Thursday, July 25, 2013

Ten Things Thursday!!

1-Next weekend Rambo and I have a wedding to go to out of town.  We booked a hotel for 2 nights and we are NOT taking the girls.  Rambo said to me last night, “Let’s just ditch the wedding and stay in the room by ourselves the whole weekend.”  Really?  You can’t throw candy like that at an anti-social broad like myself because, dude, I will so take you up on that offer without a second thought.
2-I started one of my trashy romance novels last night at 5pm and finished it by 9pm.  It makes me so sad that they don’t last longer.  Yes – I sat my happy ass on the couch and didn’t move for 4 hours.  Sue me.  (Rambo had meetings and my kids weren’t home.)  Lest you think I’m lazy I’d like to point out that I also painted my nails during this time and watched my favorite shows so I was multi-tasking the whole time.

3-Rambo’s Grandma died last night.  She was 94.  I hate death and the emotions behind it.  Blech.
4-Last weekend Rambo went on a benefit motorcycle ride and I didn’t go.  Two girls neglected to care that he had on a wedding ring and chose to ride next to him – and pull their shirts up.  They bothered him all day.  Rambo said he’s not going on any more rides unless I go with him.  Good save, buddy.  I mean I don’t blame the girls.  Rambo in leather on the Harley is hard to resist but they’re lucky I wasn’t there.  I’m just sayin’.

5-Tomorrow night I’m going night golfing – with 4 grown-ass men.  Rambo and 3 other men that we both work with at our PT jobs.  To say that these men can put away the liquor is the understatement of the year.  They be drinkers.  I’m going to drive their drunk asses home and to laugh at them the whole time because I’ll be sober.  Rambo has to work the next day so he won’t be drunk either so it should be fun.  Golfing with balls that light up in the dark is a new one for me.  Actually – the whole golf thing is new.  I have never ever golfed.  Ever.  Should be a good time.
6-I’m angry that it is going to be August.  I hate when my kids go back to school.  I love not giving a damn when they go to bed or when they wake up or what they wear.  I kid you not – I got Banana a new pair of shorts and shirt to match this weekend and she hasn’t taken it off since.  No lie.  Today is Day 4 of wearing it in between the times when she puts her swimsuit on to go swim.  Do I care?  Nope.  Not at all.  Because it’s summer.  I wish that summer never ended but I suppose then it wouldn’t be so special.

7-Speaking of swimming and summer, I got a new hair-brained idea.  I want to have an “adult swim” night for Rambo and I.  Wait until dark and light the colored tiki torches.  Lay a blanket on the deck and eat pizza.  Swim naked.  Float while we look at the stars.  You know?  Make it a night like you see in the movies knowing that it’ll be way different than that because this is real life.  But still.  I want to plan it and do it and make it a tradition.  An end of the summer adult swim.  Whaddya think?
8-I have nothing to say for #8.

9-Or #9.
10-Have a fantastic weekend everyone!

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

A shitstorm of chaos with a few rainbows sprinkled in.

Life is a shitstorm of chaos sometimes, isn’t it? 
In fact, speaking of storms - have I ever mentioned that there’s one particular life cliché that I hate even more than I hate cleaning toilets?  It’s the one that goes:  “When it rains, it pours.”
Jesus H. F*ck.  I hate that cliché and I hate that it’s usually true.
I have been one huge pity party lately…and it appears that isn’t going to end soon.  However, in an effort to pretend that life doesn’t suck giant donkey balls lately – I’m going to make a concerted effort to think of happy things to report today amid the huge piles of shit.  You’re welcome.  Let the randompants ensue.
Here’s a couple little life tips for you regarding sex and such.  Do not try to take a nap without underwear on.  Do not take a phone call in the middle of said nap just as your husband gets home from work.  To his man brain – phone call = wife is occupied and pretending to be professional to a resident so I’m free to take advantage of her and she can do nothing about it.
I hang up the phone finally and Rambo looks at me with the biggest, dumbest grin and says, “How was your day, dear?”
Motherf*cker.  Get off me.  Are we seriously going to discuss my day NOW?  I hate how cute he thinks he is in moments like this.  It’s just wrong on so many levels.
But it’s a moment.  A moment in a day of shit that I hang on to.  A moment when all the problems in my head disappear and I laugh and smile.  There’s always a break in the shitstorm of life.  You just have to find it.  Find the rainbow and hang on with a death grip and never let go.
After this weekend’s migraine hospital visit, I am moving forward with botox as a preventive measure.  I also called my Doc and asked her to give me a script for exactly what they give me shots in the ass for when I go to the ER.  I feel like a drug seeker.  I have enough narcotics in my purse to make a drug dealer jealous.  You can tell I’m not an addict though because all the bottles are still full.  I try them once, they don’t work…so I don’t take them again.  *sigh
Random thought:  I read somewhere that bloggers who comment now EXPECT a reply from the original blog poster.  So when you write a blog and someone comments – that commenter expects you to reply to their comment.  It’s the right thing to do.  I’m here to say – um – I don’t need you to respond to my comments on your post.  I mean it’s great if you do but then I’m all “oh crap – now do I need to reply to their reply?”…and when does it end?  Seriously – do not feel it’s necessary to respond to my comment. 
Geez Louise – now we bloggers blog AND we read other’s blogs AND we comment AND we NOW respond to comments and we reply again after you respond to our response to your comment and when does it stop? 
No wonder blogging seems like a job or a chore to some!  We took all the fun out of it with expectations.  Listen, if you read my blog - I am humbled - but I don’t EXPECT comments… I love and appreciate your comments.  Period.  I’ll respond to your comment if I wanna…but not because I think I have to.  Mkay?
If I follow your blog, I love and appreciate your blog posting and if I comment – please do not think you have to reply to that comment! (Unless I ask a very serious question about where you got your purse or shoes or something.)    So yah – blog when you want and leave comments when you can.  Can’t that be enough?  Holy hell – imagine the bloggers who get like hundreds of comments on one post!  They are supposed to respond to EVERY one of those comments???  And blog every day?  Good God.  It gives me hives thinking about the time and effort that must take.
Okay, what else?  Oh.  Friends of ours are going through a really rough time and Rambo and I in turn feel their pain.  Our first instinct is to FIX everything for them but we both know that’s not our job.  I feel helpless.  In so many ways.
Also, sometimes I downright suck at my 2nd and 3rd jobs.  Because I’m too exhausted and invested in my 1st job to care about the others.  Oopsie.
Rambo’s Grandma is going to pass away soon.  She has a bed sore that is all the way to her bone, has pneumonia and a UTI.  She is in her 90s and I have a gut feeling, her time here is coming to an end.  Death sucks.  What else is there to say?
I got approached by the basketball coach in town this weekend.  He wanted to be sure that Watermelon was going out for basketball.  He said that “she’s going to be a star player and has the personality for it” and other stuff.  My eyes glazed over because the whole convo was weird.  I was a cheerleader and a track star but that was it.  I always wondered what it would be like to be a sports star or how the parents of an athletic star felt. 
I found myself wondering about the pressure she may be under some day….when she’s only 13 and I’m having this conversation already.  Scary kind of.  Sports are big here.  We are known for going to State finals in just about every sport year after year and the pride and history involved is immense.  I guess if we’re lucky, we may end up getting to be a part of that some day with our girls – as the parents.  Rambo and I have been the players and the spectators so as parents, I imagine it’s a whole new thing. 
Did I mention somewhere in this blog that I was going to try to fart gumdrops all through this post in an effort to ward off the life shit that’s been happening lately? 
Epic fail.
Oh wait.  Here’s something fun.  I bought two more romance novels last night.  LOVE trashy romance novels.  My friend at work is having surgery so I was buying her some puzzles and soup and chocolate and slippers and stuff to make up a basket for her and my hand gravitated towards the smut book.  Shocking, I know.
Oh oh oh – and I bought a new Coach bag online last week and if the Gods above want to avoid seeing me do the ugly cry while I suck my thumb in the fetal position – it WILL arrive today and it WILL be big enough to fit all my narcotics in it.
Anywhoozle - you have my permission to skip reading my blog posts for at least another week or so.  There ain’t gonna be anything funny or happy happening, I’m pretty sure.
Excuse me while I go start my Mountain Dew IV drip.  I need it to wash down my ever healthy, nutrient filled pop-tart.  Breakfast of champions, my friends.
It helps with the shitstorm.  I swear.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

De' Nile ain't just a river in Egypt.

One tiny little word with huge repurcussions.
There are millions of stories about the strength of the human body and mind out there that we’ve all heard or told or been a part of.  However, I’m willing to bet there are equally as many stories about people who can never really face life and hurts and truths.  There are many of us who aren’t strong enough to handle life and everything that comes with it.  We’re the people who make denial our best friends.
We become master pretenders and it keeps us safe.  Or so we think.
I’ve grown up in a family of people who are in denial about a lot of things a lot of the time….and are well aware of it…but choose it anyway.
I know a lot of expert level pretenders.
For years we’ve called a full blown alcoholic just someone who likes to have a drink.  We’ve pretended that our family is perfection and that we could out-love the Waltons when in fact we rarely speak to or even see each other.  We bury loved ones and walk away pretending it never happened.  We hold in feelings better than the Hoover Dam holds in water.  We are professional happy fakers when it comes to some of the major things in life that a person goes through.
I’ve been a witness to denying that huge things like pregnancies and adoptions and affairs haven’t happened when we all know damn well they have.  I’ve watched my extended family pretend that a diagnosis of a body riddled with cancer isn’t a death sentence.  I’ve seen the men in my family lose brothers and parents without so much as a tear cried because they can’t admit that it hurts and that they are in pain.
I’ve seen way too many of those same men in my family deny physical pain and ailments – until it is absolutely too late. 
The emotion behind physical and mental pains in my family have always remained undealt with.  They will freely admit they literally cannot deal with any kind of pain so they deny it.  Pretend it doesn’t exist.  Never speak of it.  Make themselves forget it.
I’ve seen all my aunts and uncles deny that their own mother had Alzheimer’s.  They’d tell themselves and others that it was an act – not a real disease she’d one day die from.  And they’d run away.  They could not spend time with her or take care of her…they could only run away and pretend everything was okay.
When their younger brother took his own life at a young age, they buried him and never spoke of him again.  If you didn’t utter his name, it didn’t happen.  You can’t speak of such a disgusting tragedy much less acknowledge it or cry over it because then you might have to admit it happened under your watch and that the pain could kill you if you let it. 
For me, I convinced myself it didn’t happen.  I never saw a body and I made myself believe he had just left…and some day he’d be back.  I saw him everywhere.  In crowds.  In my dreams.  Everywhere.  Because I was in denial that he was dead.  Such a destructive way to not deal with my pain…but I was taught well.
Let’s all pretend we’re not dysfunctional and hope like hell we’re right, you know?
It’s seriously crazy.  The amount of things people in general deny.  Affairs and betrayals right in front of their very eyes.  Physical signs of a bigger health problem that we pass off as nothing.  Deep unhappiness in our souls regarding our jobs or lives. 
We deny ourselves love and the right to be exactly who we are – a lot.  To fit in.  To make someone else happy.  To be accepted.  To not have to deal with the pain that comes with being authentic sometimes.
It’s all bullshit and I wish it could stop.  Sometimes I want to scream:
If you wouldn’t have denied the pain – we’d have found the cancer sooner and you could have lived!
If you could have accepted that she was going to die – then you could have actually said goodbye!
If you could admit that you are overweight and you need help – then maybe we could help you get healthy!
If you could stop denying that you can’t face your childhood, then maybe we could move on in adulthood!
If you could stop denying that he’s dead – maybe we could grieve properly and actually find peace!
And the list goes on and on.  People are definitely strong but I think every person is equally as weak.  There are certain things we can never say out loud or face or accept – so we learn to deny ourselves the truth.
I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to be 100% authentic about every single one of my physical and mental feelings every day.  It’s so much easier to deny…and it comes naturally.
From “nope – the pain in my head I’m starting to feel is NOT a migraine” to “nah – I’m not holding on to 20 years of anger and bitterness regarding my childhood”.
I think as I age, I deny less though.  It just becomes pointless to keep pretending and as I get older, I have learned it doesn’t work.  In the long run – the denials still remain truths.  I can pretend that someone I loved isn’t really dead but the fact is that I’m still here – living every day without them – and grieving for them and accepting they are gone at some point takes less energy than keeping up the façade.
People don’t like truth.  I mean everyone always says they want the truth and they don’t want the lies and denial and pretending but I think that in itself is a lie.  I’ve been saying the truth more and more to my loved ones lately – about the past.  The transgressions.  The things I have screwed up and done wrong.  How it made me feel.  How it appears.  How denying has left me broken.  How pretending has brought me nothing but pain. 
And they don’t like to hear it.  If they hear my truth – they have to deal with their own or the fact that my pain and my truth – is partly their fault.
And no one wants to be at fault.  Or take blame.  Or hurt.  Or face the truth.
It isn’t easy but it does feel freeing.  When I say a truth out loud that I haven’t in years it seems like a double whammy at times….because I have to deal with that truth for me and then I have to watch how that truth affects the person I am telling and I have to deal with their reaction.
I’m just tired of faking it.  So, so incredibly tired of pretending that there isn’t disease and hurt and pain and mental and physical inadequacies everywhere and more importantly – right in front of me. 
Shit.  Even the Walton’s got sick sometimes, right?  And Mountain Dew didn’t exist back then so they had to be sad quite often, yes?
Yes.  I think so.  Ain’t nobody who can avoid death or pain or lies or betrayals or hurts…so why the hell do we keep pretending that they don’t exist?  Why do we think we can deny the pain away?
Probably because facing the pain seems unbearable.  And we doubt our own strength to deal with the truth of every situation.
And because we’ve been taught.  To deny the truth, pretend life is bliss, fake it until you make it, laugh when we want to cry and always carry a huge broom with which to sweep things under the rug with.
I’m just saying the f*cking broom is heavy sometimes. 
And it doesn’t match my outfits so much anymore.
And besides that…my hands are full with purses. 
Brooms are so last season.  Right?

Monday, July 22, 2013

Care Bear Land does exist.

Hi Skittlebugs. 
It’s another fantastic Monday and my cup runneth over with sarcasm today (in case you couldn’t tell).  Seriously – Mondays just blow ass.  Particularly after you’ve been drugged the night before.
Let me explain.  Saturday night I got a migraine and took a triptan to knock it out.  By 6am Sunday morning, I had to take another one.  I never really moved from bed and by 4pm I was desperate so I took an Oxycodone.  Nothing.
Oxy schmoxy.  It ain’t got nothing on my migraine soooo at 6pm, I took another triptan.  I told myself if the pain hadn’t subsided by 7pm, then I was going to the ER.
By 8:30pm, some wayyyyy too peppy nurse was giving me 3 shots in my chubby ass and I wanted to hump her leg in my gratitude but that would have required moving.  And opening my eyes. And I probably would have had to stop doing the ugly cry too.
I usually never allow myself to cry during migraines.  I can usually physically stop myself except for the tears.  They come out of my closed eyes and silently run down my cheeks willy nilly.  I can lay there and not move or open my eyes or talk – and the tears will keep rolling anyway.  I mean I want to cry – desperately -  but I know it’ll double the pain.  However, last night – I couldn’t help it.  Nearly 24 hours of that kind of pain and the emotions that come with being bedridden and I couldn’t stop sobbing.  It wasn’t pretty.
15 minutes and 3 shots later I was in Care Bear Land.  Riding around in fluffy cloud cars and farting gum drops left and right.  I don’t remember much after that.
Except that when I picked up my kids from my mom’s house, she came out and hugged me and said to me, “Your Uncle has cancer.  In his lungs, his liver, his stomach, his pancreas…everywhere.  He is full of it.”
What?  I don’t understand.  He’s in his 50s.  He has kids in high school and college.  He’s healthy and active.  I don’t understand.
Perspective sure does come in the weirdest of moments, doesn’t it?  My eyes were puffy and red and my heart was broken from the loss of a day with my girls due to the migraine and yet – in one moment – I realized how lucky I am and how precious life is and how I feel guilty for having a pity party over just 24 hours of pain…when other people I love are dying.  Literally dying.
Suck it up, buttercup.  Your pain ain’t nothing in comparison.
So now it’s 10am on Monday and I’m still out of it.  The meds were shot into my muscles instead of an IV so the meds will last longer so it’s hard not to look or feel like I’m in a walking coma.  But’s just nothing next to knowing your body is filled with cancer and there’s nothing you can do – but die gracefully.
I was all prepared to write a post about blogging or my daughter’s party this weekend or my weight loss journey or whatever and now it all seems so miniscule and unimportant. 
As I age, life becomes more clear and I feel more at peace with who I am but with that age also comes the knowledge that my loved ones are continuing to age too and people that I love are going to start losing their lives and pain is going to come like I’ve never known before…in the form of loss that I’ve rarely dealt with.  I’ll have to have some tough conversations with my kids and go to ceremonies I’d rather not ever attend.  It’s inevitable.  It can’t be avoided.
And every topic beyond that just seems so dumb today.  So non-mattering. 
The cycle of life is amazing – yet excruciating at times.  That’s just reality.
I haven’t had to lose a lot of people that I have loved in my lifetime…and my gut is telling me that I won’t be able to say that for very much longer.  I have yet another Uncle who went from healthy to on the brink of death within the last few weeks as well…and he just turned 50. 
Why can’t Care Bear Land be real?  No one dies there.  Mountain Dew never runs out and people don’t get old and cancer doesn’t exist.
Then again I suppose Care Bear is real…it’s called Heaven. 
And sometimes you just gotta go through Hell to get there.

Thursday, July 18, 2013

Ten Things Thursday!!

1-I am writing this blog post on my daughter's laptop.  This is the first time that I have ever blogged from a laptop since I started this blog years ago.  Isn't that cray cray?  It feels veeerrrrryyy weird.

2-Last night I spent hours searching online for an old Volkwagon Beetle (aka slug bug).  I want one in my landscaping so I can open the hood and plant tons of colorful flowers in it and then I'll paint flowers on the doors and stuff.  I get stupid ideas like this often.  Don't judge.

3-I love hot weather, however, it's over 100 here and so hot that none of us have gone swimming because it's like taking a hot bath.  The water is the temperature of Satan's mouth and therefore, is not refreshing.  It makes you feel like a human egg.  Boiling.  It's poopy woopy.

4-I would love to be out running in this heat because that's my favorite time to run but I'm a f*cking idiot and have a new tattoo that has swelled up my ankle and foot and at times, it's hard to walk.  Can you say moron? 

5-My friend decided to quit smoking this week so the night before she quit I gave her a big "Good Luck Quitting" basket.  I put 4 bags of hard candies in it plus straws (to chew on), toothpicks, crossword puzzles, tons of gum, a cool new water cup, rubberbands (to snap her wrist when she gets a craving) and stress balls and fresh flowers.  Banana and I also made her a card for each day that she is smoke-free so she can open one each day.  The cards said stuff like "YAY - you won't have to stand out in the cold this winter!!!"  She loved it and she is currently on Day 2 and her husband is on Day 4!!!

6-I bought another Michael Kors purse and decided again that it was too small which is fine because my co-worker bought it from me.  This means that I spent at least 1/2 of my day shopping for my next trial purse.  My eyes hurt from the shopping - but I shall not give up.  Do not worry.

7-After I spent hours looking for a slug bug online I spent a few more searching for old antique farm equipment like a corn planter for my landscaping since I couldn't find a slug bug.  Isn't my life exciting?  Try not to be jealous, mkay?

8-Right now as we speak Rambo is driving to get me a dish of black raspberry ice cream.  There's a little place in town that serves it and OMG - it's like an orgasm in a dish.  I sorta kinda can't get enough of it.  Oopsie.

9-Watermelon is having a pool party slash trampoline jumping party slash campfire slash Just Dance party tomorrow night.  Cue the Xanax and vodka.  Whenever there are more than two 13 year olds in a room - anything can happen.  It's way easier to deal with that "anything" if you're high AND drunk.  Duh.

10-I have to attend a family picnic on Saturday.  I'd rather light myself on fire.  Twice.  Maybe even 3 times.  God help me. 

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Don't sweat your bag off.

Holy mother of God and Jesus H. Christ….my leg is on FIYAH. 
No, not fire. 
If I could get away with it and no one would ask me a single question – I would use crutches. 
Pink, bedazzled, blinged out crutches to be exact.
You see, I got my tattoo done last night on my inner left ankle.  It was a cover up so it’s way more painful than a new tat.  Then I got a small one on my wrist too.  I sat for four hours and towards the end I said to my artist, “This stopped being fun about 2 hours ago and I’m about to punch you in the throat, mkay?”
She laughed because she thought I was kidding. 
 For the record – I was not kidding.
4 freaking hours.  I didn’t even sit that long for my back in one session because we did it in multiple sessions.  Thank God for Rambo because he made a french fry and vanilla shake run halfway through so that I didn’t pass out.
And now it’s the hottest week of the year and yours truly can’t even go swimming.  Sometimes I’m so smart I amaze myself.  Geez.
Thank God it’s probably my prettiest tat yet or I’d be kicking my own ass.
Also – let me just say that people can still amaze the shit out of me. 
During my tat, a man and woman walked in and the man was – um – well…not a manly looking dude.  Very thin, not a single tattoo, pale skinned, preppy-ish looking.  Jeans and t-shirt.  Glasses.  He looked sooo out of place in the shop but he walked right up to the counter and said “we need a nipple ring replacement”…to which the owner said, “Is it for you or for her?”  It was for him.
No shit, huh?  He walked back and got his nipple ring replaced. 
Later a 68 year old woman came in to pick up her $2100 solid gold + diamond nipple rings.  That woman is my idol.  I want to be just like her when I grow up.  I didn’t say that out loud because it seemed a little creeper-ish at the time, you know?
In my head – I was secretly impressed by both of them and doing the whole “never judge a book by its cover” lecture in my head.
Later on 3 guys came in who were in their early 20s.  They all three got the same tat.  Three tiny numbers on their upper thigh.  All black.  Took all of 10 minutes each and they were whining and crying and it took everything in my not to shank every single one of them.  I almost screamed – ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  That’s not even a tattoo.  Try 4 hours you f*cksticks….then come talk to me.
So yah – that’s the only thing new in my life.  This week is filled to the brim with board meetings and volleyball league and family swim parties.  Rambo is on vacation again so life is 50 bazillion times better than usual.
Banana came in the house last night to tell me that the neighbor kid’s mom said they couldn’t go swimming because they had just taken baths.  She was angry and she came rushing in and said, “Mom.  It’s fricking 90 degrees out and I’m sweating my bag off and their mom said they can’t swim.”
Yup.  I’m not sure I should be mad that my 7 year old said “fricking” or proud that she didn’t say “f*cking”.  I’m also not sure if I should be shocked that she is sweating her bag off when indeed she is a girl and has no “bag” or if I should take the time to explain to her that she has no bag or if I should stop rolling on the floor laughing my ass off.
Yup.  Mother of the Year here.  This year the award is gonna be mine again. 
I try not to win but it’s inevitable.
Try not to hate me.

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Belly flopping in paradise.

It’s no secret that yesterday I was feeling sad about my family.  Sadder than I’ve felt in a long time about that particular subject because most of the time I know the only way to deal with it is to let it go and not dwell on it.  However, this week, I’ve let myself get angry and sad and disappointed and it’s been hard.
Apparently the good ‘ol Universe and probably God himself knew how to start to fix that deep hurt.  I should trust more in both of those things because they usually know what they are doing.
Yesterday Rambo had the day off of prison and semi work.  He decided to keep the girls from the sitter’s house and spend the day with them.  I told him before I left for work to make sure he went in the pool today because summer was going to be gone before we know it.
He listened.  Plus some.
When I got home at 3pm that night, I cannot literally tell you how many times my girls said to me, “Mom – we had so much fun with Dad today.”
Those are words some little kids will never speak.  Trust me, I know.
Apparently they played in the pool most of the day – for hours. 
Hours people.  F*cking hours.  Like he didn’t get bored after 10 minutes or have something better to do or want to be anywhere else << because it’s not like that for every Dad.  Who knew?
When I got home, the girls begged me to come back in the pool with them and I did. 
With Rambo too. 
The man is insane.  And my God – he’s a good Dad.
First things first…he feels the need to belly flop into the pool like a madman instead of gently stepping in.  The girls of course think it’s hilarious because of the waves he makes.  I think he’s a child…and I secretly love that he’s willing to throw being an adult to the wind – even if just for a minute or two.
Then he played Marco Polo which really isn’t playing because the girls giggle so much the whole time that they are NOT hard to find.  He played who can stay under the water the longest.  He played “let’s make a whirlpool”.  He played anything they asked.  He’d pick them up and throw them into the air into the water and every time they’d scream, “Do it again, Dad!”
Me?  I joined in a lot but I watched a lot.  I sucked the love in.  The pure joy and laughter.  The parts in between when Rambo would grab me and I’d wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his middle and he’d walk around the pool with me.
We were downright silly.  We all held hands and sang ring around the posey and fell into the water.  At one point, Watermelon said, “let’s have a family group hug” and the four of us stood in the middle of the pool as close as we could get with our arms wrapped around each other.
I could almost feel my girl’s hearts growing in size.
And mine too.
Most of the time I think I’m the only one in my life that thinks about deep shit like the stuff I posted yesterday but I stand corrected. 
Last night, Rambo swam over to me and said, “What the hell would we have done if our moms or dads had done this kind of thing with us when we were kids?”
He caught me off guard even thinking something like that…and my only reply was, “I’d be a whole different person had stuff like this happened when I was a little girl.  Wouldn’t you be?”
He said he didn’t know.
I said that I knew that I would be someone else.  Good or bad – it’s true.
And we continued swimming.  We went in after a while, went and got ice cream and pizza and snuggled on the couch watching our favorite show with the girls.
Nights like this are literally why I pretend there is no world outside of my home.
Rambo was proud of himself.  I saw that in him and it was nice to see.  Because he should be.  I know that yesterday was a day for my girls that they’ll carry with them forever.  So simple – yet so profound.
I am proud that they have nothing to compare it with.  Days like that with their Dad aren’t rare.  It’s what they know of him and our family time.  Yet, as little girls who need their father desperately…it is always treasured by them.  Time with him like that makes them feel like special people.  Something about a Dad can do that for little girls.
When a Dad can’t give that to his little girl, the results can be devastating and they can last a lifetime.
Tonight I will tell Rambo thank you.  I probably won’t be able to do it without crying because of the sensitive topic it is for me this week.  I’ve told Rambo very little about how I’ve been feeling about my family this week.  I haven’t been able to.  I have to process it, deal with it and then talk about it with him…and I’m afraid of the sadness I’ll feel …and the tears.  Crying gives me a headaches and I’ve had enough headaches to last a lifetime.
I know that some people say that pride is a bad thing and that it is an arrogant feeling.  And they might be right.
But I’m going to feel it anyway.  There are sooo many moments and times that are heart-wrenching and difficult during parenting.  There are so many things I do wrong in that department.  There are so many things I could so do better regarding parenting.
In my world, I pretend that I make up for all those errors with days and nights like last night.
It’s definitely true that I am powerless against certain terrible cycles that have been perpetuated throughout my family history BUT it’s also true that I have the power to stomp the shit out of certain other ones.
My girls know they exist to their father.  They shouldn’t have to look outside their home for love and affection from a male figure.  They know their father loves them and spending time with them.  They know what their father’s laugh sounds like.  They know if they are hurt that their Dad’s soft chest and big arms is a place that can make it all better.
He.  Is.  Present.
Moreover – he makes the CHOICE to be present.  Because let’s face it – there are plenty of other choices out there. 
Yah it’s a little bittersweet and yah maybe that makes me a selfish person to feel that but I’m not denying my feelings anymore.  I did that for most of my life and it didn’t work out so great in the end.
I can feel the twinge of hurt and sadness for the little girl in me that didn’t know what my girls know.  I can let the wave of pain come over me when I realize that little girl equated that to not being worthy or good enough.  And then I can move on.
On to the joy and laughter.  Little girls squealing in delight.  “Do it again, Daddy!” being screamed over and over in the evening air.
Last night at one point, we blew up a new reclining floatie that has drink holders in it.  Banana got in it first and as she layed her head back to relax she said, “Ah.  This is paradise, Mom.”
Yah.  You’re right Banana.
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
 In fact, you took the words right out of my mouth.

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

When you realize that you don’t have the power to end a destructive cycle…

….well…it can break your heart right in half if you let it.
Remember me? 
I’m the girl who breaks ugly, painful, abusive cycles left and right.  If I were a Superhero my name would be CYCLE BREAKER.  I’d wear a bedazzled pink cape and 6 inch heels with crystals all over them and whenever I broke another destructive cycle, I’d leave pink glitter in my wake so that everyone would know that I had been there.
Who the hell knows how long some cycles have been in existence in certain family’s lives?  I mean thinking that it’s easy to stop one or break one is kind of stupid…and sometimes magical.  I’ve seen something shitty  that’s been done for decades – changed in one moment, one word,
or even one touch.
Other cycles are tougher to crack.
Last night I realized that some cycles cannot be broken…no matter how much my heart wills them to.
The sadness that comes with admitting that is a deep crushing sadness.  In fact, I haven’t really allowed myself to think about it fully for fear of breaking down, falling to my knees…and not being able to get back up.
As a little kid, I swore that when I grew up, I’d make sure my siblings and I didn’t continue the cycle that our Aunts and Uncles and Grandparents had set forth for us – because they too – had been taught that way.  Very little talking.  Very little interacting or memory making.  Fear of closeness.  Fear of needing each other or fear of not being needed back. 
Separation – even when we were within inches of each other.
At one point, my Dad had 7 brothers and sisters all living within miles of each other and they’d talk and see each other twice a year.  Two times in 365 days.  For years at a time.  No phone calls.  No visits.  No knowing each other’s kids.  No knowing the daily joys and struggles of each other.
Hell – when they lived in the same house with each other as kids they didn’t even have relationships.  Why on Earth would they have them as they got older? 
I swore me and my siblings would break that cycle.  We’d be different.  I even saw some of my cousins doing the same as they grew up.  They made blatant efforts to get together as families and talk and hug and call and such.
But our family?
Well – we never made it.  We never will.  I know that now.
I didn’t think I cared.  I thought I accepted this a long time ago but I didn’t.
I have tried reaching out over and over and planning get-togethers and texted and everything.  With no response.  My brothers actually want to forget they have a family here that exists.  They know nothing of my children.
I could pretend that doesn’t hurt – but that’d be a lie.
Sure – it is what it is.  I can lay my head on my pillow at night and know that I myself – tried. 
But the truth still hurts – a lot. 
I do know that in a heartbeat my brothers would be there for me if something tragic were to happen…however…I’m selfish and I want more.  I want the day to day.  I want us all to want to spend time with each other as a family.  I want the f*cking Andy Griffith fairy tale.
And I can’t have it.
I know nothing of my own siblings.  I don’t even know where one of them lives.  Haven’t heard or seen either one of them since Cmas…and that was the first time in one whole year I had seen them…and they only stayed a few hours.
If you’re thinking the not seeing each other thing is about distance…it ain’t.  They only live about 2.5 hours away…which kind of adds to the pain of all this.
For them, it’s like torture being home.  Being with us.  Back here – where they grew up.  They’ll tell you they never come back because they are so busy but it’s more than that.  Some parts of their childhood are too hard to face – and they have to do that here.
Some parts of their childhood haven’t changed and let’s face it – that’s just plain unbearable to face.  I know.  Because I face it – back here – all the f*cking time.
Part of me is finally angry at them for walking out.  For not being brave enough to break this stupid historical cycle that wounds all of us.  For being willing to just forget everything here.  I think it takes a really pain-filled and cold person to be able to do that and I hate that we all pretend to be okay with how things are.
I guess it’s just frightening to realize that in the way of family…I will never even have the chance to know what could have been.  Everyone seems content to just say “it’s the way we are” and let time pass without ever making changes to this disgusting way we function – without being a part of each other’s lives at all.
I know full well that many people would give anything to have multiple, healthy, living siblings and parents.  Mine are alive – but unavailable.  Un-present.  Right there in front of me – but I can’t have them.  It almost seems worse.
It’s like a constant reminder to me that I don’t have the power to change it – or I did at one time…but I failed.
Wanting to be a real, true family does not make a family make.  It’s sooo much more than that.  And perhaps now that I finally have my own little family of 4 – it hurts worse.  Again it seems that each joy I feel daily has a tiny little bitter twinge to it – knowing what could have been.  Knowing this joy – could have been felt and shared with so many more than just Rambo and my girls.
The whole thing is sad.  And I realize I bear some of the blame.  I’m no longer banging down my brother’s doors begging them to let me in or pleading with them to need me or love me or even recognize me as their sister or friend – or just a person in their life. 
I’m not reaching out.  I stopped texting.  Stopped sending cards.  Stopped putting my heart into their hands for it be rejected.
I can’t change whatever this cycle is that has become us.  I’ve changed it beyond us in our own home.  I think my sister will do the same. 
My brothers?  I don’t know.  They have no families of their own so it remains to be seen.
Part of me wonders if this is why they are alone. 
They don’t know how to be together.  With anyone.
They’re content to live in the cycle.
They cycle I simply cannot break.  The cycle I have given up on.
It’s done.  Over.
I have to let it go.
 Even Superheroes have bad days, I guess.

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Tantrum Tuesday.

Let’s call today Tantrum Tuesday because if I weren’t a full grown woman with a reputation to uphold – I’d throw a tantrum that would rival any 2 year old.  Oh fine – I have no reputation to uphold.  That just sounded good and professional-ish so I'm going with it.
But really - there are a bunch of things that have been driving me cray cray lately and instead of doing the ugly cry, wailing, peeing my pants and kicking and screaming – I shall share them with you in an effort to let go of them.  Here’s hoping it works.
1-Some women are evil, sadistic whores.  You think that’s harsh?  Well you won’t after I tell you this story.  My neighbor friend, M, who has trust/marriage/self-esteem issues to begin with was at work one day.  Her boss came in with a new employee and told M to train this new girl.  M said no problem.  The new girl sat down.  Looked at the pics on M’s desk and saw one of M and her husband and said, “Is that your brother?”  Yes – you f*cking idiot.  Me and my brother on my desk right next to the wedding picture of me and the same guy.  M said no…that’s me and my husband.  The new girl then giggled and said, “Oh.  Well I f*cked him two years ago.”
Yah – that’s right.  Those words came out of the new girl’s mouth.  Literal seconds after she met M for the first time ever…at her JOB.  M and her husband had been married almost 3 years so if the crotch new girl is telling the truth – then M’s husband cheated on her.

This is NOT what their marriage needs.
Anyway – it was a lie.  The husband knows her but there was no affair or sex or anything.  The new girl is the definition of trash.  Who in their right mind says stuff like that on YOUR FIRST DAY to the person who is training you? 

Who raises people like this?  Casey Anthony and Satan?
2-You know the pool party I am hosting next week for 30 or so people?  It was my Mom’s idea.  Do you know that she said to me, “You can grill all the meat and we’ll bring chips and stuff.”  Um – hell to the no.  I am not buying enough brats, burgers, and chicken to feed 30 people.  This ain’t my party and it wasn’t my idea. 
Do you know how expensive that would be?  I don’t even like most of these people.  How about I bring the chips?  Oh wait.  How about I bring the pool and the house?  Jesus balls.  I nearly shanked her right then and there.  Who does that?  Hey – can we use your house and pool and can you buy all the food?  Sure.  Why don’t I just pay you to come over as well?

3-I’m getting a new tat this week or next.  It’s actually a cover up and the thing I’m covering up will be redone as well in another spot.  I’m excited except that I’m cheating on my artist.  I’m switching artists and have to keep the tat a secret from my previous artist to avoid any hard feelings.  Ugh.  So hard.   Makes me kinda sick to my stomach.
4-I haven’t visited my in-laws in quite some time.  I’ve talked to them and they’ve come to my house but I haven’t been to their house in a while.  My mother-in-law keeps track of this shit.  Last time I saw her she said, “Try to stop out some time, will you?”  I replied with, “I don’t really go anywhere or see anyone.”  She snottingly replied back, “You leave the house to go to work every day.”  I nearly shanked her and screamed, “EXCUSE ME FOR LEAVING MY HOUSE TO GO TO WORK EVERY DAY.  When I’m not at my full time job you can bet your ass that my ass is in my house working my other 2 jobs.  I’m sorry that my 3 jobs take up so much of my time that I don’t come out to visit.  F*cking sue me.  Thank you so much for your understanding.”  I can’t handle shit like that from people with NO jobs.  I just cannot do it.

5-Another thing making me cranky lately is demotions.  It’s hard to see people go through them even when it’s for the best.  The one good thing about them?  You really and truly see a person’s character when you watch them go through a demotion.  All the men I’ve seen go through it lately have done it with grace and dignity instead of anger and bitterness.  They have embraced the change and even more amazing – embraced their replacements.  Now they may go home and be bitter and mad as hell – but not here.  Not in the professional world.  And it speaks volumes to their inner courage and integrity and I’m proud to know every single one of them.
6-The prison makes me want to throw a tantrum lately too.   It’s like 902 degrees here every day and it bugs me that Rambo has to sit in that heat and the stench of hundreds of men who don’t shower while some of the inmates get air conditioning. 
It also bugs me that even though some of these men are the Spawn of Satan that they still get treated like humans.  A new inmate that just got sent to Rambo’s prison set his house on fire – with his 3 young children and pregnant wife inside…to get the insurance money.  The little girl ran out at one point during the fire and he THREW HER BACK INTO THE FIRE.  Just sit with that for a minute. 

His wife did get out but she lost the baby inside her and then the 3 kids did die.  Come to find out – they had let their insurance lapse so there wasn’t any money to be had.  He killed them all for nothing. 

Rambo has him now and this man has a caretaker 24/7…because he is legally blind and has no teeth so he can’t chew his food.  My tax money pays for someone to help him eat while 4 babies are dead by his hand…and his wife is burned and scarred forever.  Yup – men like this are the reason why even though I’m a God-fearing woman – I believe in the death penalty.  I’d give the injection to him myself if they’d let me.

The end.  That’s enough tantrums for this Tuesday, don’t you think?  How about you?  Anything make you want to throw a tantrum lately??  Do tell – so I’m not alone in my fit.  It's way less embarrassing if someone has a tantrum with you, you know?

Monday, July 8, 2013

I report that I have nothing to report.

Coming back to work after a long holiday weekend sucks donkey balls, doesn’t it?  Staying in bed this morning was really the only thing I wanted to do.  There happened to be a thunderstorm last night so the entire family of 4 was in our bed….all snuggled up and warm.  Then Rambo had to go and be responsible and get up and go to work.  The heifer.

Sooo over the weekend we hosted a pool party and cookout for about 20 people.  You guys would have been so proud of me.  Rambo couldn’t help because he was at work so I had to get everything ready all by myself.  And while my stomach was in knots and I did get a migraine – I also survived the damn party. 
Wanna hear something even more unbelievable?  I’m hosting another one in a week for about 30 people.  Holy crap on a stick covered in cheese, right?  Apparently I hide my massive social anxiety well or people would never keep asking me to host parties.  Jesus balls.
One of the worst parts about hosting parties is that I have to clean my house.  People seem to like and even expect clean toilets and clean floors.  I myself, think they are over-rated.  I got better things to worry about – like naps and laying out and such.  *sigh*

Switching gears completely – wanna know what I just did 15 minutes ago in the office?  There’s a girl here who has a new shirt on and I f*cking love it.  So much that I asked where she got it and then I went online to get one.  I asked her what size she thought I should get so she said, “Well – just come in my office and try mine on.”  Okay – fine.  So us two business professionals went in her office and switched shirts and had a little fashion show.  Ah – funny.  The power of fashion.  You can’t fight it.  It’s too bad that while I meant to only order that one shirt – that I ended up ordering 3 more.  Shitballs.
It’s been a little bit of a shopping day because before that I ordered a sideways cross necklace (have you seen those?) and a Saint pendant for the Saint that I am named after.  I wear a ton of Saint charms on my charm bracelet that all belonged to my Grandma but I didn’t have the one that I am named after…until now.  And I may or may not have accidentally put a purse in my checkout basket and the cutest little thumb ring ever.  It’s a bow made of pink crystals.  Free shipping – couldn’t resist.

Anywhoozle – beyond that I have nothing interesting to report.  Rambo has been working shit-tons of overtime and that just plain blows.  The girls and I miss him.  I’m all about quality time with my girls but I have no problem admitting that this much one on one time with them is a bit problematic….in that – I get annoyed.  I have children who ask too many damn questions like:
Mom – are you going in the pool?  Are you getting out of the pool?  Are you going outside?  Are you going to eat?  What are you going to eat?  Why are you taking a bath now?  Why are you eating Doritoes in the bathtub?  Why are you wearing that swimsuit?  Because you are going in the pool?  What are you watching?  Etc. Etc.

To which I responded WHY DOES IT MATTER?  OMG – it’s like a constant interrogation or like they are gathering data for a novel.  They are lucky I went back to work today because I was thinking about selling them.  They’re kinda cute and really snuggly during thunderstorms so I think I could charge a shitload for them.
Calm down all of you out there looking up the number to CPS.  I’m joking.  I can’t sell them.  Who would do the dishes then?