Two more books down.........

I've only gotten two other books read since I last posted.  A dear friend passed away unexpectedly on March 18th and so I got a week behind in my reading.  And I apologize that I have nothing to say other than about books - but I'll get back into the "REAL" swing of this blog very soon - I promise!!  Thanks for hanging in there with me.

So... books I've read since we last chatted:

1.  Fool - by Christopher Moore.  This one was tricky to get in to.  Written in Old English dialect, it's a filthy satire of King Lear.  When I imagined the voices in my head to sound like The Holy Grail - then it flowed a little more smoothly.  I have been told that not all of Moore's books are written in this dialect, so I am going to pursue some more of his writings as he is truly humorous and I did enjoy the book!

2.  Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen.  Awesome book!  A lovely, very detailed, story about a young man's life with the circus, related as a dream the man is having while in a nursing home at the age of 93.  He drifts in and out of consciousness throughout the day and the story unfolds in quite vivid detail.  A definite must read for all!

That's it for now - I promise to right some good juicy shit soon!

Well HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Good grief - cannot believe it's mid-March and I haven't written since December.  Likely you all have stopped checking in here to see if I have anything witty or amazingly funny to share with you.  My apologies if you do happen to still be checking in - but I had to check out for a bit.  No.  I wasn't at the nut farm.  I was just living life.  And reading.  


I fell sick for about a month after the holidays which resulted in me watching entirely too much TV.  I swore I'd seen every episode of every show on every channel.  I decided to start reading.  I used to love to read and did so frequently, but over the years with raising kids and working, I'd let my favorite past time slip through my fingers.  As with all things I do in life, I took to reading again in January and have.not.stopped.  My goal was 52 books in a year.  See - I can't have a hobby - I must set goals for myself and turn it into a challenge.  That's the problem with me.  But I figure reading is fairly harmless, so off I set.  Below is a list of the books I've read since I picked up the first one in January and very small snippet of my thoughts on each.


The Help by Kathryn Stockett - A rhythmic story that takes you back just a few short years in time to the days of segregation and the onset of the civil rights movement.  Quick and easy to read, filled with excitement and drama.


The Chatham School Affair by Thomas H. Cook - after drudging through 150 or so pages of this book, I finally declared it a L.O.S.E.R. and stopped reading it.  The story hops around between the past and present about every other page making it near impossible to follow and 150 pages into it, you still have no clue what the point is nor has the author led up to anything that causes you to want to continue to read.


The Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins - A.M.A.Z.I.N.G.  I read these three books back to back in just a few days and could not put them down!  Being classified in the adolescent category, they are also a quick and easy read - full of twists and turns and action packed!  


The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson and Reg Keeland - H.OR.R.I.B.L.E.  Why anyone would actually write a novel about this kind of fucked up sexual abuse and misuse of power is beyond me.  The first 200+ pages were so painfully boring that I actually napped about 8 times in that 2 day period it took me to get through them.  As I progressed into the book, I was horribly disturbed and by the end, sorry I'd ever read it.  I will not be reading the other two in the trilogy.  And if you do read this book - just tear out the first 200 or so pages - they're irrelevant to the overall story.


Bitter is the New Black by Jen Lancaster - a light and sarcastic tale of an uppity bitch who finds herself unemployed.  Jen Lancaster is a blogger turned published author and this story was a hoot.  I wouldn't say it's literature at its finest - but it was funny and a great relief after reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.


The Mitford Series by Jan Karon - there are 9 books in the series - I read the first 5.  I have the other 4 but needed to take a break from them so stopped at the end of 5 for now.  I think this is in the Christian category and while it's not adventurous or mysterious and doesn't necessarily leave you hanging onto the edge of your seat like The Hunger Games - it is a sweet little tale of a darling little town and the local Episcopalian priest and the other residents.  I found myself so caught up in the characters that I just kept reading one book after another.  I'll definitely return to the last 4 in the series!


Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden - likely the most eloquent book I've read thus far.  Absolutely beautiful tale of a Geisha's life.  I thought the book was a true story and even told several people it was - but turns out it's not.  Regardless - it reads as if it is.  Highly recommend this one!


The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls - a devastatingly wonderful true story about the author's childhood growing up with her insane mother and alcoholic father - never really having a home and always living "on the skeedaddle."  Your heart will ache for Jeannette and her siblings - and also for her mother and father who just could never get their shit together.  


Half-Broke Horses by Jeannette Walls - while this is Jeannette's second book, this one is about her grandmother's life and honestly, helps you to rather make sense of her mother as you got to know her in The Glass Castle.  While certainly not near as good as The Glass Castle, Jeannette does a great job of "painting the picture" so you get a real feel for her grandmother's life and how she lived.  


So that's it.  14 books in 12 weeks.  I'm ahead of schedule!  Now, what to read next.......

What's in a Nugget?

So a few months back, I posted a status on FB something to the effect of, "In reviewing the school lunches and their nutritional content for the month, it's no wonder obesity amongst children in the US is an epidemic."  That's not verbatim - but close enough.  Anyway, I'd forgotten that I am "friends" with a high school classmate who runs the food service for another school district in our city.  So she posted in, "OUCH".  I immediately explained my comment and that I didn't think it was her fault or the fault of the food service, but instead, the fault of something larger that makes crappy food more affordable to these school districts vs. healthy, fresh food.  She never replied.  So I blocked her from my news feed so I didn't have to see her daily religious quotes any longer.  There.  I fixed her. 

But what I really wanted to say to her is, "Seriously?  Look at yourself in the damned mirror."  Now.  I know that's mean.  And if you're already offended, stop reading - but I'm going to say it anyway.  This girl was the picture of health and fitness in high school.  Star athlete - not an ounce of fat on her.  Homecoming candidate.  Volleyball star, basketball star, track star.  She did it all.  And now?  I wouldn't recognize her in a crowd due to the amount blubber she has amassed over the years.  So I find it ironic that she runs a food service for a school district - serving up parts of chicken which have been formed into various shapes and given a variety of fun names and deep fried and honestly thinks that she is doing the children of this country justice.  I know the school districts are limited in funding and options when it comes to lunches.  I get all of that.  I really do.  But instead of replying with "ouch" - I would have rather seen a reply riddled with passion and desire to want to do better and have different choices to offer but not having the monetary capacity to do so.  Instead?  It seems the once fit and healthy one finds some level of comfort and pleasure in shoveling out shit to the children in her district. 

The whole thing irritated me.  As does her perpetual religious commenting.  So I found especially great joy when a recent news article came out that her district was written up by officials for the most code violations in the city.  And there she was, featured in the local paper, defending her shoddily run food program again.  Making excuses for the violations.  Stating she was unaware of them and they all occurred in the warehouse - where she never goes, but will in the future to ensure violations don't occur again.  I had to giggle to myself as I read the article.  Because to me it just screamed apathy.  Apathy over what she chooses to feed those kids and apathy for how the food is stored and handled.  Lazy.  That's what it is. 

And then I felt sad for her.  How does someone get to that point?  The point they don't care about themselves, their health, the results they produce in their career, lack of self-accountability?  Think how amazing this world would be if everyone gave a shit and tackled their job with the desire to make a difference - an impact - a dent in their tiny section of the universe.  Wouldn't the world be a better place?  Wouldn't people be happier?  More fulfilled?  More joyful to be around? 

In the meantime, the blonde refuses to eat the school lunches and so daily I'm forced to pack a cold lunch for her and on the days that I'm irritated by that fact, I remind myself that I'm proud of her for taking a stand against eating that shit they call food.  Hopeful that I'm teaching her to NOT be apathetic and optimistic she'll do amazing things in her life by daring to be different at the ripe old age of 9.  ROCK ON BLONDE! 

.....To the rest of you - SAY NO TO CHICKEN NUGGETS, STARS, STICKS, PATTIES AND WHATEVER OTHER FUN SHAPES THEY MOLD THAT SHIT INTO.

I don't know how else to say this.............

You fucking stink.

That seems so harsh.  Rude.  Maybe even insensitive.  But isn't brutal honesty sometimes the ONLY way to address an issue?  I don't know.  I'm lost.  I need help on this one faithful readers.  (all 2 of you)

The Prodigal Son is home and he has a friend that insists our basement is a hostel perfectly situated between his place of employment and his home - so the ease of just pulling in here at night after work and crashing is so luring that he cannot help himself.  And since he arrives late, is quiet, doesn't eat any food and leaves early in the morning without a disturbance to anyone in the house, I normally wouldn't give a shit.  Mi casa es su casa, right?  But... he fucking.stinks. 

The first time we encountered the smell of death which resonates from his earthly transport, we mistook the odor for a rotting carcass in the kitchen trash can.  It was only after we'd emptied the trash, scrubbed the can and sink with bleach, threw away everything in the refrigerator and sprayed 32 oz of Lysol around the kitchen, did we realize the smell was not emanating from the kitchen, but instead from the adjacent family room where he was peacefully dozing.  My eyes began to water and the contents of my empty stomach began clawing their way up my esophagus, begging to be released.  Acting swiftly, I shoved two paper towels up each nostril, poured myself a cup of coffee and retreated to the garage where I proceeded to dry heave until we departed the stink infested house for a soccer game.  Upon returning home, I retreated to my bedroom where I remained, with toilet paper shoved up my nose, until he awakened and left for work.  We quickly threw open every window in the house and shampooed the carpets, threw the blankets and sleeping bags on the deck and talked shit on him the remainder of the day. 

We told his father that we got a "whiff" of him and that he did not smell good and suggested he see a doctor immediately as the smell was not of athlete's foot, but instead, something far more serious - perhaps jungle rot?  We told the kid that he needed new shoes and that he couldn't leave his in our house and as a matter of fact, he needed to throw his shoes in the trash and get new ones.  We even told his father to please, for the love of God and little baby Jesus, buy his son new shoes. 

He did get new shoes.  And his socks looked pearly white the next time I saw him.  I was hopeful.  I was pleased.  But 2 minutes after he passed through the kitchen en route to the bathroom and returning to the basement (as we told him he could no longer sleep in the family room on the main level) - the smell wafted through the house again.  This time not so much like sour milk, but more like a locker room after 100 young men returned from and 8 hour practice in 112 degree heat.  And again, I was forced to retreat to my bedroom where I remained until he departed for the day.  And as I carefully made my way to the basement, a can of air freshener in hand and spraying it in front of me to lead the way, yet the odor became stronger and stronger and my eyes began to water and I began to dry heave again. 

I had plans today.  Plans to walk on the treadmill (in the basement).  Plans to put away all the Christmas tubs (in the basement).  Plans to bask in the glory and wonder of this crisp day.  But the plans have been crushed by the sight of his shoes by the back door.  Empty shoes at the back door mean his stinky ass will eventually appear on the main level to use the bathroom and the stench from the basement will spew forth into the kitchen and the remainder of my day will be spent scrubbing with bleach, spraying with air freshener and cussing the young man I once loved and welcomed into my home as my own. 

And the husband, the PS and I will stand in the kitchen looking like deer in the headlights and proclaiming, "SOMEONE.HAS.GOT.TO.SAY.SOMETHING.TO.HIM."  And I, being the rational one in the family, will begin crying, "I can't take it.  I can't live like this.  This is my home and this cannot happen again." 

So please, faithful friends, I need your advice.  How do you address such a delicate situation? 

While you ponder this question and draft your response, I will be out buying candles and lighting 1,200 of them in the house.  Oh... and more air freshener, as I've honestly used 8 cans from Pier One in a month.  I'm going broke over here - H.E.L.P.!!!!!!

Christmas Blip 2011 #1

I survived the great road trip of 2011!  Made it back home with fingernails intact and no idiot drivers from Iowa were killed at my doing! 

Sunday, I decided to let the girls decorate one of the Christmas trees.  Alone.  Without my guidance and direction.  They put on some Christmas music and after the husband and I spent an hour looking for the faulty bulb in the string of lights, the girls woke up from their boredom induced coma and set out to adorn the tree with all the fun decorations each of the kids has collected over the years.  I sat in the kitchen working on a 500 piece puzzle, which had now turned into a mission not to be abandoned before I turned in that night so I could eavesdrop on their conversation and laughter.  Sisters.  One 16 and one 9.  One brunette and one blonde.  Both with blue eyes and both the beats of my heart.  I was giddy with excitement at my ability to stand back and allow them this special time together without my constant bossing and nagging.  Oh the joy I would experience!!!  And so it began......

Brunette:  What are you doing?  Don't put that ornament there - you just put one there - you need to space them out.

Blonde:  That's MY ornament sissy - why are you hanging up all of my ornaments?

Brunette:  What the frick difference does it make?  Jesus Blonde - you're such a brat.

Blonde:  No.  I'm not a brat.  Mommy - why do sissy and brudder have more ornaments than me?  I hardly have any?

Me (calmly from kitchen):  Because they are older and have amassed them at the rate of 3 or more per year - so when you get to be their age you will have just as many sweetie - no worries.

Brunette:  I doubt it, because no one loves you Blonde.  They just pretend they do.  STOP HANGING THEM RIGHT NEXT TO OTHER.  JESUS.  I FRICKIN TOLD YOU THAT 10 TIMES ALREADY!!!

Blonde:  Sissy - it doesn't matter.  Is this yours or brudders?

Brunette:  MINE!  All of these are MINE. Stop hanging MINE.

And so it went for nearly an hour.  With the brunette's text alert sounding every 15 seconds in between the sound of ornaments crashing to the wood floor shattering into a million pieces.  The blonde frowning and on the verge of tears and the brunette rushing through the project so she could get back to her texting and tweeting.  And I remained calm.  At peace with my puzzle that was now threatening to drive me to insanity.  And thinking the entire time........  They let people who are only 16 raise children?  How?  How can it be so?  What a horrible.fucking.idea. 

And so I made a mental note to put that child on birth control at the first given chance - - -  just in case. 
And I asked the blonde if she had a good time decorating the tree without mommy.  "No." 

Great.  Another childhood memory I've managed to totally fuck up for this child.  I can't win.

Oh Why are there No Moose here?

Yesterday morning I woke up and immediately remembered a dream I'd had overnight.  My mom was driving and texting while I was in the car.  And we were on a narrow and curvy road and I kept asking her to stop and she refused and kept saying, "I've got this - I drive a Volvo - it's fine."  It was totally fucked up and irresponsible and I was still mad at her and stayed mad at her all day yesterday.  I should probably send her an email and let her know just how fucked up and irresponsible she is.

Then I drove to Rochester, MN.  And along the way I learned several things that I'd like to share:

1. I am capable of leaving the house and driving, alone, for distances farther than 10 miles.
2. People in Wyandotte County drive like shit and that is evidenced by the fact that all of their cars are beat to shit.
3. 635 is not the same as 670 and take you to different places.
4. People in Missouri drive like shit.
5. I am addicted to my phone and had that was evidenced by the serious withdrawals I was having by not being able to look at it continuously for 7 hours.
6. People in Iowa drive even worse than people in Missouri.
7. Talk to Tweet would be a super cool app because I kept thinking of really funny shit I wanted to Tweet along the way, but could not because I was driving - I wonder if someone has already thought of that?  I should look into that. 
8. Wendy's new and improved burgers are not really that improved.  As a matter of fact, I think they're even shittier than before.
9. Road trips are more fun with alcohol - but that seems irresponsible so I didn't bring any alcohol.
10. I drink too much - of anything.  I swilled water after water, one right after the other.  This explains my perpetual over-serving myself of alcohol.  I should likely just stick to water.
11. I-35 north is a boring fucking drive and evidently also the home of the great deer massacre of 2011. 
12. It's peculiarly peaceful being alone for 7 hours in a car.
13. I sing exactly like George Michael, Melissa Ethridge, Rihanna, Janet Jackson and Natasha Bedingfeld.  I had no idea my vocal range was so broad.
14. If you take an anti-anxiety pill, 1/2 a Xanax and drink two beers - you CAN sleep through the night.
15. It's cold as fuck in Minnesota.
16. Evidently there are no moose in this part of Minnesota so I'm pretty upset and disappointed. 
17. The mattress in the hotel room will not fit in my suitcase - no matter how I try to fold it or cram it in, so I'll need to come up with Plan B on getting that into my car to take home.
18. Having 8 pillows in your room to choose from is not better - it only became a chore to try them all and make a decision.
19. Munchkins must assemble showers in hotels because the shower heads are always very very low and while it works great for me, I can't help but think they're a pain in the ass for the general population.
20. Hair that comes in an aerosol can and is sprayed on your head doesn't really disguise the fact that you're bald.  As a matter of fact it just makes you look like an even bigger douche bag.

I'm sure I'll learn more things on this journey and I'm looking forward to this educational experience with great anticipation!!

Stop It. Stop It RIGHT NOW.

Watching TV with the family is becoming increasingly painful and difficult.  Not because we cannot agree on a show to watch.  Not because we cannot locate a show sans sex or sexual innuendos or profanity.  And not because we can't find the time.  It's all because of the freakin' commercials.

Last night as the blond and I attempted to watch Vietnam in HD on the History Channel, a commercial for Cialis would come on EVERY.FUCKING.BREAK.  So I would quickly switch over to TVLand to Everybody Loves Raymond.  Only to be met with a Viagra commercial.  So back to the History Channel I would go.  And what was on?  Another Viagra commercial.  WHAT.THE.FUCK.  This was between the hours of 7 p.m. and 9 p.m.  Isn't that considered prime time for family viewing?  And it doesn't just happen on the upper cable channels.  I've also fallen victim to this bullshit on the major TV networks. 

Is erectile dysfunction really that big (no pun intended) of a problem?  Is this really something the entire universe of TV viewers needs to be subjected to?  Don't I read in the paper and hear on the news DAILY about sex scandals?  Coaches.  School officials.  Politicians.  Church leaders.  Corporate execs.  It's everywhere.  Everyday.  Some dip shit stuck his dick where it didn't belong.  It's enough to make a person physically ill.  Has no one read the first book of the Bible?  Did no one learn from that?  Go back and read it again.  You think with your dick and so begins the saga of bad shit. 

I suppose to further piss me off and make me sick, this shit is covered by insurance.  I'd have to guess that it is because (it seems to me) the pharmaceutical companies and insurance companies are all in cahoots with each other.  And just exactly how large is their marketing budget?  C'mon TV stations - get your shit together and quit selling yourselves out for the almighty dollar.  We're trying to watch a documentary.  On the Vietnam War.  With our kids.  Do you really think we want to explain erectile dysfunction to a nine year old right then and there? 

Scruples.  Get some.  Please. 

Lasagna and Other Matters Less Important

Recently I received a text from a friend while at the grocery store.  Turns out she was also at the grocery store and her text was a grocery emergency regarding my lasagna recipe I'd shared with her:

Her:  I'm at the store...do you use spaghetti sauce in the lasagna or tomato sauce? And I saw the snots on Sunday at [local festival name].

Me:  Spag sauce.  I hate those snots. I actually use tomato sauce and that dry spag sauce mix in the gravy aisle

Her: Thanks!  That's what I remember, the dry.  [More on snots seen at local festival]

So I'm all thinking she's good to go on the lasagna and such and moved on with my life like I often do after a benign conversation about sauce and snots.  But oh hell no - TWO days later I receive another text from her.

Her:  I'm being a pain in the ass.  [that's no shit] How long do you cook the lasagna?  My computer crashed and I lost everything. [likely story - it's just easier to text me than it is to actually LOOK for the information I've previously provided to you]

Me:  Hell if I know!  Let's say 60 min if at room temp, 90 if out of fridge? 

Her:  Temp?  I think 425 or 375.  Otherwise I'm gonna wing it.

Me:  I cook everything on 350

Her:  Sounds good.  Thanks.

So seriously.  Did it take her 2 days to assemble that lasagna and she was just now getting ready to cook it?  Or what the hell was taking her so long to get that shit in the oven I'll never know.  But what I did know is that all of a sudden, I had a hankerin for some lasagna myself.  So that day, I went out and purchased all the ingredients for my now world famous much sought after lasagna recipe. 

And that night (see I'm efficient - I do shit on the same day) as I mixed the ricotta cheese with the eggs, I had this strange feeling that it didn't "feel right".  The consistency was off.  But I just kept mixing along.  Then as I worked on assembling the layers, when I got to the part to spread the ricotta on the mess, it hit me:  THIS FUCKING RECIPE DOESN'T CALL FOR RICOTTA - IT CALLS FOR COTTAGE CHEESE.  WHAT.THE.FUCK.  I have NEVER used ricotta in lasagna - well once I did and I didn't like it which is how my recipe came to NOT.USE.RICOTTA but instead USE.COTTAGE.CHEESE. 

So.  This is your fault friend in need of help at grocery store that day.  You asked me so many damned questions about my lasagna that even I forgot my own recipe and fucked.it.up and had to choke down dry ass lasagna - 15 pounds of it to be exact. 

Thanks.

Seriously, FDA. WTF?

So I've likely previously mentioned somewhere in this rant of a blog that I cannot stand the FDA.  I like to refer to them as the Fucking Dumb Asses.  They cannot seem to make up their minds on anything.  One day something is good for you and encourage the public to eat it, take it, drink it, do it, whatever.  Then later they change their mind and determine that whatever it was is now bad for you and will kill you.  Or vice versa.  They don't have a fucking clue.  That's what I think.  And they just make shit up as they go along and like sheep, we all just follow along with whatever bullshit they feed us.  Anywho...

I finally picked up this script that the doctor ordered - you know - the one I've been bitching about for two weeks now.  The whole point behind this script was to do something about my anxiety, insomnia, perpetual irritability and the likes thereof.  I RARELY take drugs (except for the occasional Xanax to calm me down) and I don't believe in them BECAUSE of my opinion of the FDA.  But being at a point of desperation, I decided to move forward with this one and give it a whirl.  The drugs came with 5 pages of instructions and warnings and read each and every word so I could familiarize myself with what to expect.  I won't rehash all the warnings but here's a snippet of the expected or possible side effects of these pills:

Anxiety or panic attacks
Feeling agitated, restless, angry or irritable
Trouble sleeping
Unusual changes in behavior or mood

WTF FDA?  If I'm set out to develop a drug that will curb those types of things, and determine, through "extensive testing" that the drug I developed also causes or worsens those things, how the hell do you call that a success?  I mean, I'm thinking that it's a complete project failure.  ???  Whatever.  As I continued to read through this paperwork with the husband, we determined that neither of us would really be able to assess if I was experiencing any of the side effects or if it was just normal every day bullshit from me. 

Me:  Says here that I should call 911 if I start having grand ideas.  WTF is wrong with a grand idea?  Are they afraid I'll finally solve the world's problems and part of that will be to shut them down?  Also says to call 911 if I start talking more or faster than usual.

Him:  I don't know how that's possible or how I'd be able to determine if you were talking more or faster because you never shut up and you're always going 100 mph. 

Me:  Also says here that side effects include feeling anxious, sweating, not feeling hungry...

Him:  Well, you're always anxious, you have horrible night sweats and have you even eaten today?

Me:  No.  I don't know.  I don't remember.  I'm not hungry so I don't think I have eaten today.

Him:  Great.  So now I have to babysit you and make damned certain you eat because you never eat and now you're taking medication that might make that worse.

Me:  Says here that yawning is a side effect. {yawn}  Great.  Now I'm yawning.  {yawn}  Fuck.  I yawned again.  {yawn}  Shit.  I can't stop yawning ever since I said the word yawning.  {yawn}  This is not going to be good. {yawn}  My jaw is already starting hurt from all the {yawn} yawning.  DAMMIT.  Do you think it's the drug already kicking in or do you think it's just that yawning {yawn} SHIT is contagious and habitual?  {yawn}

Him:  I don't know.  But stop yawning because now it's making me have to {yawn} yawn.  Have you had any grand ideas yet?  {yawn}

Me:  No.  I don't think so - but I think all my ideas are fairly grand so how will I be able to tell? 

Him:  No clue.

And with that we yawned our way to bed.  The next morning I must have yawned 50 times in the first hour I was awake.  And my stomach was upset and I had a horrible headache. 

Me:  I can't stop yawning and I'm nauseous and I have a horrible headache.  Do you think it's side effects from these drugs?

Him:  I'm guessing it's side effects from the 10 beers you slammed down last night and the fact you didn't eat yesterday. 

Me:  oh.  It did mention not to use alcohol when taking this medication.  Do you think they were serious about that? 

Him:  Maybe you should have started the medication when you were sober so you could get an idea how it makes you feel sober instead of taking it when you were drinking? 

Well THERE'S a GRAND IDEA.  Clearly this shit does NOT work.

Update on crazy status........

Last post:  umpteen days ago. 
Subject Matter:  Drugs to cure my Craziness
Current Status:  Still Crazy

Or am I?  See, that's the part I'm not sure about.  As I mentioned nearly 14 days ago, the DOCTOR determined I should take some kind of medication to "get my neurons back on track" because they were "out of whack."  I know.  A terribly scientific and clinic diagnosis.  I waited a day to go pick up the meds, ya know, just to be thoughtful to the pharmacy and all.  I mean, I'm already crazy evidently, so what's another day, right?  Well, when I got there, the pharmacy informed me that the script required prior authorization from the doctor. 

Huh?  Who the fuck do you think wrote that script?  Me?  I just shook my head and told the husband to drive away from the pick-up window quickly before I snapped.  Easy enough.  They'll call the doctor tomorrow, he'll grant the authorization.  The pharmacy will confirm with insurance that indeed it was the doctor that wrote the script and not me posing as the doctor and the script would be filled the next day.  No worries.  Just go to bed early and no one will get hurt in the interim. 

So the next day I went to the pharmacy and got an update.  "Well, the insurance company doesn't want you to have that script, they want you to have something else."  Again, realizing the pharmacy was just the middle man in the game, I nodded my head and walked away calmly, denying the senseless urge to ram my buggy into every display I passed in the pharmacy and racking my brain to remember when it was I actually saw the insurance company - clearly I had as they were now treating me instead of the doctor. 

I checked back a few more times and eventually just reached a point where it just didn't matter anymore.  Fuck it.  I've been crazy for a long fucking time and have learned to deal with it.  I'll just keep dealing wiith it on my own because dealing with attempting to correct it was just making me even more crazy.

YESTERDAY I got a letter from the insurance company.  "YOUR request for script XYZ has been denied after reveiw by our out-sourced clinical reveiw team."  That's how it started.  First off - I did NOT fucking request the script XYZ.  The doctor did.  But evidently that means nothing anymore.  B- what the fuck was reviewed?  No one knows.  Then I got a call from the doctor's office - Your insurance has denied the top-shelf drugs - you're not worthy of them.  Instead, I have found you a generic THAT WORKS and is only $10 for a 90 day supply!!!!! 

Whatever.  I don't even care anymore.  I really don't.  I'm not the one that's crazy.  It's this fucking conglomoration of insurance and pharmaceutical companies that are crazy. 

I am NOT nuts.....I don't think.....or am I....I don't know......

So yesterday was my annual crotch  well-woman check up.  It's still there.  So that was good to know.  You may recall last year how I lamented over this appointment, shaved my knees for nothing and was sent off to take some type of hormone therapy to help improve my quality of life.  Well, I never did take that hormone therapy - I convinced myself I didn't need it and that through proper diet, exercise and a daily attitude adjustment I could get a handle on my life quality.  Well, sometime during the year, my doctor left the practice so I had to see a different doctor.  Things were going along pretty well but then he asked the dreaded question:  Any questions, concerns, complaints? 

The old me would have smiled broadly and quickly replied, "NOPE!"  The new and improved me looked him square in the eye and smiled broadly and replied, "I have gotten my hands on some Xanax illegally and I'd like a prescription for that for myself so I don't feel so criminal when I take it. I only take 1/2 at a time and only when I feel as though I'm going to snap."   I thought the request seemed pretty simple and should have been greeted with him whipping out his pen and script pad and getting busy writing up that script - I even started drooling at the thought of having my own bottle - marked with MY NAME and not having to hide the unmarked bottle in my closet so no one would find it.  I would be the proud owner of my very own Xanax!  As I sat there in my Xanax daydream bliss, I noticed he wasn't scribbling out a script.  He wasn't even nodding his head.  Instead, he had a VERY concerned look on his face and sat back down. 

Him:  Tell me more about this feeling that you're going to snap.

Me:  Well, maybe that is exaggerated a bit, but it's like when every single person I encounter at home, at work, in the general public, on the phone, on Facebook - just everyone - is a complete dumbass and I want to scream at them and tell them what a fucknugget they are - just when I feel like that, it causes me to pause and think maybe.... JUST MAYBE....it's ME.  I mean - it's not really possible for everyone in the world to be that annoying all on the same day is it? 

Him:  {smirky grin} mmm hmmmm I see.

Me:  See.  For instance - that just irritated me.  I don't like your response.  But I'm thinking it's probably a valid reaction to what I just said but it pisses me off and I kind of want to punch you right now.  But I'm not a violent person so I don't think that will actually happen.

Him:  How often do you feel this way? 

Me:  Well.  Not much.  Maybe 7 - 14 times a month is all. 

Him:  So 50% of your life you are upset and want to punch people?

Me:  Well, I guess when you put it that way, maybe it's 80% - don't you think people have gotten more annoying lately?  Like the world has gone crazy?

Him:  {smirky grin}  And tell me - do you sleep well at night?

Me:  It depends really.  During a full moon I do not sleep at all.

Him:  Do stay up at night and howl?  {belts out laughter}

Me:  See - you're pissing me off again.  I've heard of other people having sleep trouble during full moons, so I don't think I'm a werewolf, I think it just throws off my sleep pattern - or maybe it's because it's so bright and I don't have any window treatments in my bedroom - but something certainly throws it off and I don't sleep.

Him:  Any other time you don't sleep well?

Me:  Yes - when Aunt Flo is in visiting.

Him:  And how often is that?

Me:  I don't really know.  Seems she visits randomly - like for special occasions, holidays, days I plan to wear white capris, days I am going to the lake to boat, you know - just whenever she knows she can most fuck with me is when she arrives - so I've tried to be fairly clandestine with my plans so she won't be aware of them, but she's a sneaky bitch and always figures it out.

Him:  Right.  Right.  How often do you take those Xanax?

Me:  Well really only when I want to kill my husband, have to ride in the car with my husband, have to go to a gathering where there will be a large crowd, if I have to go to the other part of town, when my daughter wants to go to the mall.  You know.  Just when I feel a little out of control.

Him:  And do you feel sad?

Me:  Not today.  But Monday I felt sad.  It was gloomy and gray - so I slept all day so I didn't have to deal with it.  And I wasn't really sad now that I think about it - I just didn't give a shit - except for the couple of times I wanted to face punch a few people.  I just had no energy or will to live. 

Him:  I think you need to take an SSRI to help get your neurons back on track.  As women get older, their neurons get confused and a little haywire and sometimes just need a little help to get leveled back out. 

And with that he FINALLY starts writing the script

Him:  But not Xanax and not something that's an on-demand, as-needed drug - I'm thinking something routine - something that gets you a higher quality of life than 1-2 weeks a month of feeling good, sleeping well and feeling joyful.  {YAY!!!  It's a medicinal marijuana script!!!}

Me:  Okay - but will this help with my anxiety?

Him:  Do you have anxiety at severe levels {as he stops writing the script}

Me:  Well, I'm not sure.  I get nervous when I have to get the mail because I'm afraid I might get run down by a texting driver. 

Him:  {no response - tears up the script - and starts writing a new one}

Me:  And about 12 years ago I took an anti-depressant and they made me feel NOTHING.  I wasn't sad anymore - but I never felt joy either - just an emotionless sack of bones - I won't take those things if I will no longer have the desire to bust out laughing at everything I see - I just won't.

Him:  {no verbal response - tears up the 2nd script - and starts writing a new one}

Me:  Seriously.  I won't.  I'm already having a panic attack at the thought of watching people laugh and me feeling nothing at all.  I mean what's the point? 

Him:  Yes.  I do understand.  I think I'll just study on this some more and call your script in to the pharmacy so you can just pick it up there.  Come back in 6 weeks and let's see if you feel a bit better.  Okay?  Nice to meet you -and take the medicine.

And with that he quickly scurried out of the room.  Like I was some type of fucking lunatic or something.  When I got home, I told the husband what had happened:

Me:  They put me on some type of medicine because the doctor thinks I'm a fucking nut job.

Him:  What time will your script be ready?  I'll go get it for you.

?????????????????????????????

ARGHHHHHHHHHHH

I can't believe I haven't posted anything since October 6th.  Good grief - time really does fly. 

Last week, I had a garage sale.  If you follow me on Twitter, you will have experienced in real-time just how fun and entertaining  fucking miserable the whole event was.  Here are a few things I learned about garage sales this go around and want to share them with you so you can learn from my mistakes:

1. Do NOT have a garage sale right before, during or directly after a full moon.  People are fucking insane and my ability to tolerate their bullshit is VERY low.  You will end up killing someone.
2. ASK how much vodka was put into the jug of bloody mary's BEFORE you drink a gallon of them.  Lest you'll pass out in the middle of the afternoon and only learn AFTER the fact that you've ingested a magnum of vodka in less than 2 hours. 
3. People are fucking rude.  And demanding.  And just overall shitty in nature. 
4. Everyone wants to pay a quarter, for an item you have marked $1 and for which you originally paid $100 for.  AND they want it in a sack when they leave.  Go to the fucking mall if you want a sack. 
5. My husband likes to stand directly in front of me so I cannot see anything but him.  It's annoying and obnoxious - like a small child looking for attention. 
6. He also likes to correct me and is a severe know-it-all when his parents are around.  It's also fucking annoying. 

That's about it.  For now.  I'm sure there was other stuff and I'm sure this could have been funnier.  I'll try harder next time.

I could have been Mother Theresa...........

I've recently had requests to continue the mini-series.  Unfortunately, it was not I who authored the first two episodes - it was Aunt Flo.  Remember, she despises the husband.  I'm never sure when she'll make an appearance but it likely won't be long.  So until her return, you'll just have to deal with me and my ramblings.  For that, I apologize in advance.

And I have nothing to say.  I'm exhausted.  But CAN.NOT.STOP.  Must keep plowing through the mire of shit in front of me.  My week has been consumed with lifting people up and giving strength where needed.  Oh and lucky for you - I just now found something to bitch about because I'm certain y'all do NOT frequent this site for daily inspiration or encouragement.

So last night I get a call from the Prodigal Son.  His car, which has been undriveable for a month due to antifreeze pouring out of it, drove the car to the Quicky Mart to buy chew and then it wouldn't start so he left it there and some son's of bitches had it towed and now it's in the impound.  He never did catch on that this was HIS fault - just kept bitching about the owner of the business having the car towed.  I really wonder if he'll ever fucking accept responsibility for a damned thing.  So I give him instruction on what to do:  Call the impound - find out how to get it out, then call AAA and have it towed to a mechanic's shop.  All of that was too confusing for him so he dropped it in my lap and said he didn't understand, didn't have the AAA card cuz his billfold was left at the casino stolen (again with the inability to be accountable for his own actions), blah blah blah.  So then it became MY problem.

So this morning, I call a mechanic's shop in the remote town where he resides - and YAY!!!  The car was actually THERE!  Thank GOD for small towns where the impound is also the wrecker station AND the mechanic!!!  Impound bill is already up to $85 and running at a rate of $20/day.  And they need the keys. 

So I text the PS and tell him to call me ASAP about the car.  Finally get a call 2 hours later. 

Me:  Can you get the keys to the mechanic and get the car out of the impound before practice?

Him:  Why the fuck do they even need the keys, the fucker doesn't start, what part of that do they not understand?

Me:  So can you get a ride?

Him:  I dunno.  My roommates are all busy doing something right now and I don't even know where the place is. 

Me:    Can you get there today?  I will put money in your account and they will accept a debit card - but I don't want to continue paying impound fees at a rate of $20/day son.

Him:  I SAID I DON'T FUCKING KNOW.  AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE THE GOD DAMNED KEYS ARE.

Me: 

Him:  I will look for the keys and try to find a ride before practice at 2:00.

Me:  Thank you.  Please text me when you are headed there.

Him:  Whatever.

Seriously?  I told him to take that fucking car to the mechanic a month ago to assess the problem and to let me know  - he didn't have time.  But I know he has plenty of time to fucking drink himself silly on a regular basis.  GET OFF YOUR ASS, PUT THE BOTTLE DOWN AND GET YOUR FUCKING SHIT TOGETHER. 

I hope the fucking car is dead.  Because he's not getting another one until he gets his shit together.  And I'm not falling for this shit storm he's created in an attempt to force me to get him a new car before he meets the goals I've set forth in order for him to be deserving of a new car.    And also - did he really think I was going to drive 5 hours round trip to get the fucking car out of the impound FOR HIM?   At what age the male brain kicks in, I do not yet know.  The husband is at 42 and I haven't seen it yet.  So I'm holding out hope for 43.

I'm going back to lifting people up and providing strength when and where needed - I find it less draining and more rewarding than dealing with POS cars purchased from an alcoholic dumbass and run into the ground by a bunch of stupid, irresponsbile fucking college boys who don't do a single fucking thing to HELP THEMSELVES in this crazy thing called LIFE.

Have a quality day.

Letter to the Asses of the World

Dear You Know Who:

You are the most despicable person I do believe I've ever had the misfortune of knowing.  What makes it even more sickening is the fact that I think you're aware of your actions and yet justify them in your mind as an acceptable means of living.  I'd like to take this opportunity to explain to you how disgusting you are. 

You lie.  You lie about anything and everything.  Not just little white lies to protect people's feelings.  But flat out L.I.E.S. for the sole purpose of benefiting YOU.  What's funny is, most people you lie to are aware of your lies and now just assume everything that comes out of your mouth is a non-truth, or maybe a half-truth, twisted to either benefit you or facilitate your position as the victim.  You have made up more shit and caused more problems than I can even count.  When you're called out on the carpet for the lie, you just lie some more.  Digging your fucking hole so goddamned deep that eventually the rest of us just walk away because you're joke AND a waste of our time. 

You're manipulative - see above with the lies.  It must be exhausting to be you - constantly manipulating people, situations, reality, to best suit YOUR needs.  I am somewhat impressed with your ability to keep the shit straight in your head, but honestly, as time elapses, I see you failing at your own game and eventually, it will bite you in the ass.  I just keep anxiously awaiting for the day when the ultimate ass biting gets you and your little world crumbles around you.

You're selfish.  Likely the most selfish, self-serving ass I've ever met in my life.  How you have a single true friend is beyond me and judging by the number of people you've surrounded yourself with, I'm guess you DON'T have any true friends.  Instead, you just collect masses of "friends" so you have a larger pool of people to manipulate and serve you and your needs.  I've never seen you give back to a single person - NEVER.  And I've never seen you just give for the sake of giving.  Every act of giving by you I've ever witnessed has been performed with self-indulgence and self-benefit in mind.  I hope one day you don't really need someone or something in order to survive - because it will be real tricky for you to actually receive that help voluntarily from a single person you know. 

You're materialistic in a way that is totally off-putting.  Your continual display of materialism and command for those material items is disgusting.  I've got a news flash for you:  material items don't buy happiness.  They don't define love.  They don't define friendship.  Or self-worth.  All they are are "things".  Things that you think disguise any demons you may be fighting or problems you think you're hiding. 

So you just keep on telling your lies, making yourself out to be the victim and collecting "friends" and I'll just keep sitting back wondering how long this charade can last before the people closest to you figure you out and toss you to the side, realizing what a waste of a human being you are. 

Until then, enjoy your martyrdom. 

We Interrupt this Mini-Series to bring you a recent development.....

The husband came home from work the other night - blinking.  And blinking.  And blinking.  And blinking.  And blinking.  Every 2 seconds.  Blinking.  Blinking.  Blinking.  Y'all know I couldn't let this go on and because I'm such a loving, empathetic  bitch, I had to ask what was up with the incessant blinking:

Me:  Why the FUCK are you blinking so goddamn much? 

Him:  I have something in my eye.

Me:  Well get it out.  It's on my last fucking nerve.  Blink.  Blink.  Blink.  It's like being on an acid trip in a disco and you're making my vertigo act up, I may pass out.

Him:  I'll be fine. 

Me:  No.  You won't be fine.  You already drive like shit - you can't go around blind and driving  - you're not helping your cause much are you?

Him:  I had on my safety goggles so I don't know why I got something in my eye.

Me:  Because Larry fucking Wilson hates you and put it there.  Jesus.  Who the hell knows WHY it's in there - what the hell does sitting around trying to determine WHY seem  a logical solution to just fixing the fucking problem?  AND STOP FUCKING BLINKING - YOU'RE JUST TEARING THE SHIT OUT OF YOUR EYE AT THIS POINT.  Go to the doctor.

Him:  How much will that cost?

Me:  What the fuck do you care?  You don't pay for it and you don't even understand how the insurance works - just go to the damned doctor because your fucking blindness is going to be more expensive than getting this problem resolved.  I'm going to bed.  You've made me nauseous. 

So the next morning, he gets up and comes out to the garage where I was cheerfully drinking coffee and playing on my iPhone.  BLINKING. 

Me:  You'll need $25 and the insurance card.  Go to the fucking doctor and do NOT come back here until you have. 

So he finally went to the doctor and when he got back he told me he had a scratch on his eye.  That's it.  A scratch on his eye.  But, you see, I had an appointment with that same doctor later that day and that's when I got the REAL story. 

Evidently, he'd almost passed out in her office when she was messing with his eye and also has a terrible infection in his eye.  See.  I knew he was going to go blind with all that fucking blinking.  Thank GOD he has me. 

And while his eye appears to be on the mend, he's now injured his back and his sinuses are "out of control". 

I'm thinking of putting him in traction and having a large swedish woman flush his sinuses with a netti-pot every 1/2 hour.  Maybe THEN he'd quit with his incessant hypochondria and morning complaining about all his fucking ailments.  You're 42.  Not 82.  Try taking care of yourself for once and see if you don't feel better.  Until then - I don't want to hear it unless you need me to call an ambulance.  Or a hearse to just take you straight to the cemetary.

Failing by Trying Too Hard - A mini series. - Case Study #2

The School Carnival (or... Talking.  Just to hear the sound of your own voice)

Saturday night was the PTO fund raising carnival for the blonde's school.  That event is a blog entry in and of itself as it's quite the production and event and requires a shit ton of money from each family - but I'll try to stay focused on my case study here and not digress into the abyss of bullshit related to the illogical concept of the carnival itself. 

We arrived right as the carnival was getting ready to open because we were working the bounce house for the first hour.  Fortunately, there were not yet many people there, because I don't know the people and I'm pretty certain I don't like the people anyway.  We took our post by the bounce house - ready to do whatever it was we were supposed to do - mark off two punches on the cards, get their shoes off, get them in the bounce house, and time them for 5 minutes, get them out of the bounce house.  Repeat over and over until the end of our hour long gig.  Easy enough.  Got it.  All was going well, and then the people started to arrive, and that was when it started.  The talking.  Just to fucking hear himself talk I think. 

Him:  Hey, there's that one gal.

Me:    Who?

Him:  You know.  That gal, she reminds me of that one chick that played that one gal on that movie.

Me:    Yeh.  I have no idea.

Him:  Oh shoot - I wish I could remember her name. 
(oh - so do I  - believe me - because this conversation is fucking stupid and a waste of my time)

Him:    Hey!  We have that same camera!  Honey - look!  Isn't that the same camera as ours?

(I look at the camera - it's a Panasonic point and shoot jobbie - ours is a Nikon D80 - so they weren't even the same size.  Or shape.  Or style.  As a matter of fact - the ONLY thing they had in common was that they were both..... CAMERAS)

Me:  Not exactly.

Him:  Oh - I thought it was - is ours a Sony?

Me:  It's a Nikon.

Him:  Can you believe how tall Cameron has gotten?

Me:  I haven't seen Cameron, so I don't really know how tall he is.  I don't think I've seen him in like 4 years.

Him:  He's RIGHT THERE! 
(I again look in the general direction of his finger pointing into a sea of 50+ kids - all of whom have their back turned)

Me:  Huh.  I'm sorry - I guess I don't know which one he is. 

This shit went on for the entire hour we worked that bounce house.  I punched tickets, ensured shoes and necklaces were removed and safely placed on the side and out of the way, counted the kids, assembled them into groups by size so the little ones wouldn't get killed, herded them in and out of that fucking bounce house.  He was in charge of the timer.  But so busy gawking and chatting about all the people he THOUGHT he knew, that most times forgot and I was left begging him to check the time.  After the bounce house, we went in search of the blonde and ended up staying another hour (much to my dismay) - where he continued his "there's that one kid's parents" bullshit for the next hour. 

Him:  There's that one kids's parents.

Me:  Yep.

Him:  Why are you so snotty?

Me:  Because you don't have a fucking clue what anyone's name is so the whole night has been an irrelevant conversation that has left me confused and irritated. 

(about that time, some dude walks by, smiles real big and says to me, "HI!!  How are you?"  I responded with a cordial "fine thank you" and smiled back)

Husband:  Who was that?

Me:  I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE.

Him:  Well, I don't recognize him.  How do you know him?

Me:  I don't.  I've never seen the fucker in my life.  He said hello.  So I said hello back.  I don't know him.  I don't know who he belongs to.  Chances are..

Him:  Hey!  There's that one neighbor around the corner - you know the one in the taupe house - oh what's their name......

If I EVER have to go to that school carnival again I'm going to take several Xanax.  And tape his fucking mouth shout.

Failing by Trying Too Hard - A mini series.

Y'all know I love the husband.  I really do.  I adore him.  But he drives me nuts with the fact that he just tries too fucking hard and that results in what appears to be a brain freeze on his part and then his lack of thinking ends up biting him in the ass because it gets on my ever lovin' last damned nerve. 

I'll recount a few case in points over the next few blogs:


Case 1:  Dinner.  An Enigma. (or... the night his head was stuck up his ass)

Him:  What do you want for dinner?

Me:  I don't know - my stomach is still not quite right - so I'm not sure it really matters since I don't know that I'll be able to eat it and survive anyway.

Him:  Do you want to go out to eat?

Me:  Considering I haven't kept a meal down in two days, not really.  I don't think that would be much fun.

Him:  Well, then what do you want?

Me:  I don't know - nothing sounds good.

Him:  You probably have malnutrition. 

Me:  I don't think so.  I think I have a bug of some sort.

Him:  So you're not going to eat anything?

Me:  I don't see that you brought me anything, so I guess not.

Him:  Fine.  Jesus Christ.  I'll go get you something.

a full hour passes and he arrives......

Him:  I hope McDonalds is okay.

Me:  Wow!  That was pretty creative on your part.

Him:  You need to eat - I think you're malnourished.

Me:  I'm not fucking malnourished - I have a bug - I'll be fine.  Why you thought McDonalds on a sick stomach would be a good idea, I'll never know.

Him:  Well, I suck at this dinner thing. 

Me:  Clearly. And now that I've eaten the food you brought me - I'll be in the bathroom.

Him:  Are you fucking kidding me?  If you ate more often, you wouldn't be malnourished and have this fucking problem.

Thank you Dr. Genius for that diagnosis.  I'll be in the bathroom the remainder of the night.  Mainly trying to avoid you. 

What did you DO to yourself?

I didn't DO anything fucker.  I'm sick. 

That's the conversation I had with the husband yesterday as I lay on the couch, near death, for some unknown and still mysterious reason. 

Him:  I just don't know what you did to yourself.

Me:  Why the fuck is this my fault?  Is it possible I just got into something that made me sick?

Him:  That doesn't make sense to me.

Me:  I've been a lot of places this week and around a shit ton of different people - chances are, I've gotten a bug from somewhere and could you please just also SHUT THE FUCK UP?

Brunette:  Maybe you should start exercising again?

Me:  That's probably an accurate statement -but right now I cannot seem to even hold my head up or sit upright - so I will consider that once I'm able to stand on my own again.

Husband:  You're probably dying of malnutrition.

Me:  Probably.  Because malnutrition comes on fast and hard like that - one minute you're standing and the next you're on the ground, unable to move.  I bet you're right - that's EXACTLY what's wrong with me.

Husband:  Do you want me to get you some food?

Me:  NO - My stomach is in knots - I cannot swallow - therefore I do NOT want to eat.

Him:  Well, I still don't understand what you've done to yourself.  But you're ridiculous when you're sick. 

Really?  REALLY?  I'm RIDICULOUS?  When I'm sick - I'm SICK.  I go to bed and stay there.  Unlike his dumbass who refuses to acknowledge sick and just continues to plod around pretending to NOT be sick and ultimately dragging the sick out for longer than need be. 

Fortunately, for the whole lot of them, I'm feeling better today and it appears I may live, afterall.  And just in case I'm dying of malnutrition, I'm force-feeding myself some oatmeal.  Later, I may even choke down some soup.  Because clearly, I've done this to myself. 

Ummmmm.............

What day is it?  I have lost track.  The week has been a whirlwind of endless tasks, projects, deadlines, crises, etc.  STOP.  JUST STOP.  I like my shit to run in order - not be reeling out of control.  And I like to be rested, but instead it's been a week of sleepless days and nights. 

Thinking about Happy and how she is always.... well, HAPPY.  How the hell does she do that?  I know she's tired.  I know she has stress.  I know she has grief.  But yet, every day she wakes up smiling and finding the good in the day.  Where the hell does she find the energy?  I have no clue.  Have I even smiled this week?  Yes.  I believe I did briefly yesterday, at a retirement reception.  But other than that - I can't even remember what I did, who I saw or where I went. 

Oh!  I KNOW!  I took the brunette dress shopping in Lawrence Tuesday after school.  It's Homecoming you know.  She has a date!  I don't like him - his sleeves on his sweatshirt were too short last time I saw them.  He's a king candidate for Homecoming - so there's the whole riff over a junior going with a senior and blah blah blah.  That high school shit wears me out. 
Anyway - we only went to TWO stores!!  And we landed the perfect dress at the second store and it was on sale for under $50!!!  Success!  Then she got herself some 4" heels, so she's been wearing them around the house - - practicing walking.  I hope she doesn't break her ankle.  That would surely suck. 

Still working on the blonde's birthday!  I say get her some pencils and a couple of PSP games and call it good.  The husband wants to get her a go-cart or something else big and fancy.  She'll be 9.  Let's not go crazy.  We'll see what we end up with when it's all said and done.  Thinking tomorrow we'll take her clothes shopping because she wants clothes but has the strangest fashion sense I've ever seen so I don't dare pick them out without her.  And then maybe to the Lego Exhibit before it leaves town on Sunday.  And maybe to my favorite restaurant for lunch!  Oh wait - I mean HER favorite restaurant.  Which will be the same as mine as soon as I tell her that's her favorite. 

Have a fun weekend!!!

I thought we already had this Discussion?

Remember last year, when I suggested to the blonde that I pick her friends?  Well, evidently she's got a learning disability because once again, she's not listening to me with regard to which one of her little imp friends can join in for her birthday fun.  Looking back to last year, I did allow her to invite this one little gal over.  The one I thought would be okay for an evening?  Well... I was wrong.  That child was a complete PITA.  Demanding to be paid attention to all night.  Insisting she hang in the garage with the adults and put on "shows" for us and all other kinds of childish shit we had no interest in.  And bored.  I don't think that girl has been back over since that night because she done wore my ass OUT.

When I asked the blonde this year if she might like to have a friend join in on her birthday fun - she had to think long and hard because evidently I've made no qualms about letting her know exactly how I feel about each of her friends. 

There are the Branch Davidians - negatory.
The little pain in the ass from last year.  NOT.
The little gal that doesn't eat a single fucking thing she is served - including ice cream.  Nope.
The unfortunate looking little child who cries a lot.  No thanks.
The little guy that has to wear a weighted vest to slow him down.  Uh uh.

FUCK.  Blonde.  You SUCK at picking friends.  How about that one little cat who came over two weeks ago.  The one who asked for NOTHING.  The one who ate the food I put in front of him - ALL OF IT.  The one who's dad's phone plays Steppenwolf while I'm connecting to my party?  What about him?  I like him.  I like his dad.  He smokes.  He drinks.  He listens to classic rock.  They seem like a good family - let's invite him.  NO - we are not friends anymore. 

WTF?  Not friends anymore?  How can this be?  Turns out, kids at school were teasing them about being girl friend and boy friend.  So now they are just not even friends.  Fucking third graders. Such a pain in my ass.  It's too late to plan any type of brief party where maybe I would only have to engage wtih these brats for a couple of hours.  So it would appear the blonde will be spending her birthday celebration with me, the husband and our friends.  YAY!  What 9 year old doesn't want to spend her day with a bunch of adults? 

Poor blonde.