Friday, October 1, 2010
Today is October 1st. "Duh," you say.
What you don't know, is that my daughter has been petitioning Congress, NATO, the United Nations & Hallmark to officially change the name of this fabulous month to "Elena's Fantastic Month of Birthday Celebration" since she was born seven years ago.
I blame this on her grandmother. (Not my mother...her father's mother. The one who purchased & brought her Kodak Easy Print docking station to the hospital the day she was born so she could have printed pictures of her first grandchild w/i 15 minutes of her birth. She, seriously, had printed photos before I ever held the child. The same one who organized a $2K trip to Disney to commemorate the child's 4th bday at the Bibbity Bobbity Boutique--yep, it's a real place y'all.)
We've been gearing up for the birthday since November 1st of last year (her birthday is Oct. 30th), but we really started the countdown a few weeks ago.
"Six weeks until my birthdaaaayyy!!!"
"Five and a half weeks until my birthdaaayyy!!!"
(yep...and this goes on every half week, on the half week until this morning in the car)
"OH MY GOSH, MOM!"
"What?! Did you forget your lunch?!"
"NO! IT'S OCTOBER 1ST!!!"
"Maaaawwwwuuummmmm....that means only twenty. nine. more. days. until my BIRTHDAAAAYYY!!!!"
(First off, I have no idea where in the holy hell she inherited her "drama gene", but, it's only six o'clock in the freakin' morning & I haven't even smelled a cup of joe yet. Lucky for her that I actually love her so I'm going to try very hard not to drive into oncoming traffic, even though I KNOW we are going to do this for the next 28 days. What I may do, however, is show her the movie 28 Days Later for family movie night tonight and tell her that's what is going to happen if she keeps this up for the rest of the month.)
Heaven give me strength.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
So now, I have an audience of 6 (yes, I'm including myself & my Mom). Woohoo!!! Sooo...my dear, much appreciated fan club, I want to share with you a warning. I can be a real pain in the patootie. Almost everyone in my life thinks of me as a very loving, encouraging person; and, I do try. Really. I swear. But once I get home; not so much. :(
Last night, after getting home and writing down the thoughts of the day regarding bacon (& Jesus), my daughter plays messenger and brings me a card. A greeting card. From Jason. *sigh* It was one of those really sweet, long written out "I love every day with you...even the ones where you're a total shit" type cards. (Thank you Blue Mountain.)
It should be noted here, that I had piano lessons after work last night (lessons that Jason encouraged me to take, because I'd always wanted to) so Jason picked up the kids (proactively, without having to be reminded or asked) and took them to Blockbuster to pick out some new movies (again, he's freakin' awesome) and then home for dinner, baths & helped Elena with ALL of her math homework for the week. (YES! I KNOW HOW AMAZING HE IS. SHUT UP!!!!)
So, Saint Jason (as I'm heretoforth labeling him) was sitting on the couch when I got home (after feeding, cleaning, helping & playing with my kids so I could go play) and the first thing out of my mouth when I walk in the door is:
"Good Lord it stinks in here!"
No, not "Hi, babe!" or "Wow, you didn't kill the kids!" but an instant, unsolicited bitchfest. And it got better...oh yes. Because AFTER I got my sweet and unprompted card (no birthday or anniversary or death in the fam) I went to bed raging like Mommy Dearest in a room full of wire hangers.
Yay me! I'm now the poster child for why good men leave crazy women. (No, he didn't leave...THANK GOD!)
Today began with me praying that I'll be able to keep him long enough for the meds to kick in (mine, not his). Jason put it this way...
"I know you WANT to be happy and enjoy it when you slip it in, but it's like your brain's default position is to 'goalie' trying to block the 'happy' ball from scoring."
He's right, y'all. Whether it's chemical, circumstancial or sleep deprivation...something's got to give. Otherwise...I'm just gifting a Superfriend & Superpartner right back into the universe, right along with all the benefits that he brings to my life...like the "happy ball".
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
There is something just thoroughly annoying about being stuck in traffic behind a piece of shit Dodge Neon (no offense to the Dodge fans out there, but it really was a piece of shit!) and being forced to read the bumper stickers.
"MEAT IS MURDER!" & "SAVE OUR CHILDREN-GO GREEN!" & "REAL WOMEN ADOPT CATS" and then, my very favorite..."I'M A WICCAN PRIESTESS"
Ok, so let me just address a few things here...first off, let me say, that I am a very open minded person and would never, ever judge a person based on their dietary choices or their choice of pet, or religious preference...but let's get real here.
1. You cannot have kids & have multiple (more than 10)cats, and believe me, this woman had more than 10.
2. You cannot be a "Wiccan priestess" and observe the equinox and other dancing naked in the woods type earthly holidays if you have kids, because that requires a babysitter or a REALLY understanding family member and eventually, someone is going to give you too much shit for you to be able to be true to your convictions and you're going to have to settle for "smudging" your friends' houses with sage from BB&B and lighting candles for fun.
3. BACON IS JUST F'ING GOOD!!!
You can deny it. You can protest it. You can even call it MURDER. Hell, make it a capital offense and I'll turn myself in!
Cheeseburgers, bacon, ham, pork chops, turkey, fried chicken, steak...dear Lord, I'm happy to be a mass murderer of the bovine, swine & yard bird.
So I'm going to keep it simple. I love Jesus & Bacon. I'm proud of those facts and have decided to design bumper stickers of my own...hell, maybe even t-shirts.
To my veggisaur friends, I say..."Good for you, but you all know that you drool when you drive past a Hardee's."
LOL...mmmmmmm...bacon. Dammit! I got myself all worked up that I now either have to send Jason to Krystal's or eat my own dog. (It's a toss...the dog is pissing me off.)
Until next time,