I Was a Bully

The last two years of my life have been some of the hardest for me. There are few things worse as a parent than seeing your child getting ridiculed, made fun of, threatened..in short, bullied. The feelings of anger and helplessness are so overwhelming that it shakes you to your core. 

In my case, I also turned my awareness..inward. 

I'm a firm believer that there is always something to be gained from negative experiences. Some things are so hard, and our initial reaction is to kick like a mule to get the negative thing away from us. In the anger and frustration of those moments, we lose our ability to grow. We shut down our hearts and our brains and run away. Would it be great if we could learn from the positive only? Yes!! But, that's not how life works. My biggest moments of personal growth have been because of the hard stuff. 

Sometimes the hard stuff is learning that you have wronged someone. Sometimes you realize that the enemy you have been fighting, also lives in you. 

Coming to the understanding that you are a bully is nothing short of heart wrenching. How did I get this way? Why am I behaving this way? Why did I hurt someone that I love so much? HOW can I make this better?!

Several years ago, I was making jokes at another person's expense. I would drive down the road and immediately say mean things about people. I saw with my eyes instead of my heart. I figured as long as I wasn't saying mean things directly to a person, that it was OK. Until I got caught. 

The person who called my on my behavior is someone who I love. Not only did I hurt her, but I put our relationship at risk..a relationship I had been part of for twenty something years. This was one of the biggest wake up calls of my life. At what point in my life did I become such a mean person? Sure, in public I seemed caring, giving, thoughtful...but behind closed doors, I was mean. 

Getting a laugh out of people was more important than protecting someone's feelings.

I was judgmental.

My first thought was to judge someone's appearance.

It was easier for me to say something negative than it was to say something positive.

My negative thoughts came automatically..this was a scary one. 

I disliked myself in ways that I wasn't aware of.

My childhood was resurfacing and I was perpetuating the cycle of negativity that I grew up with.

I am human. Being human means I am prone to mistakes. Being human also means that I can choose to learn from those mistakes. 

After mending (as best as I possibly could) the relationship that I had hurt..I set out to change myself. It started with a challenge that I thought would be easy and turned out to be hard. It also made me realize just what a jerk I had become. The challenge was this: Every time a negative comment came out of my mouth, I immediately retracted it and said something positive. Then I took it to the next level: Every time a negative THOUGHT happened, I verbally said something positive. 

After getting that under control, I started looking at why I was even prone to such negativity in the first place. I could blame my childhood, because truly, it was full of negativity. But I knew that doing so was a cop out. The reality was that I was unhappy with myself. I was passive aggressive. I was taking control in unhealthy ways because it was still control. Kind of like a child seeking attention in negative ways, because it's still attention. I was being a child.

I decided to write this blog because I believe in full disclosure. I am an advocate in many regards. I fight bullying at home and in society...openly..proudly..and with a passion so deep that it motivates me every day. I was once a bully. I am not anymore. We can change our most ingrained patterns and habits to become a better person. 

Here's my question to you. Are you a bully? You may be surprised at the answer. 

Survival Guide to Raising Teens

The title to this post was a trick to lure you in, doesn't every parent want to know the way to survive your child's teen years? Here's the thing..I don't have the answer. You just do it.....barely, and with lots of humor. Because if you can't laugh at your dilemma, you are going to crash and burn.

My daughter and I have a very candid, honest, and open relationship. There have been days that have been so insanely crazy that I thought I would lose my mind. I've literally said, "you are going to kill me before you reach adulthood." You may think that sounds harsh. If you do, I'm guessing you've never had teens, or your children aren't yet teens, or you are on some mind numbing medication that makes you not care about anything, OR, you gave birth to a saint. If the latter is the case, just quit reading. (cause you are delusional about your child. )

So, while I can't tell you how to survive this stage in life...I can give you some insight as to what to expect and how I've dealt with it.

1. There will be periods of wonderful happiness quickly followed by a brief period of anger and sadness. I don't care if you've won the mother/father/caretaker of the year award. This WILL happen. It's a wonderful thing called hormones. I've literally heard, "you are the best mom ever" only to hear a slamming door an hour later. This is similar to eating five foot long hot dogs and then going on a roller coaster that doesn't stop for several years.
How I handle it: Remind myself that if women can become temporarily insane from pms or having a child, that I am no match for hormones. I just wait it out until the moment passes and then either address the situation or let it go completely. We all need breathing room, your child is no exception. If feelings are hurt, then say so and move on. (and prepare to have this conversation at least a hundred more times) Also, bask in the joy of the good moments. Seriously. Don't resent your teen for things that are past.

2. The kid that used to bring home straight A's and was labelled a genius will suddenly stop giving a shit about their grades.
How I handle it: I don't expect straight A's. If my daughter gets an awesome grade, I praise her. If she get's an average grade, I praise her. If she gets a failing grade...well then..I send her to the gypsies. No really, there are consequences, but I've learned to choose my battles. I remember how hard it was to deal with all of the shit that being in high school brings. Heartache, socializing, peer pressure, bullying, and again..those wonderful emotions that are so hard to handle. Cut your kid some slack or they are going to snap.

3. When your child is a freshman, they will be overly concerned about their appearance. They will want stylish clothes, showers last an hour, they do their hair and makeup. When your child is a senior, they will want to wear the same outfit at least five out of seven days. They will roll out of bed ten minutes before you have to leave and come downstairs looking like they were on a week long drinking binge.
How I handle it: Insist on clean clothes and body. The rest is optional. Do YOU do your hair and makeup every single day? I rest my case.

4. In the span of your child's high school career (it really is a job), they will have as many hairstyles and fashion changes as there are flavors of ice cream. Remember those cute school photos that you showed off? They are a thing of the past. Not only because they ALWAYS happen on a day when your teen wakes up pissed off at the world, but because no one is allowed to take their picture unless they have signed a contract and sealed it in blood.
How I handle it: Dye, cut, and style your hair however the heck you want. Dress however you want as long as it's not offensive and are meeting the dress code. Body modification, wait till you are a consenting adult.
As far as school pictures go..well..have you seen the prices of them?! I consider it a financial favor that my daughter won't have them done. I save all the selfies she takes and consider it good. I also allow her to use my camera as much as she wants, because it means I will have those pictures to hang on to. She's much more creative than the cookie cutter school photo shoots.

5. Your teen will become dramatic enough to win an award that actors and actresses covet. There are no boring stories in a teen's life. (except school) They will exaggerate. They will sometimes think things are harder, funnier, scarier, and sadder than they really are. If you ask how their day was, you will get the answer, "ehh..ok." BUT, if THEY come to you and offer information about their day, you better believe it was the best, worst, craziest day in the history of time.
How I handle it: Is my teen approaching me to talk??? Holy shit, yes, I am listening. Be thankful for the fact that your child wants to share something with you! Laugh, cry, be angry with them.

6. You will see your child seething with anger. They will slam things, give terse responses, ignore you, walk away, roll their eyes. You will ask, "what's wrong??" The answer will be, "Nothing WAS wrong until you kept asking me what was wrong!"
How I handle it: Stop asking what the hell is wrong with them. Let them know you are there and available. If you are inclined to ask once, then tread lightly and be ready for the pissed off reaction. Don't ever ask more than once. Doing so is like pulling the pin out of a grenade and will result in impending doom.

7. Remember that chaste child who thought that kissing was gross? They are gonna have sex. They are going to make out with someone like it's an Olympic sport...and it will go further than that.
How I handle it: I pass out condoms like they are tic tacs. I talk about std's and disease and pregnancy and all the "not so beautiful" things that can also happen when you are sexually active. If you think your teen isn't convinced of the need for protection, google some images of what your genitals look like with certain infections and diseases, you'll only need to do this once. Offer to babysit some infants and make sure you insist on your teen helping you out. It's usually enough to take the cuteness factor right out of parenthood.

I've rambled on and on. In conclusion...calm down! Don't be too serious! Laugh when you can, cry when you need to. Get mad and get over it. Things may be hard, but they are hard for your teen too. It always helps to remember that.

Also, I'm probably going to continue with a part two at some point. I didn't realize how much I had to say about this topic. Bear with me.

The Great Hair Debate

If you've ever had short hair, you know what a downright pain in the ass it is to keep it looking good. Especially if it's curly. Going to a salon is just a whole lot of stress for me. Not because I'm scared of scissors or a bad haircut. (I've had plenty of them.) But because it means small talk. I'm great at long conversations, intimate conversations, angry/sad/emotional conversations. I'm NOT good at small talk. I don't want to talk about the weather, or the holidays, or whatever other topic may be hot that day. Quite frankly, I'd do much better if the person cutting my hair, fell apart and started telling me a horrible life story and cried on my shoulder. I'm equipped to deal with that. The weather, not so much.

So, I avoid it. I put it off every single time until I start looking like a pubescent Justin Bieber. Ya know, before he ruined his reputation. Except the curls start to come in and instead of being cute, I look like a frightened clown who just got electrocuted. Curly hair does this thing before getting longer..it gets bigger.

It's about this stage of growth that I start considering letting it grow out again. I've had hair nearly down to my butt (well lack of butt) at least 4 times now. Then for some insane reason, I cut it all off. I don't even go in stages. I just decide one day to have it hacked off. If you've never seen a hairdresser have a heart attack, grow your hair out two feet and then ask them to cut it off. After gasping and shaking, they always ask about fifty times if I am sure. I always have to console and reassure them afterwards. One would think that they were asked to kill a family member...it's a really emotional event..for them, not me. I'm just hoping they will be quick so I can get the heck out of there.

So here I am, frizzy headed, curly, looking unkempt...and I'm debating growing it out yet again.

This involves a level of dedication akin to losing weight. In your mind, you can see the end result. Of course, you look hot and beautiful. Long flowing curls of hair just screaming sexiness. But the getting there is a process that can test even the strongest of people. It involves things like head bands and barrettes. It most definitely means I am going to look like a fool for several months until it stops getting bigger. And it means hats. Because, let's face it.. I am NOT the type to spend time styling it. It also means avoiding the public eye for a while (I'm famous ya know!) because even though I am not overly concerned about appearances, I look like a freaking tool.

The debate has begun. We shall see how far it gets before I cave and get it cut, or resign myself to a year of bad hair days. If you see me out and about, let's just maintain eye contact and not talk about my hair. It's best for the both of us.

Also, please don't ask me about the weather.

My Psychiatrist Doesn't Listen To Me

After my hysterectomy, I started having some serious issues with anxiety. Originally it was due to my hormones being so screwed up...but if you've ever had a panic attack, you know that after one or two..it just spirals out of control. After a trip to the hospital, convinced I was dying of a heart attack..I decided I needed help. So I sought out a psychiatrist.
My first visit with him made me feel hopeful. I don't know why. He certainly didn't say much, just acknowledged my feelings and at the time, it was enough to calm me down.

I should have paid attention to the subtleties of our interactions. I should have taken into consideration that every visit I had with him, he started to doze off while I was talking. I mean, he literally has fallen asleep and fallen forward towards his desk and I've sat there patiently waiting for him to wake up. But I chalked it up to the fact that he was in his 70's and probably overworked. I should have realized that I was repeating myself over and over again every time I saw him. But I assumed he was just trying to see if I was being truthful and maintaining the same story. I should have known that he wasn't really invested in me when he would answer his cell phone several times during our meetings. But, family is important...right??

This man has a presence all his own. He is roughly 4' 6". He hails from Pakistan and has a very thick accent which is only exacerbated by the fact that he speaks softly. Like everything he is saying is a secret. I didn't realize how small he was until one day he got out of his chair behind his formidable desk and walked across the room. There in his chair were four cushions stacked up high. When he got down..his desk came up to his chest. Nothing against people of short stature, but if you hide it..and I suddenly find out..I'm probably going to gasp a little bit.

At any rate, I couldn't be bothered to find a new doctor. He WAS nice after all. Just....a bit....unattached. Over time, I have been asked the same questions hundreds of times. My last visit had the same dialogue, but I thought I would mix it up a little.

Doc: So, how are you doing?
Me: I'm ok, the lack of sunlight is starting to really bother me..it happens every year. I thought I might try.....
Doc: (interrupting me) So what are you doing to keep yourself busy?
Me: Well, I've got band, I run a supp-
Doc: (interrupting me again) How is your family?
Me: They are good. My daughter got accepted into col-
Doc: (interrupting again) do you think the medication is working for you?
Furious scribbling on his pad of paper
Me: Ummm, yeah. I mean, I'm not hav-
Doc: (interrupting again) So how was your Thanksgiving?

And this is where I took it to a new level. I decided to see just how much he was actually paying attention.

Me: It was good, we had the family over. We ate a lot. We played games.............reindeer games. Like in Rudolph. It was fun!
Doc: (completely did NOT hear me talk like a crazy person about Rudolph and playing reindeer games) Ok, well I will see you next month.
Me: OK, doc.

That's not a cankle, it's just my socks.

I used to be barefoot, always. Unless I had to leave the house in snow..then I would grudgingly put socks and shoes on. I never thought there would come a day when I would become a sock connoisseur.

Most of you that know me, know that I developed a condition called reflexive sympathetic dystrophy in my right foot and ankle after having major surgery. I refuse to give that name upper case letters, because quite frankly, it doesn't deserve it! At any rate, one of the ongoing issues I have had is a dead cold foot. I'm not kidding when I say "dead". Sometimes it looks like I have the foot of a corpse. It's blue or purple, bloated, and ice cold. (Try to refrain from getting turned on) So needless to say, unless it is summer, (and even sometimes then) barefoot isn't an option. In fact, most times, one pair of socks is not an option. I've been known to stack 4 socks on this thing I call a foot.

This has made me a bit of a sock hoarder. Every year for Christmas, I sweetly ask Santa (Kendrick) for socks...lots and lots of socks. "Santa" always replies with, "can't you come up with a better idea? I ALWAYS give you socks!" The problem here, is that Santa is not always choosy enough with his socks and they are unwearable. For example, socks that are as thin as those nasty wafers we used to eat for communion... It takes roughly 5 of them to equal one good sock. Socks that have threading on the inside make my foot feel like there are snakes slithering around on them. Socks that are tight around the band hurt to pull over my foot and make me whine. Socks that are too big slide around and make me insane. And let's not forget about the "one size fits most" knee socks. Those suckers make my calves look like large sausages stuffed in casings that will inevitably roll down within a few minutes. I sometimes feel like I am bridezilla on the hunt for the perfect wedding dress..except in my case it's socks. I've been known to drool over a pair of socks that cost more than it takes to feed a family for a week. The internal battle is strong, and it takes an act of sheer courage to walk away from socks like that.

Apart from the amount of socks I've amassed, I look like an eccentric weirdo. Matching socks are a thing of the past. Right now, this very instant, I am wearing a thick pair of black and white slipper socks on both feet, and then a purple striped sock PLUS a red, white, and black argyle sock on the right foot. I look like a character that got turned down for a Tim Burton role. I always try to plan ahead for situations where I will have to take my shoes off. Have you any idea how hard it is to color coordinate 4 pairs of socks to an outfit???

Long ago I heard a term called "cankles". It's used to describe a leg that has no differentiation between the calf and the ankle. See: Exhibit B.

That, my dear friends..is a cankle. I used to admire my legs. I had slender ankles and fairly nice legs. I now......have a cankle. If not from days where my ankle swells up like someone has injected it with enough filler to put Goldie Hawn's lips to shame, then from the sock layers. It's not attractive. Sometimes I like to humor myself and talk lovingly to my good foot for being so pretty and shapely. I'm hoping the praise will keep it motivated to stay slender. 

I ask this of you. If you invite me over and I take my shoes off. Please understand that I am not crazy (well maybe a bit) and I did not jump into a laundry pile and choose random socks. That it is an orchestrated, thought out thing.

Also, if you see me snooping through your sock drawers..no worries. I'm not looking for sex toys, I'm looking at your sock collection. 

Hello Nighttime, My Old Friend

There's this thing called the moon. Usually it signifies nighttime. The time when most people sleep.

For some reason, my faulty brain just refuses to accept this natural occurrence. I don't exactly remember when this problem started..only that it's been years since I last slept like a normal person. I've tried everything imaginable, including sleep deprivation (which just made me act like a grumpy toddler who needed a nap) to get back to a regular pattern. I even tried Ambien once, and only once. I popped that little pill with hopes that it was going to work miracles. Really, it just ended up being a scary trip of hallucination somewhere between reality and dreams. I couldn't move my body enough to shake my husband awake to tell him that I was having dinner with the Mad Hatter in Wonderland and that he just asked me if I brought my pet crocodile along to join us. Just after smelling colors, I snapped out of it.

Some people wonder what I do all night. So I thought I would make a list of some things I've done to pass the time.
1. Lay in bed for hours trying meditation and breathing to trick myself into sleepiness.
2. Read...a lot.
3. Browse Facebook until I want to peel my eyelids off from boredom.
4. Get sucked into the black hole that is youtube. Somehow one video leads to another and another and another, and before you realize it, you are watching a man blend everyday objects in a blender like it's the most interesting thing you've ever laid eyes on.
5. I have conversations with my husband who not only talks in his sleep, but carries on wonderful conversations that he doesn't remember.
6. I record said conversations and freak him out by playing them back the next day.
7. I toss and turn roughly one million times before finally getting up and giving up.
8. I work on learning foreign languages. The current one is Japanese. (which leads me back to youtube)
9. I sit downstairs and freak out that every sound is a murderer who is coming to kill me.
10. I think about writing a book, start writing, then give up writing. I've done this several times now.
11. I whine about not being able to sleep, a lot. Kendrick's response to this is usually to grab me all sweetly and then fall asleep. Essentially pinning me down so that I have to pull off some ninja moves to get out of the choke hold he has unknowingly put me in.

There you have it, not only did I (hopefully) entertain you for a few minutes. I've also given you some good tips on what to do when you can't sleep. Guess that means I should add "teaching" to my list.

I think I hear a murderer....got to go!

Somethings are just wrong

Like this piece of mail I received last week.

I thought it was sweet for my insurance company to remember to send me a birthday greeting. Then I flipped it over and saw that they were reminding me for my yearly "female" exam.

Nothing says "happy birthday" like a trip to the gynecologist does it?



Looking Closely

I recently bought a new camera. Life with zoom definitely opens your eyes to some things that you wouldn't normally even pay attention to. No, I am not talking about spying on my neighbors... although...no no no I won't do that. Jeesh! What kind of person do you take me for?!
One day Kendrick asked me to go take some pictures of City Hall here in town. What we both found was amazing...and scary...and amazing. Did I mention amazing?

Bet you didn't expect to find boobs on top of a major city building did you? I was more than a little upset at the fact that they were so perky and perfect. This is NOT a realistic portrayal at all. We all know breasts are supposed to sag and that nipples do not point straight out! Wait, they can? So it's just mine that look like they belong in National Geographic??

I was also alarmed to find out that our city was built by headless zombies. This is just plain unacceptable. Zombies always get the short end of the stick.. and now I find out they were also used as slaves. I am just ashamed to be a part of this city now. Bad form Elmira, bad form.

These are just frightening. If I had to go to the police station I would already be shitting bricks...I certainly wouldn't need images of a possessed looking Native American staring blankly at me or an angry Neptune (I'm clearly guessing that's who the bottom one is) looking at me with the intent of sending my soul straight to a fiery place!

Lesson learned... whoever designed this building had issues.







It's a bargain!?

My husband loves all things that have to do with sales. Rummage sales, clearance items, estate sales...if it's something that claims to save money or if it's something no one wants anymore.. he's all over it like a fat kid on an ice cream cone. (Hey! I can say that, I was a fat kid!)

Do you have any idea what it's like when you put someone with ocd together with a person who loves STUFF? I don't keep much. Call me heartless, but I don't keep birthday cards or any cards for that matter. I haven't kept every single drawing my son has ever done. I don't have any mementos from high school. I realize this is extreme and makes me look like I have a cold and black heart. It's just the way I am. Kendrick is the complete opposite. If there has EVER been a memory associated with anything he wants to keep it.

There is really no reconciling this issue in our marriage. It's a constant back and forth of give and take. 

When Kendrick walks into a store and sees a clearance sign his eyes light up like Santa himself just appeared with a sack full of toys. We were in Rite Aid one day and in the entrance there were fleece blankets marked down to $1.00. I should have known when he disappeared where he went. Within minutes he came back to the cart with his arms full of them. The conversation that ensued went something like this:

him: Did you see how cheap these were?!

me: I saw, but what are we going to do with five fleece blankets?

him: I have no idea, but you cant pass this offer up! I think we should buy all of them!

me: Kendrick, there are probably fifteen still left in the bin..we don't need twenty fleece blankets!

him: (quickly grasping for some excuse to buy them all) We can give them for Christmas presents! We could save money on our heating bill by using them and turning the heat down! We WILL find a use for them!

me: Just put the ones in your arms in the cart and let's call it good. Please? 

him: (pouting) Fine. You don't know a good deal when you see one. 

Cue the age old conversation about how spending money is spending money..even if it's on sale. 

We got home and the blankets sat untouched for a couple days. Kendrick ran to the store one night for something unrelated and came home with five more of the damn things! I didn't say anything. I just sat blinking at him. At this point he started unwrapping them and we quickly realized that the blankets were barely bigger than a pop tart. Good thing he got ten of them because it takes five per person to cover up completely.

The same thing happens at rummage sales. During rummage sale season driving down the road becomes difficult because every sale we pass I hear Kendrick sigh. Oy! The guilt! I cave sometimes and stop at a couple so that he can get his "fix". One day he came back looking so proud of himself.
him: This is going to change your life..a guy there said it changed his!
me: Really? Do tell.
Cue this device:

 me: What the hell is that torture looking device?!
him: It's a neck traction device! you get headaches...it will change your life! The guy there said he would have been dead without it!
me: speechless
him: Don't make faces, do you even know how expensive these things are?!
me: No! I don't know, because I've NEVER seen one! Also, judging by the fact that the box looks like it's straight out of 1950, I am assuming not very much.
him: You laugh now, wait till we get this baby home and strap you into it.
Yep, that's Kendrick. He hooked it up that night and I humored him by trying it out. I felt like a complete ass sitting there with my neck being stretched like my head was about to be torn off.
We used it once. Which is more than some of the other treasures he's brought home.

Cpap Shmeepap

I was diagnosed with Central Sleep Apnea this year. Apparently my brain is too stupid to tell my body it is NOT acceptable to shut down while sleeping. I like to refer to it as my body going into hibernation...but the doctor informed me I was not a bear and that unlike bears who can live like this for a whole season, if I ignored it it would probably cause major health problems as time went on.
Before I got this wonderful (note sarcasm) machine I had to go through two sleep studies. They were a fucking joy I tell ya. Ever try to sleep when you are hooked up to fifty wires and probes? I nearly got strangled rolling over in bed during the study. Then there is the fact that you are being video recorded and there is a mic in your room so the tech can hear your every move. My biggest fear was I was going to fart (or pass gas for the weak of heart) loudly or start doing something inappropriate in my sleep. Don't judge..I am a vivid dreamer! Needless to say, I got through it and the tech never indicated that I turned into a porn star while I was sleeping.
Cue the CPAP. The doctor claimed I would sleep better, feel rested, lose weight...blah blah blah. Regardless of the amazing claims I knew I had to force myself to wear this monstrosity because I have an issue with dying.
First issue I have with it is the sheer fact that it's annoying as hell on your face and I look like something out of a sci fi movie with it on. Seriously? How does one look sexy with this contraption. You DON'T. All the makeup and lace in the world would not make it sexier. Truth is..I look like the alien from predator. Add to that the fact that I sound like Darth Vader when I try to talk. Getting turned on aren't you?
Has this device changed my life dramatically? No. Do I sleep sounder? Yes. I don't have to like it though. And I'm sure as shit not getting any skinnier.

Saving the day

Oh the classic hamburger..tell me this doesn't look yummy as hell! Unless you are a vegan or a vegetarian that is..then disregard that statement. (and I forgive you for not eating meat..but just barely) When we go out to eat I love to order my food decked out and dressed to the nines. The more veggies, the better. The more condiments, the better. I could actually leave out the bun and just eat everything else.
My husband would disagree. He eats no condiments. NONE. You wanna know how he orders a burger? You're dying to know. Admit it. When he orders a burger he says, "I'd like the biggest hamburger you have. Just the burger and the bun. No cheese, no lettuce, nothing but the burger and the bun." This is usually followed up by a look from the waitress that suggests he's crazy. Then they barrage him with questions about condiments and veggies and spices and my husband has to say "no" a thousand times till they finally understand that he means business when it comes to ordering a plain burger. Often times a waitress will just stand and stare like he has just asked her to bring him a hand-carved burger that's gold plated. He stares back blankly while she blinks at him in silence.
One would think that ordering a burger in that manner would make the cook's life easier. Last night we went out together and he placed his typical order. We sat for a while talking till they brought our food out. As usual, my husband inspects his burger like a detective looking for fingerprints at a crime scene.
Looks like a big hunk of meat sitting on a bun to me. Until he flips it over to inspect the underside. (I'm not lying..he's this serious about it being plain.) The horror on his face was priceless as he lifted the patty gingerly to look underneath. Traces of cheese where the cook obviously forgot and then scraped it off were apparent. He looked disgusted. He looked like he might cry... for a moment he put his balled up fists at his side and just sat there fuming.
He would have taken his knife and cut the bottom half off and ate the rest pissed off because this man that is so picky also has a hard time "putting people out."
I saved the day by calling a waitress over and showed her the mistake and asked her to have the cook make him a new burger. I also asked her for the cook's license plate number so I could wait outside by his car to take him out at the knees with a crowbar to get vengeance for my husband.....but she never gave it to me.



You want me to pee in what????

You ladies know what I am talking about. Men, you can just stay out of this because you have the ability to aim and this doesn't pertain to you one little bit.
We've all had to do it. You go to the doctors and they ask you to pee in a cup. Not just any cup.. a urine sample cup. Yep, the cups that are the size of a dixie cup. I dread doing this every time. It makes me laugh that they call it a "clean catch" sample. There is nothing at all clean about trying to "catch" a sample when you are a woman.
It all starts out with the cleansing towelettes they give you to make sure there is nothing on your lady bits that will contaminate the sample. I swear they put these in the freezer... they are always ice cold and as soon as I open one I take a deep breath because I know there is a very real risk of me jumping off the toilet when it touches me! For the love of all that is holy, put them in a warm environment!! Is this really so much to ask?!
The trick with doing a sample is you can't just pee in the cup. They want midstream urine. You have to START to pee then STOP then pee in the cup. This may sound easy but when you are at the doctors for a bladder infection its nearly impossible and almost always end up starting to pee on yourself while you try to position the tiny cup in the right place.
This takes me to my next complaint. Getting the cup in the right position and maintaining that position. It seems your body chooses to play games with you at this point and you start peeing in all directions. Just when you think you might be successful at getting in the right place, you realize that you are missing and completely peeing all over your hand or the outside of the cup.
At the end of it all you pray you've gotten at least a few drops in the cup and it's enough to test. There's this psychological game I have with myself. I don't want to look like a loser who can't get my aim correct and hand the nurse a sample that has an eyedropper full of pee..but I also don't like handing them a full cup either. I don't know why this is. It seems obscene to me to walk out with a cup full to the brim of yellow stuff.
This whole experience is emotionally and physically taxing. They can make TVs that can wrap around your wrist. They can fit hours and hours of hi def data on a tiny disc. BUT they can't come up with a better way for us poor women to get a urine sample.

Dad's never leaving,,,, and I'm kidnapping my mother.

My dad's a woodworker. Let me rephrase that. My dad's the most talented woodworker I have ever met. He can turn any interior into a showcase for a magazine. Typically, my dad is on the road away from his hometown working on jobs but I've had the luxury of having him in town for a bit now. I'm thinking of giving him a roofie  (Don't be sick, I know it's a date rape drug. I'm really not planning on raping my dad...now Kendrick on the other hand......) and kidnapping him to hold him hostage here to live out the rest of his days! Selfish? Of course it is! But dammit I like having my dad around! (I also hope my mother isn't reading this or my cover's blown and my plan wont work.)
Don't get me wrong here. I know this sounds crazy and depraved. That I am an adult woman who surely should get a grip and stop thinking I need Dad around to make my life complete. I realize it sounds like I have 'daddy issues'. I don't, not really, not overly anyways! It's just that he's always traveled and that his actual home is in Kentucky. My dad and mom keep trying to talk us into moving there. This is all sweet and nice but I just don't see me doing well in the south. Then there is the other issue that I am not one of those people that can just pick up everything and move away. I lack that kind of daring. The daring to face mountain lions, snakes, scorpions, and BIG spiders. (I'm not a fan of spiders. I don't kill em, but I don't want to share a bed with them either!)  Not just that though, for as much as I may bitch about snow and cold...I actually love the changing seasons here! Dad and mom tell me they have season changes there and I don't buy that. It's not really Winter without feet of snow. If I can walk outside in December without having to worry about breaking a bone and taking ten minutes to carefully walk to my car then it isn't winter.
Anyways, I don't see us moving to the South. No way, nuh uh, not gonna happen. So you can see my urgency in figuring out how I can manage to get my parents to move here. I've tried tears, begging, and reasoning. So it's getting down to the nitty gritty and I've got to come up with a plan.
Dad is already here working. So for all intents and purposes keeping him here is the challenge. My mom, on the other hand, is still in Kentucky. So real care needs to be taken here to figure how I am going to manage momnapping her and getting an adult woman back here without raising suspicion. Drugging might be an option here too. I think she might be on to it though if I randomly show up one day and say, "here, I brought you this tasty drink!" I'm going to have to get creative. So if any crazies with experience in people stealing and brainwashing are reading this, email me! I am open to suggestions!
They may not realize yet how happy they will be here. It will come in time. Oh yes, it will come in time.

Voodoo lovin

This is Lori, better known to me as Voodoo, V1, V....but definitely not vd..(bad joke, sorry) She calls me Voodoo as well. V and I text alot...almost everyday, and it never fails that she will be texting a word and her autocorrect feature on her phone will completely mess up. One night she meant to say 'vagina' and it came across as 'Voodoo'. Don't ask me why we were even talking about vaginas. We have had so many conversations about body parts it's hard to remember them all.
I met V in rural Pennsylvania my junior year of highschool. I was a bad ass, goth, rebellious chick and she was as normal as apple pie. I don't even know how we started hanging out..but we were as opposite as could be in almost every way possible. I was a school skipper..I know it may come as a shock to people. Deep breaths, I wasn't always the angel I am today. She was a good student. I was reliving the sixties and she was as current as can be. Anyways, we started talking and it wasn't long till we started hanging out with eachother outside of school. I think there was a strange sort of comfort in her normalcy. There was one thing about V that I was bent on changing though. That was the fact that she tight rolled her pants. I take full credit for the fact that I broke her of that nasty habit.
We graduated and years went by without any contact. Cue Facebook. I've reconnected with several people on Facebook...but not in the way that Voodoo and I have. It took no time at all for us to go from a simple, "holy shit I haven't spoken to you in years" to relaying the past fourteen years of our lives without eachother in no time. We would spend hours talking to eachother, web camming, and sending podcasts to one another. (Isn't podcast a fun word? They were really just videos we emailed but podcast sounds way cooler.) Unfortunately, we live over a thousand miles apart..SOME people just can't stick around. I think she has some nerve living so far away from me, but I can't for the life of me get her to move back. Also, I don't see me moving to the land of lizards, hurricanes, bugs, and alligators. So I guess we are both to blame. (but I blame her more)
V and I are like two peas in a pod. I've never had a really close female friend except for my childhood friend Laura. It's odd to me. You really don't realize what you are missing until you realize you  REALLY do like talking to another woman about things like sex, bodily functions, husbands, decorating, fashion...ok I could go on and on. The key point here is there are some things that only a girlfriend can understand. When I am hormonal (never..no not me) and irrational she doesn't hesitate to tell me I'm being a psycho. My husband on the other hand tries to handle those types of situations lightly and carefully. He's a smart man. Voodoo understands when I tell her things about my body that no one else wants to hear. For example......ok, ok no really I won't get into stuff like that right now. You catch my drift. When I complain about the stupid headaches I get she is quick to say, "you are the idiot who won't get a boob reduction." I mean, that right there is honest love. (or envy...seriously, who doesn't want this body?)
I don't know how I lived so long without a friend like her. If I go too long without video calling her I find myself spilling my guts to her and crying like a fool. If my son knows I am going to chat with her he asks if I need the tissues. We both have tantrums and meltdowns with eachother, it's a beautiful thing to be able to stomp my feet and pout about something and know she's not rolling her eyes at me. We send eachother care packages and it's not a rarity to get something in the mail from V that makes me laugh. She sends me things like snuggie Kama Sutra books..I send her things like Girl Scout cookies and gifts from her pets who thank you very much call me, "Auntie Terralyn."
She's my best. Lately I have been thinking about getting a BFF necklace that splits in half. Too much?

I love you Voodoo.

The Boy Who Ate Around

Children's books are near and dear to my heart. From the time Lennon was born I read to him. We still have the hundreds of books we've bought for him over the years. Now that I am babysitting I get to read them all over again! The book shown above is one of my favorites. As a parent though, it makes you wonder if you are warping your child's little brain by reading it to them.
It borders on inappropriate with it's story about a little boy who doesn't like what his parents are serving him for dinner so he imagines himself as a ferocious monster who eats everything BUT the food on his plate. This includes his parents, the president, the school and children in it, and every country imaginable.
Now don't get me wrong, I like a good horror story.... but do I want to instill these values in a small child? Is it ok to teach them that if they don't like something it's perfectly normal to cannibalize and destroy every person and place around them?
The other disturbing part about this book is that every time the boy eats something the author graces us with an adjective to describe how they tasted and what texture they were. Words like crunchy, salty, and squishy.
At the end of the book the boy is all alone and realizes that perhaps his killing spree wasn't such a good idea after all. So he regurgitates up everything he devoured and is happily rewarded with an ice cream sundae from his pushover parents.
My son loved this book when he was little but everytime I read it I became a little concerned that I was slowly turning him into a Jeffrey Dahmer. I was waiting for the moment when I would serve him vegetables and he would come after me with his knife and fork and dig in.
I'm all for originality, I really am. But what happened to books like Frog and Toad, and Little Bear? You know, those books that gave you that cozy feeling of love and fun. Now when you read to your child you have to lock them in their room afterwards and sleep next to your shotgun.....just waiting....waiting for the moment they choose to heed the words you've read to them.

Smart phone blues.....

At some point I must have invited a dark entity into my phone. It's possessed. When I turn it on it looks like someones touching the screen all over the place and apps start opening, numbers start dialing, emails get sent, and pictures get taken.
I took my phone to the Verizon store to get looked at. They said they didn't know what was wrong with it. I've done hard resets, I've tried different chargers and it still behaves as though it needs an exorcism.
I wish I could say I didn't care. That I wasn't one of those people that needs their phone to make it through the day. Alas, I do and I am. My phone isn't just your run of the mill phone..it's a smart phone. I use it for emailing, calling, texting, budgeting, pictures, to do lists. You name it...my phone can (or could) do it.
Now I am left with a possessed paper weight. I tried smacking the screen and yelling, "out with ye demons!" It responded by dialing a string of numbers so long that I can only gather it was calling another demon from the underworld.
So, if you are trying to reach me, don't think I am ignoring you. I can hear your call and see your number but I can't answer you. Also, if you get a call or text from me that you can't understand.... it's a demon trying to get to you through my phone. Hang up and slowly walk away from it before it latches onto you and you are in the same boat I am.
I wish you the best. For now, I must return to the land of cellphonelessness. It's a lonely, lonely place to be.....

Children: who raises who?

A lot of people I know have little ones going into Kindergarten soon. I remember this day as clear as can be. I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that I remember it because it's a sweet memory of my child. Pshaw! I remember it because I now have post traumatic stress from it. Someone should have warned me I should have taken anti-anxiety medicine that day.

Up until that day my son was with me almost all the time. I knew his likes and dislikes. I knew his quirks. I knew his fears and his loves. Then BAM! There I am handing him off to a teacher who knows so little about him. Not to mention the million other kids in his class that had to fight for attention, who probably had very poor manners, head lice, wanted to harm my child, wanted to educate my baby on things he was still clueless about, who in no way, shape, or form were as good as my child.That day was traumatic all right. I was sure he wouldn't be able to make it through the day without me by him. I was certain he was going to come home crying and tell me he never wanted to go back.

That little heathen barely missed me.

I realized this as soon as I picked him up. He didn't run to me with open arms like I was saving him from certain death. He didn't beg me to take him home.. far far away from that terrible place. In fact, I think his words were, "mama, do I have to go?"

Yeah yeah yeah I should have been happy that he was such a well adjusted child. I should have been overjoyed that he loved his first experience at school so much that he was excited to go back. I know all this, and I was.... but there was a small part of me that wanted to cuff some sense into him so he would remember that no one was as good as me and he could at least have the decency to lie and make me feel like he couldn't live without me another school day.

The years have flown and now my baby is a young man.

And I'm still pissed at him for not falling apart that day.

The audacity of that five year old.

long days and short nights

Kendrick and I have a problem. We thinks life's just to damn fun to sleep it away. This would be OK if neither of us had to get up in the mornings and work. Regardless, we still manage to stay up till the wee hours of the morning no matter how much we try to make ourselves keep a normal schedule.
Around eleven I start saying, "we really should try to go to bed and get some sleep tonight." To which Kendrick always responds, "yeah, I guess you are right." We will mull over this idea for about another hour before we actually start heading upstairs. Little things make us forget about bed. Conversation, video games, swimming, hanging out with other night owls. Alas, at SOME point we finally head to bed with the full intent to go to sleep.
Unfortunately, by the time we finally get to bed we are both so tired that we get our second wind and silliness ensues. We've been known to have full on wrestling matches that would put "professional" (and I say that loosely) wrestlers to shame. I don't know what it is that makes me want to beat the tar out of him..but it's fun! Kendrick especially gets sillier as he gets more tired. He will dance around, do impressions, turn into a kid who will try to annoy you anyway possible. Sometimes I try to be adult about it and I get firm and tell him it's time to settle down. I will roll over on my side and he just picks and picks at me till I get vexed enough to slug him.......then the wrestling starts. You can see it's a vicious cycle.
Mornings suck for us. Getting on average three hours of sleep a night makes you want to take the alarm clock and drown it in the toilet. Sometimes I am irrational enough to yell at Kendrick for letting the sun come up. I know he has no control over it but I need to blame someone. We have to set our alarm an hour earlier than we actually need to be up because we will sleep right through it. At some point one of us realizes the beeping isn't a dream and will wake the other. We stumble around getting dressed in the dark not saying a word. Our language is similar to that of caveman speak. Grunts and pointing is about all you can get out of either of us.
I blame this all on Kendrick. (surprised you are I am sure) If he could quit being so damn funny I could probably settle down.
Time for a nap.

Rules of the morning

I'm not a coffee drinker but I sure do understand the brass knuckles theory. It doesn't take much to make me feel like I want to knock the piss out of someone if they cross me in the morning.

I don't know why I'm like this. I've always a moody brat in the morning. I can remember hating mornings as a kid, I can remember sleeping through my alarm in high school. It's just gotten worse as I've gotten older. I've found little ways to not want to rip peoples throats out as I've matured. Key, though, is giving me my space and not messing up my morning routine once I'm awake. If you fail to do this, I refuse to take responsibility for you well being. I need quiet in the morning. Plain and simple. I don't want to chat, I don't want to listen to happy people yammer on and on. I don't want music or TV. I just want the damn quiet. I want to sit down and let my brain work itself back together after having sloshed around in my cranium all night.

Some people just don't understand this. Some people wake up ready to face the world with a smile a bounce in their step. I don't understand these people and some days I think that they should be sent to their own little island of happiness. That shit just isn't normal. Well, unless you are a child..I can understand that in babies and small children. They don't know what it's like to crawl out of a nice warm bed and have to face a day of jobs, housework, budgeting, and responsibility in general. I will allow them their happiness for now.

My sister has been living with us for a bit and works the overnight shift online from home. The first week she was here I would get up in the morning and walk downstairs to music playing. I wont even say blaring because it wasn't. But it was loud enough that I could hear it..and that's all it takes to irk me. I walked into the kitchen where she was sitting.. she even smiled and said, "good morning!" My response was to stick out my hand that was holding a pair of headphones and to shove it at her. She looked at me inquisitively and I said, "use these or I will freak out on you. I don't want music in my house in the morning." She laughed at me. She obviously didn't realize how close I was to slamming her fingers in her laptop and then taking said laptop outside to water with the hose. We came to an agreement after that morning though. So disaster was averted.

Kendrick likes to sleep in on the weekends. I gladly let him because that means that I can sit in quiet with no expectations. On the one morning that he was actually up before me (this morning) he wakes me with a text message. You heard me right..a text message. It read as follows, "breakfast out back love. Also have your pills and a drink ready for you." That's proof that he knows me in the morning. He has my "pills" ready. I came outside and ever so gently let him know that a text message isn't the best way to wake me up. In fact, I contemplated texting him back telling him to shove his phone and the breakfast up his ass. I would have followed that up by pulling the blankets over my head and passive aggressively staying in bed for another hour. I got up though. My breakfast was a sandwich from McDonalds. He woke me up for that?????? And to add to my frustration he had already been up long enough to run around and get chipper. I don't do chipper in the morning. He's sitting there with all the hope of a new day shining in his eyes, talking about getting our house in order for the appraisal.

Let me get this straight. You woke me with a text message. Your idea of a good breakfast was a McD's sandwich. You are talking and talking and talking.....about cleaning and painting and doing shit that I don't enjoy ANY time of the day, let alone in the morning.

So basically you got me up to prep me to start working. I'm on to you Kendrick.

That's why I am sitting here typing this blog instead of elbows deep cleaning a toilet. I will get there when I am damn good and ready and no sooner.

Battle of the appliances

 

I know this looks like a harmless little can opener. Don't be fooled. This thing has the ability to cause catastrophic failure not only in the kitchen, but in a marriage as well. 

We moved into our own home about four months ago. Before that we shared a house with our friend who had everything to furnish a kitchen already. So we never had to worry about things like buying utensils or appliances. So excited were we to furnish our own home! The possibilities were endless! Picking out flatware was fun! Picking out dishes was great! Picking out a nice set of pots and pans...fantastic!! When it came to buying a can opener.....we clashed. 

Suddenly my husband became a miser. I grew up with an electric can opener. Oh the ease! No struggling or fighting or breaking your wrist trying to get into a can of spaghettios with meatballs. (Wait, did I just admit my love of that bad bad processed food? You're damn right I did! That's stuff's like liquid gold!) At any rate, my husband fought me tooth and nail on buying an electric can opener. He grew up with the old crank style (read: torture device) and would be damned, DAMNED if he was going to spend money on an electric one. I bit the bullet and told him that was fine, but he was opening every single can in this house and I would not use it. He agreed and accepted my terms. He was smug. So smug. You would think he just won an argument in a presidential debate. He drove to the dollar store and bought a manual can opener.

This was all well and good, for about a week. One day while he was working I had to open a can. (Yes of spaghettios...with meatballs....leave me the hell alone!) I latched onto that can ,starving, mouth watering, ready to dig into them with the hunger of a bear after hibernating. The damn thing wouldn't crank. It wouldn't budge. I called Kendrick and so sweetly told him that he better hightail his way home for lunch and open the damn can. He did, and ready to prove me wrong latched onto the can with it...looked at me smugly...then attempted to twist it. HA! It didn't budge. I will spare you the details but let's just say he ended up opening the can with a knife.

You would think that after this he would agree to my first notion with the electric can opener. No. He went to the grocery store and paid eight dollars for a "better" can opener. Upon the first use of that it literally snapped in half and was rendered useless. Cue more carving of cans with a knife.

We went to Walmart..and lo and behold we perused the electric can openers and I lifted one off the shelf like it was the holy grail. It was only nine dollars! A dollar more than his last purchase! He looked a little ashamed at this..but i was so happy about it I wasn't going to shame him by doing the 'I Told You So Dance'.

Life with an electric can opener was splendid. The whirring sound was so sweet to my ears. I was whipping out canned goods like I was working on an assembly line. Until the night my husband sabotaged it. I walked into the kitchen hearing sickly sounds from my beloved appliance and saw him trying to open a huge can of pineapple juice with it. 

R.I.P. can opener. I swear to never replace you with a manual one. 

And to Kendrick....I've got your number. You lay hands on the next one I get and you will be opening cans with knives till the day we die.

Creative Language

My husband has a mouth like a drunken sailor. He can drop the f-bomb fifteen times in five sentences. No lie! Fortunately, he's pretty good about keeping that kind of stuff away from the public so I don't have to kick him too often in front of people.

What I love about his swearing though is that it surpasses the bounds of your everyday cuss words. He is the most creative, long winded swearer I've ever had the pleasure of meeting! Especially when he's working diligently on something...watch out! Mind you, he never talks to me like this. (Of course he knows I would personally air nail his lips together if he did.) But if you are in the vicinity of Kendrick at work..watch out.

Here are some of his most used phrases:

Bitch tickle!

Son of a whore!

Mother fucking dick licking son of a bitch! (personally love this piece of linguistic perfection)



Cocksucking dick licker!
Ass clown!
Shit bird!

These are just a few for your tasting pleasure. It's colorful. It's a language all his own. It somehow empowers him to take control over the frustrating project he's working on. No sitting down and figuring out a problem by logically looking at it for him. He will curse his project into submission.

What a gentleman.

My husband's a groper

I have no appropriate pic for this entry...sorry but I highly doubt anyone wants a pic to follow up that title. And if you do....you are on the wrong site. This is not redtube. (now you are all either wondering why the hell I know about that site or you are searching google for it. Or maybe you are already a fan of it. Hey,whatever floats your boat.) Let's face it..we are all adults here. I've seen a few things in my time. (yeah a few, that's it. Buying that?)

Anyways, my initial thought when doing this blog was not to talk about porn. It was to address what I like to call, "Unnecessary Groping." My husband is guilty of this each and every day. Now I hear all you bleeding hearts reading this thinking I should be grateful that Kendrick loves me so much and is attracted to me so much. To this I say, you've never lived with a groper. Nope, don't believe you have because if you have, you would understand me one hundred percent.

When you live with a groper there is no safe way to sit, lie on the couch, walk through the house, stand up, do the dishes, cook, tie your shoes, you aren't safe ANYWHERE! Why? Because a groper is eyeing you like a piece of candy ALL the time. You know that song, It Always Feels Like Somebody's Watching Me. It's no wonder when I was younger it freaked me out. It was a premonition about my future.

A true groper does not discriminate against clothing. Why? Because they can find something sexy about any clothing. As a fat girl I don't consider wearing leggings appropriate. No one including me wants to see my fat rolls and dimply skin under clothes so tight it looks like puppies wrestling under a blanket. It's just plain tacky. I'd rather the whole world see me naked then that yuckiness. You know who thinks that sexy? My groping husband. I am being dead (maybe too) honest right now. I am plagued by this crap everyday and it's time for some therapeutic venting! If you don't like..skip to the next entry.

A seasoned groper is adept at picturing you in ANY situation with any given pose you might be in. They have a movie theater worth of images they can flip through with the speed of a pitbull on crack. You are laying on the couch reading a damn good book and he will look at you and make a movie of every bad thing he wants to do in his head in five seconds flat. Then they move over to where you are and start groping (read: bothering) you like it's what you were implying. You heard me right.. let's move on to the next topic:

A true groper believes you are sending them subtle messages. Laying on the couch, covered in a blanket, reading a book.... and I pop a leg out of the blanket and put my foot on the back of the couch to stretch. Yep, that's what I want..a stretch. In the groper's mind it's, "she is arching her back, and straddling the couch, and kicking off the blanket to show me her legs." "I know what's on her mind....oh yeahhh." Except, you freak, that is not whats on mind! I simply was stretching while I was SO wrapped up in my book. In fact, at that moment..you didn't exist! This room didn't exist! I AM READING CONTENTLY!!!

There's no convincing him otherwise.

Some days I wake up and feel gross and unattractive. I must be terribly wrong. I am a porn star! All day long I am moving with the grace of a gazelle. I am sweating sexuality out of my pours. Yeah.....that's right......

Just ask my husband.

Inevitability

Anyone else remember this jingle? No? Oh right, that's because I'm old.

I suspected I was getting old since I turned thirty some years ago and thought, "Oh Terralyn, dont be a fool! You will live forever and always look this good!" Silly me. My suspicions were correct.

I kept saying, "getting older doesn't bother me!" I thought that women who had these little "freak outs" when they had a birthday were just plain ridiculous. I was surely never going to be one of them. "Aging means becoming a wiser person." Yep..that's another short sighted quote from yours truly.

Cue this year's birthday. Why was this one more difficult for me? Who knows?

Suddenly I am having second thoughts about my current love/hate relationship I have with dying my hair to cover the gray. I have always hated dying my hair. one time in my life did I mess with dye..and that was to try to go platinum. Black to white, no big thing right? (I can practically feel the virtual forehead smack from my readers) We all know that it turned out orange. A lovely, sick, washed out version of orange. Or let's just say for the sake of my pride....copper. Yeah that sounds better doesn't it? (just nod and leave me with at least a little sense of pride...pretty please?) At any rate, dye hating. After the one "squabble" I had with the bleaching stuff I have only dyed my hair as necessary to cover my grays. Actually you know what? I am gonna put it right out there...it's white hair. I have somehow bypassed gray and gone straight to white. I'm just that frigging special. The white hair started out as a couple at the temple. No biggie..they were cool! I had two white hairs! HA! I laugh at you white hair and raise you a still beautiful full head of black hair! Those bastards multiplied. It was no longer just me noticing it. Others were pointing it out. "Wow, you have white hair Terralyn!" "Uh oh, look who needs to start dying her hair!" Who the hell thinks these are acceptable things to say to a woman? You wanna know who? Any OTHER woman who is having to dye their own hair. It's somehow bolsters their own self esteem.. they are adding another woman to the ranks of their club. (I have yet to be invited to said club but I know they must exist.) So, I have dyed. I have caved to the belief that gray hair ages me. Well not anymore. I am thinking about being a bit rebellious. If I am going to HAVE to age..then I am going to take full advantage of the rights that come with that. One of them being I can be as eccentric as I want. I don't care if I look like the woman in the above picture. If that's how my hair wants to exist..then so be it. No more slaving over chemicals so strong it is a sure fire way to clear a room of anyone. No more dreading having to make my trip to the store to stand there for who knows how long studying each box, and type, and color. Am I black, or dark brown, or maybe reddish dark brown, or natural black? I DON'T FRIGGING KNOW OK?! Why can't these companies all get together and come up with a color scheme and name? Assholes. At any rate...not going to do it anymore. If you see me on the street (yes, I'm often just walking the streets) then feel free to stop and laugh and point out that I am graying. Or whiting..in my case. Just go ahead..I can deal. I am not stressing this age thing one little bit. Not going to sit here and think about being one day closer to boobs that hang to my waste, or a chin that can double as a sail. Not even worried an ounce that I am getting hot flashes or hormonal mood swings that make me kiss my husband one second then consider smacking him with the swiffer the next. Pshaw, I am so relaxed it's disgusting.

But I swear to god if anyone so much as whispers, "happy birthday" to me next year I'm going to bitch slap them.

Preparations

Why does my husband prepare for a two day trip like we are travelling around the world during the apocalypse? He starts planning days in advance what we need to pack, how we are going to tighten up security at our house while we are gone, checking first aid kits to make sure we have everything we need to survive a zombie attack. Ok, maybe not a zombie attack, but you better believe he is prepared for any weather from an Arctic blast to a desert sandstorm. He's prepared for any medical emergency whether it's a cut on my leg from shaving or a major head wound from a zombie that may choose to nom nom on me.

This is a typical conversation when we are packing to go away.

him: "Did you pack something warm in case it gets cold?"

me: "Honey its August....it's only going to get so cold."

him: "You never know, I'm just gonna throw some warmer stuff for you in the suitcase just in case."

me: "Baby, we are running out of room quickly."

him: "Hey love, did you pack any shoes besides sandals and dress shoes?"

me: "Sweetheart, I don't see me having to run long distances... we are going to a funeral."

him: "Yeah but what if your sandal breaks?"

me: "Then I get new sandals...let's remember we are going where there is civilization..new shoes aren't out of the question if need be."

him: "sigh, I guess you are right." (This sigh makes me believe that he secretly hopes for a zombie apocalypse)

him: "Do you think I should shut the upstairs window?"

me: "Do you really think someones going to erect a ladder against the front of our house and scale it to break in?

him: "Just sayin......"

This is my husband...I love him. I am glad I know I am safe and can make it through anything with his preparation. But I secretly think he's a little ill. :)

bad medicine

Surgery on my ankle went without a hitch. Well, apart from the inconveniences that are associated with not being able to walk and the pain that goes along with it. Its been since surgery that it's been one hassle after another. I wont even go into the ordeal with the bitch of a nurse I had to deal with when my cast split my incision open. No, I've vented about it and I have moved on to realize that some people are just not cut out for their job.
Carrying on. My cast again began tearing into my flesh today. I don't know why it happened again. All I know is that it wasn't pleasant and I wanted it off as soon as possible. Being the weekend my doctor's office was closed. So I called the doctor on call. Who told me to try cutting the splint off myself and rearranging things to pad the sore spot. Seems like a bad idea, but OK..what the hell. Needless to say, this proved fruitless and the splint was hell bent on torturing my flesh like it had a personal vendetta against me. The doctor's next suggestion was going to the ER to have it re-casted. I figured I would cut out the middle man and go to urgent care and save the ER staff for people who had legitimate emergencies. So nice and thoughtful of me.
Except that I should have just gone to the ER. It was apparent fairly quickly that the physicians assistant at urgent care was clueless as to what to do. I tried to explain and demonstrate what was needed. I showed him my broken cast and told him he just needed to recreate that. "OH!" he says, "I can do that!" He proceeds to throw my broken splint in the trash can and says he will be right back with the materials.
I sat and waited with my uncovered foot just dangling there for a good twenty minutes before he comes back to announce that he can't find the materials for casting but has a good alternative. He smiles broadly like he's a genius and shows me a USED cam boot. It took me a second to get my bearings enough to tell him that it wouldn't work. Not just because it would lay right into the foot long incision that's running up my leg..but also because I wasn't interested in getting a raging infection from a dirty old cam boot just laying against my incision. I adamantly refuse this treatment and he says he will call the physician to find out where the supplies are to make the cast.
At this point I really am thinking I am in over my head. After sitting for forty more minutes, I realize I am in over my head. He walks in and says, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I can't seem to get in touch with the physician." Hmmmm....as his phone is buzzing in his pocket audibly.
This is where it gets good....
He proceeds to pull my broken cast out of the garbage (ya know, the garbage can thats harboring a fuck ton of bacteria and body fluids from other patients) and says, "I am just gonna put this back on and you can go to the emergency room and have them do it." Oh no Dr. Mengele...you wont put that back on my leg. I would rather take my wheelchair out of here with an uncovered ankle than let him touch me anymore.
Kendrick so lovingly puts himself between the doctor of horror and me and wraps my leg up in an ace bandage and wheels me away. On the way out the door all I asked him if he was charging my insurance. He looked flustered and replied, "uhhh....nooo...noooo."
I will be keeping an eye out for that bill.

So we went to Walgreens to get some supplies to try to rig this until I can see my doctor. I stay in the car thinking about what just happened, wondering if I took a hit of acid without knowing it when out of the corner of my eye I see a guy, a blind guy, standing a few feet from my car...He's drunk, and screaming at someone I cant see. Suddenly, he turns around and walks full on into my car. Instead of turning around he just proceeded to smack the car the whole length with his walking stick until he was past it.

Ken came out just after..all I could say was, "please just take me home."

The creepy crawlies

OK, that's it, I'm officially,probably, possibly gonna die now. I came home yesterday from a friend's house and was undressed getting ready to dive into a warm bath when I noticed it.

A TICK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Attached to my boob!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I got chills immediately, I was rendered speechless momentarily and finally mustered up the courage to call my hubby into the room. This creepy thing was literally just hanging there on my boob like it had the right to be there sucking my life force.

Now the kicker of this is that I know beyond a shadow of doubt that Kendrick HATES bugs. I'm not just talking the normal dislike of bugs most people have. If he has heard that anyone in a fifteen mile radius has had lice, I have to check his hair...repeatedly. If a bug swoops down at him outside he moves with the grace of Chuck Norris and high kicks it into oblivion. But I tell him I have a tick on me and he meanders around the house finding tweezers...he tries to put on an air of calmness. For my sake?? Puhhleease! I quickly and maybe a bit harshly scolded him for being so carefree with my life and to get a move on detaching this demon bug from me!

I've never had a tick on me. I lived in rural PA for years and not once did a tick bother me. Why now? This is one experience I would have been ok without having.

It was a deer tick. Its now frozen in my freezer in a baggie. I don't care that it was only on my for half a day...I am pretty sure I'm gonna die now.

It was nice knowing you all.

man laws

Sometimes I sit back and wonder how I ended up being surrounded by so many men. How is it that I can be quite feminine in many regards and I have very few female friends. Scratch that..I have one really close gf and one other woman that I hang out with from time to time. Of course, I'm not counting family..that's cheating. At any rate, I am practically swimming in a sea of masculinity. As a woman, do you know what that's like?
1. I am the only one who can multitask without an issue. Men literally can not do more than one thing at a time. They use all their concentration to focus on the task at hand. My husband often "gets lost" if he tries to accomplish more than one thing. He's been known to stand in a room and just spin slowly in the middle looking around for things. He calls me EVERY time he is in the store. Every time! Sometimes I swear he has a secret pot smoking habit..because his short term memory is non-existent.
2. I am the only one who pays attention to detail. Unlike many other women I cannot complain about men who refuse to help out with household chores. Kendrick is so great about chipping in when I need it..or even when I don't need it, but I have never met a man who pays attention to the small details that go into cleaning. For example...the back splash or knobs on the kitchen sink. Even if they do all the dishes, not one of the men in my house will clean those areas. There can be visible nastiness on it and they aren't touching it. They literally don't see these things. I am not making excuses for them..they really don't!!! They wear rose colored glasses that make the world a beautiful place despite clutter and dust and grime! I want a pair of those..and in turn I want everyone else to wear a pair of those when they come into my house! How great it would be to never have to say,"excuse my mess." I literally put a business card on the bathroom floor as a test and it sat there for three weeks. I watched them walk over it, I watched them walk on it and yet not one of them noticed enough to pick it up.
3. Men stick together. It does not matter if one is blatantly wrong, the other men will back them up to a fault. Sometimes it makes a woman want to pull her hair out because she knows she is right..but it doesn't matter if you are dealing with more than one man at a time. If you try, his friends will back him up (knowing their friend is in the wrong) and lie bold faced to him to encourage him. What the hell is this?! This is a rule that they have created. "When two or more men are gathered in a place everything they say or do is right." The majority rules and rational behavior and thought go out the door. How can I argue with that? There is no argument.
4. All men want to protect women. This may seem to contradict #3..but don't be mistaken. I'm not talking about emotional protection. I am talking about physical protection. If I am home alone the door has to be locked. Even if its the middle of the day, because you never know who has it in their mind to come attack me in my home at any time. If there is a strange noise in the night I am to stay dutifully in bed like a helpless woman and wait till Kendrick searches the house and gives the, "all clear!"
5. If drinking, men will continually make toasts. I don't know why..can you imagine a group of women sitting together clinking their glasses in a toast every five minutes? What are they toasting and why? They toast to loved ones passed, they toast to friends, they toast to birthdays, they toast to the alcohol they are drinking. You name it and they toast to it. I swear if one of them farted loudly they would toast to that. It's and odd thing.
6. A man will swear he is right until you can give him physical or educational proof that he is wrong. Even then they may try to snake out of the truth quietly and slowly.

Alright, I have rambled on long enough. I could compile a list forever long about things I have learned living with 3 men and being surrounded by many more. This was not a rant..I love my men. This was me voicing observations.
Sometimes I give in to reckless abandon and just enjoy their nonsensical ways! You will not catch me grabbing myself and adjusting or farting in public though. Some things I just cant let go of.