Somewhere between my former life and my current life, I dated a few guys. None of them overly serious - most of them in the category of rebound. Spending some time in my life trying to figure out what I wanted, where I wanted to go...and who I was. Most of those short lived romances were doomed from the beginning, and the truth was I probably new it from the get go. But that's an entirely different post.
So, one of those guys was a total loser. And by loser, I desperately need you to hold your index finger and thumb in the shape of an L and slam in into your forehead about 20 times to accentuate my point. In addition to being a loser, he was also a drunk. Capital D, Capital Beer, Capital Bar, Capital Vomit - Drunk. And not the - tells inappropriate stories grabs your ass but apologizes - kind of drunk, but the - takes a leak in your kitchen sink at 10:30 in the morning - kind of drunk. No love lost on that one.
So, I got a friend request from him the other day. And because I can't walk away from a train wreck...I accepted it.
In my weekly incomprehensible conversation with my sister - I told her about my newly rekindled friendship.
It was discussed that there is a possibility that he is still, in fact, drunk - and maybe does not remember that he urinated in my kitchen sink. Or maybe he realized that he had a problem and joined AA, and he's on whatever step is making amends and is working towards his pin.
Somehow we jumped from that, to the strange friend requests that one occasionally gets from Facebook. There is not one person I've talked to that has not gotten at least one request from someone that they believe hated them in high school, or at the very least fooled around with their boyfriend.
At which I replied, that in high school, if you had dated someone for more than 3 weeks you were doing well....And do you remember back then you would have like a "one month anniversary"... and Holy Shit, I wish I could go back and smack the crap out of myself.
But then we decided that there should be a Monogamous Anonymous . And you should totally get a pin for it, just like AA. And I would totally introduce myself with that information..."Hi, I'm Kerrie...I've been monogamous for 2,556 days"...
And this by no means is making fun of anyone that is actually IN AA, this is making fun of jerk wad boyfriends who pee in sinks.
Yesterday was a snow day - and from the looks of the weather channel - so was most of my side of the U.S. Interestingly enough, the schools were closed the night before...even before it started to snow. Quite a bit of faith in our weather folks if you ask me. However, the predictions were correct (good thing too....the School Board would have been crucified) and we woke up to a winter wonderland.
Now, since I've not sent in my nomination for Mother of the Year yet - I've managed to get through this entire winter without any snow gear. I mean, I have regular every day mittens and scarves and stuff to keep her warm - but no ski pants and the like to keep her DRY. It really just does not snow all that much here. Not to mention that once I get her out there - she wants to come back in. Once she really shows an interest in the snow - I will absolutely mortgage the house to buy her all that crap.
Anyway, so I needed a project for the day to keep us entertained. The best kind of project would be where I can actually get something DONE and she can help without burning down the house. So, I decided that painting the spare room was the perfect plan. Give her enough drop clothes and last year's outfit - and she probably wouldn't make too much of a mess.
It actually worked out pretty well. It held her attention for about an hour or so, until she realized that painting the spare room is actually quite boring work and the ultimate goal really does not improve her life at all...so really....why do it all?
Honestly, I don't blame her.
So, my step ladder quickly became an airplane. She and her stuffed animals became passengers on her magical plane to far away destinations.
She had electronic maps that would beep at her. She would click on the map and they would zoom off into space. (I tried to explain that airplanes don't go into space....I got an eye roll. Right, sorry...carry on)
Soon - something horrible happened to our 'bleblop' (a technical term for a working part on a plane) and we crash landed on the Planet of Gorillas. Apparently the gorillas have not eaten in a LONG time, so we were going to be their lunch. We had to fix our bleblop, and fast.
"Oh no, what are we going to do?" I asked
"We have to call someone!" She said
"From space? You must have amazing cell service..." I mumbled...
"Mama...Do you know who we have to call!?!?"
"The Ghostbusters?!"
"What?? Who? No! Handy Manny! He can fix anything!!"
Shortly after Handy Manny got there and fixed our airplane, she left her stuffed animals behind and she took off.
I picked up a few things during our little planet hopping adventure.
My daughter has no problem leaving behind her beloved stuffed animals as gorilla food to save her own ass....Clearly my husband does not fix enough stuff in this house because he lost out to cartoon character as the guy who "can fix anything"....and for the rest of my life anytime ANYONE says "who are you gonnna call" ... visions of an enourmous Stay Puft Marshmallow Man is going to pop into my head.
You know that scene in Jurassic Park, when the lady Doctor sticks her hands in the Dino poop to figure out why the Dinosaur is sick...and Ian Malcolm says "She's...ah...tenacious".?
How about obsessive.
Yea...well...that's me. Except without the dino poop. But only because I don't have any. I'm sure if I have a huge pile of dino crap in my back yard, and sick triceratops , I would be elbow high in dino droppings to figure out what was wrong with him.
You see, I get things stuck in my head. And like a bad song, I can't get rid of them until I DO something about it. It's why furniture gets moved as often as it does, or a room gets painted so suddenly... it's because I can't just sit on it for a while. Once it's in my head - I have to do something about immediately. I am "instant gratification" girl. I imagine this can be seen as a bad trait, however, I am also the girl that gets shit done. If there's a project to be done, no sense in sitting around and talking about it - let's tackle it. Regardless if I actually no HOW to do it or not.
It's also provides quite a bit of blog fodder.
However, some projects aren't the "home improvement" type. Some of them are the "I should do xyz..." type.
Like the other day when discussing a recent episode of Lost with my husband I said "I really should go back and watch all 5 seasons of Lost over again."
That's where I've been for the last two weeks. Every waking moment that hasn't been spent working, parenting, or being poked by a doctor has been spent in front of this computer (ironically named Charlie by the way) logged onto Hulu.com, watching all five seasons of Lost over again.
I am a Lost God.
Ask me ANYTHING...I am warped. I am twisted around this show. I have twisted others with me. I have a notepad and a pen in my purse for when brilliant ideas occur to me. I have blurted those brilliant ideas at unsuspecting strangers...all I've gotten in return are strange looks and business cards for more doctors. I have read 'hot theories' online and ridiculed others for their lack of creativity.
I only have two people in my life who watch this show...and one of them is starting to avoid my phone calls and I'm pretty sure I'm starting to cause martial discord in the other.
It wasn't too long ago that on a day to day basis I learned something new from the internet that could ultimately hurt me and the baby that I was I was trying to grow. Just the possibility that by breathing in the BO of the person next to me was going to change the molecular make up of my child and make her a Cyborg....(wait...A Cyborg or The Cyborg?) It's a wonder that I even got in the car and drove to the hospital to have her ... but living one more day with a 10 pound weight on my bladder, and not being able to tell if my shoes matched was not an option.
Things haven't changed much in the last 4 1/2 years. I imagine it's the same for most of you. Outside of the average sniffle, ache or pain - if anything "odd" happens to us, we generally jump on the internet to self diagnose ourselves. There are millions of websites you can go to, and hundreds of deeply disturbed people out there, more than willing to lend a diagnosing hand.
As I'm sure ya'll are tired of reading - I am knee deep in the self diagnosing stages of what ever is currently happening inside this cranium of mine. Every day I find a new article, new blog or some BRAND NEW INFORMATION that could lead to the CURE OF MIGRAINES. I read every word....I scour every article, hoping to find something that I could use.
I got a glimmer of hope the other day. An article that sounded SERIOUSLY promising. This thing was well written...sounded as though it was written by bright, intelligent people. Maybe not people with medical degrees - because it wasn't dripping with words I couldn't pronounce...but with a medical undertone. The idea behind the article was some simple "re-wiring" of the brain. The in's and out's of migraines, how they work, and some "alternative"treatments that could potentially re-wire the brain and end migraines forever.
With each word, I'm inching closer and closer to my computer screen. Only to get to the end of the end of the article and find that to rewire my brain I need to get my hands on some LSD and mushrooms.
Apparently that's the only "alternative" way to re-wire my brain.
The only mushrooms I know of are the ones growing in my backyard....
Today my daughter asked me what Eunuch meant. My first reaction was "Um, why?"...because if they are discussing castration in Junior Kindergarten then clearly education is WAY more advanced than it was in my day.
Turns out they were reading The Backyardigans.
See the connection?
Neither did I.
Turns out one of the characters is named Unique.
Not an interesting post I'll grant you - but I really wanted to push down the Vagina Cooking one. I noticed that I'm getting traffic directly from Facebook....and it's a little scary to think that folks that thought I was crazy in high school are sitting there thinking..."Well, yep - She's still bat shit crazy!"
But I'm working on a post where I'm a total moron - and I'm in a room with a bunch of people that don't talk like me, but I talk like them, and one of them is Dr. Phil. And in all honesty, is there really anyone cooler than Dr. Phil?
In other news, I mentioned to my sister I was having a hard time coming up with material lately. Once you write about your private parts...it's really all down hill. So, if you've got any burning questions for me - go for it...it may light my creative fires, so to speak.
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