Sunday, April 30, 2006

The Day from HELLLLLL

Why do Dr's hire dumb shit nurses? It would seem to me that since they are looking after the general public and would want to keep their malpractice insurance premiums low, they would hire someone with at least one brain cell. That does not however, seem to be the case.

I give you my case in point...

I took Connor to the pediatrician's office last monday. He had developed a fever and was rather listless. We were unable to get in with our regular Dr, so we had to go to one that we had not seen before. I wasn't to happy about that but what can you do? Little Dude was sick, he needed to be seen. It wasn't to bad, this New Dr works in the same building with offices immediately across from our regular Dr, so at least they would have access to his medical history via his file, and if worst came to worst, his Dr could just pop in and take a look-see.

We get to the Dr's office and of course I have to go through the same old bull crap with Lin the Billing Lady and I have to sit and listen to all the screaming babies. (Oh yeah. I just love that part. ) This time I had to wait an extra hour to see the Dr. I WAS NOT A HAPPY CAMPER.
We finally get called back by the nurse.
You know what they say about first impressions right? Weeellllll, let's just say that the nurse didn't even LOOK smart. You know how some people just have that "I'm Stupid" expression on their faces? Buddy, she had it in spades, clubs, diamonds, and hearts. I felt bad at the time and mentally fussed at myself. "Self," I said "you shouldn't do that to people. She could be smart. She could even be funny. She could possibly be cursed with some rare genetic disease that makes her look like that. She could be extremely intellegent. She could put that look on her face on purpose to make people drop their guard and let something slip. It could be extremely handy in child abuse cases." The whole time I'm mentally berating myself, I have a niggling little voice in the back of my head saying "No, she's stupid. Just relax and go with that." But I ignored it. Tsk Tsk. Always go with your insticts. From this point forward, whenever I refer to this nurse, I will call her Twit.
Twit neither weighted Super Baby, nor took his temp. Now I've been taking my kids to see the pediatrican for 8 years now and I know that you will either do one or the other, but mostly you will do both for most any kid. For Super Baby, we always do both because of his medical history. All she did was play the guessing game to try and diagnose him.
Twit - Oh, he's pulling at his ears. He must have an ear infection.
Me - He probably does have an ear infection, but him playing with his ears is not a good indication. He plays with them all the time.
Twit - Oh (pause) He could be teething. He's drooling a lot.
Me - This is normal for him. He always drools a lot.
Twit - Oh. Well, I just don't know what's wrong with him. The Dr will be in to see you in a moment.
Me - WTF?
I couldn't believe it. Had the scale broken? Were thermometers suddently out of stock? Had her last cluster of brain cells suddenly exploded and were curently doing a ping pong ball immitation in her skull? A few minutes later, she came back in.
Twit - Oh (giggling nervously) I forgot to weigh him in. (Ya think?)
So we trudge down the hall and weighed Little Dude. We trudge back to the little waiting room and she closes the door behind me when I walk in the room. She is outside of the room and I am inside. WTF? At this point I couldn't help but thinking "What? Do I smell? Do I offend? Is this deoderant not working for me any more?" A few minutes later, she comes back again.
Twit - Oh, I forgot to take his temperature. (She says this waving the thermometer with the plastic cover around like a magic wand. No shit. LIKE A MAGIC FUCKING WAND and she wants to approach my son with it. She would have poked his eye out! I would have has an evil looking pirate baby.)
Me - Here, let me do it. Sometimes he gets nervous around strangers. (This was such a lie, but there was no way in hell I was going to let her take his temp. It just wasn't gonna happen. If necessary, I would have wrestled her to the floor to keep her away from my son.)
Twit - Nods vacantly
Me - 100.6 I said and pressed the end of the thermometer to pop of the plastic cover into the trash can.
Twit - Okey dokey. I'll get the Dr in here as soon as I can. (OKEY DOKEY?)
I was sitting there waiting for the Dr to come in for about 1/2 and hour and thought "I'm just going to walk over to Regular Dr's office. If Twit was any indication of how the Dr is, I don't want her around him. I started to collect our things - diaper bag, bottle bag, my purse, my jacket, his jacket - but the Dr walked in as soon I slung my purse on my shoulder. I felt obliged to stay. She had after all, figured out how to work the door handle.
She ended up being a good Doc. I was extremely surprised. I initially answered all her questions like I would answer a childs questions - after I cut my eyes at her. I eventually loosened up, and she diagnosed him with dual ear infections. I got the scrip, and went to pick up Lauren from school.
We went to the local pharmacy, filled Super Baby's scrip and got in the car to go home. THE FUCKING CAR WOULDN'T START. Surpise Nikki! It's a wonderfull fucking day!
I called hubby. Hubby said he couldn't get off work to come help because he was the only one working his shift and couldn't I call S to see if she could help? He was in the middle of telling me something that wouldn't comput when I hung up on him. WRONG FUCKING ANSWER ASSHOLE. (Let me just make one thing clear. I think hanging up on someone is extremely disrespectful and I NEVER do it, expecially to my hubby - until then) I'm sitting in the parking lot with a sick, crying baby, and an eight year old who just informed me that she is hungry, no money in the bank to get anyone to look at the car - much less get it repaired, no way to feed my daughter, no way to feed the baby - it's feeding time for him too, and you're to fucking BUSY to lend a helping hand? UH HUH. I'll deal with you later tonight Paco (can you say NO ASS?). I called S, no answer. I called J no answer. I called their house phone, no answer. I called Old Friend of mine at home and her hubby answered.
"Hey! What's up Nikki"
"Hey Old Friend Hubby. Is Old Friend there?"
"No she's still at work."
"Oh yeah, I forgot I'm off work a bit early today. Okay, thanks."
"Hey, what's up?"
"Uh, my car broke down."
"Your car broke down? What's wrong with it?"
"I don't know. I thought it might just be the battery but the radio is coming on so it's not that." I put the key in the ignition and turned the key a bit and the radio came on and then went off. "DAMN IT! Now the radio won't even come on!"
"Hey, calm down. Don't worry about it. Call Old Friend and ask her to come take a look. When she gets there, tell her to call me and I'll tell her a couple of things for her to try."
"Thanks Old Friend Hubby. I appreciate it." I called Old Friend. No answer. I was stuck bigger than shit right there in the parking lot. Damn.
I thought I remembered an Advanced Auto Parts store in the strip mall somewhere. And lo and behold, there was. At least I can see if it was the battery. I thought I had heard somewhere that they do free testing to check your battery. I gave it a shot. IT WAS THE BATTERY! Holy shit I was right. I couldn't believe it. The bad news was that a new battery was 60.00 and I had NO MONEY. Being poor is a bitch.
To save you the rest of the story, I called the bank and found that the last check I had written hadn't cleared yet, good, I spent the money, the check will just have to bounce. I got the battery, the guy from Advanced was nice enough to put it in for me and Old Friend called me several times to make sure I was okay and on the road. I was.
Hubby called to make sure I was okay. "Fine" I said. We had an interesting evening.
I remembered something very important that afternoon. I remembered how to rely on myself.
It felt good. It feels even better when you have friends you can call if you need a helping hand.
Sometimes beautiful things grow from piles of shit.


Friday, April 28, 2006

Lauren's Story

Today I'm going to post a short story that my daughter Lauren wrote. I think it would make a great children's book. I have not altered it or changed it in any way. This is her story, not mine. She did tell me that there were more animals in the story in her rough draft, but decided to take some of them out. You will also see her very own illustration.

The Lost Mitten
By Lauren

One day I was walking through the woods with my mom. We needed our mittens. After awhile my hands were getting hot. I took them off then I stuffed them in my pocket. But one fell out of my pocket and I left it behind. After awhile a mouse came along. She was so cold she scampered in the mitten and never came out. Then along came a tiger and he stopped to admire the mitten. "So," he asked the mouse, "can I live in the mitten too?" The mouse was about to say no but when she saw his teeth she moved over. After a while a toad came along and he wanted to live ther too. They almost said no but when they saw his tongue they moved over. Then along came a bug. He didn't care as long as he found a place to stay. So jumped on the fox's nose. Then the fox sneezed. Then all of the animals flew into the air. Then Lauren found her mitten. It was bigger the the other one.

***My thanks to Blind Squirrel Studios for scanning Lauren's picture for me. You can visit that site by clicking here.


Thursday, April 27, 2006

The Little House That Hell Built - Part 2

Dear Readers,
Let me take you on a journey fit only for fiction. Let me take you back...
To the second encounter with my Horror-In-Law. Charles and I were living in Clarksville, TN at the time, both of us being in the military and being stationed out that way. I was somewhat nervous about seeing the old bag again, but I pushed it to the back of my mind. I had more important things to think about. I was pregnant.
Yes my dear innocents, I had been having pre-marital relations and had gotten myself in the family way. (I'm a bad, bad girl) I can hear you. "Nikki, you went to see this woman? Were you out of you mind? I thought you said that she was a strict Southern Baptist?" I did say that gentle reader, and to say the visit was interesting goes beyond understatement.
Now, let me give you a little more background. I was still married to my first husband. Is your mouth agape? Shocking isn't it. It's not as bad as all that. I had left him quite a while before. Our marriage was not harmonious to say the least, so I left. Simple. He eventually found me a couple of years later, but wouldn't give me a divorce. (He know a good thing when he had it)
So there I was, in the house filled to the brim with heavenly retribution,

pregnant with Charles' baby and still married to my first husband. Judge Superior would have fallen dead on the floor had she know all of this. (I like to tease myself with this thought from time to time) Looking back, had I known all the grief this woman would cause me, I would have told her and saved myself a lot of trouble and heart ache, but I didn't. I kept my little mouth shut. My line of thinking being that I was with her youngest son, the one whom she favored and was naturally a little guarded. OH, how little I knew.
We arrived and everything went quite pleasant on the first day, we hardly spoke. I had taken a book and absorbed myself in it's pages to prevent being included in any conversation. Rude? Yes. Wrong? Yes. Was I ashamed - even a little bit? HELL NO! I was determined not to speak any unnecessary words to this woman. I knew what was expected of me for the most part. Nod my head and agree with her - that was it. Simple enough for someone who doesn't have a brain. Unfortunately for me, I had already gone to see the Wizard of Oz, so there was nothing simple about it for me. Disagreeing or correction was simply not allowed, that had already been made painfully clear to me.
I was raised in the South, I knew that any women visitors are expected to help with dinner and the dishes. My help was not needed for dinner, she made Charles help her. I don't know if she just wanted to spend a little time with him or if she just didn't want me to screw up her dinner, I was just grateful I wasn't in there with her no matter what the reason was. Oh, I showed token resistance, but that was it. I could let it be said that I hadn't offered to help. I mean, I wouldn't have had any problem getting the Pam out of the cabinet for her and then go back to reading my book.
Now, I'm sure you have all heard of the traditional southern fare, everything fried and over cooked. Well, it's true. I don't remeber what she cooked, I just remember looking into a bowl of home made gravy with grease pooled at the top and had the sudden urge to decorate her table with my lunch. You see, I suffered quite severely from morning sickness (or rather Entire Day sickness) the whole of my pregnancy. Have you ever tried to not vomit? Just makes you even sicker doesn't it. I was in absolute misery. I had green beans for dinner and somehow managed to not produce them for show and tell. Score one for me. HA HA
The dishes on the other hand, were another matter all together. After dinner, I helped clear the table and ran a sink full of water and did her dishes. (Personally, I hate it when someone does this when they are a guest at my house. I feel like you are a guest, you should enjoy yourself with company and the good time and leave the chores to me. If I didn't want to do them, I would've used paper plates, or not invited you at all. But I digest)
The entire time I was washing her damn dishes, she hovered over my left shoulder and watched me do them. She did not join in to dry them or put them away. She watched and gave instructions (like I had never done dishes before) to make sure I did her dishes to her satisfaction. "Oh, You warsh your silverware firs. I don do mine like 'aaat. Take 'em out and warsh the glasses firs, then the plates, then the silverware, the the pots and pans... Yeah, 'at's how I do 'em." I couldn't believe that shit. I could feel my face getting hot. I was in immediate need of a cigarette. I bit my tongue. I didn't say anything. Score one, and two, for her.
I went to bed early, pleading exhaustion from the drive, but you and I know that pregnant women know how to sleep, and I was going to brush up on some of the finer points of that particular activity. I snuggled down and was out like the proverbial light. I awoke promptly at zero dark thirty and had to go to the bathroom. I didn't have to go tinkle, I had to puke, and there was to be no swallowing it down this time. As the fates would have it, the bathroom is right beside the master bedroom.
Yes dear reader, I woke Judge Superior while I was hurling. Have you ever tried to be quite while puking? I have. I didn't work. On the good side, I had only green beans for dinner so there wasn't much to throw up, on the other hand, I did more than my normal amount of dry heaving. Ever noticed how it echoes in the bowl? (Don't act like you don't know what I talking about. We have all worshiped the porcelain god at one time or another) I got up, wiping my mouth, and there she stood at the door. I froze. I had taken the time to close that damn thing, but it stood open, and so did her mouth. I never said she was a stupid woman, just a great big pain in the ass and the biggest judgmental bitch I have ever run across.
"Green beans must not have set right on my stomach." said I. It sounded hollow even to me.
She watched me brush my teeth. She didn't move. Her mouth eventually closed and she shot the depths of hell at me through her eyes. She never said a word. She walked back into her room, I walked back down the hall and right before I stepped in my room, I looked back and she was watching me, her body filled the doorway, arms crossed, mouth set.
She had it. Proof. I was leading her baby boy into the depths of hell with my wicked ways.
My thanks to Wendy's Wizard of Oz web page for allowing me to use their great pictures. You can visit the site by clicking here.

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Tuesday, April 25, 2006

Pissing and Moaning

When I first started blogging, I thought "I'm a mother of two who works full time, I've got a lot of pets and I'm a smart ass. I shouldn't have any problem coming up with something to put up on my blog."

Umm, yyeeeaaahhh.

All I can come with recently is political stuff and I refuse to blog about it because I will become very upset. I am one of those people who can not talk about politics calmly, I will scream at you. I was in a class a few years ago and the subject came around to Bill Clinton and Monica "Give me a Cigar" Lewinski and I started screaming at the Instructor. I didn't realize I was screaming until after I was done. I suddenly realized that my throat hurt and I was out of breath. It only helped a little bit when the class erupted in applause afterwards (that really happened). I was embarrassed because I had lost my cool (okay, I didn't just lose it. I did a wind-up like a pro ball player and gave it a good fling). Therefore, I do not talk politics. I will listen to you while you talk politics, but I will seldom join in. Frequently, I walk away - especially if I think you're stupid.

I'm not going to go into religion.

I could talk about stupid people. I mean, lets be honest, there is such a variety to chose from! And we all love hearing about what some other idiot did so we feel less like idiots ourselves. It makes us feel like we are entitled to the oxygen that we use. I myself have submitted a form with the federal government requesting more oxygen for me personally. Why? Because I have been on one of those "Damn, I can't believe I did that." streaks here lately and I am convinced it's because those other idiots are using up my valuable oxygen and making me into an idiot as well. It's like a virus- that shit spreads.

I could talk about the screwy credit system we have. Once upon fifty years ago, there was a saying "Neither a borrower nor a lender be." These days, if you don't borrow, you can't get anything. IT'S TO EXPENSIVE, unless of course you're Bill Gates or Donald Trump. That just kills me!! I mean, how many times has Donald Trump filed for Bankruptcy? And he is still dealing in multimillion dollar deals when the average American has to practically go on bended knee to get a couple of thousand!! Who set that shit up? (One of the above mentioned idiots I'm sure)

I could gripe about how much it sucks doing housework. That's always a hot topic, but I don't want to go there. Some genius will probably offer the never before thought of advice of "Get a housekeeper". Sure I will, as long as you are the one paying for it and don't expect reimbursement either. Seriously, I wouldn't be able to do that. I would feel uncomfortable with the thought that someone else may have gone through my underwear drawer - not that they aren't clean, but still. WHAT IF THEY HAD JUST PICKED THEIR NOSE AND THEN WENT THROUGH MY UNDERWEAR DRAWER?!. And what if I get one of those housekeepers that have sticky fingers, like poor Dr McCrumble's (10 Jan 06 entry) mother-in-law? As often as I lose things? Nope. I'd have somebody in the headlock, switch to a half-nelson and then SMACK, right in the keester, only stopping when my Hubby yells "Hey! Here it is! It was under the cat!"

So I guess what I'm saying here is... I have nothing to say. A bit long winded, don't you think?

Thursday, April 20, 2006


This year I want a garden full of veggies right there in my own backyard. I want to be able to walk out of my back door, yank an ear of corn or three from the stalk and cook 'em fresh. I will mound REAL butter on top, sprinkle a little salt, admire the glistening yellow kernels - so much like gold - as the butter slips down the slide and rests wetly on my plate. Only after I have scooped up the butter and smeared it thickly over every kernel - every nub - will I attack it like a vicious animal. I can't wait to hear and feel the kernels explode in my mouth. CRUNCH The juice will run down my chin and I will try vainly to wipe it away, only to have it replaced with more from the next bite. I won't even fuss about it getting stuck in my teeth.

I want fresh green beans. I like to hear them squeak when I gobble them down. A little salt, a little pepper will do just fine. Hubby and L particularly like green been caserole with fried onion toppings - I'll have some of that too.

I want fresh onions, tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots and radishes. Lots of fresh lettuce and a few cabbages. Peppers lots of peppers- banana and sweet orange are my favorite, throw in some jalapenos for spice. Can't you just see your plate infront of you with all the yummy veggies chopped appropriately, waiting patiently, drizzled lightly with a light vinegrette?........

This diet sucks. Damn pants shrank in the dryer - it's a damn conspiracy is what it is. ME - GAIN WEIGHT? FAH! Stupid damn pants.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

The Little House That Hell Built - Part 1

In response to all of you who are just hanging on the edge of your seats waiting with baited breath to hear me piss and moan about my Horror-In-Law, grab your bag of goodies and a glass of sweet iced tea and brace yourselves. Please have tissues handy to catch anything that may fall from your mouth or come shooting from your nose, or at least have something to clean the screen and keyboard.

I'm gonna tell you stories about the hell that I have lived in for the past 10 years. To do this I have to explain some things about myself, so just bear with me and pretend like you're interested.

I seldom go to church. (I'm such a sinner - BAD ME! - BAD ME!) I believe very strongly in GOD but don't feel that I should have to pay the church anything to pray and worship and love Him, and to be loved by Him. I swear with such feeling and ingenuity that I make sailors jealous. I speak my mind, mostly. I have a very hard time biting my tongue about anything. I like my privacy and guard it jealously. I react badly when I get my feelings hurt. I carry grudges. (Remember that, it'll be important later) I hate, just absolutely HATE it when a woman uses the excuse she can't do something because she is a woman, not that she is simply unable, or unwilling to do it.(Remember that one too.) I try very hard to respect other people's opinion's and beliefs -- except when they're just stupid. I'm very sarcastic. (This last one comes as a shock doesn't it)

Now I will tell you about my in-laws.

My father-in-law is so great. I love him to death. He is one of the most gentle people I have ever met, but he is firm enough when the situation calls for it. He never raises his voice for anything, people just listen when he speaks.
My brother-in-law is also great. I love him to death. He's got backbone and an easy way about him. He also rides a kick-ass Harley.
My mother-in-law is the bane of my existence. The very fact that my husband has touched this woman's flesh at some point in his life makes me ill..

She bears a striking resemblence to the evil monkeys on the Wizards of Oz - only taller and with poofier hair

My Horror-In-Law is a strict Southern Baptist woman and has been all her life. (If you turn up your volume you might be able to hear the THUMP THUMP THUMP of the bible beating in the background) She lives in a small town in the mountains of North Carolina that encourages small mindedness (being from NC, I have noticed that most of the small towns there do that). She believes a woman's place is in the home. She believes a woman should submit to the man. She believes a woman shouldn't be in a leadership position. (are you sick yet?)No ladies and germs, I am not assuming that she believes these things - all of these things have come out of her mouth and have been directed to me and at me.

Knowing those things would be enough for me to stay away from this woman until my dying day had passed, but I can't. She is family. Not just any family either, she is my husband's mother. GAG. I have many nicknames for this woman, Horror-In-Law and Judge Superior being the ones I use most frequently.

I call the house she lives in with my beloved Father-in-law "The Little House That Hell Built".

Let me take you back...

To the first time we met. Hubby and I had been dating for over a year and he invited me to "Meet the Parents". I've never been good at that sort of thing, but Hubby (or rather Hubby in training ) never gave out flip invitations, so I went. I really should have asked more probing questions like "Does she breath fire and brimstone?"
or "Will she tell me the yawning pit of Hell is waiting for me?" instead of something as innocent as "What do you think I should wear?". I guess it's really my own fault.

At any rate, everything was great on the first visit... right up until the time I walked in the door.

"Oh I jus' love your hair color. It's not real is it?" (when you're doing her part in your head, remember to use a really heavy southern accent,and make the voice as annoying as possible - like fingernails on a chalkboard)
I was so blown away. "Uh, yes it is actually."
It was then that I was to be introduced to her pissy attitude that I was to become so familiar with over the years "Oh, well it don't look it." she said rolling her eyes.
Shock doesn't cover it. I had only said one sentence to this woman and she had already gotten shitty with me. Ever heard of Foreshadowing?

That dear readers, is how I met my Horror-in-law.

Tune in next week for our next installment...

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Monday, April 17, 2006

I have emerged from the gaping maw of hell scalded and smoldering. (you missed me didn't you - sorry about the smell - it'll wear off in a couple of days)

We all know I didn't want to go in the first place. According to this woman - who is a demon made flesh (I can tell by the leathery wings she keeps tucked under her shirt) - I am damned to hell no matter what I do. I could walk around all day giving blankets and food to the homeless, curing cancer and whatever else, but because I didn't do it with bare feet over glass shards, I'm hell bound. PPPPPTTTTTTHHHHHH! Yeah, whatever. I'm hell bound anyway hon. I'm just going to have a little more fun than you before we get there.

The trip all by itself is a pain. It takes 5-7 hours, one way, depending on how often you stop and traffic. Doing it with a 7 yr. old and an infant just puts a whole new spin on the fun. Fifteen minutes into the drive we get this:

L - I'm bored and I think I dropped my gum on the carpet.
Hubby (looking at me with eyes that are half pleading and half murderous) - Could you please do something?
Me - I am. I getting the straight razor out as we speak.
Hubby - Don't cut the carpet!!
Me - Carpet? Who said it was for the carpet? I'm ready to open my veins right now buddy.

What really kills me about this is that Hubby and I went over budget this past Christmas to get this child a portable DVD player. We bought this thing so that she would not complain on the very long trips to the North Carolina mountains and down the North Carolina coast (where our families live). We were both so disgusted we couldn't stand it.

When we finally hit the mountains in Virginia, the car started smoking like we had just won a Nascar race and decided to burn tires at the finish line. Lovely. My rearend was clenched so tight I could have made diamonds. It was a mixed blessing when we finally pulled into his parents house - and I mean mixed - I would almost rather be stranded in a rainstorm with my kids than be at that house.

Judge Superior had dinner ready when we got there. We all gathered around the table, joined hands, prayed and then they started singing "Onward Christian Soldiers" - which was new. Okay... they really didn't start singing...but you could feel the verses of that hymn weighing you, measuring and finding your very existence lacking in just about everything - oh wait, that wasn't the hymn, it was her. It was creepy. It was like she had a whole new weapon to make me feel uncomfortable. Do you want to know the sad part? The really, really sad part? The sad part is, it just got worse from there. Yes, really - no shit.

I'll just give you a brief highlight.

We went shopping for an Easter dress for L. ( I was unable to do it earlier in the week, so I had to wait until we got there.) OH GOD! It was terrible. I'm submitting the whole experience as a new Horror flick idea to Hollywood later this week. I'll have to beat the screen writers off with a hugely grotesque and twisted stick - you know - like the one Judge Superior uses on me.

We all crowded in to the extra big fitting room at the end of the little hall so we could all fit in. While L was trying on the 350 million dresses she had picked out, C had crawled under the partition to the next dressing room, just enough so he could peak under and see the naked lady nextdoor. Of course, I thought this was typical male behavior and didn't freak out. It's instinct, like breathing. Men just have to do that sort of thing or explode (notice how I portray myself to be the virginal and innocent here). My only thought on the subject was "Kid, you are way to young to start this stuff." Judge Superior however, just about had a coronary. Now granted, I didn't see the woman, but I don't think Super Baby will suffer any permanent damage from his little "peeping baby" episode, but if you heard Judge Superior screeching you would have thought judgment day had come. "Get outta there this minute. Now you shouldn't be doing stuff like 'at." Good grief.

To say the lease I was more than ready to leave The Little House That Hell Built.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

I'm in the Loo

I gotta go visit the in-laws, shudder. I'll be gone for about 3-5 days, depends on how long my hangover lasts. If I freak out and shot the hypocrites, you'll get to see me on TV! WHOO HOO!

I'll be on TV! Jealous much?

(You're tuning in right now aren't you)

Well, don't worry. Here's a link for you. It's Cappy's (J) writing. Gave me goose bumps. I wish I could take credit for it, but I think he would hit me.



I have a question. Why do men spend half an hour or more in the bathroom to "attend to business"?

Almost every woman I have ever spoken with has this same question. Why does it take them so long? Does their doody have checkpoints it has to clear along the way? Does it have to show a passport? Does it have to go through an inspection of some sort before it can enter the world? Is there a secret door in the bathroom that takes you to Alice's Wonderland that only men are privy to? Is this where you secretly commune with your imaginary friend?

My husband will look at me, rub his stomach and say "I gotta go", grab reading material and disappear. I don't mean he's gone for a little while either. I asked him why he does it. Why do you sit on the throne that long? Are you really doing your business that long? Are you constipated - all the time?

He says he goes there to "relax". Really. What is so relaxing about your "duty" so to speak. Do you finish doing your thing and just wait to flush until you're ready to come out? Ew. Curtsey flush! HELLO! Turn the fan on for crying out loud.

I just don't get it. I don't understand. Women do what they have to do and leave. Is this their response? A "do unto others" type of thing, from the age old complaint that men have with women in the bathroom to long? If so, why don't they look any better when they come out?


Wednesday, April 12, 2006

I'm Just Pissed Off

***WARNING*** If you have a problem with bad language - now is the time to leave this post.

Yesterday I posted a welcome home to my brother, whom I deeply love and respect. In said post, I stated clearly that it was not a forum for debate over the war in Iraq. Most of you put aside political beliefs and sent kind words and a welcome home to Jay, and I truly thank you for taking the time and effort to welcome him home. Your comments have really touched me and I'm sure they will touch Jay as well. However, a few of you decided to ignore the fact that my post was not meant for the opportunity to let your feelings be known on the war, and let it all hang out. A couple of you commented at such length that you should have put something up on your own blog. One of you even had the damn nerve to talk shit about ALL the soldiers in Iraq. I am sorry to say that I didn't keep them. I sincerely wish you could read for yourselves the hurtful and ugly things that these fools were spewing forth.

I admit, I tried to let it go, to make Jay's welcome home as nice as possible and to ignore the sorry rat ass bastards that are just trying to stir up shit - but I can't. I will no longer sit idlely by, while you run your dumb ass mouths.

The following is for the above mentioned idiots who need to grab the tweezers and go play with themselves.

To all of you who sent me shitty comments - go fuck yourselves. I support our troops. I support the war in Iraq, the war on terror, tapping phone lines of potential terrorists, and I even LIKE George W. Bush! I support anything and anyone that makes my country a safe place to live for me, my family, and yes, even your sorry ass.

If you have you have an issue with our soldiers - WHO SACRIFICE THEIR LIVES - hunting and killing the people who slammed airplanes into the Twin Towers, the Pentagon and into a field in Pennsylvania killing THOUSANDS, it's you that should be shot.

Is killing the bad guy the problem for you? What would you have us do? Should we send a note of apology to them? Dear Bad Guy, Sorry we offend you with our beliefs. We will try as soon as possible to stop believing in all things good, and just believe what you and the media want us to. Signed, The Great Satan.

Hell, I say shot 'em up! Fuck them! I had friends in the Pentagon, damn it! I was a soldier! I too, have defended your right to be a dumb ass.

Do you have any idea how you make our soldiers feel when you tout your crap? These are living breathing human beings for Christ sakes! Think what you are doing to their moral! Think how you are effecting their families with the shit that flies from your mouth. What about the families of the victims of 9/11? You are a bunch of mealy mouth, yellow backed bastards. You are so set against "Big Brother" that you forget that he is called that because big brothers PROTECT you.

I will never say that I agree with everything Big Brother does. Being an American gives me that right, but I will never say that I take a soft stance on terrorism either. I will never say that I hate all Muslims, I don't, but I do hate all religious radicals - regardless of religion. I will never say my opinion is the only correct one, but I do say that dumb shits like you should not be allowed to speak in public.

I welcome all your comments to this post, regardless of your opinions. We all have the freedom of speech. Just remember, it's those soldiers, whom you so vehemently malign, that defend your rights.
Please go here to read Misha's post for further words on this subject.

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Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Welcome Home Bitch

My brother is home on leave from Iraq( I would tell you what he does but then I'd have to kill you). I'm so damn tickled I can hardly stand it.

I would be even more tickled if he could drop by and give his little sister a hug, but his being in Texas prevents that. I'm kind-a upset about that even realizing that he would still probably wrestle me down to the floor, pin me and pop my toes. (God! that hurts)

My brother, who has given up the first Christmas with his first child (his son), has endured long term separation from his wife and family, worked long hours suffering from exhaustion, been exposed to extreme heat, freezing temperatures and everything in between,who has seen sights no man should see, is home with his family.

I'll never forget the first letter he sent me from Basic. It went something along these lines:

Sup Bitch,

We were doing sit-ups up hill the other day and some grass got in the crack of my ass and I thought of you.

Can't you just feel the love that radiates from those words? Kinda gives you a warm fuzzy doesn't it. He's such a softy, to bad he has trouble expressing himself.

I'm not here to debate with you about the war in Iraq. I'm not concerned if you feel like it's the right thing or the wrong thing. I'm not going to debate over the tactics that got us sent over there, right or wrong. I'm here to express my joy that my favorite Shitbird is home. I'm very proud of him (God, don't tell him, I'll never live it down), and I will not subject him to assholes bashing him or anything he does. Period. He's got enough to worry about, besides, if anyone is going to talk shit and abuse him, it's going to be me. I won't let you horn in on my fun.

I know he doesn't want to go back, and I don't want him to go back but when duty calls, you go because you are a soldier, defender, protector and liberator. You go because you love your country, freedom and because you signed the dotted line saying you would go, regardless of your feelings about the subject and the politics that go with it. You go because if you don't, they'll throw your ass in Leavenworth, and since no one can accuse my brother of being a complete idiot (he's just the standard type), he went.

For now, let's just all pretend that we all agree on one thing. Let's pretend that we are glad that he and all the other soldiers, who lay their lives on the line, are there to do it, so we don't have to.

Welcome home Bitch. I love ya.

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Monday, April 10, 2006

My Love for Animals

Spring is coming for the rest of America, at my house, the new season is Shedding and Spider Season.

It is NOT my choice to have spiders, they just seem to like my house, specifically, my bedroom. I don't know why this is. They know I'm going to kill them, so why do they show up? It's like the extended version of "Arachnophobia". I could probably handle this a bit better if they weren't so big that they looked like they work out. I can see them doing the creepy-crawly walk across my ceiling and I scream and throw my shoes at them until they die and fall to the floor. I scoop up their squished little bodies, sometimes one hairy leg at a time, and throw them in the trash while doing the HeeBee GeeBee boogie and saying something along the lines of "EWWW! NASTY! GROSS! OH! SO GROSS! HARRY LITTLE BASTARD! JEZZ HUBBY! LOOK AT THIS ONE WOULD YOU! IT HAS BICEPS AND A 6 PACK!". Erstwhile, my husband looks at me like I am the biggest idiot on the face of the earth and burrows his head under the pillow. Go figure.

We have a Pomeranian who L named Spud. No really, that's his actual name. You know, as in little potato (or potatoe for all you Dan Quail fans) We also call hum fuzzy, buddy, fuzzy buddy, and fuzzy butt. He is a sweet, sweet dog and gives me hugs and loves attention. He is also the furriest dog God ever put on the planet. Every time we brush him, it looks like a mouse got caught in the brush, and you can forget him cooperating with you while you try to groom him.

The cats, oh wow, the cats. We have 3. Yes, I said 3. On the good side, they're all short hairs, but you can forget brushing them to help cut down on the amount of fur we inhale. A bath! HA I say! I'm in constant fear that they will dehydrate and die because they dislike water so intensely. I've even tried squirting them with a squirt bottle, but for some reason they don't seem to like it.

I would dip them all in Nair but that would cause chemical burns and scratching.(I'm a rocket scientist, I know) I have considered making all the cats outside only cats (they are currently inside/outside cats) but I would be worried about them since we have a feral colony of cats by our house. The neighbors have started humanely trapping them, but most of them are still there, and I would be worried my pillows buddies would have scabs if they stayed out all the time ( scabby pillows! - shudder - that's the gross out thought for the day). I guess I should really stop fussing about it. What's a little fur when compared to the love they give? Besides, I can always vacuum them. GRIN


Saturday, April 08, 2006

No Words

I have been sitting here trying to put into words, a post (or essay),on how deeply and wonderfully my Grandmother, my two Aunts, and ultimately my Mother have effected me. This draft has been on my blog (or journal) for well over a month.

I simply can not find the words. I have noticed over the years as I have penned my short stories and updates for my friends and family, I have a very hard time expressing something that has touched me deeply and I can only revert to laughter. I can only come to the conclusion that simple words cannot express what I want said. They can not express the complexity of the emotions that I feel.
There is nothing simple about the word LOVE and all the implications that little word carries with it, but it still can not explain what lies beneath my breast and makes me feel warm at night.
Thank You is a simple phrase we all use regularly. It is to simple to express the gratitude I feel to them, to little to encompass the undercurrents of emotions I am trying to show them. To tell them that they have made a huge difference to me and in me.
Appreciation does not begin to describe how I feel about the time they took with me, to show me, to explain to me, and to be honest with me. It cannot begin to touch on the way I feel for all of them letting me be me, warts and all, never expecting, but accepting.
Is there a term? An all encompassing and expressive term to tell them that I will be there for them always, just as they always have been for me, to let them know that I accept them and care for them and will stand by them? The word friendship cannot tell them that.
Lucky? No. Lucky can not show them. It can not demonstrate my glee to the cosmos for having letting me share my life with them.
There are no words.


Friday, April 07, 2006

Super Glue - Lets Talk Super Glue

Dear Guy at the Grocery Store,

I am really sorry about yesterday afternoon. I feel pretty guilty. I didn't realize what a hazard a stray breeze could be.

When I saw your toupee stand on end on the top of your head and then flap around like a fish out of water, I didn't mean to bust out laughing at you and then nudge my daughter and point. I am so sorry. I am so sorry that everbody else in the parking lot saw it too. I feel horrible. My shame is so deep that I wish I could just blow away like a toupee, I mean, dust in the wind.

I'm sorry that when you raised your hand to slap your furry little friend back on to your head, your ring flew off of your finger and rolled under the SUV. I can not express to you how terribly if feel for laughing so hard I snorted while you had to scoot under the SUV to retrieve it, banging your head and getting your shirt snagged on the under carriage.



UH UM Okay, I am so sorry again. I'm calm now. I am so so sorry for my behavior. Can you ever forgive me?

My own rudeness blows me away - I mean astonishes me. Yeah, astonishes me - that's what I meant.

Oh God, this is going terribly. I'm so sorry.


Thursday, April 06, 2006

The Worlds Smallest Violin - Just for Me

Hubby and I were talking last night and it got me thinking about the last year. Man, did it ever suck ass.

This time last year I was super pregnant. Not just pregnant - but super pregnant (sounds like a Super Hero doesn't it. My side kicks were Abstinence Man and Condom Boy - neither of them were the father). Both of my pregnancies were very painful, but when I was pregnant with C, I could barely walk. His head was wedged so firmly against my pelvis that it split all 5 joints in my pelvis! Did you know your pelvis has joints? I had no fucking clue until I started walking like the elephant man - with boobs.

"Oh yesh, yesh." says the doctor with his very Sean Connery voice, he even had the hair to match. "He's wedged in there pretty tight." No shit Doc. I'm glad you told me. I was afraid that he was going to fall out at any time. You have soothed me with your great bedside manner.

When he asked me if I wanted to be induced I was all for it. "Are you free today?" I asked. I was trying to give him a taste of my wit and beam my charming smile so he would like me and induce me right then and there in the OBGYN office. He didn't notice - either that or he didn't like my wit - or maybe I still had breakfast in my teeth - whatever, all I know is I had to wait to get the alien out.

C was finally born and everything went great for the first 2 hours - then they rushed him to the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care) where he spent the first 4 days of his life. They would hardly let me hold him. They finally let us take him home, but we had to have a heart and respirations monitor on him all the time. C's heart rate would drop and he would stop breathing - or vice versa - or one or the other, and then the monitor would scream like hell to tell me something was wrong. Where upon I would have to try like hell to not scream along with the monitor. All muscles would immediately tense up and I became the most alert mother fucker on the face of the earth.

C had surgery when he was 5 weeks old and has been fine on that front ever since. Thank God for that huge blessing. I'm now immune to adrenaline. You could push me off the Empire State Building and my only reaction would be "Wow, all this wind is messing up my hair."

After that, everything continued to suck ass in a big way for the rest of the year. L ended up having to be hospitalized for Viral Meningitis. This oh so conveniently coincided with C having dual ear infections - one of his ear drums having had ruptured from said infection. One day after she was discharged, I had to take Hubby to the hospital for the big VM as well. The hospital here had no beds because they were over come with a mini-epidemic of VM here in the Burg. They sent him home - home to live with my daughter who still looked like death, to a very ill and screaming baby, and not one of my friends would watch C. NOT ONE. They were scared he would carry the germ to their house and get their kids sick. I now understand what it must have been like for one of your kids to have small pox back in the day.

On the other side of this, it takes a lot more to stress me out these days.

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Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Getting Awfully Cold at my House

My Hubby looked at me last night and asked my why I do this so called silliness. "I don't understand the attraction." says he.

Says I "Well it's better than surfing the internet for porn ." He gave me the "Give me a break" look and I grinned.

"Does anyone read your blog?"

"No. Blogs and books are the same. No one reads books and no one reads blogs, but you should have them just so you can try and look intelligent."

"It's not working for you."

"Did you say something about how comfortable the couch is?"

"I love you - you beautiful genius you."

"Yeah - I knew you'd come around."


Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Just beat em - the parents I mean - beat the parents

I was reading a new blog yesterday "Cheaper Than Therapy" , she has a posting about the show Super Nanny, and of course I must comment. Go here to read her post

I've watched this show a couple of times, L loves this show, but I just can't watch it. It pisses me off so bad I can hardly stand it. You have all previously heard me complain about the heathens and their inept parents and this program shows you what I'm talking about. I freely admit to screwing up in the parenting department. All parents have. It's part of being a parent, and as we all know the little darlings don't come with instruction manuals. But the parents on these types of shows really need to get worn out a couple of good times for letting their children get that way.

Yes, you heard me right THE PARENTS. They are the ones responsible. I understand that a very miniscule fraction of them may have tried what they know to do and genuinely need help, but the rest of them are just lazy and give in because they want some peace and quite. Well, join the crowd. Welcome to real parenthood. Part of being a parent is not getting that peace and quite. It's not getting the time alone that most of us crave. Being a parent in and of itself is sacrifice. Again I say SACRIFICE.

I shall do a comparison for you so that you may understand what I'm talking about here. Let's say you put money away to invest it. You really miss that money, you could do so much with it if you just had it, but in the long run, your sacrifice gave you a bigger return - you got more for your money, but only if you invested for the long haul. (for all you smart people out there, I am not advocating putting your children away or sacrificing them - if that's what you got out of this, you need to reread).

To summarize - beat the crap out of the stingy, self involved, emotionally crippled, sorry ass parents anytime you come across them. They are the reason that there are miniature heathens running wild in restaurants and parking lots. It's their fault. GET 'EM!


Sunday, April 02, 2006


My day started off simply, wonderfully. I got to sleep in.
I woke up about 7am and couldn't figure out why C wasn't screaming. Through my sleep induced haze, I figured that Hubby had gotten up with Super Baby during the night and let me sleep so C was sleeping a little later that usual. I was relishing this. I heard the TV in the living room on so I knew L was up and watching cartoons and had probably already helped herself to a bowl of cereal. I laid there in the cool morning. The windows open and the breeze gently gusting in, making the blinds beat a tattoo against the window. I listened to the sound of the long dead fall leaves rustling outside my window, and savored the occasional faint scent of a far away flower blooming as it circled the bedroom. I watched Hubby sleep briefly and rolled onto my back.

"I'm going to soak up this day." I thought. I got out of bed and did my morning routine - minus the sounds of Super Baby and felt odd, guilty, and indulgent all at the same time. I had promised Hubby that he could sleep in today - uninterrupted sleep - all night and until at least 9:30am. I wouldn't rouse him to even check his sugar - I would do it for him, and there he was getting up to take care of the baby so I could sleep. "God I love this man." I thought.

I stepped into the living room and there was L with her feet curled underneath her in the recliner, hair tousled with sleep and a smudge of dirt on her cheek. We had S & J over to the house last night for a small cook out and she had fallen asleep in my lap right after dinner. I stuffed her into bed with the clothes on that she had worn all day and that was what she was wearing now. "Hi Mommy." "Morning sweets" I let the dog out, let the two cats out that had come in last night and went outside to smoke a cigarette. I loved that about living way out in the country. There was no way I could smoke a cigarette in the morning breeze snuggled in tatty bath robe with a towel wrapped around my head on my back porch in a subdivision.

I came back in and headed for the O.J. "Are you up now? I'm really hungry. I want something to eat." "Yes, I'm up now. What do you want this morning?" It's our tradition to cook a big breakfast on Sunday mornings. "Just some cereal." I looked surprised for a moment - L lives for pancakes - and said - "Okay - go get it."

I got a call right then from S next door. "Hey! Is she ready yet?" "Ready? Ready for what?" "Church." "Church? I don't think she is planning on going today S. She's grubbin' on cereal and watching cartoons." "What? She called me this morning and wanted to know if we were going." "Huh? She called you?" "Yeah, said that you and Hubby were still asleep but C was up and she had just given him a bottle." "HUH! What! You're kidding me. WHAT?!" "So are we going to church?" "Uh... hold on a minute." phone to my chest "L honey, do you want to go to church today?" "Yeah." "S, L says she wants to go." "Tell her to get ready. I'll be there in about 15 minutes." "K" I hung the phone up and stood there stunned. L had let me her daddy and I sleep in and used the phone by herself because she wanted to go to church.

We're going to church as a family next Sunday. L will be getting a season pass to Kings Dominion for her birth day later this month - expensive for us, but she has more than earned it. I have a great daughter. She is an exceptional person inside and out. My mother told me just last night that L is my "Mini Me". I have referred to her that way a couple of times myself, but this morning, I realized she's not.

She is better.

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