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??
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".
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.
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.
To wrap up my Girly week, I thought I'd go into Manspeak.
For all you guys, I just want to say that I am not claiming to be fluent in Manspeak. It's more that I understand the gist of any given situation - after all, noone but a man can truly speak Manspeak. But I speak Manspeak kind of like how well you speak German after taking it throughout high school.
The guys at work appreciate that I know some Manspeak. Because for them it translates into if I wear a low-cut top I will not get offended if they look at my boobs. They're men, if it's on display they will look. And I kindof figure that if I didn't want them to look, I shouldn't have worn that top.
My girlfriends for the most part like that I can translate for them, for instance -
You slept with him on the first date?? Nope, sorry hon, the best you're going to get is fuck buddy.
Bean loves that I understand his Manspeak. Because for him, it means that as long as he's not drooling over the gorgeous 22 year old blonde that just walked by, I don't really care if he looks. My only request is that if he's going to be obvious enough for me to notice then she better be smokin.
And Oliver is beginning to learn of my Manspeak abilities.
Mom, can you take Tallulah over there??
Translation: There's a hot girl coming and I don't want her to see me hugging my mom and holding her hand.
Mom, I'm going to air dry after my shower, so can you knock before coming in?
Translation: I'm going to play with myself for awhile. Can you guard my door from Tallulah??
But mostly I really hope that in years to come Tallulah appreciates my knowledge.
So that maybe when I tell her dressing like a whore will make boys treat her like a whore, she will listen.
Since I made you guys all think I'm an idiot yesterday, I thought today I'd try to redeem myself.
Here are some things that I do that maybe aren't girly girl things.
I pay bills. Bean has no idea how much we make or spend or anything. Neither does Mom.
I move furniture. Often. As in whenever I get bored. Which is often. And if there's someone around to help, great. If not, oh well.
I paint. I like to paint walls.
I train my dog. (no, this isn't something I really consider manly, but I do consider my 60 lb dog much manlier than Bean's 8 lb rat dog)
I make good steak.
I put furniture together.
I like to drive and make a terrible passenger.
See. I'm not completely incompetent.
Mostly I'm just about doing what needs to be done. And if noone else will/can do it, then I will. But alot of times I do something and realize that I suck at it. So while I know how it's done, and will do it again if necessary, I will never choose to do it.
Other things (like painting) I did once when I had noone to help me and realized that I do it faster and better than the ones I was calling to help me. So I stopped calling for help.
This week I'm exploring my girliness, so I thought I'd make a list of all the things I don't do that maybe people think I should to be a self-sufficient person (because I'm anal meticulous like that).
I don't do cars. As in check oil or fluid or change tires.
I don't do taping - like around the edges when I paint.
I don't do yard work. At least not if I can help it.
I don't do grilling.
I don't fix things - like leaky pipes or clogged toilets or broken lights.
And I realize that some of you are reading this thinking "what a lightweight!!" or something similar, but let me explain..
I have 13 male cousins who all live in the greater Houston area and I only share them with 2 other girls (Amara doesn't count because she lives in Austin).
I have 4 Uncles.
Many guy friends.
Several incredibly capable girlfriends.
Perry - who likes to prove his manliness by doing shit around my house.
Alien - who is actually relatively handy.
Pa - who is a carpenter.
And Bean, who will do just about anything I ask him to.
So why the hell would I ever need to learn these things??
Yes, I realize that taping is ridiculously easy, but for some reason I do a craptastic job and everything I tape looks like shit. Plus it takes me years to tape a wall. So yeah, I could do it. Or - I could call Perry who does a much better job than I do in a quarter of the time.
Do you understand now??
It's not about being the helpless girl. Its about understanding my limits.
I know that I wouldn't do these things well, and I have many people around me who can do them better and faster and without breaking something - like their foot - so I leave these things to the experts, who almost all just happen to be men.
First of all, I have to tell you that Bean is asleep and therefore cannot stop me from drunken blogging. Connie is awake, but she doesn't give a rat's ass what I'm doing, so we're all good.
Oliver had a Halloween party tonight.
My sorry ass is still a week behind because of Bean being in the hospital, so I didn't get him the invitations until seriously late - like yesterday. And he only invited like 5 people.
I invited Connie and Miley and Ophalia and Dirty - basically all of me and Bean's friends that have kids.
Connie, Miley and Ophalia came. Dirty did not. He's Bean's friend, the girls are mine. My friends rawk.
Anyway.
Oliver did invite one school friend vocally a week ago, and he really likes him, so I called his mother and confirmed. So he had one school friend there.
He didn't really care that there was only one.. He had his 3 best buds in the same party - Connie's boy, the Beave and School Boy.
So we had this Halloween party.
I made pigs in blankets wrapped all mummy-like and chicken fingers that looked a little (if you squint and turn your head just right) like actual fingers. And a big ass cupcake (because I wanted to). ANd punches, both kid punch and very adult punch.
And I decked out the house.
And I bought favors and a shit-load of candy.
Perry made bad brownies and cookies. He bought fruit snacks and craft supplies and 2 bags of cheap off-brand candy.
Alien (Oliver's biological father) made a creepy maze and bought us a fog machine and strobe light for said maze.
So this party was set up to be the party of the fucking year.
Enter Perry.
Oliver ran into the garage while running the maze and went to Perry, because he hurt himself. And Perry says:
If you're going to run into things then maybe you shouldn't do the maze at all
Y'all, Oliver is a little clumsy. And a lot emotional.
So when he trips over shit he wants a parent to coddle him.
I realize that he's almost 11, but really is too much to look at the injury and give him a fucking hug??
I found Oliver hysterical in the house, where he told me:
I thought this was going to be a fun Halloween party, but Daddy's here and he's ruining it.
He wouldn't have said that to Tallulah.
It's hard to ignore what he says when he's been my dad for 7 years.
I bet he never even liked me.
Normally, I'm pretty diplomatic and I try to just deflect not actively jump in, but Oliver was hysterical and this was a party he's been looking forward to for a year, and I had been drinking the grown-up punch for about 3 hours.
So I pulled Perry into my room (the only kid-free room) and told him that if he couldn't say something nice to my son to not say anything at all.
And you have no idea the level of self control it took to not kick him the fuck out of my house.
I've talked about it before here, and I'm sure I will again, but in my little "Cancer Week" posts, I can't forget my own cancer survivor..
He is 2 years into remission. And it's fucking fantabulous.
But I have to say (sorry babe) that it didn't have to be the long ass road that he took to recovery.
Not that I have many men reading me here, but ladies, make your husbands check their junk!! (or check it for them..)
Here's the signs for you:
A painless lump or swelling in either testicle. A change in how the testicle feels. A dull ache in the lower abdomen or the groin. A sudden build-up of fluid in the scrotum. Pain or discomfort in a testicle or in the scrotum.
I'm not giving you all the juicy details on Bean, but he (like all men) doesn't like the doctor.
Testicular cancer is one of the most curable cancers there is. But like all other cancers, early detection is the key.
I know boys are attached to their balls, but really??
Because of Lance Armstrong, nut cancer much more accessible lately, and that's fantastic. But you still have to do the research or *gasp* ask your doctor.
Nut Cancer can kill, it almost killed my husband, but it doesn't have to.
Dear Bean, Part of me hopes that you read this post, and part of me really hopes that you don't. But I need to get this out, and I hope that no matter what, you'll understand that.
You terrified me this weekend. When you fell in the kitchen I thought you'd had a stroke or a heart attack or an embolism or something.. I think my heart truly stopped beating.
I like to think that I can handle things, and I know that you like to think that I can, but in that split second, I felt like I had gone back to two years ago. And all of the fear and all of the pain came rushing back at me.
And then I ran to you and you were disoriented, but ok.
Still I was so scared.
I don't think you understand the depth of my relief when everything turned out to be caused by dehydration.
I felt like a mountain had been lifted from my shoulders, and for the first time in hours, I could breathe.
And when I got to bring you home - that was like the world began to spin again.
I'm not saying this because I want you to be upset that you worried me. I just want you to know that I'm not as strong as you think I am. And I don't want you to stop showing weakness in front of me, because I promise, my imagination is far worse than your reality. I just want you to understand that at any point I could break. Because I'm not as strong as you are. And the thought of losing you is completely unbearable to me.
I'm so unbelievably glad that you're home. And that this time, at least, everything is fine.
But my heart is already looking for next time, and bracing myself for a fall.
You've asked me before how I could think that you would leave me (apparantly there's been some sleep-talking). And I've never really answered that question:
I don't think that you would leave me voluntarily. But I do think you would leave.
His name is Rowlf and I am in love with his floppiness. I love that he frequently looks like a big throw rug. I also love his personality. He's so mellow it's unreal and I love it.
We've taken him to the groomers before and they did a good job, but they didn't really trim his face enough, so it grew back pretty quickly.
So I sent Bean to take him back and asked him to instruct them to trim his face a little better..
They did.
My big wonderful floppy dog has been turned into a fucking poodle. And yes, I realize that he's a goldendoodle and therefore is a poodle (or at least he's 75% a poodle), but if I'd wanted a fucking poodle, I would have bought a fucking poodle instead of an adorable floppy mop.
I'm so upset. I literally cried when Bean brought him home.
I guess it's good that he can see, but his Halloween costume is ruined.. He was going to be Chewbacca.
On the day of the shower, when my world was all going to shit, while I was out and about, the kids decided to be helpful.
Mom and Bean shrugged it off.
So sweet that they want to help and surprise Mommy.
I know my kids better.
They wanted something.
But that's not the point.
The point is that they:
Cleaned the living room.
Vacuumed the dining room.
Cleaned to kitchen.
Did laundry.
However
They washed a huge load of their laundry with half a bottle of bleach.
Fortunately Bean jumped in and fixed it as much as he could, but I have no idea how he did. I think the conversations went like this:
Oliver: Bean, is the bleach supposed to smell that strong?
Bean: Umm... Why?
Oliver: Well we did laundry and the bleach smell is really strong.
At which point, Bean leapt out of wherever he was sitting for damage control.
And I do have to say that I admire my husband's self-control, because no yelling whatsoever happened here. No children were injured and no anger was vented.
The death toll was: 4 of Oliver's school shirts, 1 of Tallulah's play skirts.
And there will be housecleaning for the rest of the week if they want new Webkins.
This post was originally for last week, but got scooted on down so I could do my Back to Blogging posts. Which were super fun. If you haven't read about the cake, you might want to go here. If not, then just know, last Sunday, my friend Aria and I threw a baby shower for our good friend Cara.
I made the cake and it was delivered to my house on Saturday. And Aria and I had done some of the set-up on Thursday, so I really didn't have much to do Sunday.
Aria came and picked up the cake around 11:30 (because I would have had it through the windshield with my jerky standard driving action) and I was going to meet her there at 1:00.
At 12:15, Bean helped me load up the truck but Mom wasn't home, and she had the tea and sugar for our tea party shower in her trunk (which I am fully willing to admit I should have unloaded Saturday, but I was tired from cake makin').
So as I sat there fuming about my blown schedule, I looked down at my cute little sundress and I see that there's something all down one side - a sticky nasty something.
Fuck.
No problem, I'll change. Into sundress #2 I go.
The zipper broke 2 seconds after I got it on.
Double Fuck.
Into my closet to find something else to wear.
Black skirt doesn't fit. Gray skirt is dirty. No shirt for that skirt, and that dress is too short.
Khaki pants and a maroon top it is.
And it's 12:45, I should have left at 12:30 and Mom's still not home.
Triple Fuck.
I couldn't really tell you what exactly was said, but it involved Bean and possible overuse of "fuck" and ended up with him trying to understand why I needed tea when we had tea.
I didn't have time to explain so I called another friend Ophalia to see if she could come over and wait for Mom to mosey on home with the tea.
Again, I couldn't tell you actual words, but there was definite overuse of "fuck" and ended with her telling me she'd take care of it.
Good friend.
I got to the shower okay, apparantly being pissed helps me drive a stick better but I did share some of my misfortune when Aria broke a pitcher shortly after I arrived.
Please excuse my typos today.. blogging from my phone sucks ass.
Even though it was a 4 day week, its been long, and I'm so glad its Friday.
So - because of a very long story we did a car swap with a friend of mine and she's got my Pt Cruiser (which is an automatic), and I was supposed to have Perry's car (also an automatic) and Perry was going to have Bean's truck (a standard) and Bean's been driving my friends sweet little sporty car (also a standard).
But Perry's a dickwhistle and kept complaining and wanting gas money and just being a whiny little bitch, even though I have let him have one of our cars during his numerous car repairs and helping out my friend (who I met while we were married and he likes) is good Christian helpfulness.
I got tired of listening to it and dealing with it.
So last Friday Perry was over with the kids and the truck and I decided to fuck it all and teach myself how to drive the truck.
Let me be clear though - I have attempted to learn to drive a stick shift twice. Once with Perry about 10 years ago, but he starting crying (almost literally) when I stalled and didn't shift perfectly after 2 minutes behind the wheel of his precious Corolla. And once with Bean about a year ago, but it was in a moderately full and small parking lot and it made me nervous. I've known the theory for a good 15 years from my bitchy cousin Mia's super awesome husband. He drove an old Beetle and let me shift and all that good stuff. Mr. Mia's cool. Especially when you're 15 and he's kinda hot.
Anyway, so I plopped my ass in the truck and stalled five times before I managed to move took off. I will say that I look hot in a truck, but not so much when I'm spluttering down the road.
The whole weekend I drove around with the kids in the "backseat" screaming "We're gonna die!!" - which we were not in any danger of at the time. However this week driving it in rush hour traffic I kinda was. Every other morning in my PT there are no broke down vehicles in the middle of the freeway or stop and go bullshit. But now that I can't stop without stalling, EVERY SINGLE MORNING there's been something. Its like Murphys Law or something.
And I almost always kill it coming into our fucked up parking lot that of course has a driveway that's on an incline.
AND that's not even mentioning my performance anxiety whenever there's anyone behind me at a light or a stop sign.. that's good for at least 3 stalls - more if the douchecanoe's up my ass.
I get my gorgeous baby back next week, and I can't wait.
I alluded to this a bit yesterday bu today you're getting the full story.
Thursday, Bean was sharpening Tallulah's pencils for Supply Drop-off Night,
All 3 Million of them.
Perry walked by.
Keep in mind, we are all in Bean and My house.
Our house.
Not Perry's house.
The house that Perry chose not to live in anymore when he chose not to work on our marriage anymore.
The house that he knew I would bodily throw him out of when he busted out that obelisk that broke the camel's back of our marriage.
The one that Bean moved into.
The one that Bean has made into a home again.
That's the house we were in.
So he walks by Bean sharpening 3 million of his daughter's pencils to take to school and he says:
So you finally found a job suited to your education level?
I'll wait while you pick your jaw up off the floor.
I'll wait a little longer while you sputter and cuss.
Bean didn't hit him.
I didn't hit him. Or yell at him, or back him into a corner and have him begging me to stop berating him within an inch of his life. (I've done that to him before, and I'm only using a little hyperbole).
Though if you can picture Bean bodily holding me, while my feet kicked uselessly at the air and my hands morphed into claws, you're not far off.
Bean was home this weekend, and I actually had my phone ready to record all the Beanisms that happen, so I thought I'd share..
I was reading Lazy to Lady and he was looking over my shoulder and suddenly yells out, "Are you looking at AK 47s so you can kill me?!?! ". You really have to actually look at her blog to see how funny this is, but really, it's pink and black and very girly, no AK 47s present.
He then started trying to further distract me from my blog reading by telling me how he has trouble pronouncing words when he reads them for the first time. You know like Yo se might and Peeneylope instead of Yosemite and Penelope.
If you're married to Lorena Bobbit yosemite be careful or you might get your peneloped.
Yes, he actually said that.
He also asked if I was going to blog about this.
And then he huffed and puffed about me making fun of him for awhile.
Then he said, "It's a good thing you have me around or you wouldn't have anything to blog about."
