Monday, April 30, 2007

Downward spiral.

I stepped on my scale this morning, because it is Monday and I've been really doing my best to only weigh myself once a week.

Since January 24th, 2007, I've lost 19 pounds.

I was pleased with myself.

I pulled on my pants. I was pleased I could take off my pants without having to unbutton or unzip them (to go to the bathroom...because I drink 200 ounces of water a day and have to go a lot).

I got dressed and was pleased with the way I looked in the mirror. I know I have a long way to go, but still. I'm feeling better and looking better.

I went to the gas station this morning, got out of my car and was pumping my gas when a truck with a man who was probably thirty-five or so pulled up.

The man, again, who was probably THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OLD, yelled at me:


And then mooed at me. Like a cow.

I have no idea who that man was.
I have no idea why he felt it was his personal responsibility to inform me that I'm a fat-ass and make barnyard animal noises at me.

But I don't feel very pleased with myself anymore.

It's a good thing my self-esteem is already in the toilet. Because that? Might have really hurt my feelings.

Sunday, April 29, 2007

I never shut my mouth until it matters.

We went to eat dinner tonight at a restaurant on "the strip", which is a place where a lot of college students tend to hang out. Which normally doesn't bother me any more than being in any public place bothers me (which is a lot, but I can't be a hermit, so I go), but tonight it did.

A group of girls and one boy came in after us and they sat diagonally across from us. One of the girls began to talk, loudly, about black people.

I won't repeat what she was saying. It really wasn't nice. At all.

And did I jump up and tell her to go to hell and die?
Did I tell her that I was ashamed of her and her horrible attitude?
Did I say, "How would you feel if I said something moronic and stupid about your guy friend who is obviously a homosexual, even though he's totally in denial about it?"

No. I said nothing. I did nothing.

And now I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed of myself for doing nothing. I'm ashamed of myself for working for the past nine years teaching my children that you can't judge people based on the color of their skin or how much they weigh or how little or much money they have, and yet I let some little eighteen year old twit sit there and denigrate everything I've taught them and everything I believe and I didn't jump up and do something.

I suck.

Sometimes I just do a miserable job at being a decent human being.

Saturday, April 28, 2007

My first pedicure.

By That Chick, Age 31 and Girl Child, Age 9

Friday, April 27, 2007

And the beat goes on...

Dear Husband,

My dear, I just love you to little bitty pieces. You are my sun and my moon and all that crap.

It would be really super, sweetheart, if I ever saw you.

Somehow I think that actually, you know, physically seeing someone might be the key to a happy marriage. I’m uncertain if there are any studies to this effect, but I can check on the internet if you’d like.

I understand/respect/appreciate how busy you are and how hard you work. Honest and true, I really, really do get it. I could spend weeks and months and years telling you how glad I am that you actually have a job and that I know that some men don’t get off their lazy butts and work and it’s cool that you are not one of those people who act like that. That I know you really are dedicated to your work and your employees and that you really want what is best for everyone. I love that about you, honestly I do.

But honey? I need you to come home.

I need you to be at soccer games and karate class and end of the year award ceremonies. I need you to help with homework sometimes (especially when it’s math. You know I suck at math!). I need you to sit on the couch and watch television with me. I need to wake up at 2am and know you will be beside me, not frantically working on paperwork or stressing out, smoking cigarette after cigarette because you are so bummed about work-related issues.

I need for you to be able to get to a point in your work that you can say, “This is good enough,” and then come home.

I miss you. There is also the potential for dirty things to happen, should you, you know, be here.

Your wife

Dear person who thinks I am their friend and really, I can take them or leave them, who is pregnant,

Despite my glaring faults in regards to personal fertility, I have managed to be happy for you and your ever growing fetus.

However? Most of the time, I want to smack you unconscious.

While I understand that smacking a pregnant woman unconscious is not only mean, it’s possibly against the law in this state, I still have the strong desire to do so because of your constant whining and complaining regarding this pregnancy.

Sweetheart, everyone gains weight while they are pregnant. Seriously. I promise. You have a person inside your stomach. Did you really think that this person would not take up any room in there? You weigh like, twelve. There has to be somewhere for this kid to go and he can’t grow inside your leg or something. It has to be in your stomach and therefore, your stomach has to expand. Didn’t you take health in sixth grade?

Also, this is not the 1800’s and women who are pregnant really have no cause to lie around like third base. I promise, swear to you, friend who is not on bed rest and has had a perfectly normal, healthy pregnancy, you will not physically keel over and die if you have to get your own glass of water. Really. I am willing to pinkie swear on this subject, that is the level of confidence I have in the statement I just made.

In addition, while I sincerely do appreciate your focus on natural childbirth and not having an epidural and whatnot, I really don’t think it’s necessary to advise a lady you have never even met that she was an “idiot” for having an epidural. I really thought she might bitchslap you and frankly, I probably would have just let you fall down at that point. It is not your business to dictate the birth plans of other women. It’s just not. Yes, you can do your own research, and yes you can make your own decision regarding the subject, but really, forcing your ideas on random people you meet on the job-site? I just wouldn’t advise that. Especially to that big old girl from Tennessee that you were spouting off to. I really think she could have taken you.

I also need to let you know that no matter how many books you read and no matter how knowledgeable you are on the subject? You have no idea what you will do until it is staring you in the face.

Also? Given the fact that you are so lazy you can’t walk six feet and get your own glass of water and that you complain when you have to carry two paperback books to your car? I’m just not sure you are the kind of woman who can endure a birth without any painkillers. Because, again, clearly you have not had sixth grade health class so I feel it’s my duty to inform you that the baby? It’s actually going to come out of your vagina. And since that hole is really small and the baby is not going to be so small? It’s probably going to hurt pretty bad. At some point you might shout for God and Jesus, that’s how bad it’s going to be. So just, you know, keep that in mind before you get all uppity about not wanting drugs. Okay?

As a final note? I’m totally nominating your husband for Sainthood. He deserves it for putting up with your nonsense. I guess I’ll have to look up the Pope’s phone number or whatever.

Love or whatever,

Dear People who use the internet to be anonymous bullies:

Get a freaking life for the love of God and Baby Jesus.

That Chick

Dear bladder,

For Lord’s sakes, could you knock it off?


Dear period,

Go to hell and die.

Thanks much!

Dear little girls in my Brownie Troop,

I love you girls.

You are brilliant, wonderful, funny, sweet, and beautiful people. I’m going to tell you a secret that maybe your mom’s have not yet told you.

Your life can be so much better than this. There is more to life than this.

You don’t have to grow up and marry someone when you are seventeen just because you feel like you need something to do. You don’t. You can go to college. You can get a job. You can write books about wonderful things and far-off places. You can live anywhere on this planet that you want to live. You can support yourself and buy your own house.

You don’t have to do anything with a boy to make him like you. If he doesn’t like already, then he’s not worth your time anyway.

It is normal and natural for you to have a stomach. Normal women do not have stomachs which are concave. It is not normal, or pretty, to look like you are starving to death. Don’t ever let any television program or magazine make you believe it is.

Don’t ever let anyone tell you, “You can’t”. Don’t ever let anyone tell you, “Girls can’t”. I have seen you in action and you can. I know that you can.

Do not be like me, at seventeen, and believe that there is nothing better than this. Do not believe that you aren’t valuable unless some boy loves you. Do not believe that you are stupid at math or science. Do not believe that you can’t get into college and even if you could, you aren’t smart enough anyway. Do not believe that this is all there is to life. Do not wait until you are twenty-seven years old, divorced, with two little kids to begin to find your place in this world. Do not believe that there is no one in this world who believes in you. I believe in you.

Please believe in yourself as much as I believe in you.

As for the rest of them? I proved them all wrong. You can too.

Your old Troop leader

Thursday, April 26, 2007

Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday...*

Every day of my life, I write down a list of tasks that need to be completed.

Most days, almost nothing gets done off that list of tasks, primarily, I’ve noticed, because there are always new tasks that get added to that list that seem to take priority.

One of the tasks on my list, for example, is: Jacket

I bought my husband this jacket for Christmas. He had a barn jacket for years and years and it was accidentally thrown out by one of my nephews (which just really hammered home my point to him which is: PLASTIC GARBAGE BAGS ARE NOT LUGGAGE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD) and he has whined about his inability to find one since that time.

Well, I found one at L.L. Bean, which was perfect. It was perfect! I purchased it for Christmas and displayed it under the tree in the cool L.L. Bean box with the red bow.

Except when he put it on and determined it didn’t “hang right”.

He is such a complete and total girl.

Anyway, I’ve been meaning to send the jacket back since…well, the day after Christmas. At this point, I don’t know that they will take it back, honestly, even though it hasn’t been worn. Not that I blame them.

But I have to find SOMETHING to do with that jacket. Preferably something not in my own personal home so I won't have to hear my husband say every single day of my life, "When are you going to send that jacket back?"

It is just not a priority to me. I look at it every day and I move it to the next day every day and I just cannot bring myself to make any kind of effort towards finding out what I should actually DO with that stupid jacket.

Another entry on my list: File.

I hate to file. Oh my sweet Baby Jesus in a manager with cattle lowing. I HATE TO FILE.

Looking at my home this would be surprising, I suppose, because in my living room next to the ginormous, ugly desk that my husband loves and adores, is a file cabinet. Inside that file cabinet are neatly labeled folders: 2001 Taxes, Car Insurance, Home Insurance, Boy Child, Girl Child, Sallie Mae.

Jason and I each have a file. Mine contains my birth certificate and social security card. Jason’s contains every single piece of paper he’s every laid his hands on, ever, because he’s the world’s biggest packrat and is loathe to throw out anything. Ever.

At work my to-be-filed pile is the size of my considerable derriere and growing. Every day I look at it, somewhat dejectedly, and wish it would go to hell and die. It never does. Every now and then I’ll make a half-hearted attempt at filing. Like yesterday, for example, I put away exactly three pieces paper. The remaining eight-thousand? I just couldn’t muster it up within myself. Every now and then (read: almost never) I get on a big kick and just file the crap out of everything. That has not happened lately.

So many other things on my to-do list are just never going to get done. Clear off desk? Yeah. Likely! Clean out binder. Um, BAHAHAHAHAAHA! That would require me dealing with the massive amount of random paperwork I currently have stuffed in my binder and that’s just not going to happen. Required Reading? Lord. Have. Mercy. I’ve been working on this one, and no, I’m not kidding, since April of LAST YEAR. Still not done! I’m awesome!

Sometimes I put things that are required by law for me to do on my to-do list, just so I can feel good.

Put seatbelts on children. CHECK!
Feed children. CHECK!
Sign timesheet so your sorry butt gets paid. CHECK-A-RONI!
Mess around on the internet with my blog way to much. CHECK-A-LECK-A-DING-DONG!

I just didn’t turn out. I’m sad to say. I just did not turn out.

*This does not refer to the restaurant, Ruby Tuesday, but in fact to the fantastical Rolling Stones song. The lyrics, in part, read:
There's no time to lose,
I heard her say,
Catch your dreams,
before they slip away
Dying all the time
Lose your dreams
And you will lose your mind.
Aint life unkind?
Goodbye, ruby tuesday
Who could hang a name on you?
When you change with every new day
Still Im gonna miss you...

Which, I know. Way profound for a Thursday morning. But still. Good song. Good times.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Love and Hate


1) Water. I’ve been drinking 150 ounces a day, at least. I told myself that I have to drink at least 100 ounces before I can have my Diet Pepsi. Considering how much I love Diet Pepsi, this is a pretty impressive feat. The crazy part? I hardly want the Diet Pepsi anymore.

2) My Crocs. How did I ever survive without this particular footwear? They make flip-flops look like low-rent hookers! And, they keep my toes covered, so I don’t get in trouble when I wear them to work. And staying out of trouble is always good. Yes, they are Mary Janes! Thanks for asking!

3) The fact that my children go to the Billy Joe Edwards School of Karate. Okay, that isn’t the actually name of it, but the name of it is very, very, very, VERY similar to that. Isn’t that awesome? It’s in a strip mall and everything. God, I love being from the South.

4) Also? I love the fact that my preacher calls me “sister” or “princess”. I am a thirty-one year old woman and he calls me that. It makes me laugh hysterically. That man reminds me so much of my grandfather. It’s really weird. But I love him and I love that he’s not afraid to say crazy stuff. Like on Easter, when he said, “Okay, we’ll see some of you at Christmas then!” and I just laughed and laughed. Good times.

5) Thinking about getting a pedicure with my daughter and my sweetie-friend Dawn. My extraordinarily long toes and I need some pampering.


1) That my kids are getting so big, so fast. Yesterday, they were two. Today they are nine. Tomorrow they'll be getting married and having careers on Wall Street or something. What the crap.

2) Stupid people who come off an exit ramp, cut through two lanes of traffic, and come to a complete, dead stop in front of me so they can make a turn. Seriously. I had to stand on my brakes to avoid hitting an idiot such as this this morning. If you can’t make the turn without harming yourself and others you can really, literally go less than 10 feet down the road and turn right back onto the road you need to be on. Seriously, less than 10 feet. It’s not difficult, honestly. I don’t understand why people are willing to do physical harm to others because they HAVE TO TAKE THAT TURN RIGHT THAT SECOND or they HAVE TO GET OFF THAT EXIT. I mean, are you really afraid you will run out of exits? There is another one. Like, a mile away. You can take THAT one, go back ONE mile, and then take the one you need. It’s not rocket science.

3) My bra is just freaking killing me today. It’s making a really weird squeaky noise. Yeah. I don’t know either. I checked my boobs for evidence of a mouse and I got nothing.

4) I have a meeting at 3pm that’s kind of important and it’s going to be a big shouting match and people are going to behave poorly and I’m going to sit there and think, “To bad none of these people turned out right,” and be in a cranky, cranky mood for the rest of the day. Because I could be wrong, but it just doesn’t seem like we need to yell and scream at one another to get our points across.

5) Summer camp. My kids love summer camp, and they go to a great camp where they have lots of friends, but it makes me wish I could take the whole summer off and just hang out with them by the pool, subjecting my extraordinarily pale skin to damaging UV rays. Because tan fat looks better than white fat.

I'm kidding. I don't even try to tan my translucent self.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Step away from the baseball bat...

Admittedly, despite my Southerness I don’t know much about country music as a whole.

Well, that’s not fair. I know nearly every Patsy Cline song by heart, as she is my idol. Also? I kind of sound like her when I sing.

See? She’s my girl. She and I could totally go walking after midnight.

Anyway. I love Kenny Rogers and his hairy back. I think Loretta Lynn was the absolute fo-shizzle. I also know most Johnny Cash songs and a whole, whole lot of Dolly Parton songs. Dolly is another personal favorite. I can belt out “Jolene” with the best of them and I think that crackwhore Whitney Houston did not do, “I will always love you” justice. I just think I could meet her and she and I would be BFF. Also? I think we are somehow related, and not just because of the big old bazoombas. Her mother, I think, used to have my maiden name and we are all from up in the holler somewhere.

But country music today? I know almost nothing.

Which is why I was a bit disturbed by the lyrics to the gorgeously beautiful Carrie Underwood’s song, “Before he cheats”. To wit:

That I dug my key into the side
of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,

carved my name into his leather seats,
I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
I might've saved a little trouble for the next girl,
Cause the next time that he cheats...
Oh, you know it won't be on me!

Yeah. About that? While I’m all for Girl Power and whatnot, it just doesn’t seem wise to direct encourage people to commit vandalism such as this.

As someone who has been cheated on (by not only boyfriends, but a spouse as well! I'm AWESOME!) I can understand the desire to do something really, really nasty to someone who hurts you. When my ex-husband was screwing around with Mrs. Slutty Pantsflyoffy, I really wanted to call up the place that they both worked and tell on them, because dating someone you worked with was a complete no-no. Also? I wanted to call up her husband and tell him, because I just sort of thought he might need to know that the person he had been married to for FIFTEEN YEARS was, you know, sleeping with my husband.

But I didn’t.

Because looking at the situation with a critical eye? Those two were really freaking pathetic.

And why should I lower myself to their level of patheticosity?

Part of me thought, “He’s my husband and she can’t take him away from me!”

And another, much bigger part thought, “If he’s such a waste of human flesh that he is cheating on me with THAT? Then they deserve each other.”

Don’t lower yourself to their standards, ladies. If your man cheats on you just hold your head up high, walk out that door, and give it a good hard slam. Resist the urge to carve your name into the side of his truck! Resist the urge to call up his mistress and tell her to go to hell and die! Resist the urge to call his momma and tell her that her son didn’t turn out.

In the end, he’ll get his. It will suck for him. And you will laugh, plus, retain your dignity.

Also? If you want to flip him a bird, that’s okay. That never hurt anyone.

Monday, April 23, 2007

With a rebel yell, she cried more, more, more!

What about that Billy Idol and his crazy hair? I still like him more than twenty years later.

Anyway, since apparently some of you are not yet sick of me talking about myself, I got more interview questions to answer. This one is actually a two-fer. I got them from both Bethany and BadgerGirl. Both of whom I adore.

First, Bethany's questions:

1. What is your dream vacation? Obviously money and time are not an issue.

I don’t know where I’d go, honestly. Maybe New York? Because I do love New York. The city that is, not that Trashy Woman on Vh1.


Somewhere where no one knows me and I could have some time to just be. Time to not have to be “on”. I’d be there long enough to have time to get a feel for where I was and time enough to feel differently about where I live now. Enough time that I could kind of forget. Maybe a month or two? I don’t know.

Obviously, I’ve never thought of this very much. Vacations are not a regular part of my life.

2. What fictional character (movie, tv, book) would you most like to be?

Becky, from Jennifer Weiner’s book, Little Earthquakes.

Because, actually, she sounds a lot like me now, except she’s, you know, fertile.

3. What person from history would you most like to have a conversation with? Why?

Theodore Roosevelt. I read a book about him for my History class last year and thought he was a fascinating character. While he was a beloved political and social figure he was very emotionally detached from his own child. He tended to marry and fall in love with women who were not intellectually equal to him.

You know, stuff like that.

I’d like to find out why, I suppose.

4. What one luxury item would you really want in your home?

Can a maid be considered an item? Because I really want a maid.

Actually, I want a secretary. I just want someone to walk around with me and do all my associated paperwork. I generate a lot of paperwork, for whatever reason.

But if those aren’t considered “items”, I guess I’d say a hot tub.

5. Other than people (family, friends), what could you not live without?

My dog. My dog, while not a person, is just about as close as I could get to a person without being a person. I adore her.

Diet Pepsi.

No seriously. Good Lord. I drink so much that I am ashamed.

Also? My day planner. I could not walk around upright without it. One day I forgot to bring it to work and I sat here for like, two and a half hours without knowing what to do. I was just completely lost. Franklin Covey is my cult.

My vehicle. (I never know if I should call it a car or an SUV) I puffy pink heart my Hyundai Santa Fe. With sprinkles. Glittery sprinkles.

Fun, yes?

Now, on to Badger Girl's questions:

1. Why did you start blogging and what do you like best about it?

I started blogging for two reasons.

The first was Missy's blog. I love her and adore her and her blog was so funny and it just seemed like so much FUN.

Also? I'm a lame-o copycat and can't think of good and fun things on my own.

The second was I was really at loose ends at the time. I started my blog in November, 2006 when I was less than a month from my college graduation. I would wake up in an absolute panic most nights because I had spent the last four years of my life in college and honest to God, I just had no idea what I was going to do on a day-to-day basis. College kept me extraordinarily busy. I’m an overachiever and not only did I work full-time and go to college full-time, I made straight A’s.

That month, not coincidentally, was also the month that I started a Girl Scout troop.

The real answer is: I don’t know how to slow down. I don’t know how to not be busy. I can’t make myself stop.

Man, that's deep. Sorry about that.

Okay, and what do I like best about it? Well, everything. But mostly all the really cool people I've gotten to meet. That's been awesome.

2. What's a funny story you haven't told on your blog yet?

Okay, so this one time? When I was about seventeen? I went to Chicago.

I really liked Chicago, a lot. It was a big city and fun and there was a lot to do.

We went to a really big mall…I can’t remember the name of it or even why we were there. I was looking for…I can’t remember. It’s not important, really. I think I was either looking for an Orange Julius stand or a store. But anyway.

I stopped and asked this very normal looking man if he knew where the store was.

And he said, raising his left arm over his head and the right side of his body,

“It’s up there like this.”

No, I’m not kidding.

I still have no idea if I managed to meet the only redneck in Chicago or he was making fun of my accent.

Also, that story is much funnier if I can describe the voice to you, so I apologize for being a Lamey McLamester.

3. Name one book you think everyone should read and explain your choice.

My book: "Why men who carry tote bags scare me".

Ha! Just lying.

Okay, I really did write a book with that title. But I’ve never tried to have it published.

Anyway. Real books.

When I was about thirteen years old I read S.E. Hinton’s novel "The Outsiders". I imagined, even then, that I only liked it because I was a teenager and filled with angst. But I still like it. Of course, I’m generally still filled with angst, so maybe that’s why, I don’t know.

But I loved the book because it was beautiful. These kids from the wrong side of the tracks and their lives touched me.

And I was really freaking impressed that when S.E. Hinton wrote the book she was fifteen. It’s an amazing work, but especially amazing given her age.

And it got banned. A lot. Which makes it extra good.

Can I pick another? I’m going to. Sorry.

"Catcher in the Rye", which is a J.D. Salinger novel. I have a lot of flaws and insecurities, in general, and so did the main character in this novel. I wanted to understand him.

And it also got banned. A lot.

Can I pick one more? Honestly, I could pick a million, but I’ll stop at a third. Promise.

M. Scott Peck’s "People of the lie". It’s not for everyone. I know it kind of makes some people mad. But it helped me to understand that yes, there really are evil people in this world, and yes, you are not a bad person if you recognize that.

Really. It changed me.

4. If money and time off work were not a problem, what vacation would you take?

See number 1 above.

Oh, also? I’d really like to go to Africa. I don’t know why.

5. If you could only listen to five albums for the rest of your life, what would you pick?

Only five! Sheesh!

Okay then:

The Beatles: 1
Peter,Paul and Mary: Peter, Paul, & Mary
James Taylor: The Best of James Taylor
Johnny Cash: Ring of Fire: The Legend of Johnny Cash (close call between that one and the Essential Johnny Cash…but I love the song “Hurt”.
The Bee Gees: One Night Only

I swear to Bob, I was born in 1975. I know my musical selections would indicate otherwise. But I really was.

That's all for now, folks. Thanks for playing along.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Do you hear what I hear?

As I've mentioned before, God is my homeboy and whatnot. Sometimes he tells me things really loudly and clearly, and sometimes he whispers to me. But we talk.

I know people think I'm weird for that, but really? I don't care. I've never been very religious, whatever "religious" means, but I've always been very spiritual. I really believe that God not only loves me, but he likes me a whole lot. Which is cool.

There have been a lot of times in my life that I felt like God hated me. And I'm okay with saying that too, although it's not easy to admit.

When my first husband walked out on me, I was really, really, really po'd at God. I remember screaming into the night, "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!?!"

Because, really? I tried to be a good person. I really did. I've honestly lived my life trying to do the right things. I've never done anything really, overtly bad. I love animals and small children. I went to school, worked at a job, got married, bought a house. I did all the things I was supposed to do and this was happening to me? And bad people everywhere were having good lives, all around me? What the crap?

During that time period, when I was pregnant and desperate and alone, I went to church.

I felt nothing.


It was really freaking scary. I suppose I expected to have some sort of epiphany or something and then everything would be okay when I got home. But I felt nothing and going home was the same hell it had been for weeks and months.

I don't remember the exact day or time it all became okay. I don't remember a lot.

But I remember waking up one day, in 2001, in my little room where I lived with my two babies. And I remember hearing, nothing more than a whisper in my head, "You need to buy a house."

And I thought to myself, "BAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!!!!"

Because GOOD LORD. I made around $20,000 a year. I was a single mom with two kids. What kind of house was *I* going to get?

But I got up, and I went and got the newspaper, and I looked at the real estate section. I thought to myself, "Maybe there are houses I can afford."

And then I thought to myself, "BAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAHA!!!!"

Because, of course, the only house I could afford, would be a crack den.

Two days later, I did my taxes. I added up the numbers three times, each time, in more and more disbelief.

I looked at the number that was the refund. And I said, quietly, but out loud:

"I'm going to buy a house."

I went to a mortgage broker and I got preapproved for a loan in about five minutes.

I called real estate agent after real estate agent, but no one would call me back after they found out what I wanted to spend. (I was preapproved for something that I wasn't comfortable spending and I didn't want to share the preapproval amount so they wouldn't pressure me) I looked in the newspaper again one day and saw a real estate agent who had kind eyes and in my head I heard, "Call her."

So I did.

And I adored her. She and I spent days together driving around looking at houses. I didn't know the area very well and she couldn't lead me or steer me anywhere, but she had a daughter close to my age and she'd say, "I don't know if I'd want Melinda to live here." Subtle!

I loved her.

I found out that I could buy and afford a brand new townhouse. I got to pick the paint and the wallpaper and the light fixtures. It was amazing. I could afford it. I didn't have grass to mow. It was mine.

We moved in. It was great.

One morning about six months later, I woke up and was laying in my bed, waiting on the alarm to go off and in my head I heard, "You're going to marry Jason."


Because, no, I wasn't going to marry him.

He and I had dated since 1999. He was extremely anti-marriage. Extremely. Um. EXTREMELY. He had told me since day one, "I do not want to get married. Ever. To anyone. Ever."

I went on about my life, thinking God had probably missed the boat on this one. Sooner or later he and I would break up and I would go on about my life and find someone who wanted to marry me. Because I always knew I'd get married again. I'm a marrying kind of girl anyway.

But I loved Jason. I loved him in a way that I knew that if he were absent from my life a really, really big hole would develop and it would not be okay. It would never, ever be okay. He was my best friend. It wasn't all about romance with us. (Very little about romance...we're not really romantic people) But we laughed all the time. I could talk to him about a lot of things. He was more than my boyfriend.

A few months later, miserable in my job and desperate, I was sitting in my office and I heard, "You are going back to school."

And, guess what I said?

Yeah. The hysterical laughter thing again. That's probably getting old.

But I picked up the phone and I called the local community college and I made an appointment with an advisor. The next day, I marched into his office and sobbed, "I'm almost twenty-seven years old! I'm to old to go back to school! I don't know what I'm doing! Oh my GOD!"

And he looked at me and smiled and said, "What's the big damn deal?"

No, he really said that.

And I laughed. And I took my entrance exams and I enrolled in classes. My dad picked up the kids two days a week so I could go to night classes and the rest of my classes I took online. I continued to work full-time.

On December 5th, 2002 I came home from my college health class and Jason was at my townhouse, waiting on me. He'd picked up the kids from my parents house and they were sound asleep. He looked anxious and weird. Since he's generally anxious and weird, I pretty much ignored it and crawled into my pajamas. I sat down on the couch and he got down on both knees in front of me and asked me to marry him.

My first thought:

I have a hole in the toe of my sock.

Then I said, "Are you serious?" I'm classy like that.

At some point I did say yes, and seven months later, we got married.

Over the last few years, I've heard that voice so many more times. Once it said, "Go to Tennessee" and so we went, with no jobs and no plans, and not knowing if we were going to sink or swim. Other times it's spoken softer, "Start this Girl Scout troop" and "Apply for this job". I keep following and things keep happening.

Oh, I've been mad again. When the doctor looked at me and said, "I'm so sorry. It's called secondary infertility" I was so angry I screamed all the way home. "WHY ME? WHY NOW? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO US?"

I still don't know.

But I know there is an answer. I just have to stay quiet long enough to hear it.

Today I sat in church, feeling a deep, deep sorrow. Things have not been great in my life lately. There are a lot of things that I know need to change and I'm really overwhelmed at the sheer volume of all I have to do. In all honesty, a lot of my sorrow is feeling sorrow for myself and the guilt that comes along with feeling sorrow when you have so, so much.

But that's the thing about being friends with God. He doesn't get mad at you for yelling at him when you don't understand or feeling sorry for yourself from time to time.

The voice said, "Volunteer for the nursery. It will help heal your heart."

And the pastor said, right at that exact moment, "And we need volunteers for the nursery, so call Miss So and So if you are willing to serve."

So I'm listening. I don't understand. But I'm listening.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

I don't know her.

Someone once told me that the things that make you upset and angry about other people are the things in your own life that you don't really like or want to change.

That makes sense to me.

A lot of really horrible stuff has happened in this country within the past few days. I've tried numerous times to blog about Virginia Tech, for example, and I've just not been able to do it. Yesterday, a contractor at NASA killed an engineer and then himself. Even stupid Alec Baldwin, whom I never gave that much thought to before, had me all spun up yesterday because he called his daughter a pig and didn't even know how old she was.

But honestly? The major case that's been on my mind lately is Mary Carol Winkler.

I don't know Mary Winkler personally. But here is what I know about her.

She is only a few years older than me. She graduated high school one year before I did.

She's a South Knoxville girl, and she graduated from the same high school that my nephew attends, right now, today.

South Knoxville is certainly not all poverty, like some other parts of Knoxville. There are many, many beautiful homes in South Knoxville. Homes I would call "fancy mansions". Homes for middle class families and homes for lower middle-class families. There are a lot of good, decent, hard-working folks in South Knoxville.

But there is poverty, and it is stark and it is painful and it is bad. There are mothers and fathers who teach their daughters that they are not worth anything and when they grow up they need to find a man who will marry them and take care of them, because they can't do anything on their own.

I don't know Mary Winkler.

When I look at Mary Winkler's face, I see a woman who probably grew up in poverty. I see a woman who didn't know what else was out there in the world. I see a woman who was probably raised to believe that if you could snag a preacher, you probably got a pretty good deal.

But I don't know Mary Winkler.

I see a woman who said her husband was verbally abusive. I see a woman who stood on a witness stand and was so mortified and so ashamed when she described and showed the jury what her husband forced her to wear while having sex with him. The things he forced her to do and say. Her husband, the father of her children, who held a pillow over the face of their one-year old daughter. And Mary Winkler still insisted to the police that he was a good man.

I see stigma and shame on Mary Winkler's face.

But I don't know her.

When I looked at the woman's face, she looked tired. She looked resigned. She looked like a woman so beaten down with life that she just didn't know what to do.

She looked like I probably looked a few years ago.

In a marriage which was bad. Knowing I needed to get out and get away. Knowing the man I was married to did not love me, and was emotionally and verbally abusing me every day of my life and making me feel like...nothing. Nothing at all. Like I was small and stupid and couldn't do anything right, ever.

And making me feel like there was no way out.
That no one, not even my own parents, loved me.
That he would take my children away from me, because I was "crazy".
That financially, I could never be okay without him.
That everyone would look at me and be ashamed of me.
That no one would ever love me.

I don't know Mary Winkler. But I wonder. I just wonder if that's how she felt.

Mary Winkler should not have shot her husband. That was wrong. Mary Winkler deserves to be punished for taking someone's life. He might have been a craptastic husband, but she shouldn't have shot him.

She should have walked away.

But I know, looking at her, how difficult that would have been for her.

A lot of people, women especially, I notice, have loudly said that on television.


I don't know why she didn't walk away. Like I said, I don't know her.

But I didn't walk away because I was afraid.

It was more scary to be alone. Because I never, ever believed I had what it took to be be alone.

It was more scary to contemplate the shame and stigma of being divorced.

What would my family say?

What would my church say?

Can you imagine how magnified that was for Mary Winkler? She was the preacher's wife. She would have to go against not only her husband, but her entire congregation, her entire faith system, and even God.

I imagine she didn't walk away because she didn't know how.

She was wrong. No doubt. She deserves to be punished.

But I still feel so sad for her. For the waste. For her daughters. For what could have been.

Maybe I'm totally wrong about all this. Maybe she was a pathological liar and a killer and I'm wasting my emotion on her.

But I feel sad for Mary Winkler.

I feel sad for her two little girls.

I feel sad for the family of her husband, who have to deal with losing their child.

And I feel sad for all the little girls from South Knoxville, and everywhere else in this country, who grow up believing that they can't do anything about it. That they have to stay in a bad marriage, a bad town, a bad neighborhood, a bad home. That there is nothing more than that and even wanting more is wrong and bad and totally outside the realm of possibility.

That is what makes me sad.

Because I was a little girl who wanted more.

Friday, April 20, 2007

Today's Special: Open Letters. Extra Snarky!

Dear Lady in the gray Nissan Maxima on Interstate 40 today,

I was so pleased when I saw that large bumper sticker on your car that said: "Honk if you Love Jesus!" Because, you know, I do love Jesus and all.

But honey? When I was honking at you, it wasn’t because I love Jesus. It was because you were going 20 miles below the speed limit and applying make-up at 7:38am. You know, morning? The time that a lot of people are on Interstate 40 because they are trying to go to work, not because it's just a really fun exciting place to park your car and have people make obscene gestures at you?

I mean, really. I do understand the necessity to look good. But please rethink your strategy on making this happen.


The chick in the Hyundai Santa Fe who just wants to get to work

Dear Smart Ones Lasagna Florentine,

It’s over.

I tried, I really did. I wanted to like you…lo, I wanted to love you.

Alas. I am just not that into you.

We had some good times. We did.

We had some bad times. Like that time you found me cheating with your Mexican cousin, Smart Ones Santa Fe Rice and Beans.

I’m not sorry. I’m just not.

I’m just not that into you.


That fat chick

Dear potentially mentally challenged co-worker,

While I understand there is a possibility that you might be mentally challenged, based solely upon the way you act on a day-to-day basis, I am inclined to believe that really you are in-fact, just a huge jerk-off.

Why else would you ask a woman who just adopted an Asian baby how she felt about "buying a kid?" Why else would you ask me, a woman of considerable stature, who could clearly knock you so far down you would have to unzip your pants to brush your teeth, why I have such ugly toes?

In fact, you are such a huge jerk that I would really like to sit down with your momma and say, “What about your jerk-off son not turning out? What about that?” just to see the look on your momma’s face. Because surely she is ashamed of your asshattery.

Please rethink your position of being a huge tool. For your momma’s sake, if not mine.


Your fed-up coworker

Dear Spellchecker on my computer,

Really, I love you babe, but some of the words that you suggest for me are just ludicrous.

For example, every time I type Stu and you suggest “Stud?” that really makes me laugh. Because, clearly, you have not met the person I am sending it to.

Also, please stop telling me I’m misspelling my own last name. You aren’t Barbara the Badge lady in disguise are you?

Additionally? Words like “asshattery” are real words in my world. Stop trying to get me to use words like, “shatter”. They aren’t nearly as fun.

Have a nice day!


Dear Internet population,

If you found my blog searching for the following phrases:

Lactating stripper
Inner thigh tattoo
Fat aunt love
I love my fat aunt
Aunt sex fat

Really, please, just look for something else.

I mean, I love comments and new readers as much as the next person, but for the love of God…really. Ewww. Just EWWWWWWWW.

Thanks for looking though! See ya never!
-That Chick

PS: On a related note, if found me by searching for Arnold and Willis? Please come back and comment. I think you and I could be BFF.

PSS: To the person who found my blog for searching by “God’s love”? I’m really sorry. I probably wasn’t what you had in mind at all.

Dear Crackhead that lives on my street,

Really, I make a sincere effort not to judge other people’s parenting skills, or lack thereof.

However, when your small son threw a football at my car (and yes, don’t even start, he threw it on purpose. He waited until I was right in front of him and he purposely threw it at my car) and I stopped the car and instead of, for example, knocking the complete crap out of the little snot-blossom, I politely said, “Please be more careful and do not hit my car with your football,” and then you flipped me a bird, RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR CHILD? You completely convinced me of what a moronic, idiotic waste of flesh you are.

For the love of Baby Jesus, please use birth control from now on, if, and that is a very big if, you can find a drunken fat girl with an inferiority complex to ever sleep with you again.

Also? Bite me Douchey McDouchenozzle.

-Your neighbor who is sick of you and your demon spawn

Thursday, April 19, 2007

Because you need to know more about me.

Annie at Crunchy with Style! has submitted the following questions to me for an interview. I think Bethany will also interview me at some point, and I will answer her questions as well. I like talking about me and my lame ass that much and bless her heart, she’s got a lot going on.

1) Isn’t my blog style the most?

Okay, I’m lying. That’s not really her question, it’s mine. And isn’t it? I have to give mad props to my girl Angie for her awesome design. She really pretties up the internet, yes?

Also? I look just like that.

Yeah. I’m lying. But I look KIND of like that. I even have a shirt like that! And an iPod, but mine is pink.

Here are the REAL questions.

1. What is the one topic you will not blog about?

My personal sex life. Everyone else’s sex life is fair game.

No, just kidding.

Well, I wasn’t kidding about the first part. I was kidding about the second part.

My husband is a very appropriate individual. Far more than I am. He tolerates a lot of nonsense from me. But he would be mortified beyond belief if I said anything about THAT.

And he’s more important than even my artistic vision. So. There you have it.

2. Chinese or Mexican food?

I love some stir-fry, but definitely Mexican. I never get to eat it because my husband hates it.
Because he's a communist.

3. What is a perfect Saturday night for you?

I guess it used to be going out to dinner and watching Mad TV with my husband. Now, it probably involves lots of sleeping.

4. Have you watched Sex in the City? Which girl are you most like?

Possibly I am the only woman in America under the age of 106 who has not seen this show, so I have no idea! Maybe someone who has seen the show can tell me who they think I'm most like.

5. Relaxation. To the beach or to the lake?

Oh, neither.

I love the water. Love to swim. Love to be IN the water.


When I was a little girl, I went swimming in a creek near my grandparents home? And I got an ear infection that lasted all summer.

And then I went to the lake once and saw a used maxi-pad floating in it. And I just couldn’t do it.

And the beach? Well, since I am the whitest woman alive and there are sharks and stuff there? I just avoid it.

But give me a nice, clean, chlorinated pool? I’ll swim all day long. All. Day. Long.

If you wanna play, here’s what you do.
1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.” If I don’t have your email address, leave it for me in the comments.

2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
(Insert, "Muwahahahaahah!")

3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Whatchoo talkin' about Chickus?

I recently discovered, much to my complete delight and joy, that my cable package includes something called "Tube Time" on Demand.

Which means, in case you don't know, I can watch Diff'rent Strokes whenever I darn well please.

As a child in the late seventies and early eighties, I wished desperately for the following things:

1) Two brothers to come from Harlem and teach me how to disco dance
2) A fancy penthouse apartment in New York city
3) A goldfish named Abraham
4) A housekeeper with a big cinammon bun hairdo, who made me pancakes daily
5) A hot tub (which I still want, by the way)
6) To go to private school
7) Ballet lessons

All of which I discovered, because of this program.

So deep was my love for this program? My kittens were named Arnold and Willis.

I watched the show with the Boy Child and the Girl Child recently and they thought it was hilarious. I commented to Jason while we watched that the show was really groundbreaking. A lot of the early episodes focus on racial issues. Understandable, because at the time there weren't any Angelina Jolie's adopting little different colored babies, so it wasn't in the focus of the American public.

Amazing really, how the world has changed since the days that Arnold and Willis Jackson came to live in the big city with Mr. Whitest Man Alive and his spoiled brat daughter because their momma died.

And really, wouldn't it be great if there WERE Mr. Drummond's (or Mrs. Drummonds!) in the world? Men with lots of money who went into the not-so-nice places to live and picked up the kids and said, "I want a better life for you," and then proceeded to give it to them? Even if the better life included those horrible Bill Cosbyish sweaters (I'm talking to you Willis)?

Didn't it seem like life was simpler then?

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

My adulthood should be revoked.

Do you ever get just completely bogged down with all the things you want to do?

I do. Nearly every single day.

I have these really huge ideas, see? And they all seem to come to me at one time and I get really excited and overwhelmed and it becomes just completely ridiculous.

As I’ve mentioned, we’ve been talking about moving for a while now. Okay, almost as long as we’ve lived here actually. But we just haven’t done it, for about a zillion reasons, none of which are valid or make much sense. It’s always really stupid reasons and we always talk ourselves out of things with lame-o excuses like, “Well, we don’t know if the housing market is good now.” As though we have any ability whatsoever to gauge such things.

Anyway, I was looking at the Sunday paper and came across the real estate section. I half-heartedly browsed it and came upon a house that was an OH-MY-SWEET-LORD kind of price. It was a foreclosure apparently, with 2090 square feet, a freaking INGROUND pool, a flat, fenced in backyard, and various other things that made me clutch my chest and shout, “OH MY FREAKING COW, CAN YOU BELIEVE WHAT A GOOD PRICE THIS IS!?”

So Jason says, “Do you want to buy it?”

We haven’t even LOOKED at this house yet, nor do we have any idea where it’s physically located. But this is how we roll.

So I said that before committing to purchase this property, perhaps we should find out where it is. And so I did an internet search and it wasn’t where I wanted to be.

But I did find OTHER properties which were closer to where I wanted to be.

So we went and looked at them.

And then we got home and I decided it’s really been some time since we’ve taken a vacation (wait…have we ever taken a vacation?) and wouldn’t it be fun if we could all go to the Tennessee Aquarium? Because I saw a commercial for the Tennessee Aquarium and it looked like so much fun! So I started looking up the information online about that.

And while I was looking I decided that wouldn’t it be cool if we could go to Las Vegas and see that Beatles show? The one that I keep seeing the commercials about (and the one that my husband has mentioned, no less than twenty times, how much he’d like to see)? So I looked up flight information.

Then, since I was on a roll, I thought about how fun it would be if we could all go to Disney World when the kids are on Fall Break (and by the way, what the crap is “Fall Break” about? We didn’t get Fall Break when I was in school!), so I looked up pricing on that. Because, you know, my children are freaking deprived! They are nine years old and have never been to Disney freaking World and soon they are going to be out of the house and not love me anymore and I will have NEVER TAKEN THEM TO DISNEYWORLD! I am a horrible mother!

Then, because I’m such a horrible mother, I started thinking about summer camps and after-school programs. And I decided that maybe I would put my kids in this Taekwondo after-school program? Because the after-school program they are in now blows goats? So I had to look up the information on that too.

So within a few hours, I had us set up to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars in housing, vacations, and childcare.

Today I’m absolutely sick of all of it and don’t want to think about it anymore.

I do things like this, all the time. All. The. Time.

Also? I ate popcorn for breakfast. Because nothing else sounded good.

Also? My co-worker came and gave me his prescription antihistamines and I totally took one without even asking any questions whatsoever.

And then? I said something along the lines of, “Oh my God, we are completely hosed.” Really, really loudly. And also, I might have used the f-word in some portion of that statement. In front of, guess who? The Project Manager. Because just saying it in front of co-workers would not be enough humiliation, I have to make a complete asshat of myself in front of the really important co-workers.

I’m surprised I’m allowed to walk around without supervision.

Monday, April 16, 2007

Fun Monday!

Bethany my favorite Ice Cream Mama is hosting this week's Fun Monday.

This is actually the first one I've ever done. Except this one time I tried to participate, but for some reason didn't make it onto the person's list. It was probably because I was late sending it in. But I digress.

Anyway, this week's challenge is a series of fun questions! Enjoy!

What is your favorite word?
I think it would have to be “passed”. Passed is always such a happy word in my life. Like when I get to say, “Hey! I passed my final exam!” or “Thank God that moron passed the Radiological exam and I don’t have to give it to him for the third time!” or “Yeah, I totally passed him on the road, because he was going slowly.” See? All happy.

Now the word, “past”, while sounding the same has a very different meaning and not a good one in my book. Because my past kind of sucks.

What is your least favorite word?
Okay, hands down: Cooter.
In my world, because of a very specific incident, the word cooter stands for a part of the female anatomy.
Here is the story behind it:
Jason, as a fifteen year old boy, moves to North Carolina and enrolls at Hee-Haw High school. As he had been enrolled in private, Episcopal school since first grade, this was rather traumatic. However, he somewhat easily makes friends and befriended a young man who asked him one day,
“Do you like cooter?”
To which he responded, “The mechanic on Dukes of Hazard?”
Yes. He really did say that.
That is the best story ever. EVER.
Also, why I hate the word “cooter”.

What turns you on (creatively, spiritually or emotionally)?
Creatively: I suppose it would be the positive reinforcement I get. I guess I could be all cool and say that I write for myself and for my own joy or whatever, but frankly, that would be just a big stupid lie. I write because I like to make other people laugh. I get something out of it.

Spiritually: The joy I get out of sharing with other people. There is something very special about being surrounded by a group of people who feel the same way you do and are happy about it. You don’t get that very often in everyday life.

Emotionally: Safety. Feeling loved and safe.

What turns you off?
Feeling pressure. Pressure of any kind makes me feel uncomfortable and angry.

What is your favorite curse word?
Which one I use most often or my favorite? I think they might be different.
I tend to say, “hell” a lot. Is that even considered a curse word?
Most of the words I say are not curses, but probably should be. Like douchenozzle. That’s just not nice, I don’t care who you are.

What sound or noise do you love?
Warning: Cheesiest response of all time.
The sound of my kids laughing.

What sound or noise do you hate?
The “critical stop” noise on my computer. Because it generally means that I’ve done something moronic.

What profession, other than your own, would you like to attempt?
Pole dancer.

No, just lying. I’d really like to work in a nature center and teach children about plants, animals, and the environment.
I think I’d have to get over my fear of birds, turtles, and otters first though. Crap.

What profession would you not like to attempt?
Grave-digger. Ugh, just…no. Just no.
Also, funeral director. You are a better man/woman than I if you can do that job, and thank God for you and your service and all, but I could NOT do it.

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
When God sees me he’s going to be all like, “WHASSSUP!?”
N o, seriously. He will. We’re peeps like that.
As that song, “Tennessee” says,
“Although you’re superior over me, we talk to each other in a friendship way.”
Also, he totally told me to go back to Tennessee.

I THINK THAT SONG IS ABOUT ME. Holy crap! Thanks Arrested Development!

Go by Bethany's place and see who else is participating!

Saturday, April 14, 2007

Bringing nothing to the table since 1998.

Like most mothers, I question my ability to raise my children on a regular basis. People tell me I'm a good mother, and I believe I am to the extent of things like, I don't beat them and they always have cooked food and wear clean clothes and stuff. Also, I teach them about God and Jesus and I know that's not for everybody, but for us, it's important. They always brush their teeth and they are always at school, on time, every single day, because By God we might not be the smartest or best at anything, but we can show up!

I've been kind of depressed, lonely, sad, scared, and so on lately and one thing that I noticed in my soul-searching is that I have absolutely no friends who have children my age. Zero. None. I have no frame of reference. I have no one to talk to about what they are going through and what they need.

Also? Most people who have young kids or babies or are pregnant? Absolutely have zero respect for my opinion.

This isn't true of everyone of course. I know that my sweetheart M respects my opinion very much. She doesn't ask me for advice or anything, which is fine, because let's face it, I'm hardly Ann Landers here. But she does respect the job I've done raising my children. I also have one pregnant friend who feels strongly that I've done a good job and hopes she can ask me questions when her child is born. I know I have other friends who appreciate my mothering skills and whatnot...I don't mean to say that everyone feels this way about me. I'm very grateful for that, because often? I feel like the kid standing at the back of the room that no one wants to talk to.

It's not like I'm going around offering unsolicited advice. Other than my open letters, I'm really not like that at all. I don't have really strong opinions on things like, c-sections. I mean, you have one or you don't. What the crap do I care? I mean, it's your body, not mine. I personally had a c-section and it was fine. I didn't feel that I missed anything because the babies came out of hole in my side rather than a hole in my vajayjay. You know? I don't want to debate the merits of natural childbirth versus having a whole bunch of drugs, because frankly I don't care. No, really. I don't care. I think every single woman who ever has a baby is completely 100% entitled to make those decisions for herself and not have someone judge her for it.

I guess I just want people to ask me my opinions. I just want people to say, "How was this experience for you?"

And since I'm being really honest here? I have absolutely no business giving anyone parenting and children advice. None. Good Lord. It's almost criminal that I would do that.

Do you know how much about pregnancy I know? Probably as much as the average American boy in the 7th grade. Seriously. I know how you get pregnant. That's about the extent of my knowledge. I don't know when you have ultrasounds. I don't know how big the baby is when you are six weeks pregnant, or six months pregnant or anything. It's like there are millions of women who have taken this secret health class and I was to busy playing softball with the boys while it was going on and totally have no idea what's going on. Come on in! It's the Girl Class! That Chick over There is not allowed!

Also? It annoys me with myself that I don't know more about girl crap. Because I could do the research and whatnot. I mean, I try not to beat myself up about not doing it while I was pregnant since I was left by my husband and spent the majority of the pregnancy weeping and sobbing and trying to do things like, keep the lights on and not commit suicide. So I was kind of preoccupied I guess. I'll give myself a pass on that.

And granted, I could have done the research SINCE then. It's been like nine years now and while I've kept pretty busy, I'm sure I could have turned off E's True Hollywood Story and read a book about my fertility or whatever. It's just...I get to the parts about my vagina secreting something that's the consistency of creamy egg whites and I just throw up in my mouth a little. I'm so not evolved.

So I have no right whatsoever, NONE, to be annoyed that so many women think I have nothing to offer when it comes to kids. I mean, I have LESS than no right. I know this, I recognize this, and it still annoys the crap out of me.

I think I need therapy.

Seriously, I think I just want someone to ask me about how it was so I can remember. Because I don't remember. I don't remember anything.

I want to remember.

As wonderful as my life is and as wonderful as my family is and as grateful to God as I am for these two wonderful kids...I want to remember what it felt like to be a new mom. I want to be able to look back on that entire experience with something more than a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Because viewing your entire pregnancy and childbirth experience as a horrible, horrible punishment for something you did in a past life? It's really not good. I mean, really. Not. Good. It makes you feel like you are the worst mother on the planet and certainly YOU don't deserve such good kids. And there are plenty of women out there who would love to have your kids...women who have real infertility, not crappy secondary infertility like your sorry ass.

Which is, as you might imagine, not the best way to feel.

Friday, April 13, 2007

Open letters: Momma's-had-a-long-week-edition.

Dearest husband,

My love for you knows no boundaries.

My patience for you, however, is in jeopardy.

I just really fail to see how it is necessary for your knee to be wedged firmly in my anus or vagina, depending on what side I am laying on while attempting to sleep. This is just a complete mystery to me. Also a mystery is the fact that no matter how soundly you are sleeping, the millisecond I leave the bed for any purpose, you are immediately in the space that I only moments earlier occupied. How is this possible? Do you have some kind of radar that I don’t know about?

Also? I know that you are much, much smarter than everyone else on the planet, but really when the vet tells us that the dog needs to lose five pounds, I’m really going to take the vet’s word for it. Your judgment is really questionable about this subject, as you think that I, who clearly has at least one hundred pounds to lose, look just fine. Also, I think that the vet’s advanced medical training trumps your two semesters of college during which you were largely hung over and/or drunk, hooked up, and deeply ashamed.

Additionally? After I told you that we didn’t need to sneak the dog people food all the time and I saw you giving her the crusts off the left-over pizza you were eating? You are quite lucky that I didn’t crotch punch you.

Love you!
Your wife

Dear Don Imus,

I know you’ve been in the radio business for, heck, probably longer than I’ve been alive, so I’m really kind of surprised that I need to mention this.

See that little thing? Right in front of your face? It’s called a microphone. It captures the things you say and broadcasts them.

Amazing, right? Yeah I know.

Something else you may need to know: when you do good works, the good that you do is automatically negated when you go around telling everyone on the freaking planet how fantastic you are for the good works you do. The real heroes are people who don’t expect recognition for every dollar they give or every good work they do.

Also? You suck.

A fanatic non-listener

Dear Al Sharpton, Jessie Jackson, and everyone else who has crucified Imus recently,

Hi. Yeah, about that? While I’m totally on your side with the being irritated with Imus, I think you need to call up the Lacrosse team from Duke University and say you are sorry for being so quick to judge.

It’s only fair.

Someone who thinks things go both ways

Dear Duke Lacrosse Team,

While your judgment is questionable, you are innocent of all charges.

I’m sorry I judged you so quickly.

My apologizes,
Someone who can admit when she was wrong

Dear Scale,

You are new in my life and don’t know that most of your brothers and sisters have been gleefully flung in the dumpster.

This fate is likely yours, if you don’t start acting right.

Considering that I blew at least five pounds of snot out of my nose within the past two days and took an enormous dump before standing on you this morning, you really are pushing me by staying EXACTLY THE SAME. Seriously, I thought we had a deal. I eat nothing good and you go downward.

I’ve kept my end of it. Now it’s time for you to start keeping yours.

Consider this your first warning.

That fat chick over there

Dear Fergie-Ferg,

While I admire and appreciate the fact that you are attempting to teach the small girls of the United States how to spell such exciting words as glamorous and your very own name Stacy, I feel you would perhaps be a better role model if you would learn to sit like a lady. It seems that every photograph I ever see of you includes some version of your crotch, and really honey, no one wants to see that. I had such hope for you back in your Kids Incorporated days and you have completely destroyed it.

Also, while I appreciate the fact that you do get some artistic license in your songs, you negate the goodness of teaching small children how to spell when you use refrains such as “flopsy, flopsy!” What does that even mean?

Actually, never mind. I don’t really want to know what that means.

Please consider my suggestions.

Just a girl tired of seeing another girl’s junk

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Even my dog is a fatty la-la.

I guess it runs in the family!

I took her to the vet. They did all the fun stuff. Stick up the butt, two shots, and drew blood. She was remarkably unmoved by these intrusions. She didn't even bark or whine.

The vet came in, examined her, and said, "Well, she could stand to lose a little weight."


She weighs 66 pounds. I really, swear to Frog, just though she was extremely fluffy.

No, not so much. She has a layer of flab on her that needs to come off.

As I put her in the car I asked if she'd like to join Weight Watchers with me.
She just looked at me like I'm a fool.

So. I guess I have to convince my husband not to slip her potato chips or let her lick the pudding out of his pudding cups. Goober.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Sinusitis: A poem.

Sinusitis is why I woke up and was not able to swallow.
Sinusitis is why, in my misery, I wallow.
My head is pounding, pounding so.
So it's back to bed I go.
Back to bed, back to bed, back to bed I go.
Will I show? Oh no.

Oh no, I will not show.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Hi! I'm depressed!

I thought since I'm going to be all heavy in my post today, I might as well try to put a positive spin on it in my Title.

Did it work? No? Not so much? I'm sorry.

I've had a series of bad days lately. A long, long series. I kept telling myself that I'm in a funk and then I realized, I'm actually depressed. I hate being depressed. Even the word depressed just sucks monkey butt.

I'm depressed because:

1) I'm still a fatty la-la.
2) My sister lost one of her babies and it broke her heart and I love her so much that it broke my heart too (not even to get into how I personally felt about the whole thing).
3) My job is full of insane people.
4) I worry almost constantly about my dad and there is just nothing I can do about it.
5) The insane people at my job want to draw me into their insanity.
6) I am not interested in their insanity.
7) I am stuck, stuck, stuck in writing my book. I just cannot get past the point that I'm at and it makes me feel anxious and irritated.
8) A beloved friend of mine has breast cancer and I feel like I haven't done anything to help her.
9) I feel like I suck as a friend, period lately.
10) My mothering skills are also questionable.
11) I'm tired, unmotivated, scared, and sad.
12) My husband works 70 hours a week...I feel like I never see him and I really, really miss him.
13) I think my dog has a cold and doesn't even have words to tell me.
14) Even though I have given up on having another child, I'm pissed as hell that I'm infertile.
15) My neighbors are douchehats.
16) I want so desperately to "fix" the relationship with Jason's family and I can't get it through my thick skull that no matter what I do and no matter what I say and no matter how much I want it, THEY DON'T WANT IT.

I'm trying hard to think of positive things. I do count my blessings. I thank God for my beautiful
family, I thank God for my health, I thank God for the fact that I have a job and have money to pay my bills. I thank God that my sister's surviving baby's heart looks really good and that my precious little niece is going to make things feel better and brighter.

I'm not looking for advice, really. Mostly I'm just venting.
Also? Proving that I'm so not funny all the time.

Monday, April 09, 2007

Easter dinner.

I spent the better part of the day yesterday feeling sorry for myself.

Why? Other than the fact that I'm a huge tool?

We didn't have anyone to have dinner with.

I know, I know. Really it's better that we just had dinner by ourselves. Jason was all like, "Woo! We can sit around in our underwear and have dinner!" and I was like, "Um, honey? We don't generally sit around in our underwear while we eat." and he goes, "But we COULD!"

So yeah, I guess that would have been a positive, had it been something, you know, feasible.

I felt bad though. Just because I really hoped that someone would take pity on us and say, "Would you like to come to our house? We have pecan pie."

Maybe I just really love pecan pie. I'm not sure. But I think the real answer is, I'm just feeling bad about my life and family in general.

I do know that I feel kind of guilty now. I adore the three people I live with. I would kill for those people. But sometimes, I wish I felt more of a family feeling from other places. I know I live far away from my parents, and I know that was my choice. I don't feel bad about that choice, because my life is so much better here, but still, there are consequences for every choice.

I also feel bad because Jason called his grandmother, who is the only person in his entire family who is remotely decent to me, and she wasn't at home. I'm sure she was with the rest of his family. She called back later and I spoke to her for just a few minutes. She really wants to talk to Jason, not me. Which is fine. If my grandmother called, she would be calling to talk to me, not Jason. You know?


Okay, and I really even hate to say this.


Even though she is nice and kind to me and nice and kind to my children, she doesn't treat the Boy Child and the Girl Child as though they are her grandchildren.

And it bothers the crap out of me.

Don't get me wrong. I appreciate the fact that she is nice to me and my children. I sincerely appreciate how she's always been kind to me. That is far, far more than I've ever gotten from any other member of my husband's family. I really care about her and worry about her welfare and sincerely want the best for her.

However, she never sends them anything for their birthday. Not even a card. I understand that maybe she doesn't know when their birthday is. That's fine. I get that. She is an old woman after all. But she doesn't send them anything at Christmas either, and I know she knows when that is, and I know she gives Jason's sister's children Christmas gifts. It's like my kids don't even exist, and it bothers the crap out of me.

My children adore her. They call her "Grammie", just like Jason does. They ask about her. They write her letters, they shop with me for gifts for her. She is just like their other grandmothers, because she is daddy's grandma.

It hurts me. It just does.

During my pregnancy it became pretty obvious that my first husband wasn't going to be around. In turn, his family wasn't around either. It's a long, complicated story, but basically, they've had nothing to do with my children since practically birth. I really tried to keep the lines of communication open, and finally I got tired of it. I was sending them letters, cards, pictures, and updating them constantly on my children's progress. They never responded. Never. So I got sick of wasting my time and money on people who clearly did not care about my children. They've made no effort to contact me in like, eight years.

I really hoped and prayed that I would find someone to love and marry who would, most importantly, love me and my children, and, as a bonus, would have a big family who loved me and accepted me and my children as part of their family. I feel sadness every single day of my life because that is so not what happened. Then, I feel guilty, because really, my husband is absolutely wonderful. He's not perfect, but he's a great person, a hard worker, a good husband, and a great father. I do not know that he could possibly love his own, biological child as much as he loves the Boy Child and the Girl Child. I also know that a lot of women aren't lucky enough to even have that, and really, I should suck it up and be grateful for what I have. My children are healthy. I have a strong marriage. The four people and one dog that live inside this house are all I could have ever asked for, and even more. Last night I made lasagna (we don't eat Easter ham for us) and they all raved about how delicious it was and how mommy is such a good cook.

But I really wanted pecan pie.

I really wanted a mother-in-law who loves me.

I really wanted my children to have more than my parents as grandparents.

And I really want to not feel this way.

Sunday, April 08, 2007

Even Jesus.

A couple of thoughts...

1) Isn't it weird how people imagine Jesus to look like? The guy who always plays Jesus in our church's various productions involving Jesus doesn't look anything like I imagine Jesus looks like. Plus, I always imagined Jesus as being this really humble, possibly kind of self-deprecating dude, and this guy? Acts like he really thinks he IS Jesus. Dude! You only get to play him because you don't mind wearing the wig, okay? Get over yourself.

Actually, I think Jesus wears Dockers and possibly Teva sandals. And he's really funny and cracks jokes a lot, and maybe he still has long hair, but he's definitely not as white as all those pictures depict him to be. And I think he really likes me and he's smiling as I type this, because really, how the crap am I supposed to know what he looks like? What if I show up in Heaven and I'm all like, "Hey Jesus! Whassup?" and he really does look like Morgan Freeman?

At any rate, it'll be awesome.

2) It's really freaking cold. For whatever reason it seems like it always get super cold at Easter. We got up today and it was in the 20's.

More annoying? All these little girls at church with sleeveless dresses and sandals on. MOTHERS. For the love of God! It's cold! I know they looked cute, but seriously. Put some tights on those legs.

3) Also? I know parents of very small babies need Jesus too, but can't they leave their baby in the nursery while services are going on? I really don't mean that to be mean, but it's hard for me to get my Jesus on while a small child is going like this:


and the mother is totally ignoring the squalls.

Because I mean, if the mother got up and walked the kid around or whatever, I wouldn't have nearly as much issue with it.

But seriously? When you act like you can't hear the kid crying? That just makes you look really stupid. Because EVERYONE ELSE can hear the kid crying.

4) Finally, further proof my children are hysterical.

We stopped at the market after church and Jason ran in while the kids and I stayed in the car.
Apparently, Boy Child farted.

GC: Gross! Boy Child FARTED!
BC: What? Eww! Girl Child! Stop farting!
GC: What? I didn't fart! You farted!
BC: Gross! You smell GROSS!
GC: Brother! You cannot blame me for that rip!
Me: Good LORD. Could you please stop saying fart! We just left church!
BC: And God and Jesus don't like farting!
GC: Everyone farts, brother. Even Jesus.

Good times.

Friday, April 06, 2007

It makes the world go around.

If you are like me, the weird thing about making more money is that you are afraid to do anything with it.

Like, for example, I got a paycheck this month that was several hundred dollars more than I used to get. Before I got said paycheck I told myself that I would take that extra money and give it to my college to pay off a significant chunk of the one Perkins loan I owe them. (I owe other student loans, but only one small one to the University).

The money is sitting in my bank account. Because I don't want to see it go away.

I know that's dumb. I know it's "extra" money, because I know that I was doing just fine without it before and my expenses really haven't changed, except for the stupid student loans that I'm going to have to start paying back soon. So why can't I just write the check?

So many people are freaks about money.

I am one of them.

When I was a credit counselor, I saw a lot of people who had money issues. Some of them had money issues because they were a stay-at-home mom for fifteen years and their husband left them and the only job they could get was at Taco Bell. Some of them had money issues because they never had anything growing up and overcompensated later. Some of them were compulsive shoppers, or poor planners. Others, especially women, had spouses who ruled the home with an iron fist and would not allow them enough money to even cover basic necessities. They grew to rely on credit cards to buy things like groceries.

Most, however, had what I like to call self-inflicted money issues.

Like this one couple? They came in to see me one night with a huge stack of credit card bills and a huge bunch of attitude.

They were a married couple with three young children. They both worked as guards at a local prison. I recall that their gross income, combined, was around $58000 annually. It seems as though they both netted just under $1900 a month. So, let's say they brought home $3800.

They owned a double wide trailer for which they were paying $875 a month. That did not include taxes (city and county, mind you) or insurance. Also, they had a lot rent of $195 a month. And, they had a second mortgage on the home through a local finance company for $335 a month.

So they were paying $1405 a month for a double wide trailer. Before taxes and insurance. In the area they lived, that would have bought a really nice house. When I pointed out both the amount that their housing was costing them monthly, they seemed really surprised. I said something like, "Wow, you could have a nice house for that amount of money!" they both rolled their eyes and told me they couldn't afford a house.

They both had cars, which they told me they needed. This counseling took place in 2003 and both of their cars were 2003 models. His car payment was $495 a month. Hers? Was about $400. Car insurance was $225 a month because he had a lot of tickets. They were really behind on the car insurance.

I asked if they could just carpool, since they worked the same shift at the same place and they immediately said, no, because sometimes after work he wanted to go help his brother.

No, I'm not kidding, they really said that.

The electric bill averaged $300 a month. I don't know about anywhere else really, but in the area I lived at the time, utility bills were brutal if you lived in trailers. They were really behind on the electric bill. They owed somewhere in the neighborhood of $1000 and the bill was red- which meant cancellation was imminent.

The house phone had been shut off. They needed $300 to get it turned back on. They both had cell phones though. His plan was $59.99 a month. Hers ran her about $120 a month. I asked if they could combine plans to save money and they said they couldn't. No explanation as to why, but they couldn't. I asked why they HAD to have cell phones and the woman, very snippily, informed me that she had children and she couldn't be without a way to reach her children at any given moment. I asked her if she had a phone on her desk at work and she said she did.

I asked how much they spent on groceries and she said about $100 a month. I questioned that, as they had five people in the home and that is ridiculously low for five people, even if you are a super shopper. She insisted that was correct and they didn't eat very much.

I asked her how much they spent eating out.

"We never eat out," she said, taking a long drink out of her McDonalds cup.

I told her that McDonalds WAS eating out, because it was food not prepared at home.

They got really irritated at this point and said, "You just need to help us with our bills!"

I tried to explain that the reason they were having trouble paying their bills is because their living expenses were to high. They didn't care, they didn't want to hear it. I told them I wouldn't look at their bills until we finished their living expenses. They got very annoyed, but agreed and snapped each answer at me. The answers included a $100 a week hip-hop dance class for one of their daughters, and $30 a week, per kid, for allowance because they never had any money growing up and since they made good money their kids weren't going to suffer like that.

They had $60,000 in credit card debts.

They were angry at me for "not helping" them, and called my boss to complain the next day.

Those people? They had self-inflicted money troubles.

I swore I'd never be one of those people, and largely I am not. I'm not behind on anything, I don't have excessive debts, and I don't overspend for basics.

But I'm still a freak about money.

I'm so afraid to have nothing. I never want to be there again.

Logically, I know this won't happen. Logically, I know I'm stronger now than I've ever been. I have more education and experience than I've ever had. Every day I gain more experience. Every day I meet more people who have influence over my career. Every paycheck I deposit money in the savings account. Every paycheck, I chip away at the debt I do have remaining. As much as I hate the debt I have from my student loans, I don't regret that debt at all. Because that debt means I have education, and education has opened doors for me.

Emotionally? It makes me a Weepy McWeepster.

I don't know how to change.