Tact is for people who aren't witty enough to be sarcastic

I Wanna Throw A Tantrum

2012-02-11T19:57:00.004-07:00

It's all a farce.

Nobody ever grows up.
Oh, we go from little tiny chubby bodies, fresh from the womb to big bodies that grow hair in weird places and we get to drive. And pay the mortgage. And all that other stuff that comes with the God given right to eat ice cream for breakfast.
There are subtle ways in which we age, but most of them are as superficial as Joan Rivers nose.

Hopefully by the time we reach school age we've managed to figure out what and where the stuff goes that comes out of our butts, and hopefully along the way we acquired the sense to not put our hands in it.

When we start school we learn what "society" expects. We learn to share, and compromise, and apologize for our wrongdoings. We learn that fresh air is good for us, candy is bad for us, and macaroni isn't just for dinner anymore. We learn to observe the things and people around us, and respect them. Hopefully. If we're really lucky, we'll be raised by parents who teach by example, and raise us to be open-minded and accepting of people different than ourselves. If we're lucky, we advance in age without bigotry.

By the time we reach adolescence all hell breaks loose. The "eat or be eaten" mentality has officially set in. The basic primal habits we learned as toilet training toddlers metaphorically changes, and now we can't keep our hands out of other peoples shit.

There is not enough love or money in this universe that could convince me to return to adolescence.

When we finally become adults, as in, we turn eighteen--nothing changes. I've said it for years, "Congratulations! You're eighteen. You can now vote, get drafted, and die in the electric chair."

Sure, as we advance in age, we do get privileges, but do we really change?

No. We do not.

We're still riddled with angst. And those wonderful examples, if you were lucky enough to have them, are no longer there on a daily basis to reaffirm those good habits and mindsets. No, now we are subject to the world and all the biases that come with it. We're raised within the confines of society, and then thrown out into the world to figure it out.

Take for example, the job market. Rarely will you find a company that offers the training that it expects from it's employees. More often than not, you will be given a short overview, reminiscent of Cliff Notes as to what your job really is. That job description is more fluid than one might expect, and the three jobs that you were hired to do, quickly becomes thirty-six. Unfortunately, your pay did not increase twelve fold along with your responsibilities. This lack of training and fairness are in direct conflict with what we have grown up with.

And sometimes, all we want to do is throw a big 'ol tantrum about it.

I've been in the grocery store, stuck at the end of the long ass line behind the cart with the kid that's coming apart because they're tired, hungry, bored, lonely, or just plain undisciplined. And I can't count the times that I have looked at that red flustered face and thought "I wish that I could do that." because I'm so tired, hungry, bored, lonely, and a wee bit undisciplined myself. My day at work sucked, I have to go home and make the food that I want to eat. I sat at a mindless job bored and lonely, and all I want to do is go home and see the familiar faces of people (and animals) that love me. And I'm undisciplined, because deep inside I am still just a child, and somehow I feel entitled to a come apart in a crowded store.

We find, in the grown-up world, that things are rarely fair. Rental car places require a bachelors degree for a job that requires basic math and the ability to look at a yelling customer and refrain from assaulting them. The ability to count and make change requires an accounting class, never mind the fact that any and all adults should be able to make a simple financial transaction without a college degree. Filing and office work requires more than knowing the alphabet. And with all of that education, some of the most lacking individuals that I have dealt with throughout my lifetime, have been in possession of such a degree.

Many of those folks doing your taxes at the corner franchise are able to do so with a few short weeks of training, and they're making eight bucks an hour, but rental car places are requiring a college degree? It's astounding.

We complain about immigration, without considering what would happen if those day laborers packed it in and went home. Not to mention the fact that many of those same workers, willing to do the shit jobs, are doing it for the family they have back home. They make more picking strawberries in a foreign country, than cleaning up barf from the tourists that seem to think that their poverty stricken country is a playground.

Now does that sound like proper behavior?

The people who get the most flack and do the most grunt work are paid and respected the least, and that is just the way it is.

Then we hit old age, a time where the parent becomes the child. We are once again given a free pass to throw tantrums and talk back. We don't get to drive, pay the mortgage, and I bet we'd be given a ton of grief if we ate ice cream for breakfast. People talk to us like we're children.

Because that is essentially what we have been all along.

To Everything There is a Season

2012-01-20T03:35:00.000-07:00

Where to begin...
Well, I'm here.

And right now, that is as good as it gets.

For the past several weeks I have had two songs thumping around in my head. The first one is by The Byrds. Turn, Turn, Turn is a goodie made popular by hippie flicks like Forest Gump and of course the origination of the lyrics of this ditty were plagiarized straight from the holy book, The Bible. Why wouldn't this shit be running through my head?

The second song was made popular by a good 'ol hair band, Cinderella. Nobody's Fool has been clouding my judgment as of late...taking its turn with The Byrds and making me doubt whether my meds are working or not. My questionable brain has created quite the medley with the two songs, which is insanely entertaining in a you-totally-have-to-be-there sort of way.

I landed a great job. Right before Thanksgiving I got one of those calls, you know the one, the call that ruins all of your plans for all of the right reasons? The call that says "You have a job. Go get it. Right now. What the hell are you waiting for??" I answered the door when opportunity knocked. Within the first three hours, I had a raise. Within the first week I had an offer of a permanent position. The next week I had another raise. The fourth week I was let go with ONE DAYS NOTICE. Awesome huh?

Although losing my job SUCKED, because I loved it, it also opened up a little free time for me. Not long before Thanksgiving, it was decided that my Mum (grandma) no longer has the capacity to cope with the challenges of living alone. Of course, the MLD (Mean Little Drunk aka Mum) has sound enough mind to know what is going on, and she's a little...how would you say...put out by the entire process.

My mom made plans to come up to Mum's for a few weeks and help go through things. I made plans to go up for a few days and help go through things.

Have you ever seen the show Hoarders?

It was kind of like that....but without all the feces and stuff.

I ended up staying for TEN days. Straight. Then I fled to my own house for a lazy Sunday...where illegal substances may have been involved. First thing Monday morning I headed back to Mums and stayed for few more days.

So....it is with much ado, marinated by a heap of pomp and circumstance that I can professionally assert the following things about my Mum;

She never threw away a card. As a matter of fact, I am pretty sure that she could give Hallmark a run for their money with the amount of un-used cards she kept on retainer.
Baskets, boxes, and baggies should be retained for the duration of ones life. You never know when you might want to use that Acme Hospice Services box to gift some of your favorite Christmas goodies out to the neighbors. Oh, and nevermind the fact that she single handedly filled a landfill with all of her new baggies that she used for everything...as long as you rinsed out the one from lunch.
Notebooks. Lots and lots of notebooks. Mum would fill out a page or two in the front, and a page or two in the back...and then what? I'll tell you what, she bought a new damned notebook!
If you personally are not able to fill a dumpster with all of your old magazines...you've failed at life.
Photos are not just meant to be enjoyed. They are meant to be photocopied! Tape your favorite photos to regular old lined paper and hit the printers! You can then cut out these terrible plain papered renditions of actual photos and place them in dozens of plastic baggies labeled (in marker) with your friends names. Actually forwarding the photos is up to you.
Writing letters is a dying art...I think that Mum thought that she had to resuscitate the life back into the art...all by herself. Once again, mailing is optional.
Always make your bed.
Family history is very important. That's why you should box up all of your ancestral family photos, genealogy, and cool shit...so that one day your granddaughter can sort through all of your paper history, photos, historical books, unopened mail, paper clips, letters, ledgers, boxes, baggies, and other nonsense in order to get to the really cool shit. Like the quill pen that was mailed to my great-great grandfather, the same pen that was used when a bill he drafted was signed into legislation. Or the letters that were mailed in 1881 on onion paper detailing travels by wagon train.
If one news worthy clipping is good, ten is better.

Did I mention Mum is a little peeved about the whole affair?

Because my entire family is a certifiable bunch, it was deemed "a good idea" to get Mum the hell out of dodge before Hoarders could come in and save us all. Oh, wait...Hoarders wasn't involved, it was just us. We decided to get Mum out of town, but the trip was cut short though because the MLD is our leader and having taught us all that she knows, she knew that we were plotting against her. The problem is the fact that we are all pretty sure that she would finish coming unglued if we were to give her the entire picture of what is going on. Mum knows that "people" have been up at her house, but so far she hasn't sussed us all out yet. The first few days after she got back into town she made phone calls to her house and left messages to us on her answering machine. Talk about all kinds of wrong!

I have learned a lot though. I'm always interested in the dynamics of people, and this opportunity gave me a lot of time to reflect on the life that my grandparents led and consider how I want to use that in my own life. It afforded me the opportunity to visit at length with different family members, and it made me aware of how important those conversations can be. I've watched different members struggle with sensitive issues, some of which I had no idea about, and it's made me more understanding.

Once again, I find myself in these situations that challenge and reaffirm my feelings about every aspect of life. Realizing what is really important is what I've been learning. I would have loved to have gone through all of Mum's "things" with her, and had her relay her knowledge about them. I would have asked her about the story of her cedar chest, instead of finding its contents on my own. I would have asked her about family members that I only know from photos, instead of putting the names and faces together by myself. I would have asked her about the quilts and the cards, because I know that she is a woman who really does love her family.

During the few weeks that I was there, I realized how different my life is compared to Mums. The choices, no...the options that I have are so much more vast than the options Mum had, and that makes me wonder what life Mum would have chosen, had she been given the option to do so. No right or wrong, just different.

If I could go back in time and tell Mum anything, it would be this:

Use the good stuff. Don't let it sit around in a hutch, or stored away, use it. Take the Quaker Lace tablecloth that you got as a wedding gift, and use it on a Thursday. Put out the nice linens, for yourself. Use that quilt that your mother made, use the beautiful embroidered pillow cases. Enjoy it all, just because you can. Life is short and not a single one of us survives it, so share it.

Do you have any idea how many of Dante's Infernos I have experienced just by looking into Mums eyes and lying through my teeth?

Contempt Of Court

2011-07-13T19:38:00.000-06:00

Funniest slip ever.

Last month my son got into his first car accident. The accident featured McKinley, driving his father's Land Rover and a 31 year-old woman driving a Nissan Altima. The Rover suffered minor damage, to call it a scuff would be a gross exaggeration, while the little Altima suffered a broken taillight.

In short, nobody died.

Monday was McKinley's court date. At the scene of the crime McKinley received two tickets, one for Negligent Collision and one for not having proof of insurance.

To be fair, the Land Rover had been in storage until just recently because said father was serving in Iraq. Hence the missing information.

Got it?

So, McKinley and I ventured to court on Monday. It was a newer courthouse that is really small, as in, McKinley was the only felon present. I sat down in the peanut gallery, and McKinley took his place at the podium.

The judge asked McKinley if he understood the charges. Then asked if he understood his rights. It went something like this:

"Sooo, McKinley how old are you?"

"Seventeen"

"...and on June 20th you got into an accident?"

"Yes"

"and you were cited with Negligent Collision, is that correct?"

"Yes it is."

"Now McKinley. When people use the word negligent, it sounds like a bad thing, but all it means is that you made a mistake. Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"So, would you say that was what happened?"

"Yes. I'm guilty."

"What are you guilty of McKinley?"

"I am guilty of Negligent Homicide." (Y'all didn't miss the part where nobody died right?)

At which point, and it was merely a breath, Mom (that's me y'all) starts yelling from the gallery.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!"

The clerk, the bailiff, and the judge are dying laughing. McKinley looks ill, and the judge says.

"How did I know that was coming?"

And McKinley recovers and corrects.

"I mean, Negligent Collision. I watch way too many cop shows."

It was awesome. I told McKinley later that he should have confessed to killing Elvis.

I promised the judge that I would keep the homicide thing in check, and he kindly dropped the insurance issue, thanking us for the comedy relief.

I tell you, it was a proud, proud day for Mama.

Nonsense

2011-06-28T11:29:00.000-06:00

I love magazines. They satisfy my need to read without me checking out of my life for the time it takes me to read a novel. I usually keep one on hand in case I am going to be waiting somewhere, mainly because I'm more impatient than a two-year old. I tend to stick to ones like Glamour or Marie Claire because they have amazing articles on people and shit that I just didn't know existed. In my opinion, they're healthier than the nightly news (which I avoid).

Every once in a while I get sucked into Cosmopolitan. The reason it's only every once in a while is because I reside in a state that keeps many of it's magazines covered with plastic inserts, lest the wee ones get a gander at an attractive woman and start to wonder why their mothers look like homeless hippos.

Can you even imagine what that conversation might sound like??

So, imagine my surprise when I was standing in line at the grocery store, stuck behind the woman with 45 WIC vouchers, and I glance over and see Ms. Cameron Diaz staring at me (seductively might I add) from the cover of Cosmo. I dare say there was a revealing side shot of her breast. OMG is right!

Backstory: I never left my kids in the dark about anything. My kids knew from the moment they first asked where babies come from. My daughter was fascinated by my childbirth books when she was three. At age four, she was more than happy to school my two eleven-year old brothers that babies come out your "girl parts." Clearly, I should be reported to someone somewhere.

Now, the headlines on this particular Cosmo...shit, lets face it, they were the same damn ones they have every month. How to turn on your guy (or any guy), Fab New Vibrators, Radiate Confidence!, and how to keep your bikini line ~~slut~~ sex ready. But the line that got me was What men want most at 9 p.m.

Sleep?

I was stumped I tell you. So I bought it. Some questions just need to be answered.

Turns out, what your man needs is a little TLC. You see, he's all tuckered out from having a few beers postwork, after which he chomped down some pizza and a soda, then he came home and ate some cookies (I am not making this up). All that shit he ate and drank when he got off work has affected his blood sugar, and that screwed with his testosterone, so he's not feeling randy, he's needing some time-out...and affection.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??

You want to know what I did when I got home, while you were out boozing with the boys? I did some laundry, cleaned the bathroom, watered the yard, made dinner (which you missed dipshit), then I cleaned up something that the dog yakked up, loaded the dishwasher, and changed the sheets. I didn't even have time to fix that martini that I know you love, and I apologize that the massage oil isn't warm, but here honey come sit down and take a load off.

How did we go from bra burning to catering to men who do themselves in? My man comes home with a bad attitude after hanging with the boys, and I am just not sympathetic. I also don't have some twisted notion that every free moment a couple has needs to be spent hanging on each other. When I get off work I just want to have a little time to get the tourists out of my head.

Since I got my answer to the 9 p.m. question, I actually read through the rest of the magazine. Here are some highlights:

Decode Your Love Style--What degree of nagging bitch are you?
Dirty Talk That Drives Men Wild--Pick up your dirty socks, or I WILL KILL YOU.
The Weird Trait Guys Look For in a Date--Using a fork and knife correctly? Nope, how good of a mother you'll be. Awesome article to be smashed in between slut info.
Take Him for a Spin--How to have sex in a car...yep, you read it right. If you have to resort to having sex in a vehicle, maybe you shouldn't be copulating.
Does PMS Drive You Crazy?--No, but I can't speak of it's effects on others.
Why Can't You Just Accept a Compliment?--Hmmm, maybe because I have been reading a magazine that has pretty much shot my self esteem all to hell.

Now don't all of you rush out and buy it.

Late Lament

2011-06-10T00:18:00.001-06:00

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

It's never too late for plagiarism.

I am not sleeping.

Day three of no sleeping pills, and I am feeling it. With a whole forty-five minutes of sleep under my belt from last night, I am beyond exhausted.

Yet sleep eludes me.

I am no longer accustomed to the night.

It used to be that I relished the dark hours. The endless minutes that stretched dusk to dawn, when the only solitude could be found in the darkened corners of the house. When I moved secretly around the rooms of my familiar space, aware of the stillness, and grateful for it. Children asleep, absent husband. Watched by the curious eyes of my pets as I tiptoed through the silence.

Has it been so long?

My babies have been replaced by a small dog that seeks me out. I slipped from my bed, after tossing for too long, and I have now been sought out by my "child" that has no sight, unaware of the dark, but well aware that this is not the hour to be up. When she finds me, sitting in the bedroom with bare windows, sheetrock in need of painting, sitting with my laptop in the dust and debris of the only room that will keep me without waking anyone else. She stands on her hind legs, wanting to be picked up like a child would--the child she hasn't figured out, she's not.

And that's okay.

I've always done my best writing at night. Not that I think that I am some acclaimed literary figure, but I will not deny the fact that I often feel pride in the words that I am able to put down. When my world is most confusing, writing grounds me.

Maybe I am lost.

My world, in it's normal state, is grounded by nightlight, wee hours where I find the chaos of my mind is quieted. Hours that for the last several months have been spent sleeping.

When last I slept, I dreamt of weeds. Weeds that I planted in dark richly turned soil, in pots, flowerbeds, and acres of fields. Weeds that did what they do, growing faster than they should, and leaving me with an endless chore of tending them in their element.

No wonder I'm awake.

Unless you're a dedicated night owl, these hours might baffle you. When you lay awake and find yourself plagued by the sleep that escapes you, and all the worries ambush you only to remind you that you're not sleeping.

I've found that it's easier to get up and do something that daylight doesn't always allow.

Just be.

It's like returning to the arms of an old lover. Familiar and new, embraced by the comfort of not having to put on airs. Feeling safe in the familiarity, but appreciating the time you share because you know it's fleeting. Your lover welcomes you with a knowing smile, and you allow yourself to be enveloped in the pleasure of something you know just can't be good for you.

It's all fleeting.

My world has been turned upside down. Work has put me on a schedule that leaves me little time to do the things that keep me in check. The more you need it, the less time you have for it. A paradox of sanity. A wake, work, work at home, sleep cycle has turned me into someone I hardly recognize. Trying to wedge the to-do list into the sparse hours between morning and night has left me looking for my shadow.

When I was a child, I remember sneaking out of my window and walking the dark streets alone. I recall one night when a fog had set in and I walked straight down the middle of the road in our neighborhood with the streetlights barely illuminating the houses they presided over. It was enough to calm my mind, and when I returned to my bed, I slept.

So many moments we take for granted. Stopping to smell the roses seems to take so damn long sometimes. I imagine though, that the memory of roses gets us through the winter.

Hello lover.

Stupidity

2011-03-09T10:23:00.000-07:00

Without revealing my address to the internets, I have a huge issue to bitch about.

The issue is regarding the ~~desire~~ demand on the part of my county to adopt my town into their grid system. An issue that I might add means major change and cost to residents, most of which are against the change.

My little town has approximately 370 homes in it.

It's an old mining town.

We are located next to (seriously, I could hike there, without a lunch or water) the largest Open Pit Copper Mine in the world, the damn thing shows up on satellites.

Tour buses actually containing Asian tourists get turned around in my little town, and have to be given explicit instructions on how to get to said Copper Mine, and their thrilling gift shop.

The one road in, is the only road out.

We're in a canyon.

That said, we're not located by people. We're not so far away from civilization that we have to plan a day to make the trek to get taco shells, but we're far enough out that people coming to visit often call and ask if they've "gone too far". We are too far...

From Salt Lake City. Therefore, we should not be on the same grid system as Salt Lake City.

Salt Lake County is forcing us into their grid system.

Their argument for this idea is that our unique grid (unique to our town) is a hindrance for EMS people to find us.

HUH!?!

Come again?

We have our own Fire Department.

We have our own Post Office and our own zip code.

We have at least an 80 year history.

We have our own cemetery (a dreadful place to want to be buried according to my daughter).

We have a park that I bet 90% (a statistic I made up for this joke) of Salt Lake area people have been to.

"Oh, you have that cool park"

Yep, and all those little houses around that park...people live there.

We have a name. We're not some hillbilly byway marked only by "two sees and a throw," or the broken down outhouse next to the big rock.

We even have our own bar, the Orehouse. Suggest it when your friends are drunk, awesome.

There are three churches, of different denominations, that do a progressive dinner fundraiser each year. (Are progressive dinners a Utah thing??)

We have our own Lion's Club.

So, why is it that Salt Lake County is so hell bent on making my life miserable?

Get in line assholes!

I guess it's hard for EMS people to find us...supposedly because when we call in and give them our address, they completely ~~skip~~ ~~ignore~~ miss the fact that we are located in Crazytown, and they find themselves in downtown Salt Lake City. Huh? I'd like to give our EMS folks a bit more credit than that.

Although last night I had a dream where I called 911 and they only spoke French.

Now, I love the grid system. Maybe because I'm a little OCD with numbers, maybe because I'm logical, maybe because IT'S THE EASIEST DAMN SYSTEM TO USE TO FIND A FRICKIN ADDRESS.

BUT.

Some lameass got all goofy years back and decided to add names. Which makes a good portion of our current addressing system the bastard child of logic and Picasso.

Instead of an address like 4332 W. 5855 S. (my childhood address) you would have 4332 W. Rockport Drive. Now it's easy to find 5855 S. but where the hell is Rockport Drive?

Then you have these subdivisions that were designed by preschoolers. Random swirly circular roads that further corrupt the grid, because everyone wants to live in a circle...and everyone wants a "closed neighborhood". What happens is, you turn down the street that you think is closest to your desired destination address and then drive in circles for an hour before realizing that the way you came in is the only way out, and you need to be in the next neighborhood over.

Before you get all panty twisted about me coming across as a hypocrite (seeing how I love my little town with one road in, one road out) let me remind you: Canyon. If you drive into Crazytown thinking you're going to pop out the other side of a mountain, you're an idiot. Crazytown is a destination, not a scenic byway.

Although that popping out idea would be awesome, because I have good friends who live right on the other side of that there mountain. What is now a 40 minute drive would become a 10 minute drive, and that would be full of the awesome.

Anyway, most people, when inviting folks to their abodes, tell them what town/province/area they live in. Many of my family lives in Bountiful, which has their own grid, and when instructing people on where to go to say, a funeral, you would state the address and include the word Bountiful.

Not hard.

The USPS requires the use of a zip code for your mail to make it to it's location, so why wouldn't an automated system like the kind EMS uses, list the same types of information? (I was unable to get confirmation as to whether their system does or does not list this info when people call for help)

What my major beef with this issue is the fact that it is not going to simplify anything. There is no benefit to the change, and due to the lack of examples listed at the town meeting, I think that they're all full of shit. Might I add that the Mayors office neglected to show. Pussies. I mean, we didn't have pitchforks or anything!

It's a waste of county funds, and it's a pain in my ass to change everything. My address will go from a cute little 100 N. 4th W. to 10795 S. Double Donkey Punch Drive. (My neighbor submitted the street name Terraced Heights, and my belief in God was reaffirmed when it was declined because it's already in use. I was pulling for Stepford Way or Duck Pants Avenue)

BUT WAIT! There's more!!

The house right next to me, will be numbered 8576 W. Dipshit Lane. Which is going to make this all kinds of ~~fun~~ stupid. The issue is common on the grid system, depending on which way your house is facing, so when you're dealing with 10-20 houses it's not so mind numbing, but we're only going to have FOUR houses on our street with 10700 on them. Turn the corner and you've entered another universe. Great.

Now, I would like to add that we residents of Crazytown do not have our own police force. We don't need one, we all own guns. We're such a close knit community that my neighbor could tell me today what I wore to bed last night. Besides the point...

Police protection in Crazytown is a misnomer. For one thing, Crazytown has very little crime. Due to our closeknittedness, when petty crimes occur we usually just call up the little bastards parents and have a chat. Secondly, were a serious crime to actually occur, death would precede the arrival of a police officer. The nearest police station is a 17 minute drive. Not to mention, it takes 3 police cars to pull someone over in Utah...so there would be no police availability to respond to my B&E. Now, if I had a heart attack, no big deal, we have a fire department, and their paramedic services, mere blocks from here.

As if all this bitchiness weren't enough, this matter is on the heels of a mandated Police Fee that was initiated last year on all unincorporated areas of Salt Lake City. A "fee" that has since been deemed illegal, but will still be charged this year and next.

Are you keeping up?

The fact of the matter is, if EMS has issues locating Crazytown, I think that there is a big software issue and/or training issue here. Any EMS units that would be responding to a Crazytown SOS is close enough to Crazytown to know where there hell it is. In the event of a natural disaster and out-of-state help needed to be called in (one argument for the change) we'd be screwed anyway...because changing our addresses to conform with Salt Lake County will only confuse them because there are no roads south of 9000 South that will actually take you to Crazytown.

After the recent town meeting, I sent off a letter to the Mayor (because I do that), a letter that was much more professional than what I've written here.

I've yet to hear back from our Mayor, or anyone in his office.

Pussies.

Lessons

2011-03-04T15:36:00.000-07:00

Most folks learn from their mistakes. Maybe not the first or the second time, but eventually most people get it after a while. I usually get it the first time around, sometimes it takes a second attempt, a third...tops.

I over think things, I tend to make them so much more difficult than they need to be. Maybe that's why the phrase it is what it is makes me insane.

I just think that there must be more.

Over the last few months I've learned an insane amount of things. Most of these things are relevant to the last five months, but many items pertain to seemingly unrelated events occurring over the last 20 years.

That's a long time to be chewing on an issue...or a hundred of them.

Here is the short list of some of the things that I've learned:

People are people. Yep, Depeche Mode sang it, and for you kiddies who know the song...well, you should be stuck with the loop in your head for the next little while. My gift to you. You're welcome. What I'm getting at, because I do have a point here, is that people surprise you. They disappoint, help, hurt, hinder, make you smile, and sometimes all it takes is a text to let you know that someone out there is thinking about you. Humanity saves us from human nature. So, if you haven't reached out to someone lately, get on that.
I love you. It's never wrong. My son tells me that he loves me when he leaves the room, if I accomplish nothing more in this life, I will have that. Why people fear these three words is beyond me. I would bet that 90% of my friends have heard these three words from me, and 100% of my family has. If you're afraid to say it, I have to wonder why. What's your definition of love? To me, it means giving up your weekend to help your friend move, going out of your way to spend time with people, answering the call at four in the morning, and a million other small sacrifices that add up. Yeah, you want to sit around watching T.V. all weekend, but more than likely the lunch date with your friend will do you both some good. If you love someone, let them know by your actions and your words because that opportunity can be snatched away easier than you think.
I've been in denial. For three years my Papa had cancer, I consciously knew that he was not going to make it through. So why is it, as I stood by his grave staring at his casket, that I was just so incredibly stunned and raw? Why is it that I felt my world shift so far off it's axle that I couldn't breathe? Two weeks later and I'm still in a haze.
I really, really hate to cry. Although I don't consider crying a sign of weakness in general, I do feel like it comes at the most inopportune times. Like when you're discussing sensitive issues with a man, to start crying only comes across as an attempt at manipulation. Which some women do, and some don't. I belong in the don't camp. I feel weak and vulnerable when I cry, and question my own credibility...so I can only imagine what's going on in the head of the flabbergasted confused guy sitting by me.
We're primal. Every action we make is based on a primitive urge. Ultimately, all those actions come down to one thing, the urge to protect our own comfort zone asses. Sometimes what we fight to protect is our own unhappiness, and why would we protect that?? Because change is hard, and change threatens the primitive urge to protect what we have...and it goes around and around and around.
Change is good. My daughter is moving out. I say that to state a fact, not to say "It's about freaking time! She's fifteen! I thought she was going to live here forever!" Frankly, it's something that has been discussed before, and I fought it, but it became a cloud hanging over my head and it was time for that cloud to dissipate. Hopefully the move will make her happy. And if it doesn't make her happy, then at least she knows. It's hard to let your kids make their own choices, but those choices can empower them, and ultimately lead them to learn on their own.
I am not a mechanic. But it's fun to watch me try. The car runs now, but only because testosterone became involved...otherwise, I'm afraid that I would have been found with a socket wrench plunged into my chest. To further prove my point, I licked my finger after filling the car with antifreeze. (In my defense, I'd like to point out that I was fully dressed up to go to work and I got dirty because I seem to be the only one who is able to remove the radiator cap...a man was doing the actual filling). I think I'll stick to changing fuses and gassing up.
Work is good. I was employed from the time I was thirteen until I was pregnant with my second child. I actually called work from the hospital when I was in labor with my first, just to let them know I wouldn't be in the next day...or for a few weeks after that. I took off a year with my second child, and then worked (for money) for the following nine years. Working again made me realize how much I have missed it, as much for the social aspect as for the actual earned income.
I need to go to college. It was something I planned on in high school, and I turned down a scholarship when I found out I was pregnant weeks before high school graduation. Somehow I just didn't want to do the single mom thing while attending college in the Virgin Islands. It's time to catch up, and since I need a reliable career, I'm thinking of a psychology degree and after that I can become a midwife and utilize both.
Life is uncertain. What is today, may not be tomorrow. What you think you know, will be altered at some point in time. Even the darkest days of our lives bring good things. Sometimes life has to issue a huge wake-up call in order for us to realize that we've been living in piles of chaos without realizing it.
Be spontaneous. This week I attended an impromptu lunch with a friend, I met new people and got a couple of hours of laughing my ass off.
Get outside more. The snow and cold has been an added downer for me over the last few months, so I used one of the nicer days we've had to work outside doing a bunch of random yard stuff. It's amazing how much you can get out of some fresh air and a shovel.
Do what makes you happy. Oddly enough, it's the only way to be happy.

I think that's enough philosophical ranting for one day. So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to walk the dog.

It Is What It Is

2011-02-24T21:35:00.000-07:00

No kidding.

You know what else it is?

A good way to piss Heather off in five words.

I want solutions. I look for solutions to problems in my life, problems in your life, problems in your friends lives...hell, I'm out to save the entire planet. And the statement it is what it is always accompanies a problem or something sad, like taxes or cancer. It's said in regards to situations that seem like they have no solutions. It's a way of giving up on finding a solution when there is one, and stating the obvious when there isn't.

So, when innocent bystanders make redundant statements like "It is what it is..." (usually followed by a clucking of their tongue, or a little shrug and a goofy grin) well...I die a little inside. It's like saying that you don't believe in fairies, and then one drops dead.

But those folks don't know. See, they're innocent...like the puppy that pees on your floor, they don't know any better.

Then there are the people who DO know better. What about them??? Huh? The friends and family who say it just to watch me hemorrhage from the ears.

Good going...all you comedians are killing my soul. Thanks for that.

A good friend found an old post of mine that listed this saying as a pet peeve, now he says it to me at least once, if not multiple times, every time I see him. Several other family members say it and snicker, my boss doesn't understand why a pen comes flying across the room every time he says it. My own mother apologizes to me prior to saying it.

Which, ya know, is kind of like standing in a room full of fairies and looking one square in the eye and saying

"Sorry. I don't believe in fairies."

The reason that I loathe this statement is because it doesn't say anything. You're not making a point, finding a solution, or clarifying an observation. What you are saying is....

Redundant

Part of Speech: adjective
Definition: excessive; repetitious
Synonyms: bombastic, de trop, diffuse, extra, extravagant, inessential, inordinate, iterating, long-winded, loquacious, oratorical, padded, palaverous, periphrastic, pleonastic, prolix, reiterating, spare, supererogatory, superfluous, supernumerary, surplus, tautological, unnecessary, unwanted, verbose, wordy

That tree is a tree.

Fire is hot.

I'm going to start a new game. It's going to be called You know what it isn't? And when people don't come up with something creative and funny, I am going to stab them in the jaw.

Just so you know.

Shades Of Gray

2011-02-13T22:25:00.000-07:00

Sometimes we look at things as black and white.

And overlook the infinite shades of gray.

In our quest for truth and justice, we discover millions of definitions of fair.

So, what's fair?

*shakes fists at the heavens*

Is it fair that my grandfather is dying, when I lost another grandfather just a few weeks ago?

Is it fair that just when I think the light at the end of the tunnel is approaching, I get run over by a freight train and the lights go out? Again.

Is it fair to stay married to someone when neither one of you are really happy?

Is it fair to base all of your choices on what someone else might think or do?

Is it fair that I lose weight and my tits shrink?

Perspective folks.

We all find our comfort zone. These spectrum's of emotional comfort and discomfort that we exist in, sometimes numbly. We wiggle in and carve out our ass mark to find ourselves firmly planted in a place that we coast through until some emotional event pushes us cruelly out of that zone.

God never gives us more than we can handle.

Come again? I'd like to know exactly who came up with such a nonsensical argument. Because I'm selling a line of thinking that forces the 'ol coconut to ponder situations of people committing suicide...and I tend to believe that those folks had reached the brink of what they could handle, and then pole vaulted over it.

Argue it if you like, but that's a little bit of my truth, and you can feel free to chew on it or spit it out.

That's not to say that when you've careened out of your zone, you can't stand back and reevaluate the situation, and hopefully, learn from it.

And maybe when all is said and done, the parameters of your comfort zone have altered, then what you can handle, becomes that much greater. Maybe ~~the shove backwards~~ when you step back and look, things become clearer and choices for the better can be made.

What if?

Perhaps it's a pointless question, because well, you can't change it. But I challenge anyone who claims to have never asked the question to go have themselves a nice tall glass of brake cleaner and sleep it off...because you're full of shit.

We all think it. We all ask it, whether it is asked aloud or just plays as a constant loop inside your cranium. It's there. When I was in karate and we would look over potential life threatening situations, someone would inevitably contrive some inconceivable scenario (probably played out in their brain starring Vin Diesel) and my instructor would say "Yeah, and what if ninjas jumped out from behind the shower curtain while you're brushing your teeth?"

Moral: The possibilities are endless.

When you left, and I let you go, how would it have played out if I had screamed what I had truly felt?

Please don't go. This is too big and too much for me to deal with on my own. I'm scared and alone, and none of this is right without you. My life has flipped a massive bitch* and I don't think I'll ever get over or through this without you. I love you too much to let you go.

I didn't say that though. Too proud. Too stupid. Too stubborn.

How do I sit down and write about all of my feelings for the men in my life, past and present, living and dead, and figure out how to put so much into words?

I haven't been alone much lately. I've spent my physical energy running around trying to get the to-do list taken care of, with not enough time to consider the thoughts that are flipping around in my head. There are too many things to say, too many things to do, and not nearly enough time alone to actually put them in an order that makes sense.

Writing makes it work for me. It's too bad that whether my audience is one friend, or many, I need the quiet alone time to get it out.

Back to the men in my life. As a society we joke about men and women, Mars vs. Venus, the whole Adam and Eve debacle...how often do we actually take the time to consider the good in us all?

Many of the men in my life have been poor role models. I can say the same for women...but right now my emotional investments and entanglements are involving men, so let's keep it there.

My great-grandfather was a spectacular man. Loved his family, his farm, and his Lord. He loved his wife in the truest sense, and I'll never forget the times I witnessed my great-grandfather sitting on the floor helping my great-grandmother put on some sort of compression socks. I can hear them both clear as day in the only "argumental" state I ever heard them converse in "Now, Ernest" my great-grandmother would say with her lips pursed and her sternest voice (think Snow White pissed off) and my great-grandfather responding (usually shaking his head) "Well Edith..." Those voices are echoes now, but to me they are as clear as the sound of my fingers hitting these keys.

I sat with my Papa (grandfather) the other night. He's very sick with various cancers, and his remaining time on this earth is short. I have a flowering bulb on my counter that is starting to bloom, and it's like the remaining time ticking for my Papa. I can't help but feel like the flower will show itself, when my Papa says goodbye to this world.

There is something to be said for sitting silently with someone you love who is dying. It's something I've done with very few people, and too many animals. It's a time of quiet reflection when you realize that even when your heart has been broken, there's always room for more breakage. You contemplate the whole "circle of life thing" and then think "this blows."

This past summer, various available family members made weekly trips out to my grandparents in order to tend to their rather large yard. One week McKinley and I headed out and I got to spend some time in the garden with Papa. As I watched him on his hands and knees going up and down rows ripping up basil, beets, and various other garden goodies for me to put in my sack, I knew it would be the last time I watched my Papa tend his garden. I knew that my Papa would never see another summer. And my heart broke with that cruel realization.

He hated the fact that I called him Papa, and to this day I have no idea why I do, or why he hates it. I'm his eldest grandchild, and my brother and I are the only ones who really ever call him that. I don't know if I was just too stubborn for him to break me of it, or what...but if I don't speak to him again before he passes, my last words to him will be "You'll always be my Papa" and I'll be fine with his response of "Okay Sweetheart."

Sometimes everything you think needs to be said, doesn't. It's felt, and it's ok to tuck that feeling away for safe keeping and move on. It's a what was, and never a what if?

The boundaries of my comfort zone have been challenged more in the last year than ever before. The ass mark I'd worked so passively to carve has faded. I am considering things that I wouldn't have thought possible, and more shades of gray have appeared. I'm realizing how many choices I've made in order to make other people happy, and I've lost many years worth of my own happiness in the process.

It's my own fault. That comfort zone is an awfully comfortable, yet unfulfilling place to reside in. My definitions of truth and justice are evolving, I'm getting better at considering what the outcome for me is going to be. Perhaps that sounds egocentric and selfish, but I've realized that the last many years of my life have been revolving around the happiness of everyone else, and I'm starting to wonder why I put my life on hold in order to wait for others to get their shit figured out. Is it just so that I can pat myself on the back for being some sort of martyr? Or is it because I'm too terrified to try and ultimately fail?

The numbness is wearing off.

I'm awake now. If you're not part of the solution, then you're part of the problem.

Gear up kids, and remember to keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times.

;)

*U-Turn

Surprises

2011-01-29T22:37:00.000-07:00

Sometimes things go to shit in order to get you where you need to go.

It takes you to strange places, even scary places, and it forces you to face your past. People and situations arise that can only force you to stop for a second and have a good head scratching. You find happiness where you weren't even looking.

Over the last month I have had to reevaluate the value of the people in my life. Some for the worse, and some for better than I could have hoped. Some don't care about the damage they're doing, some don't even try anything, and some come in from the cold and make you feel like it's all worth it.

People surprise you.

I'm finally seeing things clearly for the first time in months, and years. Many years.

Kev is home now. It's been a ride for sure, and I'm still not convinced that the Wild Mouse isn't going to fly off the tracks. As a matter if fact, I feel a bit like I'm stuck on the ride. I want to run away for a weekend and be free of the demands of a household of people who seem to want to kill each other. I'm sick of being in the middle of people who can't seem to even try and play nice.

I finally found a job. Which was nothing short of a miracle. It happens to be with people I love working with, and I enjoy the variety of duties. Too bad it's only until the end of tax season. It's an escape...and I don't know about you, but it seems a bit dysfunctional to want to go to work in order to get some peace. Especially when you're dealing with people and their taxes.

My ex husband is trying to force me out of my house, which makes him a major shithead due to fact that he has not been paying his child support for years. He has no sense of reasoning, and he seems to think that I should be understanding...when he has shown me none.

The next few months will be a test of wills, and I have no idea how it will end. I have choices before me that are so appealing, and choices that will inevitably alter the direction of my life. I like the promise of that.

I always try to listen to my heart. If my head took over all the time, well then, I'd be in some serious shit.

We can try to do the things that are "right", but sometimes it takes a tale-spin to knock you on your ass and help you figure out that comfortably numb is not the way to go. Why do we choose to be unhappy? Is it easier to go on hoping things will change for the better? When does a bump in the road become a sinkhole?

The last two weeks have given me a glimpse into a future that is uncertain but positive. Many people are going to suffer and fight...but the one thing I am sure of right now is, I'm done hurting. I'm done playing Ms. Passive-Aggressive in order to appease people who ultimately don't seem to care.

I'm sick of false promises.

It's time for proof.

When Life Throws Up On You

2010-12-04T23:08:00.000-07:00

I guess it's time to fess up.

In September my wonderful husband got transferred back to California. We were actually somewhat prepared for the possibility, due to the fact that he had been working out of our house for almost 18 months. Unfortunately he was only given a little over a week to get everything together and get out to Irvine to start working there.

This was on the heels of what I am now calling the Vehicle Debacle of 2010. The week where all three of our cars decided to give up the ghost.

It was also poor timing due to the fact we had decided to redo the kitchen ceiling, and put in skylights.

Fortunately, I can be a patient person from time to time.

Stop laughing.

So, on September 4th, Kev left for California.

September 27th was Ettiennes 15th birthday.

September 30th was Kev's 35th birthday.

October 6th Kev decided to....

I can only say it like this: Kev left the reservation.

And no, Kev is not an Indian.

The plan that Kev put into place on October 6th has evolved. The original plan involved that nasty word divorce...but considering our marriage has been relatively happy and fulfilling, I informed him that if he wanted out, he would have to commit suicide, because he wasn't getting out of this alive.

Yes, I joke about everything.

Those of you who know me, or have read any amount of my blog should be well aware that I'm stupid in love with my husband. I can also say with certainty that he is stupid in love with me as well. Friends, family, and complete strangers have always made comments about how stupid happy we are.

Before we were married a stranger stopped us one night just to inform us that she makes a point to call love as she sees it, she then proceeded to sing a verse of You Are My Sunshine to us. A drunk guy accosted us in Wendover in order to accuse us of being so in love (cue sing-song voice).

We still are...which makes the current circumstances a little bit easier, and little bit more difficult.

I've finally stopped crying every day.

Initially, I didn't talk to many people about what was going on. I'd hoped that Kev would return to his senses and by saying very little I would be able to control some of the damage. Of course, the more time that goes by, the more damage there is all around...and I've already been advised to cut bait and move on.

I can't.

First off, last year Kev was diagnosed as Bipolar. This could be a Bipolar related incident, or it could be a nervous breakdown, a midlife crisis, or just a result of the seven year itch.

I asked him why he didn't just buy a sports car or get a girlfriend.

We both laughed.

Before Kev informed me of his initial plan, he quit his job.

I haven't been employed for six years.

To say that Kev left me with a mess is a massive understatement.

What Kev's done is unfair, unkind, and cruel. It's the last thing that someone who loves you should do to you. Knowing what I know though, I can't hate him. I can only hope that this will explain itself in time. I hope that should we be together again, we'll be stronger for having gone through this.

I've questioned my faith. I've questioned my sanity. I've questioned everything I have lived and breathed for the last 7 1/2 years. I've yelled at him. I've cursed his parents for having conceived him. I've questioned my worth. I've been humbled in a thousand different ways.

I've also realized what is really important.

My marriage vows matter. My husbands feelings and sanity matters.

I've been engulfed by support from family, friends, and people I didn't even know. I've got virtual strangers that are trying to find ways to help me find a job, get my car(s) fixed, and make my house livable.

I've got people who have helped me justify my anger, my hurt, and my reasons for not hunting him down and strangling him.

I've been amazed at how many people care about me, my husband, and my kids. Good thoughts and prayers are literally knocking me upside the head as I write this.

I miss Kevie tremendously. The grief of his absence almost consumes me at times.

There are many people who don't get it. They think I'm insane for even considering the possibility of saving my marriage after this.

Honestly though, I don't know how I could face myself each day if I didn't at least try.

How could you go through life, knowing that you quit, when the person you love most in this world needed your support the most?

How do you live with yourself when you turn your back on your spouse just because things got hard?

How do you sleep at night without wondering what else you could have done in order to make things right?

Nobody but Kev and I know our entire story...there are bits and pieces that have been revealed, but there are millions more that only Kev and I know.

Which is why I can't give up.

I have to keep hoping that this really is just a bump in the road. I have to keep hoping that one of these days, Kev is going to drive up on his motorcycle and tell me all about what he's been up to. I'm hoping that I'll be rewarded for being patient, even though I really don't understand.

That's why I haven't been blogging. I hate to be a downer, and I hate not having a sense of humor.

At this point in time, a sense of humor may be all I have.

Moments In Motherhood

2010-11-05T00:29:00.000-06:00

A few weeks ago my daughter started getting a cold. For a few days she had a cough, a sore throat, and felt like genuine ick. Then she got better. A few days ago she started barking like a sea lion, and knowing that there is no Sea World within hundreds of miles I figured she was getting sick again.

So, after missing school yesterday, I got her into the doctors today.

The pediatrician was out today, but I find this a great time to pose the question; When the hell do kids stop going to a pediatrician?? I took her to my internist, who is awesome. I think I may have an inappropriate crush on my ~~drug dealer~~ doctor.

After checking Ettienne out for signs of imminent death he offered this advice:

Dr. Dreamy: "I'm going to give you my guaranteed remedy. I promise that this will make it all better."

Ettienne and I were all ears (I've got a bit of a headcold too)

DD: "First you take an onion..."

Me: "I freaking hate onions."

Ettienne: "Me too."

DD: "Well, good, because this works even better if you don't like onions. You cut the onion in half and scoop out most of the middle..."

At this point Ettienne looks a little green, and I am trying to figure out how the hell to cut up an onion without dying. Is it appropriate to wear gloves and a gas mask?

DD: "...then you fill the middle with applesauce..."

Applesauce? Is this guy the offspring of Gypsies?

DD: "...every morning you take the applesauce filled onion and you rub it on your leg for at least five minutes. Within 10-12 days you will be completely healed. I promise."

Ettienne looks like she might be stuck in the Twilight Zone, while I'm trying to calculate the approximate amount of onions and applesauce that I will need to pick up on the way home. Also, I'm wondering if I can con my neighbor into doing the gutting and stuffing of the onions. At which point it dons on me....

I'm being conned...Gypsies do that right?

DD: "If you don't do this thing with the onion..."

Me and DD in unison: "You will still get better in 10-12 days."

Bravo. That's why I keep going to my doctor.

**************************************************

Later this evening, Ettienne and I were dishing up some cheesecake (it heals what ails you) when she looks at me as says:

E: "What if you had to keep a cup like this all the time?"

She's got a red plastic cup suctioned over her mouth.

E: "How would you breathe?"

Me: "I'd tape it to my face."

E: "No, but if you had to have it over your mouth?"

Me: "I'd tape it to my mouth."

E: "I hate you."

Awesome.

Even In The Worst Situations, I Do Not Squeal Like A Girl

2010-09-22T10:30:00.000-06:00

In the wee hours (2 a.m.) of Tuesday morning I was awakened by the sound of...scraping? Ghosts dragging their chains through the upper levels of my house? A mass murderer on my porch (right outside my bedroom window) alerting me to the impending terror of my ultimate demise?

No.

None of those.

Because...

a) I wasn't asleep. Yeah, I know y'all spend your sleepless nights reading Runner's World like I do, so shut-up.
b) Half of the upper levels of my house are exposed. Hence, there's nowhere to walk let alone drag your chains.
c) A mass murderer on my porch? I couldn't be so lucky.

So, after incessant barking on my dog's part, I went to investigate.

Which is the decision that ultimately dooms characters in fictional settings...and the reason I chose it.

Bite me....just make sure it's fatal.

I grab the flashlight and step out onto the front porch.

Didn't want to alert the mass murderer to my intentions by turning on the porch light.

Nor do I want the neighbors to see me in my jammies.

One cat, is rubbing herself against a flowerpot. Which simultaneously creates a mystery and solves one. Why is she getting it on with the pot? And that's how my pot ended up on the side of the porch.

The noise continues, but it's not caused by the pot loving cat. It sounds like it's coming from inside the cat house and that it might be an empty food container being pushed around from inside.

Which makes it even more interesting, because the container had been filled hours, ok, many hours before. It also means that my cats have superpowers that enable them to move around heavy pots and massive containers of cat food.

Because I'm an idiot, I walk over to the ~~whore~~ cat house and lift the lid to look inside.

And promtly freak the fuck out because...

The skunks back.

And I, being an idiot, neglected to ponder this prior experience and be prepared for it.

I return indoors and lock the incessantly barking dog in the bedroom so that I can sit inside the house with the door open and attempt to lure the other cat, who's inside the cat house with Skunky, out.

Within a few moments the cat carefully retreats from the cat house, but declines my invitation to come inside.

I guess she's too damn polite to abandon her guest.

Whatever.

The next morning I discover no skunk,

and no cat food.

Murphy's Law

2010-09-17T10:00:00.008-06:00

Well, I'm to the point where I no longer dare ask "what else could go wrong?", because I will quickly find out.

Somewhere I pissed the car Gods off. A month ago all three vehicle broke down within a week. At the end of that week the Jerk Fairy thought it would be hilarious to transfer Kev to California. The following weekend we had a grown-up trip planned with some friends, and the weekend after that we had a trip to Vegas planned for my brother-in-laws wedding.

My husband and his family are genuine DIYers. It doesn't matter if it's an outlet, an engine, or a brain tumor...those guys are on it. I, on the other hand, have neither the desire, nor the inclination to fill the oil reserve, let along try and fix the damn thing(s). So, due to the nature of the beasts our truck was first on the list.

The truck that seats three, takes five hours to warm up (in 100 degree weather), and hiccups when you stop.

The second vehicle is our Wrangler. Which, might I add, I have not been able to drive once this summer with the top off*. Right now the Wranglers brain is strung out all over our driveway. My father-in-law, being the saint that he is, is working on it.

The Cherokee, which is my car, is last in line. Due to the complex nature of electronics, and the fact that no one wants to tell me that my mechanical child is DEAD.

Let me heal people.

So Thursday night, my daughter, who's bedroom is in the back of the house (with posted guards at the windows) comes in and tells me that the Jeep's lights are flashing.

Huh?

The Wrangler has minimal lighting when it is whole, but with the engine missing...how does that happen? The Cherokee hadn't been touched since it got parked. I went out to investigate and discovered that the Cherokee's hazards are flashing.

IT'S ALIVE!! I knew it could be saved.

I try to do the obvious thing and open the door to turn them off.

The door's locked.

WTH?

Now, a few years back our Cherokee started being a little stinky. You would unlock the door and the alarm would go off, and then it got to the point where you couldn't unlock the door. One of the few complaints I have with my model is the fact that there is ONE lock on the outside of the car. You can only get in with a key on the driver's side. Well, it's 11:00 p.m. and I have no desire to set off the car alarm, so I enlist my brother's help to disconnect the battery. The hood was already open.

My brother had been sleeping.

I got the car keys in case the battery didn't in fact turn off the lights. I grab a flashlight so that I can get the keys from the garage (because everyone keeps their car keys in the garage right?). I'm leary because there's a good chance that the alarm is going to go off AND the lock won't even work.

I go look into the car to see what is up and my flashlight reflects against two beady little eyes...that belong to my daughters cat...a cat that's inside the car on the dashboard.

All the windows are up.

McKinley.

Oh yes. My 16 year-old son thought it would be hilarious to put my daughters cat in the car and lock the doors. It's a cat. Was it really going to be able to get out on it's own?

Apparently, I'm the ONLY one who recalls that the DAMN KEY DOESN'T WORK!!!

So I have to enlist Kev's help, which meant a phone call waking him up. I have no idea how to jimmy a lock, because well, I don't do that sort of thing. I might break a nail, or a window, or a hanger. I yank McKinley out of bed so that Kev can give him instructions.

Instructions that include a crowbar.

Oh love.

McKinley's ticked because I woke him up. McKinley's lucky that I didn't string him up.

Two minutes later Ettienne comes in to let me know that the window is broken.

Which was exactly what I expected would happen because...

That's how my luck is.
McKinley tends to be a little ~~klutzy~~ accident prone.
McKinley has a temper.

When he starts talking to me again I will explain to him that knowing the doors were locked with an animal inside, and not telling anyone about it would have meant a dead cat before the end of today (it's 82 degrees outside right now) in a car that no one is accessing regularly.

Which would have meant stinky dead cat in a car!

Fortunately the cat is a genius and knew enough to turn on the hazards and alert us to his dilemma.

*They took the doors off this year as well...and well, I'm just not interested in displaying my gams to everyone while I'm driving.

A Man Shoots A Goat (Yeah, he's a douchebag)

2010-09-16T02:33:00.002-06:00

To Whom It May Concern:

I’m sometimes awed by the country that I live in.

We have a war going on, men and women dying in the name of freedom. While back home we have politicians fighting against those exact “rights” that these honorable men and women are dying for.

Why?

Because they can.

While the economy goes directly into the toilet, our government doles out billions of dollars toward foreign countries, car manufacturers, and banks. While people are losing their jobs and their homes, we have government officials flying around in private jets and taking lavish vacations. Few people are getting raises…but our government officials have been, and they’re raising the taxes of the very people who pay to support them. People who are struggling to make everything come together.

I live in a state ruled by religion. The predominant religion here is LDS, and I've noticed that my personal freedoms are being eaten away day by day because of beliefs held by the majority—a majority that thinks my beliefs should be bound by theirs.

I just don’t agree with this mentality.

People should have the freedom to act as they choose. I know that this is a fundamental belief practiced by the LDS church, its called free agency. So how is it that these folks in charge feel like they need to protect us from ourselves?

There are many things in this world that are black and white. Things that despite your race, your religion, or your sexual preference, is clear to the majority. It’s wrong to kill and steal, and most people will agree with this statement.

What about the gray areas though?

As an adult I am able to purchase alcohol. What I do with that alcohol after I purchase it is up to me, I can be intelligent and responsible, or I can make stupid choices that not only put myself at risk, but also the people around me. While I have never driven a car while under the influence, I am secure in the knowledge that were I to get behind the wheel and get caught, very little would come of it. I know many people who have been given DUI’s and then continued to drive, many times under the influence…again.

I choose not to drink and drive because I feel it is wrong. At the same time I feel like our judicial system is not harsh enough to prevent people from doing it.

As an adult, I am of legal age to purchase cigarettes. After purchasing them I am able to smoke them in my car, at home…and that’s about it. No one is going to give me a ticket for smoking with a car full of children, as long as I am not passing the pack around to them as well. It’s irresponsible to smoke in front of children, but no one is going to be arrested for it.

As a heterosexual, I am able to get married over and over again. I could get married 40 times if I wanted to, and I would only be breaking the law if I neglected to get divorced in between each spouse. Yet, homosexuals have no rights to get married ever. I find this to be quite disturbing. Religious windbags come crawling out from under their rocks when the subject of gay marriage comes up, making ridiculous claims as to the sanctity of marriage, and how much gay marriage “threatens” them. I have yet to find one person with a rational explanation as to how two same gendered people who love each other “threaten” their union. Unlike missionaries on your doorstep, homosexuals are not trying to convert you. They’re merely trying to have a family, much like you do. GET OVER IT.

Several nights ago a man, under the influence of Spice, got messed up and shot a goat*. This irresponsible action started a landslide of panic in the Cache County government, and an “emergency” hearing was called in order to ban this stuff.

AND IT PASSED.

Forget the fact that people (maybe goats too, I haven’t looked into it that far) die in alcohol related accidents all the time, ONE Spice related incident makes it apparent that we need to be protected from a substance that for the majority of users creates no problems whatsoever.

FYI: Spice is made with a synthetic chemical meant to mimic the effects of marijuana.

Have you ever been around someone who’s been smoking pot? They’re living sofas…they don’t pose a threat to ANYONE. Personally, I’d rather be driving on the road with a pothead than someone who’s been drinking. The fact that marijuana is illegal is ridiculous, and expensive. It’s a time suck with our courts and it crowds our jails.

AND I DON’T EVEN USE IT! Nor do I want to.

How many people do you know on prescription medications that see no problem with getting behind the wheel? How many people get belligerent and mean when they drink? Yet, we have politicians freaking out about a shot goat. I don’t get it. Seriously, I’m baffled.

I’m not against regulation. We regulate the sale of alcohol and tobacco all the time. There are consequences for people who sell to minors, stiff consequences. There are laws, and rules, and many regulations in place to prevent alcohol and tobacco from falling into the hands of children. I’m not against any of them.

What I am against is being carded for Sudafed. I’m against the amount of money that our country spends on enforcing laws based on belief systems that not everybody shares. I’m against the fact that I can drink and drive and get slapped on the hand, but if I’m found with marijuana I go to jail. I’m against the fact that if I did sell alcohol or cigarettes to a minor I would not be entitled to a court appointed attorney. I have a problem with the fact that my brother was strong armed in a court of law to plead guilty to crimes he didn’t commit because no one was on his side (not even his attorney). I’m angry because he was forced to take an unfair plea bargain, start his sentence without anything in writing, and then the courts went ahead and charged him with items that they promised to drop in exchange for his plea agreement. My brother signed the next 14 months of his life away because of scare tactics, and that’s not right.

I’m angry because our government officials are having hissy fits over the little things, and ignoring the big ones. I’m angry because my freedoms are being whittled away by the very people elected to protect them. While at the same time, people don’t get the punishment they deserve when they do things that are generally believed to be wrong.

Everyone is entitled to their day in court, at least on paper they are. And that is an analogy of everything these days. Laws get passed with little evidence to support their necessity, while at the same time people accused of crimes are “coerced” into pleading for fear of harsher punishments should their day in court fall flat.

Laws should not be based on whims; they should be based on substantiated facts. No innocent man or women should be fined or punished as a means of freeing up the courts time. No one deserves to have basic liberties taken away from them because of the government not agreeing with them.

When I was growing up I wanted to be a lawyer. In the ninth grade I became aware of how screwed up our judicial system is, and I changed my mind. As an adult I’ve witnessed a government who acts on its own behalf and nothing more. Our politicians claim to want to balance the budget, but they spend money in ways that don’t make sense. They don’t have time for important issues, but you can bet the farm that they have time to vote on their pay raises.

If many officials had their way, women would lose their “right” to give birth anywhere but a hospital. Most Americans would be appalled to discover that laboring women have refused interventions, left the hospital, and been arrested at their homes. Court orders have been issued forcing women to undergo medical procedures without any proof whatsoever. At what point do we stand up and put an end to things like that?

It’s obscene. Our founding fathers are cart wheeling in their graves right now. While “In God We Trust” might be taken off of our money**, and crosses honoring fallen officers are being removed from our roadways…one man shoots a goat and the legislature goes bananas. How many times have you been up in arms about an issue, yet you’ve done nothing about it? How many letters to editors have you written? How often have you let your government officials make decisions you didn’t agree with, and yet you’ve said nothing to them? How many times have you read or watched a media story that had blatant lies in them? What have you done about it?

Prohibition was a failure.

Slavery didn’t work out so well either.

People fought for my personal right to vote.

Freedom implies choice.

You should be angry.

I am.

*******************************************************

*The goat lived.
**Not true

Feel free to copy, steal, or edit any part of this letter and mail it to whomever you'd like. If more people did speak up and out about issues THINGS MIGHT CHANGE FOR THE BETTER. If you noticed, I watched my mouth...just in case. Because I love you all so.

War Of The Sexes (Steeped In Stereotypes)

2010-08-26T14:54:00.002-06:00

I discovered a new blog the other day, and earlier today he posted a list of rules women should know about guys.

Now, I've seen this list before. And while I am the first person to admit that men and women communicate differently, I am also a woman who tends to be ruled by reason and don't always understand my shared gender cohorts. I'd rather spend my day gardening, than shopping. I do have a bunch of shoes, because I like shoes. I also take good care of my shoes, and what works with one outfit doesn't work with another. I also own shoes older than my children.

This list, is largely stereotypical. It's assuming that all men like sports, and that all women don't. It assumes that women are nags, and that men aren't. So, in order to give balance to this list, I've added my own thoughts...some for, and some against.

Black and white.

Yin and Yang.

Cheech and Chong.

Now here are the rules from the male side.

These are our rules!
Please note… These are all numbered “1″
ON PURPOSE!

1. Men are NOT mind readers.

Neither are women. So don't assume that I bought your mother a birthday present. It's also the reason I had no idea that the shirt you were going to wear tonight needed ironing.

1. Learn to work the toilet seat.
You’re a big girl. If it’s up, put it down.
We need it up, you need it down.
You don’t hear us complaining about you leaving it down.

Leaving the seat up or down is nary the point. The point is...it's a toilet. People do things with it that are kinda gross, and keeping the LID down prevents scary things from happening...you know, like the Mrs. dropping your toothbrush in it. It also prevents Poochie from slurping your face after drinking from it, keeps junior from sailing his boat in it, and it keeps me from remembering to buy salt for the water softener.
While I never understand why women complain about sitting down on a seatless toilet...what? Do you back up in the middle of the night thinking "he better have put the seat down!" I'd also like to point out that the only reason the seat needs to be up is because you can't aim Mr. Firehose.

1. Sunday sports. It’s like the full moon, or the changing of the tides. Let it be.

Hey Sport. The full moon happens once a month...Sunday sports aren't a problem. It's when you tack on Monday, and Tuesday, and Wednesday, and all the other days of the week sports that it becomes an issue. The way I see it, it's always "the big game" or "the finals", and to me it looks like every other game. Not to mention, when the teams lose then they lose a trophy, or a ring...call me when something good is on the line, like an eye. Odds like that are way more interesting to me.

1. Shopping is NOT a sport. And no, we are never going to think of it that way.

Have you been shopping the day after Thanksgiving? You want to see some good tackles and hair pulling...you should check that out! It's like the love child of every sport you've ever loved and all the great wars.

1. Crying is blackmail.

Agreed. Although sometimes we seriously can't help it...kind of like you can't help being more affectionate when you're sporting a woody.

1. Ask for what you want. Let us be clear on this one:
Subtle hints do not work!
Strong hints do not work!
Obvious hints do not work!
Just say it!

"Could you take out the garbage" is not a hint.

1. Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question.
“We’ll see” is also acceptable.

What other answers are there? Lemon? Cabbage? Root canal? Oh, wait...there are lots of possible answers.

1. Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That’s what we do.
Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.

Remember that Bucko next time you have the flu.

1. A headache that lasts for 17 months is a Problem.
See a doctor.

Agreed. Unless you coincidentally got married 17 months ago...then you should seek out an attorney.

1. Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument. In fact, all comments become null and void after 7 Days.

It's a two-way street. That makes the mounds of shoes that I have inadmissible.

1. If you think you’re fat, you probably are. Don’t ask us.

Agreed. Too often people ask "trap questions" which is unfair. It's like we need excuses to continue doing things that we obviously have problems with. It's always amazing to me that people get so heavy, and then turn around and say stupid things like "I had no idea I was so big?"...really? That's because if we all went around telling people that they stink, they're fat, or they have a huge wart on their noses...well, we're the assholes. But accepting responsibility for our own unhappiness is almost inconceivable. I walk away from trap questions.

1. If something we said can be interpreted two ways and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one.

Which is why when you say something that needs further clarification, follow up. Or don't get upset when questioned further. I know it's more "talking" for you, try and cope. On the other hand, there are some truths that we really just need to suck up...hurt feelings notwithstanding. Women often need to be reminded that the genders tend to communicate in different ways...oh, wait, men need to be reminded too.

1. You can either ask us to do something or tell us how you want it done. Not both. If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself.

Remember that next time you request your mother's recipe lasagna.

1. Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.

Where would you like me to stand while you're peeing in order to say it? I'll pipe down during programing if you'll stop yelling at the television.

1. Christopher Columbus did NOT need directions and neither do we.

Yes, and Moses wandered around in the desert for 40 years...the wedding is in an hour. Good ol Christopher sailed around for months and claimed whatever hunk of land he ran into...and we don't have that kind of time. Your logic is flawed.

1. ALL men see in only 16 colors, like Windows default settings.
Peach, for example, is a fruit, not a color. Pumpkin is also a fruit. We have no idea what mauve is.

So keep your gob shut when the bedroom ends up YELLOW instead of BUTTER.

1. If it itches, it will be scratched.
We do that.
Alot.
Sometimes when it doesn’t even itch.

No, you're scratching your junk in public....for whatever reason. You don't see me flipping my leg over my head in order to scratch my cooch....whether it itches or not. You might be surprised to know that there are times when those cute lacy things you guys like us to wear can be a little itchy, or they find themselves on the wrong side of the girl goods. Yet, you don't see us ripping through layers of clothing to realign all the constellations. OH, and let me know exactly how you feel next time you're sporting a tampon.

1. If we ask what is wrong and you say “nothing,” we will act like nothing’s wrong.
We know you are lying, but it is just not worth the hassle.

Amen. Does that mean I get to slap you in the head with a rubber chicken next time you say it? Also, don't ask me what is wrong if you are going to ignore the answer...which is a case where "yes", "no", and "we'll see" would not really apply.

1. If you ask a question you don’t want an answer to, expect an answer you don’t want to hear.

Yeppers. Right again. Which is why I prefer the truth. If I ask a question, then I want the answer. And it pains me to get "do you really want to know?" when I do ask the painful questions.

1. When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine… Really.

Cool, because I just washed the Chicken Costume from last Halloween, and I think it would be a gas at your grandparents anniversary party.

1. Don’t ask us what we’re thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss such topics as baseball, the shotgun formation, or golf.

Noted.

1. You have enough clothes.

Impossible. Do you have any idea how much weight I've gained? All this time you've led me to believe that I was "fine"...but nothing in my closet fits. Or I don't like it. Or I'm not tan enough. Or I'm delusional enough to believe that one day I will, in fact, fit into my favorite jeans from the fifth grade.

YOU JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND!!! *crying*

1. You have too many shoes.

Well, I have "uniforms", just like you have "uniforms" and some of those call for special shoes. When you start wearing flip-flops to play soccer, I'll start wearing Crocs with that cute little maid outfit you like so much.

Besides, I haven't bought any shoes in the last SEVEN days...so it's irrelevant.

1. I am in shape . Round IS a shape!

You're fat dude. Get off the couch on Sundays and go for a hike.

And for those here in Texas….

1. While in the midst of heavy petting and foreplay, if a premature discharge by either participant is to be avoided, all weapons should be a safe distance away from said participants…

Umm, yeah.

And practice safe sex...because children are the result of discharged weapons.

Guys...you're not being clever when you hand a stinky baby over and say they're hungry.

Delta Airlines Makes Me Cry

2010-07-28T21:03:00.000-06:00

Delta Airlines** blows.

I'm not kidding. I hate Delta. After being harassed on not one, but two Delta flights, I quit flying with them.

The first problem I encountered with Delta was during a red eye from Vegas to Memphis. I was carting not only my toddler, but my six months pregnant self as well. I, being pregnant, was not insane enough to believe that I was capable of, or willing to hold my 18 month old on my lap for the five hour flight. So I purchased a ticket for him. Let me say it again; I purchased a ticket for a seat, for my son to sit in...all his very own.

All his very own meant several fun things. First of all, I could put him in his car seat. Which meant he was ~~tied up~~ ~~restrained~~ protected during any turbulence we encountered. Secondly, by having his car seat with me I was guaranteed that it would not be ~~shredded~~ lost in the bowels of the airport. Either airport. Losing my Victoria's Secret undies is one thing, but what in the hell do you do when they lose your car seat?? How many Graco stores have you seen at the airport?

Having flown with my angel prior to this particular instance, I was well aware that airlines required that children and/or their restraints be seated by the window. This prevents them from physically annoying the shit out of other passengers (particularly the adults fleeing their own little parasites). It also prevents your little goo brain from flailing limbs into the aisle, causing a horrible limb removal accident, and a big ass lawsuit. If airlines could require general anesthesia for minors, they probably would.

So, imagine my surprise when I boarded the plane (at midnight) with my toddler, car seat, and pregnant belly and discovered that the lot of us had been given a center and an aisle seat.

Double donkey punch!

I calmly explained to Ms. Window Seat that a horrible error had occurred and if she'd be so kind we could all do a switcheroo and get this shit settled. Ms. WS was so kind as to inform me that she was flying out to see her grand-babies and would not be bothered by my child.

Oh, and she had specifically requested a window seat.

I did my part...so I proceeded to hook up the car seat, tie the child up, and sit my ass down.

Just so you know. McKinley (said child) was a solar powered kid. The sun rose and he was awake, the sun set and he powered down. Otherwise I would have NEVER EVER EVER flown with him in the middle of the night.

Just didn't want y'all to think that I was short bus material.

Anyway.

Numerous flight attendants whizzed by during this entire exchange. As a matter of fact I would like to know exactly how many flight attendants fit on a plane?

Besides the point.

It wasn't until we were jockeying for take-off when a flight attendant, whom we're going to call Bitch (for lack of a better name), became aware of our rows transgression, and proceeded to birth a calf. Bitch tried to settle it up, but none of us were having it, so Bitch clucked her tongue and walked away.

TO THE COCKPIT TO STOP THE PLANE.

Oh yes my little friends. Bitch stopped the plane in order to argue with and humiliate us.

Brace yourselves kids.

This was PRE 9/11.

Which may have been fortunate for Ms. WS and myself, or we'd both be rotting in a Mexican jail right now. (No, the Homeland Security folks don't throw violators into Mexican jails...it just had a nice ring to it.)

When Bitch returned, the following convo took place:

B: "He can't sit there. He has to be by the window. So you *pointing to Ms. WS* need to sit here *pointing to my seat* And you *pointing at me* need to put him by the window."

Me: *blink, blink* "Umm, I knew that...BUT I was assigned these seats. And I explained the situation to her [Ms. Window Seat] and she wanted to keep her seat."

Ms. WS: "I requested a window seat. He's not going to bother me."

B: "If we get into a plane crash, you *pointing one gnarled finger at Ms. WS* won't be able to get past his car seat."

Ms. WS: "If we get into a plane crash, I think the last thing that I am going to be worried about is getting past his seat and into the aisle."

*snickers from surrounding passengers*

Now Bitch didn't really like where this was going....and while I understand that she has a job to do, might I also add a job that I could never do, I also think that she should have stopped there.

She didn't. Instead she turned to me and inches from my face ~~yelled~~ said "Did you pay for his ssseeeaaat!?!"

Me: "Actually, I did."

At that point Bitch had no idea what to do. Does she continue to argue with the pregnant woman and grandma or does she concede and bow out semi-gracefully?

She chose C.

Bitch straightened up and glanced around...staring into disapproving faces I'm sure. She then turns back to us and tells Ms. WS "There's an empty seat up there that you can move to."

Ms. WS stands up to look at where Bitch is pointing and says "That's an aisle seat. I want a window."

Pause.

Ms. WS: "You know though...I noticed, when I boarded, that First Class is practically empty. I'm sure that this pregnant woman and her child would be much more comfortable up there."

Game Point.

Thus securing Ms. WS a spot in heaven.

After a heartbeat, Bitch leans forward and pushes McKinley's car seat into the back of the seat really hard and says "That'll be fine." then walks away.

Really? After all that?

***********************

The second time Delta wronged me, I was tagged for security purposes, which would not have been a problem except for the fact that NO ONE would tell me what the fuck was going on. I was held up at reservations (for a long time) while they called someone. My luggage claim tickets glowed in the dark, and I was escorted by a mute security agent from check-in to security, where they proceeded to unceremoniously dump out my carry-on in front of God and everyone. They then opened and sniffed everything, wanded everything. I was patted down. The entire time I was met with blank stares when I asked what the hell was going on.

I need to mention that I had my infant with me. I'm surprised they didn't check her diaper for contraband.

When I was finally "released" I had to ~~haul ass~~ run in order to make it to the gate. When I got there, they were almost finished boarding. My ticket was marked off, but I asked if they needed anything else...like the neon claim slips (because I had no idea) and the flight attendant told me they didn't.

I boarded the plane and proceeded to the back (where my seat was) and was almost there when, from the front of the plane, the flight attendant yells my name. When I turn towards her she informs me that she needs my claim tickets. When I asked her how I was going to claim my luggage (not knowing what might happen at the other end) the flight attendant nearest me sneers "If you don't give her your tags, you won't get your luggage."

Just shoot me. Twice.

By the time I finally plopped down in my seat, I was in tears. Within seconds, a nice flight attendant brought me some water and asked if I was ok.

After I got home and my head grew back, I contacted Delta. I was informed that I was "tagged" for numerous reasons:

I bought my ticket with cash. Hell-no!? I was young and it was before they handed out credit cards like Halloween candy.
I was purchasing a one-way ticket. Simply put, I had flown out to Salt Lake to see my dying grandfather and hadn't been sure how long I was planning on staying. It was cheaper to get 2 one-way tickets than pay for the damn reservation change.
I'm white. Don't even ask how that came up.
Not only am I white, I'm apple pie fresh faced freckled white. That came up after we determined my race and she asked me what I looked like. (And I'm wearing my VS undies that your airline didn't lose..rrrrrrr.)
I was carrying a child. Well, she couldn't walk and I was unable to leave my breasts at home in California...which is what it would have taken in order for her to stay there with her father.

So...if you EVER think about talking to me about racial profiling...I'd suggest a second, or third, thought.

***********************

Two years ago my son flew to Minnesota for an Outward Bound trip*, he flew as an Unaccompanied Minor. Now this UM status (as in UM...hello!? a fee for me to walk him to the gate?) only means that your child is either under 18 and/or needs someone to escort them to and from gates and/or baggage claim. Most airlines require an escort (so UM is kind of a stupid thing to call it because you know, you're paying someone to keep them from being unaccompanied) if your child is under 14, but Delta requires kids under 15 to be escorted. Now don't get me wrong, this fee is worth it's weight in gold if you have a kid with multiple layovers or transfers, or maybe doesn't fly a lot, or maybe your kid just can't handle it. It's a case-by-case thing. McKinley's father Jer, and I decided on the escort because he did have multiple transfers, and Mama needs her peace of mind.

However.

When McKinley flew home and I went to pick him up from the airport, his fathers name was the one on the kiddie claim slip. Which, ok, that's fine, they're being cautious and doing the job that they were paid to do. Bummer was, McKinley's father was in the desert doing his two weeks of summer war games.

Perhaps an alternate name would have been a good idea?

What were we to do? After showing my ID, having McKinley and his sister vouch for me, having everyone (both kids) verify custody...I finally threw my hands in the air (because seriously, where the hell else was the solution if not "in the air"?) and said "Sorry Kinners. Which one of these guys do you think gets to take you home with them?"

About two minutes later I walked away with both kids.

THEN, two weeks ago Ettienne flew to Washington, to go on an Outward Bound trip*. I did the dropping off and the picking up this time. The problem was, Ettienne was ok to do it on her own. Ettienne felt comfortable with her knowledge of the Seattle airport (having been there) and she felt good about her ability to make her way to baggage claim and identify a sign with Outward Bound on it. Ettienne even felt secure enough to get hooked up at the other end and make her way home on the return trip. Direct flight both ways.

No No. Delta was not having that. Ettienne is 14. I was prepared for that, and asked how much the UM fee was.

$100.

This is after I paid $25 for ONE BAG.

Ok. Seconds after I handed the reservationist my card I verified that the fee covered the entire round-trip ticket.

Well, no. No, it's doesn't.

AND why the hell is that? And why didn't you ask about the return flight? Take a gander at her round-trip ticket, now pause for a second to consider even asking if she needs an escort BOTH WAYS. Now I understand that kids will often fly one way alone and then return with a family member or something, but wouldn't you verify that before settling up with Mama and sending the kid off on their own? Because I would.

I was strip searched at security because of my *beeping* boot.

AND I WASN'T EVEN FLYING ANYWHERE!!!!!!!!!!

There's irony everywhere...so guess who was watching my kid while I spent ridiculous amounts of time being fondled??

That's right. NO ONE.

And guess how much I enjoyed being fondled? I mean, it sounds fun and she was cute and all...but there was no joy in being groped in front of an audience. Just so you know.

We were instructed to go directly to the gate. Which I promptly ignored and took Ettienne for food.

On the way home I realized that I hadn't asked about the bend-over bag fee for Ettienne's return trip.

FUCK!!!

Good thing Ettienne took enough cash to fund a small nation.

Turns out the escort wouldn't have gotten Ettienne to the right place without Ettienne speaking up and saying "I'm pretty sure that's my group."

Yeah.

Ettienne returned home last night. I flew through security by removing the boot and throwing it in the bin. The nice security lady told me that I could leave it on...

I just laughed maniacally and told her that I wasn't in the mood.

*Jer...if you book the kids on a Delta flight again...I will put you in traction.

**I know many flight attendants. Even ones that work for Delta. I like them. They're nice. Unfortunately they've never been on the flights that I have. And I couldn't do the job that flight attendants do...and if you have to ask why...well, maybe you need to slam your head into the wall because obviously you're not buying what I'm selling.

Fiction Writing For Dummies

2010-07-27T01:29:00.000-06:00

Several months back I wrote this.

Since then, with the busted ankle and all, I've been able to read not only my share of books, but yours as well.

You're welcome.

For the record, I love Barnes & Noble. It's where I want to go when I die. As long as it doesn't mean working there...because that was my personal version of hell. Those clowns don't even let you read while you're working...which, hello!?! doesn't even make sense.

Anyway...

I hate to shop. Seriously...and yes, I have ovaries. I do however have three shopping weaknesses. Antiques, lotion (and other smelly goodness), and books. The smell of bound paper makes me a bit orgasmic. I happily plop down my $25 big ones each year for the B&N membership card, and I get my money's worth, often in that same visit.

But with the recent ankle business, I have been forced to be satisfied with the books I find while grocery shopping, and I have found myself scraping the bottom of the barrel in regards to decent reading material via good 'ol Walmart.

I've found myself with nothing left but ~~housewife porn~~ Harlequin, LDS books, or cook books.

Yeah.

After finding myself reading housewife porn the other day, disguised as a mystery (mystery author and everything!) I decided that there must be a trip to B&N soon. In the meantime, I need to amend my previous post and add the following.

All ~~boy/girl parts~~ anatomy must be regarded as "her sexuality" or "pulsing member". You know that vagina and penis are just not words that turn anyone on. I mean, really, do people hump? No, they don't.
Everyone must have ridiculous names like Langdon Stone, Douglas Lord, Dimitri, or Whitney McCallister IV.
Drone on and on about past events...in a manner that makes the reader wonder if they missed the previous book, or if they should continue reading to find out why the hell it's droning on. This is a fine line though, and must be handled carefully, otherwise your reader may get distracted by their split ends and find themselves pulling out hairs one by one...or something like that.
Don't forget that the person in charge is always an ass who somehow represses the main character. In reality, behavior that would spell "lawsuit" is considered acceptable in fiction. If you're confused as to what I'm talking about, consider the behavior of Michael from The Office or Dr. House.
Bonus points for mentioning anything from 9/11. Because nobody is sick of hearing about that shit yet. Least of all me.
It's acceptable to write book after book containing similar scenarios and/or similar characters. Even if they're not actually a recurring character in a series. No one will notice. Trust me.
No one expects you to venture away from what you know, so feel free to have every single book you write take place in the same geographical setting. Southern California, Maine, or La-La land for example.
Never consult a thesaurus. Feel free to use the same words repetitively like sluice or bougainvillea.
Pregnant characters must always go into labor at the most inopportune times, because fight or flight instincts don't exist.
When characters find themselves in a foreign country they must be masters of the local language. Having your character flipping through their English to Aramaic dictionary muttering "What the fuck are they saying!?" just doesn't come across the same.
Women will never start their periods in the middle of the jungle. It just doesn't happen, so don't even think about writing it.
It doesn't matter if your character is smack dab in the middle of the African jungle or Manhattan, they must always have the darnedest luck and run into the bad guys.
Even if the bad guys are armed with automatic weapons, bazookas, tanks, or Atomic bombs...they will miss hitting the good guys. Alternately, the good guys can take out fifteen bad guys with a BB shot from a frazzled straw found in a dumpster. Seriously, earlier today when I was held up in a bank bathroom I fashioned a bomb from a toilet roll and Windex.
No one ever utters "I just don't make enough to take this shit."

After reading the Harlequin disguised as a mystery book I wondered how any self respecting author could look at themselves in the mirror after writing some of the nonsense that I read. I developed an appreciation for paragraph long PG rated sex scenarios. They had sex....and now we're moving on. Maybe it's the perpetual 12 year old in me, but I couldn't help laughing at some of the crap that I read. I was embarrassed for them.

I will never get that time back. Ever.

Stupid Question Of The Day

2010-07-19T23:19:00.002-06:00

So, yesterday afternoon I was working in my front yard, when out of the corner of my eye I see a car stopped in the middle of the road. When I look over at the driver, I see her staring off into what appears to be my side yard where I've just placed some pretty amazing flowerbeds. Before I pat myself too hard on the back though, I walk a little towards the car, at the same time looking over and wondering what the hell she's looking at.

The driver finally notices me and asks "Is that a deer?"

I glance over into the neighbors yard, and do in fact spy a deer nibbling on the neighbors tree.

However...

It's 3:30 in the afternoon. It's not fucking twilight and you're unable to tell the difference between a dog and a coyote...it's a deer. What the hell else could it be??

I really wanted to say "Nope. That's a penguin." and go back to my flowers, but I caved and stuck with "Yep. That's a deer." and then proceeded to hope that the woman disappeared forever and was unable to reproduce. I'm guessing that Ms. Observant was only visiting the park (the very awesome park), located just on the other side of deer feeding neighbors house, and was therefore stunned stupid by the sight of a deer in the middle of the day.

I hope next time she comes back when the mountain lions cross the road at twilight.

And I hope she's on foot.

I Hurt My Ankle In A Bar Fight

2010-07-16T15:19:00.000-06:00

Holy crap.

The other day my sweet husband asked me if I had blogged recently.

At the risk of stating the obvious, I have to say that I haven't.

And it's not because there's nothing to say, it's just that there's been too much.

I don't even know where to begin.

The end of March, first part of April, I fainted. Not unusual for me, but it took place in the middle of the night and no one was around. I knocked myself silly, and proceeded to ~~fracture~~ ~~sprain~~ ~~rip apart~~ hurt my ankle.

I never hurt myself. Sure, I suffer the day-to-day burns, cuts, and bruises that many ~~klutzy~~ people ~~remodeling~~ do, but I never really get hurt. So, when I roused from my unconscious slumber, I was aware that I hurt myself on the way down, but didn't think too much about it.

Hence the sketchy timeline.

The end of April I flew down to Las Vegas and proceeded on to Arizona where I spent 8 glorious days doing things that didn't include caring for my family. I stayed with my parents at their house in Bullhead City where we proceeded to hike, bike, and shop. A future post will include pictures and further details.

When I got back home I had acquired a cankle from the combination of injury and activity, so I relented and went to see the doctor.

No fracture. Keep it braced and come back in a few weeks if it doesn't improve.

It didn't improve. I returned to the doctor where I was referred to a podiatrist and physical therapy.

The podiatrist was a waste of flesh, and the physical therapy made it worse. During the whole doctor/physical therapy/podiatrist round up I also saw my chiropractor for adjustments and acupuncture.

The adjustments and acupuncture were probably the only things that helped and prevented me from slitting my own throat.

This is why.

I hate depending on people and I hate asking for help.

I love working in the yard.

Working in the yard was one of the only things that the podiatrist told me NOT to do.

Fucker.

One night early on I rolled over in bed and felt like I ripped all the ligaments in the top of my foot, further adding to the pain. I was given high doses of Ibuprofen and Naproxen, which gave me headaches and made me bruise by, well, simple things like breathing.

After stepping out of bed one morning I heard/felt a crunch and two days later I found myself in a boot.

I love the boot, and my yard shows it. We're on week 15 since the original injury and I have at least two more weeks in the boot. If things haven't improved I will end up with an MRI and an orthopedist. Until then I am gardening, which makes me happy and makes my husband roll his eyes, he really thinks I should stay laid up for a week or so and let the ankle heal. I think that I would rather shoot myself. Unless a medically induced coma is involved, I have zero desire to lay around all day.

Besides, I've lost 36 pounds since January, and I would like to keep that going. Imagine what will happen when I can actually use the dust covered treadmill that makes me cry every time I see it!?

We also decided to install skylights in the kitchen that has been plywood floors for the last 18 months. I couldn't decide how to lay it out, and so we found other projects to occupy our time with. I mentioned the skylight idea, and then we decided to remove the kitchen wall (outside wall) and bump it out 3 feet. The kitchen layout right now is 35' L X 13' W, so it would add 3 more feet to the width. Awesome. I want to get to the point where we can have boatloads of people over and not be crawling over each other. We're also exposing some of the original beams, which we'll stain (and by "we" I mean "I"). Then we'll have cathedral ceilings (and skylights), but that portion of the roof will have to be completely rebuilt.

So, I'm stuck with the plywood floors for a while longer. On a brighter note, I did decide on the oven I want (48" Wolf range with gas burners and 24" griddle) and the fridge that I want (Electrolux). The floor plan will remain pretty much the same, but might include an additional island. Kevie wants to put in a stage and a karaoke machine, and require all guests to sing...but I'm thinking that will be a deterrent for people actually showing up at shin-digs. Copious amounts of alcohol have to be involved for me and karaoke to happen.

The yard is where I'm happiest right now. I've spent a small fortune at the nursery and the rest of the family put in a pond with a waterfall. I love summer.

Wednesday morning my baby Ettienne left to go on a 2 week backpacking trip in the Cascades. That sucked for me, but she was excited.

My kids dad left for 6 weeks to go to Washington, and then on to Iraq for a year. That sucked for everyone involved.

My friend Erica had a baby girl, thirteen minutes and three pushes after she got to the hospital. Because she is that amazing, and was that educated. Nature is pretty awesome when you trust it.

My friend Holly had a baby boy. At home. On purpose. He was big enough to eat a sandwich after he was born. Yet another example of education and awesomeness.

So, it's nothing personal that I haven't been hanging out in the blogging world. I've just been busy enjoying summer.

And getting in bar fights.

Rochambeau...Or The Reason Why I Didn't Get To Speak At My Graduation.

2010-06-05T15:15:00.000-06:00

Dear Class of 2010,

Welcome to hell. Just kidding.

Being a grown-up has it's perks. Many of you have been adults for months, and your commencement ceremonies are the school's last ditch effort to control you. For months now, you have been counting down to this day. It's finally fucking here!!!

Having sat through the three hour ceremony, and not having taken nearly enough ADHD medication, I would like to state some of my own thoughts...on life, and on your commencement exercises.

First off, if you'd turn to your programs. On page 2, you'll notice the many "important" people that are listed first. These Board of Education members and the Jordan District Administrators are the reason that you, my dear Senors....

Wait a minute?

What the fuck?

Ok. There's a big fucking problem here. They can't spell Senior...on a graduation program.

Lesson One: Mistakes will be made.

Typos and overpaid school board members and administrators are just the beginning. I thought that it was a huge faux pas to require the girls to wear dresses under their gowns...but that's me and my equality minded ways.

Secondly, I would like to know how this is the 102nd Commencement, when the schools first graduating class did so in 1912. I didn't graduate in your humble district, so perhaps I left my own high school experience with the ability to spell, but not count.

Next off, and this is super important. High school was not the time of your life. Nope. Life has nothing to do with Prom, Homecoming, or the Anime Club. You will not walk the halls of life with someone holding your hand, coddling you because you decided to skip class, or making you feel good about yourself for no reason. Life, and the things in it are earned. If you refuse to do your job, you will be fired. The future you want will be shaped by your actions, your behavior, but more importantly, your work ethics. Not very many professions will be based solely on the condition of your hair. I promise.

Lesson Two: Work your ass off.

More than likely, you will fail at least once. Many of the more "promising" students will show up to your high school reunion with a crappy job, failed marriages, a beer belly, and massive amounts of debt. Many of your current crushes will appear to be homeless in the future. That super cute cheerleader? She's fat now.

Lesson Three: It's the little things that make you happy.

After listening to your principal, Mr. Hicks, toot his own horn for an hour, I wanted to eat a bullet. My eyes glazed over and I was damn near unconscious when Debra looked at me and asked "Did he really just do that to us?" Apparently, Mr. Hicks paused while expecting the congregation to shut up so that he could further pat himself on the back. His lengthy announcements regarding the various teachers awards, school accomplishments, and random bullshit led me to believe that this graduation had nothing to do with the kids it was intended for. Offering an award to the kid who's training for the Olympics is stupid...you know why? Because he's not part of the graduating class, that's why. Overlooking seniors that died during the school year is also decidedly uncool. The principal should never speak longer than the Valedictorian...on second thought, maybe the principal should just keep his pie hole shut.

Lesson Four: Douche bags are everywhere...and they are often put in charge.

While you are looking into your bright future, be aware that success is not guaranteed. A college degree does not promise you a good, or even a decent paying job. You may find yourself with your Sociology degree working at McDonalds. If you haven't had to work in a retail/customer service capacity, then you have no idea what kind of assholes are out there. There is a special place in the depths of hell for people who treat minimum wage workers poorly.

Lesson Five: Don't be an asshole.

In your future, you will come across many douche bags and assholes. They will try to take advantage of you, and the polite ways in which your parents raised you. Don't let them. Stand up for yourself and don't let people walk all over you. Stand up for other people as well...never stand by and witness crimes against humanity. We need to protect each other.

Lesson Six: Stand up for what's right.

You know how you come across those certain someones...and your heart kind of flips? Well, that's called infatuation. It's a fleeting thing, and while it's great to be with someone who floats your boat, it's also a good idea to be with someone who supports you and your endeavors. Don't rush to get married and have kids. This time of your life is short, and nothing makes it shorter than shooting out babies like a submachine gun. Babies are cute and cuddly, but they are also expensive, and kids are little emotional terrorists who will suck the life out of you. Make sure you have life to spare when they do it, because they are definitely worth it. What you want at 18 is usually very different than what you want when you're 25, or 30. Remember that scary school picture with the bad hair or the really horrible outfit? Do you really want to roll over to that kind of situation every morning?

Lesson Seven: Take your time in deciding permanent things.

Look around at your classmates. The ones you adore, and the ones you don't. High school graduation is often the end of those feelings...good and bad. Fifteen years from now you might run into a classmate and not be able to recall their last name. Your popularity, or unpopularity is pretty much over. The really important people won't give a shit whether you were Homecoming Queen, or Student Body President. Friends are ever changing, fluid even...and the people who are there when you need them will be there in the long run.

Lesson Eight: Be a good friend.

Many people are never satisfied. The newest nicest cars, the biggest houses, the most expensive clothes. Some people can afford them, and most people can't. Keeping up with the Joneses is just one way to find yourself in a buttload of debt. Wealth is not a measurement of a person's worth....just a symbol of their capacity to spend. The economy crashes and disaster strikes, if you own nothing, then you stand to lose it. Expecting to have, right now, the things that your parents have is unreasonable and rather obnoxious. More than likely they ate generic mac & cheese every night while working their way through the hard times, through college, through your childhood. Learn from your parents accomplishments, as well as their mistakes. The fastest and least painful way to learn from a mistake is by letting someone else make it. Life can be like a big sick game of Rochambeau...so learn from it.

Lesson Nine: Ownership will take care of you in the hard times.

Lesson Ten: Don't make the same mistakes that you've witnessed other people make.

Well, I know many of you have better things to do than sit here and listen to me carrying on...so I'll wrap this up. You get what you give. If you worked hard through school, you were rewarded in some way for your efforts...be it good grades, awards, scholarships...maybe just the knowledge that you did your best. Not everyone is cut out for this high school crap, and that's just as well, because high school is such a small portion of your life.

It's what you do from now on that matters in the long run.

If nothing else, you can be comforted by the fact that you're an adult now.

So, eat ice cream for dinner.

It's the little things...you know?

You Are Unique...Just Like Everyone Else.

2010-05-21T14:28:00.000-06:00

Once a month I hang with a group of girls to play a game called Bunco.

It's a dice game. And while I originally believed that it was a game created by Utah housewives, I was informed last night that we could actually go to Mesquite, Nevada and have a Bunco tournament...in a casino.

I have no idea in what casino we could participate in such a tournament. And a two second Google search didn't hold my attention long enough to find out. But there is a Bunco website...

Space out and ponder than for a moment.

OK. Now the rules vary from group to group. Not just the rules, but the actual motion of play. I played once with another group and it was completely different, so there's really no way to give you a complete breakdown of how to play. I've never gone over the Official Rules, because frankly, I don't give a shit. I like the way our group plays, and so there's no reason to care what the differences are. The general idea comes down to this...

There are 12 players.
It's $10 a person (for our group) to play. Money goes to the host for the purchase of prizes.
Every player takes a month to host.
If you can't play one month, you still pay in order to maintain your spot.
The host chooses "subs" for any missing players that month.
The third Thursday of the month you arrive at the hosts house for dinner.
You throw caution to the wind and eat whatever the hell you want. Including candy out of dishes that refill like magic porridge pots.
You actually play the game after dinner.
After playing the game, winners chose from a myriad of prizes that the host has purchased.
In our group, if after playing, you still don't think that you need to go home, then you attend a movie with whoever's going and laugh your guts out.
You return to your life where you ~~pluck popcorn out of your hair for hours~~ get ready for bed in the dark without killing yourself because your husband is unconscious in bed.

One thing I really like about our group is their method of awarding prizes. Prizes are selected for cash amounts $35, $25, so on, and many groups give the biggest winner the highest cash valued prize (whether that's what they want or not) and then work their way down. Our group just lets the biggest winner choose from all of the prizes, and each subsequent winner chooses from the remaining gifts, until they're gone. Lately, booby prizes have also been included, so even the losers take something besides extra pounds home. Make sense?

Now, I came upon this game via my friend Monique a little over six years ago. She had mentioned these Bunco games several times, but I was never able to wrap my brain around the concept until I played with her one month. The group just happened to have an opening for a player, and I'm thinking that the punch was seriously spiked, because that month I was invited into the circle as a permanent player.

Something I didn't think much of at the time, but over the years have discovered is a damn hard thing to do. People rarely leave the group, so interested players pretty much have to wait for someone to die.

This group is amazing...and I continue to wonder how exactly I became a member of this elite group.

These chicas go waaayyy back, several of them went to school together, several are related. At any given time, 50% of us are on the same cycle. I imagine if we all got together more often we'd start to look alike.

Thanks to all of these Bunco games...I now appreciate a cool looking purse. Seriously, I've evolved just by hanging around the additional estrogen. And one day, I hope to have a finished house and be able to take all of my Bunco prizes out of storage and decorate.

Now these gatherings are not without their...um...how do you say it? Quirks? Not in a really bad way, just...well, it's me. I'm not normally a girls girl. At least, that's how I've always felt anyway, so there are often times that Bunco is just a reminder of how different I have always felt.

Yet, no one has voted me off the island yet...a fact that I find positively startling. And I find myself thinking that I should just get over myself already, because no one in our group is identical. We have girls that go to church, and girls that don't. We have single girls and married girls. Girls that are trying to have babies, and girls that are done having babies. There are girls that aren't trying to have babies, that end up with babies. There are drinkers and non-drinkers alike. There's loss and scandal. Grief and joy. We have girls that deal out a lot of shit, and are swiftly voted off the island. The group of girls that I play with are seriously, equal opportunity friends. And that is just one of the many reasons that I try and make it every single month. Not only am I reminded that I am very different, I am also reminded that that is okay.

In high school, when my friends were shopping for prom dresses, I was attending Guide Dog training classes. When my friends were passed out at keggers, I was confiscating car keys and making it home by curfew. When my friends were silent, I spoke up. I was friends with everyone, yet friends with no one. I've fumbled my way through life not realizing that everyone else has been fumbling too.

Everyone wants to be liked, so we put on a good front. Brush the teeth, comb the hair, mow the lawn, wash the car, update your Facebook status, post your attractive profile pictures. Fawn all over your kids, your friends kids, your neighbors kids. Compliment your friends new do, their new car, the new house. Notice, compliment, copy. In this vicious cycle we find ourselves feeling more inferior, and more overwhelmed. And then reality has to slap us on the ass to get us to realize that no one is without their problems.

A friend can't get pregnant. A friend gets robbed. A friend deals with their child's terminal disease. A friend loses a job. A friend gets harassed by the IRS. A friend has a baby alone. A friend loses a baby. A friend gets transferred out of state. A friend gets married. A friend loses their house. A friend has a terminal illness.

And when anything happens to a friend, it happens to you, pain and joy alike. A real friend is there for you in the middle of the night, or in the middle of a Saturday afternoon. A good friendship behaves like a good marriage, sometimes it gives, and sometimes it takes. You notice the newly painted living room, and ignore the flowerbed that needs to be weeded. You realize that life is not fair, and that even if you can't fix it, you can at least listen to them bitch about it.

I started blogging because one of my Bunco friends was moving. I continued blogging because it made me feel better about a lot of things. Over the last few years I've read blogs written by people all over the place, and I've made friends. I've come to realize that sometimes the only thing that you can do is to leave a comment telling someone that you're thinking about them, or that you're sorry. Sometimes a 2000 mile distance keeps you from being there, but not from caring.

I've been reminded that people can be really shitty, and that people are capable of writing horrible things that they would never tell someone to their face. Many people are cowards, in life and in the blogosphere. People write things that they shouldn't, just like people say things that they shouldn't. And that can't always be corrected. There is freedom in truth, but there are also consequences, and the truth is relative.

True friends aren't.

Thanks For Protecting Me From Myself--Now Back Off

2010-05-13T19:07:00.000-06:00

Anyone who knows anything about me, knows that I am not overly fond of how our government ~~fucks things up~~ does things.

Most of our politicians verge, if not pole vault, into crooked territory...then proceed to rape and pillage. You introduce me to an honest politician, and I'll schedule lunch with the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus.

As much as the American people should believe that they live in a "free" country, that is not the case. I say this knowing that no country is perfect, and that no government is without its flaws.

Recently the county that I live in stuck the "unincorporated" areas with a $174 annual "police fee". This is on the heels of the newly adopted Unified Police Department.

Supposedly, the two items are not related.

Yo, hello!? It's all related.

Let me also add that residents were only given 2 1/2 weeks notice in which to pay the fee. Otherwise they would be stuck with a 10% late fee. If that's not adding insult to injury, I don't know what is.

Unless...

You consider that this "fee" is more than the amount I pay in property taxes that goes towards my kids schools.

I've never called the police. My kids go to school regularly. You decide what's fair or not.

What brings me to vent today is not this ridiculous fee, but another issue that I find insanely annoying.

The government trying to protect us from ourselves.

Yep, annoying. This specifically refers to a recent action on behalf of our beloved Unified Police, concerning a perfectly legal product.

SPICE.

This lovely little word is enough to incite orgasm in Ms. Martha, yet the spice that I am referring to has nothing to do with food.

It's fake pot. Now it's not marketed like that, and everyone who buys it, and many who don't, know exactly what people are using it for. That's not the point.

Now, I agree with people doing what's legal and right. And I support punishments that are dealt to offenders of this belief. So, I find it head scratching that many smoke shops were given notice yesterday, by the Unified Police, to "voluntarily" cease selling the many products that make up this Spice category.

Something that is perfectly legal...right now. Until the UPD and all the self-righteous morally holier than thou folks get their way and make it illegal.

Are you kidding me? This is where my fee ~~had I paid it~~ is going? This is where my tax dollars are going? This is where you choose to "crack down"?

Here are my thoughts on "drugs". Let the people who want them, use them. If they do it without harming others. I would rather be on the road next to someone who just smoked a bowl, than someone who just walked out of a bar, is texting, or even someone who thinks it's acceptable to drive on Vicodin.

Part of the driving force for yesterdays actions stem from the local Drug Court. For those of you unfamiliar with this I will explain:

You get in trouble for any variety of drug related crimes, you can and most likely with be referred to Drug Court. This entity will require any/all of the following:

Random drug tests. You will be assigned a color or number, and each morning you will be required to call an automated voice that will rattle off the colors and numbers that are required to travel to ONE regional location to submit to a urine test. Depending on your level, you may test a few times a month, or almost every single day. You will be required to pay for this test as well (something I agree with).
Classes. These drug classes (also only available at ONE regional location) will be an educational class covering a myriad of topics. Or it could be a cryfest when one of your fellow classmates graduates. The frequency of these classes also depend on your level.
Court. Yes, plain old court. You appear before a judge who looks over your charges, checks to see that you are doing what has been required, and then sets a new date for you to appear again to be patted on the head or thrown in jail, depending on whether you have dotted all your i's and crossed all your t's.
Fines. Depending on the severity of the infractions that landed your ass in trouble, you will be fined accordingly. You are also required to have fines current in order to advance to higher (and more lenient) levels.
Daily check-ins. You are simply ordered to make a phone call and enter a pin number on a daily basis. I guess this assures them that you aren't dead.
Job. Yep, as if all of the requirements weren't overwhelming enough, you are required to have an employer that allows you to come and go in order to do all that the court has commanded.

These things would be fine if they were reasonable. They're not. The majority of drug addicts have nothing left, they end up in Drug Court because they have no other avenues available to them. Unfortunately, their efforts are often sabotaged by the system itself. In essence, they are set up to fail. The random tests and classes could be located up to 120 miles away. Most addicts have alienated their friends and family, and have no transportation, making this simple requirement impossible. The court requirement would be semi-reasonable if you could get in and out, but what often happens is you end up sitting in court for hours waiting for your name to be called. Drug Court has a problem with Spice because it's not something they test for, which means that while some folks are jumping through their hoops, they might be taking a hit of something sold in the corner smoke shop. Which, no offense, I would be too if it calmed my ass down, while I'm trying to not only get off drugs, but to also abide by the courts requirements.

Forget getting a fair shake regarding your "crimes". Police, detectives, and attorneys will throw charges against the wall to see what sticks. Seriously. Oftentimes people plead guilty to crimes they didn't commit in order to avoid potential jail time, or large fines. Our court system has turned into a conveyor belt for the guilty and the innocent.

Now, I think that most laws are made to protect society as a whole, and most laws are, or should be, made based on the values that the majority of society shares. Killing, stealing, all those commandments...reasonable. But seriously, if it's not hurting anyone else, why should it be regulated? Why not channel the funds into protecting society from the ills that the majority sees as wrong?

I think that marijuana should be legal. I don't know enough about a lot of the other major street drugs to really say one way or the other, but I do believe that legalizing drugs makes them open for regulation and taxation. Most people are aware of the risks of drug use, hell, get a prescription filled and read over the list of warnings. You have to be be healthy to use most medications. The warnings for tobacco are on the side of the package, yet people still smoke. Imagine if you could pick up some Meth at the corner drug store and the side of the package said MAY MAKE YOU UGLY. Yes, it can also help you lose weight...and your teeth, and your hair, and it's going to cause some major skin issues but...USE AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Regarding Spice. The manufacturers of these products are legitimate business owners, they don't skulk around in the shadows like lerpy drug pushers. They're not standing in school yards handing it out to kids. As a matter of fact many of these producers still put a label on their products stating that it should not be sold to minors. The law restricts the sale of tobacco and alcohol to minors, yet somehow minors still get their hands on it. Just like they still huff paint and glue, and they still suck the initial air out of the whipped cream container.

The major supporters of making Spice illegal state that they are concerned about the potential deaths in regards to users getting behind the wheel. Kind of like alcohol related deaths? That sounds like a bigger problem to me, yet I know people who have not one or two, but numerous DUI convictions. I think they should be in jail, but most of the time the only thing that happens is that they get their licenses revoked.

What? They were busted for driving while intoxicated, I'm thinking that a little thing like a license is not going to be a major factor in whether they drive or not.

There are no studies supporting the statements that Spice related products are harmful. Anything used in excess is harmful, and smoking anything isn't really healthy anyway. It's not my right or obligation to prevent people from using products that I may not agree with, or use myself. If there were vast examples of Spice related deaths or accidents, then I wouldn't balk at the attempts to make it illegal.

Remember the Prohibition of Alcohol? When gangsters were driven by their need to make and distribute alcohol, and how legalizing it reduced many of the crime related elements regarding it? How much of the current taxes on alcohol are supporting our failing economy? I'm not implying that Spice is keeping us afloat, I'm just saying that it's kind of a non-issue. Obesity causes numerous health problems, but I'm not seeing the Keebler Elves being hauled off in handcuffs. No one is pushing to ration food in order to protect people from weight related health issues. Perspective...it's all in your perspective. And the fact that you don't agree with something does not give you the right to outlaw it.

Morals are relative.

Now...stop me if you've heard this one...

Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.

The Irony of Hybrids and Brand New Houses

2010-04-26T12:27:00.000-06:00

We have a new subdivision going in a few miles down the road.

The thought baffles me.

And annoys the piss out of me.

For one thing, there are two main roads leading to my little old town. One is a two lane back road, that winds through an industrial park. This road is acquiring a new Trax station, which is the local mass transit line. Several things about this road irks me anyway, but the main thing now is not so much the new traffic, but the fact that they are putting in a light that makes no sense...and the fact that they have closed the road so many damn times, yet they haven't (and don't intend to) widen it. So, more than likely they will lower the speed limit.

The second road is a newer road that actually angles southwest. It starts at 7800 South and ends in my town which is approximately 110000 South. Sorry if the grid system doesn't make sense to you, look up Salt Lake City Utah on a map and ponder it for a while. It's the only system that makes sense with having a stupid GPS locator. Or a map.

I'll give you quick lesson:
You need to find 4332 West 5855 South. This is the address of your new friend, it's not really, it's actually the house my parents bought when I was a baby. If you go there...you won't find me or a new friend...well maybe a new friend, I guess it depends on how friendly they are, and how receptive they are to folks knocking on their door based on directions from a blogger. If it works out for you, please let me know, because that's kind of a cool story. It's an example...keep up. Considering where you are located, all the streets start at square one: Temple Square for this example. The Mormons founded Utah, so it could prove that God was involved, because really the grid system is inspired.
Starting from Square One, all the streets are numbered out in the direction they radiate from the SO. 100 South, 200 South...so on. So, you would go to 4000 S. and continue to the closest road to your address, which would be nicely labeled 5855 S, you turn on that street and head West to the house numbered 4332. Voila! You now have to fight rabid dogs to get to the front door. That's your problem.

Anyway, the second road.

A few years back they put in a baseball park. Cute story, a guy died and they named a park after him.

Ok, not a cute story.

With the baseball park they installed a ~~two foot~~ right hand turn lane. It's annoying because people seem very upended by the baseball park, and by the turn lane. They drive out to the park as if they are going to miss it, and then they slow way down before entering the turn lane.

Two things I should point out: The park is huge, and if it's night, it's lit up enough to see from space.

Seriously, you. can't. miss. it.

The speed limit on this road is 55.

Right past the park (1/2 a mile) is a newish subdivision, with a turn lane of it's own, actually it technically has two turn lanes. One right hand turn lane going into the subdivision, and a right hand turn lane coming out of the subdivision. Which means if you're just driving past the subdivision, it would be possible, yet idiotic, to drive thru the turn lane, continue thru the "turn", and into the next turn lane. At which point you would need to do something that pisses ME off and MERGE.

The reason it pisses me off so bad is because the right hand turn lane has a sign that says Right Hand Turn Only. It should have another sign right below it that says Whether You Want To Or Not.

People cannot figure out the merge thing. It seems that some folks think that they are beyond waiting. A sign says Merge, or Lane Ends, and most people move over. Then you get these flapjacks that speed to the end of the lane and expect all the people who have been waiting, to let them in. BULLSHIT. I want to get out of my car and knock on their window and say "You see this big long line of people waiting, people who saw the sign and did as it instructed. What makes you so damn important that you think I should let you in ahead of all the people who have been waiting??" Instead I usually end up with some jackass trying to use his car as a shoehorn into my space.

Hey Jackass! Only one object can occupy this space at one time. Right now, that object is ME.

Back to the new subdivision...

Why?

Really. Why is anyone building a home right now? Sure, it's a good time to buy, rates are low, prices are lower...and if you're fortunate enough to be able to actually get a loan, then right now is probably the best time to purchase your new home. However...

If you're trying to sell a home right now, good luck. Most people are not qualifying for loans. So even if someone is looking to buy, there is a good chance that they can't. Even people with amazing credit scores are being given the runaround. I know this for a fact, because I have a good friend who processes loans. Not to mention...

What about all these perfectly good houses that are sitting vacant? Houses already built?

Oh I know. Buying a house is really fun. You never know what awesome and interesting things you're going to find when you buy a property. My nephew just bought a house and when they took down the wood paneling in the living room (why would they do that? Wood paneling is awesome! *dies laughing*) they discovered a window.

Yes, you read that correctly. A window. Not with glass or anything, that would just be ridiculous! It had no glass, but it was covered on the outside with siding. Does that count?

WHO DOES THAT?

Someone, evidently. I can't even imagine how that conversation could have gone down...

Idiot: I think we should get rid of that window. I am sick of looking at the neighbors, and that rose bush bugs me.

Second idiot: Yeah, me too. Let's bust the glass out.

I: Ok.

Sound of glass breaking.

SI: Now what?

I: Shit. Something needs to come next?

SI: Well yeah. Now the rain is coming in the window, and it's supposed to snow.

I: Let's cover it. Oooohh, I know. We could put up paneling!

***********************************

I can't even begin to fathom what happened when the siding people showed up.

Anyway, my point is, I understand completely what it is like to try and get your head so far up your own ass in order to try and comprehend what some folks were thinking, or not thinking when they did things in your house. I dealt with at least 40 years of layers of lead based paint when I moved in. Finally coming to grips with the fact that there is no chance in hell that I could restore the moldings in my house to their original state. I understand that it is very difficult to do your house your way, when you only have so much cash and so much time. I understand that most people are not insane enough to take on a project like I have with my house.

But what happened to being "green"? What kind of idiot drives a hybrid, recycles, spends their hard earned cash on biodegradable self sustaining underwear, yet builds a brand new house? And what does it say about you when you build a house that gives approximately 1000 square feet to each occupant. Seriously, how much room do you need?

And for the love of everything holy...learn to merge!

More Vague Comments About Unreasonable People

2010-04-22T04:48:00.001-06:00

Well, fun.

The last post was prompted by some drama. Not me and my husband, don't be alarmed. I got an email that made me worry that I might have been far too general in my last post.

And by general, I mean that I never named names, I was never gender specific, and as far as anyone knows the folks I was talking about may have had 2 kids or 20.

Sorry...I'm not going to get any more specific now.

Now I am going to tell you why.

*There is nothing to be gained by being a bottom feeder. It benefits no one to start name calling and stone throwing.
*I'm not a hypocrite. I refuse to claim that I am one thing and then do another. I may not go to church, but that doesn't mean that I run around doing rotten things. As a matter if fact, one of the reasons I stopped going to church was because of the behavior of many church members. You see, I take issue with people who run around claiming to be God fearing, yet turn around and participate in very un-Christlike behavior. Most religions practice things like acceptance, forgiveness, and kindness...unfortunately, many people don't.
*Many of the most honest and loyal people I know, aren't even remotely religious. Strange that some people just want to be good...even without God being involved.
*I live by the Golden Rule. I will respect you, until you give me a reason not to. I will be nice, if you're nice. Because those are things that I want from people, until I give them a reason not to give them to me.
*One day my kids might read this entire blog. My daughter reads a lot of it already, but one day they both might sit down and read it all. I never want my kids to think that I was unreasonably vindictive and malicious. And, well, kids learn by example. They know that I lose my cool in the car, that I hate the new light going in for no apparent reason, and that I will never understand why there is a place called Payne Orthodontics...they know those things. They also know that I still love them even when they make mistakes, what kind of example would I be setting to them if I started disowning every person I know every time they made a less than stellar choice?
*I'm not perfect, I don't have all the answers, and I don't know everything. I never claimed to. My last post was about divorce, and how bad behavior regarding divorce sucks. I never justified bad behavior, just like I refuse to justify the fact that I will continue to love someone who has made a mistake. What is wrong with you if you think I should do otherwise??
*I reserve the right to go all Mama Bear on your ass if you attack my family. I won't do it in a public forum though. If you have something to say, shoot me an email, or call me. I'm not naming names because it's wrong to do so. And, frankly...do you really want me to tell my side of the story? Because I could, but I guarantee you won't like it. I have a very good idea why your spouse acted the way they did.
*Blog wars are stupid. By calling someone out, which is what you are doing when you start the smack talk, is silly. Not to mention, any rational person will look at your rantings and wonder what the other side has to say about it. Let me also mention that what your commenter's have to say reflects on you. I received nothing but positive supportive comments on my post...I even had a very nice woman post a link to it on a sewing website. You know why? Because it makes sense. Because it was distinctly unbiased. Because no one was slandered by it. Most people have been affected by divorce in one way or another...you know who suffers the most from your unreasonable behavior? YOUR CHILDREN.
*If I talk trash about my children's father, I am hurting my children. 50% of their genetic make-up came from their father...you do the math Sparky. I'm not saying that we haven't had disagreements...if we had agreed on everything we'd still be married.
*I can talk about divorce rules because I practice them. I adore many of my ex in-laws. Jeremy has an awesome family, and though we are all no longer related, I can and do still like them. It works in reverse too, many of my family members adore Jeremy and continue to interact with him. Part of that reason is, I have never given them a reason not to.
*DIVORCE IS NEVER ONE SIDED. Nope, never. Yes, there may be one event that culminates in the divorce, but how many little infractions committed by both parties have led up to that? In my opinion, if you have been miserable for years in your marriage, and you continue to remain married...well, you're an idiot.
*Remember, you chose to marry your spouse. So calling them names makes you look...well, bad.
*Yes, I'm biased. I am biased towards reason. I am biased towards my children. I am biased towards home birth. Tell me, exactly what is your point? I'm biased towards my opinions, which is why I blog, however I do it in a manner that doesn't slander other people. I also don't let my commenter's be slanderous either. Which oddly enough, is something I have never had to worry about. Somehow I've managed to accumulate a bunch of very smart readers...they must be biased too.
*I believe in writing about what you want...but in a manner that is respectful. I put my opinions on here....hmmm, let me think...always. I also read blogs that are on the alternate side of the fence...because I might learn something that I didn't know before. I don't continue to read bloggers that continually behave like jerks though.
*I think anonymous comments suck. While I respect the fact that many bloggers chose to be anonymous, I don't think commenter's have the same right. If you feel entitled enough to go on "record" with something, you should have the nerve to attach your name to it. Which is what I always do...and I practice proper punctuation, spelling, and grammar too.
*Anything you post, that is read by someone is out there. When you post really rotten things, people start to think you're a rotten person. Anyone who has read my blog for a while knows that I am annoyed by inconsiderate drivers, that I hate it when people talk on their cell phones while they drive...I know people who do these things, yet I still like them. My husband only uses his blinker half the time...it's rude, he knows I feel that way. Just because you don't like a behavior, doesn't mean you can't like the person.
*There is a fine line between the truth, and complete crap. Sometimes we cross the line because we're upset, sometimes we pole vault across the line when we're upset. I find it's always good to remember that there are lines everywhere...and often, people cross them for reasons unclear. But you know, that's because I know everything. *rolls eyes*
*I find it interesting that people can condemn people that they don't even know. To assume that someones family is a certain way because one family member did/does something is a little ridiculous. You can't assume someones entire family is religious because that person is. My entire family doesn't blog, like I do. My entire family doesn't support home birth, like I do. How many crimes would you be guilty of if you were assumed to be like any one of your family members? Kind of scary if you look at it that way.
*My family's not perfect. What I like is, they don't run around pretending to be. What you see is what you get. The religious members of my family still love me even though I'm not...hopefully because I respect their choices as much as they respect mine. My family on both sides get together and enjoy each others company. Most of us stay in touch, talk, laugh, support each other...if that's not something you agree with, maybe this is a good time for you to be exiting stage right.

Divorce Bill Of Rights

2010-04-17T18:16:00.000-06:00

This is a follow-up post.

There are a gajillion and a half reasons why people get divorced. Almost all of them suck.

Divorce is never fun and the best thing you can do is to try to get through it with as little bloodshed as possible.

Divorce effects more than just the couple that are actually splitting the sheets. It effects the families of both parties, and most importantly, it effects the children of the divorcing couple.

Divorcing Couples Bill of Rights

You have the right to feel sad, betrayed, angry, torn, excited, even ambivalent. Obviously, emotions will vary depending on circumstances. You may go to bed feeling completely different than you woke up feeling. It's pretty much anything goes.
You have the right to counsel. Yes, much like when you commit a crime, you have the right to an attorney. You also have the right to speak to a therapist, your friends, a priest, a bishop...you can even hit the store clerk up for words of wisdom.
You have the right to be treated fairly. It's also important to remember...your spouse has this right too.
You have the right to defend yourself. If people are saying untrue things about you and your situation, you have the right to clarify the facts.
You have the right to be happy.

One of the many reasons for divorce is infidelity.

In my opinion, infidelity is not the problem, it's a symptom of a problem. People do not wake up one day and decide to have an affair. It's a progression of events, usually resulting from dissatisfaction and unhappiness.

That said, I think it's important to remember that your spouse is the one that you're married to and the one that made all the promises to you.

So, refrain from name calling and bashing on the other party. Chances are, you don't know them well enough to make judgement calls. There is also a good chance that one day your situation will be more similar to theirs than it is right this minute. Soon you will be divorced, and more than likely you will end up with children from more than one other person. That is a glass house that you are looking at buying...so I suggest that you cease throwing rocks.

I have children from a previous marriage, that certainly doesn't mean that I am less of a person if I have a child with my current husband. I'd be happy to knock the teeth down the throat of anyone who tells me otherwise.

Divorcing Couples Bill of Non-Rights

You do not have the right to attack your spouse in front of your children. Ever. I know this is hard, but you only look like a jerk when you do it.
You do not have the right to say snarky things to the children of family members. Your 6 year old nephew does not need to hear that you think his mother is a terrible mother because she smokes. Especially when you tell him that straight to his face. Even if she had been smoking and blowing it into his face, which she wasn't, you should pull her aside and give her the Surgeon General's Warning about secondhand smoke, not take it up with a child.
You do not have a right to make unwarranted threats. It's one thing to attempt to keep a child from a parent that is a drug addict or is abusive, another thing entirely to keep a child from a parent just out of spite.
You do not have a right to take your spouse to the cleaners. Unless you have a prenup that protects what you brought into the relationship, it's joint assets.

When pondering any issues in marriage, I think it's important to consider the following:

If your spouse values their family, are you willing to spend time with them? Have you made an honest effort to attend their family gatherings as much as you do your own? Marriage is about compromise.
While you don't technically marry a family, you do. Unless you seek out a spouse that has no family or doesn't care about their family, you have to take the bad apples along with the good. Not to mention, do you really want a spouse who doesn't care about their family?
Do you reserve your comments and opinions about your in-laws? By insulting someones family, you are indirectly insulting them.
Your spouses family may not share 100% of the values that you do, so I think it's important to remember that even if you don't agree with their beliefs, they may not agree with yours either. Respect is important. Sometimes you have to agree to disagree. It's also still possible to get along with, and even like, people who do not share all of the same opinions or beliefs that you do.
Before getting all self righteous about your family and your values, consider your own behavior. Are you being a hypocrite by name calling and being judgemental? Do you even know the entire story? This is a good time to reflect on your religious beliefs and perhaps ask yourself "What would Jesus do?"
Before you start bashing on your spouses siblings, consider the behavior of your own. No one is completely innocent of bad behavior.
Do you defend your spouse when your family talks smack about them? And how much of what you have said has contributed to that? Sometimes it's easier for you to let disputes go than it might be for some family members. Don't talk about marital problems with people who are going to hold a grudge.
Do not ask questions that you do not want the answers to. And when you ask a question, and receive an answer you don't like, save the snarky comments.

Family of Divorcing Couples Bill of Rights

You have the right to disagree with the actions of the person you are related to.
You have the right to continue to love them.
You have the right to like, or not like, anyone they become involved with in the future.
You have the right to have a drink if you'd like.
As a matter of fact, you can have two drinks...it's been a long week.
You have the right, no, the obligation to be more concerned about the children of the divorcing couple, than the couple itself.
You have the right to continue to have a relationship with the person you're not related to.
You have the right to be logical and see all sides of the story.

Family of Divorcing Couples Bill of Non-Rights

You do not have the right to enter the residence of the couple and start name calling.
You do not have the right to go to their workplace and start fist fights. Physical violence is a big NO NO.
You do not have the right to attack either parent in the presence of their children, because that just makes you look like a total schmuck.

Divorce sucks. Why make it harder than it needs to be?

I Don't Need Drugs, I Have Teenagers That Make Life Surreal Enough

2010-04-12T00:01:00.001-06:00

The following conversation actually took place while my son McKinley was playing Call Of Duty. I was minding my own business playing Plants Vs. Zombies.

McKinley: (Screaming and flailing his arms like a crazy person) What is it about this game that makes me want to bikini wax my head!? Arghhh.....

Heather: Um...I think it's impossible to bikini wax your head.

M: Okay. Then what is it that makes me want to take that sticky stuff that they use for bikini waxes and smear it all over my head?

H: Hell if I know.

and then his head exploded.

****************************************

Turns out he's all pissed off about something completely unrelated.

Probably healthcare reform.

I'm sure that's it.

Honest Scrap: An Award From Someone Way Cooler Than Myself

2010-04-11T01:05:00.000-06:00

Gretchen from Second Blooming awarded me this many moons ago...as in, the last day of March. Due to the fact that I have been working undercover on a Russian submarine for the last 2 weeks, I have been unable to sit myself down and do this.

Or I have been unable to come up with the requirements to fulfill my obligations.

It could go either way.

Despite my slackerdom, please take a moment to go visit Gretchen, because she is the shit. She's the fun friend we all want, the one that is wise yet would happily share a jail cell with you. Gretchen is my virtual Snuggie friend.

Now the fine print:

Thank the person who ~~awarded your slacker ass~~ gave you the award.
Copy the award to your blog.
Link to their blog and attest to their greatness.
Name 7 tidbits about yourself that people do not know from reading your blog. (And that is where I got tripped up)
Nominate other Bloggers.
Place a link to those Bloggers.
Leave a comment letting those Bloggers know that you think they rock...yet, due to the restraining order you are only able to give them a virtual award.

Now for the tidbits:

I hate it when people whistle. Freaking hate it.
I have two tattoos. A kanji on my wrist (Forever Mine) and a Strawberry Poison Dart Frog on my tush (because I love frogs and strawberries, but am allergic to strawberries. That's irony kids!)
I also have two body piercings, my belly button and my nose. Effective means of keeping myself out of the PTA pool.
I have a sweet scar on my big toe from stripping paint. While using a heat gun, that gets up to like a gajillion degrees, my hubby asked me a question and when I turned to respond I dropped a glop of molten paint on my toe...that was beautifully adorned in flip flops. Lesson learned? Ignore hubby.
I would pose for Playboy if I had the body to do so.
My husband still has a key to the car I owned when we dated in high school.
I can't write an essay to save my life. A thesis is based on my opinion...why do I have to prove my opinion?? I don't care if you share my opinion, you're entitled to your own.

The Nominees guaranteed to win are:

Debra from Our Little Corner. She's just started blogging and she's the mom that's been married to my dad for 15 years.
Jill from All Aboard The Pity Boat. My long time real life friend, who knows and understands BIG WORDS. I am going to have to share that story soon!
M.....from SoccerMom. One of my favorite virtual friends.
Elizabeth from Seriously. I adore her in-your-face honesty.
I have no idea what her real name is from The Deranged Housewife. I always love her common sense attitude on my favorite subject, Birth. Not to mention her blog name, I mean, come on!?

Now go check out all my cool friends. You know you want to.

My Cat House Got Skunked

2010-03-24T09:04:00.001-06:00

I love animals.

As much as I love them, and believe that having a pet is much like having a child, I will not tolerate certain behaviors from my animals.

One of them is peeing on the furniture.

Go figure.

So...when two of my darling kitties started doing just that, I booted them from the house...much the same way I might boot my kid out if they took up arson as a hobby.

I hate it when people leave their animals outside to brave the elements.

I'm sure that you can see my dilemma.

While I think that there is a special place in hell for people who tie their dogs up in their yards...I realized about five minutes after I was born that cats tend to strut to the beat of their own drums. A cat will decide early on if they would like to be an inside cat, or an outside cat. Asking them to do otherwise would be about as rational as asking them to play a hand of Poker with you.

What strikes me as odd is the fact that the two kitties, being 6 and 8 years old, started this inane behavior last summer. The 6 year old, Jelly, is my bi-doors cat, meaning she chooses to be inside and outside at will. The 8 year old, Missy, is my special cat, and by special, I mean seriously retarded.

For the record: Missy and Jelly rank in my Top 10 Dumbest Animal Names. Included in this list would be Fluffy, Midnight, and Spot.

When it started to get as cold as a witches tit outside, I became concerned that my little kitties would freeze to death...which would further secure my place in hell. So, obviously I got thinking about options for the cold weather.

The selections of outdoor pet shelters really really suck.

However, being the clever girl that I am, and housing more tools than Lowes, I designed an outdoor shelter for my monster kitties....

...and promptly recruited my hubby to build it.

Because I am that clever.

My kitty dream home would have a hinged lid and be big enough to house the two kitties and their food and water. It would be fully insulated and have a nice little bed for the kitties to stay warm.

What was built was even better.

The four foot wide house, is about two feet tall and two feet deep. It has a little cat door and accommodates a heated pet bed. There is also a circular bed that Missy thinks is ~~the shit~~ really awesome. Inside is a thermostat and the house is so heavily insulated that a 100 watt bulb keeps the inside a toasty 70+ degrees, we actually have to turn the thing off in order to keep it from turning into a kitty sweat lodge. The outlet on the porch is controlled by a light switch inside, so it's so easy that even the dogs could take care of it. Which will be awesome when we need to leave town.

Lately it's been so warm and spring-y outside that I haven't worried much about the temperature inside the cat house*, and then it had to go and snow on Monday. So, before I went to bed I peeked out the window on the front door to verify that the light was on.

This is where shit gets freaky...

Missy and Jelly are patch calicoes. Meaning that they are calicoes without all the black. They are white with orange and grey, and they have cute little pink bunny noses.

What I saw through the cat house door was not pink.

It was black.

The cat house is located approximately six feet from the front door...my eyes work shit for distance.

However, I can see black. And after squinting and scratching my head I was able to safely and securely ascertain that there was a skunk in the cat house.

A skunk.

in

my

cat house.

On the porch.

Jelly was sitting on top of the house giving me a really dirty look. I could be mistaken, but I'm pretty sure she put both paws up, shrugged her shoulders and said "What.The.Fuck?"

While I rallied the family, I was forced to ponder exactly how one might go about posting an eviction notice to a skunk. I've dealt with raccoons. I've dealt with mice. I've even dealt with missing frogs and lizards.

Never in this lifetime, nor any other, did I consider the fact that a skunk might move into my Kitty Dream Home. After fogging up the glass with our five faces, we were alarmed to see Missy, the special ed cat, exit the cat house.

Apparently, it slipped her mind to notify us that she was inviting Skunky over for tea and crumpets. We took this as a sign that Skunky was a friendly sort and we should check her out.

So we opened the lid just a hair so that we could peek in.

Isn't she so cute??

After considering our options (Googling How the hell do you get a skunk out of your cat house? yielded few results) we thought the best option was to open the lid, turn off the heat, and lock the cats in the garage. As close as I could tell, Skunky appeared to be injured and/or sick, and it goes against everything in my nature to not do something. I searched for local animal rehabilitators, but everyone I found specifically said No skunks. I went to bed thinking that in the morning I would contact my vet, who is amazing, and ask him what he would suggest. If all else failed, I would get it into a trap and let it go up in the hills, but the thought of letting a sick animal go about broke my heart.

Skunky was gone in the morning.

Last night Jelly was guarding the door with a shotgun.

*When I was very little, I made a home for my Barbie's kitty, I proudly showed it to my mother and told her it was my "Cat House." My mother, thinking that I might proclaim this fact to the world, informed me that a Cathouse is actually a brothel, and referenced the movie The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. Good thing she told me, so that I didn't spend the rest of my life leading people to believe that I am some amazing Madam.

Blog Snob

2010-03-03T12:23:00.000-07:00

I've noticed something recently.

I'm against impersonal blogs.

Let me explain...

You begin reading a blog. The author has buttloads of followers and gets tons of comments, yet...you begin to feel like you're reading the newspaper. The newspaper doesn't respond to it's readers. And many bloggers don't respond to their readers either, not within the comments or through email. But, I've found that my favorite bloggers do.

My favorite bloggers have set the bar very high.

I'm not even saying that you have to respond to me personally...it's just nice to witness the occasional feedback. Sure, some bloggers get a gazillion comments each day, and the amount of time that it would take to respond to each one, or even half of them is unreasonable. Yet, I see my favorite bloggers take the time to respond to their readers, to some of the comments...and that makes me happy.

And a little annoyed at the rest of them. I mean, there is nothing more satisfying than getting a little nugget in your email from a blogger that you admire and like enough to read, whether that response is from someone who has 500 followers, or 2.

And how freaking awesome is it when you interact with perfect strangers and *gasp* become friends!? It's the networking tool of champions.

Now I have a very generous idea about what blogs should be like. It's a very complicated concept, and I had to create a flow-chart, numerous spreadsheets, and I even consulted a nuclear physicist in order to conclude that...

A blog is whatever the hell you want it to be.

Yep, that's it. You can write about food, fitness, your kids, your house, how you hate homebirth, how you love homebirth, you can even write about your sex toys. There is room for us all! Weird...

But I'm not sure why someone would maintain a blog without seeking feedback...isn't that why you would blog in the first place? Why would you put your thoughts and feelings, your struggles and triumphs in a public forum if you didn't want people to read them? And that's why, for some reason, I get the nagging feeling that these people who write, without responding to that feedback...well, maybe they're not human at all? Even when you have the attitude that 98% of the people you meet are just stealing your air, the internet proves itself to me time and again that there are people out in the world that are worth knowing.

Another thing I don't understand is people's need to attack others in their blogs. Don't go into someones space and attack them. Don't name names, or link to people, in your own blog when you disagree with them either, unless they attack you first...then you have free reign to throw virtual spitballs.

It's a simple concept. If you don't agree with something, don't do it.

Really, it's that simple...I'll demonstrate.

You don't agree with abortion, don't have one.
Gay marriage? Yep, you don't have to do it. (They're not even recruiting!)
Homebirth? I won't make you do it. (I am recruiting for that though.)
Don't like kids? Don't have them.

See...it's so simple, and it can be applied to everything....like...

Don't agree with impersonal blogs or nasty name calling bloggers?

Don't read them.

Toss That Tea Into The Harbor Baby!

2010-02-26T00:43:00.001-07:00

Have you ever been fucked sideways?? Doesn't make sense, right?

Well, in the last little while, I have been trying to make sense of where I live, and where my kids go to school.

Last year the school district that my kids attend school in, split. The split created a deficit in funding on one side...our side. Now, I know that the person with the short end of the stick tends to scream the loudest, but I would find a problem with the entire situation no matter which side I ended up on. It's education, and it's important. Do you really want dumb kids to be taking care of you in your old age? No? Me neither...weird.

Now some shit went down with the split. I wish I could tell you what that was exactly...but I can't, mainly because my brain turned to tapioca trying to get all the answers. But it's become a whole East vs. West thing now, and I am getting the Jets together and we're going to tussle. Oh wait, I'm on the West side, so I guess it's me and the Sharks. Whatever.

Anyway. It all comes down to money. I guess it's too much to ask that that money be funneled to students, and the teachers it takes to teach them. I only say this because the douchebag superintendent Barry Newbold takes home $237K a year. I guess the administration did agree to take a 10% salary cut though...so, of course, I'm practically swooning. The fact of the matter is, unless you are kicking ass and taking names in your ability to manage and run a district, then you are not entitled to pens with your name on them, let alone a salary that far exceeds the salaries of the people that are actually making a difference in kids lives.

As far as this West side shit...

It takes me 30 minutes to get from my house to a freeway. There is no quick route to get anywhere from the West side of the valley. That's a fact. We also have limited shopping choices out here, which means we're forced to go...You guessed it Campers! The East side. Which means my shopping dollars go into businesses on the other side of town, thus contributing to another school district.

Now, there are dueling equally problematic issues with both districts. The East side has old schools in need of repair, the West side is seeing massive growth and therefore newly built schools are bursting at the seams as soon as they are opened. Nobody's winning. Am I the only person who sees these as significant problems? If you read through the comments that are posted on many of the recent news articles, you see people blasting each other for damn near everything, and it's ridiculous. This name calling and stone throwing at other parents and teachers isn't accomplishing a damn thing...and I challenge anyone in either district to argue with the idea that the fundamental issue at stake is the fact that both districts have kids that need education, and it takes teachers to make that happen.

One particular view that has left me breathless is the argument that people in the private sector are getting laid off, so what is the big issue with a bunch of teachers? Umm, hello fuckers, I'm not seeing any reduction in the amount of kids that need an education, so I'm kind of thinking that laying off teachers is a bad idea. You want to know why?

BECAUSE UTAH ALREADY HAS THE HIGHEST DAMN RATIO OF STUDENTS TO TEACHERS!!!

Walk into your kids classroom and tell me how well four more students would impact their class. You have a student that's struggling to get some one-on-one? Well, kiss any extra help goodbye, because your child is now going to compete with four additional kids. Does any of this seem like a good idea???

To add insult to injury, recently there has been a dispute over instituting a "police fee" to the tune of $174 a year per household. Initially I understood the fee to be limited to unincorporated areas (me), but I spoke to someone recently who has actually received a notice regarding the fee. So, you can tack on this disproportionate fee, but fire a bunch of teachers?? In the ten years that I have lived in my house I have never called the police, and while it's good to know that it's there if I need it, I don't think I should pay insurance against a potential crime. Raise fines for people who actually break the law. The irony of this is, tonight when I returned home there were six brand new police SUV's (seriously, they all matched) in front of a neighbors house...no lights on, just parked there. Jeez, what the hell was happening there? It also irks me to no end that they are instigating fees for unincorporated areas, but I can't get a damn snowplow down my street.

Last year, my sewer bill doubled. Six years ago my water rate tripled, and they're talking about raising it again this year. It seems to me that the only people making money is the government, and that doesn't sit well with me. Our economy is in the shitter, and the people who can't afford it are paying the price.

Lets also consider you child-free people...oooh, I saw you raising your hands...and I hear you. Why on earth should you, with no wee ones, have to pay into education? I know, I know...it's so unfair. I mean, it's not like you got an education when you were skinning your knees and dealing with acne. I'm sure you benefited in some way from public education, so pay it forward. Not to mention, do you really want cataract surgery from the kids that are graduating in my district? Yeah, that's what I thought.

Because I am a giver and I am all about solutions, I am going to provide you with some. They're not perfect, but I'm thinking that they're a hell of a lot better than what anyone else has on the table...and this is off the top of my head! Imagine the brilliance I could come up with if I really tried.

Give these overpaid administrative goons a choice; a serious salary reduction or resignation. I'm not really sure why some of these yahoos are making the amounts they are, but I'm assuming sexual favors are involved. Prostitution is a crime dickheads.
Take funding to a state level, with minimal administrators in the districts to oversee day-to-day management. As far as administrative compensation, it would depend on what they actually do, and would have to be approved by an impartial third party...preferably God.
Eliminate free health care for administrators, and while we're at it, all government officials. Military families do not get free health care, so neither should you.
All that money we're saving by not paying for our officials health care...yeah, we're going to give that to the kids.
While we're on government officials...let's eliminate many of those perks that are adding up a dollar at a time...you know, like private planes. That should free up some money to buy pencils, and books, and maybe support a couple of new schools. Maybe we should stop treating our officials like royalty, because...well, you know, we broke off from Britain recently. I think.
Teachers will continue to be paid and employed. ~~Are you crazy Heather!?!~~ Good teachers will get bonuses and raises, bad teachers will ~~get flogged~~ not. If a teacher isn't producing knowledgeable students, then there will be consequences.
Schools will be repaired, brought up to code, and have gold plated halls. Just kidding. Schools will be maintained with heat and AC and everything!
Additional taxes will be required for people with children. The more kids you have, the more you pay towards education. This isn't nuclear science People! Or maybe it is...I don't know...I didn't take it because it wasn't offered.

Every child is entitled to a quality education. A well rounded education, with class choices that aren't limited to math and science. Extra-curricular activities should be a given in our educational system, yeah it's a perk, bite me. Do you know how many families can't afford to give their kids music lessons, dance classes, and the like? What better way to tap into a kids talents than to give them the opportunities to discover them? This isn't just relegated to Utah, these things should be available to every single kid in America. We're not a third world country...if we can offer a gazillion dollars to bail out banks, then we can sure as hell offer kids books and drama class.

If you've been watching the Olympic coverage...tell me something. How many of those athletes do you think only excelled in math?

Yeah, you get back to me on that.

Disclaimer: My son McKinley was actually in the other district until January, because he lived with his father. When McKinley tranferred schools, he went from almost all F's (he had one A) to all passing grades. So, East side...you can suck it.

Choking...on...the...irony.

2010-02-19T18:42:00.001-07:00

I have some awesome news!!!

Are you sitting down?

I live in the happiest state in the nation.

I am tearing up...I'm so very honored. *rolls eyes and shakes head*

Earlier today, I am blipping through my homepage, when I see "The 15 Happiest States". I'm always interested to see how these things rank...and as I start the slideshow my son sits down next to me where we converse the following.

Him: Whatcha doing?

Me: Looking at the 15 happiest states.

Him: Are we on there?

Me: *hysterical fits of laughter* Utah's not going to be on there. Silly boy!

we both start repeating the names of the states as I'm flipping through the slideshow right on down to #1

Me: Holy Shit! Utah's #1?

Him: Heehee. *runs off gleefully to crawl on the roof to announce to the world that mom was freakishly wrong*

Don't get me wrong. Utah is not a bad place to live. Aside from the crazy weather that changes on a dime and the fact that it can, and will snow in June. Let's not forget the fact that the Salt Lake valley is shaped like a large bowl, so when the inversion settles in for the winter it's as if the bowl has become a cliche Tupperware and has had it's lid securely fastened...so none of us can breathe.

Now that I have you all convinced what a great state I live in, I am going to show you what irony is.

Utah. Has. The. Highest. Rate. Of. Antidepressant. Use. In. The. Nation.

That's why we're all so fucking happy!!!

This mind-blowing article had some hilarious pointers I would like to discuss.

"...some psychiatrists and church critics have speculated the LDS faith and culture had something to do with Utahns using antidepressants at twice the rate Californians did. Some critics say the church or its culture demands too much of members, especially women. About 70 percent of Utahns are church members."

There's no reason to blame this on the church! (In Utah, the LDS religion is always referred to as "The Church")

The author has some other theories.

"Perhaps one of the reasons the residents of Utah lead the nation in the use of antidepressants is that since they are generally more educated and aware of the symptoms and treatments of depression, they are more likely than the residents of other states to seek medical treatment."

Yes, we're smarter, that's why we're medicated. Sure, I'll buy that...and a vowel while we're at it.

"In fact, he said, a closer look at the pharmacy study showed Utahns did appear more likely to seek medical help. The state also ranked first in the use of narcotic painkillers and..."

Whoa, whoa, whoa...hold the fort! Ranked first in the use of narcotic painkillers?? No wonder we're all feeling happy...we're stoned!

"Utah's LDS population also might more readily turn to the medical profession for help because the church advises members not to use alcohol and tobacco. Research indicates Latter-day Saints in Utah and elsewhere are less likely to self-medicate, Judd said, with those drugs or illegal drugs."

Well, well...less likely to self-medicate with alcohol, tobacco, and illegal drugs. It's because we can get drugs from our doctors, that insurance will pay for. We don't have to hit the streets when a nice person in a white coat will dispense drugs to us.

Some other facts I found about Utah:

Utah and Kentucky tied for 11th in highest suicide rates per capita. So much for antidepressants.
We tied again with Kentucky for 5th highest illicit drug use (other than marijuana). That kills the clean living theory.
We're 3rd for serious psychological distress. Goes right along with the previous stats.
Yet, we're 43rd for total state spending on mental health. That explains...wait a minute? Shouldn't the illicit drug users and people suffering from serious psychological stress be getting some therapy? Wouldn't that reduce the suicide rate?
We're #1 in average household size. Even the Duggars didn't screw that up for us.
We have the highest pupil/teacher ratio in the country. How are we the smartest?

On the upside:

We're tied for the lowest c-section rate. Yay Utah!
We didn't even rate under alligator attacks! I assume shark attacks would be the same.
We're 5th highest in homebirth rate. Explains the c-section rate!
92.8% of Utah moms breastfed their babies at some point, with 50.8% exclusively breastfeeding at 3 months. Goes hand in hand with homebirth!

We also have amazing landscapes, many state parks, and the greatest snow on earth. So I would recommend coming here on vacation, or to have a baby.

Call me when you're in town, we'll do lunch.

Excuse me while I go narc up.

Hold My Baby...Careful, She Barks

2010-02-19T14:39:00.001-07:00

Dogs are like children.

I realize this more and more all the time. Sure, there are people out there that would be truly appalled that I would group their little darlings in the same category as dogs.

As a dog, I would be appalled at being grouped in the same category as some kids.

Besides the point.

Normally, we house 3 of our own dogs. They are small, medium, and large. A few months ago we added my FIL's* dog Coco, who is a litter mate to one of our own dogs, Bluebell. Yesterday morning my mom dropped her dog Thor off to spend the weekend here while she goes out of town.

We now have a dog for every human in our house. Oh love.

Many people would have a heart attack at the thought of having 5 dogs in residence, even more would freak out at the thought of having 5 dogs in the house. Yo.

I have a firm belief that animals are meant to interact with their humans...they are pack animals. Most of the time, if you're not housing a pack of canines, like I am, then you are their pack. People wonder why dogs sit in the back yard and bark all day...duh?? If that's you, shame on you.

For the record: Most of my house is under construction. My kitchen, dining room, and stairs are plywood. What's a little dog hair and mud?

I'm pretty sure 40 miles away...my Mum just fainted.

Here are some commonalities between kids and dogs:

It's impossible to have clean floors with kids or dogs.
They take all of your money for food and medical care.
They both get you up during the night.
They leave their toys all over the house.
They both smell funky when they get wet.
They share identical expressions when they've done something bad.
Early on, you deal with a lot of poop.
You can't get out of the house without later noticing you are wearing remnants of them. Spit-up vs. fur.
No bed is big enough to share with one of them, let alone multiples.
They both like mud.
They can spot a fraud immediately.
As long as you meet their needs, they love you despite yourself.
They're kissy.

Despite the actions of some folks, kids are not supposed to have leashes.

I'm equally suspicious of people who don't like kids, as I am with people who don't like dogs. I always wonder why. I'm sure that there are many people out there who break out in a rash with kids as much they do with dogs. And puppies are as irresistible as babies...so obviously something is seriously wrong with people who don't go for them. Just an opinion.

There are two major benefits to having dogs over kids though...

You can kennel your dogs while you go to the store...and they will never ask to borrow the car.

*FIL is working in Hawaii, so we have Coco until he comes back...which could be a while.

Photographic Evidence That My Kids Love Each Other

2010-02-11T12:03:00.002-07:00

This is McKinley and Ettienne

Ettienne pulled her groin at basketball, so McKinley was giving her a lift to the car

My kids rock!

Trying On The Big Girl Panties

2010-02-08T16:18:00.000-07:00

So. This last Thursday, Friday, and Saturday I spent taking a Doula workshop. I know that many of you kids out there have no idea what the hell a Doula is.

Here it is:
The word "doula" comes from the ancient Greek meaning "a woman who serves" and is now used to refer to a trained and experienced professional who provides continuous physical, emotional and informational support to the mother before, during and just after birth; or who provides emotional and practical support during the postpartum period.
Studies have shown that when doulas attend birth, labors are shorter with fewer complications, babies are healthier and they breastfeed more easily.

The definition is straight from the DONA website, so click away if you're interested in ~~investigating childbirth in the common sensical manner in which it was intended~~ learning more. If you're ~~knocked up~~ with child yourself and in the greater Salt Lake City area shoot me an email.

WARNING: I will crack jokes during your labor. I am as sarcastic in real life as I am in this blog. I don't swear as much in real life, because I know it's not what everyone is buying. If you call me to come to your house at 3 a.m. I will not put on make-up before I get to you. Sorry.

However, if I'm not your brand of girl, I would be happy to refer you to one of my more mellow classmates. I will only cry a little, I promise.

Anyway...

So...I took this workshop and now I am officially a trained Doula. In order to get my certification I have to read a bunch of books, attend 3 labors, and do some other stuff that you might not care about.

My point is...I am growing up. Finally doing what I was meant to do, in an official capacity anyway. I've attended a bunch of births already and have known for way too long that this is what I needed to be pursuing, but until now I didn't have the balls to do it. Seriously.

I've been afraid of returning to school.

I've been afraid of failing.

And I finally said it out loud.

How To Write A Novel--Or Shit Fiction

2010-01-26T01:17:00.004-07:00

Having spent much of the last month reading...I am depleted.

I am the type of person who will watch a terrible movie to the end, because I just can't stand not knowing what happens. I will also read a horrible book to the end for the same reason.

I never read the last page...or chapter, it's just not the way I'm wired. I will never get the time back that I spent watching Napoleon Dynamite, it's my lot.

I can usually predict the next lines in movies and television shows, I can see a foreshadow from a mile away, and last week I put down a book because it was so obnoxious I couldn't read another word. It took 52 pages for me to lose it. I thought that if I read the word dojo italicized one more time I was going to shoot myself. Twice.

Based on my extensive reading history I have ~~created~~ discovered the recipe for writing a best selling ~~yawn~~ mystery novel.

Boy.
Girl.
Main character(s) must be deeply troubled by past events. Events such as child abuse, rape, incest, murder, and infidelity are most common. Events must never reflect poorly on main characters inner goodness.
One of the main characters family has to have been decimated by a tragic accident, preferably a car crash. Bonus points for fiery crashes in which the family perished after much suffering.
Boy or girl must be in law enforcement.
Boy or girls law enforcement partner should be some defunct egocentric idiot.
Character not in law enforcement should have no real job in which they must account for their time. Reporters are a good career choice, because reporters always have free reign and can do whatever the hell they want, when they want.
Boy and girl should come together in some odd crime related way. There must be an instant attraction between the two, with extensive wordy descriptions on how hot each of them are.
Boy and girl, despite finding each other completely irresistible, must be utterly repelled by the sight of one another. Repulsion factor may also be one sided. You choose.
Main character must be plagued by nightmares, visions, ghosts, or junk mail...which may or may not be related to past events. It won't matter, because more than likely your reader isn't paying attention. Ghosts or apparitions must also be vague. If they are capable of speech, they cannot do more than utter haunted murmurs. At no point should they do anything helpful like say "Hey. Jimbo killed me. The weapon is _____, and that lowlife is screwing your sister."
One of the main characters should have a dog or cat that they are inordinately attached to. Golden Retrievers are best.
At some point, girl must become a damsel in distress. There are strict rules about such scenarios. Although girl may have an arsenal of weapons, be trained in kung fu, and have superpowers...she must inevitably find herself in a situation where she has no choice but to call in help from boy. I mean, I don't know about you, but I would sooner call someone I can't stand than 911. Not to mention, I have the someone I can't stand's phone number on speed dial, and who has the time to look up the number for 911?? By default, if you're a closet feminist, you may create a scenario in which boy coincidentally happens upon girl during a moment of distress. Like maybe he was hitting her up for a cup of sugar.
The moment of distress should include girl being scantily clad, either because she just got out of the shower, woke up, or because she is a nudist. It won't matter. Make sure to include adequate description of her silhouette under whatever she happened to throw on before ~~the knight in shining armor who repulses her~~ boy shows up. Bonus points for using the words rump and/or nipple.
No matter what the scenario, girl must run crying into boys open arms. Nothing realistic like "WTF are you doing here?" or "Get off my porch before I shoot you" should be uttered.
Unless you are writing ~~housewife porn~~ for Harlequin, girl must never say anything to the effect of "How did you know that I needed you? I was just having a psychic vision while soaping myself up in the shower!?" Because, come on, who's going to believe that shit?
After the initial Thank God you're here moment, there must be mounting physical attraction. Pulses must race, hands must wander, and it has to end with them ending up in fiery lovemaking that blows all previous lovemaking to hell and leaves them both breathless and unconscious in each others arms. Everyone knows that time stops for sex....that's why you never ever got caught half naked by your dates parents while you were making out in the basement.
The next morning must be met with regret and reanimated repulsion. Don't forget that your girl must have coffee and a fully stocked fridge. Morning after regret is no excuse to forget your manners.
Never mention birth control. Or STDs.
Subsequent interactions between boy and girl must be the result of crime related inquiries, and must be met with annoyance by one or both parties.
Law enforcement character must be the only competent officer in the region. Bonus points if they're a prodigy and moved up the ranks in record time. Preferably written as such, that the only reason they didn't fight crime sooner is because they didn't have their driver's license. Like Doogie Howser, Crime Fighting Mystery Solving Prodigy...but heterosexual.
Use phrases like "pour himself into a bottle" repetitiously.
Everyone jogs to their car.
Add intrigue to your novel by including a mysterious secret sibling or parent. Bonus points if they're a twin.
Allude to identifying the killer by distinguishing traits like "piercing blue eyes" and give this trait to numerous characters. Make it obvious, because you're reader is stupid and will never see it as being such.
Climax must be attained by girl getting into stupid illogical scenario with killer(s), and being rescued by boy. Despite the fact that girl is a decorated war veteran and boy is a studious law professor or plumber. Bonus points if girl is bruised, bleeding, and half naked.
Serial killer must die painfully at the end.
Unless you are Nicolas Sparks or Stephen King, you are not allowed to kill off boy or girl.
Second to the last chapter must include reunion scene (with or without coinciding rescue serial killer death scene) where boy and girl realize that they can't live without each other and they were just being silly and/or stupid to have denied it all this time. All this time being a week or two. Besides, what are the chances you're going to find a hot piece of ass like that again??
Last chapter should be a redundant setting that puts a bow on how happy boy and girl are going to be forever and ever and ever. Or at least until you write the sequel and they run into the next serial killer. Because when you're the only competent cop/detective/plumber/FBI Agent in the area, you run into the same shit a lot.

At this time I would like to mention that if you are going to write numerous books containing the same characters, this would be considered a Series. The covers of your books should include things like "Book Twelve of the Defunct Heart Series". It pisses me off when I get a book and realize that there were three, four, or ten prior to it and I have no idea what the hell is going on due to past events. Many books can stand on their own, but most should be read in order.

Just saying.

Also, should you write your novel based upon my recipe, I would appreciate a small dedication thanking me for all the support and inspiration I gave you during the grueling writing process. You can also name a character after me, but please include lengthy descriptions as to my beauty and allure, and to how smart I am.

As always, I appreciate all your support in my blog writing endeavors. You inspire me everyday, and without you I would not be where I am right now...in my living room...at 1:15 a.m. blah, blah, blah. Thank you.

Not Everyone's An Addict

2010-01-18T15:11:00.000-07:00

A while back I wrote several posts (here, and here, and here) regarding everything from never ending complaining people, "sick" people that complain constantly, and how more than likely I was not talking about you.

This morning I came across this from Aunt Becky, and for some reason it pissed me off. Aunt Becky didn't piss me off, the story she related pissed me off.

One thing I love about Aunt Becky is the fact that she not only gets up every morning and pulls her boots on in order to wade through the shit that life has handed her from time to time, but also because she is able to turn the entire thing around and laugh about it. And then she writes about it for the enjoyment of us psychos that need that laugh sometimes in order to keep from crying.

Life is hard. Life hurts. Life throws lemons at us and leaves us with no sugar and no pitcher to make some lemonade. By paying attention to other peoples struggles, I have been able to keep a firm grasp on the reality of my own.

But you know what?

I get pissed when I have a runny nose and a cough and I get carded for NyQuil. It irritates the hell out of me that Actifed used to work like a dream for my allergies (even better than any of the million prescription allergy meds) and now it doesn't work worth shit because they took the Pseudoephedrine out of it.

I'm pissed because I have had some sort of inversion related allergy cold plague Mono H1N1 symptomatic bullshit going on for 3 weeks and I refuse to go to the doctor because unless you have a fever, which I never get, they don't treat you as if you have more than a cold.

I'm pissed because I get ovarian cysts every couple of months, that hurt like a motherfucker, and rather than give me Percocet to treat the pain that I only suffer from a few days every couple of months, they would rather put me on birth control pills to prevent them. Maybe that makes sense to some of you, but taking a pill every single day, that has unhappy hormonal side effects, doesn't make sense to me when I could take a pain pill a few days every other month. Especially when I am spayed, and would love to have another kid. That's a donkey punch to the gut to swallow that stupid birth control pill everyday. So I don't. I suffer through the cysts.

I take Wellbutrin to keep me somewhat sane. I also take Ambien CR, because I have a sleep disorder. Last week I called in refills for both meds, because my last pills would have been taken over the weekend. When I went to pick them both up my Ambien refill was refused because it was "too soon."

Too soon?? We're talking days folks. Not weeks. I get 30 in a bottle, there was 31 days in December.

This was a prescription that I had refills for. It wasn't like I was waiting for approval from my doctors office, this was all with the pharmacy. I felt like a complete drug addict. I wanted to avoid an additional trip to the pharmacy, and I wanted to avoid running out over the weekend. Logistics people...that's all.

My hubby ended up picking up my Ambien for me. Because I was busy that day, which was one of the reasons I called it in when I did in the first place.

Guess what? The date on the bottle, the date that the refill was actually filled...was the exact same day that my Wellbutrin was filled. So that means that those Nazi Pharm fuckers looked me in the face and told me that they "could not fill it" because it was too soon. It's a sleeping pill, not fucking crack.

My big question is...Why is it that two people that I am related to can be in narcotic comas 24/7, filled to the gills with Xanax, Lortab, Morphine, and who knows what else, but Aunt Becky can't get Lortab for a migraine? Why is it that the people who are abusing the system get away with it, but us law abiding folks can't get what we need?

Is it because we don't doctor shop? Are we not aggressive enough to tell our doctors what we want and expect to get it? My doctor prescribed mega doses of Tylenol and Naproxen for my arthritis pain, which is fine by me, I just didn't want to fry my organs if there was a reasonable alternative.

Why is it when one of my comatose family members overdosed on Morphine and almost died, I was the only one who suggested rehab? Evidently, I'm the only one who thinks that dying of a Morphine overdose is the exact same thing as dying with a needle sticking out of your arm. You abused a drug and it killed you...it's the same thing.

Not to mention, anyone who has suffered ailments that require more than one prescription knows that there are often side effects that require the use of another prescription to combat the side effects of the original prescription. Yeah, try to figure that one out. You get to the point where you're taking ten different drugs and you feel worse than the original problem was to begin with.

When I had migraines, it was a guessing game as to what would work the best. I found out really fast that an Imitrex shot was the equivalent of setting myself on fire. Two other medications that I was placed on didn't play well together, and so I found myself unconscious in really odd places. I was so grateful that the migraines went away altogether a few years after I had my daughter. I still have chronic headaches, but that is nothing compared to a migraine. I also know that many doctors have unrealistic ideas about how long migraines last. I had a doctor tell me that the exact same headache I had had for eleven days couldn't be a migraine, because migraines don't last that long.

Yeah? Well, then what the hell is wrong with my head? Because I have had the same exact pain for the last eleven days and you told me it was a migraine, which now you say is impossible?

I understand that chronic pain is not visible. Unless your pain is related to an obvious injury or illness, the doctor has to take your word for it. My issue is with the fact that when someone is medicated heavily for years on end, obviously the course of treatment is flawed.

However, when someone seeks periodic pain medication for things that flair up occasionally, it only takes common sense to assess whether the patient is treating the ailment, or is an addict. A standing prescription for a reasonable amount of medication is justified. I am not dismissing the fact that true addicts will see numerous doctors in order to get what they want, I'm just saying that there has got to be a better way to control the issue without leaving people in distress.

I have to believe that there are more law abiding people than addicts out there.

Big Love Was Not Filmed On Location In Utah

2010-01-17T20:24:00.001-07:00

I think that my brain just exploded. Or maybe imploded. I'm not sure which description would be better suited to my current fundamental paradoxical confusion.

I'm a curious girl by nature. Not in the what would happen if I put the hamster in the microwave? sort of way, but more of a what the hell are all these people thinking and what is up with that chicks hat and why is my little toe itching? sort of way.

I also wonder why we have hair on our sphincters. Go visual on that...I dare ya.

Anyway...

Last January, I had seen, heard, and been exposed to enough blurbage about HBO's Big Love that I decided to check it out. The show was minutes away from beginning it's third season and so I fought hell and high water to find the previous seasons...and by hell and high water I mean I downloaded it from iTunes at the cost of my children's college education. If there's anything I'm big love about, it's iTunes. I also cry and fuss and whine and genuinely act like a toddler when it comes to getting cable, which would only be an additional five bucks to my already overpriced internet cable bill. But, that five bucks wouldn't even give me HBO. So fuck it already and give me a damned cookie to shut me up.

I downloaded the first season of the Love and watched it in it's entirety. At the expense of grocery shopping, feeding the ~~pets~~ family, and personal grooming I'm sure. Partway through watching the first season I'm sure I downloaded the second season and watched that as well. Until the last episode...I never watch the last episode until I have a follow-up episode available. Those cliffhangers man...they keep me awake at night.

If you were unable to decide my freakiness factor before now...well, there's your confirmation.

You're welcome.

I haven't been watching anything lately, because I've been attending iA (iTunes Anonymous)...which is a complete and utter lie. I haven't been watching anything because frankly there is nothing worth watching. Sure, sure, they throw me a Bones every now and then, but other than that I have been screwed. Not to mention that, for the last few weeks all I have been subjected to in my house is jackhammers, concrete saws, and a fine layer of dust that I can blame my future cancer on. I have become so accustomed to having earplugs in that I think I'm losing my hearing when I leave the house and can't hear a word anyone says to me.

Tangent...

Holy shit get to the point!

I should explain my fascination with Big Love.

I am from Utah. I live in Utah. Big Love is a show based in Utah. Which is complete and total crap, because the show is filmed on a movie set in some lovely location in California, and they send some poor schmuck here to film snippets to give us Utah folks a frame or two to go "I know where the hell that is!". Not real.

The premise of the show is based on a character and his three wives and their children, and the fact that they live in three side-by-side houses and believe that they are fooling anyone.

Dream on.

I have several complaints about this simple premise:
--No one in any Mormon based neighborhood can mind their own business long enough, not to have figured that shit out in about 2 seconds. I know that ~~housewives~~ women in general tend to be gossipy by nature, but come on!? Anyone with 2 eyes and 3 brain cells would be slightly suspicious about three families moving in next door to each other at exactly the same time...not to mention, when one of them is wearing a neon flashing sign on her noggin that screams "POLYGAMIST!"
--Their kids go to school. There are no polygamist secrets in schools, especially grade school. I know. I attended the Utah idea of education from grade school to high school. Kids talk.
--The show is situationally based in Utah. I realize logistics and the magic of movie and television production is appearance, but seriously. Utah has four seasons, and often ALL four of those seasons will present themselves in the same damn week. If you, as a producer are going to produce a show based in Utah, and reference, oh, say, Christmas, DO NOT SHOW A SCENE IN WHICH THERE IS GREEN GRASS, A CLEAN POOL, AND DRY GROUND. On that note, these characters never wear coats. And I believe that one of them was planting grass before Easter. Not happening.
--My final complaint would actually make the entire show somewhat redundant. Should I, with my 2 eyes and 3 brain cells, figure out that my three neighbors were part of a polygamist lifestyle...well, I hate to say this, and it might come as a complete and total surprise to everyone, but...

I WOULDN'T GIVE A SHIT.

Seriously, not in the least. No authorities would be called. No lawsuits would be filed. No eggs would be thrown at houses. I wouldn't even call the Better Business Bureau and complain that my local home improvement store owner/operator was insane enough to not only have three wives, but three houses to go along with them as well. I wouldn't contact the homeowners association. I wouldn't even call the newspaper.

I would not care. As a matter of fact, I would probably go out of my way to befriend them, just so that I could ask them a million questions about their lifestyle. I would also be willing to sit on their front porch with a shotgun for when those blasted Juniper Creek in-laws show up. Cause I am a giver that way.

Anyway, what started this whole ~~brain fart~~ thought process was the fact that I was surfing the net looking for info on the third season of Big Love and I stumbled upon this. Yes, one of the characters has a blog. Is this common? Have I been missing out on checking out the thoughts of my favorite fictitious people? Can fictitious people have thoughts? If just the mere fact that a fictitious character has a working blog, I was further thrown into orbit by the comments that were left in regards to said fictitious polygamist blogger.

I have missed the boat.

Clearly.

*Just to be perfectly clear here. I don't care about lifestyles practiced by consenting adults. I DO have HUGE issues with marrying off tween girls to pervy old men. That is not something practiced by all polygamists...just the ones we get to see in the papers. For obvious reasons.

I Think Your Teapot's Sexy

2010-01-05T17:05:00.001-07:00

December 26th I woke up with concrete in my sinuses.

Merry Fucking Day After Christmas to me.

Based solely on the activities occurring in my house on the days preceding Christmas, I should not have been surprised to find concrete gumming up my nasal cavities. Even if I should have registered shock or dismay, I was too damn tired to do so.

Christmas night after all the wrappings had been torn, all the boxes had been opened, and all the crack calories had been calculated, only McKinley and I remained awake. I was blogging, and McKinley was becoming a ~~homicidal maniac~~ first rate player on one of his newly acquired games. The night was still, and Santa was wasted.

Or something like that.

McKinley mentioned that he had a headache, in his nonchalant manner, the same manner that he approaches everything from ingrown toenails to Publisher's Clearing House Prize Patrol. Upon ~~interrogation reserved for terrorists~~ further questioning, I came to the brilliant conclusion that McKinley was suffering from a sinus headache. Harvard should be mailing me my medical degree any day now. After sedating my poor baby, which included handing him 2 NyQuil and a glass of water, he went to bed.

I stayed up until all hours of the night killing copious amounts of time on the computer. I then went to bed, only to wake up with the plague.

Or Mono.

And if you fucking say swine flu or H1N1 I will kill you, and everyone you have ever known. Because I have heard more than enough of that shit, and I am beginning to suffer the same PTSD that I suffered in the wake of Y2K. Enough.already.

I was reminded via Facebook, which I believe is the love child of the Bible and Myspace, that I should use a Neti-Pot. Thank You Naomi. I sent hubby in search of one, in the wee hours of one of the weekend nights that have been clouded over by the substantial use of OTC medication. I will neither confirm, nor deny, that alcohol may have been involved as well.

Have you ever used one of these things? These Neti-Pots?

Wow.

They look like tiny teapots, the variety of which you might find in cute little tea sets for small people, and by small people, I mean children. I'm not here to judge, should you be a fully grown person and choose to use kiddie type tea sets...whatever.

However, the one that hubby picked up for me had one striking difference from the kiddie teapots that I am normally accustomed to...

the spout looks like a small penis.

Had I not been hopped up on cold meds, I think that I may have sent hubby back to the store with instructions to "choose any one that doesn't look phallic in any way, shape, or form." You see, my awesome hubby called me from Walgreens to ask me which one I wanted...? Like I know? I opted over the phone, sight unseen, for the one that included the solution packets, so that I would not have to force my 2 alert brain cells, to work together to mix up more than water and a packet mix. It was just too overwhelming.

So my nose had sex with a little blue plastic teapot last week.

Which was rather underwhelming if you ask me.

However, the little teapot that could, and did...cleared up my sinuses. *cue nasty porno music*

If I kept my eyes closed, it felt like I was trying to drown myself. In the ocean. It worked great! I highly recommend teapot nose sex.

After the teapot, I was just bothered by exhaustion and achiness. 12-16 hours a day has not been nearly enough sleep. I was in bed, out cold by 9:05 on New Years Eve. Lame...and further substantiating proof, that I am obviously, not well.

Each and every day since, I have gone to bed with the excitement that is reserved for birthdays mornings, the arrival of the Easter Bunny, and a well paying Tooth Fairy. Only to wake up with no cake, no candy, no cash...and the distinct feeling that I got hungover and crazy with the grim reaper...and now that bastard is not returning my phone calls. Dick.

The Monday morning following Christmas, my little brother Zac started working in our basement, digging it out bucket by bucket. Ear plugs (little spongy ones) are amazing at drowning out jackhammer noises, the sound of Slipknot, and Zac's indescribable laugh. In just a week, that 20 year old has dug out 5 tons of dirt. I could not be happier.

Unless of course, I got better. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with a little teapot.

Trumped By Santa, A Diamond Bracelet, Christmas Crack, and I Can't Hear You Because My Headphones Rock.

2009-12-26T02:52:00.003-07:00

Last year my wonderful husband gave me some earbud headphones. For years, I used over the head headphones to blast my tunes so that I could run without constantly praying for death.

Not sure what it is about Nine Inch Nails that makes me want to continue living.

The earbuds that I found innocently residing in my stocking last year were not received with much enthusiasm on my part. Kev had been trying to convert me to the religion of the earbud for ~~decades~~ years, but I was resistant. You see, my dear reader, I have freakishly small ear canals. To go along with my freakishly attractive ears...seriously, my ears are perfect. When I pull my hair back...angels sing.

Enough about my ears.

Just kidding.

Earbuds make me want to scratch my ears out. Which is impossible. Don't believe me? Try it.

I'll wait...

Convinced?

Moving on...

I bought earbuds...a couple of times. Mainly because my sucky over the head headphones were sucky, they didn't ever sit right and they got in the way of my ~~sweat~~ hair. I would make it maybe two minutes into a run before ripping the ~~blood sucking ticks~~ earbuds out and replacing them with my sucky headphones.

Needless to say I gave Kev a *look* when I discovered what was waiting in my stocking last year. I'm sure the *look* included some *eye rolling* and some *head shaking* as well. I'm sure words like "Why in the hell...?" were uttered also.

Kev just grinned.

Because he's like that.

And damn him if I don't know he's right when he does.

You tell him that I said that he was ever right and I will break your garden gnomes.

I was convinced by Kev's ~~stupid ass grin~~ logic to try the earbuds. As a matter of fact, I got to use them on the same run that I got to use my new running shoes that he was so nice to get me for Christmas as well. The running shoes that I adore, but hate to buy, because I get shit each and every fucking time from the guys at the running store because I want a men's shoe. They try to persuade me to buy cute girly shoes in colors like pink and aqua...and if y'all know one damn thing about me...

it is that I do not like pink or aqua.

I made it through my entire run with the earbuds. I was delighted by the assorted sizes of silicone gels that came with my new headphones, especially because one size appeared small enough that I could use them as the backs of earrings. They were the perfect size. They also blocked out background noise, so my run would not be interrupted by the bloodshed that seems to take place the second I get on the treadmill. The quality and sound of the headphones were amazing...and I'm starting to sound like a B-list actress on an infomercial.

I believe that there was much gloating (on Kevs part) and much ass kissing (on my part) after the acceptance of the earbuds.

Yes honey you were right *rolls eyes*...yes honey, you're a genius *rolls eyes*...yes honey you're so wise *Shit! My eyes are stuck in the back of my head*

For months after my acceptance of the religion of the earbud my son McKinley would try to poach my faith. Constantly telling me that his headphones were not good enough, that he left them at his dad's, or that he just wanted to "try" mine out.

Get your own religion kid.

Finally, after six months, I thought McKinley had suffered enough and I let him use my ~~car payment~~ headphones. We were en route to the lake and I thought that if I listened to McKinley and Ettienne argue for one more minute I was going to ~~push them out of the car~~ scream. Five minutes after we got to our campsite McKinley had dropped his iPod, breaking my headphones in the process. He didn't inform me of this fact until later that night while I had a flaming marshmallow on a stick (not one of your brighter moments McKinley). The iPod escaped any and all serious damage.

I hung up my running shoes ~~immediately~~ a short time later while mourning the loss of my earbuds. Any further mention of the earbuds, or tears in my eyes, brought an exacerbated sigh and an "I didn't mean to break them!" from McKinley.

I eventually got over the entire incident, but not enough to quit washing McKinleys sheets with itching powder.

Christmas this year brought me a new set of ~~expensive ass~~ earbuds from my repentant son, and the husband who was willing to ~~bend over~~ buy them on his behalf. Many points were awarded to son and husband today.

Ettienne gave me a diamond bracelet...which she wasn't sure I would like.

Hello?!? Diamonds? What's not to like? I'd listen to those stupid Shane Company commercials on repeat for five ~~years~~ ~~days~~ hours in exchange for diamonds...and I freaking hate the Shane Company commercials!

Oh, and I love bracelets. I will wear them night and day until they are ripped from my wrist....which is usually what happens. With the amount of jewelry I like to wear you'd think I was Zsa Zsa Gabor.

Did I mention that Kev and I agreed not to exchange gifts this year? Yeah, we did...and Kev should have been a lawyer because I have yet to meet a situation that he couldn't loophole his way out of.

Santa (how did I not see that shit coming??) brought me a Leopard print Snuggie.

A Snuggie? Are you kidding me? It sounds like a brand of diapers. And Leopard print? Am I a stripper? The look on my face prompted Kev to comment that I am always on the couch in front of my computer in the middle of the night wrapped in a blanket.

It is 2:28 a.m. and I am properly ensconced in my Leopard print Snuggie. I can hear Kev snickering in his sleep.

Should you care to know...I prefer my crow served cold.

Now for the kicker...

I know...you thought that was it for the crazy Christmas shit...but no...I have more!

Remember this? You should, it was less than two weeks ago. Jeez.

I got 24 packages of those little bitches for Christmas from Santa. That is my husbands ~~subtle~~ sense of humor screaming from the roof tops.

There is approximately 30 pieces per package.

30 x 24 = 720 (pieces per bag x packages)

That means that I can have 1.97 pieces per day until next Christmas before running out. If I am generous, and assume that retailers will release Christmas stuff only two months early, instead of...say...tomorrow, then I can eat 2.36 pieces of ~~evil~~ candy until I run out.

Considering the fact that I don't crave, nor eat candy every single day of the month, I can assume that I will only require ~~peppermint crack~~ candy at my disposal for approximately 10 days a month*.

10 x 10 = 100 (days per PMS cycle requiring crack x months until crack supply returns)

If you take the amount of pieces of candy (720) and divide by the days requiring candy (100) you will get 7.2 pieces per day, per cycle.

I can do that...right?

I am so screwed...ten bucks says they're all gone by Martin Luther King Day and my ass is signed up for gastric bypass...or triple bypass.

*Cash and condolences for my family in regards to the fact that they are subjected to 10 days of my PMS per month may be sent to the following address:
Brewer/Butler/Griffith
104 Tampax Way
Quit Crying, Ut. 84095

A Wild Hair, Concrete Dust, A Little Blind Black Dog, Snow, and Attempted Murder. You Wish Your Weekend Was As Cool As Mine.

2009-12-13T14:34:00.002-07:00

Thursday afternoon my wonderful sane husband got a wild hair.

His wild hair involved a jackhammer.

In case you have not been following along, or read my profile, we are remodeling our ~~200~~ 80+ year old house. It's a project that we have been working on for the last 6 years. During the last 6 years, my husband has spent 4 of them "living" in another state. Can you see where I'm going with this?

It's been slow.

We also don't finance or use credit cards. It all comes out of the old wallet. Believe me, I would love to take out a $50,000 loan to drop into the house...but the idea of paying that off for the next 15-30 years makes me queasy. I will still have my memory intact when I pay this bitch off.

In the meantime...

McKinley was insane enough to want to spend the weekend here. It's Jer's weekend, but sometimes ~~mom wins~~ a kid just wants to spend some time ~~not being grounded~~ with his mom. McKinley was ~~delivered into our clutches~~ dropped off by his dad Friday night, and because of that, Jer is an accessory to child abuse. If you consider using a jackhammer and removing concrete, child abuse.

Once upon a time, there was a coal heated furnace in our house. Hence, there is an old coal room, chute and all. It's at an odd angle in the basement, and part of it resides under the stairs. The entire room is concrete. When the house was retrofitted for a washer and dryer, they put the washer on the outside of the coal room wall. Then, they positioned the dryer outlet on the doorway to the coal room...so the dryer had to sit partway in front (odd angle) of the door to the coal room. I should have taken a photo for you. Hindsight kids...hindsight.

Last December when we started working on the kitchen, we moved part of the stairs. Took down two walls, one of which would enable us to eventually widen the stairs to the basement. This left a gap leading to the coal room, which was reconfigured years ago so we could turn it into a makeshift laundry room (and move the washer and dryer side by side, against the wall...the way God intended). If you were to walk in my back door, you would look directly into my laundry room, and at the top of a concrete wall that was made obsolete when we switched the stairs around.

At the top of the stairs there is a dog door. If you have a dog, you know that no matter how often you bathe, brush, or shave a dog...they still shed. Well, I have a longish haired black dog, a Golden Retriever, and a black and white German Shorthair. We have the gamut of fluff covered. Well, in the day to day trials of the dogs, a good percentage of excess fur floats on down to my laundry room. On a weekly basis, I could easily reanimate a litter of puppies from the fur I clean up down there. Clean laundry must be whisked away immediately in order to prevent it from becoming fur covered.

Then, a month ago. I took my little blind black dog Shanti out to do her business. For the most part she is really cautious, and on stairs she is doubly so. Usually she walks down the 3 stairs off the kitchen, out the back door, and when she comes back inside she does the reverse. I'm always with her, and she always hugs the wall. The gap to the basement is off to the other side, and only about 8 in. wide. However, the stairs going to the basement is missing an entire foot off to the side, which is essentially just a stairway missing a railing. Shanti doesn't ever go into the basement, and when I am downstairs changing laundry she will often sit on the edge and "look" at me. She knows there's a drop, and she avoids it.

Anyway...a month ago, I was in a bit of a hurry, so I scooped Shanti up and carried her into the house. I set her down on the landing in order to turn around and shut the door, I don't know if she was disoriented or what, but she jumped (like she was trying to catch the step?) right into the basement. It was lightning quick too, I set her down and she jumped. I about shit myself! Fortunately, I'm a slacker. I had emptied the camp trailer and so I had a laundry basket full of beach towels...which she landed in. Shanti had a serious "WTF??" expression as she "looked" around trying to get her bearings.

That's what instigated the hair...that brought on the jackhammer.

So all day yesterday, Kev and McKinley jackhammered the concrete walls in the basement.

I did not help.

They rigged something that would hold up the jackhammer in order to work on the walls. They shoveled the small pieces in to buckets and carried them up the stairs and out to the truck. They carried the big pieces by hand.

I stayed with the nervous dogs in the living room...reading blogs, playing video games, and shopping online.

After they left to get something for the compressor (thing didn't want to run in 0 degree weather), I almost died of carbon monoxide poisoning. That was fun. If you haven't ever had a headache from carbon monoxide...well, then you should ~~avoid it at all costs~~ try it. I'm just glad I didn't go lay down like I wanted to.

Fortunately, while doing the removal of walls and stairs last year, I had the foresight to buy a combination smoke/carbon monoxide detector. I also had the tenacity to put batteries in it. And then I lost interest and it was abandoned on a bookshelf, where it could be covered up with papers. The reason I bought the detector was because we were basically opening up the basement to the entire house. The furnace is in the basement, and has never been enclosed by anything. The detector was merely a precaution...because I'm a slutty girl scout who, while having questionable qualities for a girl scout, also lives by "safety first" and uses a condom.

There is a makeshift door in between the living room and the kitchen. It's there so that we can close off the living room and limit the amount of ~~noise~~ dust. I was happily planted on the couch when I was given a heart attack by a blaring noise, from an unidentified object. It spoke too!! I finally located the object and realized it was rambling on and on about carbon monoxide danger and shit. Which, along with the gummified concrete dust in my lungs, explained the headache I had. What it didn't explain was how I got the headache locked up in the living room when the alarm went off in the kitchen. I threw the dogs outside, opened all the windows, and turned on all the ceiling fans.

Did I mention this morning we had 8 inches of snow??

It's been chilly. So, I open the windows and then I called my husband to warn him that ~~I'm calling a lawyer because he tried to kill me~~ he best pick up the industrial fan from the storage unit if he wants to live out the day. Kev was perplexed because the jackhammer shouldn't be giving off any carbon monoxide because it uses a compressor blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Sometimes I think he says some of that stuff because he thinks I'm a paranoid nag. The only thing we could figure out, is that ~~I was poisoned~~ it happened while they had spent 30 minutes trying to back up the vehicle to the trailer, in the snow...over my lawn!!!...which is right outside one of the windows, and the back door was probably open...and if it would have killed me it would have totally looked like an accident. An "accident" justifiable because of my use of run on sentences. I'm sure no jury of my grammar/spelling* Nazi peers would convict him...they may even give him a medal.

Kev and McKinley got up this morning and went back to work. I, was up at 5:00 a.m. because my dog thinks she is an infant and ever since it started snowing she needs to go to the bathroom at the ass crack of dawn. I opened the back door to be greeted by...

what the hell??

Snow. Lots of white powdery Welcome-to-Uath-get-your-boots-and-skis-cause-we-got-some-hella-awesome-snow snow.

Have I ever mentioned I don't ski? Or snowboard?

I trudge through the fluffy cold weather bastardness to let the dog into the back yard...in my slippers. Due to her new nightly routine, I have also left the dog run gate open, so she can use the dog door to come back inside. Then I don't have to ~~freeze my ass off~~ watch her find 15 "perfect" spots to pee. We put a dog run in so that the dogs would not rip my gorgeous flowerbeds apart...a moot point now...you know, with the snow and all?

At 7:30, I go back to bed, which was only 2 1/2 hours after I got up. I had to get on FB to change my status, so every one of my friends could know what a loser I am, that I have to get up to watch a dog pee at 5:00 a.m. And that there's snow. Lot's of it. And then, since I'm already on the computer I might as well check to see if there are any new blog posts I can read...because I know people are up all damn night writing posts on the off chance that I might be up early and want something to do. And then I had to see what Britney Spears fashion faux pas was...because we all know she's never had one of those before!

Why wasn't I diagnosed with ADHD until this year?

squirrel**

So, no...I haven't helped in the basement at all in the last two days.

You know why?

Because I, me, moi, yours fucking truly am the one that is going to be cleaning up the dust for the next decade. And I will be doing it with the carbon monoxide detector hanging from my neck.

*Kev is one of the smartest people I know...but he had to call me one time from California to spell the word administration. Which was his password at the time.
**It's from the movie Up...a kids movie, but it's hilarious.

PSA

2009-12-12T18:01:00.002-07:00

DO NOT BUY THESE

You will dream about them.

They are in the same category as Cocaine.

There is no support group.

And after Christmas they will be all gone.

And you will be screwed.

When Adoption's Not An Option

2009-12-09T00:28:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, I have two great kids. Awesome kids. Smart, beautiful, funny, amazing kids.

So...this may shock you, but they are not, in fact, perfect. I know, I know, you thought that the sun rose and set on their lily white asses...but it doesn't.

Right now I am fit to be tied with my son McKinley...my tall, loving, adorable, funny son.

I am beginning to see why tigers sometimes eat their young.

McKinley has lived with his father since last year. While his father and I have an amazing post-marriage friendship...there is always a sense of competitiveness with parenting. Of course I always find myself feeling the most inadequate of the two of us. Mainly because I stay at home, and he goes off and fights wars and went to nursing school. Obviously, I am the loser here and Jeremy is laughing himself to sleep at night when he considers that Kev is saddled with me, and he was able to make it out alive.

Nevertheless...

Almost two years ago Jeremy mentioned his desire to have the kids live with him. I understand his desire... but my brain was saying "Are you fucking kidding me? Who the hell does he think he is?" He's their father. It's OK. I was ~~bitching about this~~ relaying this information to my father when he says "Do you not realize how old the kids are getting to be? Let them go..." while gesturing some impossible to describe gesture. (Make one up)

His logic was appealing.

However, I didn't ~~send them packing~~ cave. I did what any good unbiased mother does and told them that the decision was theirs, while secretly screaming "Pick Me! Pick Me!" Ettienne stayed with me and her brother ~~betrayed the woman who gave him life~~ moved in with his father over the following summer.

I would ~~rather poke my eye out~~ love to tell you that things have improved with McKinley...that moving in with his father has improved his attitude, raised his grades, and made him more socially outgoing. I would ~~rather eat glass~~ love to tell you that his father succeeded where I failed. But alas, no. McKinley is still the same free wheeling kid that he has always been. The fact that school actually counts now escapes him. The fact that he is expected to respect adults and their authority is beyond him. The fact that there are consequences for his actions do not persuade him to do the right thing.

I admit that I am a pretty laid back parent. I do not check their grades online ~~ever~~ daily. I do not feel inclined to annoy, badger, bait, berate, bug, carp at, dog, eat, fuss, give a hard time, goad, harry, heckle, hector, hound, importune, irk, irritate, needle, nudge, pester, pick at, plague, prod, provoke, ride, scold, upbraid, urge, vex, or work on* either one of my kids in order to get them to do homework or chores. I didn't need anyone to harass me when I was younger, and so ~~maybe~~ I don't know how it's done. I know full well how to crawl up and hang on a cross to prove what a martyr I am...but the goading was not a part of daily life for me growing up. (Sorry Mom, but you and Mum should teach classes on how to guilt your children--I mean shouldn't you be Catholic or Jewish or something?)

Anyway...

I love you Mom.

I am losing my mind. How do I get a teenager to care? I mean, I can get the kid to volunteer entire Saturdays helping people out, but getting him to do math is like ~~doing brain surgery on a flea~~ pulling teeth...from a pissed off crocodile. Oh and get this...he is a frickin math whiz. Jer had him tested several years back, and he tested on an 11th grade math level. He is currently in the 10th grade. There is no excuse for him failing anything, I would be willing to give him some leeway if I thought he wasn't smart enough. But this kid should be able to pass his classes, if only because he has a pulse.

I don't think grounding works, mainly because it's as much a punishment for me as it is for him. Beating him is out of the question, not only because he's so damn likable, but I just don't have it in me. Oh yeah, it's a crime too. How do you punish a kid that will still give you a hug and kiss goodbye outside the car when you drop them off at high school? I know it sounds like I'm friends with my kids, and in a way I am, and I am not going to apologize for the fact that my kids will talk to me. And that they love me...if only in that sad-eyed-dog-at-the-pound sort of way.

The clock has struck midnight. It is officially McKinley's 16th birthday. The only thing that keeps me from choking him sometimes is the fact that I still remember being his age, and there is not a sum of money or a promise of riches that I can fathom that could get me to go back to his age. Hell no. I also know that life is not going to get any easier for him if he doesn't straighten up. It would be nice if I could shake the proverbial snowglobe and show him his future if he continues to be a pill.

Then he opens his mouth and says something that makes me laugh so hard I get sick. I forget how much I miss the little yellow haired boy and appreciate the young adult he is becoming. I remember that we have to learn our own lessons, and sometimes it's the hard way. That no matter how hard you try to get the horse to drink, you can't force them to, and it has to be enough to know that you showed them to water.

It also means that I can't and won't cancel his birthday or Christmas. That I am still going to give him and his sister everything that I possibly can, and do everything in my power to make them happy. I will love McKinley no matter what he gets in math.

My sun will still rise and set on both of their lily white asses.

Happy Birthday McKinley!

Damn likable kid.

*My thesaurus is better than your thesaurus.

How My Daughter Has Grown

2009-12-06T18:54:00.001-07:00

1999

Once upon a time I moved back home.

By home, I mean Utah.

My daughter Ettienne was born in Memphis, when she was just a few months old we moved to California. We lived there until she was almost four years old. I'm not sure if she has forgiven us yet for moving her back to Utah, but that's irrelevant to this story.

Ettienne's father Jeremy was in the Marine Corps, and while he was finishing his enlistment I moved back to Utah in order to get our son McKinley started in kindergarten. To make this transition more convenient for all parties involved, I moved into my parents house until Jer was able to join us and we could purchase a house. To complete the immediate family submersion, I also went to work in my father's grocery store...with him, my mom, and several siblings. My parents were able to watch my kids no matter what shift I worked...it was a win/win situation all around.

One afternoon while I was getting ready for work, I got out of the shower to the sound of some serious hail hitting the window. I proceeded to go downstairs and see what was going on. My dad was standing at the window looking out into the backyard, I joined him at the window to see hail pummeling the backyard. My dad stands there for a minute and then turns to me with a puzzled look and says:

"It looks like popcone."

I'm pretty sure my eyebrows went up so high as to actually fall off the top of my head. I kinda thought that maybe his workhorse life had caught up to him and he had finally suffered a stroke. No, that was not the case, he was merely repeating the statement that Ettienne had made moments prior to my entrance into the room. When we both looked out the window again, we could see the hail bouncing off the trampoline, and several feet into the air. It did, in fact, look like popcorn. Ettienne had never seen hail, or snow for that matter, so her observation made sense.

For the record there was a tornado that accompanied the hail that day. It ripped down the middle of Salt Lake City...and people didn't shut up about it for weeks.

*****************************************

2009

Yesterday I was driving Ettienne to basketball practice. It was a little after 8:00 in the morning, and I think that there is a special place in hell for people who plan anything before noon on Saturdays. Just saying.

So, I'm driving down the two lane road that haunts my road rage dreams. I don't know if it was the early hour, the fact I just didn't care, maybe I wasn't paying attention...no idea. Anyway, I'm easily doing 10 MPH over the speed limit, and a car passes me...double yellow line...on a curve...and Ettienne says:

"What an asshole."

There were tears in my eyes...I was sooo proud.

Aunt Becky Owns Me

2009-12-03T13:43:00.009-07:00

My girl crush Becky, from Mommy Wants Vodka, is interviewing the entire internet. Because not only is she wildly funny, but she also cares. She's a giver like that. If you haven't read her, you haven't lived. Your life is empty.
Here are her questions, and my answers.

1) Do you like sprinkles on your ice cream?

     No. I think they taste like wax.

2) If you had to choose one word to banish from the English language, what would it be and why?

     I would banish the word ain't. It is the most backwoods annoying word I know. My daughter picked it up from her friend, and I threatened to cut her tongue out...she used it once. It makes me almost insane when people use it.

3) If you were a flavor, what would it be?

     Peppermint...cause I dig the mint, and the name implies spice and refreshment at the same time.

4) What’s the most pointless annoying chore you can think of that you do on a daily/weekly basis?

     Waking up. Sorting the mail blows too.

5) Of all the nicknames I've ever had in my life, Aunt Becky is the most widely known and probably my favorite. What’s your favorite nickname? (for yourself)

     I have a billion nicknames. My family loves nicknames...if you don't have one, you're probably quite unloved. My favorites are Head and Red. Head is the most used, with Red being second. My husband has Red in kanji tattooed on his wrist, but he calls me Dear (because he says he doesn't want to get in trouble for calling me one of his girlfriends names). My Mum calls me Toad...I have no idea why.

6) Your stuck on a desert island with the collective works of 5 (and only five) musical artists for the rest of your life. Who are they and why?

    Are you kidding me? FIVE? Holy Love.
     1) Maroon 5 (Adam Levine makes me moist)
     2) The Moody Blues (Dude, they all have degrees in music!)
     3) Tom Petty (You can throw in the Heartbreakers too)
     4) Britney Spears (Yes. Britney Spears! BITE ME!!)
     5) Madonna (I'd never have to listen to the same thing twice)

7) Everything is better with bacon. True or false?

      True. As long as it is on the side.

8 ) If I could go back in time and tell Young Aunt Becky one thing, it would be that out of chaos, order will emerge. Also: tutus go with everything. What would you tell young self?

     Everything does and will get better. Oh, and don't ever date anyone named Scott. He's a shithead.

********************************************

And if I ever tell you to shut your whore mouth...it's Becky's fault.

Truly, I'm blameless.

Adventures In Cancun (Pack A Lunch)

2009-11-28T12:07:00.006-07:00

OK. I have had a serious braincramp trying to figure out how to ~~continue~~ ~~conclude~~ write about my Cancun trip.

It was deliriously fun. However, as much fun as I had, I tend to think that a full synopsis of my trip is about as ~~painful~~ delightful for anyone else, as say, a colonoscopy. Only reminiscent of the history teacher that made you want to stab yourself in the jugular with a pencil, and hopefully bleed out before anyone was the wiser.

So, here are the highlights...and many lessons that I learned while in Cancun.

*We arrived at our ~~hotel~~ ~~resort~~ piece of heaven two hours after landing in Cancun. Having left the wintry cold of Utah 12 hours earlier, I was attired in a thin long sleeved shirt, with a t-shirt over it, levi's, and flip-flops (easier to breeze through security). I also had a nice thick sweater that proved useful while we were traveling on the ~~meatlocker~~ plane. Within 2 seconds of exiting the terminal, I had soaked up 90% of the humidity of Cancun, thereby throwing off the entire climactic balance that I'm sure will affect Mexico for years to come. Perhaps that was a good thing...it kept the impending Tropical Storm Ida, from turning into a full blown Hurricane while over Cancun. I may have saved our trip. I could be slightly delusional too. Maybe. Perhaps. Good chance.

*We stayed at Secrets Silversands. I highly recommend it. All inclusive, including alcohol.

This was the view from the balcony of our room

*A glass door to the "water closet" must be someones idea of a joke. I had a slight panic attack when I saw it, and exclaimed that we had just checked into "hotel hell". Bathroom issues on my part. I'm pretty sure my husband is still laughing about it.

*The bride and groom, LeeAnn and Matt, arrived on Monday. We arrived on Tuesday. Meloni and Stuart arrived late Tuesday night, but we didn't catch up with them until Wednesday.

*The hotel staffs main objective was to get us completely wasted. A foreshadow of this fact was presented right after our first meal when we were introduced, by our waiter, to a shot called a "Boom-Boom" which was Tequila and flavored liqueur (the four of us each got a different flavor), the boom-boom comes from slapping the glass on the counter 3 times and then shooting the foaming drink. The shots were made even more entertaining due to the fact that our waiter fashioned hats out of our napkins, adorning us like Dutch Milkmaids, and then boom-booming us one at a time.

*Wednesday I won a game of Bingo, because I'm a genius. My reward was a bottle of Tequila to be awarded at the evening "show", that night at 9:30. Due to the fact that 20 shots do catch up to you, especially if you don't drink a lot, I missed my big moment and my bottle of Tequila. Fame does indeed escape me.

*I learned that I am not a sorority sister and I should know better than to drink like one. I was reminded that I really do hate to puke.

*Due to a genetic blessing I have something that I refer to as my "homing device". Whenever I approach illness after drinking too much, I return to my "home". I have walked miles home from parties when my device has gone off. Unfortunately, I am usually unable to inform anyone of my defection. My device went off while I was with Matt and I disappeared into thin air, so now he is convinced I am a ninja. I'm sneaky like that.

*Thursday I learned that my hubby is a saint. He demonstrated this fact by taking Meloni, LeeAnn, and I shopping in Playa Del Carmen. Kev and I were the only ones with a rental car, and there was no way in hell that I was going to drive, so he offered. He also held our bags, bartered with the locals, and protected our virtue by standing guard outside the curtained dressing rooms. AND, he never complained, not once. Matt and Stuarts thoughts on taking us shopping included the phrase "I'd rather commit suicide".

*I explained the shopping phenomenon as the result of Kev having one ovary. (No campers, he doesn't really)

*One evening we were ~~flabbergasted~~ delighted by the talents of a magician/comedian. Who was neither magic, nor funny. His first ~~joke~~ ~~trick~~ display included eating fire, burning himself, and lighting the stage on fire. His finest trick was making us laugh our asses off while we disappeared to go find something better to do.

*Remember Kelly and Nick from our Dallas layover? Well, to prove that the world is indeed small, they not only ended up at the same resort, but in the room next to us.

*We made many other new friends, because we are wildly amusing, and drunk people are easily impressed. Patrick and Amanda from Canada, Helen and Brian from Chicago, and Mark and Erin from...holy shit...30 miles from our house. Very cool indeed.

*That bitch Aunt Flo crashed LeeAnns wedding.

*LeeAnn woke up sick as hell the day of her wedding. We sedated her with ~~illegally obtained narcotics~~ painkillers for the duration of the day. I hit the spa with the girls after leaving explicit instructions with Kev to "not let Matt get drunk". Mission accomplished.

* This is one of two pictures where LeeAnns hair is curly. Two seconds after we left the spa it went flat. Nice rack huh? No, her tan is not funky...it's the lighting.

* Due to the rain, the wedding was moved from the beach to the pavilion. The pavilion was located 40 feet from the main outside bar. Halfway through the ceremony we were subjected to drunk Erin (at the bar) yelling "Mark!" repeatedly to Mark (at the ceremony). Despite all his hoping and praying, the earth did not open up and swallow him in his time of desperation.

*Two of LeeAnns coworkers, Kathy and Angie, flew in for the day to attend the wedding. That is friendship.

*I learned that crabs look a lot like ginormous spiders if you are ~~vain~~ forgetful enough to leave your glasses in your room. I learned that I am a shitty friend who would abandon her wedding gown attired friend to fend for herself in the event of an actual ginormous spider siting. I also learned that Matt hates the word ginormous.

*I had a seizure when Matt used the phrase "it is what it is". The same seizure he suffered when I used the word ginormous.

*Saturday, the 5 of us abandoned Matt and went into Cancun. Where I learned all kinds of lessons.

*Do not try to drive through a street that looks like this. Especially when your wife tells you not to. Just saying.

*I learned that cars do not like to operate when driven through 2-3 feet of water. They also do not fill up with water...until a bus flies by while you're pushing the car to dry land.

*After killing a car by driving it through a river, and then waiting for it to dry out enough to drive it, adopt a homicidal gleam in your eye to prevent the valet at the restaurant where you're ~~stranded~~ waiting from telling you to move your car. Also, use run on sentences, they help. And build an ark, in case the rain continues.

*Mexican Standard Time
    2 minutes = 20 minutes (resort valet)
    2 hours = 4 hours (girl who braided my hair)
    4:30 a.m. = 8:00 a.m. (car rental office)

*Maps in Cancun are useless, because none of the street signs they actually have are listed on a map.

*While driving in Cancun, make sure 4 of the 5 occupants are not wearing their seatbelts. And when there is a cop behind you with his flashing lights on, run a red light. The policeman will merely honk and wave, acknowledging the fact that you drive as shitty as the locals. (This is known as pulling a Kevin)

*Always make a right hand turn from the left hand lane, cutting off two lanes of traffic. Tourists will shit themselves (us) while the locals pass it off as normal (the taxi driver next to us). (Pulling a Cancun)

*It is acceptable and encouraged to cut across four lanes of traffic in order to make your exit. (Pulling a Mexican)

*Please observe the billboard sized signs warning you about approaching radar zones. Seriously, you can't miss them. However, when you reach the radaring policemen you will notice that they have a)actually pulled some idiot over, b)are drinking a beer, or c)sleeping. You can take your chances or slow your ass down.

*You should also be aware that the speed limit signs will change from 40, to 100, to 60, to 50, to 70, to 80 all on a main byway for no apparent reason whatsoever. (Kilometers Per Hour)

*On Saturday we were privy to resort staff taping trees up, unbolting lights, and moving every mobile item inside in preparation for an impending hurricane. They boarded up the windows at the spa, they put crime scene tape around the beach access points. It was surreal. Also daunting was the fact that you consider these people actually live there and have the burden of taking care of their homes, along with securing and reassuring our sorry asses. I tend not to lean towards hysteria, so my biggest wonder was how much was normal storm preparation, and how much was serious disaster preparation.

*Saturday night we got a note in our rooms informing us that they had planned "rainy day activities" and that we would have free on-demand movies all day Sunday.

*Meloni and Stuart were scheduled to fly out Sunday afternoon.

*Their flight was cancelled. I cheered. They were not amused.

*Sunday was one of the nicest and calmest days we had.

*Sunday afternoon Stuart, Meloni, and Matt averted certain disaster by extinguishing a fire in a conference room during some of the "rainy day activities". The entertainment staff gave them free food and drinks for the remainder of the day. Let me remind you...all inclusive means everything was free the entire time.

*Mexicans have a seriously good sense of humor.

The marsh in front of the resort was inhabited. Swimming was discouraged.

*On Monday, our friends flew back home. Kev and I went into Cancun because I had wanted to get my hair braided while we were down there. I was also under the impression that people chased you down on the street to do it for you...but we actually had to seek out someone that could do it. I got braids with extensions and I like them so much that I am going to be a nerd and keep them for a while.

*Our entire trip, the only person that really got attacked by bugs was LeeAnn. That was until Kev and I got a couples massage Monday night, whatever ~~attractant~~ lotion they used brought on every bug within a 50 miles radius.

*We arranged for a 3:30 a.m. wake-up call and went to bed.

*We got up and headed to the car rental place to turn in our vehicle before flying out at 7:20 a.m.

You'll be surprised to discover that it didn't pan out exactly that way...because things rarely do for us.

Adventures in Flying

2009-11-11T10:55:00.001-07:00

If you read this first, the following will make more sense.

Our trip to Cancun was planned because my friend LeeAnn and her fiance Matt invited us to their "unholy union" scheduled to take place on the sunny beaches of Cancun. Little did they know that, because they invited us, there would be no sun.

Last Tuesday was our day of departure. It started with an "oh shit" bang at 3:00 a.m. with our toilet breaking. Minor problem, easy fix, scary start. I really try to avoid the phrase "if that's the worst that could happen...", because as anyone knows, it's not. Things can get plenty more jacked up.

At 4:00 a.m. my FIL picked us up to go to the airport, where we breezed through security and got to our gate with tons of time to spare. Truth be told though, we do travel a bit, and so we have the procedure down to a science. We boarded on time, left on time, and proceeded to Dallas/Fort Worth where we would have a layover and transfer.

This is where things get entertaining.

I think that the safety instructions issued while on board your flight are necessary, but absolutely fucking ridiculous. I am alarmed that there may be people on this planet that can.not.operate.a.seatbelt. It's not rocket science, it's not common sense, it's having a brain. So, unless you are under the age of five or braindead, you have no need for on board seatbelt instruction. If you are under five, I hope you're not traveling alone, let alone reading this blog. If you're braindead...perhaps it's not a seatbelt that should be your main priority.

The flotation device located in, around, or under your seat. I predict that if we are hurdling towards planet earth from an altitude of 36,000 feet, I will not have the frame of mind to be figuring out a flotation device. Not to mention, have you tried standing up in front of your seat on a plane? The only way that you are going to be able to take advantage of your seat/flotation device is if you grab the seat, conveniently located under your ass, and hang on. My predicted behavior in this situation is smoke 'em if you got 'em.

The drop down oxygen mask. Though we never expect to lose cabin pressure...I'm pretty sure they never expect the plane to crash into fiery rubble either. I'm willing to overlook that. However, I think that should something occur to activate said oxygen masks, I would probably ~~die~~ faint from fright at something popping down inches from my nose. I only hope that the person sitting next to me has the sense to put their own mask on, and then hook me up. At least if I am unconscious I don't have to get all worked up about the "bag not inflating", because even if you are breathing oxygen from your oxygen mask, I guess there is a justifiable reason to get your panties in a twist over the fact your mask bag is not inflating. Now I may very well be in the minority here, but I suspect that I would rather perish at 20,000 feet from asphyxiation than burning to death once I hit the ground.

Don't tell me where the exits are unless you are going to give me a parachute.

Thanks for the instructions "not to congregate" around the cockpit door, because I was in a conch shell for 9/11 and thought that the cockpit area would be perfect for the conference meeting I was planning to call for mid-flight.

Obviously all of this took place in the span of the five stimulating minutes of on board safety instructions.

Since I do not regularly eat breakfast, my morning had consisted of a can of caffeine-free, Diet Pepsi on the way to the airport. A 20 oz. Diet Coke once we got there, and tomato juice on the plane. An hour into the flight I was feeling it. Now, even though I have flown a million times, I have not ever utilized an airplane bathroom. I think that there were tears in my husbands eyes when I told him to move it so I could hit the bathroom.

At 8:20 a.m. on November 3, 2009 Heather Griffith Brewer used an airplane bathroom. A historic event that I am sure will clutter history books for generations to come.

I love the fact that there is a no smoking sign in the bathroom, but an ashtray on the door. Priceless.

We landed in Dallas without incident.

At 10:10 a.m. I abandoned my mission to find a blank notebook in order to write this shit down. I think that it is truly scandalous that I could purchase designer perfumes, a Fossil watch, or even a Playboy...yet, I could not find a frickin notebook.

My husband then proceeded to pull one out of his bag. Yeah, he's a giver.

At 10:30 a.m. we were instructed via ~~underwater~~ intercom to do something. Your guess is as good as mine as to what that something was supposed to be. Granted, it did take a second or two to realize that when they said "immigration", they were indeed talking about us. So we trotted over to the desk to find out. We encountered a nice young couple, Nick and Kelly, waiting there who were equally confused, yet no one would help us. Based on the stack of Migratory Forms (What are we? Birds?) waiting on the counter, we surmised that what we had all missed was the instructions to fill them out. So we did. Finally, (when we were almost done filling them out) we were informed that we could fill them out on the plane. Thanks, you ~~suck~~ rock.

At 11:25 a.m. our flight was delayed due to a "scratch". Which was fine because it gave us ample time to giggle at the many misspellings on our Migratory and Declaration forms. Such as fligth, carring, and vehicule. It also made me wonder two things: Why didn't someone with impeccable English write the English portion of the forms? And how many misspellings are on our forms that have been translated into other languages? I'm an equal opportunity giggler.

At 11:50 a.m. we were cleared for take off, where we proceeded to Cancun.

Now when I booked our trip I made a big error and decided against the shuttle that would pick us up from the airport, and then return us to the airport. Upon being informed that we could taxi to the resort for a whopping $80, we decided to rent a car. Kev negotiated with a man and we proceeded to go wait for the rental company to pick us up.

I have never rented a car. So being accosted by a Mexican local and then going and waiting for a vehicle to pick us up and take us elsewhere put my imagination into overdrive. I was only able to imagine being kidnapped, raped, beaten, tortured, robbed, and murdered. Not even in that order! I was convinced that my husband had left his common sense on the nightstand before we left home, and was now willing to ruin our vacation before it even started. Kev laughed at me, informed me that it was "normal" for rental places to be located off site, and that he was "pleased" that I was anxious about leaving with a stranger.

In all the years that I have known my husband I have never heard him utter the word "pleased". I kinda wanted to knee him in the nads.

We finally got our rental car and arrived at our hotel two hours after we landed.

It was soooo worth the wait.

The Joys of The Season

2009-10-29T10:39:00.000-06:00

The changing of the seasons always bring me down. Specifically the changing of Summer to Fall, and then on to Winter. Here in Utah, we have a very short "Fall". It's very warm, gets cool for a few weeks, and then we jump head first into cold weather. What bums me out the most is, by the time Winter is officially declared, I am sick of being cold.

We got snow several weeks back, just a days worth, and nothing stuck, but it snowed. The last few days it's been snowing, and it's stuck. I need to get some salt to throw down on my walkway before I stumble across a dead postal woman who has met her demise on my evil front stairs. Old town...all the mailboxes are mounted by our front doors. Although Halloween is only a few days away, maybe I could leave her there for "effect".

Now, I'm just as much in awe of Fall color as the next chap. I think the colors are beautiful, and the crispness in the air is nice after the heat of Summer. It's nice to have to pull out that sweater or hoodie, nice to put on warm socks, but it's sad to me.

I try not to complain too much about the weather. Mainly because I think people complain too much about the weather. It's too hot, it's too cold, it's raining, it's snowing, I wish it would rain, I wish it would snow...it seems that people are never satisfied with what the climate is doing right now. Get an umbrella and shut the hell up.

I know that I am partial to Spring and Summer because they are the seasons that are more conducive to the things I like to do. Specifically, gardening. I love that first hint of Spring, when the new blades of grass are showing themselves in the melting snow. I love watching for the crocuses, tulips, and daffodils to spring up out of the flowerbeds. I even appreciate the beheading of those same tulips by the deer that frequent my yard.

In Fall everything is dying. The vibrancy of Summer is now the muted colors of Fall. Which becomes the muck that is Winter. Tragic. It's like a bad Shakespearean play. It started out good, got climactic, went straight into mundane, and then drones on with a big "is this ever going to end?". Bleh.

Now don't get me wrong. One of the things I like about Fall and Winter is the fact that it is so heavily peppered with holidays. I can't seem to even think about Fall without smelling cinnamon, without thinking of cider, and apples. First we get Halloween, a holiday with costumes and candy, the time of the season where kids get to pretend they are their favorite character, monster, or princess. Men get to indulge their inner hero, and women get a free pass to dress like total whores. It's magical I tell you! Then we fast track to Thanksgiving, a holiday where we get to indulge our inner glutton and spend time with family that we don't care enough about to have contact with the rest of the year. Are you feeling warm and fuzzy yet? Then we have Christmas. A time to remember the birth of our Savior, always overlooking the fact that Christ was not even born in December. A time to share the joy of the season with loved ones by giving them things that they are never going to use because when you asked them what they wanted they responded with "You don't have to get me anything". Christmas is the best! By the time New Years rolls around I am homicidal with the sound of "Jingle Bells". I am tempted to drink myself into oblivion just to forget, for a few hours, the fact that my house has been turned upside down, inside out, and has thrown up on itself.

Tis the season to be heavily medicated.

The Consequences of Our Choices

2009-10-27T09:18:00.000-06:00

Due to the fact that I love love love to eat my words, I am sick. I woke up at 6:00 with a serious need of Theraflu, Airborne, NyQuil, and narcotics that I don't have. In light of the fact it's always a bad idea to take copious amounts of medication on an empty stomach, I toasted up my pop-tarts (the only thing remotely nice to my tummy) and hunkered down to get the morning scoop.

My thanks go out to Gina, The Feminist Breeder for giving me something to talk about. I found this comment from her waiting for me this morning:

Okay, since you've been through this, tell me what you think. There was a young couple who made news recently because their doctor refused to perform a tubal on the young lady because she was A.) 21 and B.) had never had any children.
"The Feminists" were mad. They were seething over the fact that this doctor had the audacity to try to tell a woman what to do with her own body.
Well, I actually sided with the doctor on this one (and you've read enough of my blog to know I rarely side with doctors!) I thought the husband could have just as easily had a (less invasive and easier reversed) vasectomy. I just don't think that a 21 yr old necessarily knows what they're asking for when they choose something so completely life altering and sometimes totally permanent.
But as a card carrying feminist, I want to support choice in all areas. That doesn't stop me from thinking some people just don't understand the consequences of their choice though.
So, tell me what you think. Do you think The Feminists were right to be angry? Feel free to completely disagree with me here... I just though you might have some wisdom on the subject.

I am all about choice. I believe that we, as adults, have the right to choose everything for ourselves, from the nature of our intimate relationships, to what we have on our toast. I realized a long time ago that what I choose for myself, is not necessarily what someone else might choose.

That said...

I think The Feminists were right to be angry. Women have worked long and hard to get the right to choose what goes on with their bodies. From birth control, to abortion, to not being forced to get a cesarean. We want to breastfeed in public, yet make as much as a man for the same job. We're just never satisfied! *wink wink* That's our right too.

When I sought a tubal ligation at the tender age of 21, I thought that that was what I wanted. I had two babies already, had been treated for depression for eight years, and was desperately concerned about bringing anymore children into my dysfunctional life. I talked at length with my OB/GYN, a female, who posed the following questions:

1. What if something happened to one of your children?
2. What if you got divorced and remarried someone else? Don't you want the option open to have children with him?

My answers were:

1. I can't replace my lost child by having another one.
2. If I don't want any more children with the man I am currently married to, why would I plan them with some anonymous guy?

This conversation with my doctor took place about six weeks after a suicide attempt, which could have supported my case. Maybe she thought I was too big of a whack-job and that I really shouldn't have more kids, maybe she just respected my decision. I really don't know what she concluded, but she did what I wanted. It took me seven years to regret my decision.

Ten years after my tubal, I attempted to have it reversed. There was very little remaining tube left on either side. Not much to work with, and the results could have been poor, and led me to a high rate of ectopic pregnancy. That sucked. That was my fault. My only choice now is IVF, which is invasive and expensive.

Now, to the guts of the matter. I DO NOT think that a doctor should automatically agree to perform a tubal ligation on a 21 year old woman. I think she should be subjected to a waiting period, maybe appeal to a board of doctors, maybe some counseling...I don't know. I think that it's a very heavy decision, and while I believe that there are women out there who do not want children ever, I think that they are in the minority. I don't believe that just because a woman is capable of having a child, she should be expected to do so. I also respect the rights of the doctor to say NO. I think that we live in a sue happy society, and the potential legal repercussions are there. Unfortunately, people are able to sue (and win) in cases where it was clearly a result of poor choices on the part of the plaintiff.

From someone who knows, I would personally advise a woman to wait. I don't have the same haircut that I had when I was 21. I'm not even married to the same guy that I was married to at 21. I'm 34 and I am still trying to figure out my life. There are very few decisions that I made when I was 21, that I would still make now. That woman has got nothing but time. There are plenty of other long term birth control options that will give her time to make the best decision for her. There is nothing to say that she will or won't change her mind in five or ten years, and that's ok too. She could see a dozen doctors before she finds one that will offer her the procedure that she desires, and in the end she has no one to blame or thank, but herself. Because ultimately she is the one who has to live with the consequences, which might make her happy, or it might just totally suck.

I'm A Baby Mama Again

2009-10-22T13:55:00.003-06:00

Don't get too excited...I have not been knocked up. That would be absolutely delightful, but no.

I got remarried 6 1/2 years ago to a wonderful man with no children of his own. I, who at 21 opted to have my tubes tied because a) I knew everything and b) I was a brain dead idiot.

My two children had been born by then, and in light of a complete breakdown, I decided that it would be in the best interest of society for me not to parent anymore children.

My two children are loved immensely, and I have come to realize that I have been a far superior mother than most. Were I to be blessed with another child, I would love them dearly, and I believe I would enjoy it and appreciate their babyhood, because I am older and wiser.

The first year that Kev and I were married we acquired a dog. Her name was Cowbug. She was half German Shorthair, and half something-the-hell-else-not-known-to-this-world. She was the offspring of my BIL's dog, and was short enough (at full growth) to walk underneath her mother. She was black and white like a cow, and she was odd like a bug. We called her our Prozac puppy, because she always seemed sad and perhaps, a bit suicidal. Cowbug slept on the end of our bed, and was our baby.

When my attempted tubal reversal failed, Cowbug got me through. Kev was immensely understanding and supportive, but the personal guilt I felt over my own stupidity, and the fact that Kev chose me instead of potential children of his own, made me sad. Because I feel so unworthy of his love.

In March of 2008, Cowbug got very sick, she was only four. I spent hours and hours by her side at the vet's office, and had I been able to fit in the kennel with her, I would have slept with her. After four days, the vet plainly told me she was not going to get better, her liver was failing and she was dying. I knew this to be true, because earlier in the day I had sat with her outside in the sun and the look in her eyes told me so. I kidnapped my dog from the vet, went and checked both of my kids out of school, and made the trip home to let my other dogs see Cowbug one last time. Cowbug was put to sleep wrapped in a blanket my mother made me when I was 11, and that I had slept with for 21 years. Cowbug was cremated with that blanket and she now resides in a beautiful cedar box on my nightstand.

I had/have two other dogs. Bluebell, who is a pup from another litter of Cowbug's mother. I also have a Golden Retriever named Phinny, who tops the scales at 110+ pounds. Once he got stuck in the dog door, and we called him Phinny the Pooh. Both great lovey dogs, but not bed dogs, and they have taken more to my kids than to me.

Several months after Cowbug died, I started thinking I wanted another small dog. Which is bizarre, because small dogs have never appealed to me. I would get on Petfinder every week or so, and look through all of the animals that needed homes. None of them grabbed me.

Until November. Two weeks before Thanksgiving, I was browsing the listings, and was struck by a little black dog. It stated that she was 10 months old, and a longhair Dachshund mix. After reading her description, I discovered that she was blind, and that she had been found behind a convenience store in LA, where she was recovered and sent to a special needs animal rescue group in Utah. I asked my hubby, he said no. I lamented, but resigned myself to the fact that I did not need another dog. I dreamt about her for the next two nights, and contacted the group. I let them know that I already had 2 dogs, but that we are zoned for 3, as long as one is a rescue (true). I also told them about my Cowbug story, and was later informed that that was what sealed the deal. Three days later (the longest days of my life) I met my little Shanti dog.

The first thing she did was head butt me. I've been in love with her since.

I don't understand people who don't like any kinds of animals. I know allergies are a huge factor, but some folks just really do not like any kinds of critters. I don't get it. As a matter of fact, I'm a little leery of people who will openly express their dislike of animals. It's OK to like pets, but not their fur. It's alright to enjoy animals but not have time for them. It's a responsibility, and I think too many people get animals without realizing the cost, time, and care involved.

Kinda like kids. Nice that it is acceptable to kennel a dog though.

My first night with Shanti did not go well. I arranged to meet the rep at a Petsmart on the other side of town, that all went fine, until I went to purchase the food and accessories for my new little dog. Forgot my debit card, which was located conveniently with my ID, so I couldn't even write a check. I had to drive all the way home, and then return to a store closer to home. Which was great until Shanti had what I think was stress induced diarrhea...in the store. You see, Shanti had been placed twice before, and had been returned to the rescue group. By then she was 15 months old, and had spent the first 6 months of her life on the streets, and the next 9 months being shuffled around. The employees (God bless them) cleaned up the mess, AND took Shanti into the groomers to be cleaned up as well.

That first night was spent much like the first night of having a newborn. A lot of crying, a lot of trips outside, and some serious adjustment on both our parts. At 6:00 a.m. I got paws to the face and a serious face licking. It was as if a shift occurred...Shanti recognized she was home. I know that sounds silly and kinda mental.

The first several weeks were a serious adjustment. Every time we took Shanti in the car she shook and puked. So, being the sicko that I am, we took her in the car a lot. Little by little she got used to the fact that we could leave, and then return home. Now she loves car rides.

When we got Shanti she was 10 pounds. Small, but a little too skinny. Within the first month she gained 2 more pounds. Then she got sick and lost 3 pounds, and we had to put her on special dog food, which has put her back up in weight, but I have to cringe at the thought of spending $2 a day to feed my smallest pet. Worth every penny.

Shanti a la Mermaid Bacon (her given name...by us) is all my dog. When I leave she plays dead. The family informs me that she acts as if life has ended because I have left. When I come home she jumps and paws at me, and my family gives me the death stare. Frankly, I am glad someone is happy to see me.

At night Shanti usually opts to sleep in her kennel with the door open. If she gets cold in the night she puts her paws on the edge of the bed and I lift her up where she crawls under the covers between Kev and I and goes to sleep. If she makes it through the night, then she wants up when Kev gets up to work...and we snuggle.

This morning I had to get up to get ready for an early doctor appointment. I used the bathroom and headed into the living room (morning online fix), within a couple minutes Shanti was paws up on the couch waiting for her morning snuggle.

And that was when I realized, I was a baby mama again.

Homebirth

2009-10-21T00:13:00.004-06:00

I am passionate about homebirth. I think it is the single most important decision that healthy low-risk women can make in order to ~~get~~ ~~accomplish~~ have a normal natural delivery. I found that out the hard way.

Yesterday a sign was posted on Facebook that launched a million comments on a bunch of different blogs and Facebook profiles. I am linking to Nicole D at Bellies and Babies, where you can find a picture of the sign and some comments.

The sign is actually located at Aspen Women's Center only 30 or so miles from my home. I'm terribly embarrassed that such a sign hailed from my home state. On one hand, I have read numerous comments from people who stated "at least it's honest", and that is true. Nice that this clinic is considerate enough to forewarn women of their intentions, instead of leading them on with promises and/or compromises that they will ultimately deny in the delivery room in the name of "safety".

I DO NOT believe 31.1% of women are unable to birth their children without being cut into. Do the math kids. Would 1 out of every 3 women have died one hundred years ago during childbirth, without a "life saving" cesarean? That's ridiculous.

We live in a culture that has not relied on homebirth for several generations. My own homeborn grandmother advised me against my planned homebirth. We have been culturally programed to believe that a doctors word is religion. And it is not.

Kelly had this comment (in regards to Aspen Women's Center) on Bellies and Babies:
"I'm disgusted at how some people act in this world. Here is a man who loves his work and is one of the best OB's out there. I have had personal experience with him and his office. We are all entitled to make our own choices in what we view is the best care for our own health (that is our privilege and freedom as Americans) and he is up front and honest from the beginning. He may not take the same road as you and may have different beliefs than you, however, slamming someone and their reputation because they have different views than yours is wrong, horrible and hurtful. I'm disgusted that my own children will have to someday deal with hypocritical people like yourselves that bash others because their opinions are not the same as yours."

How often is it that people freely condemn homebirthers, people who choose not to vaccinate, homeschoolers, and the entire spectrum of people who choose to not do what is culturally acceptable? We choose to be active participants in our babies births, and yet we get condemned all the time for it. We make decisions based on what we have been witness to, what we have been subjected to, and what we have become educated about. How does that make us hypocrites?

A hypocrite is a doctor who turns their back on the needs of a mother. Requiring procedures that have no basis in fact, and often seem to only provide convenience for medical personnel. Lying to a mother in order to get her to concede to the desires of a doctor, who at the end of the day returns to his home, and not to the repercussions of his actions. Visit this site and peruse the ridiculous, and often complete lies that providers tell women in an attempt to get them to agree to inductions, cesareans, and doctors convenience.

Don't people understand that often the choice to have a homebirth has been made as the result of a bad hospital birthing experience? The majority of hospitals are not conducive to normal natural deliveries. There is no scientific evidence to support continuous fetal monitoring. What it does is provide a convenient way to keep you bedridden, and monitored by overworked nursing staff. It also increases the likelihood of you requesting an epidural, or other pain medication.

I think if people were more vocal about their experiences, both in and out of hospitals, we might see a serious reform in obstetrical care. While there are forums out there that people can consult, many of them are relatively new, and won't be as effective as they will become in the future. I think that the best thing to do is to name names, and to give detailed accounts of what was good and what was bad. By detailing your experience, you are requiring an accountability on behalf of your doctor and the hospital. I will be first in line to ruin the reputation of someone who repeatedly acts negligently towards their patients, emotionally or physically (I say this in general, and not in regards to the staff of AWC). I think the worst thing you can hear after the fact is "if I had only known".

We speak out against domestic violence, child abuse, cruelty to animals, and global warming. Yet people find it quite easy to overlook the fact that women leave their birth experiences feeling absolutely violated and traumatized. That's crap. Complete and total garbage.

There is an unhealthy mentality that is created in a hospital. From the moment you step through the doors you are scolded for eating, drinking, wanting to walk around, and trying to get things going naturally. Every intervention, no matter how small, seems to undermine your ability to birth your child. Every concession you make is one step closer to a potential problem.

I do not expect every women to desire a homebirth. Nor do I believe every women cares what sort of experience they have as long as it ends with them going home with their baby. I do not believe every women wants a natural delivery. I know plenty of women who wanted their epidural the minute they walked through the hospital doors, and were complacent about what happened after that. If they can go home and be perfectly happy with that experience, who am I to tell them that's wrong?

What I do have a HUGE problem with, is the problems that often result from these passive deliveries. Babies who end up in the NICU for a week because they just couldn't get it figured out once they were ~~ripped~~ ~~forced~~ delivered into this world. The excuses that go along with these scenarios have never included "I was uneducated. My doctor made decisions that adversely affected me and my baby...and I went along with them".

I also find it depressing that often moms return from their deliveries not knowing exactly why they feel depressed, traumatized, violated, and dissatisfied. I believe the reason is because you did not go full circle with what your body was intended to do for your emotional well being while you were in labor.

There is a place for modern obstetrical care. There are women that genuinely should be in a hospital setting, but there is no reason for them to not be given a chance to birth naturally. Elective cesareans are crap, and I am appalled that our medical community allows them. VBAC's should be encouraged, not regulated against. If you truly needed that cesarean, what are the chances that the same thing is going to happen again? There are genuine emergencies that require them, and that only goes back to my theory of "would they have died a hundred years ago without it?"

The only reason in the world that I could imagine a facility refusing to facilitate birth plans, admit a doula into a delivery, or let a women use any method of childbirth preparation...is ego. A birth plan is a simple outline of what a women desires in her labor and delivery...a good indication that she is educated about what her choices are. A doula provides an invaluable service to a laboring woman, studies have proven that women have better birth outcomes and request less pain medication when utilizing the services of a doula. Not to mention, the mother gets continuous support and therefore offers some relief to overworked nurses in understaffed wards. Many groups such as Bradley, offer consumer based education. Obviously, a doctor denying any of these things is acting in his own self interest...of not being objected to. It's not nearly as easy to manipulate an educated mother, or an advocate who is willing to call your bluff.

The outcomes of hospital deliveries and homebirth cannot be compared. It's apples...and eggplants. You can study the positive outcomes of homebirths vs. hospital transfers from homebirths. You can study the outcomes of healthy women seeking a natural hospital delivery, and consider how many of those births ended horribly. I often wonder how many of my cesarean friends started with an induction, got an epidural, and then was eventually cut open due to failure to progress, shoulder dystocia, or fetal distress. Trying to get a body not ready to birth, to birth, makes about as much sense as trying to make mashed potatoes with uncooked potatoes.

My mother once told me "the last month of pregnancy is the longest ten years of your life". But being sick and tired of being pregnant is a selfish and unjustified reason to induce. Especially when you consider the risks. I delivered my 6 lb. 12 oz. baby two weeks after an OB wanted to induce me...did I make the right choice? Would she have been too small had I followed his recommendations? Would she have been "ready"? How long would she have spent in the NICU? I gave birth to her at home, with no problems.

Time and time again I have seen healthy moms have negative outcomes in the hospital. I don't hear the same "horror" stories from women who have birthed at home. That speaks volumes to me. I think the "bad" midwife experiences are less common in homebirths than the "good" deliveries are in hospital births.

I'll take my "chances" at home. And I will continue to encourage women to do the same.

I Have No Sense Of Humor

2009-10-20T02:46:00.000-06:00

I don't get toilet humor.

Fart jokes never appealed to me. Perhaps it's because I didn't grow up around that sort of humor, perhaps it's because my Papa threatened ejection from the house when I once used the word "fart" in a sentence. I didn't grow up using the words "pee" or "poop" and I literally cringe when I am out and about, and I hear a child declare that they have to "pee". Now, I do not automatically default to my Mum's word of "tinkle", because it makes me think of rain. And although I have grown up surrounded, literally drowning in medical folks, I refuse to use "bowel movement" or "BM". I lock the bathroom door in my own house...when I'm home alone...obviously, I have issues. Although my daughter admits to doing it too...could it possibly be genetic? Could I get a subliminal copy of Everybody Poops so that I can just get over myself already?

While I was dining with 11 of my nearest and dearest girlfriends the other night, the subject of poop came up. It always does, because I have a wonderful friend who has a poo story for everything. Now, I find her stories deliriously funny, while at the same time being completely mortified on her behalf. Frankly, some of the things happen to her because none of the rest of us could survive them. As they were all talking, and I was pretending to chew my food for a ridiculous amount of time, I was amazed at how many of them have shit their pants. Adult women shit themselves? Without a medical reason? I was sufficiently surprised, and they were surprised that I did not have a shart story of my own. I think that I find their stories amusing, because they are able to laugh about it, and it tempers the mortification factor...for me.

I did not like the movie Dumb and Dumber. As a matter of fact, I list it as the scariest movie I have ever seen. The part where the guy is in the bathroom, and the toilet is overflowing...I thought I would completely lose my mind. I think I had to leave the room to find my inhaler...so I didn't die of an asthma attack. The next day I sought medical help...surprisingly there is no treatment for "exposure to mortifying toilet humor movies". I think there should be some sort of telethon, fundraising, and medical research. I know that I am in the minority though...no incentive for the pharmaceutical companies to take up my plight.

The more I think about the entire thing, the more I realize that I just don't get a lot of what people find hilarious. America's Funniest Home Videos...yeah, not me. I think the majority of those folks belong in jail. And then there's Jackass. Wow, I can't even begin to think about trying to sit through any of that garbage. I don't think that I can clench my eyes shut tight enough, or jam my fingers in my ears deep enough to try and tolerate an episode, let alone a full length movie depicting those kinds of shenanigans.

Prank phone calls do me in too. Radio shows used to be famous for pulling these things, and I could not take it, they actually caused me physical pain.

All of this is so bizarre to me...because I find life to be endlessly amusing. Comics like Daniel Tosh, Wanda Sykes, Dana Carvey, George Carlin, Lewis Black and Steve Martin are big winners in my book. But Chris Farley, Jim Carrey, and Larry The Cable Guy drive me to drink...acetone...by the gallon. In my opinion, if you've seen one Jim Carrey movie, you've seen them all, the guy has the same antics in every single movie. Then again, I'm easily distracted by bad acting, bad editing, and predictable lines. I can pretty much predict every other line in a movie...and it drives my family nuts. McKinley is always saying "Stop writing the movie Mom". It's a curse.

What do you think? Am I off my rocker? What's funny and not so funny in your world? Tell me a good fart joke and I'll award a prize to the person who actually makes me laugh...I'll mail you a whoopee cushion or something.*

School me.

*Prizes and participation may vary. Odds of winning may vary depending on number of entries received. Prizes subject to substitution of equal or lesser value. Available in most states, except for yours. Open to all legal residents of the original 13 colonies, ages 27 & older. Not valid in Guam or Detroit. All submissions must be received by 10/31/14. Subject to change without notice. Good luck!

Autumn Girl Explained

2009-10-16T23:10:00.000-06:00

I know it didn't make sense.

But the whole thing was truly senseless to begin with.

Last week, a girl that I watched grow up, shot herself.

A girl that I only knew casually...that I attended the occasional BBQ with, chatted with on the street, or ran into at random places like the pumpkin patch (15 miles from our town), shot herself. Ended her life.

She was 19 years old.

Her funeral was today and it was lovely in the sad sort of way that it is when you see someone so young leave this world. More people attended than they expected, and many were left standing. The sun was shining and it was nice outside when they laid her to rest.

When I am raw with emotion, I am reduced to a babbling idiot weaving a million metaphors of my own making. I took the news with a fair amount of shock, as you can imagine.

The fact is, we are never supposed to outlive our children. EVER.

It's just not fucking fair.

It took several days until it truly sank in. Grief is odd.

When someone takes their own life, it creates it's own sorrow. There is no comfort to be found...because it just shouldn't be this way. I didn't see her every single day, and therefore her death does not affect me as much as it affects the countless others that know her much better. Suicides affect me more profoundly though...because I've been there. I ache for them.

I've been in that darkness and have known how it felt to feel like it would all be better if I were dead. The last time I attempted suicide was a long, long time ago...but the feelings of sadness, anger, loneliness, and isolation are still very clear to me. I've long since realized that suicide creates more problems for the people left behind, than they ever solve. I do not, however, feel like suicide is a "selfish" act. Because when you are in the midst of those feelings, there seems to be no alternative, and the pain can be unbearable. I've learned that more can be gained by asking for help, before it gets too much to bear. And I have asked, and I have gotten that help. Many times.

Life is worth living, and the things that I have gained through my life, have made it so. But that is impossible to fathom when you are living in a personal shitstorm. When day in and day out is nothing but a nightmare, there is no faith in the future.

The circumstances surrounding this girls death leads me to believe that it was an impulsive act. Which makes it a bit more difficult, because perhaps if things had been slightly different, maybe she wouldn't have done it. I'm not sure if it's easier to believe that or not. Not only has she left her loved ones to live on without her, but she has also left them with the guilt of wondering how things might have been different. Which I think is always the case in suicides, but more so in instances like this. Tragedies often leave people wondering what more they could have done. Unfortunately, when people are seriously suicidal, they often say nothing that would tip you off. Short of being some psych genius...you would never know.

She was loved. You could see it in the faces of her family, and in the faces of everyone who attended her funeral. She will be deeply missed. My husband and I returned this evening from a birthday party, and I could hear laughing coming from her house...I hope that her family is sitting around talking about her and how silly she could be. How happy she made them. How much she was loved. I hope that they are alright, and that the days ahead bring them peace.

Her name was Jackie...and I know she has peace now.

Autumn Girl

2009-10-15T00:09:00.000-06:00

She wasn't a child that no one wanted.

Her youth was not spent in terror, neglect, or loneliness.

She was loved.

Growing up, her smile was quick and her laugh contagious.

I don't know if she loved puppies or roses.

Whether she favored pink, purple, or blue.

But I know of a boy who had a crush on the girl...4 years older than he.

Once she told me "He really talks a lot".

But she smiled when she said it, and I know she often let him share a seat with her on the bus.

She wasn't a child that no one wanted.

She was girl that grew into a woman before a towns eyes.

She had a mischievous twinkle in her eye, that told you there was more behind the smile...

There were plans, and a boyfriend.

A future.

Three weeks before her 20th birthday.

She is gone.

Her smile has faded like the summer sun.

Tears fall along with the rain.

Her departure too sudden,

too soon.

She was a child that was so very wanted,

very loved.

Very missed.

Tom Would Think I'm Glib

2009-10-11T14:14:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I joined a discussion about breastfeeding, today I would like to talk a little about my own experiences with Postpartum Depression.

After I gave birth to my son, I didn't struggle with PPD. Which was surprising. I had my own personal depression demons, but they stayed relatively quiet after I gave birth. I was also crazy busy. I worked 40 hours a week, had an hour commute, and often worked a split shift so I could do the commute twice in order to go home to nurse my son. Maybe I was way too busy to get depressed. Maybe I was fortunate that, although I was a single mother, I had support coming out my ass.

When I delivered my daughter, I was over the moon. I got the delivery I wanted, and I rocked it. I was seriously buzzing for days. A week or so after I gave birth though, I fell. Hard. A minor thing set me off, and I started crying...and couldn't stop. Oddly enough (that whole luck thing) my friend/doula Suzanne called in the middle of my storm, and she whisked in and took over. I was put to bed and she took care of my toddler and my newborn. She fed me lunch (in bed) and gave me Snickers. I felt like a sick child....an adored, sick child. Suzanne also made a call to my doctor and got me an appointment to get on some meds.

My belief is that PPD is the result of poor birth outcomes and/or a history of depression. So, the preceding paragraph seems to contradict that. I can see that.

However...

When I delivered my daughter I was in Memphis, alone. I had Jer, but no other family. It was extremely isolating. I also had a toddler, and therefore couldn't sleep more than 2-4 hours in a day. Ettienne had her days and nights switched, which had it just been her and I, would have been fine. McKinley was a solar powered child, he went to bed when the sun set and got up when the sun rose. I was exhausted and lonely, and it was overwhelming.

But, I believe I also went through a mourning period. I had an awful delivery with my son, and a perfect one with my daughter. I mourned the delivery that could not be undone. I mourned for myself. I was a victim of child abuse, and therefore I have a deep seated fear of not having control. In the hospital I was a non-entity, it was all about "policy", and nothing about me...I had NO control. I'm not unreasonable, and I was educated enough to know where and when things could go wrong, and feeling manipulated by the medical staff pissed me off. It also made me angry when I was expected to abide by their "policies" knowing that it was in direct conflict with what I knew I needed to do to get my baby born. I mourned all of that.

A poor birth outcome is highly subjective. I've heard stories from people that, had I experienced them, would have landed me in the nearest metal ward. But they were fine with them. It's as much about your expectations going in, as it is about what happens once you get there. Some women don't really care, aren't concerned about it all, and trust their doctors completely. Which I guess is fine, if everything turns out great, and by great, I mean you and your baby go home in one piece. I believe there is more to be gained by birthing your child, than just having a baby. An enormous amount of empowerment can be gained by being an active participant in your child's birth, but that's subjective. For women who want that, need that...and then don't get it, it's devastating.

At the same time, I think women are affected more by their birth outcomes than they think they are.

It's All About Choice

2009-10-10T13:39:00.000-06:00

I am joining a discussion about breastfeeding. If you have a couple hours to spare reading links...continue on.

SuSu posed some questions to formula feeding mothers (there are numerous links through her site) I am not, nor have I ever been a formula feeding mother. The following is my opinion, and is strictly based on my experiences and observations.

No animals were harmed in the writing of this post.

Breastfeeding is a choice. Hopefully, while a women is pregnant she thinks about whether she will put her baby to the breast, or whether she will opt to formula feed her baby. I think much of her decision is based on what she has been exposed to. My mother breastfed all five of her children. My aunts all breastfed. Most of the women I knew breastfed their children. When I heard horror stories about breastfeeding I was able to easily blow them off. My mother nursed my little sister while I was in labor with my son. Obviously, my exposure to breastfeeding was ample. Not once did I consider doing otherwise.

However...

It's never that simple. It's not just a choice, or a desire to breastfeed that makes it so. Like many things you desire, once you walk into a hospital to deliver a baby, your desires often fall to the bottom of the list...and breastfeeding is easily at the bottom...right before "natural delivery". Your success in breastfeeding can easily be tossed aside due to interventions. It never happens that way of course, and I don't mean to imply that your medical staff is crossing it off while your laboring, but it happens...one supplemental bottle at a time.

I fought to nurse my son. Right after his birth, and for the entire next week. He lost over a pound in 5 days, not because my milk was inadequate, but simply because he wanted to sleep. I spent hours in the mother's lounge across the hall from his NICU room in order to assure that the milk they fed him in that bottle, was mine. I spent hours trying to get him to latch on and eat. I was told by several nurses to just "feed him formula", and had I not been so determined, I might have.

My sister struggled for a week to get my nephew nursing. She had a cesarean with him, and then he got an extended stay in the NICU. I watched my niece struggle with nursing her daughter, but the staff was stressing about her not gaining enough weight. In both cases I was able to see the frustration with mom, and the ease at which the staff was able to hand them a bottle. I could see how easy it was to throw up the white flag and surrender.

One of the original studies that started this debate (you'd have to follow several other links to get there) cites bottle feeding as a risk factor for PPD. I think it all depends on why the mother is bottle feeding in the first place.

Was it her choice?

Did she decide to feed her baby formula because she will be returning to work? Is her employer supportive of nursing mothers? Does she have access to a place to pump? Or time to do so? For the majority of women, the answers to these questions would be a deciding factor on whether or not they will be breastfeeding.

I think that a general lack of support is the biggest factor behind women ceasing to breastfeed. Support from hospital staff, support from family and friends, and support from the employer. I think poor birth outcomes is a contributing factor to formula feeding, and any resulting PPD. Lets not forget that a history of depression might be a huge factor as well.

What about women who just don't want to breastfeed? I would much rather see a woman happily formula feeding her baby, than grudgingly breastfeeding. For whatever reasons, I believe a woman has the right to choose how she feeds her child. A woman shouldn't feel obligated to breastfeed, anymore than she should be encouraged to formula feed. She should be given the support to do whatever it is that she desires. I only ask that they own up to it, whatever it is.

While there are genuine medical reasons to stop breastfeeding, I think that they are in the minority. There may be no studies to conclusively prove that medications in your milk don't harm your baby, just as there are no studies that prove immunizations do no harm...but folks keep shooting up their kids anyway. It's all in your perspective.

Were women given better care in the hospital, and more respect were shown for their choices, I think that there would be a smaller incidence of default formula feeding and PPD. I think that many women subconsciously come out of their deliveries feeling like they can't do anything right. Modern obstetrics care contributes to PPD. From the time you enter the hospital you are given doubt in your body to labor, push, and then breastfeed. No wonder women go home depressed!

How on earth are we supposed to feel confident in our ability to care for a child when we couldn't even get the delivery right?

My Finger Must Be In My Lost Luggage

2009-10-09T02:28:00.000-06:00

In 25 days I will be acquiring Melanoma on the beaches of Cancun.

I'm so stinkin excited I can't sleep.

My first big girl vacation.

Sure, I've been all over the place. I've lived in Memphis and discovered that Elvis is a religion. You don't believe me? Wander the grounds of Graceland and you'll hear angels singing along with the whispering "Thank you very much". I was fortunate to have an aunt that was an Elvis fan, at least I think she was, maybe she just figured that if I wasn't going to actually pop out a kid while she was there, then she might as well get something from the trip. Either way, I got to spend a wonderful day at Graceland. That was after we finally made it through the miles and miles of city that should have been condemned and plowed under, wondering for miles and miles if we had inadvertently gotten our hands on a Kansas City map, and not a map of Memphis...but we made it. Mecca rose up from the ashes...and we were saved.

I then moved to California. And for the record, if you would ever like to know exactly what hell might feel like, I strongly recommend driving from Memphis to Utah with a toddler and a newborn. It will surely straighten your ass up.

I lived in California for 3 1/2 years, which was awesome. We got to see all the sights, and I spent 3 out of 7 days of the week at the beach. To be honest though, the very best thing I got from my time in California was my wonderful friend Jill. Although I haven't seen her in 9 years, I have adopted her in my heart as a sister.

Several years back my husband started working out of town. He worked for a company where he oversaw warehouses in Seattle and Phoenix. Perhaps my husbands employers had never examined a map, because as some of you are aware...these two cities aren't even remotely close to each other. So, he had a room in Phoenix and an extended stay in Seattle. He bought a motorcycle for his Phoenix home, and took one of our vehicles to Seattle. I was able to visit him numerous times in Seattle, where I got to see the sights there (aside from my first inclination towards "Need ocean...where's...the...water?"). I also got to visit Vancouver several times, and decided that should I need to flee the law, I am going to Canada. No, I haven't checked the extradition laws...so maybe I should just stick to abiding the law.

My one and only visit to Phoenix while Kev was there, was when we moved him to California, and it was in May and I believe the city was hotter than the surface of the sun. It smelled like brimstone.

His next stop was San Francisco, and it was amazing. I can't even tell you how many times I visited. Now for the lame part of the whole thing...we never went to Alcatraz. Which is retarded. We made it to two Chinese New Years, and not one single trip to Alcatraz. I acquired an addiction to Dim Sum, memorized the stores in Chinatown, drove through Napa Valley a dozen times, and yet I couldn't get my act together to get tickets to Alcatraz. Obviously, I am a lost cause.

I also never rode the trolley.

Pathetic.

However, with all of my journeys and adventures...and there are many. None of the trips I have ever gone on have been for shits and giggles...they have all been work related. Which is ridiculous, because I would like nothing more than to travel the world. The only time I have left the country is to go to Vancouver or Tijuana...and I didn't even need a passport to do it. Although I got a lot of flack the last time we went to Tijuana, I almost didn't get readmitted to the states...I'm the whitest person I know! I'm white even with a tan! We'll pretend like that statement was not riddled with stereotypical prejudice.

Soooo...in August while I was playing hostess to 11 of my BFF's, my friend LeeAnn was so enamored by my hubby that she invited us to go to Cancun for her wedding. I, thinking that people say things like that only to be nice, didn't believe her. When I mentioned it to hubby, haha, he totally jumped on it. LeeAnn assured me she was serious, and we booked our trip.

How cool is that?

Kev and I didn't get a real honeymoon, which is what you get when you elope in Vegas with kids in tow. It was fine because I married Kev because I ~~knew I better lock that down~~ loved him, not to get a honeymoon.

The only thing I'm concerned about is what crazy shit is going to go down while we're there. Kev and I have the worst kind of luck, and therefore have always made a point to not fly together. We flew to Vegas together once and were pretty sure that the plane would go down with the two of us on it (we ended up delayed for 2 hours). Which means that when we go to Cancun, one of us will be pulled aside and given a body cavity search, we'll lose our luggage, the shuttle will take us to the wrong hotel, and when we finally arrive at the correct one, we'll be given a broom closet for our room and they will swear that it was what we requested. I'll get bitten by a mosquito, swell up like a blimp, and none of my clothes will fit me. Kev will get his finger bitten off by a dolphin. A mantaray will sting me on the butt. Kev's scuba tank will be full of helium. One of us will accidentally discover a hidden chamber in a Mayan ruin where we will be imprisoned for the duration of our trip, while simultaneously unlocking a 5,000 year old curse, which will decimate the surrounding area. Then, when we're ready to finally return home, we will become stranded because of a pending hurricane.

Then we'll win the lottery.

Because that's how shit works with us.

For Clarification Purposes Only

2009-10-07T14:25:00.000-06:00

Facebook.

I'm not as addicted as I used to be.

After my post yesterday I got some emails, some comments, and some phone calls. Evidently, some people felt guilty, when they shouldn't have.

What I am about to say is going to directly conflict some of what I said yesterday.

Most of my FB friends do not read my blog. There are many that do, but the statistics are small. I don't know all of the people who read, but I do know many of the ones that do. Therefore, I do not bitch about ~~my friends~~ people on FB, when I know that they are going to come here and read about me bitching.

I care less about what I write on here than I used to. I went through a period of worrying, and got to the point that I just had to let it go. I won't discuss my feelings about certain things, or certain people, because I know that it would negatively affect my relationships with people I love and respect. I could count those things on one hand and have fingers left over. I can live with that. Some of the advantages to having a blog with my name clearly available, is the fact that people I know can read and know exactly what I'm talking about. Not to mention, in real life, I often know what my foot tastes like, and so I think it is just special that folks I know and love can see exactly what I mean, and not just be subjected to the word vomit that spews out of my mouth before my brain stops it.

That said...

I'm not apologizing for my remarks yesterday. I am going to clarify...expand my disclaimer. If you have been diagnosed with a long standing illness, a disease, then you would be excluded from my sickness related roll call. If however, you wake up from time to time, like I believe we all do, and decide to call it a day and pull the covers back over your head, do not chalk it up to some roving illness. Those were the people I was directing my comments to. The inflicted-with-the-illness-of-the-week people. If you are able to look back on your status messages from the last month, and see repeated reports of your non-disease related symptoms, then you would be one of the people I am talking to.

I want to see comments relating to your radiation treatments, glucose levels, and migraine medication. FB status messages are a cost free way of reaching out and touching people. They're a way for some of us who don't see each other enough, to keep tabs on one another. There's nothing wrong with you posting that you had a bad day, you had a good run, you have a toddler that you're on the verge of tying up. If FB offers you a tiny bit of sanity, a reality check, or good old-fashioned validation...then I applaud it.

I know more about diseases than I used to because of Facebook. Things I never knew existed have popped up with friends, and I think that is both amazing and tragic. I have been exposed to things outside of my little box, and have become more aware of other people, and the things they admirably cope with. I look forward to people posting about their jobs, school, kids, friends, workouts, and even their drama. I think it's awesome when people brag up their kids wins, their running times, and the fact that the new recipe they tried turned out. Sometimes it's so minor, but more often than not I believe people need to cheer on their own accomplishments. I think FB offers a camaraderie where no matter what your day job is, you can find something in common with other people. When I had little ones, I think FB would have offered me a serious reality check during those times when I believed I might have lost my marbles.

That's why I follow people's blogs. There are so many things to be learned from other people, and at the very least I am able to see how much my niece has grown, get a wildly good laugh with Aunt Becky, or be inspired by Jill. I am also privy to the pain that goes along with some of their triumphs. Sometimes it's enough to make me feel like I am not so alone in the world, and that there are other people out there just like me, that struggle with their weight, don't fit into the cookie cutter housewife mold, and that realize there are times where only the word "fuck" will suffice.

The difference between Facebook and blog reading is in the personal formality. With FB, you personally know more of the people (maybe I am in the minority of people who have FB friends they've never actually met). You have to temper what they put on their status messages, with the person you know them to be. With blogs, you have to establish more of a relationship. Were you to take a single post and judge the person on just that, some of us would quit reading right then and there. I'm sure that I've alienated a great many people by some of the things I've written, but I hope that more of you have taken a minute or two more, to read further, before making up your minds about me.

I do not agree with the opinions of every single blog I read, just like I don't agree with everyone I am friends with, or related to. I expect people to own up to things though. If you feel a certain way, own it. If you called into work "sick", I don't expect you to advertise the fact that you're not actually sick, but don't play it up either. I will tell you that there were many times I took a "sick" day, because I had the time available and I wanted to read a book. My mom refers to those as "mental health days", and even as a child I was able to take them. My brother and I played hooky one day when I was 13, and I crimped a mohawk in his hair and sprayed it crazy colors with leftover Halloween hairspray. I can't recall a single day of school from that year, but I vividly remember that day with my brother...that was a great day to miss school.

I often wake up feeling like I was in a wrestling match all night. I hurt, I have a headache, I'm a complete and total bitch...but I'm not sick. I wake up and look at what's on the agenda and want to surrender to the feelings of shitiness...but I'm not sick. It can take several hours before I feel like breathing, let alone doing anything...but that's life.

So I visit Facebook and see all of my friends and what they're doing...and then I visit my blog friends and see what they're doing. I often have to be careful not to shoot coffee or tea out of my nose while I'm visiting all my friends...

And then I can start my day...not being sick.

I Think I'm Sick Of You Being Sick

2009-10-06T08:48:00.001-06:00

Everybody gets sick. Sometimes we're subjected to the common cold, sometimes it's the flu, sometimes we get Malaria.

Oh, is it just me??

I've never had Malaria.

I've had the flu, let's see...how many times??? Hmmm...

Once.

It was an experiment. I had already read up on immunizations and opted to forgo them for my children, but then I was sitting in my doctors office with pneumonia...for the third time...that year. She suggested I get the flu shot, I declined and then thought "I've never had the flu" so I opted to get it.

I spent the next 10 days in bed...with the flu.

Now I'm sure that I couldn't have contracted the flu from a shot...because it's impossible for you to get the flu from the shot...right? Right??

Yeah, and monkeys are flying out of my ass right this minute. Seriously...they're circling the room.

Now, it may have been that my immune system was already seriously compromised...but even that doesn't make sense. If the shot is "harmless" and so frickin benign, then you shouldn't EVER get sick from it...but year after year I hear people talk about getting the shot, and year after year these same people complain about having the flu.

Then again, I think there is a huge population of people out there who don't have a clue what it means to be sick.

Come on, admit it, you can probably name at least one person in your life who constantly complains of some sort of illness. This person can't go an entire week without the words "I think I'm getting..." a cold, the flu, Lyme Disease, Leprosy. What's the deal?

I've seen sick. My son spent the first 18 months of his life with one ear infection after another. When he was two he came down with something called Erythema multiforme, which took an act of God to diagnose. McKinley was considerate enough to come down with his funky illness while we were in Utah, and thanks to my aunt Jabe (who worked at the University of Utah Hospital) she was able to get us an appointment with a specialist...quickly. The specialist did not dismiss us like the 3 previous doctors, and not only did he give us a diagnosis, he heavily medicated McKinley (so he'd sleep) and gave me something as well, because I hadn't slept for a couple of weeks. Sick kid + nursing new baby = trainwreck.

My daughter was completely different. When Ettienne got sick, she didn't screw around...she made it count. At 5 months of age, as we were enjoying a lovely day at the beach, Ettienne got a fever. Not a minor fever mind you, noooo...within 2 hours this kid had a 106 degree temperature. Ettienne and I spent the night in the ER, where she was subjected to urine tests, blood tests, and x-rays. Upon discovering that I did not immunize, the doctor wanted to admit her and do a spinal tap. I refused because it was premature to jump on that bandwagon before the results from the other tests came back. It turned out to be a virus around her heart, and they ended up giving her an antibiotic injection, an additional prescription for antibiotics and something for the fever. A follow-up with our pediatrician concluded that the prescription was overkill, and to just keep an eye on her.

For the next three years, that's how Ettienne got sick. Every 2-3 months she would spike some crazy temperature, lay around for a day or two, and then be fine. It took several trips to the doctor before he finally told me that it was just the way she took care of things and that as long as the fever didn't get really high, it was okay to just let it run it's course. I don't get fevers, and McKinley never got them, so Ettienne was a mindtrip for me. Now when she gets sick, she pukes her guts out...literally. I've never seen someone puke so much...to be fair, I've never had to tend anyone (besides my kids) who was really sick, so I have little basis of comparison. I'm not a puker, and neither is McKinley...but once again, Ettienne has to show us all up.

I have allergies...oh, like 365 days of the year. It never ends. During the summer and fall it's ragweed, pine, cottonwood, pollen...air. During the winter and spring it's all the dust, pet dander and the like that's trapped indoors. Without fail every winter I end up with some allergy related ailment, either a sinus infection or pneumonia. Or both...at the same time.

That's what I consider sick. Puking, fevers, infections, pneumonia.

So how is it that certain individuals seem to constantly be sick...or coming down with something? Are people so unhealthy that they have a cold every single week? I have a couple Facebook friends who are always posting something to the effect of being ill. I'm not against posting that you are sick, because what is FB for if not to have all your friends commiserate with you? Maybe you'll score the big one and someone will offer to take the kids for you, bring your family dinner, or rub your feet.

That's what friends are for. That's what friends do. But good hell, every single week you're whining about a headache*, a cold, the Swine flu...come on. Get off the cross...it's getting cold and we need the wood. I know that people do get sick, and obviously there is not enough room in this post for me to list all the ways that one might be ill. There is no reason to get defensive, unless you're guilty. At which point I would like to take this opportunity to tell you to knock it off. You're bugging the shit out of some of us.

I spend a lot of time trying to convince people that I am not ~~disease riddled~~ physically ill, because I'm congested or have a runny nose. When I start barking like a sea lion I just stay home, because it's almost impossible to convince someone that you are not ~~going to kill them with your~~ ~~airborne germs~~ contagious when you sound like you belong at Seaworld.

Now, if you'll excuse me I need to go take some Benadryl.

*I'm going to give Migraine sufferers a pass on this one. I speak from experience when I say that Migraines BLOW. I had them regularly for 3 years (hormonal) and they suck. Though now I am able to tell that the idiot standing next to me in line at the amusement park does NOT, in fact, have a Migraine. Migraine sufferers avoid doing anything unnecessary...like breathing, because it hurts.

Give Your Time (But Shut Your Cakehole)

2009-10-05T15:58:00.000-06:00

I have a confession to make.

I'm a sucker.

Along with my angelic face, I have a gooey heart and despite my rantings to the contrary, I am a big old softy. When I was a child, I was the kid who adopted the kid who peed his pants. I was the kid who played jump rope with the blind kids. I was the kid who evil-eyed the lunch ladies when they tried to give the same blind kids "questionable" fruit. I would pick a fight with anyone who tried to do harm to kids or animals. I am truly surprised that I made it to my adulthood intact.

My mom once told me that I attract strays.

I wouldn't have it any other way. I should have ended up working for some non-profit organization in a third world country as a doctor. Had I actually become a doctor and not a mother, I imagine that's where I would be. No one in my life knows that until now.

Since I have had kids, I have tried to teach them to be kind. Yes, my kindness is reserved for animals and people who are not capable of helping themselves. I pity homeless people because I know that a vast majority of them suffer from varying degrees of mental illness, which to me is a tragedy because of where we live and how readily available medication is, or should be.

Fortunately, my kids learned something at my knee. While they can be as selfish as the next kid, they are also very giving of their time. If there is one thing that makes me the proudest of my children, it is the fact that they are willing to help others.

A few months back my friend Kori had a fundraiser yard sale. I don't do yard sales. I would rather donate all my goods to charity than haggle with a stranger over the cost of my wares. People suck, and I choose my personal affiliations carefully. Yes, I'm a paradox. Kori raises $50,000 a year for her son's Muscular Dystrophy, and I was willing to sign on to work a yard sale. To my surprise, hubby and both kids were on board as well. I told McKinley and Ettienne that they didn't have to, but to their credit they were more than willing to get up at an obscene hour and work in the hot sun, all day, for people they had never met. We spent 9 hours in the heat and raised almost $4,000. What didn't sell was passed on to another charity.

I didn't hear a word of complaint from either one of my children. I don't think I've ever been more proud of them. My kids got to see what a disease is capable of, and what people are capable of. My daughter's ~~carefully chosen~~ words as she looked at the banner with Carson's cute smile staring back at us were these; "How does this happen? Look at that smile. How can he be sick? That's fucked up". Yes, Ettienne is 100% my child, except she has superior fashion sense. I wish that I had some adult wisdom for her as she grappled with mortality, but all I could say was "It happens. That's why we're doing this, so that maybe it can be treated one day".

My grandparents are getting older now, and I find myself struggling with their age. Mum is getting forgetful, and Papa is getting grumpier, and I find it harder than ever to cope with it all. Winter is approaching fast here and so last Saturday a group of us got together to stack the firewood by the back door for my grandparents. My aunt Holly took out a tree this summer, so Kev, McKinley, and I headed to her house first in order to split logs, load our truck with the wood, and take it to my grandparents house.

We were joined at Mum and Papas house by my aunt Jabe and my uncle Brad, where we spent a good part of the day splitting and hauling wood. My grandparents yard is huge, and has a large steep hill. We were able to split the wood on the upper patio, but then it all had to be moved to the lower patio where they have a sliding door that leads to their family room, and their wood burning stove. Excess wood is stacked in the orchard....on the other side of the yard. Fortunately for us, Brad had spent 3 hours earlier in the week moving unsplit logs from the orchard to the upper patio, and for the record, Brad is blind. We were doing great until a piece of the splitter broke and someone had to go in search of a replacement part. Which gave us a great window of time to unload the truck and haul the wood to the lower patio. I was doing great until Papa interrupted me and asked me to go help Mum with lunch, at which point I about lost my coconut.

Just because I have breasts does not mean that I should be in the kitchen. And by the way, you're not hauling, so why don't you go help Mum with lunch?

Papa is such a man sometimes.

We were able to get it all done by 3:00, which was a miracle. I was able to bite my tongue, which was also a miracle. McKinley never complained though, which makes him a better person than myself, because although I didn't mind doing the work, I was irked at Papa. Honestly, I think that my grandparents should have been Italian...they're always trying to feed everyone, which is sweet and great, but the last thing I want to do while I'm busy working, is eat. Besides, we were scheduled to meet up with Kevs family for dinner, so we were trying to hurry.

I am continually amazed by my kids. They are able to do things for others without feeling smug and self righteous about it. When thanked for their deeds, they get rather red raced and have an "Aww, shucks" attitude about it. Cracks me up. I think that my son would do anything for my grandparents now, in exchange for a pot roast sandwich...which is what Mum made for lunch. I would be willing to do anything for them in exchange for Papa keeping his trap shut regarding me in the kitchen.

Oh man...I need to take lessons from my kids.

Happy Birthday Kevie!

2009-09-30T14:23:00.001-06:00

I've not yet discussed my hubby Kevie at length, and thought his birthday would be a charmingly good time to do so.

I met Kevie while in high school. We attended the same school, but actually met in a college class that we both signed up for. It was a very small class, held Tuesdays and Thursdays for 3 hours in the afternoon. Our teacher was the king of being relaxed and therefore we had boatloads of free time to visit and smoke. My best friend William was in our class with us, and the three of us became instant friends, and spent weekends clubbing, drinking Mimosas, and "studying".

Kev and I went on ONE date. He took me to The Salt City Jail for dinner, and it was awesome. It snowed massive amounts that night, and I wouldn't have been happier than to be stranded with him. Of course we didn't get stranded, but did spend some time at an overlook mere miles from where we currently live, ~~talking~~ making out like the horny ~~teenagers~~ people we still are.

We didn't go out again. I know we spent time doing things after that, but we just never went out again. After high school Kev stopped in at my mom's house, where he discovered I was ripe with child and dating Jer, whom I later married.

I didn't speak to Kev again until December 2002 when I emailed him a note via Classmates. The subject title was We went to jail together, and we instantly became email buddies. Then we started talking on the phone constantly. Then he came into my work. We talked a lot.

I was dating, and I use that term loosely, another guy. I'm not going to get into that just because it's so not what this is about...but I will say this. My brother got married the night of Valentine's Day and my plans were to go to the bar where my "boyfriend" was the DJ for their big bash. I didn't want to go. Kev talked me into it, said I'd have fun, and so I went. When I walked in the door, the first person I laid eyes on, was Kev.

Yeah, awkward, but totally awesome. I spent several minutes chatting with him, but due to the fact that almost everyone in the joint knew me, and not him, I wasn't able to ~~jump his bones~~ commit a serious chunk of time to him. Kev was sweet enough to assess the situation and said he was leaving, but that he had something for me, at which time he pulled out a long jewelry box. I refused because a) I'm stupid and b) not the time or the place. Kev left with his box, and I felt like an asshole.

My "boyfriend" didn't give me anything...in case you're keeping score.

The next day Kev came into my work, where he proceeded to discuss the finer points of computers with my dad. My "boyfriend" had not ever met my dad, nor expressed an interest to do so. One more point for Kev. As he made his way to leave, he left me the box and ~~sprinted for the door~~ ~~high-tailed it out of there~~ left. It took me an hour to open the box.

Kev gave me a diamond necklace for a holiday that we weren't even *together* for.

The judges awarded One Million points to Kev.

After work I jetted next door to my ~~step~~moms* store. My dad was a slum lord of a strip mall that had a handful of units, one of the stores was his grocery store, another unit housed my moms store. I spilled the story of Kev and lamented about what to do, when my 12ish age sister Randee' who showing wisdom beyond her years states "Dump the loser, and go out with the guy who gives you jewelry".

That my friends, is the secret to dating.

I called Kev to ask him where he lived. He objected. I accused him of being a pig and not wanting me to see his personal sty. He relented.

I spent the next 12 hours at Kev's house. There was no removal of clothing. I left only when I knew I had enough time to get home, change, and get back to work. We spent the night talking about everything under the sun, and by the time I left we both knew that we would be married and have 2.4 children together.

When I got off work the next afternoon (my kids were with their dad for the weekend in case you're wondering) I went back over and spent the evening with him again. Kev had even stocked up on my favorite ice cream (1 point).

The next week was spent losing the "boyfriend" (who became inordinately clingy when I told him to get lost), and hanging out with Kev. My kids adored him (5000 points), he gave me rides to work when my car broke down (10 points), and then fixed it on his day off (100 points).

Every time one of us had a day off we joked about going and getting married. When a weekend off was coming up I mentioned we could go to Vegas and get married. Wednesday afternoon Kev asks "So, we still getting married this weekend?" to which I replied "You haven't even bought me a ring yet". Kev responded with "Let's go".

And we went and got rings. Drove to Vegas Friday night, and got married Saturday afternoon in The Little White Wedding Chapel, where the bride wore black and Elvis was not in attendance.

Five weeks from Valentine's Day we had eloped.

I've never regretted it, second guessed it, or thought for one second that it was a hasty thing to do.

It is THE most impulsive thing I have ever done.

I love Kev to death.

Kev is deliriously funny. There have been nights that we have been laughing so hard that the kids have told us to shut it so that they can sleep. I love his offbeat humor and his ability to laugh at damn near everything. He comes up with the craziest things and his perspective is usually completely different than most peoples, but his logic in it always makes sense.

Example: People who are convicted of DUI's should be tried for attempted murder. They could have killed someone, and should have known better than to get behind the wheel of a car while intoxicated.

Sounds rash, but the logic is there.

I don't believe that people only have one soul mate, but I do know that Kev is mine. I look at him often and feel that crazy falling in love goo, and have to look away before the feeling engulfs me. I know that is about the cheesiest thing I have ever said, but it's true. Our six years feels like six months, and the rest of eternity would not be enough time together.

Go vomit, or get some Pepcid...I'll wait.

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Kev is smart too, in a way that I will never be. I think he makes long distance phone calls to ask me to spell words for him, only to stroke my fragile ego. It's amazing to watch him work, when we do projects he just does it without thinking, while I am looking things up and reading about what to do and how to do them, he just does. He also gets obsessed with getting on with a project and after days and weeks of doing something without letting up, I feel like bludgeoning him in his sleep so that I can get a day off. But I would miss him, so I ~~beg~~ ~~plead~~ request a day off...which is not an easy task.

I am a much better person because of Kev. I know that that is what so many people who are in a happy relationship say, but it is so true. I am more relaxed since meeting Kev (again), so you can only imagine how neurotically insane I was before. I don't freak out as much about things, oddly because of Kev's persistent belief that things work out, or they don't. I know that doesn't sound remotely comforting, and shouldn't bring anyone an ounce of hope, but it does. His attitude can be grating when I am trying to attain a full blown meltdown, but it always brings me back to earth. I have more patience, more faith, and I laugh a hell of a lot more than I once did. Because truly, what is the worst that can happen? His unfailing belief that things will be fine, makes them so.

The 2.4 children of our own has yet to work out. I, at 21, believed that I was unfit to be a parent and thought it best to get my tubes tied. I believed that I was a terrible mother to my 2 children I already had, and thought that it was the best thing to do. They were unable to reverse the procedure, and I have spent the last three years trying to climb out of that emotional hole. Kev does not have offspring of his own, and though he has fully accepted his parental role to McKinley and Ettienne, I still wish we could have some babies together. IVF is the only way we could accomplish that task, and it is still on the table. Kev has never made me feel bad about my decision (which, for the record I considered for a year before doing), he's always stated that I did what I thought I needed to do at the time, and there is no sorrow to be felt in that. I know that he would willingly sacrifice a leg in order to have his own children though. It makes me love him more because he thinks this way, but at the same time it breaks my heart even more as well.

Kev hates getting presents. Who hates getting gifts? Honestly? Kev does...which on one hand is funny because he loves his toys, tools, gadgets, and stuff...but he is more than happy to get them on his own. I thought it was all bullshit for the first couple years, but I have come to realize that he genuinely hates getting gifts. Maybe it's the effort or money involved, maybe he hates the attention, I have no clue. I finally resorted to making him promise not to get me anything on Christmas or my birthday, but as much as he hates receiving gifts...he loves giving them. So, now we exchange gifts on Christmas, and I always ask for things we will both enjoy for my birthday (*I* got a new bedroom set this year). His rationale is that if he wants something, he will buy it. The reality is, he is the one most in need of a new laptop. (Sure, his dream laptop is close to $10,000, but still)

Kev owns more pairs of socks and underwear than anyone I have ever met on the planet. Were I to count my undies, bras, slips, pantyhose, and shoes...he would still win out. When we got married he had 97 pairs of socks...I counted. I think it stems from his extensive travels, where he ends up short a pair and then resorts to buying 6 8 10 new pairs. I can do an entire load of just his socks. Makes me giggle every time.

*rolls eyes*

The sex is amazing. Nuff said. This is a family blog.

*rolls on the floor laughing*

Like I said, Kev comes up with the craziest things. For our anniversary this year we went to Bodega Bay (which is where Hitchcocks The Birds was filmed), and spent a wonderful weekend of whale watching, wine tasting, and hotel sex. We chose this particular area, not for the cool Hitchcock reference, but because it was relatively close to where he was working (San Francisco), and he would still be able to do his calls and run interference for some of the ~~retarded chimps~~ people he works with. Part way through the weekend, I think it was while we were ~~getting tanked~~ sipping wine in front of the fireplace in our room, Kev gazes longingly in my eyes and says "I think we should get a divorce".

I broke his nose.

Just kidding, I'm so used to his antics by now that I simply asked "Really, and whys that?'. To which he goes into length about how we need to get remarried on a day that would not fall at the end of the quarter, and then we would be able to get away for an entire weekend without having to deal with his work issues.

It's all about the logic...but really I'm afraid that if we got divorced he might not agree to marry me again. I'm not a complete fool.

One thing Kev can't do is cook...there is one dish that he specializes in though. Right now he is cooking me up a large pie of Crow. It's snowing, and I stated yesterday that if it did, in fact, snow here today I wanted to move to a warmer climate.

The flakes are small and very sparse...but it's fucking snowing.

*My ~~step~~mother is Debra. She is so awesome. I have always felt that *step* sounds derogatory, much in the same way that *ex* sounds. So I rarely use it. I do have a mother, whom I also love...and therefore I use the *step* only to differentiate the two. Debra has spent the last fifteen years parenting 4 of my most hellraising siblings, plus her own 2, and therefore deserves the respect of being included in my nuclear family as one of my parents. The judges award her 10 Million points.

Stealing Gives You Bad Karma

2009-09-30T02:17:00.001-06:00

Someone stole my sprinkler.

I can't believe I was able to type that...and have it be true.

What kind of mentally deranged handicapped loser steals a sprinkler?

Have you ever ~~driven~~ ~~walked~~ ~~scooted~~ ~~limped~~ ~~crawled~~ gone down a street and looked at something in someones yard and thought "I think I'll steal that tonight?".

Who does that??

I live in an old mining town, and I'm sure my plight will be written up in the town newsletter next month and I'll have 300 elderly people feeling sorry for me. That's so lame.

I first discovered that I had been victimized when I went out to rip out one of my flowerbeds in the front yard. Several years ago I planted Bishops Weed, not knowing a damn thing about it, and it took over...invasive doesn't even begin to describe what this plant is capable of. It's only competition is the Morning Glory, and I think they are happy to cohabitate and have little plant orgies where they are able to breed more invasive offspring. So, I decided to rip it all out and treat the area to kill the slutty plants shoots. Ripping it all out consists of removing all my Hyacinth and Daffodil bulbs, a couple Hostas, a Mum I thought had died forever ago, a Columbine that barely made it, and a Lupine that had been almost strangled to death by the Morning Glory. It's going to be touch and go for several weeks...especially if God hates me and is in fact going to bless us all with snow...tomorrow. Not to mention I have an 18 foot tall climbing rose, some Ivy, and another rose bush in the same bed. If the Ivy and the rose don't make it, I'll buy new ones. If the climbing rose doesn't make it...I'm screwed, because I was informed today that it is a Landmark, and I imagine that if it dies, it will make the newsletter, and then I'll have an angry mob of people wanting to beat me with their walkers and canes.

So, as you can imagine, I was a little preoccupied with thoughts of being beat to death when I went about my task of tearing up my flowerbed. As I got to digging, I noticed how very dry the bed was, and glanced over to make sure the sprinkler was still in it's place. I always check after anyone (besides me) mows the lawn, just to make sure it is placed in it's proper place (otherwise it hits my bedroom window at 4:00 a.m.).

It was gone. I went around the corner of the house, all the while being pretty damn sure that I checked it on Saturday after McKinley mowed the lawn. No sprinkler...but the hose had been partially retracted, and that's when I realized some retard stole my sprinkler.

I am pretty sure that the crime occurred at 3:30 Monday morning. Kev drove back to California Sunday morning, and since ~~I'm a freak~~ he was gone I was up reading until dawn...but my little blind dog started barking at 3:30 and scared the crap out of me. I'm glad I was up, because I am pretty sure that I would have wet the bed had I been asleep when she started barking. I should have looked out the window or something, but I figured it was just the deer...and my dog can be provoked to bark by dust bunnies floating across the floor.

Anyway...

How is it possible to get so mad about something so stupid? I mean, it was a pretty awesome sprinkler, a tripod that was adjustable up to 4 feet...the jokes on them though, because if you raise it up that high you have to ground it or it tips over and then you have Old Faithful. Maybe my anger stems from the fact that a week ago someone walked into my neighbors house in the middle of the night. My neighbor had fallen asleep in her chair and heard the back door open, and scared them off when she went to investigate. Now, I never go to bed without locking my doors, but I know that I am in the minority of people who do that in this town. I also have guns, knives, and know karate...so were someone stupid enough to ~~walk uninvited~~ break into my house...well, I imagine the cops wouldn't even be able to identify what happened to them.

I need to get a sprinkling system. My husband in more than happy to rebuild the house from the ground up, but will not put in a sprinkling system. *choking...on...the...irony*

Kevie, will you please put in a sprinkling system...I'm feeling so vulnerable right now.

Yeah, right.