Friday, December 31, 2010

BYOC - Bring Your Own Crazy...end of the year style!

It’s Friday – which means it’s BYOC here on my blog. Bring Your Own Crazy! 5 little questions you can copy and paste to your blog if you want to play along to get to know each other better and to give your mind a blog topic break!


Enjoy!

1. Do you make a New Year’s resolution list every year? Do you meet those resolutions, forget about them or never meet them?

• I think you all know the answer to this one. I’m a list whore. Pretty paper, stickers, vision boards, posters filled with pictures of what I want to look like, colored pens and hell – even glitter. So yah. List EVERY year without fail and I’d have to say I meet about 50% of the intentions. Stay tuned for 2011’s list!

2. If you could delete all the songs from existence from a certain singer, who would it be?

* Okay – if I thought about this longer I’m sure I’d have a different answer but the first person who popped into my head is Willie Nelson. I have never liked his voice but I have to admit it is unique. Really though – he can’t sing. There is no beauty in his voice in my opinion. I think he was recently charged with possession again too…poor guy.

3. If you could have sex with any Superhero – who would it be?

• For me – hands down Superman. I love the double persona. Glasses, smart, journalist, sweet, caring…and then when he needs to be – powerful, strong, heroic, dangerous. Reminds me of Rambo. He’s often two different people – father to two little girls and then prison guard to the worst criminals in our state. Can you imagine the places Superman could take you to have said sex? He can fly anywhere at any time….ah….to dream.  The Green Hornet is a close second...no idea why.

4. If it was free AND unlimited – would you choose to have a cook, chauffeur, or masseuse?

• Totally cook. I don’t mind driving. And sometimes there aren’t time for massages. But I’m here to tell you – there is always time to eat. Wouldn’t it be grand?? (plus I suck at cooking - Rambo does most it)

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

• Blogland has been a little quiet but things are picking up again since Cmas is over.

Real life is SUPERB – because Cmas is over!!!!! I kid you not. I got into bed last night and Rambo was in the office and I was making my nest before he came to tuck me in and I yelled at the top of my lungs – “Rambo – Cmas is over – isn’t it GRAND???” And I even laughed evilly as I snuggled in!

I have a 3.5 day weekend and not much on the agenda except some catch up on work for the part time jobs and vegging out and seeing a few friends for NYE. Rambo works the whole weekend so it’ll be pretty low key and I’m farting gumdrops just thinking about it.

I’m thinking at least 3 baths in Skittles are in order too! And finishing the 2011 intention list!

How about you?

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Downright mundane....and loving it.

Guess what lovedrops?


I’m having Chinese today. How exciting is that?

Seriously folks – that’s about the only exciting thing happening around here during the day. I’m not complaining. It’s kinda fun. There are only about 10 people here this week when there are usually 200. I’m caught up big time – at work and personally. My budgeting is done all the way out to 2011 – no lie. The anal-compulsive OCD spreadsheet list whore in me is nearly orgasming over that little fact.

Now back to the Chinese. Yes. Ima having it. Ima gonna love it. Ima worth it.

Yes, this would be the part where you un-follow me because you were misled and thought this was a health and fitness blog. It usually is…and will resume being one….in a few days. Throw stones if you must. I can take it. I’ve got shitloads of fat rolls to soften the blows.

Oh yes and my hooker boots arrived. They are going back. I just can’t muster up the cahoneys to wear them in public here in Podunk. And they actually don’t feel good on my feet. I told my BFF Jenny I was returning them and she said, “You’re so funny. You’re anti-social and don’t want anyone to notice you but you wear boots like that.” I laughed my ass off. She’s right. I think that’s why I buy clothes like that though. I’m too scared to talk or show people who I really am so I try to show some spunk and fun in my clothes….and I don’t have to say a word.

However – it can be a tactical error…like in the case of hooker boots. Um…I wouldn’t have to say anything at all….they scream hooker. Not good. Not in Podunk anyway.

People would talk. I can just hear them: “Did you see Draz’s boots? Who is she trying to impress? Does she know there are no clubs around here? Is she having an affair? Is she the one engaged to Hugh Heffner?” LOL

In other news, I played the Wii last night – first time ever. Way fun.

I am continuing to add to my 2011 intention list. I will share it with you when I’m done.

Rambo has decided he’s doing the ½ marathon with me. He has bad knees and ankles from his football playing days so he will be walking it and my goal is to run it. I’m super stoked about this.

I’m still so happy Cmas is over that I’m not only farting gumdrops, but they are coming out of my ears too.

Have any of you guys ever tried that 5 hour energy drinky thing? I tried it yesterday after hearing from a bunch of people that they love it. I just want it for the 1pm to 6pm slump – hoping it will help me to work out harder when I get off work. I only drank ½ and think it helped a little. I’m interested in drinking the whole thing to see if I can really tell if it works. There’s no sugar and only 4 cals and as much caffeine as a cup of coffee. Whaddya think?

Okay – now that I have touched on about 60 subjects in the span of 30 seconds – it’s time to go. Oh wait. I wanted to tell all of you thinking I forgot about my self-love-self-portrait Thursdays – you’re wrong! I just postponed it until after the holidays. Come next week – back on schedule and pictures amuck – I promise!

See ya at BYOC tomorrow!

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

I Wish Wednesday....

I Wish Wednesday….my once a week wish list that I can’t say out loud in real life….for your reading pleasure.

I wish that all of you could experience a morning food orgasm like I did today. That’s right I said morning and orgasm in the same sentence. It can be done. That is – if you eat a pop-tart. My God – who knew fake fruit and processed white flour made in the shape of a square with sugary high fructose corn syrup frosting on top could produce such joy?

I am wholeheartedly convinced that the bastards over at Little Debbie and the assholes at the pop-tart factory are the same people hiding behind different brands. Hot, cold, straight out the box, straight out of the vending machine, on a plate, on a napkin – it makes no difference…the result is the same. Food. Orgasm. Every time folks. Every time. No faking necessary.

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I wish that school curriculum would include a little ditty about peeing in dreams. WTF? Peeing in dreams? Yes. That is what I said. Every person on earth should be taught that if at any time you are dreaming about sitting on a toilet peeing – that indeed it means you are going to or already have peed your bed like a 2 year old.

NO ONE dreams about toilets and pee on purpose. The only reason a toilet shows up in your dreams is to tell you to get up and PEE NOW. So yes – tip of the day….if a toilet is in your dreams – WAKE the hell up.

Or -- stay in bed. Dream of toilets and pee. Feel a slight warm sensation. Think to yourself, “Oh my bed is so toasty, warm and LIQUID – coming out of me???? What the f*ck is going on?” Shitballs – yah – you just peed the bed. The bed you share with another human. Yah, try living that one down.

THIS folks – is what happens when I try to drink water like a whale all day. It comes out in the middle of the night…in my bed.

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I wish that you all would laugh me over this next little story. Rambo’s mom has lost her ever-loving mind. Let me tell you about the conversation re: the effing mixer and the lost pants that we had last night.

Rambo: It cost $60 to get the mixer and to ship it back and the pants were $60 so we’d like $120.
His mom: So we owe you $170 then – cuz the pants were $50?
R: No. $120 covers everything – pants and mixer.
M: Okay – so $170 is what we owe you because of the pants?
R: (insert massive voice raising here) NO - $120 is everything. $60 mixer, $60 pants.
M: Hmm…we’ll get you the $170 then.
R: (insert Rambo throwing phone) – okay not really but wow. I saw veins pop in his neck.

At this point I told Rambo to take the $170. I can always buy more pants.

Can’t imagine how we bought the wrong item can you? This is how they communicate. Oy.

Oh and remember how I said I figured that on Cmas Day when we’d all be opening presents from his parents that maybe we’d find she had wrapped the pants up accidentally? We told her that we thought maybe that’s what had happened and we’d see on Cmas Day.

She called back last night after the above convo and said, “Did you find the pants in a present?”

I nearly choked. Um, you were there when we opened all of them. Did you see pants? Did you see me doing cartwheels praising God that they’d been found? Did you think we found them and just never told a soul in the middle of Cmas with you? There really aren’t words are there?

******************************
I wish I had played the Wii before. Tonight we are hosting a Wii party with our sitters and our girls. Everyone wants to play Wii on the 58 inch TV. I’m nervous…because it’s after work and at my house and sort of entertaining and all that but suck it up Buttercup right? I’ll put on my granny panties and grow some cahoneys and maybe even a green donkey dick or two and kick all their asses in bowling or tennis or whatever the hell it is you do on a Wii.

I swear to you though – if that thing tells me I’m obese….well I’m smashing it with my large cahoneys. It won’t be pretty.

***********************************
I wish I had some self control when it comes to Rambo. My alarm went off at 5:30am. I arose from my bed at 6:10am. For those of you who suck at math – that’s 40 minutes. Dammit. Every time I tried to get up Rambo wrapped one of his manly tattooed arms around me and would wrap us up like an enchilada in his blanket. What is a woman supposed to do with that? I tried to move. He’d whisper, “Stay a few more minutes baby.” Ugh. I guess I do have 4 weeks of vacation to burn. He’s all warm and soft and naked and the only thing that tops a morning pop-tart orgasm is being wrapped up like a burrito with Rambo in a bed you peed in just a few hours ago. I tell you – I could live in that burrito. It’s everything I’ll ever need. Well, that and pizza.

Suffice it to say if Rambo ever figures out the power he has over my self-control...I'm screwed.

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

That’s it for I Wish Wednesday. I must go….there are gumdrops to fart and Skittle baths to take.

What do you wish for today?

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

It is time....

It’s Tuesday. I’m still in “it’s heaven that it’s a normal weekday with routine” land. I’m farting Skittles like pez. It feels good to be here – in a Tuesday, at my desk, blogging.


My mental health relies heavily on routine. I hate that sometimes as then spontaneity can be nonexistent but I know what I need and it’s routine. I do envy people who make plans on the drop of a dime, get ready, go out, have fun, come home and get up the next day like nothing out of the ordinary happened.

I just can’t do that. My friend Mrs. Fatass lovingly calls it the “re-entry”. It is literally physically difficult to re-enter regular life after being overstimulated and gearing up to deal with something non-routine like family get-togethers on Cmas. It is not just feeling tired like most people.  Re-entry literally feels like recovery. 

I need routine so much that for me – it goes so far as being difficult to just take a day off work. More than one – and it’s nearly impossible for me. I get five weeks of vacation a year and in a week I’ll be getting paid for 4 of them. I rarely use time off because I can’t. More than one day and it’s too hard to come back…the routine is messed up…my head is messed up.

Don’t be sad for me. It is neither good or bad…it just is and I know what my body and head need to co-exist peacefully. In 10 years, I have never worked a full week at the full time job. I take a few hours off each week and I live for those hours. They are mine and they are what I can handle. It’s all good.

Good God – where am I going with this?

Oh yes – I have a point. I’m beginning to think of New Year’s resolutions. I love lists and LOVE new beginnings so this is fun for me. I’m sure there’s never been a year when I haven’t made a list.

This year though – no resolutions. Only intentions.

And they are gonna be some doozies. And many can be credited to what I’ve learned from a full year of blogging.

I’ve done some real mental growing over the past year…probably even some regression. The thing is though – for the first time in a long time I know where I want to go. I know how I want to feel. I know I want to let go of some pains I’ve been carrying for years. It is time.

I feel like this may be my most important intention list yet. I have changed and learned more from a year of writing than I have in most of my life and I refuse to let it be for nothing.

The list is scary but exciting. And for once the majority of the list isn’t about fat or the abundance of it and getting rid of said fat. Oh, it’s on there but it’s not dominating the list.

I’m on the cusp of something big internally – and it starts with these intentions. It’s time to dig deep, let go, forgive….move on. It’s time to realize my worth, stop filling voids with stuff, practice more self-love and learn how to be easier on myself. It’s time to relax standards and learn to be good enough. It’s time to stop thinking I can change someone or make them love me. It may be time to re-visit therapy to put some of these things to rest once and for all. And amidst all of that – physically – it’s time to complete a ½ marathon.

It is time.

Are you making a list? Are they resolutions or intentions?

If someone told you everything you wrote would come true and be fulfilled…would it change what you wrote?

Monday, December 27, 2010

Who doesn't love a top ten list?

Top Ten Reasons why I love this day:



1. Today is not Christmas.

2. Today is not Christmas Eve.

3. Today has nothing to do with Cmas and everything to do with a normal mundane Monday.

4. I’m no longer naked from the waist down after realizing I have approximately 60 other pairs of non-lost pants to choose from.

5. My hooker boots may come today.

6. Explosive Man has the day off which means I can pee at work today with no fear – sort of.

7. My diet is back on track due to the fact that I haven’t seen a single sugar cookie today.

8. I’m going to work out today.

9. Normal shows will be on TV today because – um – the holidays are over. Have I mentioned that fact already?

10. The tree is still absent from my living room….I won’t see it for another 11 months.


Top Ten Reasons why I love this day a little less:

1. Both kids are suffering from the after-holidays meltdown syndrome. Too much excitement, too many presents, too many late nights and way too much candy….so therefore before either of them even put their feet on the floor this morning there were tears and mucho whining. (Meanwhile I was on my knees thanking God I got to go to work.)

2. I had to carry the mother-in-law’s non-wanted 28 lb mixer into work this morning by myself so I could return it. Good thing it’s not glass because I whipped it on the receptionist’s desk and told her to shove it up the UPS guy’s @ss. She’s scared of me now.

3. Explosive Man #2 is IN the office today to make up for Explosive Man #1’s absence. Jesus frick.

4. The first words out of everyone’s mouths are: “How was your holiday?” When I whip coal at their eyes, tell them about the effing mixer and lost pants…they run from my office screaming.

5. My kids aren’t in school. They have the week off. I’m pretty sure that means I have to cook real meals most of the week.

6. My hooker boots may come today (see #5 above) – which means I have to find the balls to wear them. *gulp*

7. Rambo just emailed me and is working another 16 hour shift. It’s a Monday….seriously people…what’s so important on a Monday that you have to call in sick for? Nothing happens on Mondays.

8. I ran in 2 feet of snow for about 15 minutes yesterday and today my legs are sore because I’m such a wussyhead….or because I’m so out of shape. Take your pick. Could be both.

9. I gained so much weight over the holidays that I’m sure I could qualify for a second tummy tuck…or ass tuck or or leg tuck or entire body tuck. Sick I tell you. Sick.

10. There is still one piece of garland and the crib with baby Jesus in it left up at the house. Ah well…I can tolerate that….it doesn’t light up or twinkle or have sprinkles on it.

How’s that for Positive Patty? TWO lists with the words “why I love this day” in them.

I bet tomorrow will be even better!

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Jingle Bells with switchblades...and still naked.

Let's be clear.  My #1 New Year's Resolution is to be less Negative Nancy and more Positive Patty. 

I said that'll start in the New Year because right now - it's continuation of "Draz hates holidays more than poop and puke talk and maybe even Explosive Man in the bathroom at work" time.

You can read about my Cmas so far here.  I'd now like to tell you how the last Cmas event went after I wrote that blog.

Are you ready?  Here you go:

Remember the pants?  The beloved $60 H*rley D*vidson sweatpants lovingly given to me by Rambo as a sweet thank you for the actual Harley I bought him for his birthday?  They are part of a 3 piece outfit.  Took them to his mom's to be hemmed.  NOW THEY ARE GONE

Well, I thought for sure we'd find them accidentally wrapped up in a present yesterday.  The heavens would open and birds would sing and all would be well in Draz's wardrobe world again.  But nope.  Still - I am naked from the waist down. 

I ask you....is it wrong to cry over a pair of sweatpants? 

No - it's probably more wrong to spend $60 on sweatpants - I know.

Alrighty then - one more update.  Remember that just two days before Cmas Rambo's Dad asks me to order a Kitchen*id mixer online for his mother?  I do it.  With a smile on my face.  Okay, not really but it sounded good right?  I even manage to get it here on Cmas Eve.  Poor little UPS guy carried the 28 lb. box UP my entire driveway in a foot of snow cuz his little brown truck couldn't make it up my driveway.  I'm sure I saw him swearing under his breath.

I spend hours (okay minutes) lovingly wrapping the gift to take to the Cmas to surprise her with.

So it's time to open presents.

She opens it.  She says not a SINGLE WORD.  She just looks at the box.  Confused as hell.

She says, "I already have a mixer."

Rambo's Dad looks at us and says, "That's not what I wanted.  I wanted a food processor!"

JESUS, MARY AND JOSEPH AND PETER PAN AND FREAKING GREEN DONKEY DICKS!

ARE YOU KIDDING ME????

I mean really - whose idea of a cruel joke is this?

Can I mention that I specifically heard Rambo on the phone say to his Dad, "What is she going to do with the mixer she already has?"...to which he replied, "She'll keep it.  It's smaller."

You think I'm angry?  Oh wow.  Angry is not even the word.  He's a grown man who waited 2 days before Cmas to ask his kids to go online and buy a gift for his wife without being specific!!!

Guess who is going to eat the price of getting it here by Cmas and shipping it back?  Yupper...that'd be me!  To the tune of about $80.00. 

Hey - I could have bought another pair of sweatpants for that right?

Yes, yes...I am a Christmas asshole.  I think I can get away with this since on most normal days I'm a happy girl.

Oh, one good thing.  Turns out I'm not necessarily raising a spoiled brat after all.  I found out the 10 year old wasn't pouting over gifts.  Thank God.  I was one click away from ordering "Parenting for Dummies."

Ah and yes...tree and train were down today by 10am.  First time I smiled all weekend. 

Well that and every time I made my kids watch White Christmas for like the 60th time. 

I must go.  I have to wrap up the 16 dozen cookies Santa didn't eat to take to work.  If I see another freaking star or a f*cking sprinkle I'm going to choke someone.

Coincidentally I just found out Rambo will be working a 16 hour shift today.  Lovely.  He left at 4am and won't come home until 11pm.  Not one of us will see his face today. 

Oh, but the prisoners will love it.  Yesterday, he wouldn't allow any prisoners out of their cells unless they sang him a Cmas carol.  Somehow Jingle Bells is a whole lot funnier when you add brass monkeys and switchblades into it. 

Rambo is rubbing off on me...so this is all his fault...he's the hugest Grinch of them all.  He said for their Cmas meal, the prison served pumpkin pie with mint sherbet ice cream.  Ack.  What a combo huh?

The best part about today?

No more wishing anyone a fake Merry Christmas!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

God - I love those three little words.

Bring on the resolutions baby....I am sooo ready. 

And next week, my hooker boots should arrive in the mail.  Again...all will be right in my wardrobe world once those babies are in my hands.  I won't have any pants on but I'll be wearing kick-ass boots.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

Naked from the waist down....like for realz.

Yup - it's Christmas Day...and I'm here. Does that make me pathetic?  That was rhetorical - which means yah - no need to answer.  I got it.  I *know* it's pathetic.

All of you stuffed to the gills with holiday cheer unable to wipe the huge cheeky grins off your faces - should stop reading immediately.  I'm about to go all Grinch on your ass if you continue on. 

Christmas is lame-ickus.  Every single freaking year I try with all my might to not have one single expectation so that my hopes aren't smashed and I try to find the joy in the little things because I'm really good at that but here I am - Christmas Day - having a pity party like a 3 year old who got coal. 

It is not necessary to be pissed at me - I'm pissed enough at myself.

Rambo works Christmas Eve and Christmas day for 6 years in a row before he gets them off.  When we didn't have kids that didn't bother me.  It bothers me now.  It pisses me off that he spends Christmas with rapists, gangsters and murderers.  They get his precious time - and we do not.

Santa had to come 2 days early because I refuse to let the girls open their presents without him here.  That's a moment I won't do alone.

Yes, yes..I am grateful he has a job....99% of the time.  1% of the time - I'm pissed off about it.

Last night the minute Rambo got home we headed to church with my siblings and parents.  I nearly ran from church 5 minutes after we got there.  Seriously - packed in like sardines.  I had to stand sideways to fit.  People didn't have pews to sit in so they stood the whole time.  I was so hot I thought I might explode.  It's too close for me.  Too claustrophobic.  I wanted to run.  Just too many damn people.  And then I was pissed that as I sat there I was the only one thinking those thoughts - everyone else was just enjoying the moment.  I hate my social anxieties with a passion.

We went back to my mom's house.  Ate food.  Opened presents.  My 10 year old decided to pout - I guess because she only got 49 presents instead of 50.  There I said it.  I am officially raising a spoiled brat. 

Winner of The Mother of the Year Award right here folks.

I *despise* the present part of Christmas.  There is no way to tell a child that though someone spent the SAME amount of money on each of them that that means one of them could get 10 gifts and one of them could get 1 gift. 

It's just never enough.  They are done unwrapping and the next words out of their mouth are: "So where do we go next to get more presents?"  Yes, people - I've told them 60 million times Christmas isn't about presents.  They are deaf...cuz they are under the age of 20 I guess. 

And let's be honest - we go multiple places we don't normally go and all the adults will say is, "Are you ready to open presents?  Are you excited to open presents?  We're going to open presents soon!" 

It's NOT about presents?  Really?  Can you say holy mixed signals?

Insert Mommy slurping down brandy grasshoppers like it is milk.

Oh and yes - Mommy also forgot to put gifts in the stockings. Shitballs.  Apparently Santa is stupid.  There is no other reason for such an undersight.  (That and we never hung stockings as kids much less got gifts in them...so I tend to forget that they even exist in normal families.)

I cooked a hot chicken dip for nacho chips.  It's not that hot but my sister and mother took one bite and literally yelled, ran from the table and spit it out.  My father wouldn't try it.  Nice.  Lovely waste of time and oh say about $6.99 - give or take a few pennies. 

My sister cried when she had to leave to go to her boyfriend's house because she didn't want to leave.  (I can't quite figure that one out.  She actually wanted to stay.  I'm still stumped.)  But imagine how much fun my brothers made out of her for the tears.  They have never been fans of tears.  Or any emotion for that matter.

We decorated sugar cookies before she left - my Dad, both brothers and sister's boyfriend refused to pick up a f*cking knife and frost a cookie.  Whatever happened to "do it for the kids"?  Remind me - is it physically daunting and too much manual labor to frost a cookie?

My sister left.  Then Rambo left cuz 4am comes really early.  We all decided to watch a movie.  At 9pm.  My Father?  Went to bed.  A houseful of his family - his OWN children and grandchildren - some that only come home three times a year - and he chose to go to bed, shut the door and go to sleep.  Just typing that out brings tears to my eyes.

Did I mention it was only 9pm?

So yah, I forgot to put the damn candy in the stockings when I got home after carrying two sleeping heavy kids inside and shitloads of bags and presents they pouted over.  I was exhausted.  And felt the least Santa-like than I had all week.  Screw the stockings.  Stockings are for feet if you ask me.

Today?  Today is Rambo's family Cmas IF he gets to come home today.  Do you know what the main topic of discussion will be? 

The $60 lost pants.  His mom will tell everyone 60 times how she doesn't know where they are and she'll probably even cry and I'll be the bad guy for even asking her to hem them. 

Rambo and I have a bet that someone is going to open a gift and the pants will be wrapped up inside it.  Jesus.

Oh did I mention I managed to go online and buy said mother-in-law's $300 Kitchen*id mixer and get it here yesterday?  Today I'll wrap it up and father-in-law will take all the credit.  Never mind he waited until one day before Cmas to buy her present.  Never mind I had to buy it myself.  Never mind I have to wrap it and bring it with us. 

But I'm the asshole who asked her to hem my pants.  I want to throw up.

Tomorrow the Cmas tree comes down.  I asked Rambo yesterday if I could take it down and he said I should wait until tomorrow.  Fine.  I'll wait. 

I don't understand family.  I don't understand Christmas.  I feel like it's a constant reminder of what it isn't - instead of what it is supposed to be.  It sounds terrible - but it's my truth.  I just want it over.  This social-anxiety laden body craves and wants and needs routine - and Cmas gatherings and events, pouting, tears, and people walking out on me - again -  are anything but routine. 

Bah-hum-bug.  I'm pretty sure I'm just pissed about the $60 sweatpants.  Yah, that's it. 

Now who has a Grinch costume I can wear to Rambo's Cmas today?  Seriously...I don't have any pants remember?

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Bullets a-plenty.

Sorry for being a bit MIA...it's crazy around these parts!  Prepare for the bullets my friends...it's that kind of day!!

*  One step forward - two steps back - in regards to my facing my social fears.  I had some steps forward and blogged about them and then Friday I went shopping alone.  I was checking out and about 5 lanes over so was the President of the company I work for.  He's a great guy, we're friends...he's easy to talk to.  But I hid.  Turned my head so he couldn't see me.  Then hid behind a candy bar display.  I knew nothing about what was going on around me except where he was and if he could see me.  I even knew it was ridiculous and tried to ask myself, "What would happen if he saw me?"...but I kept hiding.  He never saw me. 

One store later I was about 7 feet away from my sister-in-law...I ducked into an aisle before she saw me.  Yes, folks...turns out I'm a chicken shit and my social anxiety won that day. Sometimes I can fight it - sometimes I don't want to and sometimes I just can't.

*  I sleep with ear plugs lately because Rambo snores like a banchee.  Now we play the fun game every night of "Find Draz's teeny tiny earplugs in this huge bedroom."  Are they under the pillow?  On the nightstand?  On the floor?  Under the blankets? 

Well none of the above.  Turns out Rambo stepped on one - thereby pushing it into the floor vent where it landed.  Hence Rambo and I are on all fours staring into a floor vent when both our girls walk in and say, "What the heck are you guys doing?"  Jesus...we don't even know. 

*  Lately I want to kill my mother-in-law.  Like not only in my dreams - but when I'm awake too.  Daycare issues AND now get this?  I gave her a pair of Harley D@avidson sweat pants that cost $60 that I've never worn to possibly hem them and SHE LOST THE MOTHER-EFFERS.  Yes - that's right - I brought out the MF word.  They were a gift from Rambo and I mean what the holy hell?  How does a person who never leaves the house lose something that was in the house?  Seriously - I can't keep writing about this...it makes my stomach burn.

* Also...I'm pretty sure there's some unknown rule in the world of kids that says they must behave the worst they have all year just a few days before Christmas comes so that I can scream, "Keep it up or Santa isn't coming!" 50 freaking times every hour until the damn day of Christmas comes.  I swear - I'm going to give every one of their presents to kids in Ethiopia if this keeps up.  Honestly.

* I have something going on every night this week - AFTER work.  We all know how well that goes.  I spend the whole day mentally preparing.  Jesus, Mary and Joseph.  Board meetings, concerts, volunteering, family parties.  All of it gives me hives and makes me want to hide in a closet like ET did.

* I bought these boots.  I call them my "I'm in denial about almost turning 40 and want to pretend I'm hot and in my 20's" boots.  You like?  I figure if nothing else I can stand on the street corner and turn tricks and get my money back right?

Mmkkaayyy...that's all I got...cuz my brain is shot.  Love you my Skittles.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Proof. Real, honest-to-goodness proof.

Just a few days ago in this post here, I promised you all “proof” that I would change. Today, I have two helpings of that proof. Go ahead - devour it – I give you permission – there are no calories in it. And my God – I think I’ve earned the right to say it tastes freaking yummy.

Before I start - let it be said that I realize that A) I am an over-reacting, over-dramatic human so I make a big deal out of everything and B) hence – most of you will read this and think this “proof” is crap and no big deal at all. But for me it is. And that is what matters.

Proof #1:

First off, most of you know I suffer from nightmares. I’m a worrier and my subconscious goes nutso when I sleep and all my fears come out. Sometimes it makes me not want to sleep. The worst part? Many of the nightmares are recurring so I remember them – in full detail. Which then means they scare the hell out of me when I’m awake…which sucks a big green donkey’s ass.

I’m an organized person…to a fault. I’m a color-coding whore. File folders and binders in my office. Spreadsheets amuck. I have no “junk drawer” at home – every one is organized. On my worst days – if I can organize control something – I can instantly feel calm. I am clearly OCD about this and I can admit that.

With this organization comes planners – one for the full time job, one for each of the PT jobs, one for my personal life and the kids, calendars on the fridge and it goes on and on. I have lists of passwords and account numbers and every important thing that matters to Rambo and I. If I die – he knows the first thing he should do is get my binders and he’ll have everything he needs.

I also have a great memory. It’s photographic and has served me well. My brother has it too. We have the ability to remember stupid things others don’t. When I was in high school, I could take a test and remember the answers based on how I wrote them in my notebook. I could remember what color pen they were written in, where on the page, how I wrote it and what it said…vs just knowing the info or memorizing it. It has served me well.

All of these things serve to feed my intense need for control. I can’t control my stomach, the migraines, the depression, the hives, the sweating, the wanting to throw up and run, the chaos, the stress, the nerves…pretty much I can’t control most things but the things I can? Well, watch out – I’m gonna control them to the bone and beyond. It’s my way of fighting back.

Which brings me to my recurring nightmare. As you can imagine, being lost is a huge fear for me. Walking into a place alone is another huge fear. Not knowing where to go after I walk in is another biggie. I normally research the day before with Rambo or I know I’ll back out altogether. I have to prepare for new events. Even not knowing where to park is enough to make me turn around and go home. So it should come as no big surprise that the first day of school (high school especially) for me was ALWAYS heart-wrenching.

Never mind that I was a teen and everything is heart-wrenching but still. The nightmare is this. I get myself to school. Alone. I walk in. Alone. Even in my dreams I’m shocked at this. I get to my locker. Alone. And then the bile starts to rise in my throat. My palms start to sweat. My face is turning red. I get incredibly hot. I want to pass out. I’m doing my best to pretend everything is peachy keen. And inside I want to die.

I have lost or can’t remember my locker combination.

In my OCD world – this carries the weight of a national tragedy. It is sheer devastation. It almost brings me to my knees…

Not only have I lost control but I’ve lost my precious memory and though I frantically search everywhere – not one single organizational binder is in my possession which would surely have my locker combination in it. All gone. My mind is thrashing inside. I turn that incessant black dial with the tiny white numbers on it. Around and around. Hoping to spur some memory. Why can’t I remember? I never forget. Why do I have to be the one to forget? Why can’t I be like everyone else?

The self-hate talk runs rampant. The bell rings. Everyone scatters and there I am. Alone.

I start out the nightmare walking in alone. I end the nightmare standing there alone. I am different.

How could this have happened? How could I have lost control? How do I fix this? I should run.

My insides are in turmoil. My mind is beating itself up. I’m in shock. And the nightmare ends. I never know what happens.

Part of me thinks some of my fear of Alzheimer’s is in this nightmare. I will always carry that fear after watching that disease unfold and being a caretaker of it. The other part of me knows the dreams means much more than that. And it just keeps recurring.

Until.
Last.
Night.

I walked into school. Still scared as hell but I got there. I walk up to my locker. I have a tiny key in my hand. It unlocks my locker padlock. There is no combination dial. No numbers needed. It is a lock and key.

I have the key.

I am not alone. Nor am I different.

It’s suddenly a padlock. It has never been a padlock. I have never held the key.

Until.
Last.
Night.


Proof #2:

Last night Rambo and I had a Chamber supper to attend. It goes with the territory of the community jobs we hold. I knew friends of ours were going so that helped but still. I don’t usually leave the house once I’m home from work. It’s too exhausting mentally for me. I literally prepared and prepped myself all day to go to that supper. I thought of a million reasons not to go. None were sufficient and I knew Rambo wanted to go. He lives for social stuff like that. He could do it every night. Meanwhile I’ll feel the effects of last night for a good day or two. It’s almost like I have to recover.

So I prepped. I got ready – mentally and physically. I made it out the door. I got quiet and internally grouchy just to get myself out of the house. I knew I’d be okay once I got there. Every part of me didn’t want to go. My head was screaming, “Why do you do this to yourself?”

*sigh*

And then I flipped the switch. We are dressed up. We have a sitter. It’s a few hours. It’s a nice supper. It’s a conversation with friends. It’s the pride in being invited to this affair. I can do this.

I walked to the door holding on to Rambo because it was slick out and I had on my knee-high boots. I might not want to go but damn I was going to look good while I was there you know?

We got to the door. Rambo opened it. Like always. I walked in. Like always. And now in the entryway before the second door – is the part where I step back – behind Rambo – to hide – to not go in first – to follow him in.

Except it didn’t happen. I put my hand on the second door. I opened it and walked right the frick in. I scared the shit out of myself. So much so that I stopped dead in my tracks realizing what I had just done. Rambo even bumped into me. I literally stood there. Frozen.

I walked in first people. I walked in first.

I didn’t throw up or die or fall down. I looked up. I kept walking and I greeted my friend.

Then I texted Jenny and told her I was “anxious as hell” and being the best friend she is? Well after I told her I was anxious – this is what she said. And I quote:

“Hey. See that woman on your left? The one with a big cheesy ass? She’s staring at you. She wants your booooody. She’s seething with envy. And that one guy wants his wife to look as sexy as you. Work it!”

I smiled. And on the way to my table I smacked that guy on the ass.

Okay, not really. But it sounds good right?

P.S. I’m doing my body part post on Saturday….I didn’t forget….

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

It remains. It is constant. It is mine.

** Disclaimer: I never meant to “go off” in this blog or take it in this direction but it is what it is. It has no point or flow…but it has heart. And it’s what I feel today….

Hi Skittles ~


How are ya? I’m doing well. This is Day 8 of my little homemade detox from sugar and caffeine and but for one slip up I’m doing great. I forget which day – but day 3 or 4 – Aunt Flo came to town with her sleighful of goodies named cramps and migraine from holy hell. Let it be known I have a high pain tolerance. Translation – so high that I’m an idiot and wait until the last possible moment to take a pain pill for my migraines because the pills are VERY expensive. I only get AF for one day and it’s light but 99% of the time she brings a fatass migraine. This one was a doozy. Took THREE pain pills to knock it out. I was contemplating an ER visit and some IV pain meds and tears were rolling.

Sooo yes – I had a Mountain Dew and a cookie. I guess to take my mind off the fact that I wanted to die. And because caffeine can ease the pain a bit. Yes, yes…I know….no will power, no self control, I suck, I disappointed myself….yup, I got it. Negative self-talk ran amuck after that BUT it’s done. My new goal is more self-love so that negative self-talk is over. 8 days in now and my loss is a solid 5 pounds and I feel better (minus the migraine day). I did an hour on the treadmill the night before and 45 minutes last night. The real kicker is I enjoyed it. Who knew?

So hate me if you must but know – I didn’t give up.

Taking care of myself spills over into so many other areas of my life. I need to remember that. At work, I’m more productive, feel more successful, carry myself with a little more pride and wear heels every day for the hell of it. I dress up…even though I don’t have to. I smile more. I “feel” healthier. I feel sexier.

Case in point – Rambo worked nearly 18 hours during the blizzard this weekend on one hour of sleep. To thank him, I decided to stand at the top of our stairs in his fave black lingerie holding a beer when he walked in. Nothing says “Welcome Home” like that right? My point is – not eating well, not working out, not taking control – and I’d probably not have done that because I didn’t feel I could pull it off. I wouldn’t have wanted to. I checked myself over in the mirror and damn if I didn’t even care that said lingerie might as well have a neon arrow pointing to my c-sec/tummy tuck scar. I actually kinda laughed.

I knew Rambo wouldn’t even notice. Beer. Lingerie. Wife. What scar? What roll? What imperfection?

I’ll never forget being in high school after dating for a few years when I finally decided I’d let Rambo see me naked. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes or him visibly sucking in his breath at the sight of me. No scars, no rolls, everything was tight and firm, even my boobs were big back then. And he looked like he’d seen an angel and I’d given him the gift of heaven.

I’ll mostly never forget that 20 years in – when he opens the door – I still get shy and blush and he still sucks in his breath and stops in his tracks and stares. I’m a completely different body and woman now and his reaction is the same. It proves to me diet and sugar detox and all that is just icing on the cake. It doesn’t make or break our love. It doesn’t make or break who I am. It’s merely an accessory to my world I’m honored to live in.

There’s a lot on my mind. Nightmares seem to be rampant lately. Some things are really bothering me internally so if you’re wondering if I wrote this blog to brag – you’re wrong. I wrote it to remind myself that the only thing that really matters in this world is true love. The kind between me and Rambo and my girls. I can have the shittiest day on Earth or the best day on Earth – doesn’t matter – I can still go home to them and they still light up at the sight of me. The love never wavers. Never takes a day off. Doesn’t give a damn about all the other people in my life who don’t love me or them. Doesn’t give a damn that I don’t fit in anywhere but there. Doesn’t notice that I don’t belong. Doesn’t judge me because my heart is broken.

It remains. It is constant. It is mine.

Maybe that’s why I have tattoos symbolizing that love all over me. The tattoos piss off my family and cause them to talk badly about me, make assumptions and say nasty things….but they remain, they are constant and they are mine. I’ll die with them – along with the love they symbolize.

Nothing else really matters. I’ve spent most of my life thinking it did…but the truth is it’s time to let go of that and focus on what I know. I can’t change what you think of me, how much you love or don’t love me, how much you judge me or talk badly about me or think I’m a bad parent or should do just about everything differently.

I don’t go to bed with you at night. You don’t walk in my shoes. I don’t even think you could.

You’ve broken my heart into a million pieces over the years and I continued to let you.

And still - you can’t take away what I have with my family no matter what you say or do or think or feel.

The love between us four….well….

It remains. It is constant. It is mine.

How ironic that you can’t say the same of your own family.

How downright sad that you don’t even know what love really is.  If you could take off your judgemental glasses and for once just see that every day I do the best I can and love with my whole heart and soul and am loyal to a fault...you might see I'm a lot more fun to love than to bash.   

While it's bad enough you taint my dreams - I refuse to let you taunt me when I'm awake.

I will never, ever be good enough for you....ever.  I will never be worthy.  I will never be what you think I should be. 

Oh well...can't say I didn't try.

I'll be okay just in case you were wondering....because I've seen and felt real love.

And it remains.  It is constant.  It is mine.

Friday, December 10, 2010

Back to BYOC....sort of....

It’s Friday. I’m telling you this because yes, I’m sure you didn’t know. It’s been a helluva week. Detoxing, de-caffeinateing, hand picture-taking, self-loving, a little family drama, tattoo-care-taking, and shitloads of snow here. I need a bath of Skittles STAT. I have also decided that I’d like said Skittles to be infused with doses of pure serotonin that automatically come out when put in my bathtub. Screw anti-depressants and carbs – I want to get my serotonin from bathing in it.

Oh and I’d like it to smell like vanilla too. Smelling like Skittles is not a good thing. Children always want to lick my legs and follow me around in the stores.


I’m going to sort of do a BYOC today. Cuz I miss them and I miss seeing your answers. I say sort of because a few of my questions aren’t about you or anyone like past BYOCs have been…but I need answers and this is my way of sneaking around to get them. So if you’re new here and you’ve never done BYOC…it stands for Bring Your Own Crazy and it’s 5 little questions you can paste to your blog and answer if you like. To give your brain a blog break, to get to know each other better and well, just because.

1. It is negative degrees here. Today I drove 35 all the way to work because I followed a snowplow who was also salting the roads. It’s too cold to even go sledding or ice skating. The weather is downright nasty. It’s freaking Winter alright? Why then – may I ask – when driving home last night did I see not one, but two MEN – driving big “I’m a man with a small penis so I drive this HUGE truck with deer antlers on the front and playboy mud flaps and mufflers coming out of the box” trucks with their windows OPEN? Why do men do that?

They are bundled up like Eskimoes, I can see their snot forming icicles and I can see their breath inside their truck. Shut the damn window and you’d be warmer. Is the window broke? Does the car not move if the windows are up? Someone tell me why? It can’t seriously be just because they have a penis. Though I’m starting to wonder – I have never seen a woman drive around in negative 10 degree weather with her window down. Have you?

2. Is Richard Simmons gay? Is he straight?  Has he ever come out? Does he have a lover? No, I have no idea why I thought of this but it crossed my mind and now I want to know. I love that little man. I want to get my fingers tangled in that hornet’s nest of hair he has. I think I’d feel better about life if I knew Richard wasn’t alone. But then again – who on Earth could tolerate that voice every day of their lives? So tell me – does anyone know Richard’s situation? I must know. I could google it but thought this would be more fun.

3. What’s your favorite Cmas song?

• Is it wrong that mine is either the one by Alvin and The Chipmunks or the 12 days of Cmas by the Muppets or the one called “Have an Ozzy Cmas” where one line says, “let the F word fly”. No seriously – I love them ALL. Especially any that Bon Jovi sings. (I’m a child of the 80s – back off!) There’s a station here that plays Cmas music all day every day until Cmas day and it’s blaring in my office all day every day. People just walk by and shake their heads and secretly want to be me. I just know it.

4. What is your most favorite and your least favorite Cmas movie?

• Again with me and my immaturity – um – I like The Grinch – the cartoon one. When his heart grows so big it’s about to explode out of his chest…classic. And the new ones like Shrek the Halls and Happy Madagascar. Apparently I’m a 10 year old trapped in a 36 year old’s body.

Least? Rudoph. I know, I know…it’s a classic and how can I hate it? I just do. Hate me if you must but I can’t help it. OMG and that Ralphy movie. The one with the gun and the lamp with the leg. My mother-in-law loves it – which could be why I hate it. I’m just sayin.

5. To all my corporate buddies out there….I have an important question. My brother is interviewing for jobs in the corporate world. He has an impeccable resume and good, long, stable job history with many impressive accomplishments. However – no bites after he interviews. He’s convinced they are checking his credit record – which is not great. Now I’ve heard places do that…but really how common is it? I mean I work in a place where our work is completely for the government and classified and export-controlled and deals with citizenship and such and we do NOT check credit scores. How prevalent is this – especially when the jobs he’s applying for are not even in the financial industry?

Thanks all – I swear – next week back to normal all about you guys BYOC!

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Triple U Thursday – Unclothed, Unhidden, and Unashamed

Welcome to my first Triple U Thursday – Unclothed, Unhidden, and Unashamed.

If you wanna know what that means, you can read about it here. If you want to join me….welcome…that’d be great. Let me know if you do and throughout the day I’ll link your post.

I plan to do virtually every body part except some – which is so sad for many of you perverts out there I know. (ahem…Amy W. and Read – yah – that’d be you!)

I’m starting out easy. (Wow – that kinda sounds bad huh?) How in the world did this post go so wrong so fast?

Anywhoozle…easy is the plan because on its own this is going to be hard for me to do. Learning to love every body part on the outside puts the C in challenge in my world.

Let’s get to it. Today, the body part I’m focusing on is my HANDS.

Now I realize some of you out there are thinking to yourselves, “Is it even possible for someone not to like their hands? I mean they are just hands, right?”

Wrongola, my friends. I can hate them. And I have. I mean I used to…until now. Today. Here. Now.

Let me tell how I didn’t like them so we can get to the part about liking them.

I have usually worn acrylic fake nails because I hated my own nails. I have hated how short and stubby my fingers were. Hated how chubby my hands were too. Hated that my ring size was so big. Hated pretty much how they looked in general.

But today…..these are the reasons I love my hands and the things my hands do and what they mean to me.

I took off most of my rings (hence the ring indentations) for these pics so I could see my hands as a whole better.  Interestingly enough....this was therapeutic.  I stared at these pics for a long time...and I can honestly say I like them.  If these hands, fingers, and nails could talk....they'd tell a helluva story.


My hands represent my father. My mother and all my siblings have long, skinny fingers with tiny ring sizes. My father has short, stubby fingers and hands that are HUGE. So much so that the jewelers freak out when a man who is relatively skinny walks in and asks them to size his rings to a 14. They always think he’s nuts…and he always proves them wrong. I have short fingers with big, not so feminine ring sizes. I have my father’s hands. He may not have been able to give me many of the things I needed but from the moment I was born…he gave me his hands.

When my first baby girl laid in the NICU with tubes everywhere and I wasn’t allowed to smell her or even hold her little body after waiting so many months….she wrapped her little hand around my one finger the moment I met her. I’ll never forget standing there feeling like I met a miracle, tears streaming down my cheeks, and as she held my finger…I quietly said, “Hey baby…I’m your Mommy.”

My hands hold Rambo’s every day in some way. In passing. In the car, he drives with one hand and holds mine with his other. If we shop, he holds my hand. The touch of his hand is enough to make me go from a fear meter of 100 to perfect peace.

These hands wash my babies, hold them when they are sick and tickle them until tears roll down their cheeks. These hands check for fevers and cover their little bodies at night when they sleep. These hands blow them kisses every morning as I leave. These hands hold them tight as they meet me at the door each night.



These hands administered high doses of pain meds to my cancer stricken Grandma so she wouldn’t die in pain. And when it was over, these hands held my mother as she fell apart because her own mother had just left this world.

These hands and fingers have written poetry that got me through the darkest hours of my life. And they will continue to do so.

These hands wear rings from Rambo that symbolize more than I can ever put into words.

These hands clean a house that I call a home. They put up a Cmas tree to make new memories for my girls. They paint walls and sweep floors. They plant flowers in the garden and they mow the grass. They wrap gifts for occasions all year long.

These hands type and add and subtract and use copiers and faxes and other equipment to hold down one full time job and two part time jobs to the best of my ability – to support my family and to solidify my persona as something other than wife and mother. They create my career identity.

These fingertips and nails become a diversion which I paint and bejewel when I’m trying not to eat ice cream cake because I’m cutting out a sugar addiction.



These hands embrace people I haven’t seen in a while and miss dearly. These same hands wave goodbye when we have to part again.

These hands do my hair, put my makeup on, dress and undress me. They help me create my outward appearance. Some days they work wonders…other days it’s a hat day for sure. 

These hands pick up my friends if they ever fall. They call a loved one if that’s what they need. They text all day long just to say “Hello”. At night, these hands volunteer at my daughter’s school.

These hands squeeze Rambo’s tight when I’m in pain from labor or from getting a tattoo in memory of my Grandma or Uncle or in honor of my daughters. These hands are connected to a wrist which holds my favorite tattoo symbolizing what I have with Rambo.

These hands wake up at 4am to take care of Rambo's new back tattoo too.
These hands swing when I run and they sweat when I lift weights and they lift water to my lips when I’m done working out.

One of my fingers is used when all else fails and it's the only mature left to do.  See below:
These hands create a budget and pay our bills and keep our credit immaculate.

These hands are covered in cute mittens when it’s cold and tan in the summertime.

These hands are mine. And damn if they aren’t gorgeous and useful as hell.



Now, tell me about your hands. Tell me about their beauty and jobs. Tell me why you love them.  Tell me, tell me. Pretty please.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

A proposition for you, a birthday, Day 2 and a hairy buffalo.

Seriously - my favorite part of every day is coming up with a blog title.  (Yes, I'm aware I need to get a life.)

Day 2 – kicking ass and taking names. I left my tracking sheet at home but I had no artificial sugar yesterday or soda. YES! I had two eggs for supper and a smoothie. This morning I stepped on the scale for kicks and I lost 3.5 pounds. (Rambo lost 3) I feel good. No major cravings and it didn’t seem too hard but I chalk that up to “first day” excitement. I had plenty of protein via the eggs and cottage cheese and good sugar via all the fruit in my smoothies. I am super stoked!  Let it be known - this woman is leaving a trail of farted gumdrops everywhere I go!


Also I’d like to let you know that the honeymoon is officially over between Rambo and I. Today he is getting a full back tattoo. I personally think he’s doing it just so he can beat my tattoo sitting record of 4 hours. Whatever. Anywhoozle…my Rambo is hairy. Like um – a buffalo. I never really knew if I was a no hair or hair liking kind of girl when it came to my mind but now I know – I love it.

A lot of nights you can find me – head in his chest hair with one of my hands in it. It’s softer than silk and it symbolizes Rambo to me. He’s not hairy like an ape gross – but I’m sure some women would hate it. Anyway – last night – I shaved his back. Is it wrong to say it was kind of fun? And it was so weird to see my hairy Rambo – not hairy. He officially said, “Honeymoon is over baby.” LOL

Today is Watermelon’s birthday. She’s officially 10 going on 30…and I don’t know where the time went. 10 years ago today I was in the throes of 24 hours of hard labor with three hours of pushing with no pain meds. Stupid much? All the hopes and dreams of a Baby Story birth with my baby laid on my chest and the heavens opening up – didn’t happen. I never saw my baby’s face. Had no idea if she was a girl or a boy. I saw a team of doctors pumping her chest with one finger giving her CPR and no sound…and everyone refusing to tell me if she was alive or not.

She spent two days in the NICU and the first time I saw her she had tubes coming out of her and baby blood pressure cuffs that I still have. She was gorgeous and still silent. Too traumatic a birth they say. And today? Well, we can’t keep her quiet. One just never knows do they? People think having babies is so commonplace…when indeed – it is not. I wasn’t who I was supposed to be until the moment she was born.

Lastly today – I am going to do something new each Thursday I think. My bestie, Jenny, has been on a mission since I met her – to make me see myself as she does. Which is perfect if you ask her. She’s on a mission to make me see “I am enough”. And finally – I guess I’m listening. (Wow – that sounded convincing huh?) She said I need to see my beauty and see what everyone else sees. I need to be enough.

I guess that’s part of the epiphany I had last week. I crave validation from EVERYONE for everything – so much so that you could say I do what I do FOR validation – and that’s completely wrong on so many levels. The only validation I need is from within but I’ve never given myself permission to have that. I just want someone – anyone – to notice I am alive because I didn’t exist for so much of my life as a child. Being a model student and child has its downfalls – it makes you easy to be ignored – because the others in the family require 99% of the attention.

It’s understandable (except when you're a child) but still makes you feel less than or unworthy. And the feeling still exists. I’ve spent most of my life trying to be something and be someone and make a difference – always sure that I failed and I haven’t done a damn thing. And now? Well…I think I’m done with that. It’s exhausting and if I couldn’t find what I needed in 38 years of trying – well then really – why keep doing the same thing and expect a different outcome?

Soooo – what am I gonna do differently? This year through blogging and self-examination - I finally learned to stop hating myself. It’s absolutely soul wrenching to hate who you are as a person. You live nearly every moment second guessing and wishing you weren’t who you were. You can hardly live with yourself…and this year – I stopped doing it. On the inside. No small feat. Sounds easy in words but literally – took 38 years to do. I finally believe I am a life worth living and that I have worth on the inside. That there is a possibility I deserve love and happiness.

Now? Well – it’s time to work on the outside and stop this game of never being enough physically. So each Thursday I’m going to pick one body part – I’ll skip the vagina so stop squinching up your faces in disgust – and I’m going to take a picture of it. By itself. And I will make a list of things I love about the part and the joy it has brought me and the memories within it. No matter if it’s scarred, stretch marked, not smooth, marred, or flabby or too thin….I will find the good in the part.

Piece by piece I will become whole. The package may finally be complete. When I’m done the ultimate goal is to look in the mirror – and say to myself – “You are enough.” – and believe it. I have never said those words to myself and the thought of it – and meaning it – makes the tears come even now.

My question is…will you join me? Will you take a picture of the body part and list why you love it? Why it is special? What it means to you? What the beauty is in it? Why it is unique to you?

As women – we criticize too much – ourselves and each other. My goal is to do less of that. I hope you’ll consider joining me. Stay tuned….I’m going to start this Thursday and I’d love to see your body parts – minus the vaginas of course.

I’m calling it Triple U Thursday - Unclothed, Unhidden, and Unashamed.

I’m done hiding. Done being ashamed. Are you?

If you decide to join me on Thursdays, I'll try to link you in my blog so others can share in our Triple U Thursday revolution.  We women need to celebrate our beauty and shout it over the rooftops....and we can start here...in our blogs.

Oh and P.S….thank you Jenny....and thank you to all of you - who tell me about the beauty you see in me when I can't see it myself.  I'm about to change that...

Monday, December 6, 2010

Day #1....back to basics.

Hello snowflakes…


Day 1 of my little homemade detox has begun. I’m doing this detox FIRST to cut sugar drastically from my diet. Not just to lose weight – but because it is toxic, serves no nutritional purpose AND it triggers my migraines if I binge on it (mainly from candy). I want to be clear that I’m not cutting sugar completely. I am not okay mentally with downing 10 cookies or an entire bag of candy BUT I am okay with sugar in other things. Maybe that makes no sense to you – but for me – it is what I am okay with.

For example – for me – if I put a Weight Watchers yogurt in my smoothie in the morning (contains sugar) – that is fine by me. If I put ½ cup of skim milk in that same smoothie (has sugar in it) – that is fine by me.

I don’t want sugar from baked goods, candy, desserts or soda. Those are the ones I can’t control and binge on and cause my migraines. I have no problem with controlling how much milk or yogurt I eat. The fact is I wouldn’t eat either if they weren’t in a smoothie. To me, those food choices – yogurt and milk – are decent, healthy food choices – especially in comparison to what I previously would have eaten. No fear of binging on yogurt. It just ain’t gonna happen.

On Saturday I had a Twix candy bar, 2 small bags of almond M&Ms, one large cookie, and a peanut buster parfait ice cream treat from Dairy Queen – along with LOTS of soda (along with all my other meals of way too much food). THAT is not healthy or good sugar. Skim and lowfat yogurt – um yah – I’m okay with “that” kind of sugar.

Fine line? Sure. But this plan is mine….I never said it was right.

So for me – I’ve dubbed certain things okay sugar and others not. Giving up sugar in the non-okay forms will be super hard so I’m not making things easy for me. I haven’t had a soda today and that is HUGE. I don’t even miss it.

I’ve taken a multi-vitamin with as much caffeine in it as one cup of coffee. I have to cut caffeine gradually but taking the multi-vitamin means no tons of sugar from soda. That’s a step in the right direction.

I am also not doing JUST liquids. I still NEED carbs to stave off depression (I need the serotonin) and I want protein and I am not aiming to feel like I’m starving. I just want to cut back, detox, cleanse and cut crappy sugar. I want to eat clean, natural, whole, and unprocessed mostly.

That being said – I have decided some “soft” foods are okay…I guess you guys call them mushies.

I’m going to eat a bit of cottage cheese for the protein. I’m going to eat an egg if I get hungry – again for the protein. I have put whole strawberries, yogurt and milk in my smoothie for the carbs (natural sugar from the fruit and some artificial from yogurt and milk). I bought chicken broth with teeny tiny microscopic noodles in them and I’m not straining them out – they are carbs for me…but still no sugar.

I am drinking tea for the first time ever and liking it. No sugar – no caffeine. I’m downing water like it’s going out of style.

If I’m dying to chew something or massively hungry – I have decided I can eat 4 oz of lean protein at night if I want….for example – 4oz of chicken.

I will be working out as usual.

So I guess this isn’t completely liquids, or completely mushies either – BUT the fact remains – for ME – right now – this is restrictive and massively more healthy than what I have been doing. I feel good about it. It is literally how I used to eat when I was actively losing weight. I ate very little all day – just high protein snacks and lots of liquid in the form of water – and had a lean supper. Smart? I don’t know – but it worked for me. And I was never hungry and I ran 5 miles a day.

And I never felt so toned, thin and healthy. The first step to getting back there is getting back to a diet that stops the migraines that stop me in my tracks. And getting back to a diet that puts my blood pressure and cholesterol back in line.

If weight loss comes with that – it’s a bonus – but it can’t be my main focus. If I never lose another pound I have to believe and feel I’m beautiful exactly the way I am. Because I am.

The focus now is health. And for me right now – this detox that I planned to fit ME – is just what I need. When the 14 days are up, the plan is to continue eating clean – no soda, no sugar from candy and sweets, etc.

LDSwims and Barbara – hope you are doing well with your detox too! Rambo started with me too and he’s pretty excited himself. He made my smoothie for me this morning and then made his….seriously yummy!

PS – um – today a vendor of mine sent me an entire BUCKET of chocolate covered pretzels. Jesus God – what a nice little test. I smelled them and promptly put them out front by the other four bags of Hershey’s kisses out there. Test #1 – passed!

Friday, December 3, 2010

The plan...the dealio...the details...

No BYOC – too much other stuff on my mind.


Here’s the dealio with my little detox. I guess for me that’s what this 14 day sort-of-liquid thing is. I suppose it’s a diet but for me it’s a cleanse and a detox. I need off the sugar and off the caffeine and I’m not far from goal and this could get me there quickly. For Rambo – it’s a jump start to even more weight loss.

I’m not doing it to cut massive calories and starve myself. I plan to try to not be hungry. I know many of your surgeons put limits on the amount of shakes or things you could drink but for me - since I’m not trying to lessen fat on my liver for an actual surgery – if I’m hungry…you can bet your ass I’m going to drink another smoothie made from all natural ingredients.

We are doing smoothies with real fruit and greek yogurt and skim milk in them. Sugar free jello and pudding. Broth of course. Tea. Sugar free hot chocolate. I may even allow cottage cheese once I check the sugar value because it has good protein. And we’ve decided veggies are unlimited. That doesn’t help me a lot since the only veggie I really eat is celery but Rambo can eat the shit out of vegetables. Depending on our hunger levels, we may do what LDSwims suggested and allow one lean protein for supper….like a small chicken breast or something. We’ll see.

Because I’m afraid of the caffeine withdrawal headaches – along with sugar withdrawal headaches – and the fact that a headache for me always turns into a migraine, I have decided to take a multivitamin (which is good for other reasons) that has a small amount of caffeine in it for now. Yes, obviously this doesn’t cut my caffeine consumption totally but it does stop the soda (= sugar) consumption and cut the caffeine comsumption. One thing at a time folks. I have to go off caffeine slowly or I’ll never make it – one migraine and I’d probably give up.

I made a spreadsheet – mapped out the 14 days. On paper can I just say 14 squares looks soooo do-able? I know it’s deceiving. This is gonna be tough.

Barbara asked when I was starting as she may want to join me. We will begin this on the 6th and go through 7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19. While our calendar those days is full of board meetings and school functions – it has NO holiday cookie or meal gatherings. No parties. Nothing that should sabotage us and test us. Something could pop up – but for now – those days really make sense. And we’d end just about 5 days before Christmas.

Which coincidentally means I’ll be able to take my at goal skinny ass to my family holiday party and tell my size 0 non-eating, never exercising cousins to kiss it. Geez Draz…vain much?

Okay so along with the spreadsheet with days mapped on it for Rambo and I, I have prepared a list right below of every reason possible regarding why I’m doing this and why I will be successful. I have taken out Tosca Reno’s Eat Clean book and have that for reading material to strengthen my ambition. Crosswords are bought to keep me busy. 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle ready as well.

I am prepared for success. Planning breeds success right?

I’m excited – for realz. It’s been a while since I did an actual plan for a set amount of days. I’m confident I can do it. Yes, prior to this I did begin Atkins and have stuck to low-carbing for a bit BUT also realized that is when my depression relapse hit me – out of the blue – for no reason. Many of you pointed out this happened to you on Atkins and I have to wonder if the non-carbs which equals less serotonin which my body already lacks – led, at least partially, to the relapse. And as crazy as that sounds – try not to judge – anyone who suffers from depression will do anything not to go back there and if low carbs had anything to do with my brief relapse…well then….bring on the dinner rolls.

So that’s the plan kiddos. This weekend Rambo and I are going away to a hotel with a fireplace and a whirlpool because come on – is there anything better on this Earth than “dessert” in front of a fireplace or in a whirlpool? Can you say heaven with whip cream on top? I am giddy with excitement to go away with him even though it’s just one night. It’s all I can think about it and I’ve already gotten numerous emails from Rambo saying the same.

Our area is expecting almost 9 inches of snow this weekend and though it sucks for driving – it always feels more Christmas-y with snow on the ground. I was afraid we might not be able to make it to our hotel with the snow but rest assured – Rambo said he’ll find a way to get us there. Ha. Told you he was excited. If we have to ride snowmobiles to get there – we’ll get there.

Have a good weekend lovey-doves. And thank you for all your encouragement and support….Barbara, are you doing this with me???

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Honeybuns, news and delayed epiphanies....

Here it is folks – the epiphany blog. Let me just say right now that this isn’t going to blow your mind. I mean really you’re probably going to read this and think, “She calls THAT an epiphany?” I’m going to sound like a complete moron – because in truth – most of you know what I just figured out. Turns out I’m just a little behind the rest of the gang. I have a slight learning curve. Yah, let’s go with that.


First before the epiphany I have BIG news. I’m pretty sure some of you are going to comment and tell me I’m an idiot who has lost her ever-loving mind but um – where have you been? I lost that a long time ago.

Many of you know that quite a few of my followers have lap bands. Many of you know my best friend has one. Many of you know I go on trips to big cities with 50 women – of which 48 have lapbands – in the hopes that secretly while one of them is sleeping I can throw their skinny ass in the bathtub and cut their lapband out and take it home to insert into my own larger than life stomach. (Really – have you all checked to see if you still have yours after Chicago? I’m just sayin.) Many of you are quite aware that I’m jealous on a daily basis of the lapbanders and their ability to get full by eating the one gumdrop that I fart.

Sooooo….the news is….Rambo and I are going to be lapbanders.

Holy shit – did you fall off your chairs???

Well get back up and keep reading. Let me rephrase…we are going to be PRE-lapbanders. The truth is I’ve got to get off sugar. I’ve learned a lot from my friend Dizzy and for her sugar has been an addiction that she literally treats just like a drinker treats his alcoholism. She has to abstain completely. She attends 12 step meetings. She reads, researches and studies. She counts the days she is sober. She makes a consistent effort to notice the good changes in her body when she is off sugar.

And I want that. I had 86 migraines last year and this year while it’s less it’s up in the 60s. I’ve never found a common trigger other than lack of sleep and stress AND sugar. More specifically a sugar binge. A little sugar won’t cause one but overload will trigger one. Shouldn’t that be enough? Nah – it’s like cigarettes causing lung cancer….um people still smoke right? Well, this girl still eats sugar by the dump truck load. I mean some of you talk about binging on a candy bar or a few M&Ms. I’m not kidding – for me it’s multiple candy bars or the whole bag. It’s an addiction. It’s about time I say it out loud and treat it like one.

I also want to get back to running – not just a little – but a lot. Like I’m going to complete a half marathon next September. It’s on my bucket list. Enough said.

So yes, Rambo and I decided to be pre-lapbanders and do the 14 day liquid thingy you all do. For him it’s a jump start to more weight loss and for me I hope it gets me to my final goal. I respectfully request info on what is considered okay on this liquid diet if you would be so kind. I may add smoothies which I know is probably not on your liquid diet but it’ll be minimal calories and protein added. Is jello okay? Broth yes? Mountain Dew? No? Shitballs. Wish us luck – I have to plan when it’s going down tonight.

Okay – now I’m tired. Turns out this won’t be the epiphany blog. That’ll be next week maybe cuz I thought of doing a BYOC tomorrow for the fun of it. I miss your BYOC answers and it was fun.

Also, it’s a helluva day here. Work is going to be the death of me. Not the work – the food. Huge cinnamon bagels with 50 kinds of cream cheese with milk and orange juice for breakfast here. Lunch was brought in by Pizza Hut. Oh and afternoon birthday snack for a co-worker is chocolate brownie thunder ice cream. Lovely. Yes, I am aware eating all of these things is a choice. I just pretend I forgot that part today.

Oh oh – and in case any of you are wondering about how Rambo is after his assault – he’s fine. Wanna know what pissed the inmate off? Well Rambo of course BUT it was over a Honeybun. You know those sticky round buns of honey that no one can resist (I think they are made by that crotch named Little Debbie or maybe it’s the witch named Hostess)? Yah those. Turns out said inmate was upset that during a cell search Rambo would take his Honeybun and throw it away. I know – imagine someone throwing away a Honeybun.

But he was right – Rambo would have thrown it because Rambo has no feelings for prisoners BUT the officer below Rambo promised the inmate he could keep the Honeybun. Rambo said, “Fine. I can deal with that. Let him keep it if that gets him out of his cell.” When the inmate began shoving the Honeybun in his mouth instead of standing to be handcuffed – Rambo said, “That’s it – we’re done – you’re coming out!” That pissed the inmate off and the assault ensued.

There’s a moral to this story I’m sure. Don’t mess with a man’s Honeybun. Yah, I think that’s it.

And yes - my daughters are still alive and well and kicking even after not having TV in their room.  Turns out their brains can function without TV.  Who knew?

Epiphany email will come…soon. I promise.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

1 through 10....

I need to do a couple of shout-outs, announcements, vents, etc. and such. Bear with me.

First off – I called Joey a prostitute. Like for realz – to her face – well her cyber face anyway. I literally told her that she was like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman who costs $100 an hour. I mean is that tactful or what? For the record – I think Joey is way hotter than Julia Roberts…and I’d seriously pay $100 an hour for Joey. No questions asked.

Also – Jenny and I – well we’re kind of obsessed with nails. One time when I visited Jenny, she wanted to get acrylics like me and we were driving along some road and saw a tiny sign that said, “Nails and painted rocks – call now!” And we did. Um, yes, now sure – we should have maybe wondered why anyone who does nails also paints rocks but come on…we’re all about giving someone a chance. Wowser. I forgot to mention we are perfectionists of the worst kind about our nails. I’m not sure why we get them done cuz we just pick them apart when we’re done.

We sat at that woman’s place for I swear two hours at least. And the entire time we were giving each other “the look” that said everything. Mainly – what the hell have we done?

Anywhoozle – my point is this. We are obsessed. When we have acrylics – we discuss, repaint, compare, and discuss some more. Right now we both have our natural nails – because we’re twins and secondly because it was time for a break from the acrylics.

Do all of you follow Ice Queen? She rocks the boat man. She has a nail blog and it’s to freaking die for. Jenny and I have questions…like how does IQ get her nails so strong and long? What products does she use to get them that way? What’s the best healer product to use after you take acrylics off? So IQ – this is officially me – calling you out! I need your expert answers….and so does Jenny!

Let’s see – third of all – I just want to say “Where did Carmie go?”

Fourth – oh Dizzy. D is my little buttercup and I love her and she recently completed 43 days without sugar. I mean who knew that was even possible right? She’s having trouble staying “sober” and she’s struggling like we all do. I’d love it if you went over there and told her just how rock star 43 days truly is.

Fifth – Barbara….just go read her blog and please even if you don’t/can’t/won’t comment – please send up a prayer or two for her and be grateful every day for your health if you have it.

Sixth – um no shout out this time. I’m just gonna say this. I have a running date with a friend. We’re going to run the halls at school. I’m scerred but man – everything in me wants to say I’m a runner again. I was never so healthy or happy than when I used to run 5 miles a day. My anxiety is already finding excuses to cancel – but I swear to God I won’t do it. There is absolutely no reason on Earth that I shouldn’t go tonight and when I’m done – I’ll be proud. I can do it.

Seventh – again – no shout out. I need to vent this quickly. Men have NO tact. Rambo sent me an EMAIL – yes an EMAIL – that simply said, “I was assaulted by a prisoner today. I’m writing up the report now.” WTF? Are you serious???? Can you imagine if I wrote an email like that? Sometimes I want to go into prison work just so for one second he can feel the worry I do for him so he knows what it’s like. Jesus, Mary and Joseph – and St. Peter too.

Apparently Rambo was going to do a cell search, put an inmate in cuffs and the inmate was hoarding food and trying to eat it all before Rambo went in so when Rambo put him in cuffs, the inmate pulled his hands and Rambo’s back in – thereby smashing his fingers. He’s fine obviously. Pictures of his hand taken. Report filed. Inmate will be charged with battery. Done. But thank you for the heart attack Rambo. Good God in heaven.

Eighth – my friend Mrs. Fatass is getting on a plane to be in a race. Like a real plane. One that flies in the sky. Up in the air. Ugh – I can barely type the words without throwing up. And now I’m covered in hives. Thank you MF. I just want to say – have fun, be well, and rock that race baby. Can’t wait to hear about it when you return.

Ninth – while I know many of you hate the Biggest Loser show – I’m going to go on record saying I love it. It’s my guilty pleasure and I’m pretty sure I’ve never missed an episode. It motivates me. Sure, some of the tactics are odd and the ads are annoying but I can’t help it. This girl loves some BL. And last night – during a Jillian moment with one of the contestants – I had an epiphany. Something in that moment hit me – hard. I shall blog about it soon. I’m just saying – inspiration comes in the strangest moments – when you’re not even looking.

Tenth – I have nothing to say here. I just can’t stand odd numbers so I couldn’t end with nine. Oh and folks – I seriously farted gumdrops today. Black jelly beans are for wussies. And Draz and Sheniqua can kiss my left knee. 30 days left in 2010…and I’m going to finish strong.

Peace out homies…until tomorrow.

Checkers people.

So um last night? I pretended I knew what I was doing as a mother. Rambo was in on this too.


Our girls have been naughty lately. I think it’s that whole “testing the limits” stage that happens every few months. The 10 year old figured out how to be an ass using her snotty words and the 5 year old figured out how to repeat that and they spew the crap at each other 24/7. And then there are the tantrums before 7am from the 5 year old and the frantic “Mom, she’s being bad” phone calls while I’m AT WORK…cuz I can do so much from 20 miles away you know?

Soooo – Rambo and I decide it’s time to “bring down the wrath of God” on them. Um, yes…those are his words. Not mine. Let’s all remember he’s used to dealing with adult criminals who act like children and he forgets our home is NOT a prison (though I’m pretty sure my girls would beg to differ with you).

Anywhoozle, we have a game plan. We know what we’re going to say and do.

I’m not kidding. I felt like we were running an interrogation or a torture scene in some movie - you know with one lightbulb swinging overhead in an otherwise dark room – only the movie is my life and no one wants to watch it and no one is paying me to act in it. Dammit.

We turn off the TV. We put two stools in the kitchen. We tell each child to sit and listen. Holy shitballs. Can you say “deer in the headlights” look? They looked like we were going to pull out baseball bats and beat them. I can’t blame them. They had to be confused. We’ve never sat them in the kitchen before with the TV off. Sounds horrid, doesn’t it?

So Rambo starts by saying, “Can someone explain to me what happened this morning at the sitter’s house?”

The 10 year old is catching on. She’s looking pitiful. The 5 year old. Seriously – snapping gum, smiling and swinging her legs off the stool. Wow. Clueless youth.

They start explaining. I cut in. Rest assured I never once raised my voice. Never once swore or called names. I stuck to the facts like a good interrogator. I said things like:

“You girls are very lucky. You have everything anyone could ever want and I fear you’re starting to take it for granted. I wish you’d be more grateful. I’m tired of the fighting and sassing and back talk. It is not what your Dad and I want to hear after a long day’s work. You go shopping, have friends over every weekend, have TVs and computers and all the things adults get but lately you’ve been acting like little babies by carrying on with tantrums and such. Let’s all try to watch our words before they come out of mouths from now on.”

Deep breath. God – I sound like a mother. I hate this. Can’t we go back to giggling and turn the TV on? I mean really – everything is okay if the TV is on right?

It now also becomes evident just how different my children are. Watermelon, the 10 year old, has the lip out, her eyes are welling up with tears about to spill over, her shoulders are hunched downward. I feel like I took a rolling pin and smashed her spirit with my bare hands.

Banana, at 5, still thinks this is fun. She’s still smiling – to which Rambo of course says, “You think this is funny?” Wow. Did she miss the part about her Dad being a prison guard?  Still chewing her gum. Still has no idea what is happening. Thinks we’re all having a fun time talking about the day’s events. She is clearly confused. I think she thinks we sat her down so we could all eat cookies and sign the Barney song together.

And now it’s time for punishment. In Rambo's daily life this would be something like - you only get 12 sheets of toilet paper, your water gets turned off, you aren't allowed to brush your teeth, you don't get to wear clothing, etc.  Thankfully he agreed - those were too harsh.  (FYI - I'm kidding.)

We tell them they aren’t allowed to watch their TVs in their rooms for one week. And they need to apologize to the sitter for this morning. The end.

HOLY CRAP – let’s just say the 5 year old just realized this is NOT fun anymore.

They go to their rooms. Sobbing uncontrollably. I, of course, go in and tell them that just because we get mad at their actions doesn’t mean we don’t love them. I remind them they are mad at us a lot but they still love us. Hugs and kisses all around. And silence.

You know – cuz 18,000 TVs aren’t on. I really killed them when I told them this just means they’ll need to spend more actual time with Rambo and I.

Banana must have come up to me about 50 times during the night with her little lip quivering and tears rolling saying, “Mommy, I don’t want to call you stupid because I love you.” What? Okay. Yah, good plan. Let’s not call anyone stupid.

The moral of my story? Being a mom that actually disciplines – sucks donkey dicks. It ain’t fun. It’s that whole “this hurts me more than it hurts you” thing – come to full blown life. I’m not a fan.

BUT – there’s a big but because last night? I did a puzzle with Watermelon. We all cooked supper together. Later on Banana cuddled with me on the couch while we watched a family Cmas movie and Watermelon was cuddling with Rambo.

None of those things would have happened had they been watching TV in their rooms. Yes, yes I know. This is not earth-shattering news. I know that. I guess it’s just a reminder to me that sometimes giving them everything gives them nothing much of anything. Nothing that matters anyway. Too much TV means too little family bonding. Too many material items breeds ungratefulness and expectations that things like that are just normal.

Checkers people. That’s what I had as a kid. Checkers. And look how great I turned out?

Oh shitballs…maybe that wasn’t a very good analogy. Scratch that.

Let’s just go with “checkers are good.”

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Sick and twisted.

I tried farting a gumdrop yesterday….and all that came out was a black jelly bean.


*sigh*

I contemplated not blogging today…only because as of late this blog has turned into a hot mess of negativity and really – who wants to read about someone whining every day like a broken record? Not many of you I’m guessing. Soooo let’s just keep this short and sweet mmkkaayy?

How I feel about the holidays is a toss up for me. I don’t have catalog Christmas memories filled with lights and rosy cheeks and family. I just don’t. I’ve done my best to create new holiday traditions with my own family but of the 10 years Watermelon has been alive, I believe Rambo has worked 8 of those Thanksgivings and Christmases. Hard to make a “family” tradition when half the “family” is gone. Yes, yes I know – be thankful he has a job, be thankful he’s not in some country fighting a war….I am…but remember? For the moment this is my short and sweet bitch and moan pity party….I warned you it wasn’t going to be fun.

I put my neck out Friday night. It is literally painful just to sit still. I put on my big girl panties and made myself suck it up and went to the chiropractor even though my social nerves were on fire. It didn’t help. I feel worse.

Being unable to move my neck makes it impossible to work out. I feel lazy and lethargic and large. No – this is not where you say, “Draz…you are not large.” I get it. But today remember? It’s piss and moan day and I get to feel large if I want to. I have on leggings and knee high boots again today and ladies – there is some serious junk in my trunk. Like wow. It’s definitely a fat day around here. Ugh.

Um yes…keeping this short and sweet. Today is sucktastic. I want to eat everything in sight but I refuse to. I want to shoot my own head off. I haven’t had a Skittle bath with Rambo in days. I haven’t slept well in what feels like weeks and I’m beginning to look, act and feel like a walking zombie. It ain’t pretty.

Oh and wowser – to start my day let me mention this. Banana screamed as I walked out the door. It happens to the best of us right? I figured after I left she’d be fine. Nope – Watermelon called TWICE before 7am to say Banana is kicking and screaming and refuses to get in the car which means Watermelon can’t get to school on time. Jesus. Seriously? What should I do 20 miles away sitting in my office?

I gave birth to heathens. Most people birth angels…I however, spawn the children of Satan. Cute as hell…but they are the devil. And luckily it seems that the 5 year old just learned how to be sassy and fight with the 10 year old. Oh God – it’s fun. Constant bickering back and forth and yelling and taunting. I can hardly wait to go home at night. I assume there’s a rule book somewhere that says kids must possess worse and worse behavior in the days leading up to Christmas right? Seems that’s the only rule my kids can follow. Great.

Okay – that’s it. Happy Effing Holidays from Draz and Sheniqua….they’re running the show lately. It’s kinda obvious isn’t it? Only Draz can fart black jelly beans. And no lie – Sheniqua eats them.

Sick and twisted I tell you. Sick. And. Twisted.