Losing my mind, one text message at a time.

Hey Peeps!  Hope all is well and you aren’t freezing your tookus off!   I know I keep saying that I’ll do better with blogging, but let’s be honest…. I’m lazy. And I’ve been busy working on a ton of projects.  But mostly I’m lazy.  And forgetful.  I may have an acute case of amnesia for “to do” lists.  Seriously.  Sometimes when I’m sitting down watching Netflix, I think… there is something I should be doing, I just know it.  Then I think, well, if it were so important you’d remember it…. and I go back to helping Sherlock solve London’s problems, one OCD issue at a time.

But because I’m a “fixer” and stuff I’ve decided to quit being so lazy.  To help me remember to do stuff, I started sending myself text message reminders.  Unfortunately the majority of my amazing ideas occur at very inopportune times.  Such as bathroom time.  No need to get detailed, you get the idea. 

Driving.  I have amazing ideas when driving, but texting and driving is so last year.  And the ancient art of finding a piece of crumpled receipt/napkin in the back seat and a working pen from the front passenger door and scribbling notes while driving with your knee is more dangerous than texting.  And the results are so hideous that even hand writing analysis experts would deem them serial killerish. 

But the best ideas I get are, are by far, right before I fall asleep.  Here is where the tricky part comes in. If I get up to write something down, I’ve ruined that extremely brief moment where sleep is either right there or hours away. And if I don’t write it down then two things happen.  My mind races about all the things that have absolutely nothing to do with the original idea or I forget it within a few minutes.  But, if I gently reach my phone, type a text….. problem solved.  By the way, I don’t text and drive much ever, but I do use the voice recognition thing.  So sometimes when I say “New pic” it comes out “Newton’s pig”.  Then I have to decide why Newton had a pig and why I care enough to text it and it is all very headachy. 

Anyway, so these text messages are mostly a great idea.  Until the next day.  I give you this fine example.  The conversation balloons are what’s going on in my head.  Consider this your one and only warning. You can’t unsee this stuff man!

MOTB or Get LifeAlert you old Bat!

I have always tried to keep personal things about my children out of this blog.  It’s my choice to share my crazy life, not theirs.  I try to allow them as much privacy as I can and keep them anonymous –or as anonymous as they can be with me as their mom.  So with that in mind, let me give you a basic rundown of my girls.

Daughter #1 is 22, very laid back and easy going.  Exactly opposite of me.

Daughter #2 is 20, very outgoing, extroverted with just a pinch of OCD loudness.  Exactly like me.  Like we actually have the same thoughts sometimes.  It’s like having a prettier, younger evil twin.

Daughter #3 is 12, going on like 17, is also laid back and is really just a sweet little girl.  Exactly polar opposite of me.  Like dogs and grass different.

So there you have it.  I have the most awesome kids ever.  (take that Brad and Angelina).

But here’s the thing.  Raising daughters is not a walk in the park.  It’s more like a walk on a creaky, old, narrow, swinging rope bridge with fraying rope and lots of cobwebs of emotion, that can go either way at any given moment, and you are constantly waving your arms like a flight attendant and standing on tippy toes trying to maintain some type balance.  And just when you think you have this whole parent thing balanced out, you are thrown a Molotov cocktail. All of a sudden there are giant anacondas, alligators, and sharknadoes trying knock you off that teeny tiny bridge into the ice cold water of death.  Or a nervous breakdown… basically the same thing.

The most recent large, bitey-alligator I’ve been Swamp Men wrestling is Daughter #1 has announced she is getting married.  And in all truth this is great news.  The Hubs and I are very proud and happy for both of them.   But here’s the big bite-off-your-leg- with-inverted- alligator-teeth-all-while-trying-to- drown-you-by-this-confusing-spin-move, worthy of a WWE superstar. (I gotta quit watching Animal Planet and apparently wrestling).  It hit me like a ton of bricks.  This is going to make me a “mother of the bride”. Me.  I’ve been to a White Snake concert! I’m what’s known as a “cool mom”.  I just got done having to drive a MINI VAN!  I had an Alley McBeal moment where my dead, lifeless body sat in a lazyboy chair with the remote in my had and my 20 cats starting to eat my toes.

Now, as you can imagine.  We have known this would happen eventually.  One does not have three beautiful daughters and get out of the marriage Gladiator Arena (I watched A LOT of TV this weekend).  It did not come as a shock when Boy #1 asked Daughter #1, as they had been dating a long time.  So the event was not really new.  But me.  Old enough to be a “mother of the bride”.  That… that is preposterous, insane, and terrible vicious lie.  The cat lady thoughts ran through my mind as I sat in the garage, eating ice cream from the carton (mint chocolate chip for those curious types).  How can I be the “mother of the bride”?  So.  I pondered. I thought. I grieved for my long lost youth.  I ate some more ice cream in the hot garage.  Then, I got up and went to bed.  After all, “mother of the bride” or MOTB needs her rest (it was almost 9:00 pm), lest she gets rowdy and breaks a hip.  “MOTB down, I repeat MOTB is down!  Call for backup ASAP. Get that old lady a LifeAlert jiminy crickets Myrtle!”.

However, upon waking the next day, it occurred to me that I… we would get to take over help plan a wedding, so the MOTB horror was momentarily forgotten. We talked colors, locations, why the dog could not walk the rings downthe aisle, and how doves can poo a lot thus not a good option as a finale.  Things were looking up.  Until we started looking at wedding dresses.  Then Bridesmaid dresses.  Then Mother dresses. 

Who? Who designs these things? Martha Washington? Seriously? And who decided peach or tan were good colors for anything, let alone a dress?  NO ONE looks good in peach or tan.  And what is “organza”?  And why would I wear something that sounds vaguely naughty though I’m not sure why.

I researched further. It seems that MOTB dresses come in two styles. 

Option #1 - Conservative Queen Elizabeth peach/tan variation probably in organza or a smart polyester blend, three- piece business suit type dress to be worn with “sensible” shoes and a large floppy hat.  I felt as though I would need to stomp down divots at the Kentucky derby during the reception.

OR

Option #2 - I am reliving my teenage years via my poor daughter, because I’m in the middle of my midlife crisis thank you very much. Do not call me mommy dearest, why is it so flippin hot in here and I’ll be darned if that bride will get all the attention, because I look so hot in this low-cut, inappropriately see thru lacy thing to be worn with six inch hooker heels because by golly I may be old, but I’m stylish (If I were Sher doing a music video aboard a navel ship) dress.  

And I can’t do either because, let’s face it, I look frumpy in peachy, business suit dresses, I look horrible in a hat and I certainly can’t pull off that outfit Sher has on let alone figure out my way into or out of it, and it would be a REAL pain when I had to potty like five times.  And there’s no way I could wear those thigh high boots.  Plus I was told I couldn’t wear black to the wedding (or butt-less leather thong suits).  Or white.  Or dance down the aisle as I was walking in.

So at least now I have a mission.  To find the happy middle ground.  I can now focus my attention on this task at hand, rather than making out my last will and testament and scoping out grave plots.  And I have another year to get used to the MOTB title.  Yea. That’s likely to happen. 

Murder on the Orient Express? Kill Bill? These are indeed trying times in the kingdom? eh... you pick one.

I have a story for you – and it is long…. But hopefully worth your time. 

This is a cautionary tale.  In the spirit of the season, we will call it a Horror Story.  One made of nightmares and bad English.  Yes.  Internet purchasing. 

Once upon a time, there was this awesome, beautiful, thin, cool, smart, young-looking princess (shut up, this is MY story).  We’ll call her Missy (cuz it’s me), and in an effort to get her Christmas shopping started early decided to place a few orders on-line at the beginning of October.  Because as it turns out, Missy is organized, prompt, and ready for the season.  Ok, Missy is just plain lazy.

So several orders placed, several gifts purchased, Missy is feeling very proud of herself for getting a good start on the Holiday Season.  Items start being delivered and Missy is feeling very ahead of the game.  Almost smug.  She may have even boasted to friends…. Perhaps with an air of arrogance.  Ok.  I taunted the crap out of them.  All was good in Missy Princessland.  At least until one item had not been delivered three weeks later.  The Princess was concerned, but not overly worried.

One day last week, being the responsible, organized person she is (shut up, it’s still my story), Missy decides to clean her email box.  And located in the SPAM folder is an email from the store where the missing item was purchased.  Clicking on that email, she found a photo of the item, price, specific details that were unique to the purchase and her address.  She also notices a link that says “to complete your order, click here”.  Thinking she had erroneously neglected to complete the process, she quickly follows the link and reorders the item.  Remember this item hadn’t arrived yet, so it made perfect sense that the original order was incomplete.

At home that very same evening, a package had been delivered.  Missing item, no longer missing.  The email, a fraud.  The item, adorable.  The Princess, ticked.  So immediately Missy sends an email to “bill” of the fraudulent spam email bills asking to cancel the second order – this was sent the SAME day. 

I won’t give you all the gory details, but we will cap this with: it was a pain in the rump, and “bill” was completely ridiculous and “fraud” isn’t a term that’s recognized in China.  So I contacted my bank and filed out fraud paperwork.  After “bill” reminded me that he had my card number and address, I also cancelled my card.  Lesson for all you kiddies…. Don’t put thinly disguised threats in writing.  That’s called evidence.

But much like Lord of the Rings trilogy, where you think the movie is over a dozen times, but it really has two more hours, this was just the beginning.

Yesterday, I attempted to use another card from the same bank (different account) only to find it declined.  Upon researching the issue, I find that an order for software had been placed with my card, a fairly large amount, leaving a zero balance (interesting, huh?  The odd amount was for exactly what was in my account). 

Now.  Hear me say this:  Not every company from oversees is bad – not every Chinese company is bad.  This post is NOT intended to be a stereotype or a country-bashing session.  I’m simply relaying my saga, and it happens to be from China.  This isn’t meant to discourage you from ordering from China, rather to advise you to use caution when ordering online period.  I should also note that I have no proof that the two incidents are related, other than the fact that I don’t believe in coincidence.

So.  The moral of this story is this:

·         Don’t trust “bill” – also, “bill” doesn’t understand sarcasm so it’s a complete waste of time….

·         If you purchase on line, be sure to monitor your accounts.

·         Your bank will not loan you money to hire an overseas hit man. 

·         Websites change their “skins” so you often do NOT know who or where you are buying from.

·         After I cut up the two cards, I immediately had a most uncontrollable urge to buy something.  I think I may need professional help.

·         I am renting the movies Kill Bill 1 and 2 this weekend.  Just for the irony of it. Again, maybe some help is necessary.

·         And lastly, my bank has been absolutely wonderful (AGCU).  I received advice and assistance immediately and they were very knowledgeable about what to do.  So hats off to Tiffany and Juanita.  You are da bomb! Thank you!

I hope someone reads this and learns from my errors.  And “bill”…  watch your back my friend.  

Happy shopping!

The little engine that said "what, no bathrooms?"

After a particularly “interesting” text conversation with Daughter number two I have come up with three conclusions:  One, my parenting skills are really under par.  Two, my child is spoiled.  And three, someone should really check on those hobos.

Here’s the discussion:

Me:  You know, there are days that I wish I could just run away and be a hobo. But have nice clothes, makeup and jewelry.

D2: Nice

Me: I take it you are not up for the hobo adventure?

D2: No. I like sleeping on a bed rather than concrete.

Me: Yes, definitely a downside.  Plus there’s all the hobo on hobo crime like rape, murder, and stealing.

D2: Ew… and no showers.  So gross.

Me: So…. you are saying that the shower accomodations are the deal breaker for you?

D2: Yep

Me: Did you see my text about the murdery hobos?

D2: yea, but no showers or bathrooms.

Me: Well, I have to say that I’m totally against all the rape and murder.  Hobo crime in general really.  That’s a deal breaker for me.

D2: This is getting weird. (as if it started off as a normal, typical conversation)

Me: yep, sure is.

So there you have it.  My child is spoiled, fearless, and she thinks I’m weird – BUT….. I won’t ever have to worry about her running off to be a hobo.... so there's that.

Adventures with Batman

I’m sure I’ve blogged about our little dog Charlie. AKA Batman.  He is a Havanese and we got him from the Humane Society about 9 years ago.  The vet wasn’t sure how old he was, but guessed that he was about 2 so, at this time he is roughly 11 years old. 

 

In his younger days, he would burrow under the fence to go on heroic adventures.  I say that because I like the idea of him being a hero and not some random pooper and butt-sniffer of cats.  Obviously we didn’t want him hit by a car or dognapped by the Joker, so we started walking out with him.  Kinda like the President’s Secret Service, but we get to watch POTUS go poo and sniff at all things gross (cat hiney).  Too bad we didn’t get those ear buds and could relay messages back and forth.  ***sigh*** anyway...

 

Lately his age is catching up to him, and instead of Batman, he’s really more the Walter Mathau of Grumpy Old Men.  He really just wants to eat, sleep and go poo.  Other than the occasional cat-butt sniffing and begging for food… he is basically lying in the floor under everyone’s feet.

 

So the other day, early in the morning, he tells me he needs to go potty.  And by “tells me” it’s more he wiggles in front of the door when you say “wanna go outside?”.  And it was pouring.  Because of his hatred of all things wet, I knew he had to go pretty bad.  So I grabbed my robe and out we went.

He runs right out to the grass then darts around the house.  I am standing under the eve of the porch trying not to get wet.  I stand there for what seems like a lifetime. 

 

Finally I decide that he’s gone AWOL again, so I do that thing where you kinda walk/run/jog on your toes so that your entire foot doesn’t get soaked.  Somehow, I slipped and fell.  And not in a graceful Jennifer Lawrence at the Oscars way.  More like legs and arms flailing, a very girlie squeal, and robe falling completely open way.  Ok, I had on shorts and a t-shirt on underneath, but that is a moot point – I was down.  Now I REALLY wished we had those secret service ear bud things.  “hot momma down, repeat, hot momma is down…. POTUS is mia…. POTUS is mia”.

 

As if this wasn’t bad enough, I could NOT get up.  Like my arms and legs were somehow disconnected from my brain.  I felt like the Scarecrow in Oz.  Seriously ya’all, I couldn’t get enough leverage to get up.  Finally I just stopped, tried to catch my breath and take a quick peek around to see if any neighbors were around.  I’m not sure if I was happy or sad or too loopy to find no one outside.

 

As I’m laying on the wet grass, in the pouring rain, trying to keep my robe together, here comes Batman.  He pauses, sniffs my way, then promptly runs to the porch where it’s dry.

 

WORST BATMAN EVER!!!!  Even Lassie helped that stupid kid get out of the well all the time. (by the way… where was this kids mom… he was always in some sort of trouble. And isn't one time in the well enough to learn to stay away from it?  And further was the dad Cesar Mallan?  How did he know what that dog was saying?).  Anyway, it was obvious I was on my own.

 

After a lifetime of struggling, and talking to myself (which may or may not have included naughty words) I managed to get to my feet.  I walk into the house AFTER Batman had darted in first, lest he be left outside even near the rain.  My daughter and her friend were just waking up and watching tv.  They see me and ask what happened.  (They sensed something was amiss because of the mud, grass clippings, the soaking wet hair, the smell of hatred oozing from my every pore and the leaf stuck to my neck).  I finally catch my breath to tell them my harrowing adventure/near death experience and my daughters friend says.  “Maybe you need life alert”. 

 

So folks, this is what it comes down to.  I was a broken hip away from the nursing home.  I am so gonna hate getting old.

 

*POTUS = President of the United States. 

Here we go again....

Hi Everyone.  It's been a while.... but I've been busy - or at least busy looking busy.  The holidays snuck up on me and things just got busy.  I've missed blogging, so I'm trying to get back into the swing of things. I hope you will keep checking the blog... I really do want to get more consistent.

So despite the fact that I don't like (read HATE) reality shows, I have to admit that I've started watching a few lately.  Now, I know.... I know.... they are most likely scripted but wow.... they are addictive. Here's my take on a few.

• First is The Voice.  I started watching it because a friend from High School was a contestant. (He was amazing by the way).  Originally, I was very much against it because I couldn't believe Shakira would have anything of importance to say.  However, she surprised me.  Not only is she sweet, doesn't dress like a ho, she is a great coach.  She actually gives useful and good advice.  Also, Usher surprised me in that way as well.  I think he may be the best coach.  Plus let's face it.... Adam is HHHOOOTTT!!!!  The show actually seems to want the contestants to succeed.  Not like American Idol, where that is just one big circus train wreck. 

•  Second, I'm very much into Duck Dynasty.  While I resisted its redneck lure for the first two seasons, I find that I very much enjoy it.  I like that the teens show respect, that they pray before meals, there isn't constant beeping out of language, and I do love watching their antics.  Jace is my favorite bearded duck hunter.... I love that he manipulates the group so much..  Ok... ok, I really just admire that he does it so well.  

There are several others that I watch here and there.  Mostly I don't care for them enough to watch every episode, and I tend to have the t.v. on while I'm working on other projects.

Which brings me to another topic.  I have a new hobby.  Flea Marketing. I know!  I don't want to love it... but I'm super addicted!  I am into re-purposing items.  In the last six months, I've repainted five rooms, re-upholstered my couch, re-purposed eight chairs, three tables, and several other small projects.  Yea..... I've been busy.  And I've started a very small side business and website.  Please go here and take a look.  Like my Facebook page and visit often. 

This has also peaked my interest in shows like Storage Wars and Haunted Collector. I don't want to accidentally pick up a ghost at the flea market.  Unless it was a cool ghost that told me the future... .like a genie.... that would be cool.

Here's a look at the new graphics.

 

Zombies, Tigers and Cinderella... yea. I'd go see that movie.

Hey folks. Had a minor medical procedure recently so I took another break. The doctor says I will stop repeating myself in a few weeks!   I’m good.  I’m back and feeling better (sassy), so I thought I would do some bloggin’.  Did ya miss me?  Anyone? Anyone?  (crickets chirping).  Well, ok then, haters…. 

I had a post written up about my pet peeves with Facebook. Consisting of 10 – 20 A LOT of different ways people annoy me on Facebook.  Which really just boils down to I’m not patient and kinda hateful.  So I won’t go there.  Between the hateful and the repeated mumblings, I’m a few cats shy of crazy cat lady status.  However I will say something.  People…Those of us who are working don’t want to know that you are off work relaxing.  We want to Facebook stalk people from high school from the comfort of our offices.  Under the assumption that everyone else had to get up super early, spill coffee on their lap on the way in, and were late because of a train.  NO ONE wants to know that you are home, doing your Facebook stalking in your jammies.  Makes me stabby. 

That being said…. Please go like my Facebook page!!!!!!!

The Dr. says I’ll stop repeating myself in a few weeks. I think I want a cat.

Then I thought about writing a post on the elections.  But honestly, that’s so cliché right now.  Bottom line, all the ads make me feel stabby.  I really want them to stop talking.  Here’s a thought.  Vote Gladiator style.  Make the candidates fight for office.  Throw them some weapons like those big swords and harpoon things.  Oh… I love those metal nets… gotta have those.  Add in some hungry lions and tigers.  Maybe a puma.  I would so totally watch a debate between the candidates and a couple of hungry jungle cats. 

Why we can't have nice things....

Me: Can we get a comforter with skulls on it?

Hubs: No

Me: Just look at it.  They are arranged very nicely. Almost a flower pattern.

Hubs: No

Me: Oh, come on.  Don’t be racist… just because they don’t have flesh!

Hubs: (cricket chirping silence….)

Me: We should set a good example for the kids.

Let me explain to you why Pinterest is dangerous...

(I had a recent discussion with a friend as to whether it was pronounced PINterest or P-interest.  Yea, I don’t know but P-interest sounds too Snoop Dogg for me, so I’m going with the first one. I’m simply not cool enough for Snoop).

I have a pretty strong creative side (read ADD), and in my current job, creativity isn’t really a requirement.  You simply cannot make contracts cute.  I have found that I need extracurricular activities to keep myself focused (again with the ADD) And I don’t mean extracurricular activities like High School FHA … shut up, it was fun!   The dog hates wearing clothing and the Hub said I can’t repaint the house anymore so enter Pinterest.

And now for a new episode of Texting with Mom.....

It should be noted that this text conversation was not altered in any way a TON completely. 

Daughter #2:  When a guy has an extremely long pinky nail, is that a crack nail?

Me: It could be.  Or he wants you to think that. I think that “style” was over in the early 90’s so it may be bad hygiene.

Daughter #2: It’s his only long fingernail.

Me: No one can account for bad taste dear.  Don’t be so judgey!

Daughter #2: Ewwwwww!!!

Me: And I don’t even know if you use a fingernail for crack.  I think you smoke crack… or inject it.  Long pinky nails were used for cocaine.  Maybe he’s confused. (See Mom, that Criminology degree is definitely coming in handy now!)

Daughter #2: I didn’t ask him.

Me: Did he have a hairless cat and small cloned twin?

Daughter #2: Um…, NO MOM!

Me: Yea. Don’t talk to him. Either he’s an old school druggy pimp, a really dumb drug user, an evil Dr. trying to take over the world with sharks and laser beams or he's hygienically challenged. In any case, he’s not datable.  EVER!!! (This is great advice, by the way - write that down!)

Daughter #2: Definitely! He’s creepy!!!!

Me: Well do you feel like you have had your quota of useless illegal drug trivia for today?

Daughter #2: Yeah, oddly enough I do.

Me: That’s what I’m here for baby.  Also, I’m totally blogging this.

Daughter #2: Great. I’m glad I can help. (this was over text, but I assume this was typed while rolling eyes – possibly muttering)

I can only assume the dude looks similar to this......

It's Dr. Evil, I didn't spend six years in Evil Medical School to be called "mister," thank you very much

On a totally unrelated note, I’m driving to the PEPPER SPRAY store now.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy!

photo from here

Much like Jack Nicholson in The Shinning… “Here’s Johnny!” Except my name is Missy. And no one is writing “REDRUM” on mirrors or chopping down doors with axes.  And I don’t believe I have been possessed by evil poltergeists but that’s always up for debate I suppose. And let’s face it.  I’m not gonna clean that big ol’ hotel for the entire winter.  Let’s be realistic people!

What I have been possessed with is a bout of depression.  Mine isn’t totally obvious or drastic but it’s slowly taken away much of my energy and ability to do the things I enjoy.  There have been lots of major changes in my life in the last several months and while those were great changes (they really are good), I’ve felt very consumed by them.  To be honest, I haven’t had the desire or the energy for anything more. Dealing with the changes and normal life stresses has made me just emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted.   I have many friends who suffer much greater /deeper depression, and I don’t want to minimize their situation in ANY way, but even in small doses depression is debilitating.  And while I’m not an expert on the subject (though I have read about it on WebMD, so I’m almost an expert), I can only attest to what I feel and how I deal with things.

The thing about depression for me is that I can still function fairly normal.  However I’m just going through the motions.  And it creeps up so quietly that you don’t realize you have been in a fog until you finally start to come out of it.  I’m not sure my family even realized, but I can see now that I was struggling.  But that’s what us moms do, right?  We make sure everyone else is happy and content before we worry about ourselves. It’s a mom thing.

But the good news is I am feeling more like myself.  So that pile of little extra things that-aren’t-vital-to-survival need to be done.  Since I’m a type-A person, I do love me some To Do Lists.  I’ve decided that there are 33 things I want to get done before 2013.  (20+13 = 33 – it’s like I’m Archimedes – He’s the father of mathematics. I looked it up.  Anyone else wish he’d have used protection?  Haha.  Oh come on. That’s funny, yo!) Anyway, I won’t tell you the whole list (don’t be so nosey!) but I will give regular updates.  Just cuz it’s my blog and I can.  And I won’t even make one of the items “make a list”.  Shut up… I’ve done that before.  It’s a process people!

So.  One item is to be more consistent with my blog.  But as is tradition with my hiatus’ (hiati? hiatuses?) I’ve come up with a fake list of why I didn’t blog this summer:

·         I accidently stumbled upon Honey Boo Boo and lost about 50 IQ points.

·         Pitched a show called “Softball Moms” it’s like Dance Moms except less whining and over involved parent’s pushing their kids to the limit … oh.. wait. Nope. Pretty much the same thing.

·         Took my mad farmin’ skillz from Farmville and bought a farm.  Raising goats.

·         Adopted a gorgeous metal parrot named Ricky from a horrendous living situation in Mississippi.  Ok, it was from a nice, clean antique mall… but that doesn’t sound as admirable or less creepy.

·         Attempted to make “couch potato” an Olympic sport.  Failed.

·         Two words…. shark tank.

·         Spent the summer admiring all the wonderfully honest and kind political ads. 

·         Stalked Justin Bieber. Not as a fan…. To prove he’s an alien robot.

·         Spent an amazing summer with three of the most awesome daughters anyone could ask for.  Fact.

If you suffer from depression or think you may be depressed…. Please don’t listen to me.  I’m an idiot.  However your Dr. isn’t.  Definitely talk to someone who has a “real” medical degree… and not one that they created in Publisher.

It's a good thing I'm here.

Here is a discussion that the Hub and I had this morning. This is confirmation that he is not dedicated to protecting our family.

 Me: Hey, you know what we need for the backyard? 

 Hub: No 

Me: We need to build a little pond and put a bridge over it. 

Hub: No 

Me: Then we can get a troll to live under it. 

Hub: No

Me: Wait... hear me out! Trolls keep away goats. 

Hub: No 

Me: Well just what exactly are we gonna do if there's a goat invasion? 

Hub: silence... accompanied by a seething glare.

Me: Fine. But someone has to think about the children! 

About 10 minutes later when the Hub left the house... I texted him this message:

Well I hope you're happy. I think I just saw a goat in our yard. Now can we have a troll? 

He didn't answer. I assume this means a green light for the troll. I'm googling little wooden bridges right now.


oh sure... they're cute now.  But how can you trust anything with those weird eyes? just sayin'

True Values......

Sometimes in dire situations, the true value of a person comes out and surprises us.  The following text messages prove this:

Me: I’m in the world’s most boring meeting.  Help!

Hub: I’m sorry.

Me: Don’t be sorry.  Help me!

Hub: What can I do?

Me: Pull a fire alarm?

Hub: No. That’s illegal.  Not gonna go to jail.

Me: pfft! Well how about a bomb threat?

Hub: Again, illegal.

Me: ugh!  Ok.  So that means you are opposed to starting a small fire?

Hub: Yes. 

Me: I said a small one!

Hub: Stop.

Me: How do you feel about getting naked and streaking? Or perhaps a strippergram?

Hub: No.  You would get fired.

Me: Oh, I’d pretend I didn’t know you.

Hub: Wow.  How quick you turn your back on me.

Me: yea, yea.  So…. how soon can you get here?

Hub: I’m not even in town!

Me: tease.

About 20 minutes later….

Me: Crisis averted.  I’ve managed to escape. No thanks to you!  Put your pants back on.

Hub: How did you know my pants were off?

Me: I’m psychic or psychotic… either way Dion Warwick says hi.

Hub: No comment. 

What I learned from this story is that the Hub is not willing to do anything illegal for me, but getting naked is a possibility.  This will NOT be handy during the Zombie Apocalypse.  Just sayin.

Creepy parking garages always ruin everything. Write that down.

Last year for Christmas, I bought the Hub tickets to see his favorite comedian. I won't tell you the comedian's name, but he goes by "fluffy". The tickets were for this weekend, and the concert was held at a gorgeous old theater in the downtown area of our small city.

City may be a bit of an exaggeration, but its not a tiny town either. Our downtown area has undergone a lot of revitalization and has become neat and modern in places. However its a work in progress and there are nice areas and literally a block away are older, less nice areas. Its really rather "hit and miss".

So last night we traveled downtown. Given the rare opportunity to dress up, I wore my rarely worn, but absolutely fantastic high heels. (Go girl!) So I asked that the Hub park as close as possible to save my toes. He found a parking garage just a street over from the theater. Awesome.

Now. I hate parking garages. They are dark, creepy, and I feel like the walls and ceiling are closing in on me. Kinda like a tanning bed or as I call it.. a bright, warm, sunburn giving coffin. Anyway, this was an older parking garage, and it felt much "shorter" than normal. By the time we got to the first floor, I had inched down in my seat in order to distance myself from the impending ceiling collapse. Awesome.

The Hub parks, and we walk down to the street. As we walk down, I decide that the old, decrepit parking garage looks rather spooky. Like a zombie attack location or a future crime scene. While I didn't see body outlines there, I decided that perhaps they had been washed off. I mention this to the Hubs and inform him that if we get attacked by zombies or werewolves, I wasn't above disabling him and making a run for it. Its always good to be completely honest in a relationship. Write that down.

We get to the street and walking down the sidewalk we notice two guys. Both were dressed in normal jeans and t-shirt and one had his face painted like he was a groupie for Insane Clown Posse or wanted to be. And. He was barking. Which was odd because he was painted like a bat or a pterodactyl. I didn't stare, lest I encourage him to fly over and chew my neck off. Never stare down potential prehistoric birds. Flying mammals. Pretty much anything prehistoric. Write that down.

We head toward the theater via a disgusting alley. While in the alley we may or may not have witnessed a drug transaction. The alley was also filled with several restaurant workers sitting on milk crates. They all appeared to loathe life and were drowning their sorrows in Mountain Dew and bad tattoos. Definitely looked like a rapey kinda alley. Or at least a mugging kinda alley. I made note of at least three places where Freddy, Michael or Jason could hide. Also, I had decided that I could, if necessary use my high heels as a weapon. Though I really love those heels, so it would have to be a dire emergency. I'm like the McGyver of surviving unrealistic, impossible fantasy attacks. I restated my plan of leaving the Hub behind if necessary. See? Honesty. Awesome.

The best part of the night? Walking back thru the area at 11:30 at night. Yep. Like a boss.

This is an example of the scary parking garage at 11:30 pm.  Except there are less lights.  Broken concrete.  Cracks in the pavement.  Shattered windows.  Ok. This is nothing like the parking garage at 11:30 pm.

So. Here are the takeaways from this story.

One: The Hub really knows how to be romantic.

Two: I now know what its like to be in a b-rated horror movie.

Three: Fluffy was great despite the impending assault or zombie attack awaiting us in the parking garage.
Four: Always be honest with your relationships. Especially facing fictional, unrealistic danger.

Five: There are always weapons to be found if you are creative.

Six: I'm trying out new power words/phrases. This week phrase is "awesome" and "write that down". It's a work in progress.

Write that down.

The clever exclamation mark....

I have a confession.  I have an addiction. Yes!  It’s true.  I tried to hide it from you guys but as it turns out…. It’s rather public already.  So to defeat this obsession and to try to make a go of my life I’m going to try some self-examination and therapy (as you recall, I am ALMOST a doctor…. Just missing the 8 years of education and stuff…Lame!!!!)   Publically on my blog.  Here goes:

I am an abuser of the exclamation mark.  (see above paragraph) Yes.  I love them.  I use them in all kinds of situations.  To over stress the obvious.  To show extreme happiness.  To extreme sadness.  To display my anger at something or someone.  These are often accompanied by a smiley face or a frowny face.  Or my personal favorite… angry face:  >:O! Yes.  I also abuse emoticons.  (Man I have problems). 

I use exclamation points for emails, texts, quirky abbreviations, posts, tweets, air quotes… you name it… I use ‘em.  If we were in the dark ages when typewriters were the only available writing tool, I would have worn out that button… then the number one would be an innocent bystander to the undeserved violent end of said exclamation point.  Oh. The humanity!!!!!

And worse, most of the time, one isn’t enough.  I have to add two, three or fifty-seven.  Sometimes the poor question mark is thrown into the mix.  Yet another inadvertent victim of the abuse.  Apparently I hurt everything around me!  See?!? I just did it again.

I wonder if there is a twelve step program to help with this?  But who would I make amends to? The number 1? The question mark? And what of the ampersand?  Does it need an apology?  I mean, I rarely use it.  And sometimes I use it incorrectly.  Just like all the other punctuation marks. 

Don’t even get me started on the … .  This is used to insinuate a pause in my sentence.  For example:  Uh, Yea……. I did take upper level English in college!…..duh!?!? See? See what I did there…. Both obsessions in one.

For those keeping score:  16 exclamation points.  11 question marks. 42 mostly unnecessary periods.  One angry face. >:O  woops, make that two. 

Hello. My name is Missy, and I have punctuation problems. And sadly, I have hypocritically been guilty of lol-ing.

How to make Charles grumpy....

I know that lately, all of my blogs start out like this:  “Sorry I haven’t blogged for a while but….[insert feeble excuse here]”  Well, this one is no different.  I’ve found consistency to be very relaxing. 

Sorry I haven’t blogged for a while but I’ve been pretty stressed out.  Daughter number one is changing jobs and has requested my mad resume skillz, clothes and shoes.  Daughter number two is graduating high school and apparently needs all of my attention, money and shoes. Daughter number three (who is too small yet to borrow clothes or shoes) … I think is secretly plotting to kill the first two girls so she can have all my attention.  And don’t go thinking I’m all cool and stuff.  No.  They want my attention because they don’t want me to have any peace WHATSOEVER!  

Then there’s the hub.  He’s always pestering me with annoying questions like “Did you pay the gas bill” or “have you balanced the checkbook” or “why do you sit in the corner and cry all the time”.  Ugh! So demanding! 

So this morning the following events may or may not have occurred. 

The hubs and I have decided to ride together so that when daughter number two comes into town, we only have one car to deal with.  The hubs isn’t fond of being my chauffer.   Something about me being a diva or hating being called Charles… whatever.  Anyway, he finished getting dressed and was waiting very patiently for me to finish.

Hubs: You about ready?

Me: Yea.  Just a few minutes.

Ten minutes later

Hubs:  How much longer?

Me: Um… almost done

Five minutes later

Hubs: Really?  How much longer?

Me: Dude… it takes time to make all this awesome happen (gesturing from my head to my toes – which still did not have shoes on them).

Hubs: You know I hate to be late.

Me: I’m almost done.  Chill!!

Much huffing and puffing on the Hubs part, and we are out the door.  I only ran back in twice for things I forgot.  Apparently being chauffeured around brings on forgetfulness… who knew?

So we get in the car and as we back out of the driveway, I look at the clock on the dashboard.

Me: Oh, we should hurry… I’m running late.

That’s when that vein in his neck started throbbing.  So out of respect for him I did not call him Charles.  Much.

yea. I got nuthin'.....

It was late at night. The thunderstorm was in full swing. Lightning and thunder alternated creating a chaotic symphony of light and sound. The rain pelted the windows as the wind whipped east then west then east again. The lightning illuminated the room becoming almost blinding each time it hit.

She sat on her bed. Ipad poised. Keypad and blue tooth synchronized - blue light verified that both were working. A blank page was open and her hand hovered over the key board. Her glasses poised on her nose, diet coke beside the table.

Smartphone beside her, open to Evernotes with numerous ideas, both complete and partial listed on her "writing" notes section. Words misspelled, evidence of a hastily written thoughts; most likely quickly typed during the morning drive to work.

She was ready - in every sense to begin writing. Yet. Every idea was a dead end. Nothing seemed to work. She started several sentences only to delete them shortly thereafter. Her thoughts jumbled and oddly blank.

All she could think of was the movie Mean Girls. Why were buses running over people? Was there no speed limit? Doesn't the driver understand the school zone? And why doesn't the driver see this girl? Seriously... what is wrong with me????

Little known facts about Easter preparations at the padded room....

Here are some little known facts about Easter preparations at the padded room... enjoy:

Pre-made sugar cookies with the cute little imprints of colorful bunnies and chicks do NOT taste as good as the package promises. I suspect a bait and switch, but cannot confirm this as of yet. There's a conspiracy here. I'm quite certain.

Regardless of having a list, I will most certainly forget at least two items necessary to make food for Easter lunch. Guaranteed.

Despite my uncontrollable pregnancy cravings some 18 years ago, I still love me some chocolate covered marshmellow bunnies. And i still eat the heads off first.

The glitter egg dye that daughter number 3 insisted I purchase promises to make a monstrous mess in my kitchen. Further I predict I will most likely still be finding said glitter by the time Halloween pumpkin carving rolls around. This years pumpkins will be FANCY!

Daughter number 2, the one who keeps leaving her shoes ALL OVER THE HOUSE - where some people continually trip over them, cannot be trusted to fill plastic Easter eggs when Kit Kats are involved.

Walmart at 5:00 on the Saturday before Easter Sunday is apparently the meeting location for every insane and last minute person in my town, the candy isle is more chaotic than Black Friday, and the frantic crowd makes some cashiers entirely too friendly wherein they insist on calling you honey and sweetheart. Conclusion: Only an insane person would go there at that time. At least that's what I hear. AND having a hot flash in the three person deep line was the icing on the cake. Also, the pouring rain than threatens to drown me in the parking lot was really a cherry topper on that cake.

No matter how old my girls get, I LOVE that they still color Easter eggs, get excited about their Easter gifts, still get dressed up for Easter Sunday and sit with us at church. My girls are awesome.

Happy Easter everyone!

More parenting advice....

On a long car ride this weekend, daughter number 3 (she's 10) is chatting about a confrontation between her and another little girl at school. From what I gather ("gather" not because I wasn't listening to her and playing with my ipod or anything) there was an incident during a kickball game wherein the little girl hit daughter number 3 not once but twice in the face (note: good moms don't laugh)... so when I quit laughing, we determine it may or may not have been on purpose. Here's where the tale picks up:

Daughter 3 - So then she hit me again in the same spot! (Sounding dramatic and over-reactive.... and I have NO idea where she gets that....Shut up!)

Daughter 2 (She's 18, and spreading hate and discontent) - So did you hit her back?

Daughter 3 - No, I just turned and walked away.

Daughter 2 - Why you gotta be the bigger person?

And that, my friends, is how to raise loving and caring children. There goes my mom of the year award.

Even zombie millipedes find Laurie from Walking Dead annoying!

Less than a week after the vampire spider incident, I had another near death experience at the scene of the crime.  As I was getting ready the other morning, a millipede crawled up from the drain in the Hubs sink.  The little bugger had crawled up from somewhere and it was staring at me at 6 am.  To read of my other 6 am antics, read here.

So I promptly poured a cup of water down the sink to drown him.  A few minutes later, he was watching me put on my make-up.  Not knowing how many lives these millipedes have (cats have like nine and apparently the Kardashians have an unending supply - kinda makes you wonder doesn't it?) anyway I dumped another cup of water down the sink.  He came back moments later.

About that time, the Hubs comes in and I tell him to watch out, as clearly we have a situation brewing.  He says, “yea right” and dumps a third glass of water on Theodore. Anything that comes back from the dead that many times needs a name, right? The Hubs doesn’t have much respect for undead bugs. **sigh** I'm working on it people. 

So we don’t see Theodore for a quite a while and I assume that means he was just really good at holding his breath.  We continue to get ready and a good fifteen minutes later, he reappears.  And he looks ticked.  I mean, we have tried to kill him three times that would anger anyone.  His little antenna was flicking in a very threatening manner. Also, I swore I heard him complain about Laurie from the Walking Dead being a whiner.  Which is kinda true. 

Here's my artistic rendition:  Also as a side note, finding a picture of a millipede kinda grossed me out.  Those things are freaky.  Even before being all dead and bitey!

Then it dawns on me.  Clearly he’s a zombie.  It’s so obvious. And once again, I had to save humanity and cut his head off.  I’m like the Van Helsing of modern times – with better hair. I totally should get paid for this stuff.

I also came to another conclusion. My house is some sort of vortex for undead bugs.  I suppose that means that I should sharpen the swords, polish the leather boots and make me some wooden daggers.  All I’m saying, is this better not cut into my Hunger Games reading time.  You know, those games would have been really crazy if there were some undead bug roaming around.  Just sayin’.