I've tried to come back.. I really have. But its obvious now, after 6 months of almost nothing, that I can't carry this blog.
I'd love to give you a fantastic excuse about how I'm too busy feeding the starving children of Africa to blog, but the truth is, my drama has drama of it's own, and I just can't handle one more thing.
I love my blog. And I love my blog friends, but I can admit defeat.
So JJ is going on hiatus. I don't know when I'll be back, or if I will. But its been fun, and thank you all so much for reading.
I'm not sure why exaclty, but I'm refusing to turn 30 today.
Bean calls it the First Anniversary of my 29th birthday. I'm okay with it.
I think maybe it's because I'm good here.
At 29 I'm married to the love of my life. In love with my children. Have the friends that I've always dreamed of and more or less at peace with my life.
Or at least I have found better peace than I ever thought possible.
In case you hadn't noticed, I have been a bit overwhelmed lately and my blog has suffered, and suffered and suffered some more.
Most of it is because I'm just too damn busy to blog, but soon that should fix itself.
But it's also been because I'm tired: of doctors, of family, of drama and of Bean being sick. So really I had nothing even remotely amusing or snarky, or even worthwhile to say.
But I've fixed half of that problem.
For those who are interested, I've started a new blog, Jennifer Juniper Goes Quietly Mad. There isn't much there as of yet, but after the night I just had, there should be more very soon.
Well, today I finished Season 3 (the most recent season) and decided that I hate Tara.
She's the heroine's best friend. And at first I really liked her because she was sassy and spunky and even though she had a fucked up co-dependant relationship with her mom, she was still a good friend, and when drunk, fun to be around.
But then she got herself into an impossible situation and cried about it. And somehow, someone pulled her out of said impossible situation and she cried because they did.
And as soon as you think she's done watering the grass.. lather, rinse, repeat..
Yeah, I'm tired of Tara.
And then I thought..
Fuck, I'm the pathetic, whiny side-kick.
Here I am all spunky and sassy and fun when mixed with alcohol. But then you've got my co-dependant relationship with my mother and impossible situation after impossible situation and someone has to come pull Jenn's ass out of the fire again.
Fuck.
And now I'm thinking about it, and who's the hero??
Bean?? Miley?? Connie?? Hero??
No idea.
Anyrambling..
If I'm going to be the pathetic whiny side-kick who always fucks up and needs the hero to come in and save them because they're too stupid to realize that if they just never left the house (or maybe got a new best friend) that all the crazy ass shit would stop happening, can I at least be like Angel and get my own show eventually??
Oliver is a very high maintenance child. He requires huge amounts of my energy and almost daily he needs alone time with Mom to help him chill from a meltdown.
Tallulah is completely different species. She asks me very politely if she can stay up five minutes past bedtime so she can clean her room. She brought home a report card with all 100's on it (I didn't even know that was possible). She does her chores, takes a shower, feeds her dog and kisses her teacher's ass with very little prodding from me.
So most of the time she doesn't get these private talks with me that Oliver gets.
And she gets jealous.
To combat this, I decided to start her womanly education a little early. Because what the fuck else am I going to talk to her about that Oliver doesn't get to hear??
We started with clothes.
I went to some random ass website (maybe it was glamour) that had pictures of people wearing both cute things and things that their Mama should have never let them out of the house in. And we went through all the pictures and talked about them.
And seriously, I love my daughter.
All of the mini-skirts & short shorts - "They shouldn't show their legs so much."
Bikinis - "They look like underwear."
Bra straps hanging out - "That's trashy."
The only thing that she had any trouble with was why it's okay with me for a 25 year old who wears a size 2 to wear a bikini, but I think a 45 year old who wears a size 26 in a bikini looks like a beached whale. But we're working on it. And I tried really hard to explain to her that the big girls are very pretty, but they can't wear the same clothes as the little girls.
That was Friday.
On Sunday I taught both of the kids "Baby Got Back".
I have been on the vampire bandwagon long before "Twilight" happened.
I read Anne Rice and even liked the original "Buffy The Vampire Slayer" (which was pretty horrible). So I'm not ashamed (much) to admit that I do like "Twilight". Yes, Bella is annoying as fuck, but the vampires are hot (even if they do look 17, so it's a little creepy to think that if you're not) and as far as teen angsty books go, its not bad. And the movies are not too horrible (at least if you're able to laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole thing).
Up until this weekend "Buffy The Vampire Slayer" (tv series, not movie) was my absolute favorite.
What can possibly be more hilarious than a show that is completely ridiculous and knows it?? There's even a musical episode that makes me laugh every time I see it, and I have the words memorized - all of them.
And then I found "True Blood".
I'm actually still on the fence about the campy factor.
None of the vampires use contractions, and that is one of the most distracting ways of speaking I've ever heard. And the way they do it is worse than Data from "Star Trek", probably because I haven't figured out if the lack of contractions is supposed to signify how old they are or if it's because they're old southern vampires.. (which of course makes no fucking sense, because everyone knows southerners make up their own damn contractions).
And holy fuck.. I thought Bella was a damsel in distress addict. She has absolutely nothing on Sookie. That girl needs an intervention, and then drugs, and meetings, and possibly a padded cell not to mention a good healthy dose of self-esteem and a karate class.
But
The vampires are hot. I mean really hot. I would totally be a fangbanger if they all looked like Alexander Skarsgard (that is, if vampires were real and everything).
So, yes, I'm addicted. And have found my future ex-husband. And though Bean hasn't actually seen the show yet, I think he won't mind, because he's secure enough in his manhood to admit that is one beautiful man.
We may have gotten HBO for "A Game of Thrones", but I will be setting my DVR to record "The Alexander Skarsgard Naked Show".
I'm not actually going to list all the shit I did when I wasn't blogging because that would take a long ass time.
But I am going to explain to you how my mother works.
If you think really hard, you'll remember that we had some work done on the house. I'm not sure that I posted how all of this happened..
The way all of this came about started about 2 years ago when I looked at my mother and said - "Damn I hate this paneling, it would be really nice to get it taken down."
Then about a year ago, she and I had at least 3 extended discussions on how we should get tile in the front part of the house, because the carpet literally looked like shit.
And about 6 months ago, I mentioned to her how I'd like to get rid of the goofy little brick half-wall between the breakfast nook and the living room because really all it was good for was collecting random ass things as people walk in the back door.
But she never said anything about calling a contractor.
In fact I mentioned to her that while the kids and I were gone for Spring Break would have been the perfect opportunity to have the floors done since it would be just her and Bean home.
So we got home from Spring Break and no work had been done on the house. Not that I was actually surprised..
Then, on March 21st just before I went to bed she says:
"They're coming tomorrow to take down the paneling."
Excuse me?? Who is "They"?? How long have you known this??
Whatever.
And then I talked to her on the 22nd and she tells me:
"You forgot to clear off the kitchen table so I had to do ALL of that myself."
I'm sorry. I have an actual day job.. my bad.
So that night (because I'm that kind of a passive-aggressive person when it comes to Mom) I really cleaned off the kitchen table (because she just stacked shit on top of it and moved it over), moved it to the dining room, moved all the other furniture to the office, unloaded the china cabinet and took all the pictures off the walls. And made dinner for the kids.
The following weekend I painted.
Because Mom really had no idea when they were coming back to do the tile.
I didn't finish, so the next weekend, I painted again.
On Monday night (April 4th) Mom tells me that they're coming back on Tuesday (April 5th) to start the tile. And that she's already asked my cousin, Number 5 to come over and help me move shit out of the way.
So after busting my ass all weekend painting, and going to work on Monday, I came home and boxed up everything breakable, completely unhooked all the computers, cleaned off every surface that wasn't nailed down, and lined it up so that Number 5 could move it all to the garage.
It took me 3 days to be able to move without wincing.
They finished the floors on something like the 16th. And I still haven't fully recovered..
Plus, on the 13th, Tallulah's dog, Harriet, had puppies - 7 of them. So if anyone wants a little rat wiener dog of their very own, I have 2 girls left.
He is perfect for me and for the most part his foibles and idiosyncrasies don't really bother me..
But lately, the man has completely missed the mark when it comes to gift giving.
And please don't get me wrong, I'm not really that materialistic.. I'm fine with something little that means alot, a box of my favorite cookies, a gift certificate for a mani/pedi.. a new battery for the watch that I never wear because it needs a new battery.....
And in his defense, he's a procrastinator all the time, so I'm not really sure why I would expect his gift giving to be any different, except for exhibit A:
This is my Christmas present from 2008. Bean had just gotten out of the hospital and I got it before Christmas. It all stemmed from an off-handed email that I sent him in August 2008 with a link to this website saying "how cool is this?!?!". That's all, nothing more. I wasn't even angling for one, or at least not really.
In 2009 Bean didn't have a job, so he was excused from all gift giving.
In 2010 I can't really remember what he got me other than a digital picture frame (maybe that was Christmas 2009??) that I like, but have nowhere to put..
Then we get to this year..
Christmas, he forgot to order something..
Anniversary, he made me a paper rose (I like the traditional gifts), but it was late, by about 2 months I think..
Valentine's Day, he got me a bracelet and earrings to match my "J" necklace, but those were late too..
And now we're coming to Mother's Day.
For the love of all things bright and shiny, can I get some fucking flowers ON THE DAY??
Obviously I'd like something actually bright and shiny, but flowers will work. Tulips maybe.. In a couple of bright, happy colors.. Maybe a card??
He's got a pass for my birthday, because I already bought my laptop for myself, so really this is the last chance for these twelve months for him to get it right..
And please, if you like Bean at all and want his continued company on this planet, next year around Thanksgiving could someone PLEASE remind him that there are some VERY nice purses that come in cotton.
I realize that I haven't posted in forever and why is a post for another day.
Today is all about the chick fight I want to get into with the bitch in our main office.
We don't have an HR person. Instead we have the VP of Money and the Bitch of Payroll. I have walked a very fine line with the Bitch of Payroll for a long ass time. I kiss her ass and pretend that I don't think she fucked something up everytime I ask her to fix my guy's paychecks. I talk sweetly to her and kiss her ginormous ass and everytime I'm at the main office I devote 30 minutes to listening to her tell me ALL about her life.
Yesterday I had a migraine from hell. I mean can't-lift-your-head-off-the-pillow-the-husbands-voice-is-needles-through-your-skull-the-light-from-the-crack-in-the-closet-door-is-a-knife-through-your-closed-eyes-and-fuck-dealing-with-children-because-everytime-you-think-about-getting-up-the-world-spins-and-you-vomit migraine. And our company has this beautiful policy of "no doctor's note no pay" for sick days. It makes me want to bring a note from my mommy as well. (In fact if I ever won the lottery that's what I'd do. I'd take a sick day and come back to work with a note from my mommy instead of the doctor and when they bitched about that I'd bring a doctor's note with no diagnosis on it and tell them how fucking ILLEGAL they are being by making me have a diagnosis on my sick note from my mommy doctor.) Anyway. So yesterday as I was contemplating how much I shouldn't be driving to go to the doctor I thought that maybe there was a form that I could turn in from a doctor saying that I have been diagnosed with migraines and might miss work from time to time for them and maybe that would count as my doctors note. So in my foggy head it seemed like a good idea to call and ask the Bitch of Payroll. Notsomuch.
I won't lie to you and say that I was pleasant. I was in pain. But I did apologize to her several times for my waspishness, and she said "Oh don't worry about it, I get migraines too!!" and then she told me that I could a) go to the doctor and bring back a note b)not go to the doctor and ask Red-neck Boss if I could use a vacation day (which I need for Bean's surgery) or c) not get paid.
And we got off the phone and she immediately called Anal Boss to complain because I called her.
So today I got pulled into Red-neck Boss's office to ask me about my phone call with the Bitch of Payroll.
Seriously?!?!? Payroll is a people centric job. If you cannot talk to people without getting your panties in a wad YOU SHOULD NOT DO IT.
I think maybe I should file a complaint because the Bitch of Payroll said hello to me last week and that's not following the chain of command. She needs to tell the VP of Money to tell Anal Boss to tell Red-neck Boss that she said hello.
If you read yesterday's post and wondered, here's the story:
We're having some remodeling done. And my paneling is gone.
Hallelujah!!!
And the new floors go in sometime between Tuesday and two weeks from Tuesday. Mom can't remember.
So I have unpainted drywall above floors that are going to be replaced.
I needed to paint. Now.
Bean helped me decide on colors, and vetoed the one I really liked.
Then he went to the store for Oliver's project supplies and took Tallulah to see bluebonnets.
And then he slept. All day.
Don't get me wrong. He hurt. I know he did. And he went to Oliver's school carnival on Friday.
But I had to prime and paint the entire front section of the house while getting over the plague and working.
I'm still not done.
So I have definitely decided.
I want a wife.
Because a wife would have gone to the store and taken Tallulah and then made lunch and sat on her ass for an hour and then looked at me drenched in sweat, coughing up a lung and picked up a paintbrush no matter how much she hurt.
A single 30 something female. To live in my home and share all responsibilities involved. Including, but not limited to housework, child-rearing, errands and husband husbandry.
The ideal candidate would be handy and crafty. Preferably with an unnatural love of laundry.
Sexual involvement is unnessary but for the right candidate could be discussed.
First, let me just say that this post is not a comment on anyone.
Having said that, I know I'm not the only one who gets these emails.
You know the ones, there's a beautiful or hilarious story and maybe some great pictures and you read it and it brings you to tears either because you're laughing so hard or because it's just that moving and then you get to the bottom and it says something like:
Forward this on to 3 people or you'll have bad luck for 50 years!!
I hate them!! I don't need anyone's help to have bad luck. Seriously.
And the ones that say something like this:
Only 1 in 100 people will forward this on because they are the ones not ashamed of Jesus. Are you 1 in 100??
They drive me up the fucking wall. Seriously?? I was planning on forwarding until I read that.
Did I miss the chapter in the Bible where Jesus guilts us into following him??
And I do forward some, but often I delete the bullshit at the end, so that those I send it to can just enjoy the flipping email.
Why am I getting these?? I'm 29 years old. I'm not in high school anymore.
Why are people even writing these?? Just so they can feel good that their creation made it around the world 52 times??
I don't get it.
So, I thought I'd try it to see if it gives me warm fuzzies (though somehow I don't think so):
If you don't comment, then you hate the sweet baby Jesus.
If you leave 3 comments then something good will happen.
If you leave 5 comments what you've been waiting for will occur.
If you leave 20 comments, you'll win the lottery.*
*And if you do leave 20 comments and you do win the lottery, you'd better pay off my house.
It just happened that yesterday when I was reading my father's journal full of bitching about his situation I was also watching "Our America with Lisa Ling" about registered sex offenders.
What the fuck.
Where do they get off with this "Woe is me?!?!" attitude??
I understand the 18 year old who sleeps with his 16 year old girlfriend and gets labeled. But if you are a grown man and you molest a child, or you commit a rape or some other atrocity, what kind of justification do you have so that you can ask for sympathy and expect to get it?!?!
Child molesters and rapists deserve nothing less than castration.
So, for all of you sex offenders out there, I'll offer an apology for my dad, the pedophile: I'm so fucking sorry that you had trouble at work, Dad. And that you couldn't play with your friends for a few months. And I'm sorry that I haven't apologized sooner, I've been busy picking up the pieces you left of Mom's life, and trying with all of my being to hold on to the relationship with Amara that you destroyed. I've been doing my damnest not to repeat the cycle. And rebuilding my self-esteem that you tore down at every opportunity. So if this apology was too long in coming, kiss my fucking ass you sick self-righteous bastard.
P.S. - I'm still searching for my usual self. Patience please.
I've also never been so angry and hurt and conflicted.
I'm not sure that I've mentioned this before, but my father, who died when I was 15 was a pedophile and I was his victim.
It's not something I talk about often and it doesn't define who I am. But it's one of those things that occassionally rears its ugly head and comes back to bite me in the ass.
Like tonight.
Mom was cleaning out her desk a few weeks ago and found a journal that Dad was forced to keep for his probation after I outed him.
Mom wanted to know if I wanted to read them and I didn't that particular day, but she left them on her desk and everytime I walked through her room they were there staring at me.
So tonight I didn't have the kids and Mom was gone, so I went and got them.
I should have left it alone.
The vast majority of the entries, that spanned two months, were complaints: about writing, exhaustion, lonliness, work, money and chores. He wrote about how his situation was hard for him - he wasn't allowed contact with children of any kind. How he missed the family enviroment, my mother and my sister.
In two months worth of entries my name appeared 3 times. He hadn't seen or spoken to me in 7 months, and never would again, he died within a month of the last entry.
I am hurt, and angry and confused.
I never idealized him, and saw him as a sick bastard that sometimes could be very kind and loving. But I guess I thought he was remorseful in the end. And that in his deluded, sick way, he loved me.
But his journal tells me a different story.
He never said that he was sorry, or that he regretted what he did to me. They gave me more of the impression that he was sorry he got caught, not really that he did it.
He also never says he missed me. He mentions Amara and missing her and being sorry that he hurt her (he never laid a hand on her), but never me.
What kind of father doesn't miss his child when separated from them for 7 months?
(and let's not get into the obvious - "the same kind that could molest said child".)
And I was sick during this period - passing out for no apparant reason at least once a week.
He talks about Fantasy Football 50 times more that he talks about me!!
I'm angry. And outraged. And really I don't have many coherent thoughts. I just needed to vent.
I promise I'll be back to my old snarky self soon.
This is not a real post, because as you read this I will be in Colorado recovering from 18 hours alone in the car with my monsters darling children.
But I am ridiculously excited about this, so I had to share..
If you have no idea what this is all about, then I'll tell you.
This is an HBO adaptation of one of the best fantasy series ever written. The series is actually called "A Song of Ice and Fire" and its written by George R. R. Martin.
You may remember that I am a fantasy fan. But if you've read a few fantasy novels, you understand that they often follow a pattern:
Young person (usually a boy) finds out that he's not who he thought he was - maybe its a family history thing or maybe he himself is just special.
He goes on a journey because of some tragedy that's happened.
He is guided by someone (usually an old man) that he's known for awhile, if not his entire life.
He discovers that said guide is really someone very powerful and well known.
The reason why I love George R. R. Martin's books is that they follow no formula. I have read many, many fantasy novels, and most of them don't surprise me anymore. GRRM throws me for a loop at every turn. You never know what he's going to do. In fact, though there are dozens of unsolved questions in his series, there's only one that I am fairly sure I know the answer to.
I won't spoil it for you, but I highly reccommend reading the books and watching the series. It promises to be amazing.*
*And for you guys out there - there should be quite a bit of T & A.
Lately, life has been throwing me alot of curve balls, and really, I suck at baseball (and every other sport known to man).
Oliver is being bullied at school. The kids are all calling him gay and saying he has a "mangina" and asking if he's a girl. So he cut his "luscious locks" that he loved. And he's having trouble with his teachers. They refuse to make accomodations for him. At all. He's brilliant, but he's also forgetful and high energy and unfocused. As a result, his grades are in the toilet. So he wants to be medicated.
I hate that. I love my silly, eccentric, crazy, imaginative boy. I don't want him to change. But he's 11 years old and if he feels like he needs help, I have to respect that.
Bean's health is appalling. He can barely walk he's in so much pain from the osteonecrosis in his hips. And because he hurts so badly, he's nauseated. So he can't hold down food much. We've been to the urgent care twice and the hospital once in the last 6 months for dehydration.
It hurts me so much to see him in pain. But I can't mother him. It doesn't work when his mother does it and it's not going to work if I do it.
Tallulah's growing up. And my sweet compliant child has gotten an attitude. Now instead of having an ally who helps me with just about anything without being told twice (and in some cases without being asked at all) is arguing with me about everything.
I knew it was going to happen, but at 7??
Mom is still Mom. Nosy as all get out and touchy about everything.
I can't expect her to change after 60 years of being this way.
And I still can't find a Doctor who will listen to me about my weight gain and fatigue.
With all of this going on, I've decided that I need a theme song and this is what I've chosen:
Bring on the Rain by JoDee Messina
Another day has almost come and gone, Can't imagine what else could go wrong. Sometimes I'd like to hide away somewhere and lock the door. A single battle lost but not the war.
'Cause tomorrow's another day and I'm thirsty anyway So bring on the rain.
It's almost like the hard times circle 'round. A couple drops and they all start comin down. Yeah, I might feel defeated, I might hang my head, I might be barely breathing, but I'm not dead.
No, cause tomorrow's another day, and I'm thirsty anyway, So bring on the rain.
No I'm not gonna let it get me down. I'm not cry, and I'm not gonna lose any sleep tonight.
'Cause tomorrow's another day, and I am not afraid, so bring on the rain.
To me, this song is about acceptance, which is something I have a really hard time with. I can handle just about whatever comes, but for some reason I can't accept that this is my life.
I will always have drama, I will never be rich. I'm not a skinny girl and I never will be. The love of my extended family is conditional and my sister is a bitch. I may never finish school or even go back at all and my dreams of being a Rock Star are just that, dreams.
But I am loved, by two of the most amazing children God ever created and a man who is so strong of heart that it brings tears to my eyes. I have friends that I don't have any idea what I did to deserve and I have two sisters in spirit that will love me no matter what.
But the best part is even though the rain is pouring, I am happy.
For the last 2 months I've been contemplating what I want to do with ROwlf's hair when it finally grows out from all the horrendous haircuts he's had lately. (After the poodle cut there was an incident involving a mat on his ear so they had to be shaved.)
Because really there are so many options..
There's the sweet floppy way he use to wear it..
Or we could go with a VanDyke.
Or perhaps a peacock look.
Tallulah loves cats, so maybe a lion cut.
Oliver needs something to get him more interested in History, so we could have a buffalo in the house.
Or maybe something a bit more laid back to go with his personality.
But my personal favorite is the mohawk.
Bean said I could. But I don't think he realized that I wasn't joking, so after our Colorado trip, I'm thinking a trip to the groomers is in order.
At least as far as some of my favorite bloggers go. I feel like they're the amazing fantastical creatures who are so much cooler than I am and I get amazingly excited over the stupidest shit, like:
Did you know that Candance knows my name??
So imagine the Groupiegasm I had when I got an email from Aunt Crazy last month asking if me & Miley wanted to go to the Symphony with her.
Me?!?!
I mean I know that Miley's all kinds of cool, and everybody loves her.
But ME?!?!?!
Holy fuck. What does one wear when meeting a RAWKstar??
I have no fucking clue. But I wore a dress. Because Miley wanted me to wear a dress. And black stockings because I'm a Southern girl and we cover our legs in public. And heels.
However, I forgot to take into account how much I've been slumming it at work for the last 6 months in my jeans and tennis shoes and occassionally flats.
Nine months ago I could have run to the Symphony in heels (or at least I could have just as well as in tennis shoes). And when I put the bitches on they felt fine.
And then we walked. And y'all, Miley is TALL. So she walks fast. I'm not. So even in flats sometimes its hard to keep up with her. Plus, I'm an asthmatic smoker. I'm slow.
We were way early so we sat outside and smoked and talked (or at least Miley & Aunt Crazy talked - I listened trying to pretend like I was just like the other cool kids) and I got to rest my screaming feet.
Then we went in.
Y'all, I almost busted my ass. I'm walking in behind Miley looking for our seats and shit, and I hit that ramp down into the chairs and almost went Jill on everybody.
Miley and Aunt Crazy weren't looking at me, so I did the only thing I could think of.
I took off my shoes. At the symphony.
I know.. I KNOW.. My grandmother would have killed me.
But the good news is, I don't think Aunt Crazy noticed.
Anyway. Good symphony. Aunt Crazy liked it and Miley & I took turns distracting each other..
Miley: Jenn.
Me: ??
Miley: The bass player is talking to his bass!!
Me: No, he's counting..
For the record, Miley was right. He was talking to his bass. I know because I was attempting to read his lips for the rest of the concert.
And later..
Me: Miley.
Miley: ??
Me: That second horn is really brassy don't you think??
Miley: ?????
What can I say, I'm not as amusing as Miley is..
Anyway. Good times were had by all. I fully intend to enthusiastically accept if I ever get another invitation from Aunt Crazy, and I may even prod Miley into inviting her out with us (because I am far too chicken shit to do it myself).
I've decide that my new pink laptop makes me Supergirl.
And not the 1980's blonde version (with a weirdly hesitant voice/accent) but the adorable pink Supergirl version (I know this version well, since this was Tallulah's Halloween costume a few years ago) - and of course my version has crazy brunette hair..
Anyway.
I had my desk all set up all day with my work computer in front of me and my laptop carefully set up so that you had to actually walk your happy ass around behind me in order to see that I was blogging and playing farmville.
Of course, there may or may not be cameras in our new office (did I mention that the office moved out of the ghetto?? That's a whole 'nother post), so its entirely possible that Money Boss and Anal Boss were watching me blog and play farmville while they ate popcorn.
So it was all set up & I had my snazzy insanely massive bag under my desk. And I blogged. Twice.
Because I'm Supergirl and I can blog and work and plant/harvest crops and plot to take over the world all without breaking a sweat all because of my pink laptop.
Ages and ages and ages ago, I promised Bluzdude a couple of pictures from my family album.
But I didn't have a printer/scanner at the time, and I have no memory, so it never happened.
Tonight, I hooked up a printer/scanner (and it worked!!) and the very first thing I scanned were pictures for Bluz and I sent them on to him.
But I thought I'd share them with you too.
As I told Bluz - they're old. But if you tilt your head sideways and squint a little you might notice the guy in the back with the guitar (at least in one picture he has a guitar).
According to my Aunt, who presumably was there, that's Stevie Ray Vaughan.
And the blonde next to him is Lenny, my cousin, his wife.
Next to Lenny is my great-grandmother, who was a hoot and a half. (Think Weezer from Steel Magnolias and you wouldn't be far off.)
The thing that sucks about being gone so long from the blogging world (besides the obvious) is that shit changes. And when you're gone you have no idea what the fuck is going on..
I went to all of my favorite peoples blogs today and most of them look completely different. I feel like I'm in the fucking twilight zone. Where are the layouts I remember?? It's so sad.
And since my memory is like a colander (or maybe even a funnel) it makes me wonder "is this the blog I think it is?? Maybe I went to the wrong blog thinking it was Christy's, maybe this is really Stephanie's blog and oh fuck. What if I have their names totally wrong!!"
Someone please remind me of these troubles if I ever decide to go on hiatis again.
And by the way. Blogging at work is freaking awesome.
I'd like to tell you about my fantastic trip to Morocco while I was away, but as I don't know anything about Morocco (including how to spell it really), I'd just be pulling shit out of my ass.
The truth is, I've been bitchy.
About everything.
Mom, kids, work, friends and Bean. I've got nothing productive to say about anyone but Rowlf. He's still stinkin' adorable. (And I'm seriously considering getting him a mohawk - but that would actually make a good post)
And I'm still feeling bitchy. And I haven't been here because I didn't want to bore everyone with my constant complaints. But today I have one that I had to share and I thought y'all would find amusing.
Bean bought me Christmas/Birthday laptop today. (It's pink and I love it.)
The only problem was that I couldn't remember the password for my wifi. So I called Comcast to see if they knew it.
They didn't.
So they sent me to Netgear.
The guy had a VERY heavily accented English and was snappy if I didn't understand him.
And then he tells me that he can't help me unless I pay $100.
Fuck that.
So I hung up and went digging around on the old computer where the router lives.
And there was a little icon that said "Router" on it.
So I opened it.
And there's all my info. Definitely NOT worth $100.
1. I am not responsible for your actions. So if I tell you that I am craving Mexican food so badly that it hurts, and you run out to get Mexican for me and in doing so spend money you didn’t have and bounce your rent check, it’s not my fault. You’re not a child. You can use logic and theoretically you can balance your checkbook. And there isn’t anyway that I could MAKE you do anything.
2. If you want to fight, I’m totally ready.
3. If you want a pity party, you came to the wrong girl. I’ll pat you on the back and tell you it’s all going to be ok, but at some point, you just have to build a bridge.
4. If you did something stupid, to make a point that was completely ridiculous in the first place, I’ve got nothing. Don’t put down your dog because I made a comment about how much it stinks and then try to run to me and cry about the damn dog. You should have just washed it, and then everyone would be happy.
I'm free!! Like a bird, or the wind or some other free thing!!
Yesterday was Mom's 60th birthday party, and with that, my season of craziness is over!!
Let me explain this to you guys (I may have already, but you know my mind is slipping)..
September - My Great Aunt's 90somethingth birthday in Ft. Worth
October - Tallulah's Birthday Mrs. #2's Baby shower Halloween Party
November - Bean's Birthday Thanksgiving
December - Me & Bean's Anniversary (1 year baby!!) Oliver's Birthday Mrs. #2's Cousin's Graduation Party (yeah, don't ask) Christmas
January - New Years' and Drive to Fucking Iowa Mom's Birthday
And while that's only 2 things (or so) a month, keep in mind that I only have the kids 2 weekends a month and all of those things required planning, shopping and preparing for. Plus, I'm still insanely tired (which is a completely different rant).
So, yeah, I'm done and I'm thrilled that there is nothing family-wise that I have to plan until October.
