Sonuvabitch

Sonuvabitch! I have been told by a friend of mine that when I say "Son of a Bitch" it rolls off my tongue so naturally that it doesn't even sound like profanity... It is the term of choice when things don;t go my way in Halo.

In any case, todays cussing is due to the misplacement of my iPod dock, or my freestanding charger. I have an old rev. B iPod, but I love it, and in the afternoons when K2 gets home, and I want to do my own thing, it is nice to have. He is either watching TV or bogarting the computer. Both activities usurp my desire to play music in the living room whilst I putter about.

As it is, my iPod is lifeless, and I can't charge the damn thing... so... SONUVABITCH!!

My Eyes!! My Eyes!!

It was late, (past 1 a.m.), and I was channel surfing in the desperate attempt to find something interesting to watch while I zoned out and tried to get tired for bed. Our movie channel? It sucks. We call it Faux-B-O. Don't really know what it is called, but that's out name for it.

Every other night, it seems, after 1 a.m. they show porn... Now if they had some kind of set schedule for cinema-bang day, I could just not GO that way on the remote- but it is hit and miss, sometimes Saturday, sometimes Friday, sometimes at midnight, sometimes later. I think they have some bored dude in a little room with a stock pile of bad movies and porno DVDs, and a "loose frame idea/suggestion" for a schedule.

In any case, I went flipping past the porn... and in the split second as I went by, I saw the worst fucking thing... Like- "Scream out "Holy Fuckoli" despite everyone sleeping in the house" scary. I think it was from the 70's, cause there was alot of hair. Scare number 2... she was sucking what I think was some guys forearm sticking out of his pelvis... It was far too large to be a penis- it must have been a birth defect- or an optical illusion. Serious tree stump for a pecker, being blown by the hairy beaver lady. Shudders all around?

I have to go find acid and wash out my eyes now.

Unpublished Unfinished

There is so much stress right now, that I have been in a bit of a dervish... The family has suffered from it- but the housework project type stuff that I kept putting off is getting done. Feeling that compulsive need to organize shit around me- I think it is a surrogate for trying to get my brain chaos in order.

In any case, I have a letter in my unpublished stuff that I will be putting up later this week when I am done writing it. It has been a long time in the making, and will bring me one step closer to a closure and resolution of the loss of my best friend. It has been nearly 3 years since he died, and I haven't yet come to terms with it, nor acceptance. I think maybe had he been hit by a bus, or pushed off a cliff, I would have gone through this better, and long ago.... But my head and heart can't seem to pull it together "how" or "why" or "what the fuck was he thinking or feeling to think that stringing himself up by his belt in a garage was the only option?!" I digress.

I know all about the 5 stages of grief- and I have done a few and skipped others.... the final step for me will not be acceptance- it will be forgiveness.... I have yet to find it within me to forgive him for doing it, to let go of being royally pissed off at him and his ultimate act of selfishness and cowardice. I think that may be ready to come to an end.... so that I can say goodbye, and start carrying a scar on my heart instead of this open hemorrhaging gash that has been there for so long.

Anyways, I will find the strength and time to finish it, and I will post it here.

Vanity

My purse is falling apart. The poor old battered bag that it is... my beloved $12 purse. It has been my constant companion for 6 years. Now I am not one of "those" women. I do not spend hundreds of dollars on purses, nor do I ever have more than one in use at a time. I do not have a separate handbag to match each pair of shoes, and every mood.

Now hear this... spending hundreds of dollars on a purse is really fucking stupid. (It's equally stupid to spend a paycheck on a pair of shoes, too.) Why put out $400.00? It's a fucking bag! It doesn't give you status, or make you look pretty. It's a place to tote your shit... what difference does it make who's name is on it?! It carries your wallet and keys the same wether it is some name brand bag or "Bob's brand" bag. It a FUCKING BAG! If you are one of "those" women... please feel free to explain the fascination with purses and shoes that cost 2 weeks worth of groceries.

My afore mentioned best friend in high school, Heather... her mom came home one day from Dillard's. She was so proud of herself, as she had gotten a Gucchi bag for 30% off, and spent two or three hundred dollars or some shit on it. The conversation went like this...
Her..."I got this bag for 30% off! Ijust had to get it for you Heather. Isn't it cute?"
Me..."Cute, but I don't know what kind of person would spend hundreds of dollars on a bag."
Her...".... I would."
Me..."Sale? How much was it?"
Her..."$240.00"

Yes, yes, my foot likes to live in my mouth. That was the first time her mother decided I was a bad influence on Heather. She still hates me for so many similar reasons, and she's still a materialistic, fake, self deluding bitch. Consequently, her dad bought the two of us matching leather motorcycle jackets and spent half that on the both of them, but I digress.

I went to the BX to try to find a cheap purse. As luck would have it there was a sale on purses that day. Awesome... until I came to the nauseating realization that it was 25-50% off of really expensive "vanity with a strap" handbags, and most were ugly as shit to boot. 25% off of a $500 bag does not a good deal make. I could spend $400 on eBay and get a new wardrobe for every member of the house. What ever happened to the "good enough to carry shit" bags? The simple deal with straps, a pocket or two and a zipper? The few things they had under $30 were so god damned ugly or impractical that I would rather carry my shit around in a plastic grocery bag. So it's off to eBay for me, and we'll see what I can dig up before my poor old beloved purse complete bites it.

Yep, Still Freakin...

And I somehow think the stress level can only get worse... so bear with me the next few weeks while we see first hand my brain's coping measures; mainly the random thoughts and rumination of the same. I am not on my way to a manic fit, y'all, so please, do not panic. I am just wound tight as a fuckin G-String, and hate this whole (purposefully vague description) situation.

Today I lightened my mood a bit as I remembered a day in high school where I met Heather out at the Tennis courts for lunch. She was pissy and I was bitchy. We didn't want the vomit offerings of the cafeteria, despite our hunger.... and she had the saving grace of a bag of skittles. Just the thing.

She fought and bit and pulled at the wrapper for a good 2 minutes.... then she grit down, said "FUCKER!" and like magic the bag popped open... much to our chagrin, the skittles made a rainbow of fruit flavor all over the bleachers and sidewalk. It was the funniest fucking thing I had ever seen.... Not just the flying candy, but the look on my dear friend's face.... as if someone had just shot her dog in front of her. As I stood there trying (and failing) not to laugh at her.

So today while thinking of these kinds of funny bits of my past, I stood in the kitchen, totally alone in the house and laughed so damn hard I nearly pissed my pants. I don;t know why this random shit gets ahold of me when I am freaking the fuck out- but it does make for a wonderful pressure release valve.

Perhaps I should make it a trend to tell stories and anecdotes on here from my colorful and sordid past... They may end up being a lot of "You had to be there"... but laughing at me finding it so fucking funny is worth it in it's own right.

Fucker Faces

I have removed my contact information from the site for the time being. I just checked my email box and found 763 pieces of shit. Whilst I attempt to put together some kind of spam assain or email form, please feel free to contact me via the comments, and I will get back to you from there. And all you spam fucktards... I hope your genitals rot.

Monkey, bringeth the wrench...

This week has torn my head into little pieces and left me with an itchy brain.... and apparently hot chocolate spatters on my t-shirt.

Before any reader or friend goes jumping the gun- no one person has the whole story... but I am in full on freak-the-fuck-out mode. I could give you the schedule of the 8 or 9 flights taking flight from my brain at any one given moment.

Emotions have been running hot with a family rife with crisis. And Then... Big fucking monkey wrenches may have been tossed into this mix-o-life, and I am not sure what to think. I can talk the big talk about not freaking out until we can sort things out.... But my brain is gettin' itchy. I will be less vague when I can- once I have details and answers.

Until then, try to be understanding if I go a little bat shit ala Drusilla. Thanks for playing along.. mostly you just need to nod and smile.

At 2 a.m.

So it's 2 in the morning. I ran out of Ambien a few days back, and as per usual, my body is resetting to good old swing shift.

I have "the (laughable american) news" on in the background right now, and I just heard some asshat say "Gonzales, is he lying or incompetent?" Fuck me with a fork... can't he be both? Do we have to choose?

Oh, goodie, the Monkey who would be president just said "I never wanted to be a war president." Uhhhmmm.... What. The. Fuck. I am over the issue that politicians lie- it's like men who jack off- (99% do, and 1% lie)- but damn dude... must one be so fucking blatant about it? He might as well whip his weenie out and piss on the press corps. It might help his numbers.

Oh, and I think Gallop Polls are as stupid as stupid gets.... and so do you, at 2 a.m. Who the fuck takes these polls? I didn't vote in it. Did you? Do you know someone who did? Are the poll takers those annoying bitches who try to mug you in the mall with clipboards, with promises of taking only a moment of your time?

I have a sharp, albeit random mind... at 2 a.m. I think I am gonna go try bed.

It's Broken

Mother Nature is obviously fucking drunk. It's July and I am walking around in sweat shirts and long pants. Not that I am a big fan of sweating my proverbial balls off in stifling humidity, but I shouldn't be bundling up against the cold in the summer time, either. On occasion I have been known to appreciate some predictability in weather patterns. Makes it easier to plan that silly shit like say... days out and road trips.

I was told coming here that it would be a big change for me- having actual seasons. In the desert, no "real" seasons... it is varying degrees of warm and dry, ranging from 50ish in the winter to 110ish in the summer. When it does rain (about 20 days of the year) we can predict it with pinpoint accuracy, because we can see it coming from California or the Gulf for days. The thunderstorms form over your head, bow up and shit on you, then dissipate. It's like Camelot. The weather simple, as if by royal decree and such.

Not so in Germany. We can see the clouds coming, but they may or may not hump up and shit on us... Usually, if the forecasting asshats in their finite knowledge of weather say a "slight" chance of thunderstorms and rain, we expect to see animals walking past, two by two. Conversely, an "80%" chance of storms, and a weather warning of lightening brings dismal clouds and light rain, but no biblical flooding.

As it is, I am freezing. Seems Europe decided to fucking skip summer this year and move onto the depressive rains and cold of September, and told July and August's warmth and light breezes under blue skies and puffy clouds to go fuck themselves. The downside for me, besides wearing socks in the house 24/7, is the kids being locked in the house with me all. day. long. The infinite streams of "I'm bored", "I wanna go outside", and "What can I do now, Mom?" intrinsically mixed in with the screams initiated by the constant fighting are driving me (more) bat shit (than usual).

I am gonna take bets and make odds that we will be ass deep in snow this winter... Maybe even by fall. Shit, we may take a sled out for trick or treating at this rate. I am so over this idea of seasons. Seasons can suck my big white ass... I'll take nice predictable 100 degrees and 3% humidity over this shit any day.

Small Observation

I was channel surfing the other night, and caught "the Tonight Show"... Now I almost never watch it, because I don't think that Letterman is very damn funny. I did stop because I saw Robin Williams... and he is fucking hilarious.

What kept me tuned in was not the subject matter, or the bullshit they were talking and joking about, but Robin William's arms. Every movie or T.V. spot I have ever seen him in, he has been one hairy ass dude. Hairy like, chimp arms hairy- go ahead- go fire up "Good Will Hunting", and get a gander at those meat mallet arms of his and the carpet of fur covering them. Take a look at that shit! It's thick and dark as night.

I think he wore short sleeves on Leterman to showcase his new electrolysis job. Arms smooth as a baby's ass... It was just weird. Really fucking weird. In fact, I couldn't tell you what they were talking about because I was so mesmerized by him sporting hairless arms.

I don't know why I notice shit like this.