Monday, December 29, 2008

A princess should not be driving.

It took me three attempts to get my driver’s license. And I think on that third attempt the officer just gave me a sympathy pass because he felt sorry for the pathetic navigationally challenged twit sitting in the driver’s seat. Since I started driving at 16 I’ve had on average two wrecks per year, in which either the car was completely totaled or dented just enough to be tacky. I can get lost in a parking lot even with my trusty Garmin (although in my defense she is dyslexic). In my career of fender benders I’ve had one major dent caused by trying to squeeze my van between what appeared to be enough clearance at the time between a concrete embankment and a delivery truck, had a car rear ended by a tractor (yes, a small farm tractor which actually totaled my car), drove a delivery truck for a florist I worked for as a teen across a very rocky ledge getting the van stuck on a big heap of rocks in the middle with both the front and rear tires suspended in air. I gave myself a pat on the back when I realized it had been at least one entire year since I personally inflicted damage (a Bellsouth truck backed into me two weeks ago in a parking lot) onto any vehicle I own but I did this too soon, for this morning I backed my beloved Jeep into my van on the way out of my driveway. I scraped and dented the van but I broke the cover over my rear lights on the Jeep which really pissed me off. I like my mom mobile van okay but I save it mainly for driving on trips where we have a lot of stuff or anticipate acquiring a lot of stuff. I absolutely LOVE my Jeep. It didn’t actually damage the light just the plastic over it. Which now I have two options, either get it fixed or whip out the duct tape Redneck style and patch it. My immense lack of driving skills is making me even more convinced of my deep suspicions that I was never meant to drive, that I should have always been chauffeured around in a limo for the duration of my life since I am the long lost illegitimate daughter of Princess Diana and my mother was a disgruntled nurse in Great Britain at the time that kidnapped me to raise as her own and Princess Diana didn’t report it because I was illegitimate so that’s why no one knows. I pointed this out to my mother again this morning when I dropped off my kids and she told me she would try to track down the Queen for me if I wanted to make a formal case along with pointing out how anybody can miss their own van parked in their own driveway to which I responded “Don’t you think I feel bad enough? Just flick some salt in that wound mother, just flick away. It’s what you are good at it.” to which she responded that “at least one thing I ought to be good at now was patching up cars since I’ve had so much practice at it.” I should have married an auto body repairman or that guy on TV who sells the dent poppers.

Thursday, December 25, 2008

Things I learned this Christmas Eve

1. Pizza Hut is open. How do I know this? Because my grandmother decided to just order several pizzas instead of actually cooking a meal.
2. Several lessons were learned from my decision to cook. In an attempt to compensate for my lack of a home cooked holiday meal I decided to cook the turkey given to me by my work. This in itself was an experience, me being the novice chef that I am. Lessons learned: Apparently a thawed turkey is very slick and slimy, it has a slimy nasty plastic bag of I have no clue what and a long muscular thing stuffed into its body cavity. Pouring slimy marinade all over it before you put it into the Reynolds Turkey bag is not wise because then it becomes even harder to get the slick massive slap of wet poultry into the bag. The smell of turkey juice apparently sparks some primal urge in an otherwise perfect cat, which then goes on the hunt meowing hysterically and trying to trip you in the hopes you might drop the bird to the floor. The metal thing bounding the feet isn’t meant to be pulled out before cooking. It’s wise to arrange cooking bag so you can actually see the little red thingy pop out when it is done. There is a difference between a thermometer for food and a thermometer for a human. Next year I will be in line at work early to get a Tofurkey instead, I somehow doubt they will shove plastic bags of mystery gunk and muscular appendages into tofu.
3. Massive amounts of cleavage aren’t appreciated at holiday dinners. I’m sorry; I didn’t know it was a formal dinner, the ordering of the pizza made me think we were just hanging out.
4. Doubling your Zoloft dose on the day of family festivities is a wise decision.
5. Sending text messages during the gathering is frowned upon. Sending text messages to relative across the room and making them laugh hysterically is especially frowned upon.
6. When leaving gifts out from Santa make sure there is not a receipt stuck to one of the packages.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Fine culinary skills aren't a part of my genetics.

When I was growing up my mother never cooked. She simply opened a can of Ravioli for me, dumped it into a bowl and popped it into the microwave. So I have never really been exposed to true cooking, like with seasonings and ingredients and all of that. I thought Hamburger Helper counted as cooking until my ex husband so cruelly popped that bubble so many years ago. Today I stayed home from work because my son is ill and I’ve also caught some remnants of his illness. It ended up being the perfect day for me to call out because we had freezing rain last night and the roads were covered with black ice. So since the roads were slick school was cancelled so my daughter was at home as well. For breakfast they wanted waffles. This isn’t exactly the breakfast of champions but it falls under the category of cooking for me because I have to extend effort to put it into the toaster and push the little lever down. After preparing the waffles I then realized I was out of syrup and neither child would eat them without it so they ended up with an even more nutritionally devoid meal of a toaster scrambler filled with bacon, eggs, and cheese. For lunch I decided during a moment of Zoloft induced euphoria that I was going to make an extravagant, big, healthy lunch for my children. I had some frozen spinach in the freezer that I had bought on a whim when it was on sale because my daughter likes it. The package said to dump it into a pot of boiling water, cover, and boil for eight minutes. Apparently you are supposed to also season spinach to make it appealing and edible. I cooked a canned ham, or what I referred to as a canned ham which I found at the grocery in the aisle with the tuna. It was ham and it was in a can. Apparently this is not the kind of massive canned ham that is served at Christmas. No this was some variation of high quality potted meat product, although since it said to bake it at 300 degrees I thought it was an actual ham. I poured a can of peas into a bowl and zapped them in the microwave for my son since he loves them. Apparently when a child has a cold they hate them. I made macaroni and cheese, from a box with all of the stuff included, since I have to actually measure out milk in a measuring cup this is truly cooking for me. It turned out the be a mac and cheese blob because I cooked the shells for too long. I then stumbled across a pack of blueberry muffins in the cabinet and decided they would be perfect for dessert. I do not own a muffin pan but figured it would just be like a blueberry cake if I made it in a casserole dish. The whole time I was standing at the stove stirring I was imagining the excitement my children would have when they came in and saw the food I had prepared. We’d all sit around the table, enjoying our meal, just like a scene from a Norman Rockwell painting. Then I called the kids to come to the table to eat and my dream bubble was promptly burst. Our dialogue went as follows:
Elizabeth: I thought we were having Tuna Helper.
Me: I thought I would surprise you all with a big meal.
Elizabeth: Did you just watch Rachel Ray or something?
Me: No dear. Sit down and eat.
Elizabeth: This is ham?
Me: Yes I baked it and everything.
Elizabeth: It tastes like Spam.

Elizabeth: Okay so I guess it is supposed to be fancy upper crust society Spam.
Me: The upper crust society doesn’t even eat Spam. They don’t make fancy Spam or any other variation of Spam. That is ham!
Elizabeth: Did you buy it near the Spam?
Me: It might have been near it. I don’t think that’s a relevant question.
Elizabeth: You just answered it. This is mac and cheese?
Me: You like macaroni.
Elizabeth: I thought I did. Then I tasted this.
Damien: What’s wrong with this macaroni?
Me: You have a cold; nothing is going to taste right to you.
Elizabeth: It’s not your cold Damien.
Me: Well I’m sorry my good intentions turned out to be such a bad meal. Hey at least I cooked spinach for you. You like spinach. Try it.
My daughter takes a big bite of the spinach I so lavishly boiled in a pot staring thoughtfully across the room.
Elizabeth: How did you cook this?
Me: I followed the instructions on the box.
Elizabeth: My granny puts salt and vinegar in hers.
Me: Vinegar? Who would cook with vinegar, it stinks?
My daughter then stares at me somberly.
Elizabeth: You might want to go get some lessons from Granny on how to cook. I like her food.
Damien: Yeah mommy!
Me: You have a cold so your taste bud’s opinion doesn’t count. Granny doesn’t cook, getting food at a deli and slapping it into a serving bowl so you appear to be super cooking Paula Dean type Granny isn’t cooking.
Elizabeth: At least she’s not in denial about the fact that she can’t cook.
Me: Well at least you will like dessert.
I then pulled the dish out of the oven to find a big puffy blueberry center surrounded by charred sides.
Elizabeth: I thought you made blueberry muffins?
Me: Well it’s kinda going to be a blueberry cake. It will taste just the same. The sides burned a little but let me just scoop some out of the center.
I then cut into my blueberry blob with a fork to hear a very inappropriate crunching sound that shouldn’t be present.
Elizabeth: Do you need a hammer to cut it or the phone book to order a pizza and feed us?
Me: (Admitting defeat) The phone book.
Tomorrow I’m going to work even if there is a big tundra of snow present and I have developed Pneumonia. Then the kids can have a lovely home cooked balanced meal from school.

Monday, December 15, 2008

A new pet grave just in time for Christmas.

Mother announced that she will be having my arch enemy, the living dead Chihuahua put to sleep. After years of having to carry him under her arms everywhere I was surprised she made this decision. It’s kind of like why bother now? He’s been deaf and blind for years now. I told her we should just send him to be freeze dried and she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Basically the only thing that makes him appear to be living now is his raspy asthmatic breathing. We could get one of those little sound chips that they have at Build A Bear to stuff in the teddy bears to make them sound like they are breathing for him and have them install it during the freeze dry preservation process. After berating me for how awful I was for suggesting these things she said that she wasn’t sure what she would do. I suggested letting the vet dispose of him after putting him to sleep. She said that she could do that, she never had before and wondered what they do with the animals, if they buried them or just threw them away. At this point I should have kept my mouth shut, however being the know it all that I am I told her that vets sell the dead carcasses to pet food companies for rendering into pet food. She argued that I was joking, I countered with documentation to prove my point. So since she can’t stand the thought of freeze drying him or having him become a meal he must be buried on her farm. Ultimately I screwed myself by opening my big mouth since she will be so upset about his death that the actual burial process will fall on me. Basically I’ll be trying to dig a grave into frozen, hard as a rock soil, in the middle of the freaking winter for the little fucker. And this will put me on schedule to be sick at Christmas and having another bad holiday. He probably planned it this way.

Friday, November 28, 2008

Holiday Memories from the ER

I must be cursed on holidays in addition to my birthday (or maybe it’s just because my birthday is on a holiday that it sucks). Instead of looking forward to togetherness and family gatherings on the holidays I always look forward to the marathons that will be on A&E and sitting around in pajamas all day. Perhaps since I have this attitude the cosmos align on the holidays to punish me for being antisocial. I think it is genetic. If my family wanted to be social with each other then perhaps they would actually have a family gathering on the holidays. We always send each other a generic Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, or Happy Birthday text message on the day it is scheduled for in our planners so it isn’t completely unacknowledged. Nothing makes you feel more warm and fuzzy inside than a holiday text message! People always give me a sympathy invite to their holiday family gatherings but it is just too weird when it isn’t your family and you know that the only reason you got an invitation is out of pity, not because of your award winning personality. I gave up on sympathy turkey years ago. So this Thanksgiving I planned to embark on my reliable holiday tradition, sitting back in the recliner and watching whatever marathon was on. I especially needed to stay in since I had been fighting off a cold and something was wrong with my ear. It had been hurting for about two weeks; however since I would rather chew broken glass than go to the hospital I stupidly tried to treat my symptoms myself. A midwife I work with had looked in it and told me she thought it was a piece of wax that was down in my canal irritating it. Of course being that the ear is not the particular hole of the body that a midwife is an expert on this was not the best person to ask. Since I didn’t have a fever I assumed that she was right and I treated my ear as if it was the wax causing the discomfort. This consisted of home remedies of irrigation solutions of peroxide, warm water, heating pads, and just general stupidity on my part. I even bought an ear wax removal kit at the pharmacy, which I didn’t even know that they had before this. Yesterday my ear seemed to be hurting worse and in a vain and stupid attempt at fixing it on my own once again I ended up putting myself in agonizing pain and realizing that it was time to go to the ER , fearing that I had damaged my ear drum. Thanksgiving at the ER….. not the best place to be on a holiday and hopefully it won’t become a tradition. After going through the entire list of what I had put in my ear to the triage nurse she looked at me and asked why I hadn’t went to a doctor sooner and said that I should have known better. I told her I saw the error in my reluctance to seek treatment but thanks for pointing out what a twit I was anyway. I into the waiting room after being triaged to wait my turn. Just my luck the only seat available was between two men, one who I will refer to as the Witless Wonder and the other as the Geriatric Messiah. The Geriatric Messiah looked to be at least ninety, reeked of scotch, and was very loudly making proclamations on anything from gas prices to the end of the world. He kept tapping me on the shoulder to turn and listen to his pointless proclamations. The Witless Wonder was about forty, had a mullet, and a thick country accent complete with overalls and a John Deer cap. He wouldn’t stop talking to me even though I was obviously in a great deal of pain and he paid no attention to the fact that the ear he was talking to was covered by my hand and the fact that I wasn’t even looking at him.
Witless Wonder: You sick?
Me: No I come to the ER on the holidays to have some company and maybe get some free samples.
Witless Wonder: Really?
Me: No.
Witless Wonder: I got a splinter here in my thumb that I got from chopping wood. I tried to get it out but it’s a big one. You want to see?
Me: No.
Then the Witless Wonder, who is completely oblivious to my extreme lack of interest, held his thumb in front of my face to show me the splinter.
Witless Wonder: It hurts like a son of a bitch.
Me: I’m sure it does. (Then a tap on my left shoulder)
Geriatric Messiah: Lady, people can’t even afford food. We are at war. We are all going to die!
Me: Well isn’t that a lovely thought.
Witless Wonder: Don’t I know you from somewhere?
Me: No you don’t.
Witless Wonder: You really look familiar to me. Maybe I know your husband.
Realizing that this might be Witless Wonder’s attempt at finding out if I was available for him to seduce me I rolled my eyes and just glared at him.
Me: You might know him; he’s out there in a big truck with a big Remington on a gun rack. Why don’t you go out there and see?
At that moment I got up and started pacing at the opposite end of the waiting room. After what seemed like an eternity I was finally called back by the nurse who berated me once again about the fact that I should have known not to treat my ear at home. The exam rooms were full so she put me in this little corner and the only privacy I had was a curtain around the gurney I was sitting on which allowed me to hear everything that was going on at the nurse’s station. The doctor came out of an exam room to ask the nurse where he needed to go next.
Nurse: Over there behind the curtain is the girl with the ear. The pain has been going on for awhile but she decided to treat it herself instead of going to see someone.
Dr: The one that may have ruptured her ear drum?
Nurse: That’s the one.
Dr: Why did she do that to her ear?
I then started laughing loudly, thinking about the irony me being at the ER on a holiday with a self inflicted injury, looking like an idiot. They both got very quiet, probably thinking that I was completely crazy.
After a quick record breaking forty five second exam he determined that I had in fact hurt my ear (as if there was any doubt) and that I had swelling behind my tympanic membrane, a result of a massive ear infection, not wax, which was further aggravated by all of my home remedies. I’ll get a five hundred dollar bill for a forty five second exam. I even had to get more than the usual medicine prescribed for an ear infection since my ear in such bad shape. Then I had to go to the pharmacy to stand in a line. Why is there a line in the pharmacy on Thanksgiving? Aren’t most normal people with their families? Thankfully I didn’t get an ignorant pharmacy clerk this time. Then I got to spend the rest of the evening in a drug induced coma. Wonder what fiasco I will find myself in on Christmas.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

The Turkey Jerky Casanova

My mother called me last night on my way home from work and asked me to stop by Sam’s Club on my way home and pick up a mega pack of jerky treats for her dogs. Mom has two poodles and a Chihuahua that is so close to death flies are already buzzing around him. I don’t particularly care for the poodles because all they do is give a high pitched bark at every sound they hear, even if it is just the wind blowing. The Chihuahua I absolutely loathe. Someone dropped off this little dog at my mother’s house because they must have heard that she is like Mother Teresa with stray animals. She takes them in and nurses them back to health no matter how old or sick they are. I am a big animal lover and I am just about as bad as she is about taking care of a stray animal, but this particular one I could have said no to. He wheezes every time he takes a breath, his penis no longer retracts and hangs out all of the time, one of his ears has a chunk missing, and his eyes are so fogged up by cataracts he can only see out of a tiny area in the corner of one eye. He is constantly running into the wall or your leg because he can’t see and his hearing is not good either. He is also very ill tempered (which if I had all of his afflictions I would probably be just as mad at the world) and any time he runs into your leg he bites it. My mom took him to the vet when he first came to the house and they couldn’t determine his age for sure. They told her from the looks of him that he was probably very old and only had a few more months to live. That was five years ago. For five years I have endured small bites on my leg every time I go to my mom’s house. Needless to say I loathe the dog. So I was already ticked about having to get out in the thirty degree weather with high winds and snow to get jerky for two dogs that annoy me and one that is my arch enemy. After finally finding my way to pet products in the massive mega warehouse that is Sam’s Club I was ready to just grab the bag and go. I had just grabbed the bag and was starting to leave when a very skinny man approached me. He had long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail, a mustache, wearing old jeans and a flannel shirt. He said that if I really wanted my dogs to be happy I should give them all natural turkey jerky. I told him that they were not my dogs and what I had was fine. He then offered me a piece to try, saying that it was all natural and humans could eat it too. I began to think maybe he was one of the sample people that they always have in there trying to offer you a piece of food assuming you’ll try it, like it, and then buy it. I told him I didn’t need to try a sample and thanked him anyway. He then said that he wasn’t offering samples, he was just going to give me a taste cause I was so cute and then thrust his chest out and licked his lips. It was then painfully obvious he was coming on to me. Is this what I’ve been reduced to? Attempted seductions by hippies offering petrified meat as an aphrodisiac at a wholesale warehouse? I just rolled my eyes and walked past him. He then said “Hey Red, where you running off to?” To this I replied “fuck off”. The first time anyone has brazenly hit on me in months and it has to be Cheech and Chong’s distant cousin offering me turkey jerky. In the past I’ve been offered by men to have drinks bought for me, or dinner, but never turkey jerky. Exactly what kind of pheromones am I giving off to attract this type of man? Forget tall, dark and handsome, it’s now scrawny, gray and annoying. I checked out with my lone bag of dog treats and walked back out into the artic tundra to deliver the freeze dried petrified meat to mom’s freeze dried petrified Chihuahua and his annoying friends. This is my life.

Friday, November 14, 2008

A Republican Amongst Us

My son is five, extremely intelligent and more political than I ever thought about being at his age. He is just like me, capable of having deep philosophical conversations along with having a ditzy blonde moment at least twice a day. (He is a brunette, so I guess in this case I will just call it Sarah Palin syndrome) My son had an election at school a week prior to the recent election. He was so proud of himself that he had voted. I told him I was proud of him for voting. Last night he brought up the election he had at school. He asked me if I wanted to know who he voted for. I said sure if he wanted to tell me. The conversation went as follows:
Damien: I voted for John McCain.
Me: Wow son. So you’re a Republican?
Damien: How did you know? (Sarah Palin syndrome kicking in)
Me: Magical guess. So what made you vote for John McCain?
Damien: He just seems like a very sweet old man and he has that pretty woman with him all of the time. Obama doesn’t have a pretty girl with him.
Me: Which pretty girl? His wife or Sarah Palin?
Damien: The one with brown hair. Not his daughter. She’s pretty too though.
Me: Which daughter?
Damien: The one that is with him all the time. She has yellow hair.
Me: That’s his wife, not his daughter.
Damien: No she’s not. She’s too young to be his wife.
Me: That’s called a trophy wife son. You’ll probably have one some day too, especially since you are a Republican.
Damien: Who are you voting for?
Me: I have an Obama sticker on both of our vehicles. Who do you think?
Damien: You are a Democrat?
Me: Yes.
Damien: You are voting for Obama?
Me: Yes.
Damien: That just won’t work. He doesn’t have a pretty girl with him.
Me: You have a right to your choice; I have a right to mine. We don’t have to both vote for the same candidate.
Damien: Yes we do. Now you have to pick John McCain mom. You have to go with my choice. (My son is getting very agitated at this point)
Me: Wow Damien, you are really opinionated, argumentative, and think that you are always right and everyone should go with your opinions. You make a very good Republican.
Damien: Well, I can’t believe you’re a Democrat. (Arms crossed across chest at this
point, pouty defeated look across his face.)
Me: Sweetie, you do realize that the election is over, right? We don’t get to vote again. They don’t take turns. Obama won. He is the president now.
Damien: Oh. I’m gonna miss John McCain. Can we go visit him?
Me: Let’s change the subject. What did you learn today?
Damien: I learned about Hanukah. Happy Hanukah mom.
Me: Thank you dear. Happy Hanukah to you.
Damien: We should celebrate Hanukah.
Me: We aren’t Jewish.
Damien: What?!?
Me: We aren’t Jewish honey.
Damien: We should be. I want to have Hanukah. Why aren’t we Jewish?
Me: I don’t know, I guess the egg I came from was implanted in the wrong uterus.
Damien: I think we will have Hanukah.
Me: Okay son, you be a Jewish Republican, I’ll be an agnostic Democrat with Catholic tendencies.
Damien: Fine you can be a Democrat mom, just as long as you vote for John McCain.

At this point I feel like beating my head against the wall, wishing I didn’t live in a dry county.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Hooked on Phonics doesn't work for everyone.

When I leave work I am usually exhausted. Yesterday was no exception. I had to stop by Walgreens to pick up a prescription that I had dropped off three days earlier, so I knew that by now it would be ready. When I got there two very long lines of people were at the pharmacy counter. After about fifteen minutes it was my turn at the counter. The woman that had been in front of me was now standing to my side waiting because the clerk told her that her prescription was not ready and when she insisted it must be ready since it too had been called in several days prior the clerk told her to simply stand by and she would talk to the pharmacist about it when he got a spare minute. I told the clerk that I was there to pick up my prescription and gave her my name. The first two initials of my last name are Li. The plastic bins that they keep the prescriptions in at Walgreens are labeled with the first two letters of the last name. She looked in the first bin that was marked LA-LH. She did not look in the second bin which was marked LI-LZ. She then told me my prescription was not ready either. I told her that it must be because it had been called in three days ago. She then said she would see if it was in pending. While she was doing that I started staring at the bins. Sure enough I could see my name clearly marked on one of the prescriptions in the LI-LZ bin. When she got back and told me that it wasn’t pending I said that I knew it was ready because I could see it and I pointed to it. She then got an attitude and said that I was wrong. By this time my patience was wearing thin. The conversation went as follows:
Me: My prescription is right there in that bin, the one marked LI-LZ.
Clerk: No it’s not. That bin starts with LL.
Me: No it doesn’t. That is an L and an I.
Clerk: No it isn’t. It doesn’t have a dot. It has two L’s.
Me: That is a CAPITAL I! That is why there is no dot. It is a capital I.
Clerk: Lady, I know it doesn’t have a dot. It’s an L, as I told you.
At this point I said nothing and just stared at her. I was about to blow a head gasket. Realizing at this point that explaining the alphabet to her was going to be like explaining physics to Forrest Gump I decided to stop trying. I then said in a very firm voice that I could see my prescription and if she couldn’t manage to find it with me pointing to it then I would gladly go behind the counter and get it for her. She then rolled her eyes and looked, of course found it and then began slamming the keys on the cash register because she was obviously agitated. The woman beside me had witnessed the whole encounter and realized that her missing prescription probably couldn’t be found because of the clerk’s lack of skill. She asked if the clerk would mind checking again on hers as well. Magically she managed to find it in the same bin.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

French Tips, Drainage Bags and Testicles

I’ve never had a good experience when getting my nails done. The first time I got my nails done I was a complete novice to the process and just my luck I ended up with the Nail Nazi taking care of me. He berated me for chewing my own natural nails down to nubs because he had hardly anything to work with and he also got frustrated with me when he was telling me something and I replied with “what?” or didn’t do what he commanded immediately. How was I supposed to know “You go wah han na” meant “You go wash hands now”? On top of the fact that he was speaking so fast and obviously mad at me it was a very frustrating experience. I then trained myself to listen very carefully and after learning the general process I could usually decipher what they were saying during future appointments. I had not had my nails done in several years when I passed by a nail salon on Saturday that was offering a full set of acrylics for $15. I’m a sucker for a bargain and decided I should devote a little time to myself and at that price I deserved to. I walked in to what I expected to be a full salon and found much to my surprise no one was there. This should have been my first clue. A short guy comes out of the back, introduces himself as Ping, and motions to a seat. After we get through the basic chat detailing what I want he gets to work. He starts talking to me through the mask that they wear. I think this muffling makes an already hard to understand dialect even harder to understand. I really just wanted to relax and not talk. Americans can pick up on the subtle cues that I don’t want to talk to them which I try to project 24/7. The Vietnamese apparently do not. He goes through asking me a million questions I can barely understand in between talking to his brother who is sitting next to him in his native tongue about me and giggling. Ping is done with my first hand and is getting starting on the second when another customer comes in. She is apparently well known to the establishment since they call her by name. Linda (at least I think that was her name, the pronunciation I heard was Lina or Wina, I couldn’t be sure) sat down beside me and Ping’s brother promptly started working on her. I noticed a smell coming from this woman but being she was extremely overweight I assumed it was weird body odor. I then began to drift off in my mind and try to tune everything out (Ping was now carrying on a conversation with his brother and Linda) when I was promptly pulled out of my attempt at a day dream by the brother. He was asking Linda what the tubing was hanging from her shirt. I had not noticed this when she walked in. She then lifted her shirt and showed him that she had a drain coming out of her stomach from a surgery that she recently had where the incision got a massive infection and she now had to have this drain for a few days to get the pus out. I kid you not, a drain bag complete with a bit of orange tinged liquid at the bottom. At least the origin of the weird smell was no longer a mystery. After she explained all of this Ping asked her why she wasn’t home in bed since she had the drain and she responded that she needed to get her nails done for her date. Now exactly what kind of date do you have that is so important you have to show up with a drainage bag connected to your stomach? The act of getting perfect French tips for the date in the first place seems kind of trivial when you have A FREAKING DRAIN ATTACHED TO YOUR BELLY! Although acrylic nails can be quite beautiful I don’t think their beauty is quite enough to make someone not notice a drainage bag hanging from you. Imagine that conversation. “Why what interesting perfume you have on Linda. What is it called?” “Oh honey that’s not my perfume that’s the puss from my drainage bag. Are you ready to order our food yet?” Apparently Ping and his brother did not seem to notice the socially unacceptable practice of showing up for a date with a drainage bag attached. They kept talking and laughing. I must have tuned out while pondering Linda’s date rationale because I was pulled back into the conversation by Ping snapping his fingers at me. He wanted to know if I knew the English word for that thing that hangs down between a man’s legs. I stared at him for a few seconds and then said “testicles”. Then he was all excited that I had given him the right word. He then said “testicles, that what I meant, dog testicles” to Linda and his brother. In Ping’s home county they castrate their dogs by placing a rubber band around their testicles and waiting for them to fall off. How they got on this particular subject I do not know. I began to think that perhaps I was in a really bad dream or I’d been killed in a car accident earlier in the day and I was on the first level of Dante’s Inferno. Ping finally finished with me, I paid and wished Linda good luck on her date, got in my Jeep and left skid marks in the parking lot. As I was peeling out of there I noticed letters on the roof that said Bargain Nail. Not plural, just one nail. Maybe they had an “S” before but a rival nail salon placed a rubber band around it.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Dyeing for Change

Yesterday was a cold dreary day in Nashville. It was raining all morning and it was the first really cold day in October. It was undeniable that winter weather was just around the corner. I don’t know if it was the realization that the fall had truly set in, winter was on its way, and everything was changing or what, but at about nine in the morning I decided I needed a change, which for me is changing my hair color. Hair dye is the only thing that I’ve ever really been addicted to. I started dabbling in coloring my hair when I was sixteen with temporary dye and then by the time I was in my early twenties I had moved on to the hardcore permanent dyes. I was always warned that once I switched over to the hardcore I could never go back; my hair would never be the same unless I cut it all off and started over. Apparently since I always pick a variation of a red shade I don’t have this to worry about, since red dyes, even permanent versions, always fade. This is the only thing that always frustrates me about coloring my hair is how quickly it fades. I naturally have strawberry blonde, which my mother says she has absolutely no understanding of why anyone with my natural hair color would change it. I guess we always have that one thing we wish was different and for me it is to have fiery red hair with no blonde in it. I’ve really tried to become greener this year and let my inner child natural tree hugger come out, and with this change I felt I should appreciate my natural attributes and quit trying to change them. Well, that phase of my life is over; or at least the no coloring part of it. I had held off dyeing my hair for at least a year until the urge to color was so strong yesterday I could deny myself no longer. I like dark auburn hair and I want dark auburn hair. When I went to buy my favorite head turning shade the salesclerk said that I was about the twentieth woman to purchase hair dye that morning and she wondered why everyone had decided to change their hair color that day. I then began to suspect maybe I had been a victim of a subliminal marketing campaign by L’Oreal. I’ve seen exposes on how companies can quickly flash an image of their product into whatever show you are watching and it will stay stuck in your subconscious. Whatever made me decide I had to have a change right then I agreed it was what I needed, and after a year of depriving myself of my long term addiction I finally gave in. Nothing quite matches the smell of those noxious, odorous hair dye chemicals taking over my bathroom, watching the dye turn to a dark purple foam on my head, and anxiously waiting to see the result even though I pick the same shade every time. No waiting for the mandatory skin allergy test listed in the instructions for me, true addicts don’t bother with them anyway. The rush of endorphins that hit me when it is all rinsed out and I see my new shade is like Prozac in a box. I can't believe I held out for as long as I did without coloring. I tried but I can't give it up. Now I have my lustrous fall auburn shade back, complete with chemically burned eyebrows that will take about a week to fade. I gave up cigarettes after twelve years, it’s been over a year since I’ve smoked now, but I can’t give up my 7R Red Penny. At least I'll be a pro at it by the time my grays start creeping in.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

My one and only religious blog ever.

I know that it may come as a great shock to those of you who read my blogs that I don’t go to church. I’m not against religion itself, I consider myself to be a very spiritual person in fact. I’m kind of like a Buddhist with Catholic tendencies. I do not agree with organized religion. Those who go to church regularly and love it good for them, it’s just not for me. I don’t like going to a building and being told what I’m going to hell for. I can read the Bible myself and determine that, I don’t need someone else to tell me. My apathy towards church began when I was a child. A neighborhood kid told me I would burn in hell if I didn’t start going to church with her so I started going. When I did go I didn’t have to hear her tell me about my future damnation, I got to instead hear it from my Sunday school teacher, who told me that it was good that I was going to church but my mother was going to burn since she wasn’t there and that I needed to hurry up and get her converted and get myself saved or else if I was killed tomorrow I would burn. It finally dawned on me I didn’t need that kind of negative energy in my life so I quit going. I guess this was the beginning of my transformation into a sinner. Apparently being a good person isn’t enough, you have to have your ass firmly planted on a church pew every Sunday as well. I’ve tried a few more churches since then but I just didn’t get into it. The visits either consisted of someone trying to pair me up with a fellow divorced church man or stares of disappointment because I had missed a couple of Sundays here and there so I wasn’t consistent in my fellowship. All the while the most adamant person staring and judging the hardest is the once committing adultery or some other sin. Sunday mornings at the house of hypocrisy aren’t really my cup of tea. Yesterday I ran into someone that used to attend a church that I went to. She is really into the church. People who are overly religious bible thumpers usually don’t bother me unless they try to “save” my wretched soul and take it upon themselves to make me their latest salvation project. This woman bothers me. She said the usual hi how are you and what have you been up to and then she hit me with we miss you at church. Okay well it’s been about ten years since I’ve been there but whatever. Then she asks me where I attend church now. When I replied no where she looked at me very sternly. She informed me that I really need to start attending church somewhere, preferably her church, because Jesus wouldn’t approve of me not going. Okay number one; unless you are a reincarnation of one of the apostles that actually walked with Jesus back in the day don’t tell me what he wants, because you don’t know. Number two, the bible states not to judge lest ye be judged so isn’t she herself committing a sin by judging me? I shrugged and just said I don’t have the time. She then started in on some sermon and reiterated the fact I really need to go. I then responded to her that I would love to but I don’t think the other members of my coven would approve. That shut her up. I probably should have been sweeter about it and found something else to say to end the conversation but I was tired. And after all, apparently I’m just a sinner anyway so I guess I should protect my title.

Monday, October 20, 2008

People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones.

John McCain’s crew has set up automated robot calls to many people to help sway those who are still undecided. In these calls (which I heard a recording of this morning) it is clearly stated that Barack Obama associates with terrorists because of his association with Bill Ayers. For those of you who don’t know Mr. Ayers is currently an American education theorist but he is more well know for his anti-war activism in the 1960’s. Who wasn’t against the war back then anyway? Now understandably he did some radical things with explosives back then but at the time he was all riled up blowing up things Barack Obama was only 8 YEARS OLD! They later became reacquainted as adults and worked on education reform in Illinois, many years after Mr. Ayers had put his extreme radical acts behind him. The phone calls being made make it sound as though Barack was wiring the bombs for him. He was 8 at that time! I was friends with a boy at my school when I was 9 years old who later in his adult life robbed several banks. Does this mean I fraternize with bank robbers? The most hypocritical thing about this is the fact that John McCain threw a fit back in 2004 when similar calls were made against him bringing up his wife’s drug addiction. He can dish it out but can’t take it. He wants to cover up the mess in his own backyard but diligently tries to prove his opponent will create a mess with flat out lies. He is a typical Republican after all but this is just outrageous behavior even for them. He has launched one of the ugliest smear campaigns that I have ever seen or heard of, and it’s just scary to think what will happen if the Crypt Keeper and the Caribou Barbie actually make it to the White House.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Monday, October 13, 2008

To be, or not to be.

One of things that has changed about me is the amount of apathy I have toward other people. It’s increasing steadily, and has been for several months now. I just don’t care. I consider myself to be a very altruistic person; if someone needs help I will do everything in my power to help them. I donate money and time to charities. When my kids are grown I plan to start traveling with groups that help the medically needy in impoverished areas. I give money to homeless people. From these aspects I don’t think that I’m apathetic at all. It’s just everyday things that I don’t care for. It just all seems so trivial to me. I don’t want to hear about relationship problems or weight problems. I mean if you aren’t happy with whom you’re with leave them, if you’re fat put down the damn Twinkies. When I put on a little weight I either reduce my caloric intake or buy bigger pants. I don’t whine about the size of my ever expanding ass to other people. What are they going to do? Offer to pay for lipo? I don’t enjoy looking at pictures of other people’s children and don’t see why I should be required to feign interest when looking at them. This fact results in being called by the lovely term of endearment that rhymes with witch, but I’m just being honest. I like to look at pictures of my children because they are my children, and it honestly wouldn’t bother me if someone didn’t want to see their picture. I wouldn’t think of them as an asshole if they didn’t. I’m not any good at hiding the way I honestly feel. No matter how much I’m smiling and pretending to care my eyes are a dead giveaway that I truly don’t. They do say the eyes are the windows to the soul after all. It never stops either. Even when I say I’m not interested in hearing about something I still have to hear it, even after the person says they don’t even know why they bother talking to me. I don’t know why they bother either. It never ceases to amaze me. I guess they think that all of a sudden I’m going to care. If I didn’t give a shit the day before chances are good I’m not going to give a shit today. I don’t know why I’m devoid of my everyday conversation/people skills that I’m supposed to have but I am and I don’t try to deny this fact. To deny who you are to appease someone is essentially lying to that person. I guess I can either be a liar or a bitch. I’m apparently hardwired to be honest to a fault, so I guess I’ll have to go with the latter.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Sins of the past cast long shadows on the future....

The past needs to stay in the past. People don't need reminders from others of what happened way back when. Constantly bringing up past mistakes gets us nowhere. People who desire to change do change, and they shouldn’t be dragged down by the ghosts of the past. A person has no problem remembering regrets on their own without having to be reminded by someone else. Nothing is more frustrating than doing something right and having someone say that you used to do it wrong. What we do from today on matters, yesterday is long gone and those that don't want to live in the present need to be left in the past.
trees Pictures, Images and Photos

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Urban Cowboy

Dear Mighty Urban Cowboy,
How can I resist your charm? You must be a really neat person because for all that heavy work you must do there is no dust on those Redwings you wear. I know you said that callous on your hand was from fencing, but your Playstation controller looks pretty worn to me….
Running out of gas while patrolling the subdivision in your oversized dooly truck?
Hey you might get better gas mileage if you dropped that heavy belt buckle.
I guess you are kind of green though, you do recycle. You make sure you save all your Mountain Dew bottles to spit your chew into. And as if all these things weren’t proof enough of your masculinity my redneck friend, you have strategically placed pair of testicles hanging from your truck to erase any doubts I might have. How can a woman resist?

How what didn't happen yesterday will affect you.

In case you’ve missed every news program out there the bailout plan was rejected yesterday. The House can barely find their own a**hole with a mirror, much less make a major decision that could save the economy. In an effort to save billions they have now caused us to lose trillions. 401K savings dropped like rain yesterday as the stock market dropped more than it ever has. It will affect every single person out there, not just those trying to get a mortgage or auto loan. When banks say they are going to have to stop giving credit, they mean ALL credit. It’s not just those in the market for a house or some big ticket item that will be in trouble. Here’s an example: You have a credit card with a $6000 credit limit. You currently have a balance of $1000 on it. That means you have $5000 available credit. This is the credit the bank will take. Whatever you still have available on the card the bank will take, reducing your credit limit to save themselves from the liability. Then your debt to credit ratio will change, causing your credit score to lower, and things with a price rate based on your credit rating will go up, such as car insurance. Everyone is going to be screwed if there isn’t some type of resolution put into place, it may already be too late. Hopefully today we will have an answer. Oh wait a minute, that’s right, the House won’t resume negotiations until Wednesday, because today is Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year and they must observe this. Wow, is this a Federal holiday that I didn’t know about? Hmmm, it didn’t seem like all of the government agencies and banks were closed today. That’s okay; we can sway in the wind one more day, waiting to see the outcome. We’ve been doing it for eight years now, what’s one more day? Mazal Tov!

Monday, September 29, 2008

The way I see it......

I love Starbucks. Love probably isn’t a strong enough word to describe my feelings for this place. This place is like a vital part of my daily schedule. I’ve tried other coffee drinks at other coffee shops, and nothing ever matches their drinks. One thing that makes me feel better about my purchase of overpriced coffee on a regular basis is the fact that they make me feel more “green” about myself. I tell myself that since they go to great lengths to get approval to use drink cups out of recycled material then they really care and Al Gore would be happy with my choice of a coffee shop that tries to go green. I just have one concern with this place, that every barista that makes my drink uses two cups for one beverage, even when the outer protective cuff is on the cup as well. This practice happens at every Starbucks I go to. If you are going to go to great lengths to do your part for our environment and make your cups out of 10% post consumer recycled content doesn’t it kind of defeat the purpose when you use two cups for each drink?

Friday, September 26, 2008

Tales from the crypt of what used to be our thriving economy.

I should have focused on a financial career. I could have became the head of a bank or mortgage lender, gave loans to every Tom, Dick, and Harry that applied for one, collected my bonuses, and then when they couldn’t pay any more cut my losses and go and let someone else clean up the mess. This is basically what every major mortgage lender has done which has led to the downward spiral that our economy is on. It is very perplexing to me, as well as many other people who just can’t get their head around this. I think aside from being confusing it is hard to comprehend that this could have happened in the US, but it has and it can’t be mended with a band aid. This is my extremely simple explanation of the major contributing factor that has brought us to this point. This is the way I understand it from all of the political magazines and money reports that I read.
Okay first you have Suzie and Johnny. They have just gotten married and are ready to take the next big step, which is home ownership. They go to the bank and apply for a loan. Now the lender takes into consideration both of their incomes to come up with a higher mortgage and allow them to get a higher priced home. Back in the good old days when it was actually harder to get a mortgage loan they considered one income, which made sense because if one lost their job then the other one could always pick up the tab. Or you had a lot of collateral to offer and if you ended up not paying the bank could seize your assets and it wouldn’t be a total loss to them. This might result in a lower price range but this was the smartest move for the consumer. However lenders got greedy and as their commissions went up the requirements for obtaining a loan went down. So Suzie and Johnny buy a house with a mortgage figured on both of their incomes. Everything is going smoothly for a while. Credit card offers come quickly, along with even more lines of credit since they have a loan in the first place. Being of sound financial mind they only get one credit card for emergencies. As the months go by their credit limits build since they always make timely payments and everything’s all happy. They get a furniture set on sale and finance this since they have been managing so well and they figure they’ve got it covered. Then Johnny’s company lays him off because they are moving to Mexico. Why stay in the US and pay Americans what their worth when you can go across the border and pay Pedro 25 cents to do the exact same job? Big business has gotten greedy yet again. So Johnny draws unemployment for awhile until this fizzles out. He can’t find another job because the job market sucks right now. What jobs are available are being filled quickly and those are few and far between because Johnny’s company wasn’t the only one that left the country. Suzie’s doing all she can to cover that fancy mortgage payment with her income, but since it was figured on both of their incomes she can’t reasonably pay it. They pay everything they can with the credit card until it’s maxed out, eventually they max out all of their resources and they are drowning in debt. The cause of all their problems was started by this massive mortgage payment so they do what they have to, which is just mail the keys in and walk away. Now since they had no collateral in the first place they have nothing else to offer the bank so they are left holding the bill.
The second example is Pete. He passes by a house one day and decides he wants to buy it. He goes to the bank and says I want to buy that house. He has no collateral, no down payment, and has been working steadily at the same job for a whopping six months. Mr. Lender tells Pete to sign on the dotted line because he meets the current requirements for obtaining a mortgage loan, which is a pulse. He takes the keys to his house, fills his new home with items purchased on all of his newly available credit lines and cards. He makes the minimum payments while it suits him to do so, but then he decides he’s tired of the obligation and quits making the payments on all of his bills and eventually his mortgage. He walks away from his home leaving the bank with another loss.
These are two really simple examples but it is the basic synopsis of events that have led to where we are at today. Basically a lot of people have done what Suzie, Johnny, and Pete have done and this led to a mortgage meltdown as banks keep accumulating more and more losses. Then they go bankrupt or get a bailout and leave someone else to clean up the mess. This has led to the miserable economy that we are in today and has also made us the laughing stock around the world for looking like idiots. Everyone got greedy and now it’s time to pay the piper.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

My Haiku


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Memory of My Mums

My favorite thing about September has got to be mums. They are so beautiful. I always go to painstaking lengths to make sure that I have a variety of them planted to compliment my landscaping throughout the remainder of the season. I’ve not had a lot of time to work on my flowers at all this year but I made sure to carve out time to give plenty of time to plant some mums. After several hours of pulling weeds and rearranging I had an assortment of them and a variety of flowers that I was very proud of. All of this work was smashed into a clump a few days later in a lot less time than it took to make them so beautiful. The day started out well enough. I sat out on my porch drinking my morning coffee, feeling the breeze, and admiring my flowers. How pretty they were. I then decided I saw a weed that had to be pulled right then, that minute. It couldn’t wait. So I proceeded to get up and started to walk off the porch. I was wearing five inch wedge shoes that are not practical at all, which I can’t let go of in a desperate attempt at holding on to my youth. I always have to concentrate on my walking in them. Well I apparently forgot this fact and took off of the porch rather abruptly. My foot then snapped under me at a sharp ninety degree angle and I fell off the steps that lead off of my porch and landed in my nice pretty flowers. It probably wouldn’t have been so bad had I not tried to jump up quickly out of embarrassment so that none of my neighbors who happened to be out in their yards would notice me. When I did jump up so soon I immediately fell back into the same patch of flowers just as quickly because my foot which had just been forced into a position no foot should be in went completely out when I put pressure on it. This gave my beautiful flowers yet another crushing blow, destroying what had been missed in the previous fall several seconds prior. I’m trying to salvage what I can of them but I think it’s a lost cause. My shoes however survived the trauma. They managed to avoid damage by landing in the cushioning of my mums I guess. I don’t even know why I was worried about making my neighbors laugh. They laughed hard enough a week prior when I was taking the luggage rack off of my Jeep. I decided to take it off to get what tiny percentage more I could manage to get out of my gas mileage. When I finally got all of the screws and brackets off I jerked with just a tad too much force and lost my footing, fell off of the kitchen chair I was standing on along with the luggage rack which promptly popped me in the face as soon as we landed. At least I can say I wasn’t standing on the chair in five inch wedges.


I watched an interesting History channel documentary that stated that the anticipated date for the end of the world will occur on December 21, 2012. I then googled this and found many sites devoted to this apparent fact that I did not know even existed. I also found an equal number of sites that talked about the stupidity of those believing this fact. I’m beginning to think it might be true given the pathetic state of our economy and everything seems to be going to hell in a hand basket lately everywhere. Driving home Friday night I passed by tons of gas stations, all out of gas, and the one that finally did have gas had hundreds of cars in line to get what was left. Food prices have gone up and everyone is having to scrimp and save, spending less and thus shoving the economy down this seemingly never ending cycle. 401K’s are dropping value about every ten minutes. I got all exited after checking my retirement report and I’d only lost 37cents. Then it dawned on my dumbass I’ve only been enrolled for about a month in it. (I’ve been slow to reach financial maturity and start planning and saving) I also found an Einstein quote that stated once the bees were gone man would follow in four years. Well, 2012 would be four years from now, and the bees are disappearing around the world, everywhere except Israel. Hmmmm…….It’s really made me think. What if everything is going to end in 2012? I found that the only place geologically in the US that might survive whatever happens would be Berea, KY, for reasons I can’t understand. It’s probably just some ad campaign the Berea Tourist Board and real estate agencies created for obvious reasons. I don’t know. I’d like to be able to say that all of this reflection about our possible impending demise has made me be a better person. I’d like to be able to say this but unfortunately that would be a lie. I’m still the same sarcastic, hateful person I always was. I may rent an RV and spend the 21st of December 2012 in Berea. Then I can return to work on December 23rd to hysterical laughs while people speculate on what an idiot I am.

Friday, September 19, 2008


I hate people who try to tell me how to think. I’m the type of person that I have very deep personal beliefs about everything from politics to abortion but I have no problem with other people’s opinions, even encourage them discuss them to keep up a lively conversation. Why do people always want to convert you to their beliefs? It’s like the only correct way to think is their way. I can’t stand that. For anyone who wants to know and gives a shit I’ve included a list of things that I believe personally, and no, if you feel differently I don’t care and I won’t be changing my opinion. I respect your opinion though, and am not going to argue with you or try to convert you to my way of thinking. This is fucking America after all.
1. I am a Democrat. A very liberal Democrat. 100%. This is not going to change.
2. I am pro-choice. There are too many women that shouldn’t be having children that are anyway.
3. I hate wine, I never will acquire a taste for it and do not desire to.
4. I will never be married again. NEVER. I don’t care who you know that would be “perfect” for me.
5. I don’t base people on the amount of education they have had, I base it on how well they can keep up a conversation. I’ve met many intelligent people with no degree, and many stupid ones that have one.
6. And to reiterate, I am a Democrat. A very liberal Democrat. 100%. This is not going to change. No matter how cute Mrs. Palin’s glasses are.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

One thing that absolutely amazes me is the amount of emptiness that consumes the brains of so many people I encounter everyday. Women with only thoughts and conversations pertaining to fashion, celebrities, and calories. Men with only thoughts and conversations pertaining to redwings, flavors of chewing tobacco, and what season you can kill a certain animal. How can so many be devoid of any type of cultural influence to at least hold up a half way decent conversation? Even pop culture trivia? I am absolutely perplexed by this. No matter how many times I discover people like this it never ceases to amaze me. It does not matter the level of education. I’ve met some extremely stupid people that were very well educated. I met a woman the other day who I thought would have many interesting stories to tell as she was very well educated and had traveled the world. We talked about shoes. For an entire hour we talked about shoes. I tried to change the subject. Weather’s a safe one, mentioned how we needed the rain which led to the topic of global warming. She then stated “That’s like where it snows a lot, right?” So then I felt perhaps it was better to discuss something current in the news so as she might better understand and to avoid the shoes again so I brought up the fires in CA. She then stated “There’s a fire in CA?” I then stared at her, trying not to give my condescending gaze that I’m so good at bestowing upon people and reverted back to a safe topic for her, that being shoes.
The lack of depth was actually uncomfortable for me. Like, how can nothing be everything you talk about?

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Things I've learned thus far.....

Things truly will look clearer in the morning.

Words spoken during anger can’t be taken back and are seldom forgotten.

After an intense yoga session the answers to some of the most difficult questions become obvious.

Don’t waste time trying to maintain friendships you’ve outgrown.

Nothing cleanses the soul like going for a long run in a heavy rain.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Airport brownie will not kill you.

I'm kind of a variation of the OCD of Monk and the clutziness/ditziness of Lucille Ball. I go to great lengths to antibacterialize my house, carry hand sanitizer at all times and compulsively wash my hands. Even though I do have some hobbies that wouldn't be typical of a person like me such as 4-wheeling and fishing, I still have antibacterial wipes in my tackle box so my compulsion does not escape me. I hand mop my floor to get all the bacteria out of every little crevice and then forget I've mopped it, (The Lucille part kicking in) walk across it and then proceed to fall on my ass or worse slide into the sliding glass door. (Then I have to clean the smudges off so it's even more work) I can't let crumbs sit on the counter or floor for more than a minute. I'm also probably inflicting my offspring with future OCD problems on their own as they have to wash their hands after touching even the most trivial things. (My daughter has learned to just roll her eyes and ignore me but my son is still under my influence) All of this painstaking work to try to make sure that there are no nasty little bacteria waiting in the corner to invade and cause illness. To further compel my insanity I work in a hospital and watch TLC constantly which is not a good combination. Out of all of this effort, I would think that some of my cleanliness and germaphobe mentality would have struck my son. However walking through the airport I realized it has not. My son was hungry begging me to get him a snack. We were in a hurry to catch the flight so I kept saying to wait until we got on the plane, trying to make those stupid little bags of peanuts sound better than steak. In his impatience for my reluctance to walk back out to the vending machines he discovers a solution to his problems. A brownie, unwrapped, half smashed into the floor, cobwebs rising from its surface probably circa 1995, laying in the corner of the floor. He decides that this will be perfect to sustain his hunger until we get on the flight. As he places the brownie into his mouth I start yelling "NOOOOO!!!" at the top of my lungs and running at him in what seemed like movie slow motion, tripping over a luggage bag (Lucille Ball again), finally reaching him, grabbing the remainder of the brownie out of his hand, and demanding he spit it out. In defiance he swallowed. I thought my heart was going to fall out of my chest, speechless running a quick list through my head of every bacteria that could have possibly been on that brownie, my daughter all the while laughing her head off in amusement and my son sitting there with a sly grin on his face. After the initial dismay at what my son did finally parted (and after religiously scubbing his hands and mine for touching the brownie) I watched him for the remainder of the vacation for any signs of fever and lethargy. Long story short he survived unscathed, no illness, and upon recounting the story to my mother she informed me he's done things of this nature before and she didn't tell me so I didn't get my OCD panties in a wad. So maybe I need to relax a little, maybe throw a few of those containers of antibacterial wipes that safe guard my life away and let a little dirt invade. I still can't let the ones in my purse go, or the ones in the car for that matter. Maybe I'll get rid of the ones in the tackle box. Baby steps, baby steps. Monday I even let some crumbs sit on the floor for about 15 minutes longer than I usually do before I wiped them up and resanitized. I'm even going to try to go for a day without cleaning at all. (Although I do realize statistically my compulsion will probably win over maybe I can go for at least a few hours) Maybe I won't change over night, maybe never, but one thing people can say for now, you truly can eat off my kitchen floors.

TSC is not for the Pseudo Princess

Why doesn't life come with a little instruction book? One with definitions and pictures? Last night I decided to take advantage of having a sitter for a few hours and went shopping. My mother called to ask me to do her a favor and pick up some flyblock for horses from the TSC store. Not "A flyblock" mind you but "some flyblock" which led me to think that it was a spray especially after she told me it was to keep flies of the horses. (Even though I grew up on a farm I know nothing about farming) I walk into the TSC store, dressed in a flowery sun dress and open toes stiletto hills, (I'm a girly girl, can't help it) painfully obviously out of place, looking for the spray section of the store. No store clerks were in sight which was all the more better for me because I hate asking for assistance or directions just like most men. I walk over to the fly sprays but I can't find exactly what Mother is looking for. No sprays have the name "FLYBLOCK" on the label. Reluctantly I decide to ask for help. I find a man and ask him for the "flyblock for horses" He directs me to the back of the store. There I find these strange looking blocks all stacked on each other. Then I'm pissed because this man obviously wasn't listening. I walk back up to him with a little condescending look on my face and say "I need the flyblock for a horse to keep flies off, you know, like a spray?" He then looks at me as though I'm Kelly Bundy and states in a very dry tone "Honey, the horse licks on the block, chemicals are released throughout its skin which detracts flies. That's why they call it Flyblock." I then sheepishly respond okay as I follow him back to the blocks. Then he offers to carry the block for me. I ignorantly responded that no I could get it because I wasn't getting anything else, never taking into account the weight of the thing. (33.4 pounds in case you're curious) So he then hands me the block, which I proceed to drop on my foot since I didn't anticipate it being quite so heavy. My poor little open toed stiletto covered foot. I'm sure a blank stare then registered across my face as the sheer magnitude of the pain of a 33.4 pound block landing on my foot registered through my body. The nice man (who I'm sure thought I was the blondest redhead he'd ever met in his life) lifted the block off of my foot and carried it to the register for me, most likely out of pity) me quietly limping behind. He even carried it out to the car and loaded it for me, as we exited the store I could hear snickers of laughter. As if that wasn't bad enough as he was loading it he noticed my metallic hot pink fishing pole in the back of the car and said "You actually fish?" Never going back to that store. Ever. Any future request from my mother to pick up anything from TSC, Southern States, or Feed and Seed in its name will be denied.

Pointing Fingers

Blaming your parents for the way you behave as an adult today as a way to deflect responsibility for your own actions is just ridiculous. Using this as an excuse to not be held accountable for anything is just pathetic. Parents do have an influence on us but when you become an adult you have the ability to make decisions for yourself and decipher right from wrong.

Chasing Phantoms

Living in the fantasies of the past is often more comforting than contemplating an uncertain future. Reminiscing about past memories and wondering "what if" is pointless. Past opportunities don't come back to you again, no one can go back in time, erase the slate, and start over. Each day is a new day to make a new memory. Sometimes you're right where you need to be in your life, you just don't realize it yet.

Need Advice?

NEED ADVICE? Current mood: exhausted
After yet another late night call to counsel and console yet another brokenhearted friend with the same words of wisdom that are always ignored I've decided to type it all up in a blog. I'm tired of losing sleep, those who know me well know that I suffer from insomnia so when I finally do get to sleep I'm not exactly thrilled at being interrupted. So to spare myself from future exhaustion I'm typing this. From now on when I get relationship advice calls I'm going to just simply say refer to the blog and hang up.
You know what I believe kills every potentially good relationship? When things are absolutely perfect, you've got the chemistry going, everything is great, all the initial nervousness is gone, usually reached within a few months, and then someone decides they must have "the talk" The where is this going talk, are you seeing anybody else talk. And once you've had that talk it's the point of no return and things aren't fun anymore. In my opinion many pitfalls could be avoided if this conversation never came up. If two people are into each other the likelihood of one actually cheating is very minimal, and when things feel that they are going great chances are good that they are, in fact, that great and there's no need to discuss it or psychoanalyze it, once you start doing this the fantasy begins to fade. And all of it initially boils down to the thought, "will he want to marry me someday or not?" I like the way it was in the old movies, when a woman knew the guy wanted to marry her because he surprised her with a ring. They have this romantic courtship throughout the whole movie and then the romantic climax when he surprises her with a diamond. There was none of this insane are you ever gonna marry me, are we exclusive to each other shit. No agonizing over the tone of his voice during the last phone call or the way he looked at you when he told you he loved you. I don't know how many times I've heard the "Well, he said he loved me but the look on his face said he didn't." WTF? In the movies he just whipped out a ring and she knew. Perfect. No drama, no bullshit. Wow, what a concept. That's pretty simple. This isn't rocket science.

Yet another blonde moment.

Yet another "Blonde" moment
I decided I wanted to move my television to the corner of my living room. This in itself was going to be a major feat since I have a huge television that is very heavy. I thought about waiting for a friend to come and help me however it then struck me that I need to get used to doing things on my own and how hard could it be to lift it anyway? After all just one of the movers was able to carry it several feet when I moved in here so how hard could it be? (He was a man though, and this does make a difference) So I get the bright idea to move the piano bench over beside the entertainment center that way I won't have to lift it down very far since it is so heavy. Well the piano bench is about 24 inches shorter than the entertainment center so I had no problem lifting the TV up slightly (more like sliding it down) and placing it DOWN on the piano bench, but then after moving the entertainment center it became painfully obvious that I did not have the strength to move it back UP the 24 inches to get it successfully back onto the entertainment center. It was at this moment I discovered that some jobs can only be accomplished by one person if that one person has the arm strength of a man (which I do not) and I should not start such jobs late at night so as to not wake up whomever I have to call to finish what I started. I couldn't leave the heavy television sitting on the piano bench all night so I then sheepishly had to get a neighbor to come over and help me lift it back up. I think for any future furniture moves I will buy an appliance and then rely on the kindness of the Lowe's delivery men to move whatever I need moved while they happen to be there to deliver my new appliance. This could get to be expensive though so I should just cut the redecorating down to once a year.

Going through the motions.....

Often how you represent yourself is what you want others to see, without too many glimpses into what is really going on and how you feel because you must maintain the acts of the play you've gotten so used to participating in. Life often becomes a repetitious play of sorts, where you play the character you've been cast as perfectly and as expected but that isn't really who you are. Inside you are miserable and suffocating but you selflessly maintain character so as not to disrupt the balance of the other characters. But then if you decide to start living your life for yourself, to where you can truly attain happiness, often the environment you've been pretending in becomes hostile, and produces a hell quite worse than what it was just pretending to be someone you aren't. Sometimes it appeases you to fantasize about something or someone far removed from the situation. It's like a breath of fresh air, and a dream that you can have to escape to, known only to yourself and no one else. It takes your mind off things and for a time and you can breath instead of going through the suffocating constraints of pretending. However eventually the fantasy fades and reality comes flooding back in. The question that must be answered internally is which is easier, maintaining the fa├žade and keeping all the other characters happy or pursuing your own happiness no matter what destruction that decision will cause.