Friday, November 30, 2007

Best. Boy Child Story. Ever.

Boy and Girl Child brought home mid-year reports. Which are like report cards, except they are not written on the actual card. Why they were not just written on the actual card, I have no idea. Who am I to judge? There is probably some school law regarding it.

Anyway. They brought them home. And being siblings and all, they compared them.

As I've mentioned before, Boy Child has struggled since his early entrance into this world. He's been shorter and slower and a little behind, whereas Girl Child has legs up to her neck and reads at a sixth grade level.

Lately, though, Boy Child has gotten taller. He's still a skinny thing, but he's solid. He's always had excellent deductive reasoning skills and he's always been a thoughtful little soul, but lately, he can do math in his head. And lately? His reading scores have dramatically improved. And by dramatically I mean I went to visit his teacher and she said he was reading on grade level and I began to cry, right in the classroom, with sheer pride.

To overachievers this sounds weird. I know. I'm an overachiever.

But to me, as a mother, who had to see this little child lying in an incubator, fighting to be alive? This is nothing short of an absolute miracle.

Boy Child, however, was concerned by his report and came to me and said, "Are you sad that Girl Child did better in reading than I did?"

I said, "Boy Child! Oh my Lord! NO! You did AWESOME! You are AVERAGE! Boy Child! Average! Being average ROCKS! When you were born you weren't supposed to LIVE! Then the doctor said you would be profoundly retarded! The fact that you are average is amazing!"

Boy Child paused, "The doctor said I would be profoundly retarded?!?!?!"

I said, "Yeah! What did he know, right?"

Boy Child said, "Mom? I want to take my report and fax it to the doctor and then call him up on the phone and be all like, 'Hey Doctor! SUCK IT! I'M AVERAGE!'"

I wonder. I wonder if I can ever make him see how very far above average he really is.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

You wish you were my husband.

Jason: What do you want for Christmas?

Chick: I dunno. Pajamas?

Jason: Chick, how many pair of pajamas do you OWN?

Chick, thinking: Eleven hundred?

Jason: Do you really want more pajamas or are you just saying that because it's easy?

Chick: I just like saying the word "pajamas", I think. It's such a happy, happy word. It's all like, "Sleep! I'm coming to see you! Yay!"

Jason, frustrated: Well, what do you really want?

Chick: I have no idea. NOT car parts.

Jason: Why do you say that?

Chick: Because for the first several major gift-giving occasions? You gave me car parts.

Jason, thinking: Did I?

Chick: Yes. You gave me windshield wiper blades and then? Hubcaps. And after that? One time? You called up my dad and invited everyone over and I was so freaking sure you were going to propose and you brought me into the dining room and everyone gathered around and you told me to close my eyes? And when I opened them instead of the diamond ring I was totally expecting? You gave me a t.v.

Jason, howling with laughter.

Chick, continuing: And I was all like, "MOTHER OF ASS!"

Jason: What does that have to do with car parts?

Chick: Nothing. I'm just saying.

Jason, continuing to howl with laughter.

Chick, pretending to be hurt: Oh sure! Mock my pain!

Minutes pass. Laughter subsides.

Jason: LOVE t.v.

Chick: That's not the point! When you think it's a diamond ring and it's a t.v.? NOT SO MUCH.

Minutes pass.

Jason: I was a really bad boyfriend, wasn't I?

Chick: You know that's right.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

You can't make this stuff up.

Boy Child, to Girl Child: Why is Snoopy so popular?

(They were watching, "A Charlie Brown Christmas". I know Snoopy is not Hannah Montana or anything)

Girl Child, thinking: It's his magical dancing.

Boy Child: Ohhhh.

Girl Child: Because his dancing? Amazing. I've never seen such a talented dog, in all my years.

Me, to Ginger: Who loves you? WHO LOVES YOU? Who thinks you are the best dog in the world?

Jason, to Ginger: Aww! Look at the puppy!

Me, to Jason: She's the best dog ever.

Jason, to Ginger: Look at the puppy! Such nice clean lines and good symmetry!

Me, to Jason: It's a really good thing we're married now. You totally couldn't pick up chicks with lines like that.

Jason: What?

Me: Can't you just say the dog is pretty?!!?!

Boy Child, to me: Mom? Are you sure you are my real mom?

Me: Positive. Why do you ask?

Boy Child: Well, this kid? I know? He said that you looked really young.

Me: Aww!

Boy Child, continuing: But I told him, "No! My mom is really, really, really old."

Me: Yeah, I'm going to need you to go read a book now.

Boy Child, to me: Mom? When I'm a grown adult can I live in your basement?

Me: Number one, we don't have a basement. Number two, no.

Boy Child: Well can I live in the house with you then?

Me: No. You'll need to have your own house with your own wife and your own children.

Boy Child: But mom, we can all just live here with YOU.

Girl Child, exasperated: Brother! For the love of God! You cannot live with mom!

Me: Thank you Girl Chi-

Girl Child: There are spiders in basements! Do you want to get bitten by a spider? SHEESH!

Me: I'll take it.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

The weirdest thing ever happened last night.

I was sitting on the couch, shuffling through piles of pictures from Disney World. I'm making a scrapbook of them as a Christmas gift for someone and I took SO FREAKING MANY pictures that it just made sense to weed through them so this person does not end up with a 2000 page scrapbook.

I came across a picture, the one that is my profile photo now, and I stopped.

And I thought, "Wow. I actually look pretty."

Then I was like, "What the hell?"

Because seriously? I'm being totally serious here. I don't think I can recall a time, ever that I thought to myself that I looked pretty. On my wedding day I looked like a polar bear. On the day I gave birth to my children, I looked like I was dead. On the day I was born? I was all bloody and gross.

I've never, ever, EVER thought I looked pretty. Ever.

I held the picture up to Jason and said, "See this picture?"

He took it. Studied it. And then said, "My face looks weird in it."

I sighed. "NOT YOU! Look at me!"

He looked. Said nothing.

I said, "I think I look pretty in that picture."

He smiled. "You do!"

I said, "Jason. This is the first time I've ever, EVER thought I looked pretty in a picture."

And he replied, "Well. It's about time."

And you know? I think he's right.

Monday, November 26, 2007

Okay y'all. I did it.

You guys are so freaking Dear Abby! Except you hopefully don't have the same hairstyle for like forty-five years.

I typed up an article on relationships. I proofread, spell-checked, cut and pasted.

I wrote the following for my bio:

Chickie McChickperson is a fake writer from East Tennessee. Once? When she was twelve or thirteen she had a really crappy poem published in one of those anthologies you see in the back of Teen Magazine.

Until this writing thing pays off, she's a Environmental Specialist at a Category 2 Nuclear facility.

No. Really.

Also? She's a wife, mother of boy/girl twins, and alpha-female to a really awesome mutt.

Okay, seriously, that's what I wrote, except I put my real name.

They'll either love me or hate me, but either way it's done. I've hit submit. I've shot my wad. It's all up to them now.

Whether they publish me or not, I feel good. I feel like I've made a step.

Thanks for the encouragement! You guys are so money and you don't even know it.

All I ask is this.

Question #1:

Is it to early to send out Christmas cards? Like, if you got a Christmas card from me within the next couple of days would you be all like, "For the love of Barry Bonds and cold Diet Pepsi, this woman has got to much time on her hands!"

Because this one time? I got a Christmas card the day after Thanksgiving. And I remember thinking, "DANG!" Or something.

Question #2:

If you were a person who harbored not-so-secret desires to be a writer and an opportunity came up to submit articles for possible publication would you go ahead and submit something EVEN KNOWING that the magazine is published and in limited release where your mother-in-law currently lives, AND knowing that getting published means your real name and real location will be published on the internet and you aren't quite sure how you feel about it?

Because, um, this is something I'm seriously considering as a way to get my foot in the door and I want to know if I'm making a huge mistake.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

I can't stop with the photos!


Today we put up our Christmas tree, which is quite a production in our house.

It turned out pretty okay though.

Even Ginger the Amazing Wonder Dog enjoyed it.

A lot.

Here's the tree, all glowy and pretty.

And here's a super-crazy one, because I have a "Fireworks" setting on my camera. Zany!

Christmas is only a month away. Sweet Lord!

Saturday, November 24, 2007

More pictures? Why not!

Okay, it's not that I'm unmotivated, I'm just dealing with a lot of really complex emotional issues right now and I can't bring myself to write about them. So instead? I'll bombard you with photographs of really nice/cute people.

My husband, the former chef, always carves the turkey. It seems like no matter who we have Thanksgiving with, he is the turkey carver.

Isn't he cute? I know!

So my sister? Had this baby? And I swear to frog, that baby looks just like me. It is so weird.

(Okay, it's not that weird, because my sister? She pretty much looks just like me. Except she has braces. And I'm taller. And she's prettier!)

This baby is madly in love with my husband. I think the feeling was somewhat mutual.

Maybe the mutual love is because they are both bald? I don't know. But it's a data point.

My family has some really freaking cute kids. Have I ever said this? Because it's true.

The baby loves me too. She is really one of the happiest, sweetest babies I've ever seen. My heart absolutely melted when she was napping and starting to wake up? I was standing over her and she opened her eyes and saw me and gave me a look just like this:

Everybody needs that. You know? Everyone.

Friday, November 23, 2007

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Happy Thanksgiving you'uns!

Despite the obscene amount of whining I do, I am really, really thankful for a lot of things.


Thing one and Thing two:


This crazy dog who loves to swing on our front porch swing.


This family that the four of us have managed to create. Not out of a sense of obligation, but out of genuine love, concern, and mutual respect.

For these things, I am profoundly thankful.

Also? For Diet Pepsi.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

I don't need the cheese or the car keys.

The last two days have been filled, alternately, with angst and extreme joy.

Yesterday, an anonymous individual left the following comment on my blog. Here it is:

I'm leaving an anonymous comment because I love your blog & I'm afraid you'll read my comment and say I'm blocking that Miss Know-it-All Dumbass from my site.......and I wouldn't want that to happen. I just want to share this with you. I had a HORRIBLE relationship with my father, actually a non-relationship, hadn't talked to him in 10 years. I married a man whose father had died and he insisted that I start seeing my dad.... I said no, I wouldn't do it. My husband started driving us there when we were on the way somewhere else (because I wouldn't have gone willingly). He and my dad would visit and I'd sit, saying nothing. After awhile I figured something out -- my dad had done some awful things to our family, he hadn't changed, he certainly never apologized for anything, BUT he wasn't the kind of person who would sit around and analyze his actions so he did the best he could without many tools. He wasn't a reader or a thinker, he was a superficial, selfish person but he was my dad... and when he got sick I was glad I could be there for him because when he died I knew that regardless of the person he had been that I had done the right thing. I had no regrets, no guilt, I felt free. But if he had died and I'd kept away from him the regrets would be eating at me today. Here's the Miss Know-it-All dumbass want the best for you kids, but what if you were an a*hole who just didn't get it and they never spoke to you again, sure you might deserve it but you wouldn't be aware of that because you're an a*hole, even would break your heart to have your kids hang up on you and not visit...if Jason's mom could understand she'd change, but she can't, she's not an aware person even when it's hitting her over the head........the best thing you can do for Jason is to encourage him to communicate with his mother whether you can or not because when she dies it's his mother that's gone..... and even if he thinks it won't matter and it won't hurt and he'll have no regrets.......I bet he will... Read this & delete it, it's just for you. I enjoy your blog, I wish the best for you which is the only reason I wanted to say this -- you never know when it'll be too late.

I so wanted to address this. I wish whoever this was would have said who they are.

I've never blocked anyone from my site. Heck, I've only deleted three comments, ever. One was a person who called my husband a pedophile, one was a guy who just spammed me with really random, racist crap, and the third? Was this crazy slut-bag right here. And then I posted about her and offered her the opportunity to respond to me directly and she never did. But you know what? She still lurks around my blog all the time. (Hello? Site Meter! I see you. Yes you. In Garner, North Carolina. I know it's you! Smooches!)

Honestly, absolutely nothing about that comment was offensive to me and even if I was the type of person to ban people from my blog, nothing about that would make me want to ban this person. I thought it was a very heartfelt comment, and honest to Frog, I appreciate feedback about my life. You know? I'm just winging it here. I've fully admitted, at least ten times, I have no idea what I'm doing. None.

Really though, everything you said, anonymous, I've already thought. Even though I do not understand people like my mother-in-law, I honestly don't hate her. I feel very sorry for her because she did lose her son. And I wouldn't want to lose him and would never want to lose my own son.

My head gets all of this. My heart does not.

Last night, Jason and I sat and talked. For four hours. I cried. For four hours. Depression has taken over some parts of my life and parts of my life have become very dark. I put on a good face for the world. I'm not in such a black hole that I can't go to work, can't function, can't talk to people. It's not at that point, not yet, and I don't want it to get to that point.

Last night we talked. Last night he listened and did not offer suggestions or advice on how to fix things. Last night I opened up gaping, hurty wounds and let it all gush out.

Last night? I remembered why I married him. Why I love him so fiercely. Why I am so glad that I have him and that my children have him.

We talked about many things. One of them was his mother. I told him what this blog comment said and how I think this anonymous person really could be right. That maybe this woman just does not have the emotional capacity to realize how hurtful and awful she is. And maybe he should fix this. Because it kills me inside that I am causing him this pain.

He was quick to say that it was not my fault. But I know that if there had never been me? Then he would still have a relationship with his mom. That, for whatever reason, her hate for me is even more than her love for him. She loves him. I know that. But she hates me more.

He said I had not ever done anything to her. That I had been nothing but kind and gracious and all I ever wanted was to have a family who loved me and she had done nothing but be mean and cruel and hurtful and reject me.

I know all of that is true. I asked him why he felt she rejected me. And he said, what I knew already,

"She wanted me to marry someone without children and have children with them."

I cried. I sobbed. I wept.

Because I am broken, and that made me feel even more broken.

She does not know that I am infertile. She does not know that I would give nearly anything in this world to have a child with her son. That I dream of little brown haired boys with brown eyes and noses a little to wide for their faces and little girls named Abby who like to swing on swing-sets.

She doesn't know me. She doesn't know anything about me.

"I would give anything to have a child with you," I cried.
and he said...

"I already have children with you."

She doesn't know him either. She doesn't know us.

Because who wouldn't want that for their child? Who?

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

MotherTalk Book Review: The Daring Book for Girls

I love reading. I will read nearly anything put in front of me and can generally find at least some redeeming qualities about it even if it's just a, you know, farm report. I'll still be like, "But the way he talked about those cows was really nice!"

This book? I so don't have to pretend. I love this book. I love this book. Did I mention I love this book? Because I LOVE THIS BOOK.

The Daring Book for Girls by Miriam Peskowitz is the handbook that I wish I owned when I was ten. It is the perfect antidote to all those books that I did read, which attempted to teach me how to be a lady. It is also the perfect antidote to my mother who insisted that I would never find a husband if I couldn't cook lasagna and enjoy NASCAR racing on a regular basis. The cooking I managed to master. The NASCAR? Not so much. And I still found a man, so HA!

What I loved most about the book is while it is hugely campy and fun, there is also real, actual information in here. There is some "fluff", but it is delightfully tempered with things like, "How to change a flat tire" and "Karate moves". It is a real book for real girls and the kind of life-handbook I want for my own daughter as well as my Girl Scout troop. Reading the book made me wish that every girl understood that it's okay to a girl and like pink and every bit as okay to maybe not like pink or like pink and also kick butt and take names and climb trees and change your own oil in your car.

Actually? I wish I had this book when I was going through a divorce.

So deep is my love for this book? I bought TWO copies for other people. Seriously. I love this book. I love this book. I FREAKING LOVE THIS BOOK.

Read it. Love it. Share it with a girl in your life.

See what other's are saying about this book at MotherTalk.

Did I mention I love this book? Because I do.

Monday, November 19, 2007

I puffy pink heart with glitter crazy people!

I'm going to answer more questions now, but before I do, what is UP with celebrities being sentenced to like, twelve minutes in jail? How does that happen? I mean, when Cletus down the road drives drunk, I guarantee you his ass is in jail longer than twelve minutes.

That is so weird. I don't care who you are. That's weird.

Anyway. On with the questions.

Lisa asks:
My question is:

Why do you think you are unattractive?

Well, in my world, attractive means thin. It always has. I've never been thin, therefore, I've never been attractive.

It did not help that both of my sisters are like, models. It also did not help that I am way taller than everyone else, clumsy, goofy, had a part between my front teeth so big that you could drive a truck with the doors open through it and glasses like Brainy Smurf (without the charm). I was not, nor have I ever been, bringing sexy back.

I could go on about being dumped by a high-school boyfriend (his name was Ernest. Wretch) who told me he wanted to be with someone prettier than me and then went out with this girl and I swear to frog she looked like a complete hooker and smelled like she bathed in Jean Nate. But that's the past and I won't get into all that.

Tiger Lamb Girl asks:
Wanna be my friend?

I already am!

Then she asked:
Would you like to come to England for a visit? If so, would you come down to the Southwest and hang out with us? We could freak the locals out with our Southern accents. And Baptist backgrounds. Bwaahaaahaaa.

True dat.

I would love to visit England. I've always thought about it.

Also? My accent freaks out people who live in...North Carolina. So I can't imagine what hysterics it would cause people in England.

Kellie asks a bunch-o-stuff:
When are you coming to NY? Specifically to the part of NY *I* live in? :)

I don't know. I've been to New York, but it's been a million years ago. If I'm coming back, I'll let you know, okay? Because you? I like.

I already know your real name ;) I won't tell. Unless you tell me Target sucks or something :)

Thank you. And I'd never blaspheme Target in such a way.

Anything I'd ask, most people have already done. So, I'll ask something entirely stupid: How may pair of shoes do you own?

Oh holy crap. I thought I didn't own that many, but when I started thinking about? Well, I have a few.

I have: brown crocs, brown ballet flats, black ballet flats, brown sandals, black sandals, brown "dress" shoes, black "dress" shoes, these really cool brown shoes that are the closest thing I have to heels, New Balance sneakers, hiking boots, really pretty brown boots I got not long ago and haven't worn yet, pink flip flops, brown flip flops, Adidas soccer slides, and these really nice Birkenstocks that I don't wear very often because they make my feet smell like...well, feet.

I don't wear heels because I'm already close to six feet tall and also? I am so clumsy. Oh my Lord. When those chunky heeled shoes were all the rage back in 1996 or so? I would literally fall off my own shoes. I wish I was kidding, but sadly, I am not.

Also? Apparently I love black and brown. Who knew?

And, as someone above said: why are you so hard on yourself? You're entirely too sweet and generous to be putting yourself down. Makes me sniffle :(

Thanks. I'm in therapy. Maybe it will start working someday.

Chelle asks:
A spin on Emma's question - have you ever been to Canada? If so, where? If not, why not? Where in Canada would you like to go?

Nope, never been to Canada. I've never been out of the United States at all.

I've just never gotten there. I would love to visit, although I have no idea what part. My plan was to just go where my friends are!

frannie asks:
you said once that you can't live in the same place too, when do you plan on moving to Atlanta?

Oh, I say that A LOT. A lot. I don't like living in the same place very long. I've been working REALLY hard to curb my enthusiasm regarding this since I have two nine-year-old's at home who would probably like to go the same school for several years in a row.

Sorry Frannie, as much as I love you, Atlanta is not high on my list. Frankly? It scares me. I am hoping the next place I move is more of a small town and slower pace. Not that I'm in some huge metropolis now or anything, but its bigger than what I grew up with.

Over the weekend? I applied for a job in Kentucky. Does anyone live in Kentucky and want to share with me some information regarding it? Because I have no idea what goes on there except for people making Fried Chicken and that even may be a myth.

Jill asks:
How do we get rid of Tyra Banks and get you on the air in her place? You are so damn funny and straight forward-you should have your own show-or at the very least an advice column!


Although really? I don't hate on Tyra after she went on television and told the collective media to kiss her fat ass. I know she loves herself enough for all of us combined, but still. She's alright by me.

Funny thing though, way back forever ago when I had a "website" people would actually write to me and ask for advice. Why? I have no idea. But they did. And I would post the answers on my website and it was really, really funny. No one asks me for advice anymore, but if they ever did I think it would be fun to do an advice column.

With a huge disclaimer that I don't have my own crap together and probably should not be legally allowed to advise anyone else. Of course.

And finally...
nic asks:
ps could you kindly reconsider your stance on crazy people? i am crazy people. we're lots of fun.

Hence the name of my blog posting today.

Crazy people=All good to me.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Some answers.

Thanks for all the questions. I'll answer some now and maybe some later if I feel like it. Or tomorrow. Whatever.

Heather asks:
When it comes to your mother-in-law, I know she and you do not get along. How does your hubby deal with it? Is he like Raymond and is always torn between the wife and mom? Does he try to stay out of it and let you two have it out? Does he tell her she needs to respect you?

Oh no, no.
It’s not so much that my mother-in-law and I don’t get along. We have no relationship, whatsoever. I don’t mean we see each other at Thanksgiving and try not to talk over the mashed potatoes. I mean, I literally have not seen her since Easter 2004.

On that day, I became officially “over” it. I won’t get into the whole story because it’s long and I have a headache and don’t like to revisit it. Basically, I got really sick of the way my children were being treated and realized that I wasn’t being a good mother by continuing to place them in situations with people who didn’t treat them appropriately. She and I had talked about it before and she was mean and cruel and insulting. Jason had talked to her about it before and she was like, “I have nooooooo idea what you are talking about!”

So I called it. I said I’m done. My children are done.

I told Jason, at that time, that I was over it but if he wanted to continue to have a relationship with his family, I was okay with that. But we would not be participating. I explained my reasons why.

That was that.

Life went on. We lived maybe 10 minutes from them, but we didn’t see them.

In July of 2004 my husband lost his job. At that point we just said, “The hell with it” and decided that we were getting out of North Carolina. I was miserable in my job. I was unhappy in the college I attended and unhappy with the school my children were in. This list goes on and on.
We decided to move. We came to Tennessee for a visit, looked around, found a house and agreed to purchase it. (I don’t recommend that…it’s just what we did and it’s worked out okay) We went back to North Carolina so we could get everything situated and then move.
I told my parents we were leaving and they were supportive. Jason’s condo was on the market and under contract. I put my townhouse on the market. I started looking online for jobs in Tennessee.

Jason found a job. He told his mother that we were moving to Tennessee.

I don’t really recall her exact words, but I believe they were something like, “Well, I guess that bitch has finally gotten you away from your family.” I wasn’t there and he didn’t tell me all of this for a very long time, because he didn’t want to hurt me.

At that point, he was done. He told her that *I* was his family and the children were his family and that he was choosing to be with us and choosing not to be a part of their lives any longer. He brought up the way the children and I had always been excluded, the black dress at the wedding, and the subtle (and not so subtle) jabs at our relationship, our marriage, and me. And so on. And on.

That was in August of 2004. He has not seen her since then. He moved to Tennessee. A month later, I followed.

She’s called a few times and he hangs up on her. She sent a letter on his last birthday that said she hoped they could work toward healing.

But she’s never said she was sorry. Never.

And at this point, after everything that has happened, Jason said he feels he would have a hard time believing her even if she did say she was sorry.

She’ll never say she’s sorry. So it’s basically a non-issue.

And really? It’s her loss. I’m a really good wife to her son. I love him so much and I’m his biggest fan. We have a really great family. My kids are fabulous. I have tons of friends who tell me, “I wish my son would marry someone wonderful like you!”

So. Yeah. Her loss.

Cindy asks:
Do you do any crafts or other hobbies?

Well, I scrapbook, but I’m not really good at it. (I looked at Cindy’s website and I’m sort of gobsmacked at how beautiful it all is) I make some crafty type stuff, like letters I did for girl child’s wall in the house that doesn’t exist yet.

My other hobbies are basically reading, writing, and revising my plans for taking over the world.

Morgan Leigh asks:
What did you major in in college?

I started out as an education major. I planned on teaching Elementary school. What I graduated with were dual concentrations in Teaching/Learning and Environmental Health.

I did this primarily for financial reasons, to be honest. I weighed what I could potentially make as a public school teacher and what I could make working for the government (where I was already working as a subcontractor) and it made financial sense. Also, I had always been interested in the environment but never realized the careers I could make out of that interest.

The bad part? I focused a lot of the safety aspects of it in school. I love occupational safety, work design, ergonomics…all of it. What I do now is mainly compliance. Which isn’t as fun.

Also, I work with crazy people. Which also isn’t fun.

SJ asks:
If you could visit anywhere in the United States, where would you go, and why?

Yosemite, for sure. I love the outdoors, love to camp, love to have a valid excuse for my hair to look like crap and smell like smoke. I’ve always, always wanted to go there. Ever since I saw Yosemite Sam for the first time on Bugs Bunny.

Jan asks:
Why do you think you are always so hard on yourself? You make me laugh all the time but you make me sad when you put yourself down.

I don’t know. I have few theories.

Pretty much my entire life I’ve been annihilated by people who were supposed to love me. I have always been the one who was never quite the same as everyone else. It’s kind of like…you know on the Munsters? I feel like the pretty blond one. The one who is normal, but also different, and in being different is decidedly not normal.

Basically, I’ve always believed I was going to fail. No matter what I did or how hard I tried, I was never going to be pretty enough, skinny enough, smart enough…anything enough. Never, ever enough.

I realized I was pretty funny when I was in Elementary school and could make people laugh. So I started making fun of myself so other people wouldn’t do it.

Now, I’m hard on myself for the same reason, I think.

Shanilie asks:

Ummm....I think the only question I have is more for my own curriosity's sake than anything else as I am currently going through something, but do you think it is possible to love 2 guys at the same time?

Romantic love? No.

A better question would be, why on earth would anyone WANT to be in love with 2 guys at a time? I mean, I love Jason with all my heart, but good Lord, he wears my ass out. And I don’t mean that in a sexual way. He’s just exhausting! Being in love with someone is freaking exhausting! All the thinking and feelings and being considerate and not just sitting on the couch and watching Law and Order: SVU. It’s just hard. Worth it, yes. But not easy.

That probably wasn’t helpful. I’m sorry.

Now, can you be infatuated with 2 guys at the same time? Yes. Can you admire and respect and possibly want to mess around with 2 guys at the same time? I imagine you could. But true, real, honest, lasting love? I don’t think so.

Emma in Canada has lots of questions:

Ummm....when are you coming to Canada? And your answer can't be never.

Oh. Canada.

This has actually been something that Jason and I have talked about for years. Years. We would love to move to Canada. The only thing stopping us thus far is the low, low real estate prices we currently enjoy.

So that is maybe something we might actually do, at some point.

Were you a happy child?

I don’t know. Not all the time.

Are you happy with the names you gave your children? (And it's not that I don't like their names, cause I do, but for me I would have used different names for 2 of mine so I wonder if other people look back. Or am I just a loser?)

I am now, but it’s taken me a long time. I really had specific names that I wanted. My ex-husband was a complete douche about those names and I thought that maybe if I named them what HE wanted to name them then he would change his mind about leaving me.

Yes, I’m aware of how stupid and lame that is.

I wanted to name my daughter Paige. I wish I would have done that. But her name suits her and I can’t imagine her being anything other than Girl Child now.

And also? You are so not a loser.

WHat has blogging meant to you?

Seriously? It has changed my life.

I’ve been less afraid. I’ve been more able to deal. I’ve been able to vent in a safe place. I’ve met tons of really cool people. I’ve had my ass handed to me a few times and it didn’t cause me to fall apart. I can talk about things like how much I hate Spencer from “The Hills”, the dent in my butt from where I fell off the stairs, and how I love Jesus, all in the same week. And no one thinks it’s weird.

Most of all, it’s given me the courage to speak out and speak up and not be afraid. There are still a few subjects, one huge one, that I haven’t been able to blog about yet. But I’m getting there.

And I feel like maybe I’ve helped a few people in the process.

Or at least made them laugh. Which is also cool.

That's all for today. I'll answer more tomorrow. And feel free to ask more, if you wanna.

Saturday, November 17, 2007

All the cool kids are doing it.

Although, seriously, I can't imagine what is left for me to tell anyone that they don't already know, because I never shut up, my beloved friend M is doing a "Ask me Anything!" post and I thought I'd do one too.

So, okay. Ask me anything.

Except my real name. I'm not going to say that on the internet just yet. Because that's how I roll.

Leave your questions in the comments please and thank you and I will honestly try to answer all of them.

Unless you are a douchebag, freak-job. Then? I'll probably ignore you.

Friday, November 16, 2007

You don't really want to mess with me tonight.

Dear "Manager",

Do you ever, ever, EVER stop talking?

As you can see, I have just walked through the door after a training class that taxed not only my patience but my brain. I am tired, because as you can see if you looked at your email today, I was working until 11pm from home. And? I have a cold that has hung out for over a week now. Do not start hammering me with questions before I have the opportunity to sit down, turn on my computer, and crack a Diet Pepsi. Do not. The consequences are not anything that you and your Oompa-Loompa ass can deal with.

Additionally? No. I do not want to hear your stories. I don't care what you and your mom did this weekend. I could give two craps about what the guy at Sears said. I don't care what you watched on television last night. No. I don't care. I don't care. I DON'T CARE. I. DON'T. CARE.

Here's a hint, because clearly you aren't getting it. If you start talking and I continue to work, completely ignore you, and do not respond to anything you say? That means I'm not interested. Stop talking.

Also? No one cares. No one cares. NO ONE CARES. Keep repeating this to yourself, over and over and over and over again until you understand. No one cares.

Really. No one.


PS: Everyone told me that yesterday you said that your plan for the day was to do as little work as possible and then leave early. Please tell me how that is different from your plan any other day, ever?

PS again: When you said that the reason that you had never been married was because women were indecisive? It was all I could do to scream in your face, "THAT IS SO NOT THE REASON." Because let me assure you, that is NOT THE REASON.

Dear Guy at Big Lots last night,

Somehow you have mistaken me for someone who gives a crap. I don't know how you came to this conclusion since I was ignoring you and not even making eye contact and really, I was only there to get my discount cereal and granola bars, not to give you a dissertation on where the mayonnaise, crackers, and tuna are.

I'm not a Big Lots employee. Note the lack of orange vest and my surly expression. Okay, the surly expression goes either way, but anyway. Ask them or find it yourself.

Additionally? I don't think I would purchase mayonnaise from Big Lots. Maybe that's just me, but everything is on a extreme discount mostly because it's old.

Just something to ponder.

See ya never!

That Chick

Dear Management,

I know that you all are clearly much, much more intelligent than I, if we are basing such things solely on your office space and annual salaries, but, um, HELLO, did no one but me notice that there is a massive water leak in a room that has electrical equipment? I mean, can't you hear what sounds like a waterfall? Don't you notice that when you walk to this side of the building that your shoes get wet?

Really? I'm the only one?

Okay then.

-That Chick


Have I mentioned you are a douchebag? Because you are.

The end,


PS: If you forward me one more thing to do "when I get time" while you are sitting there talking on the phone to your mom? You will be lucky if you extract my shoe from your ass by next week.

Dear husband,

I love you.

And? After today? I love you even more.

Because if you were like some of these people I have encountered lately? Things would not be good between us.

Love you. Love you. Love you.

Your wife

Thursday, November 15, 2007

I don't understand anyone, apparently.

I don't understand men.

Okay, I have the basics down. Jason, for example, could probably live in a perfectly content state for the rest of his entire life as long as he was guaranteed sleep, sex, food, and cigarettes. Everything else? Just details.

What I don't get, and what I will probably never get about men, or at least the men I work with, is how they can absolutely talk complete smack about each other, to each other's faces, yell, curse, scream, fight, and then?

Go have lunch together.

It boggles my mind.

If someone I worked with called me everything but a white woman, insulted my intelligence, credibility, and professional qualifications? I cannot imagine I'd be like, "Hey. Wanna go get some burgers?"

What's even crazier? They went and all had lunch together, came back to the class we were all taking, stood in the hall and talked about how much each of the others sucked, and then all walked back to their offices together, laughing and talking, as though they were best friends.

I don't know whether I should laugh or cry.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

He didn't make the cut.

Sometimes, I look at my husband and think,

"I'm so glad I am married."

Because, dating? Well, it blew goats.

Other times I think, "Man, I wish I had more people to make fun of. My co-workers and neighbors really don't provide me enough blog fodder."

Those times? I miss dating.

When I opened up my MSN page today there was an article entitled,"How to date while pregnant." Although I am considerably infertile, barren even, and also, you know, married and not in the market for dating, I HAD TO READ THIS ARTICLE.

It was interesting, but did irritate me somewhat. They TOTALLY neglected the section for women who were dumped by their first husband while expecting twins. I guess there is just not a big market for talking about such things.

I was legally married while pregnant, so dating would have been out of the question anyway. It didn't stop my ex-husband, unfortunately, but I did have maybe about 1/10th of an ounce of class about me and just didn't do it.

After we were legally divorced, though, I decided to hit the social scene much like a dog on a meat wagon. I had a personal ad at Yahoo Personals. It said that I was overweight, somewhat unattractive and had two kids but it's okay, no one ever read it because all the men looked at my age and location and emailed me, totally not giving a crap about my personality, my looks or the number of children I had. I think they just wanted someone local. To, you know, sleep with.

For me, it was all just for fun. I was breaking hearts and taking names and not giving up the booty.

I met a man I worked with. He was a short, short man. I mean, I'm tall. I'm nearly five foot eleven. But he was short. Like, way short for a guy. I am guessing here but I think I probably had a good six or seven inches on him.

But he was nice. Really nice. Funny. Cute. Well groomed. Appropriate teeth.

He had a daughter. I believe her name was Bailey. He had moved, recently, to the area with her. He talked about her a lot.

One day he asked me to go have a drink with him after work.

I don't drink alcohol, but I don't care if others do. The fact that I don't drink had come up a lot. I honestly don't understand why people think I'm a big weirdo because I don't drink. It's not like I go around saying, "You're going to burn in hell if you don't put down that Bud Lite!" I could give a crap, you know? It was just something I decided not to do.

Anyway. We meet at this bar, pub-ish place. He starts drinking. A lot. He asks me what I'll have and I said a Diet Coke and started getting really weird about it so I told him I forgot my drivers license. Which was, actually, true. I often walk off and live pertinent things behind.

He kept drinking. A lot.

We talked. He had moved to North Carolina from...okay, I can't remember. I want to say Maine. I could be totally wrong. It doesn't matter. He moved from somewhere and was starting life anew with his child. He told me the mother of his daughter was somewhere between batshit crazy and Mommie Dearest, so he had to rescue this child from her clutches! He asked about my life, my divorce, what brought me to North Carolina. All the usual crap.

He kept drinking. So much the bartender finally told him he was cut off.

We went outside. It was dark, but not cold. It was never cold there. I was like, "Let me drive you home." He refused. He actually went quite mental about it. Despite the fact that I could have stepped on him to subdue him, I was actually quite nervous. He was making such a scene.

Then, he said, "I want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?"

And before I could say a word, he turned around and PUKED ALL OVER THE PARKING LOT.

I jumped back because I was wearing cute shoes and didn't want the remains of the 2 for 1 Happy Hour specials all over them. He stepped over his own puddle of puke and...

Went in for the kiss. Puke-breath and all.


I very politely lept backwards approximately sixty feet and sort of waved at him and said, "I think we'll just leave it at this for tonight!"

I then ran to my vehicle and drove away. Fast.

The next day, at work, he appeared. He did not apologize for his actions. He DID however reveal that he was living with his baby's momma. So that made sense at to why he didn't want me driving him home. I do not think she would have been pleased to see me.

My favorite part? After revealing this to me he said, "How about we go and catch a movie tomorrow night?"

That? Did not go into my dayplanner.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

You don't have to do it. But you have to do it.

I’ve been in the working world since I was 16 years old.

In the past I have worked at a fast-food restaurant (just one, but I worked there for years), a credit card company, a college, and for a small non-profit company. When I moved to Tennessee and took a job with the government, I noticed something quite interesting which had been previously unknown to me.

I call it: Voluntary Forced Participation.

The first government group I was with was comprised of about thirty people. There was one girl who was apparently the self-appointed social director. Every time anyone had a birthday she would send out an email requesting that everyone give her $5 so we could have a cake for this person. She would then go purchase a sheet cake at Wal-Mart and the entire group would stop their work for as long as a half hour to sit around and eat cake together.

I’m quick. It didn’t take me long to figure out that 30 people times $5 equals way more than that sheet cake you buy for $19.99 at Wal-Mart. Plus, in my never-ending quest to lose weight, I wasn’t interesting in eating cake with lard and sugar smeared all over it so I would just immediately delete the emails when they came in and then not partake when the blessed day came around. Not that I’m anti-social, mind you. I’m not. It’s just when I’m at work, I’m there to work. I talk and carry on a little bit, enough to get along, but mostly, its work. I’m only here to make money so I can afford my real life.

Soon after? I got the following email from the social director.

I know that some of you guys are new, but here is how things work around here. When it is someone’s birthday it is customary to give $5 so we can have cake. This is how we do it. This is how we’ve always done it. Everyone participates. Bring your $5 to me for Random Coworker #12’s birthday by 5pm today. Email me with questions.

-Social Director

PS: This is voluntary.

Wow. That sounds SO voluntary. She left out the part about, “We’ll talk smack about you if you don’t participate. Also, we might cut you in the parking lot.” Otherwise, the email was fairly complete.

Since this job was temporary and I had started working there about a month after my own birthday (and knew I wouldn’t still be there when my birthday rolled back around) I forwarded the email to my very cool boss with a note that said something like, “What the hell?”

That was the last we heard about that. Or it was the last I heard anyway. I got cut out of the email loop. I left the job soon after.

The project that I’m on now has, up until a few months ago, had a woman working for us who cooked elaborate meals for the entire group just because it was Tuesday. For her going away party we ordered pizza and she brought in six desserts that she had made herself. Needless to say this has not been a problem in the past.

Until I got an email about the Thanksgiving luncheon.

It will be Wednesday. Sign up by last Friday. Everyone bring a covered dish or something else you want to eat.

Last week was rough. I didn’t sign up. I don’t plan to participate.

So then I get this email:

I noticed you didn’t sign up to bring anything for the Thanksgiving luncheon. We still need someone to bring cups. I’ll sign you up for that.”

Um, no. You won’t.

I emailed back and said, “I don’t plan on participating. Please ask someone else to bring cups.”

So this morning? The individual sending the email marched down to my office to demand to know WHY I AM NOT PARTICIPATING. In this “voluntary” event.

I explained, nicely, that I have not been feeling well. I had to take a day off work last week because of my hoo-ha (didn’t mention that part) and all its related issues. My work does not stop just because I am not here. I have a lot going on and not enough time to finish it all. When I do eat, it’s in front of my desk while I’m working. I simply do not have the time or the inclination right now to stop work, walk down the hill, and eat with a bunch of people who, for the most part, dislike me.

I didn’t say all that. What I did say was very nice.

And she said, with a sigh so deep I’m sure her soul was pierced, “You just aren’t a team player.”

That’s me. Not a team player. Not a team player in this Dilbert cartoon of a life I seem to have stumbled into.

Seriously? It seems to me that by doing my work correctly and on time and not stirring up a bunch of gossipy crap all the time (prime example? The lady who deemed me "not a team player"? Called someone a f-ing bitch to her face last week. But she said the whole word) makes me more of a team player than not bringing cranberry sauce to some “holiday” party in which all the participants pretty much loathe one another and would probably not voluntarily spend time with about 96% of the room outside of work.

Don’t you?

Maybe it’s just me.

Either way, they still aren’t getting my $5.

Monday, November 12, 2007

I see your 100 things, and raise you 265.

Today is my blogiversary or whatever the hell it's called. The one year anniversary of when I started blogging.

I've written a 100 things post before, but in the spirit of the day, I thought I'd write a 365 things list. One for each day of the year I've been blogging.

If it was a leap year or some crap, don't tell me okay? I've been working on this for days and I'm really tired and crabby right now.

Also? If you can get through this whole list without stabbing out your eyeballs with a sharp stick? Well, God bless 'ya.

1) My name is Chick.
2) Okay, not really. But I can’t tell you my real name.
3) I can’t tell you my real name because my last name is somewhat unusual in this country, and I’m hiding from my ex-husband.
4) I’m only kind of kidding about that last part.
5) My husband’s name is Jason. He’s the one I got the weird last name from.
6) It’s not really weird. Actually, I like it a lot. It’s just unusual.
7) I have two kids. Boy Child and Girl Child.
8) If you aren’t quick, those aren’t their real names either.
9) They are twins.
10) Currently they are nine years old.
11) I have a dog. Her real name is Ginger.
12) She’s the best dog on the planet, even though her burps could chase all of us out of the room.
13) We adopted her from a shelter in March, 2006.
14) I fully intended on getting a small black dog.
15) The dog’s name? Was to be Snowball.
16) Then? We got to the shelter and I said, “Jason? Can we just adopt twenty dogs?”
17) When he said no I said, “How about twenty-seven dogs?”
18) He was not amused.
19) Ginger is not black nor is anything about her small, but she picked us and we absolutely fell in love with her.
20) My blog is named “Jason. For the love of God.”
21) This is the phrase most likely to be uttered in my home.
22) Most people who find my blog are looking for things like, “God.” “Jesus” “Love” and occasionally “butt-plugs”.
23) Probably most of them don’t find what they are looking for.
24) I’m a big fan of God and Jesus, but I’m probably not what people think about when they think about a Christian woman.
25) Mostly? Because I say a lot of curse words.
26) I really think God overlooks my potty mouth though. He’s cool with me like that.
27) I work at a job that I am not really crazy about.
28) I think this makes me on par with most of the population.
29) I’m pretty fortunate that I get paid fairly well for this nonsense.
30) I’m not rich, by any means, but I can pay all my bills and have money to save.
31) There have been times when I’ve not been able to pay my bills, so I’m really thankful I can now.
32) I was married, before, for like twenty-five minutes.
33) Okay, just lying. It was about a year.
34) My first husband left me when I was pregnant with Boy Child and Girl Child.
35) I haven’t seen him or heard from him in so long that I have no idea what he looks like now.
36) Honest to God, I don’t think I would recognize him if he walked right up to me.
37) Boy Child and Girl Child know that he exists, but they don’t know anything about him.
38) He? Has the same name as my therapist, which is kind of strange in a lot of ways, but actually doesn’t bother me at all.
39) Before you ask, no, I don’t feel about at all, not even one microscopic iota, that my ex-husband does not have a relationship with my children.
40) It’s hard to feel sorry for someone who was really mean to you. Who told you that you were stupid and ugly and no one would ever love you while you were pregnant with his children.
41) Also? Cheated on you with a skanky whore with inner thigh tattoos.
42) I know she had inner thigh tattoos because he was smart enough to tell me that he didn’t have any money to send me for diapers for the kids and then instead went to the beach with this woman.
44) Then? He brought the pictures over so I could see them.
45) He? Is not smart.
46) I have no idea why I married him.
47) My only excuse is that I am a complete idiot.
48) I had my children when I was twenty-two.
49) They were way early.
50) I wouldn’t recommend having kids with someone who doesn’t love you.
51) It really sucks butt.
52) I recognize now that I had children so I would have someone who loved me.
53) I know how messed up that is.
54) Still, I don’t regret my kids. They are the best things in my life.
55) I have a college degree.
56) I got it last year. December 16th, 2006.
57) I was thirty-one.
58) I wish that was a big deal, because it took me a lot of time and effort to earn it.
59) Sadly, no one really cares.
60) My family, in general, does not put a high value on education.
61) My mom is probably still sad I didn’t marry better. Then I wouldn’t NEED a degree.
62) Yes, my mom is totally antiquated in her thinking. I can’t help her.
63) I am considering going back to school.
64) I promised Jason I would wait a year and the year is almost up.
65) I have no idea what I want to study though.
66) I’m thinking Nuclear Engineering.
67) No, I’m not kidding.
68) Despite the way I act, I’m actually not that stupid.
69) In fact, I’m kind of smart.
70) I know. Shocking.
71) I make up for the fact that I’m kind of smart by constantly making really bad decisions.
72) It’s not working for me. In case you are wondering.
73) I have this really fantastic condition called, “Secondary Infertility.”
74) Basically, it’s a complete bitch.
75) What it means is, for about twenty-seven seconds in 1997, I was able to get pregnant.
76) Since then? Not so much.
77) What it also means is that infertile women typically hate me and want me dead.
78) Because I had a chance, at some point, to get pregnant. And they haven’t had that chance.
79) I understand that. Honestly. I feel horrible for them and want to hug them really tightly.
80) I get really irritated when people think, for one second, that I’m not grateful for what I already have.
81) But also? I refuse to apologize for being sad that I can’t have a baby with my husband. I’m sad about it. Profoundly sad.
82) I’m considering both adoption and fostering right now.
83) I’m a big fan of adoption.
84) One of my best friends is adopted and about seven people I know have either adopted or are in the process of adopting.
85) I don’t know if I’m strong enough to be a foster mother.
86) I get extraordinarily irritated when people even imply that I’m not doing my work or my job.
87) I work for the government (as a sub…I don’t work FOR the government directly. I’m not a Fed) and people tend to pass the buck a lot.
88) I try not to let it bother me, but it does.
89) I’m a Girl Scout leader.
90) I think I pretty much suck at it.
91) The girls don’t seem to notice. They are pretty young still.
92) I really love those girls. I want the whole entire world for them.
93) I’ve been fired.
94) Twice.
95) I honestly don’t think either time was my fault.
96) Still, it sucked.
97) I still read the newspapers for every city I’ve ever lived in.
98) I don’t ever, ever want to live in those places again. Ever.
99) I just read them to see if anyone I know got married.
100) Or, you know, stabbed someone.
101) Most of my life, I’ve lived in some part of Tennessee.
102) I live in Tennessee now.
103) I’m ready to move.
104) Nothing against Tennessee, mind you. I’m just very restless.
105) I’m always surprised when people live in one place for their entire life.
106) I mean, if it works for you, I think it’s awesome. It’s just not something I could do.
107) I always think those people have something I don’t. Some sense or feeling of family or community that I’ve never been able to grasp.
108) I have a brother and two sisters.
109) My brother has two biological children and one former step-child which he gave his last name, yet he totally ignores her. One sister has three sons and the other sister has one son and two daughters.
110) My husband’s sister also has two children. One whom I love dearly and the other I’ve never met.
111) I count them in my heart, as my nieces, although they are not a part of my life.
112) My mother-in-law? She hates me.
113) She doesn’t just hate me. She probably wants me dead.
114) I don’t hate her though.
115) I don’t like her, mind you. But I don’t hate her.
116) How could I hate the person who gave birth to my husband? He’s grand.
117) I often wonder what is wrong with me, that so many people seem to hate me.
118) Really? I’m a pretty nice person.
119) A bit shrieky perhaps. But still nice.
120) One thing that I hate more than almost anything in the world is someone who lies.
121) Also? Someone who doesn’t take responsibility for their actions.
122) If I screw up? I’m the first person to say, “Holy fudge, I totally screwed that up.”
123) To me, it’s not a sign of weakness.
124) It’s a sign that you are human.
125) I make mistakes all the freaking time.
126) My husband doesn’t think I’m nearly as funny as I think I am.
127) I say funny things all the time. Like, this morning? When he shaved his head and left about twelve pounds of hair in the sink and a gallon of water on the bathroom floor? I said, “For the love of Pete Rose and white ice cream, Jason!”
128) He didn’t even laugh.
129) I don’t care who you are, that was funny.
130) In fact, I don’t think a lot of men think I’m funny.
131) I say something and all the women laugh and the men just look at me like, “You are the equivalent of the Crazy Cat Lady on The Simpsons.”
132) I don’t throw cats, though.
133) I love blogging.
134) I love to write, but I’d never call myself a writer.
135) If I ever published a book, I might feel comfortable enough to call myself a writer.
136) Okay, honestly? Probably not. I’d be all like, “Well, someone just felt sad for me and published my book.”
137) I don’t have a lot of self-esteem.
138) The other day? I nearly peed myself with excitement when I discovered that someone I love to read and have been reading for nearly ten years added me to her blogroll.
139) I gushed to her in a comment about how I have a friend crush on her.
140) Surprisingly? She has not yet deleted me from her blogroll.
141) Really, I’m not a stalker. I just think she rocks.
142) She writes books. And people pay money to buy her books and read them.
143) I wish I could write books and have people pay money to read them.
144) That would be so cool.
145) Also? I wish I was pretty.
146) I was the girl that everyone always described as “nice” or “sweet”.
147) Which means? “You can run laps around her.”
148) Although I get very stressed out and irritated in real life, I’m not nearly as shrieky as it would appear to someone who reads my blog.
149) Generally, I am somewhat quiet and don’t tell people to go to hell and die nearly as much as they deserve.
150) I’m thirty-two years old, which is not old, but feels more like a hundred sometimes.
151) I really don’t think I’ve accomplished very much for a person my age.
152) This? Distresses me.
153) I grew up in a very small, backwards, racist place.
154) I am not small, nor am I backward, nor am I a racist.
155) I often loathe to admit where I am from, though, because the perception is pretty strong.
156) About 25% of the kids I graduated high school with did really great things with their lives.
157) They are doctors and lawyers and all manner of things good.
158) About 65% live in the same small town, in the same small way.
159) They will never leave and no one will ever encourage them to leave.
160) They will be in jail, or their husbands will.
161) They will have baby after baby after baby with no plan to take care of them or raise them or set up a college fund for them.
162) They will work at minimum wage jobs and spend their whole check at the bar on Friday night or at Wal-Mart on Friday night, trying to have enough food for the kids for the week.
163) The other 10% are like me, I guess. Moved away and are just trying to live our lives. Nothing special, nothing fantastic. Just life.
164) The 65% make me sad.
165) I don’t think I’m better than them, though. I think I’m just lucky.
166) I know it works out fine for a lot of people, but for some people, it’s just not good.
167) I could have easily been like that. The not good part.
168) When I was seventeen? My boyfriend asked me to marry him and I said yes.
169) I was going to marry him because I honest to God didn’t think anyone else would ever want me to marry me.
170) When I was seventeen he was twenty-two.
171) I started dating him when I was fifteen and he was twenty.
172) When my daughter is fifteen, there is no way in hell she will date anyone who is twenty.
173) He was pretty awful. He beat the crap out of me a few times.
174) Once he dragged me around my parent’s front porch by my hair.
175) Also, he wasn’t nearly as smart as I am. Not even close.
176) And? He thought that making $5.75 an hour was “good money”.
177) And? He wore a pink “Makita” hat.
178) Still. I was going to marry him.
179) He still lives in that same small town.
180) In a house on his parents property, if I’m not mistaken.
181) With his wife. Who looks just like his dead mother.
182) And his two sons. Who are probably mean because that’s how boys are “supposed” to act.
183) He had this dog which used to lie in the road when cars would come by. Like the dog was so miserable it was hoping you would run over it and put it out of its misery.
184) I would have been like that dog, I think.
185) That’s really freaking scary to me.
186) The first guy I married was no better.
187) In fact, he was probably worse.
188) He had a job, but he was so freaking lazy.
189) His hygiene was questionable.
190) He was nowhere near as smart as me.
191) And? He was really mean. Really, really mean.
192) So mean, I can’t even say all of it.
193) After that? I stopped saying yes when people asked me to marry them.
194) Until Jason asked.
195) I’ve never been outside of the United States.
196) I don’t really care. It’s just a data point.
197) When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a pharmacist when I grew up.
198) I actually had no idea what that was, but it sounded good.
199) I think my mom told me I wanted to be a pharmacist.
200) That actually might have been a good job for me. I’m not sure.
201) Really? I wanted to be Spiderman.
202) Or? Any job that didn’t involve a lot of math.
203) I used to hate math.
204) I was really scared of it.
205) Everyone told me I was bad at math. Because girls are bad at math.
206) I made straight A’s in advanced math classes all through college.
207) Also, Chemistry.
208) Which isn’t math, but it was still really hard.
209) Even still, I’m always amazed when I look at a math problem as simple as 6x9 and I immediately know the answer.
210) I have a period approximately every seventeen seconds.
211) It sucks just as much as you imagine it might.
212) If you can’t imagine it, then imagine someone hitting you in the face repeatedly with a hammer.
213) It’s about that uncomfortable.
214) I drink Diet Pepsi like there is nothing else on this planet.
215) I am thrifty, but not cheap.
216) I don’t like milk.
217) Or eggs.
218) Or cold lunchmeat.
219) Or, hot lunchmeat actually.
220) I have really long, really curly hair.
221) My hair is long because it is so curly.
222) If I had short hair? I would look like Ronald McDonald on a bender.
223) I am legally blind without corrective lenses.
224) Even with corrective lenses? I don’t see 20/20.
225) I don’t remember a time in my life, ever, that I could see clearly.
226) I used to be afraid of the monster in my room. It was a big shapeless blob, because all I saw were big shapeless blobs.
227) I don’t have any tattoos.
228) I have nothing against them; I just haven’t found anything I want to put on my body permanently.
229) Also? I might have a small problem with commitment.
230) My husband has one. It’s on his arm.
231) People are really surprised when they discover this.
232) He is pretty straight-laced.
233) In fact, sometimes I wonder how the heck we ended up married.
234) I? Run around going, “Blah! Blah! Blah!” all the time.
235) I’ve never seen him do anything like that.
236) I don’t drink alcohol.
237) I don’t care if other people do.
238) I would be an alcoholic if I did though.
239) I love Eeyore, from Winnie the Pooh.
240) He’s gloomy. But sweet.
241) I love to read.
242) Lately, I read a lot of chick-lit.
243) I justify this because I think my brain deserves a break after all that thinking I did to graduate college.
244) I love to make obscure references to 1980’s television.
245) I had a cat named Willis, even.
246) Oh and cats named Laverne and Shirley, when I was a kid.
247) I’m more of a dog person, but I don’t dislike cats.
248) I hate birds. So much.
249) This one time? I dated this guy? And he knew of my hate for birds? And he had two birds, which he let out of their cages when I showed up.
250) He is so lucky my foot is not in his ass.
251) I imagine it’s very hard to be my friend.
252) I’m really random and all over the place, all the time.
253) Also, I throw my arms around a lot and shriek, “Blah! Blah! Blah!”
254) My husband talks in his sleep, a lot.
255) He says really random, crazy things.
256) Like, “Get the cheese! GET THE CHEESE! It’s cheddar!”
257) He doesn’t even like cheese very much.
258) Although technically I don’t NEED to, I worry about money all the time.
259) It’s like I can’t stop.
260) I have a lot of trouble paying attention.
261) I don’t like that about myself.
262) In fact, there are a lot of things I don’t like about myself.
263) Really? Most things about me, I don’t like.
264) A lot of really weird things seem to happen to me.
265) I don’t know if I just attract the crazy, or I am the crazy and it just comes along with being me.
266) Either way, it sucks and I wish it would stop.
267) I have a really difficult time with the whole, “Being normal” thing.
268) Even when my first husband left, I always believed I would find someone else to love me.
269) I also believed that I would find someone else; we’d get married, and have lots of healthy, not premature babies.
270) So I could have that, you know?
271) That…thing. That something that other women seem to have so effortlessly.
272) That husband holding your purse while they rubbed your stomach with whatever that gel crap is, so they can do the ultrasound.
273) The husband who would hold your hand while you had the baby and fall immediately in love with it afterward.
274) I guess you have to have the baby before all that happens though.
275) Another thing which is disturbing to me is that I know that a lot of people (okay, Jason’s family) don’t take our relationship seriously because we have not had a child.
276) They still think he could just walk out at any second, and probably will.
277) We’ve been together for nearly eight years. Married for almost five.
278) Despite my ridiculousness, he hasn’t left yet.
279) And? I’m proof positive that having a baby doesn’t make someone stick around.
280) I think they are so ridiculous.
281) However, I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about them and wondering why they hate me so much.
282) I think I’m so ridiculous for doing that.
283) I don’t know much about my husband’s upbringing or his life at all, before he met me.
284) It’s really strange, being so close to someone and still feeling like that part is missing.
285) Not that I need to know every detail or anything.
286) This one time? I went out with this guy who wanted to show me, on our first date, where he went to elementary school.
287) I just thought that was weird.
288) I mean, if we were getting married and being all sentimental or in love or whatever? Then fine.
289) Just because we were driving past it? Not so much.
290) That was the guy with George Bush on his wall.
291) TiVo has transformed my life.
292) I love television.
293) There, I admitted it.
294) My favorite show is, “The Office.”
295) Also? “Dukes of Hazard.”
296) No, I’m just lying.
297) But I used to think Bo Duke was cute.
298) When I was, you know, five.
299) Now, I find my attraction to him, even at that young age, somewhat alarming.
300) While I generally dislike most of my co-workers, the ones I do like I really like a lot.
301) In fact? I think they are fabulous.
302) I wish I felt that way about more of them.
303) I don’t have a large group of friends in real life, but the friends I do have I love fiercely.
304) I have a huge group of online friends, and I love all of them fiercely.
305) I am really lucky to have such sweet people in my life.
306) I am really grateful for the internet, or I would have never met most of them.
307) Or my husband, even though he only lived like, three miles away.
308) My husband was born and raised in Connecticut, which is so strange to me, because I never imagined I’d marry someone from Connecticut.
309) And yes, I really did think about that.
310) Connecticut was this far off, exciting land that I only knew of because I enjoyed the program, “Who’s the Boss?”
311) Everyone there, I assumed, lived in fancy mansions and their mom’s had powerful jobs and slept around.
312) I like to know everyone’s back-story.
313) If I don’t know it, I’ll make it up in my head.
314) A lot of people are probably more interesting that way.
315) But? Everyone has a story.
316) I’m somewhat bad at recycling.
317) I really want to be better about it.
318) Sadly, I suck.
319) I like big butts.
320) I cannot lie.
321) A co-worker of mine cannot spell October and it is making me batshit crazy.
322) She spells it “Ooctober.”
323) Why no one has corrected her is beyond me.
324) I still have absolutely no idea what I want to be when I grow up.
325) I do know this: It’s not what I am now.
326) I loathe people who do not stop at Stop Signs.
327) Then I feel bad. Maybe they are illiterate.
328) But mostly, I think they are just douchebags.
329) I way, way overuse the word douchebag.
330) Also? Nutsacks.
331) My mother, who incidentally thinks that THE F word is “fart”, would likely be horrified if she read my blog.
332) And not just because I tell everyone I’m a slave to the wang.
333) But that might do it too.
334) My mom doesn’t read my blog, but my sister does.
335) She’s way funnier than my mom.
336) I wish she had her own blog, because she’s way funnier than most people.
337) My parents love my brother more than they love the rest of us.
338) I’m actually pretty much okay with that.
339) It’s taken me a long time though.
340) I wish I could be the type of person that made my parents proud.
341) I don’t know what type of person that would be.
342) I keep trying.
343) I wish I was independently wealthy so Jason’s grandmother and my three grandmothers could all come live with me.
344) I’d give them a wing in the home so they could all make quilts and watch baseball together.
345) Or soap operas or whatever they like to watch.
346) I’d cook for them and call them, collectively, “The Grandmothers.”
347) Sort of like a pride of lions.
348) I have green eyes that get Incredible Hulk green when I am angry.
349) No, seriously. It’s pretty weird.
350) Also? It’s hard to hide the fact that I’m angry.
351) I wish I was happy.
352) I wish I wasn’t a big freak.
353) I’m okay with the fact that I’m in therapy.
354) I wish it was free, though.
355) Most people I know need therapy.
356) I don’t understand why people are scared of it.
357) The cost, yes, but the rest of it is nice.
358) Even though usually I cry while I am there.
359) I pity the fool that doesn’t love a good Mr. T reference.
360) I appreciate everyone who reads my blog.
361) Even when it’s full of stupid crap.
362) Like this.
363) I want to be better. I want to be stronger. I want to get this right.
364) I keep trying.
365) Maybe someday I’ll get there.

Sunday, November 11, 2007


what have I become?
my sweetest friend
everyone I know
goes away in the end
and you could have it all
my empire of dirt

I will let you down
I will make you hurt

if I could start again
a million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way

It gets easier, right? This is what everyone keeps saying. That it's okay to be sad and it's okay to feel whatever it is I feel (and what is it anyway? Guilt? Shame? Anger? Pain? All of the above?). That I should let myself grieve and that it's okay to grieve, even though I'm only grieving an idea.

But what scares me? Is I'm grieving the fact that I'll never be normal.

And I don't know how to make that okay.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

You guys. Seriously.

I can't believe so many people have never heard of Flat Stanley. Considering I have "hosted" six various Flat Individuals in the past two years and I am a backwards skank-bag from Tennessee? Well, it's just surprising.

Anyhoo. Here's the story behind it.

The project was started in 1995 by Dale Hubert, a third-grade schoolteacher in London, Ontario, Canada. It is meant to facilitate letter-writing by schoolchildren to each other as they document what Flat Stanley has done with them. Dale Hubert received the Prime Minister's Award for Teaching Excellence in 2001 for the Flat Stanley Project.

The Flat Stanley Project provides an opportunity for students to make connections with students of other member schools who've signed up with the project. Students begin by reading the book and becoming acquainted with the story. Then they make paper "Flat Stanleys" (or pictures of the Stanley Lambchop character) and keep a journal for a few days, documenting the places and activities in which Flat Stanley is involved. The Flat Stanley and the journal are mailed to other people who are asked to treat the figure as a visiting guest and add to his journal, then return them both after a period of time.

Students may find it fun to plot Flat Stanley's travels on maps and share the contents of the journal. Often, a Flat Stanley returns with a photo or postcard from his visit.

In 2005, more than 6,000 classes from 47 countries took part in the Flat Stanley Project.

Now, you know. And knowing? As any GI Joe fan would know, is half the battle.

Don't make me explain who GI Joe is. I'm tired.

If you are ever in Tennessee...

And you are some sort of variation on the "Flat Stanley" thing?

You might not want to come to my house.

Apparently, evil lurks around every corner.

Along with Boy Child's hands.

Friday, November 09, 2007

Sending out an S.O.S.

Last night, on the couch, in the darkness, Jason and I talked.

I know that doesn't seem profound. Husbands and wives are supposed to talk. I get that.

It's just lately? I find myself in a black hole of depression. One which allows me to still function at a level that is required for every day life, but at the same time will not allow me to be my real self. And Jason? Is kind enough to notice and also kind enough to respect it.

But last night, we talked.

I told him about work. He told me about his work. We talked about today and what the plan would be. And I told him how tired I was and how I just couldn't sleep.

I also told him, although it was hard for me, about the dream I had last night.

Why is it hard for me to tell him when I've already written about it and anyone who wants to read it could? Because with him, it's different.

I have had "female problems" for the past fifteen years. I won't go into all of it. It would take hours and frankly? I can't even remember all of it. It's like a big blur of doctors and cramps and disappointment.

My husband does not understand my desire to have a baby.

I mean, he does to some extent, I believe. But he does not understand my obsessive, would do anything, don't care if it would kill me in the process desire to have a child.

Because he has me. And he would rather have me alive and healthy and raising the two children I already have.

He? Is practical.
I? Am not. Not about this.

Therefore I tend to get impatient and frustrated when he tries to help me get through it. Because though I know without a doubt he means well, it's just not what I want to hear.

But last night, I told him about the dream.

And in the darkness he said, "Was Abby a Chinese baby?"

I said, "No. She was pale, like me. With green eyes and a nose a little to wide for her face. But she'll grow into it."

He was silent for a moment. And I felt my frustration rise.

Because I knew what he would say next. I knew it would be something that he felt would diffuse the situation so I wouldn't start crying. I knew it would be sincere and that he really would be trying to keep me from getting upset, but I was going to get upset anyway. I just knew it.

And he said:

"In my dream, she was Chinese."

Thursday, November 08, 2007

No rest for the wicked.

Sleep and I? Used to be very good friends.

These days? Not so much.

Sleep eludes me now. It teases me and taunts me and makes me believe that she and I still have a relationship when in reality, we are like that final hook-up when you know it's over and you don't really want to admit it's over.

Either way? You feel like crap in the morning.

Finding sleep is easy enough. I'm exhausted. I fear that if I blink for one second more than I should, my boss will find me, slumped over and snoring.

It doesn't last though. I crash, soundly, and two hours later I am wide-awake and blinking at the ceiling, wondering how my life got to this point. How I'm ever going to pay off my student loans. What the hell I'm doing in the job I'm at. And if I'm ever going to be able to fix myself enough to effectively deal with my family. If I'm ever going to figure out who I am and what I need to be doing with my life, my marriage, and my children.

I found myself at two o'clock in the morning, on my computer. Searching for information about what to expect about the minor surgery I'm having tomorrow. Typing random names into Google search engines, wondering what became of all the people I used to know. Scratching my faithful companion behind her ears, while she lay at my feet, snoring softly.

I forced myself back to bed at three o'clock. I looked at the ceiling for a very long time and finally, fitfully fell into a dream.

In the dream? I had a baby.

When I dream about babies, it's just as likely to be a boy as a girl. I've often imagined the little son I would have with Jason. I've seen his face many times. Mostly he is named Owen. Sometimes, it is Jacob. Once? He was Paul.

But this time the baby was a girl.

She was beautiful, this daughter of mine. Her name was Abigail. She looked like an Abigail. She had dark hair and big green eyes. Her hair was wild and thick and soft. Her skin was clear and perfect. She was normal, not premature and not sickly.

I don't remember all of the dream. I do remember that having her came quite suddenly, and I was unprepared. So unprepared was I that I added a little Post-it note to my Christmas cards that said, "And Abby too!"

Because she was ours. She was part of our family.

The alarm clock jolted me out of my fantasy.

I'm still the same.
There is no Abby.
There will never be an Abby.

And worst of all?

I can't fix any of it.

So I cried in the shower. I cried in the car. And I sit here, now, trying not to cry.

Because crying won't fix it.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Give these people your money.

As you have probably noticed in my blog postings, I have a bit of a hard time with douchebags.

While I might come across as a bit ranty, I am a generally easy going and don't get terribly upset unless someone is just, well, a complete douchebag. Which, as you can imagine in today's world, makes it difficult for me to deal with a lot of customer service people.

Now don't get me wrong. I've worked in customer service. I know that you can start out the day with a great attitude and have one jackhole scream at you for something that is absolutely not your fault in any way, shape, form, or fashion and it pretty much just screws with your whole day. I get that, honestly. So many times I was yelled and screamed at by people who were not mad at me, but mad at the situation. I really do understand.

Apathy? I get.

What I don't get it why people have to be mean.

So. When I find someone or some company that is good, caring and nice? I'm elated. Really, it doesn't take much with me.

A few years ago I assumed I would have a baby. What does one do when they assume they will have a baby and have not yet had their hopes and dreams dashed by their wizened ovaries? They look online at all things baby.

One day during my looking, I found the company PurpleStork. I fell in love with their website; the innovative designs, the beautiful photography, the whole thing. I knew that when I had my little baby I would use this company for my birth announcements.

Well, it came to pass that I couldn't have a baby. I yelled and screamed and cried about all that, but I still loved Purple Stork.

I realized they make Christmas cards. So I ordered my Christmas cards. I sent them my order and attached all my pictures.

I expected the cards would be nice. Just looking at their website, you can tell. But what I didn't expect was the sweet email they sent me. And the emails that followed the first one, making sure I was 100% satisfied with what they created. And the emails thanking me for my business.


So, I ordered my graduation invitations from them. I didn't want the typical graduation invitations. I had something very specific in mind and I knew they could help me create it. (Note: When your graduation invitations say, "Thank the Sweet Lord!" you know you can't just get them from Jostens or whatever. It takes a special kind of company to make you an invitation like that.)

So I took the pictures. I told them what it should say. And I sent it to them with a note that said, basically, "Do whatever you want. I trust you."

The invitations? Were perfect. They completely reflected me and my personality and were exactly what I wanted. It's like they read my mind.

So this year? Of course I wanted to order from them again. I sent them my pictures and picked what design I liked and told them, "Do whatever you want. I know it will be awesome."

And they emailed me back.

They told me how nice it was to hear from me again.
How much the kids have grown.
How different Ginger looks now.
How much fun we must have had at Disney World.
And how, wasn't it nice that I could relax and have a vacation after my graduation.

These people? Know more about me than a lot of my family members.

And the cards? Perfection.

It is so nice to know that there are a few companies out there that still care about their customers. PurpleStork is one of them.


The fine folks at Purple Stork are offering you, yes you, 10% off a new order for printed cards. Please use the code: AUG7 at checkout.

Seriously. Use them. They rock.