow and I'd say - that's totally do-able. It's creamy and brightening and covers great and LOOKS like you have eyeshadow on. I haven't used the pink eye bright yet.

The reviews on Boi-ing were pretty stellar too and I have to say I love this product for any red spot or zit coverage. I like that there is a light and medium color and when I'm done - you can't see any spot or zit or anything. Amazeballs.

Most of all I love that Sephora offers this little compact thingy full of trial sized items so in case I don't love any of them I haven't spent a fortune on them.

Have you guys tried any of these Sephora items?

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Oh and yes - there's this too:

Tabata.

Which could and should also be called - The Doorway to Hell - in 30 seconds or less.

Rambo and I did this once. We did the warm up and cool down and a jumping jack tabata series in the middle.

I nearly died. In fact, I think I might have for a moment.

I plan to add one more series per week so as not to die more than once a week.

Oh my God people - tabata is for real.

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Lastly - because I can't stop my addiction to all things teal, turquoise or mint-colored - I bought these for my charm bracelet. Cuz I can.

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Tootles Skittles!!

The top 8 reasons I want to become a runner again.

2012-02-13T04:00:00.000-06:00

My addiction to anything teal, turquoise or mint-colored continues.

Here are my 8 reasons I want to become a runner again:

There you go - that's it.

You didn't actually think these were going to be 8 "sensible" reasons, did you?

BYOC - Bring Your Own Crazy!

2012-02-10T07:44:00.000-06:00

It’s Friday and that means it’s time for BYOC! Bring Your Own Crazy! We answer 5 questions in an effort to get to know each other better and to give our blogging brains a break. Copy to your own blog if you wish and ENJOY!

1. Name a Valentine gift you would NOT want to receive.

Hmmm…I had to think about this one. Maybe lingerie. I mean – yes – it fits the holiday BUT men (Rambo anyway) cannot visually see that my body is not – nor ever has been – extra small….and that’s the only size he’d buy.

2. What’s your vacation personality? Do you act/eat/talk/do things differently or completely opposite from when you are not on vacation?

I rarely vacation. If I do it’s usually short. I’m a homebody. There’s nowhere I’d rather be. Traveling stresses and scares me. I hate the unknown and I’m not a fan of being social so my vacation personality is sometimes quiet and withdrawn and stressed. At home, I’m loud and goofy and crazy so yah, I’m definitely different on vacation. If I’m with people I’m comfortable with then I can relax (like at the BOOBs event)…but it’s hard.

3. Describe yourself in 5 POSITIVE words.

Crazy
Loyal
Creative
Caring
Organized

4. Do you have any phobias or irrational fears or dislikes?

I have a GREAT fear of snakes. I hate odd numbers. I picked my wedding date based on the fact that it was even numbers.

I fear flying – though have no reason to. I hate elevators – based on being pretty claustrophobic. I hate talking on the phone….just cuz I’m crazy like that.

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

Real life has been so-so. I’ve gotten back into working out (Tabata recap on Monday – I’m still alive!) and am still actively working on being less stressed but my extended family is making that slightly impossible. I’m pretty sure that without Jenny and Rambo – I’d be in a straight jacket by now.

I have a wonderful group of girlfriends that have been through hell and back and it’s been a week full of sharing, heartache and support and awe in hearing about the true women they really are. I am honored to be a part of that group.

Blog life has been good because I got to blog about my little girls and their letters and notes. I’ve found a few new blogs to read and it’s always fun to get to know people.

Tabata anyone?

2012-02-09T04:00:00.002-06:00

You may say toe-may-toe. You might even say toe-mah-toe. But me?

I say TABATA.

~~Yes, I'm crazy~~. Just move on and keep reading. I do have a point.

Have you guys ever heard of this? Tabata?

Well, I'm going to try it. I might die trying but I'm going to try anyway. After hearing about the tabata style of working out, I tried to find it on DVD. Let me tell you - it's either so new or so old - that there aren't any out there. I found about two and the reviews on this one were amazing.

~~So I got suckered again and~~ I bought it.

This is the DVD.

Yes, the fact that this DVD is smothered in my favorite teal/mint green color may or may not have influenced my decision to purchase it. I may or may not be that shallow and lame.

Here's one reviewers description of this DVD and this style of workout.

This is a high intensity interval training (HIIT) workout based on the tabata protocol, which means you go full intensity cardio for 20 seconds and then rest for 10 seconds. This is repeated 8 times per exercise interval. There are eight intervals in this workout. Between intervals, there is a short recovery period where you are performing a low intensity move while Amy runs through the next series of exercises. For each interval, there are three levels of intensity (beginner, intermediate, advanced). There are two other exercisers in addition to Amy who perform either the beginner of the advanced workout. This workout requires no additional equipment (you use your own body). Many of the exercises are high impact (with the exception of the beginner's level). Amy is very personable instructor with a great you-can-do it attitude.

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Here is a break down of the workout:

Approximately 5 minute warm up

Interval one, jumping jack series. Beginner is basic jumping jacks. Intermediate, squat jacks. Advanced, jumping air jacks.

Interval 2, Side skater series. Beginner is basic side skate. Intermediate adds a touching the ground on skate. Advanced, side skate landing on one leg and touch the ground.

Interval 3 is the volley ball jump series. Beginner is a basic squat and shoot. Intermediate, burpee stand up and shoot. Advanced, Burpee jump down to a hover in a plank jump up and shoot.

Interval 4 is fast feet. Beginner is fast feet. Intermediate run with high knees. Advanced open legs wide and do wide high knees.

Interval 5 is the core kick series. Beginner is mountain climber, intermediate is a butt kick (plank and jump and kick your self in the butt). Advanced is a donkey kick (from a plank, jump and kick your legs up and out.

Interval 6 is the power lunge series. Beginner is a reverse lunge. Intermediate two jump lunges and hold. Advanced is jumping reverse lunges (keep going without break).

Interval 7 is squat series. Beginner is squat with high punch low punch 2 times then change sides. Intermediate squat punch low come up punch high reverse side. Advanced is 180 degree squat jumps with a punch.

Interval 8 is pogo jumps. Beginner is leg back and forward. One side only. Change legs for next interval. Intermediate. Lunge back come up and bring knee to chest. Advanced. Lunge back jump up into the air bringing fist into the air.

Cool down.
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Now I'm going to refrain from mentioning that MANY reviewers said they are skilled and heavy worker-outers and they nearly died and were dripping sweat. Oh shit - that wasn't refraining was it?

For those of you who are brave enough to try this - you don't need the DVD. You can do this on a treadmill or elliptical too. You just go all out (for example - sprinting if on a treadmill) - so fast you feel like dying for 20 seconds. Then rest 10 seconds (do nothing but try to catch your breath). And you do this 8 times for a total of 4 minutes. And done!

That's beginner Tabata. It is literally a 4 MINUTE WORKOUT. They say you should start out by doing one 4 minute workout once a week in between your other normal workouts until you work up to more. But who am I to ever do what experts "recommend"? Ima gonna try 50 minutes - day 1. Let's just be up front and admit I'll be doing the beginner mode of EVERY interval. I'm no hero. ~~I'm just stupid.~~

Anywhoozle, get this! Rambo has agreed to do this WITH me. Pick your jaws up off the floor please. I'm not kidding. Tomorrow we're giving it a go.

Oh and I'm happy to report that Monday night I did an hour on the treadmill and tonight I did 75 minutes. 1/2 hour of running and the rest was incline work up to 12%.

Sucked donkey balls but this fat has got to go!

I shall blog about how 'tabata' goes tomorrow ~~if I'm still alive~~. The point is that you are toning, gaining endurance, and losing weight/fat faster than going at a moderate pace for twice the time. It's supposed to be exhilerating and is used in many Olympic training facilities to boost endurance.

So totally me. Cuz I'm so an Olympian.

Uh-huh.

Assignments and what ifs.

2012-02-08T09:54:00.000-06:00

Our family was given an “assignment” of sorts by Banana’s kindergarten teacher. One we attacked with full on focus and heartfelt emotion. One that was bittersweet for me.

Banana is the “Star of the Week” this week. That means each day something special happens for her. For the entire week, a large poster about her is hung in her classroom. My girls and I painstakingly made her posterboard Sunday. It’s got loads of pictures, her favorite things, glitter and stickers and people? The posterboard is neon pink. To say Banana was excited is a huge understatement.

Wednesday the parents are asked to write a letter to their child and the teacher will read it aloud to them. I told Rambo on one of his slow days at the prison – that he needed to write her a letter. For me – it’d take 5 minutes because I’m used to writing. I knew for him it would be harder and evoke emotions he hasn’t put into words on paper before.

He sent me his letter when he was done with it. It mattered to him a lot more than I thought it would. I know this because no less than 3 times did he ask me if it was alright last night. He wondered if she'd like it. Even today - before he went to work - he asked again if I was sure what he wrote was okay.

I should have told him that it’s probably one of the sweetest things I’ve ever read. The last sentence said, “You’re the Star of the Week every week to me. I love you my little bear cub, Daddy.”

She’ll keep that forever.

I wrote my letter and folded it up to put with Rambo’s. When Watermelon figured out what we had done, she wanted to write her own for Banana. Again – sweetest thing ever. I don’t know how that teacher is gonna read them out loud with crying. Or maybe she’s used to doing it.

And just so Watermelon wouldn’t feel left out since we were all writing letters for Banana, I decided to finally do something that has been on my “to do” list for months. I’d love to take credit for it but I saw the idea on Supernanny. I love that British woman.

I took about 10 bright sticky notes and wrote messages on them. Like:

You are talented. You are beautiful. You are smart.
You can be anything you want to be.
You have gorgeous hair. You have sparkling eyes. You have an amazing smile.
You are the best daughter we could ever ask for.
You are the best big sister that I have ever seen.
Daddy and I love you more every single day.

You get the picture. I got home and I stuck them everywhere. On her mirror. On her notebook. Her desk. Her window. Her dresser. Everywhere.

She went in to do her homework and found the one on her desk and came out and thanked me. It took a good 15 minutes before she realized I had left them all over her room. She was glowing.

I had left one for Banana on her own mirror that said, “We love you. Mom and Dad.”

She got home, saw it, grabbed it off her mirror and comes out in the kitchen and yells, “People – what the heck does this even say?”

Oops – she can’t read. Ha. Watermelon translated it for her.

When I was getting ready for bed, Banana says to me, “Mama – when you go to bed you might want to look for a note. Someone might have left you one.”

She’s so sneaky huh?

So I go to bed. I see no note. I yell for Banana and say, “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t see any note. Where did you put it?”

She points to the wall behind our bed. And there it is. A note – written by Watermelon as directed by Banana – stuck to our wall with a piece of tape. It says, “Dad and Mom – I will love you forever.”

Once she knew I saw it – she skipped out of the room. Too funny.

I left the note stuck there. I may leave it there forever.

As I turned off the lights and went to sleep I wondered again what I often wonder. Are Rambo and I doing at least something right? Will they be as messed up as I am when they get older and will they blame us? Do they know without a single doubt that we love them immensely?

And then I wonder what I would have been like had my parents been the kind of people who could have written me a note or letter. Just one note – just one indication that they loved me. Documented. Written down to save forever. Because they weren’t the kind of people that could say it out loud.

Instead I wondered every day.

I was a child who needed more. I needed posterboards and giggling and goodnight hugs and kisses. I needed notes. I needed to know they knew I existed as a person and not just a dependent.

I needed more. Who would I have been if I had gotten it?

I’ll never know. I’ll only be able to make sure my daughters never have to ask that question when they are older.

Mucho randomosity.

2012-02-08T07:51:00.000-06:00

I’m feeling random-y and bullet-y.

So let’s do this.

• I am sporting a massive camel toe today. Like it’s not even 8am and my vagina feels bruised from the pressure of my pants trying to become a part of it. Which then also means I have camel toe in my ass too. Is that called something else? Llama toe? Horse toe? Or maybe it’s just called stupid.

• I’ve always wanted to learn to take more risks. So yesterday I went into the one room bathroom at work – shut the door – and did NOT lock it. You got it. I peed at work without locking the door. It was exhilerating and it felt naughty. Any moment someone could come in. (but why would they when they see the door shut?)

• Have any of you ever tried one of those CDs that “coaches” you through a treadmill workout? Like it’s a CD of someone saying, “Put your speed to 3.0 for one minute. You are not going to die. Get your hands off the sides. Suck it up.” Do they work? I kind of want one but am having trouble finding one.

• The new thing here at work is standing at your desk. I’ve seen it at my daughter’s school too. Have you guys encountered this? We put a person’s computer and monitor up at standing level and they work all day – standing. They prefer it. Same with desks at school. Instead of making a kid sit still all day – the kids are allowed to stand or swing their legs or whatever. They have the option of sitting of course. I guess there are studies that it’s better for your back and people are less tired and more productive.

• I have figured out why Explosive Man explodes 16 times a day. He comes to work with a bag full of McDonald’s breakfast items. He goes to lunch and comes back with a bag full of McDonald’s lunch items. Um – DUH – greasy much? No – he’s not overweight (um cuz he’s shitting out all the calories). And no – I’m not condemning you if you eat McD’s morning, noon and night – because you don’t explode next to my office. If you did – I’d want to punch you equally as much as I’d like to punch Explosive Man.

• I’m about 20 years behind the rest of humanity and have just figured out that if you freeze yogurt – it doesn’t have the consistency of snot and kinda tastes like ice cream. I now eat about 8 every day. Okay – fine – not that many but I’m sort of obsessed.

That's all I got. Tootles Skittles.

Whose bed is the "sex bed"?

2012-02-06T04:00:00.002-06:00

I had one of those "OMG - let me crawl into a hole and die right now" kind of moments this weekend - and it involved my mother-in-law. And sex.

Well sort of. In a roundabout way.

She was talking about a recent purchase they made. One she was very excited about. One she needed help with. It was a mattress.

She kept saying, "I need help putting it in MY room." Or "I can't wait to get it in MY room and sleep on it."

After she said that about 6 times, I said, "Isn't it his mattress too cuz you share the bedroom?"

I said it jokingly to kind of call her out on her mistake.

Only I was the one who made the mistake.

Shit a brick and color it pink. The minute it was out of my mouth and my mother-in-law looked at me I knew - they no longer sleep in the same bed.

F*ck a duck and call it Larry. He can have the pink brick I shit earlier.

Good God. She started to talk about snoring and other things and reasons they didn't sleep together anymore and I just wanted the whole thing to end.

And then all the way home I wondered....will I ever not sleep in the same bed as Rambo much less the same room? I wonder how many people do and the reasons.

I actually read this on the internet:

People are on different sleep schedules, so separate beds will accommodate this.

The separation will lead to more sex.

Getting a good night's rest can improve the quality of your relationship.

And I wondered is this true? Who said a married couple should sleep together? When did that become normal instead of separate beds? Heck - sleeping in separate beds dates all the way back to Fred and Wilma Flintstone.

I mean I get some of it because....

Which is why I own a pair of ear plugs.

Rambo and I were on different shifts for at least 10 years. Before that he was gone for months on the road. I remember the only thing I ever wanted each night - was him next to me.

It was like a dream we knew we'd reach some day.

We always said to each other, "Some day baby - we'll sleep in bed together every night."

But would it matter if he was in his own bed - right next to me in the same room?

What's your opinion on the same bed, different bed dealio? I wonder who approaches the subject first? And how do you decide whose bed is the "sex bed"? Or is there no sex if there are separate beds AND separate rooms?

Chime in. I wanna know your thoughts.

BYOC - Bring Your Own Crazy!

2012-02-03T07:26:00.000-06:00

It’s Friday and that means it’s time for BYOC. Bring Your Own Crazy. We answer five questions in an effort to get to know each other better and to give our blogging brains a break. Copy and paste if you so desire and ENJOY!

1. Have you ever bought undies/bra/lingerie for someone else? Or has anyone ever bought them for you? How was the “experience”?

Rambo bought me a bright purple bra and undies once. Key word there is ONCE. Um – cuz I told him he was never allowed to do it again. Wanna know what size they were? Extra small. The only time I ever wore extra small anything was when I was an infant. This was before my breast reduction and I had double E boobs people. There wasn’t enough material in the whole bra to cover even one boob.

Disaster. Freaking disaster.

And no – I’ve never bought for anyone else. Not even for a bachelorette or shower for a girlfriend. It just never occurred to me.

2. Do you have an internal song you replay in your head that is just yours?

I have no idea who sings this but I find myself replaying “I will survive” in my head in difficult moments.

3. I heard on the news the other day that something like 80% of people think a tan person is way sexier than “not tan”. How do you feel about that? Do you tan? Fake bake? Real sun? Or do you wear SPF 150?

I’m definitely partial to tan. I can’t help it. I swear to God tan makes me look skinnier. Or at least hides my stretch marks. I tan about 2 times a month. Probably because I have a tanning bed in my home. If I had to pay for it, it’d be less.

I do not wear sunscreen because I’m allergic to it.

So yah, apparently I’m a poster child for skin cancer. Add it to my list of flaws.

4. Do you vote in the presidential election? Do you vote based on news, family opinions or research or your gut?

I do vote. Because of my work within the community villages and Rambo being an elected official and because I know many government workers – I vote in even the smallest elections (school board, county officials, etc.). Every time. It’s an honor and a privilege. And I do it because I know people very close to me who cannot vote legally. So I do it for them too.

I vote based on all of the above – family opinions, news, research and gut. I have a very politically involved family that debates politics and follows it very closely so I like to think I have some pretty good facts to base my decision on.

That being said – I will admit that sometimes my vote is not for a certain person – but more accurately – a vote against the other guy.

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

Real life is moving along. I feel like I have a sense of control and power in my mental health by taking steps to remedy my stress. I’ve made purchases (salt lamp, oils & meditation CD) and even researched therapy this week and I feel good about it. Physically I’m cleaning our workout room this weekend and have a plan of attack for my physical health too.

Blog land was fun this week. I had a lot to report with my new purchases and loved doing the “If I were the President” post!

Have a great weekend Skittles!

Officially over the edge. Like for real.

2012-02-02T04:00:00.002-06:00

Duudes, it's getting downright Buddha-istic up in heyah.

Remember how I'm going rogue and flipping the finger at Western medicine ~~because I'm so desperate to get rid of my migraines that I'll do anything~~?

I told you I'm covering myself at all hours of the day in Progessence oil to prevent migraines.

I also now have Mgrain oil to smear all over myself when I get a migraine.

AND since I have attained proof from my "oil guru" that my migraines are caused by emotional shit - I'm on a journey to remedy that emotional shit.

Enter the salt lamp from the Himalayas.

No - I'm not so naive that I really believe it's from the Himalays but it sounds cool, doesn't it?

Have you ever heard of these things? The reviews on them are pretty stellar so I figured it's worth a shot. Here's what one looks like.

Here are a couple things said about this salt lamp:

Its therapeutic glow of orange hues infuses a natural calm bringing the mind and body to a gradual sense of tranquility and well-being. This lamp is scientifically proven to work like an air purifier and is often called-nature's air purifier. When the lamp is lit, it emits negative ions that fight against positively charged particles that cause us to feel stuffy and sluggish (allergens, smoke, dander, pollens, and other air pollutants). It clears the air and naturally dilutes odors, so that we can breathe easier.

People with asthma often find it helpful in reducing their symptoms and many medical practitioners recommend using these lamps to help relieve depression and fatigue. Made of salt crystals that come from deep within the Himalayan Mountains, home to the world's purest and most colorful salt, it is hand carved to preserve its natural beauty and attached to a neem base. You can keep the lamp lit for as long as you like and the longer you keep it on, the better the emission of negative ions.

Sounds almost like it can create world peace, right? Like I said - worth a shot and if it doesn't work - it'll be a pretty lamp. ~~Or it will make a nice Cmas gift for someone like my mother-in-law.~~

Also in my "eliminate stress" bag of tricks is this little ditty. A new meditation CD. Notice the little corner wording = ADULT RELAXATION. It almost feels a little dirty. Like - this isn't for kids....or something.

I have quite a few guided relaxation CDs already but none that I love.

Once again - the reviews on this were GREAT. So I believed them all - hook, line and sinker.

Did I mention I'm too trusting sometimes?

Here's my new CD:

Totally made for me. I am a REAL person feeling REAL stress.

I shall keep you posted on how these little trinkets help me.

And lastly - and this is big folks.....so big that Draz and Sheniqua are having intimate conversations that go something like this:

Crotches. Both of them.

Anywhoozle, they are right. I am officially "over the edge".

Meaning I am officially practicing what I preach and going to actively search for a therapist. One that can maybe teach me biofeedback and obviously help me figure out ways to alleviate the stress and emotional triggers in me that manifest in me as migraines.

I had therapy once before - almost 15 years ago. Which is exactly the reason why I haven't had any since then. It was awkward and didn't help much and left a bad taste in my mouth.

But that was then and this is now.

So that's it - my new mental health plan.

Stay tuned. I have a new physical health plan in the works too.

Have any of you ever tried a salt lamp? Or meditation CD? Biofeedback or therapy?

If I were President.

2012-02-01T08:53:00.000-06:00

My blogger friend Raven wrote a post called, “If I were Prez” and she asked us, her fellow bloggers – the same question. So I’m answering. Cuz it’s fun. And sort of political. And I love me some politics.

If I were President:

Every single person on this Earth would have a traveling bathroom all their own. You’re the ONLY person who ever uses it. It can have TVs and music inside or be decorated in lime green pot leaf wallpaper if you want. It’s yours. No one else on this Earth will ever explode in the same toilet you do. Perfection right? Oh and yes – every model automatically cleans itself. You’re welcome.

A full week of work would consist of 4 days a week. Weekends would be 3 days instead of two. People need less work time and more family time.

Every man or woman who hurts a child in any way would be sent to prison. The sentence would be life BUT I’d put them in general population to ensure they wouldn’t live beyond a year. The prisoner code of ethics would take care of them and they wouldn’t be a tax burden anymore – nor would be they alive. Which, in my opinion, is how it should be.

Every person who has sex without birth control or thinks they may want to have kids should be required to lease a trial child from the government for 6 months. The person should have to be that child’s mother or father 24/7 for 6 months. Pay for diapers, daycare, food, shelter. Be up at 4am 6 nights in a row with projectile vomit covering them while their friends are out partying. Learn what it’s like to have someone else own your heart in a way you never imagined.

After 6 months – give the kid back to the government. Then feel free to have your own – if you dare. No – I obviously don’t really think lease-a-kid would work (the poor kid) but I think about 80% of the people who have kids are seriously underestimating what it involves. (myself included)

We would send no money to any other country until every single person in this country is fed, nourished, in school, sheltered and safe. Are there any countries that send us financial aid just for our poor and weak? I could be wrong but I don’t think so.

Pre-school for children would be non-existent. Pre-pre-pre-school for pre-schoolers would be done with. Pre-kindergarten would be done with. No one my age ever went to pre-school or pre-K. When you turned 5 – you went to school. Before 5 – you got to be a kid in daycare or at home – but not in “school”. Kids need to be kids until they are 5. They’ll spend half their damn life in school if they go to college. I think they can wait to enter until they are 5.

Pink would be our national color.
Drazil would be our national mascot…because let’s face it – everyone has inner demons.
Sheniqua would be put on $1 bills. The bills would be pink and very rare. Collectible even.

The welfare system would get a HUGE restructuring. If you are physically and mentallly able to work but refuse not to because flipping burgers at McDonald’s is beneath you – then you can’t have welfare. If you quit a good job because you didn’t like having to punch a time clock and you figured you’d just live off unemployment – um nope – you don’t get it. If you want welfare or unemployment or government benefits – you need to have proof that you can’t work, were let go due to downsizing and that now you are applying for jobs 24/7. If you have a real disability or work 3 jobs and still qualify for welfare via income qualifications – then I’ll gladly hand you government checks myself. You deserve them.

Oh and one more thing – you have to pass a urine test before you get a government welfare check since I have to pass one to earn it for you.

If your underwear are visible under your pants or the waistband of your pants is hanging at your knees….you cannot leave the house or you will be tackled by a mob of angry adults and given a proper wedgie. The adults will suffer no repurcussions for doing so. It won’t even make the evening news. It’s the law.

Congress and Senate would be run by real men and women – kind of picked randomly like jury duty. People from all classes and all states, all educations and all backgrounds. You can only be in term for 1 year – not 20. Your student loans don’t get forgiven. You don’t earn 50 bazillion taxpayer dollars as a salary. You get paid what you’d get paid out in the real world. You don’t get special healthcare. You don’t get a huge pension for the rest of your life. You don’t get to only work 2 days a week with recesses every other month. Special interest groups can’t pay you. You don’t get to take money in a re-election campaign….cuz you only get one year remember? Make it count.

You can earn money credits off your college loans for every hour you volunteer. You can earn $5 for every volunteer hour you log. So if you log 100 hours volunteering in the local nursing home or 200 hours at Big Brother – you can have $500 or $1000 wiped off your college loans. Imagine the people helped and the things learned and the time spent NOT binge drinking if college kids were out volunteering.

If you’re a celebrity and you want to get married, you have to pay a one million dollar “I know this will end in divorce and scandal but I’m going to do it anyway” fee to the government. A special committee will use this money to rebuild poverty-stricken or natural disaster-stricken areas. And yes – you have to pay the fee – EVERY time you decide to marry. We don’t give multiple marriage discounts.

The end.

Soooo – wanna elect me?

What would YOU do if you were President?

PS – these are just my opinions…if you disagree – you’re welcome to….just don’t be nasty about it. Mmkkaayy?

Have you ever had a head reading?

2012-01-31T08:52:00.001-06:00

You know – like a palm reading – but not. Cuz it’s your head instead.

I did yesterday – without even knowing it was happening.

I had a migraine yesterday. It actually started Saturday. I took a triptan pill. Triptans are used to help your blood vessels relax and open up to let blood flow so they stop constricting so tightly – which is what migraine pain is.

Sunday I had to take two more triptans. Which then meant I was out of triptans. My prescription is only for 9 pills a month. They are very expensive. If I get four migraines a week – well yah – they don’t last long.

So yes, folks. I had none left. Just like a meth user who takes their last hit – I get nervous. I knew Monday I’d have to refill my prescription right away and I prayed the migraine was gone.

It wasn’t. By Monday afternoon I knew there was gonna be a problem.

I was using my natural Progessence oil every 10 minutes. I decided to leave work early to get my prescription. But not before I texted my “natural oil dealer”. This is how the conversation went.

I have another migraine today.

Oh no! Are you light sensitive?

Yes.

Looking up more stuff. We should talk about a serious system cleanse.

I’m so angry and sad all at once.

Try to let the emotion go. Don’t hold it in and don’t be fearful. What color is the first color that pops into your head if I ask you?

Pink.

Where is your headache?

Right temple.

Looking up emotional triggers. How do you feel in your gut when I say “fear of inconsistency”?

Scared.

Have you recently had a betrayal in friendship or love? Do any of those sit in your gut like old emotional stuff, or current stuff maybe?

Yup. I’m dealing with some major family stuff right now.

Okay. So that’s your headache. Pink told me. What is your main emotion dealing with family right now?

Anger

Color?

Blue.

You feel disappointment and rejection.

Jesus. Yes and yes.

I’ll mix you some oils to deal with a migraine when you have one. I’ll drop it by.

************************************
That was the end of my “reading.” I sat there kind of stunned. Though I don’t know why. In my extensive migraine research, I’ve read that some scientists and docs believe 90% of migraines are caused by emotional triggers. 90-effing-percent.

And people? I’m a BALL of extreme emotions. Good and bad.

The whole thing makes me sad. I don’t know how to stop my excessive feeling, worrying and stress. It is who I am. And my body revolts against it – with migraines – that are debilitating me.

My oil woman says she can help. There are calming oils and things like that.

At this point, I’ll try anything. I’m all about Western medicine but it’s failed me so far.

Anyway – I used the oil she mixed for when I get a migraine and my migraine is gone. I took a triptan (after I got my refill) so I’m not sure which one fixed it. Normally the migraine would come back today so if it doesn’t – the oil may have worked.

Another girl at work had a bad headache and I gave her the oil and five minutes later she said it’s gone. That’s good news huh?

So how about you guys? Have you ever tried alternative meds for a health problem? What was it and did it work? I’d love to hear!

Mother of the Year - Story #86 or something like that. And bling.

2012-01-30T04:00:00.003-06:00

Anyone with more than one child can understand what I mean when I say there's always one child that you know deep in your heart - is going to be trouble. From the moment my Banana was born - we knew - she was going to "that kid".

And bless her heart - she hasn't let us down. Not for one second.

The latest?

Ah well - first I should tell you - that according to my dear, sweet, angelic 6 year old - it's not her fault. Her friend told her to do it. The "it" being dumping water in another boy's shoes at school.

After the teacher told us what she did, I promptly asked Banana why she did it.

She simply said, "Cuz Alexa told me to."

Well, okay then.

So of course, I did the whole, "you can't do everything your friends tell you to" speal.

And I thought we were good.

Until I heard from the teacher again. This time? My Banana was caught going into the bathroom stalls to lock them from the inside and crawling back out. Yup - my kid crawled on school bathroom floors.

God help me.

Guess who was with her? Yup. Alexa. Alexa told her to do it.

I swear I'm going to kick that Alexa's ass. Cuz - yah - my child is perfect - duh.

Six years old people. Kindergarten. Not even half way through her first year.

On a happier note, Rambo got home the other day and told me hold out my hands and close my eyes. I did and also promptly said, "Why do you always bring me home food when you know I'm on a diet?"

As I open my eyes to see this blinged-out little thing.

Don't you love it? Rambo said he saw it and knew "he had to get it for his baby".

Oopsie - sorry about that whole "always bringing me food comment."

Pink and black baby. LOVE it!

Updates, oils, shoes, turds and necklaces. Oh and pigs too.

2012-01-26T04:00:00.002-06:00

Want a gluten-free migraine update? It's not that exciting but I'll give it to you anyway. I'm still eating gluten-free whenever I can. I know a woman who uses progesterone oil and swears she hasn't had a migraine since she started using it. I've always wondered if my migraines were part of some hormone issue because I never had them until I was pregnant 6 years ago.

Anywhoozle, I'm using the progesterone oil on my arms and the back of my neck as prescribed. This is what the bottle looks like and it's FIFTY freaking dollars. It's NOT a big bottle but it's very strong and has a pepperminty smell. We'll see how it works.

**********************************************************

Did you know Lara bars are gluten-free? Have you ever tried them? They LOOK like a square turd. Honestly - I just can't eat them anymore because of this. Look. I'm not wrong, am I?

****************************************************

I lost my Silpada watch. I'm pissed. It was silver and expensive and they don't sell it anymore.

****************************************************

I've been watching Sex and the City reruns and now I want a "Carrie" necklace.

Like this:

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I saw shoes like this on a blog I follow. Then I kept shoe shopping and found these and I want 16 pairs of them - simply because they are my favorite color evah. You like? They are Brooks.

***********************************************************

Lastly, I want to say sometimes I'm soooo happy to be a woman. Specifically I'm talking about Rambo's job - and not the one at the prison. The one where he drives a semi loaded with 600 pigs. Now it's true - a woman could do this job - but MOST of the time it is men. And well - I'm happy about that fact because I learned a new thing about hauling pigs today.

Because of PETA - in order to get pigs out of the semi you cannot use canes or prods or anything.

You have to simply clap your hands at them.

Obviously - if you've ever worked around animals - clapping one's hands doesn't often work. When it doesn't - and a pig won't come off the trailer - Rambo has to go inside the factory and get a worker and the worker comes out.

And shoots the pig. In the trailer. Then drags it in with the rest of the smart ones who got off the trailer on their own.

I simply cannot fathom this.

How about being the guy who does the shooting and dragging?

Ewwww - right?

You just might unfollow me after this.

2012-01-25T07:07:00.000-06:00

Mmmkkaayyy. I have decided to confess some things and some of them are gonna make some of you want to poke forks in my eyes. With jalepenos on them. For realz.

I’m willing to take the risk because I just have to get some of this off my chest.

OMG – I feel like I’m going to be burned at the stake or someone is going to knit me a big A for my chest.

Okay – here it is.

I hate Pinterest.

Holy shit, right? Are you still reading? Okay wait – before you unfollow me – hear me out.

I don’t actually hate Pinterest. I hate that there is a Pinterest. Meaning I hate that there is ANOTHER thing on the web that I’m supposed to want to make love to and name my first born after.

People – I can’t keep up! God help me – but I just can’t. I signed up – threw some tattoo pictures on there and followed a bunch of people…and haven’t look at it since. Why did I bother you ask?

BECAUSE. (Yup, that's the best reason I got. Just because.)

If someone asks me if I’m on Pinterest or the famous, “Oh my good golly, don’t you just looooooooove Pinterest?” or “Are you as addicted to your Pinterest as you are to your shoe collection?”…I can now say, “Yup, I’m on there. It’s great.”

Because before? Jesus, Mary and grasshopper dicks – if I said, “Nope – not on Pinterest!” – sometimes women would run away screaming or they’d slap me and look at me like I slept with their husband or something. It was just easier to make myself an account. Trust me.

And forgive me – but I just don’t get it. I “pin” things I like to my board. Um…in my head I know I like these things. Why do I need to put them on a virtual board? Why do I care if others see that? Why do I care what other people’s boards have on them? I’m confused. Help me.

You want another confession? Fine. I’ll give you one. I’m not into Twitter. Don’t know how it works. Don’t care to find out. Don’t want to. If one more person asks me or reprimands me for not being on Twitter I’m going to kick them in their twat. Honest to f*cking Pete. Who has time for all this shit? And what is Twitter anyway – instant statuses or something? Isn’t Facebook enough? I have cousins who literally update their status when they decide to go pee. Or blink. Or take a breath. Do I need to see this on Twitter too?

Speaking of Facebook. Here’s a little tip for you. CLARIFY yourself or I will hunt you down and kill you with a tire iron. A person I know in town with kids wrote this last night on Facebook:

“Found out today that Aspen has stomach and bladder cancer. What an awful day. Going to bed so we can get some sleep and decide what to do for her tomorrow.”

Are you sad? Are you freaking out that a little girl named Aspen is dealing with cancer and so are her parents? Is your heart breaking for them like mine did?

UNTIL YOU FIND OUT ASPEN IS THEIR FREAKING DOG!

I mean – yes – it is still sad BUT my God – I was about to start organizing a benefit and fundraiser. Jesus. Reedonkulous. How the hell do I know your DOG’S name is Aspen and it’s not your little girl????????????? CLARIFY.

I suppose if I want to admit it – I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed in life. I haven’t seen the top of my kitchen table in weeks. I don’t remember what my bathroom floor looks like without clothes spread all over it. Even the dust bunnies are pissed about how many of themselves there are. Yes, yes – I know. I’m not allowed to bitch and whine when I willfully took on numerous jobs and such but whatever. I’m going to bitch anyway.

I write a blog every day and follow almost 300 and try to comment on a lot of them. I have a Facebook page which gets used about 10 minutes per day. I have Pinterest. I cannot fathom twittering about Explosive Man or Asian massage therapists who freak out when I wear NUSSING. Honestly – it’s just not that interesting.

And my God – I don’t have the time. Between 2 kids, 1 house, budgets, 3 jobs, cooking, planning, cleaning, blogging, maintaining friendships and extended family relationships, dealing with my 16 personalities, watching my favorite shows and not working out – I just can’t give a damn about boards or twits.

How in the world do you guys all do it? Where do you draw the line? Do you love it all or hate it all?

And most importantly – do you still love me after I've beared my soul?

Obviously - if you love Pinterest and Twitter - I say more power to you. I'm actually just jealous that you can do it all. The only way I know how to say that is by making fun of it.

I have issues. Clearly.

The one where my pink plaid balls of steel turn into oatmeal.

2012-01-24T07:45:00.000-06:00

I hate oatmeal.

I much prefer pink plaid balls of steel.

Today would have been 3 weeks gluten-free. I say would have been because last night I ate a piece of cheese bread.

It wasn’t even that good. I just wanted to see if I could do it without my head exploding or my body turning into one big hive. My 6 year old keeps asking me if I still have “beehives” – and so far – they are gone.

With the end of the hives came the beginning of a migraine on Thursday. And Friday. And Saturday.

And Sunday.

And a trip to the E.R. I laid there begging Satan to give me the strength not to do the ugly cry because it would hurt my head so bad. For once he listened and I laid there – with tears just endlessly flowing out of my eyes as I sat still. No ugly cry – just tears of frustration.

The nurse asked me if I had any recent mental health changes and I said, “Yah, I’m pissed off.” To which he replied, “I’d be pissed off too. Now let me shove an IV in your arm and make your world go dark.”

I don’t remember much else. Except the pain being gone and Rambo putting me to bed.

I woke up migraine free – but still angry as hell.

To make matters worse, I told the doctor my gluten-free experiment and he said, “It’s highly unlikely that gluten caused your migraines.”

F*ck you! I wanted to scream. I can’t live like this!! I just can’t.

But that was the pain talking in that moment. And I keep replaying his words and I just feel defeated. I can’t help it. I just do. I was willing to do this one really hard thing forever if it kept me healthy – and it turns out – it ain’t gonna work.

Shitballs.

Sooo the new plan is to stay gluten-free 99% of the time. Listen – if my family is having pizza (which I haven’t had in 3 weeks!!!) – I’m going to eat it. The rest of the time I’ll keep eating gluten-free. It keeps my skin clear and my stomach doesn’t hurt so it’s worth it.

I’m going back on my migraine preventive meds. I have no choice. Not just for my quality of life – but for my kids.

I remember my girls asking me to do something with them as I laid on the couch before going to the ER and I mumbled that I couldn’t…I was too sick. And then I remember each of them – with their soft little lips – bending down and kissing me. One on the forehead and one on the cheek.

And walking away. That is not a memory I want my kids to have. I want them to kiss me in joy – not in sadness. I want more from myself than pain and laying on a couch for days at a time. I want to stop being angry at the hand I’ve been dealt in regards to migraines.

I want to spend my money on shoes and purses.

Not on hospital E.R. copays.

Nutrisystem stuff...

2012-01-21T12:25:00.000-06:00

FOR SALE!!!

I have some leftover Nutrisystem stuff that I want to sell because it's taking up space. Rambo and I only did Nutrisystem for two month and we liked it but the first month I was too dumb to realize I needed to make my own choices so NS made them for...so there are a lot of items I wouldn't have picked myself.

Rambo still eats some of it but I can't eat it anymore now that I've gone gluten-free and I just want the space back.

Anyway - I don't care about getting what I paid for it so I'm selling it for a fraction of the cost. I have NO idea what shipping will be because it'll be a big box. I'm not selling it in pieces - it's all or none. I thought I'd throw it out here before putting it on Ebay.

I think there's AT LEAST a month's worth of food for one person - if not more. For one month, when we did it I paid $270.00 plus shipping. I'll sell all of this for $100.00 plus whatever it costs to ship it. And you don't have to join or go online and choose or anything!!

It was a great program and I lost 7 lbs in the month I was on it and it was simple and smart. I wanted a month off of cooking, planning and grocery shopping and it was worth it just to see if I liked it.

Here's what I have:

Breakfast items:

nutrifrosted crunch cereal - 1

berries & multigrain flakes - 3

cluster crunch cereal - 3

lowfat granola cereal - 4

nutriflakes cereal - 2

scrambled eggs & veggies - 2

maple brown sugar oatmeal - 2

apple cinnamon oatmeal - 3

pancake mix - 1

blueberry pancake mix - 1

nutricinnamon square cereal - 1

cinnamon bun bar - 1

Lunch items:

Mexican tortilla soup - 4

pasta parmesan with broccoli - 6

cheesy homestyle potatoes - 11

hearty minestrone soup - 1

cream of broccoli soup - 3

3 cheese pasta with chicken - 3

fettucini alfredo - 1

pasta with beef - 1

beans & ham soup - 1

chx pasta in cacciatore sauce - 1

cheese tortellini - 1

creamy caeser dressing w/ diced chicken - 8

red beans & rice w/ chicken sausage - 1

tuna salad - 1

Supper items:

Mac & cheese with beef - 4

mac & cheese - 2

hearty beef stew - 2

vegetarian chili - 1

chili with beans - 3

Italian herb flatbread pizza - 5

flame broiled beef patty - 8

thick crust pizza - 4

buffalo chicken wrap - 1

cheese & spinach ravioli w/ meat sauce - 2

chicken pasta parmesan - 1

veg lasagna w/ basil tomato sauce - 4

cajun style chicken & sausage w/ rice - 1

bbq sauce over beef beans and rice - 1

lasagna with meat sauce - 1

rotini w/ meatballs and tomato sauce

grilled chicken breast - 2

Dessert items:

butterscotch pudding - 9

peppermint cookie pattie - 2

chocolate crunch bar - 3

chocolatey nougat bar w/ peanuts & caramel - 6

milk chocolatey delight bar - 2

chocolate peanut butter bar - 2

mint chocolate crunch bar - 2

coconut almond bar - 2

pretzels - 3

honey mustard pretzels - 3

walnut chocolate chip cookies - 1

white chocolate chunk cookie 2

chocolate chip cookie 2

peanut butter cookie 1

nutrichocolates - 1

double chocolate almond cookie 2

butter flavored popcorn - 3

oatmeal raisin cookie 2

nacho crisps - 1

buffalo wing pretzel bits - 1

Let me know if you're interested!

BYOC..Bring Your Own Crazy!

2012-01-20T11:16:00.000-06:00

I be sorry ladies. I decided to sleep in today and therefore BYOC is late. My apologies.

Let's get on with it, shall we?

BYOC - Bring Your Own Crazy! 5 little questions we answer to give our blogging brains a break and to get to know each other better. Copy and paste to your own blog and enjoy!

1. If money and time wasn't a problem - name a place you'd go on vacation and for how long?

* Most of you will smack me. Even IF money and time weren't an object - I doubt I'd go anywhere. I'm a homebody ~~social anxiety freakazoide~~ and there is NOWHERE on this Earth that I love than my home. After two days of being anywhere - I want to be back home. I have no list of places on a bucket list or relatives I'd go to see for weeks at at time....sad, but true.

2. This week I had a discussion with some friends about names our children or other people we know call the "nether regions". Don't hate - it's funny. So let's share them for a laugh. Any creative words for hoohaa and tallywhacker you think we haven't heard yet?

* When my 6 year old was little the whole "nether region" was her butt. The whole thing. Now we've graduated to "pee thing". My oldest daughter used to call a man's thing - his "hose". Today as an 11 year old - the area is called her "private zone".

One of my commenters called her vagina a bajingo this week and I freaking love that.

3. Take a picture of your nails right now! Bossy, aren't I? I just had my nails done - I can't help it. I neeeed to show someone!

4. Tell me about the weather right now where you are!

Right now - here - it is snowing like a banchee and we are expecting 10 inches. The only good thing about this is that I didn't go to work today because of it. LAME!

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

Blog land is annoying due to white pages/comment issues....see my post here to possibly fix this.

Real life is fine. Still gluten-free....but getting frustrated a bit. Hives are gone by the way! YAY!

If you're suddenly getting less or even no comments....

2012-01-20T10:49:00.000-06:00

It's probably not because of you or what you typing! Good news, right? LOL

There's a known unable to comment/white page issue going around blogger right now. It's annoying as hell...I can't comment on blogs (like Kelly, Ice Queen, Sarah). Sometimes clicking on the person's blog link brings up the blog when clicking on the post link just brings up a white screen - BUT - then I still can't comment.

Here's a fix that's been working for a lot of us.

Go into your settings and change your comments from embedded under your post to full page.

Dumb - but it works.

Try it and see if you suddenly start getting comments like you did before.

If you change it and still no one comments - well then - it might be because you're talking about poop or sumpin. Oh wait - I'm the only one who has issues reading about poop. Scratch that. LOL

Hope this helps some of you!

Try to get the word out if you can - I miss commenting on everyone's blogs! It's driving me crazy!!

There can still be love.

2012-01-19T10:40:00.000-06:00

I don’t understand fighting. Actually, I don’t understand how fighting works. It seems as though I fought way too many battles that a child shouldn’t have to fight as a little girl – so that as an adult – it’s still how I fight.

I back down. I shut off. I turn away. I believe with every fiber in me that whomever I’m fighting with is going to leave. They will realize I’m not worth fighting with. They will stop loving me and walk.

While I hate that whole “it’s all I know” and “it’s what I was taught” as an excuse to live as an adult – it haunts me because how I fight and feel now is how I did back then. I have not “risen above” the childhood hurt and fear and confusion as well as I thought I did.

I’ve also never really learned how not to need someone I love more than they need me. I’ve never figured out how not to need someone to complete me or make me feel whole or worthy. I’ve never found the strength to give that to myself.

Instead I put that pressure on others. Constantly seeking recognition. A pat on the back. A “good job”. A “we can’t do this without you”. Needing to be told “I love you” 50 bamillion times a day….and then still wondering if it’s true.

How does this happen? How do I continue to dishonor and smother the people who love me now because of the love I wasn’t given back then? Is heartache so comfortable and well known to me that I unconsciously cause it? Is happiness, loyalty and real love so foreign to me that I don’t know how to just revel in it and accept it and believe it?

As a little girl, I lived around my father but never really lived with him. He wasn’t able to show love or be around or even talk to me. If I did something wrong – he didn’t have the ability to yell at me usually. He’d tell my mom what he’d say if he could have and she’d repeat it to me. He was scared of me. Scared to even talk to me. Much less look at me or touch me.

So I did everything a child would do to get some attention. I reached for perfection in everything I did. I excelled in every grade, every subject and every event I was in. I followed every rule. I never went astray. Everything in me needed him to just notice that I was alive.

When he did ever speak to me, it usually wasn’t good….which only sliced my heart open further. I “still” wasn’t enough. He “still” wasn’t proud. (Well, he was - but as a child I couldn't see that.) But damn – I kept trying.

He stayed away anyway. And then as I got older, there were the flocks of so-called best friends I had. The love and loyalty never managed to be mutual. I was hoping and needing each of them to fill a void within me but we were all kids – and they couldn’t possibly know that. I’d love them more than my own life – and eventually – they’d walk away – choosing someone else.

Then I found a relative, an Uncle, who seemed to love me. Laugh with me, spend time with me. I found myself wishing he was my father. I looked up to him and thought maybe I wasn’t so bad after all. Until the day that Uncle shot himself without saying a word to me. Without a goodbye. Without telling me it wasn’t my fault.

I was left again wondering what was wrong with me? Why does every person I love leave? Why do they never love me as much as I love them? I can’t give away my heart anymore than I already do.

I realize now that the undoing and walking away that most of them did from me – was caused by me. I needed more of their love and time than any person could give. I needed them to be my everything – and that’s too much of a burden for anyone to bear. The pressure I put on them to love me as much as I loved them was immense. And nearly suffocated them I’m sure.

Throughout the rest of my life – until Rambo and then Jenny – my life is sprinkled with friendships or loved ones who’ve walked away and left. People I swore I’d be friends with until the day I died – all gone. Every time – promises are broken. Hearts ripped to shreds. Walls thick with mortar are put up. I stay within myself – trusting no one but me. I tell myself it’s not worth it. That “I” am not worth it.

I don’t understand everlasting love. Perpetual, undying, unconditional love. Still.

I doubt I ever will. That’s not to say I don’t want to – but my heart won’t allow it. Every time I start to believe – something happens – and reality crashes in on me…and I start the struggle all over again.

I’m still a little girl waiting to be walked out on. I believe that if I fight with someone – then the next day they’ll walk out of my life – because they’ll realize I’m not worth the fight. I mean – really – why would they fight for me when I don’t fight for myself?

Why would anyone believe in me when I refuse to believe in myself? When will I finally realize that some people in this world do stay? Some do love – forever. It doesn’t hurt or end every time. Sometimes people don’t walk away.

I am not a little girl anymore. I don’t want to be her. She was reaching for stars that she didn’t even really want to hold. Finding perfection for all the wrong reasons. Desperately needing someone else’s validation as a reason just to stay alive.

The thing is, if I look back – even after being left and broken by so many – I still survived. I’m still here. And even though my heart has holes in it – it’s still beating. And loving and living.

If people walked away from me – then that is what was meant to be. That’s the path that was laid out for me to get me here today. Believing in never-ending love is a bit of a stretch and maybe that’s what I needed to learn all along. That the fairy tale of true love isn’t real and pretending it is just sets a person up for disappointment.

What is true is that people make mistakes. They walk away when they said they wouldn’t. They lie when they said they wouldn’t. Love isn’t perfect but it can be forgiving. Matters of the heart – romantic or otherwise - are extremely complicated and feelings can flip flop on a dime.

Because we are human. Humans make mistakes. Humans hurt each other. And in turn, humans have the choice to react to each hurt in any way they see fit.

I suppose if I were to admit it – I’d say my father inadvertently taught me a lot about love. He taught me that love isn’t easy and it’s often masked behind things that look and feel nothing like you think love is supposed to. Yet, even in the hurt and mistakes – there can still be love.

If I stop looking for love – it won’t appear to be there. I’ll just see the hurt and mistakes on top of the love that hides underneath.

And that would be a shame. Because underneath the hurt and mistakes, is a decent, sound, though imperfect love that is worth having. And for once, I’m going to fight for it and believe in it.

Doing the opposite seems unimagineable.

Gluten-free - Day 16 Update!

2012-01-18T13:18:00.000-06:00

This gluten-free shiz is tricky. And challenging to say the least.

I’ve said before that I’ve NEVER been on a diet strictly for my health. It was almost always to lose weight to simply look better. If I slipped up and cheated – I would gain weight and feel pissed –

but it wasn’t a huge deal.

Now? If I slip or cheat – it “feels” life-altering.

Because, let’s face it – if going gluten-free works – it WILL be life-altering.

Today is Day 16. I didn’t cheat on purpose once. Really early on I read a package of Brach’s candies (my FAVE) and didn’t see anything with gluten in it so I ate them. Later on Rambo brought me about 10 more bags and when I checked online – Brach’s says it cannot confirm or deny traces of gluten so I shouldn’t eat them. Life almost ended. For real. But I’ve had none since.

The ONLY other time I goofed up was Chinese – and that wasn’t for lack of research or trying. I thought I was safe BUT in scouring the net today I’m 99% sure that what I had was cooked using soy sauce and that’s a gluten no-no.

I had that Chinese on Saturday night. Immediately after I swelled and felt nauseous and flu-ish and generally yucky. The next day I got my first migraine in over a week. The next next day I was covered in hives. Even the vagina got in on the action. Last night and this morning – again – I woke up covered in hives. As I sit at my desk with my radio on I can hear my stomach making loud noises – like it used to – pre-G-free.

Through extensive research again – hives are a VERY common reaction to accidental gluten ingestion. Once off gluten – and you eat it again – if you have a problem with it – your reaction will be much worse than when you had eaten gluten every day.

I am praying and hoping and begging that these hives are temporary and due to the accidental ingestion.

So yes, I did get a migraine. It was after the accidental gluten ingestion AND the day Aunt Flo arrived also sooo it could be the gluten OR a completely hormonal migraine.

My swelling in my stomach is much better. I used to be able to sleep until 10am or 11am on weekends and still need a 3 hour nap later – and I have done neither. I used to hit my snooze button massive times before I could find the will power to drag my fatigued body from bed. No more. Today I arrived at work EARLY.

Today – just to be sure I’m not getting hives from topical gluten – I’ve researched hairsprays and deodorants and makeups that are gluten-free. I suppose next is detergent.

They say if your gluten intolerance is very sensitve and high – when you accidentally ingest it – your reaction will be worse. Makes sense. So in the same token – if your intolerance is high – you possibly may not be able to tolerate even touching glutens that you don’t ingest – like makeups, hairsprays, etc.

This hive thing? Well, it sure as hell is enough to make me want to throw in the towel. I mean – ask yourself – how long could you live with hives in every crevice but your ass? Or why would you want to?

I don’t think I’d even wish this on Drazil.

So I sit doped up on Benadryl – and unbelievably – it doesn’t even make me tired.

Normally I’d have had to go home.

I’m not giving up. I’m waiting this out. There is also such a thing as gluten withdrawal. The gluten and toxins leaving your body – coming out through your skin as hives. I could be sensitive to dairy as many gluten-sensitive people are.

Also – did you know that there is a book out there that tells a person all about themselves – what they should eat, what they are more prone to, etc – by their blood type?

Now I have no idea if I believe in this too much or not – except that I’m Type O. And sure as shit – Type O people are very prone to gluten-sensitivity. Of course they are.

Oh wait – one last thing. Remember how I don’t sleep through the night – like ever? And I also sleep with earplugs to drown out Rambo’s snoring? And I was filled with hives when I went to bed?

Didn’t matter. I slept the entire night. The whole thing people. I do not recall waking up or moving or anything and I didn’t even use earplugs.

OMFG. That would be Oh My F*cking Gluten.

Couple other things I discovered are this:

Ragu spaghetti sauce and pizza sauce are gluten-free! This means that with my gluten-free pasta I bought I can sit down with the family and still have spaghetti night!

Anyone ever eat/make shit on a shingle? Dried beef and rice and white sauce. Um yes – I can eat this too.

I went to the candy drawer at work yesterday. Took out two Milky Ways. Got to my desk and googled whether or not they had gluten. They do. They mother-f*cking do. I nearly passed out because I didn’t want to believe it. Who the hell stuck gluten in my favorite candy bar??? I threw them in the candy jar like a pouting 3 year old would - for someone else to enjoy.

My family had a giant roll of french bread smothered in butter and garlic and cheese and broiled to perfection last night. I did not even so much as look at it. I’m not sure you understand the difficulty of this feat. It’d be like Drazil not talking smack to me 24/7. It’s nearly impossible. But I did it.

Mmkkaayyy – there you go. My gluten free 16 day update. As of Day 14, I was down 4 pounds. Bonus!

I don’t find eating gluten-free that difficult but I’m not going to lie – this hive thing is taking all my will power to stick through it. The “thought” of cutting down migraines without meds is so powerful to me that I’ll do it. I used to have the mind-set that “if I eat that while I’m on my diet – I’ll gain weight” and that was never enough to stop. Now when I reach for something and realize I can’t have it and I then don’t have it – it is because my mind now says, “if I eat that while I’m on my diet – I’ll get sick.”

Totally different motivator.

Oh and also – remember I’ve been on an antibiotic for years to control my acne that produces severe swelling. I haven’t taken it in at least a week – and no breakouts yet (normally after 3 days I’d have a breakout already). So if this keeps up – that’s another dangerous medicine I’m off! In just 16 days.

Please – if you know who the God of Hives is – get on your little knees and pray to Him for me. It has to be a HE….no woman – God or otherwise – would let another woman get hives that encircle her hoo-haa.

Last night I almost took pictures of the hives. No – not the vagina ones. The other PG rated ones.

If they come back tonight maybe I will. It’s acky.

You will not likey. Trust me.

Something happened to my vagina that has never happened before.

2012-01-17T07:55:00.000-06:00

And it has nothing to do with sex, you dirty little perverts. It’s not a good “something happened to my vagina” either. Damn it.

It is quite possibly one of thee worst vagina occurrences I’ve ever encountered. Second only to pushing a small watermelon out of it and having tummy tuck drain tubes stuck in the top of it for weeks.

It is seriously almost worse than both of those – put together.

Let me back up and start from the beginning.

Yesterday was a normal Monday. I felt all sassy when I woke up so I decided to actually put some effort into how I looked. I curled all of my hair. I used a bunch of new makeup and makeup brushes I bought. I freaking wore feather earrings. I put on a white shirt with a ruffle down the front and a belt around the waist.

Then? I put on my Gap jacket that is EXACTLY like my best friend’s jacket – except hers is black. That’s right – yours truly – with Jenny’s help – shopped all of Ebay and found a jacket just like hers so we could be twins ~~and because I stalk her~~. No, it’s not weird. Why would you say that?

Anywhoozle, I felt pretty good.

Then strange things began to happen about mid-way through the day.

My armpits would itch like little aliens were tickling them with tiny feathers just to piss me off. I itched them and moved on. The back of my neck itched a few times. Whatever.

My left eye felt like it had a mosquito bite in the outside corner so I itched it. No biggie.

I went to my board meeting. I went to my daughter’s basketball game afterwards.

And on the way home – life exploded. Well, wait. Life didn’t explode but hives the size of OJ Simpson’s ego did.

Now I’m no stranger to hives. I get them all the time in social situations BUT they aren’t hives like this. I usually get red splotches on my chest. No itching. Nothing raised. I don’t even know they are there until someone says something or I look in the mirror. They go away within an hour.

But these hives I got last night – holy shit on a stick. THESE are hives. Raised bumps and welts more than 3 inches long. Everywhere where it seemed my clothes touched me. All along my bra line. My jeans line. My whole neck where my collar was. Even my hands and wrists. No lie – I had hives on my eyelids people.

My mother-effing eyelids.

You think that’s the extent of it? Nope – I had hives on my ears. On the top of my feet. Backs of my arms. Everywhere.

And let me tell you – the word “itch” does not even begin to cover it. I wanted to scrape my skin off with a butter knife.

So I sat on the couch – puzzled – itching myself like someone hallucinating on meth and praying we had benadryl. We did. I took some.

Every 10 minutes I’d go into Rambo and stand there naked and scream, “Look at me! Just look! I look like I ran through a barb-wire fence with no clothes on! I’m a leper!”

He said to take more Benadryl. I did. I freaking tried to overdose on Benadryl.

And then it happened.

A hive. In the space where your leg and crotch meet and bend.

I wanted to scream, “Oh the humanity!!!” but I decided that might scare my kids. Yelling that while frantically digging at my crotch may freak them out a bit. Hell – it freaked ME out.

So of course, one hive turns into like 80 and before you know it my vagina is encircled by hives. Outlined all pretty like someone was drawing a big circle around it.

Except it wasn’t pretty. It was red and blotchy and swelled and raised and it itched so bad that I thought I might die. Right there on my couch with a hivey vagina.

I walked to the office to show Rambo and I swear to you I had to walk bow-legged. It wasn’t pretty. Half-way there I couldn’t do it. I decided I’d just tell him they were there. No need for show AND tell. Just tell. He’d understand. He'd thank me for it later.

I took more Benadryl. Don’t hate and don’t judge. Until your vagina looks like a hooker’s crab-infested hoo-haa – you don’t get to judge.

At some point, I fell asleep or went into a coma from overdosing but either way – I stopped itching.

I woke up this morning expecting my skin to have fallen completely off but it’s still on me. And there are remnants of my hives but nothing like last night.

Was it the coat from Ebay? (I thought I had washed it but now I think I might not have) The new makeup? Something I ate? Was it the feather earrings? Were they made from some NY alley pigeon with fleas?

Who the hell knows?

All I know is my vagina looks like a vagina today. And folks – let’s all admit – that on their own hive-less vaginas aren’t all that “pretty”. Can you even fathom what one looks like with hives encircling it?

Try not to. It will haunt you until the day you die.

Just trust me when I tell you it sucks grasshopper dicks. Here’s hoping the vagina hives don’t come back today because I’m pretty sure Human Resources might have something to say to me if I walk around with my hand in my pants itching my crotch all day.

How do you like YOUR desk?

2012-01-16T11:12:00.000-06:00

Every January, raises are doled out here. And every year the process makes me question my worth in comparison to others. If I wasn’t one of the few in the company who can see every other person’s salary, I doubt the comparing would happen. But it does – because I do see. I can compare down to the penny. Sometimes that’s pretty uplifting and sometimes it’s the opposite.

Either way – when it’s all said and done – it’s a huge lesson in gratitude and in learning NOT to compare things that are not apples to apples.

You see, being a mother and a wife has never been enough for me. I suppose to some that sounds appalling but it’s not…it’s called honesty. I have always known that I’ve needed an identity that is all about me and my talents or skills. Something that labels me as someone other than woman, mother, wife, daughter, or friend.

I can easily admit that those terms above take priority over my career but still - I need them all.

I’ve always worked in the professional arena and always full time. I’ve always loved my jobs and the people I work with. I’ve always done “stuff” with numbers. Though I was a 4.0 student, I knew that any longer than 2 years in college was too much for me.

I was engaged right out of high school to Rambo. Almost the only thing I could think of was saying “I do” so I could finally live with him and be his wife. Two years of college was almost too much but I did it. I chose a technical college and I never paid a penny for my education due to grants. All three of my siblings have huge college loans that they struggle with so I never once doubted my decision. I never lost a job due to my education or lack thereof. I don’t make less than my siblings because of it.

And even though I knew I’d do something with numbers, I never really had a dream job. I never said, “One day I will be a ______ at _______.” or anything like that. I never, ever thought beyond having a good paying job that I loved. Period.

Until now.

I still have a good paying job that I love. A full-time job in a professional government arena that I excel at…which allows me the time and ability to work on my other two part-time numbers jobs.

It’s an amazing place to work with amazing people and benefits and flexibility.

But the thing is – I’m comfortable. I can’t make this job any more efficient than I already have. There is no more to do. There are no challenges.

I wonder if it’ll be enough forever. It is for now because my kids are young and I don’t have the ability to do and be more right now but how about long term? I could go back to college for free but do I want to? Am I too scared and am I letting that fear dictate where I go in life? Can I really accept that this may be the top of the corporate ladder for me? Can I learn to stop comparing my career to other’s careers? Can I figure out what I really want?

Do I want to do and be more or stay comfortable? And can I live with my answer?

I’m not sure. What I do know is that I appreciate the part of me that is willing to ask the question. Maybe I won’t change a damn thing or maybe I will. I’m just glad I allow myself to think about it. If I stay here for the rest of my life – I want it to be a conscious choice….not a choice made out of fear of risk or fear of leaving my comfort zone.

Today I think it fits. I fit in this spot right here at these three desks I’ve attained for myself.

Yup – for today. I’m good.

Are you? Do you allow yourself to ask the question or are you afraid of the answer?

Gluten-free for two weeks!

2012-01-16T04:00:00.002-06:00

Today begins day 15 of being gluten-free. I haven't cheated...but I thought I might have to. Rambo and I were going out for supper - my FIRST eating out gluten-free experience. I was scurrred.

We decided on Chinese. Chicken is gluten-free. White sauce is gluten-free. Rice is gluten-free.

I was proud of myself but later on my stomach was very uncomfortable and swelling and it makes me wonder if my research was wrong or there was cross-contamination. So I suppose lesson learned in the Chinese area of food for me. (anyone else gluten-free have Chinese food issues?)

I'm noticing more and more good things as the days pass.

As I've said before - I suffer from fatigue big time and I don't sleep well at night and so on the weekends, I can EASILY sleep in until 11am. And still take a 2 to 3 hour nap in that same afternoon.

Being tired never ends for me.

But this weekend - BOTH days - even though I didn't have to be...I was up at 9am Saturday (even after staying up LATE the night before) and 10am on Sunday. I didn't even feel like sleeping any more. And unbelievably - I didn't take a nap EITHER day.

What the holy hell is going on?

Here might be the best thing of all. STILL no migraine. That means in 14 days I've had ONE people.

Mother-effing-ONE.

Pre-gluten-free - by now I'd have had EIGHT as my average is about 4 a week.

Can you say holy shit? It actually might piss me off. Why? Because if you knew the life and time I've wasted and MONEY I have spent in the last 5 years on ER visits and pain meds and days off work - you'd be pissed too. That not one single doctor ever thought to suggest trying going gluten-free. Really?

So I've pre-planned the week's meals with eggs, smoothies, chicken, broccoli, rice and potatoes.

Oranges and lots of water. Stuff like that.

Here's hoping I have another 2 weeks left in me! So far, so good.

BYOC - Bring Your Own Crazy!

2012-01-13T09:41:00.000-06:00

It’s Friiiiidddaayyy! That means it’s time for BYOC – Bring Your Own Crazy! A little ditty you can participate in on Fridays to get to know your fellow blogger better and to give your blogging brain a break. Copy and paste to your own blog and ENJOY!!

Special thanks goes out to my fellow Jedi Kittens – Linda and Stef – for supplying me with every single question this week!

No theme today – just massively random!

1. Do you have a favorite traditional “birthday meal”? If yes – what is it and what is the meaning behind it?

I don’t have a “certain” meal but there is a definite meal tradition in our house. Meaning if it’s your birthday you pick the meal. If it’s your favorite or second favorite or whatever – doesn’t matter – what matters is your right to pick with no complaints allowed from others. Ha!

2. If you’ve lost weight, has your style changed since you lost weight? Or what's your dream purchase when you do lose weight/hit goal?

I remember the biggest change for me was right after I hit goal and had my tummy tuck. It wasn’t a certain item of clothing – but instead that I began to actually tuck in my shirts for the first time in like forever. It was really hard for me to stop buying things bigger – so as to hide things.

My mother and sister constantly yelled at me that I was wearing stuff too big and I just couldn’t see it…because it was so comfortable to me. I don’t really have any goal clothing. If I like it – I wear it…unless I look like a complete elephant in it.

I draw the line at elephant.

3. Pick one question of the following two to answer: Who is your favorite Muppet and why? Or who is your favorite Smurf and why?

Screw it – I’m answering both. What’s the smurf’s name that eats all the time and never ever gets fat? He’s constantly baking and making those cute cupcakes and never once does he so much as gain an ounce. That’s MY smurf.

And of course I love Miss Piggy for believing that she is the most beautiful, wanted sex symbol on this Earth and for never giving up on trying to land Kermit BUT I also really love the little shrimp that never talks and Mr. Beaker. Or wait – is Mr. Beaker the name of the shrimp? I can’t remember.

4. When you buy a lotion or after bath spray or body spray or candle (not perfume) – what’s the “flavor” you always find yourself loving the most?

For me – it’s always vanilla-y…like sugar cookies or cupcakes. If it’s not that, then it’s clean cotton – fresh from the dryer smell. Two faves – fo sho.

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

Real life is - meh…fine. I really can’t even think of another word to describe it. Gluten-free is going well diet-wise.

Blogland is still good – many people sticking to diets and workouts and life goals so that is inspiring.

Have a great weekend Skittles!

PWPs.....People With Penises.

2012-01-12T12:12:00.000-06:00

Yup, another “P” word. At least this particular P word doesn’t smell bad.

Wait…I suppose it could. I mean, I imagine homeless lepers wouldn’t have rosey-smelling penises now would they?

Oh God. Moving on.

I had three PWP (People With Penises) moments yesterday that made me want to stick dull butter knives into my ears or use said butter knife to cut off said penises.

Moment #1

Actually this is kind of like two moments in one cuz it’s about multiple penises.

Rambo’s computer all of a sudden stopped working. After not being able to fix it myself using the power of Google, I take it into my IT Support guys.

I walk in – say it doesn’t work and all three men look up and ask, “How much porn is on it?” Immediately it’s their first thought. Porn. Which leads to porn virus. It’s inevitable according to them.

Shitballs. I’d like to say none but I’m not too confident in that answer soooo I just laugh it off….”Ha, ha, very funny – now fix the damn thing!”

I leave. I come back later.

I walk back in and say, “How’s it going?”

Support guy says to me, “The machine is clean. I can’t find any porn on it and I’m actually shocked. Especially since he’s a guy. You must be doing pretty well at home.”

Yup – these people are my CO-WORKERS. What do you say to that?

Do I act proud and say, “Well yes, I am good at doing MY OWN porn, thank you very much.”

Or?

Do I pretend to be appalled and yell, “Go wash your mouth out – I have no idea what porn even is!”

I’m stammering and turning 18 bazillion shades of Satan red when he then says, “Well, I’m not sure I should have worked on this considering the explicit pictures on his screensaver.”

I’m freaking out thinking what in the name of grasshopper dicks is on Rambo’s screensaver?

Why can’t he just be normal and look at normal porn?

So we glance at the screensaver pictures. And I’m beyond sick to my stomach. I want to D.I.E. right there on the floor of the IT room – WHERE I WORK!

It’s me. In a bikini. At Jenny’s house. Repeatedly. Mixed in with shots of our family and motorcycle things and heavy metal band names and oh – full screen pics of my entire back tattoo with no shirt on.

No – not a big deal. In ANY other setting but AT WORK.

Like I said, it could be worse – but come on - go ahead and imagine watching that and seeing that with the MEN you work with in a corporate, professional environment. Like every day.

I feel violated. And it’s my own damn fault. I asked for their help.

Jesus balls.

Only people with penises would point out such things as “no porn – you’re doing well at home” OR “I saw you almost naked multiple times” to their co-worker.

If this had been women – we all would have pretended we saw nothing. Right?

Moment #2

A manager stopped by my office yesterday and saw I had rice cakes on my desk. He picked them up. Asked if they tasted like cardboard. I said no.

He then asked if they kept me full. I said not really.

He said, “I’ve lost 7 pounds in the last 4 days.”

I wanted to scream – GET THE F*CK OUT OF MY OFFICE.

He says he cut calories and runs and hopes to lose another 3 in the next 3 days to make 10lbs in one week.

I tell him, “You do realize this only happens to those of you with appendages between your legs.”

He smiles and says, “Yup.”

Mother asshole. I hate his skinny ass. I seriously do.

If this had been a woman stopping in, she would have said something like, “For the last 5 days I’ve only eaten a multi-vitamin and I’ve GAINED 10 lbs. Maybe I should try these rice cake thingys.”

Moment #3

This actually happened a while ago but I just remembered it. My brother was staying at my house. He got up and took a shower downstairs. That is Rambo’s bathroom. All things manly. No girl dares enter there.

He comes upstairs and I say, “Did you find everything you needed?”

He says, “Yah, something is weird though. I took a shower but I smell like the woods or dirt. Nature-y or something.”

Uh yah…you nimrod. Try reading labels when you are in another MAN’s bathroom (or how about ANY bathroom that isn’t your own?). That’s hunting shampoo you used and it’s literally dirt scented. You might want to shower again before you go home.

Apparently penises make you illiterate (or blind)(or stupid) once in a while.

If this had been a woman – um duh – she’d have brought her OWN damn shampoo.

********************************************
There you have it! My little installment of PWP – People With Penises - moments.

Do you have any of your own? I’d love to hear them!

You can shove your trend you know where.

2012-01-12T07:51:00.000-06:00

Gluten-free is the latest and greatest trend out there….so everyone is doing it.

That’s what I heard yesterday from someone. And truthfully? I wanted to punch them in the mouth and then rub peppers in their eyes. I can be a little mean ~~when provoked~~.

See – the thing is – around here not a single person I know does gluten-free living as of just recently anyway. As far as it being a “new” trend – the only two people I do know that follow a gluten-free lifestyle do so because they have celiac disease – and um – they’ve had it for more then 30 years. Doesn’t sound new to me.

I do think that people and doctors are more aware now of gluten intolerance and allergies even when celiac disease isn’t the diagnosis. Instead of calling baby’s distended bellies and chronic crying “colic” – some doctors are thinking it’s gluten due to the fact that gluten is hard to digest – even for adults.

People desperate to find the trigger for such things as migraines are giving gluten-free a shot. Persons with chronic diarrhea or constipation are trying gluten-free because of the digestive issues gluten poses. Acne, fatigue, depression, mood changes, and a billion other things can be affected by gluten.

But automatically – people think this is a “trend” to lose weight. I’d like to point out that MANY people do NOT lose weight going gluten-free. Why?

Because today there is gluten-free bread, flour, cookies, cakes, pastries, candy and soda. I’m fairly convinced that there’s nothing you can’t eat on a gluten-free diet that you would otherwise. Do a little internet searching and you’ll find companies who strictly sell gluten-free products of every kind.

If I want to gain weight being gluten-free – I sure as hell can.

For me – I have lost weight BUT it’s because I’ve chosen not to buy gluten-free “junk” food most of the time. I’m trying to stay away from processed gluten-free stuff. That being said – Mountain Dew is already gluten-free. So are things like Cool Ranch Doritoes – and when I want to splurge – I’ll do so on those. MANY, many kinds of candy are gluten-free and always have been.

Trust me – I’ll get by. BUT I’m trying to do “healthy” gluten-free. And for me this diet – for the first time ever – is not about weight loss.

My stomach swells and hurts when I eat. I have adult acne so much that I take a daily antibiotic for it. I suffer from migraines up to 4 times a week. I’m on a preventive medication that I don’t want to be on for those. I rarely sleep through the night and never sleep restfully. I battle constant fatigue. All of these things leave no energy or will power to want to work out. The list goes on – one symptom perpetuates another.

Last night began Day 8 for me. And though they say it can take a full month to feel really true effects of going gluten-free….some feel it beginning on Day 4 already.

For me – Day 8 I finally felt “really” different. Like enough to stop what I was doing and think to myself, “Wow – I feel so different. Even well. I wonder if this is actually working.”

Clear-headed. Focused.

And my God – I have energy. I worked out for an hour and it didn’t kill me. I still wasn’t tired. I even ran.

There are about 6 bags of my all time FAVORITE Valentine’s candy on my counter – which never ever in my life have I been able to resist before….of which I have also eaten more than one entire bag in a day….and there they sit.

Feeling like this – is worth not having those. They have traces of gluten.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been on a diet before whose effects were worth not cheating. Sad – but I’m being honest.

The only thing I miss right now is pizza – and I plan to remedy that with a gluten-free recipe. I am eating fruits and veggies daily. Lean meats like chicken and tilapia. And gluten-free isn’t carb-free. I’m eating a small potato or brown rice or yogurt or rice cakes.

Normally – I hit the snooze button at least 6 times every morning. Today – once…even though my sleep still isn’t great. (I hope that changes.)

I haven’t taken my acne antibiotic in 4 days – which by now would mean I’d start to see acne popping up. None so far.

Since I began gluten-free – I’ve had one migraine. I normally would have had about 4.

The constant swelling in my stomach is almost gone. I am not in pain every time I eat.

8 days done and already this. The next step is to get off migraine preventive meds, lower my blood pressure by losing more weight by finally having the mental and physical strength to exercise and lowering my cholesterol at the same time.

So to the person yesterday who rolled their eyes and told me this was just another “trend”. Well – you can take your trend and shove it. Up your gluten-filled ass that is.

While me? I’m gonna keep going – Day 9 awaits.

Glorious poop.

2012-01-11T08:04:00.000-06:00

Hello. I am Me. Hater of all words that begin with P – namely poop, pee, puke and pressures (aka farts). Ever since I announced this hatred to the blogging world, Karma has graced my daily life with sightings of some type of P word.

Let’s take this little story for example.

Rambo happened to be home in the morning so I didn’t want to get out of bed. We were chatting. I was laying on my stomach and he was rubbing my back as we talked. At one point, he turned into a 12 year old and even spelled “I love you” onto my back with his index finger to see if I’d notice.

It’s the shit movies are made of, right?

Sure. Well that is until I made the cardinal error and proclaimed, “Ugh, I don’t want to get up and I’m going to be late.”

To which Rambo’s ass replied with the loudest, most disgusting pressure EVER.

I kid you not – I sprinted from the bed – so as not to get any “pressure” remnants on me. Because the only thing worse than hearing or smelling a “pressure” is sitting in it’s air.

As I hear Rambo laughing and yelling, “Look at how fast you can go!”

Minutes later, he’s in the bathroom with me and he wants to hug me.
I say, “Get away from me. You probably smell.”

He says, “Oh baby, don’t you know the first one out of the box never smells? The second – maybe – but never the first.”

Seriously? And then he has the nerve to say, “Just think – if I won the lottery, you’d get to have all of this every morning cuz I wouldn’t go to work anymore.”

Remind me to stop praying that you win the lottery asshole.

You’d think that for the day that I’ve had enough of dealing with things that make me want to hurl after Rambo shits the bed but nope. You’d be wrong. I got to work and I get a text from Watermelon.

W: Mom. Dad says that to start a morning off great people should take a poop because he did take a poop and he is going on and on about it.

My only reply was: “Jesus.”

W: Yup. Dad thanked Jesus for his glorious poop also.

And I never heard from her again.

I’m not sure what’s worse. My 11 year saying “glorious poop” before 8am or her texting me SOLELY about poop.

What the hell is wrong with my family?

Come to find out later – Rambo was dancing in the hallway before his glorious poop – to the rhythm of that song “Whoop – there it is.” Remember that song?

He’s dancing and yelling, “I feel a poop coming on, I feel a poop coming on. Whoop – there it is. Whoop – there it is.”

As my daughters nearly go comatose from giggling.

When will they learn that poop is not funny?

All before 8am.

I can’t wait for Explosive Man to get to work.

Let the “shit” continue.

Gluten-free - Day 8 begins!

2012-01-11T08:02:00.000-06:00

So far, so good my Skittles.

Not a whole lot to report on the G-free front – except – that I’m learning more each day and I’m a label-reading guru. I’ve added some new things to my meal plans.

I have found out I can eat:

Cornbread

syrup

Dried beef

Rice

Cream cheese

Rice cakes

Taco seasoning (certain brands)

Salsa (Tostitoes scoops are gluten-free)

Yogurt (Yoplait)

And the list goes on. At my local grocery store, I have found all the gluten-free flour I could ever need (for making gravy) and an entire gluten-free section of food.

This section of course, has good and bad. Oreo cookies and cookie mixes – all gluten free. Of which I didn’t buy any. I’m still trying to aim for mostly health – not just gluten-free.

Instead of eggs for breakfast, I’ve been making smoothies.

One cup of skim milk, one cup of yogurt and one cup of frozen berries. YUM!

I did buy gluten-free pasta to try.

Other than that – I’m sticking to the staples of brown rice, potatoes, chicken, tilapia and broccoli…and eggs.

Today begins day 8 and I’m down 3.5 pounds so that’s a nice bonus. I’ve been drinking tons of water and still taking magnesium and Vitamin D.

A surge in energy and the absence of migraines (except for the one) are the two major changes I’ve noticed. And not feeling sick after I eat.

3 more weeks to go!

Onward!

Wishes are like fairy tales.

2012-01-10T04:00:00.000-06:00

I used to think that life was pretty black and white.

You know?

Live or die. Stay or go. Yes or no. Love or hate. Hot or cold. Alone or together.

Totally cut and dried. Black and white.

Now though? Every year that I grow older, every moment that I live through, every new memory that I make teaches me that black and white is blasphemy. A crock. A sham.

It can never be that simple.

I think people are bound to hurt other people – intentionally or not – based on deep seeded fears and ignorance. I suppose that sounds cynical but I’m sorry – it’s been my experience. I do, however, think love can conquer those hurts – if it wants to.

If the heart has the strength to forgive – even when it can’t forget.

There are things I’d have sworn on just months ago – that I wouldn’t now. There are judgements that I have made that I had no business making. Just when I’d seen it all and believed I’d been through hell and back and felt the deepest of pains – life happened – and every wound I ever had felt re-ripped open. Fresh. Aching. Gushing hurt that brought me to my knees and made me bitter. Cynical. Even doubtful.

I suppose it’s this way for everyone. We live life moment to moment and we flip from near perfection to near agony to somewhere in between….in between the shades of gray.

Tragedies strike in moments when even seconds before everything was okay.

Accidents. Deaths. Diagnoses. Betrayals. Job losses. Natural disasters.

All of them. Who the hell every predicts or expects them? We tell ourselves we can’t live like that….because that’s not really a life………waiting for the “axe to fall.”

But then it falls. And you’re in shock – because for years you’ve been telling yourself not to fear “the axe”.

Yet, when you least expect it, everything you know is ripped to shreds and falls to pieces. You wonder if anything you see is real or true. You throw up walls you thought you long ago had broken down. You feel defeated. You tell yourself the world is a cruel place and no one can be trusted.

It’s just easier to tell yourself that then to try to believe again. Believing again requires faith and hope.

And sometimes I just can’t conjure any of that up.

The thing is – when something happens and you feel like your soul has been shattered and your core is never going to be able to withstand the pain…you wake up and figure out that you did.

You didn’t melt or die or “lose it”. You may have felt like you did – but you didn’t. In the back of my mind, I hear a voice whispering, “Embrace the pain. There’s a reason for it. God is trying to teach you something – if you’ll only listen.”

If I stay the course and remain steadfast in my belief that everything happens for a reason – then I cannot break. Everything I’ve said and done and been a part of can’t be for nothing.

Life isn’t black and white. It’s a billion shades of gray mixed with laughter and pain. If you can’t see that – and behind your wall – you refuse to see anything but black and white – well then – when tragedy strikes, you won’t make it through.

The pain will eat you alive when it hits. And trust me – it will hit. In some way, shape or form – it will come. Pretending it won’t – for me – was just stupid. It was black and white thinking.

No one can escape pain completely. Really. Who did I think I was?

And that’s not the point of pain anyway. It’s not meant to “eat you alive”.

The point of pain is to rise above it.

To conquer it. To be able to calm it, even mute it. To heal it.

To become better because of it – not in spite of it.

Past fears, hurts and agonies can define us and crush us and they can consume us – if we let them.

And it’s definitely a choice on how I let it define me – then and now.

Some days the choice is easy. Some days it isn’t.

It’s about letting go of the pain I pretended I'd never feel and deciding if my heart can live with my head if I decide to do just that.

It’s just never black and white.

I can’t believe I ever thought it was.

Life is so much more complicated than that. Or I suppose we’d never change or grow or evolve.

But I’d be a liar if I didn’t say that a part of me doesn’t mind not changing or growing or evolving –

if that meant I didn’t have to feel the pain.

I wish life was black and white. But wishes are like fairy tales.

And neither one really exists.

***********************************************

***Disclaimer....I'm fine. Sometimes I just go to a dark place and need to write it out. No worries!

A weekend in Care Bear Land.

2012-01-09T04:00:00.004-06:00

Well - scratch that. I believe I lived this weekend more like in Satan's armpit land. I didn't see any fluffly clouds. No one drove by in a cloud car with puffy clouds sputtering out of the pink muffler. I haven't seen a f*cking Skittle in days.

The only thing keeping me alive is my IV drip of Mountain Dew.

Wanna know why?

Um cuz - my girls have the flu.

Complete with puking. Onto their parents. Even knowing I cannot deal with such a thing.

I have slept with one eye open - fearing the heaving noise. The possible puke coming. It's like living in fear.

It's been hell.

The first night Banana had the good sense to puke on Rambo. Like massively. And though I didn't want to - after I started to gag - I laughed. Let me say to you that Rambo literally went outside to shake himself off. My God - I can't believe I survived it.

I was praising the hating sinus Gods because I cannot smell anything - or I would have surely died.

I did the hold their hair thing - as I turned my head away. I rubbed backs during the convulsing like good moms are supposed to - as I hung my own head between my knees as I sat on the edge of the bathtub.

I prayed - that this would end.

As the dry heaving continued - I cursed every God ever known to man.

And as one of trips to the bathroom was over - Banana sat in my lap and looked at me out of the blue and said, "Mama - do I still have my kidneys?"

I smiled. I wanted to say, "Yes, honey. It may feel like you horked them up - but you did not."

Later on - in her little pale face with dark circles under her eyes - she wanted me to open some crackers for her. She said, "Mama - I can't get these open...and it's devastating."

No baby - devastating is the puking. Crackers not opening - well - that's just perfectly tolerable.

I'm ready to vacate Satan's armpit land. It smells here. Like a lot.

And yes - even through all of this - Karma has proven she still loves me.

Why, you ask?

Um - cuz - neither of my girls had diarrhea.

Praise Jesus.

G-free, Day 4, 5 & 6 of 30.

2012-01-09T04:00:00.003-06:00

Day 4 - DONE
Day 5 - DONE
Day 6 - DONE

Not a single cheat my little lovebugs! Not ONE! I haven't had gluten in my body for 6 days!

I won't go through my entire menus for the days because if you haven't seen a pattern and guessed it - I'm a huge repeat eater. I mean I eat the same things most every day and never tire of it.

Sooo the last 3 days have had the normal - eggs, tilapia or chicken, potatoes, gravy and broccoli.

A few new things were gluten-free bagel chips, cheese slices, air popped popcorn AND cool ranch Doritoes!

Yup - I said Doritoes!!! Boo-yah!!! I'm happier than a grasshopper with two dicks!

Other than the soda (I know, I know), in 6 days I have ONLY had two starbursts in the form of sugar as far as candy and chocolate. This, my friends, is UNHEARD of.

I can eat entire LARGE bags of candy daily. I'm pretty much a sugar addict. It's crazy pants really.

Oh and get this - my family ordered out pizza. Pizza. You know - that stuff that I want to make blankets out of and wrap up in and eat myself silly? And me? I had none. I didn't even smell it. I stayed out of the room and left for girl's night. I can tell you without a doubt that never in my life do I recall turning down pizza. It nearly gave me a coronary.

On to any mental and physical changes I've noticed:

Day 4 - after being out until 3am - I got up at 8am without a migraine and not exhausted. Seriously people - this occurrence is cuh-razy. Never, ever after being out until 3am would I first of all - get back up at 8am much less NOT have a migraine or need a nap by noon. I am floored. Just floored.

My upper abs are losing their swelling - slowly but surely. I have not felt flu-ish or sick after eating once.

Again, unheard of for me.

I am clear-headed. On track and feeling good.

Day 6 found me feeling a little worn down - BUT - I know that it's due to my both my girls having the flu and I'm not getting the proper sleep. Sooo - disappointing as it is - I got a migraine this day. Pain pill kicked it. I'm counting it as a success because normally - I'd have had a migraine 3 days in a row and so far - it's one and it's gone.

Rage on my G-free friends.

BYOC - Bring Your Own Crazy!

2012-01-06T07:17:00.001-06:00

Duuuuuuuuudes….BYOC is back after a small holiday hiatus.

Yup, Bring Your Own Crazy returns! It is 5 little questions you can answer in your own blog to give your blogging brain a break and to get to know each other better.

Copy, paste and enjoy!

Let’s do a holiday/new year themed BYOC today!

1. How do you feel about NY resolutions? Do you make them? Do you forget about them quickly? Do they help you?

• I make them every year. Not resolutions exactly, but goals. I keep them in my planner so I literally have to look at them every day. I think it helps.

No matter what – NY’s goals are like a license to make a pretty list on pretty paper with a pretty pen….so there’s no way I’m not participating. Just call me a list whore. Or a Sharpie whore. Or a pretty paper whore. Oh fine – just go with all-around whore.

2. Did you put up a Christmas tree? How many? Is it still up?

• I did put up a tree. One in the living room – and the theme was PINK. Pink ornaments and lights and the topper was a zebra Santa-like hat with pink fur on it with a pink tree skirt underneath. We also had a tree on our front porch. And each of our girls had a tiny one in their rooms.

• Sadly – every one of them is still up. I normally take it down the day after Cmas but this year I’ve been too busy. I hope to have them down this weekend.

3. How many total Christmases did you choose to ~~have to~~ attend outside of your home?

Six. I’m getting hives just remembering.

4. What are you most looking forward to this year?

Summer! No school for my kiddos!

We have some mini-family-vacations planned this summer but actually I’d have to say I’m most looking forward to the annual BOOBs blogger/lap band event in Chicago in September!

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

Real life has been exciting because of the gluten-free stuff I’m learning and researching and doing. I’m actually proud of myself! I’ve received so many comments and emails and testimonials in real life that it inspires me to keep going.

In blogland, I’m noticing a re-surge of bloggers who may have stopped for a bit and that’s always nice to reconnect. I’ve been following some new people too which I love. January in blogland is an exciting time….and I hope it continues.

Peace out, Skittles!

G-free, Day 3 of 30.

2012-01-06T04:00:00.000-06:00

Day 3 of 30 is donezo! Here’s how G-free-3 went down!

2 eggs

2 pcs bacon

Mt. Dew

4oz chicken

1 very small potato

Broccoli

2 tbsp gluten-free gravy (cornstarch + chicken stock)

Grapes

2 thin slices of cheddar cheese – PM snack

** at this point in the day I’ve had approx 97g carbs and 67g protein. Damn Mt. Dew.

I have got to kick that habit and my protein would well exceed my carbs.

Supper - tilapia and 2 bites of a potato

Snack - air popped popcorn

******************************************

In 3 days time, as far as processed sugar goes – I’ve only had two Starburst (& obviously Mt. Dew). For me – Miss Sugar Addict of the Year – that’s huge. I am now fully aware that TONS of candies do NOT have gluten in them but I’m on a mission to be healthier all around – so I’m refraining.

Did I mention that there are Dove candies 2 feet from me and candy canes too and I haven’t touched them? Seriously. I’m in shock.

I took Magnesium and Vitamin D for supplements today.

As far as how I feel? I’d say today I feel “good”. I do not feel hungry. This morning I was a little dizzy but I’ve done some research on how fast a person starts to feel different or how the first few days go and of course – it’s different for everyone.

BUT the majority say at Day 4 a person can feel better. Noticeably.

Also – as each day passes it gets better.

And that for some it can take longer depending on how much gluten you had in you and how long your body takes to “detox” from it.

Just like caffeine and suger – your body can go through a sort of withdrawal.

So there’s that. Nothing too exciting.

Oh and um – I haven’t lost any weight.

Son of a bitch. I thought by today I’d be a size 2.

Geez.

I have to say this doesn’t seem too hard. Now – I may be saying that because it’s only Day 3 and I think I’m still cool at this point but you guys – the evidence – is so overwhelming. You cannot imagine the comments, emails and personal testaments I am getting when I tell people I’m doing this.

I’m fairly convinced that even without an intolerance diagnosis – that gluten isn’t good for anyone.

Goodness – that sounded a bit over the top, didn’t it?

I’ve never done a food experiment or elimination diet for my health – meaning migraines, fatigue, stomach issues.

I’ve always cut foods and gone on diets to lose weight first and foremost – and they never lasted.

This feels different. This feels “medical”. Prescribed even. By myself – el doctore.

And there’s this teeny voice in the back of my head – a little ray of hope – that’s whispering,

“What if this works? I mean really works? Holy butt darts, can you even imagine what that would be like?”

So I forge on.

Anyway – remind me I said all this crazy ass shit when I’m whining on Day 15, mmkkaayy?

G-free. Day 2.

2012-01-05T04:00:00.002-06:00

Try not to fall off your chairs - but I completed Day 1 - completely gluten-free. Hell to the yah, right?

I'm going to only post gluten-y updates in a post a day and if I need to blog about other non-gluten-y stuff, I'll do that separate. In case you're a reader who doesn't give a crap about gluten - you can skip this totally. I mean, I'll be mad at you, but you can skip it. Ha!

Day 2

Le Mountian Dew

1 cup of chex mix - gluten-free

skim milk

4 oz chicken

1 small potato

broccoli

GRAVY - dudes - I made gluten free gravy with chicken stock and cornstarch - YUMMO

tilapia

1 small potato

gravy

broccoli

popcorn (Woot! Orville Redenbacher is gluten-free!)

2 Starbursts....gluten free and just 2 instead of my normal entire pack. Don't hate.

water

magnesium

As far as how I feel? Um - no different yet. I am highly sleep deprived right now and I had a slight headache which was turning into a migraine so I took a pain pill. I'm slightly discouraged by this but really - it's only Day 2.

I do, however, feel less puffy, bloated and my stomach hasn't swelled after eating and last night I noticed my stomach wasn't making any noises....which is rare.

Onward.

Oh and um, I'm not hungry or anything but I'd give my left tit to eat just two Doritoes.

Just sayin'.

Oh and due to many of your direct requests - I shall NOT be telling you about how my poopoo changes or floats or any such thing. I'm sorry. I just cannot.

I am not a razor thin midget from China.

2012-01-05T04:00:00.001-06:00

I'm not being mean. At all. I'm telling myself the God's honest truth. I need to tell myself this over and over before I ever ever again hit the "BUY IT NOW" button on Ebay.

Let me tell you why.

I find something on Ebay and then I decide I must have it and it ALWAYS ends up being from China.

No biggie.

Except that I forget everyone in China is 16x smaller than I will ever be.

So when the SIZE says "one size fits all" that means only if you live in China.

Of which I do not. It ain't gonna fit me. For real.

Like ever.

See the shirt below.

Okay wait - NOW before you all say to me that this is the ugliest sweater you have ever seen...you might be right. Let me just say that I'm a sucker for anything with skulls on it and I never planned to wear this in public...I wanted it as a HUGE comfy sweater that I could wear as pajamas.

So stop rolling your eyes and feast them on the case in point below:

It *looks* over-sized right? I think so.

~~Duh. Anything looks over-sized when the person wearing it is less than 12 years old.~~

So I "buy it now". YAY for me.

Until I get it home.

And I'm literally afraid that I cannot fit it over my head. It's that small on me.

Tight sleeves. I feel claustrophobic in it.

And the skulls?

One each right on each of my boobs. Stellar.

Really f*cking pretty I tell you.

Honestly - not even okay enough to wear for just pajamas.

It feels like a straight jacket. Which may be appropriate but still.

I'm not going to tell you that this is at least the 4th time this has happened.

Oh shit - I just did, didn't I?

Sooo? I must must must learn that I am not a razor thin midget from China.

I am a big-boned woman from America. One size fits all does not fit me. Prolly never will.

It's annoying as shit, I tell you.

Annoying as shit.

Yes, yes. Shit is a TOXIC WORD. Sue me.

G-free. Day 1.

2012-01-04T04:00:00.002-06:00

Soooo – if you read my 2012 goal post, you’ll remember that I am going to go gluten-free for 30 days.

Why? Well – because going Paleo seemed too hard. Ha!

That’s actually sort of true but I digress. I’m going gluten-free because in my spare time I’m a “can work the WebMD.com website like Kim Kardashian works 12 days marriages” certified doctor.

Yup. El doctore. Right here. The first item on the to do list is to tranquilize Draz so he’s constantly comatose while injecting him with sterroids so his lizard balls grow bigger than his insanely small head. Won’t it be fun when he wakes up?

This here doctor has self-diagnosed herself with a case of gluten intolerance. I’m not kidding. There are MANY symptoms of gluten intolerance and I have a buttload of them. For example:

• Abdominal Distention – for real – after I eat my stomach can literally look 6 months pregnant from the swelling. It is OBVIOUS. Even Rambo can’t deny it’s there when I tell him to look. It is very uncomfortable and I’ve never ever known why it happens.

• Abdominal Pain and Cramping – yup – quite often after eating. I used to think it was my anxiety but now I’m beginning to wonder

• Alternating Bouts of Diarrhea and Constipation – Jesus. They just had to go there didn’t they? Fine. Yes. This is me. I can’t believe I just admitted that.

• Anemia – yup – have had that many times. In fact, can’t give blood because of it.

• Bloating – yup – see first symptom above

• Borborygmi (stomach rumbling) – I had no idea this had a name or mattered but literally – at night when I go to bed – Rambo can hear my stomach. We always laugh about how loud it is. And it’s not hunger sounds. It’s AFTER I’ve eaten.

• Constipation - seriously – haven’t we already covered this?

• Stunted Growth and Failure to Thrive – this one I do NOT have. My ass continues to thrive and grow daily

• Depression, Anxiety and Irritability – hmmm – and I thought this was just my personality. Maybe not?

• Dermatitis Herpetiformis – no rashes but I do have adult acne unless I take an antibiotic for it and then my skin is CLEAR – I’d love to get off this med

• Diabetes – sometimes I wonder. I had gestational diabetes so my chances of adult diabetes are higher.

• Diarrhea – for Christ’s sake – why do we have to talk about poop so much? Yes. Fine. There – I said it.

• Fatigue – Holy mother of all that is holy. Fatigue? YES, YES and YES. Like fall asleep at my desk, take incessant hours long naps, sleep in but still go to bed early, sometimes feels too hard to even hold my arms up kind of fatigue.

• Malodorous Flatulence – I refuse to look up what malodorous means. But I do not fart. I pressure.

• Malodorous Stools – again with the malodorous. Ack.

• Headaches and Migraines – yupper – with no trigger found and on a preventive med now because they are at least 4 days a week

• Hypoglycemia

• Infertility

• Joint pain

• Lactose intolerance – not sure – this is my next experiment if gluten-free doesn’t work

• Mouth sores or mouth ulcers

• Nausea – yup. For me I get a mild flu-like feeling almost daily

• Numbness or tingling in the patient’s hands and feet – yup sometimes

• Osteoporosis

• Steatorrhea (high lipids in the stool, which may cause the stool to float) – floating poop? I’ve heard it all. The word “stool” has now become a TOXIC WORD to me. We shall never mention it again, mmkkaayy?

• Teeth and Gum Problems

• Vitamin and Mineral deficiencies – I’d bet my left tit I have this.

• Vomiting

• Unexplained Weight loss – I wish. In my opinion, this is not a symptom. It’d be a benefit but I’m just sayin.

After seeing that I have so many of the symptoms and knowing that never before have I attempted to be gluten-free – I think it’s time I give it a shot. I’d love to not take preventive meds for migraines or antibiotics for acne and feel like general crap most days by cutting out gluten. I can’t even imagine what will happen if this works.

Today is Day 1.

Oh and I’ve told myself that any chocolate or sweets inevitably have gluten in them. I have no idea if this is true or not but I’m pretending they do because while I’m getting healthy I’d like to kick my addiction to sugar and processed crap. Do not comment and tell me there is no gluten in Skittles or Milky Ways. I will cut you.

There are sooo many gluten-free options out there – some even crappy ones – like gluten-free candy. I’m not doing that. I’m not going to eat the same shit I always did but just gluten-free. I’m aiming for health all-around.

I’m keeping a detailed journal of any vitamins I take and how I feel physically and mentally. Apparently I should keep a separate “stool” journal for as much as they are talked about above.

And just in case you’re worried that I’m gonna freak out with no sugar or go off the deep end since I might not be getting a lot of carbs….fear not.

Wanna know why?

Mountain Dew is gluten-free! Halle-freaking-luyah right?

Yes – smartasses – I am aware that I just said I want to aim for all around health above and Mt. Dew is a direct opposite of that but listen – cold turkey is CUH-RAZY. For me anyway.

So one tiny can of 8oz of Mt. Dew is my treat a day – with NO gluten.

Since some of you may ask – this is my plan for the day.

2 eggs w/ 2 pcs of bacon
4oz chicken breast, broccoli, one small potato
4 oz chicken breast, lettuce, spinach, gluten-free ranch dressing – salad
110 calories of Mt. Dew
Apple
Maybe a Lara bar (YAY – gluten free)
Shitloads of water

Vitamin D and magnesium (supposed to help with migraines)

Obviously this is new to me so if you see something in my plan that has gluten in it – please feel free to tell me.

And since so many of you have told me you eat gluten free – I have a question.

What do you order when you eat out?

Onward my G-free friends. Let’s do this!

Toxicity. Of the farting kind.

2012-01-03T04:00:00.003-06:00

I learned three little things over the weekend that I feel I must share. Mostly because they are completely reedonkulous and partly because I'm already going to hell so I figure why not make more fun out of innocent people?

Are you ready? Here we go.

1. A couple I know through another friend I know was getting married. Scratch that - renewing their vows. They wanted to do it in my friend's place of business. She said, "Sure. Why not?" When I asked her how the renewal went - she said the best part of the renewal was the aisle. Yes friends, the aisle the couple walked down.

You know those runner thingys that you can rent for probably less than $25 - with the handy dandy strings on the sides so your ushers can just eloquently walk down the aisle and romantically lay out the "red carpet" that the lovely bride shall walk down like in all the movies?

Welllll - that ain't happening here. This couple is Mr. and Mrs. Frugalmeister. They went to Walmart. Bought two plastic red tablecloths for 99 cents each and duct taped them together. Voila!

We've got a runner for the bride!!! Winner winner chicken dinner, right?

It didn't roll out romantically in case you are wondering. It was "folded" out. Duct tape side down, duh.

Never ever could I have stood there without my jaw hanging open. I just don't have that kind of class in me.

2. To give you a little background - before Rambo was a correctional Sargent, he was a semi driver and before that he farmed. Here in Podunk, all of those careers basically mean that every other word out of your mouth starts with F and rhymes with truck. It's almost a requirement. Some people even put it on their resumes..."Able to swear like all the other hillbillies around me."

Rambo has the uncanny ability to turn it off and on. He jumps in the semi and he's like a swearing sailor. He gets out - he refrains. Same with the prison.

However, we have a couple of guy friends who don't turn it off - for anyone. The F word to them is literally like saying the word "the". They ain't gonna refrain for anyone. So when our friends go to their relative's houses for things like Christmas - things can get dicey.

Mostly because their relatives do NOT swear - under any circumstances. In fact, even words like "sucks" or "crap" or "dang" - are NOT allowed.

Actually - they have a term for such words. If someone says one, they gasp, point at the perpatrator and yell this "term".

TOXIC WORD!!!!

So when our friend accidentally slips up and says "ass" or "this sucks" or anything of that manner - the whole damn family points at him and yells "TOXIC WORD".

It's like the person is a leper or has the plague and you should run from them.

Toxic. Hmmm. And here I thought toxic only applied to what Explosive Man does in the bathroom.

I find "toxic words" amusing. I cannot live without them.

Try this the next time someone swears around you. Freak out, point, gasp and yell TOXIC WORD! See what happens.

If you get slapped, do not blame me.

3. Lastly, this same family has children - as I mentioned. And children as we know - fart a lot. But in this family - no one is allowed to say the word fart because um, duh - it's a TOXIC WORD.

What do you suppose is an appropriate word for farting ? Shitting one's pants? Dropping ass ? Colon blowing?

Nope - as you can see - none of those work. They are all toxic.

When a person farts (TOXIC WORD) - we shall call it "pressure".

For example:

Oops, I just "pressured".

Holy shit (TOXIC WORD) , I feel a huge "pressure" coming on.

My God, that "pressure" just cleared the room.

Shitballs (TOXIC WORD) , that "pressure" was juicy.

See? I can't even talk about "pressuring" without saying a TOXIC WORD.

There you go. The next time you're in a board meeting or in church or somewhere where farting (TOXIC WORD) is inappropriate...go ahead and blow one out. Just tell everyone it was a bit of "pressure" and no one will give a damn (TOXIC WORD).

F*ck (TOXIC WORD) a duck and call it Larry.

I wouldn't last a second in that family.

Cuz I can't help it.

2012-01-02T04:00:00.003-06:00

I never claimed to be a leader. I’m a follower.

Could be because I’m lazy but who knows.

Anywhoozle…what I’m getting at is that I too, will be posting some New Year goals, resolutions and plans that are most probably unattainable for me BUT I love lists – so I can’t help it.

Here we go:

1. Give a gluten-free diet a full 30 days. (as a possible prevention to my migraines)

2. Schedule monthly girls or couples nights.

3. Research meditation

4. Be proactive – not reactive – in my health.

5. One night a week = family night

6. No TV on during supper.

7. Research & possibly begin couponing

8. Continue using Dave Ramsey’s plan

9. Date night 1 or 2 times a month

10. Complete a fitness race of some type

11. Continue blogging.

12. Plan weekly meals – shop accordingly.

13. Give allowances – teach to spend/save/donate

14. Be less judgemental. Try to walk in other’s shoes.

15. Practice self-love.

Voila! That's my list!

I'm a 10 Things Thursday virgin no more.

2011-12-29T13:12:00.003-06:00

Well holy shit kickers….do you know that I’ve never done a “10 Things Thursday” hosted by Miss Laura Belle herself? Reedonkulous, isn’t it? Let’s remedy that sitcheeayshun right now, shall we?

10 Things Thursday is 10 random things that you list on Thursdays.
Very complex, isn’t it? I crack myself up.

1. I was supposed to go to my bestie Jenny’s house for New Year’s Eve but just found out a dear friend of Rambo’s lost his job so we’re going to go see them instead. It’s the right thing to do but I will miss hugging my Jenny. Dammit.

2. I have completed my 2012 list of things I want to accomplish. Not resolutions. Just hopes and plans and lots of trying. I may or may not share it here.

3. We got a Wii for Christmas and tonight I will be trying out the Dance game. I am sure that my entire body will be covered in hives BUT Ima gonna do it anyway. For my girls. Please refrain from asking for video or pictures. There will be no such thing allowed.

4. There are so many clothes and shoes and boots on my bedroom floor right now that you have to step over them to jump into bed. Not kidding. I love that no one goes in my bedroom. Thank God.

5. Rambo has to take a test to be certified to haul pigs with the semi. One load can carry 600 baby piglets. Seriously. Certified? Women, nor men have to be certified to reproduce a human being but one must be certified to haul piglets. Something seems off here.

6. I would rather pick up our Cmas tree and throw the entire thing (decorations and all) away and buy a new one next year than have to take it down and put it away nicely. Um, yes, it’s fake. Don’t hate. I never claimed to be frugal.

7. A movie theatre here now sells beer and wine that you can drink while you watch a movie. Brilliant. Yes, I’m aware that ALL of you may have already known this but listen – I live in Podunk so this is very new. You’re lucky we even have a movie theatre.

8. Even on a migraine preventive med, I have had 4 days of migraines each week. That’s more days with a migraine per week than without. Satan’s dick that sucks. I need to give the preventive one more week to see if it works and if not – well then – I’ve come to a harsh conclusion about my diet and my refusal to step foot on the treadmill. Things are about to change drastically up in heyah. (that’s the word “here” in a Southern hip type accent) I shall of course, blog about said changes. As soon as I can fully admit them and stop crying over what has to happen.

9. Last night I crawled into Rambo’s lap and said, “I’m sad. Fix it.” His response? “Come on. We’ll go take a bath and then go in the bedroom and cuddle and I’ll put Lampoon’s Cmas Vacation on for us to watch.” God love a man who knows exactly what I need right? And who says I’m high maintenance? A bath, movie and a snuggle is all I require. Easy peasy. He’s such a lucky boy huh?

10. Chances are VERY high that I will not be awake at midnight to ring in the new year that I so desperately am looking forward to. Yup, I’m officially old. Please do not feel badly for my children. We will do the “pretend it’s midnight and countdown from 10” thing at like 10pm. No one will be the wiser and it teaches them to use their imagination. Or something like that.

Gingerbread houses induce hives.

2011-12-28T14:19:00.000-06:00

In a room full of kindergarteners and lopsided gingerbread houses – I got hives.

And a few days later, my mother asked why.

Let me relate to you the story of just exactly why.

In Banana’s kindergarten class, it was gingerbread house making day. An adult could come to help.

I went and so did my mom. It was going to be fun. ~~That’s what I kept telling myself.~~

I was the last one to arrive. Little ‘ol hate people looking at me, don’t like walking into rooms, gets hives up my ass and sweats buckets me – arrived last. So when I walked in – everyone was sitting down – parents and kids – waiting on ME.

F*ck a duck. Someone shoot me now. I need to vomit.

So I sit down. In a teensy eensy chair made for teensy eensy butts. I had one ass cheek on a chair and the other ass cheek just hung over the side. Like a muffin top butt sort of.

We all have graham crackers and frosting. Shitloads of candy (that we weren’t allowed to eat with is sacreligous if you ask me). Butter knives and even Cmas music playing.

The teacher told us to have fun and be creative and begin.

So begin we did.

About 10 minutes in my mother leans over to me and whispers in my ear:

“I hate to tell you this but ours is the best.”

What??

“Well, I’m serious. Look at them. Just look. Have you looked around?”

Um no. I was focusing on having fun.

I’d put a gumdrop on one side and she’d take it off and use a different color. Banana and I were going to frost the top of the roof with just…frosting. Nope – we had to cover it in licorice. Licorice I had to cut all the same length “so it would look better”.

We had to have a tree. And coconut snow and a chimney. Because no one else had one.

A door and two windows and bows off the windows. A stone walkway too. Every hole had to be covered.

I’m surprised we didn’t make a family out of lifesavers and gumdrops to live in the castle that was supposed to be a gingerbread house.

Ever since that day I’ve given my mom crap about needing to have the best gingerbread house out of a class of 6 year olds. I told all my siblings what she said and did. They all wondered if there was some kind of judging and prize to be given out – because that would totally make her behavior acceptable.

I said, “Nope. This was for FUN.”

She insists, “Well, did you see them? They were awful.”

To which I reply, “THEY WERE MADE BY 6 YEAR OLDS!!!!”

Never, ever again can any of you question where I get my perfectionist tendencies, mmkkaayy?

A few days later, my mom told me she noticed I had hives at the house-making event. She wondered why.

I told her it was the tiny chairs. My butt was embarrassed it couldn’t fit.

Jesus.

My bathroom excursion....into hell.

2011-12-22T11:34:00.000-06:00

I know that a ton of women blog about the big TOM. That’s “Time Of Month” for you male followers out there. Also, for your “male virgin ears” - I’m gonna try to make this as nice a post as possible…so bear with me.

I don’t blog about TOM because well, mine is short and sweet. Like 24 hours, one “feminine napkin” short and sweet.

For real – feminine napkin? Who called it that? Are there no masculine napkins? And it always feels more like 16 towels wadded up instead of one dainty “feminine napkin” anyway. False advertising at its best.

Kind of like “here – we made tampons in these pretty colored packages so no one knows it’s a tampon” – except the whole world who saw this commercial – you idiots. WTF?

Moving on.

Today – as payback for having a short and sweet TOM – I was rewarded with a bathroom debacle of epic proportions.

Let’s begin.

Remember not to laugh – your job is to feel my pain.

Let me preface this by saying Explosive Man has already been to the bathroom 4 times so I swore to myself I would shove a cork up my vagina before I’d go in there today.

And then this happened:

I am having a conversation with a lovely woman. I laugh. Harder than I thought because a sort of mini volcano happened in my pants. Like warmth at the top of my hoo-hah – not where you would except warmth if something was leaking but I was “sitting” so “things” bubbled up to the top I suppose.

Have you vomited yet? I did.
I try to keep talking and not scream, “GET OUT OF MY WAY – I’m going to erupt!”

I go to the ~~pit of stank~~ bathroom and brace myself for what I’ll find. In my own pants.

I lay the tampon I assume I’ll have to use on top of the TP dispenser.

So yah, duh – TOM is here.

Here in me. Here on my little pantyliner – but only on the tippity top of the liner. Here on my WHITE lace underwear. Here on my black leggings. The motherf*cker is here. I get it.

I pee, flush, and then I go about fixing myself.

I waddle to the sink. I spread eagle, pants at my ankles and wash off my underwear. It’s just one spot. I can handle this. Martha Stewart would be so proud.

I keep standing and move onto cleaning the leggings. Thinner than air brown paper towels are so great for cleaning such things. Not.

I figure when I’m done with that - you know – I should just try cleaning the very top of my pantyliner off cuz – ACK – I don’t want to put it back on like it is now but then again it’s just the tip so I’d be wasting a perfectly good liner. (seriously – it’s value is probably 10 cents. Call me frugal. Or stupid).

I’m feeling brave and very self-sufficient and McGyver-ish so I take my trusty brown paper towel and I start to clean the pantyliner edge and accidentally my brown paper towel gets stuck to the back of my liner.

Um, cuz it’s sticky. Shit…so I have to carefully try to rip the paper thin paper towel off my VERY sticky liner. All while my pants are at my ankles.

I am the picture of professionalism.

I get most of the paper off. Whew!

Okay – sooo – put liner back in underwear. Um sure – the stickiness is way less now that I stuck brown paper to it and my underwear are wet. How will it stick?

I try to make it stay in place for 30 seconds before I throw it away and STEAL someone else’s “feminine napkin” from the cupboard in this TOM emergency. It is the size of an airplane landing strip – so I figure it’ll stick.

It does. I am now pulling up my pants and my socks and am all put together when I look over and see the effing tampon on the TP dispenser.

JESUS. Did we or did we not establish that TOM is here? You must do something about that. A liner the size of Texas ain’t gonna cut it. Like use the tampon you brought specifically for this!!!!

I undress again. As I take down my underwear I hear ripping type noise. Like something came unstuck.

Like the f*cking STOLEN liner. I dive for it as it seems to be flailing everywhere but where it should be and if I lose it in the toilet Ima gonna have a pyschotic breakdown.

I catch the mini maxi pad. I sit down on the toilet – and of course – whenever you sit down even if you just peed something in your brain makes your vagina think simply because you are on a toilet you must pee again – even if it’s only a drop.

I fear I may have to flush again if I pee again and then everyone will think I did a “double-flusher” and they’ll call me Mini-Explosive-WoMan.

I manage to hold it. I do not have to flush the toilet again. I put myself back together and take a deep breath. I almost exit before I realize I have nearly washed my entire body in the span of 10 minutes but I never did wash my hands.

Seriously. I cannot deal.

How long have I been in here? Is it tomorrow already? It's like a time warp in here.

Maybe this is what Explosive Man spends so much time on. Maybe he is bathing in here….or something.

Suffice it to say I am out of that evil little room and I feel refreshed.

Like a new woman.

With wet pants.

And you people wonder why I hold it all damn day. Cuz when I dare venture into that hellhole THIS is what happens.

Okay, carry on my Skittles. My story is over. You may carry on.

Crazy shit and bah-humbug.

2011-12-21T13:41:00.000-06:00

What the hell would I do with a blog if my husband didn’t work at a Supermax prison?

It’s like blog fodder from the angels above.

Except in reality – it sucks donkey dicks.

Obviously it’s Christmas-time and I’m not going to lie.

I’m not feeling it. I want this year OVAH.

Like STAT.

If one more person asks me if I’m done Christmas shopping with a jolly twinkle in their eye I’m going to to shove ornaments up their ass. Broken ornaments to be exact.

Today I pretended to have the elusive “Christmas spirit” when I told the girls up front who answer the phones that I’d do it for them for an hour so they could all have lunch together.

Aren’t I the best elf you’ve ever known?

Ho freaking Ho.

So I’m away from my desk for an hour.

Rambo had emailed me a question during that time.

I obviously did not respond since I was not at my desk.

I get back to my desk and I reply and this is our email conversation:

******************************************

Me: Sorry. I was answering phones for an hour so I didn’t respond. I was busy.

Rambo: That’s okay. We’ve been busy too. A guy tried to hang himself.

**********************************************

Um – shit. Well, I don’t sound so busy after all, now do I?

How does one respond to that?

I can’t say “I’m sorry” because if they succeeded, I’m not actually sorry.

If they didn’t succeed, I wish they would have.

Evil? Maybe.

Can’t help it – I know what some of these men have done.

Breathing air is too big a benefit for them if you ask me.

So I responded with a “Wow.”

And that was it.

What would you have said back?

Freaking weird I tell you.

This many years in and I’m still amazed at how very different our days are.

I want to live in a world of rainbows and farting gumdrops and Care Bear clouds.

But tonight I'll hear about how a man tried to hang himself.

Crazy un-fun shit I tell you.

Oh and bah-humbug.

Mmkkaayy?

Top 10 gifts to never buy for the woman in your life

2011-12-20T08:36:00.000-06:00

A man recently asked me – seriously – what he should get his wife for Christmas. In my opinion, that’s probably mistake #1. Now I know this guy doesn’t have a brain or a romantic, spontaneous bone in his body so I’ve already labeled him an idiot before we get started.

But because I’m ever the helpful one, I decided to share my list of things a woman may or may not want for Christmas with him. A list of things considered okay and just plain not okay if you will.

According to me. Just opinions I swear. Some clearly ONLY apply to me. Do not pitchfork me in my sleep if you disagree.

1. Socks. Now I know – many of you are thinking – what’s wrong with socks? Hmmm…I don’t know. They are impersonal. I can buy them for MYSELF. They have no meaning. They go on my feet – which really come on – they ARE feet. The ONLY time socks are okay is if there are diamonds inside the sock. Then they are acceptable.

2. A dustbuster. You know? Those little vaccuums without cords that you can whip out on a dime? I freaking love these things. I got one for Christmas a few years ago and I’m thinking about getting a holster for it so I can wear it on my hip 24/7 so I can clean 24/7. Yup, I love it. I asked for it. I’m really just saying that giving ONLY a dustbuster isn’t so great. Get me a dustbuster AND a trip to Macy’s and I’m golden. JUST a dustbuster and we gonna have some words.

3. Clothes that I have picked out and told you the correct size are fine. Clothes you picked out that are 18 sizes too small and probably require dry cleaning and only look good in the magazine on the size 0 model – um – not so much. Knock, knock. I don’t live in the magazine. I gotta cover these rolls. Get over it.

4. An ornament. While lovely the simple fact is that I will only see this gift perhaps one month out of 12. Are you aware that I can wear jewelry every day and then I can be reminded of your love every day – instead of only being reminded once a year? Catch my drift?

5. Lingerie. Yup enough said. That gift ain’t for me. Duh.

6. I’d stay away from workout videos or gym memberships. I mean you can certainly buy me those things – just not for Cmas. On January 2nd or so, I’ll gladly accept such a gift. Before then – well – you can deal with Sheniqua on this one. And you can not receive sex for a good two weeks or so as well. It’s another one of those gifts that falls in the category of “great gift only if accompanied with diamonds.”

7. Any gift that can double as a gift for you too is rarely recommended. Like a movie you buy me because in truth YOU want to see it. A new recliner – cuz you plan to sit in it more than I will. A fancy coffee cup that you plan to “share” with me. You know – anything that you could have bought yourself regardless if you have a wife or not. Not so smart. Practical? Yes. Gets you laid? No.

8. Any sort of outing or gift that includes the inlaws. If you get me a 5 day trip to Mexico and then tell me your parents are coming with us….um…I ain’t going. If you buy me theatre tickets and tell me your Dad and Mom are driving us there and we’ll sit in the back like two 15 year olds – well then - I want to poke your eyes out. If you want to take me out to supper – with your parents – I want to poke daggers into your chest. Don’t do it. This is about ME. THEY are the babysitters, you idiot.

9. Do not buy me "How To" books on things YOU want me to become interested in or better at. That doesn’t fly. For example, don’t buy me anything titled:

How to learn to love football
How to learn how not to need anything for 4 hours while football is on
How to learn how to build your husband a huge garage in a bikini
How to learn how to never use the remote if your husband is in the room
How to learn to love bloody, gutsy, kill the world movies
How to want your man to play video games incessantly
How to learn how to need sex 16x a day
How to learn to pee with the seat up and like it
How to learn to not want to “just cuddle”

Yah. These types of books are a no no. Plain and simple. We ain’t gonna read them. We’re going to shove them up your ass and light them on fire. EVERY time.

10. Do not get me instructions on how to shave my hoo-hair into the shape of the Cmas tree with a package of green hair dye as a bonus – and claim it’s because you’re feeling so festive. Let’s instead take that green dye and make the Grinch’s face using your ass hair.

I produced fruit from these loins for you. I don’t think making it look like a Cmas tree will help anyone. Unless you plan to hang a 3 carat diamond “ornament” from my hoohah tree. In that case, I’ll find a way to make that sucker light up. It’s your choice.

******************************************************
There ya go. Top 10 off the top of my head. I could go on…but I won’t. I mean we can’t really blame them, right? They do, in fact, have penises. We’re lucky they can feed themselves.

Here’s hoping you get everything EXCEPT what’s on this list.

Common with a side order of severe.

2011-12-15T08:32:00.000-06:00

Watch out…the sh!t is gonna get even crazier up in here. I have literal, medicinal proof.
You can no longer blame the crap I say and do on my personality.

It is thy drugs. I know not what I do.

After another migraine that has lasted 4 days AGAIN – I am trying a new preventive medication. Because I’m such a research freak, even though I know it’s quite dangerous and I shouldn’t do it – I looked up the SIDE EFFECTS of my new drug on the web.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph’s balls. Now I’d rather have my head sewn to teal shag carpeting in a frat house than experience ANY of these things.

Let’s go through the list of things that could happen to me while on these meds, shall we?

These are the COMMON, non-severe possible side effects of:

Clumsiness (f*ck a duck – cuz I’m seriously so graceful as it is)

Constipation – no we cannot discuss this – because it has to do with poop

Diarrhea – again – no discussey for us…except that I have to say aren’t constipation and diarrhea the OPPOSITE of each other? Will I alternate days? Should I wear a diaper or not? Will I have both at once? Oh wait – that’s not right.

Dizziness – no – you are not allowed to comment on this one

Drowsiness – as opposed to my falling asleep at my desk every day now – I can’t wait for this to get worse

Dry mouth – no problemo – Mountain Dew can fix this!

Nausea – again – not a big deal – I deal with this every time I see Explosive Man on his way to the bathroom

Stomach upset – again – see Explosive Man

Tiredness – oh shit – you mean like tiredness PLUS the drowsiness from above? It’s okay – I’ve learned to drive while I sleep. No worries.

Gas – for f*ck’s sake – I can’t do this. Honestly.

Vomiting – honestly – I hope I have the vomiting and the gas at the same time. Wouldn’t that be pleasant? Then again, with all this shitting and non-shitting going on – I’ll be vomiting anyway.

Weight gain – WHAT? SON OF A BITCH!!!! Who’s the mo fo who left out THIS little tidbit? Now I’m going to get FATTER? And it won’t even be my fault or the 50,000 Skittles I eat? I swear – if I’m going to gain weight – it better be because I CHOSE to eat my weight in sugar and pizza. And it’s probably not FAT anyway – if I’m constipated the weight gain is just toxic waste buildup. Once the diarrhea and gas kick in – I’ll be A-OK, right?

This sucks dried up monkey balls topped with whip cream.

Oh, oh wait! There’s more. Remember? The things listed above were common and not severe enough for a person to seek medical attention.

Below is the list that says: Seek medical attention right away if any of these SEVERE side effects occur when using our capsules:

(Who the hell said diarrhea wasn’t severe – especially mixed with tired and dizzy? What if I’m too dizzy to run to the bathroom and I shit myself? That’s a damn emergency if you ask me.)

Here’s the SEVERE list:

Severe allergic reactions (rash; hives (haha – every day baby, every day); itching; difficulty breathing; tightness in the chest; swelling of the mouth, face, lips (who needs Botox injections after all?), or tongue; unusual hoarseness (hmmm…I experience this now. It may or may not be due to yelling at my spawn of Satan children); abnormal thoughts (you mean like naming my inner demons and fat and creating an entire blog out of them?...is that abnormal enough for you?); back and forth eye movements (I’m confused – aren’t our eyes SUPPOSED to go back and forth?); behavioral problems; change in school performance; chest pain; confusion (listen – I’m confused 24/7 – I don’t think it can get worse); fainting; fast, slow, or irregular heartbeat; fever, chills, or sore throat; hyperactivity; loss of coordination; memory loss (this sounds appealing…I’d like to forget Drazil); new or worsening mental or mood changes (OMG – you mean my mood can get worse???) (eg, depression, agitation, anxiety, panic attacks, aggressiveness, impulsiveness, irritability, hostility (already there I’m afraid – have I mentioned I’m a little “hostile” about Explosive Man yet?), exaggerated feeling of well-being (Wait – this is a side effect? I’ve been seeking this for years!), restlessness, inability to sit still; new or worsening seizures; numbness of an arm or leg; one-sided weakness; severe or persistent headache or dizziness; shortness of breath; speech changes or trouble speaking; suicidal thoughts or actions; swelling of the hands, legs, or feet; tremor; trouble concentrating; twitching; vision changes (eg, double or blurred vision).

Holy Jingle Farts, right?

I love how they put swelling of the mouth, face and lips way up top and then way at the bottom they mention your hands, legs, and feet can swell too. Apparently the only thing that won’t swell is my titties….and I was kinda hoping for that. Well, at least my vagina is safe though. I’m pretty sure I can live without ever experiencing a swelled hoo-ha.

Whew! All done. Or maybe not. The next line says this:

This is not a complete list of all side effects that may occur.

How can there possibly be any more besides maybe death?

Ugh. Well that’s just f*cking peachy. I don’t understand why we don’t cut my head off now. It seems like a better alternative.

That’s it. I’m now off to look at what the street value of these meds is….cuz instead of taking them and risk looking and sounding like a living Cabbage Patch kid on meth who hasn’t slept or pooped in years….Ima gonna sell them.

It’s the ONLY logical thing to do, don’t you think?

Hmmm….unless I’m the lucky one and the only side effect that I get is that “exaggerated feeling of well-being” that they mentioned?

What do you think my chances are?

Sexual blunders...among other things.

2011-12-14T04:00:00.006-06:00

Recently I’ve had some “interesting” conversations with some ~~perverted, dirty, sex fiend~~ friends of mine.

It is their fault I am writing this post.

Email me if you want their phone numbers so you can lecture them.

I’ll give ‘em out like pez.

I’ve been making a list of sexual blunders, revolting bodily function stories and

other nasty situations I've been in - just so I can blog about them.

Aren't you lucky?

I swear on all that is holy that these happened. Seriously – I wish they hadn’t.

If you think you can top my stories – well then – I dare you to blog about it.

Are you ready? Here we go!

************************************************

•One time Rambo and I were sitting in the living room of his parent’s house back in high school.

His mother came in and said:

I died right there on the spot and Rambo said:

OMG – hell to the NO!

Who on the f*cking planet would answer yes to such a question?

In reality, we of course, blamed his older brother.

Besides – we only used blue ones.

*****************************************************

•In my second job out of college, I was managing the collections department for 7 medical clinics.

This job involved such things as trying to get a $1.00 copay out of a woman who came

in EVERY day to see her doctor, smoking a cigarette, and being assisted by her butler

while she insists to me 50 times that she doesn’t have $1.00.

Or how about trying to set up a payment plan for thousands of dollars due with a 15 year old girl who just realized she is pregnant when all she really cares about is that her prom dress won’t fit now.

Pure joy every day I tell you.

I was working at one of the clinics, took a break outside and

found myself in front of the senior most person of the clinic.

I loved and respected this woman. Many others did not.

Apparently she loved me because she looked right at me – and said:

I almost threw up or pissed my pants or something. What should I say to that?

I’ve been here a month and you throw farts at me. WTF?

I mean honestly – imagine the top person at wherever you work saying such a thing to you.

It’s not funny anymore, is it?

I almost said the below...but I refrained.

************************************************************

•Rambo took me to Homecoming a few times but this one time, after the dance was over,

we came back to my place. We were exhausted.

We just literally wanted to lay on the couch in the dark and remember the night for a few minutes.

We were laying there and I got hot (I had a sweater and tank under it) so I took off the sweater.

No biggie.

Rambo wasn’t really allowed to be in my house but who would ever know?

We were harmlessly just laying on the couch for a few minutes.

It’s time for him to go. He leaves. I put my sweater back on.

I walk upstairs and my mom greets me at the top of the steps.

She asks if I had fun and yadda yadda.

I say, “Yup” and that I’m tired and just got home and I’m going to bed.

I’ll never forget the odd look she gave me as I walked past her….in the semi-darkness.

Do you all remember shoulder pads? The sweater I had on – had HUGE ones.

I could have been a linebacker with those suckers.

I get in my room – turn on the light and step in front of my mirror to see my sweater on inside out – which means my shoulder pads are flipped up like two soup bowls high atop my shoulders – hanging out in the air – with all their stark whiteness against my mauve sweater.

I cannot imagine the things my mother must have thought I was doing.

********************************************************

•One time a friend of mine took me out for supper.

On the way home, all of a sudden, she gasped and said, “Oh my, I just tooted!”

– as she proceeds to roll down the window.

It’s negative 40 degrees out and we’re driving down the road with the windows open

and I feel like I’m chewing on fart.

Seriously – this friend weighed about 100 lbs and I don’t know if I was more shocked

that something that toxic came out of her tiny ass or that she claimed it.

And she acted surprised – with the gasp and all. Whatever.

If it smells like THAT – it didn’t just “slip out”. She never missed a beat though.

She “tooted”, rolled down the window and kept on talking about her boyfriend.

I didn’t converse back with her.

Remember me – I’m the one with a mouthful of fart.

I’ll chat later.

If I live.

**************************************************

•Little tip for those of you out there who may be using a whirlpool of your own or in a hotel room for the first time with your lover. Bubbles in a bath are NOT the same as bubbles in a whirlpool.

I love how there is a clear warning sign saying you shouldn’t get in it if you are pregnant or

you shouldn’t expect sperm to stay alive if you get in and all that crap.

But where the hell is the sign that says, “Do not pour bubbles in the whirlpool.”

So yah, I love bubble baths.

A whirlpool bubble bath can only be that much better than a regular bubble bath right?

Sure.

Rambo is in the bathroom. I’m in the whirlpool.

Sitting naked indian style, turning on the water while I dump in some major shampoo-age.

Rambo comes out and he gets in opposite of me.

I shit you not – within 5 minutes and maybe water only up to my ass crack – I cannot see Rambo.

The bubbles are nearly over my head.

Rambo is laughing so hard I’m afraid he’s going to split a nut and I’m freaking the hell out.

I think we broke it!

We spent the entire next hour using the ice bucket to scoop out buckets of bubbles from the whirlpool.

Butt ass naked.

It was supremely romantic.

And I took a shower. You cannot believe how pissed I was.

***********************************************************************

•One time when I was getting my nails filled at a new place in town, I sat down to start my appointment.

A movie was on behind my Asian dude on a HUGE tv. It was starring Jean Claude Van Damme.

Fine. Good.

Another lady comes in about half-way through my appointment. We are watching the movie.

Then things got dicey.

Mr. JCVD is naked and he’s having his way with TWO women. Like reeeaalllly having his way.

I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say it was even mild porn.

On a HUGE tv, remember?

Good if you’re alone. Not so good if you’re IN A BUSINESS.

I’m pretty sure I turned 18 shades of red. Not because I’ve never had sex with JCVD but again,

because Asian man is in the room with me and another perfect stranger. OMG.

She looked at me. I looked at her. We laughed and shook our heads in mortification.

And then we kept watching.

**********************************************

•When I used to care about the backdrop to my “dessert-making” with Rambo,

I got the brilliant idea to make cards of instructions for Rambo that he’d see as he came in from work –

to spice up that day’s escapade if you will.

Like the first card would say – “follow these instructions – move on to card 2” and they’d be placed strategically for him….you know like a scavenger hunt of sorts.

Card #2 said take off your shoes only. Go to the stereo and follow card #3.

Here’s where Rambo f*cked up my beautiful plan of romantic angels coming down from heaven and all that.

Card #3 was at the stereo (back in cassette days) and it said, “Press play and get naked while you listen and proceed to the bedroom for card #4.”

Meanwhile I was back in the bedroom, waiting….to hear “our song” blaring at any minute.

I mean he HAD to be at card #3 already.

Next thing I know Rambo is in the room with me……um…cuz I’m card #4.

What the holy hell is going on? Can’t you read? Didn’t card #3 say to PRESS PLAY?

I didn’t hear any music!! Didn’t you hear a song?

At this point Rambo says, “I pressed play and got naked. Then I hit stop and came in here.”

I said, “Yah, but didn’t you play the song?”

It is at this moment that I realize Rambo – SuperFastUndresserMan – had stripped so fast that literally not one note of the song had time to play before he hit STOP and came vaulting into the bedroom.

Epic fail. Jesus H. Christ.

***************************************************

•You know that whole scarred for life if you see your parents having sex thing?

Well…. I don’t know about scarred but humiliated beyond belief pretty much covers it too.

For my sister anyway.

Let’s just say my parents are too dumb to shut their door.

They think their kids sleep through everything.

I’m here to say – we don’t.

And they are loud.

And they make some noises that could be misconstrued as a person in pain or hurt.

Especially when you are a kid – just two rooms away – who has no idea what the hell is going on.

So my sister gets up – goes in their room and literally looks at them and says,

“Mom, what’s wrong with you. Are you alright?” before they notice she is there.

This is exactly the same moment my very naïve sister realizes what she just witnessed –

so she BOLTS out of the room.

Yes, yes. Say it with me.

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!!

It took my sister a looong time to get the words out to me describing the horror of what had happened

and we’ve never spoken of it again.

Where’s the puke bucket?

****************************************************

•By the way, where do you hide your “toys”? I mean, if you have them.

How about in a Corningware dishes box?

On the outside is a picture of a beautiful glass bowl and someone’s

pretty manicured hands cracking eggs into them.

Cookies they are a’making – with all those nice Pyrex measuring cups that are in the box.

Wait?! What?!

You mean the only thing in the box is Playboy magazines and

things you found abandoned in your ~~perverted~~ older brother’s house?

Yes, dumbass, the duct tape sealing the box should have been your first clue

that there wasn’t any damn dishes in there.

Morale of the story is: never ever ask all of your relatives to help you move from one house

to another until AFTER you have securely moved the Corningware PORN box yourself.

********************************************************

•One day when I picked up Banana from daycare, the sitter pulled me aside and said she needed to tell me something…..just as Banana comes running up to me saying,

“ Beverly cut my nuts off!”

Hmmm? Excuse me?

Beverly cut my nuts off just for me!

And she repeats this 15 dozen times.

Watermelon can’t stop laughing. Which is what started all of this.

Apparently, the girls were eating ice cream drumsticks. The ones that are covered in nuts.

Banana didn’t want the nuts so she said, “ Beverly , can you cut my nuts off?”

To which of course, Watermelon busted a gut thereby teaching Banana that what she had said about nuts was WAY funny so she should repeat it any chance she could get.

Beverly “scraped” the nuts off the treat for Banana….but it was too late.

For hours she had been saying,

“ Beverly cut my nuts off! Beverly cut my nuts off!”

Miss Beverly – wanted to bury her head in sand. I thought it was funny.

I’m pretty sure that’s wrong, isn’t it?

***********************************************************

•Lastly I leave you with a little parenting tip of what not to do to ensure your daughter doesn’t turn into a slut.

Do not tell your daughter that ONLY prostitutes and full-fledged whores perform certain acts such as those things that rhyme with the word snowgob in an all out effort to convince her that she should never do such vile things – hoping she will never want to BE a prostitute or whore.

Because then when your younger sister inevitably takes part in this act and believes she is now a woman who needs to stand on the street corner and get paid money – the older sister (that’d be me) has to burst her bubble and tell her that the "snowgob" is a pretty common occurrence.

And when she says,

“Yah, but Mom has never done that!”

…you have to further burst her little bubble and say,

“How do you think she got Dad to buy her that car then?”

Oh the precious, precious look on her face.

And yes – you can bet I told my mother her plan backfired. She deserved it.
*********************************************************

And lastly lastly lastly, while I was typing this I got an email in my inbox.

I swear on my left boobie. The timing is kinda creepy considering the stuff I’ve been writing.

This is what it said on the inside:

Oh! I’m so excited! I have just sex like at first time!

And then there was a link attached.

Really?

If you’re going to scam me into clicking on your links – could you use proper grammar?

Does this ever really work on anyone?

And then I just happened to be news browsing a few seconds later and look what I found.

A news article with this headline:

Unsafe Sex More Likely After Drinking, Study Confirms

I want to know who the idiot is who did this study?

More importantly, did my tax dollars pay for this?

I mean it’s quite shocking isn’t it? Who knew?

Jesus balls, people. I cannot deal.

**************************************************

There you have it. That's it.

Twisted, isn't it?

Can you top it?

Well, can ya?

Dream well, my friends.

2011-12-13T08:36:00.000-06:00

Do you believe that your dreams have meaning? Do you remember your dreams? Do you try to interpret them? Do you try to forget them? Are they ever nightmares?

I guess I’m curious because while I’ve never been a person who gets good, restful sleep – I do dream. In fact, I often “nightmare”.

This directly relates to my fear of sleeping. Most of the time, my dreams aren’t good. Pretty much never.

I’m always trying to find something I cannot. Trying to unlock something I have no key for.

Or someone I love is taken from me. Or they die.

I wake up sobbing and soaked in sweat. It takes hours to shake off the fear.

Well, last night I had another dream. It’s the first one in a long time that I didn’t want to wake up from. I can’t remember specifics – just bits here and there – but today I feel “healed”.

I don’t know how to explain it but I know what I felt and still feel today – even now that I’m awake.

You see, I had a Grandmother with Alzheimer’s. At a very young age. The doctors said she was one of the youngest people they’d ever seen suffer from the disease.

Which basically meant that since she was so young and healthy – she was going to live a long, terrible life because her mind would die long before her physical body would.

She required 24/7 care. Back then, it was my mother’s job to do it. My Grandmother had 8 children but not a single one of them could find the inner strength to care for her – and watch their mother become a shell of a woman before their eyes.

So my mom did it. With me by her side during the summer and nights and weekends. Even my own siblings refused to help her. Who could blame them? The job was thankless and hard and physically and mentally taxing. I couldn’t imagine letting my mother do it alone.

Every day that went by – I can admit to you that I hated my Grandmother more. I was young and all I could translate the situation into in my immature brain was that “this woman” who I was supposed to love took all my mother’s time and love – away from me.

Selfish yes. But I couldn’t understand the circumstances or the pain or the disease. No one could, I suppose.

In the end, I helped my mother to help my Grandmother to die in peace. I made sure her bed was made and lights were dimmed and the house was quiet.

I never told a single soul that I had been praying and wishing for her to die – for years.

On the inside – I was exalted. I was practically bursting with happiness.

Her death meant I got my mother back. I didn’t have to come to this wretched place and see death before my eyes daily. I didn’t have to pretend to love a woman who was nothing more than a body to me now.

It was over.

I never cried one single tear.

As I got older, I started to hate myself for that. I hated that I didn’t have more compassion…or that I couldn’t see through the disease and see my Grandmother was still in there somewhere. I labeled myself as “cold” because when she died, I couldn’t even find the emotion to cry about it. I even felt ashamed at my behavior.

When I could fairly call myself an adult, I knew that I wasn’t cold. I knew that I did the best I could in dealing with a bad situation and that I had been a rock for my mother when no one else would do it.

Yet, a tiny part of me remained sad and a little angry at myself….for letting her go without becoming attached to her in any way. For only thinking of her as a patient. For never crying for her.

Last night I relived her last moments in my dream. I could see the room. Smell the fear of death and the hope that it was over. I could see the blankets and my mother.

And in my dream, I finally saw her as my Grandmother lying there…not just a body I had grown to resent.

And I cried. Deep, soul-wrenching weeping from inside my soul. With tears to match the pain.

I woke up completely aware of what had just happened.

My dream had healed me.

Last night I finally mourned and grieved for a woman who died over 20 years ago.

As I cried, I swore I could feel arms wrapped around me and I know in my heart they were hers.

I held her in my arms so many times when she was alive as she cried or screamed or yelled within her disease.

And now? She returned the favor. Even if only in a dream…I was a granddaughter being held by her Grandmother.

As I cried. And healed 20 years of regret.

In one little dream.

So I guess if you believe that dreams mean nothing and there are no spirits beyond death….that’s fine. To each his own.

I’m just saying that I think you’d change your mind – if you’d have been me…last night – in my dream.

My mother believes my Grandmother’s “spirit” rewarded her for her compassion. Days after my Grandmother died, my mother – 35 at the time, already with 3 kids, her youngest one already almost 9 years old, my brother and I in high school ….found out she was pregnant with my little sister.

To this day, my mother believes my Grandmother’s life ended so that my sister’s life could begin. My sister wasn’t planned. My mom was on birth control. She was done having kids. We were all grown up. It was a shock. And of course, a blessing.

A life for a life.

Indeed.

Dream well, my friends.

I finally did.

It's been a while since I confessed my sins to the Almighty Father!

2011-12-12T04:00:00.001-06:00

...or a priest for that matter. Ima gonna do it here instead.

Blogs are very confessionally (totally made that word up, thank you very much) feeling, don't you think?

Here we go!

* I confess that I absolutely suck at being a mother sometimes. For instance, I made INSTANT mashed potatoes yesterday (yes, instant...I ain't Betty Crocker) and Watermelon, the 11 year old hated them.

Yours truly went off into a tirade that sounded like this:

Um, yes...pretty sure she has NO idea who Ethiopians are or where Ethiopia is.

Nice. Great parenting. Just great.

I mean you'd think I spent an entire day peeling and mashing potatoes or something.

* I bribed my 6 year old, Banana, into taking a bath by telling her she could take her Barbies in with her...just so I could have quickie "dessert" with Rambo. I am officially a trollop.

* I have to have a fight with my sister because she hates Rambo.

I cannot deal because I am the QUEEN of avoiding conflict.

I'd rather be married to Osama than have this discussion.

Can you imagine?

* Poop is one of my most hated things on this Earth. I make no bones about that. And because Karma hates me and because I stomp on small bunnies when I'm mad - as a sick form of revenge - my life revolves around poop more and more every day. This is evidenced by the fact that Rambo just got another job - his 4th - hauling pigs! Really? Does anything on this planet smell worse than pig shit? I mean really?

Must. Stop. Stomping. On. Small. Bunnies.

* Watermelon had 6 girls overnight here for her birthday Friday.

By Saturday at 10am she whispered to me:

Her hands were nearly twitching to go in and clean her room so it would be back to her standards.

Shit. Shit. Shit. She is a mini-me OCD diva. What have I done?

I mean what child EVER wants their FIVE friends to leave?? *sigh*

* Life is NOT okay unless I have long, acrylic nails. Listen, I tried life without them and every day something feels off. Like when you have a run in your nylons or your entire head of hair is curled except one piece. Yes, just like that. Do not fret. I shall remedy this immediately.

* I'm so going to hell. Not a huge surprise I know.

This time it's because I'm straight up evil - like the spawn of Satan.

Rambo's parents have been on vacation for almost 9 days.

Fun for them and bliss for me because that means 9 days without the phone ringing 16x a day.

Soooo - they returned yesterday. The phone rang 26 billion times. I did not answer one time.

I pretended to be gone.

And then?

I topped it off by lying when I finally answered the NEXT day by saying I was totally gone shopping and therefore, never heard her even call the day before.

Shitballs.

(this lying and avoiding could be another reason that Karma hates me and taunts me with poop daily)

* I confess that I have proof that I am not completely cold and heartless, nor void of emotion.

Here is why:

I cried at a freaking Folgers coffee commercial.

Yup - there you have it. Proof indeed.

Take that all of you people who thought the only thing I could feel was pissed off and annoyed.

~~I blame Christmas.~~

I fart gumdrops (and look hot doing it, thank you) AND cry at commercials.

It's all part of my evil plan to make you love more me than Skittle baths.

Is it working?

Twas the night before Christmas...Drazil Style.

2011-12-09T09:14:00.001-06:00

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Drazil was up planning evil deeds because he’s a nasty louse.

The blinged stockings were hung by the chimney with care

Waiting to be filled with makeup, shoes and products for my hair.

Sheniqua was nestled tight to my hip as we lay snug in our bed.

While visions of a size zero tight ass danced in my head.

Now where the hell is Drazil? God, he’s such a sap.

It’s time to settle down with Rambo for a long winter’s nap.

Just then out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I smacked Rambo so he could see what was the matter.

Away to the window, he flew like a flash.

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow.

Gave the luster of diamonds to objects below.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.

There sat Drazil on top of Rudolph’s back. What a dick!

He was controlling the whole gang – yes, even St. Nick.

Faster than hives spreading on my ass, his coursers they came.

And Drazil whistled and shouted, and called them by name.

"You idiot Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! On, Cupid! Jesus Donner – get off of old Blitzen!

Get your asses on the roof so Santa can land here.

I’ve been waiting for my presents all f*cking year.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

Drazil screaming and then the pawing of each little hoof.

As I rose from my bed, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

He looked pissed off, like he wanted to stomp Drazil into ashes and soot.

I knew how he felt…I wanted to kill Drazil every single day.

I wanted to help Santa but I didn't know what I should say.

I noticed a bundle of heels and purses that he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a salesman at Macy’s as he was opening his pack.

My eyes were as wide as saucers, my dimples how merry!

My ass cheeks filled with hives and I knew they were as red as a cherry!

My mouth was dry and I fell to my knees!

Was that a Coach purse? Oh Lord, help me please!

Santa was smoking a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke encircled Drazil’s puny head just like a wreath.

He began to cough and wretch from his stupid blue belly,

While I laughed so hard my stomach shook like a bowlful of jelly!

Oh Santa was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

He's as big as Sheniqua and as sassy too, I thought to myself.

Then Santa gave me a wink and a conniving twist of his head,

Would he grant my Christmas wish and strike Drazil dead?

He ignored Drazil’s pouting and went straight to his work,

He filled all the stockings but two and then turned with a jerk.

Then he calmly stepped on Drazil and squashed him right flat.

He kicked Sheniqua’s ass and yelled, “You whore…now SCAT!”

I nearly feinted in joy and offered Santa a quick BJ.

He declined and said he’d get that from my best friend Jenny…just down the way.

I stared at the purses, the heels, the diamonds and the Harley clothes.

I felt a peace I’d never known all the way down to my Shellac-ed toes.

With Drazil still crying, Santa sprang to his sleigh and to his team gave a whistle,

And whatever the hell this means – they flew away like the down of a thistle.

As he drove out of sight I heard him exclaim, “Happy Christmas to all!”

“Tell Drazil to leave town or I’ll come back and rip off his lizard balls!”

"Be sure Sheniqua lays off the Doritoes and the late night pudding snacks.

Or her new home will be where Rambo works with all the other asshole quacks."

He waved goodbye and said, “Enjoy your bling bling, my Princess lovebug.

And be careful with the snakeskin Jimmy Choos…they fit a little snug.”

I’ll see you next year. Drazil better be a handbag and Sheniqua should still be MIA.

If you can accomplish that, there might be a little something extra next year, mmkkaay?

Literal "shit" that you don't want to hear about.

2011-12-08T04:00:00.002-06:00

But you're gonna anyway because I love you all sooo much. I simply must share the "shit" with you. If I'm going to be subjected to hear about this kind of poop and vomit in my mouth while hearing about it...welll then - so are you.

Rambo has issues. No, no - not poop issues. Issues with coming home and telling me stories about inmates at the prison that I seriously do NOT want to know.

He knows I also have issues - with P words - mainly poop to be exact.

And yet? He tells me poo stories. And laughs. Like somehow it's funny. When it ain't.

It just ain't people.

Apparently yesterday, an inmate in Unit A (intake unit - worst unit on the range) decided to go coo-coo for more than Coco Puffs.

Rambo said the inmate pooped in his hand (how talented huh?) - then proceeded (OMG - I'm having trouble typing this - no lie) to eat the poop in his hand.

Which led to him wiping the remaining poo all over his head and face. And the walls.

Of which he promptly began licking.

HOLY SATAN'S BALLS!!! Is this person human?

I don't understand. I cannot deal.

So yes, the inmate is obviously stripped naked, bound to a bed with a 1 inch thick mattress and put on observation - while the janitor cleaned shit off the walls.

I'm sorry - you just couldn't pay me enough to watch that or clean it.

I can barely think about it but decided I must write about it. Cuz as you all know - I hate it but I can't seem to stop blogging about it.

Don't hate. I'm facing my fears...or something like that.

Excuse me - I must go brush my teeth with bleach.

Pull your pants up mama!

2011-12-07T04:00:00.001-06:00

Thanks...cuz if you wouldn't have told me that I would have left my ass hanging out for everyone.

Let me explain. Yesterday was Day 4 of a mind-numbing, I'd rather pull my fingernails out with a pliers and live with my in-laws than deal with my head one more second kind of migraine.

Normally I usually only get to about Day 3 before I'll give in and go to the ER. This time for some reason I went to Day 4 because between the days my meds would work for a few hours at a time.

Today came and I knew it was gonna be "get your ass to the ER" day. We had to take Banana for an ear infection checkup too so instead of the ER - I went to the regular clinic/doctor instead. I knew that instead of an IV - I'd be getting two shots.

Two as in - one in each ass cheek.

As if things aren't bad enough I have to bend over a table and have some stranger squeeze my ass and insert needles into it. That also hurt like a mo fo by the way because of the strength of the meds in them.

I mean they sting soooo bad and for literally weeks afterwards my ass will be bruised.

By the time the doc finally got my shots, I was ready to die. Like sob and scream and go nuts just so they'd have a reason to sedate me. When that nurse told me to bend over the exam table with my bare ass hanging out - dude - I did it.

And Rambo and Banana were right there to witness it.

Thank God right? Because when the nurse was done and I was trying to stand up slowly so as not to puke we all hear Banana say, "Pull your pants up mama." in such a tone that sounded like *I* was embarrassing her with my ass hanging out in the room.

The nurse laughed. I still wanted to die.

I decided I'll laugh later.

Lion or Lover?

2011-12-05T04:00:00.002-06:00

How about it? Devoured and eaten alive by a lion until your soulmate is dead, dead, dead OR give your soulmate life AND a new lover?

I'm not making sense, am I?

Okay - the other day I heard two DJs talking on the radio about some old tale that really intrigued me. I'm sure I have some of the deets wrong but the jist of it is this.

Let's say you find your soulmate and you become lovers. With one little caveat.

You're not supposed to be lovers or soulmates or anything for that matter. For whatever reason - be it social class or that you are already spoken for or whatever - it is illegal and wrong for you to be lovers with said soulmate.

So....you are given a choice by the powers that be.

Your lover will be put in an arena. There will be two doors. Behind one door is a lion. Behind the other is a gorgeous woman - a new lover for your soulmate.

You get to chooose. Choose the lion and your soulmate is dead. Choose the lover and you must live seeing your soulmate love another.

Sooooo - dead or alive?

Pick your poison as they say.

Interesting, isn't it?

I've contemplated this conundrum for a while and I have no idea what my answer is. Frankly the thought of either door for Rambo makes me break out in hives. I'd like to call the radio station and yell at them like some crazy person on a meth binge for even putting this scenario out there for my little brain to think about.

Cuz, um well - it's just yucky.

What say you, my most intelligent followers? Which door do you choose? Is it an easy choice?

I'm dying to know. Do tell.

BYOC...Bring Your Own Crazy!

2011-12-02T08:05:00.004-06:00

It’s Friday so it’s time for BYOC – Bring Your Own Crazy! We answer a few questions in order to get to know each other better and to give our blogging brains a break! Copy to your own blog if you wish and ENJOY!

Let’s do a little themed version of where you live and why!

1. Describe the structure you live in. (apartment, condo, house, mansion, cardboard box?)

I live in a 2 story, 5 bedroom split foyer home….which means when you walk in my front door you are on a landing and you can go up to the main living area or down the lower living area.

2. Describe the city you live in. (population, main attractions)

I live in a town that has less than 1000 people. 99% of them wear deer hunting orange clothes year round and have three rifles in their 4x4 jacked up trucks. The women all sit around rolling their eyes. There are more bars than people…almost. There are enough churches to negate all the bars and 95% of the town is Catholic. We have one school and the classes have about 20-25 kids in them.

Both Rambo's family and mine mostly live here or within a few minutes of here so that's another reason we stay here.

It is a HUGE understatement when I say everyone knows everyone. It is small town Podunk USA. It's the kind of place where most days I get home from work and my kids are gone for hours...at the neighbors. And the kind of place where small children and women walk alone at any time of day or night - because crime is literally nonexistent.

And I love it. Most of the time.

3. Why do you live in the town you live in? (job, to get away from a different town, family, schools?)

We live here first because both Rambo and I were born here. My parents were born here. We both have good jobs here. The small schools are nice and neither of us likes big cities. Rambo has been all around the world due to his last job and he always says everything he ever needs is right here where we are.

We are literally less than 2-3 hours away from HUGE cities and there are prestigious colleges less than 15 minutes away where most kids from here end up going. And there’s a bar and a church within walking distance of my house….it’s freaking Paradise.

Why would we ever leave?

4. What’s the view like from your backyard?

This is going to sound odd but if you look into my backyard you’ll see the usual – clothesline, play set, sandbox, landscaping and shed….but if you let your eyes go beyond that – you see a cemetery and headstones and grand religious statues.

In fact, the reason Rambo and I got this house is because the previous owner was sure it was haunted by the spirits in the cemetery. It creeped her out enough to make her leave.

For me? It’s the opposite. It’s perspective. The gravesites right in my viewline are in a new part of the cemetery – so they are recent deaths. Which also means they are heavily visited graves. I see people standing at their loved ones sites constantly – putting things there like balloons and flowers, sometimes sitting, sometimes alone, sometimes with a whole crowd, sometimes laughing and sometimes crying.

It’s a constant reminder of the briefness of life to me. And a constant reminder that I have a lot to be grateful for – because I’m not one of them standing on a grave site.

Just over the hill is my Grandma’s grave and I go there quite often. She’s right there….and it brings me comfort.

And really - we have the best neighbors in the world. They are quiet and don't cause any trouble....um cuz they aren't alive.

5. Repeat question: How has your week been in blogland and in real life?

Blogland and real life were quite interconnected for me this week. I was very introspective and contemplative and had a lot of long talks with Jenny and myself and that always flows into my writing here.

I was pretty dark and gloomy in general but it’s always dark before someone turns a light on so I also feel a sense of calm and peace that I haven’t felt in months.

Okay – your turn! Go do BYOC! You know you want to! (yes, bestie - that means YOU! lol)

I owe you my inner peace.

2011-12-01T11:46:00.000-06:00

Someone should make up a new name for the mental disorder I have. It’s a doozy. For realz. I’m not sure any doctor or therapist on this Earth could diagnose it yet I’m pretty sure more than 99% of the people I know – have it too.

I always say Drazil is my inner demon who lives in my head and on my shoulder but really? Let’s be honest. He’s just the damn ringleader of all the demons. He’s the corral master. He’s the Jesus of lizards with his “Come, come, we have room at the inn. Bring us your tired and your lame and your crazy. “

God, I hate him. Almost as much as I hate small teenage boys who weigh 80 pounds that wear jeans that could fit a small horse so ALL of their underwear can show.

You see, the little record in my head plays the same song over and over. It’s a terrible, nasty song with absolutely no beat to it. It’s played since I was a little girl. It goes something like this:

You aren’t worthy of real love and support. You don’t matter. What you feel is stupid. No one wants to hear how you feel. How you feel is mean and selfish. No one cares that you are still hurt over things that happened 20 years ago. Why don’t you just get over it? You’re too sensitive. You’re not good enough. Avoid conflict at all costs. Smooth things over. Pretend everything is fine. Never show sadness or fear or anger – because no one cares if you feel it anyway. You have to deal with things on your own. You are nonexistent. You’re on your own. Shove what you feel down. Deny, deny, deny. Hide. Build the wall of China around yourself. Trust no one – not even yourself. Everyone will leave you. No one will stay. You have to change if you want someone to love you. You just don’t matter.

It’s not a good song to hear. Wouldn’t even make the top 10 ten songs of all time even if Satan was choosing the list.

Only two people in my entire life have sat me down in one way or another and literally told me the exact opposite of the words that song plays. It took me nearly 15 years to believe the one.

And today I’m making the choice to believe the other one.

Things simply cannot change if I don’t say out loud what I want to change.

People cannot be a bigger part of my life if they don’t even know I feel like they are missing.

People cannot say I’m sorry if they never know they hurt me.

People cannot be given the opportunity to heal me if I pretend like I have no scars.

They cannot put a bandaid on me if they can’t see a wound.

They cannot love me like I say I so desperately want if I refuse to come out from behind the wall.

I cannot possibly gain anything if I don’t face the risk of losing it all.

I cannot deal with the pain of the past if I pretend it doesn’t still affect me every single day.

I’ll be brought to my knees over and over if I don’t finally get up and find the strength to stand up for myself.

My feelings cannot be valid if I refuse to allow myself to feel them.

If I don’t trust my own heart enough to see this through…then I’ll never heal.

If I can’t put my whole soul in the hands of another then I’ll live with this void the rest of my life and a part of me will forever be empty.

Living in the pain of the past is killing me in the present and projecting nothing but a bleak, pain-filled future.

My pain has a voice.

Currently that pain talks in the way of spending too much on things to fill a void, migraines, stress, desperation at my core and even weight gain. Frankly, I’m sick of listening to “that” voice.

I’ve got a better one in mind. It is mine. The one that comes from inside of me. The one you can see in my eyes when the tears start to flow. The one that cracks when the words I need to speak become too hard to try to say. The one that is crying out, “Please – listen…I can’t go on like this.” The one that says, “You might not like what I have to say but I have to say it anyway.”

The one that says, “I am worth this voice. I matter. I am here. You cannot pretend I’m not in pain or that you haven’t killed a part of me in the past.”

The voice that will finally say what I need to say to people who need to hear it…is embodied by a spirit that finally believes what only TWO people have been telling me for years.

To Rambo and Jenny….I owe you my inner peace. And probably my life.

My voice says to you today….”Thank you.”

Happy Napper my ass!!

2011-11-30T04:00:00.002-06:00

Let’s all enjoy another episode of “Draz should be Mother of the Year” – shall we?

Yes, let’s. “Twill be fun.
Okay so - Banana is 6 – therefore she still believes HEAVILY in Santa. We’re doing the incessant questioning daily now. For example – I hear any of the following about 50 bazillion times a day.

Is tomorrow Cmas?
When is Santa coming?
Can we leave cookies out tonight?
Will you add more to my Cmas list?
Can we put up more lights?
When is Santa coming?
Is tomorrow Cmas?

It’s fun ~~for about the first 2 hours only~~.

Anywhoozle, my Banana wants a Happy Napper. Thank you oh commercial makers. She wouldn’t even know what one is if you didn’t run your commercial 24/7 on every cartoon channel that exists.

She wants a unicorn Happy Napper.

Fine. Good.

Well actually NOT fine. The stores here carry every f*cking Happy Napper except a unicorn.

Jesus tits and Mary’s ass.

Sooo being the good mother I am – I order the unicorn Happy Napper online.

While waiting for it to arrive one day I ask Banana what she wants for Cmas again. She says a Happy Napper. Only THIS time she says she wants a KITTEN Happy Napper.

WHAT????

Me: I thought you wanted a unicorn.

B: I did – but not anymore.

Me: There is no such thing as a kitty Happy Napper.

B: Sure there is.

Me: Well what happens if you get a unicorn?

B: Oh I’ll keep it but I really want a kitty one.

Of course you do.

Cripes.

Days later the Happy Napper arrives to my office at work. I bring it home because Banana is not going to be in my car that day. I also get some groceries that day.

I get home. I decide to the play the “see how many bags I can carry before my arms and thumbs turn purple and fall off” game and end up carrying about 16 bags upstairs.

After I ice my back and take a Vicodin and stop hyperventilating (who needs a treadmill)…I take a nap. I clean. I do all sorts of things. I do everything but remember that there is a Happy Napper in my car. In the back seat. Next to Banana’s booster seat.

Until – the next night when we are all going somewhere. Rambo and I tell the girls to get in the car – we’ll be there in a minute.

We enter the garage minutes later to hear squealing and giggling.

What could possibly be so fun about getting in the car?

THE HAPPY NAPPER!

Watermelon is yelling, “Look what we found!” Banana is screaming, “It’s a Happy Napper!!!”

OPEN IT! OPEN IT! OPEN IT!!

Both Rambo and I yell, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Give me that box. It’s not yours. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to open boxes that clearly don’t have your name on them?

Ugh – well –so I immediately say, “Yes, Santa may have given me a present or two early to mark some things off his list. Now forget you ever saw it or I may have to give it to some other kid.”

I tell Rambo it’ll be fine. I’m convinced that this 6 year old of ours will forget the Happy Napper in about 5 minutes.

Days later and I now have proof that I am wrong.

Let me just tell you how the daily conversation has changed since the “accidental Happy Napper unveiling”.

Here’s what comes out of Banana’s mouth about every five minutes now:

Is tomorrow Cmas?
When is Santa coming?
When can I have that Happy Napper I found?
Can we leave cookies out tonight?
Will you add more to my Cmas list?
Can we put up more lights?
When can I have that Happy Napper I found?
When is Santa coming?
Is tomorrow Cmas?
When can I have that Happy Napper from the car?

Moral of the story: Six year olds never forget anything they find that is supposed to be from Santa.

So far Banana has told every person she knows – and some she doesn’t – about the Happy Napper sighting.

Yup – mother of the year – that’s me. Right here.

Don’t hate. It’s really hard to suck this much without even trying.

Rambo and the little girl in me had a fight.

2011-11-29T09:00:00.000-06:00

Anybody who ever says that their childhood doesn’t stay with them – is lying. Anyone – especially those who were abused in any way – who says they’ve left it behind and made peace with it – still feels the pain sometimes. Anyone who claims to know with everything in them that any abuse they suffered wasn’t their fault – still feels guilt – however misplaced – from time to time.

At any given moment – a word, a touch, a smell, a sight, a color, a song, a tone – can take you back.

To that place when you were a kid – and all you wanted to do was escape and run and stop the pain.

Rambo and I don’t fight. I don’t know why – we just don’t. Once in a while we get on each other’s nerves and get testy – but five minutes later we’re making each other laugh. Let it be known – even *I* find it odd that after 20 years I still want to rush home to him and I miss him terribly even after emailing him all day long. It’s nuts and makes you want to vomit but I can’t help it.

For some reason – we’ve always had the theory that life is too short to fight with each other and even moreso – we vowed never to have marriages like our parents.

There was a time when things weren’t good for Rambo and I – and the basis was because we weren’t together and neither of us could function without the other. He was gone for months at a time driving semi and we’d “talk” for hours each night on the cell phone – millions of miles from each other – and we were both frustrated and we both were scared of what the distance would eventually do to us and conversations were heated because our hearts were broken.

So he came in off the road and since then – I can tell you – in the last 12 years I can’t even count on one hand the fights we’ve had. We don’t do silent treatments. We don’t swear or call each other names or make digs. We don’t go to bed angry. We don’t leave without kisses and I love yous.

We just don’t.

Unless you take me back to when I was a child. And then – for a split second in time – I can’t forgive you and I can’t stand the pain. And I’m going to back away from you. I’m going to find a hole and live in it. You won’t know I exist – because with just a few words you made me feel like nothing again.

Then again, I’m no child. And I will not allow myself to be treated like anything less than a respected and loved woman. Period. My girls will see what it’s like to have a real man in their life…and if you call that into question – I will not let it slide.

Last night I forgot something and Rambo lost his temper and he said one sentence – just one – to me. A general statement. One he didn’t mean.

He said, “Geez, why can’t anyone use their effing head in this family?” and he stomped up the steps and slammed a door behind himself.

That was it. The tone wasn’t nice. The insult was shitty. Rambo doesn’t talk like that. Not to me. Maybe inmates or people he doesn’t love. But not to me.

Five minutes later I heard him talking with the girls – everything was fine. Except for me. I had already been transported back to my childhood.

And yes – I know some of you are thinking, “That’s it?”

To that I say – isn’t that enough – especially knowing I use my “head” daily to juggle two kids and 3 jobs and a million other things? Knowing I struggle with my own worth and my guilt over never doing and being enough?

I mean how does it start? How does one begin going too far or insulting too often or hurting too deeply if they don’t start with the small stuff? If you let someone take an inch – soon it will be three feet right?

I’m here to tell you – I ain’t giving up any inches. Ever. I gave up every one I had as a child.

For the first time in at least a decade I went to bed last night without saying goodnight to Rambo. After he yelled that to me – I never said another word. This morning I left again – without saying a word.

To say my stomach hurts is a huge understatement. Conflict between Rambo and I is so foreign that I have absolutely no idea how to feel or what to do with it. I go so far in my head to feel like THIS is the end. His love will end. It’s over.

That comes from my childhood. You know? The stuff I’ve supposedly healed.

I got to work and I wrote Rambo an email. I told him that in this marriage we don’t lose tempers over dumb things, we don’t yell, we don’t insult, and again - we don’t freak out over stupid things when we both know we’re doing the best we can every day. I told him I am his equal and I will not be treated like or talked to like a child. I told him if he were perfect it’d be different – but neither of us is. I told him if one of our girls had their husband do and say what he did in that way – we’d be PISSED. I told him I’m hurt and I have a right to be. I told him I didn’t speak to him because I couldn’t. Because I was afraid of what I’d say. Because his words, look and tone took me back to a place I don’t want to go.

Two minutes went by and he responded to my email and he said he wished I would have talked to him last night.

The thing is – I couldn’t. I can’t separate hurtful words that someone says to me from how I felt as a little girl. I can say I’m an adult now and I’ve dealt with my demons – and I have – but that doesn’t mean I can’t remember in an instant. I freeze. I react. I regress. I remember.

Then when I’ve calmed down – I get angry – and I remember who I am and how far I’ve come and what I will and will not accept for myself every single day. If things were the opposite, I’d want Rambo to call me out on it too. He’d have every right.

You can call this over-reaction if you want to but he and I are each other’s soft place to fall. The mother and father of each other’s children. The ONE person to each other that we treat better than all others – every day. Neither of us is willing to settle for less.

In wanting to be treated and loved like a Queen – you can rest assured I consider it an honor to treat Rambo like a King. It’s what he deserves and I want nothing less for him - and it's what he too, wants for himself.

So that’s it. It’s done. That was probably the fight of the year I suppose. You think it’s small and stupid but to me when they are rare – they hurt deeper I think. If they happened daily – it’d be normal. It probably wouldn’t hurt at all I suppose.

That’s the key though. I will not settle for normal. Nor will Rambo. That may not work for everyone or it may sound corny – but it’s OURS and it’s a vow we made over 20 years ago.

Sometimes moments like this are necessary because it reminds me how great all the other moments are. It reminds me – the little girl in me – that people can fight and still love remains. I can stand up for myself – and he won’t walk. We can hurt each other and forgive and grow.

I know that how I reacted to this and how I felt may indeed be worse than what Rambo said in that moment – but it doesn’t matter. My feelings are my feelings and I’m giving them a voice they never had as a child.

And love remains.

Who knew?

The little girl in me sure didn’t. Do you?

This isn't going to be fun.

2011-11-28T04:00:00.002-06:00

This doesn't happen to me very often. More like never. And instead of fearing that - I'm trying to embrace it.

You see, everything in my soul is screaming at me to write. The need to put words to my feelings is intense. Yet - I sit. Not knowing what to write.

The words won't come. Which means they are painful. I'm avoiding giving words to what I know is the truth.

While there may be many things I cannot admit yet - I know I am not the same woman I was just two years ago before I started this blog and before Jenny became my best friend.

Two years later I've done and said about one bazillion things I never thought I could.

And two years later - when it comes to family - I'm still searching for peace. I've left every get-together this weekend feeling judged and unloved and on the defense. Now I realize even going to those places is a choice that I make. If I'm going to continue to keep making them - I sure as hell better figure out how to get through them without being brought to my knees in pain every time.

I have to realize I am enough for me. For Rambo and for my girls. And for Jenny.

And anyone else I know can suck my left tit. For realz.

Yesterday I took that "suck my left tit" attitude to the extreme...like I actually put it into action.

For the first time in my life - my entire family went to church - without yours truly.

When my mom asked me if I was going - I told her no as she stood with her back to me doing the dishes and then I whispered, "I'm sorry."

She never turned around. She never said a word for a few minutes. She said nothing.

I knew I had hurt her with that one word. I knew I could take it back by erasing it with a simple yes.

But my authentic self wouldn't let me.

I was triply torn on the inside.

My authentic self was cheering and clapping and yelling, "YOU DID IT!"
Drazil was screaming, "You're a terrible daughter - knowingly hurting your mother!"
The daughter who does everything right usually was screaming, "You should have said yes!"

The thing is - the thought of sitting in that church with hypocrites to my left and to my right nearly made me sick to my stomach. I cannot pretend anymore. With everything in me I know that I will be judged by my not going to church. The depth of love my father feels for me is directly related to my presence in that pew.

I could have 3 strong, stable jobs. I could have two beautiful, healthy children. I could have a home and cars and possessions. I could have a loyal, loving husband. I could have all of that.....

Oh wait - I do have all of that..and yet - the only thing I am loved or not loved for - is church.

And I can't do it anymore. I failed. I suck. I'm not worthy of love. I've disappointed him in EVERY aspect according to him - because of the ONE thing I don't do.

Everything that I do or have done - means naught.

That is bullshit. I'm done with it. Done trying to be something I cannot stomach.

If that hurts them, I guess so be it.

Hell, I've been hurt my entire life and I survived. I'm sure they will too.

PS - I'm sorry my posts lately suck the life out of anyone who reads them. I am. But apparently I am human and every day isn't farting gumdrops and dancing on rainbows. I'm sorry for that. More than you know.

I'm not really supposed to be blogging.

2011-11-25T21:34:00.000-06:00

My family and I are supposed to be sitting around a fire in matching sweaters. Drinking hot cocoa. Telling stories. Laughing so hard our cheeks hurt. Never wanting the night to end. Maybe even watching an old black and white Christmas movie. For sure putting up the tree and watching the lights dance across the ceiling.

And yet, I ask you this...

In whose f*cking house does this really happen? Who is the asshole at Hallmark who put this vision in my head? I want to kick him square in the nuts and scream, "LIAR LIAR - your balls should be set on fire."

Oh shit - I probably should have warned you that if you want some Thanksgiving love and cheer - you shouldn't read this. My life does not belong on the Lifetime Channel. I cannot wait for this holiday to be over. I want to vomit just re-thinking about it - and I still have one left to go to.

I'd literally rather clean the toilet after Explosive Man has used it. With my bare hands. And no Mr. Bubbles to help me.

I'm not trying to be funny. In fact, I'm forcing myself to pretend to be funny.

Because the fact that I hate this holiday and the one coming up - hurts my heart. Badly.

I feel like it's breaking in two. To admit that I don't want to be near anyone other than Rambo and my two girls - feels terrible. Selfish. Mean. Un-loving. Bitter.

Like I'm worse than Satan and the Grinch all in one. I am Sataninch.

I wasn't always this way. Nope - I was the girl who built up the holidays in my mind - knowing with everything in me they'd be perfect....just like the Hallmark cards.

And then they weren't. And I'd tell myself not to expect too much next time.

Now I don't expect anything. Yet I still come away hurt.

Walking away from the get togethers - trying not to run away so as not to appear rude - felt like a betrayal to a heart inside of me that I know isn't really cold and awful.

I can't be what everyone wants me to be. I didn't marry the Prince of the Universe according to you. I can't agree with everything you say and believe in. I can't make you love me. I can't be enough for you.

I can't make you see that me not wanting to be with you - also kills me inside.

I don't want to be that person. But the truth is the truth.

I've never wished a holiday away before - until now. I want it over.

While that makes me shallow and cold and unfeeling - it also makes me a woman who for the first time in my life is saying what I need and truly feel when it comes to family get-togethers.

I don't have the energy to pretend we're the Bradys.

We never were. We're never going to be. I don't expect us to be. It's unrealistic at best.

I never really wanted that anyway. I just wanted "normal".

I just wanted to be in a room with all of them - and not want to run away screaming.

That's all...and it was too much to ask apparently.

God help me but I can't wait to go back to work Monday.

Gift giver backer.

2011-11-23T04:00:00.000-06:00

Soooo there's this lovely running joke between Rambo and I about how I return gifts he gets me.

I'd like to point out that sometimes Rambo kicks ass in giving gifts and other times - well - he envisions me differently than I really am.

Like the time he bought me lingerie that included a purple bra. It wouldn't even cover one entire nipple. Wanna know why? It was size XS - as in extra small (or extra stupid). Um - I had double E boobs at the time. Extra small? Really?

And then there's the BIGGIE. The big gift this joke stems from. My wedding ring. We picked it out together - small but beautiful. And then I waited until he proposed.

We were in the mall shopping and I lovingly asked, "Sooo, when do I get my ring?" Screw the romantic shit - I wanted the ring you know? He said, "How can I put a ring on your finger when you already wear one on that finger?"

I said, "No problem - here - take the ring I already have on. Now there's nothing standing in your way."

We continued to shop and by the end of the day I remember saying, "Dude - I can't stand not having a ring on my ring finger. Give me my ring back if we're not going to do this." (Jesus, I was lovely, wasn't I?)

He did. He slipped my ring back on my finger as I kept digging through clothes racks...telling him to hurry up without even looking at him.

20 minutes later I realized I was wearing my engagement ring - my diamond that he had been carrying in his pocket to propose that day - and I looked at him and he asked, "Will you marry me?"

I know, I know - it makes you almost verklempt, doesn't it? Almost.

A month or so later - the main diamond was cloudy and had a flaw in it. You bet your sweet asses I took it back and got one very similar. But no matter the reason - I'll never live it down.

For about 5 years or so I haven't worn it. When we were married 10 years, I got a bigger ring so I replaced it with that. Plus my original ring had lost a tiny side diamond and the prongs needed to be fixed. Just this week, I finally got it fixed. I made Rambo pick it up and told him I wanted him to re-give it to me so I can now wear it as a pinky ring.

When I got home there were shitloads of roses all the way up the steps. About 20 zillion candles lit. Our wedding song playing in the background. A Coach purse I've wanted forever and a glass of wine ready. And Rambo on his knee - with my tiny wedding ring that we bought when I was 19 - asking me to marry him again.

Okay - I totally lied. That's how it was supposed to be in my head. In real life...I was in bed going to take a nap and Rambo came to tuck me in - and without a single word he took out my ring and smiled and I held out my pinky and he slipped it on and I smiled back. Then he kissed me and left the room. Neither of us said anything.

Not at all how I envisioned it but somehow it was perfect.

Sometimes you just don't need words.

And then the next day I returned the pink Harley ring he got me for my birthday. Oopsie. Dudes - I tried but it was just too big and kept spinning. So we returned it and I got one that says I♥ and a Harley shield. All crystals and the heart is pink and it goes sooo much better with my other jewelry.

Here is a pic (if you can call it that). My camera sucks but you get the idea.

Oh and also - check out my latest nail do before I go!

So tell me - do you return gifts ever?

Tootles Skittles!

God help me but it’s that time of year again.

2011-11-22T10:25:00.001-06:00

Wanting to kill anyone who claims to be my family time? Nope.

Turkey time? Nope.

Putting up the tree time? Nope.

Having a bowl of Xanax and milk for breakfast time? Nope.

It is not the TIME for any of those things just yet. They are coming – just not yet. I thought it was starting yesterday when my mother-in-law emailed me for the 4th time about the f*cking mashed potatoes.

I’m not kidding. If I ever get old enough or bored enough o email someone solely about mashed potatoes – just bury me. Please.

Okay, okay – soooo – it is that time of year again when I have to do something I hate doing. Like typing about it gives me hives in my ass crack. Like I’d rather email my mother-in-law back about the potatoes. Like I’d rather run my toes over with a lawnmower on purpose.

It’s a deep hate for this thing I think I have to do once every year. For the dumbest of reasons.

It is asking for a raise and it’s hard because I have to get the pink plaid balls of steel out of the closet and tell everyone how great I am even though saying it out loud makes me want to vomit.

I’m nothing if not thorough. I did my research. Looked over state wage surveys. Made spreadsheets with numbers and averages. Even got enough cahoneys to make an entire one page list of my accomplishments over the years.

And a week ago, I gave the info to the board members for my 2nd PT job. There was no turning back. I wanted a 10% raise for our manager and for me? I was asking for more than double my current wage (no idea the percentage - I just asked for over double the amount since I just make a monthly amount). Yikes. Overachieving at it's finest I guess.

I had the research and data to back up my request and still – I’d rather have had Thanksgiving dinner with Justin Bieber groupies than have to imagine what the board members thought of my request.

You see, when I took this job, the Board had to borrow money to pay our electricity bills at the plant. Today, 3 years later – our accounts have over $300k in them. I’ve done my work. I’ve paid my dues. I’m worth the salary I am requesting.

But there’s an asshole named Drazil who sits on my shoulder screaming, “You are a greedy witch and they are never going to pay you what you want because you don’t deserve it.”

I’m happy to report that last night I kicked him in his tiny, green lizard balls…HARD.

My plant manager walked out with a 10% raise. Unhead of in this economy, right?

And me? I more than doubled my current salary….apparently the board members didn’t even hesitate to vote YES.

I guess once a year I can do this. I can write down what I’m worth and what I do and how I do it. The goal in the future is to believe it the other 364 days of the year.

I’m not sure why it’s so hard to stand up and believe in yourself and plead others to believe it as well. I wish it wasn’t. And I’m going to work on that.

So tell me – how do you ask for raises? Or do you?

I know friends who refuse to even ask out of fear and because of that – they remain underpaid. I know places like where I work full time and in my 3rd PT job – raises are automatic annually and there is no asking involved. (LOVE that!)

How do you do it? Is it hard for you? Do you research or wing it? Do you dread doing it? Love it?

Do tell....inquiring minds want to know!

I'm a bit obsessed...

2011-11-22T04:00:00.002-06:00

...with boots.

Hey - don't hate. It's better than say - an obsession with meth, right?

Yes - that IS how I justify the obsession in my mind.

I have LOTS of boots. Too many. I feel the need to have one for every possible situation needed. So when I say I have black boots - I really mean I have black boots that are flat, tall heel, short heel, wedge heel, slouched, tight, knee high, ankle high and calf high, furry, leather...and so on.

I thought my collection was complete UNTIL I saw this one color of boot I didn't have.

Still to this day I don't know what color it is.

The description says taupe but for me it's not gray and not brown.

It's in between and I looked everywhere for it....and I finally found it!

Whaddya think?

Okay - and also - I had to get these.

Mostly because I love Skechers but also because I only have this color in a wedge - and not a flat.

Until now that is.

Do you love?

I finally found a pair of boots that I will NOT be buying.

Shocking I know - but I just don't think they belong in Podunk....or anywhere for that matter.

Well maybe on the "People of Walmart" site.

As much as I hate to admit it - the two below may very well be my next boots.

I'm not normally a fur all over the boot kind of girl - but dayum - these are CUTE!

Tootles Skittles!! Oh and happy boot shopping!

2:34am, toilet paper and public peeing.

2011-11-21T03:00:00.002-06:00

Last night at 2:34am (I know - I checked the clock)...I should have been deep in some George Clooney sex dream.

But I twas not.

I was peeing.

And then I was thinking about how not once in 10 years have I changed the toilet paper roll as I reached for some in my nearly comatose state of mind.

Not one time.

I pretend I don't know how. No idea why.

It's along the same lines of pretending I don't know how to put gas in my car. I don't want to. Simple as that. And if I don't know how - um - then Rambo does it.

He always changes the toilet paper roll. If he's not home and we run out - I get a new roll - and set it on the back of the toilet so when he gets home he can put it on the rolley thingy. I'm just courteous like that.

And that got me to thinking - as I grabbed for said toilet paper at 2:34 am - about how the TP was getting VERY low and how last time it was that low and I actually ran out and Rambo had to come in WHILE I was peeing and fill it back up to avoid the "pee running down the leg tragedy" that we all hate.

And that got me to thinking about a blog post. Yup - as I sat peeing - looking at toilet paper by the glow of a nightlight in the bathroom at 2:34am.

First of all - I want to know - who changes the TP roll in your house? Is it a shared duty? Or not? Do you know how to change it and pretend like you don't - like me? Or am I insane?

Second - as I thought about last time when Rambo stood next to me as I so prettily peed with my pants at my ankles patiently waiting as he filled up the TP roll - I got to thinking about a theory my very own conservative, VERY Catholic, very old school mother has about relationships - and how to tell if the love is indeed true.

It's about peeing - in front of your partner.

Let me be clear - this is ONLY about peeing. We are not in any way shape or form talking about poo here. Just #1. Mmkkaayy?

Anyway - my mother has a theory. She bases it on her sister's and co-worker's relationships. You see, one of her sisters has been in her relationship for 20 years with a man and let's just say their relationship sucks. It's more like a brother and sister relationship. Which is EXACTLY why they do not pee in front of each other - even after 20 years.

My mother finds that appalling and says that since they cannot pee in front of each other - it is NOT real love.

She's serious. I can't make this shit up.

Same thing with her other sister - though her relationship is decent - this other sister still cannot fathom peeing in front of her husband. She visibly shivers in disgust if we discuss this topic. (Yes, we have discussions about this. Have I mentioned I live in Podunk?)

Again - my mother says - "Well then - it's not love."

I suppose sometimes she is sort of kidding but she is also very serious. As much as they can't even think about doing it - she cannot imagine not trusting or loving her husband enough to pee in front of him.

Can you believe I just wrote that last sentence? To love someone enough to pee in front of them? When did that become a measure of love?

Holy grasshopper farts - this is insane.

Are you still with me?

My 2nd question therefore is - do you pee in front of your partner? Have you always or did it come after years of being together? Will you never? Do you do it all the time without thinking? Or do you shut and lock the door? Give me deets people. (if you want)

Seriously - this is a fascinating subject if you ask me. I will tell you that in high school I was once in the bathroom with my best friend doing our hair and her mother came in - pulled her pants down - sat her ass on the toilet and proceeded to POOP! And talk to me the whole time like she wasn't shitting inches away from me!!!

I couldn't very well run and yell MY EYES MY EYES! but man did I want to. See? This is why I am scared of poop! Who would do such a thing? My friend didn't even blink an eye.

The woman - who was of no blood relation to me - POOPED next to me. If my mother had done such a thing I'd have gone to the courts and emancipated myself.

Ugh - I haven't thought about that moment in a long time. Thank God.

Anywhoozle, at my house I pee freely. I don't think I always did this...it just "happened" as the years went by. I don't even shut the door. IF I shut the door - that's like saying, "Mommy is doing something fun and having a party because the door is shut so we must slam it open and yell "Mommy, what are you doing?"" It's a f*cking invitation so I don't do it. I don't even bother. I go in, I pee. The end.

I think it started probably because Rambo and I take baths almost nightly - and before you step in the bath - you pee or you risk peeing IN the bath. So there we are - about to bathe - and we gots to pee. So we do.

There are no boundaries if it's pee. Rambo, because he's a guy, and our offspring are girls - always shuts the door. BUT I always go in and talk to him or finish my makeup or hair or whatever. Neither of us cares.

So see? Total true love.

Cuz he sees me pee. And I care not. And vice versa.

What say you about the depth of your love and peeing in the open?

Do they correlate?

Am I more insane than you ever imagined?

Let's just not answer that, mmkkaayy?