Untitled #1

I've given up the struggle to cleverly title. From now on, if it takes more than two seconds, then too stinkin' bad.

I had a hilarious conversation with A.Shine today, and for the life of me I can't remember what it was about. I even specifically remember saying I was going to blog about it. And now, nothing.

Rumor has it IH-35 is down to one lane...I think that may be my cue to leave work early. that case...I'm OUTTA HERE!

Soy Un Perdedor

Spurs lost. I don't want to talk about it.

On the other hand, lunch at the OG's today with A.Shine! Yeah! Happy dance to that!

The Smoodge had an appointment with the gastro yesterday, and now we have to go see a surgeon so HE can tell us what needs to be done. THEN, later on, her PCP called with the blood work results from her 18 month visit, when we found the stones, and her levels are more elevated than the first time. The only semi good news we got was that her chromosome 10 deletions may be why she's having these issues. It's not good news, per se, but it's information, and at this point, information IS a good thing. I spend so much time in the dark about this stuff that it can easily drive one crazy.

Alright, back to work....well, at least gotta get back to pretending to work. It's a rough task, but somebodies got to do it :)


Per Requested

A.Shine left me a comment that I needed to provide links to all the ways I am utilizing my time today without working, so I have done so for her benefit. If you've already read my earlier blog, please do so again since I took precious time away from an awesome game of Basejump to link the previous thread.

Thanks, and have a great day :)

Slow Thursday

The Smoodge has a doctor's appointment today with the gastroenterologist's nurse. It was originally set up as a check up on how she's doing on the Prevacid, but now that she has kidney stones, I'm hoping the doctor will be able to stop in. That may mean we sit for a while waiting. Which reminds me, hold on a second, I've got to Google where that damn office is....

Okay, I'm back. Anyway, the POINT in all that was that's all I'm waiting for today. Payroll is done, thank god, and yeah, sure, there are things I could be doing, but who wants to when there are new things on Etsy to discover, games to play, wikipedia articles to read, and thanks to catkins, about 4 hundred billion television shows and movies to get caught up on. With all that, I'm just not sure I have time for work today.



I've had to wear my glasses for the last couple of days thanks to my right eye trying to escape, which means I wore my glasses today to work. I don't like wearing my glasses. I don't like not having peripheral vision. I feel like a high school geek all over again. So I don't wear them very often. This is a conversation I had today with a guy I work with about my glasses.

Him: I like the glasses.
Me: I hate them. Makes me feel geeky.
Him: They make you look younger.
Me: No they don't.
Him: Yeah they do. They make you look like you're in your twenties.
Me: ....
Him: They do! Definitely in your twenties.

*sigh. I fired him. Then killed him. And I'll never tell you where I buried the body.



You know, from that game you played when you were younger, where someone would hurt you until you yelled UNCLE! That's me, yelling UNCLE! at this stupid new place hunt.

I spent the day looking at 12 houses that I had meticulously selected over the last few days, and I came away from that search with nothing. Nada. ZILCH. And I'm supposed to let my current complex know tomorrow whether or not I'm signing another lease. I have four more options that I'll call about tomorrow (I found them this evening), and then I'm screaming UNCLE! for real.

It's bad enough that today was a holiday. Let me rephrase. I'm glad it's Memorial Day. It's important that we all take a moment to thank those that have served, are serving, and have died for this country to protect our rights. But I think everyone would appreciate it more if we had a Friday in honor of it instead of a Monday. That throws you right into the middle of your week with no day to prepare for it. And for me, that means I gotta jump directly into the path of the payroll train. And with all the other stuff I have to, tomorrow is going to suck supreme.

Silence of the Anatomy

Hey all you Grey's Anatomy fans out there! When you watch Dr. Hahn, do you find yourself thinking, 'It rubs the lotion on it's skin of else it gets the hose again'?



I spend the first, oh, ten to fifteen minutes every time I sit down to type something on this blog trying to think of a title. By the time I've thought of one, every thought I had about the actual blog is gone. This is getting a bit ridiculous.

The last couple of days have FLOWN by. Seriously. I'm not sure where they went, or even if I participated in them. When was the last time I posted? Thursday? Friday? Couldn't tell ya. That sucks. Let's start with yesterday.

I can't remember yesterday. Let's move on to today.

Oh wait! Okay, it's starting to come back to me now. So I'm in an apartment currently. And I hate it. Not the actual apartment itself, it's not so bad. I hate apartment life. I hate climbing a flight of uneven concrete stairs with a baby in one arm and a crap load of stuff in the other. I hate fighting for a parking space. I hate hearing the neighbors when they do anything. I especially hate listening to my upstairs neighbor having sex, because dammit, if I'm not having any, then out of sympathy the rest of the world should be holding out as well. Although, after one particularly noisy night with the windows open, when the show was over, I yelled out the window, "SHE WAS TOTALLY FAKING!" That's right, I sure did. Hell, if they get to get their freak on and I have to listen, then by god I get to heckle. It says that somewhere in the constitution, I'll have to find it for you later. What was I talking about? Oh right, apartment life. I hate it. And I had thought that I had until the end of July to get a new place. Then Friday, when I got home, there's a letter from my apartment complex letting me know that my lease is up at the end of June. Not only is it up a month earlier than I expected, but I'm going on vacation July 1st. Lease is up June 30th. Leaving the state July 1st. Do you see how AWESOME the timing of that is? Just thinking about it makes me tired. So Friday night, and in my spare time on Saturday and today, I have been hunting for a house, a duplex, a condo, SOMETHING, because I have a year left on my residency restriction, and I just can't see spending that year in this apartment. The Smoodge is getting bigger, her toys are multiplying in the night, and if, by some miracle, God decides to stop punishing me and sends me some male companionship (if you know what I mean *nudge, nudge, wink, wink) right now there's no place in my 1 bedroom to partake in the festivities. I've got a couple of places I'm going to look at tomorrow. Hopefully none of them requires me to get a concealed handgun license. Because as of this moment, I have FIVE days to find a place. Stupid apartment wants a 30 day notice. Yeah. Like they are so busting at the seams right now.

Saturday...what happened Saturday? Oh yeah, nothing really. I went over with The Smoodge to A.Shine's pool and enjoyed some barbecue. Good food, good friends, good sun, good swimming, good times.

Today, or I guess I should say this morning at about 3 am, I woke up with my right eye leaking. A lot. It woke me up it was leaking so much fluid. I guess my eye turned on the waterworks because it felt like it was on fire, and was doing it's best impersonation of a fire department. I stumbled to the bathroom, pulled out my contacts, laid back down, eye still on fire and leaking. Not conducive to sleeping really. So I got out of bed, stumbled into the kitchen for some ice, put it in a baggie, got back in bed with the ice firmly planted on the eye. Much better, back to sleep I go. Woke up later, The Smoodge had confiscated the ice bag, now a water bag, and emptied it's contents onto my arm. She though it was hilarious. Me, not so much. I walked into the bathroom to check the eye, and there's still waterworks, and now there is an overabundance of red and it's VERY swollen. And still burning. Great. Like what I need right now is PINK EYE. I was going to go to the zoo today. I was going to take The Smoodge, and we were going to have fun, and it was going to be great. INSTEAD, I spent $135 on a doctor's visit and medication for an eye that does NOT have pink eye, but instead has some sort of weirdness that the doctor couldn't identify, but decided needed steroids and antibiotics. Awesome. While I was at the med clinic, the woman/nurse person was reading me the doctor's notes, and she read one of them as 'discontinue lower tabs' (or lauer tabs or something, pronounce it the way I spelled it the first time, and that's what she said). I asked her what that was. She said, your medication. No, no, you JUST said my medication was this other stuff. Oh, no, she says, the medication you are already taking. Now, if I don't know what the stuff is, then I'm probably not taking it, yes? I point this out to her, she looks perplexed, and goes off to pool the other nurse people as to what they would interpret that to mean. No one can read the doctor's writing. So she comes back and says, well, if you aren't on that medication, then don't worry about it. But wait. I'm supposed to discontinue SOMETHING. Would you mind finding out what that is? Ten minutes, two more nurse people, and the doctor herself later, it's discontinue CONTACT WEAR. Yeah, that's just about the same. I would think that for a $75 doctor's visit (and yes, that was my co-pay), I could get some literacy out of you people. Anyway, The Smoodge and I pick up the most expensive prescription one eye could ever hope for and head back to my darkened apartment (oh yeah, did I mention that with the swelling and redness and leaking and blurry vision there is also photophobia?), where I immediately dose my eye in the healing juice and sit on the couch to wait for it to work. And it does. A few hours later, I can even tolerate sunlight.
I figured since we missed out on the zoo, we could make it over to Ft. Sam for the Tobin Endowment concert by the SA Symphony and fireworks. They had some face painting, something they call an instrument petting zoo, where they let the kids play with some of the instruments (duh), food, drinks, and lots of open space where people were starting to camp out for the main shibang. You know what they didn't have anywhere near the festivities? A damn ATM machine. So after getting her face painted, which was free, she was hungry, and I had 2 bucks, and of course, NOTHING cost $2, so we went in search for an ATM machine. And now I have extensive knowledge of the layout of Ft. Sam. We walked around the base for 45 minutes before we got to one. That is ridiculous. If you are only going to accept cash, then maybe you should have a machine that DISPENSES IT! Got the cash, got back to the field of festivities, got some refreshments, and got a seat in front of the stage so we could sit back and enjoy the concert. I have to say, for a 19 month old, The Smoodge did exceptionally well. She danced, she listened, she told other people to SHHHH when they would talk. She didn't even cry when the canons and the fireworks started to go off. And in case you didn't get any fireworks on your Memorial Day weekend, I have posted a few seconds of the ones we saw.

Not exceptionally exciting, I mostly just wanted to see how this thing handled a video. :) Anyway, HAPPY MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND to all, and to all a GOOD NIGHT!



I totally just fell asleep at work. That's how bored I am. What woke me you ask? The sound of my forehead hitting my desk.

And Twitter hates me. I've been trying to Twitter for the last 2 hours, and nothing. Twitter eats poo...for now.

You've Been RICK ROLLED!!!

And to help with the visual aid, go here.

Please feel free to Rick Roll your friends. Think how much joy getting Rick Rolled gave you. I know I was in absolute tears :)

In all fairness, I guess I should tell you not to open that link if you are doing real work or whatever on the internet. Wait until playtime.

On the other hand, maybe if you weren't screwing around at work this wouldn't be an issue, now would it?


A Whole New World

I am only mildly technologically in the know. Okay, that's a lie. I'm not even a little bit in the tech know (hehe, tech know...get it, techno? hehe). So while I'm sure most of you out there have already discovered that broadcasting stations such as Fox and NBC and who knows who else have full episodes online for you to watch in awesome High Def, I only discovered this now.

In all fairness, I've never had a need to watch shows online. I have a DVR that I pay for, and it does a pretty good job. I can record, I can watch in HD, I am set. Except Monday night my DVR was out to get me. It knew it had me cornered with the Spurs game on, and it knew that I didn't care what else was on, there wasn't a damn show in the world that would have kept me from watching my Spurs throw the smack down on the Hornets. So it tricked me. It flashed that Flavor of Love was going to be on in two minutes. When it does this, I know there will be two shows recording at one time, and you can't watch live TV when two shows are recording. You can watch something live if one thing is recording, or you can watch a recording if two shows are recording, but NOT two recordings AND live TV. And Monday night, live TV was king. Back to my Flavor of Love memo. It tells me that in two minutes, Flavor of Love will be on. So I assume that when it switches to one of the two shows that are going to be recording, Flavor of Love will be that show. It switches in the midst of a time out thank God, and I hurriedly stop recording what I thought was Flavor of Love so I can switch back to the Spurs. After all, MTV or VH1 or whoever shows that show only plays it about a bazillion times after it's initial airing, I'll just come back later and catch it. No big deal. The Spurs go on to win, and life is good.

Jump to last night. I'm perusing through my recordings, looking for House. I love House. Like a lot. It's not healthy how much I love House. And believe it or not, it's actually come in handy to have watched House so diligently with The Smoodge's doctor's and diagnoses. I have actually sat listening to a doctor talk about this disease and that disorder and stifled a smile because all the while I'm thinking, I TOTALLY KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT!!! House just diagnosed that in a patient last week!!! I'm not saying I'm ready to start my own practice yet, but you don't watch as much House as I do without learning a little something about diagnostic medicine. Between that and my Masters in Internet Research, I'm well on my way. Back to the story...I'm looking for House. Specifically the episode that aired Monday night. The episode that ends the season. The season finale episode that aired Monday night while my Spurs were playing, which is why I didn't watch it, because I was recording it, and the Spurs were live, and sporting events are just not as good if you aren't watching them live. See where I'm going with this? Flip, flip, House. Wait a that? Yup, sure is. Flavor of Love recorded, but House did not. I can only assume that when my DVR that's out to destroy me switched channels, it misled me to believe it was switching to Flavor of Love, and instead switched to House. Bastards.

I get online and pray that someone, ANYONE out there on YouTube or somewhere has the season finale of House posted so that I can watch it. I don't care if it's shaky and out of focus, as long as I can hear his voice, I'll be happy. I google House Episodes, and boom, Fox's website pops up, and I think, maybe, just maybe they have the full episode for me to watch. AND THEY DO!!! Not yet of course, because apparently they like to make you suffer a week behind the rest of the world, but in 7 days I can watch the season finale of House on my computer, which is sooo much better than having to wait two or three months until they show the season finale of this season right before they kick off next season. Me missing this I can't even think of what kind of depressive cycle that could send me spinning into. But now, I don't have to. And you know what else?? They have other episodes of stuff too! And so do the other networks!

I think we all know what I'm going to be up to from 8-5 over the next few days...



I've never suffered from allergies before. Ever. Not when everyone else around me was reduced to a sniveling pile of tissue and snot. Not when sneezing was so frequent it became the new slang. Nope, uh-uh, not me. Until The Smoodge came along. And now I'm either allergic to her, or allergies are contagious and she gave them to me. Either way, I'm putting this on her.

It feels like my brain is slowly dripping out of each of my nostrils every waking moment. Not even my Neti Pot can make my life better, because one nostril is always so stopped up that the water can't drain out of the other side. And I love my Neti Pot. Granted, I don't look NEARLY as attractive as the girl in the link above (you KNOW she's workin' it) when I use it, but still. I should probably be using it more proactively than reactively, and then I wouldn't have to deal with the fact that my eyeballs have reached a temperature comparable to that of the sun's core. And speaking of the one nostril stopped up, what's up with that? Seriously? For me, it's never the same side, always jumping back and forth like my nose hairs are playing a game of snot ping-pong. I've been dealing with this for at least a week now, and it's a contributing factor to why I'm not sleeping very much. I don't know how much more I can take. I'm perilously close to taking The Smoodge's snot sucker thingie they gave me at the hospital and going to town, not stopping until I can feel my tonsils getting sucked in. And then there's that oh so attractive SNIIIIIIIIF that you can't stop. It's this impulse that you can't control until you hear yourself mid-sniff and realize the papers on your desk have begun to flutter towards your face from the wind tunnel spouting from your one clear nostril. You never really notice how quiet it is in your office until you hear that sound echoing back to you from across the room. Oh, and the sneezing. Look, I don't have the best bladder control in the world. I'm not saying I gotta wear Depends or anything, but a couple of kids and a catheter or two will screw up your pee functionality more than you'd like to admit. And while I have not yet had an incident where I've had to go home, I've certainly had moments where I've questioned it. I'm Twenty Freaking Seven. I should not have to carry a spare pair of drawers for allergy season.


Monday night ponderings

I'm currently trying to consume just the right amount of beer. Enough to make me fall asleep at a decent time tonight, not so much that I crash out before the end of the Spurs game so I know whether or not I'll be rocking the free coffee in the morning.

My cat is weird. He eats strawberries and green olives. And loves them. I think maybe he's not a cat, but more like a Stitch. A cleverly disguised alien critter that is slowly but surely sucking my will to live. I've begun searching for his spaceship, because I'm pretty sure that when I opened my eyes in the middle of the night last night he was fiddling with his ray blaster gun...

In rereading my last paragraph, I'm sure you're thinking, um, I think you've screwed up the balance. But I assure you, I have not done so. I have only had ti martooni's ociffer, I promise.

Okay, enough with the mildly intoxicated ramblings, my boys need me in the other room, the lead has been cut, and I'm quite convinced it's because I am no longer giving them my undivided attention.


Hardcore Accountable

I took two naked pictures of myself.

Simmer down, they are NOT they kind of naked pictures you'd want to look at. And no, I won't show you. Because they are for me. I'm trying to lose some weight, and am finding it hard to keep my motivation going, so I took these pictures so that I can see where I'm at, and what I've accomplished, or not accomplished each week. I won't be posting them on my fridge or anything, mostly because I've got an 18 month old roaming around the house, and I'm not trying to frighten her into a straight jacket. That and I have so few people visit me that I don't want to scare off the ones that do.

And the best part is, if I lose enough weight, when I'm done I'll have a really cool flip book.


Very, Very Dramatical

This past week has been quite exhausting. Exhausting in the way that it makes you feel as though you're incapable of doing anything other than laying on a couch and watching infomercials on the hula chair or other such nonsense only because the remote is four millimeters away from your fingers and that's simply too far to reach. But not exhausting in the way that you lay down and fall asleep instantly. At least not in my case. For the past two weeks now the only reason why I've gotten any sleep at all is because around 2:30 in the morning I'm chasing half a hydrocodone with wine straight from the bottle. So how is it I'm able to get up at my normal time of 5:30am? Well, I'm not, and we'll get to that in a minute.

Dealing with my ex has been one of the most emotionally and mentally exhausting things I've ever had to do in my life. The only thing that ranks higher is having to deal with all of The Smoodge's medical issues alone. This man that at one time I was completely in love with, who was my best friend in the entire world, has turned into a manipulative, deceitful piranha who seems to make it his life's goal to wreak havoc on my world in the limited moments I have to deal with him. For example, let's take one of his recent emails to me in regards to our daughter's doctor appointment this last Monday:
You will need to reschedule her appointments on Monday. No appointments should be scheduled on the days that I am with her unless it is emergent and she needs to be seen. You constantly deprive me time with The Smoodge with these unnecessary procedures being performed on the days that I'm to have her. You are very much aware of the days that I'm off. It's very evident what your intentions are. Please let me know when you have rescheduled these appointments.
This email is one of the nicer ones I have gotten from him. A few months ago, The Smoodge went to a gastroenterologist at the suggestion of her PCP regarding her constant vomiting. We, and by we, I mean myself and The Smoodge, went to the appointment, and the gastro thought it would be best to do an endoscopy and flex sigmoidoscopy. I let the ex know about it via email, dates, times, what the doc said, etc. Her surgery was scheduled for a Monday. Friday afternoon about an hour before everyone was closing for business, the ex called both the doctor and the surgery center to cancel the appointment. Fortunately one of the receptionist's called me to verify the cancellation and I was able to ensure that it was NOT cancelled, but would proceed as normal. Monday morning rolls around, he's aware that the surgery is still on, but doesn't show. She has the procedure, we go back in two weeks later and the gastro tells me (and the ex, he decided to show for this one), that The Smoodge as esophagitis caused by acid reflux, and that she'll need to take medication on a daily basis for it. You know what his response to this was? How did SHE (meaning me) cause this? Nice huh?

So a month or so later, we go to the geneticist for some more testing. And by we, once again I mean a certain someone who donated the sperm for the creation of my daughter was not present. About a month after that, we go in for her 18 month visit. The visit just happens to coincide with the ex's visitation. He drops her off at the appointment and leaves. Please understand I am leaving out a lot of detail about all this because if I were to leave it in, it would be July before you'd finish reading this post. If you feel as though I'm leaving something important out, then I'd be shocked as hell because how would you know what happened that day? For all you know, this is verbatim. Anyway, he leaves, we go in to see the doc, and she's got a fever. So the well baby visit turns into a sick baby visit. Which means no labs, no sonograms, and we'll need to reschedule for the next Monday. So I do. And when I emailed the ex informing him about the appointment, the email above is the response I receive. Now, I think we all learned what happened the last time Mr. Father of the Year tried to cancel appointments. But apparently his learning curve is that of a paper clip. Anyway, The Smoodge and I head to her appointments this last Monday, first for the sonogram. The sonogram reveals that she has gall stones. My 18 month old daughter has gall stones. For no reason what so freaking ever. Feel free to do your own research on that one. Her PCP tells me that in his twenty some odd years of being a doctor, he's never seen gall stones in a kid this young. Great. Note to self, have the Smoodge buy a lottery ticket, because if we're going to be beating odds, let's have it be the ones where I get paid an obscene amount of money every month for the next 25 years. After talking to the PCP about it for a bit (PCP is primary care physician, for those of you who are abbreviatedly challenged)(and yes, I know abbreviatedly is not a real word, back off), I realize he doesn't have any answers to my questions really, and it's a good thing that we have another follow up with the gastro already scheduled because the gastro is as puzzled as the rest of us. Do they need to be removed? Are the stones causing her acid reflux and her liver levels? Will she need to have her gall bladder removed entirely? Nobody knows, because nobody understands why they are there. And while I understand that the gall bladder is disposable in adults, for all I know when you're a toddler the gall bladder is all that holds your body together and by removing it you collapse like a Jenga tower after you take a piece off the outer bottom level. After the PCP leaves, the nurse comes in to give The Smoodge her 18 month shots, and after her comes the people going to take some of The Smoodge's blood for testing. Between the shots and the blood letting, I can guarantee you there had to be at least, AT LEAST, four people call 911 because SURELY they are killing a baby in there. And that was just from my crying.

That was Monday. TUESDAY rolls around, which is another day the ex has visitation, and The Smoodge (I'm just going to call her TS from now on) and I head to the local police station for the exchange. He's there already, and he asks me a question. Now I don't remember exactly what question it was, I think it was something like, why couldn't she have had this appointment LAST Monday or something equally stupid, but when I try to explain it, he cuts me off and starts throwing a fit and begins to stomp out. First, I've seen a two year old throw less of a fit over having candy taken away from them mid lick, and two, well, there is no two, just more of the first. I'm okay with him leaving. He neglects her while she's in his custody, and since she's running a fever on this day due to the shots, I know she'll be better off with someone else watching her. He gets out the door, comes back in, and starts yelling at me about interfering with his visitation. Are you tired yet? Shit, even telling this I'm tired. Blah, blah, blah get to the point where he walks to the desk and starts to file a police report for interfering with child visitation. Seriously. So I leave. My daughter is asleep in my arms, running a fever, I'm late for work, and it's just time to go. Once I get back in the car, I call and have an officer meet me at work so I can file my own report. Only this time, I'm not just filing because he's a son of bitch who is sucking my will to live. I'm filing harassment, child endangerment, child abandonment, whatever else I can possibly throw at him, and hopefully the charming officer who took my report will follow through with my requests. I know enough of the cop world to realistically know that he won't be able to, but at least I got it documented, and at some point there will be enough evidence.

WEDNESDAY (oh yeah baby there's more...because around here, it doesn't rain, but someone stands over your head after drinking three or four bottles of Jack Daniels and pisses on you), while the child exchange went without incident, much to my relief, I got a phone call early on in the day that put me right back on my ass. It was from the genetic counselor, and she was calling to tell me that while most of TS's tests came back normal, the test for her chromosome 10 came back with deletions. Large deletions. What this means? Don't know. Did I ask? Yes. It's going to take some more analysis, and the geneticist will be able to tell me more at our next appointment. Where they are going to want to take some of my blood.

Thursday went without child incident, but I've managed to put myself at war with the upstanding employees of the Houston union, and in doing so, have realized what a complete lack of support I have from those who are supposed to do just that at work. My supervisor is, well, let's just say the fact that she is my supervisor is a training ground for her. And after complaining to my real boss, which then leads to a meeting with the three of us, I get basically told we realize she's not management material, but she knows where the dead bodies are buried, so let's keep her happy, shall we? So I'm operating on my own until I cry for help. Which I don't do. Ever. Let's just hope that doesn't mean I accidentally launch a hypothetical nuke in the direction of area code 281.

Last night was another night that I was awake against my will. I should have been asleep early on. And by early, I mean by midnight. Instead, I'm laying in bed, watching Dogma for the fifteen gazillionth time, watching the clock slowly tick past 2:30, then 2:45. I don't like taking things to help me sleep. I really don't. I feel like taking something means admitting weakness, and I also am afraid that if TS were to wake up in the night and need me, I'd be too stoned to realize it. But as we honed in on 3:00am, I tapped out and went into the kitchen to cut up some muscle relaxers. My thought process is that if I only take half, then it will be enough to get me to sleep, but not so much I'm a vegetable for the next 10 hours. I was wrong. Evidently my thought process at 3 in the morning is for shit. Note to self, no major decisions while taking drugs. So at 10am when I manage to pull my eye lids open, I realize I'm two hours late for work. And while no one else probably cares, I hate being late.

Let's recap:
MONDAY: gallstones
TUESDAY: attack of the ex
WEDNESDAY: chromosome 10 deletions
THURSDAY: war of the work force
FRIDAY: late

So yeah. Sorry about not blogging. Things have been a little out of sorts at Casa de Flocci.


Never-Ending Stooooo-rryyyyy

You know, from the movie? No? Nobody watch that? Just me?

Today was a long day. The short of it is, we have gall stones.

Details later.


New Purse

For Mother's Day my 18 month old daughter got me a Coach purse (via my mother). Those of you that know me know that I'm not all girly like that. My idea of a good purse is one that fits all my crap, leaves me hands free for Smoodge carrying, doesn't cost more than 15 bucks, and isn't so big as to need it's own time zone. So when this $250 collection of leather, suede, and some other type of material showed up for me, I was a little afraid to touch it. I mean, seriously, who pays THAT much for a fancy Wal-Mart bag? They accomplish the same task, no?

No, no they do not. Apparently I've been missing out on all this style and fashion and convenience, not to mention the bubbles of joy I am tempted to expel every time I realize that I'm not having to clutch my purse all the time thanks to the 45 degree downward angle my shoulders shoot out from my neck. There is magic in that handle, I'll tell you that right now. I'm not sure how it does it, but it GRIPS. It doesn't slide down annoyingly!

While I'm still not sold on the idea of spending a gazillion dollars on a purse, I sure am enjoying the hell out of this piece of art. I have written her into my will, and I have named her Beata. She may need a sibling of the diaper bag variety if I can ever get the website to open without crashing.

I AM the Human

To be perfectly honest about it, the meebo portion of my blog was created solely for my friend A.Shine, because the Nazi's at her job don't let her dick around on the internet while she's at work (I KNOW!), and because the matrix hasn't zeroed in on blogger yet, we can communicate this way. In appreciation of that, the following exchange occur ed:

A.Shine: do you see me
A.Shine: woo hoo!
A.Shine: i can chat now
mjrflt: i'm so happy for you
A.Shine: oh it's been so long since i've chatted... this day should go down in history.
A.Shine: thanks for making this possible!
mjrflt: lol
mjrflt: are you going to give a speech?
A.Shine: i would like to thank the work email for allowing me the opportunity to send mandy detailed instructions on installing meebo. i would like to thank the damn Barracuda for letting it's guard down once. and i would like to thank blogger for not being blocked (yet). but lastly i would like to thank MANDY for moving forward with this because without the human behind the instrument, there would be no music

That'll do, A.Shine, that'll do :)

*sniff, sniff


Pay Attention Slackers!

If you care about my blog at all, that means you've taken notice of a few things. One of those things being that I've added an instant messaging widget to the website so that you can say hi to me when you log on. So say hi, would ya? And if you don't want to, at least pay attention if I say hi to you, because I can see when there's someone peeping.

So don't be a stranger, introduce yourself to the random person you've decided to read about. We'll all be better for it. We are the world...we are the children... :)

Flavor Blasted, Bitches!

I love my Pepperidge Farm Goldfish Baked FLAVOR BLASTED Hot 'n Spicy Cheddar. Except for one bad experience, they are the highlight of my day. Each one I eat is better than the last, and the only disappointment to eating them is when there is no more. You know those hot dog eating contests or milk chugging contests they have where the winner is like the world champion or something? If they had a Pepperidge Farm Goldfish Baked FLAVOR BLASTED Hot 'n Spicy Cheddar eating contest, I'd put the hurtin' on some goldfish.

My friend A.Shine read about my bad experience, and felt my plight. And she wanted to do something to help, because that's what good friends do, and as far as good friends go, she gets a gold star (or a GOLD fish in this specific instance). I don't think I've previously mentioned that you cannot find, well, I cannot find, Pepperidge Farm Goldfish Baked FLAVOR BLASTED Hot 'n Spicy Cheddar in the stores. The only place I've found them is the place I discovered them. The vending machine in the breakroom at work. And it's completely not fair that somehow my company got the monopoly on the best goldfish ever, but that's off topic. Back to A.Shine. She was able to find some Pepperidge Farm Goldfish Baked FLAVOR BLASTED Jalapeno Cheddar and gave them to me a couple of days ago. This is a flavor I had not tasted yet. So I took them home, where they have sat on my shelf, staring at me every time I open the pantry. I have been afraid to eat them because what is they are better than the Pepperidge Farm Goldfish Baked FLAVOR BLASTED Hot 'n Spicy Cheddar? What if they were worse and were so awful that I would lose respect for my Hot 'n Spicy ones? I felt like eating the Jalepeno ones would be like cheating on the Hot 'n Spicy ones. Last night I finally balled up and cracked those bad boys open. I fed one tentatively to The Smoodge first, because what's the point in having kids if you can't use them to test new foods? On the other hand, can I really take the opinion of an 18 month old who has been known to lick her own feet? Regardless, the Smoodge took the first hit. And immediately spit it out while making one of her many hilarious faces. Not lookin' good so far for the Pepperidge Farm Goldfish Baked FLAVOR BLASTED Jalapeno Cheddar. But, in order to promote fairness, and well, I'll try anything once, I toss a couple into my mouth.

And I tasted the Pepperidge Farm Goldfish Baked FLAVOR BLASTED Jalapeno Cheddar and saw that it was good.

Sorry Hot 'N Spicy.


Summary of Events-Saturday

I know, I'm an awful blogger, one who doesn't sacrifice self for her blog. In my defense, I've had a rough couple of days dealing with what's going on in my life. Not that the last few days have been exceedingly eventful, just kind of a culmination of everything seems to have built up and hit me in the forehead. And I've been trying to deal with it all internally, but I don't think that's benefiting me at all, so hopefully by getting it off my chest I'll be able to sleep with out the help of mass doses of muscle relaxers and wine. We'll see. I'm kind of enjoying the wine.

I can't write about my Saturday without giving a quick history on it so that it makes a little more sense. So, without further ado, the back story:

Met a man we'll call L.B. in October of 2001. Married L.B. in February of 2006. Had L.B.'s baby in November 2006. L.B. pointed a gun at me and left for good on Christmas Day of 2006. Divorce filed (by me) January 2007, divorce finalized in October 2007. Now this is where it gets important. Part of my divorce decree granted me a sum of money to be paid out of a period of 6 months. Part of my divorce decree also had my daughter on L.B.'s health insurance THROUGH HIS JOB. November 2007, L.B. cancels my daughter's insurance policy and puts her on one that gives her unlimited mammograms but only covers one doctor's appointment a year. My one year old daughter. Also, at this point, he has failed to make any of his settlement payments. Oh, and did I mention that he was screwing around on me while I was pregnant and is now caring for the home-wrecker and her two kids from another marriage? Yeah. It's not that important to this part of the story other than I can never miss an opportunity to make sure everyone realizes how big of a son of a bitch he is. Anyway. So I file a motion for enforcement with the court addressing both of his violations. I also asked to be named sole managing conservator, as well that my residency restriction be lifted. Oh I didn't mention that? Yeah, my divorce decree prohibits me from leaving the county where that son of a bitch resides or any county touching. My ENTIRE family lives about 800 miles away. Awesome, huh? How can you sign up, I'm sure you're thinking. Anyway, back to court, the judge decides that since I am representing myself and L.B. has an attorney, there should be a parenting coordinator that decides whether or not I should receive the rest of the settlement (his attorney claims I destroyed a bunch of stuff. Believe me honey, if I was gonna destroy stuff, all that would be left is a smoldering pile) and what a good solution to the insurance stuff would be. Fast forward to when the parenting coordinator had her first visit with me. She was friendly, she was full of helpful suggestions as far as my side go, she was upset that L.B. wasn't paying more for this and that, and blah blah blah. I actually was stupid enough to think that it went fairly well. I don't know why, but every time I feel like the court system may not be as screwed up as I thought, just when I start to have even a little bit of faith in the family law courts, I get dropped like I've been pushed out of an airplane. Which brings us to this past Saturday.

We had our final meeting with this stellar parenting coordinator, and right away I can tell that her attitude towards me has changed. She is cordial to me, but very friendly with L.B. Great. That's never a good sign. And I'm not sure why it surprises me. I used to be proud that my former best friend could charm the birds out of the trees. Now it makes me want to hold him down until those same birds crap up his nostrils. How's that for a visual? Anyway, we sit down and start talking, and I realize, wait a damn minute. Why are we talking about visitation? I have a piece of paper here, you know, one of those unimportant, annoying ones signed by a judge that says we're here to talk about settlement and health insurance. You can't even mix those letters around to spell visitation. WTF? But I roll with it, listening to what she has to say, and am appalled at her so-called expert recommendation. Right now, my daughter is exchanged between her father and I at a police station nearest my residence. He has no overnights with her, and he gets her on all of his days off except for weekends, in which he only gets the first weekend of the month with her. Considering he has four days off in a row every five days, he spends quite a bit of time with her, when he shows. But that's another topic for another rant. Ms. Professional Family Fucker-Upper proposes that he immediately get over nights. Exchanges should no longer be done at police station, instead be done at a place called Teen Connection which is basically where TEENS who are BAD are sentenced to live. I've spent some time there. You know what valuable life lesson I was taught? How to huff. And I'll tell ya, in the real world, that's come in REAL handy. And that's where she wants me to be able to LEAVE my daughter. She continues on in this ridiculous matter, and I'm seriously having to hold my right hand down with my left to keep from punching her in the forehead. Once she finishes explaining her oh so brilliant plan to ensure my daughter will have every possible reason to commit a felony when she gets older, I asked her one simple question. What about the life insurance? Her response? I'll have to look into that. ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR EVER LOVING MIND? That is what your entire purpose in life is! The reason why I have paid you to pass your stupid judgements and opinions! That piece of paper with the judges signature on it says LIFE INSURANCE and SETTLEMENT. SERIOUSLY. (and that is said with a great deal of exasperation).

I can't decide if I want to write her a letter or call her and ask her how I get into a program where I smoke crack all day and have judges make people pay me for my opinion.

So that was my Saturday.


Sincere Apologies

For those of you who have missed my daily rants and raves, sorry 'bout that. It was a rough weekend, looking like it may shape up to be a pretty rough week. Tonight, I'm mustering every ounce of energy I have to type this and stay awake for the Spurs game. And damn it Spurs, you better not lose.

I probably won't get the opportunity to type anything tomorrow as well, but we'll just have to see.

Oh, and out of curiosity, does that Go Phone commercial with Meatloaf and Tiffany singing freak anyone else out? Seriously. It gives me nightmares.


Silence of the Anatomy

Hey Grey's Anatomy fans. Is it just me, or every time you see Dr. Hahn you think to yourself, It rubs the lotion on it's skin, or else it gets the hose again.

Mexican Vehicles

A conversation I just had with a co-worker:

Him: Cars in Mexico aren't really any cheaper than here.

Me: Oh really?

Him: Nah, they are imports over there.

Me: Does Mexico have any, like, brands of cars?

Him: Burro.


Apparently that intangible weirdness that I blogged about yesterday snuck over to my house while I was driving home, because when I got there, there it was in all it's random glory. Even Smoodge got the vibe. She fell asleep on the drive home, which she does occasionally, and then she'll either just go down for the night or sleep for a few hours, wake up to eat, then go back to bed. Not last night. Last night as soon as I her into her bed she started crying like someone was pinching the skin on the back of her arm as hard as they could. Which is unusual for her because she rarely cries. Not for real anyway. So moving right along, she goes to bed, and then I'm trying to get stuff done before I head to bed. When I get finished, I notice that it's 1 in the morning. WTF? Did the weird vibe that snuck into my apartment set all my clocks forward 3 hours because I could swear it was closer to 10pm! I head off to bed, and immediately start having a nightmare. But not a bad nightmare. One of those nightmares that you know when you wake up should have disturbed you, but you're actually secretly glad you had it. My 'nightmare' was about strangling a certain home-wrecker in a bathtub over and over again. Like I said, for all intents and purposes, it should have been a nightmare. Yeah, a nightmare I woke up smiling from.

Oh how appropriate. The Edge is playing 'Psycho' right now.... Maybe I'm the one, maybe I'm the one, maybe I'm the one who is a schizophrenic psycho....

Anyway, good bad dream gone, wake up, and The Smoodge is not only awake, but has gone into the living room and brought some of her toys to play with into the bedroom next to the bed. It's two in the morning. I pull her into bed with me, and she's having none of it. Not even a little bit. And so I stay up with her, trying to convince her to go to bed, until around 5:30am she begins to show a little bit of interest in the milk I had prepared for her. I EVEN PUT CHOCOLATE IN IT TO ENTICE HER, and she passed. Where is my baby and who is this alien child that's been put in her place? She takes the milk, and finally I'm able to fall asleep at about 5:55am. My alarm goes off at 6:00am. Ugh. I hit snooze long enough that even the alarm gives up on me, my back up alarm (The Smoodge) is sound asleep, and I wake up at 7:45am, and realize I have to be dressed, get The Smoodge dressed, drive her to daycare, fight through traffic, and be at work in 15 minutes. And of course there's the last minute poo The Smoodge is famous for. Yeah. Right. Like that's going to happen.

But I'm at work now, and my lunch meeting has been cancelled, and what I thought might be a good day is turning out to be probably the LONGEST DAY IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD. I'm currently searching for tooth picks to prop my eye lids open. Otherwise there is a very good chance there will be a drool spot on the desk here pretty quick.


Finally Got Me Some!

OG's you pervs. Finally got me some OG'S...

Today has been such a weird day. There's an odd vibe in the air that seems to be throwing every one off.

Wait, please stand by while cranking up Clint Eastwood by the Gorillaz

Okay, back now with my sunshine in a bag. Don't make me bust out the lyrics. Finally, someone let me out of my cage...

Anyway, back to the weird vibe. It's so intangible, I can't really put my finger on it. It's such a weird vibe that I can't even figure out how to get out of this topic now, because I can't verbalize what's going on, so let's just pretend like this never happened, m-kay?

My daughter, the infamous Smoodge, has an uncanny knack at taking a crap right before we are about to walk out the door in the mornings. Doesn't matter if it's 7:15, 8:00, or even 10:00am. Always in the morning, always right before we leave. Literally. Like, I'm saying, come on Smoodge, let's go, and she's gripping the edge of the sofa with her face turning red and a look that only says one thing... Poop's a-comin'. And on the days that we don't go somewhere in the morning, then it happens at random in the afternoon. What makes it most frustrating is that I am no longer on time. To anything. And that is like the most horrendous sin ever. Worse than murder. Because if you're murdered, you don't have to worry about showing up on time ever again. And if you're the murderer, then 1.) you really don't have to be anywhere, and 2.) if you do have to be somewhere, someone makes sure you get there.

Okay, now I'm just killing time until the Sprint lady, Ann, gets here. I don't know about you, but my idea of an awesome time is completely understanding the inner workings of a business plan cell phone invoice. In fact, who needs foreplay when you can go over subscriber activity summaries and details, informational reports, and oh good grief, did you just say surcharges including Universal Service Assessment? Talk dirty to me baby.

The Edge must have heard my complaint about their suck-ass commercials, because now in the commercial breaks I get to listen to the theme songs from Spiderman and Walker, Texas Ranger. That is way better.

You'll Regret Reading Ths

Most people don't know that back in 1912, Hellmann's mayonnaise was manufactured in England .In fact, the Titanic was carrying 12,000 jars of the condiment scheduledfor delivery in Vera Cruz, Mexico , which was to be the next port of call for the great ship after its stop in New York .This would have been the largest single shipment of mayonnaise ever delivered to Mexico . But as we know, the great ship did not make it toNew York. The ship hit an iceberg and sank, and the cargo was forever lost.The people of Mexico , who were crazy about mayonnaise, and were eagerly awaiting its delivery, were disconsolate at the loss. Their anguish was so great, that they declared a National Day of Mourning, which they still observe to this day. The National Day of Mourning occurs each year on May 5th and is known, of course, as Sinko de Mayo.

Did you really expect something educational???