Friday, March 30, 2012

BYOC time....link up with me!

BYOC




 
 

1.  If you believe in a God - who or what form does it take?  Person or thing?  He or she?  None of the above?
Alright - soooo - I was watching a show on religion so I decided to ask this. 
I was raised Catholic which means I was taught that God is a man.  However, as an adult - I am lost in religion.  I suppose I am still Catholic BUT I do not practice the faith or follow the rules like going to church every weekend or not using birth control.  As a mother and wife and person who can believe what I want without my parents forcing it....I am still searching.  That is not to say I don't have a great faith though.  I'm just still....searching.
2.  If it were considered socially acceptable - would you stop shaving or waxing?
This is a great question (thanks Deb).  My first instinct is to say NO WAY - I'd keep doing it because not to is just gross but upon further reflection - the truth is that I answer that way because I've never known it any other way.  Not shaving seems crazy.  Honestly - I'm ALWAYS hot and I think not shaving would make that worse so I think I'd keep doing it.  Even though I hate doing it.
3.  How often do you weigh yourself?  Why? 
Every day.  Naked and after I pee.  I also don't think that I let it affect my day.  I mean sure - sometimes it pisses me off and other days it makes me do the happy dance but then that's it.  I move on.  For me - if I neglect to weigh myself - it's because I'm afraid and I'm avoiding...which is never good.  If I have the balls to weigh each day - it keeps me on track and doesn't let me get too far before I correct.  Usually.


4.  When was the last time you admitted you were wrong? (Thank you to Joey for this question)

Um - I have no flipping idea.  I am a woman - therefore - I am never wrong.

Shit - I was wrong about the definition of a hat trick, wasn't I?

5.  Repeat question.  How was your week?

My week was pretty good.  I had my migraine recheck yesterday and now have 2 more new prescriptions so that makes 6.  I'm not even 40 years old.  Seriously?

Do not worry about me though.  I have Crixus to calm my thoughts.  Spartacus and his friend Crixus are my newest TV obsession.



Still waiting on my Ed Hardy purchases...can't wait to show you all pictures!

Have a good weekend Skittles!  Don't forget to link up below!!

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Ten Things Thursday - Drazzie style!

Look at me – actually doing Laura’s Ten Things THURSDAY on an actual THURSDAY. Don’t be falling off your chair or anything. Everything will be alright. I promise.


Now read. I shall try to shock you some more.

1. Last night I stayed up late to watch Sparticus. In the name of all that is good and holy – I have a psycho crazy I want to stalk you and tie you up in my basement to do with you what I please crush on the guy in the show named Crixus. Dear God – he’s so hot to me that I swear he cannot be human. Last night he got naked….with his woman. I may or may not have pretended I was that woman.

2. It is week 1, day 3 of me being on Weight Watchers. Translation = gung ho, honeymoon, follow the program to the letter week. I’ve been kicking my flabby friend Sheniqua’s ass since I started. Staying within points AND working out AND drinking water, eating fruits and veggies and taking vitamins.

3. I put up an Easter tree in my office. There is so much pastel on it that it looks like the Easter Bunny threw up on it. There are even little chickies on it!

4. Rambo has first real day off in 6 weeks this Saturday. Sleeping in without an alarm is the #1 thing getting both of us through this week.

5. Migraine recheck is today. I had 8 this month. Effing fantastic….when you consider the norm is nearly 30! I might try to kiss my doctor. I’ll let you know how that goes.

6. I have to figure out what my next tattoo is going to be in one month. Rambo knows his and has it planned out and even got measured for it….and I’m getting one at the same time but I can’t decide what or where. I have a folder full of ideas but none are standing out to me. At this point – I have all the tattoos I’ve ever wanted that contain meanings or memories for someone/something in my past. I’ve never really gotten a tattoo “just because” or without meaning – so this is really hard for me.

7. Morel season is coming. I could pee my pants about this if I was a pants pee-er. I must somehow find the points values for those little suckers. Are they a veggie because they grow in the woods? OMG – could they really be zero points?

8. I really wish my new Ed Hardy skull sunglasses would come because I’m going Harley riding this weekend. It’s leather hoochie mama time in Podunk.

9. My mom asked me to go to church on Easter to represent the family. This is exactly why I don’t want to go. Church isn’t about representing. Sigh.

10. People in my town are getting flocked daily. Ever heard of this? It’s where you pay someone to put about 20 pink flamingoes in someone else’s yard. It’s used as a fun fundraiser. You can pay to have them put somewhere or pay to get them out of your yard. Either way – it’s cute – and you get to say you got “flocked”.

Happy almost Friday my Skittles! Anyone got anything you want asked in BYOC tomorrow!?

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Mommy, what's a virgin?

I feel like my week has been overtaken by feminine hygiene, vaginas, peckers and topics that I’d like to NEVER have to speak to my daughters about.

Sure – some of it is clearly my fault. I mean the 6 year old never would have asked what tampons were for if I hadn’t left the whole box on the counter, right?

Last night Rambo was peeing with the door shut (like a good parent) and the 6 year old thought it was me in there so she barged in (you know – because moms don’t need or deserve to pee in private) – screamed bloody murder like she had seen a zombie – and ran back out to her sister to loudly proclaim,
“Watermelon – I just saw Daddy’s bad spot.”

I wanted to yell AMEN! You got that right. Let’s carry that theme through until you’re at least 40. Anything in that general area on a boy is a bad spot and you must never go near it or be enticed by it.

Ah and then there were the hat tricks the day before. I can’t believe how many of you knew what that was! And obviously – now I get Rambo’s ridiculous play on words. I am now willing to admit that a hat trick is not something John Wayne did back in the days of the Old West. Fine. I was wrong.

Vagina woes continued on well into the evening.

Watermelon will be 12 soon and I got the dreaded, “Mom – come sit down – I need to talk to you” request from her. She said, “Um. Mary at school. Well um. She has a ziploc bag. She keeps it at school. For um. You know. When that thing might come. In case it comes at school. I think she has pads in it. Can I have one of those bags in case it happens to me at school? Um. Please?”

No – because when I look at you – you will always be a tiny infant who needed nothing more than a clean diaper and undying love from me. You cannot be old enough to be thinking of periods and pads. I refuse to believe that is happening despite my best efforts to stop you from growing up.

Check with me again next month after I’ve moved out of denial. It’s 1 mile south of Care Bear Land where I live on the weekends.

You’d think that’d be enough for the night but nope. Her and I were watching Say Yes To The Dress and there was a bride on the show who just had to talk about wearing white because she was pure and had high morals and was a virgin.

I wanted to shank her through the TV. I watch the show for the fashion. That is all.

But bonus – happy day for me – courtesy of this “fashion” show - I got an invitation to talk to my 12 year old about morals and virgins and white dresses.

Because no sooner had the bride said virgin and Watermelon said, “Mom – what’s a virgin?”

F*ck a duck! Really? Do we have to do this now? While I’m vegging out and losing my sanity in front of mindless reality TV? You want me to be a parent during this?

What’s next? You’ll ask me to cook supper, won’t you?  The demands placed on me are neverending.

Le sigh. You cannot say or even go near the word sex with this kid or she turns 85 shades of red and giggles for an hour. Her and all her friends are at the age where they are all thinking about it but are still too embarrassed to say that they are or even say the word or ask about it.

Not kidding – someone kisses on TV and she covers her eyes like they’ve been stabbed and yells, “EEEEEEWWWWWWW, is it over yet?”

But sure. Here we go. Let’s discuss the definition of a virgin. I should have told her to google it.

I tell her a virgin is a person who has not had sex. And of course proceed into why women wear white on their wedding day and purity and all that. She wants to know if “off white” or “crème” counts?

What??? THAT is your only question after that whole speech? After your mother is covered in hives?

God love her for caring more about fashion than caring about asking what color of a dress her mother wore all those years ago.

I will have you know that all this talk that I’d rather avoid is good for something. Just to get away from any more questions or words like virgins, periods and bad spots – I got on the treadmill. Hid there for an hour.

It was my first day on Weight Watchers yesterday and apparently I was being tested or something.

No problem. I aced it. Stayed within my points. Worked out for an hour. Avoided a sex talk with my 12 year old and put the fear of God into my 6 year old regarding “bad spots” on boys.

All in all it was a pretty productive day.

Today is shaping up to be damn good itself. Food planned and feeling good.

Maybe I’ll even conquer that whole “hat trick” thing tonight using Rambo’s “bad spot”. Do not think badly of me though. I am no heathen. I’m a good Catholic girl.

I wore white to my wedding. Duh.



Tuesday, March 27, 2012

For being nasty, slutty, sexy, and taboo-ish. I apologize.

I’m pretty sure that I should apologize for this post because the topics are slightly um…nasty, slutty, sexy, and taboo-ish. I can’t help it. Apparently those things are what I am. Sue me.


Okay first off – I’m not even being funny when I ask you this question. WITHOUT googling it – do any of you know what a “hat trick” is or means? For realz. I’m asking. I swear to God if everyone knows and I’m the only who doesn’t – I’m going to cry.

50 bazillion times yesterday in emails and then in person Rambo kept giving me the eye and grabbing me and saying, “Baby – are we gonna go for the hat trick tonight?”

Now – so as not to appear as though I’m the dumber one in this relationship…I played along for a while and then later I couldn’t help it and I asked, “What the holy hell is a hat trick? I don’t get it?! What does that even mean?”

His reply?

Google it.

Mother heifer.

F*cking technology. Everyone’s answer to everything is “google it”. Rambo says it’s a hockey term. (I wouldn’t know – I still haven’t googled it.) He was using it in the terms of “are we going for 3 days in a row – you know, as in the hat trick?”

NO I DON’T KNOW. I still don’t get it. And now he thinks I’m stupid.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Moving on. This morning as I was dutifully performing my Mother of the Year tasks and making my 6 year old child a delicious packed lunch, she noticed a box of tampons on the counter that I hadn’t put away yet. (And no – please do not focus on the fact that I have a box of tampons out on my counter. Get over it. I was busy.)

She says to me, “Mom, what are these for? Are these to use so that you don’t pee your pants while you sleep at night?”

Shit. She’s 6 people. This is not the time for the talk. Do I just agree, lie and move on or what?

I said, “Those are for big girls. You don’t have to care until you are older.” Then I promptly moved on to “fruit roll up or rice krispie treat?”

Saved by sugar.

This would be the same child who last night learned a new word – courtesy of yours truly. Again – mother of the year. God – I can’t believe I’m typing this. So many of you are going to want to call the authorities.

Last night we were all having fun. Being idiots. The usual. Tickling the crap out of one or the other of them. Watching our favorite shows. Laughing our asses off over something one of us said. I’m at my computer because everyone is on their way to bed and it’s time to start winding down - after I’ve thrown the 6 year old over my shoulders with her head hanging towards the floor giggling her tush off - into bed.

Rambo is yelling in his goofiest voice at me, “Do not stimulate the children before bed MOMMY!”

Seriously – we’re disfunctional. And I can’t stop laughing as I sit down at my computer and I randomly sing, “Watermelon is a pecker.”

And immediately realize – shitballs – pecker is not such a good word to call the 11 year old. She disagrees.

She literally falls on the ground she’s laughing so hard. Saying over and over, “Mom called me a pecker.”

I say it just slipped out and I should not have said that.

Meanwhile – we hear in the tiniest little voice coming from Banana’s bedroom – her singing her newest song.

“Watermelon is a pecker. Watermelon is a pecker.”

Rambo looks at me and says, “Nice. OMG – she’s going to say that at school now.” While he laughs his ass off.

Seriously people – I know it’s wrong but I’ve never heard the work pecker sound so cute in all my life. Little bitty voice, little bitty lips mouthing the word…having absolutely no idea what she was saying…giggling. I couldn’t even yell at her. Mostly because it was my fault.

Okay – fine. ALL my fault.

I suck. And I convince Banana that “pecker” is an inappropriate word and she must never repeat it. Which is almost like convincing her that asparagus tastes like Snickers.

Everyone settles down – and I get to bed – and you all know what’s coming right?

The f*cking hat trick talk again.

Not gonna happen. Not until I google it anyway. And not until I ask every blogger I know if any of them have ever heard of a damn hat trick ever before.

By the time we finish our conversation – the 6 year old has now come into our room – with her hands on her hips and shouts, “Parents. I am trying to sleep. Could you quiet down?”

Yup – no problem.  We're sorry - little Queen.

I got him back for making me appear stupid anyway – some time in the wee hours of the morning. You see, I was cold. Frozen. Most of all – my nose was frozen. I wasn’t about to cover my whole head with a blanket because that would be what a normal person would do – so I grabbed Rambo’s hand and covered my nose with it until it got warm.

This morning my very first email from him said:

“I hope that your nose is still warmed up.”

Hmmm. Oops. I guess I woke him up.

This morning on the way to work I thought about “our night”. And call me a sap if you want to BUT it brings tears to my eyes.

Why?

Because it’s like that every day. It’s special every damn day.

Last night was a Monday. We went grocery shopping as a family and I walked the aisles holding Banana’s hand picking out yogurt flavors. I’d look back and I’d see Rambo discussing pizza kinds with Watermelon after he randomly put his arms around her shoulders in the frozen section before she was telling him about her day.

At one point I turned the corner in the toy aisle and saw Watermelon catch a bouncing ball Rambo had decided to throw at her….she was trying not to laugh and get caught by me because they both knew I’d tell them to knock it off.

We got home and ate supper from KFC and chatted about our day.

Then we all piled up literally – on the couch. Like a bunch of 10 year olds at one point we had “who can push who off the couch the fastest” competition. And other moments I’d look over at Banana with her stuffed animal shoved up so close to me I couldn’t move and I’d kiss her on the cheek and she’d just smile without saying a word.

After finishing her homework, the 11 year old randomly decided she felt left out so she piled in between Rambo and I.

Never asking permission. Never being scared to just flop down between her parents.

She just did it – without hesitation.

Later I carry one goofily to bed and tuck her in as Rambo tucks in the other one. And I literally see two little girls go to bed – smiling.

Do not think that ever for a moment those instances pass by me without a twinge of bitter sweetness. Or that I take those moments for granted.

I love and cherish the moments but a part of own little girl’s heart will always feel broken. I was never tucked in. Never smiled as I went to bed. Usually the night’s events before were filled with silence. Fear of saying or doing the wrong thing. No talking or hugging or God forbid laughing. No feeling loved. No goofing off and forgetting everything but love.

It never gets old. The way Rambo is with my girls.

Every single time I see them randomly hug him or talk to him or jump into his arms or act like an idiot with him – I pray and hope a part of the little girl broken in me heals. And I pray a part of Rambo who felt like I did as a child heals too. I hope a part of the adult Rambo who sees nothing but evil in inmates every day remembers the true good in life.

I didn’t know laughter with a father. I didn’t know being embraced by a mother or father. I didn’t know not fearing a father and his reaction. I didn’t know being loved by a father. I didn’t know the availability of a father.

I knew a man. Always in sight – but always out of my reach.

And I once knew a little girl who felt the burden of needing him and of knowing I was never enough to make him change.

And every single day of my adult life – I will know two little girls who will never feel what I did. Ever.

Consider the cycle broken.

Now if only I could erase the pain…every time I see in my own husband - acting as a father – what could have been for me.

Monday, March 26, 2012

Breaking the rules.

Because it’s Monday – that means I that I am unable to write an entire post of anything even remotely read-worthy – sooooo because I didn’t do Ten Things Thursday from one of my fave bloggers and people in general (that’d be Laura Belle)….Ima do it today.


I’m such a rule-breaker, I know!

1. Something huge is happening to me tomorrow. Huh. Uge. It’s time to stop the “let’s see how many calories I can eat in one day before I explode” mentality that is my life. Are you ready for this?

I’m joining Weight Watchers. Like officially and everything. I did it a LONG time ago and loved it but it was the old points system and nothing was ever online then. So for me – this feels ALL new. New points counting and online fun tools and crap like that. I am sooo excited I might pee my pants.

One of my dearest blogger friends kicks ass at WW and inspires me every day so now I'm following in her footsteps - hopefully.  Yes, Kelly, I'm talking about you.


I plan to spend most of the day researching the online tools and figuring this stuff out. The best part is that the WW meetings are onsite where I work so I don’t have to go anywhere and work is actually paying for it too! YAY!

2. I am in LOVE with the show Spartacus. Seriously people. We are talking some MAJOR man candy. The kind of man I like. Rugged, tough, sweaty, manly and insanely in love with their women. Usually I don’t watch any movies with blood and killing in them but for some reason I can handle it on this show (even though there’s a ton of it) because the sex scenes are TO DIE FOR. Like My God in heaven – I could mute the whole show and still I’d love it just as much.


3. My girls received two large chocolate Easter bunnies yesterday. I want it recorded that yours truly did not bite the ears off either of them. Downright amazing, isn’t it?

4. My newest clothing obsession? Well, of course, it’s expensive. I’m never obsessed with something sold at Kmart for $9.99 dammit. It’s anything Ed Hardy. Ohmuhgee. It’s the badass rebellion biker lover of tattoos chick in me that cannot help staring at his creations all day. I mean like hours of shopping – finding things and putting them in my cart – pretending I will buy them all. Yesterday my cart total was up to about $800.00.

F*ck a duck. I managed to whittle down the list and got only what I felt I must have. Jeans with skulls/roses on the butt. Skull/rose sunglasses. I may or may not have thrown a pair of white/gold Nikes in my cart….along with some must have Coach sunglasses. I cannot confirm or deny this.

5. I completely lied to my children and then to their sitters about my plans for the day SOLELY so that Rambo and I could have “dessert”. I’m pretty sure I should feel guilty….but so far I don’t.

6. This weekend I get to go to a turkey and deer expo. Aren’t I the luckiest girl in the entire world? Rambo says if I’m good – afterwards he’ll take me to eat out at Hooters. I told him if that actually happens – he might get lucky enough for me to divorce him. Yes – I am anti-Hooters. I can’t help it. Every one of those girls is someone’s daughter and I can’t imagine my girls being ogled like that. And if one more person tells me “but their food is good” – I might shank them.

7. I wear lots of rings. I’m too chicken to buy actual cleaning solution so I scrub them with basic soap and toothbrushes. I did this the other day. Then the next day I was doing dishes. Wanna know what I found? My Grandma’s engagement ring!! Holy shit a brick people! I nearly went into a coma. A whole damn day – it stayed in the drain stopper. It’s a small gold band and I stack a lot of them so I didn’t even realize I hadn’t put it back on. Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

8. Reeses peanut butter cups made for Easter in egg shapes somehow make them taste better than when they are just round. I have no idea why – but trust me – it’s a well known fact.

9. I still have a Christmas wreath hanging on my front door. Next week is April. I’m pretty sure this makes me an official redneck. My Southern relatives would be proud.


10. I haven’t had a migraine in at least a week. That my friends – is downright amazing. I used to have 4 a week. I’m actually in a bit of denial over the fact that my meds may have finally worked. It doesn’t seem real. And yes – I do realize that now that I have said out loud that my meds are working – that today I will probably get a migraine.

Have a great Monday, my Skittles!

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Welcome home Mr. Soldier.

Last night I got a big ol dose of perspective shoved up in my face. I know that sounds crude BUT the fact is that the Universe obviously knew I needed it.

There aren’t very many things in this life that send shivers and chills up my spine and spark instant tears in my eyes. There aren’t a lot of moments in my life when something I do or something I belong to brings the truest definition of pride to my soul. There aren’t a lot of moments when I step back and take life in and realize the true meaning of a single moment or event.

Last night – along with my hefty dose of perspective – I felt all of those things.

Pride. Emotion. Compassion. Honor. Empathy. Patriotism.

Perspective.

I’ve told you before that I live in Podunk. All the towns around me are also Podunk-ish. By my definition that means that each town has less than 1000 people living in it. Most have less than 500.

So by default – when we say our communities are close-knit….we ain’t kiddin’. Hell, 99% of us are related to each other.

I’ve also told you that Rambo and I belong to a Harley Owners Club…a Hog Chapter. We have patches and vests and “colors” and meetings and events.

Most people have no idea I am a member of such a thing. My mother thinks it’s a shame. A terrible thing. Tattoos and motorcycles and men in leather just aren’t what her daughter should love.

But I do. There’s something about the freedom of doing something no one expects you to do. Normally I’m a professional who looks the part and says and does all the right things. On the back of our bike with my arms wrapped around Rambo and my hair whipping in the wind with heavy metal music playing – I am free.

I’m probably more me than at any other moment.

There are others in our group that also have the ability to shock you when you find out what’s behind their leather. Namely our President.

He is a fit, older man with a depth in his eyes that makes you wonder how it got there. When he smiles – you know he means it. There’s not a single thing about this man that is fake. His tattoos show his memories and if you had the time – you know he could tell you a million stories like you’ve never heard before.

And while I don’t know his full story – I know that he’s been to Vietnam and survived. I’ll never forget the time all the guys were talking about deer hunting and he said, “I used to deer hunt. I don’t anymore. You’ll find that once you’ve hunted man, you’ll never hunt anything ever again.”

I can’t remember if he was Secret Service or CIA or Special Ops…but I know he was one of them. I know he talks to Rambo a lot due to the fact that Rambo works in the prison field with inmates.

I remember that he once took a coin out of his pocket and showed it to me and told me that coin has been with him in 37 countries as his good luck charm. 37 countries and I’m pretty sure there’s not a day in his life he hasn’t fought for or loved the US more than most people that I’ll ever meet. Even now – as a retired Hog Chapter President – he’s the epitome of honor and the definition of American.

Yesterday in one of our Podunk towns – a solder came home from Afghanistan. The highways were literally lined with people and flags. Hundreds and hundreds of flags. And people taking the whole day off to put them there. And to stand and salute as the soldier went home.

Our Hog Chapter Patriot Guard was there of course. The bikers always escort local soldiers home – when they step off the plane until they are home. It is an honor the bikers take very seriously.

This time though – the solder didn’t step off the plane.

He was carried off – in a casket.

Dead or alive – the Patriot Guard sees the soldier home.

I saw picture after picture of the roads lined with flags. Marines, soldiers and the men carrying his flag-laden casket off the plane. Bikers by the dozens. Two by two stretched out on the highway.

And then there was one picture that took my breath away and I still can’t explain why. It was of our chapter President. Every leather in place. His hair handsomely combed back in respect. Sunglasses on – staring straight ahead – at the front of the pack of bikers….holding the handlebars to his freshly washed Harley.

Waiting to lead the soldier home to his final resting place.

The honor and pride was almost a palpable thing you could see in the picture.

Two men – both whom had fought for people like you and me. One who had survived countless wars and events and one who did not. One leading the other one home.

Behind the President were all the other bikers. The same look on their face. The same honor in their stance. The same pride. The same brotherhood. The same American spirit.

There really aren’t words to describe the depth of emotion that the flurry of pictures stirred within me…within everyone who saw them. Here in the office today everyone is talking about “the soldier’s ride home yesterday” and I swear to you – not one person can talk about it without tears filling their eyes - though not a single one of us directly knew the fallen soldier.

So yah…I ride with these men and women in this “biker club”. I trade in my professional security badge for a vest of leather to display my “colors”. I trade my high heels for black leather boots. Hands that are used to calculate and type and direct from 9 to 5 – become hands only for waving at other bikers who pass by us. I trade in my well placed curls for a studded bandana. And I love every minute of it.

I am honored to be a part of such a group. It ranks right up there with one of my most favorite things. It’s one of the few places I feel like I fit – and have from the beginning. Though I’m no veteran and I don’t deserve half the respect most of them do – they’ve never made me feel like an outcast. From the moment I met them – I was welcome.

It got me to thinking – that while the last two days, my head has been filled with shitty thoughts and complaints about small things in my life….a soldier was being brought home. Hundreds of war vets took on the duty of getting him there. Entire towns made sure his road home was visible with flags for miles.

And I got to witness it.

That’s perspective.

At it’s finest.

And it’s proof that the clothes – nor the tattoos or mode of transportation – don’t make a person someone you believe you have the right to make assumptions about.

Ask me to choose between the multi-billion dollar President of the company that I work for and the President of our Hog Chapter and I’ll choose the latter every time.

Rest in peace, Mr. Soldier. I hope you are “riding free” in Heaven.

And welcome home.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Together....we got this.

Soooo – clearly yesterday’s post was downright sob-inducing. Even slightly pathetic if you ask me. I never meant to worry or scare anyone. It’s the curse of my writing. Ever since I was little – if I hurt – I write. Fast and long until the words stop. When I’m done I usually re-read what I’ve written and even shock myself at the depth of my pain sometimes. But writing the words eases the pain and I can’t stop writing them.

About being alone…let’s face it - it is not a nice place to be…but I am okay. I am oddly at peace with the alone-ness. I’m “sitting” with the feeling, if you will. I’m actually allowing myself to feel it instead of shoving it down or aside or away. I feel like this emptiness is going to lead me somewhere…if only because I want to stop feeling this way.

Being alone at my core and voicing that feeling – even if pathetic – allows and invites people in my life to open up and reach out and say, “You’re wrong. You aren’t alone.” The pain can make me forget who and what I have….which is a shame…but true nonetheless.

I don’t want to live in alone – I want to seek out “together”. This isn’t me. I don’t know who this person is – jaded and bitter and hurt.

My best friend Jenny – flat out said to me yesterday – this isn’t who you are. It never has been. You’re just broken right now. Being broken is part of healing. And together – we got this.

She knows the source of my dreams being shattered. She knows the exact moment when for me – everything broke. She held my hand through the darkest moments. And she’s seen me change since then. She’s even felt and watched me shut her out. Without even knowing I was doing it …I stopped talking. Stopped laughing. Stopped sharing. Stopped believing.

Stopped being me.

And yet? She remains. Rambo remains. My family remains. My close friends and blogging friends remain.

I was never alone even when I felt I was. So yes – it hurts. The feeling of everything you knew being suddenly something you don’t recognize…but such is life, right?

Things change. People evolve. Some leave, some go. We go through ups and downs. We feel loved by everyone and yet completely alone. We struggle day to day – just like everyone else.

For a while I stopped believing that reaching out and loving others was worth the risk. Today – I’m still not sure.

The only thing I do know is that I don’t want to keep believing that.

I want to be the me that believed in the goodness in everyone. I want to be the me that lays my heart out on the line – even when I know it could get burned. I want to believe that no one deserves to be truly alone….even me.

I want to believe I am worthy…of letting people love me.

And beyond that – I’d like to believe in that love….and stop the doubt from creeping in.

I cannot stay in this alone forever….it feels like a betrayal of myself.

And such a lonely way to live.

But for right now – I have to allow the feeling to sit with me – so it can spur me on to fixing it. I can’t live in this sadness. I have to find the hope again. I have to hold the hands that are outstretched to me and believe they won’t let go.

I have to learn to trust again….even when right now that seems impossible.

I must remember….

….I am not alone.

And you, my friends, are part of that.

Thank.
You.

Monday, March 19, 2012

Alone.

Do you ever feel like you’ve literally been shot in the heart at point blank range?

And just like in the movies, you gasp in horror. You clutch your chest as your hand begins to turn crimson red while your shirt soaks with thick blood. You realize in that moment you’re facing death and you can either fight the urge to fall to the ground or just let go and crumple and give in.

Then a part of you realizes it doesn’t matter. Fight or let go. Either way – you still have a gaping hole in your chest that brings a pain you can’t put into words – but you aren’t dead. You’re alive. And like a majority of other humans around you – you’re just going to continue living – with a hole in your chest the size of Texas – pretending it’s not there. Pretending it doesn’t hurt. Pretending you don’t give a damn. Never ever really mending the wound.

And when people start to point at the pain oozing from inside of you or God forbid – when they dare to ask, “are you alright?”….you start to become a pro at using bricks and mortar to build walls around yourself. Walls so thick no one can see the blood still trickling from your pain. Walls eventually so thick people stop asking and caring or trying to see past them…just like you had planned.

And then one day – you realize that you’re alone. Not alone as in I’m at work and no one else is in the building. Or I’m at home and everyone else is out.

Really alone. You have no one but yourself.

That moment of realization for me – is more crushing and life-changing than the bullet to my chest. Isn’t this what I wanted? To be alone? To stand on my own two feet pretending that I need no one?

The realization is suffocating. There’s not a single person on this Earth who has ever held all of me. There’s not a single human that lives and breathes that I believe will never leave me or betray me or walk away.

To know without a shadow of a doubt that people can not possibly make promises using words like “never” or “always” nearly crushes my sanity. I’m the only one who will never leave me. So I will literally make the choice to close up the gaping hole that pain and heartbreak has left in my body. There will be pieces and parts of me that no one will ever see. I will pretend to trust many but the reality is I don’t trust anyone.

I never have. I never will.

I’m sure it’s a question of worth. Actually not so much a question – but a statement of my own non-worth. I won’t trust or love fully because on the flip side – I will never believe I’m worthy of it. Ridiculous as that sounds – you cannot make me believe otherwise. And let’s face it – your actions towards me have always proven me right.

All I have is me. To lay my head down on my pillow at night knowing I’m surrounded by people and yet feel completely alone – is unbearable. It’s cruel and it’s scary.

Yet I chose it. And I keep choosing it.
 Every.
 Single.
 Day.

The alternative? Actually letting someone in. Believing in love. Trusting.

They’ve never been worth the risk to me. I’ve always ended up where I began.

Which is alone.

Somewhere along the path that is my life – something broke in me. Hope left me. The ability to believe in fairy tales and love and family and forevers and joy disappeared. A culmination of moments occurred and I know that I could pinpoint every one of them if it would matter.

But it doesn’t. Finally realizing I’m alone builds inner strength. Living for love or the possibility of forever or trust or unbreakable family bonds for me – has always been a little like hanging on to the edge of a cliff with one finger…knowing some day I’ll have to fall.

I don’t know why I fought it so long. Believing and hoping and trusting…in life and love and people and dreams. I built the walls around myself yet I continued to hope I was wrong about needing them. And that hope led me here.

To the truth – for me.

You can not hurt me – for I am unreachable. I have nothing left to hurt. That gaping hole in my chest used to bleed and now it’s just empty. I am hollow.

Oh yes, I can still feel and love and live but it’ll never be the authentic me doing that. It’ll be the part of me that can do that without needing you to love me back. It’ll be the part of me that you can’t touch. What I feel for you is genuine but I’ll never let myself care if you return the feeling.

I don’t know if it’ll be like this forever. I just know it’s like this now. It doesn’t even feel sad. It just feels like reality. Like I’m finally seeing straight now that all hope is gone. It took so much energy to believe in people and to want other people’s love and to trust in generic goodness…and now – that’s over.

I am alone. And maybe that’s the coward’s way out. If it is – so be it. I lost the will to fight for anything else. Holding on to false hope was exhausting to say the least.

And for what?

For nothing. I was born alone and I’ll die alone. It is what it is.

I can’t make anyone love me. I can’t make anyone stand beside me. I can’t stop betrayals. I can’t require forever and always. I can’t force people to keep promises or answer prayers. I can’t make blood mean more than something that simply flows through your veins.

For me – promises and forevers and blood lines and fairy tales and happily ever afters just don’t exist anymore.

They never did. I just refused to see that before.

Friday, March 16, 2012

BYOC time....link up with me!

BYOC



 

1.  How do you feel about college?  If you have kids or siblings - will you encourage or require them to go?  How long did you go and what for? 

I am VERY open about college.  I was good at school BUT I knew I wanted to start life - marrying Rambo...NOT being in college.  So I chose a 2 year technical college.  I studied Finance/Accounting and I was paid to go to college...via grants.  I have never gotten nor lost a job based on my college degree.  I got them based on my personality and how I meshed with the interviewer. 

I'm married to a man who has NEVER gone to college yet he's never been unemployed, has always out-incomed me and has always had better benefits than me.

I have siblings who ALL went to 4 year colleges or private colleges and ALL still have loans and have ALWAYS made less than me and have even been unemployed.

I don't think college is the end all be all only option.  I will not require my kids to go.  But I'll support them if that's what they decide.

2.  Pink or purple?  Coke or Pepsi?  Pen or pencil?  Cursive or printing?  Ketchup or mustard?

Pink AND purple - um duh.
Pepsi
Pen (I own hundreds...it's a little obsession of mine)
Cursive and printing - I mix it up between both usually even in the same sentence
Ketchup

3.  If you could live in any generation - which one would it be?

80s - completely.  I was a PRO at big hair and using Aqua Net....and my God - neon colors and leg warmers and parachute pants and the music and all that stuff.........I love that it's all coming back.

4.  What do you sleep in?

I'm a weirdo.  What I sleep in completely depends on my mood and my energy level.

Sometimes I'm too exhausted to even get undressed so I go to bed in whatever I have on.  Sometimes my big comfy jammies covering me from head to toe make me feel safe and happy and I can't bear the thought of taking them off.  Sometimes I want to feel free and I'm always hot so often I sleep naked.  Sometimes I keep it light and do a tank and undies. 

I seriously switch it up day to day.  Isn't that odd?  Most people have a bedtime wear "routine".  Not me.

5.  Repeat question - summarize your week!

My week was shitastic.  Remember?  A muskrat broke my new car.  Asshole fuzzball. 

I shall survive though.  Do not worry about me!  Ha!

Don't forget to link up below if you're doing BYOC!

Thursday, March 15, 2012

I have become the actual definition of "hick".

I should definitely change my “About Me” section. There’s something I found out about myself yesterday that I didn’t even know I felt.

If you’ve known me for a while – then you know that there are many undisputed truths about me.

Such as:

I prefer to live in my head in Care Bear Land rather than live on Earth – in reality land.
I believe if everything was pink, had glitter on it or was bedazzled – the world would be a better place.
Everyone should own at least 5 Sharpie pens or markers. Just because.
I like to take baths in rainbow Skittles. And fart gumdrops.
I think Mountain Dew should come in IV form.
I believe every day can be made better with a new pair of shoes or a new purse.
Organizing and color coding something is the same as a meth high to me.
I believe that everyone should get to ride a unicorn over a rainbow while sucking on a lollipop at least once in their life…even if it’s just in a dream.
I ride Harleys, have lots of tattoos and go to heavy metal concerts and a majority of people in my life have no knowledge of that part of me because on the outside I don’t fit the stereotypical mold of such a person.
*****************************
Those are just some of the things you’ve come to know about me. Now I’m going to add something else. Are you ready?

Here it is.

I hate muskrats almost as much as I hate Casey Anthony.

Life-altering, isn’t it? I didn’t even know I felt such a thing until yesterday.

Remember when our new car wouldn’t start after only having it a week? Remember how we also found a cute muskrat in our garage that same day?

Remember how I called the guy who sold us the car and proceeded to leave a 5 minute message on his machine using my “bad guy” voice – swearing to him that I would be holding him responsible for any repair bill that occurred?

Yes, well….Mr. Nice Towing Man came (from a different dealership) and got my new car. Called back an hour later and said, “that muskrat chewed through a transmission wire”.

Motherf#@#$%#$$sonofa#@#$#E%heifer$%#$furball!!!

He then had the nerve to laugh and say, “the wire was green – maybe he thought it was grass.”

I threw the f*cking phone across the room.

Are you serious? Did I mention that while we were trying to figure out what was wrong with the car before the tow guy came I actually said the words, “maybe the muskrat did something to our car” AND RAMBO LAUGHED AT ME LIKE I HAD LOST MY EVER LOVING MIND.

Heifers. Every last one of them.

Rambo. The tow guy. THE MUSKRAT.

And yes – just in case you’re worried – let it be known – the little asshole rathead escaped our garage finally….which is good for him or he may have suffered a slow and painful death.

I have no idea how much the bill will be. I cannot wait until the car dealership seller guy calls me back and I have to swallow bile and say, “Oopsie – my bad. Nothing is wrong with the car you sold us. A MUSKRAT is responsible. Forget I called and left you a scathing message. Have a nice day.”

So there you have it. Another “interesting fact” about me that I can add to my ever-growing list.

I hate muskrats.
It sort of goes along well with my hating dirty little inner demon lizards.

I bet the muskrat was Draz’s friend and it’s all part of Draz’s evil plan to turn me against all that is good in this world.

Did I mention Draz is a heifer too?

I ask you – who does this shit happen to? I mean is a muskrat in a garage eating a car wire on a new car the definition of being a hick or what?

I cannot deal.

I simply cannot.

How to participate in a link-up!

I’ve begun using the link up feature to do BYOC on Fridays! Some of you emailed me asking how to participate and what link-up means so I thought I’d do a little tutorial for you in case you wanted to join us this Friday!

And by the way - I'm no expert and this is my "how to" post - so bear with me.

The major visual change that you’ll see actually comes after my BYOC post. A numbered list of other bloggers who have participated and posted BYOC on their blog too will be shown……so you can click on their link and see their post and meet new bloggers!


Yup, right there in a numbered list you’ll be able to see all the bloggers who have also done BYOC (or whatever link-up you’re participating in)!

Wanna know how to be a part of it and make sure your blog appears in this list? It’s super easy!

Let’s continue.

A lot of times when a blogger does a blog link-up post and they want people to participate, they have a button or badge you can grab to put in your blog post. This button or badge gives a brief description of the blog post and usually contains the original blogger’s web address so credit can be given.

This is my BYOC link-up badge.



Brief description of BYOC, permission to grab the badge if you want to link up and my blog web address. Easy peasy lemon squeezy!

NOW – to get this badge so you can put it at the top of your blog post so everyone knows you are doing a link up - you can copy and save it onto your PC and then upload it into the top of your blog post as a picture….just like you would upload any other picture.

Or – instead of saving it to your PC and going through all that….you can do this!



Use the text in the box! Start at the beginning of the box and copy all the text. Go to your blog. Open a new post. Click on the "edit html" tab in the top right corner of your draft blog posting, paste the text you copied from the text box and then switch back to compose….


You could hit the "preview" button (at bottom of draft) to see if the post has the badge you just put in….

Is the badge/button or picture there?

It should be!

Start typing your BYOC or follow the instructions for whatever type of link up you are doing!

Hit publish post when you are done!

But wait – you’re not actually done yet. You still have to link up on the originator’s blog, remember?

Okay – hit view post. (you want to be looking at the post you just did as though you are a fellow reader to your blog). Look way way up top where the web address is (starting with http) and copy all that text. Copy the entire web address. That is essentially the link to YOUR BYOC.


Go back to the originator’s blog (mine if you’re doing BYOC). Scroll to the bottom until you see blank text boxes asking for your name and web address or link.



Fill in the blanks. Depending on which link service the originator used – the blanks will be a bit different. Usually you can enter your name or your blog name or email. The most important box to fill in is the one containing the link to the blog post you just wrote.

PASTE the link to your BYOC blog post that you just wrote a few minutes ago. Hit done or finish or submit link.

Now you are done!

Sometimes, you may need to go out and come back into the originator’s blog to be able to see your link listed at the bottom of the BYOC or link-up on the originator’s blog.

If you see your name/blog/link highlighted – click on it.

It should take you right to YOUR post proving that you “linked-up”.

YAY YOU!!!

Linking up is a great way to lead people to your blog and for you to find other blogs doing the same link-ups as you.

I try to click on at least one link-up blog listed and then become a follower of the blog if the blog speaks to me. You’ll find most people return the favor of link-ups and bloggers enjoy the ease of finding others through link ups!

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Life sucks giant green striped donkey balls sometimes.

There’s just no other way to say it really.


I just whined and whined like a 5 year old girl about my bad week to my plant manager and he said, “Oh come on – it’s not that bad. It’s 80 degrees out and you’re still breathing.”

I kicked him in the balls. And laughed.

Jesus, Mary and Satan’s dick people – I just want to push the pause button on life for about 6 days. Or hell – give me just an hour.

No, no – nothing is tragically wrong. The usual – too many jobs and not enough time. I’m pretty sure I’ll feel better if I also whine about it here in my blog so yippee for you – Ima gonna spew some shit. You’ve been warned.

We bought a new to us car last week – because our other one was getting a bit old and was nickel and diming us with little repairs. The new one is a sporty little thing with only 32,000 miles on it. Had it a week yesterday. Yesterday is also the day it broke.

F*ck a duck and call it Larry. Why does this shit always happen to us? I just found out I’ve owned a car for less than a week and the repair could be $400. Good thing we’re not wasting money on repairs anymore huh?

So today I have to work on getting it towed and fixed and put on my best “you don’t know who you are dealing with” voice as I call up the dealer we bought it from.

Last night right after work I helped Rambo take his Harley to the dealership to the service department. What’s wrong with the bike, you ask? Oh nothing, nothing my dear friends. He’s adding $1300 of freaking chrome and shit. Do you know how many pairs of shoes I could have bought with that? I mean really. I cannot deal.

Oh and did I mention that I do a report annually for the government for the village I work for? Did I mention I hate doing it but it only takes a day and it’s good money so I do it and bitch about it the whole time? Did I mention I LOST MY MIND and I thought it wasn’t due until April 30th.

Oh wait. Nope – WRONG. It’s due April 1st. You just lost yourself 30 days of work time honey. Good times, people. Good times.

Rambo feels like a wet turd because he finally caught what the rest of the family has had and he got up at 3am to haul pigs for the next two days. That’s exhausting work and I feel bad for him. As soon as he gets home he’s off to an emergency board meeting. Boo. I miss him. He’s not even around long enough for me to whine at him.

This morning my 6 year old revealed to me that she got the “share bag” yesterday. The share bag is a bag that rotates through the kids in her class. They take it home, fill it up and bring it back and share what they put in it.

Before it was even 6:30am – my “just getting over a cold and ear infection so I’m crabbier than a woman who hasn’t bought a pair of shoes in a week” 6 year old had HUGE big fat tears running down her cheeks because she didn’t know what to put in the f*cking share bag.

It took everything in me not to fill it with dirt. Or dust bunnies.

Because these days – those are the only things readily available in my house.

Apparently that has to change tonight. In the middle of doing payroll tonight after I get home from regular work and while doing supper – I just remembered I have to spit shine the entire house because being the genius that I am – I have decided to have a contractor over tomorrow to give me a quote for a new bathroom.

Which – yes – undeniably means yours truly has to clean the toilet and bathroom since a stranger will be in there looking around. No one in the outside world must ever know how neglected my toilet is and that Shrek indeed lives in mine. Ugh.

I’m getting a quote for a new spa. Like a huge ass soaker 15 person tub and double sinks and lots of room and bliss attached to our master bedroom while making over the current bathroom so it can be just for my girls.

The one thing that gets me through every day is a bath with Rambo and my goal in life is to have a tub that 20 of us could fit in – instead of spilling out over the one we have now. Wouldn’t that be grand?

Every overworked week Rambo and I put in the books will be worth it – if I can soak it off at night, don’t you think?

Lastly – to prove that I’m mother of the year – anyone wanna guess what my kids had for supper last night? And at what time?

7:30pm. French fries.

To be fair – I’d like to announce that I not only made waffle fries for them but I also did some curly ones. Yup, there’s a waiting list of kids who want to come live with us now. What can I say? It’s paradise 24/7 around here in Care Bear Land.

Oh, oh and lastly – get this! Last night while dicking around with the car and swearing at it until I turned blue in the face – I found a friend. A muskrat. In our garage.

Now normally muskrats live in streams. And apparently they are also dumber than a box of rocks because this idiot wouldn’t leave our garage to save it’s life and all it’s been eating is insulation.

Dumbass. He could have had waffle fries. I’m not above sharing.

And yes – Mr. Muskrat is still in the garage today. (I should feed Drazil to him.) Christ.

When the mechanic comes to tow the piece of shit new car away, the muskrat will probably attack him and chew his leg off and then the mechanic will sue us.

I can’t wait.

Ah yes – that is better. I can totally get through the rest of this shitastic day now. I rescheduled my first therapy appt to this Friday and now look at all this material I have to share with the poor guy! My little therapist is going to need a therapist when I’m done with him.

Onward, my Skittles!

Monday, March 12, 2012

I hate other people's kids.

Okay – wait. Before you freak out and call me the devil….let me explain.


I need to rephrase my title. I hate taking care of other people’s children. I love other people’s children when all I have to do is look at them and tell everyone how cute they are.

Beyond that – I’m donezo. NO emotions. There are 4 kids on this Earth I love. Mine and Jenny’s. I just don’t have the emotional capacity to let anyone else in. Plus – kids are hard work.

I suck at being a mom to my own flesh and blood. Why anyone else on Earth would trust me with their offspring still baffles me. I mean let’s face it - my idea of giving my kids good supper options is: “Do you want Cool Ranch Doritoes or Regular Doritoes?” I don’t care if they wear pajamas outside of the house and in public and my favorite activity with them is watching the Disney Channel.

I’m the freaking mother of the year – for real.

Once in a while, I gather some compassion and feeling – and agree to help the neighbor lady out with her kids. I did just this on Saturday night.

For about 2 hours, I swear my eyeballs were stuck in the permanent “eye roll” position. I’ve never rolled my eyes so much at people less than 7 years old in all my life.

Good God – but those two little girls are annoying. They want food. And water.

It’s ridiculous, I tell you.

The worst part? The unbearable part? About 12am shit hits the fan. Well, more accurately – pee almost hits the floor.

Seriously – this kid is lucky to still be alive. To make matters worse as this is all going on, Rambo was at a turkey banquet spending ridiculous amounts of money on things like guns and grills and wrenches because he’s a sucker….while I’m dealing with heathens that are not my own flesh and blood.

Anyway – it’s 12am - I hear whimpering. I spring up in bed and think – “hmm…I must be dreaming. My children do not make noises in the night because I've trained them not to.”

More whimpering. Louder.

“Oh shit – that’s right. I have extra children tonight. F*ck a duck. Maybe if I just sit here – she’ll go back to sleep.”

Now she’s all out crying.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I’m going to have to hurt someone.”


I get in my daughter’s room where the two neighbor kids are sleeping. Everyone is sleeping except the 7 year old. She is crying. She is beginning to scream “MOMMY”.

Shitballs.

She gets up and walks around and it’s pretty obvious she has no idea where she is. I tell her it’s alright and she should go back to sleep and she walks into the bathroom.

I say, “Do you have to go potty?”

She says yes.

AND PROCEEDS TO START TAKING HER UNDERWEAR OFF.

AND SQUATS like she’s going to pee.

While she’s crying. NOT by the toilet.

Someone else’s kid is going to pee in my house – on my floor – while she’s crying at midnight!

OH hell to the no.

I pick her up by the armpits and I kid you not – she is dead weight. Mostly because she’s pretty much still sleeping. I can barely get her on the toilet but I do. I get her on the edge.

She freaks out like I just placed her on the edge of a cliff and am about to push her off.

Dear God. Help me.

I hand her toilet paper. All the while I’m thinking, “if this kid doesn’t wake up enough to wipe herself – I’m going to let her sleep on this toilet until morning.”

She wipes. Thank God.

And proceeds to waddle out of the bathroom with her underwear around her ankles. Cripes. I help her with that issue and put her back in bed. Where she continues to scream for her mother.

At this point my 11 year old wakes up and says, “MY GOD MOM – what is going on? Make her stop or send her home!”

Apparently she hates other people’s kids too. (We value sleep in this house in case you haven’t gathered that.)

I grab my cell phone so I can call her mother. I see Rambo sent me a text saying, “I just won a gun!!!”

I text back and say – “Hurry up and bring it home. I need to use it.”

I call the girl’s mom and say, “Um yah – you’re gonna need to come get your kid. She wants you and is scared.”

The mom comes an hour later.

And of course – we go in to the bedroom to get her kid and it takes us 10 FULL MINUTES to get her to wake the f*ck up.

I cannot deal. What the hell happened to being deathly scared?  You're so scared you fell back asleep????  I almost pinched her “accidentally” just to wake her up.

Rambo came home in between all this. I stuck the second comatose neighbor kid into his arms and told him to walk her home. I told him to take his new gun with him or someone could get shot.

I’ve never been drunk before in my life but right at this moment – I wanted vodka. Mixed with ambien.

I sat down and thanked God right then and there that my tubes are tied. Those kids are lucky they escaped my clutches alive.

Apparently I didn’t do or say anything too scary. By 8-f*cking-am – they were back. Banging on the door yelling, “Can we come play?”

No assholes. Thanks to you I just got into bed.

Come back in a few hours. We’ll try out Rambo’s new gun. It’ll be way fun.

This is why moms in the wild eat their young. And why I’m going to be Mother of the Year.

Compassion just oozes out of me.

So if we ever meet in real life - never ask me to watch your kids.  I cannot guarantee you'll ever see them again. 

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Paying it forward for Lent!

Just to recap...instead of taking something out of my life for Lent, I'm adding something in. I'm doing random good deeds in real life and in blogland by giving shout outs to relatively new bloggers.

We all love new followers - so if you so desire - please head over to Adventures in Life by my friend Mommykinz! She's super supportive and has a great attitude!

You can find her here!

Thanks Skittles!

Friday, March 9, 2012

BYOC - Bring Your Own Crazy!

BYOC

 



1.  When you're sick - what comforts you?

* I asked this because me and my kids have been sick this week and it's been interesting seeing what makes each of my girls feel better.

For me - it's Rambo.  Right smack next to me.  Or making me chicken noodle soup.  And baths.  Lots of baths.

2.  How attached to your cell phone are you?


* Not very.  Try not to laugh at me but I JUST started texting probably less than a year ago.  I used to never even turn it on.  I do not take it to bed with me.  I often miss calls and texts.  A lot of people give me crap about how it's not worth calling me because I'll never pick up...and they're right.


3.  What brand, color and kind of sneaker do you own to work out in?  Why?  Do you get a custom fit or just pick one off the shelf?

Okay - I had New Balance shoes that were orange.  I had them custom fitted for my feet.  They immediately felt amazing and I've had them forever. 
However, I have just bought Brooks Ravenna's LITERALLY based on the color.  The reviews from runners on them were fantastic so I figured they'd be good.  And they are.  I love them though I have only walked in them so far.

Did you know that that you are supposed to buy 1/2 size up because as your feet warm up - they swell?  Custom fitting taught me that so it was worth it. 


4.  Do you ever wish you'd picked a different name for your blog and why?


I actually do.  *Most* days I'm happy with it except the name of my blog says NOTHING about me.  If you just read the title, you would never know what it is about. You have to read my "about me" section to figure it out...so that's annoying in my opinion.  I should have used a title with the words sparkle and glitter in it but that's soley based on how pretty of a blog header it would have made.  99% of the time I love my blog title - simply based on the fact that my best friend designed it for me.

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

Real life has been filled with donkey farts.  LIKE SUCK ASS.  Because my girlies have been sick and are now on antibiotics.  Here's hoping they are on the mend. 

I am slightly stressed in the fact that I have a huge government report due on April 1st when I originally thought it wasn't due until April 30th.  UGH
Oh and look - I got my nails done...still obsessed with an accent nail.  I chose a lime green for St. Patrick's Day!  The brownish color is OPI's "You don't know Jacques".
Blog land is fun, fun, fun because it seems like I'm finding fun, new blogs every day and I love that!
That's it!  Have a good weekend Skittles!  And don't forget to link up below if you participate in BYOC!

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Is your 9pm free? Let's pencil in "sex".

Yup – I'm gonna do it. I'm straight up gonna ask you about your sex life. For realz. In a serious way.

Which is kind of dumb. Because every single one of you has a different schedule and situation than I do and I can’t realistically base my sex life on your answers BUT – it’s a woman thing. I need to know that I’m not alone – so please…just this once – give up your sex answers. I must commiserate over my lack of "dessert" this week with fellow women.

For the love of God – lie if you have to – just tell me I’m not alone.

Here’s the dealio. Rambo and I are lovey dovey sickening people. I’m that way by choice and by complete effort. I grew up in a non-touchy lovey childhood and I desperately needed it. So as angry children are prone to do – I swore “one day when I grew up” that if I ever had a marriage and kids – that I’d hug and kiss them and tell them I love them 60 cazillion times a day.

So I do. And Rambo just follows my suit and has become the guy who loves that stuff too.

Yup - the big, burly, gun-toting, SWAT trained, 4x4 truck driving prison guard is a softie.

Naturally – this means our sex life is healthy too.

EXCEPT FOR NOW.

It’s like the Sahara desert, people. And for the first time in our over 20 year history – I’m actually thinking about scheduling and literally pencilling sex in our calendars.

Scratch that.  Screw the pencil.  At this point I'm using a freaking Sharpie.

And I blame Scooby Doo.

Why? Mostly because there’s no one else to blame and he’s the first person who popped into my head. But it’s noone’s fault. It’s a consequence of having so many jobs.

Rambo used to have two days off a week but now he drives a semi on those 2 days off for upwards of 16 hours a day. Yesterday he left the house at 4am and didn’t walk back in the house until 9pm.

Which means take a shower and go to bed because 4am is coming again really quickly.

He took his shower and we went to bed and right before we drifted off to sleep, Rambo clung to me and whispered, “Thank you for that amazing sex. It was soooo good.”

I replied, “I know, right?”

And a few seconds later he was asleep. I miss him terribly. Not just the physical him but the mental him. Rambo and I talk each night for a long time – during supper, before bed, in the bath, all evening – and it’s how I end each day. It’s how I get through each day. When I can’t do that – I feel incomplete.

The funny thing is I know he feels it too. I hear it in his voice – when he calls me more than he usually does. When he lingers on the phone a little bit more than usual.

Our phone calls are usually short and sweet because we know we’ll catch up at night but now we’re spending time on the phone. Full on conversations – because the night conversations aren’t gonna happen.

Our hearts hurt. I’m trying to just be the supportive wife. The one that takes care of everything at home so he doesn’t have to. So he knows I appreciate his willingness to work a literal 6 weeks straight before he gets a day off.

But he’s hurting too. I know because of the extra phone calls. The extra texts. The extra minute he kisses and hugs me at 4am before he gets up to do it all over again. The missing is like a palpable thing in the room you can feel.

Normally we’d say it over and over but this time neither of us has – because I think we’re afraid of the magnitude of the emotions behind it this time. Maybe we’re both afraid we’d fall apart. Or maybe we’re afraid we’d let our emotions win and say, “The hell with it – let’s quit all the side jobs – and just live on love.”…when we know that’s as insane as the missing feels. I’m staying strong for him and he’s staying strong for me.

But I know him well enough to know – he’s hurting. And he knows I am too.

And my girls feel the same way. Banana fell asleep sitting up on the couch last night – waiting for Daddy. Before his shower, he lovingly carried her to bed and kissed her goodnight…and I know his heart broke a little.

It’s temporary. It won’t be like this forever.

Damn these soaring gas prices. It’s been a week without sex and I’m already talking about scheduling it like it’s therapy. I mean really – sexting can only hold us over for so long. And the grammar goddess in me finds it hard to be turned on when Rambo misspells cooter. The only thing I can think about at that point is spell check.

How do you guys do it? Not “do it”. I mean – how do you work it in? OMG – that sounded even worse, didn’t it? You know what I mean.

Do you schedule it? Have you always planned it or is it always spontaneous? Do you care? Does it matter to you? Do you miss it? How long do you go before you stage an intervention on a dry spell?

Do you let your schedules dictate your sex life? How do you feel about that?

Come on. Share. 

Tell me I'm not alone living in the Sahara with my planner and my Sharpie.

Once again - what are you going to do once the fat is gone?

I wrote this post last August....and *I* needed to read it again.  For me.  For more inspiration as I continue on my newfound journey back to health.  Feel free to read again with me if you so desire.

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I’ve been reading a bunch of blogs lately and each of them talk about no longer being able to eat their emotions and I keep wondering….what did we all think would happen when the fat was gone? Why didn’t anyone prepare us better for what would happen when all we were left with was our skinny little asses and broken hearts?


I think anyone who enters a weight loss journey thinks in the end – at goal – that we’ll live in Care Bear Land and life will be paradise. It’s what we dream of. Skipping from cloud to cloud – in our brand new skinny jeans.

The thing is though – that even when the fat is gone – life remains.

Shit happens. People die. Bills pile up. Jobs are lost. In-laws piss you off. Kids get sick and even puke. Explosive Man still blows up. It storms and your roof leaks. You want to kill your boss. You still hate your ex. A size 2 still doesn’t fit past your knee. Toilets still have to be cleaned.

The world just keeps turning.

The only thing that changes is that when the fat is gone – if you look in the mirror and there are still tears streaming down your face - you are forced to admit that fat is no longer the reason.

You are unhappy – in spite of the fat. Without the fat.

My God – no one planned on that happening, did they? No one told anyone that the whole mother-effing life you lead could be turned upside down because you shed a layer of skin.

But it can be.

Before you lost the fat? Well, you could cry. Be in a bad mood. Huff and puff. Stay at home with your bottle of excuses. Not participate. Be grouchy. Be pissed and bitter. Hate how you looked. Be mad at the world. Live in oversized clothes. Never care about your appearance. Never smile. Go to bed early. And get up late.

All because fat gave you the right to those feelings. Not a single person questioned your attitude. They’d do the same if they were in your shoes right?

Fat gave you a reason – to be unhappy. And by God – you used it.

Now? You’re losing fat. Maybe even done losing and now maintaining.

So when you cry now – stomp your feet – want to kick small bunnies – scream at every human being and have road rage before you ever even set foot in a car – you can no longer say:

It’s because I can’t move because I’m too big.
It’s because I didn’t sleep because I’m too big to sleep well so I’m exhausted.
It is because I hate the way I look.
It’s because my blood pressure is too high.
It’s because of all the meds I take.
It's because I can't breathe.
It’s because I can’t work out because of my size.
It’s because nothing fits me.
It’s because I’m discriminated against because of my fat.
It’s because people point at me when I’m in public.
It’s because I’m embarrassed of how I look.

And the list goes on.

You can’t say those things anymore. Instead – if someone asked you what was wrong – now that you’ve lost weight – when everything should be paradise – you might actually have to face your inner demons and say:

I’m not happy with my career.
I’m angry about my childhood.
I’m not in love with my partner anymore.
I am not being my authentic self.
I haven’t let go of some of the things in my past.
I’m carrying guilt, shame and hurt.
I cannot forgive someone for something they did years ago.

And the list goes on.

You can bet your new skinny ass it’s easier when someone asks what’s wrong to just be able to say, “I’m fat – that’s what’s wrong.”

The person might give you a lecture on eating and working out – but you never have to dig deeper. You never have to admit that even if the fat were stripped away – you’d still be unhappy. You never have to even go there. Fat does it for you.

Some would even say they were happier when they were heavier. Of course they were. Because back then the only problem they ever admitted they had – was fat. Everything else was perfect. If you had granted them one wish pre-fat – they wouldn’t have changed a single thing in their perfect life – just the fat.

The truth is – fat never did any of us any favors. Most of us thought it was a blanket and a shield and the fact is – it was a straight jacket. Fat made you a kept woman.

Kept angry. Bitter. Sad. Pissed.

It quite possibly kept you settled. Unforgiven. Ashamed.

It kept you everything but your true self.

I’ve always found it so interesting when people say they can’t shove down their emotions with food anymore. I feel like I never did that.

What I did was binge so I could cry and hate myself – for binging. God forbid I didn’t binge and hated myself for the real reason behind the tears.

Or I ate crap for weeks and gained 20 lbs so I could cry and hate myself – for being fat, eating crap, and letting myself go. God forbid I let myself feel some pain and make some changes and face my fears instead of using fat to mask the real reasons behind my pain.

If I binged or was fat – that was enough. THAT was why my heart was aching and my world was cruel. And anyone I told that to would nod their head because that was valid.

My real feelings? The real hurt? Apparently I never thought that was valid enough to warrant taking care of. I was fat. Everything else came in second place after that.

Fix the fat – then maybe I’ll fix the “other stuff”. But if I never allow myself to fix the fat – I never will have to fix the “other stuff”, now will I?

People would almost “expect” me to be a sad, hateful person. I could see it in their eyes, they’d say, “Of course, you’re miserable. Look at you. Who wouldn’t be?”

And their pity was mine. My fat had a voice. A feeling. It was something I could put a label on because I was too scared to label anything else. It was absolutely everything that was wrong in my life…except it wasn’t.

I say this now because I’m realizing I didn’t come this far to slide backwards or get “un”healthy or gain any weight back….simply because I lack the courage and fortitude it takes to keep going forward – and to face things that may break my heart in the road that lies ahead.

As I strip away more and more layers of fat – I uncover shitloads of broken dreams and cracked hearts and old fears and more hurt than I ever understood was under there.

And it scares the living shit out of me.

You better believe that gaining 70 lbs back and telling myself the only thing wrong with me every day is that “I’m fat” would be easier and less painful than continuing on this journey and seeing where it takes me.

I can’t choose that woman anymore. I don’t want to be her now that I see me – today.

She was never authentic or true to what was in her soul. She was too caught up in fat.

I am strong enough now to conquer the demons I’ve taught myself to shove down for years.

I don’t owe fat anything. None of us do.

I’m 100% certain that nothing I face going forward can be as scary and heartbreaking as anything I’ve faced in the past – because I’m stronger now than I was then.

I’ve got a lot less fat weighing me down….and I’m going to keep it that way.

Are you?