Monday, December 31, 2012

2012 Life and Blog Recap!

I wasn't going to do a recap of 2012, but I have no life and nothing else to write about  I want to be like all the other cool bloggers so I'm doing one.  Lucky you.

In January, I was taught that swearing was toxic and that farting was to be called "pressuring".  Remember that?  Jesus balls.

I also decided to go gluten-free for 30 days to see if it would stop my migraines.  It didn't work.  But to be fair - I now know that I should have done it way longer than 30 days.  My bad.

I pissed off about 50% of my followers by confessing that I'm not a fan of twatting or Pinterest.  I stand behind my feelings on both of these one year later.  I'm stubborn that way.

In February, I wrote a little ditty about what I would do if I were President just because I saw a bunch of other bloggers doing it and I'm a follower - not a leader.

I contemplated about whose bed was the sex bed this month too and it was one of my most viewed posts.  I learned that if you put the word "sex" in your title - lots of people read it.  Little tip from me to you. 

March rolled around and I decided that I hate other people's kids.  Again - I stand by that feeling.  I'm pretty sure this is never going to change. 

Just as the word "sex" will garner you massive amounts of readers - so will the word "vagina" apparently.  By far - thee most read post I did in 2012 was the one with the words "vagina botox" in it.  Jesus.  When people say sex sells, they ain't kidding.

By this time, it was summer.  Rambo and I spent a shitload of time on the Harley.  We went on a lot of solo rides and lots of rides with our "club".  I have the leather hoochie mama vest to prove my "membership".  I got a new arm tattoo.  We saw lots of fireworks as a family and basically just enjoyed the summer.

I opened up Drazzie's Closet this year too.  I've sold lots of things to lots of people so I can buy more things I don't need. I became a full-blown Coach whore and bought way, way, way too many new pairs of boots!

Banana turned 7 this year and Watermelon turned 12.  Rambo turned the big 40 and I turned 25 again.

Rambo continued driving semi and was elected Mayor of Podunk this year too!  He has almost 15 years in at the prison and I have almost 15 years in at my full time job and continue working 2 part-time jobs for the village we live in.  We are buh-izzy but we love it!

Speaking of working for the villages, do you remember the lovely board meeting gone bad that I wrote about?  Ugh.  The things I do for my community.  They should pay me more.

All throughout the year - I was named Mother of the Year over and over.  I can't help it.  I'm just that good terrible.  Yes.  I have begun saving for the therapist bills my children will no doubt have due to the scarring I've caused.  Eesh.  That's not to say that there weren't incredibly touching moments as a mother....all that I will always be glad I have documented here.

Towards the end of the year, I couldn't help myself and got political.  It's in my blood.  I can't help it.

Rambo finished the year with a new tattoo on his forearm of a pinup girl.  She has dark hair like me and my tattoo on her arm and she's holding a cupcake (my nickname) in one hand and handcuffs in the other.  She has the big boobs Rambo still wishes I had. 

I got to see my two brothers who I haven't seen in forever during Cmas this year.  I even made it through the whole year without shanking anyone.  I did NOT lose the 15 pounds I planned on losing about 80 times. 

I cemented some friendships and lost others.  I laughed a lot more than I cried.  I felt some types of pain that I never want to feel ever againPhysical and mental.

There are multitudes of things I still need to learn and deal with in 2013...and I will. 

I, of course, talked way too much about sex, poop, puke, vaginas, penises and hives.  And I swore way, way, way too much.

I am more me than I have ever been and the new year promises to be one of great success and joy.

Pieces of me were lost in 2012 - yet here I am - still whole.

I am excited about 2013.  Are you???

Thursday, December 27, 2012

Bring on the new year!

Did you think I died? Did you hope maybe I did? LOL
Be not afraid – I’m alive!! And back to update you on my ultra exciting life!

Christmas is over! Thank God if you ask me. I crave routine and normalcy and Christmas is all about weird routines and weird places and let’s face it – weird people – that you have to pretend you like.
My social anxiety goes into overdrive!

Despite the hives, we had a great Cmas and my kids got more presents than one person needs in a lifetime.

Rambo had texted me the week before Cmas and just said, “Hey – what size bra do you wear?”

OH SHIT was my first reaction. Then I started begging him NOT to buy me a bra.

He did it anyway. He got creative and looked at a bra in the laundry basket for a size. He got me a beautiful mint green rhinestone encrusted bra and matching thongs from Victoria Secret. Gorgeous and it fits. He got me a PINK yoga pants set and some perfume from the ‘ol VS too.

We, of course, attended church and one of my kids, of course, turned three shades of white during the mass and ended up throwing up in the church bathroom. I mean really – what’s Cmas mass without someone throwing up in the middle of it?

I watched White Christmas and Elf and Christmas Vacation too many times to count. I didn’t even gain weight….because I’ve had the flu for almost a week. I didn’t have the “in bed wanting to die” flu…but just generally don’t feel great and am nauseous so YAY for me – I didn’t gain the normal 10 lbs in 2 days like I usually do.

I saw my brother for the first time in 2 years for about 5 hours. That’s all I’m going to say about that.

I played Christmas Bingo and liked it.

I worked every day of my 7 days off just to forget how much I missed Rambo. I have four more days off coming up and I’m not exactly sure what I’ll be doing those four days.

Oh wait – yes I do! I’m dying to take down my Cmas decorations and get our life back to normal.
Normal is good for crazy people like me.

Rambo has to work every day so we won’t celebrate New Year’s Eve or Day. I’m a little nervous about him working that holiday because the inmates have been acting up lately. Holidays are tough in prison. When the inmates get no mail and no visitors – they finally realize they are all alone – even on Christmas. And then they lash out at the guards. I just found out that a woman guard was assaulted on Cmas Eve. Rambo will tell me the details tonight…but I’m not sure I actually want to hear them.

That’s pretty much it. Wasn’t that knock-your-socks-off exciting???

Back to work for me. I’m sitting in my office with the tree lights on and Cmas music blaring. It’s just me and another girl in the front office today and that’s how I like it. I have no problem working the holidays so other people can be with their families. Rambo and I will email each other all day about how winning the lottery would fix everything.

I’d never leave his arms. Well, except to go out to buy shoes. Duh.

Bring on the new year!!!

Sunday, December 16, 2012

For the Sandy Hook angels....

On Tuesday, December 18th, there will be a blogger day of silence. We will post the button and that's it. Please try to not post anything else that day if possible.

We are also raising money that will go to an organization in the memory of this tragedy. The organization is called The Newtown Family Youth and Family Services.

Here is the official description of the support service we are donating to:

"Newtown Youth and Family Services, Inc. is a licensed, non-profit, mental health clinic
and youth services bureau dedicated to helping children and families achieve their
highest potential. NYFS provides programs, services, activities, counseling, support
groups and education throughout the Greater Newtown area.


Please visit THIS PAGE to make your donation.

We can't imagine how they must be feeling, especially this close to the holidays. We would love for you to spread the word on your own blog, Facebook, Twitter, etc. Let's make a difference and use blogging in a positive way.

Thank you in advance for participating.


The Blog World

p.s. If you would like to, copy-paste and repost any part of this, please do. Share on.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Ten Things Thursday!!!

1 Did I ever tell you that on Christmas morning, my mother used to give us each a “wall” and we’d wake up and go downstairs and there’d be our stuff from “Santa” – displayed and set out – but never wrapped. Just covered with a big blanket on our designated walls. She always said, “Santa does not wrap presents. He’s too busy for that.” What she meant was she hated wrapping presents and she didn’t have time and it would take her years. LOL We just ripped off the blanket and stood and stared. Plus – no cleanup!

2 Rambo works almost every holiday and it takes a full 6 years before it comes around that he has Cmas Eve or Cmas off. This year he has Cmas day off. Then it’ll be another 6 years before that happens again. It’s kind of not fun. I always wrap and set out the gifts myself because he’s gone and I always get pissed at the world for it. LOL Not this year though. He’ll do the cookies and milk thing and set out the gifts with me and wake up in the morning with us and it’ll be amazeballs. I simply cannot wait.

3 Watermelon’s birthday party is tomorrow night. She picked a zebra + cheetah + pink theme. Um – can you say “hurts my eyes to look at?” 7 little 12 year olds for hours on end. They all want Cmas nails done so my sister and I will be doing artwork on tiny little nails all night. I’ll try to take pictures… I’ll also try not to go insane while I also try not to watch the clock.

4 Do any of you have a Christmas Village with the houses and people and stuff? I do…have for a while now. Some years I put it out – some years I don’t. I did this year. It covers the whole fireplace and takes a bit of time but it’s pretty and Rambo bought me each piece. The problem with this is that just last night we went looking around in the Cmas section and Rambo and I discovered that they make Christmas Villages of WHOVILLE. Like as in the Grinch and the Who’s and CindyLouWho and the dog with one horn and the houses are pink and orange. To. Die. For. Dammit.

5 Banana was the Star of the Week in first grade this week. That meant we had to make her a poster and Rambo and I had to write her letters that the teacher read to her in class. And on Thursday she got to pick anyone in her life to come into school and have lunch with her. Guess who she picked? Watermelon. And Watermelon got a pass to get out of school to do it when she could have said no. I cannot imagine ever ever ever having my parents write me “love” letters at that age to be read in public much less asking a sibling to eat with me and them accepting. Things are so different for my girls. Thank God in heaven for that.

6 I’m so late with Cmas cards this year but they are done, done, done. I make my own by doing a summary of each month of the year for our family and putting in pictures where I can. It takes a lot of time but it’s so fun to do and it’s a little mini scrapbook I’ll always have to look back on. Do you send cards?

7 Last night Rambo wanted to go on our Amazon account and buy some music. I told him to stay off our Amazon account until after Cmas so he didn’t see his presents I got for him. Oopsie. He stood up and said, “Little Miss let’s not buy any presents for each other girl. You lied to me. What else have you lied about? See this hand here on my hip – that’s for you. That’s how disgusted I am.” Ah – yah – oops. I can’t help it. If I don’t tell him to not buy me anything he goes cray-cray. Like he’d go buy me two of those VS outfits and we’d lose our home to pay for them. No lie. He’s nutso about gifts.

8 Wanna know the 80 millionth reason why I love this month? It’s BONUS month. And then it’s the month before raises kick in. I mean really….what other month can you say that about?

9 Are any of you obsessed with wearing your husband’s clothes like I am? I mean they’re not even nice clothes. Like for the last two nights I have lived in Rambo’s ugly ass camo huge sweat pants. He just looks at me and smiles and I have to something smart like, “I just love getting in your pants” but the thing is – there’s some sort of weird comfort in it. Some odd connection if I’m wearing something that is his. How weird is that?

10 Tonight I finish wrapping. Just me and some Hello Kitty wrapping paper – some ice cold Pepsi in my Hello Kitty mug and whatever trashy TV that I have DVR’d and our two Cmas trees to light the room. In Rambo’s pants. With leftover Chinese. Freaking bliss, people. B. L. I. S. S.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

3 more things for my Cmas list....

I forgot something on my Cmas list from yesterday. Actually I forgot three things. Forgive me. These are muy importante. Feel free to take notes.

1.  I know that most women are Victoria Secret’s bras and underwear whores. But me? I’m a VS clothes whore. I’m a sucker for all their comfy lounge sweats and hoodies and yoga pants. And now they carry a line of NFL and college teams yoga pants. OH EMM GEE! I even have a pair of their yoga pants with rhinestones skulls on the waistband. This weekend when Rambo and I went Cmas shopping – I sorta kinda might have humped a pair of their new pants in the store. Check these suckers out.

I don’t care who you are – these outfits are fantastic. Perfection. A little bling. A little fun colors. And only $250 for the set. I’d sell my liver for one of these.

2 The second thing that I forgot to mention that I wanted for Cmas was a cork. For Explosive Bathroom Man’s ass. Honest to God…it never ends.

3 Lastly, I’d like children who smile instead of cry. Who wake up farting gumdrops and spewing rainbow words instead of buckets full of crabbiness. I swear to God on high that this season makes my kids turn into little tiny devils. Last night they both got home from a basketball game and walked in crying. Yup – both of them. WELL HELLO FAMILY – I’VE MISSED YOU SOOO! I had spent the evening before they got home – wrapping their Cmas gifts. 5 minutes after they got home, I wanted to go downstairs and burn every present I had wrapped for them.

Surely these cannot be the two children I bought ALL those gifts for??? I told them both to go to their rooms and calm down. After about 10 minutes, I heard Watermelon say, “Banana – get your blanket and come in my room.” There they sat – on Watermelon’s bed – in the pitch black. Crying together.
I could hear them in the office.

At one point I heard Watermelon say, “I bet they won’t even cook for us tonight.” Banana kept crying and said in between sobs, “What are we going to do then – just starve?”

JESUS. Yah, cuz we often don’t feed you. They need a trip to Ethiopia to see what starving really means.

Don’t bother me though because tonight I have to go shopping for party favors and streamers and food and crafts for Watermelon’s birthday party on Friday night. And an effing cake.

Watermelon and Banana have it rough. We’re terrible parents.

Merry Effing Christmas.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

All I Want For Christmas is....

…. a husband with a brain instead of a penis for a brain. Mr. Rambo was in his “need a ladder to get into, 4x4, huge-tired, loud ass” truck with Watermelon the other night – when he turns and says to her, “Should we leave a black mark?” Seriously. He’s five. So he does whatever you need to do to burn rubber and the tires promptly dig in and the drive shaft BREAKS. Yup – that’s right. He broke the effing truck. Women just don’t do this kind of shit. 208 dollars later and I’m still pissed.

…fake Santa Claus “helpers” that at least resemble or sound like the “real” Santa. Jesus. The guy at Walmart who was playing Santa had the face of an 8 year old. I’m not sure he’d been through puberty yet because his voice sounded more like an elf than a Santa. And to top it off – he was skinny. Really? I mean can we at least try to play the part so my kid who is on the verge of not believing is slightly fooled?

…Christmas lights that don’t cost a fortune simply because they are LED. Want a box of LED lights so you can be a more efficient household? No problem. That’ll be $52.99 for 10 lights. Spank you very much.

….the banning of center aisle kiosk salesmen at the mall. I’m in a hurry. Do not ask me if I want your lotion rubbed all over me. No, I do not want you to touch my hair with that. Do I look like I have time for a massage? Yes – those are nice…are you aware Target has them for half the price? UGH

…Christmas break for adults just like the kids get. It’s only fair, right? I mean, let’s be honest. I’m not doing anything productive at work once it turns December anyway.

…the movie Christmas Vacation to run 24/7 every day of December instead of those sappy Lifetime movies where Santa is proven to be real…except he’s not.

….for Barbara Streisand to be forbidden to sing Christmas songs. Please stop. Please. Her and Willie Nelson. It’s just wrong.

…for there to be enough money leftover at the end of the month to pay my mortgage after I go way over budget and buy way too many gifts for my kids. Why does Hello Kitty have to make one of everything? It’s impossible to resist. Same for you, damn One Direction boy band. Why must every 12 year old girl on Earth – including MY daughter be obsessed with you? Whose idea was it to make a One Direction toothbrush? Really?

….for those people who volunteer to ring bells outside of every store you go into to not be allowed to make eye contact with me. I swear if they look me in the eye – I have to put money in the damn red pot. I can’t look at them and not give them money without feeling like I robbed a homeless child. It might as well be the Virgin Mary herself ringing the bell. Eeesh.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

I'm raising a thief and a liar.

Banana is OBSESSED with stuffed animals. For the last THREE years – if you ask her what she wants from Santa – her answer has been the same. She says, “100 stuffed animals”. That’s it. That’s ALL she wants. She never waivers.

I tell you this so you can try to keep that obsession in mind as I tell you how my little Banana is a thief and a liar.

Banana went to a birthday party at the neighbor’s house for her friend we'll call K. She came home the next day and said, “Mom – look what I won at the birthday party!! It’s a puppy with its very own carrying bag and leash!! I decorated the bag myself.”

She was soooo happy and played with that puppy all of Saturday and all of Sunday. She named it. Slept with it – and cried when I told her she couldn’t put it in the bath with her.

Enter Sunday afternoon. She goes to the neighbor’s house to ask K if she wants to come out and play.

Next I see Banana running into our house. About 10 feet behind is K running into our house behind Banana.

30 seconds later I see K running back over to her own house with something in her arms.

Then I begin to hear Banana sobbing inside the house.

Yup. K came over and took the puppy back. The puppy Banana has named Abby.

Banana is inconsolable. She says K just said it was hers and took it out of her arms and went home with it.

Oh the crying. And sobbing. It never ended. Over the next few hours she’d randomly just start crying “for Abby”.

Dramatic much? Christ.

My first reaction was to go over to K’s house and punch her in the face. Oh calm down – I wasn’t really going to punch an 8 year old in the face. I was just going to imagine it in my mind.

During this debacle, Rambo and Watermelon are sitting up on the roof putting up Cmas lights. They both saw the kids running back and forth and heard the crying but didn’t know what caused it. I explained to them that K had come and taken “Abby” the puppy and that Banana was heartbroken by it.

I asked Banana all the questions like “Are you sure it was yours? Are you sure you won it? Did she say why she took it back? Does her mom know she came and got it?”

A sobbing 7 year old never has very good answers though. She just wants to shank K. As do I if we’re being honest.

Rambo – being the rational adult in our relationship – says, “There has to be more to the story than this.”

Watermelon – being the 12 year old whose little sister was just hurt – says, “Mom – are you going over there to get it back? If you don’t – I will. She loved that puppy.”

I heard Rambo up on the roof tell Watermelon over and over – “You can’t go over there. We don’t know everything that happened.”

Dagger. In. My. Heart.

I consoled Banana by giving her some new stuffed animals that are usually kept high on a shelf and she seemed better. But it wasn’t the same. None of them were Abby. Losing Abby was like losing her left arm. It was that bad, people.

I was going to chalk this up to a life lesson. Something like “sometimes life sucks – get over it and move on” or “other people’s kids suck” or something like that….but I couldn’t do it. In my moment of trying to make the tears stopped – I made a promise I had no idea if I could keep. I told her that “I’d get her another Abby.”

After work the next day I went through every aisle in the toy and craft section of our local store – praying this is where I’d find another Abby.

NO ABBY! I found two other puppies and sent her pictures of them to see which one she liked. She picked one out and I brought it home for her.

Her smile came back. Mom was a hero. K was still the devil.

All was right with the world. Until Banana would remember Abby. What the holy hell? Any other stuffed animal would only hold her attention for 8 hours – but this Abby – has some pull on her. I guess it was the trauma of having Abby ripped from her loving arms. Geez.

So I swallow my pride and I text K’s mom. I say, “Do you know where K got that puppy in the bag? Banana really wants one and I want to get her one for Cmas.”

Then the shocker came.

K’s mom replies and says, “The tag said Target. Emily gave it to K as her bday present at the party.”


I replied, “Thanks. I’m sorry that Banana had it.” I should have said, “I’M SORRY I’M RAISING A FELON.”

Ladeefreakingdah. My kid is a thief and a liar. Horse balls. What now?  This stuffed animal obsession is like an addiction now.  She can't resist them.  Even when they belong to someone else. 

At supper later, I say to Banana…..”Um, K’s mom said that Abby the puppy was given to K by another girl at the party as a birthday gift so I don’t think you won it.”

And Banana’s response????


OH?????????????? I almost shanked an 8 year old for you!!!! I wandered around a store like a mom on meth looking for a score hunting down another Abby.

And Rambo – being the helpful parent – looks at me and says, “I told you there was more to the story.”

Motherf*ckers. Every last one of them.

I ate my supper and never said another word. Yes – I know that I should make Banana go apologize or something. But part of me thinks there’s “still” more to the story. Like did K tell Banana she could have it to play with? What really went down?

(Yes – I’m aware I’m in denial that my child may be and probably is a genuine thief and liar.)

You know what the worst part is?

My ass is going to Target. To get another Abby for her for Cmas. I made a promise dammit. And though my kid is a liar………..I am not.

Have I ever mentioned parenting is hard? And that I HATE it when Rambo is right??

God help me!!!!!!!

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Do you "pray about it"?

Yes – I realize this is a completely intimate and personal question…but I am seriously searching for answers.

Let me explain.

Lately I’ve been reading a lot of blogs that are mentioning God and religion and even quoting scripture. I’m a non-practicing Catholic with a strong, internal faith base. I don’t talk about my faith a lot. I don’t share how I feel about it a lot. I just have it and do it. In my own way.

When I find blogs “preaching” to me about what I should or shouldn’t do in regards to Satan and daily devotions and such…I’ll admit I stop reading. It just doesn’t interest me – because I have my own strong views on what I should and shouldn’t do. If I was searching for a religion or path – I’d probably read more of those types of blogs…but I’m not.

To each his own though. Write about your heart’s desire – even if it’s God. Have at it. More power to you. I admire your faith. I just don’t want to read about it.

In these blogs – before I stop reading though – I see the person mention that when they are struggling – they pray. They usually say, “Such and such is bothering me – so I prayed about it.” Or “my husband and I make a daily habit of praying about and for each other.”

Beyond blogs – I’ve seen a few shows recently where they say, “We didn’t know what to do – so we prayed about it.”

My question???

What does that mean??? For realz. When they say they “prayed about that” – what does that mean exactly?

Does it entail getting down on their knees and folding their hands and putting their head down?

Does it require going off alone or to a church? Does the person pray out loud? In silence? In their head?

When you “pray about it” – what do YOU say or do? Do you just talk to your God like you would talk to a friend? Or does “pray about it” mean that you literally recite known prayers like the Our Father or Hail Mary?

Does “praying about it” mean sitting in silence – meditating? Waiting for an answer? How do you know when you’re done? Do you just do it one time regarding a decision or does “praying about it” mean you do it constantly for days or weeks or until the answer comes?

There are decisions and worries in my life and when I hear about people who say “I prayed about it and then I knew what to do” – I’ll admit it confuses me. Does that person’s “praying” equal what I would call a pro and con list or talking it out with Rambo or journaling until I find my answer?

When I hear the word “pray” – I think of the prayers that were drilled into me as a child that I have memorized for life and I don’t know how on Earth those would bring me an answer to my life’s biggest questions.

But when I read and hear that people “prayed about it” and they felt better and the answer appeared clear – I can admit part of me is envious that they know “how” to do that. Or maybe they just trust in that process more than I do.

Sometimes though – I just want to scream – when the hell do you have time to “pray” about things? Much less long enough to wait for an answer?

I mean if I have an extra 5 minutes – my top priority should be cleaning the toilet where it looks like Shrek lives or clearing a path to my room through the clothes on the floor or getting my big ass on the treadmill.

I suppose maybe this isn’t a question that can be answered by anyone but me. But I’m curious – and if you don’t mind sharing – can you tell me how, when, and where you “pray”? Do you have “prayer” rules – times – guidelines?  Who taught you those things?

Or if you don’t pray – is there a reason why? This interests me too!

Monday, December 3, 2012

Letters to Santa from Draz and Sheniqua.

Most people stop making Cmas lists and writing letters to Santa when they are about 12-ish I think.
Not I. Or Draz or Sheniqua.  Nope.

Me, Drazil and Sheniqua still make lists and write letters even though we are older than dirt.
Feast your eyes on these babies.

Drazil’s letter:

‘Ello Santa Baby,

I hope deez letter finds you as plump and round and jolly as my chubby friend, Sheniqua. Der eez only one sing I vant from you theez holiday season. I need a leezard friend. Of the female persuazeeeion. As “Me” gets older and learns more about herself, she rarely leestens to me anymore. Eez very fruzztrating. Pleeeze, St. Nick. Take peety on me and send me a leetle blue hooker leezard with double D’s and some junk in her trunk. I will name her Zelda. And I will love you forever.

Or just send me Rudolph. I’m not picky. I’ll make eet work.

PS – I think your suit would look would look much better blue. Yezz?



Sheniqua’s list:

1-new needles for my Mountain Dew IV (like I always say - safety first, health second!)

2-Twinkies. I don’t care if they are no longer made. You’re Santa. Work your magic.

3-Tights that don’t roll down into my vagina after I’ve pulled them up to my titties for the 50th time. As those suckers roll down, I swear to you they are like a boa constrictor. The roll gets tighter and tighter as it goes down. It’s annoying as HELL. Am I supposed to wear suspenders to keep my tights from rolling down and cutting off my circulation? Fix this, Santa. STAT

4-A year’s supply of Skittles. For clarification purposes - that would equal enough to EAT and enough to BATHE in. Just so we’re clear.

5-Lastly, I have more of a service request than a present request. Could you run on over to the heifers folks at Weight Watchers and punch them in the face and tell them to stop sending me emails telling me I “need” to re-join? It hurts my feelings, Santa. And I have me some BIG feelings, you know?

PS – I’m sorry I ate every cookie that Me set out for you last year. The Grinch made me do it. Did you know him and Draz are best friends (you were right to put him on the naughty list)?

Goodnight my dahling,

Stay tuned for MY list.....

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Ten Things Thursday!!!!

1 Well I did it. I caved into the fashion craze like I always do and bought skinny colored jeans (who knew you don’t really have to be skinny to purchase these things?). I kid you not – at one point – I had in my cart…a bright lime green pair, a cranberry pink pair, a dark teal pair, a light mint green pair, a coral pair and a forest green pair of the lovely skinny colored jeans. I ended up with the dark teal green pair and I still have no idea if I like them.

2 I bought a flannel shirt to wear with my new jeans. Let me just say I’m not a fan of flannel. I know it’s a new trend but every time I put it on I feel like I should go milk cows or bale hay. I can’t help it. I feel juvenile in it. But I bought the damn shirt. And yes – I realize that the shirt is forest green and the pants are teal green. Sue me. I’ll prob return the shirt and I knew that when I bought it. Here’s a pic anyway.

Oh my - for a minute there I felt like a real fashion blogger.  Except I can't match.  Oops.  Now you know why I stick to other topics.

3 I’m planning to wear the above with these boots (love the two tones of fabric). Also, I need to add that I have a SERIOUS boot addiction. Last week I bought 4 new pairs. Why do they have to make so many different colors and different heels and such? Ugh. It’s ree-dick.

4 Rambo has the weekend off! We are going out for drinks with a bunch of friends and I’m so excited. Let us all pray to the Outfit Gods that the above outfit looks semi-decent or I’ll be in the corner sobbing and throwing a tantrum.

5 I worked out last night. Rambo did the elliptical while I did the treadmill while we watched a tattoo show. Such romantic bonding time, yes? That’s day 3 of 3 for me!!! Whoop!! I plan to work out tonight too. I just found out I will be in a bikini in front of lots of people I respect this summer as we planned a long weekend getaway to our friend’s cabin on the lake. OH EM GEE. God help me and this muffin top.

6 Next weekend Rambo and I are going Cmas shopping with our friends in the big “city”. We got a hotel with a whirlpool in it and aren’t taking the kids! I cannot even tell you how excited I am about this mini-getaway. There is nothing better than shopping with Rambo, good friends, and a hot tub to end the day.

7 Even though it’s winter and I usually wear my hair darker (nearly black – Rambo loves black hair!) during this cold season, I miss my blonde highlights. Do you have hair fashion rules you follow according to season like the whole “never wear white pants after Labor Day”? I wonder how crazy it would look to put my blonde streaks back in. Can you say skunk-like?

8 Damn you Coach and your factory online sales. Just damn you. I hope that I hate every purse I ordered from you so I can return them. For realz. Sort of.

9 Look at these cutie-patootie earrings I just got (well I got mine from Target but they look just like this!). Don’t you love love love them? Super cute and feminine and sparkly, don’t you think?

10 Watermelon is having a great week. Since she is now in middle school that means that there is an honor roll now. She texted me yesterday and said, “Mom – guess what? I made the high honor roll. I just my own day!!” She also got asked to mentor elementary kids to help them adjust to middle school. She’s such a great kid. Just like her mom, yes? LOL

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

I'm on a diet. The only thing I can eat is air.

Last weekend my mom hosted an early Christmas for her side of the family.
Roughly 50 people.

Half of which are anorexic women. Women who apparently only eat air. Or celery.

I showed up in my size 10 jeans (yes – shut up – my f*cking 8’s didn’t fit – shocker!)

Helllllooooo??? Oh wait – what? Is this the slap in the face my chubby cheeks need?

I guess so because the last two days I have worked out and let me just say – Mama hasn’t worked out in quite a while. Obviously.

How do these women do it? I mean honestly. I didn’t even know they made size negative 3 jeans but my cousin seems to have found a pair. I had no idea my Aunt has to shop in the JUNIOR section because everything in the women’s section is too big for her.

I KID YOU NOT – this Aunt weighs 85 pounds. She is only 5 feet tall but come the f*ck on! I can - NO LIE - hand down my 12 year old’s clothing to her. Holy mother of God. She’s the size of my 12 year old with the head of a 60 year old. Eeesh.

My other cousin said she’s just too busy and stressed to eat. Shitbuckets. I’m so busy and stressed SO I eat. I mean she only has ONE kid and ONE job. What the holy hell am I doing wrong? Why can’t I be so stressed with 2 kids and 3 jobs that I forget to eat?

Never, ever, ever have I forgotten to eat. Like ever.

I might forget to sleep. Or shave. Or comb my hair. But eat?


As I was getting my SECOND piece of cheesecake from the dessert table, my other waif of a cousin came over to get her dessert too. I swear to you that she never even saw the desserts right under her nose. There had to be 10 pie and cake and brownie dishes laid out but do you know what she said to me?

“Oh my gosh, don’t these almonds look delicious??”….as she grabbed a handful and NEVER TOOK A DAMN PIECE OF ANY CAKE OR COOKIE OR PIE.

Is she blind? Or walking around dead? Does she not have taste buds? Is she human?


She’s just a size zero.

I’m so over this.

I kicked my diet into high gear and like I said – have worked out both Mon and Tues and plan to work out tonight too. I have my spreadsheets and game plans ready. Would you believe that yesterday not a single piece of chocolate touched my lips? (pause for the audible gasps I know you’ll be making after reading that.)

Let someone else in their size 10s be the biggest girl in the room. I’m so done with that role.
I refuse to be that woman.

It was a wonderful holiday gathering by the way.
Even though I hate every single one of them with their collar bones and cheek bones clearly visible.

For the record, air doesn’t taste good and it doesn’t fill me up.
 I’m gonna have to add celery to my menu.

Merry f*cking Christmas!

Little hands.

What do you think makes a child a “good person”? I mean how does a child get the innate ability to be giving, caring and compassionate? It awes and puzzles me at the same time.

My two girls are very different. I worry about one much more than the other. My 7 year old is a little rascal. She gets into everything and is stubborn and hates doing pretty anything you ask her to do. If you ask her to put her coat on a hook instead of on the floor – she’ll do it – but she’ll huff and puff and stomp all through it so you know she isn’t happy.

My older girl just puts her coat on a hook to begin with. She couldn’t fathom throwing it on the floor.

Banana’s room is like a tornado and it doesn’t bother her in the slightest. Watermelon’s room has her nail polishes, pens, glasses, everything – lined up and organized and spotless.

They remind me of my brother and I. We were very different and I know that many times my parents said to my brother, “Why can’t you be more like your sister?”

I will never say those words to either of my girls. I cringed for my brother every time someone spoke them to him.  Even with her tornado-y room and huffing and puffing – I never wish that Banana was like Watermelon.

I will never utter those words. I try really hard to embrace her differences and find a way to meet her needs according to her personality. When she stomps off after being told to do something – Rambo and I actually smile about it. She doesn’t know that we do - but we do. It’s who she is and we have to celebrate that.

For 5 years, Rambo and I contemplated having another baby after Watermelon. We were 95% sure we only wanted one child…until we weren’t sure. Now – the thought of having only one child and never giving Watermelon the chance to be a big sister in the way she is – forms tears instantly.

As a parent, you wonder why and how your kids got to be so different. You wonder why each one is the way they are.

Some days I think God gives me a glimpse into why he made Watermelon the way he did. It is because Banana needs her to be that person.

Banana hates getting up for school. Especially this week after Thanksgiving break and she has a cold and doesn’t feel well.

Enter the big sister.

Banana came home grumpy and sniffing and coughing. I was dealing with supper and other stuff and admit I wasn’t paying the best attention to her.

I looked into the living room to see Watermelon saying to Banana, “Hey..since you don’t feel good – do you want to take a big hot bath for a while? I’ll start the water for you if you do.”

Instantly Banana feels better. I thought that was it. But it wasn’t.

The next thing I know – Watermelon PICKED UP Banana. Even as I write this now – the picture in my mind gives me chills. I will never forget the image.

Watermelon is 12 and petite. Banana is 7 and petite. But still – a 7 year old is way past the age of being carried and Rambo and I can hardly hold her in our arms anymore.

But Watermelon picked her up. And Banana held on tight. I was behind them and all I could see was Banana’s little head laid down on her sister’s shoulder and her two little hands splayed across her big sister’s back and her legs wrapped around Watermelon’s torso as she was carried down the hallway.

Two tiny little hands on Watermelon’s back. So much in those hands. So much love and trust and need.

It nearly took my breath away.

I think I spend half my life just standing in the background – taking in my kid’s motions and words.

I sent the kids to bed later that night and was cleaning up in the kitchen when I heard talking. I started to walk back to their rooms to do the mom thing and tell them to quiet down and go to sleep until I stopped and realized that the talking was Watermelon.

She wasn’t talking. She was reading Banana a story in bed.

I don’t know why I’m still shocked…but I am. I suppose it’s because who she is – is what every sibling wants. I had brothers who didn’t care that I existed…and actually would have been a lot happier had I not existed. We had no relationship at all and when we did – it certainly wasn’t about love. I longed for it to be – but it wasn’t in the cards.

To see what I wanted - in my kids – is amazing beyond words. I suppose I’m most shocked that it happens naturally. I didn’t ask her to take care of Banana or read to her or any of it. She just does it and wants to and Banana has come to need it.

This morning I was dreading the waking up and getting ready for school deal. I left Banana with her clothes set out for her to wear and went back to getting myself ready. When I was done, I found Banana in Watermelon’s room – getting her hair brushed. With a pretty necklace on – given to her by Watermelon.

It’s just the little things. It was enough to make Banana okay with getting up and getting ready and going to school.

I texted Watermelon this morning and told her she was the best big sister and daughter ever and I don’t know what I’d ever do without her.

Her response?

"Yah. I know. I’m pretty awesome, huh?"

So I called her a turd and she responded, “LOL. Thanks for saying that.”

I wonder if Banana will ever know what she has in Watermelon. I wonder if it will last. I wonder how they’ll be as they get even older. I wonder if Watermelon knows how much her actions teach Banana about the person she can become.

I wonder how different I’d be or anyone would be if everyone had a sibling like Watermelon. Though I was never given that by my brothers, I gave it to my sister when she was born when I was 15. What Watermelon does and gives to Banana, I gave to my own sister.

No one had to ask me. I wanted to do it. It was never a question. At times, I felt like it was my mission in life – my reason for being. To take care of my younger sister. It was an honor and one I took seriously.

To be clear though – my kids fight. They get on each other’s nerves and yell at each other. It isn’t like this 24/7. But there are moments like this that make me forget all the bickering that siblings do. I never take them for granted. Never am not awed by them. Never forget to document them.

I know how precious they are. I spent my childhood longing for moments like that.

It’s my absolute favorite part of parenting. The love between my two girls.

It is the definition of all that is right in my life. Made better only by the fact that it happened on its own.

I wish them a lifetime of little hands on backs and being held in each other’s arms when they are too big for such a thing.

I wish them that one day when their love for each other is in question – that they read this – and remember that long ago – once upon a time – loving and trusting each other was enough.

Monday, November 26, 2012

Want some frozen vagina with those frozen peas?

Did I ever tell you that when I was little - and still now - that I abhor peas?  I mean when I say I hate all the "P" words that have to do with bodily functions - the food "pea" is grouped into the "P" words category.  The hate is strong for the little, green, round balls of ACK

You see, my Grandmother used to make us eat the number of peas according to how old we were.  If you were 7, you had to eat 7 peas.  I am here to tell you that I never "ate" a single pea.  I swallowed them whole like aspirin - drenched in chocolate milk and I still gagged the whole time.

So one might wonder why would a person who hates peas so much have a bag of frozen ones in her freezer?  Well because - my damn family loves them.  I cannot stand to cook them or smell them or even see them lest the memories of swallowing them whole comes rushing back -  but they love them anyway just to spite me.

However - just yesterday - I began to hate peas just a little less.  The frozen bag variety anyway.

Let me tell you why.

Remember last week when I nearly died when a doctor tried to dig out my brains after day 4 in the hospital?  You can read about it here.

Well - the very first thing the ER docs did for the first two days was give me STRONG IV antibiotics followed by more oral antibiotics.  By the time I saw the specialist on day you wanna know the first thing he said?

He said and I quote:  "If I had seen you first - I wouldn't have given you antibiotics at all."

Well la dee freaking dah.

I punched him in the face.  Twice.  I mean really Doc? 

I wanted to scream, "Let me introduce you to the mother of all yeast infections - courtesy of antibiotics run amuck in my system that I did NOT need - you heifer."

I'm not a woman who gets yeast infections much.  Probably 2 or 3 my whole life.  I know some women get them pretty regularly and let me just say to you if you are such a woman - may God bless your heart.

You deserve a freaking medal of honor.

My holy God in heaven.  How can a person's vagina skin feel like it's going to burn off one minute and the next minute you realize you're the one with your hands down your pants itching it raw to begin with?

Dignity flies out the window.  You cannot NOT itch.

I've never used so much Vagisil in all my life. 

It's like theee worst rug burn of your life - on your vagina - with a dose of poison ivy added in for good flavor.

And red?  Yah - pretty much puts Rudolph's nose to shame.  It's priceless I tell you.  F*cking priceless.

All for medicine I didn't need.  Did I mention that previously?

Anyway - one night I was particularly pissed at the itching of the vajayjay and had had enough.  I was either going to cut off the entire portion of myself "down there" or go crazy.  Until I got the brilliant idea of numbing the "area".

I mean - really - whenever a person has back pain or an ache somewhere else - what do we do?  We ICE the spot until it's so cold it's numb and you live in oblivion...until the pain and feeling come back anyway.

I am completely unashamed to admit that I shoved a bag of frozen peas in my underwear - straight on the ol' cooter.

I nearly screamed out loud (2am with Rambo beside me) after I realized it was a tad too cold and then freaked out about the whole possibility of inflamed labia sticking to the plastic bag.  Can you imagine?  Oh.  My.  God.  Like a tongue to a flagpole - that's all I could think about.

I very brilliantly put a towel between the peas and "Rudolph" and let oblivion take over.  In just a few minutes it was like I had no vagina.  I felt nothing.  Except cold. 

I promptly fell asleep.

The only thing weirder than confessing to the world that I purposely shoved a bag of frozen peas in my crotch - and enjoyed it - is confessing that it's really awkward in the morning when your husband wakes up before you do and reaches over to cop a "feel" and gets....peas.  Thawed by now - peas.

In his wife's underwear.

The look on his face was just precious. 

Good times people.  Good effing times.

Monday, November 19, 2012

Physical Pain. A.K.A. - The Teacher.

In the actual moment of physical pain – life sucks donkey balls and you aren’t thinking about what that pain is teaching you in the slightest. You just want it to stop. For me – when it does stop though – I learn a lot about myself. Taught to me courtesy of good old fashioned intense, physical pain.

It started Wednesday night when after a day of not being able to hear out of my ear and a little pain, I called my doc and asked for some antibiotic drops. I got them about 1pm. By 7pm I was in the ER and my entire ear was swelled shut. My neck, jaw and cheek were starting to swell too. The ER doc put a tiny wick in my ear so that the drops could reach the infected part of my ear despite the swelling. Fine.

I went to work Thursday. By noon – I was home. By 4pm, I was back in the ER. IV antibiotics and IV Percocet. The nurse said, “This is a really big dose so your pain should go away.”

Ten minutes later she walked back in and gasped when she saw me and said, “How are your eyes still open?” “Um, because the pain is still that bad.”

She gave me another huge dose. Blood pressure was still sky high as well. They instructed me to come right back in the morning to get more antibiotics and pain meds or they would admit me now. I said I'd come back so they let me go home.

I never slept. Or ate or drank or talked. I didn’t move. I went back in the morning and got more IV pain meds and antibiotics. The swelling got worse. The ER doc decided to shove a needle in the back of my ear on the top and from the bottom up to numb it for a while. I nearly killed her.

I went back again the next day because it was still worse and the ER doc said, “What we are doing isn’t working – we have to call in an ENT doc. In the meantime, you need morphine.”

That much pain medicine and no food or water in me made the nausea almost unbearable. The ENT doc came and took me to his office. He got some tools ready and told me to lay down. The last thing he said to me was, “You can scream as loud as you want…we won’t hold it against you.”

Scream I did. I yelled at the top of my lungs “PLEASE STOP” and “PLEASE PUT ME OUT” while Rambo held down my head and shoulders…while my mother held my hands and my torso down.

I remember Rambo saying, “Honey, please calm down, please stay still.”

I remember hearing my mom start to cry and she kept saying, “Oh my God – oh please hurry – please.”

He inserted 3 wicks deep within my ear so the drops can get past the swelling of 3 days. I prayed I’d pass out. I begged him to put me under. I sobbed uncontrollably as Rambo held me when it was over. I watched my mom sob for me. She kept saying, “I don’t know how you withstood that. I don’t know how you didn’t come up off the table. I’m so sorry. I wish I could have done it for you.”

The doc just looked at me when I was done and said, “You’re going back to the hospital. You’re going to need more morphine.”

I wanted to shank him.

The swelling is less now. I have eaten a little. I can drink and sleep a little. It’ll be a while before my body is fully recovered.

The reason this happened is because I wear ear plugs because Rambo snores. Sometimes I shower first – and my ear isn’t dry – and I put the ear plugs in….and this is the result.

What I’ve learned through this is that I despise being taken care of by anyone other than Rambo. No one in my life knew I had been in the hospital for 4 straight days until day 2 when Rambo told my mom. I didn’t tell the people I work with, my siblings, my friends, neighbors or in-laws.

I can’t take pity and I don’t want it. I don’t want to be felt sorry for and I want to be able to handle things myself. One of the first things I said to my mom after the procedure was done was, “I’m sorry.”

She said, “What in the world are you sorry for?” I said I was sorry she had to see that. Sorry I couldn’t handle that any better than I did. Just sorry – for not being stronger. For needing her.

I had to find sitters and ask for help. I had to take the help when it was given. But not until I was forced to.

I don’t let people help me. I don’t let people in. I fight my battles alone except for Rambo and when it’s over – then I’ll tell you about it.

I’m embarrassed by the weakness that needing people makes me feel. Part of me fears that if you see the bad, scary or needy parts of me that you’ll end up walking out…and I don’t want to give you a reason to do that.

So I’ll hide that I was in a hospital for 4 days until it’s over so I can say to you, “See? I didn’t bother you. I didn’t need you to drop anything to come help me. I am not a burden to you. Right?”

But that’s shitty. That’s about protecting myself. It isn’t letting people who truly care about me – be given the chance to be there for me. It doesn’t allow anyone to give back to me when they truly want to. It tells people I don’t trust them. It tells them I refuse to let them in.

I may not be a burden but I’m not really a blessing in that situation either….because I’m only playing the relationship my way. My terms. My timeline.

It’s not good. It’s selfish. And non-risky.

It’s not who I want to be. I actually didn’t see it until I was on the mend and realized I hadn’t told anyone I was really sick – until it was over.

So yah, I think that intense physical pain can be quite the teacher if you’re willing to listen.

And I’m totally listening because I don’t have ear plugs in my ears anymore. LOL

How about you? Have you ever thought about this? When there’s an emergency or you are sick – do you find yourself telling anyone who will listen? Does it help you to know people are helping you and taking care of you or do you hate it? Do you hide physical pain and mental heartaches because you don’t want to burden anyone? Do you tell people when the crisis is done and over – or during? Do you know why?

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Go out with nothing but leaves covering your weiner.

Here in Podunk, USA – the countdown to the deer hunting season has begun. Wanna know how I know? Because on the way to work – at nearly every house – there are orange clothes hanging out on clotheslines. They’ve been there for about a week. All by themselves. Hanging.

Those of you who hunt or know people who hunt know why this phenoma is occurring. For those of you who haven’t had that pleasure – the hunters put their clothes on the line for about a week before opening day so that their clothes smell like outside instead of the inside of a closet. Brilliant.

I also know deer hunting is coming because last night Rambo had one item on his list to get from Walmart. It was laundry detergent. Wanna know what he came home with?

Shampoo that smells like earth and dirt.
Deer urine – that promises sexual attraction of multiple deer.
Hand warmers and beef jerky.
Multiple deer licenses.

And no laundry detergent.

Right before we went to bed – I swear to God – Rambo said this – in the dumbest, whispery-est voice ever:

“Honey – there are only 3 days until I get to dress up and get up before dawn and get to my tree stand like the cavemen used to do. I’m going to get the big buck this year. Then I will take my trusty knife and gut my kill and rip its heart out with my bare hands. I will throw him on my back and lug him home and then tie a rope around his neck and linch him up – so he’s more dead. So everyone can see my prize. I cannot wait. The hunt is coming.”

He didn’t get past the first sentence before I was laughing my ass off.

I told him I’d like to give him the true version of his hunting expedition. I said:

You’ll get up at 3am to go sit in a tree in the pitch black – to fall asleep until the sun comes up when you can actually SEE what you might shoot at. PS nimrod – cavemen didn’t have tree stands. Or fancy waterproof heated shoes or gun scopes that are so accurate that no talent is involved. In fact – they didn’t have guns. Or clothes. Go out with nothing but leaves covering your weiner and a bow and arrow and come home with a deer and then I’ll be impressed.

You will shoot Bambi. You’ll be lucky if it doesn’t have spots.

You’ll gut the deer and probably gag the whole time.

You will throw the deer on the “back” of your four-wheeler and “drive” the deer home. If you really had the deer on your back and had to lug it home – you’d pass out before you went a quarter mile.

You will tie the deer up. It’s already very dead so therefore it won’t get “more dead”.

Not a single person that doesn’t have a penis will look at your “prize”.

You will tell every detail of your “hunt” to any other person with a penis. You will try to tell it to me until you realize my eyes have glazed over and I passed out from boredom about 30 seconds in.

You will repeat this “hunt” about 6 times over the next 9 days or so. Your truck will be full of blood and deer hair. You will enter my home with blood all over your clothes and try to hug and kiss me. There will be used knives in my kitchen sink followed by my screams of horror. You will be giddy as a teenager who got laid for the first time.

I will curse hunting season. You will cry that it’s over.

We’ll wait on the edge of our seats until next year.

Yah. Maybe for me – that last sentence is a bit of a stretch.

Welcome to Podunk USA, my friends.  Try not to be jealous.  I know it's hard.  But try.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Tuesday Tidbits!!!

I hate cute pregnant people (and all cute people in general). Wait, wait…let me rephrase that since it seemed a little harsh. I’m pissed that back when I was pregnant there were NO cute clothes or maxi dresses and that I swelled up like a heifer on sterroids and my face and ass cheeks were the size of watermelons – which therefore meant there were no amazingly cute pictures of me swelled up like a balloon with cute ribbons tied around my enormous stomach. I’m jealous of cute pregnant people who still look and walk and appear as normal women with ankles and facial bones. Therefore, I hate. It’s not personal. Just jealousy.

My office is being redecorated and rearranged because it’s how I deal with losing my assistant. I am wiping away any evidence that she ever existed in my room so I don’t have to think about losing her. Denial much?

Therefore, my walls are being painted a deep grayish blue and cabinets have been taken down and removed and things have been rearranged. For d├ęcor, I wanted one of those big wall stickers since I have a huge accent wall in my office that will be blank. I tried to find a sticker that said, “Enter all of you who are bringing me shoes, purses or diamonds. The rest of you? Don’t bother. Mkay?” BUT when I asked my HR Director about what she thought of it she said, “Hmm…it doesn’t seem very professional.” Whatever. I wasn’t going for professional. Duh. Back to square one. I suppose I’ll be like everyone else and get some dumb generic motivational posters and shelves for my awards. BORE. ING.

Every year at football time, a girl I work with has me make huge posters for each game her son’s team plays against. Like – “Beat the Braves” or “Fight the Falcons” or “Tame the Lions”. Big ol’ pieces of posterboard and a big ol’ bag of huge Sharpie markers and once a week I sit in front of the TV and draw and color. It’s cathartic. And fun because I get posterboard for my girls too and they sit and draw with me. They love it. It’s like kindergarten for old people. With Doritoes. Kinda like paradise.

This weekend I taught Watermelon how to play a card game my Gma taught me. Every time I saw my Gma before she got sick, we played this card game. My brothers hated it because it’s a pretty serious mind game with strategy and numbers. I couldn’t get enough of it. I taught it to Watermelon and caught myself saying things like, “Grandma would do this when she played” or “Grandma always said this when that card turned up” or whatever. She’d be proud that I’m teaching my daughter the game. God, how I miss her. God, how I loathe cancer.

Rambo and I have been watching a TV marathon of the series “Scandal”. I just blew up that idea for most of you that think I’m a workaholic, didn’t I? I got home from work last night. Took off my work clothes and put on one of Rambo’s shirts and big poofy socks and set up my table so I could work on my football poster and I never moved for 3.5 hours. I mean I suppose it wasn’t all lazy. I was completing a poster. I took multiple phone calls. I ate supper in that spot. Once I got up to pee. Did I mention there were Doritoes involved? I blame it on the show. It is seriously Completely uh-dick-ting.

It is November 13th and I have already helped put up a 7 foot Cmas tree. No – it’s not at my house. It’s at my mom’s because she hosts a family Cmas every year the day after Thanksgiving. Because I have been listening to Cmas music for a week or two and have already put up a tree and am considering watching Cmas Vacation tonight – I have decided it’s time to put up a tree in MY home. I plan to do that this weekend while Rambo is off slaying deer in the woods while blaring White Cmas on the stereo. The tree I’m putting up is green and flocked and will only hold handmade ornaments made by Rambo’s mom.

Speaking of Cmas trees…guess what I just ordered? Give up? A BLACK Cmas tree! Yup – I said BLACK. OMG – I’m dying for it to come!!! I’m going to do all the decorations one color – like all pink or purple or whatever. I even found and bought lights with BLACK cord so they blend in. Rambo is so excited when normally he’s a full-blown Cmas Scrooge. The BLACK tree speaks to our dark sides…and the colors on it will be awesome and so unique. Can’t wait to show you a picture.

While I was Cmas tree shopping, I saw something shiny and got distracted and found a watermelon and a banana charm for my charm bracelet. Aren’t they presh? And now they are mine.

After I found these, then I found the Juicy Couture brand of charms. Of course – now I want these. Because they are Juicy brand – they are 50x more expensive than they should be but honestly – isn’t the white skull to die for? Love, love, love.

That's all I got for Tuesday Tidbits!!!

Monday, November 12, 2012

I survive.

I expected more, Olga.

Confused about that above statement? Ha! Well, so am I. It was the subject line in a spam email I got. The whole line actually said, “Why did you stop communicating with me? I expected more, Olga.”

Makes me laugh. Why would a subject line in which you call me Olga – make me want to click on your spamalicious link? Does anyone really fall for that? Olga? Seriously.

And no – that whole tirade I just went off on has nothing to do with anything. That’s a whole 2 minutes of your life you’ll never get back thanks to me. You’re welcome.

Why am I writing about stuff that doesn’t matter at all? Well because.

I can’t write about stuff that really matters right now.

In fact, I can’t write about a whole lot of anything. I try…but the words won’t come and in all of my life – that’s never happened before. It’s downright scary to think about in a world like mine where it feels like writing is sometimes all I have.

There’s no one to blame. Shit happens. Things aren’t meant to be. Things don’t work out how you think they will. Dreams shatter. Hearts break. (suck it up buttercup, right?)

That’s what I’ve been feeling for a while. Learning to let go. Learning to not regret. Learning to fight the urge to change myself so it could go back to how it was. Mourning what could have been. Losing a part of myself I never thought I’d lose ever again.

I’m quite certain that the pain of losing someone who is alive is nearly as awful as losing someone who has died. There aren’t rules in breakups. There aren’t rules in how to handle letting go and walking away pretending to be whole on the inside when you’re definitely not. There are no rules on how to figure out the part you played and how to stop yourself from wondering “what if I had done this and this differently?”

There just aren’t rules in heartbreak. And there isn’t perfection in me. There never has been.

I have no idea when exactly it happened, but a special person in my life taught me that I was enough. I was okay as I was and as who I was and that I didn’t need to change for anyone and that I should celebrate who I was…faults and all. Thank God for her because if not for that – I’d be begging and apologizing and changing everything about me – just to rewind. Just to stop things from ending like they did.

But I can’t do that if I believe what she taught me. That I am enough. If I am truly enough…then I have to stand tall, walk forward and move on – any way I know how – and not change who I am at my core.

Words aren’t meant to always be true forever. They are usually only just true in the moment they are spoken. Beyond that – we can’t really promise anything because none of us know what will really happen.

Sometimes life hurts. Badly. You wonder if you’ll ever feel the same or love the same or look at the world the same. You can’t do a damn thing except wake up, try to be a better person, forgive yourself and let go. And put one damn foot in front of the other. All while trying to remember to breathe while you remind yourself not to fall apart and not to let the tears fall. At least not in public.

You fake it until you make it. You smile. Put on a brave face. You try to believe in the core of who you are and you know without a doubt that you never meant to hurt anyone intentionally….but you still might have. You learn to live with that.

I have to learn to accept that I feel too much, dig too deep, am over-sensitive, over-dramatic and over-emotional and I feel things about 50 times happier or sadder than most people I know. Good or bad – it’s who I am. If I am enough – I have to accept that and embrace it. I have to find people who can overlook those huge flaws and love me anyway. I have to believe they are out there. Because I am enough.

I find myself clinging to that little glimmer of hope inside that tells me to believe I’ll get through this. I’ll be stronger. There are reasons for everything and some day – I’ll find the reason for this too.

It hurts now but it would have crippled me years ago. I wouldn’t have been strong enough to mourn this loss. It would have broken me. Forever.

Now? I can recognize the stage of grief I’m in and realize I’ll get through it. I have that within me. I’ve always been there for myself and I will recover. And when it’s all said and done – the hurt will hopefully make me a better me. A person who doesn’t make the same mistakes again. A person who once again believes in words like always and forever.

Right now – I’ve wiped those words from my vocabulary. They still sting. And that’s completely on me. I shouldn’t fall so hard or feel so much or believe so deeply…because no one can promise much past the moment we are in. Because we’re all humans and we all inflict pain and joy on each other. Because none of us is perfect. And because things sometimes just simply aren’t meant to be.

It’s the cycle of life and learning and evolving. And learning to be enough to live with just ourselves – if everyone else were to walk away. I’m the only one who has to sleep with myself at night. I’m the only one who has to live with my flaws 24/7. Instead of living like I used to – which was trying to be someone else or change myself constantly…today I’m trying harder to accept that my flaws are me. They make me - me. Not everyone is going to be able to see beyond them or even tolerate them. And that’s okay. I won’t even ask them to. Hell – it’s taken me most of my life to embrace my flaws – why would anyone who barely knows me want to do the same?

We’re all alone at some point or another. And I can admit that I never dealt with the “alone” thing very well….mainly because who the hell wants to be alone with someone they hate (um…myself)? If I wasn’t alone or was always with people – then I never had to think too much about myself and my flaws and how much I hated who I was inside.

I avoided “alone” like it was Satan. Alone was something I couldn’t survive. Or so I thought.

Turns out I can. Turns out the sun still rises and sets and the world keeps turning. Even if I’m actually alone – physically or mentally.

What I’ve learned is this.

Alone is easier if I make friends with myself.

Then alone doesn’t exist.

And I survive…

PS...I'm fine...this is me, you know?  Writing it out allows me to heal and get better.  I'm not jumping off a cliff or anything and Rambo and I are perfectly fine.  This is not about him.  In fact, without him - through all of this shit that I'm being overly vague about...I'm not sure where I'd be but I can tell you it wouldn't be good. That goes ditto for a few special women in my life.  You know who you are.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Tuesday Tidbits!

The first graders in our school are having a mock election. Banana told me that a little boy told her that Romney will let us keep our guns and Obama won’t so he’s voting for Romney. She asked if that’s why I was voting for Romney or was it because he was just nicer than Obama and he helps people? I told her they are both nice and they both help people. I have other reasons she wouldn’t understand. But God. Wouldn’t it be great to vote like that? Based on one fact like guns or personal character? Like it’s that simple. I suppose it should be. We all make it too complex in the long run. I’ve made it known I’m passionate about politics. I have a brother who works for the R campaign. However – today – I really don’t care who anyone votes for. I just don’t. I just want people to vote. To have an opinion. To care. No matter who wins – we’ll still be amazing Americans. That’ll never change.

I’m not a fan of blood and guts – however – I could watch the men in Expendables every night and day. It’s on Netflix so watching them 24/7 is entirely possible. I could even watch it muted. There’s something about those old guys like Sylvester and Chuck that just makes me happy. And the tough-guy-good-guy-love-their-women-with-all-their-soul- characters that they play? Make me swoon. Every. Damn. Time.

If I had to describe the way I feel lately in one word – it would be OVERWHELMED. My assistant at the FT job left to go to a job with more hours. I’m not replacing her…I’m just going to pick up her workload. I’ve been assigned some new additional work for the PT job and there’s so much emotional business behind that work that I don’t even want to think about it. Watermelon started basketball and has practice or a game every night. I just can’t stop my head from spinning. Yes – I made these choices. I know. Whining about them makes them easier. Sue me.

Rambo shaves his head bald. He’s done it for years and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a thing for clean shaven bald heads now. Which could be why I have an emotional crush on Dr. Phil. He’s 50 shades of cray cray but damn if the man doesn’t hit me where it hurts sometimes. The other day he said to a woman who was controlling everything in her life with white knuckles….”What do you know about yourself – that we don’t – that you think will make us run away from you and stop loving you?” Shitballs. Answering that question is too hard to even think about but I can’t stop asking myself it. Damn you Texas doctor. Damn you.

I’m wearing a neon orange shirt today. Plain as shit but dudes – it’s neon orange. I feel like I’m back in the 80s and honestly? What could be better than re-living the 80s?

Banana got her first manicure this weekend. She got Hello Kitty painted on her middle finger. It’d be super cute…if people didn’t think she was flipping them off every time she showed someone. I could NOT talk her into doing a different finger. I got my ring finger nails polka-dotted! So cute!

Guess how many boxes of Girl Scout cookies Rambo bought? TWENTY-FOUR! He’s such a sucker. I’m giving them away to anyone I can for Cmas. Gah!

My friend and I have plans to work out from 4:30am to 5:30am every day starting Monday. Yah…you read that right. I said A.M. as in the morning as in before it’s even light out. I’ve lost my ever loving mind. Or maybe I need to work off 24 boxes of cookies. Either way – the whole thing sucks donkey balls. Thank God for massive amounts of trashy reality TV that I have DVR’d to get me through the hour of pain.

That's it for my Tuesday Tidbits!  You got any to share?

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Pictures I owe you...

Someone asked for a picture of the bible my sister got me. 

 It's called "Busy Mom's Bible"!!

It has daily inspiration pages (colored orange page below) that take 5 minutes and if you have longer,
there is more recommended reading.

Here's a pic!

Here's a picture of the morel mushroom Rambo had carved for me too. 
I took this looking down from the side so you can't see that it's about 3 feet tall. 
Isn't it presh?

Check out my recent For Sale items over at Drazzie's closet too! 

I just added some Under Armour shorts and more Lia Sophia jewelry.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

More stuff in Drazzie's Closet.....

I just listed three more
Lia Sophia necklaces in Drazzie's Closet!!

Check 'em out!

Thanks for looking!!