When Life Hands Me Lemons, I Have to Take Prozac

I Bid You Adieu...to My TV Parents

2010-10-19T16:32:00.001-04:00

First to Barbara Billingsley, who passed away at the ripe, old, age of 94 on Sunday, October 17, 2010. She is best known for her role as June Cleaver, in the television program "Leave it to Beaver". I LOVED "LEAVE IT TO BEAVER" WHEN I WAS A KID, and natch -- I loved June Cleaver. I wanted her to be my mother (seriously, who didn't?) She was beautiful and was always perfectly dressed in heels and her pearls. She's the quintessential 1950's mom. But I also remember her small role in the movie "Airplane" as the woman who "spoke jive". If you haven't seen "Airplane" (and shame on you if you haven't), you really need to see it. With so many memorable moments, Barbara Billingsley talking "jive" is hysterical. Thank you, Ms. Billingsley for being my favorite TV mom. Watching you on "Leave it to Beaver" gave my childhood a healthy dose of comfort food or chicken soup for the soul, or whatever the appropriate equilavent is for this situation. You made me feel safe and happy and provided me with motherly love and affection even though we were seperated by many years and a television. I always wished you were my mom. The Beav and Wally were so lucky. I doubt you would have beat my ass with a shoe or tried to drag me down the hallway by my hair. I think you probably would have solved a lot of problems by baking a delicious batch of chocolate chip cookies, and you would have encouraged me to talk to you about my problems (and then not judged me by them). *sigh*

And you rocked the shit out of jive-talking in "Airplane" which made me respect you all that much more.

Second, to Tom Bosley, who passed away today, at age 83. He is best known for his role as Arthur Cunningham on the TV Program "Happy Days". When I was in elementary school, I was a huge fan of "Happy Days" (I used to fantasize about marrying Fonzie). "Mr. C" was my favorite TV dad, and I loved him because he always gave fatherly advice with a calm and collected head. He was wise and his children loved him. Granted, Mr. C got exasperated with his children every now and then, but he never called his kids "morons" or "idiots" and always gave them chances to make a bad situation better. Mr. C was pretty kick-ass. Thank you, Mr. Bosley for being my favorite TV dad and for giving your TV children good advice that I could sometimes work into my own life. I think if you had been my dad, I would have turned out a little more self-adjusted, with a dash more self-esteem. I doubt you would have called me "chubby" as a kid (because, let's face it, you're a little chubby yourself) and I believe you would have let me win at the video games we would have played together instead of beating my ass because you can't lose at anything.

Too bad TV parents aren't more like real parents, huh? I'm sure a few of you out there agree with me. ;) You know that saying that "you can't choose your family"? I'm hoping that if there's a heaven, we CAN choose our family...because my parents would be June Cleaver and Arthur Cunningham. I hope their writers got Emmys for all the great advice they gave their TV children. Because that shit was pure solid gold.

Adieu Babs and Tom!

Black Cloud Day

2010-09-16T11:21:00.001-04:00

I thnk Johnny Cash about sums it up.

I'm in a FOUL mood today. I think I can blame it on several things, and probably a combination of them all: rainy weather, a bastard-Husband, and stupid fucking clients whose drama has worn my last nerve.

So in the spirit of hating everyone and everything today, I've come up with a list of shit that I just don't give a fuck about:

1) Who won "America's Got Talent"
2) That "Big Brother" TV show (I didn't even know it was still being aired)
3) Lady Gaga's meat dress (I will admit, I'm intrigued, but seriously. I don't really give a fuck. My intrigue only goes to the point of practical questions -- like what did she wear underneath her dress? Did it stink like rotten meat? How did it stay so red without turning brown? Shit like that)
4) Anything having to do with the "Tea Party" or "Tea Partiers"
5) Glenn Beck
6) Republicans in general
7) Whether my clothes were ironed or match today (they do, but I really didn't care if they did)
8) Whether my boss gets irritated that I'm closing the door to my office today and not speaking to anyone (bitch just best be glad I'm doing work. Well, not at this EXACT moment, but I will be workING when I'm done with this post)
9) Other people's personal issues (I can't avoid this one, considering I'm a family law attorney, but I just want to tell everyone to take their dysfunctional shit elsewhere, but that would be bad for business, I think. I have my own dysfunction to deal with, frankly)
10) Last but not least, my diet

Don't take it personally, either. I don't hate YOU. Just everyone else.

It's That Time of Year Again...

2010-08-06T11:26:00.001-04:00

I'm stuck in the middle!

It's August. You know what that means? It means my birthday is right around the corner! August 12th to be exact (just so you know -- so mark your calendars).

My last few birthdays have been sort of an emotional roller coaster of sorts. I suppose this year will be no different. It's number 39...which means I'm one year closer to turning that 40 number. I don't really feel like I am 39, which is what everyone probably says as they get older.

I was laying in bed this morning. Thinking. Bed is where I do most of my thinking, and it's actually my favorite place to be. I was thinking about Daughter and how she's entering the THIRD grade this year. She's growing into a little person right before my eyes. Like an actual REAL person, not just some little kid. It's amazing.

I was also reflecting on this past year, because so much has happened. I passed the Bar exam (finally), and got a job as an attorney, which, considering the Michigan economy, and considering there's like 400 million attorneys in Michigan, was a down-right true-blue miracle. (It's also a miracle considering my shitty grades from law school. We won't even mention how many times I had to take the Bar.)

A lot has happened this year, since I last celebrated my birthday. I don't know what I'm expecting this next year to have in store for me, but I'm hoping it's positive. I have been on a roll of sorts, it seems. I also think this might be the last year that I'm willing to turn another year older, officially. I'm going to stop counting. Also, please smack me next year if I say something like how "40 is the new 30" or some ridiculous shit like that. Because you know that I'm going to -- shit people -- 39 is the new 29! hahaha I like that.

I'm sure when you check in on me next week for my birthday post I'm going to be in a tizzy. I don't like getting older. I mean, don't get me wrong. I love the wisdom that comes with growing older, I just don't like the wrinkles (THAT REMINDS ME...I need to get a few Botox injections in my forehead!) that come with growing older. I also could do without the aches and pains, and the fact that I can no longer do a cartwheel without throwing out my back or breaking my neck or something -- yes, I tried several months ago to do one (I used to be able to rock the shit out of cartwheels, I could even do them one-handed) and I hurt myself. I forgot that I wasn't 12 years old anymore.

And those people that say "oh, it's just a number" are completely full of shit. They're probably the ones that are in the deepest stages of denial about growing older. So don't you dare try to sell me that crap when I start complaining about getting older.

When I grow old, I want to be her!

I'm going to wrap up this rant by saying -- it's not that I think 39 or 40 is old, because I don't. Especially since I'm walking that tightrope myself. It's just that it's not YOUNG. It's in the middle. And being "middle-aged" is sort of gross-sounding all in itself. I think I'd rather be old than "middle-aged". Mostly because of all the cliches that come with middle-age -- like the "mid-life crisis". Fuck, I'm just hoping I go through a mid-life crisis. Maybe get a 25-year old boytoy, buy a sportcar and lose 100 lbs. so I can prance around the neighborhood in a bikini. LOL Wouldn't that be hilarious? Too bad I'm too tired in my middle age to want to put any kind of effort into any of that. Because it makes me tired just thinking about a 25-year old boyfriend or all the exercise and effort losing 100 lbs. would take. *YAWN*

Comin' Outta My Head

2010-07-14T12:39:00.000-04:00

Today's thoughts:

Lately, I feel like I've been falling down a big, dark, hole and I can't find my way out. The depression feels like it's crushing me. I was on a phone conversation with my best friend last night and told her that I couldn't think of one thing that gave my life a little sparkle. UGH. I hate feeling like this. I've made an appointment with my doctor to see if I should adjust my medication, but I think the problem is much bigger than some adjustment in my anti-depressants.

Mel Gibson is such a fuckhead. I hope these taped conversations that his girlfriend recorded will be the final nail in the coffin that is his career. I'm sick of seeing his stupid face on the television, and find him completely disgusting. In every way. Who knew Mad Max was such a racist, misogynistic asshole? However, I do find the tiniest bit of delight in his quote of "you should just smile and blow me". I think I'm going to have to make that little gem mine. It's just filled with all kinds of awesome.

Michigan has been going through a heat wave and I can't decide if I love it or hate it. The past few summers really sucked ass -- it was a banner day if it got above 80 degrees. I froze my ass off during the 4th of July weekends in the past -- wearing jeans, sweatshirts, etc. to watch fireworks. This year, the weather has come back with a vengance. Lots and lots of days in the high 80s and we even had a heat wave where the temps were in the high 90s. Granted, I'm sweating my ass off everywhere I go this summer, but I think I'm kind of digging it.

My mom gets on my fucking nerves. But you may had already known that. If not, well, there you go. I love her to death but seriously. I'm one more guilt trip away from being committed to the psych ward.

I know I haven't given any client updates lately, and last night, I met a real kook. She was 27 years old and came in with her mom. She has a 3-year-old daughter. The babydaddy took their daughter from the babymomma in early June and she hasn't seen her since. She wants to sue babydaddy so she can get her kid back. Seems relatively simple, right? OH NOoooo. During the conversation we find out that babymomma is bipolar, has previously been a heroin addict (and was on methadone when she found out she was pregnant), stole her mother's credit card (her mother prosecuted her), and has previously been arrested for retail fraud/shoplifiting. There might be more that I can't think of off the top of my head. OH. She also has her driver's license taken away because she was driving on a suspended license. Her license was suspended because she didn't pay a ticket or something. I felt like telling her there's not a snowball's chance in hell that she's getting her kid back. Especially, considering babymomma's mother is really the one who took care of the kid. Like everyday. I don't even want to get involved in this case. It's a fucking mess. But shit like this is what keeps me coming into work everyday. Name another job where you get to deal with personal drama that doesn't involve a prison? Maybe a psychiatrist/psychologist. Other than that, I can't think of one. And then I was getting all pissed off because here's this woman who can't even take care of her own child, and there's millions of people out there who want children and can't have them. Ridiculous.

I've decided that I am never going to understand Men. Ever. And no offense to any of my male readers, but I think the world would be a much better place to live in if it were all women. I remember reading a novel called "The Female Man" in college. It was about a place, a utopia, where it was all women, and men were only used for breeding purposes. My utopia would be a little different. Men would need to be used for breeding purposes of course, but I'd also add doing any labor-intensive job (like farming or construction, you get the idea) and definitely for killing spiders (and other creepy-crawlies) in the house.

What's been running around your brain lately?

The Life Project, Take 1

2010-07-08T16:28:00.001-04:00

Once again, I'm stealing blog ideas from Kim at Perfectly Cursed Life. I'm pretty sure she doesn't mind, considering she's practically begging her readers to start their own "Life Project". I figured since there's no time like the present...here is my first installment on my Life Project (which is basically my "bucket list" but with a fancier title).

1. Learn a foreign language. Preferably Spanish, even though I took two semesters of French in college. All I can remember is how to say "J'suis American!" and "hericot verts". Look it up.

2. Visit the following places: The Grand Canyon, Mt. Rushmore, Hollywood Boulevard, Washington D.C., the Liberty Bell, and New York City.

3. Get off my meds. Someday.

4. Learn to drive a stick shift. Although I don't know why this one is so damn important to me, considering I can get any car I want in an automatic transmission. I think it has to do with when I went to buy a Mustang GT about 10 years ago, and all the salesmen (they were all men) sort of made fun of me for buying an automatic transmission in a "sports car". Know what I said? "Fuck shifting. I just want to press a pedal and go for chrissake!" My salesman took me to an empty parking lot and tried to teach me to drive one, much to his frustration.

5. Learn to meditate and do it everyday.

So what's on your "Life Project" list?

A Meme

2010-07-07T17:48:00.001-04:00

Kim at Perfectly Cursed Life tagged me in her recent meme. And a "meme", for those of you that don’t know, is basically a survey that many people do and/or are tagged to do…). Who knew? Obviously, not me, considering I felt the definition was very helpful. So onto my meme...

1. When was the last time you played air guitar? Come on, I’m not asking you to admit you still listen to Def Leppard.

OK, seriously...the last time I played "air guitar" it was to a Def Leppard song! OMG I'm such a sad 80s nerd. I was watching that horrible movie, "Balls of Fire" and during the final credits sequence, the main character (who looooves Def Leppard) was lip-synching and was totally all over the air guitar thing, so I decided to join in.

2. What’s the oldest thing in your fridge?

I'm afraid to answer this question. I think maybe there's some really old yogurt in the back of my fridge. Either that or some moldy sour cream. Ewwwww.

3. Vampires, zombies or please make it stop?

It ain't no secret I'm a huge fan of "True Blood" on HBO. I'm all over the vampire thing in a big way. "True Blood" would classify me as a "fangbanger".

4. If you had to change your current profession, and could be anything, what would you do?

Well, if I had any natural talent, I'd want to be a rock star. But considering I'm 1) tone-deaf, 2) clumsy as all hell, and 3) can read music...I'd probably fail miserably as a rock star. Hence the reasons why I have not tried it thus far in my life.

5. Undergarment of choice?

This is a little personal, but seriously...panties ALWAYS. There's no reason why a grown woman should be going commando. Panties serve a purpose. And that purpose is not just to prevent the occasional crotch-shots, but also to keep everything bundled up nice a neat. I just feel weird without panties.

6. What is the tackiest thing you own?

Considering I am a model of good taste, I don't think any of my possessions are tacky. But I'm sure I have some somewhere. OH I KNOW. When Husband and I were first married, good friends of our gave us a gift. It was a ashtray in the shape of a common housefly. It's black and the top, fly-body-part, opens up to reveal the ashtray part (and I swear, the thing looks just like this fly). We still have it. It's on our fireplace mantle. So if you ever come by to visit, don't forget to look for it. It's right next to the second-most tacky thing in my house, a small alligator head (don't ask). Apparently, my fireplace mantle is the place we display all of our tacky shit.

7. Summer with no air conditioning or winter with no heat?

Shit, this is a no-brainer, considering the heat wave we've had recently. Winter with no heat, for sure. I can always add another layer of clothing to keep warm. Keeping cool is not as easy.

8. Desert island time: Wow, there is a band that will play whenever you snap your fingers and OMG, it’s your favorite! Who is it?

Queen. They were so fricken awesome.

I'm not going to tag anyone to do the meme, but feel free if you want and then hit me back and let me know you did it so I can read your answers too!

Wonder Woman's Makeover (Makeunder?)

2010-06-30T15:16:00.001-04:00

I read this article today regarding Wonder Woman (the comic book hero). And before you go thinking I'm this avid comic book fan, I'm not. Not that there's anything wrong with being a comic book fan, I'm just trying to put this post into perspective for y'all.

Reading this article, I felt torn. As a child of the 1970's, I was a humongo fan of the television show, "Wonder Woman", starring Lynda Carter. (Yes, it's Lynda with a "y"...that's how much of a fan I am. Look it up if you don't believe me.) I'm torn because Wonder Woman will forever be burned into my brain as wearing those hotpants-that-are-frankly-not-hotpants-but-more-of-a-leotard. She shouldn't be wearing PANTS of all things. She should be flaunting her amazing Amazon ass in her hotpants/leotard and showing off her amazing body. Fuck, if I looked like Wonder Woman, I'd wear that fucking leotard in public. To Court. With the Golden Lasso attached to my hip. Say something. Please. So I can kick your ass. "Wonder Woman! (sung to the tune of the TV show theme...look it up dammit!)

I don't think it's sexist that Wonder Woman's costume is a leotard. She's hot. And she's a superhero, so bitch best be in the tip-top physical condition. Plus, lots of the male superheroes have codpieces or something that showcases their physique, usually in some sort of lyrca-spandex blend. You can't hid any secrets wearing a lyrca-spandex bodysuit, any more than you can hid in a leotard. Agreed?

Shit, Batman from the 1960s had a lyrca-spandex bodysuit and a pair of black panties over the bodysuit. Granted, Adam West wasn't exactly a "buff" superhero, but seriously. He couldn't hid anything in that grey bodysuit and black panties.

What's next? Isn't anything sacred anymore?

Comin' Out of My Head

2010-06-18T16:38:00.000-04:00

Today's thoughts:

Who's that asshole that was on the news last night apologizing to BP (some asshole Senator or Congressman or someone)? What a douche. And I love how he backpetaled and retracted his apology. His political staff probably shit a brick after his apology and then went spontaneously blind. Hysterical.

I'm feeling particular lazy today and haven't gotten shit done at work. Eh. It's Friday, and dammit, I deserve to blow shit off once in a while.

Did I tell y'all that I got a new car? I am the proud owner (actually, it's a lease...so technically, I'm a leasee) of a 2010 Ford Focus. I've had it 3 weeks. It's black and it's totally sweet. I thought I would hate it considering I was driving a SUV, but it's pretty kickass. It has the SYNC technology in it so I love calling people from my car. For some reason, that shit hasn't gotten old yet, even though I was screaming at the SYNC yesterday because I was trying to call "home" and the voice recognition chick kept thinking I was trying to call "Paul". Um...no. "hhhhhhhhoooooome". I wish I could have smacked the SYNC chick.

There's crazy whacked-out stuff going around here (i.e., work). The legal secretary walked out today and screamed down the hallway of our floor "I QUIT!" It was quite the bit of drama today. She ended up coming back after a couple of hours, but I am getting tired of all the stupid drama that goes on around here.

I realized today that there are no good Mexican restaurants around my workplace and that pissed me off. I love Mexican food. And no, Taco Bell doesn't count. I'm talking about the authentic Mexican food.

I'm so ready for the 4th of July holiday to come. I am going to take a few days off before and after to have a mini-vacation. I'm planning to go to Lexington, Michigan where my parents have a little cottage (in case you're not familiar, us Michiganders? Michiganians? whatever...we like to go "up north" to cottages -- so I'm going "up north" even though Lexington is like an hour away from my house.) The cottage has lake access to Lake Huron (that is a pic from the beach I took on Memorial weekend). I can't wait because it's peaceful and quiet and I can't get cell phone service there, so that's nice too (even though it frustrates the fuck out of me too).

I hate Viagra commercials. Especially those "Viva Viagra" ones that are to the tune of "Viva Las Vegas" by Elvis. I just don't want to think about middle-aged men and their erectile dysfunction. EVER. Even when I'm middle-aged (which ain't that far off). I can't imagine some wife out there, who's been married like 30 years, all thrilled to death because her husband can finally now get as many boners as he wants. She's probably pissed. Pissed as all hell. And I understand men have to suffer through pad and tampon commercials, but seriously.

My daughter asked me the other day what "breastfeeding" was. As I struggled for an age-appropriate answer for about 3 seconds, she asked, "Is it gross?" I answered, "You might think so." To which she said, "Nevermind." YES! Dodged that bullet for the time being.

I'm not a big fan of moustaches...but this one is rather glorious, in a gross sort of way. I mean, this dude is seriously dedicated to his moustache, don't you think? He has to put a lot of time into that bad boy, that's for sure.

I love those Progressive Insurance commercials with Flo. You've seen them right? Some of my favorite quotes from various commercials...."It's called an "European Shoulder Bag" and "What am I thinking about right now? Tacos? YESSSSSSS...." Love her. It almost makes me want to call Progressive for a quote. Almost.

Dang, I'm dying for some tacos now!

Whoa.

2010-06-18T11:09:00.004-04:00

Can't tell you why this picture is in my possession, or who it is, but I needed to park it somewhere. So here it is for all eternity and for your viewing enjoyment, if you're so inclined.

Hot. Damn. Holyshitfuckingchrist.

Remember I told you I have a thing for stomachs and belly buttons?

Um...Yeah. Fuckin' A. That right there is a body I'd give my child away for...well, not quite. (although lately with the obnoxious behavior, I really had to think about it...j/k)

I Think I Need to Adjust My Meds

2010-06-17T14:31:00.000-04:00

I feel like I've been on an angry rampage for the past several days. I nearly snapped in two every night this week, and now I'm starting to wonder if the problem isn't everyone else, but is me. I know, I know, it can't possibly be me...but maybe it is?

For example: Monday night
I'm driving on my way home from work and Husband asks me if I can take Daughter to the video game store (a promise made to her by HIM) because she got a good report card. He had been promising to take her for days, and on Monday, told her FOR SURE they would go on Tuesday. He was too tired (or whatever) to take her on Tuesday, and was trying to get me to do it.

After pleading with Daughter to see if we could go Wednesday (she wouldn't budge), FINE. I WILL TAKE HER. Even though she was acting like the most OBNOXIOUS PERSON ON THE PLANET. Like typical kid-shit. Being sassy and smirking and shit like that. You should know, when I'm not in the mood, being sassy and smirking and shit like that gets on my last fucking nerve and I swear I could snap and go on a murderous rampage, killing everyone in a one-mile radius. So I was already on edge when we were getting ready to go. Honestly, I wanted to fucking beat the living shit out of Daughter. But we go buy the game and I bought some scrapbooking stickers (i.e., retail therapy) and I calmed the fuck down. But still. I was thisclose to snapping and killing my family.

Another Example: Tuesday night
Daughter is playing her new video game and it's getting close to bedtime. I tell her that she can play 5 more minutes and then she has to turn it off. After giving her an extra 15 minutes, she starts arguing with me about turning it off until I yell at her to "TURN IT OFF!" After she turns it off, she stomps upstairs and tattles to Husband. Instead of backing me up, he asks me why I didn't just let her play another 5 minutes? BECAUSE, MOTHERFUCKER, SHE ALREADY WENT 15 MINUTES OVER WHEN SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO GO TO BED? Apparently, though, I'm the asshole because it's summer and Daughter "doesn't have to get up early to get to school". No, she doesn't have to get up early to go to school, but she still has to get up early to go to her grandparents house. And technically, she gets up in the morning at the same time as she did when she had school. But no, I'm the asshole. Me.

Another example: Yesterday
I have been working late every night this week. Yesterday, I came into work and was thrilled to see my schedule clear (i.e., no client appointments, no court hearings) which meant I could tackle the ever-growing mound of work that has been piling up and piling up on my desk. I get settled and am going through my work to prioritize it, and my boss flies into my office saying she needs my help on one of her cases. You should know that she has been working on this FOR FREE. The Defendant is her ex-husband. I am working on shit for PAYING CLIENTS. I tell her I'm buried alive. She says she DESPERATELY needs my "help" and that it will only take "45 minutes". An hour and a half later, I'm done "helping" -- and that help consisted of me proofreading her motion and brief. THAT'S IT. SERIOUSLY??? WHAT THE FUCK? I had the biggest fucking attitude yesterday. I'm pretty sure she just wanted moral support or whatever as she was working on this motion and brief, partly because it's dealing with a lesser-familar area of the law that what we practice everyday, but GROW-THE-FUCK UP. Grrrr.

Another example: Today
It's 2:25pm. We have a client coming in at 5:00 to sign some documents. My boss is supposed to finish drafting these documents before the client gets here (obviously). She had an appointment with new clients at 11:00...which she ended up starting around 11:30. THE PEOPLE JUST LEFT. THREE HOURS??? Some other things you should know -- my boss loves the sound of her own voice. (obviously again) She best not pass the buck on to me to do those documents. I swear I will spontaneously combust. Or pop a blood vessel. Or something akin to exploding.

Is it me? Or am I just surrounded by fucking idiots and an overly-sassy child? I need my meds adjusted.

Fallin' Out of My Head

2010-06-04T14:33:00.000-04:00

My random thoughts lately:

When the fuck is someone going to stop all that oil from gushing in to the Gulf? I mean, seriously. This is ridiculous. I almost feel like it's some fucking conspiracy to raise gas prices. I certainly wouldn't be surprised. It's been like 45 days or something...way to kill the ocean, BP.

I saw (briefly) in the news that Miley Cyrus kissed a girl on TV the other day. Or she *almost* kissed a girl at some entertainment function. #1) Why is this news? #2) Why is Ms. Cyrus intent on acting like some kind of slut (first the lap dance, now this?) #3) What's the facination with girl-on-girl action anyway? Y'all know it's FAKE girl-on-girl right? I wouldn't think it was hot unless it was genuine. Just saying.

I'm sad to see Rue McClanahan passed away. I loved "Golden Girls" and now Betty White is the only one left. Major frowny face. Those ladies were hilarious.

Husband is getting on goddamm my nerves. Wednesday, my Facebook was something like "I was driving on my way home and realized there was all crap music on my iPod. I realized Husband must have deleted all my totally kickass music and replaced it with his lame ass music! How DARE he?" Husband doesn't have a Facebook account so he had to login to mine in order to see this post, which I meant to be sarcastic. He didn't take it that way. He bitched me out then said that I "embarassed" him. Then he didn't talk to me all yesterday. You know what I think of this whole thing? I think he overreacted in a major way, and that he can suck my ass. He's such a bitch.

I'm listening to Pandora Radio -- to my "funk" station -- and every artist that has been played is black. I started to wonder if the term "funk" also meant "black". I mean, I'm not trying to be racist, but can white people create "funk" music, and if so, can you name a white "funk" artist? And Eminem doesn't count. He's a rap artist. Chew on that. (Update: they played the Bee Gees. I don't think they are true "funk" artists, though. Right?)

My boss has not been in the office since Wednesday afternoon and I am lovin' it. It's so quiet and calm around here without her. Picture the Tazmanian Devil and his little tornado cloud. That's her effect on this office. I can actually get shit done when she's not here. Bonus.

I had to teach my daughter about internet predators the other day. She discovered how to play her Playstation 3 online (she is obsessed with "Little Big Planet") and one night this week she was playing with another person online. I didn't think anything of it until we went to bed and she was talking about the kid she was playing with. I asked her how old he was, and she said he was 9. Nothing happened that caused me to worry, but it occured to me to warn her about weirdos out there in case the next person she comes across is some child molestor. I told her to never give her name, address or phone number to anyone online EVER. Because strangers are fucked up. I'm glad I remembered to tell her and I thought it was very sad that this is the world we live in.

I love the TV show "Chelsea Lately". Chelsea Handler is my kind of chick. She loves the vodka (represent!) and she's snarky and bitchy and hilarious. I watch her every night. I am a huge fan. Last night, she had the guy who wrote a book called, "Sh*t My Dad Says". "Shit My Dad Says" is also a group or something on Facebook and it gets updated with shit this guy's dad really says. Like this recent gem: "No. Humans will die out. We're weak. Dinosaurs survived on rotten flesh. You got diarrhea last week from a Wendy's." If you haven't found it on Facebook, please check it out. You won't be disappointed.

Kristen Stewart is a dumb asshole. I am so sick of her and her "anti-celebrity" bullshit. And to equate being famous to being raped -- obviously, K-Stew (E! Entertainment channel calls her this, which is another reason I hate her) has never been raped.

It is gross I find Russell Brand sexy?

OK, I better get back to work. Have a fabulous weekend!

Crazy is a Relative Term

2010-06-02T17:15:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking long and hard about which client I should post about, considering it's my first time to talk about my clients on the internet. I came to the conclusion that y'all may enjoy meeting Mr. Tom Thompson*.

Mr. Thompson came to my office seeking custody of his daughter, Melody. He has been divorced for roughly 10 years, and sole physical custody of Melody was given to his ex-wife. Mr. Thompson enjoyed parenting time with his daughter every other weekend, every holiday, and all summer long. Melody is about 13 years old.

In Michigan, in order to change custody from one parent to another the party requesting the custody change has the burden to prove that it is not only in the best interest of the child(ren) to change the custody, but that there exists a very good reason to change custody. And I mean, it has to be A VERY GOOD REASON. Because the courts don't look at changing custody arrangements very lightly.

So, what you may be wondering is what could be the very good reason Mr. Thompson gave me that made me want to help him?

Well, in layman's terms...his ex-wife is bat-shit crazy. Literally. Like she needs to be institutionalized.

Mr. Thompson then told me one of the most fucked up stories ever:

On or about April 25, his daughter calls him in a panic. She has locked herself in the bathroom and asks him to come over to her mother's house to come get her. She tells her father that her mother just tried to perform some religious ritualistic exorcism or something on her, where she held down Melody, sat on her chest and put a satin cloth over her head. Mom then sprinkled some ashes or something over her, was doing some sort of chanting, and wouldn't let Melody up. When she finally broke free, Melody ran and locked herself in the bathroom and called her dad. Mr. Thompson went to get Melody right away, but also called the local police, who then in turn called Child Protective Services (CPS). After arriving on the scene, the police did an investigation, made a report, and then Mr. Thompson and Melody had to go to the police station to meet with CPS. Mom didn't go because she doesn't drive and apparently, no one would give her a ride.

CPS does their investigation and found there to be a sufficient emergency situation where Melody was to be removed from her mother's home and could go home with Mr. Thompson. A day or two later, they did a full investigation and recommended to Mr. Thompson that he hire a lawyer and try to get full physical custody of Melody.

The story doesn't end there though. A few days after that, another police report was made regarding Mom. Mom was out walking her dogs and was walking around her condo complex. Apparently, she also was carrying a loaded gun in each hand while she was doing this. Luckily, her sister found her and called the police and no one was hurt. At that time, the police arrested Mom and had her committed to a mental hospital for "evaluation".

NOW is where I entered the scene. Mr. Thompson also told me that his ex-wife hasn't paid any of her bills in over a year, her home is in foreclosure, she burns all of her mail out in the backyard, wanders around the backyard and often kneels with arms outstretched and prays, and that the walls in her home are covered in Bible scriptures that Mom has written all over the walls. She also had pictures of Melody in a circle she had drawn in her living room, with a pentagram inside the circle.

Do you hear the "Twilight Zone" theme song yet?

Now, I'm not trying to make fun of mental illness. Really. I feel very sympathetic toward Mr. Thompson's ex-wife, and even asked him if she was getting help (he told me her sister is trying to get guardianship over her so that they can get her some help).

But daaaaaamn. This story is fucked in so many ways.

And in case you're wondering how it ends -- it hasn't yet. I tried to file an emergency order to get Mr. Thompson custody of Melody but was informed today that the Judge assigned to the case wants me to file a Motion and that I need to somehow get the CPS worker to show up at the hearing. I haven't quite figured out how to work that out, but I will. I figure Mom won't show to the hearing since she burns all the mail, and never attended any of the CPS hearings. It's obvious the woman is a few sandwiches short of a picnic. I just need to get a final order in place with the court system.

On the bright side -- during all of this, Melody is safe at home with her father. By choice, she has no contact with her mother and she is trying to work through a very scary experience. I can't imagine how she must feel, considering your parents are the two people in your life that you should trust to keep you safe, and here her mother is acting all whacked-out. I can only wonder at what she experienced in the months prior to making that call that night. Mr. Thompson tells me Mom has been mental for about a year now.

I'll keep you posted on the case, and also introduce you to more of my clients in future blog posts. Hope you enjoyed Mr. Thompson's story, because, seriously -- I did. Just goes to show you that real life is so much more jakked than anything anyone could think up.

*Names and dates have been changed to protect the innocent, and more importantly, to protect my ass!

HEY EVERYBODY!!! ANYONE STILL OUT THERE?

2010-05-24T16:24:00.000-04:00

I'm back y'all.

As you may have noticed, I have been very quiet as of late. Partly because I'm super-busy at work and at work is where I do my blogging (as everyone should), partly because I've been feeling uninspired, and partly because I just don't think there's anything left to write about.

Boy, I was wrong.

I've been working for the past six months (can't believe it's been SIX months!) at a law firm, where I specialize in family law. You know what that means, don't you? It means I get some fucked up shit wandering in and out of this office. From divorces, to child custody battles, I hear some whacked out stories. And if you should know anything about me, it's that I LIVE FOR WHACKED OUT-FUCKED UP STORIES. Especially other people's stories (mine are not that amusing to me, obviously). I mean, this job is right up my alley considering I live for stories like the ones I get paid to hear!

I realized that I am living awesome material RIGHT HERE. I also know that as long as I am not giving out personal information (like names and shit) that it's no breach of confidentiality to tell all of you about the crazy situations that I encounter.

I'm going to get working on organizing a few of my most recent doozies. Look for my next post when you'll be introduced to the wonderful world of being a family law attorney.

WHOA.

2010-04-13T10:54:00.000-04:00

Please excuse me and the following two posts. There are many, many typos and I think I rambled on a bit too much at a few points. Last night, I took an ambien before bed then decided to write on my blog. I barely remembered doing this last night, until I logged on just now and fear siezed my heart. LOL I mention killing my husband twice and I say various forms of "fuck" about 3,000 times. If I didn't know better, I would swear ignorance to writing these posts.

But I'm going to leave them how they are. Despite their typos and mispellings. At that point in my ambien haze, I start to see double-vision and it's just lucky I wrote in (relatively) complete sentences. I'd love to hear your comments. Maybe I should write more while flying high on ambien? You be the judge.

And in case you're wondering...I went to bed immediately after writing these posts and slept like the dead. I don't even remember stirring once. That ambien is some wonderfully powerful shit, in more ways than one. And yes, I have a legal prescription, so you don't have to worry the DEA is going to bust me in some illegal ring or something. :)

Fuck You, High School Muscial....Can't wait to see all of you in 20 years!

2010-04-12T23:13:00.000-04:00

I feel like I need to start a little weekly post, about celebrities that make me feel old. My biggest fear when I was in my tween-and -teen-and then college years, was that I would lose touch with "cool" music. I mean, I am a child of the 70s, so I got to experience disco firsthand. I was a tween-teen in the 80s, which was just so awesome in itself. Then along came my college years -- growing up grunge. I adored Nirvana with all of my hear and soul. But who's the Nirvana today? Is there even one? If so, would I like their music?

So there's my background about music. Was a Debbie Gibson, Tiffiany, New Kids on the Block fan. I tried to find substance behind the fluff, which is why this week's installment hurts twice as much. I was watch "High School Musical 2" (please dont judge me...I do i for the kid, I swear) and was checkingout Zac Effron (I think tht's how you spell his name). Well, cute, boyish, teen bait, Zach made me feel like a dirty old woman. Because while I have never really bee attracted to him, he made me want to be in that fucking musical with him, jumping around and doing all the dumb shit they were doing. DAMN YOU, DISNEY AND ALL OF YOUR CUTE TEEN MOVIES. I swear Cute Teen Movies is a sign of the apoclypse. It has to be. Save your souls! You've been warned.

I Stroked-the-Fuck-Out Today and No One Gave A SHIT!

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

was fit to be tied today. Wait…that’s not even strong enough to express the depths of my anger today….I was seriously ready to completely and utterly STROKE-THE-FUCK-OUT today at work.

My boss had three clients coming into the office – one at 3pm, one at 4pm, and one at 5pm. Not a big deal, right?

Well it because a nuclear fucking bomb when you try to pawn off 3pm appointment to another attorney in the office, who, he himself has a 4pm appointment coming. Oh, and did I mention the 3pm appointment was “running late” and didn’t show up in the office until 3-fucking-thirty? OH YEAH I WENT THERE.

The 3pm (actually 3:30pm now) gets pawned off on Asshole Attorney. I’ve decided I’m going to be calling him for what he really is everyone. He’s a direct descendent from a long line of assholes, I’m quite sure.

The the 4pm person comes. My boss and I are working on a HOT HOT HOT DO IT NOW NOW FUCKING NOW project, that apparently, if it doesn’t get done, the world is goig to blow up, and children are going starving or some shit. And it case you are wondering IT NEVER GOT FINISHED. Fuck those hungry starving children, sister girl an't got time for you today.

Back to 4pm appointment who was finally graced by the resence of my boss at 4:40. The 5:00pm appointment ended up finally being seen around 5:40pm and all the while, my ass is completely held hostage in their estate planning process because I’m signing their all important testamentary documents as a witness.

Want to know what time I finally got the fuck out the office tonight? Don’t worry I wont make you guess. It was SEVEN-FUCKING-THIRTY at least. Give or take a few minutes. That work schedule should blow me or something to keep here there that late.

I drove home in a blind rage ready to schew the stearing wheel off of my car because I called Husband's cell phone and there was no answer. Which meant I had to call the house number and USE PRECIOUS MINUTES FOR CALL THE FUCKING LANDLINE. Of course, Daughter picks up and says "Daddy'a right here"klsdjlk;sfjaksl;fj;salkfjasl;kfjasl;kjfla;skfjal;skfj that is the steam coming out of my ears. PICK UP YO MUTHAFUCKING PHONE WHEN IT RINGS YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE. DO NOT AVOID ME BECAUSE I AM YOUR QUEEN BITCH AND YOU WILL BOW TO ME.

You an imagine how our little family dinner when. And yes, there were many apologize made BY me, but I didn't mean them. I mean shit, people, I'm having one SUPER-CHARGED-FUCKED-UP DAY and you make no effort to kiss my ass, let alone cook your child dinner along with me, consdering your lazy fucking ass has been home for te last THREE GODDAMM HOURS.

I have a feeling this post is going to either be great or come out like shit. I recently took an Ambien about 20 minutes ago and I’m loosing touch with my keyboard and my screen looks like wavy fabric.

All I really wanted to say when I start this rant is that I fucking understand those television shows with titles like “Snapped” and shit like that. Because I really feel there is going to be a day where I just stap. And I don’t mean I’m going to kill myself or my kid or something, or even anyone in my family (husband can breathe a sign of relief). Just something.

The Ambien is getting deeper and its making me harder to write. I was trying to ititiallly write about the rage I felt today but being high on Ambien softens the mood a bit, much to my chagrin. Although I’m sort of glad that my head isn’t going to explode off my head or anything, or that I’m going to stab Husband to death or something.

Don’t worry evernyone, I’m not a mental patient I just play one when I’m medicated. I’m even afraid to read what I’ve wrote so far, but I do know at least it should be interesting.

I was trying to captrure my rage and all I managed to capture what my rambling thoughts seen through an Ambien haze.

If Personalized License Plates are a Window to the Soul, Some People are Just Morons

2010-03-05T15:34:00.001-05:00

As you may remember, I spend a lot of time on the highways of Michigan, commuting for my job. Last year, I had a really long commute – I had a job that was 50 miles from my house. You can probably imagine all the cars I saw along my way…after all, I do live in “The Motor City!” No public transport here. No carpooling, either.

I no longer have the job that put 100 miles on my SUV per day, but I do have a job that puts 50 miles on my SUV per day, so I am still in commuter hell (although now, I only complain half as much). I still see a lot of cars, and that means, I see a lot of personalized license plates.

I spend way too much time thinking about these plates, especially when the personalized message is something confusing, and not immediately recognizable. While I really can’t stand personalized license plates, I totally appreciate those people who put plain and simple messages on their plates. But just because I appreciate it, doesn’t mean I have to like it (as you’ll see).

Here’s a sampling of some plates I’ve encountered on the highways of Michigan over the past couple of months (I’ve been storing them on my Blackberry whenever I see them!)

BLUVWIF – OK, seriously? Anyone know what in the fuck this means? B “luv” “wif”? “Blu” VW if? Yeah, I’m still pissed at this motorist.

TMEBOY – right away, I thought this one was something like “Tomboy”, until I took a looksey-loo at the driver. He was a middle-aged white man. So maybe, “Time Boy”? It should have said “Fucking Asshole” because that’s what I think of that plate.

DFORTX5 – Puzzling. Something about this plate means “x5” I’m sure of it – I just don’t know what “DFORT” means.

ESCAPAY – I couldn’t decide if this one was cute or not. I found it on a Ford Escape, so I have spent many minutes of my life trying to decide if it meant “Escape Pay” or “Esca-pay”.

WRKS4IT – Works for it. Works for What? Maybe I don’t want to know.

AZMOUSE – A-Z Mouse. ? Are they referring to Mickey Mouse? What Mouse? Is this a Disney reference? Mighty Mouse. I wish I could smack some sense into this driver. How dare they make me ponder their stupid, fucking license plate.

OPA PK – Fuck if I know on this one. At first I thought it was a Greek reference – how Greeks will say “Opa!” (Detroit has a “Greektown” so there are a lot of people from Greek descent around these parts). But the “PK” part – it doesn’t make sense.

7TKGOD7 – Again, I only understand a partial message here, and I’m guessing it’s got something to do with God.

MRSA663 – Mrs. A663: Is that her call numbers to her phone-sex line?

CMYSSGO – See my SS go. This person was driving a “SS” version of some-type of SUV.

SMILEMI – Smile Michigan! FUCK YOU.

JONSGT – Jon’s GT. He was in a Mustang GT, and I have to admit, I was quite jealous of Jon because that car was off the hook.

I'd like to know what some of you think these puzzling and nonsensical license plates mean. Feel free to comment and let me know your ideas!

Shit On My Mind (a.k.a. I'm Forced To Think About This Stuff Because It's In My Face)

2010-02-25T17:14:00.002-05:00

I have this friend on Facebook who is driving me crazy with her recent posts. Apparently, she has recently received a medical degree (or a subscription to Prevention magazine) because she has been posting little tidbits that have become The Things That Make Me Go Hmmmm...

I don't mean to be an asshole by complaining about these posts. Actually, I don't particularly care if I do sound like an asshole, because DAMMIT, this is America and this is my blog and I can say whatever the hell I please, right?

So here is a short sampling of the wealth of knowledge she has bestowed upon me (and now you). Please feel free to share with all of your Facebook family. I'm guessing someone will enjoy her public service announcements. Me? I could do without them. Or without 500 of them. Too much of a good thing pisses me off. I mean, motherfuck. The following status updates were only from the last TEN HOURS.

"Bananas contain bromelain, an enzyme thought to boost male libido. Don't like bananas? Pineapple is high in this sexy substance, too. (It even helps reduce joint pain.)" posted 59 minutes ago

"Had my yearly inspection! Now, I need to call & make my mammogram appointment with doctor's orders. Just want to remind everyone... and MAKE SURE EVERYONE GETS THEIR ANNUALS OF EVERYTHING YOU NEED CHECKED ON! MALE & FEMALE!" posted 3 hours ago

"Asparagus is an aphrodisiac. This delicious veggie is rich in vitamin E—a key nutrient for hormone building. (It's great with olive oil, garlic salt & pepper...put it in some aluminum foil and pop it in the oven or on the grill! I have this all the time.)" posted 10 hours ago

FACINATING, RIGHT? And yes, I know I have anger management problems. Why in the fuck do you think I take medication???? :)

And for the record -- I hate asparagus. Anything that makes my pee smell like something non-pee-like is not welcomed in my dietary plans.

I'm Keeping Up with the Kardashians

2010-02-16T14:14:00.000-05:00

OK, fine, are you happy? I've finally confessed I'm a closeted fan of "Keeping Up with the Kardashians". There. I said it. I feel better now that my secret is out in the open. So now, let's dish about those wacky Kardashians...

Is it wrong of me to be completely grossed out by Kourtney Kardashian shamelessly wearing the body hugging dress she was wearing? I mean, you could see every bump on her body! Whatever happened to pregnant women wearing shapeless dresses? Honey, we all know you’re pregnant, but DAMN I don’t need to see every curve of your pregnant belly, and every curve of your buttcheeks.

This reminds me – I am also completely grossed out by pregnant bellybuttons that stick WAY out. I’m sorry ladies if you or someone you love had some crazy alien bellybutton when you/they experienced pregnancy. Thank the Lord – I was blessed with an bellybutton that just stretched for 1,000 miles and stayed completely intact.

In another tangent – I have a thing for bellybuttons, so maybe that is why pregnant, extended ones gross me out. I love a male bellybutton set on a fine set of washboard abs – like the ones here on sexy Ryan Reynolds…HOLY SHIT, RIGHT? I actually don’t mind a cute “outie” bellybutton. I only mind them when they stop looking like bellybuttons and start looking like very tiny penises.

So back to the Kardashians. Other things I must confess about this TV show – I think I have a non-sexual crush on Kim Kardashian. She is so BEAUTIFUL – I am in awe whenever I see her and just want to stare at her because I think she is just so darn pretty. Beyond pretty. Beyond beautiful. She’s just simply perfection. I am obsessed with her hair and makeup and outfits. I think part of the reason I tune into the show is just to see her. I even think her mother – Kris Jenner is stunning. It’s just unfair that some people are blessed with the right combination of genes, isn’t it?

And what the hell is wrong with Kourtney’s baby-daddy, Scott? This episode I saw last night – he got rip-roaring drunk and proceeded to make a giant ass out of himself. And when I say “giant-ass out of himself” – I mean an even bigger one than the one he makes out of himself on a daily basis. Way bigger than that. It’s like 10x bigger than that. The show ended with Kourtney changing the locks on her house and locking Scott out. Perfect.

Ranting and Raving

2010-02-12T16:22:00.001-05:00

I need to vent, y’all. First, I must qualify this rant by saying, I love my new job. I really do. OK, that being said…

My boss is driving me nuts today. First off, I had to wake up early today (and if you knew me, you’d know I am no where near a “morning person”. I had to wake up early today because I needed to meet my boss, and two other people at the office at 8:50 a.m. and was told NOT TO BE LATE. Don’t you dare be late.

Guess who called me at 8:55 a.m. to tell me she was running late? Yep. My boss. The mission we were on today ended up being delay a motherfucken HOUR because she was late. Which means I didn’t need to get up early and haul my child out of bed early.

So.

Next, we go on our mission. Which ends up taking FOUR HOURS. And one of the other attorneys in the office had to take the client that was coming in to see me today who happened to be a friend of Husband’s. THE ONLY REASON THE MAN WAS COMING TO MY OFFICE WAS TO SEE ME AND I HAD TO HAVE ONE OF MY COLLEGUES TAKE HIS APPOINTMENT BECAUSE MY BOSS WAS TOO BUSY JACKING ALL OF US OFF ON OUR MISSION. I was pissed.

We finally make it back to the office and I have a 2:00 p.m. appointment coming in to sign her divorce documents. The very same divorce documents that I had spent about 3 hours of my time last night after I got home from work writing up, because I knew I wouldn’t have much time today to work on them at the office. THANK GOD I did that because I wouldn’t have had them done. But since I am a new attorney, my boss needs to review them. WHICH SHE HASN’T DONE YET. It’s fucking 2:09 p.m. My appointment is on her way (thankfully, she is a little lost) and I’M FREAKING OUT BECAUSE MY GODDAM DOCUMENTS HAVEN’T BEEN REVIEWED AND MY BOSS ACTS LIKE IT’S NO BIG DEAL. I don’t want to make the client wait. I want to get her out of here ASAP. MOTHER.FUCK.

Thank You to All My Followers....

2010-02-11T10:12:00.000-05:00

I just realized that my title sounds like I'm some televangelist or cult leader or something..."my followers"...

Any-WHO, what I really wanted to say was a very humble "Thank you" to all of you who took the time to click that button and "follow" my blog. When I started writing this, I didn't think anyone but a few close friends would read it. I didn't think anyone would really give two shits about what I had to say. And I am not trying to say YOU give two shits either -- but the fact is that you are on my list and at one point in your life, you read the words I wrote. So...thanks for that. I feel honored to have you here and I hope I get rid of my writer's block sometime very soon and write some realy witty and hilarious words. My awe was prompted by the fact that I actually have 30 of you following me. And only like 3 of you are IRL friends of mine (In Real Life). I'm also flattered that some of you are international friends. So thank you, gracias, merci, danke....

I Can't Resist...

2010-02-02T14:57:00.000-05:00

Remember I posted about Gary Coleman the other day? Well, seems I just ran across his mug shot the other day, and seriously....YIKES. Dude is S-C-A-R-Y. What happened it that cute, little cherub who said things like, "What you talkin' about, Willis?" I miss that Gary Coleman. He needs to embrace the fact that everyone remembers him as a child (typecast) and just run with it. For Chrissake. I'll never be famous. I'd love it if all of America remembered me as some cute, chubby-cheeked little angel. Wouldn't you?

<---------Gary Now

Gary Then ------------------------->

WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED????

Rants About Stupid Men (Keep it in your pants, fellas!)

2010-02-02T09:55:00.001-05:00

Happy Groundhog’s Day, y’all! Punxsutawney Phil has predicted 6 more weeks of winter. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it? I haven’t gone off on my rant about how I hate winter this year, so I guess it’s been a better year weather-wise. But just because I haven’t gone off on my I hate winter rant, doesn’t mean I don’t have plenty-o-rants to go around…

John Edwards. SERIOUSLY, JOHN? Not only do you have an affair on your wife while you are running for President, you have an affair on your wife who is battling STAGE 4 CANCER. And not only do you cheat on your DYING WIFE, you are fucking your videographer who is making a CAMPAIGN DOCUMENTARY. And not only are you fucking your videographer who is making your PRESIDENTIAL campaign documentary, you GET HER PREGNANT. And not only do you get your presidential campaign videographer pregnant, you try to keep her quiet with money paid to her from your PRESIDENTIAL CAMPAIGN FUNDS. And not only do you get your campaign videographer pregnant and pay her off with campaign funds, while your wife of THIRTY YEARS is battling STAGE FOUR CANCER, you then DENY you’re the father of her baby. And not only do you deny you’re the father of her baby, you get someone in your campaign staff to LIE and say HE’S THE BABY-DADDY. And folks, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse – now the news has reported there could be a possible JOHN EDWARDS SEX TAPE. HOLY-FUCKING-CHRIST. My head about exploded with that news. I mean, thank GOD this man never made it to the White House, because he OBVIOUSLY has a problem making any sort of WISE DECISIONS. He cheats on his dying wife, he doesn’t practice safe sex, he lies about paternity (which we all know can be solved with a quick trip to “The Maury Show”), he gets someone in his inner-circle to lie for him about PATERNITY, and THEN MAKES A SEX TAPE TOO? Honestly. I’m reeling over the fucked-up-ed-ness of the whole thing. I can understand trying to cover your ass through this whole ordeal and trying to backtrack and do damage control, but COME ON. Some days it’s just better to come clean and move on.

Tiger Woods. I’ve refrained from ranting about Tiger in this blog, because, really, what could I say that hasn’t been said by others in a funnier way? But c’mon, Tiger. Last I heard, the count of his ladies is now at 19. REALLY, TIGER? You wife is a hot piece of ass and you can’t be a little more discreet? NINETEEN WOMEN? Fucking-A. I could probably forgive one or two. But NINETEEN? If Elin goes back to him, you know that bitch is only doing it for the cash. And frankly, I can’t blame her. I hope she spends it like a motherfucker. The best part of this whole scandal for me, was when Tiger said (in a text message to one of his Ladies) that he was so irresistable because he was "blasian". I fucking died. It was all too delicious.

And all you guys out there -- don't worry. I'm not picking on your gender (even though it probably feels like it). I am already working on my "Rants About Stupid Chicks" as I write this. (Well, not really, but I thought if I said so it would make you feel better and make me look less like a man-hater. Which I'm not. Really.)

In Case You Didn't Want to Read Sarah Palin's Book...

2010-01-26T10:13:00.001-05:00

...but wanted to know what she wrote about, please, please, please check out Margaret and Helen's blog. Helen is recapping "Going Rogue" in only the way that Helen can. The woman may be in her eighties, but damn, girl, you're funny. And when I say "funny" -- I mean HYSTERICAL.

So there you go. I'm shamelessly plugging one of my favorite blogs. Sometime last year, she also read Ann Coulter's latest book, in case you were interested in that recap. It was so funny, I literally laughed out loud.

Helen is a raging liberal, which is exactly how I like my liberals, thankyouverymuch. Enjoy.

Random Thoughts to Entertain You

2010-01-25T11:59:00.000-05:00

Isn’t it funny how you can be surrounded by people yet feel so alone in the world?

My addiction to Farmville has waned. I’m still a dedicated farmer, yet I am not obsessed with it like I was.

Daughter is obsessed with making up songs about pooping and peeing. Yesterday, she amused herself for most of the day recording songs on Husband’s new Blackberry regarding these topics. I’m half tempted to let her record one on mine and set it as my ringtone.

As you may have inferred from the above statement, I finally broke down and bought a blackberry. My cell phone contract ended a couple of weeks ago, so I decided to leap into the next decade on the cutting edge of smartphones. Granted, it’s no iPhone, but I’m morally against iPhones, so a blackberry was the next best thing. My problem with iPhones is that everyone has one or tries to convince you how great they are, so I immediately want to buck the trend. I’m like that.

My new job is awesome. It takes up so much of my time, but that’s a good thing because I have no life anyway and it’s not like I need all kinds of free time. (No sarcasm intended here. Really.)

My dad’s aunt passed away a week ago and her visitation and funeral were this past Friday/Saturday. Was it wrong of me to pull a no-show? I wasn’t close to her and probably haven’t seen her since my wedding 14 years ago. She treated my dad like crap and I just didn’t want to be bothered.

Sometimes it’s better not to wear your heart on your sleeve.

Husband drives me up a wall sometimes, but last night I was reminded by a friend of mine on Facebook, that sometimes things could be worse. My friend took a job in New Orleans because the job market is so bad here. He left his wife and three daughters. Last night, he posted a status message that said, “Two hours and 11 minutes on the phone with the love of my life, and it still wasn’t enough.” They’ve been married over 12 years. (*tear*)

I have had Lady Gaga’s song, “Bad Romance” stuck in my head for the last several weeks. It’s driving me INSANE. Damn that woman for making a overly-catchy song. It’s the fucking “Ra-ra ooo la la, ra-ma, ooo ga-ga” shit that keeps running through my brain like a wildfire runs through the hills of dry California in the summer. I can’t decide if I should just give into to it and sing it out loud like a lunatic or if I should keep the lunacy to myself.

Ever need a friend and they’re not there for you? I hate it when I call my friends over and over and I can’t get a hold of them. Especially when I have an issue that appears to be life or death and I need a friend to talk to. Although I must admit, I have the ringer turned off on my phone and have missed a friend’s emergency a time or two. Ooops.

What the hell is the matter with Gary Coleman? Looks like the guy needs some anger management classes? I’m always disappointed to hear stories like this about him because I used to love “Different Strokes” as a kid.

Does anyone really give a shit about Brad and Angelina?

Saw my mom last weekend and she took me to a cosmetics store. She ended up buying me a bunch of make-up – and then told me at the checkout counter that since I’m a lawyer “now”, I need to look more “professional”. WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?

I need to get my car washed in the worst way. I’m now officially embarrassed to drive it because it’s so dirty. But I consider it a waste of money to go to the carwash because the weather is so wet and crummy around here, all it is going to do is immediately get dirty again.

Update: 2010 Thus Far...

2010-01-16T10:59:00.002-05:00

I must apologize once again. I have neglected this blog. I have been so busy with living life lately, I haven't had time to write. Hopefully, I will find more time in the days, weeks and months ahead to write, but until then, I owe you -- all of my wonderful readers -- an update as to what has been keeping me away from making you laugh.

Besides the regular holiday "I'm so busy shopping and cooking and visiting" -- in the midst of all of that -- I found a new job! As some of you remember, I passed the Bar exam this past fall and can now officially call myself an attorney. In that spirit, I found my first attorney job! I am really excited. And it's sort of a funny story of how it all happened -- not funny "haha" but more serendipitous than anything else. After losing my job around Thanksgiving, and the economy being what it is (READ: THERE ARE BARELY ANY JOBS OUT THERE, PEOPLE!) I was thinking about starting my own little law practice. I remembered I had a friend on Facebook who, I believed, had started her own law practice, and I messaged her. From that message came meeting for lunch, and from that lunch, came a job! I am now working in HER law practice, doing mostly family law (divorces, child custody, spousal support) and probate things (wills, trusts, conservatorships, etc.) I am really very happy right now with where my career is and where it could possibly go. My workday flies by, and I feel like I am helping our clients, which really, is the whole reason I wanted to be a lawyer in the first place. My only complaint is that the money I am making is total shit. But even that is not enough to rain on my parade, so to speak.

This new job keeps me very busy and I'm putting in 9 and 10 hour days. By the time I get home, I am exhausted and mentally drained. I don't feel like getting on my computer and being witty. So I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me (I'm sure you will, don't make me break out the puppy-dog eyes), and hang in there with me. I am still trying to find a balance between work, my personal life and my writing. I will find it too, I'm sure of it.

I've had family drama (seriously, does it ever end???) -- my dad has had some medical problems for the past few weeks, in which the drama with that began Christmas Day with me placing a phone call to 9-1-1 and calling an ambulance to my house because he had a nosebleed that wouldn't stop. After bleeding profusely for nearly 20 minutes, I placed the call and the paramedics showed up and carted him off to the hospital. My mom when after him. He's ok, in case you're wondering. He ended up having surgery last week where blood vessels in his nasal passages were clamped.

Then there has been some ongoing drama with my brother. I don't even want to get into it -- but once again, he's ruining his life with drugs and alcohol. Sadly, I have a feeling that I'll be attending his funeral someday soon. He's always had problems and can never quite get his life on track. He's also very resentful and jealous of me, because as he would put it -- I have gotten every break and he has not gotten any. Which couldn't be farther from the truth. The fact is I have worked for where I am in my life and he thinks shit should be handed to him on a silver platter. It's just sad and it should be a story saved for another day.

And the cherry on top of all of this family drama? My brother's former fiancee has now gone on a few dates with one of Husband's younger brothers. I love this girl to death and would welcome her into my family any way I could. My brother doesn't know, but my mother does and she's OK with it. If a serious relationship comes out of this I don't know how everyone will react -- my inlaws or my dad. My brother will flip, I'm sure of that. I would be very happy and so would Husband. And Daughter would shit a brick, because she LOVES this girl too. Crazy, huh?
So what have you learned here today? You've learned that:

New Job + Long Hours at Work + Family Drama = No Blog Posts

And to put my lack of time in perspective -- I didn't even make any New Years' Resolutions this year. Right now, though -- here's my first one -- TO BLOG MORE! :)

BFFs

2009-12-29T13:47:00.002-05:00

Last night, I bought “Super Mario Bros.” for my Nintendo DS. I really don’t play with it all that much, because frankly, I don’t have a lot of time and I hate most of the games out there. I grew up with simple video games like Pac-Man and Donkey Kong. If I have to press more than one button in order to make my video character do whatever it is that video characters do, it’s too complicated for me. I think all day for a living – when I spend time doing recreational activites, I want to shut my brain off for a while.

“Super Mario Bros.” seemed like the perfect choice. There’s not a lot of buttons to deal with and plus, everyone loves Mario, right? I took Daughter with me to the video game store, and I made the purchase.

A little time later, we are taking turns on my DS being Mario. Whenever one of us lost our turn, it was the other person’s opportunity to play. We were having a blast. Then we remembered we could sync up our DS’s (she has one too) and we could play Mario as a two-person game. Great idea!

Since we couldn’t find the original instructions that came with the DS (who keeps that shit anyway?), I went to the computer to look up the directions on how to sync our DS’s. On the way up the stairs to our computer room, Daughter says to me, “We’re like peanut butter and jelly.” I ask her what did she mean? “It means we’re like best friends.”

HOW CUTE WAS THAT? We’re like peanut butter and jelly. Nevermind that she doesn’t even like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The analogy couldn’t be more fitting.

Too Many Apologies

2009-12-20T18:02:00.000-05:00

I feel the need to apologize to all of you, my dear readers. I have been paying as much attention to writing in my blog as I have to becoming a vegetarian (which, in case you didn't get it, is ZERO. I am a bona fide MEAT EATER.)

Despite not having a job at the moment, I have been extremely busy. Go figure, right? Christmas shopping, wrapping presents, baking cookies and being lazy (such as sleeping in late and taking long naps) has been monopolizing all of my time.

Please don't give up on me. I promise to write something hilarious and thought-provoking sometime soon. Hang in there and bear with me.

The Irritation Continues...

2009-12-05T22:52:00.000-05:00

I went for an interview today with the Michigan National Guard for their Judge Advocate General (JAG) Corps. I had to drive about 100 miles to get there (one way). Once I got there, I was supposed to see Captain America (not his real name, obvs...but I must protect the innocent). I ask for Captain America and once I introduce myself and tell him we had a 10:00 a.m. appointment, his all-American face is oh-so-very puzzled. Like my name and the fact that we have an appointment doesn't ring a bell kind of puzzled.

Oh, I see we are starting off on the right foot, aren't we?

It gets better. He acts like he had NO FUCKING IDEA I was supposed to be there. I do the polite thing and tell him that if this is a bad time, I can come back (and trust me, if he had told me to come back there was NO WAY IN HELL I was coming back, considering it took me nearly 2 hours to find the place). I even resorted to showing him the confirmation email I received regarding our appointment. It's December 5th isn't it? So we do the interview.

Going into the interview, I was under the impression (from the recruiter) that the JAG Corps was in desperate need of lawyers. Speaking to Captain America -- who told me there are only 17 lawyers in the whole state, and only 2 of them are on "active" duty -- that despite there being buttloads of work to do, he really only needed lawyers who were experienced in litigation.

I have no litigation experience.

I also found out that "for sure", because, after all, Captain America doesn't want to "bullshit" me -- that if I were to join the JAG...I'd be deployed "overseas" (read: The Middle East) immediately after training, and that deployment would last one year.

FUCK THAT PEOPLE. I didn't like those odds.

So I pretty much bid Captain America adieu and went on my merry way back home. Only to be grilled by Husband for nearly an hour about how I should still consider joining. I FLAT OUT told him that there was no way -- hear me? -- NO FUCKING WAY I was joining when there would be a 100% chance that I would have to leave my daughter for one year. Nevermind the 6 months of training when I would be away. Want to know what his response was? Go ahead. Ask me. Please....

He said that I would be given leaves and that I would still see her.

That's when I had to crush his hopes of being married to a JAG Officer once and for all. FLAT OUT. And please don't get me wrong. I admire the men and women who serve this country with all my heart and soul. I'm just too old and too set in the ways of being with my kid where I want to sacrifice any more time away from her (the four years I spent in law school were enough time away).

Oh, and the best part of the interview? Captain America asked me if I had considered joining one of their other units -- specifically, the Human Resources branch. He mentioned this because all of my pre-law school work experience was in Human Resources. I told him, no, I was pretty much focused on legal positions, I mean, considering the schooling and the student loan and the fucking 2 years I spent trying to pass the goddamm Bar exam.

Seriously? WHAT THEE FUCK CAPTAIN AMERICA? You can't be serious? Dude, I look forward not backward. If I had loved HR that much, I would have stayed there instead of investing 7 years of my life and $100k into a legal career.

Thoughts in My Head

2009-12-01T22:14:00.000-05:00

Lately, I haven't had any "big" topics to write about, but I've thought of a bunch of little things I need to write about.

1) I've decided that I think Adam Lambert is one sexy mo' fo'. I've never wanted to be a gay man more in my life than I have over this past week. I love love LOVE his new song, "For Your Entertainment" and I think he's hot stuff in the video. Love the guyliner, love the hair, love everything. This is just one more thing that proves I'm a gay man trapped in a heterosexual woman's body. And I don't give two shits that he kissed a guy on stage at the AMAs or that he simulated oral sex. Honestly, who gives a fuck? I've taught daughter about gay people in simple terms (sometimes boys want to marry boys and girls want to marry girls...'nuff said.) I don't think I'm gonna "turn" her gay by explaining what it means.

2) I am so pissed at Farmville -- some of the things that are available to buy to decorate your farm with you have to pay with "farmbucks". Only there seems to be no other way to accumulate these "farmbucks" other than to purchase them with real money. And fuck that, Farmville. Keep your Mystery Boxes and your black ducks. Even though I want one I will not be spending any money on you.

3) I've started snoring as of late (meaning the past few months) and I've been kicked out of my bedroom. I now sleep either on the sofa in our living room or in Daughter's room (she sleeps in my bed with Husband). At first I was all fired up about it, but now I kind of like it because I get her whole bed to myself (she has a Queen). It ain't half bad because she even has a TV with cable in her room, so I feel like I'm back living with my parents again. Except without the dysfunction.

4) When did Pandora radio start playing commercials? I have been away for a while, but tonight, when I was here in my home office putzing around, I have it on and I'm all WTF? I don't appreciate commercials AT ALL. And speaking of Pandora, when did my "George Michael Radio" turn into Beatles Hour? I've heard "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" and "Come Together" one right after the other. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate me some Beatles, but seriously? It's called "George Michael Radio" for a reason. Play some fucking GM or I am going to get my feathers all in a ruffle.

5) OMG Pandora is now playing the second Elton John song...I've realized that Pandora must be intepreting "George Michael Radio" to mean "Gay Male Performer Radio" which is fine by me considering my #1 above, but seriously...PLAY SOME GODDAMM GEORGE MICHAEL ALREADY and stop fucking with me, Pandora! (And speaking of Elton John, I love me some Elton, too. My mom once took me to one of his concerts when I was 3 years old, and I still remember him wearing his crazy outfits back then. Like that one over there to the left.)

6) I got my letter from Unemployment today and hopefully the cash should start rolling in any time now. Of course, it's a fraction of the money I was making when I was employed, but I am not going to complain. Being unemployed has got me thinking of starting my own practice. I've been mulling it around for the past couple of weeks. I'll keep you posted on my progress.

7) Husband has rearranged my home office and I can't stand it. There was once a futon in here and he's moved that out and replaced it with bookcases. Now there's only one chair in here which is fine if you're the one person in here, but forget about two people being in here because there's no where to sit. He's also rearranged just about everything else including taking my pictures off the walls. I can't tell you how much his touching my shit annoys the fuck out of me. I find it beyond irritating.

8) I think I'm going to try and put up my Christmas tree either tomorrow or Friday. I meant to do it on Monday but we had a death in our family. One of Husband's aunt's passed away last Friday and so I've been involved in visitation and funeral activities.

9) Still no George Michael on my Pandora. Who can I write a strongly worded letter to?

10) I can't think of a 10th thing...so I'm outta here bitches! :)

Thanksgiving and Birthday Wishes

2009-11-27T20:48:00.011-05:00

My good friend IRL (that's "In Real Life" for all you not in the know) Kim, from A Perfectly Cursed Life has given me an award, y'all! It's the award she started last year in honor of the Thanksgiving season, and it's the "Thanks for Blogging" Award. Ain't she sweet for including me? Yeah, I thought so. And, unfortunately, I can't get to her blog because I keep getting an error (over and over) so please forgive me for not posting the award itself. In receiving the award, I'm supposed to thank some of my fellow bloggers for blogging...so here goes:

Like Kim, I have to thank LiLu at Live It, Love It for blogging. Her blog has make me laugh out loud on many an occassion, and I'd really be lost without her. She makes me want to go to Washington, DC and start stalking her and make her be friends with me. When I say "stalking", I mean it in the most harmless way possible.

I would laso like to to thank Lisa from Lemon Gloria. She is also someone who makes me laugh out loud on a regular basis, and I also get to relive those days from when I was a new mommy through her blog. Not that I necessarily want to relive those days, but it's a nice reminder sometimes.

Thank you also goes out to Sass at Hot Piece of Sass. She's hilarious and another blogger who makes me LOL. I find myself wishing she'd just spend all of her time blogging because I love reading her blog that much.

I want to thank mysterg, at Meditations in an Emergency even though w may not always see eye-to-eye. No matter what, he's still a good read.

And lastly, I want to thank my two favorite thought-provokers. Is that a word? It is now, y'all. First, there's Tennyson at andy warhol goes shopping and then Dr. Jay at Yoga for Cynics. Both of these blogs give me cause to think quite often, even though their writing styles are both very different. I like reading their blogs because I like to take the old noodle out for a spin once in a while, and can't spend ALL my time laughing a baby poop and adult fart jokes. Although, trust me, that is quite an excellent way to spend my time, in my humble opinion...

Anyways....

Getting this award got me thinking about my Thanksgiving topic this year. I have been mulling it around in my head for the past week or so. Funny enough, this year, Daughter's birthday feel on Thanksgiving, and she's the one thing in this world I am most thankful for. (Sorry for the late post!)

If you care to read last years' birthday post about the day Daughter came into this world, click here. Otherwise, just read about all the reasons I'm so thankful for her.

I'm thankful she is healthy.
I'm thankful that I got to be her mother.
I'm thankful that when I'm having a shitty day and she knows about it, she offers hugs and kisses.
I'm thankful she has a wicked sense of humor and fully understands the meaning of sarcasm.
I'm thankful that I have someone to share fart jokes with -- and who will laugh harder than me at them.
I'm thankful she still has her childhood innocence intact and hasn't been jaded by the world yet.
I'm thankful she still believes in Santa Claus.
And the Tooth Fairy.
I'm thankful that she doesn't care about money, and only cares about love.
I'm thankful she speaks her mind and doesn't censor herself yet.
I'm thankful she is sensitive and kind to others.

Happy 7th Birthday (yesterday) to my baby girl. She's the one light in my life that keeps me grounded and sane. xoxoxo

Soon To Be Living Life On The Dole

2009-11-23T10:34:00.001-05:00

Goddammit. I noticed that my last blog post was on November 13, and now, 10 days later, I haven’t posted. Well, technically, this is a post, but you must realize that I had the thought about not posting before I posted.

If you’re still with me after that doozie of a sentence, I am writing to say that I haven’t written because I haven’t felt all that inspired to do so. A lot has changed in the last 10 days, and so the perpetual black cloud that seems to hide behind every corner is back, ready to take a nice, steaming shit all over my mood. To catch you up –

Riding the high of passing the Bar exam sure didn’t last very long. I found out last Monday that I am once again, losing my job. My last day at this job is November 23. MERRY CHRISTMAS! Welcome to Unemployment!

Husband says I should write a thank you note to my current boss, telling her how much I enjoyed working here and whatever happy horseshit I can work into the letter. You know--make it a proper ass-kissing letter. The mood I am in today – here’s how the letter would go:

Dear Boss:

Thank you so much for providing me the opportunity to get my hopes up into thinking that this company could be a place where I could set some roots. You have no idea how much I appreciate knowing that despite the fact that you acted like you wanted to mentor me, saying you wanted to be “like a mentor” apparently means that you were going to shit-can me as soon as possible.
Thank you also for releasing me from this position just in time for me to “celebrate” the holiday season with my family. I am so glad I am not going to have any money for Christmas presents this year – thankfully, my daughter will think Santa Claus is the asshole for the sparse appearance of Christmas presents and not me (I truly thank you for that!).

I also would like to thank you for all of the constructive criticism you provided me while working here. Since I am leaving, I am going to probably forget everything you said since I will have no where to apply my new knowledge – so basically, you wasted your time (and mine!)

Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to drive 100 miles round trip everyday to a job. I really loved getting to know the City of Livonia and its neighboring cities of Plymouth and Northville. Oh, and nevermind all of the miles I put on my leased vehicle, all of the money I spent on gas, and getting rear-ended a few weeks ago. Those were bonuses!

Thank you for allowing me to sit on my ass at home while I collect unemployment through the winter (no snowy rush hour drives)! I know the unemployment checks will be nowhere near what I was making at this job, but at least I will be getting paid for doing nothing – except sleeping in and watching talk shows (especially The Maury Show with its paternity and lie detector tests--WHOOPIE)! I see that my dedication has been richly rewarded. Just goes to show me that persistence, hard work and dedication ultimately pays off!

Oh one last thing -- here's a big FUCK YOU. I'm running over to the supply closet right after I type this so I can steal as many highlighters, pens and pencils as my purse will hold. Tomorrow, I'm bringing a bigger purse.

With Warm Regards,
Me

That Fucking Fucker Should Go Fuck Himself

2009-11-13T16:09:00.001-05:00

A reader of mine, Tennyson ee Hemingway, at andy warhol goes shopping, recently wrote a post about swear words. His post got me thinking about my own love affair with swear words and has inspired my very own post.

In my mind, I have different levels of swear words, similar to the varying rings of Hell in Dante’s “Inferno”. At the bottom of the pit, would be those words that are the worst. “Cunt” falls into this category. I rarely use this word. Not that I don’t enjoy using it, don’t get me wrong. And I particularly love using it in the quote I stole from an episode of “The Sopranos” where Pauly is telling Christopher to stop acting so “cunty” – which is funny all in itself considering Christopher is a man. I really don’t use it all that much, unless I’m really trying to make a point – or trying to describe my loathing of a particular person or thing.

Next, we have those words that I think should only be used in the bedroom. You can probably guess what these are – “pussy”, “dick” and “cock”. I am not comfortable using these words outside of the bedroom – and am really not all the comfortable using them IN the bedroom, to be honest with all of you. I rarely talk in the bedroom at all, much to Husband’s chagrin. The reason why I'm not a "talker" is because I’m concentrating too hard on what I’m doing, and really don’t feel like sex is a conversational activity. But I digress here (is this TMI?)….and I guess I have used the word “dickbag” in the outside-the-bedroom world, but that’s very close to “douchebag” and I don’t consider it a “swear word”. I mean using the word “dick” to describe the penis. Not as an insult. There is an exception to this rule: I have often used the phrase “I was left with my dick in my hand” or the variation, “I hope he/she doesn’t leave me with my dick in my hand” used to describe those instances where someone has or is going to fuck me over. In that phrase, I am comfortable using “dick”.

After this second ring of Swearing, comes the following tier – where the word “fuck” sits all by its lonesome. This word deserves a tier all on its own, because frankly, there is no other swear word like it. It can be used to describe a noun-person (fucker), an verb-activity (fucking), or an adverb-description (the fucking fucker). Fuck is my very favorite swear word because of it’s versatility. I would probably also put “motherfucker” on this tier. I love using that form of “fuck” – because it goes from ultimate harshness in “motherfucker!” to something funny when said as “muthafuckaaaaa!”

Next tier is saved for “shit” and “piss”. Funny that both words are used to describe bodily functions. “Shit” is relatively versatile, but not as versatile as “fuck” so that’s why it is on this next tier. “Shit” also comes a close second to fuck in my usage – although it doesn’t have quite the same sting as “fuck” does. As an example, I wouldn’t be embarrassed to say “shit” in front of old Christian ladies, but I’d probably be a little blushed to say “fuck” in front of them. Of course, it depends on the context. Saying, “I gotta take a shit” is the most embarrassing form of this word – one that I’d never say to a group of Christian ladies (or any other person on the face of the Earth) anyway.

The final tier is saved for those swear words that seem to be OK to say on American television. Those are “ass” and “hell”. Neither is very brutal in the forms in which you can use it, except maybe “asshole”, which I would sandwich into the tiers between this one and the one above it. Like one of my friends said – when you are going from “ass” to “asshole” you’re moving from “something fleshy and soft to something smelly and rank.” Well said.

Of course, there are many more words not included in my tier system. “Twat” is one of those words. I find it just so vile that I want to pretend it doesn’t exist. I once heard my mother use “twat” in a sentence, and I have forever been scarred for life. Best part is that it happened only a couple of years ago. You can imagine my horror.

So what are you favorite swear words?

Black Clouds Over a Kiwi Green SUV

2009-11-12T10:20:00.002-05:00

It happened again.

I’ve been involved in another car accident. You may remember last summer’s accident and if not, go ahead and click the link.

And once again, it was not my fault.

I’m beginning to think my cute, kiwi green Mercury Mariner SUV is cursed. Or at least carries a black cloud over its awesome little sunroof. Why, do I think this? Well, here’s a list of the work its had done on it since I leased it 2 ½ years ago:

About 2 months after the start of the lease, I totally caved in the passenger side when I cut too close on a brick retaining wall in a parking lot. Yeah, it was a total blonde moment, and I’m not proud of it. It was in the body shop for a week.

I have a starburst chip on the windshield from a rock that flew up and hit it, about 4 months after leasing it.

Last summer’s accident. It was in the body shop for two weeks and needed an entirely new hood, front bumper and grill. The radiator needed to be replaced.

Yesterday’s accident. I was rear-ended on the freeway. Luckily, as you can see, the damage isn’t bad and no one was hurt. It was more inconvenient than anything else, but I know it’s going to need a new rear bumper. And this morning, I noticed the hatch in the back was dented a bit, so I’m hoping that can just be puffed back out (yes, that’s a technical term).

I suppose I should consider myself lucky. The accident occurred when a woman, driving her SUV wasn’t paying attention and nailed the girl driving in her BRAND NEW Ford Escape SUV, who then in turn, hit me. The girl behind me – her car is FUCKED. She has front-end AND rear-end damage, and I’m pretty sure it was her radiator that was pouring out onto the freeway while we waited for the police to arrive. So, yeah. I could have been in her shoes. I felt bad for her. And thank goodness she didn’t hit me hard enough for me to be launched into the car in front of me, otherwise, I would have been sandwiched too.

I can’t WAIT for this lease to end (May). Then maybe the black cloud will go away!

Do You Promise To Love And Cherish Each Other As Long As You Both Shall Live?

2009-11-03T12:14:00.003-05:00

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
1 Corinthians 13:4

Falling in Love is a funny thing, don’t you think? Today is my wedding anniversary, so I am going to do a little reminiscing. Fasten your seat belts! Here we go…

When we were young, love was a white-hot fever. It was something that made me feel like I would explode. Being in love felt like a fierce, maddening passion that would never subside. Sex was urgent and explosive. We couldn’t keep our hands off of each other.

As I grew older, the passion evolved into something different. It wasn’t as white-hot anymore, but it felt stronger, more like the cement hardening on the foundation of a building. My feelings changed, too. Where urgency once lived, comfort found a home.

As time wears on, the history of my relationship continues. Memories serve as reminders of what the past looked like, and gives me hope on what the future will hold. Like a book, the pages are continuously written each day. Pages turning, turning, turning.

Good memories, sad memories, bad memories, happy memories.

My wedding. Husband wiping the tear from my face during our wedding vows. You couldn’t wipe the grins from our faces after it was announced we were married. We were so happy to finally be able to call each other Husband and Wife and begin the next chapter in our lives.

My miscarriage. Husband holding me in our bed the night the miscarriage began. Holding me as I cried, the physical and emotional pain overtaking me. Physical pain subsidizing with a few Vicodin. Trying to take away Emotional Pain by Husband getting me to watch “Caddyshack” so we could laugh. Laughter is the best medicine. Laughter heals everything.

Divorce discussions. 2007 was a very bad year. Not a lot of laughs. But still a compelling chapter in the book.

The birth of my daughter. Waiting for her to take her first breath while I held mine. Waiting to hear the hearty cry of a newborn baby. Husband bitching out the anesthesiologist after he spent a half an hour trying to insert the epidural. I try to remain still even though I’m hunched over my pregnant belly, the contractions are fierce. I am trying to breathe and make the physical pain go away. Chuckling to myself because Husband is losing his shit. He is scared and doesn’t know how to make me feel better. “Caddyshack” is not available at that moment. But he stills tries to make me laugh, even though during the contractions, all I want to do is punch him in the face.

The fabric of our marriage. The laughter. The tears.

We met when I was 17 and he was 18. We were just kids. Twenty-one years later, we are still together. Still together riding the roller-coaster of life. Two kids growing into adults together. We are married. We are homeowners. We are parents. We are partners. We are friends. We are enemies (sometimes). We are "we".

Most of our friends are divorced. Some are divorced and remarried. Some are still single. So far, we have made it through the war. Marriage is not easy. Getting married is very easy. Staying married is not. Every day takes work. Marriage is not something you can coast through on cruise control. Some days you need to press the accelerator, and some days you need to press the brake. But every day you need to start the ignition and make sure there is gas in the tank. And hopefully along the way, you can smile through it all.

We recently went to a Halloween party. The party was hosted by a couple whose children went to the same daycare center Daughter attended. The daycare center was partially subsidized by Ford Motor Company as an employee benefit. Daughter went there because Husband is a Ford employee. The couple whose house the party was at are both Ford employees. I was friends with the wife, mostly because our children were in the same classroom through much of the first 4 years of their lives. She now works at the same Ford plant as Husband (she is an engineer). They have become friends now. She has shared with Husband how unhappy she is in her marriage. Both Husband and I were at her Halloween party. She told Husband that she watched him and me together and she can really tell how “close” we are. We can still look into each other’s eyes and smile that same smile that was on our faces the day we were married. I told Husband we’re still close because we laugh together no matter where we are. Laughter heals everything.

When I look at Husband (depending on the day) I either want to kill him and bury him in the backyard, or I want to give him a great big hug. My feelings sometimes border on extreme contempt or extreme love. I think these feelings are one of the reasons we are still married. I think apathy would be the true killer of our relationship. I mean, even when I want to kill him it’s because he stirs up enough emotion in me that I’ve thought about burying him in the backyard. That’s passion, n’est pas? Sometimes in the middle of an argument, one of us cracks a joke. Most of the time, in any situation, one of us cracks a joke. We're like that. Always trying to find the "funny". Quoting movies. Quoting comedians. Laughter is the best medicine.

We’ve laughed together.
We’ve cried together.
We’ve grieved a baby that never made it.
We’ve celebrated a baby that did.
We’ve fought and made up.
We’ve forgiven each other (and sometimes not).
Through all of our ups and downs, we’ve always had each other.

And I have to thank God everyday that he’s funny. Or his ass would have been buried in the backyard years ago.

You May Now Address Me as "Counselor"

2009-11-02T11:52:00.001-05:00

My apologies for not posting anything in a while. (Life has been crazy lately.) Here’s a quick update of what’s been going down in my zoo:

1) I PASSED THE BAR EXAM! HIP, HIP, HOOORAY! I got the letter in the mail last Thursday, and have been riding the cloud for several days now. The only thing that has put a damper on things is that I wonder what I’m supposed to do next. I’ve spent so much time focused on passing the bar exam, I never looked past it in any type of meaningful way.

2) Halloween came and went. Daughter was Dorothy for Halloween, just like I had hoped. (WHEW) Gearing up for the big day took a lot of planning, running errands, and cleaning, cleaning, cleaning my house…because my parents and in-laws came to visit and see Daughter in her costume.

3) Work has been pretty busy, and as I’ve mentioned before, I usually only blog at work, so there you go. I try not to get on the computer when I’m home after work, considering how much time I spend on it during the day. It’s just a time-suck and I don’t want to take any time away from family time.

4) I’ve become an addict. I’m addicted to Farmville on Facebook. I knew I would fall prey to it if I started, which is why I’m late to the game (lots of my friends are also Farmville addicts, so I’ve been hearing about it for months now.) I finally gave in to temptation early last week and now I am a farming fool. I even have Daughter addicted to it…she enjoys running my farm and sending my friends gifts (so if you get a weird one, I’m sorry, it’s her not me).

That’s all the big news on my end and explains why I haven’t been around. Blame Farmville and work for most of it…Halloween and the passing the Bar were bonuses for you. I promise to post something worthwhile soon!

Girls Gone Wild and The Gays

2009-10-27T15:38:00.004-04:00

I’ve never understood the appeal of the “Girls Gone Wild” DVDs advertised on late-night television. I thought they were a bit pathetic actually – in that there’s nothing more going on in these DVDs than a bunch of young girls (usually 18-22 years old) in various stages of undress, and maybe, MAYBE you get a couple of them kissing each other. Or taking a shower, or some other bullshit like that. To me, these DVDs are not sexy at all. Who wants to watch a bunch of immature girls taking off their bras, or sitting in a tub, or rolling around on a bed? Zzzzzzz….snore…..

Fast forward to this weekend. I was flipping through the channels of our cable TV provider. I was venturing into channels I never watch…meaning those past channel 125. I was going through the menu, when I came across a show that was featuring a bunch of stand-up comedians. After watching the channel for a few minutes, I realized I stumbled across the LOGO channel. If you’ve never heard of it, I assume the target audience is the LGBT community. All of the comedians were gay, and one was a transsexual (female to male, pre-op). He was really very cute (does that make me gay?) and they were all very funny. Especially, the half-Japanese woman who referred to the “Gaysians” and did a rap that included references to her “Hello Kitty” underwear. (I find stereotypical humor hilarious.)

So right about now, you’re asking yourself how the “Girls Gone Wild” videos are related to me watching the LOGO channel? Well, it all has to do with the commercial I was bombarded with on every commercial break. It was the one for the “Guys Gone Wild” DVDs!

And guess who, for a brief moment, wanted to order them?

Yep, you guess it. ME. Why?

Because those guys were fucking hot. And who doesn’t want to watch a bunch of young, well-muscled men rolling around on a bed or doing push-ups, or flexing their muscles while taking off their shirts? With their young faces and young bodies? I mean, what’s wrong with that? I couldn't decide which video I wanted to see first -- the "Beach Bums", the "Bad Boys" or the "6-Pack Abs". Hmmmm. Decisions, decisions.

Yeah. Call me a Hyopcrite. I deserve it. (((me blushing))))

The funniest thing about all of this wasn’t the realization that I am a gay man trapped in a woman’s body. No, I already knew that. It was that both of these DVDs are obviously marketed to men (although the “Guys Gone Wild” people should really find a way to market their DVDs to sexually frustrated women in their late 30s. They’d probably make an assload of cash. Just saying.)

Don't Ever, Ever, Poke a Mama Bear -- She Will Fuck You Up

2009-10-22T13:21:00.006-04:00

God, I love my kid. (That's her and me over there.)

This morning, I read a story in the news about a missing 7-year-old girl from Florida. She disappeared while walking home from school. Her body was found in a landfill this morning.

Reading the story made me really sad. I always put myself in the place of the parents when stories like this are in the news. My heart broke in two for these people – because their beautiful little girl was thrown away like she was a piece of trash.

It made me remember walking Daughter to the bus stop this morning, and the kiss she gave me before getting on the bus. Sending your child off on the bus for the first time has to be one of the worst things a parent goes through. Why, you may wonder? It’s because you’re giving control over to someone else. The fear never goes away, either. I experience it every morning when she climbs aboard the schoolbus.

I am constantly reminded that I do not completely trust anyone to keep Daughter safe. I do not trust my own mother, I do not trust Husband, I do not trust my inlaws. I do not trust ANYONE 100% with the safety of my child. Husband was personally insulted when I admitted this to him this past weekend. I don’t care if he was insulted – I worry about her every second she is out of my sight. LITERALLY. If I can’t see her, I worry about her.

No one will care about that child more than me. I cared for her from the day she was conceived. She has two arms and two legs and all her fingers and toes because of me. She is not addicted to drugs, nor did I smoke cigarettes and give her asthma problems. I grew her inside my body. We shared a BODY. I felt her move around and hiccup even before the world could see her do those things. She was my very own parasite and no one else but ME could have done this for her, therefore, no one else but ME will truly understand that even though her umbilical cord no longer is needed, in my mind, it will always be there.

I tell people that you will never truly understand what "LOVE" means until you have a child. Daughter is that one person in this world who I will love unconditionally. It is without limit and makes my heart feel like it will explode.

And don’t ever fuck with my child. I will fuck you up in a heartbeat. This reminds me once of a girl scout meeting I went to with Daughter. She was playing in a group of girls, when I overheard one of them say something like “Those glasses make you look weird.” Daughter wears glasses, but there was also another little girl in the group wearing glasses. I proceeded to go over to the group and confront the girl who said this. I asked her to repeat what she said – all she did was give me a blank stare. I had to ask her 3 times before the other glasses-wearer repeated it. I told the girl who said it that I didn’t think that was a very nice thing to say to your friends. After I said this, she ran away in tears to her mother. Did I feel bad for making a 5-year-old cry? NOPE. SHE FUCKING DESERVED IT. I am not above making a bully feel bad – even when the bully is a 5-year-old girl. ESPECIALLY if you’re inadvertently bullying MY kid.

So if you have a child – go home and give him or her a hug. If you don’t have any kids, go home and call your mom. Or dad. Or whomever was your primary caregiver, because that person loves you like I love Daughter. And if none of those people are alive anymore – take a few moments to say a prayer to the universe for parents who are grieving, for wannabe parents who are trying to conceive, and try to understand the reason why your mom didn’t want you to go to the sleepovers or why she was so terrified when you drove a car on your own for the first time. It’s not that she didn’t trust you to do the right thing – it’s because she loved you so much that she was scared to death of losing you.

The One About the Necrophiliac (Yes, You Read That Correctly)

2009-10-20T17:31:00.000-04:00

After yesterday’s emotional post (well, it was emotional for ME, I don’t know about you), I need to lighten shit up around here. I can’t let things get too serious, otherwise, I’ll start crying…and pretty soon, we’ll all start talking about our feelings all the time and then, my male readers will start growing vaginas, and then it will be like one big tampon commercial, where we share our emotions, give each other those knowing looks, and we’ll all hug and crap like that. I’m not what you could call “comfortable with my emotions” so let’s talk about something more superficial, shall we?

I read this article in my local newspaper online. My favorite quote from the story? “This is off-the-charts weird.” Gee, you think? No, this is fucking disgusting, appalling and more-than-weird weird. I noticed in the comments section at the end of the story, someone wrote, “OMG white people crazy” to which someone replied that he/she googled the perpetrator in this story and wrote he was a black guy (that's him to the left). HILAROUS. I love that race was an issue for two people reading this story enough that one of those two people did an IMAGE search on GOOGLE. Another commenter asked “Isn’t there another name for this besides disgisting?” Someone replied, “Yeah. Disgusting.” I FUCKING LOVE PEOPLE SOMETIMES.

I also love that they know the exact dates this guy had sex with the bodies. Did he keep a sex calendar or something? Like did he go home after having sex with these poor bodies and put a heart on the date with some xxxooo’s?

This story also got me wondering about what runs through this guy’s head the day after he does this stuff? I mean, I’ve done some shit in my life where I’ve felt guilty the next day. Could you IMAGINE? I don’t think the Walk of Shame in my clothes from the night before, or the hangover quite cover this situation though. Does he get a boner again thinking about it? Does he feel shame? Does he go to confession?

I’m also left wondering about the mechanics of the whole situation. I’m sorry people, if I’m grossing you out, BTW. But seriously…I wonder these things after reading stories like this. These poor girls are in the morgue, cold and dead. Does he hop into the refrigerated drawers with them? Are they in the missionary position? Does he cover them except for their genitals? Is he completely naked or does he just undo his pants? WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE? Thanks for making me wonder about your mental fuck-up-ed-ness.

OK, I think I’ve subjected you to enough of this. Until next time, friends…

Comfort Food is the Work of the Devil

2009-10-19T11:42:00.002-04:00

I have been fighting the battle of the bulge all of my adult life. When I got married nearly 14 years ago, I was at one of the lowest weights of my life. Once I got married, a little bit of weight would creep onto my body…and I would try and get rid of it.

Note the word “try”.

One day, not too many years ago, I woke up and was 50 lbs. heavier than I was when I got married. Despite wanting to say, “I don’t know how it happened!”, unfortunately, I do know how it happened.

Then I got pregnant. During my pregnancy, I ate pretty healthy. Probably the most healthy eating plan I’ve ever had in my life. I didn’t want to indulge in sweets or overload on carbs. I wanted to enrich my body with a balanced diet, because, after all, I was nourishing another person inside of me.

So I gained about 45 lbs. with my pregnancy, and before returning to work after maternity leave, I had lost 55 lbs. I was actually 10 lbs. smaller than I had been when I got pregnant. Yay to me!

Over the next couple of years, I gained and lost those 10 lbs. numerous times. Up and down, up and down on the scale. The revolving door of my life.

Until, once again, a few months ago, I woke up and was 25 lbs. heavier than when I got pregnant. Yep, I know how it happened. I lost my job last summer, had lots of personal problems, and pacified myself with food. I medicated myself with sweets and carbs, because I am the type of person who can make the pain go away with food. When my stomach is full, I feel numb – and frankly, feeling numb gets two very big “thumbs up” from me because I’m the type of person who would rather run from her feelings rather than face them.

So here I am. About 75 lbs. heavier than I was when I got married. And don’t think I haven’t noticed it, either. I feel it in my inability to do any type of physical activity without feeling like my heart is going to explode. I feel it in my knees sometimes when I’m trying to climb stairs. I feel it all the time – my clothes are too tight and when I look in the mirror I see it in my midsection. It makes me very unhappy.

I was reading the book, “You Can Heal Your Life”, by Louise Hay. Ms. Hay discusses how she has her patients make an “I should…” list. If I were doing the “I should…” list with Ms. Hay, I know one of my thoughts would be, “I should lose weight.” Ms. Hay says that instead of saying “I should…” people should say, “If I really wanted to, I would…” I think about that statement a lot, because mine would read, “If I really wanted to, I would lose weight.”

This is something that is difficult for me to face, though. I have put forth effort (albeit a half-assed effort) in the past when trying to lose weight, and have given up when the pounds just didn’t melt away. I have tried every “diet” plan under the sun. You name it, I’ve tried it. And they have all ended in dismal failures, because I usually give up after a few weeks after not reaching my weight loss goal of dropping 50 lbs. in a week. (Unrealistic, yes, but I am a card-carrying member of the Instant Gratification Club.)

I bring all of this up, because today, I feel like a broken person.

My husband has witnessed all of my weight loss failures over the past years, and he’s usually supportive. Although, I do have to admit, I think because I have had too many failures, his patience is wearing thin. He is also the type of person that is more like a drill instructor rather than supportive partner, so if I ask for “help”, he will ride my ass from here to kingdom come, rather than decide not to order that pizza for dinner. He will bug me about exercising 3000 times a day rather than help me create a workout plan. In general, he will become one of the most annoying fucking people on this planet.

This weekend, the topic of my weight became the focal point of one of our conversations. You would think by now – BY NOW – he would understand this is a VERY touchy subject. And when I say “very” – I mean it’s fucking nuclear.

He tells me he’s only concerned because he doesn’t want me to die at an early age. In my book, this is fucking bullshit, because #1) he smokes cigarettes, and #2) I don’t have any weight-related health problems, except for my underactive thyroid, which I maintain with medication. And really, that’s not “weight-related” like hypertension is, or like one of those forms of diabetes is.

So we get into an argument, and the truth comes out. He yells at me that he “hates how I look.”

Well, then.

Can you image how much this hurt me? The one person in this world who I have trusted with most of my secrets – from my shitty childhood, to my depression issues, to all of my hopes and dreams – has betrayed me in the worst way possible? On November 3, 1995, he promised to love me above all others for the rest of our lives, through sickness and in health, through richer and poorer – and impliedly, through thinner and fatter. I remember making that promise. Obviously, he does not.

If my memory serves me correctly, the 25-year-old I married was probably about 70 lbs. lighter than the 39-year-old I am married to. Does his extra weight bother me? Not one bit. But apparently – my 70 lbs. bothers him. Bothers him so much, that he “hates” it.

In fairness, I didn’t ask him for clarification. I didn’t ask if the “hate” bothered him in the way that I took it. Of course I took it to mean that he is physically repulsed by me and finds me unattractive. I don’t want any clarification. Actually, at this point, I don’t want anything from him. I am so hurt, feel so betrayed – I can’t even look at him. Since he said those words to me yesterday, I have only spoken to him when absolutely necessary. As far as I am concerned, I don’t ever want to speak to him again.

If he thinks this “tough love” is going to drive me into a gym for 4 hours a day, he obviously doesn’t know me. All this does is make me want eat sugar and carbs until I feel like I want to throw up. I am like a heroin addict, needing to feed my addiction. The pain in my heart today is too much to deal with – so bring on the numb.

Nice Guys Finish Last....as they should (wink)

2009-10-15T10:13:00.000-04:00

Warning – long post!

One of my friends, let’s call her Vivienne, has recently started internet dating. Vivienne is a good soul. She’s 39, divorced, has 2 daughters, and a steady job. She is pretty, and funny and likes sports. I think she’s a catch for any decent guy. Yeah, she’s a little crazy (frankly, aren’t we all) but as long as she takes her meds like she is supposed to, she’s fine. And look, I’m in a glass house, so I don’t dare throw any stones. I just encourage her to take her meds and find a nice guy. One who won't beat the shit out of her and call her a "cunt", and one who makes her feel like she's worthless (she has had men in her life who have done all of those things). No, definitely not one of those guys. Actually, the direct opposite would be a great start.

Nice Guys are a problem for Vivienne, though. She is attracted to “Bad Boys”. "Who isn't?" is my usual response to that one -- but Bad Boys are not guys you get married to. Bad Boys are not guys you take home to meet your mom. Bad Boys are the guys you fuck in your car in a crowded parking lot, and the ones you let do things to you in a movie theatre; they’re the ones who command you give your panties to them over dinner at a restaurant, and the ones who you give blow jobs to while they’re driving. They’re the boy that you do all the things with that you never thought you’d do with anyone, but there you are, doing them – all because he’s a Bad Boys and your Inner Slut comes out to play with Bad Boys. Bad Boys never ask permission.

Nice guys are different than Bad Boys, though, we all know this. Nice Guys are the ones with the respectable jobs, who make decent money, who treat you like a lady when you’re in public by opening doors for you and letting you order your dinner first. You're excited to introduce your Nice Guy to your family, because your dad/mom/grandma is going to love him. Nice Guys are the ones who ask you if it’s OK to kiss you goodnight, and the ones who, if you eventually marry, will make sure you save money and have a retirement account and will buy you a nice house and give you some nice children and all of your family photos will be so nice. Nice Guys will make sweet, slow love to you and always make sure they’re not hurting you. If you marry a Nice Guy, everyone you know will tell you how “lucky” you are.

Personally, I once had a choice between a Bad Boy and Nice Guy. I was in college, dating Husband. One semester, I ran smack dab into the middle of Bad Boy and he was like a magnet, drawing me to him. We became friendly (after some brilliant maneuvering on my part). We became a little more than friendly, and that’s when my guilt set it. Here on one hand, I had this Bad Boy who was fucking gorgeous, made my heart leap out of my chest and thrilled me to death. He also promised me nothing, never called when he said he would, and was rather undependable. On the other hand, I had my Nice Guy. Nice Guy swore he would love me to the ends of the Earth, wanted to marry me and live out the rest of his life with me. He wanted me to have his children and wanted to grow old with me. My choice was to break with Nice Guy and throw away all of the lovely promises to have hot-monkey-sex with the Bad Boy.

Where’s the dilemma, right?

This is where we return to Vivienne’s story.

A couple of weeks ago, she met someone named Greg. Greg and Vivienne exchanged cell numbers and started texting each other one night. They exchanged pictures and chatted. Greg was at a bar with some friends watching baseball or football, or whatever sports game was important at the time.

Through the course of the evening, the text messages from Greg got more aggressive and sexual in nature. Let me remind you, Greg and Vivienne haven’t even met yet. They had planned to have lunch the following day at a local restaurant. As the evening wore on, Greg’s text messages started asking if he could come over Vivienne’s: Please? We can just cuddle? No sex, I promise? I just want to see you and feel you. Vivienne, please? I want a relationship, just like you and when I am into someone I’m all over them. Please let me come over. You’re so fucking hot I just want to see you….

Can you see where this is going?

Ah, don’t worry. Vivienne isn’t THAT crazy. She told him no, that she was looking forward to their lunch and then they could see what happens next. And secretly, on the inside, Vivienne was giddy with these texts. Point is, Vivienne loves sexually aggressive men. She loves dirty talk. She loves to be under a man's command. She's your classic submissive.

You’d think that the forcefulness of his text messages would have been a red flag, right? Or at least a yellow one? Of course not. Women make all kinds of excuses for men and their shortcomings, and Vivienne just said he must have drank too much. The fact he drank too much was obvious in the next several texts he sent her that said something about him having to sleep in his car because he was in no condition to drive himself home.

Now, in my book, this should have been red flag #2 – she had not only been drunk texted (and graphically, I might add, by someone she hadn’t even MET YET -- a deal killer FOR SURE in my book, because that is just WEIRD), he was so drunk he was going to have to sleep his buzz off in his car. If he had been 21, I would have laughed it off because only irresponsible young men do things like this. Not a 38-year-old grown man. Do they?

Yes. They do. That much is apparent.

Vivienne told me all of this and we made jokes about whether he was going to cancel lunch with her. Or whether he was going to show up in crumpled clothing, reeking of last night’s beer, cigarette breath and unshaven.

Surprisingly, he did show up to lunch. And he was clean, and smelled nice. And from Vivienne’s account, “was really nice”.

Fast forward to a couple of days ago. Vivienne invites Greg over to watch TV. One thing leads to another, and they start to make out like teenagers. I’ll spare you most of the details, but the most tantalizing ones are that Vivienne gives dear Greg a blow job, and while she’s doing it, he asks her to stick one of her fingers up his ass.

Back up. WHAT?

I’m not shocked because he asked her to stick her finger in his ass…I’m shocked that he doesn’t even know her and he’s asking her to stick her finger in his ass. I mean, what is he going to ask for on date #2? For her to put plastic wrap on his face and her to shit on him? I mean, SERIOUSLY?

Again, in my book, red flags were waiving so hard, I swear a flag pole broke. It took me YEARS to fart in front of my husband, and here is this guy, whom Vivienne has only JUST MET IN PERSON not 2 hours ago, and he's asking for digits up the bum? I'm no prude, but that's fucking forward as all hell, far as I'm concerned. There's just some stuff you wait to ask for. Anal penetration of any sort just happens to fall in that category.

The next day, Vivienne didn’t even hear from Greg. As I mentioned in a text message to her, I think it’s only proper etiquette that if I had your dick in my mouth less than 24 hours ago, a “Good Morning” text message is quite in order. (Let this be a lesson to you guys out there.) It’s only common fucking courtesy. (I swear. Miss Manners needs to update her book for situations such as this.) First the ass play an now the morning-after silent treatment. This man has absolutely no manners.

Anywhore, Greg does text EVENTUALLY, and I’m already getting that uneasiness I get when I figure out that someone is a complete douchebag. Trust me – I totally have this skill. I have excellent Gaydar and I can spot a douchebag from 200 meters. Swear. I know human nature.

Good thing you’re still reading because this is the part of the story where it finally takes a crazy turn.

Vivienne invites Greg over to her place again, for a little cuddling and what-not. Although she’s sworn that she’s not going to have sex with him – because we’ve both determined that first date sex has killed many potential relationships – she caves. She caves and describes to me that they had sex for about “3 minutes” before he moves into the fetal position in pain – as he has “kidneystones” and he runs out of her place like it’s on fire.

Now, I don’t know if the kidneystones are for real, and that’s not the pertinent part of this little tale. Because later on in the evening, Vivienne receives the following text message from Greg (oh, and a little backstory…Greg had told Vivienne he used to be a police officer, and is currently unemployed):

Greg: This is not going to work. I’m sorry. Leave for Iraq on Thursday. You know how important this job is to me. This really sucks for me.

Me (in my head): WHAAAAAAT? Are you kidding me? You’re being shipped off to IRAQ? Ohhhhh, OK.

Vivienne responds: It’s ok. You don’t have to lie….(she writes some other shit but it's boring and not important to this story.)

Of course at first, Vivienne and I are dumbfounded. What happened to Greg in between the 3-minute sexfest, and the text message – that was he was so desperate to break things off with Vivienne that he had to make up a story about going to Iraq? IRAQ? You realize he MADE UP A STORY ABOUT GOING TO A WARZONE, right? A FUCKING WARZONE? THAT IRAQ.

Here are the important things we figured out:

Vivienne asked him for his last name and even spelled him back to him. He told her he was on Facebook, and when we looked for him, he wasn’t there. Obviously, he was lying either about the last name or the spelling.

That's odd, huh? How come we can't find him on Facebook?

Vivienne also told Greg that she’s been taking psychic development classes (Vivienne is convinced that she has some type of sixth sense that she is trying to develop. She told him she can usually "read" people and can figure out what type of person they are. Much more honed than my intuition I talked about earlier.) When Greg asked her what type of “vibes” was she picking up from him, she told him that the person that he shows to people isn’t the “real” him and that he uses laughter and jokes as a way to mask what is really going on inside of him.

Somebody want to yell “BINGO!” here?

Turns out, he was lying about the spelling of his last name (DUH). Vivienne googled him and he wasn’t lying about being a police officer. He used to be one, but was fired in 2007 for stealing money (about $1700) from someone he pulled over (he was convicted of larceny). Oh, and she also found out he had tried to commit suicide three times after his divorce in 2008.

I knew he was a NUTJOB.

So why this big long story? Vivienne has met another guy on the internet. His name is Ron, and he’s in his mid-40s and is the fire chief for one of the neighboring cities out here. He’s divorced and looks like you’d expect every mid-40s guy from Michigan to look – moustached, got a little bit of a gut, average-looking, but he doesn’t look like someone beat him with an ugly stick or anything. He seems NICE. Has a teenaged daughter, and is divorced. Vivienne has met him for lunch late last week, prior to the whole Greg fiasco, and her problem?

He’s too nice.

There’s no "edge". She didn’t feel like she wanted to fuck his brains out the second she met him. No immediate chemistry.

And it’s not that I don’t understand, because I do. But I’ve tried to tell her that sometimes chemistry is something that doesn’t happen in an instant, it happens over time. I have personally experienced it. The fire chief sounds like a good guy. He has a great job, he’s respectful (he’s not graphically texting her even before he’s met her) and he treats her like a woman should be treated. His flaw: he’s nice. I keep trying to convince Vivienne to give Fire Chief a chance. Because maybe he’s really a kinky sex freak in the bedroom (she’s hoping). Maybe all she has to do is TELL HIM that she prefers to the hard pounding of a hot fuck over the slow beauty of being made love to, and that she prefers dirty talk to sweet loving words.

But I know she’s not listening to me. I know she’s looking for someone like Greg again. Only minus the criminal record. She makes me want to smack her sometimes.

And take it from someone who actually chose the Nice Guy over the Bad Boy. There are days where I regret it, but they are few and far between. I have a responsible husband, one who takes his little ass to work everyday. He’s not an alcoholic, or a drug addict, and there’s no criminal record. He is polite and won’t ogle your wife/sister/cousin when he meets her because he’s not a pig (although trust me, he’ll only do it when he’s sure no one is looking). He’s dependable and is a rock in a crisis.

Last thing – he is a freak in the bedroom, sometimes more than I’d like. Although, I must admit, he’s never asked me to put my finger in his ass…but if he did, I’d do it. That’s love, baby!

Yeast Should Only Be For Baking Bread...Not For Making Lives Miserable

2009-10-14T14:07:00.001-04:00

I’ve been home sick for the past 4 days. It’s that time of year again…the time for me to get the first of probably 5 illnesses I’ll get this winter. Fingers crossed, I hope that swine flu is not one of them!
It started with being tired and a little run-down. And not to get too graphic here, my lady-part had a twinge/tickle in it (and not the good kind) that caused me to fear something was a-brewing down there. That was Friday.

***WARNING! WARNING!*** IF YOU ARE SQUEEMISH TO STORIES ABOUT LADY-PARTS INFECTIONS AND ALL THAT GOES WITH IT, IT’S TIME FOR YOU TO STOP READING. THIS IS WHERE GRAPHIC BEGINS.

I knew you were a sick fuck. Keep reading then. You were warned.

By Saturday, all hell had broken loose. They twinge turned into something only a stiff bottle brush could cure…that or my favorite remedy from the doctor – the little pink pill called Diflucan. Only thing--my doctor’s office doesn’t take prescription requests on weekends, so I was forced to either suffer, or go to the drugstore and plunk down $20+ on some cream that says it’s going to work in “1 day” but never does. And also be forced to lay vertical for the 15 hours following insertion, otherwise due to gravity, my $20 cream ends up outside of the places it’s meant to be, and therefore not killing the infection it’s supposed to kill.

Sunday, I end up at Urgent Care because besides my lady-parts issue, I have some other shit going on that has given me a fever of 102 degrees and body aches, and coughing, and sneezing, and runny/stuffy nose and all that good stuff.

I get prescribed some antibiotics (which is the lady-parts worst enemy in its current delicate condition, because for some reason…antibiotics cause the yeast to become overgrown and all hell breaks loose again, and therefore, all my hard work thus far would have been for naught.). I decide to get wise and ask the doctor at Urgent Care for some Diflucan because “antibiotics give me yeast infections”. I didn’t feel like admitting my current condition because she was not on a need-to-know-basis as far as I was concerned.

My diagnosis comes back – upper respiratory infection. I get my antibiotics, along with 3 other prescriptions, but notice the one for Diflucan is only for ONE PILL. WHAT THE HELL. This just isn’t going to do it. This doctor acts like its from her own personal supply, and she’s hoarding Diflucan like Elaine on Seinfeld hoarded sponges. This isn’t going to work at all. Especially since my antibiotics are for 5 days. But since it’s Sunday, I decide I will call my regular OBGYN tomorrow because he always dispenses meds with a gentle heart and a heavy hand. He’ll fix me up. I know it.

My doctor, bless his heart, gives me a prescription for 3 Diflucan pills, to be taken one every-other day. PLUS THERE’S A REFILL! See, told you he was an angel. But in my weakened condition, I’ve been taking one pill per day to keep the bottle-brush feeling from coming back. Literally. I’ve fantasized about tearing and shredding my insides with a bottle-brush – but haven’t. For obvious reasons. Like the terrorists they are, I was not going to let the yeast win in that way. I would kill it in a surprise attack of Diflucans, because its already expecting that overpriced-over-the-counter-cream-that-never-works and makes me feel like I’m walking around with blobs of Vaseline stuffed in my panties. It will never see the Diflucan coming from the OTHER end of my body! HA!

Yes, not pretty. Not pretty at all. Especially, when you’re the type of person who prides herself on having pretty lady parts at all times. You never know when you’re going to die in some horrific car accident and some emergency worker is going to see your lady parts in all its glory. At least I hope for you it IS in its glory. Because if mine is not, and if I wasn’t dead already, I know I would die all over again. I want to look at the carnage down from heaven and be proud that I practiced personal hygiene like it was a religion.

Today, I’m still a bit sick. And the twinge in my lady parts is damn near gone (yeast is a fool if it thinks I am going to get the bottle brush…because that’s what it wants! It wants me to cave and give in to the pain…ohhh, but I’m stronger than it. And so is the Diflucan).

OK, I think you’ve suffered enough hearing about my bodily functions and issues. First, last week I expose you to farting, and now this! I hope this isn’t a trend. Even though I think bathroom humor is the best form of humor. And hopefully, you do to (or at least just for today.)

Because You Know You Were Dying to Know...

2009-10-09T15:49:00.000-04:00

(And if you weren't...well, that's too fucking bad...)

My Red Wings won last night, 3-2. The game was very exciting, and there was even a fight. And frankly, there are not enough fights in hockey games anymore! Who doesn't love to watch a couple of professional athletes beat the shit out of each other? Because I do! Not only is it fun to watch, it's also pretty sexy.

<------From last night...that fucker from Chicago is HOLDING the chin strap of the Wings' new goon, Brad May (#20). Dirty fighting is even sexier! And Brad May won the fight, since the Chicago player ended up on his ass!

WOOOOO...!

Angry Letters

2009-10-08T17:01:00.004-04:00

Because I’ve enjoyed reading them on the blogs A Perfectly Cursed Life, and Live It, Love It, here is my version of angry letters (and you really should check out LiLu's version I linked you to above. HILARIOUS shit right there.) Enjoy! (And yes...two posts in one day. I'm bored here at work.)
____________________
Dear Mother Nature,

Can you stop being such a difficult bitch and send some sunshine my way? I’m tired of all the rain. Oh, and while you’re at it, can you possibly make the wind a little less strong? The kids at the bus stop in the mornings are going to blow away if you’re not more careful.

Thanks, Summer’s Lover

__________________
Dear Clumsy Gene,

Thank you for spilling my lunch all over the parking lot this morning while I was leaving my car. It doesn’t matter that I also was carrying my purse and talking on my cell. You should be able to handle such things. Instead, my leftover Chinese food became breakfast for the fucking Canadian Geese that shit all over the parking lot.

Much Hatred, Not-So-Graceful

________________________
Dear Thermostat to My Office,

Whoever controls you must hate me. I freeze in the morning and have hot flashes in the afternoon. It’s not pretty. I don’t fucking appreciate that I have to dress in layers AND have a space heater and fan (which both get used on cold days). It’s ridiculous.

Sincerely, Sweating My Balls Off This Afternoon

_______________
Dear Broccoli,

I love you so much but why do you give me so much gas? My stomach is killing me today and I look like I have a balloon in my pants. Unfortunately, I've resorted to tooting in my office because if I didn't, I may have to be taken to the Hospital. If someone comes in here and catches me, we are through. Yes, consider that a threat.

What the Hell, Farty McFarterson

______________________________
Dear Asshole in the Office Next to Me,

When you have conference call, could you just hold your handset like a normal person instead of putting your meetings on speakerphone? I can hear every boring word you say and I don’t appreciate it. At least put your mistress or gay lover on speaker next time and give me a thrill.

Warmly, Here to Gossip

Drop the Puck, Bitches!

2009-10-08T15:22:00.002-04:00

It's that time of year again, y'all. HOCKEY SEASON. In honor of tonight's Home opener for my beloved Detroit Red Wings, here are a few pictures of the youngest Red Wings Fan in my house. (These were taken quite a few years ago, since Daughter is nearly 7 years old, but she's still a BIG fan.)

Center Ice. Tonight. DROP THE PUCK!

Last year during the Stanley Cup Playoffs, Daughter made a "joke" by yelling, "Go, Pittsburgh!", during one of the playoff games.

You could have heard a pin drop, as she stood there with the biggest smirk on her face.

But the joke was on her. Husband and I told her since only Red Wings fans lived at our house, she was going to have to pack her bags and go live with Nana and Papa.

To which she replied, "Go Wings!" The Kid knows which side her bread is buttered on.

And in case you are wondering why an octopus is in the second picture, the "unofficial" mascot for the Detroit Red Wings is Al the Octopus. During playoff games, people throw real (dead) octopi onto the ice. Why? Because way back when there were only 6 teams in the whole hockey league, it only took 8 wins to win the Stanley Cup. Today, it takes 16 wins...but the tradition in Detroit remains BECAUSE OUR HOCKEY TEAM ROCKS THE SHIT OUT OF EVERY OTHER TEAM....Oh, and that's a wing-nut hat on her head...get it? "WING" NUT? Yeah, I'm a Wing-Nut. Crazy, rabid, wing-nut. Oh, boys, don't let me down this year! Go Wings!

A Meme and a Bunch of Shit You Didn't Know About Me

2009-10-07T15:35:00.002-04:00

~~The blogger I'm stalking~~ My blog crush mysterg, from Meditations in an Emergency, tagged me in a meme. Apparently I have to write five categories of five things of my choosing then tag another five of you to do the same. So because mysterg finds me facinating, and because you do too, here goes:

5 Places I Want to Visit Before I Die:

Washington, DC. I would love to see the White House, the Washington Memorial, the Lincoln Memorial and go to the Smithsonian. I don’t know why, but I love museums and shit like that. Plus, I kinda feel like a bad American since I haven't visited DC.

Italy: Besides loving Italian food, I know Italy is rich is history. From the ruins of coliseum to riding a gondola in Venice – Italy sounds like a very interesting place. Plus I’m sure there are gorgeous men everywhere, and I’ve heard they get flirtatious and pinch ladies’ bums. I need to go there before I get too old and no one wants to pinch my bottom!

Australia: I’m not sure which part of Australia I’d like to go (because I know it’s a rather large continent!) but I’d probably go to Sydney. I’ve heard the country is beautiful and I’ve always wanted to go. Bonus: they speak English but have that funny accent. (just kidding Tennyson!)

London: I’ve always wanted to visit London. It just seems like one of the coolest places on Earth. And I'm a bit of a literature geek, so I've always wanted to see Shakespeare's birthplace. Plus, mysterg is from England and maybe I could stalk him in person! Bonus: they also speak English. Again, with a funny accent.

New York: New York/Manhattan. I once had a trip to Manhattan planned. I have a friend who sells real estate in Manhattan and at the time, he had an furnished apartment in Soho that he was willing to lend to Husband and I while we came out. He also promised to show us all of the “fun” places and everything…and then September 11th happened and there went our trip. We were planning to visit in October. My friend still lives in Manhattan, so barring any future terrorist attacks, I know I will make it there to visit someday. Bonus: native New Yorkers ALSO have a funny accent...

5 Things I Cannot Live Without (besides food and water!)
My cell phone (how did we live before cell phones???)
Chapstick/Lip Balm
Mascara
My friends
Books

5 Favorite Swear-Words
Goddammit
Fuck
Shit
Motherfucker
Asshole

5 Reasons Why Being An Adult Sucks Ass:
Bills/Mortgage/Car Payments/etc.
If you throw a tantrum, no one is going to make the excuse “She’s just tired."
I’m still afraid of the dark sometimes and I have to be brave
Fine lines that will develop into wrinkles
Being responsible (and in the alternative, not allowed to be irresponsible when the mood grabs you)

5 Favorite 80s Songs:
“Jessie’s Girl” by Rick Springfield
“Holiday” by Madonna
“Planet Earth” by Duran Duran
“Rebel Yell” by Billy Idol
“Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” by Wham!

5 Reasons Why Being a Girl Is So Much More Fun Than Being A Boy:
Boys are easily manipulated by Boobs (and girls are not manipulated by anything physical)

Girls don’t have to feel insecure by penis size (only boob size, and a plastic surgeon can fix such things if necessary)

Girls can cry when they want but boys think crying makes them weak (I always think it takes a strong man to cry)

Boys that forget to open doors to walk into elevators first are deemed to be assholes, but girls can just open the doors for themselves and can get on elevators first

Girls get to wear makeup, miracle bras, body shapers, hair extensions, fake eyelashes, etc. to “enhance” their appearance, whereas boys are pretty much “what you see is what you get”

And now, here is me tagging some of my favorite blogs (check 'em out y'all):

Tennyson ee Hemingway at andy warhol goes shopping
Sass at Hot Piece of Sass
Kylie at My Saucerful of Secrets
Notsomarypoppins at I Ain't Your Supernanny
Mandy at Sassy Ginger

Thanks again, mysterg. Stalk you soon!

Story of My Life

2009-10-06T15:15:00.000-04:00

Husband, Daughter and I went to a Halloween costume store this past weekend to find The Dorothy Costume. Wouldn't you know it? She now wants to be a cat for Halloween.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooo!

All of my dreams have been crushed. Well, maybe not ALL of them. But the one where my daughter dresses like Dorothy for Halloween has pretty much bitten the proverbial dust and now I have to act like it's not the end of the world. :)

And if I didn't already love the SHIT out of cats, I would be super-duper pissed about her switching. Of course, no costume has been bought yet, so technically the fat lady has not sung. But she's getting ready to belt one out, that's for sure.

I'll Get You My Pretty! And Your Little Dog Too!

2009-09-30T14:23:00.005-04:00

It’s that time of year again. Fall is here. Tomorrow is October 1st, and I just can’t believe that we’re here already. I mean, it feels just like yesterday when I was bubbling forth with the joys of August. Now, it’s two month later!

October means that the weather is going to get cooler, and Daughter is on the hunt for a really cool Halloween costume. I’ve been trying to talk her into being Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz (only my very favoritest movie EVER…but more about that in another post). Last year I was thisclose to getting her to be Dorothy…almost had the costume in hand, but the fucking brilliant store manager of the Halloween USA store decided to put Dorothy next to Batgirl. In case you were not aware (and really, why would you be?), Daughter is a HUGE superhero fan. Needless to say, Batgirl won out over Dorothy, and Daughter had to break the news to me by saying “maybe I will be Dorothy next year.” *sigh* I had even bought the fucking red glitter shoes…oh well. Maybe she could use them at Christmas.

This year, we are beginning our hunt for The Perfect Halloween Costume. Over the years, I have tried to steer her choices into things I think are cute, but still allowing her to pretty much get a costume she wants to get, because I remember when my mother wouldn’t let me be things for Halloween she didn’t approve of. And in trying to erase the mistakes of mothers past, I try to be relatively accommodating in the Halloween costume department. Her very first Halloween, she was Minnie Mouse. It was fucking adorable, and it helped that she was 11 month old and couldn’t protest. Next Halloween, I dressed her as a girl from the 1950s. Neckscarf and Poodle Skirt. PRECIOUS. When she was nearly 3, she was a fairy. Which really only consisted of some wings and a pink tutu – I was trying to convince her to be an angel, but I don’t think she wanted to wear the halo (which should have been my first clue). At almost-4-years old, she was Ariel from The Little Mermaid (she was OBSESSED with the movie – still is). Definitely a mom-approved choice, especially considering she wanted to be Darth Vader. Next came Wonder Woman, and finally last year, she was Batgirl. (And as much as I want her to wear “girly” costumes, I am 100% OK with her wearing “boy” costumes, despite my crack regarding Darth Vader. My mother, however, has a problem with it, as she is convinced that Daughter is going to “become” lesbian because of these costume choices, along with all of the superhero toys she has. I have tried explaining you don’t just “become” gay one day…but she’s a Republican. What do you expect her to think? Anyway, I’m off on a tangent…)

Yesterday, Daughter told me she wanted to be Master Chief from the video game, Halo. Yes, she plays Halo. Don’t judge me. I still want her to be Dorothy. Even the promise of getting the basket with Toto in it is not enough to bribe her into being Dorothy. So I start looking through the costume catalog, my panties all in a wad because Daughter would look so cute as Dorothy. I could braid her hair, and get those fucking shoes again. It would make an awesome photo op goddammit, doesn’t she know that??? I live for that shit.

(And be rest assured this would be my dog if I had one.) C'mon. That shit is cute as fuck and you know it. :) You know what would be really cute? If this dog had a Dorothy doll in her basket. Right?

Last night before bedtime, Daughter gave me the good news…she is going to be Dorothy for Halloween! I asked her if she was serious, and she said YES! Mommies of the world shall unite as one of their sisters has won a small victory. It may have taken me a year to do so, but HELLYES! I only hope that the dumbfuck store manager (or whoever is responsible for these things) doesn’t put the Dorothy costume next to Master Chief otherwise I’m going to throw a tantrum right in the middle of the store. I mean it.

P.S. Check back in the next day or two, as I may be posting a few pics of daughter in Halloweens past.

Know Thine Toolishness

2009-09-29T15:04:00.001-04:00

I admit it. I am a Reality TV fan. It all started way back when – when the very first Survivor landed on my television radar. I fell in love. My feelings were so strong because I find real life very compelling (and you must feel the same way too, because here you are, reading my blog and we might not even know each other!)

I’ve been there for the highs (the first Survivor) and I’ve been there for the lows (Temptation Island, Joe Millionaire, The Swan). During all of my bouts with reality TV, I found that VH1 and all of its pathetically low-brow programming is right up my alley. My first taste of it came with Flavor of Love and its first season. Who can forget the girl who shit her pants during the very first elimination ("elimination". GET IT?)? I mean, COME ON PEOPLE. This shit (literally) is some compelling television! I imagine the humiliation of fighting over Flavor Flav pales in comparison to actually letting loose a trail of runny poops through a mansion DURING the elimination ceremony WHILE you’re fighting over Flavor Flav.

VH1 has also brought us such gems as Rock of Love, starring Bret Michaels of the rock band, Poison (which is a rocker-big-boobed-drunken-blonde version of Flavor of Love); I Love New York (New York was a broken-hearted reject from Flavor of Love who says she is the H.B.I.C. (Head Bitch in Charge) and she’s 100% ghetto-fabulous); I Love Money; Charm School; and Hogan Knows Best. All excellent escapism television, loved because I don’t have to think about anything while watching.

My newest favorite is Tool Academy 2. LOOK AT THESE GUYS. DOUCHEBAGS, RIGHT? The premise of this fine program is girlfriends bring their boyfriends to Tool Academy because these guys are classic douchebags. Initially, they think they’re all competing to be in some Mr. Wonderful contest or something, so the first show is excellent in showcasing their douche-iest behavior. Once they find out the real reason they are there, Tool Academy is a combination of couples therapy and couples challenges, where the douches all work on certain qualities each week, such as “Fidelity”, “Appreciation”, and “Romance”. The douche/tool who gets eliminated each week then has to go face his girlfriend, and she decides whether to break up with him or not.

Last Sunday’s episode made me fall head over heels for this train wreck of a television show. The men on this show are the douchiest, most obnoxious bunch of boys I’ve ever had the pleasure to watch. My favorite (read: the guy I hate the most) got eliminated this week, which made me happy (read: sad) a little inside because I know he would have provided hours more entertainment. His name on the show was “Manscape Tool” (did I mention the brilliant producers of this show give all of the guys nicknames? Anyother favorite name is “Hillbilly Tool”. Good stuff here people.)

The challenge on Sunday’s show centered around “Appreciation”. Manscape Tool got the boot because he couldn’t muster ~~enough~~ any emotion at the fake funeral they staged for his girlfriend (who “died” of a broken heart, y’all, because her meanie of a boyfriend didn’t appreciate her enough) AND then when the girls got set up to go off on “dates” with "real gentlemen" dressed in suits while the boyfriends got to watch their dates on TV, Manscape Tool basically started running through the house like a wild boar and ended up out on the grounds of this mansion they are all staying at, telling the producers he wanted his girlfriend kicked off the show because she’s a whore. Even though all she did was have dinner with the "gentleman". Tell me you’re not riveted now. Please. Tell. Me.

<----- Manscape Tool (Ladies, how can we resist him??) Right before he got eliminated, they show a clip of his girlfriend saying that if he gets kicked off this week, she’s breaking up with him. Riiiiiiiigt, honey. (I was secretly hoping she would though, but one thing I've learned from these shows is the producers take you in one direction, when really the ending goes in another direction, therefore, SURPRISING you.) Manscape Tool gets the boot, and comes outside to see his girlfriend. At this point, he starts telling her how much he loves her, how much “everything” is going to change when they get home, and he even tries to squirt a few for effect. Of course, his even-bigger-tool of a girlfriend takes him back and they ride off in the limo together.

Roll credits.
Delicious.

My Mother, My Guilt Trip

2009-09-28T12:43:00.009-04:00

Today is my mother’s birthday.

If you know me have read this blog for a while, you know my mother (God Bless Her) is someone who gets on my nerves like no one else can. She has the talent to turn me, a 38-year-old grown woman and mother of one, into a 13-year-old teenage brat. She always makes me feel fat – example: included in my birthday present this year was an aromatherapy roll-on thing that had grapefruit extract in it and was specifically meant to “control hunger”. She told me I could roll it on my wrist and sniff it whenever I was feeling hungry. Gee…thanks mom! Thank you for reminding me once again that I need to lose weight. After all, isn’t that what mothers are for? To remind you of your inadequacies? Anyfat…I digress.

This weekend, my mom helped me organize and staff a moms-to-moms sale I did at Daughter’s school. If you don’t know what a moms-to-moms sale is – it’s like a flea market or garage sale of child-related things. You could get everything from cribs to bicycles to clothing to toys at this sale. I still have lots of Daughter’s baby clothes and since I’m not having any more children (now you know that since I’ve written that statement, I’ll probably end up pregnant before the year is over, right?), I might as well try to make a little cash off of what I have left. And since I’m not patient enough or organized enough to put together garage sale (nor do I really want to commit my entire weekend to sitting outside watching people rummage through my things), I thought the moms-to-moms sale was perfect. It was from 8:30-1pm, and there would be lots of people there.

Since my mom helped me, we decided after the moms-to-moms, I would go home, pick up Daughter and we would go out to lunch to celebrate her birthday. When I got home to pick up Daughter, she was asleep. I decided to let her sleep and went to lunch without her and my mother was not happy about it. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, but apparently, this was the first of many mistakes I would make over the weekend. That evening, my mother called me to invite me over to have dinner at her house on Sunday, once again, to celebrate her birthday. This was a huge problem, because for the last year, if not more, Husband, Daughter and I go to Husband’s parents on Sunday evenings for dinner. My mother knows this and is insanely jealous of the time we spend over there. Correction: she is insanely jealous that my inlaws get to see Daughter a guaranteed once a week. As a side note, ever since Daughter was born, my mother turns every visit, every holiday, every everything, into a competition. Who do we visit more? Who do we spend more time with? Frankly, I’m tired of it. It’s not a competition to see who we love more, or whatever she thinks. It’s just that my inlaws are normal and my family is dysfunctional. Every moment my parents spend together is like watching War of the Roses. It’s embarrassing for me, it’s uncomfortable for Husband, and it’s not a good example to set for Daughter. My mother has nothing nice to say to my dad, and my dad has nothing nice to say to my mom. It’s PAINFUL.

But after guilting me into having dinner with her on Sunday (of course I showed up, she’s my mother), she didn’t let the fact die that she had to basically coerce me to visit, and the jealousy shined through like a bright lighthouse beacon.

“Why do you always have to have dinner over there?”
“Why don’t you come have dinner here sometimes?”

Basically, "why are you such a bad daughter and prefer to spend time over your in-laws instead of here, at your childhood home with dad and me?" Here are the answers I would have loved to have given:

1. Because all you do is pick at dad until he’s a broken man.
2. Because dad has no respect for you or any other women, and therefore, I feel compelled to open up a can of Feminist Whoop-Ass on him and cause arguments myself.
3. Because you decide to argue in front of not only me, but Daughter and Husband (even though you know this makes him extremely uncomfortable).
4. Because I hate Gizmo (their evil Pekinese dog) because he growls at me.
5. Because Annie makes me sad (their Beagle who in probably going to be put to sleep this week because she’s old and sick and is probably the sweetest dog ever).
6. Because you guilt me into shit and make me feel like a bad daughter.
7. Because you make me feel fat all the time especially when you point out how "healthy" the dinner you've made is. Oh and let's include how you think Daughter is fat (she's NOT fat, y'all). Just because neither of us are anorexic-stick-figures doesn't mean we're fat. (Well, I'm a little fat, but my child is definitely NOT.)
8. Because you make me feel like a bad mother because I don’t force Daughter to eat vegetables all the time. (Sorry, mom, I’m just trying not to give her food issues like you gave me.)
9. Because you remind me that you almost died, and therefore, I should want to spend every waking moment with you.
10. Because the both of you are Republicans and drive me crazy with your ultra-conservative bullshit. And I can't stand all of your hatin' on Obama (which I'm convinced has roots in racism which I can't stand.)
11. Bonus: Because you both like Glenn Beck. Who in my opinion, is just as big of a douchebag as Rush Limbaugh. And that’s saying something.

If I had any balls, I would tell my mother to get off the cross, because someone else needs the wood. She is the classic martyr. *sigh*

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM! :)

My Soulmate Is Out There Somewhere

2009-09-24T17:11:00.001-04:00

A friend sent me this ad from Craigslist today and we both agreed it sounded like something I would write. I said that I wanted to track this guy down because he was obviously my soulmate.

P.S. Click on the image at the left to open a window that will contain a much larger version of this ad.

Enjoy! :)

10 Reason Why I Married Husband

2009-09-16T12:30:00.005-04:00

Because I was feeling slightly guilty for complaining about Husband lately, here are 10 great things about him. Just when you thought he was a complete asshole...

1. He’s hot. Besides the cankles thing, I’ve always thought Husband was a hot piece of ass. He’s got a great smile, with these perfectly straight teeth, and dimples to boot. He’s got great hazel eyes that when I look into my Daughter’s eyes, I see. He the typical tall, dark and handsome that I had always dreamed about. He’s got broad shoulders, nice arms and a nice chest. He’s not too hairy, but just hairy enough so he doesn’t look like a 11-year-old boy.

2. He’s funny. One of the things I require in a mate is a sense of humor. He’s not slapstick funny, but more of a dry, sarcastic funny. He always finds a way to make me laugh and we find the same things funny. Being funny is a big turn on for me, so you could say his sense of humor also makes him sexy to me. When he tells me stories, he always find a way to make them funny. Like the one yesterday, about the guy at work who doesn’t wash his hands. Husband had me laughing so hard over his disgust and outrage when he confronted this man.

3. He makes a mean spaghetti sauce. He should. He’s Italian (technically, he’s Sicilian). That would be like me not being able to boil a hot dog (get it…? American food?) He’s American too, don’t get me wrong. But his grandparents came to the USA when they were young and only breeded with other Sicilians, so for some reason, I’m the “americanu” (pronounced a-min-na-ga-nu) and therefore, can be made fun of incessantly in his family because I like green bean casserole and corn on Thanksgiving*. No, Goddammit, we’re all Americans, I just have a genetic melting pot, whereas you’ve managed to stay genetically pure because your family is full of racists and bigots who look down on americanus. (just kidding. Maybe). And as a reminder, my Daughter is now ½ melting pot, and ½ Sicilian. The gene pool is diversifying, y’all.

4. He is the hardest worker out of anyone I know (except for his father). If you think you are a hard worker, he puts you to shame. You can bet the farm on that statement. He is never late to work, never takes a day off, and is very serious about his job. He puts his heart and soul into it and is consumed with doing it well. He’s received the “perfect attendance” award nearly every year he has worked. He has only called in sick two times since we’ve been married. He goes into work at least an hour early every day and stays late. He never takes a lunch. He goes into work on the weekends sometimes without getting paid. Compared to me, he’s a workaholic. I’m very lackadaisical concerning my work ethic, probably because I’m not happy with what I’m doing. For him, that’s not even an option. He doesn’t love his job, he just loves doing it well, and I wish I had some of that attitude to get me through the day.

5. He’s a “saver”. Husband saves money like people who survived the Great Depression save money. He always finds a way. I am thankful for his saving ways because there have been several times in our marriage where we would have been living in a cardboard box along Shit’s Creek if it wasn’t for him. He been buying savings bonds since we were married, for the children we had not yet had. He has opened retirement accounts for the both of us. He opened an education fund for Daughter when she was born to pay for college. He not only saves for today, he saves for tomorrow and I really appreciate that about him.

6. Family is important to him. I don’t know if it’s the Sicilian thing, or if it’s just because. But his family is very close-knit, they look out for each other and they enjoy spending time with one another. Which is the direct opposite of my family (God Bless ‘em). I appreciate the fact that I can give Daughter a opportunity to be in a close family who seems relatively “normal”. Granted, they’re not as normal as they look – I’ve realized that. But at least they seem that way and it takes years to peel the layers of that onion; but their “abnormal” isn’t "dysfunctional" like my family.

7. He taught me how to shoot a gun. Now, neither of us is a gun fanatic or anything but Husband does own two handguns. I’m terrified of guns (always have been). Husband knows this and to try and help me chisel away at my fear of guns, he has taken me to a gun range and shown me how to properly use one of the guns he owns. It’s a small .22, so it’s not a large caliber, but shooting it has made me slightly less terrified of it. I don’t even know why we have these guns anymore because ever since Daughter was born, we keep them locked up, unloaded, with the ammunition locked away somewhere separately (too many children have been accidentally killed because they found their parents guns). And it’s not like I’d be all guns-blazin’ if someone broke into my house. NO, I’d be trying to find the fucking key to unlock the cabinet they’re stored in, and probably get killed in the process.

8. He lets me buy his clothes and shoes. He has absolutely NO fashion sense, and thank god, whenever we have some family function or a wedding or something to go to, he lets me pick out his clothes and shoes. You can be assured he looks like a million bucks, too. I know how to properly match a shirt and tie to a suit.

9. He encourages me to improve myself and plays the role of protector. He has always provided encouragement to me when I’ve wanted to go back to school. And although I’m relatively confident he’s jealous that I completed law school (maybe “jealous” is too strong a word…he’s definitely “envious”), he still beamed with pride on Graduation Day. He also can be my knight in shining armor when he thinks someone has fucked with me or when I need a strong shoulder to cry on.

10. He acts a fool so much that I can make lists like this and this.

*Husband made fun of me one Thanksgiving because my family was serving corn. I told him that a traditional Thanksgiving dinner is supposed to emulate what the Pilgrims and the Indians ate…and HELLO? I’m pretty sure corn/maize was on the menu, considering it was the FALL HARVEST. I’m also pretty sure they did not eat Italian wedding soup, or ravioli, or sfinges, or breaded pork, or have biscotti or cannoli or cassada cake for dessert.

10 More Reasons Why I Want to Kill You In Your Sleep

2009-09-15T16:49:00.005-04:00

JUST KIDDING! :)

In case you missed it the first time around, here's the list that preceeded this one. And because Husband pissed me off this morning with a passive-aggressive text message that greeted me first thing which set the tone for my day...here are 10 more reasons he gets on my every last nerve.

1. He takes everything so personally. Saturday night we stayed up watching TV until nearly 3am. While neither of us was really tired, when we went to bed, we started talking. And when I say “we” were talking, I mean mostly him. Husband usually does most of the talking and I do most of the listening. It’s just how we are. Which is probably one of the reasons I need this blog. Anyway, after about 45 minutes, he gets up at a moment in our conversation where I think it’s an abrupt interruption. As he’s walking to the bathroom (we have one in our bedroom) I tell him I’m going to put my earplugs in my ears and go to sleep. Apparently, this was offensive because he proceeded to get all bitchy with me and then didn’t talk to me for most of Sunday. IT’S NOTHING PERSONAL, HUSBAND. It’s four-fucking-o’clock in the morning and I want to get to sleep and all you’re doing is rehashing shit I’ve already heard 5 times. Fuckin’ A.

2. He doesn’t let shit go – you know the saying, “Like water down a duck’s back”? Yeah, he’s the direct opposite of that. Along with taking everything personally, he also remembers every little thing I’ve done wrong or hurtful in our relationship and picks the most inopportune times to bring them up. It’s like I can’t ever live anything down. And trust, me he’s not perfect.

3. He hogs the TV. I can’t tell you the last time I watched network television. Not that there’s loads of brilliant programming on network TV, but for goodness sake. I would like to watch “Dancing with the Stars” or “America’s Got Talent” once in a while so I’m up on all of the shit TV everyone else is watching. We can share the TV…but don’t come home and turn my shit off in the middle of it when I’ve become emotionally vested in a show. Like for example, I love the show “I Survived…” which is on the Biography channel. It is about people who have survived near-death experiences and they tell about them. It’s riveting and I love it and Husband turns it off. Motherfuck. YET, he lets Daughter watch “Spongebob Squarepants” ad nauseam. (For the record, I still love Spongebob, but I'd like to watch something else once in a while.)

4. He thinks I read too much. I love to read. I love books. He does too, don’t get me wrong. He is just jealous because I have something interesting to read and it cuts into his talking to me time. I want to tell him to take his little ass to the bookstore and go nuts, but then again, he’d take it personally and wouldn’t talk to me for a day because I was a bitch.

5. He doesn’t eat fruit. Every summer, I want to buy out the produce stores with all of the wonderful seasonal fruit. One particular summer favorite is watermelons. But because he’s a freak and doesn’t eat fruit, whenever I buy a watermelon I have to eat the whole goddam thing because he’s passed his freak-fruit-hating gene to Daughter. Ever eat a whole watermelon in the matter of days? I must have spent 50% of my time pissing.

6. He doesn’t answer my phone calls to texts in a timely manner. And by “timely” I mean immediately. He acts like his job is so important he can’t be bothered with my piddley shit. In my defense, sometimes my shit is not so piddley and sometimes it is. But he’ll never know unless he answers. Heaven forbid I let one of his calls or texts go unanswered though. You’d think I just boiled puppies or something.

7. He gets irritated whenever I want to take a nap. I love naps. I live to nap on the weekends. But whenever I want to take a nap, I get a hassle about it. The funny thing about this – Husband takes naps ALL THE FUCKING TIME. He naps on the weekends. He naps after work on the weekdays. HE NAPS MORE THAN ME. And the really funny thing is that I am a MASSIVE bitch when I’m tired. So you’d think naps would be enocouraged, but…nope. In case you’re wondering, I still take naps. Fuck him and his “no nap” rule. He can blow me if he thinks he bitches enough about it for me to give them up.

8. He has cankles. OK, I’m sorry about this one because he can’t help it. I think it’s genetic or something. But I HATE THEM and I desperately hope he doesn’t pass them on to daughter. In case you do not know what cankles are, it’s where you do not have the indentation from your calf to your ankles…hence, cankles. His ankles look like tree stumps. They creep me out.

9. He waits until that moment in the evening when dinner is done, things are put away, and I’ve just landed on the sofa to start reading or relaxing to ask me for something. Like, “Could you get me a glass of iced tea?” “Could you run out and get me a pack of cigarettes?” GODDAMMIT ALL TO HELL AND BACK. While I rarely ask him to run any of my errands, he’s always asking me to do something for him. You know what? Last I checked, I only gave birth to ONE person, not two. But you know what else? This is really a problem I have with myself because I always end up getting him what he wants. Even when it’s the most inconvenient thing on the face of the Earth. You know why? Because I care. That’s why. Even though last month I went up north and called in a refill for one of my meds and asked him to pick it up for me while I was gone and he didn’t so I had to do it when I got home….Grrrrrr.

10. He’s not an animal/household pet type of person. I blame his family for this one. His mom hates pets. I just don’t get it – how can you not like housepets? They’re cute, they’re fun and they provide companionship and comfort. My family always had pets. Always. And I’ve had dogs, cats, birds, fish, rabbits…it’s a long and versatile list. I’m still trying to somehow convince him a dog would be a great addition to our family. And if you think enticing him with sex is going to work, it’s not. We’ve been having sex with each other for 20+ years. It’s not like I can threaten to withhold blowjob privileges. I did that years ago!

In all fairness, for tomorrow's post, I'm working on my "10 Things I Love About Husband" for your enjoyment. I don't COMPLETELY hate him. :)

Know Who I Love?

2009-09-14T17:10:00.002-04:00

Sandra Bernhard, that’s who.

What I like about Ms. Bernhard is her in-your-face attitude. I don’t know if she has this attitude because she’s Jewish, because she’s a lesbian, or because her father was a proctologist and her mother was an artist. Or maybe it’s just because, for no reason at all. Either way, I must admit, whenever I see her on TV or hear her on the radio (I was reminded I was a fan last Thursday morning when she was in studio on the Howard Stern Show), I’m riveted. I can’t get enough of her and her brash behavior. I wish I could be more like her, and just say to people what I really think and never hesitate before stating an opinion. I wish I could call people “Honey” in that nasally, Jewish/New York/whatever accent she uses and just go with the flow.

Every appearance she has on Howard’s show, Ms. Bernhard divulges some hilarious and juicy secret. On a past appearance, she told Howard (and his audience) how she dated Jay Leno in the 70s, when they both were comics and how she slept with him several times. According to Ms. Bernhard, Mr. Leno has a huge penis (Howard was extremely dismayed to hear this), and enjoys bondage. You can’t picture it, can you? Ms. Bernhard says she let Jay tie her up a few times. Now we know why she was banned from The Tonight Show!

This most recent appearance, she told how she had a threesome with her girlfriend and another man. Howard, being the gifted interviewer that he is, got Ms. Bernhard to admit who the man was, and it was Howard’s friend, Ralph. Don’t know if you listen to his show or not, but this revelation caused quite the stir among the show staff. She described the evening, and it was filled with naughty stories and hilarious bits of sexy madness. I’m still laughing about it because Ms. Bernhard went right with the flow and answered everything Howard could think to ask. Her honesty about her sexual romp was so funny and interesting and shocking…I wish I could be that honest.

Even though I write this blog anonymously, there are still many parts of my life no one really knows about. I probably do not write about them because several of my friends read this, and even they don’t know everything. There are still secrets I am sure all of us keep inside, deep in the dark recesses of our hearts and minds. I guess my love for Ms. Bernhard can be summed up with this: I admire her honesty, her open attitude and her willingness to just let it all hang out. I’m sure she still has secrets, and I bet they are quite the doozies. But damn, girl. I wish I could just dip my toes into the pool of complete honesty like you do. Bravo!

9/11

2009-09-11T10:02:00.007-04:00

I've made a conscious decision today not to turn on the television and watch all of the 9/11 documentaries that are run every year. Last year, I just found the whole experience very depressing. Instead, I'm going to focus on this date for another reason.

As I mentioned in my post from last year, besides the thoughts all of us have when we think of the date "September 11th" -- I also think about the friend I lost on September 11. Except, as I mentioned, she did not die in THE September 11th -- she passed away one year later in 2002.

My friend Sandy was a beautiful woman. She was married and the mother of two children. Her daughter, Megan was almost 2 years old at the time Sandy died. Her son, Andrew (or "Drew") was only 9 months old. At her funeral, I was 7 months pregnant, and about 2 weeks away from my baby shower. Sandy's husband came up to me at the funeral and told me that the shower gift Sandy had bought for me was still at their house and he wanted me to have it. I saved that gift for last at my shower, and while I opened it, tears were streaming down my face. The gift Sandy had bought for me was my diaper pail. I found it very funny after Daughter was born, that ever time I disposed of her dirty diapers, I would think of Sandy. Life is funny that way.

Sandy was two years older than me, and had a younger brother, Robert, who was my same age. I recently saw Robert at my 20th high school reunion. We spent about and 1/2 an hour chatting and catching up. I asked him how Sandy's children were doing, and he showed me pictures. I found it fitting that her daughter, who is now 8 years old, is the spitting image of Sandy. She's going to be a great beauty. Sandy's son, who is 7, looks exactly like Sandy's husband, Tony. I couldn't bring myself to ask Robert about Tony. I've often wondered about him over the years. He was absolutely devastated at her funeral. He did not hide his grief and my heart broke for him. Sandy and Tony were only married a short time. They married when she was pregnant with Megan. Despite the babies, I'm sure they were still in the honeymoon phase of their marriage. I believe this because the last time I saw Sandy, she was wondering if she was pregnant again. I laughed because I was like, "GEEZ! Is that ALL you and Tony do???" It makes me smile to think of how we laughed about that.

Even though Robert and I knew each other in high school, Sandy and I were not friends at that time. Our friendship blossomed when we were in college. We both had joined the same sorority, and we became sisters. (ALPHA DELTA PI...represent, bitches!) Sandy lived in my neighborhood, so we started going to sorority meetings and events together. I would always make her laugh because of my bitchiness (I prefer to call it my joie de vivre) and she would infuriate me because she was never on time (a pet peeve of mine).

When I say that Sandy was a beautiful person, I mean she was beautiful inside and out. Husband used to joke that out of all my friends, Sandy was the one he'd most want to have sex with (maybe an inappropriate comment to make here, but I'm just trying to provide a measuring stick!). Besides the outer beauty, she was also beautiful on the inside. Her joyfulness radiated out of her. Her smile could melt ice cubes. Her laugh was one of the cutest things ever. But most of all, her friendship was priceless.

I miss her very much and I hope that she knew how much I valued her friendship and loved her.

FML (Fuck My Life)

2009-09-10T13:21:00.005-04:00

I recently met Kim from Perfectly Cursed Life for dinner. Among the many topics we discussed, one was my lack of a satisfying career. More importantly, my severe lack of even knowing what direction I want my career to take. As I mentioned to Kim, I don’t have any special talents. I don’t have any particular gifts as far as intelligence (I mean, I think I’m relatively intelligent, I’m just not a genius at anything), nor do I have any outstanding athletic or artistic talents. The worst part of it all – I also do not have any driving ambition to do one particular thing. In my educational career, I coasted through high school and college, earning As and Bs in most everything, and not really having to try hard to get those grades. My undergraduate studies were in English and Film History and I got mostly high B’s (some As), and graduated Cum Laude from college. I never really had to study hard, because English and Film History courses are all about writing papers and researching. It’s not like I needed to memorize equations or know the periodic table. Law school was an entirely different animal, and coming into it with no real study skills was difficult for me. I struggled for the first two years, and tried to study and tried to understand. My last year in law school was pretty breezy, and I actually earned a few decent grades. However, my poor study skills (or lack thereof) are apparent, considering I’ve had to take the Bar exam FOUR times. Hopefully, this last time stuck, but what if it didn’t?

Which brings me back to my original issue – what am I supposed to be doing with my life? Even if I do pass the bar exam, do I really want to practice law? In all honesty, I don’t think I do. At least not in the traditional sense. I know Husband will be disappointed, because he seems to have this idea that once I pass the Bar I am going to have this glorious legal career. I have not wanted to burst his bubble too soon by telling him that is not my intention, but I know the conversation is going to come eventually.

So here I am – back at square one, trying to figure things out. I feel like I am too old to be having these issues. I remember when I turned 30, one of my earth-shattering, personal crisis moments was when I realized I was not in a satisfying career. Yet. And don’t we all think that by the time we are 30, we will be in a career we love? Am I really going to face turning 40 (shrivel inside) in the same place as I was at 30? The sad part for me is that I don’t even know where to begin to figure out what I really, really, REALLY want to do. I feel like Lloyd Dobbler (played by John Cusack) in Say Anything (one of my all-time favorite movies):

“I don’t want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don’t want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don’t want to do that.”

If money was no object, I would try and live out the lottery-winning fantasy I recently came up with: there are two things I’d do. I would open a giant no-kill shelter for animals with no homes, and I would also open a metaphysical store with all the goodies that come with that. Very different interests, and currently, no hopes of either coming true.

*sigh*

Some of my other interests lie in advocating for equal rights, particularly for the gay community, abortion rights, and fighting to end child sexual abuse. But I don’t do anything with any of these issues—I’m not volunteering my time, I’m not writing about it, I’m not doing much of anything, except having an opinion. I don’t even know where to begin.

I do know one thing though – after a Bachelor’s degree, a nearly finished Master’s degree, and a Juris Doctor…AND over $100,000 in student loan debt, I KNOW I’m not going back to school. Oh HELLLLLLS NO. Which would be my usual modus operandi to solve this issue – and at least I would feel like I was moving toward a goal, instead of treading the muddy waters I’m stuck in right now.

Christ, I feel like a massive failure, and a completely unfulfilled human being.

I Need Dream Analysis Therapy

2009-09-09T15:02:00.000-04:00

Two nights ago, I dreamed my husband died.

Only, it wasn’t Husband, whom I’m currently married to – it was my cousin’s husband, John. Only he didn’t look like John, he looked like someone else. Someone I’ve never met or recognized.

At the funeral, I ran into someone from high school. Back in July, I had my 20th high school reunion. I ran into friends I hadn’t seen in 20 years, and one of these friends was Marcy. Marcy was at my dream funeral-for-my-husband-who-was-not-my-husband-and-who-was-John-only-he-wasn’t-John. At the dream funeral, Marcy was looking through the prayer cards that had pictures of the deceased. Only these prayer cards were like wallet-sized professional pictures of John-who-wasn’t-John, and John’s family-who-wasn’t-my family. Several different versions of prayer cards, in full color and a glossy finish. I sat next to Marcy with a box of these prayer cards (apparently, I had the task to refill the prayer cards in these little business card holder things). I told her that the dead man was my husband; she was concerned. I knew her concern was because the real-life Marcy knows my husband is Husband, not John and she was worried Husband was dead, even though she was looking at the glossy family pictures of John at his funeral. I told her, don’t worry, Husband wasn’t dead and then I went about refilling the prayer cards in the business card holders.

I remember having the feelings that I was so happy it wasn’t Husband in the casket and now that John was dead, Husband and I could be together. In this dream, the last 20 years of my life didn’t happen. The feelings I had were unusual – I was not sad to be a widow, or to say goodbye to the man I called my husband. I was only sad that John was dead because his children would miss him – and the children were his current, real-life children, and not Daughter.

When I woke up and remembered this dream, all I could think was: What the hell was I doing being married to him? (And let the record reflect that I am in no way attracted to John, nor am I envious of my cousin’s life with John.) I certainly can’t figure this one out on my own.

Time Won't Give Me Time...

2009-09-08T14:42:00.001-04:00

Today was the first day of school for Daughter. She has started the second grade. I got her on the school bus this morning without shedding a tear, but inside, I wanted to cry a little for the baby she used to be, the big elementary schooler she is, and for the teenager she will soon become. I know, I know, she’s only 6 years old (soon to be 7). But in many ways, my daughter is so grown up.

Last night, I asked her if she was excited to go back to school today. She said she was, so I asked her why. She said she was excited because there will be a new teacher and new friends to make. A new backpack and new school supplies. The new-ness of new experiences has tickled her fancy. This morning, as she brushed her teeth and as I did her hair, we chatted a bit more about what the day will hold for her. I told her that when she gets off the school bus this afternoon, I expect a full report of her day. I want to hear all about what goes on, so pay attention, dear! I want to hear about her teacher and the friends that she has in her class. I want to hear about lunchtime and if she had Art or Spanish or Gym class today.

From what I can remember, my parents never made a big deal over the first day of school. I don’t have too many “first day” pictures, nor do I remember any of my first days. Because of this, I have become one of those obsessive moms who takes pictures of her child dressed in her “first day of school” clothes, new backpack stuffed with school supplies. I make a big deal about it as we walk to the bus stop (two houses down from our house). I make a big deal (and take pictures) of her getting on and off the bus. I hope to continue to take these pictures until Daughter graduates from high school (embarrassment be damned!)

My mother recently made me a scrapbook which chronicled my educational career (she gave it to me this past Christmas). From law school backwards, there are a few pictures to mark the passage of time. There are graduation day pictures from law school, from college, from high school. There are senior pictures (to which I have to thank the 80s for the wonderful hair and eyeliner), and there are prom pictures (again, awful hair, but damn! I was skinny!) However, the most special pictures to me are the ones that are from my first day of preschool (it is me holding my very first school project…and then on the opposite page is the project itself), and the one of my Kindergarten teacher and me on my first day of Kindergarten. I had never seen these pictures before, and I was surprised my mom had them still. I do not have very many photo albums filled with childhood memories gone by. Maybe this is one of the reasons I have 40 billion pictures of Daughter (ok, not 40 billion, but I am sure I have taken thousands of pictures of her in her 6 years on this planet).

Where my childhood lacked, I’m hoping to make up for the deficiency through my own child. I hope I am providing her with many cherished childhood memories. I hope she remembers me as a mom who, despite being a pain in her ass (which I am sure I will be, because after all, aren’t all mothers pains in our asses?), is a mom who she knows cares and loves her as deeply as a mother could love a child. I hope she realizes that as we march along the calendar of life, that by documenting her milestones and making a big deal of the little things, I am creating memories for her that she will enjoy for a lifetime.

Personalized License Plates: We Live in an Egocentric World

2009-09-02T11:18:00.003-04:00

I drive 100 miles round trip to work everyday. I’d say 99.9% of those miles are driven on highways (thank goodness). My long commute on the highways means I come across quite a few personalized license plates. Yesterday, I decided to keep track of the ones I saw that day, and report back here on them. I’m fascinated by personalized plates. I wonder about the person driving the car, I wonder about what their little 7-letter-maximum messages mean, and I wonder why the message is so important to them. Despite my fascination, I also despise personalized plates (note douchebag above and his plate...'nuff said). Mostly because there is a small percentage of plates that just leave me dumfounded. I have no idea what they mean, what the message is trying to say – and then that makes me angry. Why put something out there for all the world to see, and not have it make sense? It makes me think that the driver thinks their message is more important to them – which is like throwing a giant middle finger out to the world. To those people, I give that finger right back PLUS one more finger. So there.

Here are the plates I encountered yesterday on my drive:

M MAGOO: ??? I remember as a very young child there was a cartoon about a character named “Mr. Magoo” and he wore these really thick glasses, and the constant joke was how he was blind as a bat. But I’m wondering about this plate. Is the driver legally blind? An old guy? Whatever the meaning, I’m not comfortable with it – maybe the driver shouldn’t be on the road?

NOAZRK: My first thought was WHAT THE HELL? I hate plates that make me think about what they mean. Then maybe it means “Noah’s Ark”? Thoughts?

AMYLYNN: Obviously, AmyLynn is either the driver or the kid or grandkid of the driver. I don’t like plates with names because the Paranoid inside of me who thinks about child molesters, rapists, kidnappers and identity thieves worries about AmyLynn getting kidnapped, molested and/or raped. Law enforcement officers tell parents never personalize backpacks, jackets, etc. because the Creeps in the world will use it against your child. Ah, AMYLYNN, I hope you stay safe!

MY MULE: This one was kind of cute. The “M” in “MY” was actually the “M” logo for the University of Michigan. Here in Michigan, you can get college logos and some other random shit on your license plate. In case you’re wondering, the vehicle itself was a Ford F-150 pickup truck, 4x4. HELLSYES. This is one plate that makes sense.

MAGICAL: What’s magical? The driver? Life? The car (I didn’t notice the model)? This person should take his “magical” ass and go drive off a cliff. Seriously? Go spread your “magical” shit elsewhere.

UNIXGUY: Nice to see he advertises what an IT nerd he is. Like some woman is going to go…”Ooooo look at the UNIX GUY OVER THERE!” Actually, I did just that. I did think the plate was cute and original though, despite what I said.

RUNDAYS: I’m guessing this plate belongs to someone who seems to be running around all day, every day. A little play on words…”Rundays”!

HOZANNA: I wonder if this person was religious? Specifically, maybe a Catholic? I just kept thinking of the part in Mass where you sing “Hosanna in the highest”. Maybe?

RPSGIRL: ??? This one left me dumbfounded…I keep wondering what “RPS” means. This is a primary reason why I HATE personalized license plates. I’m going to spend the next several days wondering what the fuck this one means. Dammit, RPSGIRL, couldn’t you put some shit on your plate we all understand? Better yet, just take the state-issued plate and call it a day. Dare to be ordinary like the rest of us.

LUCIFER: Real nice, right? Well, actually, this plate belonged to a woman I used to work with. Her name was Lucy, and she was this little white-behived-haired lady who was as adorable as a puppy. She drove a red Cadillac with this plate. I laugh to myself whenever I think of her personalized plate, because she must have caused quite a stir when people saw it on the road. It reminds me of that “Seinfeld” episode where Putty went to a New Jersey Devils hockey game and painted his face red (when Elaine finds out he’s a “face painter”…”gotta support The Team”). He runs up to a cab with a priest in it and goes “Devils! Devils!” in this demonic voice and scares the shit out of the priest. I’m sure some really religious people were offended by Lucy’s plate. And I’m also sure she didn’t give a shit about it. P.S. “Lucifer” obviously was a play on her name, in case you didn’t get it.

I Do Not Understand...

2009-08-25T13:09:00.010-04:00

Disclaimer: Sorry if you disagree with my opinions. But you know what they say: opinions are like assholes. Everyone has one. (And mine is better than yours.)

Throughout our relationship, Husband has exposed me to multiple things that I’ve enjoyed. And get your mind out of the gutter, people. I’m not talking about that. No, I mean there are movies and TV shows and books and everything that I would have never really given a chance if it hadn’t been for his enthusiasm about them. A few examples: the Canadian comedy troupe, The Kids in the Hall, the British comedies Father Ted and Keeping Up Appearances, the movie Fletch (and all things Chevy Chase).

However, there are many more things that I just don’t get. I sometimes wonder if I need more testosterone and possibly, a penis, to truly find the fascination in these things. And because I don’t want this to turn into a 40-page blog, I’m only going to blog about two of Husband’s favorite movies -- Blade Runner and Platoon.

Blade Runner is one of Husband’s most favoritest movies of all time. Or I should say, Of All Time. When Ridley Scott released the Director’s Cut of this movie, we had to buy it. I’ve probably seen it at least 15 times (all in his presence). My most recent exposure was last weekend, when it was on the SciFi Channel (newly named “SyFy” which I am hating with every fiber of my being.). Watching it for the 16th time…I still don’t get what all of the hoopla is about. It’s an interesting enough story – Harrison Ford is a cop who is hunting androids (or whatever) who look like people – “replicants” – and he meets Sean Young who is a replicant who doesn’t know she’s a replicant. He falls in love with her and then runs away with her at the end of the movie (because the other cops are after her and they have to leave before she gets killed. Or they both get killed. Or whatever. I guess.) Fade to black. And story goes that when Ridley Scott made the movie, you were supposed to wonder if Harrison Ford was a replicant too, but you know what? The movie doesn’t really answer that, but there are “clues” throughout the movie (and trust me, every one of them has been pointed out to me at least 15, um, 16 times – once for every viewing) and the ending is ambiguous and I hate ambiguous endings (like the ending of The Sopranos. But I digress). And the clues are dumb little shit like the replicants in the movie have a different look to their eyes or something. Fuck you, Ridley Scott…I want my movies tied up with a pretty red bow at the end so I don’t have to spend all eternity wondering about it. Fucking tell a story that has a beginning, a middle and an end. Don’t leave me hanging. Godammit. And don’t make a movie where I am going to have to watch it 300 times in order to get all your little clues and all your mind-fucking bullshit meanings. Is it supposed to be tragic? Science fiction? Tragic science fiction? A romance? Romantic, tragic, science fiction? My brain is going to explode.

I only want to rewatch movies that are funny so I can quote the funny movie lines to my friends. Like in Happy Gilmore where Adam Sandler says to Bob Barker, “The price is wrooooong, Bitch!” Or when Chris Farley does anything in Tommy Boy. See….that shit is hilarious. They're COMEDIES. Definitely worth a rewatch. Or 100.

Another movie favorite of Husband’s is Platoon. Yes, fine, it was one of Oliver Stone’s greatest masterpieces, but it’s not a movie I want to watch repeatedly. It’s sad and horrible and gut-wrenching. My dad is a Vietnam Veteran and it makes me sad that he had to endure the jungles of Vietnam when he was a young man. I will watch it once and be blown away by the awesome greatness of the movie, but for Crissake, I don’t want to sit through 2+ hours again in agony because I’m waiting for Willem Defoe to be killed by Tom Berringer. Why don’t we just cut out the middle-man, save ourselves 2 hours, and ask Oliver Stone to just come over and poke my eyeballs out with a spoon? Or cut off my ears and wear them as a necklace around his neck? I’d be crying -- but at least I’d still have 1 hour and 55 minutes left to do other shit with.

I Dreamed a Dream...(and no, it's not about Susan Boyle)

2009-08-24T12:19:00.003-04:00

Inspired by my blog-crush, Meditations in an Emergency, after the comments to this blog post were about nightmares, I feel like sharing more of my dreams...

A few years ago I dreamed that I cut off my right hand and then cooked it like a pot roast. Yep, you read that correctly. Disturbing, n’est pas? Even though it was a years ago, I still remember vividly the sawing off of my right hand (I’m left-handed), and while there was no pain or blood, I remember having to really saw away at it, totally just hacking it off. The dream got more strange when I decided to cook the hand. The memory of that was taking the pan out of the oven and the hand-pot roast was slightly bloated from the water/broth, and there were onions and carrots and whatever also floating around the hand. It was palm up and like a beige color. And for the record, no, I didn’t dream I ate it (now that would be really weird!), nor did I serve it to Husband or anyone else. The dream pretty much ended there. Thank goodness.

Not too long ago, I had a dream about a long-lost friend, Tim. Tim and I recently reconnected thanks to good ‘ole Facebook. Tim lives in Los Angeles and is openly gay (which I’m only stating because it’s possibly relevant to the story). In the dream, I had gone to visit Tim in LA (although I’ve never actually been there) and at one point in the dream, we’ve gone shopping. Except the shops we are visiting are similar to thrift shops or second-hand stores (or “vintage” and “antique” stores). It was a bright sunny day, and these stores were having sidewalk sales. The weird part was that everything for sale was completely disgusting, decayed or just pure shit. Like one store had baby carriages and bird cages that were broken and whatever, and another store had canned goods for sale, but the cans were severely rusted, dented and just plain nasty. I remember remarking to Tim that even homeless people wouldn’t eat those canned goods. Another point in the story, Tim and I are at a pawn-shop like place, and we’re looking at the jewelry collection. Tim and I have the same initials, so we were looking for jewelry charms or whatever with our initials. I remember seeing lots of religious paraphernalia such as bibles, crosses, etc. and everything was super-old. I specifically remember opening one of the bibles, and it was a family bible from 100 years ago or something. Despite all of the decay and age of everything in the dream, my feelings in the dream were happiness and elation, because I was enjoying spending time with Tim. At one point I kissed him, but not like a make-out sort of kiss, but it was on the cheek and I gave it to him because I missed him so much and was just excited to see him again.

A couple of weeks ago, I dreamed about my friend, Shannon. The dream happened before my karaoke birthday celebration, and that was the topic of the dream. The dream was relatively quick and I was waiting for Shannon to come pick me up so we could begin the drunken shenanigans. After she was at least an hour late, I call her on her cell. She picks up and at this point, I am LIVID. I damn near scream “WHERE IN THE FUCK ARE YOU?” to which she replies that she is “getting her hair did”. I am so pissed and the veins in my neck are practically blowing out because I can’t believe she is blowing off MY BIRTHDAY to go to the hairdresser. She never once gets pissy with me, but puts on this sing-song voice, dripping with sincere sweetness and proceeds to tell me her hairdresser, Sante (don’t ask me where the name came from -- and also this is not Shannon's current hairdresser) wants to talk to me. Again, I am very close to having a massive coronary and I’m all screaming that I don’t want to talk to Sante, he needs to mind his own fucking business. Sante is a sassy, gay black man and he proceeds to get all gay-bitchy at me with a little gay-ghetto thrown in. Eventually, I’m so angry I slam the phone down (or whatever the equivalent of slamming the phone down is in a cell phone world) and the dream ends. I remember waking up and being so angry at Shannon that I could have spit nails.

Well, there you go. A little peek inside my unconscious. Now you know I’m not just crazy in my conscious world, I’m also crazy in my unconscious! I don't think I'd have it any other way, either. A little Crazy goes a long way in making life interesting...or at least I think so. ;)

The Depression Snuck Up On Me Today

2009-08-19T11:38:00.003-04:00

(Sorry, it's a long one. But entertaining, nonetheless...)

What the hell, Life? When I woke up today, I wasn’t feeling particularly good or bad. I was just going about my morning routine like I do every other day. Shower, get ready for work, get Daughter ready, drive to work…Noticed it was a beautiful morning, here. Bright, sunny and cool – a nice 72 degrees. A perfect morning as far as I was concerned, one where I could roll the windows down during my drive and enjoy a little Howard Stern while being gently caressed by the morning.

And then I got to work and The Depression pounced on me like a kitten pounces at a laser light. For no apparent reason – or so it seemed at first. Shannon texted me about some crazy dream she had about me last night and…EUREKA! I remembered I had a dream last night that totally Bummed me out with a capital B. But before I tell you about the dream, there is a little back story:

Husband used to have this friend, whom I am going to call Homewrecker. Homewrecker was a woman who worked with him. They became friendly when I was pregnant with Daughter. Long story short, over the course of the next 5 years, Homewrecker became a certified nutjob who fell in love with Husband and whom I was suspicious of from the start. Women know women, I always tell Husband. I know when a woman says “X”, she really means “Z”. I know what lurks in the heart of women, because the same shit lurks (or has the potential to lurk) in my heart. Homewrecker even divorced her husband in the hopes that Husband would leave me and our daughter for her and her bratty kids. Now, I don’t know for sure what went on between the two, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find out they were banging the shit out of each other. Really, I wouldn’t. Especially considering how she divorced her husband. You don’t do that shit on a whim, right? But point is, he didn’t leave us for her, nor do I even think he entertained the idea. Homewrecker couldn’t hold a candle to me. I’m prettier, my boobs are way bigger (Husband is a Boob Man) and I was 4000x smarter. Homewrecker was a bit of a dumb-dumb, and while some men may find stupidity cute, Husband does not. He’s an intellect, and likes smart people. And besides, Homewrecker was a pathological liar, who used lies to manipulate Husband into feeling bad/sorry for her. Which toward the end of their relationship, Husband started to believe (when I had been tell him she was a liar the whole time). And if you need an example: one night, I was talking on the phone with Shannon. Through the course of a 45-minute conversation, Homewrecker beeped in on my other line 19 times. I counted and kept track -- it became laughable, although was still immensely irritating. I knew it was her, thanks to caller ID. Finally, on the 19th call, I answered. I was rude as fuck to her too – I told her that I was on the other line, and knew she was trying to call, and that I’d tell Husband she called 19 times when I got off the phone. Once I was off the phone, Husband called her to find out what was so goddam important. She told him how she was in a car accident and had needed him. She lived in a city about 50 miles away from our house, but was “in the neighborhood” visiting a friend of hers and she called him because we lived so close to her. Nevermind calling your OWN husband, or even your friend that you were visiting. Noooo…she decides to call MY husband to come and rescue her. I called BULLSHIT from the second that story came out of her mouth, because I knew it was a lie. And little did she know, Shannon works for the police department for the city she supposedly got in the accident. Of course, there was no police record of her supposed accident. LIAR. Oh, and to top it off, she did tell Husband how rude I was to her. I don’t know what she thought – was Husband going to ground me for being so rude? Take her side? Um, I don’t think so. Crazy Liar, right? And that was only one small example. Trust me, there were MANY more.

Their “friendship” came to a crashing halt when I found, quite by accident, a shit-load of emails between the two of them. In Husband’s defense, he was at least smart enough to not write anything inappropriate in the emails I found – so either he was smart enough to delete the incriminating ones, or there was nothing incriminating to begin with. But the one that stung me the most, was the one where Homewrecker fantasizes about how she knows that “their” time was not then (mainly because of ME, which she mentions in her email), and how she hopes there would be the day where she and Husband could someday go house-shopping, looking for a house for them and their kids. I was floored because frankly – over my dead fucking body. It would have been a cold day in Hell before I ever would have let this woman have anything to do with my daughter. And if Husband would have left me for her – I would have been the nastiest motherfucker ever. The divorce and custody battle would have been disgusting. I usually try to be a peaceful person – but just can’t when it comes to Homewrecker. I have never hated anyone in my life with such vigor. I mean, I don’t wish her anything bad (because I do believe in karma)…I just wish she’d go away permanently.

Anyway, I know I said I was going to make this short, but seriously, 5 years worth of the ups and downs of their friendship – there’s a lot of drama to try and weed through, trust me.

Once I found those emails, I confronted Husband, and gave him the ultimatium: end his friendship with Homewrecker or there was going to be some serious Hell to pay with me. Their friendship went on as long as it had, because I had turned the other cheek. I had told him that he was a grown man, capable of picking his own friends and not having a wife who henpecks him and tells him who he can and cannot be friends with. I told him I trusted him and his judgment. I have always kept him lease-free. I believe in giving him freedom, because once he goes on a lease, resentment settles in. Plus, I didn’t want my ass on a lease either. You gotta trust each other, right?

So, he ended the friendship. I am not sure what he said to her, but he and I have been Homewrecker-free for close to the past 2 years…until last month. I found an addressed card to her on our kitchen table last month. It had a stamp on it all ready to go in the mail. No return address, but her fucking name and address in Husband’s handwriting on the envelope. I confronted Husband with the card. WTF is this? He said it was a birthday card he was going to send to her. WTF? I told him to open it and let me read it. He told me to open it myself, which of course, I did. He wrote some shit about how he hoped she had a nice birthday and how he hoped she was doing well…”and maybe someday we’ll run into each other again…” WTF? I bitched him out and made him rip it up.

Now, to the dream I had.

Last night, I dreamed Husband was back in contact with Homewrecker and had been hiding it from me. I distinctly remember feeling betrayed and heartbroken, extremely hurt and humiliated they were friendly again. I remember crying in the dream, with such intense pain in my heart; nothing Husband said was able to fix it. I felt like my whole life was destroyed and I had to divorce him immediately because the trust between us would never be able to be repaired. I was also so enraged that all I could think about was beating the living shit out of Homewrecker. I was on a mission, blinded by fury.

This morning, I texted Husband and told him – briefly – about the dream. I also had to ask him if he was in contact with her. Truth be told, I do believe he is not in contact with her, because I am somewhat of an amateur private detective, and always know how to snoop on his dumb ass without him knowing. Really. He doesn’t get away with much when I’m on the job. Of course, he responded that no, he’s not in contact with her, and that he’d tell me if he was (this last bit I find a little hard to believe, but whatever). I just wonder what the dream meant. Obviously, I’m afraid of something, right? Is it that I’m afraid of losing my family unit? Him?

But now I feel depressed. I can’t get the hurt out of my heart. Even though the hurt was something that came to me in a dream and isn’t reality, I still can’t shake it. Ever have that happen to you? I feel like I’m going to carry this with me all day.

My Birthday Blew Fat-Ass Chunks (Mostly)

2009-08-17T22:57:00.002-04:00

Here are the things that sucked about my birthday:

Husband bought me lame gifts. For the record, it was a video game (which I never play) and some body lotion from Bath and Body Works. It wasn't even a gift set, they were two random aromatherapy scents.

The karaoke celebration I had planned, ended abruptly at 11pm when Shannon wanted to leave. She wanted to leave because there was a guy a the bar hitting on her and she didn't want him hanging around her all night. They exchanged numbers and whatever. She acted weird on the ride home and I discovered she had taken several Xanax earlier in the night which accounted for her weird behavior. Oh, and I had to pay for my own drinks because she was broke. Which, I'm sorry if I sound like a bitch -- then we should not have gone out and waited until you could pay the $15 for my drinks. I'm a lightweight, and after 3 drinks, I'm flying high, so it's not like I'm going to break the bank when it comes to footing my bar tab. And in Shannon's defense, she did give me a really kick-ass birthday present, so it's not all bad. But who goes home from the bar at 11??? I was expecting to get Shit-Faced and stroll in at 3am.

I had to work on my birthday.

I didn't get laid. Um...not that I wanted to. Just saying.

Here are the things that were relatively great when it came to my Birthday:

My mom called me and actually sang "Happy Birthday" to me on my way to work. It was cute.

I got a birthday card in the mail from Laura on my Birthday. Thanks for remembering and being a great friend, girl.

Daughter made me a birthday card. When you opened it, it said "I (heart) U Mommy". Best birthday card ever.

The aromatherapy scented lotion from Husband were the "Sleep" scent, and the "Sensual" scents. Which I realized were pretty thoughtful because he knows I love to sleep and sometimes have a hard time falling asleep/staying asleep, and well, the "Sensual" I can only guess was for him. *wink*

The video game was for "Harvey Birdman: Attorney-at-law" which was a really funny cartoon on the Cartoon Network about a very inept attorney. *insert bad lawyer joke here*

*sigh*

I also made a Birthday Resolution this year: I've decided to start lying about my age. I have a very young looking face and now is the time to capitalize on it. So from now on, I'm 32. I decided shaving 6 years off was realistic. And fuck off if you don't think so...let me have my mid-life crisis in fantasyland. It's not like I'm going to get a 25-year-old boyfriend, divorce my husband, and start driving a sports car or something? Right? Right?

On the Subject of Me...

2009-08-12T23:12:00.006-04:00

I think this sums "me" up nicely:

I can't cook (well). I don't clean (often enough). I only have one child (and it's going to stay that way). Husband told me recently he didn't marry me for my domestic skills. Obviously.

Tomorrow is My Birthday...Thought You Should Be Forewarned

2009-08-11T22:35:00.005-04:00

I'm a Leo, Dammit.

Hear My Mighty Roar.

My Birthday Better Kick Ass.

Raar.

Birthday Updates to Come...

Makeovers Make Me Giddy

2009-08-11T11:45:00.000-04:00

I love makeovers. I love TV shows about makeovers. I love “What Not to Wear”, “How Do I Look?” and every other makeover show under the sun. I even love “Extreme Home Makeover”, but usually don’t watch it all that much because the fucking show makes me cry every damn time. And I cry because there are a lot of people out there who get dealt a shitty hand in life, and yet they can sometimes find something to inspire them to do great things. It just reminds me that I haven’t done anything inspirational in my own life and I feel like such a failure. (Because, as you should understand, ultimately, I can find a way to make everything about me. Even home makeover shows.)

But as I was saying…I love me a good makeover program. I was thinking that someone should start up a Life Makeover show or something. The contestant would be given a choice of new lives – something similar to The Showcase Showdown on Price is Right. It reminds me of that guy in Australia who auctioned his “life” away on eBay a while back. He was recently divorced and, I’m guessing, wanted a fresh start. So his auction consisted of his apartment, all of his worldly possessions, his friends, and even his job (if you “won” the auction, you got to interview for it or something like that.) He ended up getting like $100k or something for it – and although he was hoping for more money, he ended up going on a trip around the world or whatever. I remember seeing his website. Click here if you’re curious to see what he did after he sold his life.

I’m thinking that my life makeover show could be something similar to this. You could get a chance to move somewhere new, have a job waiting for you, and some new friends to help you get acclimated. I know it would get complicated if you had kids, or were married, or both. Ooooo…this also reminds me of the idea I had where marriage licenses should have expiration dates. Like every 10 years, it expires and you have the option to renew it if you’d like – and if not, you both just move on. No divorces anymore just expired marriages. It certainly would make things easier, I think. Don’t get me wrong, I know there are a lot of complicated issues sometimes in marriages, such as child custody, alimony, property division, etc. (the lawyer in me is taking over here) but there could be a document included in your marriage license that would already settle this issue. (In case you’re wondering if I would have renewed my marriage license at the 10-year mark – yes, I would have renewed it. But I am not sure I’d renew it at the 20-year mark. This year makes 14 years I’ve been married, and I have to admit, the last 3 or 4 have been a bit of a struggle. Hopefully, it’s just cyclical and shit will smooth out eventually. I’m a patient person and willing to find out.)

I digress.

Maybe part of the life makeovers would include trading your life with someone famous or rich. It certainly would help in making the world a more understanding place if a rich person or people of privilege had to take a stint as a homeless person or if they had to live in the ghetto for a while (neither of which I’ve done, but I did spend a good chunk of my early years living in a trailer, which I think keeps me grounded).

Too bad we can’t just plug our brains into a computer (like in The Matrix) and download shit to make us have skills we don’t possess, or know things we don’t know yet. Like learning a foreign language or understanding physics. That way, we could take turns being surgeons, teachers, the Queen of England, Angelina Jolie, or a German biologist. The possibilities are endless.

Is this just crazy talk, or am I on to a good idea? Impossible, yes…I understand. But still a good idea.

And I still think the expiration date on marriage licenses is GENIUS.

Daughter Can Be Freakin' Hilarious

2009-08-10T18:06:00.005-04:00

This past weekend, I took Daughter and visited my parents cottage "up north". Daughter and I usually sleep together and so when we woke up on Sunday morning, we were just chatting as we were waking up. Since it was a bit humid the night before, I wondered if she was stinky. And in case you didn't know, little kids' armpits get stinky even though they haven't reached puberty. I had no idea this was the truth until I had my own child. Of course, they don't smell like adults and need deodorant, but if you get up close, they're rank little creatures too. So Sunday morning, I was teasing her and I asked her if her pits smelled. Her arms were above her head already, so she turned her head to put her nose in position, took a whiff, looked me straight in the eye, and with a deadpan expression said:

"No. They smell like flowers."

I nearly rolled out of the bed. The words were not as funny as the deadpan expression on her face, but the combination was priceless. Ahhh, young jedi, you are learning the ways of sarcasm well....

10 Reasons Why I Hate You

2009-08-04T13:25:00.005-04:00

Last night, Husband ate some pretzels after dinner and he didn't replace the Chip Clip. Who knew his serious infraction would lead to this blog post...That transgression lead to 10 reasons why Husband gets on my every last nerve. ("Hate" was really a strong word, but I thought it made a cute title to this post.)

1. He never puts the Chip Clip back on the chips (or pretzels, Doritos, etc.) so the shit goes stale if I’m not there to replace the Chip Clip. This is also true of replacing the twist-tie on bread, buns, etc.

2. When he’s out of toilet paper in his bathroom, he just goes down the hall and steals my roll of toilet paper out of my bathroom. I can’t tell you how many times I’m left sans toilet paper when I need it (because I think it’s there because it’s MY bathroom so I know the inventory).

3. If he needs cash, he just takes it out of my wallet and “forgets” to tell me about it. I would not mind this if he “remembered” to tell me. It’s only irritating when I need the cash, think it’s in my wallet and then go to try to spend it. Again, it’s MY wallet and I know the inventory. I have resorted to hiding cash in a different spot in my wallet and/or just not carrying cash anymore.

4. He refuses to have pizza delivered to our house, and insists on picking it up. Except I’m always the person who has to go pick it up.

5. When he empties the dishwasher and reloads it, he only takes out enough clean stuff to make room for the dirty stuff and then runs the dishwasher again. And he never empties the silverware. Ever. Irritating because it’s not only a waste of hot water and dishsoap, it’s also immensely lazy. If you’re gonna empty it, EMPTY it. Oh, and I’d rather he didn’t empty it, because if he can’t find a spot for something, he just makes one. I have faux-tupperware in every cupboard in my house. Which means I can never find the right one for the right job, and if I'm lucky enough to find a container, I can't find the goddam lid because it's never in the lid cupboard. (Look, you just got a two-fer on that one)

6. Whenever we go out to eat, he gets irritated if I want to order the same thing he does OR if I don’t want to order what he “suggests”. This once lead to an argument over breakfast where he got so mad he walked out of the restaurant. He got mad because I basically told him I was going to order whatever the fuck I wanted. (In case you’re wondering, I ordered a banana-pecan-something-or-other and he hates bananas. He wanted me to order the apple-cinnamon-something-or-other probably so he could eat it too, since I rarely ever eat everything. But I fucking love banana-pecan-whatever, so seriously, go fuck yourself.)

7. To expand on #6 above, he actually gets irritated if I don’t take his “suggestions” as the Word of God and do whatever he suggests. I find this irritating, because, as I’ve told him, I am a grown-ass-woman and am quite capable of making my own decisions. And before you get all riled up about how marriage is a partnership and blah, blah, blah -- these decisions usually pertain to things personal to me. Not things that should involve a decision made together. I mean, you have the food example above, you should understand what I mean.

8. If he wakes up before me on the weekends and runs an errand and takes daughter, he never does her hair or puts her in matching clothes. So she always looks like a crazy banshee with hair in her face and like a homeless child with mismatched or too-small clothes. I don’t know why this bothers me so much, but it does. I'm sure this is part of the control freak problem I have, that I mentioned yesterday.

9. He always talks about us getting into shape, slimming down, and working out, yet he buys junk food. As an example, this past weekend we went to Kroger and he wanted ice cream, ice cream toppings (caramel and apple cinnamon), chips, and donuts. WTF? I usually don’t buy this type of shit because if it’s not in the house, it’s much easier not to eat it.

10. He keeps all of our over-the-counter medications in a cupboard in the kitchen instead of in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom like normal people. I gave up this fight long ago, when we were first married and just accepted it. But I still find it irritating. He does this because his parents have a cupboard in their kitchen with all of their OTC shit. Cold meds? Thermometer? Ibuprofen? Cough drops? All in the cupboard above the dishwasher. It makes me crazy.

Now…I’m sure he’s got a similar list about me, so don’t go thinking I have this crazy notion that I’m perfect. Because I do. Here’s my idea of what his list must look like:

1. She won’t have sex with me everyday.
2. She won’t have sex with me everyday.
3. She won’t have sex with me everyday.
4. She won’t have sex with me everyday.
5. She won’t have sex with me everyday.
6. She won’t have sex with me everyday.
7. She won’t have sex with me everyday.
8. She won’t have sex with me everyday.
9. She won’t have sex with me everyday.
10. She never does what I say (like have sex with me everyday).

Ha Ha. I crack myself up. I’d love to know what irritates you about your significant other…

I Think I Can, I Think I Can't...

2009-08-03T12:06:00.007-04:00

I am in middle of writer's block. That combined with the fact that nothing has made me laugh hysterically, cry hysterically, or fly into a blinding rage lately, so I'm going to plagiarize. Well, not really, since I'm quoting the source (or one of many), so technically, it's not plagiarism if you're calling yourself out on it. I just can't think of anything wildly brilliant and original to write about right now. So here's my version of these posts done by Kim at Perfectly Cursed Life and LiLu at Live It, Love It:

I can…

…try to be a positive role model to my daughter and let her know that being smart is important (more than being beautiful – although, if I do say so myself, she’s gorgeous!) and that eating a healthy diet is more important that whatever the scale says.
…make some mean imitation White Castle burgers. They taste EXACTLY the same!
…enjoy toilet humor immensely. Actually, I prefer it over all other forms of jokes!

I can’t…

…burp the alphabet. Although I really haven’t tried.
…protect my child from all of the evil in the world, but dammit, I’m gonna try.
…dance worth a shit. I was born with no grace and am very clumsy.

I will…

… eventually find a career that makes me happy to go to work. I’m still searching for it.
…learn a foreign language someday. Those Rosetta Stone commercials are calling my name!
…see London and Paris someday.

I won’t…

…eat seafood. The thought of it makes me want to vomit.
…cancel HBO even when “True Blood” is in its off-season.
…stop asking “Why?”

I should…

…be more open-minded and spontaneous sometimes and not be such a rigid control freak. (In my defense, when I can’t plan things out to the letter, I tend to get severely uncomfortable.)
…learn to be more forgiving when I feel like someone has committed a major wrong to me.
…try to exercise more and eat healthier.

I shouldn’t…

…take things for granted as much as I do. I was reminded of this thanks to Nickleback’s “If Today Was Your Last Day” this weekend. (Lame, I know.)

…beat myself up over my personal failures.
…be working on this blog post at work, but it seems that is the only place where I have time to write. Irony! (So, technically, I AM getting paid to blog!) Shhhhh!

Ode to August

2009-07-31T14:33:00.007-04:00

It’s that time of year again…tomorrow is the first day of August. August means a lot of different things to me, but most importantly, my birthday is in August and August means summer is almost over. Both a beginning and an end for me, August always makes me feel reflective.

As a beginning – the beginning of another year of life for me – always makes me reflective on the year that has passed. Last year, at this time I was unemployed, was pretty sure I had bombed the Bar exam (I did) and I didn’t have a whole lot to look forward to. I was wallowing in depression and self-pity and I wasn’t looking forward to my birthday AT ALL (which is very unusual, as I ALWAYS look forward to my birthday because it is the day where we can all celebrate the wonderful fabulosity of me…thank you Kimora Simmons Lee for introducing me to “fabulosity”).

Looking back on this past year, I’d have to admit it’s been quite a roller-coaster ride. From unemployment came a horrendous job that I only stayed at because I had to find a way to pay for Christmas. Thank goodness my current job came around because I didn’t know how much longer I could have stayed at my last job before I was going to lose it.

At the end of 2008 I was also very scared Husband was going to (possibly) lose his job with Ford. I was literally terrified. I was upset with President Bush, I was upset with republicans, I was upset with people who drove around the Detroit area in foreign cars…I was just upset. Upset and terrified I'd lose my house and have to move in with my in-laws *shudder*...kidding. They're actually really nice people and maybe I could have finally learned how to cook food Husband will eat (unforch, I only know how to cook "American" food even though we're all fucking Americans...ok, I digress. Obviously another topic for another day.) Anyhoo, looking back, I can say that I am so thankful he didn’t lose his job and thankful that Ford didn’t need the bailout money. And while my retirement savings were severely depleted thanks to cashing out ½ of my 401(k) to pay down lots of debt after my stint at being unemployed (Suze Ormond would maybe have kicked my ass for that), I still know that we are in a better place than lots of people. I still have my house, I still drive a nice car (a FORD thankyouverymuch), Daughter can still get a new Wii game every once in a while, and I can still go apeshit at the Coach outlet (within reason). *whew*

I am hoping that this next birthday brings me lots of joy and happiness. I can’t say I’m happy with turning 38, but age is only a number, right? How come when you’re a kid, people in their 30s+ seemed so OLD? I don’t feel “old” or “middle-aged”, although as Husband quite eloquently put it a few weeks ago, we are probably close to be ½-way done with our lives. Dammit. And I haven’t even gotten the hang of it yet.

Besides the birthday thing, August also is signaling the end of summer. This summer sort of blew, because we really haven’t had “summer” weather all that much. The days have been on the cool side, lots more days in the 70s and low 80s, than in the 90s. While I’m not complaining (even though it would seem like it) because I love sunny days in the 70s, it’s been too cool for the lakes to warm up or for daughter to spend a lot of time in the pool (no I don’t have one, but one of Husband’s uncles does and last year she LIVED in that pool). I don’t have much of a tan (skin cancer be dammed!). On the bright side however, my electric bill has been reasonable because we haven’t had to turn on the central air everyday – and that’s kind of nice because I love having the windows open on a cool night.

I’m sad that summer is nearly over because that also means Daughter goes back to school. I know lots of parents look forward to getting rid of their kids once the school year begins again, but I don’t feel that way. Daughter is a kid who certainly wears me out with all of her chatter and her desperate need to be the center of attention (the only-child syndrome, I suppose), but even when I can’t hear myself think because she’s blabbing on about Spiderman, or Spongebob, or some Wii game, or some new iCarly episode (it's on Nickelodeon and actually isn't half bad) – I enjoy spending time with her because I’m her best friend. I know the day is going to come where she’s going to prefer talking and being with her friends over me, and that day is going to break my heart. In the meantime, I just try to cherish this time and somehow dig deep and learn to really give a shit about iCarly, Spongebob, Wii Games and Spiderman.

Even though it’s a little early, I’m going to say goodbye to my 37th year. Can’t say it was all bad, can’t say it was all good. BUT, I’m not going to say goodbye to summertime just yet. Like Daughter, I’m just going to try and enjoy the time we have together and not worry too much about what’s around the corner.

I'm Back, Bitches!

2009-07-30T14:55:00.000-04:00

I’m back from my big trip to Lansing to take the Bar exam. One thing worth noting, I was feeling so good about it was almost like I was riding around on a cloud for the two days I was there. Needless to say, since I am feeling so good about it, I’ve decided that there must be some cosmic reason for the positivity. I won’t know for sure until November, but I am thinking that I must have passed it this time. Looks like God may have heard my prayer after all.

My trip started out with the nearly 2 hour drive to Lansing from home. There was a point along the trip where I was thinking to myself, “It sure would be nice if there was an outlet mall along the way that had a Coach store.” I was thinking this #1) because I love purses, namely, Coach purses and fantasizing about them makes me all warm and fuzzy and #2) I’m an incredible shop-aholic and shopping always makes me feel good. Especially when I’m shopping for a Coach bag.

Funny enough, about 5-10 minutes after having that thought, I saw a billboard advertising an OUTLET MALL AT THE NEXT EXIT THAT HAD A COACH STORE! FUCKIN-A! So y’all know I stopped, right? And y’all know I overshopped and am now the proud mama to not one new Coach handbag, not two bouncing-baby Coach handbags…but THREE brand-new, leather-smelling Coach handbags! HELLYES! And a wallet and turtle keychain to boot. Husband has no idea about my little shopping spree, but goddam it, my birthday is in thirteen days, I’ve had a fucked-up year and I was just getting ready to take the Bar exam for the fourth time. I deserved a little Coach-lovin’. Because nothing puts a smile on my face longer and faster than a Coach outlet store that has shelves and shelves of markdowns. I nearly passed out IN THE STORE with five handbags on my arm from the excitement.

As you can see, The Lansing Trip started off with a bang and it never got bad for me. Riding my Coach high, I went into the test determined to make it my bitch. Here’s hoping I did just that…and if not, at least I can stop at the Coach outlet on trip number five!

Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret...

2009-07-21T23:36:00.004-04:00

Dear God,

I know there are starving children in the world and probably a lot of people out there who are more in need of your help than me, but I figured I would put in my request now, to give you a few days to mull it over and decide whether or not you'd like to grant my prayer or not. You know, it's not super-urgent, but maybe you could assign it "yellow" status like the Department of Homeland Security does regarding terror threats. Just trying to help you prioritize...

As you already know, next week is my fourth attempt at the Bar exam. I figure you already know this being all-seeing-all-knowing and everything. And considering all of the Catholic candle-lighting Husband did earlier this year...I figured you must have gotten the hint or whatever. Now I know you have an ultimate plan for all of us, and you make your decisions for reasons I may not understand. I know you don't owe me any kind of explaination. I get it. But seriously...could you see to it that my brain remembers everything I've tried to cram into it over the last few months (again), and allow me to keep my cool and not have to take 2 Xanax before the exam because I'm freaking out, and could you also help me write fast and concise, not be tricked into picking the wrong answer on the multiple choice exam, and...this one is the most important...PLEASE LET ME PASS SO I CAN MOVE ON WITH MY LIFE? Please, God?

Oh, and if I could win the Mega Millions too, sometime soon, preferably, that would be cool. I promise to give a bunch of it to charity. Really. So, you know -- either that or the Bar exam thing. I'd settle for either one.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

2009-07-08T14:22:00.002-04:00

My BFF Shannon, recently got her seven-year-old daughter a cell phone. Now, regardless of what you think about this decision -- fact is, the kid has a cell phone and that's that. I spent some time with her daughter over the 4th of July weekend, and she’s a nice kid. She’s just like every other 7-year-old, and having a cell phone hasn’t made her obnoxious or anything. The only negative I can find from it is now Daughter wants a cell phone too. UM…AIN’T HAPPENING. The kid loses everything (including her glasses while she's in the house) on a daily basis, so I know she’s not ready. Plus, who does she need to call anyway? No one, that’s who. Shannon and her babydaddy don’t live together, so I sort of see why she gave her the phone. Two households and whatever.

But the point of my story is that kids are funny sometimes. And they latch onto technology like a duck goes to water. Case in point. Shannon’s daughter was recently at her father’s house, and was in the bathroom dropping a deuce. Because she’s only 7, she sometimes needs help with the wiping. So instead of calling her dad to come and help her wipe – SHE TEXTED HIM. She texted “come wipe my butt”. HILARIOUS, right?

Awards Coming Out the Waa-Zoo

2009-07-01T10:17:00.015-04:00

Kylie over at Random Thoughts gave me and a bunch of other really kickass bloggers some awards and I'm a little (read: a lot) late in recognizing them here. So without any further nonsense, here we go:

Award #1: The Adorable Blog Award!

Rules: Include the award logo in your blog or post. Nominate as many blogs which you like. Be sure to link to your nominees within your post. Let them know that they have received this award by commenting on their blog. Share the love and link to this post and to the person from whom you received your award.

Award #2: The Lemonade Stand!

Rules: There wasn't really any rules with this one so I'm just going to thank Kylie and move on!

Award #3: The Awe-Summm Award!
Rules: I am supposed to list seven awe-summm things about myself and tag seven awe-summm bloggers. So here goes:

1. I’m wicked funny and I can make most people laugh with my dry and sarcastic demeanor.

2. I tend to live in the moment and try not to let things I cannot change bother me (which irritates Husband to no end – he interprets this behavior as me not caring about things, but I use it to live relatively stress-free, so I consider it awesome)

3. I try to give Daughter a positive body image along with trying to give her the message that being a girl rocks the house (as I’ve told her many times, girls are better than boys, because not only can girls do anything a boy can, but we also can have babies!) No offense to any male readers out there! You guys rock too, but just not as much :)

4. I am the Queen of the BBQ. I do all the grilling at our house, which I know some guys would consider to be a major offense. (I think he’s just lazy and would rather I cooked EVERYTHING – except, of course, spaghetti sauce.)

5. I have an uncanny ability to remember lyrics, artists and song titles of LOTS of 80s songs.
Play me a bit of a song and I can usually name it. I remember Scritti Politti, Alphaville, Baltimora, Johnny Hates Jazz…yeah. I know. Sad.

6. I once wrote a term paper in my persuasive writing class in college about the death of Marilyn Monroe. While everyone else wrote about abortion and gun control, I argued her death wasn’t a suicide and blamed it on the mob, the Kennedys, or an accidental overdose. I got an “A” probably because my professor was thrilled as a pig in shit that she didn’t have to read another boring topic. It was fun to research that one!

7. I consider my friends to be like my family and cherish them very much.

Award #4: The Sexy Blogger Award! (About Time someone recognized this in me! :))

Rules: I am supposed to list five sexy things about me. OK, here goes:

1. I have naturally curly hair and green eyes.

2. I take good care of my skin by using moisturizers and exfoliating on a regular basis so it’s soft to the touch.

3. I make sure that if I am wearing shoes where my toes or heels are showing, that I have polished my toenails and moisturized my feet. No one wants to see funky toes and dry-ass heels. No one.

4. I am a Pure Romance consultant, so I have a readily available stock of “relationship enhancers” on hand at all times. (If you need anything, let me know!)

5. I’m open minded. I’ve pretty much tried everything on my sexual to-do list. Give or take one or two things.

Well, there you have it. Now I need to pass the love on like an STD at a frat party (Thanks Kim, for that one!)

My nominees are (in no paticular order)....drumroll....(and while it is an honor just to be nominated (bullshit), you're all winners in my book)

Dr. Jay SW at Yoga for Cynics

Maxie at i hate so much

LiLu at Live It, Love It

Mandy at Sassy Little Ginger

Lisa at Lemon Gloria

Jolee at Jolee724

Check out these blogs, y'all. Promise you'll grow to love them like they were your children! Promise! And thanks again to Kylie for being a fan of my blog!

Ever Want to Run Away From Home...

2009-06-29T22:56:00.006-04:00

...and never come back?

Well, I have.

I have this reoccuring fantasy where I run away from home (with all the money from Husband's and my savings account AND my kid) and I don't tell anyone where I'm going and I just leave. I've thought about going somewhere like Idaho or Montana. And like someone in the witness protection program, I just disappear and start over.

I am sure a therapist would have a field day with this little fantasy of mine. I'm not sure exactly what it means other than I get sick of my life sometimes. It's normal, right?

Of course, I'd probably eventually tell my really close friends where I am. I mean, I don't want to end up on a milk carton or arrested for kidnapping my child or whatever happens to people who do that sort of thing. And I guess I'd have to tell Husband, because, after all he is Daughter's father and it wouldn't be right to deny him or her the benefit (or dysfunction) of their relationship. Oh, and I suppose I'd have to tell my mother. She'd kill me if I did something like this and didn't clue her in on my scheme.

In the process of telling my friends, my husband and my mother...it would seem that my fantasy would be a big, fat bust. What would be the point of running away from home and then telling everyone about it -- other than I'd be in fucking Idaho (no offense to any Idaho-ians out there, but at least in Michigan I have the freaking Red Wings and some decent pizza and coney islands, and some lakes to visit and shit like that)? Dammit. Guess my ass is staying right where it is.

I Feel Like I Need Some Grief Counseling or Something Today

2009-06-25T19:23:00.004-04:00

My childhood memories sure have taken a beating today. Both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson have passed away. Sad, sad day.

As some of you may have read, I recently wrote about Farrah Fawcett's documentary, "Farrah's Story" and how it reminded me of my mom's battle with Amyloidosis. I loved Farrah when I was a kid. And when any of my friends wanted to play "Charlie's Angels" we all argued over who would get to play Farrah. So I bid Adieu to Ms. Fawcett. I hope her soul finds some peace.

Michael Jackson was also a huge part of my childhood. Despite the freakshow he turned into over the past 10-15 years, Thriller came out when I was about 12 years old and that shit rocked the fucking house. Every song on that record was da bomb, and I begged my parents to buy me the Beat It red leather jacket -- the one with all the zippers. They never did, so I instead had a boyfriend who had one and begged him to let me wear his. (He did.) And even before Thriller, I remember when "The Wiz" was making its television debut. I begged my parents to let me stay up late enough so I could watch the whole thing. I FUCKING LOVED "THE WIZ". Michael Jackson as the scarecrow...and him and Diana Ross singing "Ease on Down, Ease on Down the Road" made my eight-year-old self sqeal in delight.

I'll never forget watching the video for Thriller at a slumber party. I'll never watching Michael on the 25th Anniversary Special for Motown when he first showed the world the Moonwalk. And I'll never forget learning how to Moonwalk myself (I can still do it -- ask me and I'd love to show off for you). I remember being in love with him (I had that poster of the pic above in my bedroom) and his music -- Michael was a very talented man despite everything. It always struck me that he was someone who didn't live in reality and was probably extremely lonely and that made me sad. I don't condone anything he may have done, but I really hope that his soul is able to find some peace now that he is free to be the child he always wanted to be.

R.I.P. Farrah Fawcett 1947-2009

R.I.P. Michael Jackson 1958-2009

Sex and Candy

2009-06-24T12:42:00.002-04:00

You know what I love? Hershey’s chocolate, that’s what.

Now I’ve tried all types of chocolate in my 37 years, you can believe it. I’ve had cheap chocolate (like those cheap foil-wrapped egg chocolates you find at Easter) and I’ve had expensive chocolate (Godiva, Ghirardelli…shit imported from Switzerland, etc.). I love Dove chocolates, but I always come back to Hershey’s chocolate. It's like my long-lost lover...and I can say that Hershey’s is the best I’ve ever had, that’s for sure.

As you've probably gathered, Hershey's chocolate is like sex to me. Really great, mind blowing sex, that is. And frankly, Hershey’s chocolate always is good for me – it’s consistent and steady, it’s always available when I crave it, and it never disappoints. Hershey’s chocolate has variety, too. I can get it with nuts, or without. I can get it in the form of Kisses or Nuggets (and nevermind all the flavors I can get those in). I can get it in syrup or powder…and it can get it in white, dark or milk chocolate. PLUS it lasts as long as I want. I can gobble it down in less than a minute, or I can pace myself and make it last for hours. Best part of all of this? My chocolate craving is always satisfied at the end.

After I’m done with Hershey’s chocolate, there’s no obligatory compliments that we need to exchange, or awkwardness, or walk of shame. Hershey knows it did its job, and I’m grateful for that. We part ways with a smile on my face and the sugar pumping through my veins, giving me a chocolate high. Hershey’s doesn't mind that I'm the only one who is satisfied either, because it is happy being a giver. I can also have Hershey’s anytime, anywhere without getting arrested or losing my job. I'm not considered a freak if I want to share my Hershey’s with a group of people, male and female alike -- all of us enjoying Hershey's at once.

Too much Hershey’s can be a bad thing, though. Overindulgence in one day can cause and upset stomach and the sugar rush can be too much. Overindulgence over a long period of time can cause bad health and weight gain. I guess that’s one thing that sex has on chocolate. The more you do it the more calories you burn and there’s no upset stomach in the end. Or at least there shouldn’t be! Maybe there’s something I don’t know here?

Too bad there’s not a really great way to combine Hershey’s chocolate with my sex life…I wonder if Husband would get a Kisses costume and wear it to bed? Ah, nevermind…

Happy Father's Day

2009-06-21T19:22:00.005-04:00

I called my dad today to wish him a Happy Father's Day. Now, I've written about my dad before on this blog -- some of it positive, some of it negative -- and all of it the truth. I usually don't have everyday-type of chit-chats with my dad, and I usually only see him occasionally, when I end up at my parents house for some random reason, or when I go "up north" (a favorite summer pastime of Michiganders...if you're not familiar, it basically means heading somewhere north of where you live, and usually means a "cottage" on one of the Great Lakes) to my parents cottage.

When I called today, I felt a little like chatting. Over Memorial Day weekend, when Daughter and I went up north and spent an overnight, my dad and I were outside talking. He's a smoker and is not allowed to smoke in the house. While we were outside gossiping about the latest stupid thing my brother has done, my dad sneeks in a "I'm glad you're here, Dog" to me. We call each other "Dog" in kind of a Randy-Jackson-American-Idol way, but I gave him that nickname when I was a senior in high school 20 years ago...so i can't be accused of stealing it from Mr. Jackson. Anyway, I was really touched when my dad said it. I mean, I know he loves me but we're not close like we used to be. And despite anything he's done in the past, he's still my dad.

Today, I wanted to chat a little because yesterday, I went to the VFW hall that my grandpa belonged to (and where I spent a lot of time when I was a kid). My dad is a Vietnam veteran, and husband had asked yesterday what VFW that my dad belonged to -- I didn't know. I also found out yesterday that I could join the VFW that my grandpa was a member of -- I didn't know this either, and frankly, while I'm not all that into doing a bunch of activities at the VFW, it is one organization I would give gobs and gobs of money to if I could. So joining it and paying the membership dues is nothing I have a problem with, and I also would do it as a sort of tribute to my grandpa. While we were at the VFW, Husband also asked about the 21-gun salute my grandpa had at his graveside. Who performs this service? Again, I had no idea.

I figured my dad would know about this. During our conversation, I found out he was a member of a VFW post in Toledo, OH -- the same one his dad was a member of. His father was a POW during WWII, captured by the Germans and spent 2 years in a prison camp. His dad passed away probably around 18 years ago, in some military hospital. His dad was sort of insane (literally) and I was exposed to his nutty behavior when I was around 13 years old, when his dad came to live with us for a little while. I mean, he never did anything too weird (like in some creepy child predator sort of way), but he would just say off-the-wall shit sometimes, and once he was in the middle of our street in his pajamas with his arms spread like Jesus on the cross, shouting some crazy shit or something (this I did not actually see with my own eyes, only heard about when my mom was all "you need to get your crazy father out of our house before he does something really crazy".

I also found out that you just call you local VFW or American Legion and tell them you want a 21-gun salute at a veteran's funeral, and they send 7-10 guys and there you go. I didn't realize it was so easy -- I thought it was some super-secret government thing. Apparently not. My dad says something about having a 21-gun salute at his funeral, and I tell him that I'll make sure there is one because I have a feeling my mom isn't going to go that extra mile when he croaks. I know it sounds fucked up -- but just being honest, here.

So after chatting a bit, I wished my dad a Happy Father's Day and we told each other we loved each other. It was nice.

I'd also like to wish my grandpa a Happy Father's Day...even though he's been long gone. He's always in my thoughts and was the first father I ever knew. He was a dad to me because my biological father was a shithead and never stepped up to the plate. He was a dad to me before my current dad adopted me when he married my mom. He was the dad who bought me my first bicycle and taught me how to ride it. And he was the best dad ever.

I'd also like to wish a Happy Father's Day to Husband, being the father of my awesome kid. Without him, I would not have the person in this world I love the most.

Here's to hoping all of the fathers out there had a good day too. And may all the girls out there who need a father in their life, find one. Whether it be your grandpa, your mom's new husband, or another man in your life.

If Two Negatives Equal a Positive, Do Two Positives Equal a Negative?

2009-06-19T15:46:00.003-04:00

I guess you can say I have been fooling myself into believing that I can be a positive person.

Last week, Husband and I were getting ready to leave to go somewhere. As I was walking down the steps, I started complaining about someone. I can't even remember what I was saying or who I was saying it about -- that part is immaterial to this story. Husband then comes down the step and says something like "Is there anyone you like?" I said, "What do you mean? I'm a people-person, goddammit!" (In case you missed the reference, that was me quoting "Office Space". Husband and I are movie quoters.) He replies, "No you aren't. You hate people. You only like people who are dry and sarcastic, like you."

I can't tell you how much I was offended. I mean, DEEPLY offended. Then I thought about it. Was he right?

Tuesday this week, I posted my status on Facebook as "walking on sunshine." The previous day, I had posted my status as "Ugh...Monday" and being Tuesday, I was going to be funny and write "Ugh...Tuesday" (and then actually do the same for every other day of the week) but then I stopped myself. Why don't I post something positive for a change -- you know, put some positive energy out into the universe, so that maybe I could somehow convince myself that it was going to be a GREAT DAY!

Immediately after posting, SG at Perfectly Cursed Life emails me with the question "are you serious" (those were not her exact words but that is what she meant) regarding my Facebook status. You must understand -- she knows me well. She knows I'm not exactly Ms. Positivity. So I give her my explaination. Later in the day, another friend of my posts a comment on my status -- "WTF?!" I then texted my BFF Shannon, and told her about these two incidents. She sent me a text back and said she didn't know what was funnier -- my attempt at being "positive" or the fact that two of my friends were questioning it.

I guess I should just wear my cloak of sarcasm with dignity and pride. After all, it's what makes me who I am. And in case you forgot -- "I'm a people-person, goddammit!"

Many Apologies

2009-06-16T17:36:00.003-04:00

I just wanted to apologize for not having any new posts these past couple of weeks. Between studying AGAIN for the Bar exam, and not having anything interesting to say...my blog has suffered. Big-time frowny face.

Nothing exciting has happened in the past couple of weeks...it's been quite pathetic since I have nothing new to bitch about. I guess the most newsworthy events were:

I started a new medication, because the last one I was one was giving me anxiety and I couldn't take it anymore.

My friend, Jen, had her wedding last weekend and I managed to find a dress that was flattering and didn't cost an arm and a leg. *Hooray*

Daughter has started her summer vacation.

Husband had is 39th birthday last week (although, sadly, he tells everyone he works with he is a year younger...I mean -- what's the point? If you're going to lie about your age...LIE). It kinda grosses me out that I'm married to a man who will be 40 next year. (and I understand I am only one year younger...but still...ewwwww)

One thing that has bothered me today -- I have set iGoogle as my homepage at work, which allows me to Facebook, Twitter, check my email, read the news and other various things without having to do searches. I have set the header to show me something random each day. Today's freaking theme has been Celine Dion pictures. I want to jump out the window everytime I see her. I can't wait until the theme changes tomorrow! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT ABOUT? Celine Dion is awesome that she gets her own iGoogle templates (or whatever they're called?) Whoever made these things up should be shot.

Well, that's about it. See. I told you it was pathetic. That was five minutes of reading you'll never get back. And I am sorry for that.

I Think I Just Pissed My Pants From Laughing

2009-05-28T17:32:00.002-04:00

Courtesy of awkwardfamilyphotos.com, here's a laugh for today. (Oh, and PLEASE, I BEG YOU, check out this site. It's filled with so much awkward family goodness, I swear my pants are damp--and not in that way, you sicko.)

Please click me for Today's Laugh

P.S. Yes, this is my third blog post of the day, what-of-it?

Here We Go Again

2009-05-28T16:21:00.004-04:00

“Everytime I think I’m out, they pull me back in!”
--Godfather 3, Michael Corleone

Daughter got another fucking goldfish, y’all. She won him at her school fair a couple of weeks ago. Her last goldfish, Freddie Fishsticks, died back in February. Read his obituary here. After Freddie died, I threw out everything of his (which wasn’t much), because I was pretty sure we were not going to be getting another fish. A large bowl and some rocks went in the garbage because after all, he died in the bowl – but for some reason, I kept the food (must be the childhood lectures about never throwing out “good” food, even though who the fuck was going to eat the goldfish food?) Good thing I kept it though. It was one less thing I had to re-buy when she won this new one. Dammit. Just like Michael Corleone, I thought I was out of being a goldfish owner, but I got pulled back in!

This one is not one of your garden variety goldfishes – he’s orange/red and white and he has a little red slash of color on his top lip that reminds me of a moustache. Daughter named him “Red Lips” because of it. I know – it’s not a very sophisticated name, but what do you expect from a six-year-old? Freddie got a semi-cool name because I helped. I liked the double-Fs…you know, the alliteration of his name. I didn’t help this time. So, this morning, Daughter said his “full” name:

Swimmy Red Lips Fishsticks Coreleone

(well, it’s not “Coreleone” but we have an Italian last name,

so “Coreleone” is as good as a substitute for it as I can make up)

So there you go. Join me in welcoming Swimmy Red Lips Fishsticks to the family.

Vacation Recap: The Grand Finale

2009-05-28T15:49:00.002-04:00

Day Four: Sunday

I know I’m long overdue on this final chapter in my Vacation Recap. You’ll have to excuse me, because between my A.D.D. (which causes me to start all kinds of shit, but not finish nearly any of it), being irritable and homicidal, and THEN getting my Bar results…I haven’t felt much of any kind of happy needed to complete my recap.

Sunday was a lot like Saturday was – started with being out by the pool, and ogling Mr. Perfect for much of the day. Daughter got another full day of swimming in, I didn’t drink as much Smirnoff Ices and I stayed in the shade. I’m probably the only person who goes to Florida and comes back just as white as when I left (oh, except for my bright pink shoulders and back. Yeah. Typical white chick.)

My mom and I discussed what we were going to do for dinner that night, and decided we did not want to go wherever Auntie, the Greek Goddess and Brittney were going, because frankly, I was in the mood for a nice, juicy steak. Cooked medium and bleeding all over my plate, and I was sure that the Greek Goddess didn’t want to go to a steakhouse, and therefore, neither would any of us. I was not going to let her dictate where I was going for dinner AGAIN, so mom and I decided to go to one of the restaurants located on the condo property. We checked out the menu – where I saw they had a nice filet mignon (my favorite) and the decision was made. Done.

Auntie, in all of her Penny Pinching Glory kept asking us if we were going out for dinner. She wanted to make sure we ate the rotisserie chicken and leftovers (The Greek Goddess’ pasta salad and whatnot – apparently, she doesn’t eat leftovers). Oh and there was some instant mashed potatoes in the pantry she brought with her that we could eat too. And some Kraft Macaroni and Cheese for Daughter! I told my mom that I was #1) not cooking any fucking thing on my vacation, #2) I wanted a goddam steak for dinner and #3) Auntie could shove her instant mashed potatoes and leftover pasta salad up her tightwad ass. Mom was still smarting over the being ripped off part of her vacation, so she was an easy sell. We decided we were going to throw the chicken away behind Auntie’s back (and I said we should also throw the potatoes, the mac and cheese and the pasta salad away too).

We were finally able to sneak away from everyone and go have our nice dinner. After dinner, I took Daughter to the arcade that was on the condo property and let her wiz through $20 worth of tokens (not actual tokens, but they were on a card-thing that you swiped).

We got back to the room and everyone was gone. It was at this point when mom threw out the chicken and we had a good laugh. While she was doing it, she also threw out the rest of her beer and my Smirnoff Ices because no one was going to drink them – and my mom didn’t want to get blamed for encouraging underage drinking by leaving them for The Greek Goddess and Brittney. Apparently, a couple of summers ago, The Greek Goddess got shitfaced at my parents cottage on Lake Huron, while in the company of my brother. Auntie chewed my mom’s ass for “allowing” it to happen, even though she wasn’t there to supervise (nor should she have to – my dipshit brother should have known better. Truth be told, I would have let her get bombed too – I’m not that uptight. I mean, when I was 15 there was always an available adult to buy for me and let me get drunk and since the kid wasn’t driving anywhere, where’s the harm? Auntie didn’t quite see it that way, but whatever.) My mom didn’t want to have a repeat of underaged drinking being blamed on her so down the sink they went.

Fast forward to the next morning when Auntie discovers my mom has poured all of the available alcohol down the sink. SHE BLOWS A FUCKING NUT! It was classic because in the process, calls my mother “hateful” – which doesn’t quite make sense, because she said she was hateful because of my brother and father (both alcoholics). I don’t know how dumping out a few beers equates being hateful – but whatever. She tells my mom that maybe she wanted one of the beers…well, then Bitch. Go buy them yourself. My mom comes into the bedroom where I am (we’re packing up getting ready to leave and I’m all – What the Hell is going on?) and she tells me what just happened, i.e., the “hateful” comment. I tell my mom that since we paid for the alcohol, we have every right to pour it down the sink, take a bath in it, brush our teeth with it, or do whatever we damn well please with it, and Auntie can go fuck herself over this whole thing. I was so over this vacation it wasn’t even funny.

Auntie dropped us at the airport with no further incidents. There were no masked girls sitting in front of us, so there were no fake sneezes or coughs. I just couldn’t wait to get home and be done with this vacation already.

I am so pissed at my Aunt I could smack her. Best thing is The Greek Goddess’ high school graduation is this weekend and I’ll be forced to endure an afternoon with Auntie again. Will the fun ever end?

The Third Time Was Not The Charm

2009-05-20T15:10:00.003-04:00

Got my Bar exam results in the mail today.

I failed it again. For the third time.

I can't even describe the level of overwhelming failure, depression, and anger I am feeling right now. Nor do I really feel like it.

I'm just wondering if I should quit taking it -- you know, three strikes and you're out -- or if I should try one more time. Right now, I feel conflicted. I don't want to give up, because it's not like me to be a quitter. But then again, who am I trying to kid? It's obvious I'll never pass the fucking thing. EVER. At least not with a better game plan.

GODAMMMOTHERFUCKINGSHITCHRISTBITCHWHOREPISSFUCKINGASSHOLE. I hate my life right now.

Who do I have to blow around here to pass this motherfucker? Honestly.

Look It Up and Be In Wonder Of God's Miracles...

2009-05-19T14:54:00.001-04:00

Last night I was flipping through the channels look for something to watch. I really wanted to watch Scrubs, but WGN is still showing the episodes I’ve seen 400 times. When I saw that last night, I wanted to go off on my rant again, but at this point, why bother? It’s obvious they haven’t read my strongly worded letter yet.

Because of the WGN situation, I was forced to check my standby stations. Some of my standby channels are: VH1 (which was showing Daisy of Love or Charm School – and while I’m usually a sucker for both of these shows, I’ve sworn off Daisy of Love because not only is Daisy annoying as fuck, but the guys they picked for her are even more annoying than she is. I’ve also decided not to watch Charm School, because half the girls are from Real Chance at Love and I didn’t watch that one. Plus, I’ve over the whole Charm School concept, after tuning into the first one with Monique). Anyways, since VH1 came up snakeyes, I tried the Food Network, Biography Channel, BBC America, Discovery Channel, TLC and QVC. All were showing nothing I was overly interested in. I was left to surfing the remaining channels, in the hopes I could find something.

I came across the Farrah Fawcett documentary (“Farrah’s Story”) on her battle with cancer on Bravo. As a little kid, I was a Farrah fan. I watched “Charlie’s Angels” and I even had one of those busts of Farrah where you could style her beautiful feathered hair and put makeup on her. I know they still make these types of toys – although certainly not Farrah anymore. Today they’re some Bratz incarnation where the doll looks like a whore instead of a wholesome, All-American cheerleader in the form of feathered-haired-perfect-teeth-beautifully-blonde Farrah.

I remember getting the Farrah bust for Christmas one year and nearly dying over it because I loved playing with it. I also remember being super pissed at my mom that year because she made me share it with her boyfriend du jour and his two daughters, who I swear, fucked up Farrah’s hair. Or used all of the purple eyeshadow, or some other heinous crime. Anyway—I’m getting away from the topic at hand.

I decided to watch a bit of the documentary because I was curious. Howard Stern had been talking about it all week last week – his comments were specifically on how it’s sad how Farrah is dying of cancer, and he wondered on why someone would want to film the battle in all its graphic detail. He wondered if she was so hungry for fame, that she’d stoop to filming her horrific battle for a last morsel of attention. I doubted that she filmed it because of a sick quest for fame – I believe she filmed it because it’s something that no one has done before, or at least no one famous and in such a graphic manner. I’m pretty sure she wanted to show how cancer attacks and makes you a shell of the person you once were. At one point in the documentary, her voiceover was talking about how cancer robbed her of the life she used to have – the life that she took for granted, and how much she wanted to fight to get that life back so she could appreciated it this time around.

I didn’t watch the whole thing because I ended up going to bed around midnight and there was still an hour left. But I have to admit, it affected me – and not for the obvious reasons. Yes, Farrah Fawcett has a special place in my childhood, and yes, her battle with cancer is both fascinating and heartbreaking. But what affected me was that it reminded me of the battle my mom had with a disease called Amyloidosis. My mom sort of looks like Farrah Fawcett – she’s a beautiful petite, blue-eyed, blonde with a pretty smile – which is what first made me think of her while watching Farrah’s story. Amyloidosis is a very rare blood disease that is treated in a number of ways – mainly with chemotherapy. My mom found out she had this disease during my first year of law school. She got very sick, and was in the hospital for months. She underwent chemotherapy, lost a bunch of weight (she was already thin to begin with, but probably got down to about 100 lbs.), lost a lot of her beautiful, thick blonde hair, and also underwent a stem cell transplant. Most people don’t even know they have amyloidosis until it’s too late, because the symptoms usually point to other problems. For example, with my mom, it started with her ankles swelling up. The doctors all thought something was wrong with her liver, and she underwent a million tests on her liver (with the final one being a biopsy). Nope, no cancer…but finally one of the doctors recognized it was amyloidosis.

What I remember most during her diagnosis and treatment was all of the stress I was under. I know it sounds selfish, but picture this – I started law school when Daughter was 8 months old. By January of that first school year, my mom was in the hospital. She was the primary person that was helping with Daughter, because Husband was a new father and like all new fathers, was a bit of a dipshit when it came to babies. I couldn’t really visit my mom all that much in the hospital, because I was working full-time during the day, went to classes Monday-Thursday evenings, and then tried to study and do all of my homework on the weekends (besides still trying to be a mom and wife). Plus, because of the chemo and stem cell transplant, my mom was uber-sensitive to germs, and we all know babies who go to daycare are germ factories. So it was probably best I didn’t visit her, in case I was incubating some germ that would kill her.

She got out of the hospital in March, and then was basically under house arrest for 90 days. She wasn’t really allowed to got out in public, again for fear that germy people would expose her to a cold or something, which would be fatal. Through the whole thing, I did talk to her on the phone a lot, and she sort of lost her marbles for a time being. She talked a lot about God, and how she was going to survive and all of that. She really did have a great mental attitude, even if she was a little bit loopy (seriously, she was kind of spooky-crazy. Difficult to describe, just trust me on this one.) Of course, she tried to mask the seriousness of her condition from me, because she’s a mom and that’s what mom’s do. They try and protect you from the truth and try to make you not afraid. By then, though, I was a grown woman and therefore, not stupid or immune to the seriousness of her condition. I mean, come on, mom. I’m just one of those people who keeps all fear and emotions bottled up. So just because I’m not balling my eyes out or babbling on over how scared I am, doesn’t mean I’m not scared shitless that you’re gonna die and not see your granddaughter grow up. I just choose to stick my head in the sand and not face it until it’s absolutely necessary.

And in case you’re wondering – my mom is definitely 100% cured, even though every now and then she gets scared that amyloidosis is going to come back (or that the damage it caused to her liver and heart will become serious). She’s gained back the weight she lost and pretty much looks the same as she did before she got sick. The only real difference, which is not really noticeable to the outside world, is that her hair is so much thinner now. Like I described, her hair was so thick (I mean, I’ve never known anyone to have such thick hair as she did) and it was so blonde and pretty. I always envied her blonde hair (I have to highlight mine to get it anywhere near blonde, whereas hers was natural). Although she doesn’t have a bald spot or anything, if you touch her hair now, it’s baby fine and thin. It makes me think of Farrah and her world-renowned blonde hair, and how much it was her identify, and now, in her last stages of cancer, she’s probably bald. Oh, the sad irony.

Anywhoosit, from what I understand, most people die from amyoidosis, because it attacks your organs (with my mom it started in her liver, damaging that along with her heart). People much older and weaker than my mom find out they have it – thus cannot survive the aggressive treatment of chemotherapy or the stem cell transplant, and instead just take medications that treat the symptoms and not the disease – and then die not too long after their diagnosis. However, 6 years ago, my mom was 48 and was determined to treat it with the most aggressive means. I also know that most people do not survive amyloidosis after five years, but this summer will by my mom’s 6th year being totally “cured”. She is a walking miracle. And in case I ever forget this tidbit – she reminds me all the time. As an example, I texted her while I was writing this because I couldn’t remember the name of the disease:

Me: What was the name of your disease again? I forget.
Mom: Amyloidosis. Rare blood disease. Look it up and be in wonder of God’s miracles.

Yeah. So, y’all. Look it up and be in wonder of God’s miracles. Sorry, I’m being sarcastic here, even though I really am thankful to God that she survived the disease in order to torture me on a daily basis with The Crazy. Really. I swear.

Keep Hope Alive!

2009-05-18T14:53:00.004-04:00

I know I have not finished my vacation recap yet, but I’ve had a few other things on my mind that I need to write down, so here I am.

If you know me personally, you know that I struggle with trying to remain “positive”, even though I’d consider sarcasm and negativity as something that I’ve developed since puberty as a means of self-defense, self-preservation, and overall, a means to deal with all The Crazy that I have to deal with in my life (and if you only know me through this blog, you also know that dealing with The Crazy is not easy, and I have my days where I snap and the negativity takes over).

Definition of The Crazy
Pronunciation: thə \ˈkrā-zē\
Function: noun
(1) My family (mostly having to do with My Mother, but also includes My Brother, My Dad and all of the other extended family members that I choose not to speak to or include in my life because they’re truly nuts);
(2) My depression issues (which is mostly controlled nicely by pharmaceuticals, although since I switched meds in November/December, I have noticed I am having a harder time controlling my anger – NOT GOOD – but so far, I haven’t killed anyone, so we will consider that a “win”);
(3) My A.D.D. issues (which again, are supposedly being controlled by the new medication, although I can’t decide whether it’s working or not and would just rather go back on my old meds).

This morning, on my drive into work, I was listening to The Morning Jolt with Larry Flick and Keith Price, on Sirius OutQ. You know I love this morning show, since I’ve mentioned it before in my blog. I came to their discussion topic right in the middle, however, what I gleamed was they were talking about things that make you feel hopeful. One woman called into the show and said that she stopped watching the evening news, and stopped reading the newspaper, because all of the news is always so depressing. Apparently, she read my rant and agreed with me (and I guess I’m not so crazy after all). Anywhose, I started thinking about things that made me feel hopeful – which being who I am and being forced to deal with The Crazy on a daily basis – sometimes is not the easiest thing to do.

At first, the only thing I could think of that made me feel hopeful, was Daughter. Recently, I’ve noticed she has started developing her sense of humor in a more clever way (and not just in that little-kid way where poop jokes are funny or where knock-knock jokes are funny). This is demonstrated by the way she taunted Husband during our most recent game of Rock-Paper-Scissors, where she was clucking like a chicken and egging him on. I love watching her personality develop and I love spending time with her. Now it’s twice as better because she’s funny. I made this remark to Husband this weekend and he said “You didn’t think she’d grow up in THIS house without forming some sort of twisted sense of humor, did you?” (And no, I didn’t think so. But it’s nice to be reassured that she’s going to understand and appreciate our sarcasm and dark senses of humor. *WHEW*)

Then I realized the sun was shining, I was alert and awake (relatively), and I was healthy (again, relatively). Not too shabby, and good reasons to feel hope in my heart. I hoped the weather would stay sunny, that I would stay alert and awake (and just in case I did, I had a whole stock of 5-hour-energy drinks thanks to Walgreen’s Buy 2, get 1 free sale this weekend), and I hoped my health would stay good.

As my thoughts grew deeper, and I passed over the superficial stuff like the sunshine and being alive (and by superficial, I mean – those are all typical things people are happy about – “well, be happy you woke up this morning!”….check), I started to think of things that made me feel hopeful:

1. Music makes me feel hopeful. Especially any kind of dance or pop music. It’s just fun and easy and you don’t have to think too hard about it. I know a few people who are very serious about music and would scoff at my love of Britney or the Black Eyed Peas or whoever. I want to tell them to get over themselves, because it’s not like music is going create world peace or feed the starving children in Africa. Well, unless your Bono or you bought “We are the World.” And that wasn’t a knock because I love Bono, and I enjoyed “We are the World” and Live Aid when I was in 8th Grade.

2. Pharmaceutical drugs make me feel hopeful. Laugh all you want at that one, but it’s a good thing I didn’t become a pharmacist, because I would be stealing from the pharmacy like nobody’s business. I love anti-depressants, Xanax and Ambien. Without those drugs, my life would be HELL. Me AND a bunch of my friends. Oh, and you can’t forget birth control pills (thank you Seasonique for my 4 periods a year) and my thyroid meds (without which, I’m sure I would have died or something).

3. Technology makes me feel hopeful. Husband and I were talking about this yesterday. Well, not technology in general – we were talking about cell phones. The conversation when something like this:

Him: Who knew that cell phones would be so popular as they are.
Me: I know. I know people who get satellite TV on their cell phones. And who knew you’d use it for more than making a phone call.
Him: You can’t even leave home without it now.
Me: Pretty soon they’ll do everything for you – like they’ll cook dinner someday.
Him: *laughs*

He laughed because it’s probably true. Like you’ll press a button and your food will be beamed right to you from somewhere. Punch up McDonalds and *beam* there’s your Big Mac and fries. Hey, it could happen. If they can make cats and dogs glow in the dark, your cell phone will be able to cook your dinner someday. Mark my words.

4. Summertime makes me feel hopeful. I’m so glad the weather is getting nicer. Because it’s about time. I know we still have a little ways to go before we go into full-on Summer, but these 60-degree days filled with sunshine sure are nice. I am one of those people that stops wearing a jacket about mid-March, just daring Mother Nature to give me cold weather. I love when the Ice Cream Man comes to the neighborhood, and I love opening the windows in my house. It’s nice to hear the birds singing in the morning, and to breathe in that fresh cool morning air while laying in bed. Of course, pretty soon the weather will get too hot to leave the windows open, but I decided last year that I love the summer – even the humid 98-degree days where I stick to everything. Sure beats the snow and grey days.

5. The Red Wings make me feel hopeful. This one might sound corny, but I have had a thought during the last several playoff games I’ve watched (which I’ll share in a minute). If you’ve ever been to Joe Louis Arena during the playoffs, it’s certainly a special place to be. It has this electricity running through it that is hard to describe unless you’ve experienced it. Since Husband and I could not afford to buy playoff tickets this year, we are forced to watch the games from the comfort of our living room – and watching the past couple of games (WINS) gave me the aforementioned thought: For all of the shitty news coming out of Detroit (Chrysler filing for bankruptcy, the fears that GM will soon follow suit, the high unemployment rate, people losing their homes due to foreclosure, etc. etc. etc.), you’d never know it looking at the people at The Joe. The Red Wings make people forget the shit all around them for a few hours and gives them a reason to smile and give high-fives and shout “Woooooo!”. The excitement is enough to give you a heart attack (especially game 7s, when the score is tied until the last three minutes of the game) – but the excitement is also enough to make you believe that everything will be OK with the world.

What makes you feel hopeful?