Thursday, June 26, 2008

It's all about the control....

Bitching.... Complaining... Whining...

All things I do well. And all things I do here on my blog. I don't apologize for it. This is my blog. My outlet. My platform. I speak the truth here, and sometimes, not often mind you, but sometimes, this is the only place I am brave enough to do the speaking. I generally try to speak my mind no matter where I am, no matter the situation, but sometimes, I just can't do that. Mainly because I am a great big coward.

Nevertheless, I write on here the things that I need to say. Whether it be something my girls did that made me laugh till I peed, something that made me so sad I cried, or something that made me so angry I wanted to run over somebody/something with my car... it's all fodder for my blog.

Of course there are things that I do not write here. My kids read this. So some of what I want to say is stifled... Also, there are people who might read some of the things I WANT to say, and be hurt by it. It is not my goal to ever hurt anyone... Well, except for that guy who keeps calling my office and saying, "Sugar, can you help me wit' sumfin'?" Him I want to gut like a fish...

At any rate, it is also not my goal for this blog to be nothing but whiny chatter, endless posts of "Woe is me!", reckless epistles proclaiming who I currently hate, and who has claimed top honors on my "LIST OF SHITS."

But sometimes, seriously, I don't have any other choice... Sometimes something happens that throws me in such a dither that I need to get it written down, so I can look at it, so I can tell if I am CORRECT to be hurt or angry, or whether I need to just "GET THE FUCK OVER MYSELF."

This is one of those times... And so here is my story:

Up until a few years ago, I took care of the bill paying, the grocery shopping, and the casual spending of money. We were in debt up to our eyeballs, and truly, the both of us were at fault. My husband has never known restraint when he wants something, and when he wants it, he wants the BEST something he can find. He is a firm believer in "IF IT COST THE MOST, IT'S THE BEST" school of thought. I, on the other hand, am a revenge shopper. So, you spent $4,000 on a new 4-wheeler? Not a PROBLEM. I will go out today and buy new clothes for the kids, new books for myself, and all the best junk-food Little Debbie and Dorito's have to offer. I won't spend as much as you TODAY, but give me a few weeks...

When it came time to do the bills, I approached it with caution. Oh, I would add everything up, check due dates so that nothing was late, and when I came to the total.... I would lay aside everything that did not HAVE to be paid right then, so as to make sure we had money for food, cigarettes, and Diet Coke. We did not run out of anything when I took care of the bills. But bills didn't always get paid off as quickly as they could have either...

When my husband came to me and said, "I'm doing this from now on, you SUCK at it," I was shocked and hurt. And grumbly. I took it as a personal insult that he wanted to take over the bill paying. It didn't take long, however, for me to see it as a GOOD thing. I did not have to worry about what was getting paid, WHEN it was getting paid, or HOW it was getting paid. And I have to give credit where it is due, he did a damn good job.

Let's move forward in time, a bit....

Many of you know that there has been trouble brewing in my house for a long time. Mostly it's my fault. I take the blame, because I deserve it. That does not mean that I am willing to be punished for my mistakes the rest of my life. It's been three years or more, and there does not seem to be an end in sight. My husband says that he forgave me, but he cannot "forget." I say, BULLSHIT. There is no forgiveness where there is endless rehashing of old sins, endless suspicion that NEW sins are being committed, endless punishment, in the name of "It's only FAIR."

But I digress....

During the last year or two, my husband has accompanied me to the grocery store each Sunday morning. We go early, avoid the rush, and he has stated many times that this is "our time." OUR TIME is no big thrill for me, let me tell you... however, I have made the best of it, and try to be on my best and funniest behavior on these trips. Most of the time, it's enjoyable. Sometimes it is WAY not. I keep going, because he says it's IMPORTANT that we spend time together.

Last year, he opened up a new checking account. At a different bank. He said he did this because I STOLE from him. What happened was that both of our accounts were at the same bank. I access and do my banking from the computer, and it just so happened that my kids used my debit card without telling me, and my account was overdrawn. He wasn't home, so I made the EXECUTIVE decision to take $100 from our JOINT account, transfer it to MY account to cover the transaction and the fees. I paid him back as soon as I got paid. But he was BESIDE himself that I had done it without asking.

It didn't matter to him that MY NAME was also on the account that I took from. It was HIS MONEY in there. AND I STOLE IT. He let me know, in case there was any doubt in my mind, that he saw me as a thief. On top of being a liar and a cheat.

So when he opened the new account, he left my name OFF of it. I have no access to that money. Oh, he DID let me sign him up for on-line banking, bless his heart, so that I can balance his checkbook TWICE a month. So I get to see HOW MUCH money he has. But I can't touch a cent of it.

I have to admit, I was hurt more than I wanted to admit that he did that. He is making a LOT more money now than he did when we had a joint account. He has paid off nearly all of his debt. He will not give one nickel of help to me, even though the debt I have incurred comes from Christmas, vacations with our kids, school clothes, and even groceries when he wants to give HIS credit cards an extra large payment. Recently, even, I spent over $200 dollars for groceries for his parents. I got none of that back.

But I digress again...

Yesterday morning, I asked him if we could go to the grocery store early, because I had a lot of things to do. He was terribly annoyed by this, as he fully believes HIS time is much more important than mine, and HE had a lot to do also. "Well," I offered, "I can go to the grocery if you'll give me your debit card, and you won't have to even go. I'll take care of it this week, and you can work in the garden for your mother." I don't like going to the grocery. Most especially, I don't like going by myself, and EARLY on Sunday morning. But I offered, because I was trying to help.

He didn't answer me, and went on about doing the things that he NEEDED to do, which included buying his father a $179 (plus tax, thank you very much) razor, because his dad had seen it on television and thought it was NEAT.

After breakfast at his mom's house, his sister (who I ADORE) asked me if I'd like to go to the grocery with her. This made me terribly happy. I wouldn't have to go by myself! I would be able to do something to help my husband AFTER all! YAY! It was a bonus!

I told her I'd love to go with her. And I turned to my husband and said, "Can I have your debit card, or will you sign a check for me?"

He got this look on his face that, had I looked into his eyes, likely would have killed me. He shook his head, said, "Sure... I'll give you some money... what is it that you are wanting from the store? Good God, we just bought groceries, I can't imagine... whatever...this is ridiculous."

Now, I don't care what he says to me in front of his parents. I know what they think of me, what they have ALWAYS thought of me, and I know how he probably runs his mouth about me down there. (Like the time he pulled into their garage in the middle of the day, telling them he needed to hide his truck before I got home, because "something is not right up there.")

But I was humiliated that his sister heard his hateful words. I was humiliated that I even had to ASK for money to buy groceries...

What I did was smile sweetly and say, "Oh, well, hey! Don't worry about it! It's no biggie! I don't have to go, really! We still have loads of food from LAST week's shopping! Um, I have to get home now, and get those dishes done!"

And I went home and cried. Like a stupid little girl. When my crying spell was over, I called his sister and said, "I don't guess I'll go, we don't need anything but stuff for his lunch, and I'll just let him pick that up when he goes out..."

When she answered me, she sounded sad, and more than anything else in this world, I did not want her to pity me. I was so angry, so embarassed, and so TOTALLY at a loss as to what I could or SHOULD do, that I did what I always do when I feel helpless. I went to bed.

My husband came in later and asked me why I wanted to go to the store without him. I got out of bed, and told him I didn't. That I had been trying to help, but it didn't matter whether I went or not. After telling me that SAME morning that he did not have TIME TO GO TO THE STORE, he looked at me and said, "We ALWAYS go together. SO I CAN SEE WHAT IS BOUGHT, AND MAKE SURE WE REALLY NEED IT. SO I CAN CONTROL HOW MUCH WE SPEND."

I turned around and went back to bed...

I KNEW this was the reason he went to the store with me. I'm not an idiot. SPEND TIME WITH ME? Bullshit. If he had a list of "THINGS I'D RATHER HAVE A SEXUALLY TRANSMITTED DISEASE THAN TO DO," spending time with me would be at the top of it.

But somehow, hearing him say it? Hurt like a motherfucker. I felt useless. I felt like a 43-nearly 44-year old failure. What have I done, in my lifetime, that could cause him to hate me this much? Surely not the ONE THING I DID, that he says he's forgiven me for?

In retrospect, it seems like not such a big deal. It seems like I totally over reacted. And I wouldn't have written about it, except that.... if someone were telling ME that their husband kept them so completely powerless? I would be livid.... I would call it abuse. I would say that no one has the right to make you feel useless. No one has the right to take away your privacy. No one has the right to spy on you, plant tape recorders in your vehicle, tap your phone lines, install spy programs on your computer, steal every single piece of paper you write ANY numbers down on. No one has the right to take away your self respect, to make sure you have no friends, to limit the amount of time you can be with your family, to withhold money and help and conversation and approval, JUST so that you will feel indebted for the scraps and crumbs you do get... No one has the right, Goddammit, to make you wish you could disappear.

And yet, when it is ME telling the story? I tell myself it's no big deal. I tell myself I don't have a right to complain....

The End

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Yes, I fully realize I need professional help....

Dear Internets:

So, here's the thing: A while back, I had another one of those "tense moments" and deleted my twitter AGAIN. I don't know what it is with me... some people break things... some people pick fights on innocent bystanders... some people eat junk food... ME? I delete things... Ok, I also break things, pick fights on innocent bystanders AND eat junk food. You see the title of this post, right?

Anyway, so I deleted my TWITTER. There was a time... long, long ago... when I was a POPULAR BITCH on twitter. But, after two... (or was it three?) deletions... I am again a nobody. A wallflower. That kid whose mom brings him to school and who whispers mathematical equations to himself while he holds his hand over his ears and rocks in his seat...

Here's the catch: This time, when I signed up for TWITTER, I am not allowed to use any recognizable form of my blog name. Those fuckers are on to me, let me tell you. So, I reverted to my REAL name which rhymes with GELODYANT... If you don't know me by that name, you will waste a lot of time hunting for GELODYANT, who, as far as I know, does not exist. But if she does, I want to be her best friend, because how cool a name is GelodyAnt? I'd call her Gel, because we would be LIKE THAT...

Anyway, find me on TWITTER, whydoncha, and make me the popular girl I crave and strive to be. And those of you (exactly FOUR, THANK YOU very much. Smoochies, I LOVE YOU!) who already have "followed" me on twitter, let someone else know who the heck I am, won't you please? I'll send ya' some Little Debbie cakes in appreciation.

Also, a quick apology for those of you privileged enough to know my FULL name, and are a friend on FACEBOOK. About all those invitations to join PackRat, Scratch and Win, um... and all the rest of that shit? You totally don't have to join. I do it all for the credits, baby. Miss Anne needs the credits, because she seriously has whored herself out to PackRat... Completely taken over my life, that one.. OH! And if by some crazy miracle, you find yourself in possession of a RAIN card, drop it in my pack won't you? There's Little Debbie cakes in it for ya', swear to God.

Miss Katie shared with me a funny Oprah story the other day, and really, don't we all love a funny Oprah story? Kate shared it with me in order to HELP me, with my complete inability to say no. Seems Oprah had the same problem some time ago. Here's how she solved it: She told everyone who asked her for a favor, "Let me pray about it." Later, she went back to the person and told them, "Jesus said no." HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA That cracks me up. I've decided to employ that technique in my daily life. I will begin today, with Husband. I cannot think of a more worthy recipient...

We are at T-minus 3 days and counting, until our trip to Dollywood. Luann, if you read this, I'm so mad at you I could eat nails... but that would probably hurt when I pooped. You never answered my text messages!!! If you want to get drunk and share girly kisses with me, you better take off work on Monday and get your ass to Dollywood. I'm just sayin'... it's not often that I offer to share girly kisses. And don't you guys just LOVE Mitch and Miss Katie? On behalf of Mitch, who I KNOW won't mind one little tiny bit, I'd like to invite you ALL to Dollywood this weekend... Mitch's treat. He's such a loving, philanthropic individual. And he's RICH!! Lucky, lucky me..

I'm off to work now; another day, another dollar, and all that, you know. But I will be checking my TWITTER and my FACEBOOK Packrat game throughout the day. I know you guys won't disappoint me. 'Cause you're all just so SWELL!!!

Love, and stuff...

Miss Anne Derstood

Monday, June 23, 2008

The same, but oh, so different...

When I started writing about my husband's father, and his health issues, I was struck by the similarities between my mother's illness, and our current situation. It was so difficult, in the very beginning, for me to differentiate between the two. The stress level was unbelievable, and I felt myself traveling back through time so often that it almost seemed like I was helping to take care of my mom again.

Every time I looked at Husband's dad, I saw her. When he began walking with that shuffling gait so common to brain cancer patients, it was HER arm I held; when it came time to give him his 7:00 p.m. medicine, it was HER mouth into which I poured a handful of pills; when he could not find the right words and became frustrated at his lack of communication, it was HER to whom I whispered words of encouragement...

Now, however, I am struck anew by the differences I see...

My husband's father is not a patient man. He is a man with a short fuse, and having cancer and knowing that he is going to die has only made it worse. He lashes out at anyone, at everyone, and stays in a deep depression from which we cannot seem to pull him. The tension in this family is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Somehow, and I can only hope this will continue for me, I have been able to separate myself from most of the worst of it. I've been lucky enough to be able to smile, to be cheerful, to offer whatever help I can, and to let the harsh words he spews slip away from me without acknowledging them.

I am not a patient woman... I myself am quick to anger, and tend to fall into a helpless funk when things don't go my way. So you can imagine how wonderful it feels to be able to retain a sense of calm in this growing storm. As things get worse, as everyone is nipping at everyone else's heels, I have been able to stand aside, and keep my feelings to myself...

But oh, how I see so many differences...

My husband's dad gets up every morning saying, "Today is the day I am going to die. I'm going to die today." My mother, right up until she lost her ability to speak would often say, "God can heal me if he wants to... if he doesn't, I'm ready."

My husband's dad rescinded his DNR (Do not resuscitate) orders at the hospital, saying "If there's a chance I can have one more day to live, I want to be hooked up to life support." Every time he gets dizzy, weak, or overly tired, he says, "Take me to the hospital. I think I'm going to die today." My mother said, "I want to be here, at home, with my family. Don't take me to a hospital, please."

My husband's dad refuses to eat, saying "I don't like any of this. I'm not hungry. I'm going to die anyway, just let me die." My mother ate whatever we put in front of her, until she could not chew and swallow, and at that point, she dutifully opened her mouth each time we came at her with a straw, a spoon, and finally, a medicine dropper."

My husband's dad complains of each pain, cries with his fears, hangs on to my husband's mother, telling her he doesn't want to leave her. My mother, to the best of my recollection, NEVER complained, not even ONE time. I only saw her cry once. She told us many times that if God was ready for HER, she was ready for HIM.

My husband's dad is petulant, verbally abusive, and filled with self pity. My mother had dignity, and grace, and was absolutely the bravest person I've ever, EVER known.

I am not trying to say, "Oh how my mother was so much better than your dad," to my husband. I am sorry for him with my whole heart, and if I knew some way that I could ease his torture, I would do so in a New York minute. I cannot imagine how it feels to KNOW you have not long to live. I cannot imagine how it feels to not be able to SAY the things that your brain is thinking. To walk with a steady gate. To have to have someone else bathe you. I doubt I would have more courage then he does. I doubt that I could handle it any better.

But SHE is the standard to which I hope to measure up. She had the faith, the grace, the courage and the dignity, and she had it in spades. My mother was a class act...

Thursday, June 19, 2008

I knew if I was patient, something good would happen!!

So, yesterday was a good day...

For one thing, I always count it a good day if I can laugh. And if the sun shines. And if Mitchell offers me a vacation in the Smoky Mountains.....

Oh, I have been blessed, internets... Today I will not talk about sadness and death. I will not talk about demanding, lunatic husbands. For this one day I will not discuss frantic daughters who do NOT HAVE THEIR SHIT TOGETHER AND ARE LEAVING FOR GERMANY IN TWO WEEKS...

Today I want to talk about my family. And the extreme wonderfulness which they possess. Oh, yes, I have been blessed...

My father has definitely had his moments of supreme ASS-HAT-NESS. When I was very young, all he ever did was WORK. And when he was home he was tired and mean and grouchy. He didn't drink. He didn't use drugs. No, my dad's big addiction was work. He was a coal miner. So he worked hard. And he was an electrician. And a mechanic. He was a Union man. He was important at his job, and known for never EVER turning down overtime. He worked holidays and Sundays, and his birthday. He worked every time something broke or someone else was sick. He made a shit load of money. And he was generous with us.

But it cost him. Not only did he lose time with his family, time that he could never get back, he very nearly died in those mines, when he had a heart attack deep, deep underground. That ended his flush times, and made him, for a time, a very bitter man. He didn't like the idea that he could not work. The fact that his heart attack had blown up practically half of his heart meant nothing to him. He wanted to WORK!! Another stint in the hospital, another near death experience, and this time, my dad found some measure of peace.

He began to go to church. He studied his Bible, and he began to teach. He was a good teacher. This man who had only gone to school to the eighth grade had an almost unquenchable thirst for knowledge. He passed his love of reading on to me, his love of words, and the gift that some people had in putting words... simple words... together to create something beautiful, whether it be a story, or a poem, or a song. My dad knew real joy during this time of his life. He and my mother had friends, and they travelled a bit, they went out for dinner, they attended all the church functions. And behind closed doors, because my mom would DIE if anyone knew, they played poker for money... My mom whipped his ass and shared her loot by taking us out to dinner many times..

But then the world, as he knew it, crashed in and down upon him, and left my dad alone and destitute and afraid. This God that He had praised.. and served.. and loved.. He took my mother, he took her long before we were ready to lose her, and my dad was inconsolable.

Since that time my dad has done many, many things that have caused me shame. And anger. And guilt and sadness and misery. But he's been there, every single day, he's been there for me. I can make one phone call, and no matter how bad whatever it is in my life seems to be, my dad can make it better.

He's old now. He's sick. Time and life have left him tired and weak. But you let one of his kids need him. And that fire that burns inside of him will light him up, and you've never seen anyone with more strength, more fierce determination, more iron will, than my daddy.

My brother Mark is... well Mark is seriously indefinable. He's the middle child in our family, and he was the one who was sick as a baby and in the hospital. Mitch calls him "Little Hole in the Heart." Mark is two years older than me, and as very young children, we were friends. He taught me to read when I was four. And I have not stopped since.

When Mark entered adolescence, though, he turned into a true demon. We couldn't get along for 5 minutes, and he spent DAYS thinking up ways to torture me. I know some of you have read things I've written about Mark in the past, and it IS true that he nearly set me on fire... He dropped a lit cigarette on my eyelid... drew army soldiers on the arms and legs of all of my dolls... made me start to smoke at the ripe old age of 10 so that if we got caught, I'd get in trouble too... and pinched and punched and kicked and teased me until I'm sure my mother never dared hope I'd live to be an adult.

But then Mark, because of Mitch, mind you, discovered drugs... and he was never the same after that. Somehow, it seemed that I was the only one who could see inside that hateful, mean bastard that he became, see my Marky way down in there, and I became very protective of him. It didn't matter how mean he was to me, and believe me, when Mark was a teenager, and HIGH, he treated me like the worst kind of foul shit... I believed in him... I was there when he needed to talk. I was there when he needed a favor... No matter what he needed, I tried my best to always do it for him.

This continued into adulthood. Long, long after it should have. I feel like I've been taking care of Mark my whole life. All during his marriage, I ran interference for him. Every time he fucked up, every time she left him or threatened to leave him, or kicked him out, I went to her and begged her to make up with him. I made excuses for him, I pulled him out of messes, I did everything I could possibly do to make his life better. I listened when he needed to talk, I made myself available 24/7 for him. After his divorce, my God, I nearly had a nervous breakdown. But he needed me, and there was no way I could not be there for him.

Mark has never been one to return the favor, so to speak. I know that if I need him, and if he's not busy, high, broke, or otherwise encumbered, he will try to help me. But more often than not, I don't rely on Mark when I need help. However, having said that, let me say this: I know, without doubt, that if anyone were ever to hurt me, Mark would take the worst kind of vengeance on them. I know that if things ever become so bad between me and the Husband that I am in fear or need a place to go, Mark's home is open to me. I know that he worries about me. I know that he loves me. And that is enough...

Mitchell... He is my white knight. He is my safe place, when my world gets crazy. He will tease me and bitch and moan and make my life hell, but behind all that, he will make things better. He will see that I am rested and pampered and cared for. Mitch is the caregiver in our family, though it's a title he doesn't necessarily like, or want.

Mitch was a scrawny little thing as a kid. But a more beautiful smile you've never seen. It's funny that I don't remember so much about him in my mind from those early years. Of course, he was seven years older than me, so pretty much my earliest memories of him were as a teenager. And God, he was a prick. Like the time mom and dad left him to baby sit me while they went to the grocery. Little Hole in the Heart got to go with them, the sniveling little shit. Mitch made popcorn and told me not to lift the lid. I was FIVE, what do you think I did? I immediately jumped on the couch and tried to pretend like I was asleep. When he saw the mess I'd made, he spanked my ass and THEN he made me pick up every kernel, FROM THE FLOOR, with my teeth.

He could also be alot of fun. On another one of my mom and dad's trips out, with Little Hole in the Heart in tow, the sickly little bastard, Mitch unwrapped one of Mark's Christmas presents and we played Rock 'em, Sock 'em Robots for hours. Mitch always knew what everyone was getting for Christmas. He could unwrap a gift in seconds, play with it, put it back and re-wrap it, with NO ONE EVER KNOWING he'd done it. I loved those Rock 'em, Sock 'em Robots...

Mitch was weird as fuck, too. He used to make me bite his feet. More specifically, I had to bite his heels. What the hell he ever got out of that is beyond me. And here is how stupid *I* am. I DID IT!! Not only that, I gave ENDLESS back rubs, for which I NEVER received the $1 a minute I was promised. UGH. God will one day punish him for his cruelty...

And he taught me to dance. We had this whole dance routine, and it was cool as hell. But, since I was seven years younger, it's not like I ever got to go out and dance it anywhere with him. He also taught me the BUMP, and let me tell you, babies, I can bump with the BEST of them. Although currently, anyone bumping with me is in danger of getting bumped into next week...

Still to this day, Mitchell can talk pure shit to me, make me mad enough to kill him, and then smile that smile that totally melts my heart. He's our jester, doing absolutely anything for a laugh. He will dance, he will sing, he will make himself the fool if it will make you laugh.

And he does nice things for me, when he thinks I need them. Like the trip to his house in May. When he sent me to the spa for a massage, and a pedicure, and a facial.... And like the trip that he just called me about yesterday, to the Smoky Mountains, where he's rented an awesome place, with a jacuzzi, a hot tub, pool, video games, a COMPUTER, a pool table, and so much more I can't even remember it all....

But lest you think I am the LEACHIE sister from HELL, it isn't Mitch's money that makes me happy. (Although how stupid would I be to turn it down?) It's being with him, and Miss Katie (Hi Kate! You look very beautiful today!!). It's laughing and talking and teasing and having NO ONE demand that I do anything. Having no one tell me I'm not doing anything right, or that I'm not working HARD enough, or that they want a divorce because I didnt' do DISHES or PUT OUT on a regular enough basis....

Mitchell is my happy place... I wish I could share more of him with you. He'd be your happy place too....

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

I absolutely REFUSE to be upset...

This is why I have you, internets... So I can spew all the venom inside of me out, and it has somewhere to go, instead of back to me. So, here's what's happening in my neck o' the woods:

Yesterday, me and the boss got into a screaming match. Every single time I have questioned him about the bonus issue, I get a different excuse why he "changed his mind." And by changed his mind, I mean lied like a donkey-faced-motherfucker. He has said "Misty will get mad!" "Misty discovered So-and-So was stealing!" And the newest one, spoken with a straight face yesterday, "Misty has longevity! You don't have longevity!" I yelled, "What the fuck are you talking about? I've worked for you since 1992!!!" "Part time!" he screams back. "Only part time for most of it!"

I ended the fight by saying, very calmly, and in my sweetest voice: "Well, here is the FACT, Mr. Lawyer... You are a liar. You lied. You KNOW you lied. And you can't do that CATHOLIC cross thing and make it go away, because you LIED TO ME. However, I will eventually have the last laugh when you and all your CATHOLIC lies split hell wide open and you can cross yourself from here to eternity and back and you will still burn like a used Christmas tree..." (Now, let me explain something to you CATHOLICS, who may be getting a tad angry with me right about now. This Catholic thing about splitting hell wide open is a running joke between HE and ME and I refuse to feel bad about what I say to my boss, either in anger, or in jest. He gives as good as he gets, trust me. His disdain for PROTESTANTS is legendary. Do I believe Catholics are going to hell? Don't know, don't care. Do I look for anything to say to get under his skin? Emphatically, yes. kthxbai)

When I turned around and left his office, he was so angry he was purple. Ask me if I care.

So, I left the office and decided a bit of shopping therapy was in order....

HA. Whoever thought I was going to be able to shop in peace? Husband called me at 5:05. "Where in the hell are you? It's 5:05!" I replied, "Well, lookie there... whoever said you would never learn to tell time was just WRONG, weren't they?" He was not amused. "What are you cooking for my dad?" he yelled in my ear. "Um... how about I cook a great big steaming bowl of FUCK YOU, HUSBAND? You think your dad will like that?"

He hung up on me. I didn't relax. I knew he'd call back... Less than a minute later.

"Where are you going? Don't be long... Dad needs to eat. You know how he hates to eat late." I told him I would call him right back, and hung up on him. I called his sister, and asked, "What's mamaw and papaw gonna eat this evening? Do I need to cook?" Currently, husband's sister is working here in town, and she drops by every evening to see what's needed. I love her. If I ever turn into a lesbian, I will marry her. Anyway, she said dinner was taken care of, they'd already eaten, and as a special bonus, my KIDS had already eaten also. YAY me!!

I called husband back. "Never fear, loser dear. Dinner has been served, eaten and disposed of."

I swear, by all that is holy and good, this is what he said to me:

"Well, what about his SNACKS? What can you cook him for snacks?"

At this point, my blood pressure is causing me to see red demons in front of my eyes. Dancing red demons....

"I was not aware that I would be COOKING snacks this evening. How 'bout I buy some ice cream sandwiches and you can shove THEM down your dad's throat?" I said sweetly, as my middle name is "SAY IT WITH SWEETNESS, ALWAYS."

He hung up on me again.

I went into the store and spent some quality time looking around for something with which to make myself feel appreciated. By me.

My phone rang again. This time, it was Thing 1. "I'm trying to find a cell phone to take to Germany with me, and they are pretty expensive.... blah, blah, and blah." I tend to zone out when Thing 1 talks about the Germany trip at this point. That's ALL she talks about, and most of the time it is always something I need to do, get her, make happen, or pull out of my fat ass.

So I tell her, "I am out. Talk to me when I am home." SHE hangs up on me.

Phone rings again. "Where are you?" says Husband. "Exactly where I told you I would be, Kohl's." says, I.

"Well, pick up some ice cream sandwiches and stuff to make a big salad with."

"Do I have to make the big salad? Because your dad said yesterday he was sick of salad."

"He doesn't mean that. He just doesn't want to be any trouble. If you put it in front of him, he will eat it."

Fine. I can't find anything at Kohl's that I want anyway....

I leave and go to Wal-Mart... I get the stuff for salad, and I get the ice cream sandwiches, and I get a few things that I know the girls would like. By the way? Yesterday was apparently BALD WOMAN DAY at Wal-Mart. You have never seen as many bald women as I saw at Wal-Mart yesterday. I wish I had been bold enough to take pictures... It was... interesting.

So, I'm in line... and my phone rings... "Where in the hell are you at?" shouts Husband. I take a deep breath before I answer. "I am checking out at Wal-Mart, DEAR, and will be home soonest."

"Did you get stuff for salad?" he asks. "Of course," I answered. "My middle name is 'FOLLOWS ORDERS'."

"Well, I was thinking, why don't you get stuff to make that one salad you used to make? With the peas and the cheese and all that stuff? Dad used to really like that."

"I'm IN LINE. I'm checking out. I'm putting my stuff on the COUNTER. Your dad can have the 7-layer salad in a few days."

"Fine!" he says. "You do what you want. Dad didn't eat the salad last night! He's tired of plain old salad! But you go ahead and do what's COMFORTABLE for YOU!!"

So, I lost it, right there at the Wal-Mart check-out. The EXPRESS LANE, 20 items or LESS, thank you very Goddamned much. "Are you SERIOUS?" I yelled at him Are you fucking seriously gonna ask me to get out of line and go back into the store, put BACK the stuff I have, and go buy MORE, DIFFERENT stuff? If you knew your dad was tired of PLAIN OLD SALAD, why did you kick up such a fuss for me to buy the stuff and make it? Are you RETARDED?"

"Don't scream at me," he said. And hung up on me.

So, doormat that I am, with my fat ass dragging and my hip hurting like a motherfucker, I go back into the store, put back the things I need to put back, replace it with the things I need, get back in line, pay, and go home.

Where I am met at the door...

"Are you going to make that salad this evening?" he demanded.

"No. No. NONONONONONONONONO. The salad has to sit for a few hours. I'll make it tomorrow, and it will be ready tomorrow night."

"Well, take the cauliflower out of there, then and cook it for him with cheese on it."

"Husband," I wearily said. By this time, I'm too damned tired to fight anymore. "I need the cauliflower for the salad."

"We'll buy more," he said.

"MY half of we will not buy more," I said, "because MY half of we doesn't have any more money. So YOUR half of we will need to buy it."

And I made the fucking cauliflower, took some ativan, and went to bed.

I don't know how much more of this I can stand. He's making me resent the fuck out of his mom and dad. He's making me resent the fuck out of him. He's making me regret my decision not to run over his with my car. And back up. And run over him again.

Other than THAT, my week is going fairly well...

How ya'll doin' today?

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

And so it goes... and goes... and goes...

I wanted to write about something happy today! And just as soon as something happy happens, I'll write about the motherfucker, I assure you.

In the meantime, it's business as usual. And by that I mean, it's bitching as usual. Read on:

There's a great big bunch of drama going on in the blog world. Seems one blogger left his wife for another blogger. She left her husband for him. They were together for a bit, then he went back to his wife. Everyone's up in arms over it. Lord, you should read some of the posts and comments that have been written. It's like watching General Hospital. Here's my opinion on the matter: GROW THE FUCK UP, PEOPLE. It's none of your business. Something new will grab you by the balls and shake you up NEXT week. Honestly, some people LIVE for this kind of shit...

So I got screwed yesterday, YET AGAIN, sans the mind-blowing orgasm. Come to think of it, that's generally the way it goes around here... My boss gave us a bonus, which, on the face of it, seems like a good thing, right? When I took my job, it was with the understanding that bonuses came along occasionally, and the office manager gets double. Guess what? I am NOT the office manager. So, I don't, as a general rule, gripe about bonuses, because HEY! Any money is GREATER THAN no money. But yesterday, for the second time since I've been there, we got a bonus based on Social Security fees. Social Security is my baby. I'm the only one who works on it, and it's seriously where 80% of our money comes from. And, AND... way back when, I asked my boss if he thought it would be fair to give the office manager DOUBLE the bonus on Social Security fees when I was the only one who worked on them. (On the bonuses we usually get, several times a year, SHE has done most of the work. So who am I to complain if she gets double?) He promised me that it would not be that way if and when we ever bonused on SS money. Guess what? He lied.

To make matters worse, when I questioned him about it, he YELLED at me. And then he gave me a simple explanation: "SHE discovered "WHAT'S-HER-NAME" was stealing from me, so she gets rewarded for that!" And I, in turn, am punished for NOT KNOWING.

My husband has become the CARE-GIVER from HELL. Seriously, they should make a reality show about him. I can predict, accurately, what he will demand and/or throw a raving lunatic fit over, at any given moment. Dinner is not ready by 5:00? "You are trying to starve my father!" I miss a day of going to visit? "You need to get down there and CHEER HIM UP!" Dirty dishes in the sink? "I want a divorce! I'm sick and tired of your laziness!" Kids wanna go to a movie? "You are WASTING all my money! Give me your car keys, you're grounded!"

Not only does he act this way with US, he orders around his mom and dad, sister and brother, and pretty much anyone who has the bad luck to cross the threshold of his parents' house. HE will decide when his dad can get a shower. HE will decide when someone needs to start staying ROUND-THE-CLOCK. HE will decide when it's time to call in Hospice. HE will decide when it's time for a pain pill. My husband has never been easy to get along with. NOW, he's just a fucking bully-nazi.

The estate papers I was supposed to do three months ago, are nearly finished. And I say NEARLY because, as usual, my boss made about a gazillion mistakes, and I have to sit and go over them, LINE-BY-FUCKING-LINE, in order to make sure they are done correctly. This pisses me off, because I AM NOT THE FUCKING ATTORNEY. However, when I take a deep breath and stop to think, I am very lucky to even HAVE a job, and learning shit like this is EXACTLY what I need, because one of these days I'm going to get a REAL job.

I'm lonely. I'm sad. I'm sick, both from the cold I can't get rid of and from FORGETTING to take my medicine for 16 days. How does one forget to take one's meds for 16 days? Beats the FUCK outta me, but I managed to do it. Finally found them yesterday, IN MY PURSE, for shit's sake, and am trying to get back on track, medicinally. I have not been able to taste anything for over a week, which, you would think would discourage me from eating, wouldn't you? Well, you would be wrong, sadly, if you thought that. This morning I heated up coffee from YESTERDAY, because really, what the hell does it matter? It's hot, and I can't taste it anyway....


Thanks for listening/reading my bitch-and-moan session. Do I feel better? Not really, but if the sun manages to make an appearance today, I'm sure I will eventually...

Monday, June 16, 2008

The one where I got TAGGED....

So, Miss Ammie tagged me for a meme. And because my middle name is "I'm a total whore for Miss Ammie," let us proceed....

Here’s the rules:

1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
5. Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
6. Let your tagger know when your entry is up.

Six random things about me? Here goes:

1. I'm in debt up to my ass, because I can't say no to my kids, and I can't pass up a good bargain. Or a book.

2. I'm all into vampire fiction....

3. I like buttermilk. And I like buttermilk with cornbread in it. And I like buttermilk with cheese and crackers. And I like buttermilk with cheese and crackers and pickles.

4. I have smoked marijuana approximately 4 times in my life. I did not like it any of those times.

5. I like to take a bath in the dark. I pretend it's sensory deprivation.

6. I am trying to love the "skin I'm in..."

Who am I gonna tag?






Hilly (because I wanna be her best friend)

Friday, June 13, 2008

What will they say about me?

From time to time I think about dying. I've decided not to do it. It doesn't fit in with the image of "me" I'd like to project to the world. So, I've marked dying off my "to-do" list.

Another thing I often think about is this: What will people say about me when I am gone? This is probably a question a lot of people think about. Or maybe not.

I've heard some older people say in hushed tones, "Don't speak ill of the dead." Why not? I believe that if you are a sonofabitch in this lifetime, dying isn't gonna make you NOT a sonofabitch. It's only gonna make you a DEAD sonofabitch. And, in my humble opinion, the only GOOD sonofabitch IS a dead sonofabitch. But I could be wrong. It doesn't happen often, but it's not unheard of.

There are people who I knew who have died that I did not like. I don't miss them. I might could think of something good to say about them if I tried, like, "Gee, for a fat person, ol' Roy sure didn't sweat much, did he?" But why bother? Roy was a motherfucker while he took up space on this planet, stealing my air, and making life miserable for all and sundry who knew him. Why should I bother thinking of something good to say about Ol' Roy? Fuck Ol' Roy. That's what I think.

There are also people I knew who I miss with all my broken little heart, and I would be hard-pressed to think of anything BAD to say about them. That's the kind of person that I wish I could be. Someone who, long after they are gone and the worms have eaten their eardrums and eyeballs, people look back fondly in remembrance and perhaps say, "That was truly a good person. A gift, to this stinking rotten fetid world."

So, I've thought and thought.... and pondered a little, even.


10. "She's dead? That bitch owed me money!"

9. "She played a mean game of Scrabble..."

8. "Fuck. Who's gonna make the coleslaw now?"

7. "Little Debbie stock is surely gonna go down NOW."

6. "I'm sorry, Your Honor, but the bitch needed killin'."

5. "Miss Anne who?"

4. "May her little-left-eye rest in peace..."

3. "Does anybody know what her middle name was?"

2. "Fucking HELL. I bet she forgot to call the dentist for me!"


1. "Damn, I'm gonna miss that smile..."

but I could be wrong....

Friday, June 6, 2008

I scream, you scream, we all scream for SOMETHING!!

What a warm fuzzy welcome I received yesterday! Half of you wanted me to go on a killing spree, the other half wanted to hear me scream and curse...

Aww... you like me, you really LIKE me!!

Much as I would adore going on a killing spree about now, in the interests of self-preservation, I will merely scream and curse a bit...

However, as my brain is currently in FUCK YOU I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE OF YOUR RIDICULOUS BULLSHIT mode, this may be a tad haphazard...

<<<*Begin Rant*>>>

Husband has become possessed by the "I can do it all, and by I, I mean MISS ANNE" demon. This, of course, means that any and all legal questions are routed to me to be researched and SOLVED. Appropriately delicious and nutritious dinners are to be prepared by me each and every day, and if food needs to be purchased, hell, I have credit cards, I can do the shopping and purchasing also.

God help me Jesus, don't let 6:00 p.m. come and go without dinner being served, because that means that MISS ANNE doesn't care about anybody but HERSELF, and will incur the wrath of the aforementioned "I can do it all" demon. And pray you don't forget to stack the dishes, wash the dishes, dry the dishes, and put the dishes away, because that means that YOU ARE LAZY and willing to let POOR 85 YEAR OLD MOM do all the work.

Speaking of poor, 85 year old mom... One must answer all questions posed by mom, whether once, or a thousand times. It may seem as if Mom has lost a bit of her memory, but just try answering that question differently, and one will hear: "But a while ago, on the 73rd RE-ASKING of this question, you said something completely different, if memory serves..." Then one's brain will implode and one will blather to oneself: "Memory DOESN'T serve, Granny, so leave me the fuck alone."

Our new housekeeper is one of those mixed blessings you hear about. She can clean house like a motherfucker... But she will take all of the stirring/flipping/ladling/whisking items from the drawer by the stove, put them in a VASE and leave them by the REFRIGERATOR, which is all the way across the kitchen. THEN, she will take all the cans of diet coke, bottles of water/fuze/MinuteMaid lemonade/V8 juice, and stack them on the tiny piece of countertop DIRECTLY beside the stove. In some dark, cold corner of the universe, this might make sense. In MY house? Not so much. Bottles are melting, and cans of Diet Coke are exploding. Meanwhile, the previously referenced utensils, stand alone on the vast counter by the fridge.


Did I mention that the drawer by the stove NOW holds plastic knives, forks and spoons? Who needs a FUCKING DRAWER reserved for plasticware? Sweet crispy JEEBUS, this annoys the FUCK out of me.

Yesterday, I asked her to wash the walls in the bathroom, and the ceiling in the bedroom. "My hands stick to the bathroom wall, when I touch them," I told her. "And at night, I'm afraid monsters will come out of the dirt living on the ceiling above my bed and eat my face off." When I came home, I checked the bathroom and bedroom first thing:

My hands still stick to the bathroom walls. They haven't been touched. In an effort to turn something BAD into something GOOD, I decided to hang my clothes on the bathroom walls, sans hooks. We now have PEEL AND WEAR clothing hanging in the bathroom.

My bedroom ceiling looks like it has been repainted... with swirly dirt-colored paint. It's kind of pretty... but will not stop a monster from eating my cheeks and nose.

The rest of my house absolutely GLOWS from an inner cleanliness that I did not know a house could possess. God bless you, Anna. Please marry my husband and let me continue to live here. You make him deliriously happy. Me too.

Actually, things aren't so bad... with the possible exception of my demon possessed husband, who is driving me bug-fucking NUTS. The in-laws are appreciative of what I do, and for them, I'm happy to help. What makes me angry and sad and over-tired is the expectation that my husband has the I will simply jump up and turn into WONDER WOMAN at his slightest whim.

This includes sex at 4:00 in the morning.....

Who the hell can enjoy sex at 4:00 in the morning? I cannot even remember my NAME at 4:00 in the morning.

God knows, I am trying to be patient. I know what that family is going through. I know what's coming. I know how hard this is gonna be. And I do want to help. Help being the operative word... I am not a caregiver. I am not a chef. I am not a housewife. I am not a fucking blow up sex doll.

I feel like I am constantly walking a tightrope.... If I fall to one side, I will have one of my "MISS ANNE" fits, and tell them all to go to hell. If I fall to the other side, I will fall into a depression so complete I'm afraid I won't recover from it. So I try to keep walking...

Did I mention that I'm no tightrope walker?

<<<*End Rant*>>>

Thursday, June 5, 2008

But what have you done for me LATELY????

Oh my God, I'm either coming back to rant my fat ass off, or I'm goin' postal on this backwoods, redneck, hillbilly bunch of mo' fo's......

Stay tuned.