And then I made a sammich. It was good.

I tried to post, really, honestly, I did. But they turned out something like this:
*clears throat*
I got up. I was tired. I slept for shit. I ate a hot pocket. It was good. But hot. And a pocket. At the same time. Wow. My head still hurts. Ow.
*bows*
Someone told me that no one cares what you had for lunch (which is actually on its way from the Amazon Fairy!) so you see, I didn’t abandon you. Really, if you think about it (and not even real hard), I did you a ginormous favor. It was best to just put those posts out of their misery and move on.

And now, Jim… The Sports.

My body is trying to break the world record for Most Snot Ever Out of One Small Person. I’ve gone through more kleenex than a junior varsity cheerleader with no boobies. The Hunk, God bless ‘im, went out into the snow and sleet to get me a box of Puffs with Vicks and Lotion with Aloe to prevent what could have been a very serious partial amputation of the nose. Pretty soon, all the goop production is going to dehydrate me and I’ll have to get some IV fluids. Damn winter and its damn head colds.

And now, Mitsy… The Weather.

We’re still battling with DHS and Hawk-i, and The Rockstar is unmedicated. And? Kind of like The Tazmanian Devil. The Wonderful Fifth Grade Teacher That I Am In Love With In A Totally Non-Lesbian Way (hereafter aka WFGTTIAILWIATNLW… aw hell, how about just Wfgt) had to send me an email today re: my Rocky/Taz completely losing his brain, and, I gotta admit, I did not have a heart attack and die from this surprise.

Now before you read this email… aw, crap, wait… what if she sues me?! Wait again! I have NOTHING! Save for the lint in my pockets and some furniture that Goodwill won’t even take, a few dented vehicles, and some refrigerator items that may or may not have lethal bacteria.

And. Don’t you go dissin’ on Wfgt. Because I will totally Kick. Your. Ass. I’ve got the boots; don’t make me use them.

——————–
Subject: Rocky
Date: Wed, 5 Dec 2007 15:49:17 -0600
From: Wfgt
To: Dory

I know that it will come to no surprise to you that Rocky has been having a lot of difficulties now that he has been off his meds, and it is increasingly getting worse.

I have been cutting his assignments down since I know that focusing is so difficult. [this is clearly a woman who knows how to choose her battles] But, it has gotten to the point that he is not completing ANY of his assignments, he was unable to do his math test (even with me sitting next to him prompting), and he is very disruptive to the class.

We are trying to make adaptations and looking for solutions (any ideas!) but I was wondering how long you think it might be before Rocky is back on his meds. Also, if there is anything that we can do to help facilitate filling Rocky’s prescription let me know. I know in the past, our school nurse has taken a role in this for others.

The problem with email is I hope this isn’t misconstrued as desperate… like I will do ANYTHING… please…. help….. duct tape, etc. It really isn’t like that!

Let me know if you have any suggestions!

Thanks, Wfgt
——————–

And here is my response:

——————–
Wfgt,

Hang in there with me, please please please! We’re having such a time with DHS and Hawk-i, I can’t even begin to tell you how frustrated it makes me. I got a letter 10/28 from DHS that since Hunky got a part time job, now we have to have Hawk-i. It said we wouldn’t have to do anything, we would be cards in the mail. Well, mid-November I called (oh, and anytime I say called, it’s really a relay call which moves approximately at the speed of erosion) Hawk-i because I hadn’t gotten cards yet. The gal said, “Yeah, we called your DHS worker and told them we needed more info on 11/2 and they didn’t do it.” So I called my DHS worker and she said, “If I had gotten a message, I surely would’ve acted on it.” And both… what are they, they’re not companies… slimy squid-like monsters said that it was not their fault and there was nothing they would do. Then last Friday Hawk-i said that we would be getting the cards in the mail in 3-10 days. At one point, we bought Rocky 5 pills just to get us through until we thought the cards would be there, and that cost $43 and came out of grocery money. And stupid DHS says that we make too much money to get food assistance! Me, on unemployment, and Hunky, on a part-time job, make too much money for assistance. It boggles my mind. And we get to do it all over again (oh the joys!) because I’m about to get my last unemployment check, which changes our income level, and I guaran-friggin-tee that Hawk-i will bounce us back to DHS and sure as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, so help me, they’re going. to screw. it. up.

*blink*
*blink blink*

Anywaaay, I didn’t mean to get off on that tangent. I talked to Rocky tonight and told him that he was going to have to put some more effort forth even though he doesn’t have his pills, I know he can do better than what he’s doing, even med-less. He agreed with me. So he’s going to really try much harder. Tomorrow I’ll check with CVS and see if they can just talk to Hawk-i and get the pills without the card yet. I know he’s really very challenging and difficult, believe me; it’s literally driven me to tears at times. Do me a big, huge, fat favor. Any teacher you’ve EVER heard utter the words, “Drugs aren’t what’s best for ADHD kids; they’re for parents who need their kids sedated because they don’t want to handle them” or any variation thereof, and I want you to go get them, and bring them to your room, and watch Rocky for one hour. There will be much groaning and sobbing and gnashing of teeth, but don’t let that scare you. Because one week after he’s back on his meds, you herd them all up again, and you bring them to your room (heck, use a cattle prod, I don’t care) and you have them, again, watch Rocky for one hour. You’ll make converts of them all. It’ll be like a big ol’ revival right there in school. Make sure you take up a love offering, because it’s best to hit them up when they’re all emotional.

Damn it. Tangent again. *shakes head vigorously*

Oh, and don’t think for one second that I have never considered duct tape and a large oak tree.

Highest Regards,
Preachin’ to the choir in Cedar Rapids
——————–

There’s not many perks to being a parent. So sometimes, God gives you a teacher that gets your kid. He’s cool like that.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude.

100 things about Dory

MelodyAnn said I hafta read Fun Home, by Alison Bechdel. I obliged and went to the library to pick it up. I started reading it last night, and it makes me feel a little bit dumb. I’m used to opening a book and either reading it with no problem, or realizing quickly that I am way out of my league. In some parts, I recognize the words but can’t comprehend the meaning. Kinda like “The marauding sloth erectile perpetuity vicariously qualmish.” So I back the truck up and try again; I attempt to focus on the words and search for synonyms to make the sentence make sense; all the while my brain fights me, screaming “Let’s go, let’sgo, letsgoletsgoletsgoletsgo!” Thank God it’s only like that in spots.

MelodyAnn also tagged me for the 4 meme, but I just can’t come up with any new answers. So I saw another meme that was called 100 things about me. I’ll attempt that one. 100 is a really really big number when it comes to little ol’ me, so I reserve the right to get help from Hunky and/or make shit up. If I resort to that, I’ll be real obvious. Maybe. *evil grin*

Without further ado, 100 things about me…

  1. God rawks.
  2. I treat others the way I would like to be treated.
  3. I am a great wife.
  4. I am a good mother.
  5. I am a good girlfriend.
  6. I love my Jack Russell Terrier more than any other dog I’ve ever had in my life.
  7. I am a graphic artist.
  8. I am on number 8, and I am already stalled out.
  9. I like woodworking.
  10. I like machine quilting.
  11. I like reading a lot of different kinds of literature. Love most Chick Lit, Dry Comedies (David Sedaris rawks), Drama/Relationship, Mystery, How-To books, Self-help, Spiritual growth… No Romance, Clive Cussler-esque, Sci-fi, or Dungeons and Dragons and Majic. *wrinkles nose* Icky.
  12. Hunky says I have to put, “I like sex with Hunky.”
  13. Well, I do like sex with Hunky. 12 years later and it’s even better. Married sex rawks.
  14. I am a cheesehead.
  15. I am frustrated because I want to learn ASL faster.
  16. I am really good in Photoshop.
  17. I am pretty ok with Illustrator.
  18. I am best in InDesign.
  19. I want to be a great photographer.
  20. I like iced tea in the summer and coffee in the winter.
  21. I like iced tea straight. Or just a little raspberry added.
  22. I like coffee all doctored up with cream and sugar, hot cocoa powder, and/or a shot of Starbucks Raspberry.
  23. My favorite dinner is steak, medium rare, and a loaded baked potato.
  24. It makes me indescribably happy when I see all my DVDs in perfect alphabetical order.
  25. The best part of buying a DVD is putting it in the right spot on the shelf in perfect alphabetical order.
  26. I have literally thousands of pictures that I would like to get sorted and scan the negatives.
  27. I like Dr. James Dobson. Iamnot does not. And that’s ok.
  28. I really like Joyce Meyer. I wish that I could have dinner with her. And coffee and dessert. And I bet she would get tired of talking to me before I got tired of talking to her. I bet she would have to say, “Oh, for the love… it’s 3am, and woman, you just need to shut up already.”
  29. My birthday is December 19. Having a birthday that close to Christmas sucks ass.
  30. I do not like Tom Brady. Tombrady=bedwetter.
  31. I am a PartyLite consultant but I haven’t had a party in months because I hate begging people to have parties.
  32. I am beyond frustrated and charging full steam ahead towards starting to doubt my talent and skills in graphic design because I can’t get a damn job.
  33. I just indulged in a two minute pity party after that last one. I think I’m over it.
  34. I can write upside down.
  35. I got my first pony when I was 18 months old. Her name was Snowball. I don’t remember her.
  36. My next pony I got when I just turned 7. His name was Alcapony. My mom named him that because he could escape from anywhere.
  37. I grew up on a farm. We had 22 acres off a small lake. One winter night after the lake froze over, Alcapony took one of our mares and three of the neighbor’s horses on little jaunt across the lake and my dad had to go out at 2am and bring them all home and deliver the neighbor’s horses back to him. That was the first time I heard my dad drop the F-bomb.
  38. My cousin, who was so much older than me that I had to call her aunt, inherited her mother’s (my mom’s sister) thoroughbred horse farm. I spent quite a bit of time over there, including several different Kentucky Derby parties. My family was a staunch proponent of the whole “children should be seen and not heard” idea.
  39. I could have split up that last one, but the first sentence and the third sentence both really weren’t about me. And the rules are 100 things about me, not 100 things about me and the also the history so you understand the thing about me better. I like rules. Rules bring structure. Rules make choices less overwhelming. Rules are the yellow lines in the road.
  40. I am not above bending the rules. I drive 10 over everywhere I go.
  41. I first learned to drive when I was about 13 years old. We had an old 1980ish white Ford Ranger, and it had stick shift. It took my Dad hours and hours to teach me how to shift properly. I haven’t owned a stick shift since then. I can still drive one if you’re going to insist, but I’m going to resent every minute of it.
  42. I showed horses and home ec projects in 4H from age 8-17. I also showed sheep and chickens, but just one year each to try it out and that was about enough for me. Sheep are exceptionally stupid, and exceedingly dirty.
  43. I can imitate the clucking of a hen well enough to fool a chicken.
  44. I also had ducks and geese. The ducks weren’t really good for much except pooping everywhere and giving us ginormous eggs to color on Easter. The geese hated the little green truck and would peck its tires from the moment it hit the driveway until about five minutes after it was parked.
  45. To teach me about money, for several years I sold eggs. My folks bought the chicks and the feed up until we separated the roosters from the hens. Then the roosters were butchered, destined for the freezer, and it was then my responsibility to buy the feed. I fed and watered them, and collected and washed eggs morning and night. I would carton them up, then I’d harness my pony to the cart and take the eggs to all the neighbors and sell them for 75 cents a dozen.
  46. We had goats too, which I loved. Goats are cute and friendly but they poop raisins everywhere. The Seester was allergic to milk so Mom milked the nanny goat morning and night and we all drank the goat’s milk. Goat’s milk makes Vitamin D milk taste like water. It’s really rich.
  47. I had a few ponies and a couple horses over the years.
  48. My favorite pony was Alcapony. He was white with a few black spots on his rear and the back of his legs. By the time he died, all his spots fell off.
  49. My favorite horse was Missy. She was a buckskin. She liked Pepsi and gummi bears. She also knew when our names were called in a class and she’d walk up to get our ribbon without even a cue from me. Later, we bred her to my mom’s paint stud, and we got Andy, who turned out tobiano with gold spots. I think that was The Seester’s favorite horse, but I’m not sure.
  50. I’m halfway done! Yay me!
  51. I rode my horse whenever I could. We would take off after lunch and might not come home until sundown. If we cantered on the blacktop, my mom could hear it from the house and would ground us from our horses for a week, which was worse than torture.
  52. When my parents divorced after 19 years of marriage, I chose to go live in town with Dad, and The Seester stayed out on the farm with Mom.
  53. The first time I came back out to the farm for visitation with Mom, I discovered that she sold my horse without telling me first, and I was heartbroken. She told me since I wasn’t there to help with chores or take care of the barn, then I didn’t deserve to have her. She was probably right. But I was crushed.
  54. I didn’t even have video games until I was around 14. It was an Odyssey.
  55. We didn’t have a computer until a little while after the Commodore 64 came out. I remember storing programs on cassette tapes, and writing programs in Basic.
  56. I’m going to go fold a couple loads of laundry and come back later, because I feel reeeeally guilty for sitting here in front of the computer all day.
  57. I just got a lot done! Made dinner, made my Shameless Comment Whore Button, went downtown and visited Hunky at the sleep out (I’ll get a pic up shortly), folded a couple loads of clothes, and here I am again!
  58. I have sat here for about 20 minutes, trying to think of something to write.
  59. I have to stop any caffeine intake around 4pm or I’ll find myself staring at the ceiling all night long, terribly, terribly awake.
  60. I’m trying to cut down on Mt. Dew. I used to drink about 36 ounces a day, and now I only drink 12.
  61. I met Hunky in a French college class. I got an A that semester.
  62. The next semester we were dating. I got a D.
  63. I don’t remember hardly any French.
  64. I took Spanish all through High School.
  65. I don’t remember much Spanish either.
  66. I was not popular all through school. I don’t think I was a loser. Just quiet.
  67. I was in band from 6th to 12th grade.
  68. Almost all of my friends were in band.
  69. I played the flute.
  70. One semester in college, I played the piccolo.
  71. I wish I had a piccolo.
  72. I can still remember a three octave chromatic scale. It’s like my fingers remember because if I think about it too hard, I can’t do it.
  73. I was in Job’s Daughters from age 11-20.
  74. That experience gave me some of the best moments I have of growing up.
  75. I still have four “sisters” not including The Seester on my IM contact list.
  76. I like Barbershop quartet music. My dad was a Barbershopper.
  77. My dad took me to a lot of plays growing up. Our local theatre was Tibbits Opera House. It had a ghost, but I never saw it.
  78. I like almost any musical.
  79. My favorite musical is Cats. I saw it at Hancher Auditorium in 1994.
  80. Next favorite is Phantom, then Fiddler, then Les Miz.
  81. I like popcorn done the old-fashioned way best.
  82. I like staying home and renting a movie with a few friends better than going to the bar with a group.
  83. I love playing cards. Euchre and Spades are my favorite.
  84. I played Spades at lunch every work day for two years with my dad and his friends.
  85. I won twice.
  86. I’m claustrophobic.
  87. I’m not afraid of heights.
  88. I used to go fishing with my dad and catch blue gill. We’d clean ’em and eat ’em when they hadn’t even been dead a half hour. That’s fresh. It was the best eatin’ I ever had.
  89. Being in a big group of people makes me freak out a little.
  90. We’ve had to leave gatherings because I felt panic attack coming.
  91. I hate meeting new people.
  92. It takes a while to be able to speechread a person. Some are just impossible to speechread.
  93. As frustrated as I am with my progress in learning sign, I can tell that it is a very natural way to communicate. It’s not anything like learning a foreign language. Although many colleges do give you foreign language credit for taking sign.
  94. I went to college and ended up with a 1.6. After I was diagnosed with ADD and learned coping strategies and got medication balanced, I went back to college and got my AA with a 3.492. And that was even though I started with that lousy 1.6 from the first time ten years before that. I was extremely disappointed that I missed getting honors cords by .008.
  95. I just had to do that on a calculator to make sure it was right. Math is most assuredly not my forte.
  96. However, English is. I’m a great proofreader. I spell well, and I am good with grammar and punctuation.
  97. I really enjoy making people laugh.
  98. I miss my box-sleepin’ husband already, and I haven’t even gone to bed yet.
  99. I can’t believe it took me so long to come up with 100 things about me.
  100. I attempt to be like Jesus every single day.
I’m not gonna tag anybody, because this took a loooong time. But do it anyway. Do it. Do it, do it, doitdoitdoitdoit. Come on, everybody’s doing it! Wow, I just had a bad flashback to an ABC After School Special. Anyway, I bet you know a lot more about me than you ever thought you would. And I didn’t even tell you about how I cheated the hearing test to be an MP in the Army! Took ’em ten months to figure it out.

Here’s my box-sleepin’ husband!
Thanks to everyone that pledged…
you’re supporting a very good cause.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude.

There are 7 deadly sins, too. Coincidence? I think not.

It must be something in the water. Mrs. Mustard tagged me for the 7 Random Things meme. Thank God. I opened The Blog Fodder Folder and sneezed at the dust.

Duh, duh-dah daaaaah!
7 Random Things About Me

  1. There are more times than I really care to admit that I went without eating because ten minutes of food preparation was just too much work. Sometimes I just can’t be bothered to do anything beyond 1-open freezer and 2-put in microwave. I can cook. I just don’t want to. But oh wait! I cooked tonight! *audience cheers* And I screwed it up. *audience awwwwws*
  2. My sweet tooth, isn’t. Besides about two days out of 28, the chocolate? I can take it or leave it. Please don’t take away my Chick Card. Birthday cake? Eh. Cotton candy? *winces* Cookies? *furrows brow* What kind? Chocolate Chip? Maybe one. Oatmeal? Maybe two. Cheesecake? I’ll just have one bite of yours. But. All You Can Cram Down Your Pie Hole Shrimp Night? Where’s my old Maternity/Thanksgiving pants? Lemme just show you how this is done.
  3. I have a debilitating disease… Hi, my name is Dory, and I’m addicted to DVDs. *audience chants “Hi, Dory”* I think it’s safe to say that we have over 400 titles. I have a particular weakness for TV on DVD. Friends, Scrubs, Will & Grace, ER, MASH, Sex in the City, dharma & greg, Mad about You, CSI, Grey’s Anatomy… well, that’s just a few.
  4. I cannot for the very precious life of me figure out how to pick the right aperture, shutter speed, and ISO all by myself. The closest I’ve gotten was last weekend when I used Aperture- and Shutter-Priority mode instead of Auto or Scene. Manual mode is that snooty, totally put together, botoxed, country club goin’, mimosa drinkin’ before 10:30am, desperate housewife that I am totally intimidated by and will never be able to figure out. I am Manual mode’s ‘bitch’. Seriously, last week I forgot non-fat milk in her latte, and she pursed her lips and bodyslammed me.
  5. I love almost any kind of raw dough. Raw eggs? *shrugs* I walk on the wild side, amigos. Mm mm mmmm, pizza crust dough is the best. Oh wait no, pie crust dough. Ohhh, but Hunky’s Mom’s Baking Powder Biscuit dough. Wait, I can’t. It’s akin to choosing a favorite child.
  6. The trouble with ADD is… hey, is that a chicken?! I call the green cup. Let’s go ride bikes! Oooo, something shiny. Wait, what?
  7. Directions. Bad. Which way’s north? Up? Don’t give me any of this “Turn south, go a half mile, and it’s on the northeast side of the road” stanky fresh cow pie. Give me landmarks, people. “Turn right by the CVS and then left by the Tobacco Outlet. If you see HyVee on your right, you went too far.” Noooowwww you’re a-speakin’ mah language.

I’m sorry, MelodyAnn, I’ll get yours done too. I’m just havin’ some trouble comin’ up with some different answers. And, well, I’m a lazyass. There is that.

Oh, and thanks for all the great suggestions for the Shameless Comment Whore Button! I’m gonna work on that sometime tomorrow.

Rip it. Rip it all up real good then burn it, because Big Brother is always watching. And listening. Shhhhhhhhh. Be vewy, vewy qwiet. I’m hunting wabbits, you know.

The wages of sin are NOT pumpkin guts.

Happy
NaBloPoMoMaNaNoNoBaNaNa
Kickoff
Day!

I love happy endings.

Yesterday had a happy ending.

The Teacher e-mailed me back and said that was just fine if I wanted to pick him up, but they also had an extra costume if I was ok with letting Dino stay. I e-mailed back that was fine with me, but I was still coming in just in case Dino might have a meltdown. I got to the school a little bit early and came into his classroom. Of course the kids were completely wired for sound; actually ricocheting of the walls like super-bounce balls.

The Teacher came up and said to me, “I offered the costume to D and he said ‘no, thank you’ but he does still want to be in the parade. I asked him what he was going to dress up as, and he said he was going to be himself.”

I said, “Great! Sounds good to me.”

The Teacher announced, “Ok, boys and girls, it’s time for us to get dressed for the parade! I’ll help the boys and The Para will help the girls.”

The Dinosaur dressed up as “Himself”

He gave D some coloring stuff to do while everyone got changed, and chaos ensued. At one point, D buried his head in his crossed hands on his desk, and I was worried we might have an impending meltdown. Loud freaks him out. But he looked like he was handling it for himself pretty well, so I left him alone to take care of his own distress. The other kids were getting changed into their costumes, yelling excitedly and running in tight circles not unlike a highly caffeinated herd of Jack Russell Terriers.

Oh, and one interesting note… one little boy dressed up as a girl. What better costume for the budding closet transsexual? Um, yikes. Of course, he got the most attention from all the other kiddies; but much to my surprise, it was fascination rather than derision. He must’ve pulled it off because he was one of the cool kids.

The Teacher had everyone line up for the parade and at the last second, D got up and joined the line, next to last place. The procession, well, proceeded. The Para showed us other moms the short cut out to the playground where the kids would end up. We walked through the gymnasium and down the fire exit to the playground.

Ok, side note? All elementary school gyms smell the same. I walked through the double doors and instantly was flooded of memories of the humiliation of getting chosen last for teams, staggering in last in races, and forged notes excusing myself from the requisite involuntary indignities that is Physical Education. I found myself wishing that I had been able to raise my kids where I grew up so I would see a full circle, bringing my sons back to where I was humiliated educated. Partially the nostalgia of returning, but also partially so I could go to parent/teacher conferences and say, “See, I turned out OK in spite of your insistence that I would never amount to anything since I was brilliant yet completely incapable of applying myself.” I had a hearing impairment and ADD to boot; and instead of an IEP, I got shamed because I could not be what they insisted I should be.

Oops. That’s a tangent I didn’t intend to go off on. Moving on.

Anyway, we got downstairs just in time to see the 2nd & 3rd graders parading and the 4th & 5th graders supervising. I heart R’s teacher. She’s so perfect for him. She came up and chatted a little and told me how well he’s been doing.

The Dinosaur marching in the parade dressed up as “Himself”.
The girl in front of him is apparently dressed as “All Red”.


The Rockstar hard at work supervising with the Cool Kids.

I spent time in both kids’ classrooms for their Halloween parties. Oh, man. The sugar. The horror. God bless all teachers everywhere for enduring Class Parties. I would have taken pics of the parties, but I was frozen in morbid fascination at the pandemonium.

At one point, I was reading over R’s last book report, and dang, my kid is good. His teacher saw what I was reading and came over and said, “I hope you understand that a lot of what he writes is not grammatically correct, but I just leave it. He writes just like he talks, he bends the rules a little. His writing has his voice, like you can hear him speaking as you’re reading his work. He’s going to be a fantastic writer, and I don’t want to squash that with red ink.”

I almost kissed her. In a totally non-lesbian way, of course.

Later, we went to the church party. As you enter the party, all kids 7th grade and under can put their name in a basket for a prize. Up front they had an eight foot by 3 foot table stacked with good prizes. Now to get the loot, you gotta go through the puppet show and the singing; ok, no problem, it actually wasn’t that bad. It was pretty loud though, so I had to take D out into the hallway for a little bit where he could watch without protectively shutting himself down. As soon as that concluded, he was absolutely fine with going back in. Next, a guy dressed up as a greenhorn calling himself “Marshal Fife” comes out with a cart with pumpkin on it. I sucked in my breath, because oh hells no, my church better not friggin’ teach my kids that the wages of sin are pumpkin guts. All was well, though, because Marshal Fife (AKA Ben, a really fantastic youth ministry helper, really funny, kids love him) teaches all the li’l chi’drens that the pumpkin is like our lives. As he dug out the guts, he explained that the guts are yucky like sin. And as he lit the candle inside and turned the pumpkin to reveal the cross carved in the pumpkin, he explained that when Jesus is in our lives, he cleans out the sin so His love can shine through us. I audibly exhaled a sigh of relief. Good thing, because I wouldn’t want to have to snap on anyone, all Christian-ly-like, of course. No one better ever tell my kids that they’re yucky inside. Leave the emotional scarring to me. I don’t need you to teach my kids right now that they’re inherently evil inside and give them a completely negative connotation of God. They’ll get enough of that later on in life. For now, let’s leave it at sin is yucky, not them. And God’s primary objective is to take care of his children, like the Heavenly Dad that he is, not like Heavenly Mean Man Just Waiting for the Opportunity to Strike You Dead with Lightning, mmmkay?

Oops. There’s another tangent. Moving on.

Finally, the kids had paid their dues in the form of barely containing their unbridled enthusiasm for their body weight in sugar, and it was time for the drawing. I had a good opportunity to teach them to speak “positivity” instead of “negativity”. As they started pulling and calling names, my kids start muttering. “Look at that big basket. I’m not gonna win. I never win anything.” etc. etc. And I said, “Now, listen, stop that. You speak that negativity, and you give it power. I want you to take that back and replace it with “I hope I win. I might win. I could win.” Of course, at first they looked at me like I had suggested they do double homework for the rest of the year. But wonder of wonders, they decided that mom had been right before and took my advice. Less than one minute later, they pulled R’s name and he ran up and got a nerf dart gun. He came back yelling, “You were right, mom, you were right!” Geez, do ya hafta sound so suprised?! D’s name didn’t get called, and his chin started to quiver, but once I reminded him that there were still an hour of games and candy downstairs in the gym, he perked right up.

We got downstairs and the boys had a blast. They played games and ate hot dogs and nachos. They won toys and candy. And I sat my butt down in the middle of the gymnasium and listened to my iPod. I was ‘home base’. About every five minutes, either boy would run back to me and I exclaimed over their loot and then they’d drop it on me and go get more. And the best part about it was it was all free. No money for tickets for stuff. Free. R kept on saying that they made out like bandits and I finally reminded him that bandits steal stuff, but the church gave them that party to bless everyone. And he tilted his head and looked at me all serious and said, “Man, mom, God is good.” And, that, ladies and gentleman, is one of the kodak moments I had kids for, and so rarely receive. I guess that’s so I appreciate it even more when it does happen.

So don’t you just love happy endings? I just love me some happy endings.

Dude, it took me a couple hours to write this. How am I gonna keep this up for the next 29 days?! What if I get a *gasp* job and have something better to do than relax in front of the computer?!

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. God’s good.

Dirty. And shelter-hopping. Don’t forget shelter-hopping.

Yesterday I hit a record for comments – EIGHT comments! I was so excited a peed a little in my chair and then busted out crying tears of joy. But don’t worry, I put a towel down first.

So it turns out that some overworked underpaid healthcare professional doofus ordered the Strattera and not the Wellbutrin. So it will be another 7 to 10 business days until the happy pills arrive. Great, genius; don’t order the crazy lady’s brain-altering pharmaceuticals. Just overlook that silly little task.

A wonderful galpal of mine let me ‘borrow’ some of her generic wellbutrin until I can ‘pay her back’ when mine arrives. It’s a small supply so I’m taking half doses. It’s also generic non-time-released so it starts to wear off in the evenings after supper but definitely better than nothing.

But, guys, tomorrow it will have been two weeks without the happy pills and I’m amazed at how well I managed to stifle The Crazy. NO scary ‘suicidal ideation’. None. I had some emo sneak up and blindside me — damn those baby-stuff commercials and also damn any sitcom that has any script that calls for someone to start crying, because sure as hell that’s a trigger for the waterworks! [Scrubs, you traitor, you call yourself a comedy, for cryin’ out loud!] — and some mood swings akin to a clock pendulum on meth. I had several mornings I couldn’t make it out of bed until 10 and several afternoons I couldn’t have accomplished anything even if you waved $100 bills in my face. But I’m still here.

My doctor has informed me that there is no cure for my severe clinical depression, so I can look forward to years and years of popping that little reminder that I’m broken and my brain can’t handle its seratonin. My brain is the one that is, come last call, passed out under the table in a pool of its own urine after a night of dopamine and norepinephrine jello shooters. All the other “normal” brains can pick up my brain and hose down all the stink off and tuck it into bed to sleep off the hangover; but forget staging an intervention, because there is no rehab for my brain. My brain is the one that signs out of the inpatient program and makes a beeline to the corner to score again. My brain is the one sleeping under the overpass, empty bottles of dopamine and norepinephrine littering the area. My brain is the one sitting on the gritty sidewalk, slack-jawed, drooling, staring at nothingness.

As fantastic as this is, there is more good news. There’s no cure for ADD either! Woo hooo! I can look forward to a lifetime of forgetting anything remotely important. I can tell you that the three ships that came to the New World in search of the Indies in 1492 were the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria. But what did I do last weekend? Umm, gimme a few minutes, and I might be able to enlighten you. What are we doing this weekend? Better ask Hunky. My brain is the one stumbling and muttering to itself, side-stepping the unfinished projects and debris littering what barely passes as our humble abode. Hey… is that a chicken?! OOOooo look; something shiny. Let’s go ride bikes! There’s that chicken again! Did the chicken come first, or the egg? What should we have for supper? I heard that Cheerios lower your cholesterol. Let’s go buy some! Our economy seems to be headed for a recession. I remember chasing Rusty at recess when I was in first grade. Maybe I should get the rust on my Stratus fixed. Then it will be shiny again!

That’s all we have time for today, kids. See you next show; same bad time, same bad station.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dudes. And chicks. Especially chicks.

Da Da Da DAAAHHHHH


The Great Mofo Delurk 2007

Even if it’s just “Hi. Loser. Bye.” you gotta comment. It’s like, the law or something today. 😉

Last night, I dreamed that I was on a band trip and I forgot my flute so I had to borrow somebody’s wooden piccolo. We were in a huge stable. Then there was a dance but my mouth was full of grass and I couldn’t get it all out so I was trying to find a bathroom to barf in. And a gay friend of mine and her partner were at the dance and they brought the newborn baby boy they had just adopted and named Toby. (Which isn’t really a stretch since they are fantastic foster parents to a couple older boys who could be labeled problem children and wouldn’t even have a chance in life if it wasn’t for them.) Then we were all lined up next to an olympic sized pool, not sure why. *whew* That was weird even for me. And now we can add grass to the growing list of crap I can’t get out of my mouth in my dreams.

It is impossible for me to sit down and write one blog entry and hit submit. I’m not the only one, right?! I hit ‘create post’ and that might sit in that tab in firefox percolating all day long while I check email, backup files to dvd, write, listen to a podcast, write, watch a couple episodes of tv on dvd (man, daytime tv sucks buttocks), make a pot of coffee, check job postings, write, play with my pics, let the dog out, get a cup of coffee, write, smoke, write, make a PB&J for lunch, sweep the kitchen floor, check email, write, pick up the kids from school, write, help kids with homework, check email, put a load in the washer, write, read blogs (I’m up to almost 40 that I check with google reader and not one of them can I bear to unsubscribe to), write, get kids ready for bed, write, then hit submit.

I saw a girlfriend last night that I haven’t seen in a while and she lost 72 pounds. And she worked really really hard at it. It is so unfair the way our bodies and metabolism can be so different. I’m 5’5″, 125 pounds, 32D, 27, 36, and I am ashamed to admit, I do not have to work at it. I popped two human beings out the ole escape hatch and the only crappy thing I have to show for it are some bad stretch marks on my thighs. I do not exercise. I eat crap. I smoke. The packaging on my Carman Electra Striptease Workout is unbroken and dusty. I am almost exactly the same measurements as I was on my wedding day. Hate me now, hate me hard. I deserve it. The only difference between me and dedicated, strong-willed, hard-exercisin’, calorie-countin’, daily weigh-in havin’ amazing women is Genes. I’m sorry. I really am. But I’m not trading. I guess the whole point to this… point… was that I know there are phenomenal women who work at it 24/7 and I don’t, and I do appreciate both my genes and how hard you do work at it.

That’s about all my news, if you can call it that. Further updates as events warrant.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dudes.

If only I could get paid to procrastinate.

Wow, I’ve been SO productive and gotten SO much done. NOT.

My last day in hell, er, at work, was Friday. It wasn’t bad as far as last days go, I guess. We usually are given 30 minute lunches and I took an hour and twenty minutes to have lunch with my almost-ex lead designer. What were they going to do, fire me?!?!

Also, I was reminded twice during the day to remember I needed to pick up the kids at the Boys and Girls Club after work. Guess what I forgot to do? Yes, that’s right, I FORGOT MY CHILDREN. I was talking to my friend on the way home, one of the people that had reminded me to pick up my kids once already. I was jabbering away and she said, “Wait wait, so have you picked up the kids yet?”
Me:
*silence*
*blink*
*pause*
*blink blink*
*insert choice expletive here*
“No, I’m turning around now.”
I am THIS CLOSE to getting my Parent License rescinded. Although I’m pretty sure that I could just get another one from inside a Cracker Jack box. They have some sucky-butt prizes in there nowadays.

Sooooo then I had a three day holiday weekend to get through. No problemo, dude. Friday night, The Girlfriend Brigade came over to grill and drink, not necessarily in that order. Saturday…. something happened, I forget what but I was still in my pajamas in the late afternoon and the grill was again engaged for supper. Sunday, we went to church and then The Hunk and I went over to Sam’s and bought a 50″ Plasma TV. You know, because we were bored or something. Monday, put up the gargantuan by-product of boredom. THIS was quite the production. Several hours and a frightening number of leftover parts later, it was successfully wall mounted and my living room was a battlefield of styrofoam, torn plastic bags that could WARNING choke children and small animals, dust bunnies bigger (and meaner) than my snotty cheerleader bitch cat, and enough new user guides and warranty information to make a tree-hugging hippie dissolve into racking sobs.

So Tuesday was my first day in the real world as an unemployed graphic designer. I had already promised myself that I would completely veg out the first day and do everything I possibly could to do absolutely nothing. So. I watched my new big TV while I cleaned up the living room after installation of said new big TV and then went to Deaf dinner night and chatted for quite awhile. Then Fiona and I composed an email to send about our little informal Friday Night Sign Class for June. Coolio. Then I made my To Do List because Wednesday was going to be A Very Productive Day.
Here was my to do list:
1. Take the kids to school.
2. Apply for unemployment benefits.
3. Out of Strattera. Call to get more.
4. Make the mailing list for my resume so I could mail merge my cover letters.
5. Get my e-portfolio organized to put onto CD-R for inclusion with resume and cover letter.
6. Design the label and CD holder for the e-portfolio.
7. Do two loads of laundry.
8. Call Sprint and get them to let me out of the contract with no penalty by playing the HoH card.
9. Get a SideKick ordered.
7. Read War and Peace.
8. Resolve that pesky world hunger problem.

Here’s what I actually accomplished (and I use that term extremely loosely):
1. Wake up with raging headache from not having taken Strattera for two days. Complete with a side of nausea. Feeling like a zombie is just the bonus plan, baby.
2. At the last minute, The Rockstar announces that he has checked his email and his teacher has said Yes, it would be a great day for him to bring his dog for show and tell (BTW when you’re ten, it’s called “Community Circle” *rolls eyes*)
3. Took the children AND the dog to school.
4. Called to get more Strattera.
5. Spent over an hour with Sprint (via relay). Amazingly, I kind of got what I was after. I wanted to just cancel them period with no penalty. But they let me out of the contract with no penalty for my line, but not The Hunk’s line. Close enough, I suppose. So we’re keeping that for emergencies on the cheapest plan possible ($20/month) until the contract is up. Heck, we can leave it here at the house when we leave the kids here alone (which, since we’re not complete morons, we do not do for more than an hour at a time.)
6. Realized that sure, I could get a sidekick with data only plan and The Hunk could get a sidekick with data and voice so he could text with me and talk with everyone else, but the sidekick is a T-Mobile exclusive and the only voice service they have in our area is, well, permanent ROAMING status. NOT good. Intermittantly bitched about this via IM.
7. Decided to abandon that project for the time being and went downtown to see The Hunk In Action. (At his place of internship, not the bedroom, you sicky. Get your mind out of the gutter. Sheesh.)
8. Picked up the kids from school.
9. Finally gave into the Zombie Syndrome and passed out on the couch in complete and utter exhaustion for an hour.
10. Made dinner.
11. After attaining needed sustenance, went back to the drawing board on the text/cell deal and after much research, have decided to go to Cingular tomorrow and check them out.
12. Applied for unemployment – No.
13. Mailing list – Nope.
14. CD and holder etc – Not even.
15. Laundry – Um, still no.
16. War and Peace – Maybe some other day. Or decade. Whichever comes last.
17. World Hunger – Yes, it sucks, but was not resolved by me today. Maybe tomorrow. We’ll see.
18. Blogged about my remarkable ineffectivity and serious procrastination issues.
19. Made this list have lots more numbers to try to make myself feel just a little better about being a total disappointment in the productivity department.

Tomorrow starts with a clean slate, kids. Thank God.

Rip it Roll it and Punch it, doooood.