You got some 'splainin' to do

Sunday night. The time is currently 2357. Or 11:57pm. Whichever floats your boat.

Normally...well...normally as in for the last two months exactly....this would not be a big deal. The being awake on a Sunday night at 2359 (11:59pm). Why?

Because I was unemployed.

My Monday mornings consisted of rolling out of bed with just enough time to pee, rub that crusty shit out of my eyes, put on pants, get the monkey ready for school, and roll out. Like a boss. Or baws. Whichever.

But this Monday morning? The one that's happening directly?

I gots me a job.

So why is it that it's 0002, and I'm awake? And not just awake. But flogging.

Oh holy hell my phone just corrected blogging to flogging.

Some parallels there maybe? Methinks yes.

Anyway. Blogging. From my phone even.

Because I can't sleeeeeeeep!

I'm not excited. No really. I'm not. I don't know what I'm walking into, why would I be excited? And I'm not nervous for the same reason.

Here's what I know:
I am going to be kick ass at this job.


But still...I'm awake. Blogging from my phone. In my bed. While the monkey snores next to me.


Now where did mommy put her special pills....

5.13.2011's.... Huh.

**Back story: the monkey was on the phone with her father, and mentioned that her Grandpa Larry had died, and was in Heaven with Jesus.  The following is the text exchange between him and I after the phone call ended**

Ex: Did someone die?  She said "papa and Lilly went to Jesus"
Me: Grandpa Larry. He died of cancer the day after Easter
Ex: I'm sorry to hear that. My condolences. Is she handling the loss okay?
Me:  It's hard for her to understand.  It's not tangible for her.  So she talks about it on occasion.  His picture is on my desk in the office, and she saw it while on the phone with you and thought she would bring it up.
Ex: Thanks for the info.  I wanted to be able to speak with her if she did ask questions.  Again, my condolences.
Me: We tell her he isn't sick any more because he's in Heaven with Jesus.  Same with a bunny that died at her daycare.  Miss Carol's bunny if it comes up as well.  Generally it's always brought up on the same conversation
Me: And now Grandpa Larry takes care of the bunny in Heaven

**This is where it gets weird**

Ex: Was there a duck also?
*crickets chirping
Me: Um. Not that I have heard...But sometimes she says her (invisible) baby chicken is dead...
Ex: Okay, maybe that was it.  She told me all about it being on the side of the road by your house and then with Jesus.  She said the stuffed animal, chick in the egg, you sent with her last time was to replace the dead one.
Me: I am cracking up right now.  I have no idea what that is supposed to mean...she got the baby chick in an egg for Easter... I think maybe she's just putting random thoughts together.  She's quite the little story teller.

So there you have it.  From dead cousins to dead chickens in one simple text exchange.

Also?  This is the most I have talked to the ex in text....well....ever?

So glad it could be about this.


Who's the Chuck Norris of gardening now?

Sprouts!  People!  We have sprouts!

I've been keeping my unemployed self busy the last week or so painting my office and getting it usable, which is another post in and of itself.

But first?  To quell the nay saying cries of "NO PICTURES NO HAPPEN."

On Saturday?  No.  Today is Saturday.  Or yesterday.  Whatever.  Not Saturday.  Guess it would have been Thursday?  Sure, we'll go with Thursday.

*Thursday* as I was breaking down my make shift office to move it into the actual office, I had to move my pellets of nothingness.  And after having spent two months of love and labor to get those little shit seeds to sprout and gotten return, I had resigned myself to tossing all 72 pellets of wasted energy into the trash.  I had a moment of silence for all the vegetable death that had occurred, and carried my starter tray outside to chunk that bitch in the trash.

And then?  The sun hit something inside the plastic cover just right.  Was that a hint of green I see?

I pop the lid, and sure enough!  A tiny little sad looking sprout!  A sprout, I say!

See that little guy?  He's going to be a big strong cherry tomato plant when he gets older.

So I glance over the rest of the tray, and I see this:
A tiny little sprout of Swiss Chard!  (what *IS* that?  seriously.)

And upon further inspection?  I see this:
Now, I'm not 100% sure what this little guy is gonna be when he grows up.  He'll either be cilantro or green peppers.  I'll know for sure when he gets bigger, but right now he's in that awkward phase where if he were a human fetus, he'd be a jelly bean.

So in a matter of seconds, that tray went from trash to the uterus of my garden.  And it was saved.  And all was right with the world.  Pro-life folks should love that little comparison.  Bumper sticker galore.

I left the tray sitting on the ledge of the future garden.  I haven't checked on it since yesterday, so I don't know if any other little buddies have popped up.  I'm hoping the warm sun will help incubate my other vegetables into sprouts as well.

So far I'm 3 for 72, and I'm hoping to improve my odds.

In related news, I have three baskets of strawberries that are popping like ker-azy.
I'm actually surprised I've got fruit already coming through.  Hopefully in the next week or so they'll get nice and red so Monkey can pick them.  She is such a huge fan of gardening that it'll be a shame if she can't see some results before she takes off for Texas for two months.

*Panic attack*

ANYWAY.  So picture proof of gardening success y'all.  Guess it did happen, huh?  WHAT'S UP NOW?


Ahem *cough, cough

Yes, yes, I'm still here.  I just do not have anything to talk about.

No seriously.  Let's go through the checklist, shall we?

Job front - still unemployed.  check.
Garden - still not growing.  not even a little bit.  check.
Running - haven't been since the last race.  check.
Weather - still cold and crappy.  check.

So yeah, you know.  Lots of good stuff rockin' over here.

Monkey leaves for Texas in a few days, so there's that.

I am totally not winning lately, gah.


Blank spots

There aren't really many words in my head right now, just a lot of pain.

Usually I love Easter.  No seriously.  I haven't really thought about it until just now, but I would have to say it's probably my favorite holiday.

But this year it's different.

I can't really say all I'm feeling.  Not because I don't want to, but because I literally don't know how to put into words the emotions.

I've been praying and reading a lot of Scripture.  Sometimes I'm afraid that maybe my prayers to take away the pain is what brought us to this point.  Mostly I hope that it's bringing comfort where it's needed.

And I wish I could do more.

Jesus replied, "You do not realise now what I am doing, but later you will understand." John 13:7


It's not pot. Probably.

Two weeks.  It's been two weeks since I planted the first seeds.  And do I have sprouts?

No.  No I do not.

So I've decided to change directions a bit.

See, in Texas, tomato and cucumber plants, even strawberries, are flourishing and flowering.  Here in Misery, we are still in 40 degree weather.

This is foreign to me.

Also foreign?  The tornado drill (OMG I HOPE ITS A DRILL) that is happening right now.  Sirens and all.  I am writing this and resisting the urge to cower in the fetal position in my basement.

Basements are also foreign to me.

But back to the plants.

I was telling my grandmother that none of my seeds had sprouted.  She asked where I had them.  I said outside.  She said duh.  Not really, but she could have.  Basically, the weather here is still too arctic for anything to be motivated to sprout.  And understandably so.  I have a hard time getting out from under my covers in the morning.  Basically my veggies and I are a bit of the same.

So I've brought them inside and put a light on them, per Grandma's advice.
Yes, they are on my desk.  That's the only place I really have an adjustable light!  They are sitting on top of my printer, safely covered with an old towel.  And because I realize the light is stronger on one side, I'm turning it every 12 hours.

If this doesn't work?  I'm gonna be pissed.

Great. Now I'm going to die of Lyme Disease

** I actually wrote this on the 16th, which was...I dunno, awhile ago?  Just in case you care **

Since moving to this wonderful state of Misery, we seem to have suffered through more plagues than at any other time in my life.

First came the lice.

Oh sweet Jesus, the lice.

I've never dealt with lice before.  Managed to live my whole entire existence on this planet without being attacked by tiny little head bugs.  But we moved here, and BAM!  The Monkey gets lice.  And of course, since she had lice, *I* got lice.  And then my niece.  And my sister.

In case you're unaware, the Monkey has looong hair, down to her cute little butt.  And it's the most beautiful color and texture.  Which most of the time?  Is awesome.  When you add lice to the mix, you pretty much want to die.  Not her so much.  ME.  First doing the trial and error of what crap actually works, each trial taking any where from 4 hours to 2 days.  Then once you find something that works, you spend the next two weeks combing out hair with tiny little combs that serve two purposes.  One: to comb all the nits and nastiness out.  Two: to completely break every strand of hair on your head.  So it's awesome in all kinds of ways.

That's my sister and I, doing the lice tango on my head.  So. Much. Fun.  Seriously.  Let's never ever do that again, mkay?

Here's something you should know about me.  I require vision assistance.  Glasses.  Contacts.  Whatever.  Most recently?  Been rocking the glasses.  My contacts were bothering me know what?  Not important.  What is important is that I've been wearing my glasses of late.

Which brings us to today.  When I shower, obviously the glasses come off.  I don't know why, but generally I take my glasses off before I get undressed to get into the shower.  So when I took off my pants this evening, I saw a dark little thing on my leg, and ASSUMED it was lint from my jeans.

You know what happens when you assume, right?  Gah.

I get into the shower, start the ritual, and get to the part where I shave my legs.  Generally this is not something I do on a regular basis.  Mostly out of laziness.  Why do I need to shave when 1)  it's four freakin' degrees outside and I need all the help I can get keeping warm, and 2) who exactly is it that I am shaving for? The four year old?  Doubtful.  Plus I have the added benefit of leg hair that grows in a new direction every two square inches, so shaving is a little bit like navigating Pacman through a game of...well...Pacman.

Anyway, leg shaving.  The little dark thing is still there.  Except now that I am bent over to shave, so I am closer to the dark thing.  And it doesn't look fuzzy like lint would.  It's more.. a ball.  For a brief moment, I think maybe I had scratched my leg and that was blood that had hardened into some sort of weird statue.  It happens.  Except this was kind of large.  Also?  When I ran my hand across it, IT DIDN'T FEEL LIKE A CLUMP OF BLOOD.  It was kind of...smooth...and...rubbery?  I dunno, just didn't feel right.

So I flicked it.

Anyone experienced in tick-ology knows that those suckers bury themselves in deep.  And flicking wouldn't generally have worked.  And if it did work, only the body would come out, but the head would still be stuck in there.  Of all the stories I've heard about ticks and not dying and you can squish the body but the head will grow it back and you can't kill the head because it's made to be flat and slice-y so it can get into you in the first place, I have no idea which ones are true.  Before, it never mattered.  BECAUSE I NEVER HAD A TICK BEFORE.  And I'm sorry, I'm not going to go on an internet tick crusade to hear the horror stories to figure out which ones are true.

But the tick that I flicked came out.  (I'm sorry, am I channeling Dr. Seuss?)  And landed on the bathroom wall.  Only I still didn't realize it was a tick at this point.  So I get down on my butt ass naked hands and knees in the shower to gander at that thing I just popped off my leg.

And yeah.  It's a tick.  *shivers

I don't know if it was coming up for air (do they even do that?) at the exact moment I was flicking or what, but all of it popped out.  Thankfully.  So I scooped it into one of the Monkey's cups she keeps in the shower (sorry, kiddo!), and flushed that bad boy down the toilet.  Twice.

Then I went into a full on TSA search of the rest of my body to make sure it didn't bring any of his buddies along for the free meal.  And prayed like crazy that I wouldn't find one because how on earth was I going to get it out of my hair or other body parts I couldn't access as easily and OH MY GOD they record 911 calls and this one would make the news.

I didn't find any more, by the way.

Between the lice, the tick, and the snowpacolypse, I'm reading you loud and clear, Misery.  And believe me, I don't want to be here any more than you want me.  Also?  I super appreciate giving me one day of 80 degree weather before shoving low 30's down my throat.  That's the best.  Thanks for that.

But maybe we can call a truce and you can call off your passive aggressive attempts to kill me and I'll stop bashing you on a daily basis.  Like probably cut it back to once a week or so.

After all, we do have at least 6 and a half more years together.  :-/


Rainin' Rainin'

There is something so serenely beautiful about a yard bursting with growth, blanketed in rain.

 Makes me want to sit on my back porch (that has a tin roof, EVEN BETTER), cuddled with a blanket and a good book.  Sadly, I have neither chair to sit in out there nor the book currently, so desk chair inside and blog reading/facebooking/job hunting will have to suffice.

Also?  I know I need to mow.  Guess what was on the agenda for today?  Apparently the storms we have been having since last night had other ideas.

The little patch of flowers the Monkey and her cousin planted are flourishing.  So much so that the yellow/green snapdragons that were planted without blooms have opened up during this rain to show their neon face.

Those are by far my favorite.  I love green.  I'm not gonna lie, even though the flowers were the girls project, I selected those.

Seed update: Nope.  Nada.  Nothing.  I'm afraid we may have to admit defeat.  Which suuuuuuuuuuucks.


My brain. It's gone. And I miss it. Wait. What was I doing here?

Get Monkey ready for shower.

Notice Monkey needs her nails clipped after shower.

Think to myself I need to go into dining room and get clippers, which are on my desk.

Get Monkey settled in shower, washing hair, etc.

Leave Monkey in bathroom to go into dining room to get clippers, located on my desk.

Walk 25 to 30 feet to dining room, specifically to desk.

Turn on light on desk to facilitate finding clippers.

Notice post it notes in middle of desk instead of in its proper place under the monitor.

Note the name and phone number on top post it of potential interview.

Remove top post it and stick to computer in highly visible place so I don't forget to return the call during business hours.

Move remaining post its to appropriate place.

Straighten a few other askew items.

Turn off light on desk.

Walk back into the bathroom.

Finish bathing the Monkey.

Go to clip Monkey's nails.

Wonder what the hell I did with the clippers.

Realize I never got the clippers.

Wonder where exactly I left my brain and how do I get it back.

This happens to me all. the. time.


First, let's get this post started with a shout out to the BFF and her new blog.  You can find it here.  If you care.  And if you do visit, make sure you leave some inappropriate comment.  She appreciates those.  A lot.  And while I realize it's a little lacking now, once she figures out how to stop being blog 'retarted', I promise, it will pick up steam.

At least that's what we are telling her.  SHHHHH.

Annnywho, back to what's important here:  Me and my (temporarily) pitiful garden.  Only slight progress was made today, because, as with most of the projects I undertake, I *severely* underestimated the amount of crap I was going to have to do to get this ready.

Let's be honest, shall we?  I totally thought I was going to be able to go outside, scrape off some weeds and grass and unruly ivy to reveal a garden bed just aching to birth vegetables from it's soil-y loins.

Realistically?  This is going to be the death of me.

I now realize that the dirt in the bottom portion of the garden is unusable for veggie procreation.  This is unfortunate.  Mostly for me.  What that means is that I'm going to have to dig out roughly 6 inches of that dirt and replace it with much better soil.  That contains blood from my first born, an old priest and a new priest....wait...that's not right...

Point is, I gots to do some diggin'.  A crap ton of digging, if you will.  And where will that dug up dirt go?  I'm working on that part, but where it's at ain't workin' for no one.

Well.  Maybe the worms. *shudder

I finished hoeing (bahahahahaha....still. funny.) the middle garden area, and took the shovel to it to turn the dirt.  I'm thinking what's in there will be okay once it's supplemented with some fertilized soil on top.

Yes.  I realize that looks exactly the same as the other ones.  Unless you are paying attention.  Then you will notice that the middle garden is free of miscellaneous green stuff.  It's all about subtleties, people.

Now.  See that top area?  With ALL the green ivy stuff?  That's next.  Probably.  I don't mind the ivy being there, in fact, I probably won't really trim it back.  What I'm concerned about is all the weedy stuff underneath it.  And how I'm going to attempt to tack that crap back so I can get the weedy stuff out.  I need at least a foot of room there to get the pumpkins and watermelon in.

I did also mention all that dirt that has to be removed, right?  Just take a moment and soak that in.

Right.  So, I picked up some strawberry plants today from Richmond.  See?
They are second or third or twelfth generation plants that were started by my go-to master gardener, who also happens to be a member of my family.  She pulled them from her garden, so basically if they fail?  My fault.  No pressure though.

I am still deciding whether or not I want to leave one of the pots as is.  The white ones are the kind that have the holes in the sides for growing strawberries in, and I kinda wanna see if they really can flourish in there.  I've always heard/read mixed reviews when it comes to having a hanging basket of either strawberries or tomatoes, so I'm a little curious.

Today is also day 7 after planting the first batch of seeds.  Which means some of them should have sprouted. And when I checked, this is what I saw:
See the sprouts?

Yeah.  Me either.  Failing already.  We are sooo off to a great start.


Free time. As in, I have too much of it.

Through a very detailed, regimented morning routine on the internet, which consisted mostly clicking on whatever link looked interesting, I found myself looking at the social security administrations website of baby names.  Out of curiosity, I figured I'd take a gander at where the Monkey fell into play for the year she was born.

915 out of a thousand.

Nine hundred and fifteenth...

Now, obviously when you name your kid you go with something interesting and unique in your little mind.  But to dump my kids name at almost the end of the list?  So basically it's me and that mother in Boognockistonia that speaks in clicks and whistles.  Awesome.  You know what was higher on the list than the Monkey's name?





What the french toast, people.  My kid does not have an extraordinarily unique name.  To know that there were more girls born in the United States of freaking America named *MONSERRAT* than the Monkey's name....well....I'm not really sure how that makes me feel.  Also?  Apparently the year she was born was also the last year anyone wanted to name their kid that.

No matter what I do, I guess I will always be the black sheep.  And now I've passed that onto my kid.  Awesome.

Ximena?  REALLY?


Extraneous Gardening

Today I made absolutely no progress what so ever on the vegetable garden.  It is what it is.  I've moved on from it, so should you.

Instead I finished clearing out the area I planted a few rose bushes in.  I had put them into the ground this weekend, clearing out only the spots I intended to put the flowers into.  Today I went ahead and cleared the remaining area.  Mostly.

As you can see, they are pathetic little knobby things that have a lot of growing to do.  There is also a pile of leaves and weeds waiting to be put into trash bags as well, but we're not going to focus on that at the moment.  The one on the far left is a red tea rose bush, hand picked by the magnificent Monkey herself.  The middle one will be a red and yellow blush rose bush, and then the one on the right are my yellow (tea) roses of Texas :)  I'm really hopeful they take root and flourish there.  They will get full sun until probably 1 or so, and then the sun will be blocked by the ladis.  For reference, the vegetable garden is being put in on the other side of that.

Then the Monkey, my niece, and I loaded up into the car and went to the hardware store to grab a few flowers to put in another bed.  I thought it would be a fun way for the girls to put together their own little area that is a little more immediately satisfying.
They didn't put in the bushy things, or the tree.  Or the rocks.  Just the flowers.  And they were such good little helpers.  Cleared out all the sticks, then carried the sticks to their designated pile, then shoveled all the weeds and what not into a trash bag for disposal.  They carefully picked each spot all 16 of the flowers went into.  I have absolutely no idea what they all are.  Wait. Not true.  The pink ones in the middle and the yellow ones that will bloom in the front will be snap dragons.  The rest I have no idea of.  The stick labels are still outside somewhere, I guess I should probably go figure that out, huh?

Anyway, tomorrow will resume with the vegetable garden.  Also?  Tomorrow is the seventh day after I planted the first batch of seeds.  I not even a little bit concerned that I haven't seen a single one of those little shits poke up through the dirt.  At all.

Out of curiosity, when is too soon to panic?  Is now?

How about now?


Garden Master, Part 2

Because I am one of those people that gets on a kick about something and works the bloody hell out of it, of course I was back outside today diligently slaving over my potential gardening area.  Here's a daylight pic of the spot with yesterday's progress:

I spent some time last night figuring up where I'm going to put everything.  Oh, and I also measured the bottom portion of the garden to so that I could accurately plan plant locations.  Turns out I was a bit off.  It's actually 12 x 6 on the bottom, 10 x 2.5 in that lower flower bed area, and I have no idea on the top, but the goal is to get at least a foot of width along there to plant the larger ones.

Assuming I can do that (oh I am going to do that), then I'll have the pumpkins and watermelons up in the top area.  This way as they start to grow larger, I can move the actual fruit onto the ledge and keep a better eye on them.  The cilantro, swiss chard (still don't know what this is), carrots, and peas will go into that middle flower bed area.  I am assuming 2 sq ft for each of those will be enough room, and I'm sure if it's not I'll quickly find out.  Plus, again, there is that ledge to maneuver plants that allow for it onto.  The bottom portion I'll be able to put the remaining six plants into, six rows two feet wide.  Cucumbers against the ladis (so I can train them to grow up it if needed), then a row of big tomato plants, then a row of the small, then green peppers, then the banana peppers, and finally against the wooden timber will be the strawberries.  That's everybody right?  I think so...

Anyway, today I was able to finish hoeing (HAHAHAHAHA...I'm SORRY, that's STILL funny to me) the rest of the bottom garden, then raked all of the middle and top gardens, and hoed (*snicker) about half of the middle garden.  See?
I'm going to need to dig a lot of the dirt out of the bottom garden so I can replace it with better soil and horse poop.  Depending on how much comes out with ease, I may or may not have to do some serious weed killing.  Hopefully that's stuff I can get done within this next week so the ground has time to marinate in the good stuff (soil and horse poo...not weed killer...) that before I have to start moving plants into it.  I should also mention that I'm picking up some strawberry plants on Tuesday that I have no idea what to do with.  I mean, eventually they'll go into the ground, but I'm not sure if I can put them into pots until the garden is done or if I basically have to have that side of it finished by Tuesday night.

Guess I should find out, huh?


Just call me... Kung Fu Gardener.

Not really, I kind of hate that name.  I don't even know why I said that.

It's *finally* that time again!  The cold weather crap has gone....wait.  Please tell me it's gone.... It's gone, right, Missouri?  This isn't just you screwing with me again?  Because I will cut you....  I am unstable as it is, and I really really can't....


The cold weather crap has gone, and the trees are getting those green things, and the bugs are flying, and the birds are eating stuff, and the cats are picking teams for their late night yowl offs.  Also?  Time to put in a mutha fruckin' garden.

I've already started the seeds.  Already.  Like I've been prepping this for months.  Actually?  Days.  I planted some in soil on Tuesday night, and I've done some more today.  I'm a little nervous about them taking.  I used a starter garden set I purchased last year, along with seeds that I got last year.  With the exception of today's plantings, it's all about a year old.  There's no reason why it shouldn't work, right?  *fingers crossed.

Tuesday I planted the seeds for quite a bit.  Carrots, big tomatoes, cucumbers, banana peppers, swiss chard (I don't even know what that is), watermelon, pumpkin, and little tomatoes.  And every. single. day. I check...usually two or three or twelve see if anything has sprouted.  Obviously?  Nothing has.  I know that.  I'm not even worried about it not working yet.  But does that stop me from checking?  Nope.  It's like I'm hoping I can will the plants to grow.

Today at the big garden and lawn center here in Smithville....Dollar General...they had a display for three packs of seeds for $1.  Even with the tight budget I'm currently enjoying the hell out of (sarcasm. Sense it?) I could afford that.  So I picked up some cilantro, green peppers, and peas and got them planted as well.

I was standing over the dirt admiring my handiwork and...admittedly...using my mental gymnastics to will those things to sprout, when I realized that I have nowhere prepared for when they *do* come up.  Yes, there are lots of places here to put them, but it's all overgrown and weedy and dog poopy and littered with whatever crap the last strong wind shoved through.  Generally my gardens have been on a much smaller scale.  Two tomato plants, two cucumber plants, and I'm a freaking master gardener with a vengeance.  So taking an afternoon to throw together a garden has been no biggie.

But 12 different plants with multiple potted and hopefully infused with Charlie Sheen's Tiger Blood to ensure growth and prosperity?  Not including the strawberry plants the Monkey and I will pick up in the next few days?  That's a special kind of monster that even my master gardening skills is not capable of throwing together in an hour or so.

Now that I realize my weakness, I have taken action.  I identified the target area, raked up the nastiness, and began hoeing (hahahahahahaha....ahem) the bits of grass and clover that had dumbly set up shop.  I'm not done by any means.  This is something that will probably take me a few days or even weeks to complete.  Because I am that motivated.  And also because it's hard and I'll get tired and need to check facebook or send out resumes or something else equally important.  BUT, and this is the important part, I at least can be doing that instead of trying to grow plants with my mind.

And?  Since I have nothing else in my life going on that I care to blog about, I figured I could track my progress here!  Boom, baby!

Also because the BFF is going to be starting the same process as well, and we figured we could share our adventure this way.  You know, since she lives a bazillion miles away and all.

So I give you......waaaaait for it......the first in a series.....ladies and gentlemen.....MY GARDEN:

I should have taken a picture during the day.  I know.  But I didn't have this idea until tonight, and since I am pretty much the most not patient person ever, I took it and here it is.

It's hard to tell, but it's about 10 x 4, not including that raised area, or the raised area above that.  All of it needs to be dug up and fertilized (horse poo galore!) and structured to accommodate the plants.  And I still need to figure out what to put where.  But in the meantime, as you can tell, there is plenty to do.

I'll be working on it again tomorrow, so I'm sure I'll have another update then.  I know.  Edge of your seat, right?



This post is not nearly as exciting as the title would lead you to believe, but a little false advertising never hurt anyone.  Except the guy that came here looking for porn.  Yeah.  You.  We see you.  And we are staring, judging and pointing.  The trifecta of shame.  So, you know....move along pervert, there's nothing for you to see here.

Where was I?

I've been running a lot of late.  Like...the last three months or so.  I've done a few 5K's and a four mile whatever you call it, and feel like I'm ready to move into 10K-dom.  So now you know that about me.

The other thing you should know?  I have big boobs.  You know how some people knock stuff over with their over sized asses or their beer guts?  Like lamps and small children and such?  I do that too, but with my boobs.  And since they are boobs and slightly higher, it's taller children.  Well...higher when I have the right kind of support...  But you know what I mean.  One time I was able to fully support a beer bottle, drink from it, and put it back without using my hands at all thanks to those boobs.  Sure, I chipped a tooth, but that was more from the excitement in discovering the true meaning of laziness than anything else.  It especially came in handy when I was pregnant (OMG THE SIZE OF THEM) and couldn't scoot myself all the way up to the table.  I had a table of my own, thank you very much.

Big boobs.  Long line of them.  I got them from my mother, who got them from her grandmother, who got them from someone who probably took them with her from Europe on a boat large enough to accommodate. So when it comes to needing a sports bra to help strap those bad boys down, I'm not messing around.  I need something that will provide the stability of duct tape with the comfort of a fluffy stuffed bunny.  Not that I would wear a stuffed bunny as a bra.  Well...maybe, but the ears better not cut into my shoulders....

I have two sports bras that are exactly the same.  Same brand, same size, same stitching, purchased at the same time, same random person who personally and oh so lovingly inspected them and stuck their personalized number sticker on them.  The difference between the two is that one is black, and the other is white.

Oh.  And that the white one sucks.  A Lot.

I don't understand how that can happen.  Same friggin' bra, and yet so very different.

The black one is my favorite.  It supports, and slims (they are like support tank top bra whatevers), it does my taxes, and never asks me what's wrong and if I want to talk about it.

The white one?  It's pretty much out to destroy me.  Every single time I try to run in it, somehow it allows one boob to make its way slyly out the arm hole until it's practically running all by itself.  So then I have to turn into a jogging contortionist in order to wrangle that bad boy back into containment.

It's hard enough to remember to breathe, chew gum, keep my legs moving, AND watch where I'm going.  That damn white bra expects me to also flip myself inside out just to ensure it's doing the job it was purchased to do.

Negative, ghost rider.  That's why I try to always wear the black one.


At least he doesn't smell

My cat?  Kinda has it made.  Food regularly delivered to a location only he can access (namely, away from the pig dogs).  Run of an old house with lots of hiding places to inspect.  Two dogs and a Monkey to harass with his kick ass Kung Fu moves.  I even let him sleep pretty much anywhere he wants, be it on the couch (rarely), in Monkey's bed (when she's not in it), my bed, the coffee table (yes, this is actually a favorite post of his), or even in the kitchen window sill (when it's open).  He even takes over the dog bed when the mood strikes him.


In general, I leave him alone, he leaves me alone.  Which is what made him an appealing as a pet in the first place .  Not *him* specifically, but cats in general.  Neediness freaks me out, and cats?  They do not hesitate to let you know that they don't need you in their lives, and any indication other wise is a damn lie.  This system works for us.  Yes, there is occasionally snuggling, petting, playing.  But it's generally always on his terms.  Rarely do I seek him out for a cuddle buddy.  It's not like he's neglected.  I always punch holes in the boxes I lock him in as punishment.

So why is it, that in the dark of night, as I am laying down to go to sleep, in those few precious silent moments I get to enjoy prior to drifting off into sleepy land, does that ass hat of a cat feel he needs to jump onto my bed, curl himself into a deceptively warm fuzzy ball of happiness, and begin to lick himself clean OVER EVERY SQUARE INCH OF HIS BODY?

Have you ever heard a cat clean itself?  It's not the quietest thing ever.  That sand paper tongue running against the grain of a thousand little cat hairs in the dark of night somehow has the decibel equivalency of shattering concrete with a jack hammer.  And he chews his nails.  HE CHEWS HIS NAILS.  What...who....WHY?

I'm not a fan of listening to animals clean themselves.  I make the dogs do it in the other room.  It's gross.  Especially when they clean  It's...well....I'm not going to get into a lot of detail here.  It's too gross, and gives me the heeby-jeebies.  There are some things even *I* won't describe in detail.  But you know EXACTLY what I'm talking about.

There are 23 and a half other hours in the day he could have taken care of his personal hygiene.  Why must he do it at that EXACT moment?  On my bed?  Next to my EAR?  EVERY.  SINGLE.  BLASTED.  NIGHT.

He keeps it up and I'll stop punching air holes in the damn boxes.    


I pretty much hate everyone.

I don't...forgive well.  I can hold a grudge like a champ.  And no, I'm not listing my good qualities.  I know these suck, and I should stop it.  But you know what?  That's easier said than done when you're a hermit.  Because all I have are my thoughts all the time non stop.  And when you are swimming through a depression, the likes of which haven't been seen in a long time, those thoughts?  Not necessarily rainbows and kitties.  Even in the good times, I'm not a rainbows and kitties type of gal.

So forgiveness?  Yeah, I struggle with it.  There's a lot of things in my life that I turn to God for, but asking for the strength to be able to forgive others?  I'm more than a little soft in that area.

But this?  I can totally get into this:

Some things really do never change

It's been about 4 years now.  And since the separation, almost five.  You would think that, by now, either something would have changed or I would have caught on that this is the kind of behavior I can expect all. The freaking. Time.

But no.  Like banging my head against a concrete wall.  Just ONCE I'd like a padded cell instead.

Here's the scenario:

I emailed the ex to let him know that The Monkey has been scheduled for hearing and vision screenings.  When the vision folk called me, they asked all kinds of questions about her insurance, whether or not this is covered, does she have this kind of plan, blah blah blah.  Questions that I don't have the answer to (that is a *whole* other story, one that I am far too tired to get into at the moment), nor could I obtain them on my own.  So we (the vision folk and I) decided that we would go ahead and set the appointment, with the understanding that I would get the answers to the questions and take the appropriate actions.

And we're back to the email to the ex.  I asked him, in the email, to provide me with answers to the questions.  A day or so later, I received a response.  That answered no questions I had asked.  Oh sure, there were answers, but to my questions?  Nope.

I emailed him again, making my questions more specific, and asking for clarification on the information he provided.  And his response?  Again, not. answering. my. questions.  More information?  Yes.  Answers to my questions.  Nope.

After taking a day or so finding my chi and taking cleansing breaths, I finally emailed him back TELLING him exactly what I needed him to do.

Why didn't I do that from the beginning?  Well, because I thought it would be rude.  And also?  I'm not his mother, baby-sitter, or wife.  I should not have to break it down for him in a manner a three year old would understand and then order him to comply.

Annnnnd this is where that first paragraph really comes into play.  I should have really learned by now.

So I did.  I told him exactly what I needed.  I told him exactly what I expected.  And I told him exactly when I needed it by.

His response?  No closer to the beginning than I was when I started writing this.  In fact, his answers were geared towards a belief that if he made this hard enough on me, maybe I would just skip the appointments all together.  Since, after all, there is nothing wrong with The Monkey.  Ever.  At any point in time.  Just like all the other times there was nothing wrong with her.  Oh, well....except for that time with the gall stones.  And the acid reflux.  And the genetic disorder.  And the developmental delays.  And the behavioral issues.

But those times totally don't count.

I *guess* I can understand his point of view.  After so many times of being right about it all, odds should be in his favor this time?  There actually *IS* nothing wrong with her?  Right?  That's how Vegas works, why not his daughter.

Her appointment is in two days.  This afternoon, I completely gave up on letting the ex "participate" (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA....ahem....) that I took matters into my own hands.  And I got the resolution I needed.  Sure, I had to make some pretty serious threats to a large insurance company, used made up curse words to really confuse them, and it took about 4 hours of my time, but hey!  I'm an unemployed single mother!  I APPARENTLY HAVE ALL THE TIME IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD.

The question I'm asking myself now is this:

In the future, do I just handle business and let him know how it all turned out after?
Do I continue to try to get him involved even though I know without a doubt that it is only going to end in confusion and ticked-off-edness?

Gah.  Exes.  Can't live with 'em, still illegal to shoot 'em.  I would know.  I check regularly.



I'm pretty sure that's not a word, but whatever.  It's late, I'm the only one reading this, and you're not the boss of me.

It's been several weeks now.  With the insomnia.  Ever since things got rocky at work.  Well that's vague as hell.  Since things got REALLY rocky at work.  Not the usual rockiness of my boss being about as stable as the tectonic plates surrounding Japan.  A new kind that I was familiarly unfamiliar with.  I'd seen it happen to others, but it was never displayed towards me.  Until several weeks ago.

Familiarly unfamiliar.  That sounds like a legit phrase until you type it, read what you have typed, and then you feel like you have lost your damn mind and swallowed your tongue.  But I digress.

Rocky at work, and the stress began.  Worrying about what this meant, and what that action could mean, and why would she say that, and all the while, do they know that I know?

Losing that job wasn't stressful.  At all.  Being in that job was stressful.  Working with *those* people was stressful.  The stress came from the potential unemployment.  Now the realized unemployment.  Sure, I've been unemployed before, but never with so much on the line.  I look back and think, I should have saved more, I should NOT have purchased that, etc blah.  Shoulda, woulda, coulda.  Bottom line?  DIDN'T.

I have insomnia because I don't want to go to sleep.  Because I survived today.  I know I survived today.  And if I go to sleep, then tomorrow comes.  And I don't know that I can survive what tomorrow brings.

Isn't that just about the stupidest thing you've ever heard?  Rationally, I know that whether or not I go to bed, tomorrow is coming with all it's ugly surprises and invasive expectations.  Irrationally, I convince myself that by staying up all night stalking people on facebook and their blogs and craigslist (oh my holy hell I can kill some time on craigslist) and news websites and the list goes on and on (however, if you have suggestions, I will totally take them) then I won't have to face whatever tomorrow brings.

Yes, I realize that tomorrow might be wonderful, and that I might get the job of my dreams that, oh by the way, pays me the paycheck of my dreams.  Or I find a lottery ticket that just so happens to have the mega-gazillions winning number on it (and yes, find, not buy.  I may not have saved up for this, but I'm sure as hell bunkering down now).  But when your pessimism has brutally raped and killed your optimism, leaving it for dead on the side of the road to be eaten by vultures and hungry hitch-hikers, it's hard to see that silver lining.

So I stay awake until I'm forced to bed.  Keeping my defeated self entertained with Hulu or the dumb crap people accidentally text to others.  Subliminally terrified that the one time today I laughed might be the last time I get to do that since tomorrow is going to be more brutal that I can stand.

So you know....there's *that*.


Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn

I'm not sure what I'm doing on here.

Not just because of the time frame.  I mean, that's an awkward silence in and of itself.  Hi, remember me?  Yeah, me neither.

I've moved.  It's been so long since I've written here I'm not sure if I wrote that I was going to.  But I have.  And here I am.  In a new home, in a new state, a new decade, and newly unemployed.  I've picked up some new habits, dropped some old ones.  It's like a whole new me.

And honestly?  I kind of hate that bitch.

It's almost like I'm back to my post-divorce life and mental state.  Everything up in the air, forging new boundaries, making a new path.  I did it before, I know I can do it again.

But....why?  To what purpose?  What was wrong with the way things were?  Why did I all of a sudden have this overwhelming need to make drastic changes?

The insomnia is back.  Clearly.

I feel like when I posted before, it was because things happened in my life.  That I actually had one of those.  Topics from life's little cherries or apples or lemons or whatever the hell fruit makes you happy.  Now?  Well...who honestly wants to hear me ramble on and on about the *AWESOME* time I made in that game of Solitaire this afternoon?

Not.  Even.  Me.

So maybe this is me trying to pick my world back up.  Create my own reality horseshit.  Fake it 'til you make it.

Meh.  I should have written about running.