Monday, April 29, 2013

A free spirit is nothing a little vodka can't cure.

In a discussion about our youngest daughter this weekend, Rambo looked at me dead seriously and said, “Wow. We’re screwed. She got all of me and my not so good traits, didn’t she?
She has none of you in her. Shit. Shit. And double shit.”

I didn’t even argue with him.

The little girl hates authority. Hates rules. Hates anyone who tells her what to do.

She’s a free spirit who never sits still and is happiest when she is exploring outside. Wearing short sleeves and no shoes when she’s been told to put on a sweatshirt and shoes about 50 times.

Warnings don’t mean anything to her.

You’ll get sick and your toes will freeze off. “I don’t care.” is her response.

You won’t get to go to the class party if you don’t take the test. “I don’t care.”

You can’t go to the neighbor’s house to play if you don’t clean your room. “Okay mom.”

You’ll get in trouble at school if you don’t listen. “I don’t care.”

She has no fear of trouble or people being angry with her behavior or of consequences.

It is maddening.

To those of you who write blogs about how parenting is the spark in your eyes every single moment of every single day….well I say to you – you’re lying. Take my kid for a day. Just one damn day. You shall never write of rainbows shooting out of your eyeballs again. Like ever.

Part of being a free spirit for my kid is wearing what she wants – no matter what the weather is like. I’m not kidding. She’ll wear flip flops to school and take her snow boots in her backpack to change into for recess.

She looks like a damn idiot. Scratch that – she looks like she has a mother who is a damn idiot. She’s one of those kids wearing a tank top when it’s negative 40 degrees who people look at, shake their head and say, “Her mother must be a drug addict.”

I think I should try drugs. Everyone probably thinks I’m on them anyway at this point.

Lately my kid also has this thing about black leggings. She must have 50 pairs of leggings with patterns and colors but she can ONLY wear black ones. You know – so that every day even if she’s wearing a new pair of black leggings – to others – they think she wears the same pair of pants for 5 days.

Again – forgive her – her mom is on drugs. Remember?

Soooo this morning – no black leggings were clean.

Can you say Major Meltdown City? Like we went all the way to Crazy Town and ended up back in Mama’s Foaming at the Mouth Village.

Jesus, Joseph and Mary on a unicycle.
I cannot deal.

I told her she was trying my patience. That “they are just pants for God’s sake”. That this is why I tell her to pick out her outfit the night before. I even made faces that I’m sure Satan would be scared of.

Full on sobbing and weeping. Tears. Snot. The whole enchilada – before 7am.

F*cking fantastic.

She covered her face with her bookbag all the way to the sitter’s house. She ran into their house without looking back or even saying goodbye.

She broke my heart into a million pieces without even trying. The power the little shit holds is immense and God forbid if she ever realizes that.

So yah – parenting is sucking the life out of me today. Rambo called about an hour later to ask if I was okay. Who the hell wants to discipline before 7am? Who the hell wants their kid’s day to start like that?

Not I – said the mother on drugs.

You might think I’m drinking water at work all day but the truth is that it’s vodka. Don’t judge.

And don’t tell pregnant people or the rest of us bloggers that every day of parenting is like bathing in Skittles.

It just ain’t. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Some days it just blows.

All before 7am.

You’re welcome.

I’d sign this little entry with my name but I can’t remember what it is. The pills I washed down with vodka kicked in and I forgot I even have kids so all is now well again in my world.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

When gaining weight is a good thing.

Yes. I’m serious.

Let me tell you why.

Yesterday marked 16 weeks since I began “Operation Kick Sheniqua’s Ass”.

I haven’t been this dedicated to my health since 2006 when I lost over 70 pounds and culminated that journey with a tummy tuck to get rid of my excess stomach skin. It feels good to be in this place again. The place where I think before I overeat and I work out before I decide to watch TV for hours.

However – I still ain’t perfect.
Of the 16 weigh-ins, I have gained 3 times – each ½ pound. Yesterday was #3. I gained ½ pound.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t even pissed. I didn’t eat like shit the rest of the day because “I might as well take advantage of the gain”.

I mean it’s hard to act shocked about the gain. It’s hard to be pissed about something I knew was coming, you know? An entire bag of Cheetos really isn’t meant to be eaten in one day. Pop tarts aren’t really supposed to be breakfast – lunch AND dinner. Not making myself get on the treadmill doesn’t work as well as actually getting on it.

But 16 weeks is a long time. The healthy shit gets old – and hard.
I’m human and I start to slack off and think I can get away with it.

There is nothing like a gain this close to bikini season to re-rev my engine. Seriously – that gain was what I needed. I *detest* noting a gain in my spreadsheet. I *abhor* writing a gain on my huge posterboard in the workout room almost as much as I hate P words. I *hate* that I’m I am now 1 lb off of my goal weight for this week.

So yah, I showed a gain at 7am yesterday. The rest of the day after that was stellar. I ate when hungry. I ate under my calories. I no sooner walked in my front door before I was on the treadmill running my ½ lb. heavier ass off.

The ½ pound is gone today.

But it ain’t over. It ain’t time to rest.

I ordered a custom made mint chevron dress from Etsy this week and I have dreams of what it will look like come June when I have a family wedding shower where no one in the room weighs more than 110 lbs.

I have visions of riding on the back of Rambo’s Harley with a blinged out belt that is required because without it my skull embroidered pants will fall off.

I have plans to wear my frayed cut off denim shorts with a white tank and my ivory cowboy boots on a date with Rambo.

I have a desire to be a runner again. A five-mile-a-dayer. A sweaty mess. A hot tomale.

I have plans to not be the fat one in the family.

I have plans to not feel less than simply because of a number on a scale.

Do not worry, my little Skittles. I will get there.

This little gain was just what I needed to kick my ass back into gear.
To renew the warrior spirit that is within me.
To care more about how I look and feel than how good food tastes.

Sheniqua should be scared out of her damn mind.

Her days are numbered.

15 down. 16 to go. I soooo got this.


Stat update:

63 workouts out of 120 possible days for the year
440 minutes/50.5 hours worked out for the year
19053.5 calories burned for the year
163.3 miles done – 236.7 to go to meet 400 mile goal
16 weeks in – should be 16 lbs lost – currently 15 lost – 1 lb short of goal

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

The risk of being your true self.

My little friend Sarah over at Thinfluenced said something about how writing about your true self brings about a change within you. I’m not sure if it’s the writing part or the writing and then putting it out there for praise or criticism that changes people but I am sure that she is right. There’s a vulnerability to writing and proclaiming to the world your deepest thoughts that many never have the courage to face.

Today I got nothing substantial for you – so I thought I’d elaborate on my true self. You know – throw more personal shit out there to be judged. Things not a lot of people in my real life know. Things that make me my authentic me. Things that I want my kids to know some day when I’m gone and these words I write become theirs to keep and read and own.

Here goes nothing:

I’m a sentimental freak. Over-emotional to the core. I keep things like the shirt that I wore when I literally pushed out my daughter. Things like every movie ticket from the movies Rambo took me to. All the cards attached to all the flowers he’s ever sent me. All the love notes he ever wrote.
I consider these things my greatest treasures.

Along the same lines of that – I wear things every day that are about people I love and have lost. I wear charm bracelets with charms like a semi (for Rambo) and a watermelon and a banana and Rambo’s and my girl’s birthstones. I wear my Grandma’s wedding ring right next to my wedding ring. I wear multiple Saint charms on my charm bracelet that my Grandma wore every day as she fought cancer.
Again – my most precious assets.

I have 8 tattoos and all but 1 have a meaning to them that you probably wouldn’t know unless you asked me. I can cover every single one but almost every day one or more is visible. Many are Rambo themed. A few Rambo has that match. A lot of them were designed by me. Some are small and one covers 1/3 of my back.

I lost my favorite Uncle when I was 15 and he was 21. He took his own life and shattered mine at the same time. It changed nearly every part of me and decades later I have part of that loss etched into my back forever in a tattoo.

Many people say that they never regret and they wouldn’t take bad things back if they could because those things made them who they are today. I think that’s a lie. And a truth. But for me – mostly a lie. If I could take back suicides and deaths and tragedies – I would. In a heartbeat. I’d love to know who I’d be today had they not happened. There wouldn’t be so many holes in my heart – that’s for sure.

I am surprised that Rambo and I made it. Rambo was what most adults deemed “bad news”….especially for a good little Catholic girl. At the age of 15, sometimes I wondered what the hell I was doing but I couldn’t even think about walking away from him. He was the reason that I stayed alive back then – and now.

I have a sister that is 15 years younger than me. When I was having babies and paying mortgages and being a wife with a career – she was in high school, going to prom and getting her license. When she was a baby she called me mom and if I was ever shopping with her, people thought she was mine – and I let them.
She gave my life meaning back then.

I was born and raised a farm girl. I’ve castrated animals and done chores and played in cow shit and made hay right next to all the guys….and I loved every minute of it.

By the time I was 20, I had taken care of two dying women and then watched as they left this world. It was both beautiful and heart-wrenching at the same time.

I married Rambo at a really young age by today’s standards and 500 people showed up that day. The moment of the day that I remember most like it was yesterday was standing at the top of the church stairs waiting to walk down to meet Rambo and I remember that I thought to myself, “I’ve never felt more calm in my entire life.”

Just months after our wedding, I went through a deep and severe depression that left me bed-ridden for weeks. I didn’t know if I’d survive it – and there were many days when I didn’t want to.

I have never been drunk. The moments and events of my life that have been marred by alcohol are too many to count.

I used to think and care way too much about what others felt and thought about me. I am nearing 40 years old and I can finally say that I am finally learning to love me and accept me – flaws and all.

I worry every day if I am scarring my children at their core because of things I say or do or don’t say or do. I know my own childhood pain and I’m haunted by the fears that my own kids may ever feel that same thing.

I have way too many clothes and shoes and things…not because I need them but because it’s how I cope with things that leave me feeling less than or empty. It is how I measure my success. And it is bullshit.

I take baths every single day – usually with Rambo. I can’t remember the last time I ever took a shower. A bath is my gift to me every day. It is part of who I am.

I have stretch marks and scars from c-sections and tummy tucks and breast reductions and muffin tops to match and still I wear a bikini all summer. I’m not necessarily proud of my body or how it looks but in the same token – I refuse to hide it. I just won’t do it. I walk around my own house naked a lot. I do not put my body down in front of my girls and I walk around like I’m some damn model because I never want them to hide either. I want them to accept their beauty and be proud and I refuse to be a mother who doesn’t practice that preachery.<< I just made that word up.

I love and crave alone time. I believe it makes me a better wife and mother and friend. I’m not afraid of my own thoughts – though I probably should be.

I have dreams of what my extended family should be like according to the fantasies in my head…and yet it is never reality. Ever. We are broken. We have always been broken. As adults, we are more fragmented than ever and the stark realization and truth of that is sometimes soul crushing to me. I am often jealous of families that not only love each other – but like each other and spend time together. I never thought I’d be a person that perpetuates the dysfunction – but I am.

I know things about my extended family that a lot of others don’t know. Big things. Pregnancies, adoptions, drugs, accidents, affairs. Things that would shatter people’s worlds. Things I will take with me to my grave. Things that I wish weren’t secrets. I have learned that secrets slowly ruin lives…
whether they remain secrets or not.

Life scares the shit out of me most days. Staying in the moment and trying not to worry relentlessly have never been my strong suits. My real strong suits are my ability to love you with everything in me and my ability to remain loyal….unless I get hurt. Then my flaws come out. I retreat. Back up. Hide. Walk away. Build a wall. Trust no one. Live in the pain. Believe I am not worthy. Until time passes and I re-learn how to forgive and let go and risk again.

I have a hard time giving my whole, full, real self to anyone. I’m too afraid of rejection and that once you see who I really am at my core – you’ll walk. You’ll realize I am not worth the effort. I fear being neglected and never being noticed or never being allowed to exist…yet believing I have a right to be who I am doesn’t come easy either. I don’t want to stand out in a crowd but I don’t want to linger in the shadows. I want the middle ground. I search for balance every day…and it’s an elusive little sucker.

I don’t believe that I’m entitled to success or material things or benefits. I believe that if I didn’t earn it – it shouldn’t be mine. I believe if you give things to me freely then you take away my drive to reach for it. I don’t believe in paying for my kid’s college. I won’t hand them a car when they get their license unless they’ve paid for part of it themselves. I won’t tell them I’m okay with them having sex with every boy that turns their head. I will tell them that it’s their decision and that I know it’s hard to have self control but that I also know it can be done. I won’t make them believe in the God that I believe in. I will hope they believe in some kind of God though.

I believe I deserve joy. Real, cheek hurting, stomach aching laughter and joy that makes your soul soar. I never used to believe that - and now? Well now I do.

Do you? Tell me some things about your authentic inside self. Things you never talk about or say out loud. Can you put them into words? Can you be that vulnerable? Can you take that risk?

Monday, April 22, 2013

Don't ask people with penises for advice.

I had a powerful conversation with a friend yesterday.

Her and her husband are very young. Been married about 2 years and have a little boy who will be one soon. The conversation left me thinking - even still today.

Though I realize that Rambo has a penis and therefore, cannot think much beyond that….I thought I’d get his take on the conversation to see if he had any thoughts.

I will sum up the conversation that she and I had for you in the same way that I did for Rambo.

We were sitting in the bathtub filled to the brim with bubbles and I turned to Rambo and just blurted this out.

“X & X haven’t had sex since January. She says that she can count the times they have sex in a full year on one hand.”

Rambo’s thoughtful, helpful, intensely wise answer to my pronouncement?

“What? Ain’t no way that’s ever happening in this house.”

Thank you douchekabob.

Really Einstein? That’s what you got for me? I’m genuinely concerned for them.

When she confided in me – for once – I was kind of speechless. I don’t know the answer for them. I don’t even know where to start. My answer to her face was that I think she should schedule it on the calendar and follow through until it becomes natural. It sounded as lame in person as it did to just write it. Eeesh.

In deep conversations like this, you always want to be able to say, “That’s totally normal. We go through that too. You’ll be fine.” so that the person feels relieved and not alone.

However, yours truly had literally sent my kids away for a few hours, took a bath and shaved and prettied up and put on a black string that some would call lingerie and I met Rambo at the top of the stairs when he walked in the door from work.

She was hurting and I didn’t want to sound preachy and say, “Marriage and romance and passion take effort. He’s all you have and you need to nurture that relationship. Blah blah blah.”

He loves her. She loves him. How does this happen?

Rambo commented that there are many couples we know that have sexless marriages – by choice. They don’t really even like each other but stay married and they don’t have sex. There are others who like each other just fine but have sex with other people in swinger situations or open marriages. It works for some people. Maybe I should have told her that it’s okay – that maybe for them – that’s their pattern and way and it is neither good nor bad.

The thing is – it’s not okay because she’s hurt about it. She looked at me and said, “It’s not normal. We are the only young couple I know that doesn’t have sex.”

Her eyes were pleading with me for answers. Just something.

She didn't just need me to listen - she wanted help.

Then she went on to say – as we insecure women do – that she questions him. Is he cheating? Getting it somewhere else? Does he find me unattractive? Does he still love me?

And I told her that chances are that he could be thinking the same thing about her.

I want to put them in a room and tell them to just love each other – openly and fully….and to try every day with everything they have. But who the hell am I to give that kind of advice? I don’t have a perfect marriage. I may think it’s perfect but I’m using my own rules to define what perfect is for me.

What Rambo and I do or have done isn’t necessarily what they should do or shouldn’t do.

I told her that I would take her little boy any time and that offer stands but that I simply cannot help her if she doesn’t let me. I told her I knew that she had taken care of everyone her whole life and she was used to never trusting or taking help or reaching out but she had to try. That I gave the offer meaning it. That they need a break from parenting and life and just time alone. I told her that Rambo and I would help – if only she would let us. That made her cry…

I had no other answer. Nothing of substance to tell her things would be okay or how to fix the stuff weighing so heavy on her heart.

I just felt sad for her. There’s just so much sad and hard stuff in regular life that I can’t imagine home not being a refuge. Like when I’m home with Rambo and just laying there in that moment – it’s easy to forget that outside our doors there is evil and bombings and explosions and death and hurt. Everything else outside my front doors might hurt but it doesn’t matter because inside is serenity and laughter and peace and love. I want that for her. I want her home-life and marriage to feel like Care Bear Land the minute she shuts the door behind her. I want Skittle baths with her husband for her.

I want to erase her self doubt about not being good enough or wanted or loved by her husband.

I want to tell her that while everything else in life is hard – love can be easy – if you let it be.

That’s a lie too though because sometimes love and staying are the hardest things we’ll ever do in life.

What would you have said to a woman barely over 22, married less than 2 years, with a one year old – standing in your house begging you to give her some answers on how to fix the only thing that matters to her?

I feel like I failed her. I just didn’t give her anything of substance or make it better.

Could you have?

What would your answer to her have been?

Thursday, April 18, 2013

Ten Things Thursday!

1-I didn’t blog on Tuesday because well – after Boston – I just couldn’t. I still weighed in and I lost another ½ pound making my total loss for the year at 15 lbs. even. 16 to go.

2-Negative people suck donkey balls. I will never understand the need to be and feel and act and say negative things constantly. I mean we all do it periodically but I’m talking about the toxically negative Nellys. I want to punch them all in the throat. The world breeds enough negativity on its own without any people helping it if you ask me.

3-It’s been raining for days here. Not just a little rain either. Torrential 3-4 inches a day rain. Rain was always my absolute favorite type of weather ever for most of my life. Until the flood came and wiped out everything physical that my parents owned in a matter of seconds. 5 years later and I’m still pissed.

Because now rain isn’t my favorite anymore. It triggers fear. Because of so much rain lately, around here on all the county roads that have bridges over the rivers – things are not looking good. By today – many bridges will be under water. For now – when you drive over them you look down and you see the brown, muddy, rushing water – inches from where your car is. I was caught off guard by my reaction to the sight of all this water.

Almost like an instant panic attack. Fear gripping at my stomach. Anger wrapped around my heart. I almost froze right there on that bridge like I was paralyzed by the memories. And I’m angry at that reaction. I’m just still angry.

4-Tomorrow is my sister’s birthday and I have a sort of cool gift for her that didn’t cost me anything. My siblings and I lost all of our parent’s and our childhood pictures in the flood and it’s something that bothers us all. The fact that I can’t sit down with my kids and show them when I was a kid – hurts. More than I’d like to admit. The other day though when I was catching up on filing I found a stack of pictures. Of my sister when she was young.

I have no idea why I had them but at some point I must have borrowed them from my mom. I’m going to give them back to my sister so she has them. I’ve often thought about asking all my aunts and uncles for any and all pictures of me or my parents as kids so I can have something to give to my own kids but the amount of work that’d take seems like too much to ask.

5-I’m currently in Week 5 of the weight loss video program that my work offers. This week was a lesson on carbs, fat and protein. She also taught us about “flirt foods” and “cravings”. Flirt foods are foods that you happen upon. Like you walk into a meeting and there are donuts there – and the donuts flirt with you. Flirt foods leave your mind after 10 or so minutes and you can stop thinking about them. Cravings are foods that you can’t stop thinking about no matter how hard you try.

6-I’m a sugarholic. I mean come on – I take baths in Skittles people. The lady on the program suggests that we take an amino acid supplement called L-Glutamin to curb carb and sugar cravings. Great. Another trick that won’t work is what went through my mind BUT I’ve been taking it and I swear to God I don’t crave sweets and if I do see some candy or something on the counter – it’s relatively easy to walk away from it. Holy run on sentence Batman. That’s monumental. I’m the kind of person who if I see the treat – I have to have it – all of it or seconds or thirds or whatever. To turn it down without feeling like I’m white-knuckling to make that decision is huge. I don’t know if it’s actually the pill or a placebo type effect.

7-Tonight the only thing on my agenda is to do a puzzle. A 1000 piece puzzle of an elk. I told Rambo I needed more puzzles and I kid you not – he went out and bought me a few and one was of an elk. WTF? Seriously? You have to hunt them, talk about them, plan trips around them and now I have to do puzzles with them in it? Great. That’s my glamorous life. A table, a puzzle, probably a Mountain Dew and me for a good 4 hours. Try not to be too jealous.

8-My oldest daughter told me she wants to go shopping for summer tank tops and shorts this weekend. I said no because we’re still running the furnace in the house. I refuse to shop for summer items wearing snow boots and a parka. The forecast for this weekend is SNOW. Motherf*ckingNature can bite my chubby ass. She is a huge douche-kabob. It’s going to be May. Cripes.

9-I have on 5 inch high stiletto hooker heels today. I have decided that every time Explosive Man walks by my office to go blow up in the bathroom I am going to throw my shoe at him and aim for his neck. It’s okay. He’ll be covered by worker’s compensation.

10-I took off work 3 hours early yesterday with the sole intention of napping and watching HGTV so I can stare at all the hot contractors. It’s good for the soul. Seriously. Try it.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Mary Poppins is married to an asshole.

I’m in a grouchy mood.
Like I want to line up small, fluffy bunnies and punch them in the face grouchy.

I’m liable to shank anything that moves today. It is not pretty. The ONLY good thing I can think of about today is that I’m wearing lemon yellow skinny jeans with nude high heels and my feet tattoos are showing and that’s kind of fun. Other than that – I could be equated with being Satan’s sister today.

Drazil – my hate spewing inner demon – is having a GRAND day in my head. The worst part is that the rational side of my brain – is listening to every word Drazil spits out. I can’t shut him up.

Reason #1 why I’m pissed off at the world is because last night I watched my Week 4 video from the weight loss plan that my work is sponsoring. I think it was titled “Sugar is the enemy”.

Well f*ckballs – let’s all take a guess at what this hour long video is going to say. I lost count of how many times I rolled my eyes at the skinny crotchface on the video who literally counted out and showed me how many teaspoons of sugar are in my precious nectar of the Gods (Mountain Dew).

Then for effect, she counted out teaspoons of sugar in just about everything else I eat.
That woman is a heifer on wheels.

And she’s right…..which makes me want to shank her in the eyeballs even more. (violent much?)

I know sugar is bad. I even know that sugar is an inflammatory that could be the main cause of my migraines. I know it’s bad, bad and worse…but last night I wasn’t in the mood to hear it.

So I ate a Reeses peanut butter egg. Then I ate another one. I’ll show her who controls what I put in my body. Wait. Shit. That’s not really proving anything except that I know how to get fatter.
Dammit. That kinda backfired, didn’t it?

I listed to the woman. I took my quiz. Took my notes. I wrote SUGAR IS EVIL all over my notebook like some high school girl in love writes her boyfriend’s name all over her jeans. I’m so mature.


Even though I tried not to – I learned some shit last night about sugar and diabetes and crap like that. I restrict sugar a little each day (like instead of eating a whole bag of tootsie rolls, I just eat 2 – or 5)(Baby steps, people. Baby steps.) but now I’m going to severely restrict sugar. I owe my body this test.

How will I feel without tootsie rolls or Reeses or Skittles every day? What will my migraines look like with way less sugar? How about my cholesterol and high BP? Mood? Sleep?

All of it.

Still – to the woman on the video…I want to yell, “F*ck you and the I’m-skinny-you-can-be-too train you rode in on.”

The second reason why I’m hating life right now is where Drazil comes in.

I married a man that is kind beyond reason. He’s like Jesus Christ’s step-son or something.
He is generous to a fault. He’s also married to a selfish witch.

I’m not saying that so you’ll say, “Oh honey, you’re not a selfish witch.”
I’m saying it because it is literally true.

Rambo worked in the semi all day yesterday and then when he was done it was already 5pm. At that point – he STILL decided it was the right thing to do to drive 2 hours away to visit his sister in the hospital. He gets there and when he is done visiting, he goes out to eat with his parents and brother.

He pays for everyone’s meal.

He buys his sister get well flowers.

He fills my car up to the top.

He spreads love and cheer wherever he goes. His nickname is Mary Poppins.

His real name should be Rainbow Brite. He should ride a unicorn with rainbow-colored hair.

I was home in bed by the time Rambo got home. I hear him come quietly to bed. I feel him wrap his arms around me and say he loves me. I contemplate kicking him but decide not to and I drift back to sleep.

We wake up in the morning and I’m an asshole.
A complete dickwad to him as he tries to tell me all about his night.

Do you know the only thing I can think about is that he paid for everyone’s meal? The fact that it was at Hooters may or may not have a lot to do with this. I mean isn’t it awkward (and stupid) to sit and eat a meal with your senior citizen mother at Hooters?

I’m saying shit like, “You worked most of the day in the semi just to pay for your family’s food.”

I mean – evil stuff is just falling out of my mouth like lava out of a volcano – as I get ready to walk out the door.

Rambo had the audacity to grab me, hug me and say, “Try to come home in a better mood, ok? Quit being Crabbypants.”

Really? This is NOT just Crabbypants. This is I want to shoot daggers out of my eyes at you.

The whole time Drazil is screaming in my head:

What is wrong with you – you witch? The man works 40 some days straight for you and just hands over his check with never a complaint and you begrudge him one meal at Hooters? What kind of person are you? What kind of wife are you? He’s going to leave you. You don’t deserve him. How dare you make him feel bad for doing good things? You are the definition of selfish. You aren’t Satan’s sister – you are Satan’s MOM. The guy lives and breathes for you and you’re mad at him for doing the right thing and buying a meal and going to Hooters? MY GOD – I can’t figure out why he hasn’t walked out of here yet.

This time – Drazil is right. It’s ok to say it. It’s the truth. All damn morning I’ve been trying to figure out why this triggers such anger in me. Am I still that insecure? Am I honest to God THAT selfish? Where is this coming from? What is wrong with me???

I don’t have the answers. I just don’t. We’re talking about $70 here people.
And a place where the women are clothed. And a sister who was ill.

This is SO not about money.

Every reaction I have about this is wrong, wrong and more wrong. There are days when I think I’ve come a long way in the learning to love myself area and then there are days like this when I realize I have a lot to learn and a lot to fix. I am still so flawed in so many ways.

If you don’t agree with me and you’re about to tell me “oh you’re just human – you’re not evil” ….well here. Let me prove that I birthed Satan.

While Rambo was out doing the right thing and I was busy being pissed about it,
I found the time to buy another Coach purse.

Now do you believe me?

I have some internal thinking to do. THIS is not the person I want to be. Nor the wife that Rambo deserves. How on Earth can I still be this horrible person after all the intense soul-searching that I’ve done?
How is that possible?

It’s been a long time since I’ve used the word hate in terms of how I feel about who I am but today – I feel it. I hate this part of me. I hate my reactions and my feelings. I hate that I can’t figure out why I feel the way I do. I hate the words I spoke this morning.

I hate this day.

I hate Drazil when he’s right. He’s such an arrogant bastard as it is and today I can’t quiet him. All day long – he’ll scream….and I can’t even fight him. Because today the words he screams are true.

That’s hard to admit.

Harder yet to fix.

Damn you, Drazil. Just damn you.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

WTF Wednesday. Sort of.

Mucho randomness-o here today.

-A few days ago, I had on mint green yoga-ish pants with a matching mint green hoodie. The color of this outfit just makes you want to smile. It’s like minty-tealy-green-y-blue-y all mixed into one and you just want to reach out and touch it. Or me - when I’m wearing it.

Every single time I wear it – someone tells me they love the color or outfit. I mean really – how many outfits does a person wear that beyond a doubt every single time someone says something good about it? Not many. It’s a keeper fo sho. And for realz – this is basically a sweatpants outfit.

Anywhoozle, I wore it to work and a few people said they liked it (even though I’ve worn it a million times there before) and that was fine and dandy. However, later in the grocery store – I turned around to a cute little old woman standing right in front of me and she grabbed my arm and said, “That is a nice outfit. That’s how we want you to look.” Um – WTF? I don’t understand who “we” is and exactly how does this “we” want me to look? I’m so confused. What an odd compliment, huh?

I’m serious. The color of the outfit just draws people in and then they say weird things.

And yes – I just wrote an entire paragraph about a sweatpants outfit. My life is just that fun.

-Today on the radio show I listen to, they were discussing shapes that women shave their woohoo hair into and the names for those. I’m astounded at the creativity of some women and frankly – more astounded by the time they have to make shapes out of their pubic hair. I mean – don’t these people have kids or something who bang on the bathroom door every time they go in there? Oh wait - that’s just me.

I mean they were talking stripes and boxes and even someone who did theirs in the shape of cell phone tower reception levels. You know the bars that go from high to low. WhatTheholyF*ck!

Oh and the new thing – in case you were wondering – is a vagacial. That’s a vagina facial people. A facial for your vagina. Wow. I get it – all this attention to the nether regions can be fun. In fact, the boys on the show said to the girls “we like it when you surprise us down there and keep it new and fun”. Um. I am puzzled by that statement as well.

How can down there be a surprise for anyone you’re in an actual relationship with? Rambo sees me naked every damn day. Multiple times. I couldn’t hide that that thing from him if I tried much less have the time to grow an entirely new shape for him.

- I missed the update yesterday on my weigh-in day. Fear not – it is not because something went wrong. On the contrary – I lost another ½ lb so I’m down 14.5 lbs total since 1/1. I’ve been doing yard work and landscaping as workouts and can I just say that yours truly is a wussy with a capital W? My God – I had to use hand rails in the bathroom to lower my ass onto the toilet because I was so sore from yard work. My actual butt cheeks hurt. I think even my eyebrows were sore. I shit you not.

-I bought pink leopard license plate holders for my Tahoe. And I may or may not have bought a shiny chrome W hitch cover (for Wisconsin Badgers) to go with it. Pink leopard and chrome can never be wrong.

-I caught Rambo on his computer two nights ago researching and *almost* buying me tickets to go see Pink in concert. I say almost because I caught him and told him NO WAY. I’d rather have purses or shoes for the price of her tickets BUT with that being said – I told him to keep watching for shows closer to Podunk and we’d go. That boy is kinda nice. He knows I love Pink – the color and the singer – and he was going to surprise me. Awwww.

-The 7 year old, Banana, wants her room re-done and re-painted and such. Apparently she’s now old enough to care about that stuff. Dammit. We have decided to paint 3 walls bright pink and one wall yellow and the theme? You guessed it. HELLO KITTY. I’m going to go on the website Fathead and buy a big ‘ol Hello Kitty for her wall. And then I’m going to convince her that it should be my room after that.

Mkay – I’m done now. I gotta stop or I won’t have 10 Things for Thursday!

Friday, April 5, 2013

BYOC - Bring Your Own Crazy!!

 It's time for BYOC!!!

We answer 5 little questions - some serious, some silly - to give our blogging brains a break and to get to know each other better.  Copy and paste to your own blog and ENJOY!!

1. Tell us something that you want to do or wish you could do but you continue not to do it for fear of judgement or failure or of what others may say or do?

The first thing that popped into my head is tattoos. I’d probably cover myself in them if I didn’t work in a professional setting and if my extended family didn’t hate them so much….as it is I have 8. I’d absolutely get a tiny diamond stud in my nose if I had the balls. Moving is another thing I’d do if I thought I could do it. I’ve never lived anywhere but here but sometimes I want to.

2. What’s your favorite pizza topping and brand?

I’m pretty boring – sausage only is my fave. My favorite brand is from a little Mom & Pop place that Rambo took me to almost every weekend back in high school and it still stands today. It’s still my favorite and now my kids love it too.

3. If you could go back in time but only as far as five years – would you go or not go and why?

I always hope that I never have any regrets in life but the fact is that I do – so yes – I’d go back. I used to think if I could go back and undo the flood that took my childhood home and devastated my parents – that I would but now – I’m not so sure. I am sure I’d change the timing of it. It happened when I was only a few days out from getting my tummy tuck and the recovery was brutal due to the flood.

Personally – I’ve suffered a lot of heart ache in the last 5 years and one thing I’d do differently in that aspect is guard my heart better. I love too deeply and too easily and too fast and in the end, I always lose.

4. Who is your favorite Disney princess and why?

For sure – it’s Belle from Beauty and the Beast. Um – first - the yellow ball gown is to die for. The whole falling in love with someone though they appear to be a beast on the outside strikes a chord for me. I suppose in some ways – Rambo was a beast….to most of the adults who knew him. He was a risk-taker and a trouble-maker and he spent more time in the principal’s office than in a classroom when I dated him. I was the good little Catholic girl with the 4.0 and not a single adult or teacher could understand why I loved him. But I did anyway.

And as he grew up – everyone started to see what I saw from the beginning. He was a tough farm kid, rough around the edges and he hated rules. To me – I saw a hard-working man who loved every part of me when I thought I was unloveable.

He had more honor, loyalty, compassion and morality in his left arm than most people have in their lifetime. Nearly every adult I knew tried to talk me out of being with Rambo – and I refused to listen. Now they too, know why. He was only a beast on the outside. The truth was that he didn’t need rescuing….I did.

5. Repeat Question – summarize your week!

This week was fun but stressful. The election sucked all the energy out of me but it turned out well. Recovering from Easter sucked donkey balls but I think everyone has successfully detoxed from chocolate eggs now. My diet and exercise have continued to be spot on and that feels GREAT! No plans for the weekend and I couldn’t be any happier about that!

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Ten Things Thursday!

1-The election is over. Thank God. I’m a big ‘ol wad of stress on a regular day and when you add in all the political shit that comes with an election…well…let’s just say that my anxiety level is higher than Willie Nelson’s brain on a normal day.

Rambo is still the Mayor and that means I’m still the First Lady of Podunk. Seriously people – we had over a 50% turnout – which is huge…but do you want to know how many people that actually was? 109. 109 people voted and that was over 50% of our town. Sweet grasshopper dicks, right? You probably thought I was exaggerating when I said Podunk was small but I wasn’t.

Some of it was fun. We watched the polls and waited for results and our phones rang off the hook and texts were coming in left and right with congratulations. I’m proud of Rambo. And I get to keep having sex with the Mayor. That never gets old.

2-Rambo weighed today and he’s down 21 lbs. Kinda fun, huh?

3-It’s supposed to be close to 60 degrees today. I am DYING to run outside just so I can carry my cute pink bottle of mace. Also because I’m dying to find a reason to buy arm warmers. Have you seen how cute some of the arm warmers are out there? Sooo cute. I mean why put on a long sleeve shirt when you can buy cute arm warmers – with thumbholes? Thumbholes are the best thing evah.

4-Rambo is dying for summer to get here too. He is researching parks and hiking trails like a mad man. He wants to go hiking or biking all summer on his days off with me and the girls. Maybe even camp. Calm down all you little divas out there. Have no fear – we will be camping in a “camper”. No tents for this girl. I mean really. Tents don’t have air conditioning. Duh.

5-Yesterday I took off work early and Rambo got out of the semi early so we could pick up our girls from school as a surprise. On the way home, Watermelon asked, “Why are you both off of work so early?” I said, “Cuz. We wanted to pick you both up so we could dance in the car all the way home.” And then I started dancing my ass off in the front seat and Rambo started head-banging. I thought it was hilarious. My girls rolled their eyes and they tried not to laugh.

They about shit their pants when we took them to the local gas station and ate ice cream treats with them. THOSE are the days I want them to remember instead of the ones like the night before when the election took our entire souls. Sigh.

6-A teacher in Watermelon’s class showed that video of that basketball guy’s leg breaking and a boy in her class passed out. Why a teacher felt the need to show that is beyond me.

7-I’m into week 3 of the work weight loss program. This week focused on a “stop eating cue”. The woman says every person has one or needs one. It can be pushing your plate back a few inches. Drinking a cup of coffee. Chewing a piece of gum. Loosening your belt. Or putting your napkin over your plate. You may not even know you do it but when you do – it’s your cue that you are done…and you stop eating.

Our assignment this week was to find one for ourselves. I’m having a little trouble with this one because I don’t sit down to eat a normal meal like most people do. I don’t take a lunch break because I eat through it at my desk. I have a salad or my chicken/brocc/rice but they are always in a container and I finish them because there isn’t a lot to begin with. Supper? Like last night I waited until I was hungry and that was about 7:30 and I got up and stuck 4 pcs of ham between two pieces of bread and sat on the couch and ate it. No plate. I don’t know – when I eat these days – it’s portioned out to be eaten fully…so I don’t need a stop eating cue. Do you have one?

8-The other thing I’m having trouble with is her “order of eating”. She says that you have to eat every single food separate and you eat your favorite thing first. Like if you have a plate with chicken, broccoli and potatoes on it….and chicken is your favorite. Eat how much chicken you want – slowly – and when you move on to the next thing – you CANNOT go back to the chicken. Then let’s say you eat some potatoes. Slowly. You do this for 10 minutes. You break for 5. Then you eat another minimum of 10 minutes but you cannot go back to the chicken or potatoes. You finished those. Get it?

The purpose is so that each food is actually tasted and registered in your brain. If you mix them and eat them fast – it’s a fact they all taste the same and your brain can’t register that you just ate 3 foods because it only tasted like one.

You have to literally, tediously taste each food and decide when to move on….and you can’t go back.

For me – again – I don’t lay my food on a plate. And I don’t have a lot of food that can be separated. I eat eggs for breakfast. That’s it. I eat Lean Cuisine pizzas for supper a lot …which can’t be separated. Hmmm. I use the principles when I can….the people here are loving it and losing weight and keeping it off so I’m trying to keep an open mind.

9-I think I should stop now. 7 & 8 were pretty winded. Shocker, I know.

10-We have NO plans for the weekend and I’m so excited about that that I could pee my pants. Rambo and I may even have a few hours minus the kiddos and if I didn’t hate poop so much I’d be so excited about that that I’d consider pooping my pants.

Later, Skittles.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Update and massive randompants.

Sheniqua’s chubby little ass is still being kicked to the curb over here in Care Bear Land in case you were wondering. Even egg-shaped Reeses and chocolate bunnies couldn’t stop me! I still managed to lose ½ pound which brings my total lost to 14 lbs now. 17 lbs to go to hit goal.

My workouts have slowed down this week in comparison to my other weeks. It’s batshit crazy around here lately because of board meetings and classes and the election. Then there’s that thing called parenting and wife-ing and house-owner-ing. Sometimes I can’t find time to breathe – much less work out….so I’ve stayed vigilant with my food choices and it still worked.

For the record:
54 workouts out of 90 days for the year
43.2 hours in time for the year
17086.5 calories burned for the year
140.4 miles gone for the year (259.6 to goal of 400)

Remember last week when I was pissed off? To make a long story short, the really, really old and ill gentleman that is running against Rambo for the Mayor position decided to go door to door and hand out a 1.5 page letter that pretty much just slams me and Rambo and others on the Board.

I was pissed first and then it became laughable once I realized I could easily disprove every line the man wrote. And as more and more people called us and told us their reactions or asked us questions – it was clear that this man did more damage than good to his campaign.

Rambo and I decided to do nothing. Absolutely nothing. We want no part of a smear campaign and this man tainted the election enough. The chips will fall where they may. I’m not pissed anymore but all the explaining and phone calls and staying strong and all of it – is exhausting. Sometimes it’s just hard to keep doing what you believe in.

The election is today. Here’s hoping….

Oh and in case you were wondering, my kids didn’t wake up sobbing this morning. Which is good for them because if they did, I had made plans to sell them. Cheap.

I want about 5 days off – with the guarantee that no work will pile up here at any of the jobs while I’m gone – to do “things”. Things like filing. Or springing up the landscaping after the winter. Or finishing designing my jeans (I cut up and drew on a pair of Silvers I have because it seemed like fun at the time). Or do more puzzles (I do jigsaw puzzles a ton. About 2 nights per 1000 piece puzzle. Very relaxing and keeps my mind off other things.) Or clean. Novel idea – cleaning. Jesus.

The only other exciting thing that happened this week was that my 12 year old brought home the sex paperwork. Yup. The whole – we are going to be learning about puberty and sex soon so can your child participate – paperwork.

This morning I said to Watermelon, “So – do you want to learn about sex or what?”

Rambo looked up and said, “God. Can you not just blurt it out like that to my 12 year old baby?”

Suck it up buttercup – itsahappenin.

Then he said, “Sure – send her. Then we don’t have to do it.”…as he laughed.
He knows I’ve already done it.

There you go – more randompants shit than you can shake a stick at.

You’re welcome.

Monday, April 1, 2013

I'm going to kill the Easter Bunny. For realz.

Not only do I want to shank the Easter Bunny in his nads but I want to punch him in the throat.
It’s not even because of the candy. It’s just in general.

Holidays are fun and blah blah blah but, generally speaking, they throw my --
routine-craving, plan to the hour, OCD and love to sleep in until 10am on the weekends children-- into a major tizzy of epic proportions..
(No - I have no idea where those traits come from.  Must be Rambo.)

It’s all fun and games…until the next morning.

You see - in the morning, the over-stimulation and over-abundance of food rears its ugly head.

For example – this morning – Rambo happened to be getting ready with us because he works a different shift today. Thank God because if I had to pull parent duty alone this morning I’m pretty sure that one of my kids would have been dead by 7am.

I’m getting my hair ready and I hear sobbing.

Not just a little cry, mind you. Sobbing.

There sits Banana and I say “what’s wrong” – thinking her leg got cut off or something worthy of the sobbing and all she says is, “I don’t know what to wear.”

Jesus Lord. Kill me now.

I painstakingly lay out 3 pairs of pants with 3 matching shirts and I ask her if she thinks she could just pick from these SIX selections. She shakes her little head yes. I go away. I’m stupid like that and I thought everything would be smooth sailing after that.

5 or so minutes later I still hear crying. I swear on all that is holy – I’m going to hunt the Easter Bunny down and rip off his damn ears and shove them up his ass.

I go in her room again and ALL 6 pieces of clothing are all over her floor. Oh yah, my darling child of Satan threw them because she said she hates all of them. 

Yes, I'm aware that I should have yelled at her or grounded her or talked to her about being nice to her clothing or whatever the hell a good Mom would have done or said at that moment - but listen - it was all of 6:19am and I had not the desire nor the energy and I never once claimed to be a good mom anyway -
so there.

Seriously. I’m not going to survive this.

Meanwhile Watermelon isn’t throwing fits and she’s not naked but she is grouchy and lethargic and says she feels terrible. F*cking Reeses eggs. I’m pretty sure when you eat 20 of them, it indeed makes you sick. Why the hell don’t they come with a warning label? I should sue them.

Somehow I finish getting ready and go to the kitchen where Rambo is packing lunches. Banana is still crying. Finishing getting ready with her face all red and scrunched up, sobbing – like we just beat her for 10 hours straight or something.

Rambo leans over and whispers to me, “You wanna go away to some deserted island and never come back?”

I very honestly and seriously said to him, “Dude – not funny. Don’t tempt me.”

Our kids are over-tired and they were over-stimulated and over-fed.
Me? I’m just OVER THIS.

We told both kids to go get in the car and just sit there and we’d be ready in a minute to take them to school. Neither Rambo or I could stand to deal with the sobbing and snarling for one more second.

There was no reasoning it away. No making it better. It just was.

When we got downstairs to the garage, Rambo opened Banana’s door and I heard him tell her everything would be okay, that he’d cuddle her tonight and that she would have a good day telling everyone what the Easter Bunny got her. He hugs and kisses her and says goodbye.

I’m sitting in the front listening.

He goes to the other back door and I hear him tell the older one that everything will be fine, he hopes she starts feeling better, he’ll cuddle her too and he loves her. Kisses her and says goodbye.

I’m still listening.

He comes to my door. Laughing. And says, “Do I need to give you a pep talk too? Don’t worry – I’ll cuddle you too and everything will be alright.”

I snap back – um – you can’t cuddle me. You have two meetings tonight. Take that and shove it in your ability to laugh through this, heifer.

He says, “I’ll cuddle you guys in shifts, I promise. What a great April Fool’s Day huh?”

Kiss, hug, goodbye….as I mumble, “Thank God I’m not a teacher today. Can you imagine dealing with all the little kids coming off the sugar high? Torture in its truest form.  Who the hell needs waterboarding anyway?”

We rode in complete silence all the way to our destination as I secretly contemplated how far I could get if I kept on driving after I dropped them off before anyone would notice I was gone.

It’s nearly as bad as the Christmas holiday hangover.
Except this time I can wear flip flops instead of a parka and mittens while I hunt down the bastard responsible for all of this.

Holy grasshopper dicks, people. I hate holidays.

Wait, wait. I mean I hate the day after a holiday when school is the very next day.

The whole process should be illegal or barred becasuse duh -  ain’t nobody got time fo dis.

How about you?  How was your Easter?

And by asking that, I basically mean I only want to hear about it if it was as horrific as mine, mkay?