Get Your Grubby, Little Hands Off My Balls!!

So, I don't believe in Christmas.  You know, the whole Jeebus being born in a manger and three wise men traveling from afar to bring some of the lamest gifts I've ever fucking heard of.  But, I do like the secular part of Christmas.  The tree, the lights, the awesome as shit food.  You know, the pagan part.  I love looking at decorating magazines for new ideas and I love all different types of tree ideas from traditional to modern.  I plan how my tree is going to look, I think of spray painting my own ornaments, or stringing cranberries and popcorn.  I imagine the cute little packages I will make, wrapped up in newsprint, leaves and twigs.  Then I start scouring the internet for other ideas.  Fruit bowls, centerpieces, candy dishes.  Oh, how I love the decorating part!!  At night, I dream about how beautiful my Christmas tree will be with Waterford ornaments, their crystals dancing in the white lights.  Gorgeous organza ribbon flowing from the top.  A beautiful hand blown glass tree topper standing majestically where most would place a star.  My dream tree is amazing, magazine worthy, something to be proud of.  You know what though?  I don't have that tree.  I have kids instead.  They love Christmas decorating too.  A lot.  Unfortunately, they are not old enough to have any sense of style or symmetry.  They are also unaware of the word tacky.  They love the most fugly ornaments, cheesy garland, shitty ass toppers and gaudy lights.  I, fortunately, put my foot down with the lights.  White or nothing, people.  And no blinking, chasing or whatever the hell else they do.  I know, I am a bitter bitch.  Anyway, I allow the kids to decorate and I swear to Fuck, my tree looks like it has been decorated by elves that reside in a mental institution.  There is no rhyme or reason to where the ornaments are placed.  Every goddamn red ball is at the bottom, most of which have been shoved on to one branch.  We have a shitload of little, sparkly stars littering the mid-section (in no particular pattern), not enough little plastic icicles around the bottom, a hundred different balls made from all kinds of weird materials.  I just threw the lights on because, really, what's the point?  Today, I actually found a stuffed animal shoved into the tree as an ornament, a guinea pig I think.  For some reason it reminded me of the groundhog from "Caddy Shack" and made me laugh a little, but at the same time it completely crushed any hope I had of actually having a somewhat decent tree.  The thing that kills me the most though, is that they WILL NOT STOP TOUCHING IT.  You would think that the novelty would wear off over time.  Yeah, no.  I think it may actually get a little worse every day.  They play around it, under it, put their hands through it, take ornaments off, put random shit on.  The tree has been up for 2 days and we have had 3 broken balls already (cheap, shitty ones, but still).  And through it all, I TRY to keep my cool.  They are kids.  It's a fuckin' tree.  Right in the middle of the living room.  What would I expect to happen?  Of course, I am not always able to chill about the fucking tree.  "Don't touch it.  DON'T TOUCH IT!!  STOP TOUCHING IT!!"  Then the idle threats start.  "Next year, maybe we won't have a tree!!"  "I swear!!  I will take that fucking thing down if you do not GET YOUR HANDS OFF!!"  "Holy JEEBUS!!!  I am going to GATE YOU IN THE KITCHEN!!  Now get in your crates until Christmas is over!!"  Then the fire starts pouring out of my mouth until they finally run away.  It doesn't matter, they always come back.
     Now, I know I could just wait a little longer to put the tree up, so just shut your mouth right there.  The thing is, I LIKE THE TREE GODDAMN IT!!  I want it up.  I should have it up.  Because I am the most important, and I should have everything I want, as I want.  Next year, I will get my beautiful tree.  I will.  Because Imma get shock collars for my children.  If that doesn't work, Christmas camp.  Sucha place has to exist.  Oh shit, there goes another ball...          

Oh What A Beautiful Day It Iiiiiisss...Is There A Sale Going On??

I have mentioned a few times in previous posts that I like to shop and get a little high from it.  That right there is a little bit of a lie.  I really, REALLY LOVE to shop and when I say I get a little high, I mean I actually have a physical and emotional reaction when I shop.  Especially if I am getting a really great deal on something.  Before I go into that part of it, let me give a short history.
     When I was a kid we did not have a lot of money.  My parents shopped a lot of yard sales for our clothes and we got a lot of hand-me-downs from people at our church.  If we did go to a store for clothing, it was Walmart or K-mart or some place comparable.  Just to clarify, I did not feel bad or ashamed about these things as a kid.  I actually never really thought about it.  It was just the way things were.  As I grew older, my parents split up and money was tighter than ever with my mom being our main provider.  I started to become more aware of what other people were wearing, but still was okay with shopping sales, not having name brands and getting hand-me-downs.  I just didn't have a whole lot of clothes, but I had enough.  Once I was 12 I started to babysit and make MONEY!!  Oh precious money, how I love thee!  Where have you been all my life?  Wanna know what my hard earned babysitting money towards?  Two things.  Clothes and shitty food.  Imma stick to the clothes in this post though.  The food DEFINITELY deserves its own stage.  Anyway, clothes.  When I had money it took me less than 24 hours to spend it.  Every dime I made went to clothing or treats of some sort.  When I was old enough to get a job I worked at a clothing store.  Wanna know where my money went?  Right back to my job.  It was crazy.  I loved, loved, loved SHOPPING and getting something NEW!  I was a good shopper too.  I always looked on clearance racks and always tried to get the most for my money.  I would buy things that would coordinate with other outfits for versatility and I didn't bother with too many accessories or shoes.  Most things I bought could go with one or two pairs of shoes.  This went on all through high school and right up until the point when I met my future husband.  Once we met and eventually moved in together, we couldn't necessarily shop that way anymore.  We had rent, car payment, food.  You know, normal expenses.  But, the shopping problem didn't really go away, it just evolved.  I couldn't just go out whenever I wanted and drop 50 bucks in a clothing store.  However, I could go and spend up to $5 on a new lipstick or some eye shadow.  Sometimes I would go buy a pack of gum, just so I could buy something, anything.  At one point I was working at a sporting goods store that sold shoes and apparel.  I would scour the clearance items to find the best deals so that I could have something new.  One time I actually got a pair of cross trainers for $1.97.  $1.97!!!  That is fucking INSANE!!  When I found those shoes I got so fucking high, like drug high.  I could actually feel myself getting happier.  One little, teeny problem with getting high, even if it is not from drugs.  You always have to come down.  After I bought those shoes, I didn't care about them anymore.  Not that I didn't wear them, but I don't think I had them for that long and the high didn't last long enough for me to not want to buy something else the next day.  It never does.
     So, now we are going to skip ahead to a couple of years ago when the economy was at its peak.  Things were great.  My husband was doing well at work, money was good, we had three beautiful children.  Times were great.  But I was a complete shopaholic.  I found any reason I could to go out shopping.  "The girls need hair clips."  "I need a new raincoat."  "I need 6 new bras."  "My underwear don't fit anymore."  "It's raining, there is nothing else to do."  "It's Tuesday."  The list of reasons were endless and I just kept shopping and buying and consuming.  It was terrible.  I was still shopping my sales and clearance racks, but what does it matter if you are still SPENDING?!   I was still getting high as a kite off the deals too.  I can't even really describe it.  When I find a deal so amazing, my body starts to shake and I seriously feel a little dizzy.  My brain feels light.  I feel euphoric.  I have actually been high on drugs and I don't even think I felt as good doing that as I did shop, shop, shopping.  Probably because in my warped and twisted mind I felt like shopping wasn't hurting anyone and drugs were illegal and BAD.  Unfortunately, shopping was hurting someone.  It was hurting me.  When the economy finally tanked, as economies can and will do, there was really no adjustment period.  It was like one day I was shooting up Heroin and the next day I couldn't even get to a Methadone clinic.  I didn't know what to do, where to go, how to just be.  I don't even think I knew who I was without shopping.  I mean, I shopped for fun.  It was fun to me.  What was I going to do without that rush?  How was I going to cope?  What would fill the VOID???  Luckily, I am VERY resourceful.  I can always find something to fill any void with some other self-annihilating behavior.
     Needless to say, I don't shop that often anymore.  I still have the impulse though.  When I have even the slightest bit of extra money, I want to spend it.  In my brain I know it is not worth it, I actually abhor it, but it is still there nagging away, tugging at my brain.  "You need to buy something, you deserve it, it's Friday."  I don't know if it will ever go away, but I sure as hell hope so because I will need some serious help if...wait, isn't today Black Friday?                      

Could You Please Pass The Turkey Leg?

Aaaaah!!  Thanksgiving is here and even as hatey and pessimistic as I am, I can't help but be excited for the feast that is about to commence.  The holiday itself makes me cringe, but the food!  Oh how lovely!  Turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, green bean casserole, spicy corn, mmmmmmmmm.  All the nasty ass food I miss and only allow myself to have once a year.  Well, twice.  Christmas too.  Okay, maybe three times if I'm lucky.  But that's it, I swear.  Tomorrow I will reward all my hard work on my body by gorging myself.  I will top my shitty dinner rolls with turkey and potatoes and smother my concoction in butter and gravy.  I will happily create the perfect ham sandwich with potato bread smeared generously with mayo.  I will stir my stuffing into my green bean casserole and add extra french fried onions just because that's how I roll.  Then, once I have to either unbutton my pants or change into pajamas from being thoroughly stuffed, I will cut myself a huge piece of pumpkin pie and load it up with fake whipped topping.  Fat?  Calories?  Chemicals?  Starch?  As far as I am concerned they don't exist on Thanksgiving.  It's gonna be CRAPTASTIC.  Finally, just to make sure I didn't miss out on anything, just to be certain that I consume enough calories that it will take the whole month of December to burn them off, just to be absofuckinglutely POSITIVE that I won't crap for a week, I will wash everything down with a buttload of beer and beach myself on my couch.  Because really, isn't that what Thanksgiving is all about?  Happy Thanksgiving!!

Oh, I'm Only 16

When was the first time you realized you were getting older?  When you were 22?  27?  30?  Yeah, I just realized it tonight.  I am sitting on my couch, watching a show and one of the guest actors is someone that was in the movie "Braveheart".  No big deal, right?  Um, yeah.  Yeah it is a big deal.  This was someone I thought was HAWT when that movie came out.  And now?  Old and fat.  And old.  And FAT.  So, I turned to my husband in amazement and point at the TV.  "Do you know who the fuck that is?  Do you know?"  Yep, he knows.  "Honey, that guy used to be HAWT!  He was H.O.T.!!"  <nodding> "He is OLD!!  And FAT!!"  <more nodding>  And then, the thing I had no interest in hearing.  "Yeah, we're old."  And there it was.  The words just hung in the air, echoing.  Old, old, old, old.  I felt like I had been punched in the chest, my mortality thrown in my face.  When the fuck did this happen and why wasn't I informed?  It seems like just yesterday my dad was throwing me around in the pool and teaching me how to swim.  I know it couldn't have been that long ago that my brothers and I were walking to the creek by my grandmother's house and swinging on the rope swing made from a fire hose.  It definitely has only been a couple of years since I was pool hopping around town in the public pools with my friends.  And graduation?  That totally just happened yesterday.  So, you see, there must be something wrong with that actor because I am just barely out of high school.  No, no.  Don't try to use logic with me.  I know how many kids I have.  I know I have made a life with my husband.  But where did all those years go?  They're just gone and it happened so fast I didn't even see it.
     If I could go back and talk to that young girl I used to be, I would tell her to stop and look around and not to worry so much about things that don't matter.  I would show her all the beautiful things she missed the first time because she was so wrapped up in her shit and sadness and guilt.  I would let her know that she is beautiful and smart and fun, no matter what anyone says.  But, you know what else I would tell her?  "Hey, you might wanna rethink that cigarette.  And maybe get off the couch and get a little exercise.  Oh, and seriously?  Put down the fuckin' doughnut and walk away.  You've already had 6.  Someday you will be watching a program on TV and see a guy who used to be HOT and he will be OLD and FAT."  But I can't.  That girl is gone and all that is left is the sum of her experiences.  All I can do now is move forward and try as hard as I can to stop every once in awhile, look around and appreciate everything that is wonderful and beautiful in this stress ball we call life. There is no reason to freak out at the most trivial things.  It doesn't all have to be bad or constricting.  Most of the time life can be fun and entertaining if we let it.  There is so much to hold on to, even if it is only for a second.  
     

Little Bits Of Trash

Why are kids so destructive?  I don't mean in the normal kid way.  Well, maybe I do, but what is it about them that just makes them want to DESTROY??  Maybe it's just mine, but I swear to the Flying Spaghetti Monster, it makes me want to break shit!
     I can clean a room like nobody's business and 3 days later walk into a bomb site.  Stuffed animals everywhere, crayons, little, teeny, tiny bits of paper that have been meticulously torn to shreds.  What the fuck, man?  My computer chair has been reduced to a cardboard bottom with a fake ass leather coating due to the padding being pulled out over time.  Every time I go into the basement, I find little pieces of  foam strewn all over the carpet.  Poor chair.  What did it ever do to them to deserve such poor treatment?  It makes me want to cry and throw the kids away.  Maybe I can still put them up for adoption.  Of course, if I did that, they would be returned to me within hours as they would just go and destroy their new mother's home.
     I have finally become the mother I never wanted to be.  Uptight, but also resigned.  I don't even bother saying anything about most stuff anymore, but totally freak out every once in awhile when it becomes too much for me to take.  I know my kids are going to grow up thinking I am bi-polar and tell their friends that their mother is a complete fucking loon and needs to be put away.  "Mom.  What are you doing?  Put the chair down and just back away."  Some day, when it's legal, I am going to take up pot smoking.  Then I really won't care.  I will probably think it is rather funny and laugh at the crazy shit those little bastards tear up.  That is, until they have me committed and I can no longer have a joint when I feel overwhelmed.  Hmmmm...that might be a plan.  Get committed, be alone.  No more basement, no more toys, no more little bits of crayon wrappers to clean up!  Imma start working on that RIGHT NOW!!

Like A Bull In A China Shop

I have this weird thing I do that I only tell so many people about because it seems kind of crazy to me.  However, I do know I am not the only one who thinks like this, which sorta makes me feel better, but not really.  I have a tendency to imagine myself causing catastrophes.  Not like blowing stuff up or anything, just little, minor shit.  And I don't imagine myself doing things out of menace, more like fear that I will suddenly go crazy, lose control and start sweeping my arm across a shelf in the grocery store, throwing everything to the ground or break every TV in an electronics store with a sledgehammer.  The biggest thoughts I have though, are about myself.  I have a fear of heights, especially when I am near an edge or can see the great chasm below, like through glass.  I am so, so afraid of falling and plummeting to my death.  But...I have that THING too.  I feel like I am just going to jump off, like I just suddenly will have no choice in the matter and my body will be compelled to go right.over.the.edge.  So, the most odd thing about this (as if it isn't odd enough) is that while I am gripped with fear, I also get a little thrill from it.  In a scary kinda way.  It's funny too because I have absolutely no fucking desire to sky dive, cliff dive, base jump, Rappel, nothing.  The thought of doing those things makes me want to vomit.  Even the strange thrill I get from just thinking about what would happen if I lost control and jumped makes me feel ill, like the thrill itself is overstimulating.  I don't need that much to get a little high.  I get high from exercise, shopping a sale, being around friends, so I guess the high from imagining myself being hurled off a cliff, grasping for anything to save me gives me a rush that is too much to handle.
     Another rush I get that is similar is from seeing an accident while it is occurring.  I have only witnessed a few in my life, but I feel like I have been in more than a normal person should experience in a lifetime.  I mean, aren't there people that have never been in one?  I have been in at least 8.  That number seems to be a little high to me.  The first memory I have of any near death experience in a car was not actually an accident, but I find it frightening as an adult.  My father was borrowing someone's car and we were at the drive-through at a bank.  My father noticed the paint peeling off the hood of the car and as we waited for the teller to complete our transaction, he got out to investigate.  When he opened the hood, a flame shot up from the engine.  The teller was freaking the fuck out of course, my mom was screaming and all I remember doing was sitting there watching in amazement as my dad BLEW IT OUT.  He claims that he prayed and God <snort> gave him the ability to blow it out, but whatever.  I was maybe 5 at the time.  Since then, I have seen cars on fire and I just can't turn away.  That THING takes hold and won't let me move on and erase.  Same with accidents.  If I see an almost accident, I feel myself bracing for the thrilling end.  When I hear tires squeal like they are trying desperately to stop, I am listening, almost...wishing to hear the crash.  But, when I actually see an accident I get the initial thrill,  then soon after feel that sick feeling and wish I never would have seen it.  I just saw something happen recently in stopped traffic.  It was so odd.  A car passed me on the left and then came to a halt just like everyone else about 5 or 6 cars ahead of me.  Then, out of nowhere, I saw the car speeding to the right up a grassy hill right into a light pole.  I just watched the light pole fold in half as if made of cardboard and land in the road.  I think I even said, "holy shit".  It was horrible and awesome at the same time.
     I know these seem like morbid thoughts.  I mean, they are.  But I just can't help myself.  I am who I am and have to accept them as a part of me.  I just hope I never walk into a shop full of crystal and start breaking shit.

Hatey Hater That Hates

Do you ever wake up in the morning just hating everyone and everything around you for no apparent reason.  I woke up that way this morning and have not been able to get myself out of my shit all day.  It sucks too because the things I hate are lame.  "Stupid dishes staring at me with such contempt and judgment.  I hate you."  "Fucking lawn crew with their obnoxious lawn mowers.  Go to Hell, fuckers."  "Dumb dog taking a shit outside.  So fucking narcissistic and pretentious.  Go fuck yourself."  I get like this and then spend the entire day hoping that I will fell better, but I never do.  Every teeny bit of hate just makes me feel a little more and more until I finally blow up at one of my kids or my husband.  "WHY on earth are you making that noise with your foot???  STOP IT!!"  "STOP PLAYING NICELY!!!  Are you TRYING to piss me off???"  "No more BREATHING!!  It is going to make me insane!!"  Then, because I hate everything else, the self-hatred sets in.  Why can't I be nice?  Why do I have to be so negative?  Why is November such a stupid month?  Okay, so I just threw in that last thing because I had to reiterate my hatred for November.  But, even that makes me feel the self-loathing because I just can't get over it.  Anyway, back to just general hating.  So, I get into this hating funk and I am torn.  I feel nasty for hating but it also makes me feel kind of good.  Like I have been holding my hatred at bay and it just needs to come out.  The only problem is, it comes out inappropriately and is totally misdirected.  Like towards EVERYTHING instead of maybe the one or two things that are really bothering me.  I also end up expecting everyone to either know how shitty I feel or feel just as shitty and when they don't, I want to stab them in the ear with an ice pick or, at the very least, punch them in the nut sack.  The only thing that keeps me from going completely off my rocker is the hope that I will wake up in a better mood tomorrow, which is usually the case.  Until then though, everyone needs to stay the fuck outta my way if they don't want to end up in a ditch.
     So, lesson for today, everyone that knows me needs to become a mind reader, all people in my life should kiss my ass every single day, just in case I am in a hatey mood and I am the most important person in the Universe.  Class dismissed.

Extra!! Extra!!

     Human beings are so frackin' weird.  Individuals can be interesting, fun and cool, but as a whole, people are just strange.  Take, for example, the things we find interesting enough to read in the so called "news".  "Woman Lives in Museum for a Month".  This is about a woman who entered some contest where the winner got to live in a museum for 30 days with access to everything in the museum.  At first glance, kinda cool.  Then reality hits.  Why are people interested in hearing about a woman sleeping in a museum for 30 days?  Who gives a shit?  Why do I care about this?  It is creepy and, to be honest, BOOOOORRRRRIIIIIIING!!  "Ex-'Bachelorette' has baby".  UGH!!!  Not only do I not watch this show, but WHY is this considered news???  WHO CARES?  Why is precious time and energy being wasted on un-news like this?  "Tourists Flock to Real Life Potter Grave".  Now, there are two things that are going on here that bother me.  One, it is being passed off as news.  Two, people are FLOCKING to a grave because the name of the REAL PERSON was Harry Potter????  I.Am.Confused.  WTF??  Are people just so fucking bored with their humdrum lives that they will attach themselves to ANYTHING for a little excitement?  I mean, I admit to being lonely and bored, but I can tell you that I am not about to go visit Harry Potter's grave, or even care enough to read about it.  That is just lame.  I would rather be crying in my beer all alone for the rest of my life than to jump on that bandwagon.
     I am getting tired of news all together, mostly because I.Just.Don't.Care.  Every day, we are completely overwhelmed by shit trying to be passed as relevant.  Most of the shit out there is not important, over sensationalized and does not personally affect me in any way whatsoever.  It is depressing.  It is distracting.  It is a detour from the road of our normal, every day lives.  I really do not think we are meant to know THAT MUCH about the world outside of our own and certainly not the trite shit that is being put out there.  I do not give a flying fuck about the boy who's bake sale got shut down because he didn't have a permit.  I really don't want to hear about the "Tricky issues" for the Royal Wedding.  How much time are people wasting reading about Ryan Seacrest's girlfriend "gushing".  Gross.  And honestly, what does it matter if I can or can't pass a citizenship test?  I AM A CITIZEN SO IT DOESN'T!!  The day that my citizenship is revoked, I PROMISE, I will study and take the test.  But until then, it just doesn't matter.  We all need to get lives and find something more important to do.  Like posting on a blog so others can read our trivial bullshit! 
 

Duelling Banjos Anyone?

     I have been giving something A LOT of thought, probably for, oh I don't know, 5 years maybe.  You know how "mountain people" are kinda crazy and do weird shit and are just the teeniest, tiniest bit scary?  Yeah, I think I am starting to understand how and why they become that way.
     I moved to the Kuntry from a very populated area about 5 years ago.  Of course, I did it for the kids.  I hate kuntry life.  I would much rather live in the city, not have a car, be a total snob.  Or be stabbed in the eye with a number 2 pencil.  Whichever.  Anyway, we moved here and for the first couple of years really liked it, mostly because we didn't change anything we did, just the location we lived.  I kept the same doctors, same dentist, shopped at the same stores from whence I came.  And then...ECONOMY.  Once the economy tanked, I really had to think about where I was putting my money and GAS just kinda took a backseat to important stuff, like food and clothing for my children.  I know, stupid kids always wanting to eat and shit.  What are they thinking when Mama needs to get outta town?  Anyway, I hadn't realized until then that I had never become accustomed to my new home really and also failed to realize how much I just wasn't at home.  And now, I didn't have much choice but to be home ALL THE FUCKING TIME.  So, slowly but surely, I started to go a little bit wacko.  It wasn't apparent at first.  Just little things here and there.  Too much time watching TV.  A little more time on the internet.  Less time outside.  Eventually I got to a point where I could see how someone would become an agoraphobic, an affliction I have made fun of on many occasions.  After becoming batshit crazy, anxious about leaving the house and observing myself outside of myself for the past year, I have decided that the "mountain people" are just crazy from sheer boredom.  That and maybe a little inbreeding.  They don't have anything better to do than be crazy shitheads.  I mean, seriously.  What the hell else are they gonna do?  A friend of mine told me about a family in West Virginia that are totally fuckin' nutso and took the body of a dead relative out for one last drink.  Yeah, Fo.Realz.  One of the brothers goes around town and does funky little jigs in his bare feet and overalls.  At one time I could laugh at this, now I just see it as my not so distant future.
     Okay, so I don't REALLY live on a mountain.  I technically live in the valley.  And I DO have neighbors.  Some are better than others.  But 'round these parts, the loudest people are the ignorant assholes and it is hard to hear the liberals, or or at least the people who don't care what others do.  So, here I am in Jeebus Kuntry with no gas, VERY few friends, knowing very little about the area in which I reside because I have never really let myself get used to it.  This is the perfect recipe for INSANITY.  I shit you not.  If you would like to go insane, even the slightest bit, move to the kuntry, cut yourself off from the outside world, only talk to people through the internet and do the same exact things every day of your life for the rest of your life and I PROMISE, insanity will not be far off.  Oh, and one more thing, buy a banjo.  It will be the best purchase you ever make.
     

No, Really November, I Was Serious

     UGH!!!  Nothing like waking up on a November morning to shitty dead trees and shitty fucking rain.  Someone once told me, "It's just weather".  Yes, it is.  It is just the most depressing, unmotivating, life sucking, melancholy, frigid weather there is, so suck it.  I don't even want to go out in this weather, and I am probably going to eat my words later, but I am actually starting to think I prefer winter.  November SUCKS.  This November hasn't even been as awful as ones in the past and it still sucks.  Especially today.  I was feeling okay, dealing.  And then, WHAMMO!!!  Pilgrim weather.  I guess it has to make up for all the nice November days we have had this year.  "Oooooh, that bitch is still hanging on by a thread.  I gotta step it up if I am going to make her feel like stepping into oncoming traffic."   
     I saw the wind start to pick up in the back yard and all the leaves started swirling around in a circle.  How bad is it that I was hoping for a tornado, just to liven things up?  Not an F5 or anything, but maybe just a little microburst to take the edge off.  I kinda wish November was tornado season.  It would be something to look forward to.  Everyone would be all excited.  When will the next one be?  Today?  Tomorrow?  An hour from now?  Nobody knows, but everyone is filled with anticipation.  Like on Christmas.  We could even incorporate it into a Christmas tradition.  If you are visited often by the November tornadoes, then you know Christmas is gonna be a good one.  "Yay!!  Our house is demolished and Grandma's dead!!  I bet someone's getting a puppy!!"  Or, maybe it could be a bad omen.  "Oh shit.  Your house blew down and your kids were carried away?  Your Christmas is gonna SUUUUUCK!"  "Our house was only hit once, by a tiny tornado this year.  We only lost the dog and cat.  Woohoo!  Christmas won't be so bad!!"  I, for one, would LOVE to have a little fear this time of year.  It would beat the feeling of dread I have waking every morning to the open mouth of November's sky.  "I wonder what the weather report is for today."  Shitty with a chance of doom.          

Personlize This, Beeotch!!

     I have always had this weird thing about personalized license plates.  I just think they are kind of odd.  I guess it kinda goes along with my thing about bumper stickers, but it takes it to a whole other level of hilarity for me. 
     I saw one today that made me laugh.  LV2QULT.  I can only assume this means love to quilt.  Ummmm...yeah.  That is not really that cool.  I mean, it's great that people love to quilt.  I even admire someone who has that much patience to do something like that, but really?  WOW!!  How about the license plate, EMBRYO.  I don't even know what that means exactly.  Do you love embryos?  Are YOU an embryo?  Gimme a break.  IMRCH.  Good for you, fucker.  I really want to be reminded that there are rich assholes left in the world in a struggling economy.  I think that guy should get one that reads, BSTRD or maybe DCKHOL.  SPOILED.  Guh.  Not much to say to that.  It kinda speaks for itself.
      I guess I just can't see spending money to personalize a license plate.  I kinda get why someone would donate to a particular cause and get a special license plate, like to save the bay or whatever.  I just don't know WHY someone would fork over the extra cash to say, BMWLVR.  ???  We already know you drive one, is that not enough?  Are you just trying to reinforce the fact that you paid a buttload of money for your car?  Driving the point home?  What the Hell, dude?  It is yet another thing that screams "I AM AN ATTENTION WHORE!!  I AM THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON EVER!!  I THINK I ROCK, BUT REALLY I AM JUST A FUCKTARD!!".  I should get one for my Honda that reads, ILVMYIROC, just to confuse people. 
     I am thinking of coming up with some cool ones for myself.  FKU.  How's that?  SHTTHFKUP.  EETSHTNDIE.  SUKMACOK.  URNASSHOL.  PSSOFF.  IMMATTLBTCH.  FUKYRSLF.  I'm not really sure how many of these I could get away with, but it's worth a shot.     

I Am The Coolest!!!

I have this secret love for cheesy music that I can no longer deny.  I mean, I don't personally think it is cheesy, but I know that some others might.  Or maybe they just hide it like I do and really rock the shit out of it every chance they get.  Whatever the case may be, I love it with all my heart.
     Whenever I hear Journey come on the radio, I instantly turn that shit up and dream I can sing just like Steve Perry, but in woman form.  I am instantly transformed into the most AMAZING singer in the world and no one can escape my absolute coolness. I know that everyone driving past me is thinking, "Damn!!  That girl can sing some fuckin' Journey!!".  How could they not?  I am awesome and my whole being exudes my grandness.  People wanna be near me.  No.  They want to BE me.  Because I am a star and can wail out "Wheel in the Sky" like it was written just for me.  I am also about to take Daryl Hall's job because, while he can sing, I sing WAY better than that guy!!  I am also prettier.  And, I can do something he can't.  I can play air guitar while drinking coffee and driving a stick shift, maybe text too.  John Oates picked the wrong partner.  You know who else picked the wrong partner?  Andrew Fuckin' Ridgeley.  HUGE mistake!!  Even at 7, I could have sung "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" in a fashion unknown to humankind.  Wham! would still be together today if I had been chosen instead of George Michael.
     There are some bands that I never really got on board with, even though I have TRIED to like them.  REO Speedwagon.  meh.  The lead singer annoys me for some reason.  I think it is his hair.  Not really good hair for long hair.  Always looks like it should be in mullet form.  Also, Supertramp is just sorta whatever.  When I hear them, I kinda start to think I like them and then, just like that, I am turned off.  Also the lead singer.  His voice is sorta whiney and annoying.  Actually, I think when I don't like a band, most of the time, it is because of the lead singer.  Green Day.  Billie Joe Armstrong's voice grates on my nerves.  Sings like he is 5.  Linkin Park.  Chester Bennington can't scream for shit and he is ugly.  I want to punch him in the nuts, maybe it would help.  Rush.  Geddy Lee looks like a witch who will make you sign away your first born in blood and then steal away into the night and he sings like a banshee.  Imma start calling him Rumpelstiltskin.  Bush.  Gavin Rossdale is just fucking boring as all hell.  Pretty though.  I'd do him. but PLEASE, for the love of GOD, don't sing, Gavin.  I'll just fall asleep.
     So, yeah.  I don't really know what my original point was of this post, but whatever.  Ending on a poor note about music sucks, so I better go and listen to "The Devil Went Down To Georgia" to perk me up.  Gotta brush up on my air fiddle.   

Is She Drunk??

You know how a lot of times you regret the stupid crap you say, maybe for even years later?  No?  You don't?  Well, I do.  ALL THE TIME.
     This has been going on since I was a wee child and I have never quite learned how to control it.   I have the unique ability to say shit without even thinking about it and then, FOREVER, I will regret it.  It plagues me and I don't even know why.  It's not like people are sitting around, thinking every day about what that dumb bitch said when she was 12, but it FEELS like they are.  And I remember it, so that's all that really matters right?  Sometimes I can keep it at bay, but when I start to have any anxiety over even the smallest things, my thoughts turn to the stupid shit I have said or the faces I have made or the loudness that is my voice and I can't escape, not matter how hard I try.  "I'm not sure about that turtleneck on you.  It kind of makes your face look too round."  "You can have these sunglasses, your head is bigger than mine."  "I was at this sex toy party and..."  Words just seem to spew like vomit from my mouth and I can not stop it.  I even realize when it is happening, but by then it is too late.  The endless amounts of puke escape my lips leaving the taste of bile in my brain for all eternity.
     The worst is when I am drunk and I just can't SHUT THE FUCK UP.  I hear the words, they are nonsense, and then make even less sense once I am sober.  And when I can't remember what was said, OMFG, it is agonizing!!  And I don't know how many times you can tell someone how much their friendship means to you, but I am sure that over the years I have told my friends this too many times.  "You're the best friend I could ever have.  No, ANYONE could ever have.  In the world.  Wait, the solar system.  Scratch that, the galaxy.  What's bigger than the galaxy??  Oh, hold on. <tripping and stumbling>  I know!!  The UNIVERSE!!!"  And I am sure it is always fun for friends to hear this from a mouth that smells like beer and rotting fruit.  So meaningful and heartfelt.  The best though is when I say these types of things right before I start crying and hurling.  That, right there, is the icing on the cake.  "I love you SO much!!  <SOB>  You are the sister I never haaa...<BAAAAARRRFFF>."  Yep.  Naz-T.  The only thing that makes it better is if I get a little puke on someone's shoe as the apology comes out.  "I'm so sorry I got so drunk.  I promise I will never do it again.  I am a terrible person.  I hate myself.  Will you ever forgive me?"  Nobody wants to be around THAT girl.  She is loud, obnoxious and stupid and can't hold her liquor to save her life.
     So why do I stew in my shit and stress over things I say?  Oh yeah!!  Because of shit like that!!         

Merry Effing Christmas

It is November 10.  The tenth of November.  November.  Why oh why are stores decorated for Christmas and playing Christmas music?  And not Christmas music every few songs.  Like full on, in your face, fucking Christmas music!!!  I had to go out the other day to shop for items totally unrelated to Christmas and suddenly I was slammed with this shite.  It was completely draining.  I mean, Christmas is fine.  At least it's a distraction during a time of year when things are pretty dull and gray, but SERIOUSLY??!!  Can't we just get through November before we are hit over the head with mistletoe and holly?  I swear to Jeebus I almost vomited during my shopping trip.
     Somehow it actually makes me feel even more depressed.  I start to get all clammy and nervous.  I break into a cold sweat.  "Christmas is coming!  Oh shit!  There are only 45 more days to finish my consumerism for the year!!"  Then the anxiety sets in.  UGH!!  What are we going to do for Christmas?  How will we not offend someone?  How do I make myself not feel totally guilty for not visiting this person or that person?  It may actually be THE worst time of the year.  I feel bad too, because I have to keep a brave face for my kids.  I would never ever want them to think I did not love Christmas as much as they do.  They have already been telling me what they want from Santa and how much FUN Christmas is going to be.  Is it so wrong that I just want to get through the grueling holiday that is Thanksgiving before I move on to the totally made up holiday of Christmas?  Which brings me to something else that just chaps my ass.  "Remember the reason for the season."  Buh.  No.  First, I don't believe in that and second, how can someone remember the reason for the season listening to Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas is You" and being bombarded with "SALE!  SALE!!  SALE!!!"?  And what does buying someone mittens or pajamas or a leather jacket have to do with Jesus?  Anyone?  Anyone?  Absofuckinglutely NOTHING.  Jesus was poor, he hung out with the dregs of the earth.  If he was getting anyone anything for Christmas it was some bread, possibly a goat, maybe some ointment for that mysterious sore on their genitalia.  Not a new Bocce set.  "Oh, thank you Jesus!!  I was hoping for a new console trash can!!  It is just what I needed!"  Yeah, I think Christ would have been a little more practical.
     I hate feeling this way.  I used to love Christmas.  Desserts out the ass.  Fire in the fireplace.  The families used to get together and play fun games.  I got to see my aunts and uncles and cousins and my grandparents always made everything so wonderful.  Now it feels like I begin dreading the next Christmas as soon as the current one is through.  So please, PLEASE, chill out with the holiday fucking cheer.  I don't know how much I can take before I go postal...      

Are You Gonna Eat That?

I was driving in my car today and saw something that makes me laugh every time I see it.  I think I have even talked to people before about how odd I think these things are.  Edible arrangements.  While writing this, I do not know how much I actually have to say about it, but the whole concept of giving someone an edible arrangement seems awkward and strange.  I mean, who thought that this idea was important enough to market?  I know flowers die, but at least they are pretty and it always feels good to receive them.  When would one want an edible arrangement?  What circumstance would warrant one?  When someone dies?  "Sorry to hear about your mother dying.  But, here!  I bought you this edible arrangement!!  It's fruit!  You can eat it!"  Hmmmmm...  "Congratulations on the arrival of your baby!!  Here, have an edible arrangement!!"  Nope, uh uh.  "I love you.  You are my rock.  I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy.  And to show you how much I love you, I bought you this edible arrangement."  ??????  I'm sorry, but if my husband ever bought me an edible arrangement, I think I would shove it up his ass.  And I certainly wouldn't want one as a sympathy gift.  I can just picture someone's face as they receive their arrangement.  "Oh, my.  Why thank you...what a beautiful arrangement Honey.  I was kinda hoping for diamonds...but this is so much better!!"  Meh.  Do people really love fruit so much that this is necessary in life?  It's fucking weird!!  I honestly can not think of a time when it is appropriate.  Ever.  EVER.  FUCKING EVER.    
     Okay, okay.  Now I know that sometimes people use these for events, but here's the thing.  Edible arrangements are not exactly the cheapest thing on the planet.  And I am willing to bet that even if you had one for each table at your wedding or baby shower or Bar Mitzvah, or whatever, the guests probably wouldn't eat off of it.  So, all that time and money could have gone into something so much more useful.  Anything.  Anything would be more useful.  Even if you just threw some whole fruit up on that bitch.  Because it doesn't matter how much you dress it up, it's still just a shitload of fruit.             

These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things

Alrighty then.  Let's switch gears a little bit.  I have established that I hate LOTS of things.  So, just to prove that I am not a completely heartless bitch, I am going to list some things that I love.  It will be the first and last time I do this.  I wouldn't want anyone to get the impression that I am some kind of unicorn loving, carousel horse collecting, princess dress wearing flake.  Okay, here we go, in no particular order.
     I love babies in towels just out of the bath.  I love watching the sunrise on a hot, muggy morning.  I love a good summer storm, complete with wind, thunder and lightning.  It scares me and thrills me at the same time.  I love choral music.  I love how I feel when I hear anyone sing a high C, like crying and like my heart may just burst out of my chest.  I love the Star Spangled Banner.  That also makes me cry, every time, especially while singing it.  I love the feeling of a baby wrapping their warm, chubby little arms around my neck for a hug.  I love hearing my children tell me they love me.  I love music that makes me dance, even though I look like an idiot.  I love that when I am in the car I sing like a rock star.  I love the way the rain smells in really dry weather.  I love the smell of Mink hairspray, it reminds me of my grandmother.  I love that even after three kids and 17 years together, my husband still thinks my ass looks great in a good pair of jeans.  I love when my kids can't stop touching my clothes because they think I look pretty.  I love hot weather, 85 or above.  I love my old friends who just get me and love me in spite of my flaws.  I love being able to act like an asshole without the aid of a controlled substance.  I love being warm under my covers, but feeling the cold on my nose as it peeks out.  I love, love, love the smell of honeysuckle when I run past it.  I love working my body so hard that I break into a full body sweat and I love when it dries and I can feel the salt on my skin.  I love when I am able to completely let go and lose myself, even if it is only for a moment.  I love the smell of bacon and coffee in the morning.  I love a really good glass of Merlot that tastes like cheese and chocolate.  I love the sound of snowflakes hitting the ground and the silence of the world during a snow shower.  I love watching my kids discover new things and remembering how good that used to feel.  I love socks.  I love wearing sexy underclothes and feeling like it's a secret.  I love being pregnant and knowing there is a human being inside me.  I love having brothers that are funnier than me.  I love laughing so hard I pee a little.  I love the smell of people's dryer sheets coming out of their vents outside.  I love books that make me cry like a fool.  I love feeling like a million bucks in a pretty coat or a slammin' pair of shoes.  I love being around people who appreciate and share my sense of humor.  I love rock candy.  I love when I feel so happy I can't stop smiling.  I love sitting at the counter of an old fashioned drug store.  I love old Christmas cards.  I love runner's high.  I love the smell of a used bookstore.  I love the feeling of being hungry when I am about to eat something awesome.  I love having my toes painted by someone else.  I love having my hands and feet massaged.  I love falling asleep next to my warm babies and waking up to them snuggling.  But, most of all, I love that no matter how shitty I feel, any one of these things can turn my day around and bring me back to center.
     So, there you have it.  These are not ALL the things I love, but I have to keep some things just for me.  Don't get used to the love fest though because it will never happen again.  I promise. 

November, Why Don't You Blow Me.

Aaaahhhh...Fall.  What a beautiful time of year.  The air is crisp, the leaves are showing their many beautiful colors.  Pretty, pretty.  Except that, I absolutely HATE Fall with a passion.
     Before you go being all judgey and lame and saying, "Fall is beautiful!  How can you not like Fall?  Do you have no soul, you heartless bitch?", let me explain.  I do think Fall is beautiful (sort of), the weather can be nice (maybe), but I become VERY depressed in the Fall.  Especially in November when the sky looks like it is gonna open up and swallow me whole.  I have a feeling of impending doom every day of Fall, even more so than Winter.  I cry all the time.  I hate everyone.  That's just no good for anyone.  I even remember when I was a kid, looking at pictures of the first Thanksgiving and thinking, "Those poor bastards.  What a shitty time of year to be celebrating ANYTHING!".  I would imagine the Pilgrims in their stupid buckle hats, eating their dinner under a gray and depressing sky.  You know that sky.  The one that looks like it could rain, but also like the sun kinda wants to come out, but can't.  Fucking Fall.  Fucking November. 
     Now, winter is depressing too, but in a different way.  Right after Thanksgiving, I start to perk up a little.  We put up our secular Christmas tree, listen to lame ass Christmas music and somehow try to recapture the happiness from our youth.  But, as soon as the holidays are over, BLAM!!!!  Nothing.  No joy, no happiness, only cloudy skies with a possibility of snow.  And the snow is a sneaky ass bastard too.  He is like the unwelcome date rapist.  You think you are having a good time, but then he goes too far.  "No, PLEASE!!  No means NO!!  NO MORE SNOW!!"  Does he care?  No, he just keeps dumping his white excrement all over everything, laughing at his destruction.  When this happens, I tend to drink.  The more it snows, the drunker I get.  At least then I am warm and I can kinda laugh at it.   
     I only really start to feel sane around the end of March, and I use the word "sane" loosely.  March is still cold, windy as hell and just not cheery enough to bring me completely out of my wintry blues.  I don't think I start to feel even remotely "normal" until summer time.  I have decided that I should just get it over with and move closer to the equator.  Fall and Winter wouldn't miss me.  There are plenty of other date rape victims out there.   

Is That A Crackpipe In Your Pocket, Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

     Okay folks.  The topic for today is going to be addiction.  What can I say about addiction?  LOTS.  Like, it's a cruel bitch that will rape you in the middle of the night and drag you to the depths of Hell.  Or, it sucks.  Or, Fuck.You.Addiction.  Yeah, addictions suck ass.
     I have, unfortunately, been addicted to lots of things in my life.  Cigarettes, food, sugar, caffeine, exercise.  I tried to be addicted to alcohol, but that didn't really work out so well (fortunately).  Lately though, I have noticed that my addictions have all started to come together, like they are trying to duke it out and see which one wins the prize of being the ULTIMATE addiction.  It's like I can't find the one that works the best for me, so I have to dabble in them all to feel sane.  Problematic?  I think so!!  Take for example, food.  I used to eat like crazy.  Really shitty stuff.  Pizza rolled up in a burrito, mashed potatoes topped with gravy and a doughnut.  Things like that.  I liked to eat because I liked the taste, but I also turned to food when their was even the slightest problem in my life.  My cat died?  Gotta eat.  Work sucked?  Pass the cheese fries.  I stubbed my toe on my bed frame?  "Are you gonna eat that?".  After I had gained about a gazillion pounds and couldn't take a dump to save my life, I decided that food had become my enemy.  So, one day, I just quit.  I had had enough.  But, I had to replace it with something.  Something, something.  What could I replace it with that would make me feel good and not kill me??  Hmmmm...I know!!  EXERCISE!!  I will exercise until I feel wonderful!  It sounded like a plan.  So I joined the Y and started doing classes.  Classes, classes, classes.  Nothing wrong with that.  Except that if I was unable to go to a class for some reason, I became fearful.  Fearful that I would not be able to maintain my new weight.  Fearful that I would not be able to keep up the next time.  Fearful that a plane flown by terrorists would fly into my house.  It was ridiculous.  Physically I felt good, but mentally I was still a basket case.  Then, BAM!  Pregnant.  Partial bed rest.  No more exercise.  Food.  Yummy food.  Food I had missed.  Food I dreamed about.  It was awesome.  Wendy was my favorite person in the world with Ronald coming in at a close second.  Disgusting.  When I think of all the shit I ate during that pregnancy, I want to vomit.  So, what happened after the baby came?  EXERCISE!!  BLAH!  And so the cycle continued.
     The worst of my addictions, by far, has been my addiction to cigarettes.  Those mutha fuckas take no prisoners.  I don't even know what it is about them either, because they stink, they taste bad and they leave you feeling like you are drowning in phlegm.  In other words, THEY'RE AWESOME!!  I actually used to feel safe with them, knowing I had a pack in my purse or pocket just waiting for me.  Packing the box, unwrapping the tight plastic film, pulling the protective foil from the box and slipping that first, new cigarette from the pack...aaaaaaahhhhhh.  Just a little slice of stinky Heaven.  I was so dependent on them.  Never left the house without them.  And if I didn't have something to light them with, it was like they were taunting me, laughing.  "Haha, bitch!!  You're gonna have to light me on your electric stove!"  GROSS.  Feeling that way about something so fucking Gnasty makes me loathe myself right to the core.  How the hell could I love something so Goddamn disgusting?  I can't even stand the smell of human skin, much less the smell of an ashtray mouth.  And yet, even though I had quit, even though they make me feel like hell and smell like a dog shit in my mouth, I still went back.  And quit.  And went back.  And quit.  And went back again.  Begging for their forgiveness and promising never to badmouth them again.  Man, I suck.
     The thing is, I don't really know what causes this in me, or anyone.  Is it a disease, hereditary, depression, or just an inability to cope because someone didn't give you the proper skills?  I have no idea.  What I do know is this.  Somehow, some way, I need to regain control.  Oh, who am I kidding?  I never had any control to begin with.        

Wow! I Love What You've Done With The Place.

Before I had kids I was the worst kind of non-parent.  I knew EVERYTHING there was to know about raising kids (well, I knew everything about everything, really).  When I was pregnant with my first, I knew he/she would NEVER sleep in my bed, NEVER take my food off my plate, NEVER throw a temper tantrum in public.  But what I was most sure of was that my walls in my home would be immaculate and free of scribbling of any kind.
     I remember when I had my new, little baby going over to people's homes who had older children and being appalled by coloring on the walls.  "OMG, how could they let this happen?  I would beat my child if they did that!!"  Fortunately for me, and my first born, my son did not color on walls.  Of course he didn't.  I didn't allow him to have crayons unsupervised until he was quite old.  Then, I had a second child and, I got lucky again.  Every once in awhile I would find a line in marker or one little scribble in red, but it was still easy to keep crayons, markers, etc. away from her and my first.  They were little.  Then here comes number three.  By this time I had a 4 year old and a 2 year old who wanted to color LOTS.  So, of course, crayons needed to be a little more accessible than they had in the past.  No problem.  I had a baby.  She wasn't coloring on anything and the other two were well aware that it was not okay.  I am just going to admit right here, I am an idiot and a complete judgmental bitch.  See, third children grow up.  They turn 1, then 2 and before you know it, they are 2 and a half and want to do everything everyone else is doing.  So...Yeah.  Before I knew what hit me, my walls had become the canvas for some beautiful artwork, thanks to my darling baby.  The one who couldn't move at one point, much less color.  Then, much to my chagrin, my first born (who had never drawn on a wall in his life) decided that since it was okay for his baby sister, then it must be okay for him.  BLAH!!!  Now, my lovely house is decorated in preschool art and I have pretty much given up on trying to clean it off.  When they are older, I will clean and repaint.  Maybe I will just replace the walls.  Or, maybe the best idea would be to burn the house down, collect the insurance money and move to Bermuda.  I think I am going with number 3.
    
I will now share with you the art gallery that my walls have become:

  This is at the bottom of my basement stairs.  Notice the ripped drywall as well as the pencil drawing.  2 things here:  FUCK!!  and why the hell would you want to draw on the wall in pencil?  At least pick a cheery color, Dumbass.

Also on the wall going into the basement.  That was not the cheery color I was hoping for.  Orange is ugly and that actually looks closer to Burnt Sienna.  FAIL

Better color, but not great.  I will give this one a passing grade of D+.  Wait.  Is that an Embryo?  Okay, okay.  I will bump it up to a C-.

This was done by my oldest when he was 6.  It is supposed to be a plane flying into a city.  I actually think it looks more like a jacked up helicopter myself.  A for effort, F for Fuck.My.Life.

Said "city".  'Nuff said.

Okay, so I was actually impressed with this one.  I know it is kinda hard to see, but that is a near perfect circle people.  Drawn by a 2 year old.  I don't even think I could have done that with a compass.  A+

So, what have I learned from this?  Well, there are a few things.  1) I am stupid and judgey  2) My kids can't draw  3) I will continue to judge and hate what others do only to eat my words or thoughts or whatever later on down the road because that's what I do best!!! 

I'm Sorry, The Number You Are Calling is Temporaraily Out of Service

Is it just me, or does everyone seem WAY too connected these days?  I mean between cell phones and instant messaging and MySpace and Facebook and Twitter and Twattle and Hoobob...I mean JESUS CHRIST!!!  How fucking connected do you have to be?????   We are so inundated with technology that it is making it hard to concentrate on just normal, daily life.
     I am starting to get annoyed by all of this bullshit, and I am completely into it at the same time.  I have been captured by the Social Network alien who is now experimenting on my brain and turning it, slowly, into mush, later to be eaten by Zombies.  I just can't take it anymore.  You walk through the grocery store and there are at least ten phones going off at once, and everyone is checking like, "Is it mine?  Is it mine?  OMG, I can't miss a single second of THE SOCIAL NETWORK!!"  On the train everyone is checking voice mail, e-mail, texts, talking on their blue tooth.  STOP THE INSANITY!!  I swear, if I hear one more person talking on their phone about the surgery their mother just had, or their break up with their significant other, or the boil on their back, I am going to ram the phone straight up their ass and make them eat the blue tooth.  And Oh My Holy Jesus, do we need any more gadgets than we already have?  Every time one comes out, my heart gets a little blacker.  I try so hard to remember what it was like before cell phones and internet and e-mail and chat.  What did we do with our time?  What did we do while driving in the car?  What did we do while we were with our friends?  The saddest thing is, I probably haven't even had a cell phone for more than 10 years and the internet for maybe 7.  So that is 26 years without a cell phone and 29 without internet and now I feel crazy without them.  SAD.  I just wanna chuck that shit off the nearest bridge, but even the thought of that makes me nervous and anxious.  I would rather die than live one day without being connected. 
     The awful truth is that if you are not using some form of technology to "plug in" you can become thoroughly disconnected.  Conversations don't feel the same anymore, people don't just talk. No one even knows how to deal with conflict in the most basic ways.  I know for me, I can not even think half the time because I am so concerned with what the hell is going on on the internet, or on my phone, or chat, blah, blah, blah.  Without those things I am crippled, to the point of becoming a fumbling idiot.  I have lost the ability to make friends with people unless I am on some sort of "social" network.  What does this say about me, or people in general, that we are so easily able to shut down and close up?  Has the technological world been just what we have been waiting for as to not deal with others face to face?  Or is it just some new thing that will eventually be the ruin of society?  I don't know, but I feel myself slipping deeper and deeper into the depths of despair being swallowed up by my gadgets. 
     One day, I am going to shake off this mechanical nonsense and go run naked through a field of flowers, or lay in the grass and let butterflies dance in my hair.  But...not today.  I need to catch up on my Facebook... 

Was that Bohemian Rhapsody??

Okay, so I think I have made it quite clear that I love to be the center of attention.  I think about it, I dream about it, I crave it.  It is my ultimate goal.  But when do you become adult enough to reign that shit in and manage it?  26?  27?  30?  I am not sure.  But what I am sure of is that when you are between the ages of birth and about 22, maybe 24, you have absolutely no clue how to control it and think everyone cares about you and only you.
     I noticed this oddity while riding public transportation during a huge event in DC.  I was actually doing something else on the train, something more important than everyone else of course, but was the unfortunate bystander in a sea of annoying, stinky bodies.  The stink of people was enough to drive me out of my mind, but that is definitely a whole post on its own.  Anyway, I was alone.  And because I was alone, I was able to observe others in their natural, horrible state.  The first thing I noticed was how LOUD the younger people were.  Everything they had to say was CLEARLY so important and profound that they had to share it with EVERYONE.  The way they glanced around as they were speaking, checking to see that people were hanging on their every word, made it very apparent that they were total attention whores.  I wanted to wring their necks.  Of course, that probably would have been fine with them, seeing as how they just wanted ANYONE to notice what they were doing.  Luckily for me, another group of youngsters broke out into their special rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody for everyone's listening pleasure.  GAG!!  I was really hoping for someone to break out their guitar, maybe an accordion.  It really would have made the whole experience complete.
     Another thing that I find amusing is the way people dress to express themselves.  Everyone does this, no one is excluded, especially myself.  No matter what you decide to wear, it is an expression of yourself because you have personally picked out your clothing on purpose.  Most likely, you have even checked yourself out in the mirror a couple of times to make sure you look the way you want to look.  But watching other people, and analyzing their clothing, can be quite amusing.  Fortunately for me, I was able to be in the city on Halloween weekend, so I got to enjoy ALL the freaks.  I just LOVE seeing grown women dressed as ballerinas, ladybugs, slutty witches, etc..  The thing I find so interesting is that the men even get in on the action, also dressed as ballerinas, ladybugs, slutty witches...AWESOME!!  I know it's Halloween, but I am starting to think this is just an excuse for people to show their true selves.
     I realize that I am quite judgmental about the way others act in public.  I am sure that I have made an ass of myself plenty of times or worn some atrocity that could maybe pass for clothing, probably not even just when I was 20 or 22 or even 24.  The thing is, I used to do it on purpose.  Now I am just an ass.  ;) 

Bitch, You need a Hamburger!!

     Body image.  I know many people have poor body images.   I know I do, but I try hard not to dwell on it and see only the positives in myself.  But...it is really hard when there is always some skinny ass bitch telling you how fat she is.
      This is one of my pet peeves in life (there are many).  Every time I hear some skinny bitch complaining that she has 10 pounds to lose, I wanna reach out, grab her by the hair and swing her around a couple of times before I catapult her ass to the moon.  EVERYONE has things they would love to change about themselves, but why can't people stfu about it?  Especially people who have no business venting their non-existent problems.  "Ugh!!  I look so fat!  Look, I can actually grab more than 2 mm of fat from my waist!!"  No, whore, that is skin.  And look!  I can grab a handful of your hair and rip it out of your pretty little head before I stuff it down your throat!  I know I am bitter, but get real!!  Think about the people you are talking to.  Do you think they might have the same hang ups?  Are they fatter than you?  Could you go hiking on the zits that cover their face?  If the answer is yes, to ANY of these, then you need to shut your trap before you get punched.
     Whenever I hear this shite, I start to feel terrible about my own flaws.  I wonder when my skin rolls will begin to try to escape from my spanks and let the cat out of the bag.  I wonder if everyone can tell how many kids I have had by the way my ass jiggles or if my leg looks to be the size of a small child when I sit down and it spreads out all aver my seat.  Mostly I wonder if the skinny bitch is actually talking about how fat I am, not herself.  So, really, it's all about ME.  Skinny bitches make me feel bad about myself because everything is ALWAYS about me.  Now if you will excuse me, I need to adjust my skin apron so no one else will notice it hanging over my jeans.  
     
  

When I grow up I want to be 3

When I was younger, I wanted to be many things.  A lawyer, a doctor, a police officer.  At one point I wanted to be a social worker.  But, as I have grown older, I have now decided I would like to be a 3 year old.
     3 year olds never have to care about anyone else.  They don't have to wash anyone else's clothes, clean up after anyone (including themselves).  They don't even have to wipe their own ass.  This seems perfectly acceptable to me as a chosen profession.  I want to be able to cuss whenever and wherever I please and have people just laugh and say, "Awww, it's so funny when a 3 year old says curse words!".  And I would be perfectly happy just stripping down to nothing in the middle of the grocery store if I like.  When I am tired and don't WANT to go to bed, I would LOVE to have the ability to lay down in the middle of the floor and throw a huge temper tantrum.  But mostly I want to be 3 because I want to see the world as my oyster.  Everything is new and exciting and there is no reason in the world you would not be able to get whatever you want, be whatever you want and do whatever the hell you want.  3 seems nice.  Don't you think?