Life As 5

Lucy's Big Adventure

2013-05-21T09:41:00.000-07:00

I write about Lucy and how much she lights up my life, and then I picture spam the post showing you how ridiculous she looks most of the time...And then...

We have a minor ant issue happening in the Roth House, so the Husbeast bought some traps. Yesterday, in the middle of making brownies with the kids I spy a little ant crawling by the sink. Remembering said ant traps, I walk into the other room and retrieve one out of the box. (The box was sitting on the sofa table because the rest were to be staked outside).

*ANYWAY*

I lay the ant trap behind the sink, and as i'm placing the trap I decide to go back and grab the box to lock up so the kids wouldn't get into it.

I forgot about one of my kids...

So, let's say a total of 10 seconds has passed? I walk back into the room and my dumbass dog has EATEN THE INSIDE OF TWO TRAPS. What was going through her mind that she decided they looked and smelled delicious is beyond me. (Amazingly, the box was still on the sofa table, stealthy little bitch).

Naturally, I panic. I immediately call the vet, and it goes something like this:

Me: Lucy ate two ant traps and I'm not sure what to do.
Lady: Let me get the Doctor on the phone.
Doctor: Ok, you need to take a turkey baster, fill it with peroxide and squirt it into her mouth until she throws up.
Me: I, uh...what?
Doctor: Turkey baster, peroxide, vomit.
Me: Well that sounds like fun.
Me: I don't have any peroxide.
Doctor: Bring her in.

Miss Ant Trap Eater had to stay at the vet all day. He got her to vomit twice, and she is fine.

She, of course, was so excited to see me when I picked her up she peed all over me and the floor. Then when I was writing a check she tried to knock a cat carrier over, get behind the desk, and wrap me up like a mummy with her leash. Once we got home the excitement and stress of her big day was just too much for her and she climbed under the blanket, glued herself to my side and slept the rest of the night away.

I'm almost positive I sprouted a few more gray hairs yesterday.

She was too tired to move

I would like to think she will make better chewing choices in the future, but I doubt it.

Lucia, The Wonder Dog

2013-05-17T07:12:00.000-07:00

I write about a lot of serious topics. It gets pretty heavy here on Life as 5. I want you to know that I have a lot of joy in my life, on top of the stress. One of my favorite sources of love is my dog. Her name is Lucia, but we call her Lucy, Lucille, Lucy-Loo, Dumbass, and Get The Hell Out Of The Trash. Family friends found her wandering down the road when she was a pup, and since she's become a part of our lives she has become my constant companion. She is sensitive to my moods, and knows when her mommy needs extra love and attention. On days when I am laying on the couch, somehow her warm body molds around me and her unending devotion and unconditional love remind me that I am worthy.

Lucia is a beautiful dog, thick muscled and strong. The vet believes she is a BeaBull (Beagle/Bulldog) and she is lovely.

She's just not, erm...photogenic. She's kind of...derpy.

"Who you calling Derpy, bitch?"

Fake smile

Ok, in her defense she had a staph infection and was tripping balls here.

This is her displeased face

Derp

Super Derp

Senior Picture Pose Derp

Happy Lucy

Insane Lucy

"Meh" Lucy

I don't even know what to categorize this as...

I'll call this one "Ignore the fact my head looks like a peanut and bask in the love...awwwww"

Happy Friday!

Scars

2013-05-13T08:07:00.000-07:00

A less-than flattering post recently made about me (yawn) addressed (among other things) the fact that I have grappled with self-harm. The blogger stated: "She had openly admitted on being violent toward herself (physically)."

I think this needs addressed. Yes, I have struggled with this issue on and off for many years. I'm not going to lie about it, it's an unfortunate part of who I am. I'm obviously not proud of this issue but I refuse to let this attempt to belittle me bring me down, so i'll use it to educate. I think the blogger meant to make themselves appear "better than a self-harmer" or that i'm "crazy." (Only I can call myself crazy, yo.) The entire post is a means to shame me , and that's just silly. So onward we go...

So, let's start by defining self-harm/self-injury. The Mayo Clinic's definition is as follows: "Self-injury, also called self-harm, is the act of deliberately harming your own body, such as cutting or burning yourself. It's typically not meant as a suicide attempt. Rather, self-injury is an unhealthy way to cope with emotional pain, intense anger and frustration."

If you have ever been around someone who self-harms, then you know it's a long and difficult road. It usually starts in the teen/young adult years. I started when I was a teenager, cutting on parts of my body that were easily hidden. I'll call the times I've cut myself through the years relapses, as it's not been a constant in my life.

The reason I had my most recent relapse was what I felt was the absence of hope. The frustration of never feeling well, having no answers or relief, depression, anxiety, racing thoughts led me to release, or cope in an unhealthy way.

I know it is a hard concept for people to digest, it's hard for me and I suffer from it. It's not a pretty situation, and I (literally) have the scars to prove it.

These are my scarred upper legs. Cutting doesn't make me a bad person, or violent, or crazy, or disturbed. It doesn't mean i'm a bad mother, wife, friend, daughter. These scars are a part of my journey, and I won't let someone who refuses to understand use this pain to their advantage.

I'm showing you this so you can understand how someone can love and hate themselves at the same time. I have fought tooth and nail to get mentally healthy, but that I struggle at times with something I don't even understand. I promise not to give up, as long as you promise, too.

Redefined

2013-05-09T14:19:00.002-07:00

Lately I have been reflecting on what was written about me on that silly troll list, specifically: "Death makes her feel important and defines her."

A funny little sentence, that is. Let us dissect it together. Crack the bones and really dig in to the gristle and marrow of what they are saying.

"Death makes her feel important."

I've pondered over this for some time. I'm not going to talk much about it because, well frankly, it's dumb. Death does not make me feel important, it makes me feel powerless. Death scares the shit out of me, befuddles me, amazes me, worries me, keep adding a bunch of words to describe the indescribable...but don't add "important" in there until the day my days end. That is when I get to feel important, it's my big day after all!

The second part: "Death defines her." Now this I could go on and on about. Who isn't defined by death, who hasn't been touched in one way or another by someone they love passing away? Does it define me because I write about it? Does it define me because I don't stamp it down and pretend i'm shitting butterflies and rainbows instead? That I accept grieving as a palpable, life changing event? I am defined by grief, simply because I love. I love deeply, and by loving deeply I feel deeply. When someone I love passes away and I know I have to move on without them, it changes me. With that change, I am REDEFINED. I am never the same after I lose someone, how could I be? Someone who changes pieces of me while they were alive will most certainly change pieces of me after they are gone. I'd like to call it common sense, or maybe I'll call it "normal human emotion."

I think the problem is that I don't hide the ugly bits of my life, and that is hard for people to accept. They are very busily weaving their facade, creating their perfect lies (life)and I have accepted that life (and I) are deeply, deeply flawed. Call me anything you want, but don't call me contrived. (For the record, I prefer being called a pretty, pretty princess.)

Ennui

2013-04-03T19:33:00.001-07:00

I feel paralyzed by an invisible enemy, known only to me. There is no simple way to describe my foe, for he is mine alone.

He is my curse, his desiccated remains heavy on my back, sharp clawed hands brutally wrapped around my neck choking me. My albatross, my illness. He breathes untruths into my ear, secrets to painful to reveal. He is what makes me feel shame, remorse, useless. He does not rest, for what creature such as this would need rest? His sustenance is my weakness, he feeds off my fear and my faults. Every misstep brings him glee, he bathes himself in my self-loathing.

He is never quiet, although at times he is drowned out by the hope in my heart. Even he can't break through that last piece of me, for that is my stronghold. My heart is strong with love, the whole of it inflamed to bursting by one unwavering love of a man and three sets of eyes . Two so much like their fathers, and one matching mine. Their love comes with no canon, it just is. That is a nourishing love, a love that keeps me existing even when I feel the demons never-ending weight slowing me, making me crawl and grasp and cling.

He is relentless, he leads me down dark twisted paths in my mind. He twists my stomach and confuses my thoughts. Will I ever live without this beast, or is he forever entwined within me? Am I to walk this road for the rest of my days feeling half whole, feeding him, sustaining him?

Someday I will learn to carry this burden. Someday I will be stronger than this unwanted invader. Sometime he shall bow to me.

From Failure Forward, Part Five: I can swallow five pills at once.

2013-04-02T15:38:00.000-07:00

I started getting ridiculously sick when I got out of the hospital. I got a nasty flu, and I couldn't shake it. Then I got a stomach virus, then the flu flared back up until I was on the brink of pneumonia followed by another round of stomach flu, rinse and repeat. After some hefty medications, I was exhausted and burnt out. I was barely eating, constantly sleeping, my depression was awful. I ended up back at my doctor and she ran a ton of tests. I am deficient in Vitamin D and the Epstein-Barr virus is active in my system. I had mono when I was 20, and for reasons unknown the E-B reactivated, that's what they think was killing my immune system. Both my doctor and my Psychiatrist also think I am suffering from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, but that is still up in the air as of today.

I take a Vitamin D supplement and a prescribed vitamin that is gigantic. I take those in addition to: a mood stabilizer, an anti-depressant, an allergy medication, and a fast acting anti-anxiety medicine for those "special times" when i'm losing my shit. All that adds up to me having to buy a Day/Night pill organizer which *officially* makes me old. Also, I've learned to swallow lots of pills at once. Except the vitamin, that thing hitches it's own ride, it's ridiculous.

I do not want to be Bipolar. Which is, of course, a stupid sentence. Who wants to be Bipolar? It's true though. When I was in the tiny office with Dr. B and he was telling me that I was Bipolar and the reasons why I was so out of control, that I was going to get better...I was both relieved and devastated. I was hoping he would tell me my depression was really bad, or I just just a giant baby, but that's not what he said. That was not reality. And there is nothing to do but to accept what is.

I am learning everyday what works for me and what doesn't. I get overwhelmed extremely easily. I do better when I have something small to focus on. Painting and creating helps. Protein drinks work when i'm not hungry. If someone is visibly ill I run screaming in the other direction. Talking things out with Sara, Jennifer, and my long lost but no longer lost friend Dan helps me everyday. Knowing I have friends that love me no matter what is an irreplaceable stepping stone in my journey to healing. Letting myself grieve Christians death helped, my family helps. So does root beer and hot chocolate. Leaving somewhere when I get uncomfortable or overwhelmed is an embarrassing but necessary action for me. Time alone, a good book, and a long soak in the tub are healing. Not lying about being okay, facing my demons, and remembering my medicines are key. Asking for help is a must. Forcing myself to do a little every day keeps me accountable for my actions.

It hasn't been an easy road. There are days when I just can't deal with life. I lay on the couch and clutch my pillow to my chest and just breathe. Other days I'm up and cleaning and doing errands and being supermom-wife-friend. I know someday i'll even out, that I'll have way more good days than bad days, I know someday i'll get there. I know because I have hope, and I have faith. Faith in myself, faith in God, faith in my family and friends. I am loved, I am worthy of love no matter how sick I am, and I am needed on this earth by those people whom I love and who love me. I am not the sum of my illness, I won't give it that power.

From Failure Forward, Part Four: Hope

2013-04-01T07:04:00.001-07:00

I stood in the doorway of my room in the hospital, trying to absorb what I was seeing. The walls were pock-marked and dirty, there were holes in the wall where a clock once hung. There was a bed with a thin blanket and plastic coated pillow, a nightstand, and the obligatory hospital tray/desk/object to trip over. It was stark, cold, and I felt empty looking at it. The kind nurse walked me through getting ready for bed, giving me the knock me on my ass pill, and telling me everything was going to be okay.

A voice over a speaker above my head woke me up. The disembodied voice told me it was breakfast time. After a feeble attempt to tame my hair with a hospital issued comb, I shuffled down the hallway in yesterday's clothes and hospital socks. At the nurses station they talked me through ordering food, and where to go eat, and what was going to happen on my first day. I nervously went to the common area to wait for my breakfast. What kind of people was I going to encounter? Were they going to be like me, or were they going to be every stereotype portrayed in the "loony bin" movies? People starting wandering in, some looking glazed over, others looking nervous or sad. Old, young, male, female we all united in one common goal: get food into our bodies so we could shake the residual disorientation from the sleeping pills in our systems. Once the coffee started flowing and the trays were passed out, conversations started popping up. The twisting in my gut eased just a little.

After breakfast I went back to my room, tidied up my bed area, lined up all the toiletries on the bathroom shelf by size and shape, refolded the bath towels so they were nice and even, and then sat down to read the folder they gave me the night before.

Sitting in that bare room, missing my kids and my husband...I felt so isolated and alone. I felt empty, lost, confused. Angry at myself for not being "normal". Embarrassed and ashamed that I was in the psych ward. I laid my head in my hands and just sat there, lost. Lost, but with a flicker of hope. It was small, but it was there.

One of the therapists came in and we talked for a while. She asked to hear my story and I told her. Then she took me down to the Recreational Therapy room to do crafts. There are few things in life more surreal than making a mosaic next to a drug addict and across from a woman who kept falling asleep mid-craft. I fluctuated between wanting to laugh hysterically and weep. After arts and crafts we had group. That also made me want to laugh hysterically and weep, but for a completely different reason. The stories we were telling, the horrible things people thought and felt. The absence of hope, peace, sleep. The heavy feeling that wouldn't go away, confusion about how we all ended up being this way. The silence from ones that couldn't find the words, the kindness of the therapists. It was very overwhelming. I didn't know, I still don't know, how to process hearing all the different reasons we believed we hated ourselves. It made me incredibly sad, but also less alone. Less like a sideshow, more like a "normal" flawed human.

I spent three days in the hospital. I learned I was bipolar and why the medicine I was on before was making me worse. How I had to keep hope alive. That was the main theme of that place: Hope. Without hope, I have nothing. Without hope I start thinking about ways to numb myself, hurt myself, end myself. Without hope that things would get better, I forgot how much I loved being alive. I would have never remembered if not for my new psychiatrist, the nurses, the therapists, and the other patients. I could go on for days about the things I learned about myself and other people during my stay, but I can't. There are just some things I don't have the words for still. Maybe someday I will.

Come back and find out how my life has changed in the last 6 months, for better and for worse, tomorrow.

From Failure Forward, Part Three: Someone Saved My Life Tonight

2013-03-27T12:16:00.000-07:00

One Saturday night in November I was laying in the bath. It was one of my usual routines, if I got uncomfortable or overwhelmed I would go float in hot water for a few hours. My husband came in and knelt next to the tub, rubbing my legs and murmuring in his gentle, quiet voice while I willed my body to relax.

"I want to kill myself."

It came out of my mouth without thought, without preamble, word vomit. It was was my deepest, darkest secret and I had just betrayed myself.

He, with skills attained by being married to someone with a mental illness, got me settled down and into bed. His next move was to go directly to my parent's house. I wasn't the only one who needed help, he had no idea how to process what I just told him. I had looked at my husband, my one and only, my best friend, the love of my life, the sharer of all my secrets, the person who knows every inch of me inside and out, and I told him I wanted to leave him and our babies forever. I broke his heart.

The following Monday my mom called my family doctor, my doctor saw me late that afternoon, and by midnight I was admitted to the psychiatric ward at the local hospital.

Sitting in the waiting/common area in the ward was one of the most surreal moments of my life. My husband had to leave, he had to be up in a few hours for work and was as mentally and psychically exhausted as I was. I had this moment of panic when he kissed me and started walking away, for just a second I was positive I had made the wrong choice and almost ran after him. I looked down at the I.D. bracelet on my wrist that was partly covering some healing cuts and knew this was the right thing to do. Not just for me, but for everyone who loved me, for everyone I loved.

The first nurse I encountered was, without a doubt, a giant bitch. (after I left the hospital Bobby informed me he didn't want to leave me there with her, he was so put off by her) She took my temp and blood pressure, eyed my lace-less shoes and checked me over for anything that had strings or was sharp. I got upset by her manner, I remember how scared I was, how I was shaking and trying not to cry. Why was she being so short with me? Couldn't she tell I was terrified? Nurse Surly left me in the common area while she took my belongings to my room to lock them up. I was sitting there in a daze, absorbing the fact that I was in a psych ward when I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw a smiling face. A smiling nurse, a nurse who held my arm and walked me to my room. She got me water and gave me a pill to help me sleep, and told me everything was going to be okay.

And for the first time in a long, long time...I believed her.

Come back tomorrow and learn how being in a psych ward was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Part One
Part Two

From Failure Foward, Part Two: How Long Can I Live Like This?

2013-03-26T11:42:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I discussed my descent into OCD, desperation, and cutting. Today I want to talk about some of the other facets of my life before I was diagnosed.

By some lovely well meaning family doctors, I was being treated with a variety of anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications. Along with being sensitive to side effects, most of them just didn't plain work. More than a few of them made me do strange things. Which is not a good combination when one is already doing strange things because they are un-diagnosed Bipolar. (I know I have used that phrase a few times "un-diagnosed Bipolar" because those two words are the key things that led to me being suicidal and in the hospital. Alas, that is a story for another day.)

There is an indent in my bed from my ass.

No, i'm not joking. There is an indent where I sat for almost two years. I spent the majority of time in my bed. It's where I read, where I ate, where I hid under my blanket with my carefully arranged pillows. It's where I stoned myself on whatever pills I could find, it's where I paid the bills. I watched movies, I messed on my laptop, I did my nails, I played with my kids. Once I sewed a hole in my blanket while I was still wrapped up in it. (This amuses my best friend Sara to no end).

I want to burn that mattress and buy a new one.

I couldn't figure out how to be happy. Or to care, or to not care. I floated, whined, and was generally selfish and wrapped up inside myself most of the time. I wasn't that way on purpose of course, but I was completely out of control. When I wasn't in my bed I was running away to my best friend and her house, the aforementioned Sara. Her couch was a haven, her easy going nature a balm to my manic moods. But even she wasn't immune from my selfishness and out of control ways. Lucky for me she stuck it out and loved me through the worst of my craziness.

It was dark, and it was lonely in my head. When you cannot explain what you are feeling because you don't understand why you feel the way you do your life becomes a jumble of frustration. Frustration made me feel all alone, and the isolation turned into weariness. I was exhausted. Spending all day everyday out of control of my thoughts, actions, and feelings is no way to live. I couldn't handle it anymore.

And that was when I started thinking...maybe I shouldn't be be alive anymore.

Come back tomorrow and share with me the part of my journey that led me to finally seeking help.

Here is Part One for anyone who missed it.

From Failure Forward, Part One

2013-03-25T12:29:00.000-07:00

A few weeks before my brother-in-law passed away I sent an email to my mom and sister telling them I needed help. The medicine and the counseling weren't helping. My depression was getting worse, my anxiety was off the charts. I was completely out of it and had no idea how to get myself better. Then Christian's accident happened, and everything went horribly, horribly wrong.

I had no idea how to deal with the grief. How do I deal with grief when I am (unknowingly, un-diagnosed) Bipolar and am taking the wrong medicine? The answer is simple: I didn't. But Christian's passing wasn't the trigger to my downfall, but a piece of the puzzle I could not put together.

My mind decayed further, my body revolted against me. My joints ached, I had terrible muscle pains, I had to start and stop medicines and the withdrawals were horrible. My life became as out of control as my thoughts and actions. I bounced from medicine to medicine, from up to down. I spent endless hours in bed. I started eating specific foods for weeks, and ONLY the specific foods (chocolate milk and spoonfuls of peanut butter anyone?) I would read the same book over and over, watch the same movie for days at a time. I had to have my pillows arranged a certain way or I couldn't sleep. If the house was the least bit messy I couldn't leave my bedroom for more than a few minutes at a time. I quit cooking, cleaning, brushing my hair. I started drinking a lot. I started taking Benedryl with my Xanax because it made me sleepy, or the high octane Nyquil, or old pain pills. Anything to numb me, to make me feel nothing. To be clear, I didn't do this during the day when my husband was at work. I would sit and try to play with the kids and I couldn't focus. I would pace and shake and cry waiting for him to come home and take over, then I would drug myself out. It was no good, it was terrible, and I was ashamed of myself.

One day I was sitting in the bathtub and I felt a stinging on my leg. I looked down and noticed I was digging a line, over and over. It felt good, it felt real. For a few weeks I would gouge at my skin while I lay in the bath, or in bed. Then one day I grabbed a razor. I would cut my legs, my upper arms, my thighs, breasts, stomach. Scissors, razor, knives. Anything that I could grab, anything that would make me feel something, because I hated myself. I resumed my cutting habit from high school, but with a ruthless vengeance. My husband would clean me up and cry and beg me not to do that to myself. My best friend would beg me to stop. But I couldn't, it was the only control I could hang on to, as twisted as it was. The pain would go on for days, sometimes it would hurt to walk or button my pants, I had to hide my body from my children. I still have scars, and i'll always carry them with me. They will be a reminder to me how how I lost myself, but I found hope again.

Come back tomorrow to read about when I lost all hope and the subsequent journey to being diagnosed Bipolar.

Fun With Pictures!

2013-03-11T14:43:00.001-07:00

I haven't been blogging much these last few months. A lot has happened and eventually i'll find the words to explain my life. But for now, I give you some highlights:

Lucy was horrified that Sara got none.

Lucy was horrified that Mayer was trying to hump Oscar...AGAIN.

Lucy was just horrified in general.

We got a new kitty named Betty. She's very dainty and squishy and pretty.

Lucy is not a fan.

I got my mom to "who" a lot.

My husbeast finally got his horrible-drunken-teen-adventure-tattoo covered up.

It's amazing.

My friend Dan doesn't have an iphone so he can't see the emoji's.
Fun with poop.

Lucia got a staph infection on her neck and her period at the same time.
I am going to totally show this picture to her first boyfriend.

But mostly i'm with them, being filled up with their smiles and love.
They are my sunshine as I fight the gloom.

They're Makin Me Famous!

2013-03-07T15:46:00.000-08:00

So this happened today...

Master List Of Trolls

This is so oddly personal compared to everyone else's little bio on "The Master List of Trolls"

So I pretty much know who had a hand in writing it. Anyone want to guess? Could it be the "ex-friend?"

So silly, so vile, so disgusting. Yes, mock my grief. Mock my mental health issues. Mock my personal blog where I write about these issues. Suck it.

I will not stop fighting for homebirth loss moms. I will not stop fighting for safer midwifery practices. I will not stop trying to halt the non-stop vomit of misinformation spewed by Natural Birth Zealots. Call me a troll, call us all trolls. We will still do everything we can to save babies.

Here's the blog post that I wrote about my former friend. This occurred days after he died, there was no her trying to "snap me out of my dwelling." DAYS, people. She said this bullshit DAYS after he died. And her big apology was a creepy unsigned card. Yeah, no.

Fuck it, fuck you, and fuck that webpage. I have no shame because I grieve someone I loved dearly. I have no shame because I have mental health issues. I bleed on this blog. Your prejudice about mental health and grief are your own.
I tell my truth, and if that makes you uncomfortable, that is your shortcoming, not mine.

Why I have a stupid Facebook name

2013-01-28T06:34:00.000-08:00

I had to change my name to something ridiculous on 'ol FB. Why, you ask? I'm pretty sure an ex-friend/s is crazier than I am. I've made it so no one can search for me, I've locked every bit of my profile up so the public can see nothing on my page. I've left most of the private groups I belong to, for the second time, to spare them from this bullshit. I'm almost positive she or someone she knows is harassing another old friend of mine by pretending to be me. Someone has a bunch of screen shots from my personal FB wall and from private groups I was in and was posting them on an open Facebook page trying to...you know what? I have no idea what they are trying to accomplish. Revenge maybe? I can't even tell you, I'm at a loss. I keep waiting to come home to my house on fire or one of my pets dangling from a tree.

I haven't posted here in awhile, I've been not well. I spend most days in bed, sick from one thing or another. My immune system appears to be shit. I'm starting and stopping assorted pills, seeing doctors and trying to get better. Desperately trying to feel good again. For me, for my husband, for my kids, for my friends and family. It's an ugly battle that is waging inside of me. All I want is to function normally.

I cling to hope. That is the key. When you lose hope, you lose your will to live. Believe me. So no matter how bad things are/have been/will be before I am better, I keep hope alive. I have to believe that i'm not always going to be sick, psychically and mentally. I also have to tell myself that just because I am not "normal" that I am still a good person. I have people who love me, who support me, who don't look down on me, who know that i'm not this way on purpose. I have to focus on trying to make myself as whole as possible, so I can be happy again.

It's not easy, trying to heal myself while someone is going around trying to destroy me. But i'm doing it, because I know i'm not a bad person. They are fighting to discredit, belittle, to try to ruin me, all while I am fighting to live.

Yeah I accidentally sent you a text again, suck it.

2012-12-20T19:48:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty good at a few things. I can win a staring contest with my dog. I can hoover chocolate like a boss right before my period starts. I can read a book in a few hours, and occasionally I can yell at my kids using their correct name.

In my thirty years on this rock I've realized i'm really bad at a lot of things. A few i'm sure I've mentioned before but it's always fun to showcase my failings.

I cannot sing. At all. Imagine a tone deaf cow mooing mournfully while someone slowly tortures it to death while listening to Billy Joel's Greatest Hits.

I cannot make coffee. I get out the canister, I get the cold water, I put the grounds in the dookickey, I hit the button and liquid hell is born.

I have a terrible memory. I am a worthless tooth fairy, I forget inside jokes, I will stare blankly while you remind me of something I just said to you a moment before...

Math and I have been fighting since I was a child. It's still winning. I'd tell you by how much but it will not let me figure it out.

I absolutely suck at hiding the emotions on my face. A poker face this girl cannot pull. If I don't like you, you will be able to tell instantly. If I think you're stupid you will see it on my face. If I want to ride you like a bike, you will know. It's really embarrassing.

Anything requiring athletic ability, count me out. Until they start counting Tetris or Catholic Guilt as sports, I'll be on the bench.

Speaking of sports, I'm that person who throws the bowling ball behind them and takes out innocent bystanders.

I always lose my chapstick, earrings, sock mates, this one black cardigan that I swear is hiding from me, bills, shoes, eyeliner, my wedding ring on more than one occasion, phone numbers, my mind.

I always text the wrong person. Random people in my phone get messages meant for someone else. All. The. Time.

I'm also really really bad at finishing thi

Dear Crazy Lindsay

2012-11-27T13:16:00.000-08:00

Dear CL, why can't I quit FB?
Boredom. I quit FB once...for about 5 hours. The first few hours were amazing. I felt free, the shackles of Facebookian no longer tight on my wrists. Then I got bored. So, good luck with that. Plus you would miss me terribly. And what kind of life is that?

Dear Crazy Lindsay: Why hasn't anyone come up with a weight loss diet that consists mainly of bacon and booze?
Because the world was waiting for this evil genius to create one. Here we go:

Breakfast: 3 pieces bacon, Light beer
Snack: 3 pieces bacon, Light beer
Lunch: 3 pieces bacon, Light beer
Snack: 3 pieces bacon, Light beer
Dinner: 3 pieces bacon, Light beer
Snack: 3 pieces bacon, Light beer
*Involuntary vomiting ensues*
Watch the pounds melt away.

Dear CL, how will I survive finals?
Energy drinks, cigarette's, Xanax, and a prayer.

...And cheating. Lots and lots of cheating.

Dear CL, what keeps Hyphenated Husband so loyal to TFB?
It rubs the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again.

Dear CL, Girrrrrrrl why you so cray?!? Love and affection, CC in da CLE
My brain doesn't work properly. I have more stuff than room. It's like an episode of hoarders, minus the moldy dishes.

Dear CL, what's the ultimate "go eff yourself" Christmas gift? Because I'm stumped as to what to get for my SIL.....and the broad who runs the playgroup......and a few other people who put me off my feed......

This movie:

Dear Crazy Lindsay, Can I have a dollar? I kind of feel like a drink from Sonic.
No.

Dear crazy Lindsay - can my boobs be 'trained' so that I quit milking my shirts in public or must I resign to using boob pads for the duration of breastfeeding?
Don't you dare hide your glorious milky nipples behind something as unnatural as a breast pad! You let that milk run wild and free. Anytime you feel milk, at all, for any reason, stick your baby on your glorious feeders. Let it run with abandon, mama. Let it run.

Dear Crazy Lindsay, why does my dog keep shoving his ball under the couch?
Can't a dog shove his ball where he wants without his motives being questioned? Helicopter Parent.

Dear Crazy Lindsay why does my husband get mad when I use up his coffee for my enemas? Coffee is healthiest when taken through the back door!
Everything is healthier when taken through the back door. Except Cap'n Crunch. If it destroys the roof of your mouth, could imagine it in your padooker?!

Dear Crazy Lindsay, Why does my 8 year old think she's smarter than her dad and me?
Because she is. Damn that newfangled math.

Dear Crazy Lindsay: Is there anything I can do to keep my toddlers from driving me crazy? They don't seem to understand why mommy gets progressively crabbier as the volume of their singing and "drumming" increases. Thanks, Yearning for Quiet

You're cute.

Dear CL: Tell me what I can do to deal with a snippy, obnoxious coworker that's making my life hell. Sincerely, Just Wants Some Peace at Work
Feed her laxative brownies. Or just punch the bitch in the throat. Whichever.

Rumor Has It...

2012-10-21T07:42:00.000-07:00

I'll just leave this here.

Depression, It Ain't Cute

2012-10-17T15:33:00.000-07:00

When you picture a depressed person in your head what do you see? Someone staring tearfully out a window clutching a mug of tea and a tissue? Someone laying in a slightly rumpled bed, covers pulled up to the chin, a blank yet deep look on their face? Perhaps someone who is in a matching pajama set, eyes filling with tears as they watch a sad movie?

Sadly, that's not reality. Reality is more like this:

Pretty scary, isn't it? You know what's even scarier? I'm going outside to smoke when i'm done with this. And i'll just put a hoodie over all of this awesome and stand on my front porch.

*The Camp Rock blanket was my daughter's, not mine
*"My squishy" refers to a pillow I hold when I sleep. I have squished it into a ball over time.
*The pulled pork was from my Aunt and it was delicious.

I Am Depression

2012-10-09T15:19:00.000-07:00

I barely sleep, I don't eat much, everything tastes funny. I have dark circles under my eyes. I am listless and approach everyday life with no enthusiasm. I barely cook, I don't clean. I constantly have a headache, or stomachache, or my body is sore. I take too many pills. I crave isolation. I have nightmares. My anxiety is back full throttle. I have developed some interesting OCD tendencies. I can't concentrate. I forget things easily. I have to have someone help me pay the bills. I can't remember where I put anything. I have no patience. I cry all the time. I make stupid choices. My husband told me he misses my laugh. I can't remember if I smiled today. I twitch. My hands shake in the mornings. I have self-harmed after five years of not cutting myself. I smoke too much. I lay in bed in a ball and hold my pillow every night. I don't watch TV, I read without joy, I quit painting.

I am Depression.

This is my world.

This isn't "just make yourself do it." This isn't "I was sad too, once." This isn't, "just think happy thoughts."

I am Depression.

This is my life, this is every single day. This is me not celebrating my children or my husband. This is me trying to survive, everyday. There is no lower for me. I have reached bottom.

I am going to see an actual Psychiatrist in 17 days.

I've lost my fucking mind. And everyday I search for it. And i'll keep searching until I'm better. I'm never going to give up.

I am Depression, but the real me is in there, somewhere.

Dear Crazy Lindsay

2012-07-25T15:11:00.000-07:00

Dear CL, My milkshake has failed to bring all the boys to the yard. What's wrong with me?
Love, Boyless
Too much milk, not enough shake. Don't want to hear sloshing while you swing dem hips.

Dear Crazy Lindsay, Am I pregnant? It's me that wants to know this time and not BSC SIL.
Vacuous Vixen from the 'Ville
All signs point to yes. Go POAS. If it's positive, you are now dubbed DD for all future ventures.

Dear CL, I decided to wear pj's and slippers to work. No question...just wanted to let you know you aren't they only crazy one.
I didn't know you work at Walmart!

Dear Crazy Lindsay. Why do my joints hurt? All. The. Time?
It's all that poppin' and lockin' you do all day. Quit droppin' it like it's hot. All. The. Time.

Dear Crazy Lindsay, Why does my child believe that diapers are the devil? She won't wear them. Or panties. She just wants to run around naked. While I appreciate that thought in the abstract, it sucks in the specific.
I am sorry to break this to you on the internet, totally in public, but it appears...deep breathe...it appears as though you may be raising a dirty hippie. Check underneath her bed and in her closet for signs of patchouli, drum circles, and anything tie dyed. Good luck.

Dear CL, How come as soon as I get the kids potty trained, the cat stops using the litterbox? I have a bunch of spare diapers I no longer need--should I put them on the cat?
Yes. Take pictures. Plus your cat hates you. How dare you have children?

Dear Crazy Lindsay, I got my TB test yesterday and my arm is all red. I put Preparation H on it but it didn't help. I don't have TB. What do I do?
Oh shit. You got an Unnessatubarian, you poor uneducated fool. Consult Natural News and whale.to. I'm sure there is a wealth of information there to help you along this journey of healing from the violation you feel from Big pHARMa.

Dear Crazy Lindsay, I'm packing for our move this weekend and my hubby is out of town. He left me his dirty underwear to wash. Can I just throw it out instead?
Yes. And then calculate how much it would cost to replace all his 'roos and buy yourself something pretty. Freeballin'.

Dear Crazy Lindsay, why is "Long Island Iced Tea" such a misnomer?

Sincerely yours, Alcoholic Andrea
I'm not sure. It should be called "where am I, who are you, and where are my pants?" Or "I just puked in the bushes."

Dear CL, I met this really cute guy, and we've hit it off. He's coming to my place for the first time for dinner. Should I go get some prime steaks, or should I just thaw out some of the plasagna I've been saving for a very special occasion?
Plasgana, if he wants a little afterbirth as dinner. I suggest a nice Chianti to pair with it.

Dear CL, it's been three months since I gave birth. Why does my ass still hurt when I sit on a hard surface for too long?
Sincerely, CaSSandra BUTTioni
Your body is pouting because you did not squeeze your child out into a tub of water. All the anger is coming out through your ass. Make peace with your ass. Maybe try a re-birthing.

Dear CL, Why does my husband insist on announcing to me the frequency, size and consistencies of his daily bowel movements? - Another perplexing question from CaSSandra BUTTioni
Because poop is hilarious.

Dear CL, Is it possible to outsource the task of peeing on a stick?
Damn right it's possible. This is 'merica!

Dear CL, Is there a preparation H like treatment for intarwebz butthurt?
Yup. It's called "log off and go read a book." Or, if you're someone like say...VaGina, it's "whine about it on Facebook so everyone can validate your poor choices"

Dear CL: Do I need to stop smirking when my 2 year old daughter is running around announcing "I have no penis! I have no penis!"
Yes. Yes, stop smirking. Why does your child even know what parts they have? How can you raise them in a gender neutral environment if you're going to tell them the proper names for their bathing suit parts?

Dear CL, Why the moment I forget to take my anti-crazy meds my brain feels like it is in a deep dark fog, and I get a killer headache?
Same thing happens to me. It's just an extra "fuck you" from our brains.

CL, Why does my child fling her poopy panties off her just so, so that the poop flies out of the panties all over the floor, my shoes, socks, and legs?
The cat told her to do it.

CL, why are people who hate chemicals ...alive? Everything is made from chemicals, ergo they hate themselves and the world.
EVERYTHING IS NOT MADE FROM CHEMICALS. EVERYTHING IS MADE FROM UNICORN POOP AND RAINBOWS. AND IT'S ALL HELD TOGETHER FROM THE GUNK THAT ACCUMULATES IN A HIPPIE'S DREADS.

Dear Crazy Lindsay: how is it that natural momma's who are all about disease prevention and health promotion can logically reject the practice of vaccination?
They can't logically reject it. There is no logic involved.

Dear Crazy Lindsay: Which is more "risky" a chiropractic adjustment or a vaccination absent a medical contra-indication?
What's risky is answering this question with the amount of stuff running through my bloodstream.

Dear CL, Why do all the guys with small peens insist on sharing them on Craigslist? -- Craigslist peen inspector
Because they can't waggle them at you from their gigantic trucks.

Incomplete

2012-07-23T14:27:00.000-07:00

The snarling, ripping, shredding bitch called Depression is voracious. I feel at times that it is an outside entity circling me, looking for weak spots to attack. Attack the best parts of me, the parts that aren't damaged or ruined, it wants to burrow into those bright spots and devour me whole. Like its this substantial thing, teeth bared, claws unsheathed standing ready to destroy me the moment my guard is down.

I was sitting on my front stoop this morning, pulling on a cigarette I shouldn't smoke. The clouds were a deeply bruised roil, and I could feel errant drops of rain splash against my skin. All the things I need to do, needed to attend to, pay for, fix, say, think, plan, were making me dizzy. I wanted to stop thinking, I wanted my body to stop and let me breathe. And in that moment, I finally understood how someone could end their life. I sat after I finished my smoke, contemplating that realization. The reason why people do it, why they take their own lives. To get it to stop, to finally find some peace.

I felt ashamed, after I briefly thought of the reasons why people jump, slice, shoot, hang. Of having the thought caress my mind. I felt my heart grow heavy with these faceless people and their unbearable pain. I grappled with the knowledge, like they were whispering their pain into my ear. Telling me the secrets they couldn't share with the world.

This is something I could never do. I would never willingly leave my children, my husband, my family, my friends. I know what grief feels like, I wear it like a fucking coat. My children will never have to ask why I would want to leave them behind. I won't lay my pain on their shoulders to carry through life. That isn't my road.

Living less than complete, with parts of you bent and broken, makes you desperate. I'm desperate for peace, for this overwhelming feeling of wrongness to stop. This is why I take all the pills, I go to counseling, I write. It's like trying to put a puzzle together, but you keep trying to shove pieces where they don't belong, try to force them to fit...then you realize you're missing pieces and the puzzle may never be whole.

Today, I am tired.

And then he was gone...

2012-07-16T17:46:00.001-07:00

In about a month and a half it will be a year since Christian died. I was waiting to write about that night as I see it now, as opposed to when I was writing about it was we were living the nightmare. Some things can't wait.

I woke up in the middle of the night to Bobby leaning over me telling me that Carmie (my sister-in-law) was in the kitchen, something was wrong. The first thought I had was that he was dreaming, but when I stumbled into the kitchen and saw her standing there all I felt was dread. She put her hands on my shoulders and told me there had been an accident, and that Christian was gone. All the air sucked out of my lungs, I bent over gasping, my limbs rubbery. This horrible ringing started in my ears, and i'm positive if Carmie hadn't been holding on to me I would have fallen over.

We spent the rest night in my garage, Carmie, Bob, and I. We chain smoked and waited while my parents, Christians step-mom, and our family friends went to get Stacey. She was a few hours away at their camper with their friends. I got on and off the computer, trying to find something mindless to do. As it got closer to dawn I had to make a couple terrible phone calls. I remember how my body wouldn't stop shaking, my teeth wouldn't quit clacking , the ringing in my ears wouldn't stop. We still weren't sure what had happened, just broken bits of information passed over quick cell phone calls.

After they got to Stacey and were back on the road, Carmie and I went to wait for them at Christian's dads house. My Aunt Beth and my brother, Ryan were already there sitting with his dad. I sat on their driveway, smoking and shaking. Wanting them to get here, yet not. How was I going to handle this, seeing my sister like this? We all just kept repeating that we couldn't believe this, and that we didn't know what to do.

The absolute 100% worst moment that has ever occurred, the moment that is seared in my brain, that will haunt me the rest of my life, is the moment I saw my sister's face as she stumbled out of the van and into my arms. I can barely describe the gut twisting, heart snapping, absolute devastation I felt as I held her. It felt like drowning.

The rest of the morning, it was surreal, helpless. Sitting in my mom's living room waiting for something but not knowing what. An answer? To wake up? Something to do? I went home to sleep for a few hours, and fell into this deep sleep. Bob woke me up a few hours later and for a split second I thought I had been dreaming. Then reality crashed over me, the ringing in my ears came back. My head felt fuzzy, my body hurt from clenching my muscles so tight in sleep. I went back to my mom's to be with my family. And we have continued on, together.

There is a moment in your life when everything stops. Your heart, your brain, your breath, your eyes. Everything becomes still, and for one small moment nothing and everything makes sense at the same time. That, for me, was the moment Carmie looked me in the eye and told me Christian was gone.

I can't speak for his family, my brother, or Carmie, or my husband, or aunts, or my dad, mom, his friends, and I especially cannot speak for my sister. But, he's still here with us, with everyone he loved. He is walking with my sister, holding her hand even though she can't physically feel it. He's laughing at his nieces and nephews, he's watching his sisters grow. He's smiling his huge smile while we eat doughnut cake and play kickball. He's yelling "loud noises" at our parties, he's throwing back a beer with my husband. He's a tattoo on our bodies, he's scratching Turbo's ears, he's on the tractor with his dad...

He's watching us learn to live again.

I miss your smile, Christian.

Dear Crazy Lindsay

2012-07-09T16:07:00.001-07:00

Dear CL, Am I pregnant, because I hear you have Ute Goggles and my BSC SIL wants to know?
Lovingly, Lynn Lolita in Lorain
Yes you are, you hussy. Time to bust out the garlic and harness your chi.

Dear CL, Tonight I'd like to make sweet love with my hubby, but it is too damn hot, how do I stay cool and still get it on? Yours, Hot as Helena
I suggest doing a "wake up in terror in a bathtub full of ice to find out someone stole your kidney, the only way you'll survive is if this hot doctor climbs into the ice bath and nails you" roleplay. Meow.

Dear crazy Lindsay, I have been looking for the G spot for years now, my girl friend says it is located between Oak Ave and Grant blvd, any idea if that is true? Searching for the perfect orgasm. Love, Florence without any Machines
Second star to the right and straight on till morning .

Dear CL: Why does chocolate make me have crazy dreams? Love, Chocoholic Carrie
It's not the chocolate, you're just fucking weird. But not as weird as me. Take comfort in that.

Dear CL, Please help me develop a detailed plan to extract semen from my partner to facilitate the fertility process. Bonus points for use of free catheter samples from that diabetic supply company.
Supplies you will need:

A cloth
Chloroform
Hair from Wilford Brimley's mustache
Rope
Said Catheter
A strong stomach.
Insert cath, siphon as you would when you steal gas. Insert into lady parts, blow. Glue Brimley's whiskers onto a picture of that chick from that commercial that talks about having to reuse catheters, frame for posterity. Run around yelling Diabeetus!

Alternate supply list: His peener and your vagina.

Dear Crazy Lindsay, Does my big butt make my butt look big? Sincerely, RapGuy's GF
Oh my god Becky, look at her butt.
Nah, I like big butts. We all know I can't lie, just like 'ol Honest Abe. I bet he appreciated a luscious behind, too.

Dear CL, Why does my partner insist on having sex when I feel less than daisy fresh?
Not so Fresh and Clean Kathleen in CLE
He's a dude, i'd be worried if he didn't want to have sex. He is embracing you, funky yoni and all. Now go take a bath, you filthy minx.

Dear Crazy Lindsay, why is it that only stupid people like me? I'm an expert on everything, but I can't seem to convince anyone with half a brain that I'm always right. How can I fix this? Sincerely, Guggita Daly
Well Guggita, the thought of you makes me want to barf. I think you just need to go away, that's how you'll convince me you're right, by disappearing off the internet. Now stay off Crazy Lindsay you awful person.

Dear Crazy Lindsay, why do my girls fight/ hit/ hiss/ pull hair/ scream over the purple cereal bowl in the mornings? ( actually, I'm not joking) Love, SVT
Make them eat cereal using flimsy paper plates and a fork while you sit eating out of the purple bowl. They'll learn not to bitch pretty quick.

Dear Crazy Lindsay, Why do I need to pee every 5 minutes? Yours truly, Anita Tinkle
Because you had children. And children destroy our hips, tits, and bladders. Buy some pads and lay off the sauce (that makes me have to pee every 2 1/2 minutes).

Dear Crazy Lindsay,

Should I go on speaking tours in local high schools, talking about childbirth, in order to dissuade teenage pregnancy?

Love, TMI Tammy in Tulsa.

Only if you do a demonstration showcasing in horrific detail how to roll a condom onto a banana using your mouth.

Dear Crazy Lindsay - we've discovered our unborn child is a son - how do we protect him from unwanted interest in the status/future status of his penis? Love, JW
Fuck if I know, JW. Little boy peen is a hot topic nowadays, which makes my skin crawl. I suggest you get a large, obnoxious tattoo down your arm detailing all of your parenting decisions. Then tell everyone you meet how you feel about circumcision, before anyone even thinks of asking you.

Dear CL, I was getting ready to cut & paste a blog post. So I read a vax insert that said it causes anal leakage as a side effect. After I read that....well.....yeah, I poopied out of fear. Can I report that as a vax related injury, since my kids pointed and laughed? They hurt my feelings, dammit, and that should count even though I didn't get the shot, right? XOXO Some Dumb Bitch

Yes. All vaccine related injuries, such as being named "Queen Tool of the Internet" should be reported to laughable Anti-Vax Facebook pages. That's where all the scientists from Google U hang out. The know their stuffs.

Thanks for another fun Q and A with my crazy ass!

Raptor Love

2012-06-29T10:48:00.000-07:00

Sometime last year someone sent me a link to something called Mama Tao. It was a satire blog about the most ridiculous and dangerous natural birth practices. The person who sent it to me was displeased with the attitude behind Mama Tao. Me? I thought it was hilarious. So I emailed Mama Tao. And that is when my whole world tilted.

I joined all these groups, met so many women from different walks of life. There were doctors and lawyers, students, and stay at home mom's. You name it, someone did it. There was one common denominator, they all believed the same thing; too many babies were needlessly dying due to an insane rhetoric. And they were trying to change that. And I wanted to help. And I have been.

But that is a story for another time, i'd rather talk about friendship.

I am forever changed by these women. Not only have I learned incredible things about childbirth, I've learned incredible things about the true nature of people. Support, love, advice, talking someone through their issues. You name it, they've done it for me. And I do it for them. I haven't even met most of these women and I would do anything they asked. And to the ones I have met: I love you so much!

Bambi, you are a strong, beautiful person. You are constantly putting yourself into painful situations helping women who've lost their children. Sitting with them, holding their hand, being a shoulder to cry on. I know it stirs up painful memories of Mary, but yet you are there, anytime someone needs you. People have labeled you incorrectly, and that's their loss. You are amazing. I love you and your family. I love when you and James bring the kids over and we just get to be together.

Sara, you and I have forged an unbreakable bond. You are kind, patient, hilarious, understanding. You and I share the same brain, and we're partners for life. I would not be the same without you, or your crazy boyfriend. I love you guys. Now tell Matt to get working on those plans for our dream home.

Cindy, I've only met you once but I can't wait to see you next week. You are amazing and we had a blast.

There are so many people I could thank for a moment or a kind word or a laugh. Elinor, future sister wife, someday we'll get to meet. Aleah, Snape, baby! Stephanie, always a kind word for me, always. Lisa, for getting me into all this...and Lily...oh Lilyyyyy I love thee. There are just too many people to list, and too many thank yous. I get to meet Marlo soon, and Heather, and Liz. And it's going to be awesome!

And i'm not the only one making these amazing friendships. Raptors are meeting all over the world. It's amazing.

The support you guys showed me after Christian died, and through this rough road of anxiety and depression...I don't even have words. Some days I don't know how I would get through without your virtual hugs, encouragement, and laughter. Just knowing you guys are there makes all the difference. True friendship is a beautiful thing. Thanks for me teaching me the difference between a nasty, poisonous friendship and the real deal. If I didn't mention you, you know I love ALL of you...bitches.

Want

2012-06-18T17:18:00.000-07:00

Life never turns out the way you imagine, when you are a dreamer. So many things I want that I can never have, or aren't right for me to have. The need to possess, to claim is so strong. To run wild and free. I am happily shackled by my other set of dreams.

But...

I want to be a mystery waiting to be unraveled.

I want endless books stacked up in dusty piles waiting for me to unlock their secrets.

I want every smile to be real, every tear to have a story.

I want someone to wonder what i'm thinking, dreaming.

I want to forever keep these friends that know the deepest dark parts of me and love me anyway.

I want to stand in the rain and remember what it means to be alive.

I want to finish something that I start.

I want to make bad choices that end in epic stories.

I want to sleep without constantly waking, I want good dreams.

I want to be oblivious, at least for a moment. I want my brain to stop its constant monologue.

What do you do when you are bigger than your life? I can't have everything. I am wife, mother, daughter, sister. I have my dreams, I have all I've asked for. But inside i'm a wanderer. I'm gone, somewhere, anywhere. Free to live my dreams, create my stories and pictures that are almost impossible to get out onto paper.

Is it possible to be two people at once? To have two lives equally as amazing? To live this adventure of wife and mother, yet still have the other life?

Is it a burden to be someone no one really knows, with fathomless secrets and desires? Or is it just part of the adventure?

Happy Birthday, Christian

2012-05-31T21:03:00.000-07:00

Today is Christian's birthday. I say is, and not was. Was implies we shouldn't celebrate anymore, which is the last thing I would ever want. Not celebrating the birth of someone so important would be a travesty. Today, twenty four years ago, the person who changed my sister's life was born. Her husband, her friend, her other half.

My brother in law was magnetic, boisterous and had the biggest smile I've ever seen. The best things about him reflected in my sister's happiness. He was just good. In heart, in spirit and intentions. He was a gift, one that needs celebrated. If he had his way i'm sure it would include a cold beer, a giant plate of sloppy joe's and a spoon. And of course, doughnut cake. Or hell, any cake.

I miss him, everyday. I have no turn of phrase or thought I can use to express how I feel. I just stinking miss the guy. We all do.

Someone that good, that full of love and life... nothing anyone could say would ever convince me that when he died he blinked out of existence. If I've learned anything in this life of mine, it's that love trumps death, every time. And he is loved. And he's with us.

Happy Birthday, Christian.