Resolutions and Other Bullshit

Well, here we are again: the end of the year and ready to start anew. And even though this means we are getting closer to the Mayan DAY OF DOOM, I'm looking forward to putting this shit-filled shitty year behind me.

I'm not much on resolutions. It's like saying, "I'll start my diet on Monday so I can destroy my body this weekend" and then Monday comes and the only thing that sounds good with your weekend hangover is a greasy cheeseburger and fries.

SO. No resolutions from me. But I do hope 2011 has better mojo because if I have another suck-ass year like this one, I'm totally turning into one of those crazy assholes who stand on street corners preaching about the impending DAY OF DOOM...and hoping it comes swift and painless.

I wish all of you good health, great wealth and much happiness in 2011.

(Actually, I just want all that for myself. But for you guys, I wish for more comments on here...)

Cheers!

Thinking That...

If your radiology job regularly entails administering IVs to patients, you shouldn't need to stick me three times only to say, "Oh well, two are blown. Hey Patty? Can you call Tammy??? It's okay, hon. I'm just calling the nurse. She's a pro."

THEN WHY WASN'T SHE IN HERE TEN MINUTES AND THREE STICKS AGO??????

Dickheads.

Merry Christmas!

The Kid: "This was the BEST Christmas ever! I still can't believe I got an Xbox 360 AND an iPod nano!"

Me: "Yes, it was. Boy, you would think I was working a good job and making a lot of money, huh? You should thank Grandma...she took care of us this Christmas."

The Kid: "You know, Grandma can be seriously annoying but dude, she's like a fairy. She makes things happen."

Indeed she does.

Merry Christmas!

Retro Christmas

I'm one of those parents who constantly remind their children how good they have it. For instance, television. When I was growing up, we had 13 channels - one of them was a "U" and at least three of them aired only news! Internet? HA! Not even invented yet.

"Woooooow. How did you survive your childhood???"

I ask myself that same question at most family holiday dinners.

This year The Kid is begging for an Xbox 360. He is so pathetic in his quest that he has started sniffing around the presents under the tree saying, "Do I smell an Xbox 360? I think I smell an Xbox 360!!!"

Tonight I was at the grocery store, and I was passing through the Christmas aisle when something caught my eye. Something familiar...

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

It's an Atari.

Yes! The old game system in all its janky-ass, stiff-joystick self! They're bringing it back! I'm SO SO getting this for The Kid for Christmas! Can you imagine his face when he opens THAT present???

And I would buy only one game - Pong. Oh yeah. He wouldn't be able to figure it out! The boy could probably rebuild your computer but a classic like Pong??? No way. His brain would explode with the simplicity of it.

Nah, that would be too cruel of me. He would KILL ME if Santa gave him the Atari versus Xbox.

Then again, he has it soooo good. And he DOES need stuff to tell his therapist one day...

There's A Reason

As I think back on my life, I divide it into two parts: Before Zane (BZ) and After Zane (AZ).

BZ, I was pretty selfish. Okay, I was REALLY selfish. Who wouldn't be? I had only myself to look after - so as long as I had a case of Ramen noodles and a short skirt for the bar scene, I was set!

BUT...a child changes everything. I was given every chance in life but could never make the right choices until I had The Kid. Suddenly it wasn't about me anymore. I remember the second night home with him - it was two in the morning, I was DEAD TIRED, and I looked into his wide eyes...and I apologized. I apologized for being a single mom and for not being able to give him a house with four bedrooms, three baths and a swimming pool. I realized then that my decisions directly affected this tiny little baby in my arms. And I swore to make the best choices for him.

There were a few people in my BZ life whom I ended up falling out of touch with. I looked back and realized I couldn't handle "real" relationships with people in my past because I was my own priority, and I probably deserved their animosity. I felt that I needed to make amends - as an adult and as a mother.

But, one by one, I realized there were reasons for these people to be out of my life. I may have handled it wrong BZ but the core reasons they were out of my life remained. They were still liars and cheaters and douchebags...oh my.

Where the hell is this going? I have no clue - other than to reassure myself that I need to trust my instincts and move on if necessary...as well as hang on to the good ones who have been with me through thick and thin.

Especially those who know I'm a hot mess.

And gift me a bottle of whiskey at Christmastime.

Thinking That......

Just realized today is Mother's birthday. Guess I should apologize for calling her an asshat this morning.

*sigh*

Painfully Honest

I went grocery shopping today for just a few things (which somehow magically turns into $120) and I self-checked out (natch) and braved the cold to the far end of the parking lot where I earlier found a shitty parking spot. I had just finished loading my grocery bags into the back of the Jeep when I looked down and noticed a stray package of eyeliner.

Shit.

It must have slipped through from the top of my cart and hidden itself in between my cases of water. I looked back at the store...AW, HELL NO. I'm freezing and OF COURSE not wearing a coat. The parking lot is packed....no way. I'm not going back. It's like what, five dollars???

Shit.

Have I mentioned my work experience includes gigs at two casinos and a bank? I can't steal. I just can't. This would weigh on my mind all night...or at least until three a.m. when I would throw a blanket over my scrub pajamas and go back and pay for the eyeliner because I can't sleep with bad karma on my conscience.

But I just got off work, and I wanna go home...

I drove up the aisle, which ended at the front door of the grocery store. NO, DAMMIT. It's cold, and there isn't anywhere close to park.

Crap. There's an open spot. First space, second row. DAMMIT. Where were you a half hour ago???

At least my conscience is clear this evening. No wonder I didn't do well in the corporate world....

Dear Mr. Turkey

I'm sorry I violated you. I shoved herbs and an onion up your butt and rubbed shallot and herb butter under the skin of your breast. Then I roasted and devoured you. I feel dirty. But full. Pleasantly full.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Thinking That....

the hand sanitizer I carry in my bag smells like a margarita.

And no, I didn't drink it.

Especially because I didn't have any salt on me.

You Say Tomato, I Say Tomahto

When was the last time you laughed really hard? Like, BELLY LAUGHED. Mine was when I discovered that my boss, whom we dubbed Queen Bitch of the Universe, had a maiden name of "Biatch". She pronounced it "Biache" but we pronounced it BEYOTCH!!!!!!

Man...I TOTALLY pissed my pants on that one.

Because I Really Am That Important

Bluetooth phones. Bluetooths. Blueteeth?

Nothing else makes someone think, "I am so damn important that I just may get one of my many important phone calls while talking to you. And I must take that important call because it is so much more important than the not-important conversation I'm currently having with you."

While everyone else is thinking, "Just wearing that thing shows what a self-absorbed, tasteless, clueless schmuck you are. And when you're walking around on your 'important' phone call, you look like a king douchebag talking to himself."

Actually, I don't think I've ever seen a woman wearing a Bluetooth. Mostly just middle-aged men. With big fat beer guts.

Because if THAT doesn't turn me on, the Bluetooth will surely seal the deal.

Cart Stalking...er, Watching

I've always been a people watcher. I love sitting in a crowded area and watching what walks by me. I imagine their life stories...like, why does that woman look so sad? Did her boyfriend just dump her? Did her dog die? And does that kid think having his pants rest just below his butt cheeks is sexy? Cause I LOVE seeing a 15-year-old wanna-be gangster's boxer shorts. And what the hell is SHE doing with that guy??? I hope he's her father and NOT her boyfriend. He must be rich. And generous, by the size of her boobs.

But you wanna know what's even better than merely watching people walk past? Watching what people buy at the grocery store. Oh yeah. I call it "cart watching". I love to look into others' grocery carts and invent their life stories. Admit it, we've all done it at some point - what about that little old lady with the teased-to-heaven dyed-red hair, barely strong enough to push her cart that holds two cases of Milwaukee's Best? Come on - we ALL have one of her in our local grocery!

Then there's the guy with 20 boxes of frozen dinners and generic toilet paper. Economy size, of course. Yep...he's single. I once saw a huge guy, muscle shirt and all, buying a box of Kashi cereal, a carton of orange juice and a Summer's Eve douche. Seriously. SERIOUSLY? What the hell is he going to do with a douche? Granted, maybe it's for his wife but who the hell still uses Summer's Eve douches??? Apparently wifey is still living in 1987 before the advent of REGULAR SHOWERS.

Today I saw an older gentlemen buying six jugs of bleach and a box of frozen waffles. Obviously a serial killer. But whenever I see a guy walking out with a pile of steaks, a bag of charcoal and a case of Corona, I leave my cart right where it is and tail him. Seriously. Cause that's my kind of party.

Hmm, I wonder what people think of MY cart? Let's see...today I bought an artichoke, a bottle of wine, large black garbage bags and Saran Wrap. That could be a good time, right?

I know, I know. Totally signs of a vegetarian lush who buries bodies in her yard. Probably not too far from the truth, either...

Anne Landers

So the other night I was in The Library (aka bathroom) where I keep all my crossword puzzles from our daily paper. I solved last Sunday's puzzle (in pen, natch) but still had some time before checking out so I started reading other features on the page.

Suddenly I see "Ann Landers". Seriously? I remember Ann Landers when I was a kid. She was awesome! She helped housewives with their most perplexing, horrible problems! She was full of the BEST advice!!!

Ann died not too long ago and two chicks (who I think were actually writing the advice for her the last few years) took over. The column's pretty much the same...except that the two chicks apparently still think it's 1978.

"Dear Ann, I've been married for 20 years and my husband recently told me he's been in a relationship with another woman for 10 years and they have two kids. What should I do?"

Ann is all, perhaps he's misunderstood...see a counselor...try to bring your husband to the counseling sessions!

Wha? Honey, GET A RUTHLESS DIVORCE ATTORNEY AND TAKE THAT ASSHOLE FOR ALL HE'S WORTH!!!!

How are people still writing to Ann??? It's 2010! Is "Confused in Cincinnati" real? Because I don't think ANYONE would actually write Ann for advice on how to handle their drug-addicted son who's also a kleptomaniac!

"OMIGOSH. I had a birthday party for my cousin's sister's roommate, and I forgot to invite her brother's wife's dog! What should I do? I know! I'LL WRITE ANN LANDERS. She'll know what to do!!!!!"

Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration but still...are there really people out there who have major life issues and actually write to a newspaper columnist to solve them? What do they do if their letter isn't published? Let your husband keep cheating because Anne hasn't advised you on how to handle the situation yet????

Thank GAWD for the internet because my issues could fill up two years' worth of columns for Ann. I don't have time to sit around and wait for her sage advice - I just Google "The dickhead cheated on me. What should I do?" Within ten seconds I find the perfect solution: Put used kitty litter in his pillowcase and get the hell out.

Probably won't read THAT in Ann's column but DAMN THAT FELT GOOD!

Here We Go Again

The Kid came home from school today and told me of a conversation he had with his teacher.

(*Side note: The Kid loves the band Slipknot. I don't know where he gets it but I'm starting to have serious doubts that I'm actually the baby mama.)

Teacher: "Do you really think Slipknot is appropriate for a kid your age?"

The Kid: "I don't know, but do you really think Justin Bieber is appropriate for a white guy your age?"

Well, shit. Can't wait for the next parent-teacher conference.

Delayed Satisfaction

I haven't written lately because I'm not feeling the love here. I get comments on my Facebook page about my blog but hardly any comments on my actual blog. And I KNOW y'all are out there stalking me...

So one of my fave bloggers came up with a post that is one of the most therapeutic things I've ever participated in. And it didn't cost me $200 an hour at the shrink's office.

From:
Barefoot Foodie - "Delayed Satisfaction"

You know those things you always wanted to say, but in that moment, you totally blanked, and then spent the next 48 hours cursing yourself and thinking of way wittier responses?

I think I am gonna spend the day saying all the things I should have said.

What do you wish you would have said?

I'll start.

I was 19 years old when you said, "I'll date you but only if you promise to lose some weight." And then you dumped me shortly thereafter for your Asian ex-girlfriend with a name that sounded like Vagina. Guess what? A few years later I got myself together, started working out and got SMOKIN' HOT. You missed out, asshole...

To my former boss who mentally abused his underlings: It's okay. We all know it was because you have a teeny tiny dick. I just feel bad for your wife...she seemed so nice.

Okay. Ball's in your court. Let's hear it!

'The Buried Life'

I recently discovered a show airing on MTV called The Buried Life. It follows four guys who travel across the U.S. and Canada accomplishing items they listed on their "100 Things To Do Before You Die" list. They also ask people they meet to name something they'd like to do before they die...and make one of the strangers' wishes come true.

The show has made me laugh a lot as well as cry a few times. That makes a good show in my book! So OF COURSE I started thinking about things I'd like to do before I hit the ground - and remembered I actually made a list back in 2002 or so, when The Kid was just a little guy. This was before I started working for Satan Inc., and I was quite the optimist...so I was excited to see what I listed. I dug the list out and posted below (my snarky comments in bold, natch):

1. Gamble in Las Vegas
2. Go to the top of the Empire State Building (Ummm...been to NYC and was petrified of terrorists on every corner. Probably will cross this one off.)
3. Ski in Colorado
4. Run in a marathon (Psht! I only run when chased so I don't have high hopes for this one...)
5. Visit Los Angeles (My family lives outside of LA but I've never ventured into The City.)
6. Party at Mardi Gras
7. Move The Kid out of Illinois
8. Get my bachelor's degree (DONE!)
9. Get married - if only for a day
10. Gamble in Monte Carlo (This was when I still had dreams of marrying a billionaire. Or a professional tennis player.)
11. Take a dip in the Mediterranean
12. See the U.S. by motorhome (Yeah. I saw the Southeast by motorhome and almost left my mother in Georgia. On purpose.)
13. Go to Yellowstone and snap breathtaking pictures (I was a bit more...earthy back then. Now I'd go to Yellowstone only if they had an all-inclusive tour bus with A/C and a wet bar.)
14. Have a kitchen with ceramic tile floors (I don't know why...but my bathroom has a ceramic tile floor so DONE!)
15. Waterski
16. Teach a college course
17. Attend a Jimmy Buffet concert
18. Own a Land Rover (I'd actually rather marry someone who owns a Land Rover.)
19. Learn to play the guitar
20. Teach The Kid to dance (DONE!)
21. Attend a seance
22. Shop at Mall of America (DONE! but see snarky comment on #12 and replace "Southeast" with "Midwest" and "Georgia" with "Iowa".)
23. Visit Yale
24. Own a home (DONE!)
25. Swim with dolphins (DONE! And that REALLY kicked ass!)

Fast forward eight years and a whoooole lot of road later. I'm a completely different person now. I bought my own house, raised my son by myself, had a shitty abusive boss, lost my job, and am trying to pick up the pieces. So I've revamped my list...for better or worse.

1. Own a house with a pool
2. Deliver a baby
3. Raise The Kid to be a considerate compassionate man who doesn't own a motorcycle
4. Scuba dive again - perhaps in Belize?
5. Take another cruise
6. Perform one night of stand-up comedy
7. Gamble in Vegas
8. Ski Big Bear Lake again (This time without ice/snow and a concussion, please.)
9. Skinny dip properly
10. Forgive several family members who deserted me as a child
11. Be asked for an autograph
12. Get arrested (BUT NOT FOR DUI.)
13. Get married - and divorced in the same week
14. Overcome my fear of flying (probably needed to accomplish #4)
15. Save a life
16. Make a stranger's wish come true

Looking back, I see I've become less materialistic...and hopefully a better person. Then again, I think I'm more fun to be around since I've become a closet alcoholic.

Anyone else have some dying wishes???

Good Luck With That!

After reading the note claiming he was running away, I asked The Kid where he was going. He choked out between sobs:

I'm *sniff* going to Canada *sniff* to get a job as a *sniff* Canadian bacon salesman. *SNIFF*

I Know I'm a Girl and Stuff But, Like, Um....EWWW?!?!?

Seriously, dude? I CANNOT believe you didn't feel the two-inch cockroach that just crawled across your chest while you were talking to me. It's totally like, hiding in your shirt right now. But I'm not sayin' anything cause you might brush it off where it'll crawl across my feet and I'll scream like the little prissy bitch that I am. And that will surely scare the other people.

And this is only day three. Ya gotta love working with the general public.

Back in the Saddle Again

I officially started the new job today. I have mixed feelings about it - on one hand, I miss being a stay-at-home mom and taking The Kid to school (okay, okay...and the naps.) But on the other hand, it's nice to have a reason to get out of my pajamas, wear makeup, and shower daily (c'mon people...the moms know what I'm talking about.)

And although I got lost no less than three times - and I think I broke a door - I had a great day. AND it's part time so you know what that means, right?

Still get to nap four days a week, baby.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Runners

Today I went to our local running shoe store because I was advised I would get THE perfect fit for a running shoe. (And no, smart asses out there, I'm not considering taking up running. It's for the new job. You should all know I only run when chased.)

The sweet salesboy (he was FAB, btw) was more than happy to help me. As he rounded the counter, I noticed he was wearing...interesting shoes. I kept trying to look at them without looking at them...you know? Finally he said, "Are you interested in my shoes?" All I could muster was, "Doesn't that chafe in odd areas?" He laughed and said no...and let me photograph his foot.

I'd hate to think that I was "out of touch" but...yeah. I'm resigned to the fact that I must be too old to get this. *sigh*

Vomit, Diarrhea and Boogers, Oh My!

In the car, driving to The Kid's drum lesson:

Kid: "Ewww...there's ear wax on my ear plug. Get it off!"

Me: (While driving, I take the aforementioned cooty-filled ear plug, lick my finger, clean off the wax, and hand it back to him.)

Kid: "Wow. You really are a mom."

Me: "Huh?"

Kid: "You really are a mom for doing that for me."

Dude....you have NO IDEA how many of your body fluids have landed on me in the last ten years.

Thinking That.....

Today is my physical for the new job. I know, right? Like I need some doctor lecturing me that I'm overweight, drink too much alcohol, and need to exercise.

Cause that's my mother's job.

Randomly Heard

"Moe, you're lucky you're a kitten because you don't have to go to school. School sucks balls."

*And no, he did NOT get that from me because I don't say "sucks balls." At least not in that context....

Texting

Mother: "Remember that souvenir bottle of Fountain of Youth H2O we brought Grandma from FL?"

Me: "Yeah."

Mother: "I'm sitting in her office looking at it. It's half gone."

Me: "You're not s'pose to drink it. It says right on the bottle."

Mother: "I know that."

Me: "Looks like she wants to stick around a little longer."

Mother: "Great. I can't handle her crazy for another 10 years."

Mother: "Crap."

Me: "What?"

Mother: "I just super glued my finger to my soda can."

Me: "Nice. Don't you go drinking from that bottle, k?"

Sides Are For Pussies

As I was growing up, my mother cooked about as well as Jeffrey Dahmer did so I eventually taught myself to cook. I couldn't cook cook but I could hold my own with a few key recipes. After I got laid off from my job last year, I needed a hobby that wouldn't land me in jail. Or destroy my liver. So I started watching cooking shows. Granted, I've had a love/hate relationship with them, but I've really learned a lot from them. My recipe repertoire has grown, I've experimented with foods I normally passed over at the grocery store, and I've developed a pretty good taste for seasonings. I'm not Paula Deen yet (thank God) but I can cook some good ass food!

Except.....for side dishes. I spend so much time and energy on the fantabulous main dish that I usually forget to make side dishes. Maybe it's because I usually only cook for myself (although I almost always find sides for The Kid, who doesn't eat what I cook half the time.) But I don't care. The dishes I make taste so good that I don't need side dishes filling me up!

However, The Mother has a problem with it. She is benefitting tremendously from my newfound cooking prowess (i.e., she always finds a reason to be at my house around dinnertime. Moocher.) But she always has to make a comment about my lack of sides.

"Couldn't you have made a salad? Just a salad would be good."

Here's the door. Go find yourself a salad.

Mother knows she has no room to criticize me on my dishes...but she does, natch. It's actually become a joke between us - she whines about salads, I remind her of how she made three of us sick last Easter. Ha ha.

Oh well. If she wants to eat well, she can keep her criticisms to herself. Cause tomorrow night I'm making some kick ass beef burgundy.

With no sides, of course.

No More Valium For Me

I had my six-month dental check today. The hygienist informed me she would need to take x-rays (which is fine because I don't need five people to hold me down like The Kid does.) But today was different because the hygienist asked me to follow her down the hall. Hmmmm.

I entered a room with a panoramic x-ray machine (which goes around your head, unlike bite wings that go into your mouth) and we took panoramic pics of my teeth. Afterward, I asked her why we did the panoramic x-rays instead of the normal bite wings. She said, "Oh, we don't do bite wings anymore. We can see more of the teeth in the panoramic x-ray."

What? WHAT??? SHUT. THE. EFF. UP.

Now some of you may not be familiar with The Kid's aversion to bite wing x-rays. I usually need a valium after he goes for a check up.

I asked if they took children. She said, Absolutely! OH YEAH. The Kid has never thanked me for giving birth to him and having to endure painful constant contractions and a long-ass needle stuck into my back (which I was SO grateful for that I wanted to have the anesthesiologist's child. And she was a woman.) No, not even a "Good job, Mom!"

But this? The Kid is going to bow down and kiss my feet when I tell him he can switch dentists. He SO owes me. Like, for life.

I think I'll start by making him clean my room and paint my toenails.

Hell Hath Frozen Over

So......I got a job! Ironically, it's the job I volunteered for while I was making big money at my former job. I loved my time there, and now I'm getting paid for it!

The problem? I'm earning one quarter of what I was making in my last position. Yep, take what you make per month and throw away three-fourths of it. Hurts, doesn't it? But in the dark reality of minimum wage work there is one glorious shining bright spot about this new job:

I don't have to wear pantyhose.

BOOYAH!!!!!!

The Highlight of My Day

Dickhead creditor: "The last thing you charged on your credit card was a $16.00 purchase from Amazon.com. Why don't you sell some of your stuff to pay off your credit card bill?"

Me: "Yeah, like someone's going to buy Bright Lights, Big Ass for $800 dollars. Why don't you sell one of your balls and buy yourself some brains???"

Me= 1
Dickhead Creditor= 0

Dressing for Success

I made my first visit to the local unemployment office today because I couldn't get through to anyone at the toll-free number. Verrrry inneresting.

Next time I'll leave my one carat diamond stud earrings at home. And my Louis Vuitton purse. And my pearls. Then again, even if I rode the bus there naked I would still stick out.

Reminder: Next time, bring pepper spray.

Sweet, Sweet Nitrous

The dentist appointment got a little hairy until the hygienist turned on the gas. Then it was alllllllllllll good.

Heaven Help Me

It is once again time for one of my most dreaded and horrible duties I have as a mom. It drains me physically and mentally every time I have to do it, and I swear every time I will take every measure to ensure that I don't have to do it anymore. But here we go again.

The Kid has a dentist appointment tomorrow.

I was never afraid of the dentist when I was young because he was my dad. I liked the "Mickey Mouse" gas (nitrous) he gave me, and I knew he wouldn't intentionally hurt me. (Although there was that one time I groaned as he was pulling a loose baby tooth and he said to his hygienist, "Don't mind her. She always complains." Bastard.)

(Side note: I grew up mostly in the 80s so dental regulations weren't exactly adhered to. Or passed yet. My sister, who was around 14 or 15 years old, spent her summer vacation acting as my dad's hygienist. She did a good job...until I came in for a filling. Back then, dentists used the silver fillings that had to set for ten minutes or so. After my dad filled my cavity, he instructed my sister to keep the suction tube in my mouth until he returned from checking another patient. Long story short - I started playing with the filling with my tongue...it slipped down my throat...my sister went after it with the suction tube...and did NOT retrieve the filling. My dad came back in, and we acted like nothing was amiss. That was the last time he left us alone during my dental visits.)

Anyballs, The Kid HATES the dentist. And when I say hate, I mean he would rather chop off his arms and legs and be a flopping bloody torso than go to the dentist. The last two times he had to have x-rays it took five of us holding him down to get the pictures. FIVE.

I don't know why he's so afraid. He can never come up with a valid answer when I ask him. You would think he'd be flossing every night to avoid the dentist, right? NOT. Hence, our pending visit tomorrow to get a cavity filled.

Perhaps when the hygienist isn't looking I'll sneak a whiff off the Mickey Mouse gas. Hell, I'm paying out the ass for it, and I'll probably need it more than The Kid does.

*Dear God, please be with me and The Kid tomorrow. Let the dentist appointment go smoothly and keep us all safe. Especially the poor hygienists. Amen.*

Riches to Rags

So with the dawning of the New Me (on drugs, natch) I felt it was time for a change on the blog. "Regan's Head" is an unimaginative title I tossed on my first blog five years ago. No one ever read it so there was no reason for me to care that it was lame.

I was brainstorming last night on new titles: The Crazy Mama, MILF Central, Single But Not Ready To Mingle Because Men Can Save Their Drama For Their Mama, etc. Then I thought maybe I could play off my childhood nickname - "Rags". (In fact, my father's side of the family still calls me Rags.) A few people have said, "Rags to riches! Hahaha!!!" I'm like, Wow. Cause I've NEVER HEARD THAT BEFORE.

Then it hit me. The story of my life.

Riches to Rags.

It's Okay to be Crazy. Hell, Everyone Else is Doing It!

I'm pretty open about my employment situation (or lack thereof.) Last year, I was laid off from my job. You know, my high-paying job that I HATED WITH EVERY CELL IN MY BODY. Part of me was devastated (the side that said, "How am I going to pay my mortgage? I'm a single mother, and I just bought a new car!") but the other part of me was relieved (the side that said, "I hated my job and my company anyway. Now I have a legitimate excuse to sleep in and drink during the day!")

I handled this life-changing event pretty well. I kept busy, cleaned the clutter from my house (which was 95% McDonald's toys), had lunch with friends, cruised the internet for employment opportunities I MAY be interested in. Afternoon naps were a must, and I bonded with The Kid. Unemployment paid the bills (sorta) and I was okay with my new title of SAHM (which stands for Stay-At-Home-MILF, natch.)

Fast forward eleven months. I was bored OUT OF MY FREAKIN' MIND. I lived in my pajamas and only left the house for errands. I was running out of money and sharing a blood supply with my couch. I couldn't get an interview anywhere, and I was quickly sinking into a very dark place.
By the middle of June, I was a mess. I was bored, antsy and cried at everything - including commercials. Hell, I even once sobbed when I was watching the Home Shopping Network. ("Look at those poor people...terrible acting skills and having to hock their worthless crap on HSN to boot. But at least they have a job!" *SOB*)

So I decided it was time to get some help. And not the kind of help where you have weekly appointments with a lesbian who smells like patchouli, writing notes as you cry and saying things like, "I see. I know, that's tough. Can you maybe look online for a job?" Damn. I NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT. Thanks! Here's $200 for your sage advice. See you next week!

No, I needed DRUGS. I called my doctor and told him if he didn't put me on something right now, I would hunt him down like an animal and make his life as miserable as mine. (Side note: Don't mess with someone who is unemployed. We have waaaay too much time on our hands for you to screw with us.)

Perhaps it was the crazed look on my face (or my threats of keying his BMW) but he finally prescribed Wellbutrin. He said it would take a few days to get into my system but promised me it would help. (He also said it sometimes can act as an appetite suppressant. I was all, Psht. That won't help me cause it's not like I need to be hungry to eat!) Ten days later, I woke up and felt...whole.

I didn't feel like crying anymore. In fact, I felt like taking a shower! (I know, right???) Son of a bitch...this stuff was actually working! You know what it reminded me of? When I was in labor with my son, I was having contractions every couple of minutes. It SUCKED. (All you moms out there know what I mean but guys, put your balls in a nutcracker and squeeze every two minutes. Oh, did I mention the nutcracker IS ON FIRE???? Yeah. Something like that.) The nurse said, "Let me know when you're ready for the epidural." I was like, "I'm READY NOW, bitch!" Ooooooh, the relief. Sweet Mary mother of Jesus, the relief. (Another side note: Anyone who willingly goes through labor without an epidural or other form of pain relief is fucking nuts. Why the HELL would you put yourself through that????)

Anyhoo, what I'm getting at is...I'm back. I'm back to who I was before the boredom swallowed me up. (Don't get me wrong, I'm still bored as hell but the Wellbutrin is tricking my brain by turning my feelings of boredom into feelings of contentment.) Oh, oh! And get this! The appetite thing? It's working! About two weeks in, I was devouring a Culver's cheeseburger (and you don't mess with Mama when she's getting her Culver's cheeseburger on) and about halfway through it, I stopped. I was stuffed. And I mean stuffed like if I took another bite I would puke everywhere. I've lost almost ten pounds now! (I know, I know...I'm still not ready for my Playboy debut but it's a start.)

There is such a stigma about mental health issues but I guarantee that if you ask twenty people if they've ever been on anti-depressants/anti-anxiety drugs, at least 15 of them would say yes (and the other five are probably lying.) I'm not ashamed to say that I needed help after everything I had worked for in the last seven years was thrown out the window...and run over by a car...and pissed on by a bum.

Except for the alcohol. I can't really drink alcohol on Wellbutrin. Doc said once in a while was okay (which I took as only days ending in Y) but he said more than that may result in me having seizures. Awesome. It was a tough call but I figured I'd try the drugs before I reverted back to my alcohol therapy.

I'm glad I gave the drugs a shot because this is the best I have felt in the last two years. Now I just need to find a job. And some anti-seizure medication.

Foto Friday

We got a new member of the family this week. He is a sweet little baby...but most importantly, I didn't have to give birth to him. And he's already potty trained.

Foto Friday

Having given birth to a son ten years ago, I have had to totally rearrange my life around "boy stuff". When he was three, I would get excited seeing a firetruck because I knew he was excited. When he was five, I would get excited when Power Rangers was on tv because I knew he was excited. When he was nine, I would get excited for WWE wrestling to come on FOUR NIGHTS A WEEK because I knew he was excited.

Tonight, I attended a live WWE Raw event at our civic center because I knew he'd be excited. Today's Foto Friday shot is one of the more than 100 photos I snapped for him tonight...because Mommy needs to have a little fun too.

Boredom

I found this little piece I wrote a few years back. I was craving creativity so I Googled "writing assigments." I also make mention of my boss at the time, Scott. He is the biggest piece of shit I've ever encountered.

Internet Assignment Week One: Write your life story from today forward. Be specific. Describe a struggle. Overcome it. Have fun!

At the age of 32, Regan began her first novel How to Lose 10 Pounds in Three Years, a comedic glimpse into her life as a single mother. Astonishingly, a large publishing company snatched the book up soon after Regan completed it in 2007. It soared up the New York Times bestseller list, sitting at the #1 spot for six weeks. This allowed the author to quit her fulltime job brown nosing in corporate legal and concentrate on her writing - and on being a mom.

The following summer, Regan purchased an RV and packed up her son (and mother) and embarked on a three-month excursion across the United States. She wrote articles for several magazines, including a breathtaking piece on Olympia National Park in Washington state that was picked up by the Associated Press and published in hundreds of newspapers' Sunday travel editions.

That fall, when Regan's son went back to school, she began work on her second novel. Her unique encounters on her trip across America were the basis for this novel, titled Cubicle Dwellers Beware. It was during the promotion of this book that Regan met her husband, Australian comedy writer James "Liam" Van der Maar. They eloped in Las Vegas shortly after Regan's first novel won the Nobel Prize for literature and settled in Miami, Florida.

The union was a match made in comedic heaven - and one that produced two children (Liesel and Dash, who joined Regan's son Zane), four novels, six plays and the introduction of their widely popular joint newspaper column in the Miami Herald. Unfortunately, the marriage didn't survive the struggle for laughs, and Regan and Liam divorced. As many devoted readers began to mourn the loss of a favorite writing duo, they soon realized the fun had only just begun.

Although Liam was granted "custody" of the Herald column in the divorce settlement, Regan began penning a competing column, contradicting everything Liam wrote. The award-winning Dueling Divorcees quickly became a hit in Miami and was soon syndicated in newspapers nationwide.

A series in that column won the couple a National Press Club Award for Humor in 2015. Their increasingly heated exchange over Arnold Schwarzenegger's bid for the presidency, as well as Sylvester Stallone's gubernatorial bid in Florida, ignited newspapers around the country. Many analysts believe Regan's stance against testosterone-pumped-people-in-power helped thwart the former Mr. Universe from winning the ultimate title of President of the United States.

The happily unmarried couple resides in Miami (although on opposite ends) and enjoys their public arguing way too much. Regan spends her spare time lounging with her children by the pool, road tripping in her Winnebago and playing with her pit bull, Scottie.

UPDATE: At the ripe old age of 90, Liam fell while getting out of his Jacuzzi. He immediately called Regan, his partner in life, who rushed over to laugh at him. After dialing 911, Regan tripped over Liam's wet flailing body and collapsed. They both expired at 1:35 pm, apparently with broken necks.

Thinking That.....

I got to hold a sweet little baby during the fireworks last night. It almost makes me want another one!

(And by almost I mean KILL ME IF I EVER SAY THAT AGAIN.)

Hmmmm.....

The Kid: "What's a navel?"

Me: "It's your belly button."

The Kid: "Ah. What's tequila?"

Me: ?????? "It's a liquor. Pretty harsh stuff. Sometimes they call it 'to-kill-ya'. Almost killed me in college..."

The Kid: "Ah."

Me: "Why the questions?"

The Kid: "Well, I was just wondering what they meant by 'pour tequila in my navel and lie to me.'"

That's it. I'm cancelling our internet service TODAY.

Hallelujah

I recently discovered The Kid can't say the word "hallelujah", as evidenced below:

I know, I know...I probably shouldn't be laughing but it's JUST TOO DAMN FUNNY. On a different note, this "Hallelujah" is hauntingly beautiful. RIP Jeff Buckley.

My Work Here Is Done

"Mom, you are SO inappropriate. And I LOVE IT!!!"

Stress Sucks, Meds Rock

I've had a LOT of stress recently (mostly due to the whole unemployed-so-now-forced-to-drink-Keystone-Light-situation but now exacerbated by the whole I'm-not-paying-my-credit-cards-so-I-can-pay-my-mortgage situation) so a doctor* suggested I take something to "just take the edge off."

*It doesn't matter what kind of doctor he is...but he is a board-certified doctor who has stuff to "just take the edge off."

I was given a little white pill. It was so tiny that I wondered how it could make me feel better! Turns out it was called Ativan. Yeah.

YEAH.

I'm not a pill popper and had vaguely heard of Ativan but still wasn't too sure what it was. But MAN I needed some relief so I was game.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. There was a raucous party at my house that night! And by raucous party, I mean I was HIGH for 6 1/2 hours. CRAZY, PARTY OF ONE!!!!! Then I crashed. For fifteen hours.

But when I woke up...it was beautiful. The birds were singing, a soft breeze was blowing through my window, the forest animals were making cute little forest animal sounds that were carried on that soft breeze blowing through my window...it was bloody wonderful! I felt like GODDAMN SLEEPING BEAUTY! I WAS FRIKKIN' REFRESHED!

Lessons learned:

1. Little innocuous white pills can very well be seeds of the devil.
2. Especially little innocuous white pills given to you by someone who refers to himself as "Dr. Dude".
3. I should probably rely on something more long term to regulate my stress.
4. Trying to climb an entertainment center to kill a water bug while high on Ativan will leave ugly bruises and break three shelves.

Better than a Porn Star

Me: "So...what do you want to be when you grow up?"

The Kid: "Hmmmmm. I would have to say.....a foxy sniper."

Me: "..........oh."

The Kid: "I'm serious."

Me: "I can see that. Well, I support you in that endeavor."

The Kid: "Thanks."

Me: "No problem."

Foto Friday

So technically it's Saturday...but this is what you get with an unemployed slacker.

Mother gave me a break tonight and took The Kid to the Tremont Turkey Festival. (See, around here we have festivals for turkeys, pumpkins, and cherries. They're all the same festival with all the same rides - and all the same toothless carnies. The only difference is the flavor of the fudge. And no....there's no way I'm trying the turkey fudge.)

Kiddo crashed on the couch with his typical nighttime attire: his snake, his lizard, his pink stuffed Amy (from Sonic the Hedgehog...and YES, he's totally gonna kill me for posting this!) and his face mask. This one says "Leave Me Alone". He can't sleep without it. Is it obvious yet that I'm raising a metrosexual?

Writing a Letter to My 20-something Self

Hey Rags-

Go to class. I know you hate the professors and are really just there for the party but please...go to class. And don't worry about finding your future husband while in college because you'll meet a host of successful guys in the workplace (and btw, it's okay to date that guy Tim in college...even though he's prematurely balding, it doesn't mean you have to marry him.)

Don't sweat the "major" decision too much - just get a degree. And most importantly...ENJOY YOUR LIFE. Stop thinking so much!!! Don't get too serious as you'll have your whole adult life for that.

Stop stressing over your body. You look good...embrace your butt cause you'll lose it in your late twenties. :)

One last piece of advice: STAY IN FLORIDA. I don't care how homesick you get...don't move back home. You'll feel good for a few weeks and then spend years regretting it.

Oh! And HAVE FUN! Life will work itself out so just enjoy the moment.

Good luck!

Foto Friday

The Kid has been begging me to let him do something radical with his hair. I figured hey, it's summer. Why not? He tried to grow it long...but he has thick wavy hair so it just grew fluffy. Then we tried to straighten it...and he resembled Ernie from Sesame Street. His hair was so bad...I BEGGED him to let me take him to get his hair cut. And he agreed.

On one condition.

I call this "Blue Thinker".

Thinking That.....

Mormon Jesus is a lot hotter than the Lutheran Jesus I grew up with.

Guess that's their reward for forsaking caffeine.

Foto Friday

The Kid ordered root beer.

"Look Mommy....it looks like beer! I'm drinking beer! Take a picture of me drinking beer!!!!"

I AM SO SCREWED.

Change

Today I received a "Save The Date" for a childhood friend's wedding. I'm so happy for her and can't wait for the event! Then a few hours later, I was told that one of my friends from college - who has a darling little boy - was expecting a little girl. I'm so excited for her!!! And then it hit me.

My life is boring. And I don't mean boring...I mean B.O.R.I.N.G. Is it because I'm not getting married or having a baby? (And can I just say thank GOD I'm not having a baby!!!!) I'm not sure. Perhaps it's because I've been out of work for 15 months. Holy crap. I just realized that it's been 15 months! Doesn't seem that long. Maybe it was the naps that made it pass quickly...

So for the past 15 months I have been a stay-at-home mom (which is definitely a HUGE task, stay-at-home mommies!) but I'm used to trying to raise a child and maintain a house while working long hours. I have literally spent the last 15 months ON MY ASS.

Well, I guess now is a good time to have this epiphany. Summer is just beginning so I can take The Kid and do ANYTHING. ANYWHERE. THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS!

And I'm still sitting on my ass.

That's it. Starting tomorrow, I'm making a plan. We're doing something. Anything. I need a change. I WILL MAKE CHANGE HAPPEN. Yay!!!!!!!!

(But please God....just don't let me get pregnant. I can't handle that kind of change....)

Foto Friday

My child regularly tries to talk me into buying the crap peddled on infomercials.

The Kid: "But Mom, our cat NEEDS the EmeryCat board to groom her claws while she plays!"

Me: "No, she doesn't. That's what our couch and curtains are for."

So it was no surprise to me that he spent the better part of a year trying to sell me on the "Snuggie".

The Kid: "But Mom, it's the blanket with sleeves! I can stay cozy and warm at sporting events!"

Me: "Because you DO go to a lot of outdoor sporting events, huh???" (end sarcasm)

I stood my ground well and avoided having the Snuggie keep my arms and feet warm. Until Christmas. That's when Mother bought The Kid a Snuggie.

Whatever. But I am DRAWING THE LINE with the Shake Weight.

Thinking That.....

The kid is starting summer vacation next week. That is SO going to screw up my nap schedule DAMMIT.

Foto Friday

I like to think I'm a pretty independent woman. I've moved to two different states all by myself, I own my own house, and I've raised my child pretty much on my own. My last job was in governmental affairs so I had to travel to DC a few times by myself - no big deal.

At one point, my job required me to travel to New York City. I was excited - my mother, not so much. "You're a woman, and you're going to New York City by yourself???" Puh-lease. I once moved myself across the country to Arizona and survived being attacked/killed/corrupted by any Mexicans (although I did have a child by one, but that's another story...)

I took this photo about ten seconds after I stepped out of the train station in New York. Right after I snapped it, I thought, "Holy shit. I am in New York City. By myself.

WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING????????"

Thinking That.....

You've been watching your television with the "03" in the corner of the screen for three weeks because you can't figure out how to get it off? Seriously?

YOU DON'T DESERVE TO HAVE A TELEVISION WITHOUT DIALS AND/OR KNOBS. In fact, get rid of that cell phone too because it drives me NUTS when your ASS CALLS ME and all I hear is you talking to Grandma.

Happy Mother's Day!

I hate to rehash an old post but this pretty much sums up my motherhood experience.

Happy Mother's Day to all of you who have sacrificed so much for your spawn...as well as those who are pregnant for the first time (and probably shouldn't be reading this blog as it may compel you to seriously consider adopting out. Or becoming an alcoholic.)

Foto Friday

This is a photo of me, my dad and Babe (my dad always had Saint Bernards. Good dogs. Unbelievably slobbery but good dogs.) It's probably obvious from the avocado green desk in the background (and the blue shag carpeting that isn't really visible) that this house was decorated in the 70s.

My dad had diabetes and succombed to the disease two weeks before my thirteenth birthday.

My dad was da bomb. He would drive around in his convertible Mercedes with the top down in a Midwest November, heat blowing and Tammy Wynette blazing. He let me watch scary movies and gave me space - something my overbearing mother wouldn't allow me. He taught me tolerance of people who aren't like me and let me swim in our pool without waiting the required thirty minutes after eating. I am so much more like him than I am my mother...

I am so so thankful I had him for as long as I did...but have struggled for decades with the finality of his death. Whenever I hear of someone contemplating suicide, especially someone with children, I get REALLY pissed off. Do you know what it's like for a child to have to accept the fact that he/she will NEVER see their parent again? It messes you up for many, many years.

I can only hope heaven truly does exist and that he, Babe, Henry and Brute (the three Saints) are there together...mixing vodka tonics and waiting for the rest of us to come up to the party.

Because that will be one hell of a party. Especially with my tolerance for alcohol...

Home Sweet Home

Even though I am a 29-year-old independent woman (and by 29-year-old independent woman, I mean a mid-30s single mother LIVING ON THE EDGE), I still blame my older sister for one of the major stresses in my life. Why? Because she once said five magic words to me. Five words that I took as sage advice from my intelligent, well-meaning sister who has ten years more life experience than I do. At one of the most important crossroads of my life, my all-knowing sister said:

"You should buy a house."

I was living in a cute little apartment with huge bedrooms, lots of closet space and paying nearly half the rent one would be paying elsewhere. Life was sweet...until a tramp moved in above me. I don't care if you have sex over my head on the weekends. Hell, when you started yelling, "SAY MY NAME!" I had no problem cheering, "Go Ashley!!!" But when you start moaning and screaming at 6 pm while my child is watching television right below you, leading him to ask, "Mommy, what's wrong with Ashley? Should we call 911?" I have to draw the line. That's when my sister suggested I become a homeowner.

"You'll have equity!" "It's a smart decision!" "Your son will have a stable home!" I started thinking, I could paint! I could decorate however I wanted! I could scream during sex and no one would care! (Okay, two out of three were realistic...) So I did it! I found the perfect house! And I put in an offer! And they took it! And we moved in! YAY!

Yeah. I have one very important piece of advice for women such as myself who are contemplating buying a house. Advice that my SHITHEAD SISTER never imparted. Something I discovered during my stint as a homeowner.

DON'T BUY A HOUSE IF YOU DON'T HAVE A MAN.

I realize this is the 21st century and women can do anything they want...but I don't care if you're Gloria Steinem - bitch you NEED a man to have a house. (Or a woman like my neighbor, Heidi, but that's different.) I have a college degree and am unnaturally good at winging things. I had a drawer with some tools and a fat book titled, "The Ultimate Guide to Home Repair and Improvements". I figured with all that - and the internet, natch - I could totally do this house thing.

Do you know how difficult it is to light the pilot light on a 40-or-so-year-old furnace? And do you know how much it costs for a furnace repair guy to come over to your freezing cold house to light your pilot light for you? (Also included in the fee is the ominous warning of "I don't know how much longer this furnace has left!")

Two weeks ago, I found water under my kitchen sink. I discovered it was coming from a little hole in my sprayer hose. Psht. A little hole? I can so fix that! I bought a new $12.00 sprayer with hose kit and Googled how to replace a kitchen sprayer. THIS WAS SO DOABLE!

I turned off the water supply, figured out how to dismantle the sprayer. This is easy!!! All that was left was detaching the hose from under the faucet!

$150 dollars later, Justin the plumber finally detached the sprayer hose.

This week, I lost part of a fence in my backyard (don't ask.) I wanted to replace it, mentioned it to my mother - who shocked me with, "Oh yeah! Fences are easy. I put one up with Aunt Jeanne the other week." Really? REALLY? We could do this? Hell yeah we could do this! I AM WOMAN. HEAR ME ROAR!!!!!

Who knew the dirt in my backyard had the consistency of cement? And, most importantly, who knew how far into my neighbors' yard my mom would roll after she fell??? Mom and I got almost halfway along the fence line when we decided that my having a fully fenced-in yard wasn't worth our deaths. I called in a favor with my MALE cousin, and he came over and pounded the spikes into my yard. Took him about twenty minutes. (Thankfully this one didn't cost as much as the sprayer hose...though I do now owe him a case of beer.)

Every time something goes wrong with my house (new furnace, collapsed carport, sewer line roots, etc) I call my sister and say THANK YOU. I REALLY NEEDED THIS BULLSHIT IN MY LIFE. IT JUST WASN'T ENOUGH FOR ME TO BE A SINGLE MOTHER OR TO BE BORN INTO A FAMILY THAT COULD GIVE JERRY SPRINGER A LIFETIME'S WORTH OF MATERIAL. THIS IS AWESOME.

At Easter, I overheard my sister talking to my 25-year-old niece. She's single, smart and trying to find her place in life. Suddenly, I heard the familiar words: "You know what you should do, you should buy a house." OH. NO. SHE. DIDN'T.

Needless to say, that conversation didn't last long as I jumped right in there and told everyone my thoughts on a single woman owning a house. I truly believe I saved my niece that day. And she totally owes me now.

You know, she IS dating someone. I wonder if her boyfriend knows anything about plumbing? Cause I haven't had hot water in my bathroom sink for two years...

Foto Friday EXTRA

I got my hands on this photo at lunch and had to share. Apparently, my friend's hubby takes their Persian cat for a walk every evening. In a stroller. If that's not the true meaning of pussy whipped, then I don't know what is.

My friend made me promise not to show anyone - to which I heartily agreed. However, she never said anything about posting it on the internet.

I blacked out the hubby's eyes for anonymity. The cat is facing backward so his identity is also protected.

Foto Friday

Contemplating more ways to drive me insane. And he's not even a teenager yet.

Skins

Bought The Kid a used drum set today.

And a pair of earplugs and a bottle of chardonnay for myself.

Grouchy Ass

Maybe it's because I'm unemployed (or perhaps because I'm raising a hellion on my own) but I've really lost my patience with people in the service industry who are rude to their customers. I always think, How do you have a job and I don't??? (Then I think, would I want their job? Hell no! But that's beside the point.)

Example 1: I had a doctor's appointment last week. When I arrived at the medical complex, I realized there had been a lot of construction since my last visit. The lobby had been moved to a completely different area of the building. I parked and walked in the new door...and was immediately turned around. Thankfully, I saw a desk ahead with the sign "Information" above it. Fantastic! I walked up with the universal look of "I'm lost" and the lady behind the counter asked, "How may I help you?" I said, "I'm turned around!" She titled her head down, peered at me over her glasses and dryly said, "You're in the lobby."

Really? REALLY? THANK YOU, CAPTAIN OBVIOUS.

I can understand if you hate your job. I spent the last four years hating my job...but taking your frustrations out on an innocent bystander is not the answer.

Example 2: I took my car to Wal-Mart (I know, I know....I'm just ASKING for stellar customer service there!) for an oil change because the little sticker on the inside of my windshield said it was time (three months ago.) I walked to the service desk only to find Reba McEntire's long-lost strung-out twin sister. After nicely stating that I would like to schedule an oil change, she CRACKed her gum, started typing on her computer and then asked me the make and model of my car.

"Jeep Commander."

CRACK!

"Um, it's the silver one out front."

CRACK! She peered up at me. "I'm still waiting for the make."

Rude! "It's a Jeep."

Tappity tap tap. "Not in my system. Who makes it?"

Seriously? You're the car people, and you're asking me who makes Jeeps??? I racked my brain and blurted, "Chrysler?"

Tap tap tap. "Nope."

Well, shit! Now I can't get my oil changed because I don't know who makes Jeeps??? It's a goddamn Jeep! Tell me you've heard of those??? She ripped off a Post-It note and stomped outside. I saw a mechanic walk by and said, "Excuse me, isn't Jeep made by Chrysler?" He said, "Yeah...though it may be under Dodge in our system."

When Reba came back, I peeked at her Post-It. It had "Jeep Commander". No shit? Is that what I drive??? And guess what? IT NEEDS ITS OIL CHANGED. The mechanic I spoke to earlier came up and suggested the Dodge option. Apparently she found it and scheduled me for the service.

(btw, I later asked if it was under Chrysler and she mumbled, "No, I found it under Jeep." However, the next guy in line had to call his wife to get his zip code and ended up giving Reba the wrong make and model of his car. She was a bit nicer to me when I checked out...I think I was the lesser of her evils at that point.)

Maybe I'm just a person who tries to make the best of things? If I'm going to be a fry girl at McDonald's then dammit, I'm gonna be the best fry girl they've ever had! During my last year in college, I had a job on the weekends demo-ing food at the local supermarket. Talk about humiliating - I had to wear a hairnet! But dammit...I MOVED SHIT! I was the top seller/demonstrator. I RAWKED that badass hairnet job!

(Unfortunately, I think that was my problem at my last job. I tried so hard to do my best and truly impressed managers with my work ethic...which made me a target for the catty old women who had been working their way up for 20 years. I should have just walked in that place with my BS degree taped to my forehead and started shouting, "VICTIM HERE!" That would have saved me YEARS of stress.)

My past experience with the hairnet (and the year I spent as an 800-number operator...and the two weeks I waitressed at an oyster-shucking bar in Florida, WHICH IS NOT AS GLAMOROUS AS ONE WOULD THINK) has given me a better perspective on shitty jobs. I can let a lot of bad service slide because I've been in that miserable place before.

As long as you don't catch me on a bad day. Then Lola comes out (she's my drunk alter ego. That tramp will drink EVERYTHING in my house on a bad night.) She rips into that McDonald's fry chick for her overcooked fries. "Yo! Babe! You dunked my fries in that old-ass grease one too many times. Your job is FRY GIRL. All you have to do is MAKE FRIES. This isn't brain surgery here. MAKE ME FRESH FRIES!"

Damn that Lola. But it's not totally her fault...she just doesn't understand because she's never had to work a shitty job. Or wear a hairnet.

Foto Friday

The Kid has had a bad cold this week so at one point I let him sleep with me. You know those ads with the little girl curled up peacefully between her parents, everyone looking like a happy sleeping family? Yeah. You childless people go ahead and buy that load of crap (along with the pullup pants/constipation cure/sleep mattress they're selling) cause this is my reality:

Between The Kid and The Cat, I didn't get much sleep...at least until I went out to the couch.

Life Sucks

If you haven't yet noticed, blog postings have been light lately - mostly because I think I'm going through a mid-life crisis. And not a man's mid-life crisis (which usually involves buying sports cars and dating trashy women half their age) but a WOMAN'S mid-life crisis (which usually involves vandalizing sports cars driven by men who are dating trashy women half their age.)

I'm not working and there aren't many jobs in my area. Couple that with my daily bipolar epiphanies, and you've got someone who resembles Charles Manson with PMS:

Monday: "We need to move somewhere that has more jobs/people/activities. That's it, WE'RE MOVING."

Tuesday: "The Kid doesn't want to leave his home. Why should I rip him away from the only home he's ever known just because I'm bored??? That's it, WE'RE STAYING."

Wednesday: "Screw The Kid. He'll get used to another home. I'm going nuts and am watching waaay too much reality tv. He'll adjust. WE'RE MOVING."

Thursday: "I'm a bad mother! I can't just pick up and move. We need to stick it out and try to keep the house. I'll find work eventually so...WE'RE STAYING."

Friday: "I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. ALL I KNOW IS I NEED A DRINK!!!!"

(Sequence above repeated weekly.)

Although sleeping in kicks ass and naps are da bomb, I've been doing it for over a year now. It's starting to get old. (Okay, the naps never get old...) Bottom line - I need to find something to do. Something that gets me out of my house every day...a reason for me to put on makeup.

So I will probably be in this nasty little rut until I find that reason. Hopefully I'll find something soon so I can bring back the funny...and stop the vandalizing.

Foto Friday

William and Zane channeling their inner Rey Mysterio. August thinking they're both nuts. I side with August...but am just happy they aren't channeling something worse. Like Lindsay Lohan.

Ghost Writer

Got a tiny piece printed....but who is it by? I have no effing clue.

Randomly Heard

"And THAT is why you don't drop acid at a cacti farm."

Foto Friday

My friend Elizabeth is country...and I mean COUNTRY. She lives out in the corn and has horses and stuff. There aren't even street signs where she lives. Just...corn.

Liz married last year, and I bet my friend Lu that Liz was wearing cowboy boots under her beautiful dress (and not the white, lace-up fancy wedding cowboy boots but real kick-ass boots.) After the wedding, I said, "Okay Liz, show us what's on your feet. I got a bet going that it's boots." She laughed and said, "Oh, it's better than that." She lifted her skirt, and I almost peed my pants. Girlfriend was decked out in boots...AND JEANS!

YEEHAW!!!!!

Little Fartknocker

Me: "Ten years ago this morning, my water broke and I knew I was going to have a baby...even though you weren't due until the following Tuesday."

The Kid: "Maybe God ordered one-day shipping?"

Apparently so. Happy birthday, kiddo!

Love, Mommy

Texting

Sarah: "FWD: 2 inmates escaped from Peoria County jail this morning. All women b cautious 1 is a serial rapist! Please fwd to all women."

Me: "Are they cute? Cause we're both single and ready to mingle."

Sarah: "lmao, idk, maybe we could double with them."

Me: "Sweet but I get the serial rapist."

Sarah: "hahahahaha"

I miss my Sarah. She's the only one who would actually double with two escaped convicts just so I could get a date. Love you chicka.

Thinking That.....

I'm unemployed, owe an ungodly amount in student loans, and am single. So I've got that going for me...

One, Two, Freddy's Coming For You...

The Kid: "But I REALLY want to see 'A Nightmare on Elm Street'! Why can't I?"

Me: "Because it scared the bejesus out of me and I was like, 15 years old."

The Kid: "But I'll be fine. I watch scary movies all the time!!!"

Me: (Thinking cussing will express how damn serious I am) "Dude, if you watch that movie, you will SHIT. YOUR. PANTS."

The Kid: "Well...I will at least SHIT. MY. PANTS. gracefully!"

Now THAT'S Entertainment

Setting: Easter at Mother's house

Appetizer: Townhouse crackers and spray Cheez Whiz

Nice. I suppose the entree is the deer strapped to the hood of the truck out front?Lordy, I hope I don't ever marry into a "normal" family. I'll totally claim to be an orphan.

Hatfields vs. Hatfields

It’s almost Easter, which means it’s time for me to become a Jehovah’s Witness. Granted, I love my family but…you know when you see an ugly baby and it’s a baby so it’s beautiful and you give it love…but it’s still ugly? My family is sorta like that baby.

Have you ever seen My Big Fat Greek Wedding? I got goosebumps when I watched it because it was my family on a big screen. My dad’s family is like Ian’s – subdued and educated yet…cold. I probably haven’t seen most of my cousins in fifteen or so years and have never met their children. Yet when we do get together for a holiday, we put all animosity, all “why-are-you-so-distant-that-you-won’t-even-have-a-relationship-with-me” behind us. We eat good food, we play fun games and we enjoy the time spent together. Then we don't talk for another five years.

Jump to Toula’s family. I honestly don’t know how my father ended up married to my mother. Her family is the proverbial mixed bag of salty nuts. Everyone is up in each other’s business and unlike my father’s family, I see my cousins and their children waaaay too much.

My dad’s family is scattered throughout the country while my mom’s kin is centrally located here in a small “formerly” racist town in the Midwest. (I sometimes wonder if some of the actors in Deliverance weren’t cast from this small town but I digress.)

I dread the weeks leading into any holiday season. It starts with my mom saying, “So…your aunt wanted to have *insert holiday here* at her large comfortable newly remodeled home but your other aunt refuses to step foot in her house so we all have to squeeze into Grandma's little apartment in order to please everyone. So are you coming?” To which I always say, “Here we go again. It is three weeks until *insert holiday here* and you guys are already starting this? I'M NOT GOING. Every year I tell you I would rather sit naked in a vat of hot vinegar than endure another holiday with my family, and every year you guilt me into going. It's not happening this time!!!” Three weeks later, I find myself walking out of Grandma's house, hot, grumpy and convinced I'm adopted.

However, IT GETS BETTER. Several years ago, an incident essentially split the family in half. Side A hated Side B and vice versa. My grandmother sided with Side B but had to smidge a little to please Side A as they were still family. Therefore, whenever a holiday rolls around, Side A and Side B don’t want to be in the same city together, let alone the same room. Grandma would be content celebrating solely with Side B but Side B is uber-dysfunctional and can’t even get it together enough to hold a gathering...so she's stuck with Side A. (If it isn’t yet obvious, although I try to be Switzerland and stay out of everything, I generally side with Side A.)

Unfortunately, Side A is still a rambunctious bunch so holiday gatherings usually mean I am planted in the corner of the couch, trying to be invisible so as not to attract the attention of any of the lunatics…such as the drunk uncle who hits on people (but only if they’re family, natch); the snooty Chicago-based cousins who show off their God-awful Coach insignia shoes (“Aren’t these TIGHT, Grandma????”); their mother, prancing around in her hot pink Prada toolbelt she bought for an upcoming charity trip down South (subsequently ruined while building houses in Louisiana because she actually had to help build the houses in Louisiana); and finally, the conspiracy theorists who wax poetic on why my older sister thinks she’s too good for everyone and never steps foot in their town, let alone attend any family gatherings (um…maybe because she lucked out and married a “normal” guy and celebrates with his "normal" family???)

After enduring the longest hour of my life (and I’ve even experienced contractions and CHILDBIRTH), I gather The Kid and try to back out of the house slowly…swearing that I will NEVER NEVER do this again.

At least until next Thanksgiving.

Foto Friday

This is about the time The Kid decided he wanted to be Jewish.

And So It Begins

The neighbor is mowing his yard.

Remembering.....

It's St. Patrick's Day? Oh yeah....I vaguely remember celebrating it by drinking green concoctions. Then I had a child. Now the only green concoction I drink is Nyquil. And only when I'm out of alcohol.

Thinking.....

If you can't handle bratty kids, then DON'T BECOME AN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL TEACHER. The prison is always looking for brawny, bitchy guards.

Seriously.

Foto Friday

Stone Cold Kitty

Ah, boys...

Me: "There's a new coffee shop in town called 'The Bean'. You wanna try it sometime?"

The Kid: "Sure."

Me: "Cool."

The Kid: "Is it really called 'The Bean'?"

Me: "Yes..."

The Kid: "Does a guy named Frank own it?"

Me: "Not sure. Why?"

The Kid: "Cause it would be funny. Frank, who owns 'The Bean', has a frank and beans. FRANK AND BEANS!!!!!!!"


Never thought when I felt the first little flutter of life in my stomach that my future would include penis jokes.

*sigh*

I Will Survive

I am a notoriously HORRIBLE sleeper. Always have been. However, my current lack of gainful employment has exacerbated this condition because it affords me plenty of nap time during the day.

But I don't mind because I watch some of the freakyish shit on late night tv. It's fantastic! Last night, I experienced the behind-the-scenes real lives of porn stars (including an interview with Buck Angel, a heavily tattooed, mustached, cigar smoking porn star...who has a vagina. That's right. Buck was born "Susan" but through hormones and surgery has completely changed genders through the years. Well, almost completely...) On tap for tonight? Paula Deen's Disco Party. That's right...a full hour of Paula Deen (in a dark wig??? I don't know why either) cooking with GLORIA GAYNOR.

GLORIA GODDAMN GAYNOR.

They're making chicken wings smothered in a white mushroom gravy over a bed of saffron rice. Apparently not only can Gloria Goddamn Gaynor cook, Gloria Goddamn Gaynor can COOK.

Almost makes the hot skewers in my ears not hurt so bad....y'alllllllll!

Clean Up in Aisle 9

I don't mean to be insensitive but if you don't know how to use the self scanner at the grocery store then DO NOT GET IN THE SELF-SCAN LANE. I always get stuck behind Marge and Leroy, who not only can barely hear each other, but have obviously never been exposed to machinery such as the ultra complicated self-scanner.

(After waving a box of food over the scanner 7-10 times)"MARGE. MARGE. THIS BOX OF HAMBURGER HELPER WON'T BEEP."

"LEROY, YOU HAVE TO FIND THE BLACK LINES."

"I DID, MARGE. THE DAMN THING STILL WON'T WORK."

I mean, really? How hard is it? It's not like we all went to checker school. Most of us went to the grocery store with our moms when we were young and then imitated the checker with our own canned goods at home.

"JESUS, MARGE. HOW THE HELL IS THIS THING SUPPOSED TO WORK?"

And then we hear the triumphant BEEP. FINALLY. Then another BEEP.

"LEROY, YOU SCANNED IT TWICE."

"I KNOW I SCANNED IT TWICE, MARGE. I DON'T KNOW HOW THE HELL TO ERASE IT. GO GET ANOTHER ONE."

Two down, 12 more items to go. Please God don't let them have coupons...

Reality Garbage

Poor Tenley. She farts rainbows while Vienna farts sex and candy.

*sigh*

Really?

I just discovered there is an actual magazine titled, "Miniature Donkey Talk". And no, I'm not a subscriber.

Yet.

Deliciously Annoying

When I lost my job last year, many of my friends were convinced I would become addicted to soap operas, game shows, and/or Oprah. One year out and I haven't caved! (Although I will admit I DVR Ellen every day. I dig her.)

However, I think I may have a problem with Food Network. First I would tune in if nothing else was on...now I find myself checking the food channel before all others. I've always been able to cook but watching these shows has greatly elevated my cooking skills and bolstered my culinary confidence - much to the chagrin of The Kid, who would live solely on Chicken McNuggets and french fries if I allowed it.

One might think then that this was a healthy addiction. How can it be bad when it's inspiring me to create delicious delectables??? (Except for the time I attempted egg foo young and learned Chinese food should ONLY be cooked by Chinese people.) It's bad because every single chef pisses me off somehow. The Kid won't allow me to watch Food Network when he is home because I yell at the television. Whether it's the way the chef talks, cooks, looks, or adds chocolate to her chicken, I get all worked up and vocal. Below are a few chefs who REALLY get my broth boiling:

Rachel Ray: Her "30 Minute Meals" is thirty minutes too long with her voice. Her recipes are decent - doesn't make anything too funky - but her voice....HER VOICE. Nasally and God awful. I usually start mimicking her with, "Really Rachel? You add e-v-o-o???" That's another peeve of mine: e-v-o-o. Cute but she says it every 10 seconds. (Oh, that's extra virgin olive oil for those of you with jobs during the day.)

Giada De Laurentiis: Okay, I'll admit it. I stare at her boobs. How can you not??? They're perfect and perky and ALWAYS on display! Plus she's hot...until she says an Italian-based word, like parmesan. She can't say parmesan. She has to evoke her Italian roots and say, "Add a little parmigiano reggiano." Either say everything with the accent or don't say anything. You're just showing off now. Actually, I can't watch her anymore because my cousin recently alerted me to the size of her head. It's huge!!! She's like a watermelon on a toothpick! I never noticed this anomaly, I think because I was mostly staring at her boobs the whole time. But WOW HER HEAD IS HUGE.

Paula Deen: Don't even get me started on Paula Deen.

Down Home with the Neelys: If this isn't the HORNIEST couple of cooks in the kitchen then Giada has tiny boobies! Gina's always dancing around and Pat's always making not-so-subtle comments about the sugar he got the night before...WOOT! Their food is southern-based and pretty damn finger-licking good. (So is Gina, according to Pat.)

Emeril: I can't even talk about Emeril, or I will get all worked up and start throwing things. Everything about him makes my skin crawl. Blech. I don't have one redeeming quality for him. Even his audience pisses me off.

I'd have to say my fave is "Cooking For Real with Sunny Anderson". I'd never heard of her before my recent food obsession but I like her. Her recipes are normal (i.e., no funky meat or weird dried mushrooms) and she has a nice personality. I would want to be friends with her in real life. Although there is one thing that distracts me about her....HER GIANT GHETTO BOOTY. But that's why I like her. She hasn't caved in to the pressure she must be getting from anorexic producers to lose weight. She has a big, beautiful booty and is proud of it. You go wich yo bad self, girlfriend!

I guess I could have worse addictions. In fact, I do have worse addictions but that's a WHOLE NOTHER blog post. At least we're eating well, and I've found a tasty hobby as well as an outlet for some of my energy.

And by outlet for some of my energy, I mean someone else to scream and throw things at other than my family.

Thinking that.....

My Winter Olympics experience is never complete until I find myself awake in the wee hours of the morning watching curling as there is nothing else on television.

Time check: 2:57 a.m.

Great Britain is in the lead.

Moving

We need to move. I WANT to move. The only thing stopping me? The PILE OF SHIT THAT IS MY SON'S LEGO COLLECTION. Jesus, Mary and Joseph...I don't wanna pack it. I'd rather sit here and rot in my little house than deal with the trillions of little plastic pieces all stuck together just so. But we must go.

Heaven help me.

Cutest Baybay in the Whole World!

My ovaries are crying, "We want another baby!" while my brain is screaming, "Are you bitches crazy??? Have you ANY idea what I've been through the last nine years?!?!?!?"

Going Green

Setting: The Kid was taking a bath.

Me: "Hey, don't let your water out when you're done. I want to hop in and take a quick bath."

The Kid: "Why aren't you going to run your own bath?"

Me: (Thinking of the water bill and probable lack of hot water left in the tank) "Cause I don't want to waste water."

The Kid: "Going green???"

Me: "Uh...yep! Going green!"

The Kid: "What about my pee?"

Me: "........let your water out."

The Kid: "But you said we were going green!"

Me: "I'm not THAT green!"

Valentine's Day, Schmalentine's Day

I think Valentine's Day was invented by some poor husband who forgot his wedding anniversary. He woke the next morning and found his wife standing over him with a meat cleaver. He jumped out of bed and quickly said, "But honey! I didn't forget our anniversary! I was waiting until today to surprise you because today is...Valentine's Day! Yeah! Valentine's Day. You can't even begin to imagine all the gifts and activities I have planned for us! Starting after I get back from running a few errands..."

Smart man. I think his last name was Hallmark.

My first Valentine's Day present was from my high school boyfriend. He gave me a little perfume bottle (it was black and white, like an exclamation point. Maybe it was called Exclamation? I prolly just dated myself.) I felt so loved! He thought of me and gave me a GIFT!!! I LOVED VALENTINE'S DAY!!!!

Little did I know that would be my ONLY Valentine's Day gift. Ever. For some reason, I never had a boyfriend around V-Day. Birthday, yes; Christmas, yes....the most romantical day of the year? Nope.

The closest I came was a guy I had been seeing for a few months. We fell pretty hard for each other - he had already told me he loved me (and yes, HE told me first!) As Valentine's Day neared, I thought, "Maybe this is the year - the year I finally get a gift!" We had been having little spats for a few weeks but we were still technically together. The Big Red day finally arrived. We had an argument the night before and I wanted nothing more than to bitchslap him but I WANTED TO FINALLY EXPERIENCE VALENTINE'S DAY WITH A DATE. He arrived at my house, I sat in his car and he handed me a card. "Here you go. Happy Valentine's Day!" I never opened it. On the front of the card he had written my name: Reagan. Really? REALLY?? REAGAN????

YOU SUPPOSEDLY LOVE ME SO MUCH AND YOU CAN'T EVEN SPELL MY NAME RIGHT?????? I cracked. I bolted from the car, ran inside and threw the card away. (Quick side note, this was pre-child so I was young and slightly immature. I would never do something like that today. I would have been pleasant and let him buy me dinner before never answering his phone calls again.)

It's okay though. I get cute little Valentine's Day cards from The Kid and an occasional little bear or something else that melts my heart. For a little shit, he can be so sweet!

If you have someone special in your life, don't wait until February to show them how much you love and appreciate them. Cherish the love they give you and forgive them for the little things they do that drive you insane. Like spelling your name wrong.

And don't forget, men - there's something called "Sweetest Day" in October. I'd really like to meet the bastard who invented that one because SHOCKER!!!! I'm always single then too!