Animal Antics & Somnambulant Spouses

Trail Etiquette: For the idiots of the world.

2012-10-24T18:30:00.000-05:00

We spend as much time in the park as possible. I don't mean the dinky little city parks where you would expect to see parents taking the screaming hoard to get just a few minute of shut the hell up before running off on the next errand/job/class. I'm talking about state parks with miles of woodland trails. Not a high heeled environment, though we've seen them out there. They boggle the mind. Here's the thing, if you're going out to a state park, where the playgrounds are small and in the camping section (which suggests what? That's right. Camping!) city wear is not a common sense choice. If you have never been out into the great outdoors and have a trip planned, I suggest you do a little research. I mean, seriously people. All it takes to figure out how to dress and act out in the wild is ~~a little bit of brain power~~ an internet connection.

A few weeks ago, when the Bestie and I were on our weekly hike, we saw a group of people from Germany. Three, to be exact. Two men, one "woman". The one "woman" was wearing daisy dukes and platform heals. Are you frigging kidding me? I mean, really? We've seen all kinds out there. Elizabeth and I stumble out of the woods, packs on our backs, hair disheveled, faces red, sweat dripping, dirt in every pore, limping from the blisters and walk up on a family unloading from their brand new SUV. Mom, Dad and two point five kids, all in their name brand best, hair perfect, cologne on overdrive, all smiles. They aren't there for the trails, so much. They are usually out there for a day picnic. That's not such a biggie. I wouldn't pay $7 a person for a picnic, but whatever floats your boat. That's why we stay in the more remote areas of the park. We avoid the prissy folk out there. On the more attractive trails, however...whoo boy! The Elm Lake Trail and the Spillway are some of the more popular hikes for the adult crowd, where the Creekfield interpretive trail is more popular among children's groups and the handicapped. They are both wheelchair accessible, and Creekfield has raised and braille descriptive posts. Not to mention the George Observatory is back there. It's not unusual to be over run by a herd of screaming, squealing, texting school kids on Elm Lake. They usually travel in packs of a hundred. But, I'll get to that.

If you are going to go out into nature with high hopes of seeing actual, real, honest to God wildlife, there are a few things you should know. Like, animals have no fashion sense. They really don't give two squirts in a bucket what your ass looks like in your crotch hugging shorts, or how high heels make your legs look longer. AS if we needed to know that they can reach around the 380lb tard waddling next to you. Kudos for him for getting the exorcise, but you, madam, are a fracking loon. The animals may not care about your shoes, but you damn sure will, once you hit a half a mile and you slip. That gut wrenching crack you just heard? That was your ankle, Miss. Limp away. Also, they do not find White Diamonds attractive. It isn't fun for them. Or for us, for that matter. Before you dump on a gallon of your favorite cologne or perfume think about us. For the love of God, just don't do it! You wont see wildlife that way. You will let them know you're coming so that they have plenty of time to hide from you...and us. Thanks, dummy. Same goes for deodorant. I won't be so mean here. Lots of people don't think about this. By all means, wear it! Please! But, think about what you're wearing. If you put on cherry blossom suave, you're doing two things. Alerting the critters and alerting the BEES! Do you really want to spend your leisurely day in the park running from bees? Can you even run in those shoes without breaking your neck or ripping the crotch out of your two sizes two small shorts? Tons of hair product doesn't help, either. This goes for men and women. You are equally guilty. Invest in unscented deodorant, settle for a gel free ponytail, wear comfortable clothes and good walking shoes. Leave the frilly crap at home. Out here, no one cares.

Oh, the noise. Animals don't just smell you coming. They have ears too, you know. Unfortunately, so do we. You're cackling laugh and auditorium voice doesn't fit in the woods anymore than in a church or a hospital. Unless you're dying and/or lost, keep it the hell down! I don't care what the punchline to that joke you told ten minutes ago was, and I'm fairly certain the deer don't care either! Although, the squirrels might. They have weird senses of humor. Most of us come out to the woods for the solitude. We like the quiet for oh so many reasons. Be aware of the fact that there are other people. Be courteous of them and of the animals. SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. This is where the bus loads of kids come into play. There's really nothing quite like seeing the alligator sneaking up behind a bird, poised to snap. You have your camera ready, also poised to snap. When, around the corner comes the most obnoxious group of tweens you've ever had the misfortune to encounter. The rumble is all but deafening. The cloud of dust that the herd kicks up is so thick that it takes fifteen minutes for it to settle and makes it look like the aftermath of nuclear holocaust. Half of them are whining about the heat/dust/bugs/lack of wifi. When you pull into the parking lot and are greeted by three big yellow kid eaters, that's a sure sign of trouble. Flee! Run while you can! Honestly, I think they should make them take a hike specific quiz. Don't tell them why they are taking it and treat it like a test. Find out what interest each kid has. Once you know who has an honest desire to be in the park and experience nature in all of it's solace and glory, you know how to group your kids. Put like minded kids together, and in smaller groups. I remember those field trips. I wanted to be there and the kids who didn't always ruined it for us. You'd think the schools would have realized that by now. More chaperones! Not enough on staff? Ask parents to volunteer. Offer them free admission if they'll help wrangle the kids! It's not that hard! It would keep people like me from shoving the little assholes into the nearest swamp and holding them under. "Teenager? Nope, sorry. Haven't seen one. This? Oh, I'm just filling my canteen. Move along." Ugh.

Then there's the loving family who insists on holding hands as they take a slow stroll. How sweet and picturesque...unless you're trying to pass. Take up the entire path or trail. I don't care. At least have the courtesy to get out of the way when someone is trying to get by. Those people are no different than the grocery store isle hoggers. There's room, I promise. MOVE, asshat! It's even more annoying when you've said "excuse me" three times and the still haven't gotten out of the way.

My husbands favorite. Litter bugs. When I'm two miles away from the nearest human, crawling through the brush to get to the next section of trail, there is no reason why I should find an empty six pack. If you want to get drunk in the woods, fine. Take your trash with you when you stumble your drunk ass back to your camp. Water bottles are meant to hold water, not hold down patches of grass or make a nice swimming pool for the ants to build around. Not only is it unsightly, it's a hazard to the animals you just paid money to come pollute. You, dear litter bug, are the worst of them all. There should never be soda cans floating past in the bayou, candy wrappers blowing down the trail and, dear ostrich of wingsdom, condoms in the parking lot. Or, anywhere else. If you want to cheat on your wife, get a motel. Throw that bitch away, you nasty...EW! I don't need to know what your crusty splooge looks like, and my kids damn sure don't. You, sir, are disgusting! As for the Hub, it's weird. At home he'll leave his trash an inch from the can. In the woods he has a conniption if you can't carry your trash an extra mile. I agree with him. In the woods. I agree with me at home. He's right, though. If you could carry it in while it was full, you can carry it out while it's empty.

He made a good point. It might be false logic, but, it did make sense. We are smokers. We're extra careful with our cigarette butts. We put them out and carry them out with us. Both of us were paying attention to the litter and we noticed something. In the entire day we saw only one butt on the ground. It stands to reason that someone who isn't willing to leave the small trash lying about wouldn't leave the big stuff either. We know there were other smokers out there. We saw them. By that logic, the smokers were actually more thoughtful than the non. He went on a tirade about how non smokers tend to adopt a haughty attitude towards smokers, and yet, they seemed to be the biggest mess makers. That is by no means me saying that all non smokers litter and all smokers are courteous. Not at all. On that day, however, that's how it seemed to be. Everyone should be watching what they do. Those parks are home to myriad animals, flora and fauna. How do you feel when someone comes in and mucks up your home? How would you feel if they came in and dumped pesticides in your living room floor? There's really no difference between that and what is done in our parks every day.

Okay, I'm done ranting for now. What are some of the inconsiderate, assholey things you've seen people do in parks?

The first solo trip EVER!

2012-10-24T15:18:00.001-05:00

Brazos Bend trail map

Sunday and Monday were good days for us. Okay, I take that back. Monday was a good day. Sunday was an exercise is frustration. I waited for the Hub to get off of work, then waited another few hours for him to finish running last minute errands while I worried that we wouldn't make it to the park on time. I had already packed everything up. It was only an overnighter, and since I was the one doing all of the packing, there wasn't much. You don't need an entire house full of gear for a camping trip. I mean, seriously! I've seen people pack, no lie, a van, truck AND trailer for a three day trip. About 85% of that gear never got used. After years of being the one to do the packing for trips like that I decided that I would never be that person. You take what you need. Nothing more. So anyway, here's what was so good about it: The Hub and I got together in April of 2006. We were married in July of 2009. In all of that time we have never been on a solo trip. Not once. Never, ever, ever. It's sucked in the worst way. We are what you would call "broke folk". There have been times when we were only a step above living under a bridge, and there have been times when we were all set. The sad thing is that in the good times we were too afraid of blowing the money we did have on anything unnecessary. Either that, or we were working so many hours for that money that there wasn't time for a trip. So, we've had to take what invitations were afforded us. That meant going on camping trips and Texas Renaissance Festival trips with the in-laws and the Besties. That's all fun and very much appreciated. But, if you are a married couple who has never even had a honeymoon, the draw of doing something on your own, like the grown ups do, is strong! Just once, we wanted to go and do, and not feel like third wheel leeches in the process. Sunday night and Monday were the chance we were looking for. I have to thank one of my Besties for that! She pushed, and I was so happy for it!

So, five o'clock rolls around and the Hub finally makes it home. The car is loaded already, so all that's left is for me to argue him out of trying to pack another three changes of clothes in a separate bag, and hit the road. We make our store stops (gotta have those trail snacks and water!), feed the pets and we're on our way. How long did all of that take? Well, the park is just at thirty minutes away and we got there at 8:30. GAH! The gate closes at ten, but I had this sneaking suspicion that the gate office would be closed and we'd have to turn around and go home. Thank God I was only half right! There's a big yellow check in box for after hours campers! <insert ironic happy camper joke here> Whoohoo for honor boxes! We locate our shelter in the dark and setup begins. I was really afraid that we'd need to set up the tent because of closed gate office and locked shelter, but again, I was wrong. Sometimes, I really like being wrong! The shelter had a latch, but no lock. Now, if you're going hiking and plan to camp the night before, a screened shelter is the way to go. No set up or tear down cutting into your trail time. Our tent is a bit of a monster. There's no quick way to make it through tear down. There's no quick way to make it through ANY tear down when your teeth are chattering, the sun has barely started to rise, one eye is still sleep sealed and your coffee hasn't had time to hit the cup yet.

At Brazos Bend State park the screened shelters have electricity, water outside, a set of shelves, a ceiling fan, ceiling lights, BBQ pit, picnic table and a fire ring. All for $25! Well worth it, considering that the prime tent sites are also $25. We get our gear unloaded, set up the bed and start working on our packs. They were mostly ready, but there's always that last minute tweaking and double checking. Once the packs were good to go it was sandwich time. Belly's full, gear ready, night walk to the privy done, BED TIME! I really wanted to build a fire. Chris really wanted to pass out. Chris won. Here's where we run into a bit of a snafu. I have a child's bladder. That's too many trips for the Hub, who still seems to think I can't make it to the end of the driveway after dark without being mugged and murdered. He was almost willing to let me make the walk alone when he realized It's dark, isolated, woods, and we have toilet paper. Just go behind that tree." O.O Oh, please tell me you're joking. He wasn't. Okay, okay. We're camping. What the hell? Trip number three became a problem. We had been visited. Visited by coyotes. Any other critter would have been nothing at all. Coyotes, not so much. Poor Hub had to crawl out of his toasty blanket bundle and stand guard. Poor baby. I'm the one with my butt in the wind! Needless to say, I got control of my potty trips after that. We learned a hard lesson. The fans in the shelters, or at least, in shelter eleven, are insane! It got so cold. Now, I was prepared. I tucked warm PJ's into the back side of our pillow cases, just in case. It was so cold when I woke up at about three, that I couldn't even move to get the damn things out. I just snuggled in closer and went back to sleep. Chris said he woke up with the exact same thoughts. The alarms go off at six in the morning and the day begins. For him. For me, the coughing, sniffling, sneezing begins.

Chris putting on his fully loaded pack for the first time

We decided that it was way too early for food. Breakfast was skipped, but that was okay. We had an over abundance of granola in our bags. Coffee was NOT bypassed. Thank the powers that be for Folgers instant coffee single packs! After we woke up and warmed up, talked for a while as we watched the sun come up over the trees and packed up camp, we headed off to the office for check in verification. We had the cabin until two in the afternoon, but we had no plans on coming back. At the office we got a nice surprise. We'd overpaid our gate fee. COOL! Money back is always a good thing! So we're all checked in, our proper day pass is in the windshield, rout mapped, time to park. I have to say, I got a huge kick out of watching the Hub try to get his pack on and situated. He'd only given it a cursory test run. This was his first actual use, and the first time he'd put it on fully loaded, camel back and all. He did good. I didn't have to fend off anything from going in unnecessarily and adding weight. He'd also listened to me when it came to picking his trail snacks. Color me surprised!

George Observatory

There is a trail that starts off near the visitor center, which is where we parked, that we've managed to miss every time. The bestie and I took it last Friday. That's when my where the hell did the observatory go?" question was answered. That's where I plotted the course start. The plan was this: Start at Creekfield lake trail, to Roadside trail, cut across to the Bluestem trail, Bayou trail Creekwood lake trail, back to Bayou, Sawmill, Riverview, Bluestem to Whiteoak, Red Buckeye back up to Whiteoak, cut across the park to Hale Loop, back to Roadside, Creekfield and then the nature center. Visit the center, eat lunch, then off again. Pilant Slough, Live Oak, 40 Acre, Hoot's Hollow, back to 40 Acre, Spillway, Elm lake, Horseshoe Loop, big Creek Loop (all up the west side then back down the East), back to Pilant and on to the car. Just check out the trail map pick at the top. That's every trail except Prairie. Yes, we ARE ambitious. Thank you for asking. A little soft in the head, too. It's more fun that way! It's all fun and games until the blisters pop.

The first thing the Hub noticed was the mushrooms. They were in abundance because of the rains. So glad he didn't decide to taste test! I give him hell, but he does have more sense than that. He was in hog heaven. We stopped to check out the colors of the berries blending with the leaves and flowers so many times that I thought it would take us hours to cover a single mile! He can try and act like a little bad ass, but he turns into a softie in nature. It's nice. My pedometer started flipping out on me before we ever hit the Roadside trail. (< Do NOT waste money on that little piece of shit!) I realized that it was only marking every third to eighth step. That kind of sucked, but that's what maps are for. At the Bluestem trail head we had to stop so that I could medicate before I scared all of the wildlife away with my lung rattling coughs. By all rights, I shouldn't have been there at all. What was I gonna do? Say no to my first chance at a solo trip, sit alone on the computer all day feeling miserable and whining? Nooooooo thank you. I'd rather walk it off on a trail. Or walk it on. Depends on how you look at it. The Bluestem trail is a horseback trail. Thankfully, it isn't one of the caleche trails that tear your feet apart. It's one of the few trail in the park that offer a fully wooded view with soft, sometimes muddy, ground and changing elevation. At the bottom of the hill, just before the Creekwood trail head, is a small ravine with a bridge. In the muddy creek bed was the ugliest water moccasin I've seen in a long time. Our first snake of the day. He was coiled up, staring intently at something, unmoving. What he was stalking turned out to be a rather large tree frog. The Hub decides that the poor little frog could use some human interference. What does he do? He interferes, of course. He starts pitching big rocks into the mud in front of the snake, despite my protests. At least he didn't throw them at the thing. He says to me "It's not like he even notices us." That's when the snake turned his head and looked directly at us. Well, at me. I was a few feet away from Chris. As soon as his head swiveled my way, the frog made his move. Super Frog!!! He looked like he could have been wearing a cape, all four feet splayed out, flying through the air. I had to laugh. I fuss at the Hub for getting the snakes attention. What does he say? "Well, it's not like he's gonna come up here after us." FACEPALM. Yeah, he damn sure did! I booked it up the hill. Chris still thought he was going to stop at the creek bank. He didn't. From behind me I hear "Oh, SHIT!" and then the crunch crunch of his feet trucking through the dry leaves. Maybe he'll listen next time. <I made a funny!

Thanks a lot, Hon.

The thing we were looking forward to the most was Creekwood. None of us have ever taken that trail. It's a 3.2 mile hike, on a dead end trail, which means 6.4 miles total. From what I've been told by the rangers, it's well worth the walk. Wouldn't you know, it was closed. Dammit! I'll freely admit, we jumped the barrier. Not knowing why the trail was closed, though, we didn't go far. Just far enough to know that I really want to hike that trail! It was beautiful! Alas, not that day. After a while we found ourselves on Sawmill, trucking along the two mile straight away. I don't mind Sawmill. It's wooded and soft, but, it runs parallel with the gravel road that leads to the equestrian camp ground. If you have the misfortune of being passed by a vehicle hauling ass down that road you'll end up choking on a cloud of shell dust. Which, we did. Chris looks over at me at one point and asks "Where the hell did you get that?!" I was crunching on a granola bar I'd had tucked in my back pocket. He just shook his head and laughed. That was something different than the way the Bestie and I do things. I actually liked it better. The only time we stopped for food was for lunch. We ate our snacks on the go. It saved a hell of a lot of time, but denied us a lot of rest. About a half a mile from the camp I made a complete fool of myself. All I saw was movement from under my foot. I gasped and stepped back. Chris whirls around with his hand on his walking stick, all prepared to defend me from slithery or crawly, sees that I'm standing there laughing and relaxes. It was a grass snake. I almost crushed his poor little head. He let me get quite a few good pics of him. He was at least two feet long, which is long for such a small snake, and a vivid green. We waited for him to cross the path then moved on.

Poor guy didn't even know how close to death he was!

At the equestrian camp I had to sit down and break out the moleskins. I still had blisters from Friday's hike and they were talking to me. If you look at the map, you might think that the equestrian camp is bare. Especially if you've seen the East side of the Whiteoak trail or any part of the Riverview trail. Riverview is all caleche, with very little tree cover. It's quite nice back there. It's a primitive site, situated at the far North East corner of the park, sitting under a canopy of trees. I like it. It's the trail in from the East side that I'm not a fan of. The one we were about to take. I already knew I didn't like it, but, this was the first trip in a while for Chris, and I wanted him to be the one to make those choices. He'd never seen it. He needed to decide for himself. I got my feet situated and grabbed a handful of pepperoni from my pack and we headed out. Not before watching a family roll in with two very pretty white mares and an even prettier little girl. We watched the little girl, who couldn't have been more than four, lead her horse around like she had been born for it. It was so peaceful.

It didn't take long for Chris to realize that he didn't like Riverview either. It's shell and wide open for a pretty good clip. One of those trails that make you push yourself to finish. Especially when you're wearing a twenty pound pack! I had to pull out his glucotabs and make him take one when he got dizzy and started with tunnel vision. It's still not as bad as the stretch of Bluestem between Riverview and Bayou. That's one point four miles of hell, right there. We got stuck on that trail with Ashley in May, and it sucked. Once we hit the bottom East side of Whiteoak we were very, very happy. There was a bird watching couple on the trail. After the equestrians, they were the second group we'd seen all day. It was already nearly one o'clock and the park was still basically empty. What neither of us could understand were the walking sticks. They were using both of them. I get that, if you're really tired, if you're in a rocky area, a slippery area, or you just generally need help balancing or testing water. I don't get using them on a flat, short trail. They obviously hadn't been on the trails long and consulted their maps every few minutes. So the sticks made no sense to me. But, that's just me. Red Buckeye is just as beautiful as always. Chris wanted to hurry through so that we could make it to the visitor center before it closed, but he also has an unhealthy addiction to Brush Oak acorns. Him gathering acorns and sorting through them to see which one he wants to keep does not make for a "quick" hike. Watching him stop every quarter mile to pick acorns off the ground is cute...and annoying. We made it back with thirty minutes to spare, though.

Chris was happy. He got to pet the baby gators, which is all he really wanted to do. That and see the baby turtle that lives in the gator tank. One of the park volunteers brought out a big corn snake for us. Guys, if you ever go out to Brazos Bend I highly recommend going to the visitors center. The people in there are so nice. We've never asked them to bring any of the critters out, though Chris did hint that he wanted to pet a gator. They just do it. It's really cool. Normally it's a good place to escape the heat of the day for a few minutes. The AC broke on Sunday, so it was just as warm inside as it was out, though not unbearably so. On the floor is an outline of the biggest gator in the park. Hurricane Ike displaced her. Up until a few days ago they had no clue where she was. They now know that she's living in Hale Lake. That makes sense to me. I have pictures of an alligator gar that I took month ago, swimming around in that lake. It was friggin HUGE. My favorite thing in the center is the thing that I have mixed feelings about. The dragonfly display. I love seeing so many different species of dragonfly and damselflies in the same case, but I can't help but shudder at the pins stuck through their bodies. I feel bad for them. Is that weird? Meh, screw it if it is. No one ever accused me of being normal. The Hub got his fill of nature displays, including groping the gator skeletons and pushing every bird call button in the building, and decided to call it lunch.

NOM NOM NOMZ

Break for advert here. The Hub found this mayo when we were doing our last minute camp shopping. It's Kraft Sandwich Shop Steakhouse. Oh...my...NOMZ! I had no idea that mayo and A1 could be so awesome together! And, cheap! We grubbed a sandwich and chips, added string cheese to our packs, put moleskin on the new set of blisters and headed out again. Now, it's four o'clock. We've already walked half of the park. I had serious questions about whether or not he was going to want to go on. He surprised the hell out of me. We hit Pilant Slough beside the amphitheater and headed over to Live Oak trail. When we walked the park with Ashley, Live Oak was closed. The trail behind us was closed off after we left it. Like idiots, we followed the road. Two miles of trucking down that hot, uneven miserable asphalt. Massive suckage! This, because of that, was one of the trails Chris had missed. I think he was determined to make up for lost time. It's beautiful back there. Hell, it's beautiful almost everywhere out there. We startled a doe and watched her make dust down the trail ahead of us. I ended up in poison Ivy trying to get pics of a duck family in the marsh alongside the trail. Go me! But, all in all, the Hub was pleased and so was I. Once we hit 40 Acre Lake I asked him if he wanted to give Prairie trail a shot. Prairie will soon join into Live Oak, though I don't know when they'll be finished with that addition. It looks pretty well done. He said "Hell NO!" And then filled me in on what the ranger had told him. They go to the Prairie trail to catch tarantellas. Nope. No thank you. Not for me. Noooooooop. The Bestie wants to go now, more than ever. We've always avoided it because of the wide open space. We all grew up in Texas, in an area with nothing but wide open spaces. I haven't been on Prairie trail in a very long time, but I'm sure I wouldn't like it any more now than I did back then. Even less, now that I know about the eight legged freaks. No spiders for me.

NO...just...no.

He went back into supreme nature lover mode once we hit Hoot's Hollow. That's my second favorite trail in the park. It's a lot like Red Buckeye, without the river on one side. Instead, Hoot's Hollow has marshland. It's a very narrow trail, accessible to foot traffic only. I love it back there. Chris does too. He loves finding several species of berry and flower growing together. Something about the color scheme gets him. This is one of the shorter trails, at only 0.9 miles, yet it took us quite a while to cover it. Every few feet Chris was asking me to get this or that shot. On one section of trail the roots have turned the incline (or decline depending on what direction you hit the loop) into a stairway. I fully expect to see Hobbits and Fairies pop out at any second. Instead, we got buzzards. My...luck. There were two very large buzzards talking to each other in a tree above our heads. I got as beneath them as I was willing to get (I'm a nature lover, but, I'm sorry. I'm just not a buzzard shit fan) and started taking pictures. Those bad boys are loud when they play. Chris started mocking them, and wouldn't you know, just like the damn snake, they looked straight at me. Thanks, hon. I love you too. Ass. The mosquitoes are always thick back there, so I was very happy to have my repellant.

Thank again, you ass! Stop making them blame me!

Pause for another advert!

Mine is camouflage ;P

I, like most people, hate the feeling of "skeeter" spray. I usually (as in always) carry a bottle of Avon Skin So Soft insect repellant with me. It's greasy, but lighter than the Off spray. However, Chris got me a battery operated Off repellant clip on. It makes you sound like a walking CPU, but DAMN it works! No messy, stinky spray! The sound is noticeable when you first start using it, but after a few minutes it becomes unnoticeable. If you dislike being coated with pesticides, invest in an Off clip on. Well worth it!

Guess the gnomes weren't home

I can't say that 40 Acre was uneventful by any means. Chris launched another froggy rescue mission, this time from a gator. Yes, I did get pictures. At least he didn't throw things this time. He just talked to it, keeping it's attention on him while the frog ran for it's life. Again. Sheesh. He's gonna get us killed one day! From 40 Acre Lake on you can find alligators everywhere. You're almost guaranteed to see at least one. The birds through this area are just beautiful, as are the flowers. The Hub was bound and determined to put one in my hair. I kept telling him that he was trying to turn me into a bee magnet! LOL. On the Spillway we saw our fourth group of the day, a couple on bikes. We'd seen more bird watchers just before Hoots Hollow, with the most amazing camera lens I've ever seen! They had an owl call up in the trees and after we passed they turned it on. It startled the crap out of Chris. I never knew that the Spillway is his favorite trail. He said that he loves having the swamp on one side and the woods on the other. The entire trail runs through a canopy of trees and the ground is soft, even though it has a little bit of gravel. It's just a very pretty place. You can find wetland birds, turtles, fish and alligators on one side and deer on the other. On both ends of the Spillway there are water stations. I think it's cute that there are also doggie water stations. You know, in case you brought your own gator bait. Chris took over the camera at the Spillway/Elm intersection and got some nice gator shots while I refilled our water. We pulled out more snacks and set out for the last stretch.

Chris just wouldn't let the frogs get eaten!

We started heading North on the West side of Elm Lake. The plan was to take the entire loop up on the West side and come back down on the East side, and that's exactly what we did. At Horseshoe Lake I spotted a few deer drinking from the other side of the lake. The sun was on it's way down and everything was glowing green. The entire scene was just amazing. It made it even better having to look between the branches of a willow tree to see it all, along with the cranes out in the water. I had seen the moon up while we were still at the tower. From where we stood, it was right at the tip of a dead tree in the marsh. Very creepy. That told us that we might just be on our way after dark. That was okay, though. Now, at Horseshoe, we were sure of it. We figured that we'd decide what rout to take after we got a feel for the night hiking. All good. I had no clue that the trail at Big Creek sat so much higher up than the creek. That was a loooong way down! But, it made for an amazing view. I guess Elizabeth and I had talked through this section the last time we were on it. I didn't remember it. Just before we hit the very tip of the entire loop, on the Big Creek Loop Trail, the damn spiders started coming out. Don't you know we made perfect moving targets?? One of those bastards even managed to shoot a web that connected the Hubs glasses to his cigarette. Good aim, that one! Halfway down the West side of Big Creek we lost our light, with about a mile and a half to go. It was creepy at first, but it was nothing like I thought it would be. Chris thought I would be worried about gators. No. Not gators. Coyotes.

Last snake of the night

When we got to Elm lake we were comfortable enough to finish the rout. If we hadn't been we were going to hit the road from there and finish on pavement, away from the water. I stepped over our third snake on the South side of Elm. This time it was full dark and I was damn lucky I missed him. It was so much easier to spot the alligators at night. We kept the flashlights off for as long as possible. It was a bright night and we weren't in a tree tunnel, so we could see just fine. Every so often Chris would flip on my little LED light and scan the water for eye shine. It was so creepy cool seeing how many gators were on the prowl. Once we got to Pilant Slough the light had to stay on. It's densely wooded and we could no longer see. Fifteen minutes of pitch black trail with something growling on the trail to our right in one spot, and we were back at the car. I really enjoyed night hiking. Like, really enjoyed it. I'd love to do that again!

Goofy & handsome Hub!

In the car we realized just how sore we really were. It was eight thirty. We'd been hiking for twelve hours. My faulty little piece of shit pedometer said I'd taken eighteen thousand steps and was still only measuring every so often. I'd hate to know how many I really took! I broke out the maps and started adding after we got home and unloaded the car, limping all the way. Twenty two miles. TWENTY TWO. That's a holy shit hike if I've ever done one! Chris could barely move yesterday and he's still limping today. I'm limping, but not from muscle fatigue. I handled it all well. It's this one pain in the arse blister on my right foot causing my limp. It's just in a very uncomfortable place!

We're already talking about when we can do it again. Wouldn't you be?

George in the morning

Checking out nature

No words necessary

Who's Wood These Are, I Think I Know. Or, Where I go when I go.

2012-10-20T16:41:00.000-05:00

I've said before that I just feel better when I'm in the woods. That's so much more true than you could ever imagine! The bestie and I have taken to hiking. We started this about two years ago, and a hobby grew into an obsession. Our goal is to one day hike The West Coast Trail in Canada. It's a lofty goal, to be sure, but we want what we want. This is a forty seven mile hike along the coast of Canada, that takes seven to nine days to complete. We're talking ladders, rope bridges, zip lines, mud, sand, rocks, rain, cold and woods, woods, woods. It's not for the light of heart. For now, however, we are taking our weekend forays at Brazos Bend State Park, outside of Needville Texas.

Every Friday (almost) Elizabeth and I put on our packs and proceed to abuse the hell out of our bodies. Last week was our dumbest move yet. It had been months since we went on a hike, and I guess we just missed it a little too much. That day we hiked seventeen miles. Think about that for a sec. Say you've been planted on your butt for a month and suddenly, one day, you have the opportunity to lose yourself in the woods. And, say you LOVE losing yourself in the woods. Your body is totally unprepared. You're brain shuts off, completely. The phrase of the day becomes "It's just a short trail. We can clear it in no time." After a while you begin to realize that "It's just a short trail" has become five short trials. Put those together and you have one really long trail. But, hey, you're still good for "just one more". You're an idiot. Like me! By the time we finished our hike we were trudging to the car. I had a hard time finding a bird poo free place on the trunk to hug, but I finally got my "Oh, CAR! How I love you!"s in. We were so worn out that we were flat out rum dumb stupid with laughter. It was great! The next day wasn't so great. I think we would have won a baby giraffe imitation contest, easy. Oddly enough, it only took the next day for us to recover. By Sunday we were fine. Weird. By the next Friday we were stupid again. Just not as stupid. Our moderator, Athena, had a sick one at home and couldn't join us. She won't know until she reads this that we were so planning on using her! If she had been with us, we would have had a time limit. Which means a mileage limit. Without a strict limit, we will keep pushing on. It's unavoidable. So, ten mile hike, here we come! Maybe next time we'll be able to take a brain with us.

Now, this is the weird part. It's what we do on the trails. We don't just walk. Of course we talk. Not a lot, though. There are long periods of nothing but foot crunching between us. Not because we have nothing to say, and not because we are too winded to talk. It's because we are trying to see how quiet we can be when we walk. See, we imagine apocalypses scenarios.Our hikes have become survival planning. We talk about where we would go, how we would get there, what supplies we would need, who would be rescued to come with us and how, and on and on. Not just the usual zombie apocalypse, either. We are planning for ANY AND ALL end of civilization scenarios. Are we weird? Hell yes, we are. But, we're gonna be prepared. Will you?

I absolutely love being in the woods. I can just go away from myself. My mind can wonder to the serene places without being interrupted by...well, by anything. It doesn't matter if I'm coughing and sneezing, limping, aching or nauseated. The peace and beauty take me away from the physical. The crunch of leaves under my feet, the sound of the birds singing in the trees, the animals running through the forest and the wind in the trees are like a lullaby. I don't care about the stresses of money, drama or illness. It's the one place that I can push myself beyond my limits without even realizing that I'm doing it. That's both good and bad. We all need a place to disappear, but, it's probably better to disappear in moderation. I don't seem to know the meaning of the word!


My pack

We have our day hiking packs, and we have our list of things that we have with us on a regular basis. Of course water tops the list. We use camel backs in our packs. I love my camel back, though I have yet to learn how to drink from it without slurping like a pig. It's a disgusting sound that I can't help but laugh at. I'll get the hang of it one day. We have our knives or multitools, snacks, bandages and moleskin, first aid kits, rope or twine, carbiners, compasses, whistles, and media supplies. I have to have my media supplies. On hikes, anyway. I wont be so worried about my camera if the world is ending. But, on a hike, I want my pics! For these day hikes, we are keeping our packs relatively light, though they are heavier than they need to be. I suppose it's our way of training for the real deal. When we get out on a hike like TWC, we'll need to keep our packs at no more than thirty pounds. Of course, we won't be using these particular packs. These are short (our version of short) hike packs. For the week long "you take out what you bring in" hikes we'll have internal framed packs with ultra light gear. It's the only way we'll survive. You have to have a week supply of food, your clothing and regular hike supplies, water and purifiers, camp gear and tent, all on your back. Ultra light is the only way to go. If we think we looked like baby giraffes after that seventeen mile hike, I can just imagine what we'd look like after a week with heavy packs! I'm picturing casts with traction involved.

Elizabeth gator spotting

Honestly, I can't wait for a major hike. I want to be so far removed from all other people that seeing one is like rare bird spotting. I want to escape the drama and pain of daily life, just for a while. So, I go to the woods. Once a week, we get to pretend like there are no other people left, except for us. We get to enjoy nature, the way it was meant to be enjoyed. We can walk in silence and let the Earth sing us into a trance. We can be at peace. That's the most important thing of all. Peace.

Where do you go, when you go away from yourself?

Damn you, Redbox! The worst of the worst low budget movies that tricked me!

2012-10-17T16:14:00.002-05:00

Okay, I admit it. I love bad movies. But, even I draw the line. Low budget movies can be absolutely engrossing, providing they're done right. Even done wrong, they can be more than watchable. Maybe it's the nerd in me. Maybe I'm just a weirdo. Who knows? I know I'm not the only one. I've even managed to get the Hub hooked. Here's the problem: In the hunt for a good B movie you will inevitably come across a movie that makes you want to bleach your brain, lose faith in all humanity and go bomb the directors house. I've seen more than my fair share. In my drive to find out what not to do when making a movie, I force myself to watch the worst of the worst, once we discover how bad they really are. It's like watching a disaster play out. You just can't look away, no matter how bad you want to. Now, I'm not talking about movies that some people like and others hate just as a matter of preference. I don't mean movies like Cowboys and Aliens, which I personally like, but some of my friends hate. Nor do I mean movies that are liked or disliked based on genre. I mean those movies that are SO bad that you can't even get the title out of your head, no matter how hard you try.

Thank God for the one girl who could act scared, then spent the rest of the movie making us want to shoot her.

Example, and this is on the very tip top of my "Please do not subject yourself to this rubbish unless you are seriously researching what not to do" list, is a very low budget movie called Chained: Code 207. All I can say is "facepalm". Written, directed and starring Tino Struckmann, this movie takes the cake. It took four tries to get through the entire thing. There aren't too many movies that leave me screaming at the TV because the acting is so, so, so very bad. From the other room my husband heard "Yes! You stupid bitch! That IS your mark! Stop looking at the fucking camera and TRY to act like you were just rescued! We're you lobotomized for the role, you dopy shit?" ..yeah, I know. I went a little bit off of the deep end on that one. Seriously, though. She's been rescued from a sex slave ring and she's just standing there, watching a fight to the death, the results of which her life depends on, and she's calmly glancing back and forth between the fighters and the camera. The expression was clear: "Is this my spot? Is this where I stand? Am I doing this right?" No, bitch. You're really not! That was one small taste of the entire movie. The whole thing was like that. I think I threw up in my mouth a little. OH! Let's not forget the baggie of human organs! Human...organs...no, dude. You could have pretended to care when you let that piece of shit pass the "art department". I'm so sorry, but a baggie of frozen chicken breasts and fish cutlets looks NOTHING like a human kidney. Poor, poor Tino. He's doing the right thing in one way. The man does have a military background and a history with the sex slave trade. He's trying to raise awareness. So, for that, muy props. I think there are better ways. If you're gonna use you're movies to bring this into the light, you need to make them watchable! Stick to being a stuntman, asshat. As a director, you rate a negative ten.

I asked several people for their input on this one. I can't say I took the answer the Daddy-in-Law gave with a straight face. I thought he was kidding. He shouted, when asked what the worst movie he had ever seen was, "CORNDOG MAN!" Um....what? I had never heard of this one, and i still haven't seen it. I have seen the trailer. Since it's a Sundance pick, and since the trailer intrigued me, not to mention the Daddy-in-Law's vehement response to this one, I'm putting it on my must see list. If anyone else has already seen it, could you give me some honest input?

One night we all gathered around the TV to watch one of The Asylum's other train wreck, and never stopped regretting it. See, The Asylum pushes quantity over quality, and boy does it show! Out of their over three hundred movies I've seen maybe two that were worth a damn. Nazi's at the Center of the Earth was not one of them. What the hell was I thinking, when I asked the Hub to Redbox this? First off, as spawn number four screamed repeatedly at the TV, the center of the Earth is a little more than five hundred feet down, and your one length of rope is not going to be enough. Second, the Holocaust did not happen in the sixties! Really? Oh...my....idiots! If I were being raped by nearly hundred year old zombie Nazis, I think I might put up a little more of a fight that the dopy fool who just sat there going "ahhhh..nooooooo....help..." I'd probably sound more like a rabid lion, rhino, gorilla hybrid and need all caps and bold type to put it down in print. If I didn't die of heart failure first. And, if my boyfriend aborted my child, against my will, do use the stem cells for some psychotic experiment, I think he'd have been ripped to pieces no less than five minutes after I woke up. One way to guarantee your movie will suck? Hire Jake Busey. The man is capable of pulling off a good role, no doubt. But the roles he's been choosing blow goats. If you ask him if he wants to be in your movie, and he says yes, you might want to think about doing a rewrite, or ten, or give up. So, where the hell does the robot Hitler and the space ship fit in? Hell if I know. We haven't figured that one out yet. It looks like some complete loon watched a couple of five year old boys play with their little green Army men, space ship toys, dinosaurs (no, there are no dinosaurs in this movie, though it wouldn't have surprised me) and wrote down their entire toddlerific play time, then put his sick spin on it and yelled "FILM IT!" Some people need to be exterminated for our own good.

So, let's move on to American Warships.The acting wasn't terrible. It wasn't great either. It was watchable, if you could make it past the really bad CG. Which, I couldn't. It looked like they made the aliens in paint. And, the frog men? Oh, hell no! Okay, putting water spray in the front to make it look like someone is actually hauling ass in a raft is an old trick. An old STAGE trick. Nothing looked more fake than those guys, water splashing in front of the camera, but no where else, no wind blowing through anything (because we all know that when you're flying along, there is absolutely no sign of movement, whatsoever), talking at normal volume when they shouldn't have been able to hear a damn thing. The trailer is only moderately misleading. Go ahead, risk it.

What is it with knock off movies? Did they think the big budget directors didn't do a good job?Really? Let's look at a short list, here:
TRANSMORPHERS
TRANSMORPHERS: FALL OF MAN
THE DAY THE EARTH STOPPED
AVH: ALIEN VS HUNTER
THE TERMINATORS

Why, yes. Those are all The Asylum movies. You expected less?

What's the worst you've seen?

Attack of the Fifty Foot Drama Troll

2012-10-05T11:59:00.001-05:00

C'mon, we all know one. That one person in your life that tries to troll you at every available opportunity. I don't mean the funny "I got you good!" trolling, either. I'm talking about the DRAMA TROLL! He/She attacks you in public, thinking that they're making you look like a fool, when they're really just showing their ass to the world.

Today's drama troll seems to favor Facebook. You've been there. You're having a quasi good day, listening to happy music or playing a game, chatting with a friend or two (or ten or twenty) when in comes some random rude remark. This is an obvious attempt at character assassination. You're having a nice discussion about how pretty the roses your husband got you for your birthday are when you see a comment pop up that looks something like: "You need to stop neglecting your duties!" What the hell? Where did that come from? This can get a bit annoying when it happens on almost a daily basis. There is a plus side to the drama trolls persistence, however. Their constant need to show you as the villain and themselves as the martyr gives anyone who can see these trolled posts a view into their real personalities. So, if you have a drama troll, take heart! You're friends will soon see them for what they are, and if you're lucky, they'll start reporting the troll as an abusive bully. God, I love the report button on Facebook! I've only used it once or twice, but my friends have been using the hell out of it lately! Troll THAT!

Don't feed the troll! If you do have a drama troll and you're getting sick of the constant attacks, you can ask them politely to stop. If they don't, BLOCK. IF blocking isn't an option, report. Or, just wait for others to get sick of it and take care of the report thing. But, for the love of God, don't feed them! If you take the troll bait and bite, you will find yourself in the middle of a word war that you can never win. They'll continue on and on, forever and ever, amen. If, however, you find the resolve to just ignore or delete the rude comment, they might just go away. You can have one or two bitchy remarks, or you can have an entire thread worth and an argument that ruins your whole day on your hands. That's what your troll wants, you know. Upsetting you makes them happy. They win. How do you win? Learn to shut the hell up and find your happy place. It isn't always easy, but, it can be done!

Those random attacks mean that you've pissed them off with your post. How? Well, it's usually the same. One thing a drama troll can't tolerate is happiness in others. Especially if the happy person is someone they can't stand, for whatever reason. Just by being in a good mood you are pissing your troll off. The key is to try to stay in a good mood even after they've attacked. I've found the Taylor Swift video for "Mean" to be especially uplifting. It fits my troll, and many others out there, to a T! If your troll gets you down, just go watch the "Mean" video and laugh! See, these particular types of drama trolls are miserable people. They are sad, hateful, spiteful, mean, vindictive and/or pathetic. Take your pick. They may fit one or all of those words. Either way, the troll puts their misery off onto you. In her/his mind, it's all your fault, even if you have absolutely nothing to do with it. If your troll is single, "forever alone", in an unhappy marriage or going through a divorce and they see you saying something about how happy your spouse makes you, you can expect it to set them off. Suddenly, you are a worthless bitch who doesn't deserve to live. Why? Because you're happier than they are!

The worst of the lot are the trolls who blame you for every little thing that has ever gone wrong in their entire lives. Those are usually personally acquainted, and know your flaws or weak spots. They will use them, too. This particular troll will snark at you when you are at your best in an attempt to bring you down, usually by bringing up a flaw. The thinking is that if what they are saying has even a grain of truth to it, then they are suddenly the hero for showing your friends who "you really are". Most of the time they will exaggerate their "Truth" or just flat out lie, though. The flaw is that all they've accomplished is showing your friends who THEY (THE TROLL) really are. You're best defense? Don't have secrets, or don't try to cover your flaws. Be honest about who you are and let them flounder. Eminem did it best in 8 Mile. Follow his example. If the people who matter to you already know all about you, then your troll can't really do any damage to you, other than ruin your mood. The smart people among us know that only the pathetic loser will kick you when you're down, or pick on a person they see as weaker. It doesn't mean you are weaker. Actually, it shows that they are the weakest link. The loser falls back on spite and meanness to make themselves feel better. I almost want to feel sorry for them. Almost. Not quite.

Trolls who cause drama by vague booking, or starting crap on their own pages a hardly worth a mention. They're so easy to deal with, it's almost sad. Just ignore them. You know, full well, that those posts are only a cry for attention. Just don't feed them. Admittedly, it can be hard to let such stupidity slide. You are strong. I have faith in you. You can do it!

I guess it all comes down to you. We all have trolls. Sick, sad, mean creatures who will probably be mean forever. How you deal with your troll is what matters. So, "don't feed them" and "find your happy place" is the best advice I can give. Now, if I can just follow my own advice...

Did you marry an asshole?

2012-10-04T13:25:00.001-05:00

The Hub asked me to write about what an asshole he is. He's proud of it. I've put this off, because...well...he may be proud of it, but, he isn't going to like some of what I say. Then I realized, the Hub never reads. Like, ever! So, I might be safe. Might. With my luck, this will be the only post he actually takes it upon himself to read. Yay?

What he'll dislike more than anything is that I fully plan on pointing out his NON asshole tendencies. See, he thinks he's this cold soul. But, he likes to hide his soft spot. And there is a soft spot. I mean, besides the one between his ears. <jk, jk...maybe. He's a complete nightmare at times, but show him an injured animal and he turns all mushy. You don't really think I have a zoo at home because I'm a collector, do you? .NO I have a zoo because he keeps bringing me pets to rehabilitate. He gets all sappy about them. Then, they get better and he complains about them non friggin stop. Insert asshat here. That does get a bit on the annoying side. I've learned to dread the sound of a ringing phone when he's out running the roads. It usually means he either hit or nearly hit a critter and he's calling to have me arrange a bed for them. I've seen an injured animal bring him to tears. <He's gonna hurt me for that. He's not a complete asshole. He just likes to think he is.

He's not a complete asshole at all. Sometimes, when he's not playing the softie, he skips straight over to dick. There's a fine line between asshole and dickhead, and the Hub has yet to learn the distinction. Like, when he's driving. If a car gets too close, he slows down, just to annoy them. But he has a temper fit if anyone does the same thing to him. Will he move over and let them pass, the way he complains that cars need to do for him? Oh, hell no! He waits for them to try to pass and then he speeds up. Even if there's oncoming traffic. That, my friends, is a dick move. He'll go ballistic if someone flies past just to whip over in front of him, slow down, and turn. Does that stop him from doing the same thing? Noooooooo. It does not.

God forbid he should be around someone he doesn't like. He's flat out mean. So many poor fools think he's joking. Yeah, not. Sometimes it's hard to tell.

He's a stingy ass, too. He'll buy a boat load of snack foods and then have a cow if the kids get into them. That one doesn't share. Same with video games. I have to pull rank on him. A game system, or just a disc that he hasn't played in a year, is totally off limits to the ACTUAL kids. Why? "They might break it." Are you kidding me? Let the kids play with kids toys, you ASS! That's what they're for! If we're short a pillow, and he has two, he absolutely will NOT give one up for the kid who's pillow-less. "I can't sleep with just one pillow." *Sigh* This is the point where I give my last remaining pillow up to the kid. I've usually already given up one...or two. He feels bad about it and gives me one of his. Ass. He's getting better about consideration, but only because he knows I'll go without and it makes him feel guilty.

The part of being an asshole that he's proud of is the smart ass comebacks. Ok, I'm more than guilty on that count. If you leave yourself open for a cheap shot, one of us is gonna take it. He gets it naturally. His Dad is just as bad, if not worse. The downside to that is that we don't discriminate. If I leave myself open for a smart ass remark, he WILL make one. I will too. So, fair is fair, I guess. I'm just a bitch like that.

So, what can you expect if you're married to an asshole? Constant frustration, for one. An asshole doesn't believe in a "What's good for the goose is good for the gander" world. They believe more in a what's good for me is only good for me, everyone else can kiss my ass, I'll do as I please and if you try I'll go all two year old temper tantrum on you, leave my stuff alone, what's mine is mine what's yours is mine, get out of my way, the road is mine and mine alone, the rules apply to you but never to me, you suck and I don't, world.

A true asshole has something that they believe is confidence, but, the rest of us recognize as cockiness. They believe they are the best at everything, and no one can do better than they can. I've always thought my Hub fit this category. I've told him more than once that I don't need to compliment him, he compliments himself enough for the both of us. And yet, rarely ever compliments me. I've recently learned that his confidence is easy to shatter. That tells me that it's mostly fake. He fully believes he's a sexy beast. There's no doubt about that. It's in his skills that I've seen him falter. I always thought he saw himself as the best of the best. Since he took his first ever sales job, I've seen otherwise. Holy crap! There's a human under all that snark! He's always dogging his intelligence, which irks me about as much as it irks him when I dog my appearance. Now, I'm starting to see just how down on himself he can be. In this, he fails the asshole test.

Now we come to the PC factor. The Hub has this incredible habit of making me regret going out in public with him. He will say anything to anyone at anytime. I keep telling him he's gonna get us shot. You know you've married an asshole if you wear nothing but red...on your face...and it isn't makeup. If they will shout insults and obscenities that are totally rude and uncalled for in the gas station parking lot, at a little old lady blocking the gas pump, with the windows rolled down., OR If, while taking a midnight stroll around town, your Hub begins chanting songs about his penis, at full volume, in a residential neighborhood, you might have married an asshole. Or a three year old. It's a toss up. Gotta love verbal vomit. If he discloses bits of your sex life to his parents (his freaking parents!) for the sole purpose of embarrassing you, yep, asshole. If he says "Suck my dick" more often than "I love you" and thinks they mean the same thing, he's a dick. I mean, er, asshole. Yeah, that's it.

How about the liar factor? Dear Mother of Pearl and all things Holy, this annoys the piss out of me! I'm lucky enough to have learned the Hubs secrets when it comes to the phone exaggerator. He doesn't succeed with me on this because I call shenanigans on him every time. I can't tell you how many times I've heard him talking to someone on the phone, late as usual, trying to cover his ass about it. Now, really, just friggin be honest! "Yeah, we'll be there in a minute. Heading out the door now." CLICK. My response? "You lying ass! You don't even have your glasses on yet! Why didn't you just TELL your mom you overslept?" He usually shrugs. So, now, when he says something similar, like "I just left the house." I usually respond with "Does just left the house translate to I'm almost at the front door?" I'll never understand. Why can't an asshole just be honest about where they are in their journey or how long the trip will actually take? If you're gonna be an hour or more, say so! Don't tell me five minutes when you mean 2 hours! If your spouse does this to you, you got it. He's an ass. Is there some unspoken, asshole code that says to be in the club you have to lie your ass off? Really? My favorites, and by favorite I mean the lies that send me straight to rage mode, are the "Protective" lies. The "I didn't tell you because you'd just stress out, and I don't want you to worry" lies. OMG those piss me off in the worst way. They always come out. Usually when it's too late for you to fix the damn problem. Those lies by omission are covered by more lies. Think about it. "I didn't want you to worry" translates to "I didn't want to get my ass chewed when you found out my latest bonehead move". Seriously.

Look at that hairline! The scrape is from his awesome driving skills.

An asshole will find the things that bother a person the most and point them out, regularly, and to their faces. The Hub does this. He'll pinpoint the one flaw a person has, the one they are the most self conscious about, and use it as a weapon. There are plenty of times I have to reign him in just to keep him from hitting someones weak spot and starting an all out war. He doesn't realize that, though it's hilarious to him, it's not so funny to his target. Plenty of men don't like having their bald spot brought to everyone's attention (I go bitch when he does this by pointing out his own lack of hair), their dunlap belly jiggled to make a point, toothless jokes in front of, well, everyone....yeah. He's bad. Most assholes are. You can usually tell when you have a true asshat on your hands. If they have just made some insulting joke, and you throw one back at them, if they best they can come up with is "Shut up." that's an ass. An asshole will continuously make off color jokes around you, even after you've told them that you don't like it and asked them not to. The Hub is bad about using one word that I hate, though the other word I hate (the see you next Tuesday word), he refuses to use around me, trying not to upset me. Why one but not the other? I'd rather hear the "C" word than have the "N" word used around my kids. He'll refrain from one, but to the other. I just don't get it. But, then, assholes don't normally care who they offend. I count mu lucky stars that he halfway listens. He does know that if I use the "C" word it means I'm truly pissed beyond repair.

The delay. Oh how I love the delay. You've married an asshole if it takes six months or more to do a three minute job. You're better off just doing it yourself. Which, by the way, is what the asshole is going after in the first place! Your only other option is to become a nag. That's also a sign. If you've become a nerve grating nag, you married an ass. It kills me, how they get mad at you for nagging them, and don't get that if they'd just do it the first time, or tell the truth about their intentions to never do it at all, they could have avoided it all. If you say "In a minute." do it in a damn minute. If you don't plan on ever doing it, don't say you will! How hard is that? Apparently, for the assholes among us, it's impossible to be logical. That is logical, isn't it? Follow through or be honest? I'm not exaggerating when I say I have nagged my Hub for no less than six month to do something as simple as move a box downstairs for me.

I have to take a minute to get over the pissy ass mood I've just been put in by something that has to be addressed. Men aren't the only assholes. Or the only dickheads. Women are the worst. I am a bitch. I won't deny it. But I'm not the kind of bitch that regularly pisses off everyone around me. Those women aren't bitches. They're asshat douchbag dickheads. (< I actually had to back up and delete the "C" word there.) Sorry, but you know it's true. A word of advice? If you're a female, don't be an asshole. It gives women all over the world a bad name. In fact, it gives human beings a bad name. Someone who goes out of their way is an...no...they aren't assholes. They're douchknockers. They even give assholes a bad name. Being an asshole, being a bitch, can be funny if it's done right. As in, if it's done out of sarcasm and fun, and not out of spite and meanness. If you're mean, you're just mean. No one likes a mean person. Odds are, if you're a mean person, you don't even like yourself. So just don't. It's that simple.

Okay, he asked for this. I mean, he literally asked me to write this. Whatever comes of it is his own fault. If you want to know if you married an asshole, just take a look at mine. Though, if you did marry one, you already know! Welcome. The wives of assholes club meets online every day at...well...when we can boot the assholes in question off of repetitive games of spider solitaire so that we can collectively bitch about what assholes they are. Tomorrows meeting will cover why we love them. No, really, why?

Who am I?

2012-10-03T12:37:00.002-05:00

For lack of a better topic, I decided that if people are reading my blog, they should have some idea of who I am. So, I found this random list of "get to know you" questions and thought "What the hell?"

Here goes nothing.

Diane Franklin

Which celebrity do you get mistaken for? Diane Franklin. Not so much now, but this was a biggie in the 80's. A friend saw her in Better off Dead and came running to me in school the next day, saying how I just had to see this movie because of this girl. It escalated from there!

What do you want to be when you grow up? ...PETER PAN!

Is a picture worth a thousand words? Elaborate. Dude, really? A picture seems to be worth a thousand memes.

Where’s Waldo? Under the bed.

The best part of waking up is? Going back to sleep.

How now brown cow? When you figure it out, let me know?

If you were a tree (or animal) what kind of tree (animal) would you be? No tree for me. I don't think I could stand to be rooted to one spot. I'd be a cat. Small enough to get into pretty much anything, spoiled rotten and still independent. I'd be one of those smart, toilet trained cats, though. Screw the whole litter box thing!

If you were a Star Trek® [or Star Wars® ] character, which one would it be? Deanna Troi. It's an empathy thing.

What is your favorite color? I like Earthy colors. Burgundy wine, forest Green and deep blues and browns.

You are invited to a large cocktail party at a country club. When you arrive, the room where the party is being held is already over half full of people. How do they react to you when you enter the room? Usually, not much. I get the "Who the hell is that?" looks. A few "FRESH MEAT" looks (those guys are usually so drunk they'd take Rosanne Barr home.) But it's mostly "Meh".

Why are manhole covers round? Because cutting perfect corners is too much of a pain in the ass?

What is your favorite drink? Tequila Sunrise!

What would I find in your refrigerator right now? Condiments. Seriously.

What is the last book you read? Musings of a Twenty Something Mom and the perils of Being a Mommy Blogger. If you haven't read it, DO IT! Jenn is Hilarious!

If you could trade places with any other person for a week, famous or not famous, living or dead, real or fictional. with whom would it be? I'd change places with Joseph Kony. In that week I'd change all of his tactics, call an end to the kidnappings and attacks, and just before time to switch back, I'd turn myself in!

What was the last movie you went to see? Resident Evil: Retribution. That was my birthday present from the Hub. I have a weakness for the R.E. movies.

How would you explain a database in three sentences to your eight-year-old nephew? "A database is a place inside your computer that stores a whole bunch of information about one thing." Will one sentence do?

If aliens landed in front of you and, in exchange for anything you desire, offered you any position on their planet, what would you want? Well, duh. I'd be their Human adviser. As in, info on all thing Human. Might as well stick to what you know, right?

If you could be any character in fiction, whom would you be? Sookie Stackhouse. Don't laugh. She's got it all. Mind reading, hot men chasing her, her own house and money money money.

If Hollywood made a movie about your life, whom would you like to see play the lead role as you? Winona Ryder. She can pull off morose. Lol.

If you could be a superhero, what would you want your superpowers to be? I wouldn't say super hero, but I know what I'd like my power to be. I'd like to be able to touch any picture and have whatever is in the picture appear in front of me. Shopping would be so much easier!

If someone wrote a biography about you, what do you think the title should be? What NOT to do.

If you were a salad, what kind of dressing would you be? Blue Cheese. I'm an acquired taste!

If you were a car, what kind would you be? I know what I'd like to be, but, in all actuality, I'd probably be a mini van. One with busted shocks and stains all over the interior.

If you were written about in the newspaper, on the front page, what would the headline say? Local woman get's trapped on escalator during power failure.

What kind of people do you dislike? Those with no sense of humor, closed minds, and zealots.

What makes you angry? PAIN. And affronts to my children.

What part of pop culture do you wish would just go away? Jersey Shore.

What is your favorite salty snack? Wasabi nuts.

What was your most embarrassing hair style? Everything my mother did to my hair in grade school!

What is the furthest west you have traveled? New Mexico.

What is the funniest thing you have heard a child say? In Wal-Mart with a friend, dressed in SCA garb.
Kid "Mommy, why is that man wearing a dress?"

Mom "It's not a dress, honey. It's a kilt."
Kid "(pauses) But, who'd he kilt?"

What exotic pet would you like to have? I want a Fisher Chameleon, a Savannah Monitor and a Capuchin Monkey.

What color underwear are you wearing? Black Hello Kitty.

What single piece of technology makes your life easier? The same one that makes it miserable. My Homicidal Cell Phone.

What do you miss from your childhood? Not having bills!

What is the saddest movie? For me, that's a draw between The Green Mile and What Dreams May Come.

Why were you given your name? Ha! Because EVERYONE in my family had to get their two cents in! But Stacie came from a drummer that my Mother had a crush on.

What is the longest you have been without sleeping? Eight very long days.

What company do you think has a bad name? UTI. Seriously? Why the hell would they name a school after a bladder infection??

What is the prettiest city you have ever been to? Memphis at five in the morning!

What makes you lose hope for humanity? Stupidity. Can you believe some of the idiots that have survived? It's sad.

When was the last time you did volunteer work? Last weekend for Colton Palmer, the baby in need of a liver transplant. I donated and showed a rabbit kit to his live auction.

How do you prefer to get bad news? Just spill it.

How many email addresses do you use on a regular basis? Two. One for regular use and one for spam.

What restaurant do you love even though you know you shouldn't? Taco Bell!!!!!

What bill do you most dislike paying? The light bill. Those greedy bastards have found new and amazing ways to screw us over. Like charging us for accounts that aren't ours. I've never been to New York you dick faces! Stop charging me for it!

What is the best adaptation of a book to a movie? I'd have to say The Dark Half. They didn't cut too much at all. IT was really close.

What food makes you think of Christmas? Divinity. Don't ask why, it just does.

What food reminds you of your birthday? Lobster Ravioli! That was the best birthday dinner EVER!

What movie can you watch over and over again? Serenity. I'm a major Joss Whedon fan. I love that man!

What was the address of the house you grew up in? We moved around a lot. The only one I can remember is the one we lived in when I was about seven. 612 E Plum St, Angleton, TX I had a lot of good (and bad) memories in that house.

How old where you when you got your first computer? Twenty five. I built it.

What technology scares you? AI. I can see the matrix happening for real. Or I Robot.

What poem do you have committed to memory? Stopping by the Woods on a snowy Evening by Robert Frost and The Walrus and the Carpenter by Louis Carol.

What was your first car? An AMC Spirit. I loved that car!

What is your favorite song from a Disney Movie? You Can't Keep a Good Dog Down. All Dogs Go to Heaven.

When have you felt bad about losing your temper? At an SCA event, after my daughter threw hot chocolate on me and I slapped her. :(

What do you think is beyond the stars? More stars.

Who is the meanest person you know? My ex bossman, and...well. If you know me, you know the next answer.

Do you think "honesty is the best policy"? Why or why not? I do. If you lie to protect someone they'll be even more hurt when they find out the truth.

What would you do if you were invisible for a day? Commit several felonies. Seriously, let's be honest here. Not to mention the massive fun I'd have messing with people on the street.

When was the last time somebody hit you? If you don't count last night's accidental smack to the head by the sleeping Hub, it would be 2005. Ex asshat, I mean, husband.

Who do you think you are most like in your family? My Dad. No doubt about it.

If you needed someone to act as a character reference for you who would you chose? My best friends and my daughter, EriKa.

The BESTIES <3

What friend could you turn to in a time of need? Incoming sap. My best friends, Spiv and Elizabeth. They've done so much for me that I don't like asking them for anything anymore. But there are no better people on this planet. They are the BEST!

In what way are you irrational? I let anxiety get the best of me. No matter what, I'm always expecting the absolute worst of any situation.

How important is it to you that you are on time? Oh my God, this is a major OCD for me! I have to be on time or early. The Hub is usually late. This drives me out of my friggin mind!

How important is it to you that others are on time? VERY. I hate to wait. If you say you're going to be somewhere at a certain time, you damn well better be there or have the best excuse for tardiness ever invented!

Who is a woman from history that you respect? Joan of Arc. I may not share her views, but she went against the grain to follow and fight for what she believed in. Also Maya Angelou. She's a survivor.

What movie scares you? The Exorcist. That movie scares the pure piss out of me!

Here's something to keep you awake at night

What makes you feel old? Um...my age? Hearing my favorite songs as a kid being played on the classic rock station doesn't help!

Who taught you to swim? Me. I was one of those natural swimmers. They tossed me in as a baby and I swam away.

What holiday has lost its true meaning? ALL OF THEM. They've all been changed over the centuries to suit the current popular religions.

What is something you have always wanted to try? Mountain climbing. The real deal, not just hiking in the mountains. But first and foremost, hiking the west coast trail!

If you could hire out one household chore what would it be? Cleaning out that nasty ass litter box.

What was your favorite bed time story as a child? The Velveteen Rabbit. Which is why the Hub got me a real life velveteen for Valentines day! <3

What was your first pet? A cat. I was itty bitty and my mean ass neighbors drowned him in their well. Mean asses.

What is your favorite quote? It's in a song Called Just Wait by The Blues Travelers. "There's no such thing as a failure who keeps trying. Coasting to the bottom is the only disgrace."

If you were to write a novel what would it be about? Been there, done that, and it's totally SciFi. So, I'm a nerd. Deal with it!

What was the last peaceful day you had? What's that? I know not of this "peacefull day" of which you speak. No, actually it was a camping trip to Brazos Bend with the Hub and the Besties.

If you could see any deceased musician perform who would you chose? Again, this is a tie. Janis Joplin and/or John Lennon. The top of that list? My Dad.

What dish do you cook well? Any and all homemade soups and enchiladas.

What junk food is your weakness? Bucee's Beaver Nuggets!

What is your favorite shirt? My Firefly shirt! Second favorite is my vintage unicorn tee.

What makes you feel safe? The Hub.

When did you come close to death? Several times! I was over dosed on morphine in the e.r. in OKC. They had to revive me from that one. That was probably the scariest and most recent.

Who is your favorite Super Hero? Tank Girl!

What do you have that is of great value to you but of no value to anyone else? Sap warning. Anything and everything my kids ever made for me, and everything I inherited from my Dad.

If you could ask God a question what would it be? "Who's right?"

What is your favorite way to get exercise? Bellydance, yoga and hiking.

What is your favorite song from a Broadway musical? I'll Cover You-Reprise from Rent. Collins sings it at Angels funeral.

What time do you wake up in the morning? Five. I tossed and turned for nearly two hours trying to get my back to let me go back to sleep.

What goals do you have for your children? To be HAPPY, above all other things.


Tell me, again, they don't exist!

What is your dream car? a 62.5 Mustang Prototype. It's ugly as sin, but I want one. I also want a 63.

What band would you camp out all night to get tickets to see? Matchbox Twenty! DUH!

There's another scar on the other side.

What is the story behind one of your scars? OK, this is the best one. My right knee has two scars on it. When I was about five years old, my Daddy sent me across the yard to borrow sugar. It was already dark out, and I went barreling down the steps from our porch, without a care in the world. It was too dark for me to notice the chair at the bottom of the steps. It was one of those seventies, hard, curved back things. My knee connected with the top edge of the back of the chair. I was moving so fast that I sort of flipped over the chair. The problem was that the edge of the chair was sharp, had cut into my knee and flipped with me. A piece of the plastic broke off and wedged itself under my kneecap. My mother was in the hospital at the time, and Daddy didn't think we could afford another e.r. trip. So, he drags me into the bathroom, cleaned the wound and sewed it shut with a regular sewing needle and fishing line. This is what I get for having a Marine for a Daddy! What he didn't do was get the plastic out. It's still there, thirty five years later. He had to teach me to walk all over again. I can't remember if we ever got that sugar.

What do you dislike most about modern life? I hate how lazy it makes us.

Would you be willing to live "off the grid"? Hell yes! That's a dream!

What summer camps did you go to as a child? I don't remember going to any other summer camps beside Girl Scouts. I loved it!

In what ways are you a nerd? This is a laughable question. First, I believe in facts before guess work, or just believing because you want to, despite what the evidence says. I love Manga, Role Playing video games and LARP. Joss Whedon is my hero. I'm a comic book nut. I read. No, I don't read books, I devour them. I love science. This list could go on and on and on....

How do you think the world will end? Let's be honest. I think man will kill the planet. That's what we do. We kill things.

Would you use pirated software? BAHHHAAAHHAAAHHAAAAAA!

Would you download pirated music? See previous answer ^

What do you think makes a person good-looking? Their personality and sense of humor. I think a major hottie can get ugly once you get to know them, if they're cold blooded dickheads.

What does your signature say about you? It says that my handwriting sucks.

What TV re-run do you sit down to watch whenever it is on? Criminal Minds.

Did you ever think you were adopted? YES! And, it turned out I was right!

Where is the scarcest place you have ever traveled to? There's a little cemetery outside of Nacagdoches. I can't remember the name of it. It's buried deep in the woods. That place is terrifying!

Serenity

What TV Show fires your imagination? FIREFLY

What food is too much work for you to eat? Turkey legs. Too damn stringy.

What was the most rewarding travel experience that have you had? The trip to Cozumel in 2005. That's where I met my Dad and brother for the first time.

When you have a sweet tooth what food do you crave? Cheesecake! Damn you, Brandy.

Do you believe in life on other planets? Of course I do. I think we're too presumptuous and vain to believe we're the only ones, and worse, the smartest ones.

What celebrity crush have you had? Rob Thomas, Viggo Mortenson, Paul Bettany, Alan Tudyk, Nathan Fillion and Seth Green. There are more ;)

Does your best friend call you their best friend? yupyup!

What makes a good kisser? Someone who is considerate and feels the kiss.

What high brow cultural activity do you like to participate in? I like going to museums. All of them.

What "red-neck" activity do you like to do? Mud Races!

What technology do you wish you understood better? HTML code

Okay, that's enough of that. For now. What were your answers?

Sibling rivalry

2012-10-02T12:48:00.001-05:00

It's safe to say that I had a rather strange childhood. I have brothers and sisters out the wazoo. Between full, half, step and adopted, I had no shortage of sibling rivalry. No shortage of fights either. Some of them were really memorable!


Brandy

The fights between myself and Brandy were the most memorable. That girl was a born scrapper! We've busted each other upside the head with handcuffs, gut punched and kicked each other, stabbed each other and a whole wicked range of other forms of bodily harm pulled on each other. Yes, I did say stabbed. I'll get to that. See, Daddy was the type who taught us to never start a fight. But, if one got started we'd damn well better finish it. So if a fight was started between us we were sent outside to duke it out to the point of exhaustion. I remember one fight in particular, I think it was over the destruction of my mousetrap game, that went to blows. Daddy found out and sent us into the back yard to finish it. Most parents would have put an end to it. Not Daddy. Brandy and I, both still spitting nails from anger, march out into the yard and proceed to duke it out. Daddy said we couldn't stop until it was settled. After about an hour of trading punches to the gut we both ran inside and headed straight for the bathroom. We had hit each other so hard and so often in the stomach that we had made each other nauseous. Imagine that. So, there we were, two kids, one toilet. We took turns throwing up. Now THAT'S a fight!

Brandy got pissed at me for something or other one day and decided to chunk a pair of handcuffs at me. I dodged, which pissed her off even more. This was the day that I realized that I should fight with my legs, rather than my upper body. I was sitting in a chair and she charged me. When I saw her coming I raised both feet, planted them in her chest and launched her across the room. There was another time when I was on the phone and she wanted it. She pestered me non stop to hang up so she could call her friend. I kept telling her to leave me alone and wait her turn. Mother and Daddy were in their bedroom with the door shut, ignoring Brandy's constant complaints. I had my back to her with a fish scaling knife in my hand, just absent mindedly fiddling with it while I talked. When I got fed up with her bugging me I turned to fuss back, using the knife as a pointer, to emphasize my annoyance. What I didn't know was that she had decided to tackle me from behind. I turned around right as she would have made contact, holding the knife up at elbow level. She ran right into it. The tip of the knife went right into her tear duct. Of course I got in trouble. No one even paid any attention to the fact that she only got stabbed because she was trying to take a cheap shot that failed! Oi vey!

When I was first learning to ride a bike I was given a bike three times too big for me. This meant that I had to start off from the porch, just so that I could get up high enough to get on the bike. It also meant that I couldn't stop without just jumping off. Brandy got in my way one day, and when I swerved to miss her, she swerved too. She went in the exact same direction I was trying to go. Both of us aimed for the ditch, thinking that would be safe. Needless to say, I ran over her. Nearly six years later she got revenge. That girl held a grudge! Instead of running over me with a bike, she used a go-kart! She deliberately drove into the bushes, off of the track, to get me! MEAN!


Shannon

Brandy and I beat the shit out of each other on a regular basis, but our fights were nothing compared to our fights with our older sister, Shannon. Any time we were all left alone together it went to an all out, no holds barred, screaming, run for your life fest. That girl was MEAN! I've seen her knock Brandy to the floor, sit on her and try to BURN her hair off. She did the same to me, but she used scissors instead of a lighter. I've broken the bones in the palm of my hand trying to escape her wrath. She pushed me out of a two story window, twice! I guess she wanted to see if I was cat like. I have a mole on my right shoulder blade. It stands out. Shannon used to pin me down and tell me that a spider had latched on to my back and would kill me if I didn't let her pick it off. She knew full well that spiders scare the shit out of me. When I said it hurt she would tell me that it was because it had it's fangs in so deep. O.O Yeah. No trauma there.


Sean

My little brother pissed me off one morning. One Sunday morning. It had been raining, and our paper had already been delivered in it's plastic bag. It was the Sunday edition Houston Chronicle, which is very thick. Despite the bag, it had gotten wet. Sean, being a right git and major turd, grabbed the paper and swung it at me. He busted me upside the head with that wet, heavy news paper. I had a coffee mug filled with orange juice in my hand. HAD. I pegged him between the eyes with it. We were rotten little shits!

Over the years I've learned a valuable lesson. All of that fighting between my siblings and myself taught me how to defend myself, which has come in handy in a big, big way! I'm sure Brandy will remember a million other fights that I've forgotten. If she does, I encourage her to post them in the comments. HINT HINT, Brandy. Tell us your version!

Colton.

2012-09-30T16:48:00.000-05:00

Before you read my post, please read my daughter's. She explains, in touching detail, Colton''s condition .

I witnessed the most heartwarming thing I've ever seen, yesterday. In our community is a little boy who has some serious medical issues. His name is Colton and he's a bitty one. Colton has something called Biliary atresia, which basically means that his liver is in danger, his body can't absorb nutrients from food and he is at a high risk. Just as we were afraid would happen, baby Colton is now in need of a liver transplant. His friends and family arranged a benefit to help cover the high medical costs. His test results showed that his bilirubin levels had doubled, and he was scheduled for yet another surgery on September 13th. During that surgery they were to look for scar tissue from the last surgeries, to see if that may be causing a blockage. If not, then a liver transplant would be the next step. A liver transplant in a baby so small. It's scary! On September 21st we were told that Colton had been admitted to Texas Children's Hospital with an infection. Another frightening setback. Both his bilirubin and white sell counts were elevated. He was to see a liver specialist that morning, and fully expected him to be put on the transplant list. This is an edited update that we got later that same day:

" From what I understand he is basically not getting any nutrients from his food. His liver is absorbing all the nutrients and they are not going into the intestine to be used properly. His other organs rely on these nutrients to help him grow or become healthy. He is too skinny in his arms and legs which is an indication of being malnourished for lack of a better word. He is fed, he poops and he gains a little weight but his little body is not getting what it needs. His bilirubin count is at 6 which is very high and they will be using IV antibiotics to bring the count down. They are beginning an aggressive health program on him to help him become healthy and gain more weight. The do not want to do a liver transplant until he is deemed healthy. They will let him come home next week BUT they may send him home with a feeding tube. Regardless he will be home for his benefit even if they send him home for the day. The drs. , and there was a team of about 12, say he will have a liver transplant before he turns one. But he has to be healthy first. A lot can happen in 8 months." Thankfully, Colton was allowed to come to his fundraiser! YAY!

Yesterday was his fundraiser. It was held at Wild Peach Community Church, which had plenty of room...we thought! No one was expecting the turnout that we got. It was mind blowing! Most of us, around here, are broke folk. My husband and I wracked our brains trying to come up with an idea to help. We didn't have any money to donate, and it would take me too long to make anything fit for either the silent or the live auction. I was at a loss. Then it hit me! I has bunnies! My doe (Mocha) had a litter of kits three months ago. I had three kits at home that could very easily bring in at least a little something. All I had to do was make sure a live animal could be auctioned. As it turned out, there was a tortoise being auctioned too! Well, THAT worked out ;) That turtle went for $125 in the live auction! CRAZY! Anyway, we got there fairly early, and even then it was pretty obvious that parking was going to become a problem. Not that there was a teeny parking lot or anything. There was plenty of room, under normal circumstances. This was anything BUT normal! By one p.m. there were people hopelessly blocked in! It's a good thing there were TWO Officers directing traffic!

Directing traffic

This was EARLY in the day. One of the 15 rows of cars!

Heavenly smell!

The smell hit me as soon as I got out of the car. Bar-BQue....smoky, delicious, mouthwatering BBQ. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. That smell was unbearable. I was so happy we already had our plate tickets! My daughter and granddaughter went straight for the food, of course! I saw three giant BBQ pits, right off the bat. I think there were actually four of them set up, right up front. That had to have been a strategic move. You know that smell was going to hit people before they ever made it to the building. Talk about a good way to promote food sales. LOL.


Silent auction items

The hallway in the church made a horseshoe. Along every wall was a line of tables neatly arranged with goods, each good with a paper taped to the table in front of it. This was the silent auction. I was amazed at the number of items that had been donated. I mean, seriously, it took the entire horseshoe to hold them all! Every single item had a bid on it. It was a beautiful sight! All of those donations meant more money to help this precious baby get better! There were so many things that I would have loved to bid on. Especially the Harley Davidson thermos set. But, like I said, I is broke folk!

I carried my Nilla (bunny) into the sanctuary to add to the other live auction items while everyone else in our group went straight for the food. That was another amazing site. There were still tons of items left to bring in, and yet, the room was already packed. It was so great to see. My little Nilla was added to the piles of hope. I could only imagine how she was going to freak out once the P.A. was turned on and Poppy (the pastor) started the auction. Turns out, I was right about that. Poor girl.

Wandering around the church, we saw people really enjoying themselves for the sake of this beautiful baby boy. They set up a face painting booth for the little ones. My Sister-In-Law spent her day painting chubby cheeks and loving every minute of it! There was also a game room and craft booth. We took my grand-baby in and let her play the duck pond game and go fishing with a magnetic pole! Of course, the little snot scored big every time. I still think her favorite part of the day was plowing through her plate of food. It was mine too! We watched the people pay to have their friends and family thrown in "jail", then watched the "inmates" beg passersby to "bail" them out. It was AWESOME! There was plenty of good music, laughter, activities, camaraderie and best of all, COLTON! We were all so happy to see his smiling face there, enjoying his day with us. <3

The Palmer family watch the magic happen from above the crowd.

The day was beginning to wind down. It was AUCTION TIME. Most everyone gathered in the sanctuary, chose a pew and started chatting. We could see Colton and his family watching from the window above us. They had a great view! I have never seen an auction like this one in my entire life. It was insane! Poppy was hilarious as an auctioneer. He kept us cracking up through it all. As for the items, I don't think anyone was thinking about cost at all! These items were all selling for hundreds of dollars! It was amazing! My daughter bought a bicycle for my grand-baby. A pretty one, too! My Nilla bean went for $60. I was right about her being scared. She clawed a deep scratch on my arm while I was carrying her around so that the crowd could see her. I'll miss my pretty baby, but, she did something wonderful and doesn't even know it.

This was an amazing turn out, and they raised a good deal of money on Colton's behalf. However, if you've ever had so much as a sprained ankle, you know what a single medical bill can look like. Now, imagine what it must look like for the Palmer family. They can use every little bit of help that we can provide. The benefit may be over, but there are still ways of helping. An account has been set up for donations to Colton and his family at Lone Star bank. There are still people out there who are touched by this small life and want to help. If you are one of them, and I really hope you are, donations can be made to:
Colton Palmer
LONE STAR BANK
P.O. BOX 8
Brazoria, Texas 77422
Just tell the bank that it's for Colton and they'll take care of the rest!

Here's the thing. This little boy? He's a baby. He's also a survivor. He's strength where there should, by all rights, be weakness. He's hope in a hopeless situation. He's a bright shining light in a dark world. This poor little guy has been through more in his short little life than many of us will EVER go through. His parents and grandparents suffer the fear of "what will happen next?" on a daily basis, and still, they keep their faith. They hold their hope. This family, above all others, deserves the best. Am I surprised at yesterdays results? Yes and no. No, because of who they are, their attitudes, their steadfast belief that things will be just fine and because of that adorable little face that keeps them going. Colton is a lesson to us all. He is a baby and has the strength of a county behind him. We should all learn to be the people who other people want to be there for. Just like him. Before long, his medical issues will have been taken care of, and all that will be left is that brilliant smile that melts your heart and wakes your hope.

In the mean time. Donate. I did.

Look at My Rash! Look at it, look, look, did you look? You didn't look. Look!

2012-09-27T13:56:00.002-05:00

Yesterday was one of those dreaded doctor days. Now, with this particular Dr I'm usually not there for more than an hour. Two on a bad day. Yesterday was a nearly FOUR HOURS of wait time. Why do I hate this more than any other wait at any other office? Because of the level of freak that comes in to wait with me. Oh...my...GAWD! My appointment was at 7:00. I think this is a good thing. I think that I may be first in line. I think I must be ab idiot for thinking. I was third. Still, this is ok, right? Right? ...wroooong.

Patient number for was of the escaped lunatic variety. This guy looked like he ate crack for every meal and snacks in between. He comes in, targets me and comes to sit right next to me. This is a big ass room full of empty chairs, why me?? The second his ass hits the chair he started in on me. "I think I must have gotten a rash. Look. Do you see it? What do you think it is? Look at my rash. How did I get it? Can you see it? You're not looking. Look at my rash." Are you kidding me? Really? For one, you're in a doctors office. Show the doctor, not ME! For two, what the hell makes you think some random stranger wants to see your funky ass rash? Are you that much of an idiot? For three, if you're flirting, you're failing miserably. I suddenly found something so interesting out the window that the rest of the world ceased to exist. After about ten minutes of being ignored he gave up on me and moved on to the only other guy in the room. That poor guy.


AHHH AHHH AHHH CHOOO PPPTHHHHH

Then comes the sneezer. I feel for the poor lady, but, seriously, use a tissue! Did she? Nooooooo. She sneezed in her hand and wiped it on her chair. When her chair was sufficiently slimed up she moved on to my chair. I moved. Quickly.

Now the room is getting full. The only remaining seats are in the back, past me. Directly past me. The pathway isn't all that narrow, but, it was too narrow for the three chair ass that walked in next. I'm so not kidding. This girl couldn't get by without bumping me with her butt cheek. As if that didn't suck bad enough, she wanted the chair next to me. I wish I could say that I was exaggerating when I say that the crack of her ass was the only thing that fit in the chair, but I'm not. She quite literally needed the three chairs behind me, but nooooo...she squeezed into the ONE right beside me. Then she proceeds to make three trips to the bathroom during the wait, all of which making me wonder when she was bringing in the forklift to help her up. This may sound mean, but right now I don't care. The only thing about her that was overweight was her ass. I thought about moving again, but rash boy and the sneezer were back there.

Through it all I'm doing my best to remain invisible. The rash and another patient started talking, loudly, and I start wondering if I should just go ahead and kill myself. The rash was, as suspected, a junkie. He had come to the doctor hoping he could get drugs, and he wasn't shy about it. This moron was asking every single patient there if she prescribed narcotics and how hard it was to get them from her. Then he starts asking where the best pharmacy is and how much they cost. From there he moves on to HIS prices. He told everyone in the room how much he sold his meds for, per pill, and how fast he could unload them. Then came the litany of drugs he was currently on. As in, had taken just before coming to the doctor's office. If that wasn't stupid enough, he starts bragging about how many of the Houston pill mills he had been at when they were busted, and how he ended up on TV when Dateline busted one of them while he was there. I was out of there before the doctor saw him, but I'm really hoping he never made it out of the office. At least, not without a pretty new pair of bracelets. I doubt my doctor put up with him. She was in a foul mood.

As it turned out, she was late because she was scheduled to have surgery yesterday afternoon. So I'm surprised she came in at all.

There are always those weirdos in the waiting room, no matter who your doctor is. It's getting to the point that I want a Hazmat suit just for the wait. There's the random talker, the nose picker, the braggart, the twenty questions noob, the barely concealed anger man/woman, the sneezer, the cough-er, the junkie, the freak-show, the sit on you(er), and so on and so forth. Oh, let's not forget the unattended child. You know, the nosy one? The one who stays in your face, pick at your stuff, stares at you, kicks your chair, pesters non stop and just generally annoys. The one who, by all rights, shouldn't be unattended since it's parent is RIGHT FRIGGIN THERE, ignoring the kid.

What's the weirdest thing you've seen in your docs waiting room?

Annoying!

2012-09-25T07:04:00.000-05:00

Very little in this world annoys me as badly as the sound of someone trying to suck the walls down his throat while he sleeps. Especially if that someone happens to be laying next to me. For nearly seven years I have thanked my lucky stars that the Hub was a silent sleeper. I've been down the date a snore-aholic rout and I didn't care for the scenery. Unless that scenery happened to be me shoving a giant anaconda down the loud mouthed gullet, or vice versa. Somewhere during this last year my lucky star burned out.

I don't know why. I don't know what changed. All I know is that my once silently sleeping Hub has suddenly started to sound like he's boiling water in the back of his throat. It started about eight months ago. As soon as I make the mistake of thinking that it's gonna be a silent night the gurgling starts. Seriously??!! I mean, C-MON! He's hard enough to sleep next to. See, the Hub has always been a violent sleeper. I'm used to getting the shit kicked out of me all night long. I've been punched, elbowed, kneed, shoved out of bed, rolled over on top of and clawed every night for a long time. I'm almost used to it. I said almost. I haven't quite reached the OK with getting my ass kicked on a nightly basis thing yet. I'm also not quite used to having to be grave still for fear of starting another bout of extreme sleeping championships. But, I'm getting there. Then...THIS happened. To make matters worse, in the last month he's added to whistle to the snore. He's getting louder, too. I might just be a widow before long, if this keeps up. I guess I should go ahead and get life insurance on him now. Hey, I could justify it. A jury full of housewives and I'm all good!

When I was six years old we went to Houston for my Grandpa's funeral. While we were there I got stuck sleeping in a room between my Uncle and Daddy. I say sleeping. What I mean by sleeping is desperately praying I'd suddenly go deaf. It was a lot like being lodged between a fog horn and an air raid siren...only louder. I think they literally cracked a wall. I think that might have been the night that I decided never to marry a snorer. Any time I've dated a person like that, I've honestly considered a breakup for no other reason than a peaceful nights sleep.

The only time I've been okay with snoring was when it was my little brother making his trademark coffee percolator, half choke, half cackle ruckus. If he stopped snoring I couldn't sleep. There was good reason, though. My brother had Muscular Dystrophy. If he stopped snoring it meant there was a problem, so the sound of his trying to suck the stripes off the sheets was comforting. He got away with it. Lesson here? Unless you have a medical excuse for your snoring, a LIFE THREATENING excuse, your snoring will threaten your life.

Actually, I will.
Because of your snoring.
I'm tired of being tired.

What else annoys the piss out of me? The complete and total annihilation of the English language. Seriously, people. If you grew up in America, with English as your first language, then this shouldn't be THIS much of a damn problem. Granted, our school system is lacking, but not THAT lacking.
It's a glove compartment. COMpartment. Not DEpartment.
Please don't tell me to be more Pacific. I couldn't be more of an ocean if I tried with all my fuzzy little might. Unless I try in my dreams. Then, I might come close. I have been quite specific on this one, I think.
No, you may NOT axe me a question. My life sucks, but, I want to live. If you ask me if you can, I might just have to axe you. I think I'd quite enjoy that.
What are you posed to do? I don't know. I didn't know we were supposed to vogue. You have fun with that.
Manilla envelope. MANilla. Not VANILLA.
And, please, for the love of all that's good and holy, don't tell me what people "be all like"! That nerves me to no end. "They be like that. They be all like.." Dude, shut up. Just...shut up.
Oh, one of my favorites, doh! Who are you? Homer Simpson? "For real, doh." Again, shut it before I shove a doughnut in your uneducated head hole.
Or, "You so silly!" "You so crazy" etc. You're, folks. You're! As in YOU frelling ARE! Ebonics is NOT a language!
And the number one killer of my sanity...there is only ONE U in nuclear! It's not nucular. That is not a damned word. It's not! I promise! I'm fully prepared to launch a mushroom cloud at the next person I hear add too effing many U's.

I have this weird little pet peeve for tags sticking out of the backs of shirts. It's annoying, but, nothing to go nucular over. Cigarette butts in plates of food is, however. So is dirty mop water, food in the sink, trash one foot away from the trash can, on the floor next to the can, overflowing trash cans, toilet paper and paper towels set down next to the holder instead of ON the damn thing, gangta rap, death metal, wind in my face, my own hair, spitters, rude people, yappy dogs, stupidity, unruly children...wait, this one deserves further exploration.

By unruly children, I do NOT mean kids whose parents are actually trying to control them. Nor do I mean toddlers or just past toddling age children who are going ballistic over something they want in the grocery store while an exasperated mom or dad struggles to maintain composure and not just throttle the little shit stain right then and there. I'm talking about those children who chose Dudley Dursley as a role model. Those little fucktards. The ones who have parents who should be sterilized immediately, before they have the chance to create more little monstrosities. These parents either give the little brats everything, absolutely EVERYTHING the little assholes scream that they want, or they spend so much time hiding from or tuning out their little beast because parenting them is "just too hard" that the brats have learned that they ARE God. Every little kid goes through an asshole phase. It's life. It happens. These kids don't go through the phase. They're taught to be that way. THOSE are the bratty ass kids that annoy me. Their idiot parents annoy me even more.

Actually, I seem to have a lot of pet peeves. This must be why I stay away from people....

Daddy Issues PT2: You ARE the Father

2012-09-23T19:01:00.001-05:00

Ok, If you read part one, you know that I grew up knowing that Daddy wasn't my biological father, even though he was passed off as such until I was fourteen. At such a young age my search was pretty limited. There's not a lot a tween could do to locate someone in the 80's. Especially not even knowing his name. I had a few minor details, and, this is going to sound really odd, I had the things I could just feel. Turns out those feelings were dead on. I resorted to snooping quite a lot, but that got me nowhere. Every once in a while my Mother would spill a detail here or there, and I'd soak it up. She was careful not to mention names, though. After she and Daddy split that all changed. She talked about my biological father more and more often, and always after a few too many drinks. One night she spilled it. His name. I finally had it.

My oldest two kids had already been born at that point. Oh, man, the phone bill I ran up! I searched everywhere I could think of. I knew he was a tattoo artist, and a damn good one! So, I called every parlor in Texas. Quite a few artists knew who he was, but not where he was. It seemed he had dropped off the grid. I had even read article written about him in Skin and Ink magazine. Still, no luck. Time was running out and I was beginning to lose hope. I actually DID hope for the best while expecting the worst. From what my Mother had finally told me about him, my Dad was a bit of a rat. He wasn't, according to her, the kind of person I would ever want to meet. I heard story after story about the bad things he had done to her, and to me when I was a newborn. Now, I'm not an idiot. If you tell me something happened when I was such and such age I can work the dates out for myself. After I did find him, I realized that some of those things I had been told couldn't be true. I knew I had at least one sister, and that her name was Gabi. But, just like Dad, that's really all i knew.

My Dad, Fyke Russel Akers. Pic is from an article about his tat work. :)

Years go by, two more kids are born, and I get married to the biggest jerk off whack job on the planet, and I move to Oklahoma. On one trip from Texas to OKC we passed through Denton. My then husband wanted to stop at a tattoo parlor. He liked spending my money on his crap. He tells me to stay in the truck. I told him to kiss my lilly white ass and I jumped out and ran in. I just had a feeling about this place. I go inside and start scoping the people. A young guy was in the middle of a tattoo, no, he wasn't right. An older woman, obviously in the business for a while, was flipping through paperwork. Her name, as it turned out, was Corky, and she owned the place. No, not quite the one either. Then, a big, burly biker, wearing coveralls with no shirt underneath, long grey hair with a long grey beard to match and covered in ink comes around the corner. YOU! You're the one I want! I walked over to him and said hi, then told him I was looking for an artist. He said "Oh, we have some great artists." "No," I said "I'm looking for a specific artist." He gives the the curious look and asks who. "Fyke Russel Akers." I tell him. "Oh, yeah! I know Russ!" I think I must have come very close to losing it then. He was all grins until he saw my reaction. That man, Walls, is a sharp one. He figured it out instantly. "Oh...you're not...you are. You're his kid! You look just like him! Hang on, honey. I'm gonna go make a phone call." I stood there crying, watching him call my Dad. Dad wasn't there, but Walls left him a message and had his wife, Corky, send him an email.

Dammit! I'm crying just trying to type this....

We get back to Oklahoma City later that night, and I go to bed with a new hope. It's November, which means it's friggin cold as hell, Christmas is right around the corner, and I have a new hope in my heart. See, Walls is my Dad's best friend. Some of the equipment in their shop belonged to my Dad! The next morning, six a.m., the jackass comes barelling down the stairs and wakes me up with the phone in his hand. "You're gonna want to take this." I try to shake off the sleep haze and say hello. I hear the most chipper, squeaky southern man's voice say "HI! I'm your Dad!" Can you say tears? We talked and cried for hours! I had been waiting for that call my whole life. And, here it was. Here HE was. My Dad. He didn't argue or want proof or paternity. He didn't act hesitant or ashamed, afraid or mean. He was nervous, of course. So was I! We talked and talked and talked, every morning and every night for months. My Dad was a musician, a gunslinger/quick draw artist, tattoo artist, biker, old hippie, all of which I had always known. These are the things I just felt. He was in North Carolina, had remarried, stopped tattooing anyone but family fourteen years earlier. Right around the time my little brother was born. Brother...I have a little brother? AWESOME!!!! Oh, no...TWO little brothers, a little sister and my big sister, Gabi.


Nov '04. The first phone call!

Dad knew where Gabi was, she had contacted him sixteen years earlier. She had better luck than I did! My little brother, Mark Russel, lived with Dad, so that was easy. Crystal and Jimmy were in the wind, though. Ok, next person search! I made up my mind that I would find them come hell or high water. But first, to meet my Dad face to face. I was working in the Federal Building in OKC, for AOL. That meant perks. I put those perks to use and booked a trip to Cozumel. My Dad took my step mom, Susan, and my little brother to Cozumel every June. I would be there too. I wanted to take all of the kids, but I was limited to one. We took the oldest, JessiKa, with a plan to take them all on the next trip.I wish I had known that there would be no next one. Then again, maybe it's better that I didn't.

June rolls around and it's time to go. Thankfully, the jackass is bringing one of his friends and they have interest in nothing but diving, which meant he'd stay out of my way. We make the drive to Houston, pick up Jess and hit the airport. I've never been so grateful for in flight drinks in my life! I was a ball of nerves! When we got to Mexico and the plane started it's decent, I got a good look at the landing strip and really wished I hadn't! Holy crap! It looked like a one lane dirt road that ended in the ocean! We're jostled and jolted and finally on the ground. The little stairs are pulled out for us to climb out of the plane onto the tarmac, so off we go. My only thought is of getting into the airport so I can clear customs and go find my Dad. Of course the idiot gets flagged by customs. I didn't even wait. As security is pulling him off to the side I was telling him "Good luck with that!" and running for the front doors. He was standing outside, in front of the entrance. All I could see was a camera with a beard hanging from it. That's him. I knew that was him. I couldn't see his face, but I knew. I push though the doors and we all but tackle each other. After a few minutes of hugging and crying I notice flashes. I'm wondering who is taking pictures, so I opened my eyes. Holy mother of God, what fresh hell is this?? It looked like the paparazzi had descended! There was a circle of people around us, all of them snapping one pic after another..OF US! Dad said that he had gotten to the airport two hours early. After pacing around for a while people started to wonder about him and ask if he needed help. Dad told them the story of how we met, and it spread like wildfire. People were waiting for me! Some of them had landed an hour or more before I did, but they stayed to see us meet for the first time. The consensus was that they couldn't have watched a better story in a movie. They were so right! I can honestly say that i couldn't have hoped for a better reunion.

Cozumel was a dream. My little brother stayed by my side so often that Susan started telling him to back up a little before he smothered me, but, I liked it! He, Jess and his friend Kel swam themselves to death. We snorkeled in the coldest water I've ever felt, dove from cliffs, toured the island and drank drank drank. That was where I learned that my Dad had an obsession with mudslides and Corona. Nice! When i say we bonded...words will never be able to describe it. We met, really met, in Mexico. He was nothing like I'd been told. And for that I am forever thrilled! I became a Daddy's girl.That trip was also where I learned that my Dad did an amazing, unintentional Jeff Foxworthy impression. While we were snorkeling on day he was bitten by a fish. Dad comes splashing up out of the water, sounding just like Jeff Foxworthy describing a nipple biting beaver. "IT BIT ME!" he yells. Without even thinking about it, I said "O. F. F. OFF!" What we didn't know was that we had an audience until we heard a family laughing. They were standing on the cliff directly above us, and apparently recognized the joke. Susan was driving this little bitty rental car around the island, the island that takes, in her words "I know, I know. Five minutes." to get anywhere. She got really tired of people saying five minutes when they meant two hours. Anyway, we're packed like sardines in this little car and one of us, I can't remember which one, started humming Inspector Gadget. It was probably me. Before long, Dad, Mark and myself were all mimicking a different instrument and singing the whole damn song. We cracked up when we finished and Susan said "You know, that was really good!" We spent a day lounging at Bob Marley's, and I'm so glad we did. Hurricane Katrina wiped it off the map. We climbed pyramids, jungle trekked and ate till we thought we would pop. Susan had some weird obsession with photographing every iguana she saw! We had a blast!

Years passed, Dad and I stayed close, I divorced and moved back to Texas and was dating the Hub. We had a tiny little rat trap apartment in West Columbia. One rainy day there was a knock at my door. From the bathroom, the Hub heard me scream. It was my Dad. He decided to surprise me. He and Chris (The Hub) hit it off right away. As did he and Chris's best friend (Dopy aka Jarred). Dad and Dopy got attached easy! He got to spend time with the kids, his grandchildren, and tool around Texas for a little while. I was in hog heaven. Chris got to see exactly how much of a Daddy's little girl I really was! Before Chris and I got our apartment together, I had located a Crystal and Jimmy Akers, living in Pasadena. As it turned out, it was the wrong Crystal and Jimmy, but that lead was scary close. They actually were in Pasadena, and the lead had taken my Dad straight to them. So now, I had all of my brothers and sisters! YES! I was complete..almost.

Chris and I were walking one night when he tells me that he had talked to my Dad that day. He tentatively told me that he had called to get his permission to ask me to marry him. O.O So, wedding planning began. Another year later, July 2008, I have my Dad in Texas again. Along with my Aunt, my brothers, my sister, a house full of friends and family. It's wedding time! My Dad gave me away. It was, again, like a dream. He came to visit a few more times over the next year. Christmas was the hardest. The Thanksgiving before he called to tell me that he had liver cancer and was going in for surgery. The surgery was a success, so we thought. But, a year later, it was pretty clear that something was really wrong. It was clear that he was visiting because he knew he was getting close to the end and wanted one last Christmas with his family. It was so hard to see him like that. We spent a day in Houston with my sister, Crystal and my rockin' little nephew, Fabian (aka Fizzle). It was nice. But, we could all tell that the day was wearing on Dad. Even worn out, he made sure he enjoyed the trip. He even, or maybe especially, enjoyed the turkey fiasco. My oven kept catching on fire while I was cooking the turkey! I'd blow the fire out and keep on cooking. That turkey had been teriyaki injected. There was no way I was giving up! It turned out to be the juiciest turkey any of us have ever had. There's something to be said for perseverance! That was the same year Dad sent us to a Matchbox Twenty concert for Christmas. He found out that I'd been chasing the tickets for ten years, and was on the phone at least three times a day trying to win them. See? Daddy's girl!

In January, 2009, I got a call from Susan. She said that Dad was in the hospital, and that I needed to get there as fast as possible. Chris's parents loaded up the car and we took off. We took my sister, Crystal with us. We made it to the hospital in North Carolina on January 16th at nearly 3a.m. Susan met us in the parking lot and said to forget our bags, just run. So, we ran. When we got to his room, Dad opened his eyes. They said it was the first time he had opened them in three days. We could tell that he was fighting for us. The harder we cried, the harder he tried. I did the only thing that I could think to do. I told him that we loved him, that we were a family because of him, that I had brothers and sisters because of him, that he had given is grandchildren memories, walked me down the isle and been everything I hoped he would be. I thanked him for that and told him that he could let go. He could rest now. I told my Dad that it was okay to go. He looked in my eyes, smiled, and went.

That was the hardest thing I've ever done. I love my Dad, and I miss him every day. But, I meant what I said to him that morning. We are a family because of him. My life will never be the same.

I hate that I had to meet my Uncle Buzz that way. He and I had been talking through email, video chat and phone calls since the day I found Dad. But, we never got to meet face to face. After Dad passed, we went straight to the nursing home to see him. We woke him up. He looked over and saw me and recognized me immediately. I got the biggest hug from that little man. He lit up even more when I said "Uncle Buzz, look." and pointed at my sister, Crystal. Over the years he had told me how much he missed her, and there she was. He wanted to be happy, but he was so sad. We all were. We lost Uncle Buzz last year. I keep hair from both of them in an urn, together. Dad was buried in North Carolina. But, Uncle Buzz was brought home to Texas. This is my way of keeping them together.

I am a very lucky person. I was always taught that my Dad was a cad who wanted me dead. But he was the exact opposite. I spent years thinking I would never find him, but, I did. I never expected that he'd come equipped with such awesome siblings, but, he did! I grew up with a Daddy who took care of me and is still in my life. Then I found a Dad who spent the few years we had trying to make up for all of the years we didn't. He didn't have to. Just being him was enough. I'm proud of them both. I love them both. I'm lucky.

The very definition of the 60's. Dad, my sister, Gabi & her mom.

Daddy Issues PT1: You Are NOT The Father

2012-09-22T15:59:00.000-05:00


Daddy and my little sister, Brandy, all grown up!

When I was little I lived the first few years of my life with my grandparents, but, that's a blog of it's own. I moved in with my Mother after my Grandpa got too sick to care for me. I remember a lot of things about my childhood. The move isn't one of them. What I do remember is the first time I met my Daddy. He scared the pure shit out of me. Seriously! I was barely three years old. There's a knock at the door, so of course my curious toddler ass has to be the one to answer. There before me was this grizzly, burly, mountain man looking redneck. Now, when I say redneck, I mean his neck was actually red. Daddy was (is) a welder/bounty hunter/Marine and looked the part. Too many of my friends from school wanted to spend the night at my house just to gawk at Daddy. That's not just a little traumatic.

So, anyway, I remember the day he knocked on the door of our mobile home and sent me, screaming down the hallway, terrified out of my mind. I also remember an argument between myself and my Mother just before Christmas that same year. Daddy was washing his baby, a Firebird, I forget what year model. Mother and I were watching from the kitchen window, fighting over the color of the car. One of us said yellow, the other said white. Neither was right. It was actually that weird cream that almost looks like someone peed in the snow then stirred it up. Mother asked "When are you gonna start calling him Daddy?" I shrugged and said "I don't know. After Christmas." No, I don't remember when I did start calling him Daddy. But, I do remember something about Mother wearing an orange jumpsuit or pantsuit the day they got married. Insert random jail jokes here.
All of these memories are why I spent years confused as to why everyone insisted that he was my biological father. Well, almost everyone. My older (step) sister really enjoyed playing the adopted card. I guess no one expected me to remember things that happened so far back. I mean, I was a toddler! But, I do remember, and that threw a major monkey wrench into their game-plan.

Don't get me wrong. I wasn't so miserable with my paternal unit that I HOPED he wasn't my real Dad. He had some major parenting faults, but he was a good Dad, all things considered. I just knew he wasn't the one. I felt it. I remembered it.

Those faults, OH, those faults. Daddy came with two sisters for me. Where those sisters were concerned is where his biggest fault showed it's ugly head. See, he made a tragic but common parenting mistake. He picked a favorite. That favorite was the youngest. The baby. The NOT ME. Brandy is three years younger than I am, Shannon is three years older. Brandy, being the baby, got away with pretty much any and every thing. Oh my GAWD it was frustration to the max! Example: I was about 5 or 6 years old, Brandy was 2 or 3. In our yard was a water well. The kind that look like a propane tank stood up on it's end, with a spigot on the bottom. I caught Brandy turning it on at one point in the day and made her turn it off. Later, she did it again. Only this time, no one noticed. When Daddy got home, later that afternoon, the yard was all but flooded. So, here's how he dealt with it. He spanked me. Yup, ME. Then he asked me who did it. I said Brandy. So he goes to Brandy and asks her who did it. She said Shannon. So he spanked Shannon, then asked her who did it. She said Brandy. Again, he asks Brandy, who blamed it on me! So, guess what? I got spanked, again. And asked, again. What did I say? BRANDY. This rotation went on for a little while, Daddy spanking me and Shannon, both of us saying it was Brandy, Brandy constantly changing her blame target, and Daddy always believing her. Did you notice something here? Brandy never got spanked. Little turd! That was our childhood, summed up. Yes, we actually do get along! That's what sisters do. :D

He also had a fair amount of fear to dish out. Daddy was intimidating as hell. Every time I get nervous I start remembering any time I had to bring home a bad report card. Getting in trouble in my house was a bad, bad, bad thing. I used to hang out in the top of the tree at the end of the driveway when it came time for him to get off of work, just so that I could scope the situation from a distance. I wanted to know what kind of mood he was in before I made an appearance. Football season was the choice time for trouble making. If he was watching a game when I got my ass in the sling, He'd say "Go wait in your room. I'll be in there in a minute." So, I'd go wait, fully expecting to get the business end of a belt at any minute. I'd wait...and wait, and wait, and wait and fall asleep. He was always so wrapped up in his game that he's forget all about me! Yay for football! That did stick with me, though. To this day, if I get that feeling like I did when I was waiting for his belt, I get sleepy as all get out. Stress makes me tired.

He was a practical joker to the extreme degree. Getting into trouble was nothing compared to Daddy in mischievous mode! He had the Chinese finger traps, whoopee cushions, jalapeno bubble gum,black die bubble gum, finger trap bubble gum, fly in the middle ice cubes, pink elephant ice cubes, invisible ink, dog whistles that blow water in your face, trick handcuffs, REAL handcuffs, joy buzzers etc. etc. And, he used his jokes on a regular basis! The most memorable of Daddy's pranks was handcuffing Shannon's writs to the headboard (UNDER the bed), my wrist to Shannon's ankle, my ankle to Brandy's wrist and Brandy's ankle to the foot-board. He strung us, diagonally, under the bed, laughed like a loon and left us there. Yup, that was Daddy.

It's not like he didn't pull his fair share of bonehead moves, though. Like the go kart he got us for Christmas. We lived in a beach house with an enclosed downstairs. Daddy assembled the go kart while we were asleep Christmas eve. The next morning we followed a trail of clues that led us downstairs, to our prize. Of course we wanted to crank it up and ride it right away. There was just one problem. It was INSIDE and the doorway was too narrow to drive it out. Tip it on it's side. Easy. Nope. he had already filled it with gas. *Facepalm.* Good one, Daddy. Oh, how about the day he set a pan full of grease on fire. Did he smother it? You bet he did. In the river! He grabs the flaming pan, runs out onto the porch and slings it into the canal. Wow. Daddy didn't pull too many facepalm worthy moments, but when he did, he did it right!

There were plenty of ups and downs, growing up with an ex Marine. He had flashbacks in his sleep, which meant yelling and occasionally not breathing. Everything they taught him in the military stuck with him. He had a footlocker full of his things from Vietnam. Daddy was full of stories, some of which I wish I'd never heard. Being a Marine meant he was strict. I'm still not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Even now I think some of his habits went a little too far. But, that's ok. We survived. He taught me to weld, too. Oh, how that came in handy once I hit shop class! Now that I think of it, the things Daddy taught me are proof that he really wanted a boy. Maybe that's why I've never been a really girly girl. He even took us with him when he went to collect on bounties. Now that was an experience to remember! Especially seeing Daddy face plant in the grass after a group of kids set off a string of black cats in the middle of the street. He was in commando mode, sneaking up to the house where the guy he was supposed to arrest lived. The next thing we know it's sounding like WWIII in the street and Daddy is diving for cover. Nice!

Daddy did the best he could for me. Even though I wasn't his kid. I still have issues with some of the things that happened when I was a kid, disagreements with the way he did some things, and I always will. But even during the bad, there was good. He was my father from the time I was three years old, and he did his best to act as such. That didn't stop me from wondering, though. I had this secret mission to find my biological father for as long as i can remember. It drove my mother insane. I never let on to Daddy that I knew. I just...well, lived.

Then it happened. My mouth over-road my ass.

I was in a no holds barred argument with my Mother over something or other and it was getting ugly. Daddy is the type of person that no matter how mad he is at someone, he won't let you talk down to them. Even during their divorce, which was a down and dirty mess, he was telling me to mind my Mother, and he had nothing but good things to say to me about her. The day of that argument was no different. I came storming through the room and Daddy stopped me to fuss at me for the way I was talking to her. I was fourteen. Before I could stop myself, I blurted it out. "I know you're not my real dad!" The look on his face was painful. I regretted those words. Mother started floundering on the subject, saying that yes he was, and so on. Daddy didn't. He looked sad. He simply said "I knew this day would come." ...I wonder if he ever knew how much it meant to me that he didn't lie to me then. We sat down, later on, and he told me how he felt, and that was enough for me. He was honest about it. That matters. The subject never came up between us again. It didn't need to. We'd said what we needed to, the air was clear, the truth was out and there was no need to beat the dead horse. We just carried on, business as usual.

I haven't seen Daddy in many years, but we do talk. He raised me. How could I just drop that from my mind? Whatever happened in their marriage was between them. But, in that wreck, I lost too. I wont let their present change my past, I can't. So, Daddy is Daddy and that's that. I hope I'll get to see him again soon. I'm not banking on it, but I'm hoping. I talk to his new family (new, lol, right. They've been together for years!) and I just consider them an extension of my already dysfunctional family. Why not? Life goes on. Years go by. But the memories never fade. That was my childhood. My life. It won't go away, and I wouldn't want it to. Daddy played a big part in molding my personality. So, Daddy is Daddy.


Daddy and his wife, Chris on their wedding day, more than twenty years ago!

End of story.

Happy Weird Day to Me

2012-09-16T13:21:00.003-05:00

Yesterday was one of those weird beyond weird days. I was already floating in a sleepy fog, since the Hub decided that two hours of sleep was all I needed. He did it again last night, only this time he opted for letting me have a thirty minute nap, instead of the whole two hours. Rough sleepers SUCK! Anyway, I got a couple of happy birthday surprises a day early. The first one wasn't so happy.

My body hates me. I got a gift a day early for my birthday, but a week early from it's scheduled delivery. The day before yesterday was the day that we discovered that moving slowly in the In-Laws hallway is a good thing.It's a good thing she put her hands up when she did! I plowed into the Mommy-in-Law while running full tilt down a windowless hall, first thing in the morning, trying to get to the bathroom. Ouch? We both survived unscathed, but now for phase two of my dilemma. I'm unprepared. GAH! Two hours and three pants washes later, I am now prepared and fully unhappy. Tomorrow is my birthday and my body has decided to make sure I spend it on my butt. How uncool.

So, I'm planted in the only place safe, a black vinyl chair, trying to find anything at all to occupy my time, when I get 2 birthday cards. The first was from the the Hubs parents. Very cute. The second threw me for a loop. Marlboro? Really? Complete with coupons. O.o Well, alrighty then. Weird.

Skip to an hour later. The Daddy-in-law is asking me where the paperwork on the busted ass Navigator is, which I'm clueless. He says "We'll need to roll it over there." gesturing from the Nav to the empty side of the driveway. From my vantage point, I can't see anything. "Where?" I ask, thinking he's saying we need to move the Nav out of the driveway. "To that." he answers. Now I'm really confused. I lift a little, so I can see better. There's a green vehicle in the drive. "Who's that?" He chuckles and says "That's yours." O.O ...."Huh?...Wait...What? From where? Since when? WHAT?" Now both of the Hubs parents are laughing at me. I was completely speechless after that. We now have a green, 1997 Ford Explorer.

I think I'm still in shock!

Pointless blog

2012-09-12T13:47:00.005-05:00

I've been away from the computer for a few days due the the massive suck level of my health. To be honest, I don't really feel up to being on this thing now. But, ya gotta do what ya gotta do. Right? To be even more honest, I'm playing hell finding a topic that won't drive people away. No one is interested in a long, whiny, cry baby sob saga about how stressful my last few days have been. Downer much? When I woke up in a clammy sweat this morning and realized that I could think straight, I was almost happy. I thought "Cool. My ads have gone live, my fever is broken, I can think in straight lines and nearly see. Cool. I might, just might, be able to write today." I'm an idiot.As it turns out, life wasn't done with this latest round of stress dump. So, I get the phone call that successfully starts another day of downhill slide that I can do NOTHING about, and think "Dammit." Yeah, that's the PC version of what I actually thought. It was more like a long string of vulgarities with no break in between. Ok, ok, screw it. I'm still gonna write. I need the distraction. But, what to write about? *insert cricket chirp here* Let the net search begin. That's about as helpful as a lit match on a hemorrhoid. It could be helpful, if I were a rich, world traveling, videographer/photographer doing a story on Panda sexual abuse in the Arctic.

The search for a decent topic hasn't really come to anything yet. I'm currently getting cussed by my down's syndrome brother-in-law for....I don't know what for. I just know he's mad. Welcome to the club, kiddo. It's a bit distracting , though. Even from the fruitless search.

Ok, when I find my broken funny bone, get up the oomph to actually put my brain cells to work, and beat my stress into submission, you'll be the first to know. This was a long way of saying that I'm not forgetting my blog. Pointless, yes?

Riverdancing Kamikaze Ninja Goat Mutant Troll Gnomes

2012-09-09T16:27:00.001-05:00


That just LOOKS evil

There are 4 pains in this world that turn me into mega wimp. Pains that send me to my knees and turn me into the kind of bitch you avoid in dark alleys. Yeah, THOSE kinds of pains. I've handled bruises, breaks and cuts with minor complaining, compared to these pains. My alien takes the top of the list. When he starts chewing on my insides I'm nothing but a snotty, slobbery, squalling mess. The rest are at a tie. I don't do burns, earaches or TOOTHACHES very well at all. I get pissy with a capital P. Bet you can guess which one I currently have, can't you?

For the past few days there's been a slow throb building in the left, upper corner (back molar) that grew to a head splitting throb in the night. I had the typical injury filled night for me. Meaning that during my last (yeah right, last) trip to the bathroom before bed, I was startled by a flash of light, spun around and cracked my shin on the toilet. The Hub heard it from across the house. I now have a goosegg with a big bruise on my shin. He (the Hub), in his sleep, drove his knee into my back, so the muscle there has yet to stop with the spasms and feels a lot like a major kidney infection. Those little hurts should have been enough alone. But, ohhhhh no. I forgot all about them thanks to throb o'matic in my mouth. I'm a cranky little cuss. You wouldn't like me. But, c'mon, are you really any different? Don't tell me any of you enjoy tooth pain? If that were true no dentist would earn a dime. I'm kind of liking that thought. Wouldn't that be nice? I'd love to see just one telethon aimed at saving starving dentists all over the world! *Evil Laugh* But, alas! I'm gonna have to go see one of those greedy tooth thieves sooner than I'd like.

Poor ninja goat doesn't know what he did wrong

The last time I had a rear molar blow out like this one has, I drove the poor Hub insane. I begged him to pull it for me. When he got the pliers, just to call my bluff, of course, it backfired on him. That was the moment he knew I was serious. I see that awful tool in his hand and, instead of freaking out, I leaned back and opened my mouth. You should have seen the look of shock on his face. I Was. Not. Playing. Get this riverdancing kamikaze Ninja goat mutant troll gnome out of my mouth! Next stop? The evil tooth-pulling horror movie villain in disguise. The dentist. My old nemesis. I've had some really bad experiences with teeth yankers. I'm not a fan.

For many years I was at war with my lower right wisdom tooth. When I say war, I mean red, throbbing, can't push through so it's permanently in a state of abscess, world war two hundred and ten happening in my head, can't stop bawling and haven't slept for days at a time WAR. My mother takes out a loan to get me into the dentist. A loan. Yes, we had to get a loan. That's pretty bad. Damn thing was expensive! So, anyway, I get into a local dentist and that's when we learned that for one thing, I'd have to find another dentist to do it. Complete boney. For those terrible tooth novices (lucky a*holes with perfect teeth who I envy and would like to drive a sledge hammer into your grill, people), a complete boney means that the root is driven so deeply into your jaw bone that surgery will be required to extract the damn thing. Extract. A polite way of saying "ripped from your head". So we start making calls to locate a dentist to do the work. After many, many, MANY calls, we find one in Houston. That's when the need for a loan came up. This was gonna cost thousands! *sigh* I get there and am almost immediately dragged into the back. The dentist comes in and says he's going to give me Novocaine, the sweet nectar of tooth pain survival. I'm all for that. The needle hurts like hell, but even through that pain I did register that he only gave me ONE shot. Then he says he needs to just take a quick peek. I open wide. He picks up what I can only describe as a cross between a metal severed parrots beak and gardening sheers, shoves them into my mouth (where, by the way, it did NOT fit) and yells for help. Why did he yell for help? Why, because I realized right away that he was about to do something universally stupid, and I protested. Wildly. Several bruised nurses and a jaw punched dentist moments later, he's holding my tooth. My tooth that was as wide as my thumb is, from tip to first knuckle, with roots over an inch long. Yes, I kicked the nurses. A lot. And in the face when the opportunity presented itself, which it did more than once. And, yes, I punched his stupid ass. He made my jaw hurt. Fair is fair. Oh, but, not only did he make my jaw hurt, he BROKE IT! IN TWO FRIGGIN' PLACES!!! ASS...HOLE! It was supposed to be surgery. No, no, no he didn't feel like taking that kind of time, so this eff wit, RIPS the roots right out of the bone. O.O Did they lower the cost because of this snafu? Did they offer medical care for the breaks? Noooooooooo. They were paid in advance. So, why should they. I'm sweaty, bloody, pissed off, snotty and crying now, and just want the hell out of there. On the plus side, since not one dentist in this revolving door for dentists building is paying a bit of attention, I did manage to walk out of there with 3 prescriptions for pain. Which, by the way, is the first stop I demand we make. Oh blessed pharmacy, how I loved thee on that day. My ride said he could hear me screaming from the lobby. Ya think? Now, we get home, I sit down on the couch, and Spawn number 3 (aka Ashley) sits in front of me. At this point in her development she had a new favorite game. Slam herself backwards, hard, against who or whatever was behind her. You can see where this is going, can't you? Mmmmhm. She slammed her little melon head into my freshly broken jaw. I handed her to my mother, as carefully as I could (since all I really wanted to do was throw her into a wall) and drooled/mumbled/slobbered/said "I'm going to work." My boss thought I was nuts for coming in, until he read the note I had written to him, explaining that I was there for the safety of my face and that of my child's face. He just shook his head and walked away.


I won't give the name of the place dumb enough to empl	oy the jaw breaker.

Here I am, a few years later, with the bottom wisdom tooth on the other side acting a fool. Back to the dentist I go. This one was good. He even took what I said to heart, when I warned him that I throw punches at people who cause my teeth to hurt worse. As he started pulling I couldn't actually feel it, but, I could hear that horrific popping, crunching, ripping sound. *Shudder* It was just a knee jerk reaction. That man was on point! Fully prepared, moving much faster than I though a man of his age could, he caught my fist and smiled at me. My eyes were wide! I tried to apologize past the mouth full of dental tools. He just laughed and said I wasn't his first hitter, then thanked me for warning him. It got impacted. Of course it did. That's my luck, right? If you've never experienced dry socket, pray you never do. That's a pain that would put a sumo wrestler on his knees. Screw that noise! This dentist was so awesome, though. He had me come into his office three times a day to change out the packing and shoot me full of Novocaine. Again, that blessed, life saving injection that leaves you slobbering all over yourself for hours.

Fastfarward a couple of years. Both top wisdom teeth are trying to come in. I knew this would happen eventually, but hoped it never would. My top teeth were in my sinus cavities. Not much of a "happy happy joy joy" situation with those bad boys started crawling down. Holy shit, my face hurt! Again, dental surgery. This time it was a dental surgeon in Oklahoma City. He actually put me under. I was really, really hoping there wouldn't be any complications. The final arrangement was to cut through the roof of my mouth, as opposed to cutting through my face. However, one complication too many, and, BOOM, my face gets sliced and diced. There were complications. Again, it's me we're talking about, here. But, thankfully, none of them resulted in a change of incision. I kept waking up from the anesthesia, for one. They had to give me more to knock me back out three times. After it was all said and done, the dentist said that people waking up from anesthetic during any kind of surgery was normal and "quite common." Exfraggincuse me?? No, it's very much NOT. The other complication was something that was always in the realm of possibility. A tunnel. I have a tunnel in my mouth. If my sinus cavities get too congested it will drain into my mouth through the tunnel left from the extraction. If I try to pull too hard off of a straw, whatever I am drinking will end up going from my mouth into my sinuses. Good times, man, good times. The aftermath of that left me in pure hell. My face was so swollen that I looked like a purple Voldemort. I ended up in the hospital from after surgery complications more than once, and during one visit was overdosed on morphine. Would anyone like some used luck? I'm done with mine. I don't want it anymore.

Since the four-ply wisdom tooth fun I've had a rear molar and my bottom 2 front teeth pulled after breaking them. Every time has been enjoyable experience. And if you buy that, I've got an awesome bridge up for sale.

So here I am, once again, with a tooth in pieces, hating life, wishing I had a friend with a Novocaine stockpile and dreading what comes next. What does come next? With any luck someone will just shoot the damn Ninja goat. He's gone from Riverdancing in my mouth to tap dancing on my face. Or maybe that's a zombie troll. There's a vampire gnome playing bongos on top of my head, I'm sure of it. The herd of wild buffalo hasn't stopped their death metal guitar lessons from being hosted on my eardrums yet, but I'm doing my best to evict them.

Toothaches suck.

What the Hell is Wrong With Me? or Life Under the Invisible Umbrella

2012-09-08T21:44:00.000-05:00


Medical coverage means everything!

Some years ago, I think it was 2004 or so, I had great insurance, since I worked for AOL. I was in retention, which is a high stress job as it is. Add to that, we were located in the Federal Building in Oklahoma City. That meant that we were surrounded by Homeland Security on a daily basis. Mega paranoia! There were ambulances in and out of there on a weekly basis. All for heart related issues. Yes, I was one of those hauled out on a gurney. So embarrassing. I had prayed that I would never be the one, but, no such luck. Give your AOL call center reps some credit, guys. Go easy on them. You have no idea the level of stress they work under. Fear of being bombed, again, bosses hovering over your shoulders and chewing your ass for every little thing, people calling you just to scream at you and your job is to calm them down and talk them out of canceling a service they hate, death threats, inside competition, and more. But, I digress. I had good insurance. I was seeing a Dr on a regular basis, and he was good at what he did. He was very thorough. Dr Williams asked questions I had never been asked before, and some of them hit home. He listened to me, and was intrigued by what I told him. He looked at me in a way I had never been looked at. And, by that I mean that he very, very closely examined my skin, my eyes, my hair, my teeth, fingernails, fingers and toes. Then he ordered an insane battery of tests, some of them quite humiliating and annoying. None as humiliating as a PAP, which he overlooked, as did every doctor since the birth of my youngest female spawn. That was a BIG mistake, but that's another story. As it turns out, Dr Williams specialized in rare disorders. Unlike every family practitioner, Gastroenterologist, Chiropractor, Bone specialist, so forth and so on, he recognized the symptoms I was describing. That was a nice change. So, after this insane battery of tests, he ordered another, and then another. I felt like a pin cushion and was very tired of having one jug of urine in a cooler and another on the back of the toilet. Those collects got tiring. But I didn't mind as much when I remembered that he was actually DOING something.

So here it was, diagnosis number one. RTA or Renal Tubular Acidosis, Type 1 (Distal), aka dRTA. What the hell is that? Well, it means that my kidneys are idiots, in a nutshell. The can't absorb the good stuff and release it into my blood stream. They can absorb plenty off the bad stuff, though. They can't neutralize the acids in them, acid naturally produced by the body, and they end up releasing those acids into my blood. Under normal circumstances, they would send the excess acid into the urine. Like I said, my kidneys are idiots. Ok, so what does this mean? Well, it means that things like potassium can't be sent into the blood stream. This leads to hypokalemia. That, by itself, is a whole new tangle of mess.

Your muscles depend on potassium to function, and, what is your heart? That's right. It's a muscle. Over the counter potassium pills aren't enough for sever hypoglycemics. All they do is shred your stomach. Prescription VK, or potassium, Comes in the gigantic horse pills that choke you on the way down. No fun at all. Let's add the worst of the lot, liquid potassium. Oh HELL NO! In an I.V. it's normally diluted because of the burn. But, even then it hurts like hell. Most of the time they will dope you up when they're giving you a potassium push. I've had a straight, undiluted push before. Even through morphine and Demerol I was screaming bloody murder. It actually burned my veins to the point that you could see the blisters through my skin. It looked like my arm was glowing in the dark. Much massive suckage! But, it had to be done.

So, what else does RTA mean? Icky ass drugs. Specifically, sodium bicarbonates. Those are SO much fun. Holy ICK! I actually had a nurse try to O.D. me on it once. Citra-2 is a very stout liquid and is meant to be diluted. Heavily diluted. The nurse brings me this giant syringe filled with a clear liquid, so I thought she had done it right. I reach for it and she yanks it back. Says I'm not allowed to touch it. O.o Excuse me? Whatever. So she tells me to open my mouth and proceeds to squirt this acidic crap straight into the back of my throat. O.O NO! It removed skin. Instead of 3 tsp Citra-2 to 4oz of water, she gave me 4oz straight Citra-2. I couldn't talk for the rest of the day. The she acted like it was MY fault. Are you effing kidding me? This is just SOME of the bullshit we have to put up with. Anyway, it also comes with a little thing I like to call Asshole bladder. That's because my bladder acts like a royal asshole. The Hub says I have a child's bladder. I get no warning. When it decides it's full, it says "NOW! GO PEE NOW OR I'LL EXPLODE! NOW! THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING!" Fun stuff, man. It hurts like a mad bastard, too. Is it actually full? Usually not. And if it is, I'll never know because the damn thing refuses to empty. No one should have to strain to pee. I feel like an old man with an enlarged prostate. It sucks.

Here's a list of symptoms from Medline Plus:
"Confusion or decreased alertness
Fatigue
Impaired growth
Increased breathing rate
Kidney stones
Nephrocalcinosis
Osteomalacia
Rickets
Muscle weakness
Other symptoms can include:
Bone pain
Decreased urine output
Increased heart rate or irregular heartbeat
Muscle cramps
Pain in the back, flank, or abdomen
Skeletal abnormalities"

Yeah, really fun stuff. But wait! There's more! Next diagnosis? Ehlers Danlos! Also known as EDS. Type 3, subtype unknown. Ok, ok, what the heck is THAT? Well, it means I have no glue. Collagen is basically the glue that holds us together. It's not just the stuff that makes you look young. It means being double jointed, having forearm skin that feels like velvet, bruising easy, constant sprains and break, weakness, fatigue, swan neck fingers, bone spurs, Stretchy ligaments and tendons, Stretchy/fragile skin and a really long list of other side effects. Since it's what holds me together that's missing it means that everything on the inside is at risk. Yay me! Next up to bat? Fibromyalgia!

Oh what fresh hell is this? The best theory that they've come up with so far is " a central nervous system disorder, is described as a 'central sensitization syndrome' caused by neurobiological abnormalities which act to produce physiological pain and cognitive impairments as well as neuro-psychological symptomatology". Lovely. Basically this means you hurt. You hurt all friggin' over. Head to toe, ow, leave me the hell alone or I will wound you, all over. Oh, welcome to the wonderful world of fibro. A world where sleep is scarce, upset tummy's are common, aches and pains are constant and a chunk of the medical community thinks you're a big fat fakey faker face. I hit on all of that in a past blog, You Can't See Me. It's all about the fun we go thru when people start their crap about how we must be lazy asses making excuses, because they can't see anything wrong with us. GAH! You try not being able to eat, or being afraid to eat because you know your stomach is going to turn into an explosive mess once the food hits it. You try going days on end without sleep because, no matter how hard you try, you just can't sleep. More to the point, you try living with head to toe, crippling pain. Yeah, that's fun.


OOOOOOOOOOOOW!

Each of these illnesses has been linked into 2 to 3 websites that give information on them. Look at the symptoms of each one. Look at how many overlap. Each one comes with pain, depression, pain, headaches, pain, IBS and PAIN. That's a friggin' triple threat! No fair! And worse? It doesn't stop there. I have a new one I'm not ready to talk about, but comes with some of the same symptoms as the others. Seriously, look into these symptoms. Look at your friends and family. Do you know anyone with RTA, Ehlers, Fibro or any other chronic pain or invisible illness? If you do, research. Even if you don't. Arm yourself with knowledge. Believe me, these people have enough frustration in their lives than to have to deal with their friends and family doubting them too, simply out of ignorance of the facts. Learn. Be kind. Be understanding and be supportive.

Reread this, asking yourself all the while, do you want my life? Do you want your body to have to deal with what mine does? Why not? Guess what? Your "why not" answer is exactly why you shouldn't dismiss those with illnesses you can't see.

Somnambulant Pit Falls

2012-09-07T22:53:00.000-05:00

At some point, early in my life I developed a very bad habit. One that I seem to have passed on to at least one of my children. Unfortunately, that same child has been the victim of my bad habit. You see, I'm a sleepwalker. It's kind of a nuisance. Let's start at the beginning.

When I was young, like really young, I had night terrors. My Mother and Daddy would come into my room in the middle of the night, drawn by my screams, actually they were more like shrieks. They would shake me awake, or so they thought. I never remembered a thing in the morning. But, before my Mother could ask what the dream was, Daddy would say "OK, now go back to sleep", and I did. This started happening when I was about 2 or 3 years old. I still have nightmares, but, we'll get to that later. When I was about 4 the terrors escalated to somnambulance. That's right. The sleepwalking began. It started with just walking around the house, or into my Grandparents bedroom, standing there staring at my Grandpa. It creeped him out a little bit! You can probably imagine that. When I was 5, I went to the neighbor's house, sound asleep. The neighbor opened the door when I knocked at 3a.m., confused because of the time and that no one was there. I was. I was just so small that he didn't see me in the dark. I slipped right passed him and crawled in bed with his daughter, who was my best friend. They found me the next morning and pieced it all together. Of course, I had no memory of it. That was the first sign that this may become a serious problem! And it did.

I've woken up on my neighbors porch, about to knock, with no idea how I got there. Not cool. A friend and I lived together, as teenagers, in a travel trailer behind her mom's place. We were attached to our horse pasture and right on a busy road. More than once I woke up in the morning with mud on my feet and in my bed. My friend (more like my sister) assumed I was getting up to go into her mom's house to use the restroom. When she realized that I was sleepwalking she decided to follow me. She was afraid I would walk into that busy road. I was kind of afraid of that too. So, one night I get up, obviously still asleep, and Tammy follows. I didn't go into the road, nor did I go into her mom's house. Instead, I went into the horse pasture. Well, that explained the mud! I was walking over to my favorite horse, Buckshot, and leaning against him. He would turn his neck so that he was basically holding me up with his head. We would both sleep like that, standing in the pasture. It's kind of sweet actually. I wouldn't move until he shuddered or shook, and spurred me into mobility. Then I'd walk back to our trailer and crawl back into bed, still sound asleep, muddy feet and all. Mystery solved!

As an adult it got worse. Especially after my son was born. Maybe it was the meds, I don't know. See, my son was my only C-section, and I was heavily medicated, since I was an experiment for my doctor. He took my staples out after 21 hours and released me from the hospital after 24. That's a blog in and of itself. But, since he sent me home essentially TAPED shut, he was kind enough to dope me to the gills. Maybe that wasn't such a good thing. The first one that I remember was the computer chair. See, I remember my sleepwalking, now that I'm older. It's like a dream, but I know it has to be real. It just feels different. So the chair. I went into my Mother's office and tried to turn on the computer. Only in my sleep, I failed miserably. I was hitting the power button on the monitor, and just couldn't figure out why it wouldn't come on. So I get the bright idea "If I water it, it'll grow. Then it'll come on!" yeeeeaaahhhhhh...... I go get a glass of water, take it back to the office and pour it over the seat of the chair. Thank God it was just the chair. I realize it's dribbled onto the carpet, so I go get a towel and sop it up. All of this while sound asleep! The next morning my Mother finds towels in the floor around the wet chair and has NO trouble piecing it together. She mentioned it as soon as I woke up, to which I promptly facepalmed. I had really hoped it was I dream only. Dang-it. And THAT, my friends, is NOTHING compared to the next tale!

Because of my son's medical issues, he slept in his carrier with about a ton of receiving blankets folded under him for padding. This way I could keep him elevated into an almost sitting position for his breathing. I slept on the couch, next to him, with my hand on him. Kay'so, one morning, I tell my mother that I have a creeping suspicion the I might have tried to turn my baby into a hot dog. I vaguely remembered gently pulling the third blanket down out from under my son, taking it into the kitchen, partially unfolding it, squirting mustard on it, refolding it and gently replacing it. Yes, mustard. About 2 that afternoon my Mother could stand it no longer. We hadn't looked. I couldn't. I just couldn't bring myself to know the truth. Yup, it was there alright. *Facepalm X10000* Don't get your hopes up. It didn't end there.

During a nap one afternoon, I sat up and asked my Mother "Why do all dreams have to be in toilet seats?...What the hell did I just say?" I had woke mid sentence. About a week after that, and the mustard incident, I was sleeping in my daughters bedroom. My youngest girl was crying, but I was sleeping too hard to hear her. My Step Dad, spurred into motion by the crying, came to the bedroom doorway and threw a flashlight at me. When I sat up he said "I thought you needed to see what you were doing." I said OK, and got up. Neither of us was awake! I picked up one of Erika's shoes and headed for the kitchen, walking past my Step Dad, who was still standing in the doorway, sleeping. I opened the refrigerator, took out the milk, got about an inch away from pouring and woke up. "OH, HELL NO!" I said, put the milk back and headed back to the bedroom to get my crying child. The Step Dad had woken at some point, and as we past each other in the hall he shot me the most awful look and said "Not a word." The next morning my Mother took full advantage of the situation. We were so embarrassed.

Now it's my son's turn. As he got older, he started sleepwalking, too. He just added a twist. He's a sleep eater! The pantry has a slide latch up high because of his sleep eating. It didn't matter what it was, raw spaghetti, bread, cracker, you name it, as long as he could open it with his hands. And he wasn't neat about it, either. One night, when he was about 8, I caught him walking into the kitchen, obviously asleep. I grabbed him carefully by the shoulders and asked him what he was doing. "I want more." he said. "More what?" I asked. More sleep?" He nodded yes, so I walked him back to his bed, quietly chuckling. He's nearly 16 now, and the walking has slowed dramatically. Thank God for that.

He's tall enough to reach the latch.

I Have a Fear of Fear...

2012-09-06T22:24:00.001-05:00


I do. shudder

Everyone is afraid of something. Those who say the aren't are full of it. Take a 500+ pound professional wrestler who happens to have acrophobia to the top of a 45 story building and shove him out on a scaffold, I promise you'd see him cry like a 2 year girl old with a skinned knee. Seriously, try it if you don't believe me. And, if you don't have thanatophobia, because I also promise, that wrestler will kill your ass once you let him back in! I've personally heard grown men with arachnophobia scream like shrieking little female tweens at a midnight Twilight release.We've all heard of people suffering from aquaphobia, agoraphobia, ophidiophobia, astraphobia, trypanophobia, pteromerhanophobia, mysophobia, cynophobia, social phobia, homophobia and scores more! These are common. What about the not so common?

Did you know that there are people out there afraid of knuckle crackers? I mean, I cringe when I hear someone pop the fingers, but, I'm not afraid of it! How about being afraid an inanimate object will come to life and kill you? I can see this one with those creepy ass clown dolls. But, a chair, not so much. I do kind of giggle when I try to imagine it. Fear of bunnies! Ok, to all of the Anya's out there, I am SO sorry. You're missing out. Fear of snails...don't worry, you can outrun them. It's all good. Fear of complex highway systems. Do not come to Houston. Ever. Fear of traffic cones. If I ever met someone with a fear of traffic cones, I would probably sing Orange Barrels non freaking stop! Ok, that's my a*holey side coming out. Sorry....No, I'm really not. Do you remember the show Fear Factor? How do you think they would have handled a fear of elephants? I don't imagine letting one crawl all over a contestant would be in the realm of possibilities. I mean, not unless they wanted a pachyderm sized lawsuit! I really think that fear of food is a ploy. Some genius kid came up with that. "But mom, I can't eat my broccoli, carrots, turnips, cabbage, green beans, liver, onions, because I'm terrified of it! I'll have nightmares and keep you up all night." I'm guessing fear of 1000 Island Dressing is probably more of a fear of wondering what the hell you're eating. Here's some odd ones. Fear that horror movie characters will come to life and get you. Ok, I can see that. I mean, Freddy Kruger. Seriously. Fear of bank tellers? What the...WHY? Fear of people dressed in bunny costumes. I think I just sprayed Sprite through my nose. Ow, ow, ow...REALLY? Fear of Snoop Dogg. I don't even know what to say to that. Why would you be afraid of him? He's just "laid back". Fear of KFC. I can see that one, too, if you're a chicken! <See what I did there? Fear of bathrooms. Dude, life must SUCK for those people! Fear of beeps. Ok, ok a friend is actually afraid of that sound. Beeping anything drives her buggy, but, smoke detectors win first prize. Right beside vacuum cleaners and garbage disposals. Fear of foreheads. Ok, let's mull this one over a bit. A person with this fear must also live in fear of mirrors, touching their own face and other people. I mean, we all have foreheads, right?

It just keeps getting weirder and weirder. Someone out there is afraid of eyeballs. Can you imagine a day with them? I'd be afraid they'd try to jab me in the eye with a sharpened spoon. Or a spork. Fear of objects sticking out of the water. Can you say, shark? Fear of being sucked down a toilet!! Never call this person a turd. Fear of toilet paper. Now there's a person I never want to meet. Unless they shower a lot! Fear of a Flux in the Time-Space Continuum. < Watches way too much SciFi. Actually, here's a better explanation " This fear may best be explained in the following example: Joe was about to cross the a residential street. Now, although there were currently no cars driving by, there have been in the past and will be in the future. He becomes uncertain that it's really NOW now, considering that, as he crosses, past or future events could present themselves and he might be hit. This has been the Submitters fear since about age 10. I really have nothing to compare to this one."
I wonder if they're afraid of Tribbles? Fear of cannibal Siamese twins?? Again I say, WTF?? Fear of ghost cows. I feel your fear. They haunt McDonald's. Last week I heard a kid saying they saw dead hamburgers. Fear of being drowned by peacocks. Well, it would be a colorful death, at least. Fear that evil midgets are spying on you. Shhh...they are. I saw them.

All things considered, I feel better about my fears now. They aren't that weird after all. I'm terrified of drowning, being suffocated (in any manor, including from a stopped up nose), spider, bridges, cockroaches and maggots. Yes, I said maggots *gag, shudder*.

What are you afraid of?

Relationships: What Hasn't Worked For Me

2012-09-06T16:55:00.001-05:00

In every relationship there are trials. You either work through them or you don't. If you love someone you work through them, no matter what. It takes two to work through them. An sometimes, you find you're the only one fighting for the relationship. Sometimes, you find that you're in a relationship with a complete and total douche face. That's happened to me WAY too many times. But, I have to say, I learned a lot from them. I learned what to avoid. I learned what signs to watch out for. Unfortunately, I learned to be a paranoid little freak when it comes to men. Most importantly, I learned who I am and what I deserve.

I had some bad ones. And, by bad I mean men who should have been locked away for life or just shot on sight. We're talking the worst of the worst. I can't find the right words to describe them. Asshole just doesn't cover it. I have been beaten within an inch of my life. I've taken over 100 punches to the head by a grown man. I've been choked, had my cheek broken, bone chips in my legs, pans of boiling things thrown at me (I ducked the grease, but the ravioli made contact), stabbed, shot at, stalked, hit with my own car, etc etc. A couple of days ago someone who doesn't know me said I needed to educate myself on abuse. Holy crap that was a mix of hysterical laughter and raging anger. Me? Not educated on abuse? Yeah frelling right!!!! I have first hand education. And let me tell you, each of those men was a con artist, ass-face, turd burgling, MEGA DOUCHE!

So what, exactly have I learned? Well, I've learned that a background check is a damn good thing and must be done. I learned that you never, never, never let a man that you think you care about pressure you into sex because you feel guilty about saying no. If they really care, there will be no guilt. If you let them have you when you don't want to, you will resent them forever. And you have reason to. I learned that they won't stop at once if they've hit you. You should run, and run fast. I learned that people can get addicted to anything, even rehab. Avoid those people at all costs. I've learned that instinct is a good thing. Listen to it. I've learned that you can't fix a relationship by yourself, and sometimes it isn't worth fixing. I learned that if you try and the other person does not, when the relationship ends, you did not fail. I learned that I am me and should stay me. Never change who you really are because someone else wants you to. Changing bad habits is one thing. Changing your personality is out of the question. I learned that the slogan "You can't truly love someone else until you love yourself" is true, but on a much deeper level than people usually take it.

I am who I should be. And who ever is with me has to accept that. Just as I have to accept him for who he is. Flaws and all. Granted, my husbands flaws drive me bat shit crazy. Mine drive him crazy too. But, we don't hide that from each other. He knows which of his flaws bug me, and I know which of mine bug him. There was a time in our relationship when communication failed. We stopped...well, HE stopped communicating the important things, and we nearly lost it. That was fixed though. Trust is very important, and I have trust issues. Serious trust issues. But I'm trying. I'm working on it. I've only recently learned that he has the same issues on a lesser level. I saw jealousy for the first time from him 2 nights ago, when he got upset over a friend flirting with me on FB. No, I don't flirt back. If the Hub does something that I consider disrespectful, I tell him. And, I do all I can to avoid disrespecting him. We are polite to each other, saying thank you and you're welcome, please, etc. Too many people take that for granted and forget to be polite. We don't skimp on the "I love you"s. We don't take each other for granted, because we know how fast it can all fall apart, and how we feel when it does. So far, that's all working out pretty well. Of course we fight. Every couple does at some point. If you haven't yet, you will. We have problems, but we won't let them kill us. We aren't happy with the state of our lives, but we are happy with each other. He lets me be me. He's happy with the nerd that I am, the smart ass that I am and the Virgo that I am.

It hasn't always been that way. Not for me. In past relationships I was told that I was worthless, stupid, lazy, ugly, the works. It wasn't nice, and I believed it. I felt like less than a person. They thought that beating me down, making me think no one else would ever want me was the way to keep me there. They were wrong. "You're nothing without me." "You live in a fantasy world if you think you can make it without me." "Why don't you dress like her?" "Why don't you look like her?" "That looks better on her." "No one would ever love you, I don't even know why I do. You're lucky you have me." Oh, yes. I've heard some good ones. I was stupid. I was stupid for believing it. I didn't STAY stupid. I got the hell out. Guss what, guys? Those little tidbits are NOT the way to keep a relationship going. Neither is physical abuse. Those are the main topics, so they get covered first.

What else doesn't work? Disappearing. Like, going into your own little world and tuning out your mate. This can be books, music, video games, anything. We all need an escape every once in a while. But, not all day every day. If you give your mate some of your time, they will respect you for it. For most women that emotional connection is the most important. And, when you deny us that, you start the process of ending your relationship. Savvy? Put down the game controller and pick up your partners hand! Kiss with emotion. Be romantic every so often. Granted too much romance, too much sap can be, well, too much. My Hub is the king of anti romance, but, even he caves on occasion. If you give gifts put thought into it. Or better yet, make it! Be a shoulder. Be a partner, equal in all things. Be a confidant. Be trustworthy. LISTEN to each other. Actively listening means so much. Let the little things go. Don't blow up over the smallest little fault. Things happen, people make mistakes. Let them. It happens. It doesn't mean you have to rip each others throats out over things that are meaningless. So your mate ate the last piece of pizza that you wanted for lunch. So what? Find something else and hope he/she enjoyed it! It all comes down to being there for one another. Be considerate. Say you know your mate is sitting at home with not but tap water to drink and you, an your way home, stop by the store for a drink. Get them one too! Don't come home with a giant 60oz fountain drink of something they hate and nothing for them. It's rude, among other things. If you see something they would like, you can afford it, and it calls to you, get it. Do NOT be controlling. Some people can stand to be controlled. I, however, am not one of those people. Tell me what to do, how to live, who to be friends with, where I can and can't go, what I can and can't say, who to be just once! I dare you. Respect each other, first and foremost.

I'm not one to be giving relationship advice. Mine has had it's rocky moments. My past has been a landslide. But, I know what doesn't work. For me anyway.

I'm a Kissaholic

2012-09-05T17:03:00.002-05:00

Ok, I want to make something very clear before I go any farther. I am NOT talking about any person in particular. Not one. I'm talking about MY preferences with a generalized partner. Okay? Okay.


I love kiddie kisses.

I AM a kissaholic. I love kissing. Is that so bad? I love the little kisses that your kids give you on the cheek. I love the sloppy slobber kisses they give you on the lips as toddlers. I think those kisses, kid kisses are my favorite. Even as teenager and adults, I love kid kisses! It's a warm fuzzy feeling when you get kid kisses. Even if they aren't your kids. I love kisses from my kids most, but friends kids kisses, niece and nephew kisses, they are all awesome.

But, kisses with an adult partner, we'll call him/her the KP from here on out, THOSE are the best kisses.

I love the pecks on the lips. The simple hello's or goodbye's. I absolutely melt for kisses on the forehead. Even a kiss on the cheek makes me happy. I love kisses. But, those little pecks speak. They say "I care about you" and in some cases " love you". A tiny peck can speak volumes. They make me feel good. They make me feel cared for. And, they make me feel appreciated enough for the KP to trust their lips on my face. They make me feel like I mean something to someone. Even if that someone is just a friend. Actually, friend kisses are some of the best. Only a true friend will kiss you.

There's the sensual kiss. The one that says "I WANT you , right now!" Those are amazing. Or, can be. There are several types of sensual, or lust filled kisses. Personally, I'm not a fan of tight lipped kisses. The kind where your KPs lips are pulled so tight that it feels a lot like you're kissing a brick wall. When they do this, they usually tighten their tongues, too. So, it feels like a worm trying to push it's way into your mouth. There's NOTHING sexy about that. Soften up, people! Those are the best. I love soft kisses. Even if the urgency is there, your lips can still be soft, loose. They're passionate kisses that make me feel wanted. Dare I say, sexy, even. And, that's a rare thing for me. It's a deep, urgent, pressing, demanding kiss that I want in that situation. I want to KNOW that my KP wants me more than anything else at that moment. But, it's still not my favorite kind of kiss.Kiddie kisses top the list, but, the Love kiss....THAT one comes in second.

The "I love you more than anything on this Earth and would be ruined without you" kiss. You know the one I mean. The kiss that tells you, no, SHOWS you that your KP feels everything that you are. That you are connected in an unbreakable way. The kiss that you feel in your very soul, and you swear that you can feel your KPs soul as well. The kind of kiss that melts reality, and leaves nothing but the two of you. Nothing else exists. It can be sensual or just loving, and it can last for hours. Just kissing for hours with no other thought than those of the person you're kissing, and how amazing it is to be able to feel how they feel about you. That's my second favorite kind of kiss. It's nearly indescribable. It's amazing. It's ...ahhhhhhh.

Oh yes. I AM a kissaholic. Now, don't take that to mean I'll kiss anyone. I won't. I'm not a kiss whore! lol. But, I do love to kiss when I have the opportunity. I'll take it. Not with anyone, remember that. Besides, I'm married. So, I have only one KP. But, I kissed before we met, and I had my preferences already. I know what I like. Everyone should. And I'll tell you this, if you have a specific way you like to be kissed, go for it. Don't just settle with a kisser your not pleased with. Guide them. It is possible. Show them, lead them with your own kisses. You never know, you may find out that you're both a fan of soft kisses, or hard kisses, or the love kiss. You'll never know unless you try. So you know, I'm not telling anyone to go become a kiss whore! Work with what you have! LOL.

Hectic Hemiplegic Headache

2012-09-05T14:33:00.005-05:00

This post was written by Spawn #1, AKA JessiKa. This is very important information, for those of you who have never heard of it, and/or may be experiencing something similar. Or, if you know someone who is. Pleas read.

Hectic Hemiplegic Headache

Do you ever get that feeling...

That you have so much to say and to rant about and when you're saying it to someone you can get your point across much faster than if you were typing it? That's my problem. I have so much to rant about all the time, but I never have the typing speed I need to type it all out fast enough to convey the anger I am feeling. Don't get me wrong, I can type upwards of 85 WPM. It's just when it comes to ranting, sometimes I need the ability to type up to 250 WPM. Which I know some people can do, I think. But ranting very angrily through text (or type) is really hard to do, even when flaming. Yes, flaming. You know, typing in all caps trying to convey yelling when it's actually very against proper internet etiquette? Yeah, flaming. All caps wouldn't get my point across anyway. Too much yelling to do.

Anyway, I am pregnant with my second child. I'm absolutely stoked! However, when I am pregnant, I have this problem that happens with my body. I get blind spots in my eye (usually just one) while watching tv, or something like that. If I close my left eye, I can't see half of a person's face out of my right, but if I close my right eye, the vision in my left eye is fine. That's usually how it starts. Then I start to feel a little bit light-headed. I'll move to my bedroom and lay down, because I feel like I am going to pass out. I get an overwhelming sense of fatigue, and try to rest through it. While that happens however, my hearing starts to fade. My husband will be talking to me, and I will be answering him, but the answers don't make sense. When he asks me something, I have to stop and and ask him "What?" and he repeats himself. Then I get confused about what I'm saying AS I AM SAYING IT. Then I'm sitting there trying to understand what he is saying, trying to understand what my brain is trying to get me to say, and then suddenly my right arm, and the right side of my face go numb. My arm goes weak. I can't pick up my arm much higher than stomach level. It seems bad, right? Like a stroke... But about twenty to thirty minutes later... It's gone. Just as suddenly as it appeared. And it's crazy because it's part of my migraines (which are painless during this episode.) I finally got tired of not knowing what was causing this, because I KNOW it isn't normal, but I also know that it's not a stroke. Strokes don't go away with time, they get worse. So I started doing some research, and I found out that the episodes I was going through are called "Hemiplegic Migraines." This WebMD article explains more.

When I finally learned what it was, do you have any idea the excitement I felt? No, You don't. Everyone has their own personal level of excitement when finding something like this. Mine was so great I told everyone I could in ten minutes. And now that Facebook is out, a larger number of people can be reached in a shorter amount of time.
Anyway, I do have class here soon, and I still have to go back to my apartment to get my book for Algebra. (Yippee..) HOWEVER, cool thing about Algebra, it's my former Elementary School Principal, Mr. Reid. Super COOL! :D

I figured I wrote enough about this right now. If I wasn't on a time limit I would DEFINITELY write more, but alas, I'm screwed. :)

I'll post more later.

FIN.

Stupidity Kills

2012-09-05T12:21:00.001-05:00

I want to feel bad for the truly stupid. I really do. But, then, what would we have to laugh at? Before you get your panties in a bunch, I'm not talking about people with learning disabilities, or any physiological reason for their stupidity. I'm talking about people who lack common sense, though deep down they know that what they are about to do will end in disaster. You know the ones. People who yell "Hold my beer and watch this"! THOSE ~~people~~ morons. People who are the inspiration for every single WTF warning label you've ever read.

Okay, come on! If some moron hadn't TRIED some of these idiotic things, the manufacturers wouldn't feel the need to warn us about common sense things. Right? "Remove baby before storing"...NO! I want to fold my child up inside their stroller and lock their squalling little asses in the closet! Really folks? Are we that stupid? "Do Not Use in Shower"...Why not? The shower is where I always blow dry and curl my hair! It's a little difficult, but hey, beauty isn't easy! "Warning, alcohol my intensify drowsiness and effect your ability to operate heavy machinery" on a pet med bottle. Damn. Take away all my fun! I love getting my dog drunk and giving him the keys to my tractor. It's a hoot! On a package of peanuts, "Warning, this product may contain nuts." Ya think? O.o On a cream bottle "avoid contact with eyes, ears and brain"...BRAIN??? Who the hell tried to put hemorrhoid cream on their brain? And, did they survive? God, I hope not. On an automatic shower cleaner "not a body wash". *sigh* "Do not iron while wearing shirt" Okay, I got a visual on that one. Someone HAD to have tried it. OUCH! I'm guessing it didn't work out.

"Never use an open flame to check fuel level." OOoooookay, I have personal experience with this one. NO, I DID NOT try this. My neighbor, years ago, had the gas man checking the lines in her kitchen while she and her family were eating breakfast. Yup, he used a lighter. Her 10 year old son ran down the road with 3rd degree burns on his feet to get help. The explosion knocked out the neighbor and burned her 10 and 5 year old sons and her 1 year old daughter. The gas man died. See? Stupidity kills.


The McDonalds lawsuit story.

The Dremel drill says it's not intended as a medical device. Again, damn. I was planning on fixing a cavity in my cats tooth later today. "If you cannot understand, or cannot read, all direction, cautions and warnings, do not use this product" Right, because if I can't read, I know exactly what that says. How about the case of the McDonald coffee cup? They had to add a warning label because of someones stupidity. Odds are, if you order hot coffee, it's going to be what? HOT! You idiot! Ugh. And this dingbat got MILLIONS of dollars in her lawsuit.

Hey, who wants to use a microwave to dry their pets? Or children? Ohhh, me, me! And, really, I need a diagram showing me EXACTLY where on my body a hat goes. I thought butt was a good choice, but you, oh warning label, you set me straight. "Caution: Avoid dropping air conditioners out of windows" But, what if someone I don't like is underneath it? "Warning: Do not use while sleeping." But, but, but..I HAVE to blow-dry my hair in my sleep. I don't want to wake up tp wet hair. :( "1. Do not use to pick up gasoline or flammable liquids 2. Do not use to pick up anything that is currently burning." Ok, warning label. I'll trust you and not vacuum my campfire. "This is NOT a life saving device!!!" <---On a LIFE RAFT! I guess we're just screwed, then. "Warning: Cape does not enable user to fly." On a costume. Tough luck, dude. Now get off the ledge. "On bottom side: “Keep Upright”. Ooops. Too late. "Warning: Remove label before placing in microwave. Moet White Star Champagne" Who the hell nukes their champagne?

Seriously, people, if you have done any of these things, if you NEED these labels, or if you're the REASON for these labels, DO NOT reproduce. I beg of you!

Homicidal Cell Phone

2012-09-05T10:40:00.000-05:00


^ That's my phone, alright.

My phone wants me dead. I'm sure of it. And when it can't outright kill me or annoy me to death it tries to commit suicide. You'll see.

At first it was true love. I got a new Samsung Galaxy with the Wall-Mart Straight Talk plan, and I was in hog heaven! I had an awesome Droid, without a shattered screen on a plan I could afford. I was loving the bells and whistles, and loved the swype feature. All went well for a little while. Then, it all went wrong. It started with the swype feature doing annoying things with my texts. It seemed to relish making up words for me. It wasn't just that it made them up. It was that it auto-corrected AFTER I hit send. *Facepalm* Then it happened. It decided that since annoying me to death wasn't working, it would change tactics. It would try embarrassment. Oh, joy. Suddenly "I bed nerds". O.O WTF?? Really, phone? Really?

This went on for a while. Then, it developed homicidal tendencies. Don't believe me? I have proof. This was copied from my facebook page. IT was a conversation between myself and my BFF. See for yourself!
My uplifting conversation for the day with Elizabeth Mathews Spivey. Unfortunately it's also proof that my phone is out to get me.

Elizabeth: Leave it to you to nerd it up a little, lol.

Me: Well, my phone does believe I bed nerds instead of need meds. It also said that I'm shitty when I was trying to say short. Proof that my phone hates me.

Elizabeth: Autocarrot hates you ;)

Me: Intensely...

which it turned into internally. It flat out says it hates my guts.

Elizabeth: It could have easily changed it eternally, lol.

Me: I'm shrouded...omfg....ok. 2nd try. I'm surprised it didn't. Tho, after the shrouded thing, I think it just DID. It wants me dead. :(

Elizabeth: Watch your back ;)

Me: If Clive Barker and Steven King had a kid, it would have the personality of my phone.

Elizabeth: Personally, I think you just jinx your stuff...remember the Ipod?

Me: Ipods...plural.

Elizabeth: Just proves my point. Don't ever touch my phone, lol

See? IT want's me dead. This, too, went on for some time. Actually, it still goes on. But, when it couldn't find a way to actually kill me, it opted for suicide. NOT. KIDDING. I was painting my rabbit hutch one day, and sat my phone on the wire part of the enclosure. Now, I sat it a good foot from the edge of the cage. Someone called me. The phone took advantage. It BOUNCED across the top of the wire enclosure, and I do mean bounced, itself off the edge and landed in a bucket of paint, located another 3 feet from where I'd originally sat the phone...to keep it safe. So, I plunge my hand into the slimy grey paint and haul ass up the stairs. Of course the nearest thing to me was a dirty sock. That's what I used, initially, to clean the damn thing. I get it pulled apart and go to town with Q-Tips and paint brushes, cleaning every little circuit. After much CPR, it did survive. But to show it's disdain, it now makes me use speaker on any and all phone calls. Little arsehole. I think it might have given up on that little trick.

It still tries to annoy me to death. Autocarrotcucumberincorrect gets me every time. Everyone says turn it off. One word. Swype. It doesn't work without it, and the buttons on my keyboard are just too small for regular typing. This phone WILL be the death of me. You just watch and see!

Animal Antics: The Hairy Theif.

2012-09-05T01:44:00.000-05:00

Apparently, the Hub has no ability to say no to pets. That's how we ended up with so many. He's a dog person, I'm a cat person, but, there's one pet we agree on wholeheartedly. The ferret. Oh, my word and all that is good in the world, the ferret. That hairy little thieving BASTARD! The only pet we have that we can just sit and watch for hours on end. He is entertainment personified. Or, animalsonified. Whatever. He's funny. Gwin was a runaway, found on the side of the highway. I can see how. He's a nosy little butt. And, on occasion, not the sharpest tool in the shed. Little Mr lazy will eat from his hammock, which means he eats hanging upside down. Have you ever tried to eat upside down? What do you think would happen if you did? That's right. *retch gag retch* He can't keep it in. Does he learn from this? HELL NO! He still does it. A year of vomiting and he has yet to figure out that being lazy is what's causing it!


My Gwin-y poopoo!

Lets start with sleep. It is true that a ferret can sleep for up to 18 hours a day. I'm so jealous! That lazy little bugger can pass out absolutely anywhere. He does have his favorites, though. At present, his favorite in the front of the house is in the drawer at the bottom of the stove. You can always tell when he's in there, too. He's not a still sleeper. It sounds like a band of really bad drummers hanging out in my kitchen! Now, in the back of the house his favorite is in the towel basket, under the bathroom sink. This isn't good when you have to creep into the bathroom in the middle of the night. If you startle him awake while he's in the basket he goes spastic. He'll launch himself out of the basket, scratch, then toe attack. Not. Fun. Not at all at 2a.m. He loves his hammock, but he loves his pirate ship hammock even more. He's so spoiled.

Oh, the dancing! It's hilarious! If you've never been around ferrets and see one dance for the first time you'd think there was something wrong with him. Like he's epileptic. Or crazy. Or about to launch into an attack. Or all three! The ferret dance is an amazing display of areal acrobatics,contortionist antics, and flat out spazzing I've ever seen. Thank God it means he's happy! I'd be worried, otherwise. As soon as he's let out of his cage the dance starts. If I put him on the bed the dance starts. If he sees a cat...you get the idea. It's very entertaining. He starts the dance when he wants to play with the Hub, then dives under the covers to find his toes, then back out to attack his hands, then falls off of the bed backwards. Yes, very entertaining.


He won't leave my mop bucket alone!


This isn't Gwin, but this IS what we face when he sees TOES!

Play time is just a thing of joy. I've never seen a creature put so much joy into playtime, besides Dolphins. It's sheer childlike pleasure! He's just so...happy. And mischievous. He's our only ferret, so the cats are his only wrestle mates. They aren't too happy about this, but he loves it! Before my dog, Buddy (Jack Russell) passed away, Gwin and he were wrestle mates. I'm betting you can guess that Gwin won. Little turd. He doesn't play fair. He uses his size and ability to disappear under EVERY piece of furniture to his advantage. I once had a ferret that would entice our lab puppy into chasing him through the house, running at full speed, then diving under the dresser at the last second. The poor pup would plow headlong into the dresser. Mean ass hair ball. And THIEVES! If Gwin sees something he wants, he takes it. My toothbrush has been stolen more than once. I've had to zip shut every bag in the house to prevent theft of important items. He has some weird addiction to my sicks and bras and the Hubs undies. O.o Perv. And plastic bags. If he hears a bag rattle, he comes running. I've found him curled up, asleep in a grocery bag many times. Oh, and just TRY to vacuum. I can't vacuum if he isn't safely locked in his cage. He chases the vacuum cleaner, barking at it, just like a dog would. He's so small, I'm afraid of running over him. I mean, he's the largest ferret I've ever seen, but still. Smaller than a Dyson! He grabs the bars of his cage and shakes them, barking at the vacuum. It's crazy! But when he gets into his favorite position, I just can't resist him. That would be the Rock a Bye Baby. He likes for me to hold him like a baby. Can you say AWWWWWW???

I love my Gwin. We could just watch him play for hours. Or play with him. He likes to wait for the Hub to fall asleep, then creep in to bite his nose. Can you see why I love him? We're looking for a playmate for him. He has a buddy, a cute little girl ferret named Bella. But, he doesn't see her often. I want another ferret to live with Gwin. Keep him company. If you've never owned a ferret, I highly recommend them. They are amazing little animals. Please watch the attached video. It'll tell you all you need to know about whether or not ferret ownership is worth it!