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?