It's the Little Things of Parenting.. that make you go insane

This week's Sunday Confession's prompt is LITTLE




They say the Joy of Parenting is found in the little things.

• The little hands caressing your giant honker claws
• The little hugs
• The "Mom! I love you." 
• Tucking them in bed
• Kissing a cheek while the little one sleeps

Awwww. But the Insanity of Parenting is also found in the little things. This is the part people don't usually get. This is the part that I think goes without being said when I start talking about any story that entails my children with other people who CLAIM to have children. I don't care if I see you grab your little minion from the cluster of PTA in front of the school every day, if you fail to get this without it being said, you are not a parent. You might be a sperm donor or womb carrier but real parents know what I'm talking about here. It's the little things that bring on the insanity, and everyone with normal human children experience it.

It's not the easiest thing to describe. It changes for every Psychosocial Stage.

• The heart drawn on the wall in deodorant and Preparation H
• Complete disregard for the words, "Stop Fighting." 
• The inability to walk from the car directly into the house
• The puddle of pee on the floor the kid splashed into like a mud puddle
• Clean clothes piled with dirty clothes covered in Shredded Cheddar
• A banana launched at your face (she was aiming for her sister)
• The mysterious pile of pizza crust in the corner behind the TV
• ...

Even a list of the little things just doesn't give it justice. These THINGS (not the children) are like Power Rangers. They are just little things dressed in bright colors, but they have the power to combine forces into a big monster transformer. Imagine BOTH lists happening in the span of an hour. Yes you can drown in the little things.

Long story example because we are talking LITTLE THINGS compiling into a BIG THING:

We are late a lot for school. Tardiness is my virtue. One I seemingly hold dear in my heart. And when you sign your kids in late at school, the stupid sheet asks in the LITTLEST box on the thing, "Reason." Which translates into "excuse" because according to the school, there is no good reason to be late. Car breaking down being attacked by chupacabra wolves and receiving open heart surgery just isn't any real excuse for being late.

I don't know why they ask. They don't really want to know the answer. They don't care what the answer is. Most parents put down "Late."

Me, no I put down things like, "The centripetal force from the kids was so strong that it increased earth's gravitational pull slowing down time for us." One time I put down, "Karma."

What does that mean? It's the little things that make me late every day. It's never one thing. It's always a cataclysm of meaningless events entwined with bad luck, proper parenting, and some procrastination. Time doesn't exist in my world. My kids have their own clock.

My morning tea party punishment (for murdering time like the Mad Hatter) consists of the first thing. Waking up. This is a new thing we've added to the ritual. I really did go a few years without any sleep whatsoever so waking up was never an option for me in the past. It's so weird actually having to wake up. I'm not really used to it, so I don't always remember to bring my phone to bed with me (alarms). Big deal. Most people at the school had the luxury of little things like sleep. They are sleep experts in my mind. I'm a newb. Baby steps. I'll be there some day. But until then, I actually sleep in sometimes. By accident. And it's a new thing because before when I was always late, the fact that I hadn't slept in days was usually the reason I forgot to pay attention to the time. Only people who have actually been there could possibly understand that. Sleep deprivation isn't for the holier-than-thou perfect people out there.

This post explains why I didn't sleep and how I got to a point where I could sleep again. 

After I wake up, I have to actually wake up. The morning drink. I've been doing this red energy drink that doesn't really give me energy but like coffee, I just tell myself it does so it has a psychosomatic effect on me. Nobody is to bother me until I'm well into my second drink. They do anyway, just so we can start the day with a good blow to my inner peaceness. Usually before I can get to a sip, a kid is asking for something. I need a bottle (she's too old for a bottle she doesn't need it she just has issues), put my blanky on me. Remember the pancake syrup you had mom?

At this point, any mess I leave sit there, even if it's pancake syrup all over the floor at risk of being stepped in and trudged through the house, and we all know hardened syrup is harder to clean than soft recent syrup. I leave it. I'm determined to get my beverage. I get whatever I need to get to stop the "MOM" noises long enough to have my beverage.

Then I lose track of time because I check Facebook and Email. The reading of things wakes up my brain. I have absolutely no idea what day it is, what year it is, that I have children, that they might have school, I don't know any of this until after I read a few things people say. I think this is what black and white men on 1950's television was attempting with reading the morning paper.

So then I usually have an "Oh shit" moment looking at the time like when people slept in, and we are not late yet, but we are going to be. I don't always have this moment where I'm thinking Oh Shit. Many mornings, I'm thinking, "We have over an hour to get ready for school we will so be early today they might get breakfast at school instead of home." Regardless, I pick a point in time and decide, "It's time to get the minions."

Sometimes I wake up kids. The oldest never wants to wake up early for school unless it's Saturday. Sometimes they are already awake. Most of the time, I'm waking up a kid with the other 2 awake. While only 2 kids are school aged, all 3 kids attend the dropping off the two kids to school ritual. For a long time, all 3 kids attended the dropping off the one kid to school ritual. It was so convenient, taking 3 kids to drop off 1 every day.

I grab their clothes (usually before waking them up or while waking them up), and I throw it at them, "Get ready." I don't know why I do this step. It's my attempt at teaching my children to be independent people. They can dress themselves. But when I'm around, only the 4 year old wants to do it herself which takes 10 times longer than if I did it, and then she gets stuck. She's been this way since she was 2. The older two "NEED" my help. So I then dress each kid. Then I find socks. Then I find shoes. Then I brush hair. EACH KID gets this.

I do all this while they fight, ask for things, demand things, fight, more fighting, can't find something unimportant, wants to play a video game, spills milk, dumps a trash can...

So I'm finally at the point where 17 gray hairs popped out of my head and 27 brown ones fell out. We are now already late because the children made sure of it. I'm proud of myself because they are wearing their own clothes and while their socks don't match, at least they fit their feet. This is when one of them will sit on ketchup somehow, or paint, or pee or poop themselves, or go wash their hands and end up drenched... Or the one on the autism spectrum doesn't like her pants... Something to put me back at square one with at least one kid. I can't leave without dressing a kid a second time.

Then we get to the car. The kids scatter into the parking area in 3 different directions looking at mud puddles, rocks, toys, lizards whatever. I'm screaming, "Get in the car" as I'm putting backpacks and things in the car. This goes on for 20 minutes, "Get in the car or I'm going to spank your butt," and it usually entails herding them like I'm a cowboy on a horse. Morning PT. I don't need the gym. I have kids and I got them in the car. Then the fun part. I get to buckle them in. Whoever invented car seats is a sadistic bastard. "Here use this to save your kid's life, break a finger trying to buckle them in."

I get all 3 kids in the car, buckled. I sit my butt down. Turn on the radio. Breathe. Shit I forgot that paper the teacher wanted signed. Hold on kids. I go up, FIND the paper, get the paper, come back, and they are unbuckled. How? How can they unbuckle something so easy that I struggled so much to buckle in the first place?

I buckle them back in. I sign the paper and read it for a second. I pop the car in reverse, "Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom."  Are you fucking kidding me? Can you hold it? "No, I have to go now."

So I unbuckle that kid, walk them up into the house, wait, wipe their butt, get them back in the car. Rebuckle the kid.

I usually get as far as the mailbox before I realize I forgot my wallet and purse. Sometimes I get much further than that before making this realization. Either way, I turn around to retrieve item. And why?

Shit, they need breakfast. They missed school breakfast now I have to come up with Breakfast. McDonalds it is.

And we get to school at a roaring 9:30 AM.

It's the LITTLE THINGS that make the JOY of parenting. Really. The LITTLE THINGS will make you and they will break you. But the best part of the little things, you can't explain it to people in a sentence, especially people who don't give a shit and will judge you nevertheless.


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Insane in the Mom Brain

More than Cheese and Beer

Finding Ninee

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Janine's Confessions of a Mommyaholic

Strategies Parenting Kids Who Don't Sleep

Sleep is a luxury. One most people take for granted. When you are well rested, you cannot possibly understand the nature of the sleep deprived. Even if you experienced it before. And the more sleep deprived someone is, the worse it is. If you were awake for the last 24 hours, you cannot possibly empathize with someone who has been awake for 72 hours. And because you did it once in college 5 years ago, that doesn't mean you have any idea what it's like to be up 72 hours at a time with 2 to 8 hour naps in between for the last 5 years straight.

I was there. I know what happens when you push pass the pain beyond the boundaries of your body. Sleep deprivation is no joke. Some of my symptoms included

• hallucinations (balls of light and actual ghosts, usually before the migraine)
• migraines
• eating issues (I'd forget to eat a lot)
• short term memory loss
• loss of depth perception (you have no idea how important that is until you lose it)

What it really did was take whatever crazy that ails me, in my case autism and PTSD, and made it a thousand times worse. I've been sleeping again for the last year, and I'm still battling the consequences of my sleep deprivation. I probably will be for the next 5 years if I live to see it.

Why didn't I sleep you ask? I decided to procreate. I didn't realize what that really meant. And for most parents, it doesn't mean anything like what I've experienced. I know parents who popped out babies sleeping 6 hours straight for a period of time since birth. If you are one of those parents, go buy your kid a kite, a balloon, some ice cream, and start the trust fund because you owe your kid your life for that. You really do because your life is exactly what you sacrifice for a kid who doesn't sleep.

Why didn't my kids sleep?

Gabby

I had Gabby first. She is on the autism spectrum. It's very common for people on the spectrum to have trouble with sleep. I would swear that kid runs on a 30 hour day instead of a 24 hour one. Her sleep seemed to cycle. One week, she'd fall asleep at bedtime and sleep until morning. The next week, she was up later couldn't sleep and wanted to sleep in in the morning but we wouldn't let her in fear we'd ruin the sleep schedule. The next week, she was way off trying to nap through the day and being up most of the night leading up to the part where she would go 3 to 5 days wanting to sleep all day and be up all night. And then we slowly circled back to where she was sleeping at night again.

Solma

This kid really does sleep for the most part, but some nights she has issues falling asleep. I think she just inherited her father's insomnia, and it comes and goes with her.

Annie

This kid is allergic to milk and soy. We didn't know that at first. Nope, at 3 months of age, she broke out into a rash that spread everywhere but her butt and started oozing on her arm. It was bad. Doctors were useless. I was to a point where I actually considered, for only a second, grabbing the glock 40 and holding a doctor at gun point for some blood work. I dismissed that thought when the notion of sleeping with a doctor for some blood work crept into my head.

Really, what I needed was first the referral to the dermatologist. When I finally got that from the 4th doctor I saw specifically to get one, it took two months to get into the dermatologist, but we did. By then, the oozing went away on its own. We think it's from taking her to a public pool. So we recreated the pool scenario in our bath tub. A little bleach in the bath water (1 cup per 1 entire bath tub full of water, so we did 1/4 cup bleach and filled the tub almost halfway). That DRIES up the oozing of things like poison ivy and whatever rash my daughter had. Doctors disagreed about the bleach deal. Specialists were pro-bleach and regular doctors were anti-bleach.

By then I needed a referral to an allergist. That took several visits to get, but I found a doctor willing to work with me on referrals so yay. Progress. Unfortunately, he was anti-bleach and anti-goat's milk.

The first allergist refused to test. He instead wanted to dope up my 9 month old baby on antihistamines. I knew not to because of the FDA, but I was desperate at this point. So I attempted his instructions, and what happened... The antihistamine would knock her out for 2 hours, and then she would wake up hyper for 6. So about the time the other two were going to sleep, she was up all night up to about an hour before I had to wake all the kids up for school. We stopped the antihistamine after 2 weeks of it, but at her age, that was enough to make that her new sleep cycle, especially considering that she was still itching all the time and the itching kept her up.

I attempted a different allergist who was reluctant to test her for anything, but I was a bitch. I was a total bitch. I ripped him new assholes and grabbed his balls by my hand and twisted him into at least skin testing her which is where we realized she's allergic to milk and soy. That kind of sucks because formula is milk and soy only options. But by then, we had her drinking goat's milk, which we switched up to Rice Milk.

How I got my kids to sleep finally

Melatonin was awesome in the case of Gabby. Now it didn't work when she wasn't tired. Not at all. And I didn't give it to her every night like some doctors say you have to. Her doctor told me to give it to her as needed, and that's what I did. Only on nights I could tell she was tired and couldn't sleep did I give it to her. Melatonin is something your body produces naturally to help you fall asleep. Being in a dark and quiet room usually stimulates your brain into producing this. Experts suspect with autism, the brain isn't properly producing melatonin. In my kid's case, that wasn't every night. It was more like 3 nights a month did it ever help, but it would break the cycle. At this point, she hasn't taken Melatonin in over 3 years.

Prayer. I do a lot of praying, and while many who do not believe in God think I'm hallucinating an Almighty Problem Solver, I think I would be delusional to pretend that I fixed this situation completely on my own. There were many nights, out of desperation with a migraine, that I prayed profusely for God to help my kid sleep, and she never fell asleep on those nights until I prayed.

TV. I know this is a bad thing experts are totally against, but fuck the experts. They aren't up against my kids, and if they were, they wouldn't be experts anymore. The fact of the matter is you can't fall asleep until you are sitting still quietly for at least a few minutes, and you have to relax your mind. My kids don't do this naturally. They fight the tired, and then they get more hyper. I call it "hyper tired," and it's more mind boggling for the parent when kids are in hyper tired mode because that's when kids are confused, fight more, cry more, and definitely need more. Many parents at this point would suggest reading a book to your kid, but my kids won't sit still to hear a story, especially since we are talking multiple kids, so if your kids do, go that route. We allow the TV to calm my kids down. Some nights they don't watch TV but instead play with the TV on. That's when you got to get smart and pick their show for them, picking something that would suck them in based on their current interests. We always used Netflix instant streaming with this, whether it's connected to the Xbox, the Wii or the Kindle. I prefer the kids watch the Kindle at this point because it's quieter and makes the room darker.

Ambiance. Not the pill, that's Ambien. And it makes people talk to their appliances. No this is background, setting a sleep friendly environment. You know all the tips they tell you to get a baby to sleep? White noise. Turn out the lights. Maybe add a night light. Turn down the sound. Settle yourself down so you aren't moving and hyper like it's not bed time. Make sure the temperature is comfortable. That still works on kids and even adults. TV kind of breaks that deal, but adding a fan and making sure the room isn't too hot or cold is almost necessary sometimes. My kids won't go to sleep if I'm up cleaning, if lights are on in the other rooms, or if my tv is too loud. This is the time I usually sit down at the computer and do stuff, even if it's just Bejeweled Blitz.

Food and Bath Routine. We have a later dinner for this reason alone, or if we have an early dinner, we snack at about 7:30 to 8 PM. Why then? Timing. We don't do this every night, but I notice the kids fall asleep better on nights they are well fed and bathed. Bath time I think gets out that little extra hyper, soothes and relaxes, and then they sleep better when they are clean. Nobody can sleep well if they are sticky, sweaty, smelly, itchy or hungry.

Problem Solving. Really all it takes is good old fashioned problem solving abilities. Try to identify the issue, and then identify the cause, and try to find the real cause. Is it nightmares? What is causing nightmares? You might think it's something you were watching on TV the kid got a glimpse from, but it might be the argument your kid witnessed you have with another adult. Then come up with a list of solution ideas and attempt it one by one. Reevaluate over and over again. This gets old, but it's the thing behind all of my parenting approach. Every problem I've encountered with my children's behavior, I've approached it like a business meeting with myself. I set objectives. I identify issues. I choose my battles wisely. Some things have no solution. And sometimes solving a problem is embracing that.

In the case of Annie, hers was definitely finding the cause of her allergies and learning the different solutions to handling allergies. The things that help the most is reducing the allergens, duh, but also we found a nice topical steroid we use when her skin starts to get out of hand. I still give her an antihistamine, but only Zyrtec, and only when she intakes an allergen. These are all things that wouldn't work on everyone, but it works for her. It's customized to her body, her needs, her situation.

Things I don't do...

On the sleep schedule, I know a lot of parents think you make a schedule and then you train your kids like dogs to sleep at those hours. It doesn't always work that way. My kids, whether or not I woke them up early, let them nap, none of that changed when they fell asleep. I got to a point where waking them up every time they were sleeping because they were always sleeping at the wrong hours would have felt like a form of child abuse, so I wouldn't do that. If the only time they would sleep is from noon to 3, I let them have it because 3 hours is better than nothing.

School often interfered with my kids' sleep schedule they created on their own. It was definitely a struggle finding that balance between letting them sleep so they can behave like normal human beings and getting to and from school at their times. And the school, they don't care about your kid. You are your child's only advocate, and what's going to happen is if your child does not fit in the paradigm adults have hallucinated about kids, the world is going to be against you. Why not? Right? It's not like you needed a support system or anything.

If the oldest was up all night due to autism sleep issues, to wake her up regardless for school when she finally fell asleep would ascertain a day of meltdowns, transition issues, and other things teachers are not equipped to handle. Tired kids do not learn much. Many times, my kid missed half a day or a whole day because of her sleep, and the schools still hate me for forcing them into allowing that sort of thing. What they don't get, their lack of training on the subject of autism is what makes them a safety hazard if my kid isn't performing at her best to be there. So who is neglecting who Mr. School Smartypants?

The youngest, she wasn't sleeping because she wasn't tired. She was tired. When you got 3 kids with sleep issues sleeping various times of night, there's just a fine line between letting them sleep weird hours so they can sleep and trying to get them to sleep on a schedule. The fact remains, sometimes kids' schedules trump adult schedules, and adults who fail to see that are not qualified to speak on the subject.

And you do get a lot of those parents... the ones who are like, "Just make them go to sleep." Thank you Einstein for enlightening me with your expertise. Those people should run for public office. At least there, bull shit is appreciated.

Advice to the Weary

I'm assuming if you are still reading this, your kid isn't sleeping. I know it's difficult. At times it seems rather hopeless. But I'm here to tell you there is a light at the end of the tunnel. And if I could go back in time and give myself advice, this is what I would say to myself.

Stand your ground. Don't let fools guide your way to dusty death (that's a reference to Shakespeare). If you are going to fail, then fail on your terms and not someone else's. Most of the time, you know the answers. You just have to listen to yourself. Parents know their children better than any expert on the field. And mothers are naturally equipped with some weird intuition. Listen to your inner voice, and stand up for your inner voice. Don't let the haters tear you down.

Find Moral Support. It exists. It really does. I found mine online. A group of women who are struggling their own battles who empathize, do not judge, and every time I needed to hear it, they would send me hearts and hugs and well wishes.

Sleep. Make someone watch your kids so you sleep at least 4 hours in every 24 hour period. Trust me, the battle required to do such a thing is worth every ounce of sleep. You cannot function sleep deprived. You will make stupid decisions. You will take 3 times as long to solve a problem. It takes longer to do the dishes or read emails sleep deprived. In addition, chronic long term sleep deprivation can get you SSI. Yes money sounds awesome, but incapable of working does not.


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Concert Experience of the Socially Awkward

I WENT TO A CONCERT...

I'm not a big concert goer. I sort of have social anxiety issues around large groups of people, one that I never noticed in my youth due to the copious amounts of booze and small amounts of marijuana-use that accompanied any real concert. When I say small amounts, I mean so small you couldn't arrest me for it. I also mean so small I never actually resorted to cannibalism, unless bacon counts. Oink.

I saw Alanis Morissette back in college, and I went with a girl who looked exactly like Alanis, so after the concert, she signed some autographs.

I saw Jimmy Buffett, by far the best concert I ever went to. I was on a date with some med student who I met at a bar. He was the bartender, and I was the underage kid getting Daiquiris off of him. He eventually realized I wasn't 21.

I also saw Garth Brooks where I not only got a contact buzz from the people smoking in front of me, but I also got the number to my high school quarterback (who might of been color blind because he threw like Tony Romo). Remember I was NOT popular in high school. I never called him because this was after I banged the star quarterback for my college team totally defeating the misfit outcast within me like how tribal guys kill lions with a stick to embrace manhood.

But my turning point was a Phil and Friends concert. I dated this jazz bass player who was a hippy. He had Beethoven hair, hence my attraction to him. But the hippiness was beyond my levels of hippy. One time he took me to a party where everyone was eating all-organic foods and they had a bon fire where they danced around it to some African drums spouting strange animal calls where the "Shaman" threw these powders into the fire to make it change colors, and I brought malt liquor with me, which everyone loved more than Bud Light. I'm more of a drop it like its hot kind of gal. I got One Love here. Ain't nuthin to it, gangsta rap made me do it.

Anyway, he had to go see a Phil and Friends concert and wanted me to go with him. It was brutal. I could already smell the patchouli like 5 miles before the interstate exit. Mind you, every time I smelled Patchouli pregnant, I threw up. I have grown a serious hatred toward Patchouli. I think I hate it more than I hate LED headlights.

I walked the stretch of the parking lot and received like 10 offers for ecstasy, a couple for cocaine, and everyone had weed. It was a hot summer's day, so nobody was really wearing enough clothes, and what little they had on was permeated in sweat. So we get to the concert part, and I was able to relax a little. I really couldn't stand the music, but it was relaxing to be in a seat with a nice personal bubble between me and everyone else.

I don't know if you are aware, but hippies have no concept of a personal bubble. I learned this the hard way when I had to pee. I held it beyond what is humanly possible, but at some point, I had to venture off into the wild, alone, and find the facilities. I couldn't walk 3 feet without someone dancing in circles, off rhythm, with their hands in the air where you can clearly see the sweat dripping off the arm pit hair, on both the men and the women because I guess it wouldn't be hippy of women to shave, and I swear they shoved their arm pits into my face like a stripper shoves her boobs in the face of a private lap dance. I'm not sure if this was their way of saying hi, or if they were just high. But either way, it was the longest walk I ever took. That walk to the bathroom took longer than Dorothy walking to the Wizard.

I was trampled by sweaty armpits and overgrown fungus filled toe nails in sandals. I'm talking trampled. Like the scene in The Lion King where Mufasa passes away. There were thousands of them trying to kill me with patchouli and hemp. When I found refuge in a stinky public bathroom covered in urine and fecal matter, I actually had my first real panic attack.

So now I have a little PTSD from it. Years later, another boyfriend dragged me to a B-52's concert in St. Louis. Not the stratofortress bomber although we were in the Air Force at the time. No the band. Love shack. It's the love shack babyyyyy. Anyway, there I do remember feeling a panic attack coming. So I waited in this long line to go up the stairs to exit the situation for a minute, and the woman in front of me had a stroller with a kid in it, and I picked up the lower half of the stroller and carried that kid up a flight of stairs that makes the stairs in Rocky look rather pathetic, and it was in slow motion instant replay mode because the 50,000 people in front of her didn't understand you have to put one leg in front of the other to move forward, and the whole time, I'm breathing heavy starting to freak out at all the people, and that woman. That mother. She had no flipping clue I was carrying her stroller with her kid in it. Not one clue. She never made eye contact. She never thanked me. She didn't glance back my direction at all, not for a second. When I put the baby down, again, no notice.

That is when I learned why I have social anxiety in a concert. There are no people at these concerts. Just cattle. Mindless mounds of meat wondering about aimlessly waiting on the cowboy to leave so they can venture back into reality. I'm not sorry if you, the reader, are the pronghorn I'm referring to. Y'all tried to kill me several times with your cattle like ways, so we aren't even close to being even. The important thing is you failed at your attempt to assassinate the socially awkward and I forgive you for it. I'm still here, on the internet where I don't have to smell armpits and carry people's babies. The VMA performance was so much better seen alone in my underwear. Now that was a good concert.

P.S. Seriously you won't let people smoke cigarettes at these concerts, but marijuana is ok? Wearing patchouli is ok? I don't understand you people.

P. P. S. I still got to bang the star quarterback. How's that for the socially awkward? Yeah, can't touch this... If you try with your arm pit, I'm going to push you down and say, "Stop trippin." And why? Because whatever doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.

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Awkward Pumps and Love

I haven't done the Sunday Confession thing in a while because I have been struggling to blog as real life kicks my donkey. I have high moments and low moments, and someday I might confess what is really going on with me, but I'm kind of hoping I just get better and don't have to. If you people knew how crazy I really was, you probably wouldn't want to read this blog, or maybe that would make you want to read it more. I don't know. Crazy seems to be the in-thing now. Maybe I should just spill my guts out like an online group therapy to get famous. Maybe I need a pair of cojones first. They are like socks. You can always find one, but the other was probably eaten by the dryer monster.

Anyway, today's Sunday Confession writing prompt is Awkward Moments.


TODAY's AWKWARD MOMENT

I went to the gas station that uses old pumps because I know the owners and am a loyal customer to that place in particular. It's the one where the people who work there become friends because they work there and I go there that frequently. I mentioned older pumps because it was kind of busy when I pulled in, so I had to share a pump with a guy. That sounds dirty. Anyway, he's got a huge honker truck and I'm in a Toyota Camry, so I have the smaller tank, (which makes total sense because he was a black man and you know what they say about black men and their pumps and tanks) and the entire time I pumped, I felt so guilty for slowing down his pump. I couldn't stop thinking about it. It was like Tell Tale Heart, I murdered his time and I should have waited until he finished to pump like a lady, but who does that? Nobody. Just me. So I'm pumping right? And when I was done, without thinking, I thanked the guy.

Rereading already sounds more like porn than getting gas. Anyway. He looked at me like I was on crack. I would have too. He was just pumping gas and some crazy white woman wearing a nice red sweater and purple sweat pants thanks him randomly. For no reason. He hadn't heard all my thoughts about sharing pumps. So of course, to make the situation "better," after realizing I thanked him, I decided the best thing for me to do at that point was.... Duh Duh Dummmmmmmm. Explain. I don't know why because that ALWAYS makes it worse. ALWAYS! The more I talked, the more stupid I sounded. I'm not even sure what I said exactly, but I was telling him we were sharing pumps and I pumped slowing down his pump and I'm sorry. You know, it sounds much worse telling you than it felt at the time.

Then I just stopped mid sentence and walked away telling myself I am so stupid and that's okay.

TODAY's MOMENT THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN AWKWARD BUT WASN'T 

I want to get cereal for a minute (cereal is what I say for serious sometimes). I also ran into a random lady at Church offering me assistance. I was trying to find someone and he had already left, so she asked if she could help me. I told her I just needed prayers. She offered money. I said, "Just prayers." Then she said, "I love you." Now that was an amazing feeling, being told by someone you just met that they love you. I needed to hear someone say that so bad today. And it felt even more amazing to return it with, "I love you too." Then we hugged.

I don't think I can ever relay in words the importance of this to me. I'm the type of person where Love is like my anti-kryptonite. When I feel loved by anyone and everyone, I'm on a high like no one can take me down. Like the Happy Song, Ain't nobody gonna bring me down my love is too high... When I don't feel loved, I don't go Katy Perry psycho evil dark horse. I love too hard for that. When I don't feel loved, I still love all those around me despite my feelings. And that makes me feel helpless because I have nothing to fight. I have nothing to revenge. All I have is a lonely pool of self pity. That feeling is my kryptonite. I'm useless when I don't feel loved. All it takes sometimes is to hear one person say they love you to open your eyes and see the love around you. 

AND when I did find the man I was looking for, I learned a new prayer I'm sharing. I know, I don't sound religious on this blog, but I want to share the prayer because this isn't about religion. It's real. My new Mantra for the time being, one I hijacked from Dessert Monks...

Breathe in saying: Jesus, Son of the Living God,
Breathe out saying: have mercy on me, a sinner

Let in the Jesus. Let out the sin.

And just so you all know...

I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

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Put a Fork in my Education

I'm done with school, but...

I finished high school; unfortunately, that's not all she wrote when it comes to school. I think this post is supposed to be about the yearning to learn something even though I finished school. Hmmm, things I want to learn more about include:

• Zero
• Infinity
• Pi
• Einstein's Theory of Relativity
• Quantum Physics
• The Bible
• Archery
• How to write a novel for dummies
• The idiots guide into talking people into cleaning your house for you

Things like that, but I don't want to go into details of things to learn. See, I'm one of THOSE people who finished high school, was college bound because you suck if you didn't go to college in my time, and then spent over 5 years to not finish school. I failed some classes because I failed to show up, and I retook a lot of them.

I started out going to a real college. I had a blast. It was the time of my life. I was a nerd outcast in high school, but college rewrote that book for me. There, I was in cheerleading, hanging out with football players, got to screw the star quarterback embracing my popular inner slutdom, skipped class to go on shopping sprees with daddy's Emergency Only American Express card, hung out with men who loved to give back rubs in between classes... It was the life.

My friends and I used to drive around the campus blasting Total Eclipse of the Heart screaming the lyrics with the windows down to a point where everyone knew us as the Total Eclipse of the Heart Girls.

Then one day, my friend Amanda and I were lost looking for some guy's house in some residential area, and some weirdo guy gave us his weed because my friend flashed him because he asked her to, and we didn't want to smoke it because we didn't know the guy. This crap could have been laced with some messed up shit. Right? But we were young and dumb, too dumb to just throw it out. Nope. That was smokable gold that had to be given away. So I did. Most of it.

Renee, another friend, had a new dorm mate. She went through like 7 dorm mates in a month. One girl douched everyday. Every day. Apparently, Summer's Eve isn't going to make it as a Scentsy Yankee Candle. So, Renee's newest mate at this point, who didn't have a douche disorder, was a potsmoker. I ditched the weed on her, but she wouldn't take it all. Oh. No. She didn't want to be smoking all my weed, so she left a pinch in my cigarette wrapper. As I was leaving the dorm room, I ran into my friend who had no idea her roommate smoked weed. Naive much? I mean come on, she was the goth emo feminine equivalent to Snoop Dogg. So Renee freaked out that she was going to lose her basketball scholarship and told her dorm supervisor whatever they were called.

Moral of that story. Never feel bad for smoking ALL of someone else's weed. You are doing them a favor.

So anyway, the dorm captain supervisor thing, that bitch, the supervisor bitch, Lori, went to high school with me. She was popular in high school. I was not. At college, I was popular. She was not. She was a hater about it. HATERADE. Anyway, when she ratted out the dorm mate for smoking weed, she threw my name with it. I got busted with that pinch.

Campus po po showed up at my dorm at 3AM ish. I answered in my underwear. They threatened to bring up dogs, so still drunk from the night before, I handed them what I had. The first words out his mouth? "Shit, not even enough to arrest her for." So then I spent hours of them asking me why I wasn't crying, because I'm drunk you dumb snitchin motherfuckers. And they kicked me out.

So I moved home. I was allowed to go back the next semester. I was planning to go back the following fall, but my dad was diagnosed with cancer before that happened, given 3 months to live (he lived 2 more years), so I didn't want to go back to school at all. But my parents forced me into community college so I could stay on their health insurance, and I failed a lot of classes.

Community college was nothing like real college. The classes were easier than high school. They were easier than middle school. There were no real parties. I went to the club a lot but that's it. I just couldn't take it as seriously as I took the real college, and we all see how serious I took the real college, so....

I never got a degree. I eventually kept working and going to school part time spreading out a bunch of worthless credits over years and years of hard work and costly student loans. Ever so often, when I thought I was done, I would do that whole, "I need to finish what I started, I'm going back to school," and I'd take a few classes and be like, "Fuck this, I can't do this and take care of kids." Every semester I kicked ass until midterms. Every week of finals, I got sicker than a dog. Without fail. Just like washing my car makes it rain, finals made me sick.

Now, had I finished my degree, I would be qualified to do the jobs I already had. Yes, to get my exact old job back at any corporation/organization I worked for, I would have to have a degree now. Nevermind my experience doing that job better than anyone else who has had it.

Which brings me to the point of my post. College is bull shit. BULL MOTHERFUCKING SHIT.

Education is supposed to be free so that the wealthy don't have a handle over the poor. It's supposed to be equal opportunity, but it's not. Once we made regular school, Grammar school/high school, available to anyone, they had to invent college so the wealthy will always have that upper hand. Unless you are going to Harvard or Yale, your degree is only a piece of paper that says you qualify for a position that 20 years ago you would have qualified for without that piece of paper.

I'll never be finished with school because I'm never going to finish it. If I decide to "go back to school," it will either be to work in a trade like electrician stuff, or to go get a pilot's license.

And on the subject of school, I think we should turn high school into college, like you get college credits for all the classes you take from 9th to 12th grade and you graduate with a Bachelor's degree, free. Of course, that still leaves the wealthy with an upper hand... Graduate school.

Meanwhile, Student Loans blow. They blow snot cumguzzle whores. I'd rather owe money to a guy in a wife beater smoking a cigar on the street corner backed by a Mexican Drug Cartel. The government teamed up with banks is one shady bitch. I wish I blew all my student loans on strippers. At least that way, I had fun and helped someone feed their family.

Finish the Sentence Friday is brought to you by the makers of Janine's Confessions of a Mommy-a-holic. If you blog, you should consider joining the snark side. Add yourself to the Facebook group to see what we post, when we post, and where to link yourself.

Today is also March 21, World Down Syndrome Day. Grab a tissue and watch this video about what to expect when expecting an extra chromosome. 

You didn't grab a tissue did you? You wish you listened to me now don't you?

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Poetic Dribbles that Signify Nothing

I decided to throw in some of my old poetry in between writing prompt posts just because I wrote these poems years ago and only a handful still don't suck to me. Well I'm hitting it one at a time. Anyway, you can't tell me you never have done that, create something epic whether it's a poem or song, or a painting or even took a photograph, think of yourself as a creative genius of geniuses and then years later be like, "What was I thinking? That sucked!" Yeah, most of my creative endeavors are like that, but I still look at some of my poetry like, "Hey, now that's some genius shit right there I don't care who you are..." I know I may be the only person in the free world who thinks my shit is awesome when it might be shit, but anyway, now it's published on my blog where it can be better appreciated than some journal who publishes poems about violins on a nightstand. Just so you know, I wrote most of my poetry with Nas playing in the background, giving it some form of rhythm jazzy like. Maybe only in my head, this bitch has rhythm in my head.

Commas were placed sporadically to indicate a slight pause for air.


a jaded servant faded into a moment

a momentum ascending falling upwards into a different plane

awing over the big bang, bawling for a coveted reason

look into the crystal globe, inspire Socrates gold, inquire what the future unfolds,

mold His image,

the dust to create,

the lust to destroy

ants worked diligently in skyscrapers

disappearing underground

a stock exchange of ups and downs,

nothing but a bunch of clowns

sifting through a sieve 

of money power and greed

selfish in each's own

rising above each other

falling below each other

tripping into another

devising heavens

spawning hells

cartels of pyramids so grand

like sunbeams connecting the heavens and earth,

but look deep inside, the pyramids hide, tombs of rotted souls

amour eternal amor

evolving to an infernal opiate

myopic minds blinds the subconscious minister

and whines about all that is sinister

while heaven diminishes to the upper east side of hell

the bed that was made for the suckers to lie

for the weak to cry

for philosophers to wonder why

and the raven to sigh forevermore

no, not in me, because the heaven I create is worth fighting all the hells for

My favorite point of decay

Finish the Sentence Friday writing prompt: My favorite decade was...

My favorite decade was this really...

It's not really a decade. It's decadence. which has decade in it. 

But as far as time is concerned, I don't really have a favorite. Every moment in history, from the beginning of time as we know it, has had a lot of bad things and good things. I have decades I don't particularly care for like anything associated to Crusades, WWII, things like that, I really think those decades probably sucked monkey balls, which is worse than man balls because have you ever smelled the monkey section at the zoo? 

But favorite is a relative term. I was born during the 70's, so I don't really remember much of that decade except for what I read about it. Decades I've experienced, I liked the 80's and 90's better than the turn of the century stuff. 

The 80's let you dress weird like it was cool. I totally enjoyed teasing my hair and wearing socks over my pants and dreaming of having the body and social circle of women in the movies. It was the decade I wanted to be grown up in because of the parties and lack of regulation, so it kind of marks my desire to be grown. A sign of childhood innocence, where life was about amusing yourself and nothing more really. 

The 90's was awesome because my dad was alive through most of it where I have the most memories of him. My high school crush got me through the day motivating me to do homework and try at least a little. I still dream of being in high school where I actually dress up on occasion, something I didn't really know how to do back in the day. You know, look hot. Dressed by the guidance of Cosmo and Seventeen Magazine. The problem with the 90's is I didn't realize how beautiful I was back then, and I didn't have any confidence really. But I was surrounded by people who loved me and took care of me. 

The first decade of the 21st century, that wasn't bad either. The economy didn't quite suck yet. I knew I was beautiful and enjoyed the single life. I dreamt of true love a lot. Finding it. But I was content being single because I'm the type who likes to take care of someone, and single, I got to take care of friends, something that doesn't happen as often when you are married with children because a family will monopolize your time and effort. I went to the club a lot. Danced. Drank. Party city where you just live by working hard and playing harder. It was like there was a balance in my life, but an emptiness in my heart.

The next decade, 4 years into it, so we are talking part of the last decade and this one, I found love. I got married. I had children. Now life isn't balanced, and while I filled quite a bit of an emptiness in my heart, it still feels empty many times. That's because there is no balance. I'm all work and no play. Despair without much hope. My life revolves around my husband and children that there just isn't time to take care of myself or any friendship I may have once had with people. I want to love my children and I want that love to be enough, but depression, she's a nasty bitch. Between autism, PTSD, chronic severe sleep deprivation, and continuing depression resulting from neglecting myself, I am fucking crazy. I've attracted so many demons into my life, my mind, that sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get my life back. My past keeps haunting me, everything from it, the insecurities, the fears, the glory, the pain... I've dug myself in a hole so deep, I can't climb out of it, so I'm just waiting for Prince Charming to come save me from my own dragon prison, whether Prince Charming is my husband, my mother, an illusion, God, some other guy or my own children, anyone or anything because desperation is a bigger bitch than depression. And will someone come rescue me? Probably not. So here I am, trying to climb not a mountain to conquer, but a cliff I created with a shovel and some quick sand. I'd be very happy at sea level again. 

So I guess metaphorically speaking, a decade of my experience is a point in my life. My childhood innocence to the whore I was destined to become. Which one is my favorite? I am hoping it's a decade I have yet to experience, one that I will get to someday. A decade where I am on top of my game where things like cleaning the house and making it on time are not as difficult to accomplish. A decade where time and space are working for me as opposed to against me. A time where my mind, body and soul are healthy and capable. A decade where I enjoy my family and friends and their love. A decade where good conquers evil, and God embraces me with love, peace and understanding. A time where I don't have to fight anymore. A time where I feel alive again and finally just be. A painless point in history where I take care of the people I love the way they need to be taken care of, and they take care of me. 

Has anyone else noticed decade is a lot like decayed? Isn't that what happens after time? 

Don't Drop the Soap

My subject is “If you were to go to prison it would be for what crime?”. It was submitted by Outmanned Mommy. Part of the Secret Subject Swap from Baking in a Tornado. I'm really super late with this post but next time maybe...

I never went to prison before. Well, I dreamt I went to a prison before to break someone out and we drove away in a toy red wind up car. And I did visit people in prison before which wasn't anything like you see on tv, like there was no glass and phone thingy. It was just a cafeteria looking room and we sat at a table and talked. I also toured Moundsville's Penitentiary that was once featured in Ghost Adventures where I got to see how it's impossible that inmates were waving at me from the windows in my youth like I thought they were so they must of been ghosts. They were very nice ghosts to be waving hi, especially considering they could have all been inmates once upon a time, not like inmates you see today, no there were stories. Like one guy randomly stabbed another 37 times. Do you know how much effort that would take to stab someone that many times? I would be exhausted after like the 3rd one. Then some of the inmates used to pee on the floor and try to electrocute the guards walking across the pee. Considering they were stabbing and peeing everywhere, I would say waving hi from the afterlife would be an incredible act of kindness. 

So I guess HYPOTHETICALLY speaking, if I went to prison, it would be for something I did, like I would get caught. You think I would get caught? I didn't. So ha to all you haters who think I would get caught. 

Illegal Drug Sales. Back in the day before the turn of the century after the statute of limitations have expired a couple of times, I lived with some friends in a ghetto for a couple months before it ended badly in some crazy drama where all the weed smokers (it's not pot in the ghetto, pot is a hippy word) thought I was an undercover FBI agent looking for people who smoked marijuana because marijuana makes people fucking paranoid. Before they thought I was an FBI agent, my friend sold some on the side. She kept her money in shoes that didn't have a match in her closet. I don't know how people end up with unmatched shoes. I really thought that was more of a sock thing. Anyway, I'm not even old enough to legally drink at this point, and when people showed up to purchase said herbal remedies when my friend wasn't home, which by the way is legal in some states, and I was probably in one of those states, because I'm totally not going to get caught at this point... and well it would be bad business to turn people away. So there I was, fidgeting with scales (still have no idea how to accurately measure marijuana) which I'm sure was a lot like entrusting Spongebob with the Krusty Krab to make accurate change and what not, so I handled business. Yes. I was a drug dealer. I'd put it down on my resume because I think that's fabulous work experience for a position in sales, but for whatever reason, the guy at the workforce doesn't agree. I think it's because it was such a short lived job on account I could never use the scales. 

Assault with a deadly weapon with a possible self defense case. I was at a bar once, and this woman who looked like an Eskimo from Northern Exposure was claiming that Tupac was her uncle. These 3 ladies, 18ish in age probably there with a fake ID, laughed at her. So the Northern Exposure Chick, in her drunken misery as she was mourning the death of her Uncle Tupac many years after his death, lunged toward the girls ready to rip some faces off, and I caught her, pushed her back, and then my sister flew out from the crowd surrounding us and punched her in the face. For pushing me. Though she didn't push me. I pushed her, but my sister was too drunk to tell the difference. How is that assault with a deadly weapon? My hands are a deadly weapon of mass destruction, kind of like chuck norris but with boobs. My hands don't have boobs. But my hands are so deadly that hands come popping out of the crowd ready to have my back. Fortunately, my sister really can't throw a good punch so the woman probably didn't bruise. 

And there was this one time in band camp (Air Force) where I was pretending to be a Marine so I could smoke cigarettes and this one MP Marine in training was all "I can kick your ass while sitting down" and I was all, "LOL" except I didn't say LOL, I laughed, so we "wrestled." This is like my proudest moment in my life just so you know, one I DO tell on job interviews. Anyway, he was sitting down the entire time because he's a badass, and he did some weird grab my hand and twist it while pushing on some pressure points that makes your whole body twinge like Miley's twerk mixed with hitting your funny bone with a sledgehammer. I couldn't untwist my hand against his strength because I'm some little Air Force chick and he's a big bad Marine, so I untwisted with his strength flipping up on a picnic table we were at, and then I did some Jet Li shit and next thing I knew, I was behind him where I grabbed his head, yanked him backwards off his seat, and caught him before he hit the pavement. Marines called me Devil Dog that day. They were chanting it. At least according to my memory it was more like a chant. 

I also once body slammed my husband who weighs like 250 pounds (or more), and one time I was dating a guy who claimed to be a 3rd degree blackbelt and he held me down where I'm laying on my stomach and he had my legs pinned with his legs, my arms pinned with his arms, and he was digging his chin right into my spine which also is a lot like Miley's twerk mixed with smashing your funny bone with a sledge hammer, and I flapped like a fish and we both went flying into the air and the wall broke the fall, 3 feet up the wall, and he dumped me because he thought I was possessed by Satan. I think that constitutes assault. Right? Anyway....

Indecent Exposure and Public Intox. I was in tech school in the military, and I hadn't drank booze at a club for a long minute, too long for my age, so the first night I could leave base in civilian clothes, I hit a local bar/club in Missouri. I got there about midnight like I usually get to the club, and I did about 6 shots of Henney and finished the drink of some random dude, like I walked up to him, made eye contact, stole the beer from his hand, drank it and gave it back. This is what happens when you give people like me Air Force confidence for a minute. Anyway, the bar closed at like 1. Who the fuck closes a bar at 1AM? Missouri. That's why the state sounds like Misery. Anyway, the strip club was open until 4AM, but they couldn't sell booze (people were selling beers in the black market so its all good). So then 3 sheets to the wind, I get in a cab expecting to go home, sharing it with 3 random Marines, and somehow I ended up in the parking lot of the strip joint getting ready to go in with the Marines, and I flashed the cab driver for his Mardi Gras beads. The only thing I remember at the strip joint was a stripper yanking some guy onto the stage on his back, straddling across his face and masturbating. I'm not sure if it was the booze or my gutter mind, but I kind of thought it was brilliant. And she smacked him in the face with her boob. I am so glad I learned to do that from a stripper. It really comes in handy. Then the next thing I remember is I'm jogging with a horrific hangover and my Marine boyfriend was trying to make me do a pull up. I think he PT'd me hard that day just because I went out with random Marines that weren't him, to a strip joint, and flashed them. I'm not sure what's so bad about that. He makes it sound like I let them buy me a drink. 

I also once killed the guy who invented LED headlights in my mind, but I'm not sure what he looked like so it was just a dark shadowy figure. I disposed of the body in a cave somewhere deep in Mordor so every time a hobbit shows up with Elvish light juice, his ghost goes blind. 

Of course, my worst most heinous act I ever committed that I'm totally shocked and amazed I'm not serving time for... Besides jay walking... My driving. It's horrid. My idea of a complete stop is totally different than my drivers ed teacher's idea of a complete stop. So is my idea of a road, like grass is just a road before it becomes a road so it's the same thing. One time in Wyoming, I was driving to work in the middle of a tornado hurricane and almost ended up in Oz. The sirens were going off for flooding, and it was hailing gumballs. 25 cent gumballs, not 10 cent ones. Those are some big cojones for Mother Nature. Anyway, outside the mall area was a guy walking in that high wind gumball flooding rain. Seriously? Dude couldn't wait 20 minutes for the hail to at least stop? So of course, I pulled over and offered him a ride. I was so pregnant too with my first kid. He made me drive him out to the middle of no where to drop him off at home, which would have taken him a day to make by foot, like the walk would have had to have felt like Moses leading people to the promise land it was that far away. I'm not really from Wyoming, so getting lost was really easy for me to do, and I was lost. At one point, I could see the road I needed to be on, but I couldn't find a way to that road. So I drove through a muddy field. If you own a muddy field in Wyoming and wondered who drove through it and why, that was me. Thank you for letting me borrow your property. I swear I wrote this before...

Now if I could do something illegal, I'd probably rob a bank, but it would be embezzling money back into everyone's account. I've also thought about sending the schools a computer virus to remove the permanent records everyone's label is based upon. And I thought about running for office before, but those criminals don't really serve a prison sentence. I also had a diabolical scheme to take over the world by inserting computer chips in people, but apparently, the New World Order already beat me to it. Bastards. I also thought about world domination via opening a chain of cheap unhealthy greasy foods, but that's just too cliche. I retired from world domination when Pinky and the Brain left the circle of trust. I'd also love to be a mercenary that doesn't kill people. But that's not really illegal is it? Maybe a corporate assassin, like you pay me to make a corporation go bankrupt. I'd do Sprint for free though. You know, to build a portfolio.

CHECK OUT

The A-word

From Finish the Sentence Friday blog prompt...

What I really want to scream out loud is...

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Which like Phil Robertson's Hey can mean anything such as

1. Sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up and maybe take a motherfucking happy pill and get the fuck over whatever it is you are screaming about. That would be to the kids. In my mind. I wouldn't say THAT to my kids. No. Never. Not at all. You decide if I'm being facetious sarcastic or not with that. Just don't flip out like I did say it because I straight up said I didn't do it.

2. Someone take me to the nearest insane asylum that offers vodka cocktails. I never actually want to scream that. Ahhhhhh in that sense usually translates to pulling hair out of my head and banging my head against a brick wall. It has to be brick because my head would just go right through the dry wall defeating the purpose. Sometimes the steering wheel seems like a great place for a bang head here sign but not in this context. I don't really want to scream ahhhhhh then. It's more of a Fjadfhjsdkla;jfdkl;ajfl. I usually scream ahhh at this point when my world is sucking me into the abyss of painful insanity, and I mean that not in the good way. Like the house is a mess that I'm trying to clean while doing laundry and shit I forgot about that bill and that appointment we are already running late for and the kids have just dumped the trash can and peed on it, and then, the phone rings.

3.  Why the fuck did I just allow the husband to go to THAT specific store in particular with the debit card. Like why do I let him have access to money we use for stupid frivolous things like groceries, rent, utilities, because these are things I blow his entire pay check on when he deserves to spend his money well earned on things like guns, guitars, parts/pieces/accessories, itunes nobody listens to, movies nobody watches... And the ahhhhh usually comes right when he does this shit soon after I tell him, "You got paid, woo hoo, but after we pay this bill and that bill, we will be in the negatives I will need to magically come up with x amount of dollars out of nowhere so please don't spend any money." That's like inviting him to buy something for 60 dollars and 3 things for 20.

4. The trash can pyramid. Yes I scream AHHHHH in my head when I have my hands full of shit I just picked up from the floor like a ketchup infested piece of cardboard, mysterious goo and a dirty diaper, or better yet, when the kids spill something like their urine all over the floor and I clean it up and am taking a handful of urine soaked paper towels to the trash, and I get there with all this ick in my hands thinking I am going to have the luxury of throwing it away to discover there is a pyramid of trash piled on top of the can falling onto the floor because fucking gravity is on their side and not mine, and I have to set EVERYTHING down to take the trash out and reline the can because that would be way easier for me to do than for whoever was able to fit trash on the can.

5. Kid messes. I'm walking, looking for a blankie or juice or something the kid had in her hands 3 minutes ago that takes me about 20 minutes to find, and I find things like water all over the place, ketchup on clothing, bubble gum smeared into a blankie, toothpaste all over the floor, something wet in my shoe I'm not wearing, cereal and potato chips piled in the corner of the room... Some godawful mess the kids graced me with the honor of cleaning. This especially includes when I walk into a room and notice the all the CLEAN FOLDED laundry is piled on the floor mixed with dirty laundry, and there's shredded cheese on it.

6. I need to sleep like zombies need brains
7. I really just want to eat this food in my hand that I have been trying to eat for a long minute
8. Can I not poop alone once?
9. Please just let me sit down and stay down for a whole 5 minutes without getting up 17 times like it's a game of musical chairs.
10. That's okay. I can do it. It's not like it's a bother for me to interrupt whatever functioning thing I'm trying to do like the dishes or scrubbing the floor, I mean, that's like way easier to dry my hands and leave everything be than interrupting you who is saving the world in Call of Duty.

There's a lot more but ten is an even roundish lettermanish number. I'm also pissing myself off, OFF, not actually pissing myself, not today anyway, thinking of my ahhhhs. Maybe I should change this blog to sometimes I just want to scream OH GOD when I'm in bed, naked, with a hot man, somewhere in the vicinity of something that everyone thinks is naughty but is actually something as normal as eating and as important as a shot of vodka, which if I'm in the vicinity of a salty juice, aka protein shake, I kind of want to chase that with tequila and a lemon. If that did not make sense to you at all, you should get a hooker. Not a cheap one. Find one who is willing to wear scuba gear, but don't actually make them wear scuba gear because that's just too weird. If that did make sense to you, you probably don't need a hooker though getting one isn't necessarily bad advice, which I'm not suggesting that was good advice either.

Go here now. There's no hookers there, at least i don't think there are, but you never know.