"I cheat the light to check my face.... It's slightly harder than last year"

".... And all at once it gets hard to take..... It gets hard to fake what I won't be....."

and that pretty much sums it up right there.

John always knows what to say.

Smut.... it's what I'm reading while you're reading this!

Wine.
It's tasty. And also, it makes me want to say things to people that I probably shouldn't say. All that alcohol induced honesty could be hazardous to ones health. Not mine. But perhaps folks that get their panties in knots when folks tell them things they know but didn't want to hear. A few examples would be... wow, you have some poor decision making skills. Another would be... you are quite desperate, aren't you?

Which kind of brings me to my point. There's gotta be a fine line between being honest and saying what's on your mind and being an adult and saving face, keeping your mouth shut, and walking away from drama. I actually had a much older colleague come in to my office and gossip about another colleague yesterday. And the entire time she sat there bending my ear I thought, wow, am I suddenly in high school again? I turned to my much older colleague and said something like- well, this is what it is to be an adult, sometimes you work with people that you may not get along with, but you have to be an adult and ignore it and do what you have to do. Not everybody can get along with everybody.

What I wanted to say? Totally different. I wanted to say what I thought of her small-mindedness and ignorance. And what I really wanted to say? STFU, you're obnoxious, and I really don't care that you have beef with someone else. I'm not your friend. But. I have a sober-induced filter and I have to work with her everyday. So. I refrained. I politely changed the subject to coffee and creamer and moved on.

These people in this world that are all- I say what I want to say and I don't care. I kinda think they care. I kinda think they want the attention of being shocking and stirring the pot and the attention
that they claim not to want and that they also ridicule and claim to be the victim of.... they need it. They thrive off it. They would wither up and rock in the fetal position without it. This irritates me. Go get therapy and stop whipping the masses into hysterics of persecution that you later claim to be the victim of.

I am trying to say something important here. Really I am. Other than some people need to realize they need therapy- myself included... Sometimes it's ok to keep your thoughts to yourself. Sometimes it's ok not to update social media regarding the size and shape of your poo or how many times you blew your nose today and what color it was. Sometimes it's ok not to get along with people and keep the thoughts to yourself. The inner machinations of the mind are an enigma and it's ok to keep them that way. Because guess what folks? This is the real world and we are all grown ups and this isn't high school anymore!

THANK GOD- because high school was painful and awkward and embarrassing and the only thing I could imagine wanting back from that time in my life.... is the body I had when I though I was fat but was actually thin and perky........

and now I'm going to put down my wine glass and go read my smut novel... because I read smut novels. Don't judge.

too damn much.... an un-proofread blog

Sweet music is flowing tonight in my ears. Mostly because I just found my mp3 player that's been MIA for quite some time. Well that's partly why. The other part is this... there is too much.

On the surface that sentence appears completely incomplete. Perhaps. But trust me when I tell you, it is incompletely complete.

Too much anger, too much pain, too much resentment, too much crying. I haven't been able to write. It just won't come out. I don't know that it will here either, but it's a start.
Too much responsibility, fear, anxiety, illness, emptiness, loneliness, darkness.
When does a body have enough? For a while I felt like I was trudging onward. Soldiering on. Shrugging it all off. But the fact of the matter is this, I've been soldiering on yes, but burying feelings underneath a facade of cheerful cynical sarcasm- if such a thing exists. So basically sweeping the important stuff under rug because it's too much to deal with. And this last week, for whatever reason the too much really has become too damn much. I'm screaming at children, and cutting myself off from everyone because I hurt. I remind myself of a wounded animal. I'm just going to sit over here looking all pitiful (blogging) but don't touch me or I will freaking bite you and give you rabies.

And the really pissy part? I'm just dealing with every day life. And yet I'm struggling. I'm drowning. Currently considering drowning myself in this bottle of wine. Although I know I will just wake up with a headache and the continued 'too much responsibility'.

I seem to have misplaced my boot straps. Probably because I broke the heal off my boots just the other day....

Screw the boot straps. I need something a bit more substantial. A lifeboat? A tow strap?

*insert cheerful cynical sarcasm here*

yes, well, I prefer to be alone anyway.... apparently.

Things that are not wonderful:

A comprehensive list by yours truly...

1. Whooping Cough
2. X-husbands
3. dogs with itchy asses
4. dishes in the sink from last night
5. laundry that's been in the washer for 5 days. seriously? someone should see to that! jeesh!
6. the shits
7. boob pain
8. boob sweat

9. and since we're talking about boobs... that feeling when one boob feels bigger than the other and your bra suddenly becomes unbearably uncomfortable.

10. toddles that get up half a dozen times a night and stand at the side of your bed all children of the corn like and rouse you from a peaceful sleep because they saw... a shadow... every night, for the last week!

11. toddlers that stay up past midnight. (WTF?!- I can't find the batteries on this kid!)

12. dogs that lick their itchy parts. OMG STFU

13. waking up at the ass crack of dawn, forcing small uncooperative children out of bed, leaving them at a sitters, working a menial job with ridiculous, humorous pay, picking those children back up at the end of the day, feeding them, bathing them, putting them to bed... only to realize you're to exhausted to even watch the 10 o'clock news... sad sad sad
14. cancer. cancer can suck my toe and kiss my ass.
15. quazi-deployments

16. dog farts

17. fleas
18. grass that is hip high that no one wants to mow
19. possums.... eating your garbage
20. split ends
21. gray roots

22. no time to get to a hair appointment, unless your kids could like sit on your lap while you get your hair done, and well, that's not gonna happen.

23. Feeling inferior ... daily
24. not smoking. even though you know it's a good thing that you don't... but still wanting to do it... but not actually doing it
and the 25th thing that is not wonderful?

An Empty Wine Bottle!

Oops. 

My bad.

That's gonna suck in the morning.

Oh well.

CHEERS!

Have you ever been so pissed off...

If there were a cactus and gloves nearby, I would seriously considered it at the moment. Not entirely sure who I would swing it at, but there is potential for some great satisfaction.
I am this mad.

You want some of this?

You wanna hear some random shit, do you? Do you? Huh? Do you? Because that's what I'm sellin' here and don't let anyone tell you anything different. There are turkeys running around in the woods across the road. I can hear those little buggers and I'm thinkin they would be awfully tasty after a trip to my oven covered in herbs and butter and then slathered in tasty gravy. Not the dry stuff I ate yesterday... that I didn't make. I wanted ham.. I didn't get it. I'm being a whiney biatch. Whatevs. Mostly I'm pissed that Sgt. Dad ate the last of my homemade salsa and I got none. But mostly I'm pissed because of this whole... he doesn't have a job thing and might just go back to the contracting bit. It's definitely got my shorts in a knot and it's definitely making me pissed off at the world, which should be fun when I go to work tomorrow. Fake smiles and fake pleasant tones of voice can only last so long before I start to get snippy. The fact that I'm almost totally weaned off my antidepressants... gee... hadn't really thought about that, but I'm sure it's like an undercover spy in this whole pissed off at the world game. Andd I just spent 3 minutes looking up the difference between wean and ween because I can't spell. Also, Ween was a band from the 80s.  Thank you Wikipedia for that startling bit of useless information that I will forget in the 3 minutes it took me to find the word I was looking for.

Are you keeping up? I suppose manic would be the best way to describe where I am today. I imagine taking myself off the crazy train that has been cymbalta is most definitely the issue here. I glazed over it in an attempt to make light of it. The truth of the matter is, my crutch is gone, reality is more real and my head is going in 10 different directions at once. During the week I feel like I can't breath. There is no time. I get up at the butt crack of dawn, work a ridiculous job where the pay doesn't even scratch the ratio to responsibility, come home to whining children, a trashed house, and a pissed off husband. Who by my estimate is about to lose his mind in 3... 2..  You get the point. This is not fun. It could be worse, I am certain. Like, at least there is a home to come home to. But right now I feel like I'm drowning, and it totally pisses me off that I can't find a way to appreciate what I do have. And damn it. I want freaking salsa. It's not like I can just hop in the car and drive to the corner store to get some. Nope. The only thing safe to buy from the corner store is smokes and the newspaper and maybe bottled soda. Although that's pushing it. Besides I like to make my own and whelp, I'm feeling way to damn lazy for that.

I'm leaning heavily today on the positivity that often flows from my fellow bloggers. I'm trying anyway. Clicking links and reading and thinking... gee those are all great ideas to help battle the beast I battle, but in the end, today anyway, I'm feeling defeated. Defeated in the sense that... I'm too lazy to motivate myself to do anything about the way I feel, so I instead I'm just gonna lay here and fester. People do that. It's ok. We can't all be happy everyday. That would be freakin creepy. Like Walking Dead creepy but with happy people. Btw- Walking Dead? Yea. Don't care. I watched 5 minutes of it. A little zombie kid came stumbling out of a barn and they killed it. No thanks. I don't need nightmares about my kids turning all children of the corn. And I would. Get nightmare that is. I do. I have them all the time. It's just so conducive to a good night's sleep.... pfffftttt....

I should prolly stop here, because as you can see... I have no point... and since I have no point this could ramble on forever and at some point I could understand you sneaking out the back door when you've had enough. It's ok. We all do it. I did it to my son's teacher the other day. That man... he does not shut up. It's a wonder those kids learn anything that class. I digress. Mini-man is now parked next to me with his Leap-pad and he requires assistance with his pirate game. This is obviously more important than blogging ya'll. Sorry. I do have priorities.

I still love you all. Thanks for being here and sticking around and not sneaking out!

Have you seen my stapler?

This last week has been one of the more challenging weeks in recent history for me. Change and adjustment were at the forefront, which, let me be frank, these are not things I am comfortable with. Ya see, I wasn't actively searching for a job, but I got a phone call week before last from someone who, well it's kind of hard to explain. I should call him my previous boss, but he was always more, friend, father figure, support, the list goes on. I made him look good, made his job easy, and he in-turn took care of me by basically allowing me perverse amounts of latitude in my job. It was, I must say, the most epic supervisor/ admin. asst. relationship ever recorded in history. And then the twins came along and I couldn't afford to continue working for him. So this someone calls me week before last and says, hey, I know Sgt. Dad is out of work, and I have a line on a job opportunity that you are perfect for and the place is desperate and you could start ASAP if you want.

Being practical and pragmatic, I jumped at this. I mean, any money is better than no money, and after talking it over with Sgt. Dad we agreed we could do this. The job is only temporary, for a 30 day term, and it could be mine if I so choose.

Question is, do I choose?

I jumped in with both feet, gung ho. Excited. Ready. Even a bit ego-inflated. I was briefed on the status of this particular workplace- things were in a bad state. I'll spare you the boring details, but just know it was sort of a perfect storm of events that resulted in a ridiculous amount of unanswered phone calls Monday morning, and a lot and I mean A LOT of pissed of clients. One day into it and I was ready to stab someone in the foot. The disorganization. The lack of protocols. The assumption that I was well aware of all goings-on and wouldn't require additional training. I sat at that desk at the end of the first day and thought, I am in way over my head here. I came home, got stuck in traffic, cursed repeatedly, pulled into the drive-way and fought the urge to cry. And then I saw the kids and I felt worse and better at the same time. Is that possible?? So glad to be home. So happy to hug them. So sad that I was gone all day. Tuesday was much the same. Then Wednesday, another day of frustration in that office- I was ready to throw the constantly ringing phone out the window. And when I arrived home- Sgt. Dad attempted to bribe me to quit- by saying he would contract out again, go back overseas, and buy me my dream car when he got back- just so I could be home with the kids. Apparently they were rough on him that day, tantrums and toilet training and tears. I even heard the following words, and this is a direct quote you guys- 'I don't know how you did this while I was gone.' Yea, Buddy, this full time SAHM thing isn't as fun as people think it is. Thursday got a bit better, and Friday- well the majority of Friday was sort of fun because I didn't have to sit in the office all day and got to see old work friends and my old boss during a training do-hicky-thingy. (Nice $10 word there, huh?) After finishing the training though, it was back the office, to figure more shit out on my own with my current supervisor no where in sight. WTF dude? I've been here 5 days and I'm supposed to run this shit? For the piddly shit I'm getting paid? You've got to be kidding me. Frustration can not even begin to describe the feeling. I came home, bitched and whined, and complained all night and then promised not to say another word about it for the rest of the weekend. Because you know, it's just a job. So instead of saying anything out loud, I'm here, typing away, getting things off my chest.

As much anxiety as I harbor I've always known that there are some things that I'm damn good at. I was sure that this would be easy. I could handle this. Not so much. At least not yet. I'm gonna regroup, drink wine, hug my family, and stop thinking about it. And come Monday morning, I'm gonna pull up my big-girl-granny-panties, and attempt to dig in again. If there are no protocols and no organization, perhaps it's time to make some.....
and if my supervisor doesn't go get his own stapler some time soon....


















HOOAH!
and Happy St. Pat's day ya'll!!
As always- thanks for reading!!

Stop the Bandwagon I want off. And you can keep your Awareness Ribbon, I didn't want it anyway.

Some days when I sit down to write my blog I am full of sarcasm and wit and work hard to share that and be humorous. This is not one of those posts.

I found out, rather belatedly, that March 1st, was Self-Injury Awareness Day. As with any other 'Awareness' Day, it's a day to shed some light on some malady, illness, plight etc. And of course, there is the obligatory ribbon that goes along with this. In this case the spotlight is shed on Self-Injury and the ribbon is orange. I'm sure I'm about to ruffle feathers with my take on this whole awareness bit. I may even come off hypocritical. I mean, I even posted a blurb on my FB page about this in support of it. Sure, cool, Awareness Days! Wear your (whatever color) ribbons, spread info around, share your story, feel good about focusing some attention on whatever cause you're being aware about. I'm guilty. I did it. But in hindsight, ya know what? I really feel like I just jumped on a bandwagon, and honestly folks? I am NOT a bandwagon jumper.
Usually when the bandwagon is rolling past me I'm all like screw you bandwagon and your hype-carrying masses, I'm walkin' and I'm walking to my own beat and taking my time. I don't know what happened over the weekend, but I got on the Awareness Day bandwagon and I'm feeling super guilty about it. So, first of all, an apology to anyone reading this because I feel like I perhaps portrayed myself in the wrong light. I'm all for awareness and support and ya'll know (if you've read anything that I've written) I battle with a similar problem (similar to Self-Injury, but really, totally different- I'll get back to that in a moment). So yea, there's that. My bad for hopping on the wagon haphazardly without really thinking about it, thereby providing you with this moment where I remove my foot from my mouth... or hand... or whatever.

And now that my foot has been removed, and both feet are firmly planted back on the ground. I'm annoyed with obligatory awareness days and multiple ribbon colors. It's confusing and overwhelming and frankly I just can't keep track. We're supposed to care about this cause and that cause and some cause we didn't even know existed. It's all just too much. It seems so obligatory and cliche any more. It's almost like the whole... 'there's an app for that' thing. And I guess I'm angry because I got duped. I was angry that the whole 'Self-Injury Awareness' Day didn't really apply to my own cause, and my own battle, and I got caught up in a moment when I didn't take the time to read the specifics. Yes, this is my own dang fault. I should be more thorough I suppose. It's not like I'm a completely unsympathetic bitch though. I'm just tired of it all. Are these ribbons and awareness days really raising awareness or are they simply money making machines, making money, to make more ribbons to make more money to put in someone's pocket? And then I wondered, is there even a ribbon for Dermatillomania, because less face, most people don't even know what the hell you're talking about when you say the word. Insert Google Search and... Boom! Lo and Behold... there's isn't. So maybe I'm jealous. Maybe I feel like this thing I'm fighting isn't important because... well hey... there's no ribbon. And maybe, I've just been having a really bad time with this lately and my skin... it's bad you guys, and right now I feel like I'm losing and it sucks.

Which brings me back to this... there is a difference between Self-Injury and Dermatillomania. Initially I would have been fine lumping it all together, until I read something on the Trichotillomania Learning Center's website that totally resonated with me. "People with CSP (Chronic Skin Picking) do not wish to cause themselves pain in order to relieve a sense of numbness or to assert a level of control over their bodies like those who cut or burn themselves. While people who pick their skin may find picking to be a pleasurable act, the aftermath is actually one of distress and remorse." Now I imagine folks that participate in self injury feel remorse. I say I imagine, because I am unable to look at my behavior as Self-Injury. It isn't. To me these are two different things. I suppose it's like the loss of pregnancy (another sore subject). Someone can say, oh yes, I lost a pregnancy too, I know exactly how you feel. And guess what? No. No you don't, because the circumstances are different for everyone.

Just as everyone's circumstances are different, so are our opinions. About everything. So while I don't expect everyone who reads this to applaud it, I do ask that you respect it, and realize that I am mostly writing out of frustration right now and just had to let it out. Also, as I'm writing, I am NOT picking, because my fingers are busy typing, and that folks.... IS a good thing!


As always, thanks for reading.

Who I am? Who are you? Who Who Who WHoooo?

I am Sam, Sam I am. Actually, no. I'm Jenn, and if you keep reading you could learn a little bit about Ms. Martha Stewart Doesn't Live Here.

This isn't one of my random rants. This post is the result of getting tagged by Jenn over at My Daily Jenn-ism and Dina Marie over at The Plucky Procrastinator who were tagged by other fabulous bloggy people... to answer a list of questions from a game that originally surfaced on Facebook many years ago. Let's call it... Who are you? Who who whoooooo Tell me who are you? ....I always liked 'The Who'. You?

Once upon a time there were 45 questions in this game. Marcia kindly lowered it to 25 to save our sanity and combined various questions from both bloggers before.
So here's my little autobiographical blurb that had my closet narcissism screaming.

1. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
New Kensington, Pennsylvania.... just outside of Pittsburgh.... yep.. that's right folks... I bleed black and gold!

2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER SOMEONE?
Remember that soap opera.... 'Search for Tomorrow'? Well, I do, or rather, my mother does. She apparently loved Morgan Fairchild's portrayal of 'Jennifer Pace' in the mid 70s dramatic soap opera. Real original Mom. Thanks for that. There were 6 Jennifers in my biology class in high school? wth?!

3. IF YOU HAVE CHILDREN, HOW MANY DO YOU HAVE?
Too. Many. Children. I have four of the little buggers.... #1 Son- 12, #2 Son-11, and Mini-Man and Baby-Lady otherwise known as the Twinados... they are 3. Pre-Teens and Toddlers... not such a good idea... just FYI.
Also, there's Sgt. Dad.... the man-child

4. HOW MANY PETS DO YOU HAVE?
I can't put an exact number on this....
There's 'Smelly-Old-Man-Wrinkly Dawg'. He's part Rotty, part Basset, and he smells like butt. We found him at the pound looking pitiful and sad. He still looks that way, but he's loyal and his bark makes him sounds as if he will rip limbs from your body. Who needs ADT?
There's Meowy kitty, the somewhat feral cat. She kills small mammals. I'll spare you the gory details. She also likes to sleep on my feet every night. She's done that ever since I was pregnant with the twins.
And since we do live in the country... there are some assorted critters that hang out here... like the Yertle the Turtle... although I haven't seen him for a while....
Wrinkles may have buried him.
He does that.

5. YOUR WORST INJURY?
Does having a C-Section count? The only reason I ask, is because there were staples, and then it got infected, and then my stretch marks got infected... and the nurse said... wow, I've never seen anything like this before, which is something you never want to hear from a nurse. Trust.
Aside from that, I broke my arm when I was 10, doing my impression of a human hockey puck because I attempted to run and my feet were all like ahahahahha.... no. Also, when I was 19, I fell down some stairs and the door at the bottom caught my fall, by my head, resulting in 3 stitches in my eyebrow. Damn you feet!

6. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
Does being an uncoordinated klutz count? idk. I don't think I'll be on David Letterman anytime soon performing stupid human tricks like tying cherry stems into knots with my tongue.
I do have mad-map-reading skills, which I'm finding out, is sort of a lost art what with the advent of the gps. Sad really. Up down, left right... not that hard really.

7. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE THING TO BAKE?
The actual act of baking is not that fun actually. I do love to eat things that have been baked. Mostly cake. Folks in this house, and some extended family and close friends beg me to make cheesecake. I don't know that I enjoy baking it, and I don't want to toot my own horn, but it is pretty dang tasty.
Also, I like Scones.
And shortbread.

8. FAVORITE FAST FOOD?
I do love some piping hot Taco Bell. Hard tacos, Mexican Pizza yummm. I mean, I know it's gonna come back to haunt me with some serious gastrointestinal distress issues later, but it's so worth.... in the end.
(See what I did there? lolol)

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Hell
To
The
NO
(That is all.)

10. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
If I shake hands with them, it's the handshake. If the hand is like a sweaty floppy fish... EWWW. Otherwise, I look at eyes, mostly to see if expressions make it to the eyes... I can't stand fake folks... and I guess since I'm such a cynical gal, I'm always looking for evidence of sincerity or superficiality.

11. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
I had a wicked migraine a few weeks back. I had like weepy tears cuz dang, it felt like little trolls where beating on the inside of brains.
That was caused by physical pain. The last time I cried because I was an emotional basket-case?? While Sgt. Dad was doing his last contracting gig overseas.... it happened a lot. Fears, frustrations... they would build up quite frequently and result in sobbing fits. Good times.

12. ANY CURRENT WORRIES?
Really? I suffer from severe anxiety... there is not room to list the worries. Actually, I suppose there is  and infinite amount of room, but I'm going to refrain from boring you with that ridiculously long list.
However, unemployment, bills, and the threat of yet another contracting gig. Those are the big worries taking up brain space at the moment. Don't worry, I'm sure when I go to bed I will think of at least a hundred other things I forgot to think about.

13. NAME 3 DRINKS THAT YOU DRINK REGULARLY:
Coffee, Tea, and Wine. I should drink more water. Tea and coffee are made with water, so that will have to suffice.

14. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE BOOK?
I'm not much of a reader. I mean, I read, but I read crap. I read smutty romance novels (NOT 50 Shades of Grey though- 50 Shades of.... WTF am I Reading?) And, while I've read some epic romance novels (like anything by Kathleen Woodiwiss), I can't pick any one great book.
I also read a TON of children's books... what with all these children around. I am crazy about Dr. Seuss.... if you couldn't tell. I love all his books, and have amassed quite the Dr. Seuss collection actually. My goal? To be able to read 'Fox in Socks' super fast without making a mistake. Aimin' high ya'll! :D

15. WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE A PIRATE?

Arrrghhh matey! Only if I could be like the Elizabeth Swann of pirates, and if... and only if instead of Will Turner, I got Captain Jack. I would sail anywhere with him. Smelly Pirate Hooker suddenly doesn't sound like such a bad thing where Johnny Depp is involved.
Otherwise, no.

16. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Freshly washed babies, rain, honeysuckle, cinnamon, lilacs....
Amaretto and cranberry juice :D

17. WHY DO YOU BLOG?
Mostly I started this because I was bored... and there were words and thoughts swirling around and I just had to put them down. I always kept a journal when I was younger, so I suppose this is an extension of that in a way. After I started this I found it was a great way to talk with like-minded folks and interact with others in a way I was comfortable with, while sharing thoughts and experiences that I otherwise would have kept to myself.
Thanks for reading!!

18. WHAT SONG DO YOU WANT PLAYED AT YOUR FUNERAL?

This is morbid... I've been trying to come up with something... and really I think I am over-analyzing.
I don't know why... but after I stopped over-analyzing... Wild Horses- The Rolling Stones this song suddenly became an ear-worm. I'm going with it.

19. WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
Anxiety.
It's really the most annoying thing in the world. It's the most irritating illness made up of my own doubts and fears and lack of confidence in myself. It causes sweaty armpits, sweaty palms, panic attacks, awkwardness, and reclusive-ness.
And getting rid of it? Easier said, than done.

20. FAVORITE HOBBY?
Genealogy is my most recent obsession. I get immersed. I dig through online records and then end up reading city/ county/ state histories, looking at pics of historical buildings etc. I can spend hours surfing the web and reading and looking... and BOOM it's like 2 in the morning... or later...
Yea, Obsessed.

21. WHAT DO YOU LOOK FOR IN A FRIEND?
Loyalty, Sarcasm, and a Sense of Humor.
The last 2 are a given, right?
The Loyalty part? I didn't realize just how important that was until I learned that certain folks I held close didn't have any.

22. NAME SOMETHING YOU'VE DONE THAT YOU NEVER THOUGHT YOU'D DO:
I could name at least a dozen things here. Seriously. Mostly though... I never ever thought I would have twins. Maybe that's not the answer that you were looking for. Perhaps you were hoping I would say- I never thought I would pick my nose in public, or go sky-diving, but no.
I have twins. It still amazes me everyday!

23. FAVORITE FUN THINGS TO DO?
Laugh, make other people laugh, make my kids laugh, eat, drink, and sleep
People watching is also fun.
People watching with my husband is awesome fun.
I don't get out much, so my definition of fun is quite limited. I used to love to go bowling, or hang out at the bar, shoot pool, etc. Then the kids came along and put the kibosh on that.

24. ANY PET PEEVES?
So, so many. The way the other people load the dishwasher in this house, leaving kitchen cabinet doors open, leaving skid marks in the toilet bowl, dirty socks on the floor, people of walmart, ignorance, stupidity, thinking-hey, I don't look too bad- and then someone takes a picture of me- and- ewww, people's need to take pictures of their food....
I could go on, and on, and on, and....
You get the point.

25. WHAT'S THE LAST THING THAT MADE YOU LAUGH?

Weird, weird, weird....

I just sat here and watched my most favorite TV show, and it made me laugh, like hysterical laughter. I wish I could say my kids did something to make me lol today, but they didn't. Mostly they just annoyed me and pissed me off today. The whining and the fighting and the complaining... yea. That wasn't funny. New Girl's Nick Miller and Jessica Day... omgosh.... belly busting laughter. Like- I snorted. Yea. That happened.

So now that I've spent the better part of 2 weeks working on this  (was it 2 weeks? idk)... I'm supposed to tag some folks so they can play. Problem is... most folks I would tag, have already been tagged, and most other folks I would tag prolly aren't as narcissistic as me. So let me see...

I Will Get Up Again and Again
Just Another Manic Mommy
Yoga Mommy's Selftalk(In)Sanity

Gosh... I just realized... I really should become more interactive with my bloggy buddies...

If you made it to the end of this post... kudos! If you're bored... just scroll back up and watch the 'New Girl' gif... the longer you watch. The funnier it is....

Cheers and thanks for reading!

And then there was cake....

You know why Martha Stewart doesn't live here folks? Basically I suck at creative things. Well actually... this whole MSDLH thing started wayyy back when I still lived at home with my parentals and Ms. Stewart had that whole Martha Stewart Living TV show. It would come on TV on Saturdays and my dad and I would snicker at her. My dad would do stuff around the house and casually turn to me and say.... 'and that's a good thing'.... which if you ever watched her show... you know that's her little catch phrase. The thing is... this was my dad's way of making a joke. And because my dad is like the John Wayne of dads and barely cracks a smile unless much alcohol is involved... well this was hilarious.

This book makes a good doorstop

The little inside joke has continued on and off through many years now. First these Martha Stewart Living magazines would show up in Christmas presents.... from my dad of course. Shortly after my marriage to my first husband I received a whole Martha Stewart cook book, and there was some blurb in the front cover about making whatever was on page such and such. It was a fish recipe... and the fish... still had it's head. Good one Dad, like that's ever gonna happen.
Then there were the burnt meals of a first marriage. The split top layer of a layer cake that, as we ate dinner, slid down, down, down until it dislodged itself from the rest of the cake altogether and was laying on the counter top. The lasagna fail that ... 'didn't taste like my mom's'. Well of course not, you idiot, I'm not your mom. I attempted making crafts. Our Boxer dog ate my purple plastic floral centerpiece. I tried to stencil. I managed to make a heart look like a giant man-eating alien head. I tried gardening. The squirrels ate my tomatoes.
Then the plaque showed up one Christmas. A gift from my brother. Just reaffirming what I myself already knew.... Martha Stewart Doesn't Live Here. I keep it above the stove to remind anyone who happens upon my kitchen. There will be no place cards, no linen napkins, no hand crafted wreaths, no hostess with the most-est b.s. If the kids need treats for school stuff... guess what? I'm headed to the store and that's ok. You come in this house? You help yourself! Let me show you where the cups, glasses, plates, and silverware are. There's the food... help yourself. And as for the food.... well, with the right encouragement from Sgt. Dad things have gotten much better. He raves about my cooking, and begs for me to make certain things and you know what ya'll? That feels amazing!

And then... there was cake. Sometimes when I attempt to bake things.... it doesn't go so well. Like tonight. The cake was fine. I mean how do you screw up store bought cake mix? Well... I'm sure you can. But I usually don't. I wanted to recreate this marshmallow frosting that I had had on some store bought cupcakes a few weeks back. I tried. I really did. But after beating the frosting in a quazi-double-boiler for 10 minutes I was like... screw this... it's good enough. And I proceeded to pour it all over the top of the cake. The twinados proclaimed it 'yummy in my favorite tummy'. And while it was tasty, it looked like Elmer's Glue. No joke. That is what it looked like. Elmer's. Freaking. Glue.

And that, my friends, is why, yet again, Martha Stewart Doesn't Live Here, and that, is a good thing

Cheers!

Are you keeping score?

There has been a lot of talk about the ‘man-cold’.  We all know how that goes. Your man gets sick and he suddenly becomes more infantile than a newborn baby. All snotty nosed, and whining and you’re not even really sure what’s wrong with them because they seem unable to articulate even the simplest of things without using the ‘I’m dying whiny voice’.  They stay in bed all day and whine for medicine and drinks with bendy straws and blankets etc. Big freakin babies, right?

You know what no one really talks about…. The ‘mom-cold’. Children-they are like little high-tech germ transfer devices. It’s natural to get sick when you have kids around. And for the like what… the fourth time this season… I’m sick. And you know what? I turned into a whiny infantile baby. The thing is, I know I’ve been sicker than this before and powered through. I’ve felt worse. I’ve had other maladies that should have stopped me in my tracks and I kept on. Call it martyr syndrome (which I find disgustingly annoying in other people, but I never seem to recognize my own exploits in martyrdom). Call it whatever you want. This time around, I gave in. Me and my medicine head got all Cartmen-esque and said screw you guys, I’m going to bed, and I’m not getting up until I feel like it. The only reason this was possible though? Sgt. Dad. His unemployment has its perks, and he would have made an excellent nurse. I’m seriously thinking he chose the wrong career path.

While I lay in bed coughing up my lungs, and snorting snot and feeling sorry for myself… Sgt. Dad became Mr. Mom. Cooking, cleaning, doing all the things that I should have been doing. And being the obsessive, anxious person that I am… I started a little mental scoreboard in my head. I tallied deeds and chores and jobs and sentiments. Things like… who got up first, who made the coffee, who got the kids up, who cleaned their stubborn non-potty-trained butts, who cooked the last meal, who took out the trash, who washed the last load of laundry, who put away the last load of laundry, who fed the dog, who let the dog out (don’t do it… I know you want to *woof*woof*woof*), who fed the cat, who picked the boys up from school…. OMGosh… I couldn’t stop. Counting and tallying and keeping score. Why? Why the hell would I give myself such a freakin headache on top of the sinus headache that was already thumping its way through my brain like a crappy Kanye West song?

Guilt. That’s why. I have guilt when I lie around and do nothing. When I quit my job to stay home and take care of these kids, I had it in my mind that this is now my job. I still think that. I don’t want to say I’m old fashioned, and we all know I’m no June Cleaver, but Sgt. Dad was bringing home the bacon and I was cooking it. And then this morning- there he was- cooking the bacon. Really. He was. And he made coffee, and he got the twinados up and dressed. And there it was. Guilt- as plain as the snotty nose on my face. And then it began all over again- he had done the dishes, fed the kids, fed the critters, taken out the trash. And what? I had slept, and whined and…. been sick. Nothing I can do about being sick though, right? (Don’t start with the flu shot talk- we’re not going there!)

This scoreboard exists in my head alone. I know that for a fact. Sgt. Dad does not keep score. He does what needs to be done when it has to be done. He doesn’t complain, he doesn’t whine, he doesn’t tally the chores and the household responsibilities. He doesn’t believe I owe him or he owes me. We’ve talked about this. And yet it lingers. It’s my own paranoia and anxiety over not being a good enough wife and mother and I believe whole-heartedly that this imaginary scoreboard is the result of years of being found lacking. It makes me super angry that I’m still holding on to this inferiority after all these years. I would like to place the blame solely on my x, but I’m more pragmatic than that. It’s my own tenacity, my own rabid-dog like tendencies to hold on to things and thoughts and never let them go. This is apparently, my greatest strength and my greatest weakness.

Do you keep score with your significant other? Are you holding on to the past too? How do you stop? Mind you I don’t react well to change (anxiety attacks and such ya know)… I’m starting to understand and see how the past holds us back and how it guides us at the same time. Ending the anti-depressants is providing me with some bit of clarity… amid the brain zaps…

Coffee’s cold ya’ll… time for a refill!

Cheers!

Depression Lies. Bacon is good.

You ever get that urge to just drive away? I'm sure we all do from time to time. The desire to just get in the car, blast the music, and drive down some random winding road... alone... get lost... and not come back. (Random thought... I miss my Mustang... it was best suited for this type of FAST drive....)
I've been feeling this way a lot lately. Not that I ever actually would run off and never come back. I love my family, my husband, my children, even the smelly-old-man-dawg. They love me. Life is really pretty good, and I should not be feeling this way. But depression... and anxiety... they lie, and whisper, and fester. For about 2 months now I have been trying to get off this Cymbalta. The side affects and the withdrawals from it sent me down this path. I don't want to be on this stuff anymore. I see these ads on TV for Cymbalta touting it as this wonder drug. A pill that will take away your depression, your anxiety, your pain....

It's not. Sure, for the first few months it helped. But I hit a ceiling. The depression returned. The anxiety came back in a big way. And then slowly my brain turned to mush. There's been a myriad of stomach issues, insomnia, and then the opposite, the weight gain, the anger. So I missed a few doses, but it was too late. It's like a freakin narcotic or something. Withdrawals are unreal. More stomach issues, confusion, dizziness, foggy vision, numbing/ tingling in my head and arms.  Cold-turkey is not the way... so now I am 2 months into tapering off, and I am at the halfway point. I guess I'm writing all this because I'm trying to work out if these feelings I have are due to withdrawals, or if this is just going to be the norm for me. The brain fog is lifting, but I have days where I have overwhelming urges to punch walls for no apparent reason. And let's not talk about the skin-picking. It's been really bad. I am thankful it's winter.
It's quite frustrating to feel this way and know that outside of myself and my own self-talk... things are good around me. I've mentioned this before. Happy healthy children, food on the table, I can not find enough words to explain how good Sgt. Dad is to me... etc. Granted Sgt. Dad's unemployment and commitment to the Guard is starting to strain things... but we are still in a better place then so many other folks and I know this and I am thankful for it.
But depression... it lies. It pulls every negative thought to the fore. It skews my physical perception of myself. It takes my emotional weaknesses and magnifies them ten-fold. It could be a chemical imbalance. It could be a deep-seated genetic defect, after all, my grandfather gave up on his own life and let the fumes of his car take him away from those that loved him. It could be the emotional abuse my x heaped on me during our toxic relationship. It doesn't really matter. It's here, and there is no magic pill, and I'm struggling not to hop in the car and drive off. But when my Mini-Man and my Baby-Lady look at me and say- 'Mommy, don't be angry, be happy!' it hurts. I hate that they can see it too. I hate that I feel this way. Every night I think to myself... I can't take it anymore.. I want to run away... I want to get in my car and drive away... but reality hits me... and I feel the love around me.... and know I could never leave this place and these people... mostly I know...
I can't run away from myself.

I don't believe in New Year's Resolutions, and besides it's far past time for making them. But I'm reaching a breaking point in this depression game. Recommendations to exercise, think positive, and eat well are lovely in theory. They are freakin difficult to do though. Besides, I've been down that road, and always come back to the same dark place. So, I'm blogging, and if you're reading, thank you for being a part of my therapy. Writing this out helps me more than you could ever know.

Several posts were written, re-written and deleted over the past weeks, and that's mostly why it's been a while since I've posted anything. I tried to be funny, I tried to be serious, I tried to be both, but in the end they were all deleted... and then I wrote this.

Thank you wonderful bloggy people. I'm gonna attempt to be productive now... unearth the kitchen counters and make lunch. Bacon. I want bacon.
So weird.

Fed the Freak up Friday!

Bitchfest begins here! Actually I started it on my FB earlier if you're interested in that sort of thing.

It's Friday, and I thought long and hard about different things I could focus on today. Flashbacks, Fantastics, Favorites, Frivolous-es... etc. All F words to go along with everyone's favorite F word- 'Friday'. (You thought I was gonna say that other F word, but I didn't- HA HA)

I got Fed Up with all my thinking, and then it hit me, much like my son did with his plastic spiderman race car, right in my head. I'm freaking Fed Up about a million different things, and dang it, I'm freakin tired of holding them all in.

Enter 'Fed Up Friday'. I used to have a paying job. A real job. Like a semi-gov't gig Monday through Friday. I liked it. Then the twins came along and Kablamo... no job. But I do remember that Friday feeling... that after lunch on Friday feeling... when you start throwing shit on the floor and saying screw it, I'll deal with this crap on Monday... and then the freakin phone rings 15 minutes before you walk out the door, and some idiot wants that stuff you threw on the floor now instead of Monday, and you want to stab them with a spork. (RUN-ON sentence Alert- sorry, it just came out like that and I won't take it back. You can't make me!) I remember that feeling deep down in my soul.

Therefore, in the spirit of that deep down spork wielding feeling, I give you a list of things that I am so freakin fed up with I could just go crazy- spork stabby crazy!!!

1. Know-it-Alls: STFU, no one cares what metal door knobs are made out of (an actual recent discussion btw 2 former coworkers). And just because your friend has kids and you have none, doesn't make you freakin Ann Landers on toddler behavior. SHUT UP
2. Bad-Asses that Aren't: Folks that claim to be bad asses but still live at home with their parents milking the living shit out of them until said parents have nothing left... not even a pot to piss in.
3. Fake People, Fake tans, Fake boobs, and duck faces... self explanatory
4. The trash can: Why, why, WHY am I the only one that notices it is full? This is not Tetris, it's the freaking trash can guys!
5. Pre-teen Angst
6. Potty Training 
7. Not putting shit back where you got it from. 
8. Farting
9. People that don't use their GD turn signals.
10. Minecraft
11. Judgy-McJudgy Pants-es: Stop looking at me and waiting for me to trip and fall on my face, I can do that shit without you watching thank you.
12. Toothpaste in the sink.
13. Politics, Congress, the President: I reserve the right to keep my actual views to myself... but damn they piss me off....
14. Rich people- that have no concept of how the rest of us live
15. Giant hair bows on tiny babies... with no hair.
16. Legos
17. Christmas Leftovers
18. Dog Farts
19. Trendy people who always look good... thereby constantly making me feel like I look like a frumpy old hag. I prefer to blame them, rather than myself. It's easier.
20. Sgt. Dad's Unemployment: This shit blows! This man needs to go back to work. He's going nuts sitting here (and thereby making me want to hurt him). There's always the possibility of taking another contract overseas... and I don't think I need to tell you all... I am totally freaking fed up with that shit. It freakin blows huge monkey chunks.

That'll do for today I think. A list of 20 is a pretty big list. And the simple fact that I was able to write any of this while crazy midgets destroyed my living room behind me... well that's quite an accomplishment. Do you have something you're totally fed up with it? Share it! It feels so dang good to get this stuff off my chest. ~ahhhhh~~~~

Oh looky folks! It's wine time! CHEERS!!