Monday, June 28, 2010

Outta my Monday moanin' mind

Out of My Monday Moanin’ Mind

Scott from Scooter Chronicles had this to say about the late, great Bob Talbert (who's title I have stolen and changed just a tad)...
"He was a columnist for the Detroit Free Press. Originally from the south (he referred to himself as “Bubba”), he took the Detroit area by storm with his witty articles. Every Monday morning, his column was titled like my post. It was just a bunch of random thoughts. And it was geared to moaning about it being Monday again. Just about every other Monday, I think about that title. Talbert died in 1999, and I know a lot of people in Detroit that still miss him."
I hate Mondays...when I was a stay at home, I loved Mondays.
Monday was the day life went back to normal.
The daddy was working, the kids were in school, and I had my weary from the weekend ass parked on the couch.
Don't get me wrong, I didn't just lay there and veg all day, I grazed on chips and cookies and worked the remote control.
Then around 2:30 I'd get into gear and power clean the palace. Toss on a batch of gourmet HamburgerHelper and call it a "busy, tiring day".
My sister (now a stay at home) has dubbed Monday The Best Day Ever...that is until Christmas vacation or summer hits...then Monday becomes just another day catering to another person's needs or whims (or maybe it's a lot of other people's needs or whims, as is my case).

So just like every other working stiff...I now have to call the weekend The Best Day(s) Ever.
Anyway, my restful weekend brought about some interesting things...
1. I may be The Food Whisperer, my macaroni sent this. Everybody should know...  I always say food is love, and now I have proof, picture proof.
2. Bananas for baby monkeys...
It's a sin to waste food....just yesterday Googie's grandmother sent her home a mini banana. It was about as big as a fat finger. "It is real?" she asked.
3. I decided to live life on the edge and paint my nails an unusual (for me) color.....
Daddio didn't like my nail choice much and said that I looked like a reptile...
"A reptile? I asked "How so?"
I wasn't the greatest of students...and it is entirely possible that while we were studying different species of living creatures in Science class that I somehow was too busy watching a squirrel bury acorns, or a tiny spider spinning a web to take note of orange nailed reptiles....but you know, I trust my darling Daddio.
And so this morning I Googled Repitles with colored nails....some interesting crap came up...
Not anything nearly as interesting though as the time I Googled "Dicks" for the sporting goods store.
"Every other day, every other day,
Every other day of the week is fine, yeah
But whenever Monday comes, but whenever Monday comes
You can find me cryin' all of the time" ~ Monday Monday, by The Mamas and the Papas

Saturday, June 26, 2010

So long Elizabeth......

Saturday Centus time, a themed writing meme. The challenge is to write 100 words to add to the prompt started by Jenny Matlock from off on my tangent.

The writing prompt is in itallics...

"Did you notice Elizabeth in class this morning and how forlorn she seemed?" Perhaps I will write her a comforting note, I thought

The minute I said it aloud I knew I shouldn‘t have.

Mrs. Lawson had been understanding about Elizabeth.

Today her shocked expression told me I’d gone too far.

Elizabeth, as usual, sat quiet as my classmates laughed.

She’d reached out her hand to me, when I reached back, they laughed harder.

Headmaster Thompson, dressed in his adult version of Hill Preparatory School for Boys’ uniform, entered our classroom.

Tapping his large ruler against his wide palm….

“NONSENSE!!!” he roared as he pulled out the empty seat next to me, and promptly squashed my poor Elizabeth with his big, flat butt.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Half a.....

I don't like the expression half-assed.

And believe it or not, I've been called that a time or two.

Like when I was a kid and my mom would order up a room cleaning. I'd be done quickly, cause that's just how I work. She'd come in to do the once over and things would be looking good until Cracker Ass, my not so half-assed sister challenged her to look under the bed or take a peek inside the closet.

Our mother would pull out the dirty clothes, the piles of papers, the dessert plates and coffee cups that I'd stashed in those spots.

She'd create a piggy mountain in the middle of the floor, furrow her brow and growl...

"Clean this up, do it right...this... is... half-assed!!!!"

"You don't ever want to be half-assed".

Daddio has said that same thing, but about different stuff.

He gets all pissy like when I fold his laundry and the legs of his jeans are twisted.

Who has the time to match seams?

Or the interest?

Well, I guess Daddio does.

Since his lay off he's been doing the laundry and our clothes have never looked better.

No random seams on the sides of the pant legs.

Everything is turned right side out.

He remembers to stain treat and separate.

And not once has he given Bear Googie's underwear.

Oh, how I despise competence.

And arrogance.

And those, who because they seem to effortlessly do a good thorough job, are never called half-assed.

Oh well, the world would be a boring place if it were filled with over achievers wouldn't it???

Yesterday morning while showering I had myself a little giggle.

I was shaving and in an effort to save myself a bit of time I only did the bottom half of my legs.

I was wearing capris so what the stinkin heck....??

Not half-assed, I thought....


Tee-hee... enjoy your Wednesday.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Sticks and stones instead????

"Is there anyone in the house besides us?" Daddio said, peeking over his shoulder and looking around the corner.

"Nope" I answered "just us".

"Come here, I want you to hear something" He said guiding me toward the antique chest that sits next to our fridge.

"Wait till you hear this....somebody needs some soap in their mouth" he said.

He walked toward the answering machine and began to push buttons.

"Hang on" he said "it's right here".

Daddio scrolled through the old messages, clicking "skip", until he got to number 10.

Then he upped the volume as high as it would go.

A female voice filled the mostly empty kitchen. Her words could have curled wallpaper or scoured a sink....cuss words abrasive and shocking.

I cringed and winched as the string carried on and on.

WOW..this freak is pissed, I thought.

And possibly insane.

A rambling rant of magnificent proportions.

Words that colored and hung in the air like a heavy mushroom cloud.

"JUST WHO IN THE HELL WERE YOU TALKING TO?" Daddio demanded to know.

Choosing my words carefully I answered his question.

Some dumb sonofabitch guy in a big red truck who was all up my ass tailgating.

My chastisement wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been...Daddio missed the sign language.

Note to self...make sure you hit that damn end call button TWO times.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

I am who I am.....

Saturday Centus time, a themed writing meme. The challenge is to write 100 words to add to the prompt started by Jenny Matlock from off on my tangent.

The writing prompt is in itallics...

Guys don’t become fathers at 16, at least if they’re smart they don’t. There’d been so many days that I wanted to run, to escape my new life. Sometimes I found myself resenting the kid, then I’d remember it’s not his fault, he didn’t ask to be here. Stupid, stupid parents this poor kid has.

This day we‘re left alone, reluctant father and his small boy, all alone for the first time, We sit at opposite ends of a long wall sizing each other up a bit, he moved first, toward me.


it was Fathers Day, 1984, when I heard that voice in the hallway,

”DA…dada” he said, adding a toothless grin.

Friday, June 18, 2010

It's the 18th of June....

I remember having lots of conversations with my grandpa about the passage of time.

"It goes fast when you're old Babe" he'd say.

"So fast, that a week passing seems hardly more than a day going by."

Half of June is old news already.

Seriously, I'm tired of being a grownup.

And having weeks and months fly by.

I want to be bored.

And lazy.

I want to determine time by sleeping until the HOT sun is peeking in my bedroom window,

I want to play until the street lights come on.

And take more than a glance at some of these...

I want to take a moment to listen to this neighbor's song....

And I swear to God, come hell or high water...I'm going to get on top of this ball.

I will have Googie let you know to which hospital they take my stupid 50 year old self when I permanently injure my spinal cord or suffer a massive head injury.

So long for now... I need to start checking pockets and lifting couch cushions....I hear the ice cream man comes around about 2pm.

And the dirty rotten scoundrel has jacked the price of his Chocolate Éclairs no doubt.

June 18th....I promise to enjoy thee.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

I see you......

"I don't like to take my Adderall " one of my loveable thugs said to me yesterday morning before class began, he was responding to my asking him how he was feeling.

" I don't like taking it at all. It makes me feel invisible" he said.

"Invisible?" I asked

"Yeah, I come home from school and there is nothing left of me. I don't talk. I don't feel. I am invisible". He explained.
"Why don't you try doing something that you love when you get home from here?" I asked.

"I was a good hockey player, a real good one. I was a freshman on the varsity team. Then my grades began to slip and I started smokin weed and then I didn't care anymore." the invisible man was spilling his guts.

"What about your artwork? I ask
"I've seen your drawings" I said "you are very talented."
"Yeah, I guess I am pretty good" he replied. "When I draw, I forget about everything else."
"I'm gonna get my ass kicked over five bucks" He told me.
"I made up a tattoo for someone and charged them five bucks. They paid me and then said they didn't like what I drew".

"So now this girl's sister's boyfriend is going to kick my ass." He seemed more angry than scared when he said this.

"Do you need five bucks to pay him back?" I ask.

"No" he answered "I got 5 bucks and I gave it back."

"Good" I said.

"What kind of tattoo was it" I asked.

"It was a tribute tattoo. I drew a heart and then In Memory Of and I put her dad's name in it. The tattoo was going to be tribute to her dad. He's dead, ya know...lots of people have those kinds of tattoos." he told me.

Then he continued "she wanted this tattoo to show how much she loved him and then she couldn't even remember the date of his death".

"That's pretty bad" I comment "a tribute tattoo and she can't even remember the date of the person she is permanently honoring, using needles and ink and suffering all kinds of pain for something that will mark her body till the end of

"Yeah, that's what I thought too, and when I said it it pissed her off and then she went bitchin to this Dave guy who told her that my tattoo sucked and since Dave runs his own clique they all listen to every thing he has to say no matter how stupid, then she had Dave call my girl's mom, and you know? I'm really tight with my girl's family and Dave calls there cause he wants the five bucks back and starts all kinds of shit. I think my dad's gonna kick Dave's ass, he's 18 so it's not like my dad's gonna kick some kid's ass."

"Hey, do you have anything to drink in here? " he askes changing courses suddenly "I don't have much of an appetite when I take this medicine, but I need to drink stuff, the Adderall makes my mouth dry" he said.

I made him up a big glass of chocolate milk to go.

"You'd better get going to class"  I tell him. "you're a half hour late"

"Thank you for listening to me" he said, then walked out the small kitchen door toward class.

Ohhhhh-boy....I thought to myself, and it's only 9am.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010


My baby boy and a couple of his friends are heading off to Cedar Point today.

Cedar Point is a huge amusement park in Ohio.

I worry about them driving that far.

And going on the Roller Coasters…those things can (and do) scramble brains.

You’d probably have to have some brains in order for them to get scrambled though wouldn’t you?

Something about sitting in a creaky old bucket car seat, being strapped in using a tattered thread barren belt with a faulty buckle…..

Add a hundred more of those “seats” and to each seat add another brainless daredevil.

Haul the contraption up the side of a mountain. balance it on skinny tracks that don’t look worthy to hold a bike tire and then hurl it, using the powerful force of gravity, down the other side of the mountain…

Ain’t what I’d call fun.

No sir.

I like having my two feet planted squarely on the ground.

And my brains, unscrambled.
Sometimes though, that isn't possible and you have to take the ride.
Yes, sometimes you are forced to get on that damned roller coaster, forced to hear that tick tick ticking, going up going up going up, knowing that everything that goes up eventually comes down and vicey versey.  
So you hang on for dear life and close your eyes tight and have faith that somehow..somehow you are going to make it to the bottom and back to regular with your feet planted firmly and safely on the ground.
You will be in one piece and without permanent damage....!!!

Is this a guarantee?????
(Think I could get it in writing?)


Monday, June 14, 2010

My right hands......

Well, my youngest child's grad party is now just a memory.

Thank God!

I'm so happy to be over that hump.

I'm sad to say that he didn't have the turn out that the others was soooo hot and humid.

He also had about 4 close friends celebrating the same day.

It still was very nice and the people that were able to make it were wonderful and incredibly generous with my son.

Right before the party started I began to suffer the effects of all my party anxiety mixed with my regular anxiety and my procrastinating personality... and about an hour before the party started the crap hit the fan.

My cute new hair cut didn't look quite like I'd envisioned... it was damp and in a goofy looking clip thingy complete with a couple of different colored bobby pins holding the strays.

And about a gallon of hard hold helmet hairspray.


Then I melted our cordless phone when I laid it down on my darling daughter's straightener....

And I forgot tablecloths for the tables that were holding the food.

And with all this other stuff going on I worried that my eyeshadow was on unevenly.

I felt like a disheveled mess.

Oh well, the party was certainly not about me.

So who cares, really.

I'd rather tell you about my hands.

My right hands...

Yes, hands with an "s" I have more than my own pair.

I have a daughter that left this sweet coffee pot note...

And I have future a future son-in-law who ran home to get more tables.

And then ran home to get more coolers.

Then ran home to get some ice.

Then ran home to get some orange drink.

I think if I would have asked him to powder my nose he would have.

My sons and my daughter in law stepped up and did every crazy little thing I asked them to do, without question.

"Mom, you want the coffee creamer and sugar WHERE? Ooooookay, into the oven it goes.

Daddio was awesome....he worked like a Hebrew slave and then he pretended he was social.

For hours he talked and laughed and not once (not even once) did I have to search the house for him and discover him hiding under the bed in our room.

My sister made a card box on the fly and it was the nicest one I've ever seen. And she brought 3 pans of jello dessert (I'd asked her the night before if she could do one).

One of my sis-in-laws made a beautiful salad (and was thoughtful enough to bring dressings).

A girlfriend made a beautiful cake (free of charge...!!!) and on and on the list of helpful things people did for me could go...

I want to mention one little detail that had me walking light...and dancing in circles.

I would've done the sideways jump where my heels click together, if I wasn't scared I'd break a hip.

But that is how happy this thoughtful deed made me.

Here is the girl, just home from running yet another errand for me said,

"Come upstairs mom when you get a minute"..

When I found a chance and caught up with her in our computer room she instructed me to "sit down, close your eyes and open your hands".

When I did, and opened my eyes she'd placed a package wrapped in pink iridescent paper, tied with a white ribbon and dotted with a little white bow.

I opened it to find....THIS......

A bracelet I'd seen and salivated over at the jewelry store the day before when we'd stopped by to have her engagement ring cleaned.

It was an expensive bracelet.... the surprise made me cry, and then I cried all the more when I thought of how hard she has to work taking care of other people's babies to earn the money she spent on it.

"I bought this for you" she said " for doing the fine job of getting three children through school. And because you are a good mom".

(Funny...these days she carries me)

All I can really say is....

Thank Heaven for little girls (and helpful sons)
And for big girls too.

Like my sister who cleaned for nearly two hours (straight) my filthy dirty kitchen and made it sparkle so brightly I almost needed sun glasses when I walked in. She did all this while I sat in the garage and shot the bull with some of my oldest and dearest friends.

Right hands....a girl can never have too many.

Thank you for blessing my life with your thoughtfulness, your helpfulness, your know who you are.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

Gino meets his match....

Another Saturday Centus, a themed writing meme. The challenge is to write 100 words to add to the prompt started by Jenny Matlock from off on my tangent.

The writing prompt is in itallics...

“Gimmy your lunch money” Gino said “and I won’t beat you up”.

I dug deep in my pockets and pulled out 35 cents and handed it over.

Same thing I did yesterday and the day before.

Tales of a third grade wimp.

Then… Gino met my sister.

Tales of a first grade maniac.

She chased him for at least a block and jumped him on our neighbor’s lawn.

She punched him in the head. And kicked him in the back.

I wanted to laugh at his green freckles, instead I took the money he returned.

He never bothered me again.

It’s true, the smell of freshly mowed grass can stay with you for years, for decades.

Don't let the pretty "get up"  fool ya, the kid was a scrapper.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Waiting to exhale......

It's 9:30 in the evening and I'm sitting in my computer chair typing this post because there is no way I can do anything else.

I'm waiting.

On pins and needles.

I have a pit the size of a basketball resting heavily on my diaphragm making it hard to breathe.

It all started with a phone call to our landline a bit ago. I didn't answer because I didn't recognize the number.

A couple of minutes later Daddio walked upstairs with my cell phone. Bear had just called.

He was calling to tell us that he was on the way to the hospital, his best friend since the first grade had been injured in a car accident.

With hands shaking so badly it was hard to hold the phone, I called Bear back.

"How bad?" I asked.

"His parents didn't know how bad mom" he answered. "They called me and weren't to the hospital yet."

Then he just about broke my heart when he asked "If he was dead mom would the hospital keep that from his parents so they could make it to the hospital?

I don't know. Do they do that? I didn't think they did that? Please tell me they don't do that.

"No, honey he's going to be fine" I said.

Suddenly I was scared for my own child.

Scared because he's driving and upset.

Scared about what he may find when he gets to the hospital.

Scared to think about how his life could change because his best friend got into a car accident.

Then I thought about his friend's mother.

And I thought about my own mother who lost her son to an accident one seemingly ordinary mid October evening.

And I thought about Bear and his friend's graduation ceremony tomorrow night.

These two boys who became fast best friends when they met in the school supply aisle at K-Mart the first day of first grade.

Bear and Metzie were in the same class and became a perfectly matched inseparable pair.

They would be best friends all their growing up years.

They planned to walk together to get their diplomas.

And now Bear was on his way to the hospital where Metzie was taken after the accident.

A couple of hours and lots of text messages later Bear called one last time to say he was on his way home.

"Anybody want any MickyD's?" he asked when he called.

"Bring your dad a big mac" I said.

"Nothin for you ma?" He asked.

"Yeah" I wanted to add.....go to the store Bear and get some party hats and some balloons. Stop by the church and kneel and say a prayer of thanks. Lets make a cake. And throw confetti. And blow kazoos. And bubbles. Lets dance a jig and sing some songs.

"No kid, just hurry home" I said "and be careful".

Bear's best friend is going to be fine.

Life goes on as planned.

Halleluiah, Hallehuiah......

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

I'm at a loss for words...

And 'I'm busier than a one armed paper hanger on a windy day'...(a silly phrase my step-mom likes to say)...

Or you could say I'm 'busier than a cat coverin shit...' (my dad's version).

You get the drift.

Today as much as I would like I have no time to ramble or speak (write) drivel....

No time, no time, no time, no time

No time, no time, no time, no time

I got, got, got, got no time

I got, got, got, got no time

I got, got, got, got no time

No-no-no, no-no-no, no time

No-no-no, no-no-no, no time

I got, got, got, got no time

No-no-no, no-no-no, no-no-no,

no-no-no, no-no-no, no-no-no, no time

I got no time, got no time, got no time, got no time, got no time
No time.

Is it just me or is there a striking resemblance???

Googie and her "bad boy" Trouble

Happy Wednesday...I'll be back. Hopefully tomorrow or Friday or maybe Sunday after the party. Monday for sure. Well, unless something changes and then I could be back here later today. Or possibly next Tuesday. Or the second Tuesday of next week......

Is it any damn wonder I never get anything done?

I haven’t yet begun to procrastinate…I’ll get started on it later.

Seriously...good bye (for now). xoxoxoxo

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

All cheesy (and not proud of it)......

Saturday evening found me belly up on the couch in the living room moaning and groaning that I couldn't bear cooking one more mundane dinner..that I was so tired of the same old crap that we eat every damn day of our freakin lives and there (seriously) was (absolutely) no food in the house to cook even if I even wanted to.

"What sounds good" Daddio asked, trying to soothe my foul mood.

"Nothing" I pouted.

"Well on second thought, maybe Taco Bell" I said.

I suited up and hit the road.

In my little town you have two options to get to Taco Bell. One is through Town, which means speed limits so low I have to keep my foot on the brake to keep my car going the legal posted speed.....which is CRAWL.

The other is the Hall to Vreeland Road route...which means pot holes, random herds of deer, big (BIG) fast traveling trucks driven by drivers who all seem to have an eerie resemblance to Large Marge.

Vreeland Road also sports a train track with the stupidest train yard workers in the free world.

No matter what time day or night you pass this set of tracks there is a train on its way to being stopped dead over the tracks, I'm talking they sometimes stop the Caboose on the tracks, the one car Caboose... a fat man in suspenders stops the one car train literally within a few feet of clearing the tracks and then leaves it there idling. Pissin people off.

Especially people like me, filled with impatience and nerves wound tighter than a spring loaded seat belt retractor.

Take Vreeland Road, and you know your gonna be playing a game of beat the train.

And when I don't (beat the train)...which is almost every time, I beep my horn and I scream crazy crap out the window at the guy in the suspenders.

Not that he understands or even hears a word I’m saying… but it makes me feel better.

I promise the kids (and I seriously mean it) that one day one day I am going to be the lunatic that crashes into the side of the train...I'll go happy, I tell them.

Tonight I choose Vreeland Road, possibly the lesser of two irritations.

I successfully maneuver around the pot holes, I out run the deer and I beat the train....

Pooo-pooo-peee-freakin do....I am the man (just ask me).

Arriving at Taco Bell I see that I am number 36 in the drive-through.

I people watch, all the while Satan sits on my shoulder and urges me on, I critique the parking lot's walking dead, which seems to be every person entering and exiting.

I'm beyond evil and judgmental.

Waiting to be the next car to order, I'm able to read the entire 10x12 foot menu board in the 15 minutes I spend in front of it.

While reading I see this...

Taco Bell's new Crispy Potato Soft Taco....

A soft flour tortilla filled with crispy potato bites, Pepper Jack sauce, crisp, shredded lettuce, and real cheddar cheese.

OMG.....potatoes and cheese!!!!

I'll take ten.

Just kidding, I ordered 8 crunchy tacos and one potato taco.

The invisible person I was placing my order with asked if I wanted to donate a dollar to ckeoriendljkfneorue and for nowierh;a skjdfb;isuer;awe t.

"Yeah, sure" I answered, still riding high on my excitement about the new taco.

When I got to the window, I asked what my dollar was going for.

The kid left the window and me searching for an answer to my perplexing question.

Silly me, I'm such a pill…possibly I crossed some kind of boundary asking a question like that??

I was sitting at the front of the line holding things up… and getting a tad nervous.

I could see the guy behind me in my rearview it appeared he was getting madder by the minute.

The kid came back and explained that he was collecting dollars for moias'ro;tj werkgaw'r and kha;woeir hwejkf and to help kids graduate.

I gave him the buck; wanting to tell him that my own kid just graduated and I probably would rather give the buck to him...I just cut my losses and went forward.

When I pulled away from the pick up window the bag dangling from my free hand seemed a bit light.

I breathed a sigh of relief seeing that my new potato taco was in there.

But there were only 5 crunchy ones.

I pulled around and parked.

After a little 20 minute wait I was given my shorted tacos and out the door I ran.

Towards Vreeland Road and the flashing red lights.

I cracked open the bag, took out the potato taco, ate a bite and wrapped it back up.

Then I did it again, and again and again.

I was feeling a bit piggish downing that taco in the car.

I crumpled up the evidence wrapper and shoved it way down deep into my very dirty purse.

Cleaned off my mouth.

Dental flossed my teeth.

And wiped the huge smile off my face all before I walked in the front door with our dinner.

“It took you a long time” Daddio said when I came in. He walked toward me, squinting his eyes.

“Why do you have cheese and lettuce stuck to your chest?”

I wasn't sure what I should answer..."the counter guy and I got into a taco fight?"

"My chest is littered with shreaded chedder cheese and lettuce because the guy screwed up my order, and stole a buck from me and I was caught by another train on the way home and the tacos smelled so damn good and I was just too freakin hungry to just smell it any longer and so I tore into it and devoured it in a few piggish bites"...

"AND since you asked......"

"I'll tell you what is really going on and why I have a chest full of lettuce and cheese it's called emotional eating and buddy I am frickin starving....

I'm all stressed out, I'm working on a big party for Saturday, I love/hate parties, I'm worried worried worried and my last kid is graduating and I am scared to be the mother of completely grown children.

 I don't know if I know how to do that.

There I said somebody needs to hide the peanut butter cups and the potato chips.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Glad to meet ya.......

Another Saturday Centus, a themed writing meme. The challenge is to write 100 words to add to the prompt started by Jenny Matlock from off on my tangent.

The writing prompt is in itallics...

“It’s your own fault” I whispered into her ear as I choked the life out of her.

Just like the other times I worked methodically cleaning my mess.

What could I take from this one to add to my collection?

Her cross necklace came off easy enough.

A quick rifle though her handbag earned me twenty dollars and a ticket to the matinee.

I’d look around, never too soon to make a new friend.

They didn’t hang around very long.

I settled into the comfortable movie theater seat with awkward 3D glasses perched on my nose, a small tub of popcorn on my lap, and a bottle of water lodged into the seat holder.

I quickly noticed the pretty, petite blonde ” Excuse me miss” I said, tapping her shoulder “you dropped something”.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

High anxiety............

Yes, I am a sufferer....

So when I start to do things like occupy my time (virtually) writing and rewriting and editing and stamping and mailing complaint letters to companies like the one that makes DIAL soap. Letting them know they haven't outsmarted anyone (least of all ME) with the little shrinky dink trick they're attempting to pull with their gold bath bar...

Taking time to (literally) compile evidence...

Or when I find myself jumping out of bed at 3am bouncing off hallway walls, stubbing my fat big toe all to make sure that this is what I'll see on my side of our locked door.

(yes. thank goodness they are home)

When I start to revisit old (BAD) habits....

Candy bars and coffee for breakfast.

It's time to name this stress, this sadness, this anxiety.

My baby, my last baby is done with high school!!! sniffle sniffle sob...

(Okay...enough about him, lets talk about me!!! Do you know how freakin old that makes me??? A tangent for another day)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I need to find time somehow to spit shine my less than tidy nest to prepare for a grad party to be held in 9 (NINE) days!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

How in the hell do I know if I've bought enough food??????????

Or enough toilet paper?????????

Or if the skies will decide to cry along with me on the day of his party????????????

And if not, will it be so hot that everyone will need to come inside?????????????

Will anyone show up?????????

Did I choose a bad day, too many other parties???????????

Where can I find marbles to booby-trap the medicine cabinet to catch any snoopers??????????

Holy shit....I really HATE party anxiety.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Don't tell me where to go......

The first words out of Daddio's mouth this morning were "What day is it?"

When I told him Tuesday he said "Um....we forgot to get your work van".

That translates to Daddio being my chauffeur this morning...never a great thing without some advance planning.

You see I drive Daddio totally nuts...when he's driving (and if truth be told, most other times too ).

My unorganized self will ask him to pull back into the driveway one, two, maybe even three times before we can get on the road and on our way.

"Just watching you try to leave makes me tired"  crabby Daddio complained.

I had a lot to take to work today and that usually spells big trouble and room for errors.

He'd already filled the back of the car with four flats of tomato and pepper plants that I babysat over the long holiday weekend.

Daddio was aggravated with me when I handed him more than an arms load of bags, a box, a laundry basket and a small baggie filled with Corn Flakes complete with instructions not to crush the cereal.

When he was fully loaded like a pack mule he asked me to hand him the car keys.....

GULP!!! "The car keys???" I ask, a bit confused.

Quickly I do a mental inventory..keys? Did he give me the keys? Omg!!! He gave me the keys!!! Where are the keys? What did I do with the keys? Wait...I don't remember him handing me any keys.

"I don't have the keys" I say "You didn't give me any keys" I insist.

"They're in your hand" Daddio nods toward the keys dangling from the bottom of my palm.

On the road I make lots of small talk...which to a guy like Daddio sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

Or Charley Brown's teacher's wawawawawawawaw."

As soon as I notice his eyes beginning to cross and bug out I quiet down.

After we've pulled around back at my workplace to drop off the plants and we get back into the car I assume Daddio is turning around which will put him going the wrong way to head toward the other parking lot where my van is waiting.

"No!!! Don't go that way" I say "go this way" pointing to a small pothole filled gravel road.

"I'm trying to avoid the potholes...I know which way to go! Don't tell me where to go. You don't need to tell me where to go."

"Okay so maybe I don't need to tell you WHERE to go" I say " But I really really want to tell you WHERE TO GO!!!!

"You want to know where you can go?" I ask.

I begin searching my purse looking for the key to the work van.

My purse looks like an active volcano.

"I can't find my key" I say "I know I saw it somewhere."

"Probably on the kitchen counter" Daddio says, sighing.

As I'm digging a tunnel to the bottom of my purse things are falling out of the sides and onto the floor of the car.

" must suck to be you" Daddio says "you are very unorganized".

"Yeah it does suck to be me." I say with a growl.

"IT REALLY SUCKS TO BE ME" I say even louder.

Finally I locate the key and Daddio pulled up to the van, stopped and said "get the hell out".

"Good riddance" I said back as I closed the door.

He circled back around and rolled down the window....

"Come home in a better mood" he yelled.

(Which almost made me pee my pants)

I blew him a kiss and headed into work.