Experiment

I have signed up for The Great Interview Experiment. I am being interviewed by Squeaky Wheel, and I am going to be interviewing Lara. Think this is going to be fun. I will be posting up the results later this week when the interview is done.

In other news... Today's maximum pain in the ass is going to the commissary. Now, I fucking hate shopping. Food shopping less than most, but I hate it nonetheless. Why nor put it off another day? Because it is Thursday, and tomorrow is payday. That translates to "tomorrow and the rest of the weekend that place is going to be a swarm of chaos". Last time I was stupid enough to go on a payday weekend, I was so fucking pissed off when I checked out that I entertained the thought of ramming the shopping cart into several patrons on the way, laughing maniacally like a B movie serial killer.

What had me so ready to start painting targets on other shoppers? Well, the other shoppers... Look prick- I came here to get my shit and go- I don't want to stand there behind you while you catch up on old times with your girlfriend in the middle of the god damned isle. You wanna have a bullshit session- pull it the fuck off the road. Don't stand there talking with your hands, throwing your head back in laughter and having the time of your life, while my fucking ice cream is melting in my cart, you gabby bitch.

Then there is Mrs. Smith- the resident asshat parent. She may be the gabby bitch at the same time- who let's her kid out of the safety of the shopping cart seat to run amuck in the store isles. She spends more time chasing the little shit around then she does shopping.... and when I am walking the aisles, nothing is more nerve wracking than to nearly run down a child acting like a chimp, only to have his mother whip her head around from label reading and then decide to correct him. My fucking favorite was the mom who tried to tell her brat, "Dylan come here!" and the defiant little bastard, I shit you not, said, "NO!" and sat right down. On the floor. In front of my cart. Did dumb bitch come pick him up and put him in the cart? No. She opted instead to continue to try and talk him into standing up and getting out of the shopping traffic.

So, as you can well see, I am no fan of shopping- especially payday weekend- as sheer laws of averages applied to the situation dictate that there will be more stupid bastards out than in the middle of the week. Did yu need me to pick up anything while I'm out?

Underway... Ish

I have now officially started the getting of the shit together... with paperwork. Odd place to start? Well, it is a small thing, but something I could tackle and do in a sitting, and to my muchly fucked up brain was a task I could actually start and finish in a sitting. I ganked a binder from my kid and stole some unused school folders. The one thing I am good at keeping straight is paperwork. There ain't no way in hell I am going to sit in a lobby waiting for some schmuck to send me away to return later because I don't have a copy of some paper or another.

I have receipts, letters, notes, shot records, passport pictures, bills... even original copies of orders from our trip here 6 years ago. I made spots for transcripts, clearances, insurance papers, inventory lists... even a little pocket so I can print out pictures of every fucking thing we own, in case it is broken or lost in transit I can make my claims. I also have a comp book that I am filling with notes and info and phone numbers of places to call to get the info I need, even if I can't do the things required by them- the having of information will allow me to sleep at night.
Got to talk to my bud Heidi last night. She went through this shit last year... Helps having a mentally grounded contact, so that when I am about to beat my head against the wall and curl up into a fetal position, I can call and scream, rant, and rave like a fucking lunatic to someone who understands and who can offer me counsel from an insider's perspective... Especially all the shit *I* will be dealing with as the mom/wife that you don't find on many websites that talk about military moves as if the guys are leaving bootcamp with nothing but a back pack and a bad hair cut. (Holy fuck that was a long sentence!)

Now I have a starting point. I made out a list for each room of shit to do... now I just have to get it done, and when needed, get help. Hmmm... Help might be a bit of a problem- hard to find someone I can hire who can actually get on base, and co-worker volunteers are going to be few and far between with the whole four flights of stairs and heavy shit to haul issue. How does this sound?

[strong]Wanted: Human Pack Mule with Truck for fourth floor trash Storage and Trash run Job- payment in Beer, Home Cooking and Pizza. Apply Within. Warning: Boss Bites[/strong]

Think anyone will volunteer?

Scary Questions

Anyone who has been on over to Avitable's site knows what a great guys he is... and a total fucking nutter to boot. Now, a ways back while in the midst of my harried horseshit, I had signed up for him to question me. I am going to post and answer his questions. If easily offended, you may wanna go on ahead and hit the next link in your blogroll now.

1. Since your name evokes thoughts of the founder of psychoanalysis, do you
think a cigar is sometimes more than a cigar?

~What could be wrong with a large, foul smelling, phallic object that people like to put in their mouths, and not inhale? I just think Cigars are nasty- like being around someone lighting up and smoking a turd. If Monica was a nasty enough woman to let him put that cigar up there... then she must be one of those nasty whore's who could give a "suck the chrome off a trailer-hitch" blow jobs.

2. Following up on that, I had a dream the other day where I was
masturbating to goat porn while floating in a pool of honey next to a yellow
tree that had boobs. What does that mean?

Okay, Smart ass... Yellow- in positive context is a clue of contentment (think daisies), in a negative context, it represents cowardice, lack of ability to make decisions. Goats are seen when you feel gullible, and have a lack of judgment... I think you are having second thoughts about screwing that tree, pal. I would have to recommend against it- penis splinters could be painful.

3. What's your worst trait and how does your husband put up with it?

My worst trait is... shit, how do I pick... I am a rock. That is to say- on the outside. I hold it together, be strong and smile through it. Inside I am falling apart at times, and when these two things come to odds with each other, the rocky outside starts to fracture. I become very emotionally delicate, and pushed the wrong way, I either start crying- or I fucking explode leaving a path of destruction in my wake.
Frankly, I have no idea how he puts up with it. Maybe because I am an excellent cook, make him laugh and give good head, and I only turn into a fucking lunatic about 3% of the time. He loves me...

4. I read a rant about buying nice clothes and putting stock into
appearances. My wife alternates with trips to Paris and Los Angeles each
year to go shopping. Do you hate her?

No. Well, yes. No- she can do whatever she wants... Then again... YES.
She is feeding into the idea that someone else's name on her ass makes the jeans somehow look better.
If she is walking around in a pair of threadbare walmart sweats, and a wife beater without a bra.. do you want to throw her on the living room floor and give her 3 day rug burns just as much as if she were wearing a thousand dollar ensemble? Yes?
Knowing she is your wife, she must have an awesome rack and nice ass, and be the epitome of gorgeous... do you think she needs Manolo printed on the inside of her shoe to look yummy to you? Would she be just as fuckable if it said "Payless" inside her heels?

5. Why is the military such a bloated mess? Do you ever get tired of
seeing it chew up and spit out good people who don't deserve it?

The military is a mess? Fuck me! Seriously? It is a bloated mess because the left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing, and sure as fuck doesn't want it to find out. Every politicain in Washington is pushing to get their own little bit of policy passed. In the mean time, the things that are fucking useless keep getting pushed, and issues that could actually help are tabled and ignored to death.
When it comes to the guys who are out here... most of them are just like you. Making a living for a paycheck, and some days they hate their jobs. Some think the company and bosses they work for are micro managed and ruined by a gaggle of asshats, just like the real world... only we make less money for it, and can't say fuck it and quit.
As for feeling bad for the guys who get chewed up and spit out... that is like feeling bad for stupid teenage girls who get knocked up, and then keep their babies. They go out and have sex to make them feel like grown ups, and have kids, when they aren;t really ready to be grown ups.
They hear the stories about what it is like., but think it can't be that bad. It will be different for THEM. If they are fucked in the head enough to make a poor uninformed choice about their lives- fuck em. The military is great for a lot of people. It sucks for a lot of people. They should look before they leap. Not like they were fucking drafted. At least- not yet.
Dumb fucks are everywhere... ever notice the management in your company seems to be made of up of assholes and retards? The military is no different... we just have fewer options to remedy the problem thanks to over written rules, regs and red tape. That's where the bloat comes from.

How did I do?

Makes you wonder

Here I sit folding laundry... And in my channel surfing, I come across the movie "Awakenings", starring Robin Williams. It is one of my favorite movies. True story about a Dr. Sayer and his work with patients institutionalized in a mental hospital in a persistent vegetative state, and how his therapy was able to wake them for a few days, and a much sadder darker note of how these people are IN THERE. There is a consciousness- a frightening thought. They had an episode of "House" awhile back too where they woke a vegetative patient with Dopamine treatment. They are somewhat aware of things- they know time has passed, but not how much. They know they are in a hospital, but not why. They can pick out voices, and faces, but can not tell you how.... I digress.

It got me thinking, while in my laundry folding boredom... If it were to happen to you, to go into a persistent vegetative state, and then you could be awoken for a few days, what would you choose? Not saying life or death- this isn't a Teri Schaivo question... But if you could be woken up for a few days, completely sentient and in control of your faculties for a short period of time, what would you want to come back for? It's a hard question, no? You only get one shot at a few days of living... so what do you choose? Your son's graduation? A birthday? Your daughter's wedding? Or never...?

As for me, I find it to be a difficult question to ponder. My little girl's wedding, perhaps. My son's graduation from high school or college. To be there on one of the happiest days of their life, and let them know how proud I am. What about the people in your life? What would be the one most important thing they could have you back for?

Yes, yes, it is all a hypothetical thing, right? Far be it from me to have normal thoughts. Welcome to the world of bipolar. :)

Discuss.

Need Vent, Will Pay

Now, this isn't to say I am done on my sabbatical... cause I'm not, but I do need a place to vent a bit, and as I am paying way too much fucking money for my web hosting, I may as well use it. Perhaps this could be a chronical of my mental funk... and a trash dump for it.

Funk. Yep, that's about what I would call it. Not quite a depression, and not a mania either. Just this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. If it is stress, then it is massive amounts of stress, and it seems to be eating away at all the little things... gnawing at the edges.

~The Boy~
My son has had some trouble at school. Started with a "boys will be boys" incident in the classroom, involving my kid and the boy he has been in and out with since Kindergarten. Now, this kid is okay, I suppose... but him and the boy-o are either the best of friends or the worst of enemies. Having them around each other all day, everyday of school for the last 4 years has always resulted in some kind of bad ju-ju. I did mention it to that fucking whore bag principal last year, and she didn't seem to think it an issue... and despite a new principal this year, they are in the same class [i]again[/i]. In any case, my son and this boy got rowdy in the classroom- and decided to do so with pencils in their hands, which made it a BIG offense, as they were using the pencils as "weapons". They got suspended, and in big, big trouble.

The following week, I got an email from his teacher, saying he wasn't staying focused in class, was staring off or wandering around the room. SHIT!! A second call from the principal was from another kid starting a fight with my son, and kicking him and the like. My kiddo reacted by pulling the kid's hat down over his face- which wasn't so bad... But my son DID start the fight in the first place by taking stupid fucking pokemon cards to school. He knows WAY better than that- and all pokemon/yu-gi-oh cards have been ripped from his possession. My third call this week from the school was a result of him horse playing and a little girl falling down as a consequence. Because of the last few weeks, he has no leeway to fuck up and even small infractions result in a phone call from the school, and my heart sinking into my asshole in 2.5 seconds flat.

Now we have been taking drastic measures to help correct the problems here at home... this last phone call resulted in him coming home to a stripped room... no TV, Computer, Xbox.. I even tore the posters off the walls. He has a bed, clothes and books- and an extended chore list. He is on a tight leash, and can earn his things back a little at a time. I hope it works, I can't think of much else to get it into that thick child head of his that being good and doing the right things result in good results, and bad things result in bad results. We have been telling him since he was three to keep his hands to himself, but somehow it is not getting through.

~The House~

What a fucking mess. I feel like I can't catch up. I have managed to sort through all of one room. July is gonna sneak up on me in no time, and I for some reason, with four plus months to work with, feel a panic creeping in. I have read that a move is second only to the death of a loved one in stress factor.. and we ain't talking about packing up a u-haul to go across town here. This is a family of four, plus 2 cats, going 5000 miles to a place we know dick-shit about. Each and every room needs picked through with a fine toothed comb to rid us of any excess old shit that I have no interest in keeping much less taking with us. On the up side, I am starting to feel the motivation to get going on it. Maybe it was the stripping of my son's room, but other than the store room and the hauling of SO much shit to the dumpsters, it is starting to feel less daunting. The rest of this move thing... well, still feels like dog shit.

All I do know for sure is that I saw a stateside weather report the other day and burst into tears. It was -22 degrees in Fargo. MINUS FUCKING 22. Now, maybe I am crazy, but that sounds pretty god damned cold. That sounds so fucking cold that it is unbefuckinglieveable. So, anyways- crying jag on demand, just add weather. It only got worse when they switched over to the weather around home, and it was 68 and sunny. I sat for for at least an hour, sniveling like a little bitch. Maybe this will be what I look back on and call my self-pity phase, but I am not at a point where I am okay with this whole thing. I am pretty fucking far from okay, okay?

Even little things to do with this transition are bugging the piss out of me... Example... I have to go to the dentist for clearance on my health, and such. I am phobic about the dentist. Makes me want to bite the fuckers fingers off. I white knuckle the whole exam- seriously- the smell of a dental clinic brings me to the brink of gagging my guts up in the lobby. God forbid if I need any work done. They better have a tranq gun in the cabinet.

But it is the little things like that gnawing at my brain in the back ground. Getting the orders, getting put on the base housing list, and formulating a back up for living arrangements... Exams, vet certifications for the cats, immunizations, school transcripts, getting this place ready to be packed, then having it spotless to pass inspection, shipping the car, and where to...

Trying to slot some time to go home in between, as I haven't been home, (that's Vegas, btw) in six fucking years. I haven't seem my girlfriend in 6 years, my best friend is dead and have yet to visit his grave to pay my respects. Going home for at least a few days is a priority for me. Mom wants to help out with the kids, and take them for a week or two when we get there, and we have to work out a plan for that. Do we fly to Vegas and she comes to get them? Or do we fly into LAX, and have the car shipped there, so we can pick it up and drive to Phx, she comes and gets the kids- then we go to Vegas, then meet back in Phx to get the children then drive a LONG ass way to North fucking Dakota... Or fly to Tucson, rent a car spend a dyay or two- then drive to Vegas, leaving the kids behind, and later put them on a non-stop flight, gate to gate with the airline's children's flying program thingy? FUCKIN A!!

Yes, yes... it will inevitably all fall into place and work itself out... but I am a grown up now, and I don;t want to get there with the mess and disorganization we came to Germany with. Granted we had all of 4 days from orders being cut until we got on the plane, and that made things a BIG mess... I really don't want to fuck this up, and NEED to make the moving part as easy as possible, so I can handle the inevitable emotional fallout out when it happens. Both mine and the family's. Not only am I scared about the move itself, and where we are going- but I am scared that the move itself will not go well, and make it harder.

So yeah... That's why I haven't been prolific in my writing. When you have thousands of things going on in your head, it is not so easy to pick one or two and write about it. Like trying to pick a single voice out of a crowded room. Being bi-polar makes things just a little more difficult.

So back to your regularly scheduled Freud-free sabbatical... maybe.

Sabbatical

I am taking an official break from this blog. As I haven't written in it for a while anyways, It should come as no surprise.
With less than 5 months until we move, and all the stress that goes with it... My son having problems in school, managing money for the move, etc. I don't have the energy nor inspiration to keep this up for now.
I'll be back at some point, just... not for awhile.