Is it a guy thing ?

Ok when hubs doesn't get his "rocks" off within a certain period time...say 4 days. He starts doing this thing at night. Half the time he's quite aware of it, and the other half, I think his wanker just does it's own thing.

Well...beings that yesterday was "4th Day"...that means two things...one...he's a fucking horndog, and two I will fear getting raped in my sleep all night.

So to head off this issue I tried something new. And, surrounded myself with pillows.

So when I start to wake for my 3:14 a.m. pee break...I hear him..he and someone/thing are gettin' it on like donkey kong.

He had the wrap around going and everything..on my poor innocent perky cotton pillow.
"Honey..uhm...wake up"....
"Ahem...*cough* honey ?"
"Dammit man ! Wake up ! You're dry humping a pillow !"

Yet after waking up ...he denies that he was trying to cross breed with a cotton/poly fill...somethings are just too hard to deny..but hey I won't tell anyone.


I can't imagine trying to do that ...but then again, I'm pretty good at telling the difference between a wanker..and a pillow...

Now that I think about it, the reality that he couldn't tell the difference between a pillow and my ass...says alot about the state of my ass right now.

Uh duh

Lance Bass is gay...give me a second to played *shocked*...seriously...because I've only been saying that for 4 years now. And I not even that good at telling who is and who isn't ! Duh...dude...

At least he's out with it and he and whatever dumb cluck chicks that swooned over him can move on.

My oldest daughter seems to have caught the "bitch bug" that I had. This girl...ugh...she can piss me off like nobody else.

I sit there and watch her and listen to her go off about shit. And, I wonder. How did we get here ? Like when did it start to be ok that whenever she feels the need to ream someones ass..it's totally ok.

I'm speaking of what she thinks, not how things really are here.

Episodes like that , they really really make me re-think my whole " I swear I will not beat my kids with a lawn chair " thing.
Because some days...I want to beat them . I know its' wrong and it doesn't change anything. But, I couldn't possibly know that's all true unless I tried.

Hubs and I try to stay calm and keep our lines of communication open.

When we get " I don't like you and I don't want to live here anymore !"

We say " I know you're upset right now, but we are the parents and the decision to LET your little ass live here." *Smile gently*

She says "Well I don't want to be the oldest anymore I hate it !"

" Oh ...really..honey ? I am SO sorry you feel that way. Let Mommy jump in the goddamn time machine that I keep in the garage and go back in time and have your sister first ...you wait here !"

"I don't want this for dinner I don't like pork chops !"

" There are children that are starving to death in 3rd world countries, and even though the fact that I made some shit that you don't like doesn't change the fact that they are starving...you're gonna eat it !"

I'll go ahead and admit right now that I've tried that whole "reading some books" on parenting and all that jazz. And, I've figured out that the people who write these books are on crack, and their kids have got to be too. OR ....these people haven't been outside in the real world EVER, and their kids haven't either.

Because I know that it can't be that I have the only kid that thinks when you tell her that you're going to the museum to see an "Exhibit", and she thinks that "Xhibit" is going to pop out of the back door and pimp our ride.


So, that's my conclusion to the question about the authors of "Parenting Skills " books.... Generations of shut-in crack babies.

Pffft..

3 days of back pain finally got to me yesterday.

Pain to the point that it hurts to move at all. It was pissing me off. Everyfuckingthing was pissing me off.

Everyfuckingone was pissing me off.

By 3 o'clock my nerves were swollen and raw. And, I couldn't take it anymore.

I was ready to peel the paint off the walls with my fingernails.
I wanted to rip the curtains off of every window in this house.
The urge to grab every breakable thing within a 100 yard radius and smash it to pieces with my bare hands, was almost too much to fight off.

But I did...I fought it off, told Hubs I'd be back later...and drove to the lake.

I parked facing the lake, and as I watched the sailboats and johnboats.
I cried, I cried so fucking hard that I shook.
I cried so hard that I couldn't breathe and I wanted to vomit.

I suppose that I'm a person that just has to cry sometimes. Things build up. I pretend they aren't there. I pretend "this" doesn't bother me, or "that" didn't make me want to rip someones face off.
I file it under..." doesn't matter"...pfftt....after awhile the "doesn't matter" pile , is all that there is.

Crying until I exhaust myself , somehow always seems to help me rid my brain and heart of that poison that "doesn't matter".


I don't really know how else to handle it.

Because telling someone that I'm on the verge of a psychotic break for the reasons that I am would make no sense to them.

Calling someone and saying " I fear that I'm going crazy "
They ask "why ?"

Oh because...The dog , he won't shut the fuck up, he shit in the floor while I was gone twice, and he has a contract out on my life, I know because he tries to trip me every time I go down the stairs.

The kids, they act like I'm some sort of authority figure and keep asking me questions that I can't answer, they fight and want me to tell them who's right and who's wrong.

The laundry, the piles of it keep growing, no matter what I do...there is always more.

The phone will not stop fucking ringing.

I am out of Dr. Pepper.

I am so sick of hearing that fucking song "Suzy has a cow on her head" on the Disney channel...I hope that fucking cow smashes that bitches head in, and soon.

Hubs is playing golf again, having a grand ole fucking time, and I'm not...I'm just here...just sitting...staring at the walls.

But yet, I don't really want to go anywhere. I want to sit here, and loathe in self pity and bathe myself in bitterness right now.

Why is it so hard for people and animals to understand that I just want them all to shut up, just be quiet, the noise, is too much.

Yes, I want to be pissed off to no end at the moment thank you very much.

I'm having a great time with this back spasm.

Walking like a duck with wooden shoes and a back brace on makes me feel so fucking sexy .

Tell the Truth

How many times have you "Googled" your name...real name...blog name...maiden name ?....Really tell the truth !



Now...tooting my little horn...isn't a norm for me unless it involves some sort of bad ass deal I found. Ya know great jeans at 75% off regular price,,,etc.

But today ....I can't help it !

In January I think it was ? The person(s) at Nebraska Arts Preserve found me...and for some unkown reason , they liked me. I figure they are into drugs but hey that's not my business.

Then, in February, I was mentioned in a local newspaper called "The Reader".

Later , in April or May, I was invited to be on a panel, and do some altered book art, at the "OmahaLitFest", by an award winning Omaha author...who happens to live quite close to me...Timothy Schaffert. (Who drinks martinis at noon...so that's his reason ;)

Honestly...I thought the offer was sort of a joke, or one of those invitations that aren't really meant to be accepted...ya know ?
Like when you see a snooty mom from the school and you say
" oh we'll have to get together sometime"...when you know damn well you're not gonna call that bitch.

Well.....by golly ...they put my name on the website so I guess they ain't kiddin' !
I mean ...my name . is. on. the fucking. page.
Really it is...I Googled it dammit !
Smack my ass and call me Sally .

Wait...

My name ? Is on the page ? With REAL authors ? Sonofabitch. This was really cool and fun and neat-o, until I realized that I am going to be in with people who get paid to write shit. I've read their shit..and it's good shit. I've paid to read some of their shit, some of you have paid to read it !

I have so much to do before September...

First of all, I'm gonna need someone to hold this developing fetus for me.

Second, my hair...what am I gonna do with my hair ?!?!

Oh back to the fetus thing. What am I going to WEAR ? Ugh !
By September my choices in clothes will be narrowed to what Omaha Tent and Awning carries, so I hope they have something besides the striped tents. You think they'd make me a tent of black leather ?


And, if I act like a fucktard I won't be able to blame alcohol, because that whole getting wasted while pregnant thing is pretty taboo 'round these parts.

So if you should decide to come, look for me . I'll be the black leather blob in the corner , the sound of the leather squeaking will be obvious because I'll be sobbing, pretending that I forgot to take my meds for schizophrenia.