JJ's Drunken Blogging aka Why I Hate My Ex-Husband and Want to Kick Him in His Nonexistent Nut-sack

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.

Little Miss Perfect

Tallulah is doing The March of Dimes reading thing.
I tried to avoid it by throwing away her envelope.

Because they had pictures the 2nd week of school.
And on the 3rd week, Oliver had a fundraiser.
And on the 4th week, Oliver had pictures.
And on the 5th week, Oliver had a book fair.
And now Tallulah has The March of Dimes.
And Oliver has a Band fundraiser.
And next week is her book fair.
And that weekend is the school “Family Fun Day”.

And Dad has yet to offer any monetary contributions to all of this.
Therefore I’m broke.

So I threw the envelope away.

And Tallulah went to school the next day, told her teacher she had lost the envelope and got a new one.

Then she came home and read 5 books.

And last night, she read 13 more.
And tonight she’s planning on at least 2 more (but that’s only if she can’t find more than that).

Who is this child??

How did I end up with this overachieving perfectionist??

I may be a little anal now that I'm an adult, but that’s mostly because I’m lazy.

I don’t want to have to look for shit. So I want it left where I can find it easily.

And I don’t want to have to iron, so I want the clothes put away just so.

And I hate having to spray for ants and roaches, so I want the damn dishes done and the counters wiped down.

But its only because I’m lazy, and the alternative to doing things my way is more work. And I hate more work.

So how did my daughter turn out to be overeager??

But she’s been this way since birth.

When she was 18 months old she used to line up her Scooby Doo figures and put all the Daphnes together, and all the Freds together and the Velmas and the Shaggys and the Scoobys. All in one perfectly straight little line.

I don’t get it. It baffles me.
I also love it.

Because life will be so much easier for her.

She won’t have to work super hard to make sure that she remembers the due dates for things so that she can be sure and do it the night before.
Everything will be completed and tidy 2 days after it was assigned.

And she won’t have to worry about people randomly showing up at her house and seeing it messy.
Because it will never be messy.

And she won’t have to feel self-conscious about how she looks.
Because her hair is always fixed and her clothes always match.

I’m happy for her.

But I don’t get her.

2 Truths and a Lie

Tell me 2 truths and a lie and make me guess which is the lie. You've played this game before, so why not join The Scoop on Poop and CA Girl every Thursday by
1.Grabbing the handy little button on the sidebar
2.Posting your 2 truths and a lie
3.Link up
4.Reveal your lie the next week!

Last week I said:

1. Marlene is the craftiest person I don't actually know.

True. I don't actually know Marlene and she is super crafty. If you go check out her site, you'll see that she makes these uber cute cards, and I don't even know what I'd use them for, but I want all of them.

2. I almost never understand Marlene's "Word of the Day".

Lie. I actually usually do understand them most of the time. I realize that I usually blog in little, easy words (I talk that way too) but I'm the girl who's five year old self asked her father why he'd chosen her name and got this answer:

Because I was looking for a polysyllabic name with multiple derivatives

And I understood exactly what he meant because that's just how the show-off talked. All the time.

3. Marlene comments on my blog all the time even though I never have any intelligent comments to leave on hers.

Very, very true. Marlene always checks me out and leaves fun comments (especially on Thursdays) but all I ever have to say on her posts is:

Too cute!!

Or something else that means exactly the same thing.

Because I am absolutely not crafty.

This Week:

1. My cousin is having a baby girl in January.

2. My very good friend Cara had a baby boy in September.

3. I am having a baby in May.

Take your guess and come back next week to find the answers..

And don't forget to link up and play!! I'm totally addicted, you will be too.

Mean, Cruel and Heartless

Oliver brought home his conduct sheet the other day. There were 2 C’s, 1 B and 1 blank space, and I have no idea what that means.

B’s are pretty normal for him. He just can’t manage to be quiet. Or sit still. Or follow directions. And most teachers recognize that and don’t give him a whole lot of crap for it. So he gets B’s.

But C’s?? That’s a slippery slope. Pretty soon the C’s turn into D’s and the D’s turn into F’s.

And I hate to punish him for talking conduct marks. Mostly because I’ve come to realize over the last 6 years that he just can’t help it, he has a big mouth. But also because if I did then the boy would be grounded every day.
So I normally let those slide.

This time I had to crack the whip.

We talked and I told him that if they weren’t pulled up into B’s by next week that his weekend plans would be in jeopardy.

Because I’m mean.

That was the same night that he didn’t get to go to fencing because he hadn’t finished his homework in time.

Because I’m cruel.

And then, the next morning he called me at work moderately hysterical because the dogs had eaten his conduct sheet.

I laughed.

Because I’m heartless.

The Super Frightful Ever Spooky Pants-Less Dementor

Oliver adores Halloween. He always has.

His favorite show when he was 2 was Scooby Doo – and his very first crush was Daphne. And I let him watch it because he adored it.

Everyone told me that it would cause him to have nightmares, but really, what child doesn’t have some nightmares, and he loved the idea of the boogey man.

Granted, I did have to sweep the room before bed to check and make sure the boogey man had gone home for the night, but really, nothing unmanageable.

Anyway, not the point (which I am getting to, I promise..

Because Oliver loves Halloween so much, he’s convinced his sister that it is the best holiday ever, and since she would really like to be able to follow him around like a puppy dog (and occasionally does, literally), it wasn’t very hard.

So every year we’ve built upon our Halloween decorations.

3 years ago we got this frightful tree thing. I’m not really sure if it’s supposed to be a wicked witch or a tree monster, but I like it. And it cackles whenever someone walks by (or when the sun sets, or the wind blows, or all the time really.. and it took Bean almost 2 weeks to find the source of the cackling after I put it up..).

2 years ago we started the graveyard in the front. Now we have about 12 tombstones, and yes, they fall down all the time, but I love the fact that they look better when my grass isn’t mowed, so I get to be lazy creative.

Last year we got these bone wind chimes that shake whenever they hear a sound - or at least they do when the batteries are good.

And inside we have spider web curtains and table cloths, and pumpkin candle holders and a spooky candle tree for the mantle.

I love it.

Our new additions this year were some cauldrons (hanging from chains above my bar so that Bean can hit his head on them every morning while making me coffee) and Oliver’s favorite:

I’m really not sure what it is. Maybe the Grim Reaper?? Maybe a Zombie. Maybe just a spooky skull guy in a black cloak..

No idea.

But he’s hovering in our front window ready to scare the shit out of you whenever you walk up and belatedly notice him. (or when you get up in the middle of the night for a glass of water and see him out of the corner of your eye when your husband is working and you’re home alone with the children..)

Anyway.

We have fun at Halloween.

This year there’s a Harry Potter theme (which we've done before, only Oliver was a super cute Harry Potter and Tallulah was Hedwig - seriously, it was the cutest thing ever!!).

Tallulah is going as Hermione.
Oliver is going as a dementor.
I am going as Professor McGonagall.
Bean has to work.

Last weekend the kids tried on their costumes.

Tallulah looked very sweet in her get up.

Oliver looked hilarious.

For starters, the mask is too big.

Second, the cloak is too short.

And third, the ghoulish dementor hands that he had to have?? Those he can’t get on without an assload of pulling and straining on my part.

So I told him he’d have to wear black pants with it.

His response??

Or no pants.

I was howling.

I don’t know if you guys have read Harry Potter, but a dementor does not have pasty pale, scrawny little legs.
And that’s not even mentioning that parts of the cloak come up to his crotch.

Perry has them on Halloween. Since he refused to trade with me.

So he can have fun taking Hermione and the Pants-less Dementor out Trick-or-Treating.

Button, Button, Who's Got the Button?!?!

I DO!!!!!

I'm sure you've noticed my new look.. I love it more than my favorite vibrator dildo marital aid.


The fucking fantabulous Drama Mama, Stephanie over at The Scoop on Poop did this for me.

Don’t you love it?!?!

I do.

And if you look over there on my right sidebar you'll see my super cute new button. You should grab it, because it’s freaking awesome.



If you want your very own super cool new layout, go here. She’s awesome and I love her and she may be my new best friend (sorry Miley).

Fanfuckingtastic Friday

Boobies has this absolutely amazing little meme on Fridays..

It's an open invitation to give a big ole' fawk you out to whomever you'd like. (Except I don't fawk, I fuck.. If I don't watch my language for my kids, I'm not watching it for you, sorry.)

I alluded to this on Tuesday with my Post-Its, but I thought I’d elaborate for y’all.
One of my fabulous co-workers left a note lying around.
It was found, and it said this:

"Cutting Costs:
Diversify/Combine postions
Do away with Sec position”

That’s me.

I was going to just let it go, but my VP, Anal Boss, came in the office on Tuesday and I started freaking the fuck out.

Fanfuckingtastic!! He’s here to fire me!!

All day long.

I couldn’t handle it, so I asked him.

He said my job wasn’t in danger.

Awesome.

But who wrote the note??

I have no idea.

I have suspicions.

Mostly centering around the 3 guys in the office who know what the word “diversify” means. And since one of those is my husband, that just makes 2.

So fuck you whoever wrote that note.


And I'm still not clear on the whole thing, but somehow Christy has something to do with Fawk You Fridays and I love her.

2 Truths and a Lie

Tell me 2 truths and a lie and make me guess which is the lie. You've played this game before, so why not join The Scoop on Poop and CA Girl every Thursday by
1.Grabbing the handy little button on the sidebar
2.Posting your 2 truths and a lie
3.Link up
4.Reveal your lie the next week!

Last week I said:

1. Oliver has decided to do Science Fair again this year.

True. He wants to do Science Fair with his little buddy, they want to see if you can train rat dogs better with treats as a reward or by using praise. He loves science.

2. I absolutely detest Science Fair.

Very, very true. I hate having to prod him along and every year so far I've had to do vast amounts of work to "help" him.

3. He wants Tallulah to help him with his project and she's ridiculously excited about it.

Lie. She's pissed. She doesn't want him to use her rat dog.


This week, I thought since Marlene has gotten every single 2 Truths and a Lie right (and I do mean every single one) that I'd make it all about her.

1. Marlene is the craftiest person I don't actually know.

2. I almost never understand Marlene's "Word of the Day".

3. Marlene comments on my blog all the time even though I never have any intelligent comments to leave on hers.

Take your guess and come back next week for the reveal!!

My Name is Rowlf and I'm the Cutest Puppy Ever

Y'all have met my puppy, Rowlf..

This is normally what he looks like..



But right now he has a really bad haircut..



I am still so in love with him.. But really, to be very honest, he's not the brightest crayon in the box.

For starters, it hasn't occurred to him that he's a 60 lb goldendoodle. He thinks he's an 8 lb rat dog.

And when we go to the park or something he just does whatever the other dogs do.

So if there are good dogs there, he's good, but if there are poorly behaved pitbulls who don't listen to their owners, he just does what they do.

I'm finally cat free. So even though I don't have a doggie door, now that the weather's nice I can leave the back door open and don't have to crate the dogs because Tallulah's little bitch baby likes to crap on the floor in front of people's bedroom doors has accidents, so she needs to be able to go out whenever she wants.

The rat dogs picked up on the door being open immediately, especially Dodger, because he's way too smart for his own good.

But Rowlf just sat by the back door looking at me:

Can I go out?? Huh?? Huh??

I literally had to drag his 60 lb ass out.. and then I didn't see him for an hour.

He was sitting outside by the backdoor:

Can I come in now, Mom?? Can I?? Can I??

Post-It Notes Tuesday

Out of The Office

This last week has been crazy..

I was out of the office almost the entire week.. and this week I get to do it all over again..

I've been at our main office in Galveston working with my Work Wife (who I love) because she's swamped, and I'm not..

And though I love her to pieces and she would be busy no matter what, I have to say, after working with her for a week that she is crazily disorganized.. or maybe she just organizes in her own way. I don't know, but I couldn't find anything in her office.. Hell, she had 8000 emails in her inbox!!

Anyway, I have to go help her again next week, which is awesome, because then I don't have to see Redneck Boss and Coon Ass Boss and FNG..


While I was gone however, I did have a run-in with Napolean Boss.

(are you noticing that I have a lot of bosses?? That's right, I am the dirt on the peon's shoes)

Napolean Boss is new. And contrary to his blog name, he doesn't have Napolean Syndrome - but he would be fully within his rights to, since he's all of 5'3", maybe.

But I like Napolean Boss. He gets shit done.

I call him and tell him I need something taken care of and that day it's taken care of.

The other bosses take at least a week.

But last Friday he decided that I need to get on a boat.

That's right a fucking boat.

As in the kind that is on the water.

And to top it off, it was a broken boat, on the water.



I don't know if you've ever gotten onto a working boat. But at least at our terminal, you have to step off of a concrete slab that is the dry land, onto a log (that looks like it could rot away at any moment) that is attached to the slab and then up onto the ledge thing on the boat and then climb your happy ass over the side to get on.

And my almost 200 lb self was doing this while shaking violently with the help of a 150 lb man who is 3 inches shorter than I am.

By the time I got on the boat I thought I was going to vomit.

And Napolean Boss says, "See! Now you can say you were on a boat! Just as stable as land."

Except that it's not because it's moving!!!!

So we went upstairs and downstairs and into the wheelhouse and back.

And the place he decides to get off the floating deathtrap required me to jump (yes, I said jump) from the boat to the concrete slab.

I don't like him anymore. In fact I hate him. And I may demand the waive my drug test if they ever make me do it again.

And he wants me to go on a boat ride this week.. As in where the engines are on and there are other floating deathtraps around you to crash into.

Can I call in sick with an anxiety attack??

Fantabulous Fucking Friday!!

My absofuckinglutely favorite day of the week is here. Head on over to Boobies and link up to give the world the collective finger.

This week, I'm sticking to my theme, and I just have one:



Cancer sucks ass. I hate it. And fuck it. Fuck it all to hell.

And after you're done telling the world to stick it.. Check out the fabulous Ms. CB.

I love her. But you must have a SLUTCODE to participate, and since I'm so cool, I have it.

Purple Monkey Balls

Do you see why I love this bitch??

Skin

I was 15 years old. It was my best friend's 18th birthday. My best friend in the entire world. The best friend I have ever had. And he called me to come over to his house and shave his head.

He had leukemia. The most common childhood cancer.

Within a few months he was in remission. His hair grew back and all was right in the world.

2 1/2 years later he was sick again.

Before his 21st birthday he was dead.

Of course adults get leukemia. But something like 25% of all childhood cancers are leukemia and the mortality rate over five years is something more than 25%*.

So why when this disease kills our children is there no crazy, all-consuming awareness campaign??

I love my boobs, and your boobs and everyone else's boobs, but dammit, I love our kids more.

*Sorry, I completely realize that if I want to bitch about something, I probably should have some more solid numbers for you. My only excuse is that it's 2AM as I write this, and I didn't want to give you solid wrong numbers and I can't find anywhere that comes right out and says it, they want you to figure it out and I'm not capable at the moment.. But if you'd like to look, you could go here or here.

It Took Ball

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.

The Ugly Cancers

If you didn't see my post yesterday, please look over it and come back.

As you read there, I support breast cancer awareness. I really and truly do.

However..




There are other cancers. Ugly cancers. Cancers that people cringe when you talk about them.

Remember Farrah Fawcett??

Anal Cancer.

Noone wants to talk about that. Or buy/wear little brown ribbons in support of Anal Cancer awareness.

There is no "Lung Cancer Awareness Month" (or if there is, then it's so poorly advertised that I haven't the foggiest when it is).

But here we are smack dab in the middle of Think Pink month.

Lung cancer kills more every year than breast cancer and is harder to treat. And prostate cancer isn't far behind. But there is no special awareness month for them.

Because boobs are pretty. Everyone likes boobs.

Either you're a man and they make you feel warm and fuzzy, or you're a big breasted woman and proud, or you have itty bitty titties and you have boob-envy.

Everyone likes boobs.

So of course everyone wants to "Save the TaTa's".

But shouldn't there be more of a campaign for the ugly cancers??

What about skin cancer?? Or Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma??

What about Leukemia??

We should be having just a "Cancer Awareness Month" and giving information on all cancers. Because they all kill. Even the ugly ones.

Save the Ta-Ta's

I love October. Mostly because I love pink. And in October everything you could ever need from spatulas to trashcans to Oreos come in pink. And I love it.

But..

Really everyone knows its not just about pink, its about boobs. Or more specifically, boob cancer.

Tomorrow, I'll have a rant for you and Wednesday and Thursday I'll have other cancer posts, but for today, let's talk about breasts, baby.



My grandmother, on my father's side was a teacher. She was kind-hearted and patient. She was gorgeous. And talented.

She was a devoted wife even though my grandfather was a cad.

She could find anything that anyone had lost.

She was gentle and considerate, loving and giving.

She also had breast cancer.

Everything that I've told you above is pure hearsay to me, because she died in 1979. I never met her.

When I was a little girl, I used to think that if only Grandma were here then someone would have understood me. That if she were alive then I would have had an ally.

I have no idea if that's true. Just like I have no idea if any of the above is true.

I never knew her.

But I do know that she didn't have to die.

She didn't find the lump until it was late. And she didn't do anything about it until later.

I could quote you facts and figures, but you can read them for yourself here.

The major point is that breast cancer is not a death sentence. It is a treatable illness.

But not if you don't take care of yourself and do your exams as you should.

No child should lose their mother, or grandmother or aunt.

No woman should lose a friend.

And a breast is not worth your life.

It's Friday!!!!!!!!!!! About Fucking Time..

Boobies has this absoilutely amazing little meme on Fridays..

It's an open invitation to give a big ole' fawk you out to whomever you'd like. (Except I don't fawk, I fuck.. If I don't watch my language for my kids, I'm not watching it for you, sorry.)

And the skanktastic Ms. CB has this one:

Only if you don't follow her rules, she'll shove a stiletto up your ass, so beware.


My oh my.. this week did not really start off well and no doubt it will end the same way..

Though I am very excited that Connie's coming to visit this weekend. I heart her like you wouldn't believe.

And onto my bitching..

Fuck you all my favorite authors, especially Mr. Ihavetoomanymiddleinitials. Can't you guys get on some alternating writing schedule or something?? I have nothing to read, and when I do I'll have like 12 books, and then nothing again for like 2 years.

Fuck you Perry. Really?? Using Uncle Youhaven'ttalkedtoin8years's death to gain sympathy from people is pathetic. And rude. He was a really great guy and I get that you're sad, but I know you, and you're not sad in a hysterical "I have to go home right now or I'll breakdown in front of the kids way", you're sad in a moderately morose "I really should have gone to see him sometime and now I'll never be able to" way. Really, can't you be honest for once?? People might like you better if you were.

Fuck you again Perry. Really you can't trade weekends with me so that I can do a Halloween Party for the kids?? Of, course you can come id you really want, but the kids are friends with my friends' kids and Alien is going to be there and you can't stand him. So fine, have it your weekend, but I don't want to hear you bitching.

Fuck you people who got mad at me for not calling them when Bean was in the hospital. It wasn't really that serious and honestly, if you're not Mom & Dad Bean then really it wasn't any of your business if Bean and I didn't choose to make it so. Plus, if you'd asked to be on my real Facebook friends list, then you would have known, but you didn't, so shut the hell up.

Fuck you microfiches. I barely remember you, and now I know why - I have blocked out another bad memory, which I am very good at, thank you.

That's about it.. Mostly just some minor irritants..

How's your week?? Do you have any fuck you's to give out??

2 Truths and a Lie

Tell me 2 truths and a lie and make me guess which is the lie. You've played this game before, so why not join The Scoop on Poop and CA Girl every Thursday by
1.Grabbing the handy little button on the sidebar
2.Posting your 2 truths and a lie
3.Link up
4.Reveal your lie the next week!

Last week I said:

1. My sister is her own second cousin.

True. My sister (as in my mother's daughter) was adopted by my mother's 1st cousin, thus making her her own second cousin.

2. My sister is the first born, last born and only child all rolled into one.

Also true. She is my mother's first born. Her adopted mother's only and her adopted father's last born.

3. I am a middle sister.

Very, very false. I'm the baby. Hadn't you noticed that about me??

And moving on to this week:

1. Oliver has decided to do Science Fair again this year.

2. I absolutely detest Science Fair.

3. He wants Tallulah to help him with his project and she's ridiculously excited about it.

Take your guess and come back next week for the reveal!!

Fencing - As in the Kind You Do With a Sword, Not a Barrier Between You and Annoying Neighbors

A long time ago in a ghetto far, far away, there was a guy that taught with my mother.
I annoyed the living shit out of him.

Every football game, every school function, I would walk up to him and say "Why????" and he would answer "Why not?" and then we'd repeat. For hours.

I never claimed I was a good child.

Plus I was all of five. Give me a little credit.

If you fast forward 13 years, Mr. WhyNot was still teaching with my mother, only his classroom had moved next to hers.

And Oliver was completely fascinated by him.

It must be genetic.

I have no idea really what Mr. WhyNot teaches all day long, Marine Biology maybe, but after school, the time that Oliver would go see Grandma on occassion, Mr. WhyNot changed clothes and became the high school fencing coach.

Keep in mind, that as soon as Oliver understood what was going on around him and had enough fine motor control to grasp things, every object that came to hand was a sword.

So Mr. WhyNot's afternoon practices were freaking amazing to him. It also helped that he had some blow-up foils that he would let Oliver play with.

And then he mentioned to Oliver that he could begin actual fencing lessons when he turned 8.

So we did.

And he loves it, as I knew he would.

But as I've said before, I hate it.

It's a very disorganized little group and they change practice locations and times without letting you know, plus the practice is late in the evening and that sucks balls.

But it is really amusing to watch the little kids fence.

The haven't gotten those graceful steps down yet, so mostly they flail around waving swords and trying to whack one another. And they jump all over the place trying to imitate the graceful steps of the older kids..

It's hilarious. Usually it ends up with one of them practically chasing the other across the gym..

Here's a picture from Oliver's first tournament..




Like I said, he loves it. No idea why.

But we will continue with the damn fencing lessons. Though sometimes it feels to me like they are payback from Mr. WhyNot to me for all those stupid questions.

Post-it Notes Tuesday

Dear Bean

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.

Blissfully Imperfect

Last week I read a few posts on perfection (you can read them here and here).

And they got me thinking.

I'd already been struggling with this issue and had contemplated a post about it several times, but the words wouldn't come. Now they're flowing easily.

I often feel incredibly inadequate. I'm so tired all the time that I pysically can't spend as much time with my kids as want. And I can't manage to keep my house as clean as I'd like.

I'm not strong enough to stand up to my mother and demand that my household be run by my standards instead of hers.

I can't control my body - it refuses to cooperate with my efforts to be healthy. And with my weight out of control, it's wreaking havoc with my self-esteem (which wasn't that great to begin with).

But why?? Why is my self-esteem so horrible??

I am a good person. I give of myself to others. I'm a great friend. I may not be the world's best mom, but my kids know that I love them and accept them for who they are without prejudice.
I take care of my mother to the best of my ability and I'm a damn good secretary.

I'm even relatively nice to my ex!!

I should feel proud of myself. I should feel like I am worthy of anything that comes my way.

Instead, there's a part of me that's convinced that I deserve the many miseries that have happened in my life.

But why??

Because I, like so many others, want more. And because I believe in perfection.

Even though I know that there's no such thing.

We are all so convinced by facades. So when we see the beautiful, thin mother of two immaculate and quiet children, we wonder why we can't have her "perfect" life and never stop to think about how there's no way that it's perfect.

Because there is no perfect.

Maybe she has a miserable marriage, or money troubles. Hell, maybe she has an eating disorder so that she can stay that thin, maybe she's a bitch and has no friends. It doesn't matter what it is - there is something that makes her and her life less than perfect.

Everything is balanced.

Maybe I do have a crappy ass boss.

But I have a job.

Maybe I have trouble with my mother.

But I have a mother who loves me.

Maybe I struggle with my weight.

But my children don't.

Maybe I'm tired.

But I'm alive.

And that's enough.

How can it not be??

Two years ago, I found out how short life is when I almost lost Bean, the love of my life, my soul-mate.

Life is too short to worry about not being perfect.

It's too short to compare yourself and your life to someone else's with dissatisfaction.

Every life is blissfully imperfect.

And it's time we revel in that.

I'm a Douche-canoe, but a Rockstar One..

I got awards.. like 3 of them, but my email ate them before I could post them and I can't figure out where they were from.
So if you were the one who gave me an award, then
I'm sorry!! I really did want it, I just never got onto the actual computer to post it..

Anyway.
I did find one, from Glitterfrog..


I'm not really sure I qualify for anything with the word "sweet" in it, but I still love it..

Like all awards, it has rules (grrr)..


1. Acknowledge the person who gave you the award.
2. Name 10 things you like.
3. Pass the award to 10 other bloggers.


1. Thank you Vicki!! I love my award.

2. Hmmmmmm.............
1. Bean.
2. Oliver.
3. Tallulah.
4. Music.
5. Movies, but not the stupid comedy kind.
6. Babies.
7. Puppies, when they aren't mine.
8. Shoes.
9. Purses.
10. Chocolate.

3. As you know, I'm not really one for following rules, so I'm not passing this on to 10 others.. I'm just doing one.

Judie from Rogue Artists.

She super sweet and witty and occassionally snarky, and I love her.

I am an Admitted Blog-Stalker

And not in the good way, like how all of you faithfully stalk me.

In the bad way, like those people who read your blog fanatically and never comment, or when they do it's anonymous (though, for the record I've never left an anonymous comment, I still have a little pride).

I stalk my sister Amara's blogs.

She has something like 4. Which I do too, so really I'm not judging.

See the deal is that I really do miss her. Even though I'd like to kick her in the shins and then punch her in the trachea, I miss her. But more importantly, I really miss her kids, my niece and my nephew. And so I blog-stalk her to find out about them.

I know that I shouldn't because most of the time it just upsets me, but I do it anyway.

What do you want??

I come by my martyrhood honestly.

So yesterday I went to check in on my niece, Clementine and see how she's doing.

And I found a post titled: "Do Unto to Others".

Really??

Do unto others. As in the Bible verse, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

You're shitting me.

This coming from the woman who barely speaks to her mother for no good reason, and never speaks to her sister, also for no good reason.

There's even a little thing in the post about how she's trying to model behavior for her children.

The delusions of others astound me. Really they do.

Maybe I should have been laughing, because really, the hypocritical are amusing. Plus there's the whole "someday it will all come back to bite her in the ass" thing. But mostly I was just hurt.

So, I started thinking (which is never a good sign) and I think that maybe I've been looking at Amara wrong. Instead of being angry with her for being a raging bitch, maybe I should look at the other angle.


And I've changed my mind. I want to be Amara.

Or at least I want some of her superpowers.

You know, like the one that lets you believe that you look HOT in daisy dukes when you weigh 200 lbs, or that you are a model of caring and consideration right after you've made your mother cry??

Or the one where one day you can decide you don't care about someone/something and then magically, you don't??

Yup. I want these.

My world would be fantabulous.

I would be the hottest thing ever. My husband would have a six-pack and my children would be angels. And then I could not give a rats ass about anyone who hurt me pissed me off.

AND a PT Cruiser would be the coolest car anyone could ever drive.

Fawk You Friday and Blogstalk Friday

It's Friday!! Finally. This week has dragged ass!!

And it's time to send out all of my big "Fuck You's"..

• Tedious reports that make my eyes hurt. And I'm a little concerned that you could use that description for 90% of my job, and yet if asked I would still say I liked it. What does that say about me??


• Phone that won't stay charged. You suck and not just the life out of the battery.


• Hotmail


• Fencing


• Control freak teacher at Oliver's school


• UPS - that package was supposed to be here a week earlier than it was. And I missed Bean's birthday because of you.
  

And on a totally not related note.

Today is Tallulah's 7th birthday!! Happy Birthday Princess.