Color Me... Complicated

formspring.me

2010-02-18T14:29:00.001-05:00

Ask me anything http://formspring.me/melodyannwho

Inquiring Melody Wants to Know...

2009-12-05T15:25:00.005-05:00

Today's questions are about "faking it." Please answer honestly, even if you are a big yellow-bellied coward and have to do it under the guise of anonymity...

A. Is there a time when it's OK to "fake it"?

B. When is it NOT OK?

C. Should you ever tell him you faked it?

D. Do men ever fake it?

E. CAN a man ever fake it?

OH, and PS. If you are commenting anonymously, please let me know if you are a man or woman. Thanks and I purply sparkly heart you....

Screaming out Loud....

2009-12-01T15:33:00.002-05:00

I really thought I'd post more, when I wrote the last post about Autumn. Go figure, I had no words...

I was going to post on my birthday, but I was so hungover from the Mexican! Fiesta! the girls threw for me that I doubt I could have written a single coherent sentence.

I was going to post on November 22, the day my mom died, but I decided that I wouldn't have any good words that day either.

I was going to post on Thanksgiving day about how happy I was that Mitch and Katie and Jane and Mark and the boys and their girlfriends and my girls were with me and how wonderful Thanksgiving Day actually turned out to BE. But then I ate a lot of turkey and got sleepy and slept for like, 27 hours.

So, here we are. This day means literally nothing and so I have no reason to feel any pressure whatsoever to post something meaningful. Which is just the way I like it.

Today, on Facebook, I set my status as "And I feel like I'm naked in front of a crowd, 'cause these words are my diaries, screaming out loud...." which is actually a line from a fabulous song by Anna Nalick. I highly recommend that you listen to it, and love it like I do. But I digress.

I particularly love this line of the song, and believe you me, I am jealous as hell that I was not the author. What a descriptive line! These words are my diaries, screaming out loud.... Of course, Anna Nalick is referring to songwriting, whereas, if you tried to sing anything "I've" ever written you'd be pelted with withered and rotted vegetation.

I said all of that just to say this: I can SO identify with this one little descriptive line of verse. This blog... the thoughts that I struggle to put into words, and the words that I struggle to put into these paragraphs... they ARE my diaries. And sometimes? Oh how I hope they will scream out loud to you... So that maybe ONE or TWO or TEN of you will say to yourself... "Yeah. I get it. I know what she means. I know who she is. I KNOW Melody. I understand her."

Of course, you could just as easily understand me and HATE me with a fiery hot passion. And that's ok too, though I would have to say to you, "If you hate me that much, what the fuck are you doing here, reading my blog? Go live your life, you backstabbing son-of-a-cock-whore!"

OK. I'm not making a whole lot of sense, here, am I? Some of you will know that that is the NORM with me. Not making sense is what Melody does best, donchaknow.

Oh, you guys, what a life I have lived for the last few months. It's been UPUPUP, and it's been downdowndown. But it has not been dull, not even for a second.

I've been wined and dined, treated like a queen, and treated like shit. I've had phone sex, text sex, cyber sex, and real sex. I've been lied to, cheated on, told I would be a "knockout" if I were NORMAL SIZED, and offered, by a 59 year old married man with false teeth, to be "licked. for one hour." (I had to pass on the licking, by the way. 'Cause, ewwww. False teeth.) I also had sex with my ex husband for money. Don't judge me, I'm making my own rules now.

I've dated an alcoholic, a pathological liar, a pothead, and the nicest guy you'd ever want to meet. (Hi, Fletch!)

I've paid rent, I've mowed grass, and made buddies with the local drug selling teens. (They got my BACK, yo')

I've met lots of "nice" guys online, who, probably because I am a lunatic, have stopped talking to me at some point and now do the POLITE, "hey, how are ya? I'm JUST on my way out! Talk to you soon!"

I've been desperately lonely.

I've been happier than I've ever been in my life.

I've been free.

Yeah, these words are my diaries, screaming out loud........

Autumn....

2009-09-28T05:35:00.003-04:00

I've had a love/hate relationship with Autumn for about 20 years now. The cooler weather, the blue skies, the wind whipping through the beautiful colored leaves on the trees... all of these things appeal to that part of me that craves an aesthetic beauty in my life. I don't just like to LOOK at Autumn. I NEED it, on some level that I don't understand, and have decided to no longer question that desire. Nor will I allow myself to feel guilty for it.

Autumn is also the time of year that is hardest and saddest for me. As most of you know, if you're here reading, I lost my mother on Thanksgiving Day, November 22, 1990. That entire Autumn was spent in a crazy jumble of emotions, as I watched my beloved mother waste away, while at the same time trying to nurture the tiny little life growing inside me. Despair generally won the battle, and, as November drew closer that year, I bundled myself way up inside myself and pointedly turned OFF any pleasure that I might otherwise have gained from Autumn's beauty.

In the years since my mother died, I've felt the approach of Autumn with a mixture of hope, and dread. Mostly dread. I've not let myself enjoy this most beautiful of all the seasons, choosing to believe that it should be a time of remembrance... and grief. I've all but PLANNED an emotional breakdown each year, and let myself wallow in a tumultuous pit of longing and anger and self-pity.

My heart... my SOUL... is tired of grieving. Nineteen years is long enough. Is it wrong to feel this way? I don't think so. I think my mother has probably spent the last several years, hands on hips, shaking her head in disapproval at my stubborn refusal to let it go.

I want to enjoy the sights of Autumn! I want to put on a sweatshirt, go for a walk, and sit and watch the leaves fall. I want to SMELL the season, I want to taste it, I want to FEEL it!

Toward that end, I hereby give myself permission to do the following, this Autumn:

I will enjoy the sights, sounds, smells of this 2009 Autumn season.
I will remember and love my wonderful mother, without guilt, without grief, and without despair.
I look forward to and participate in Thanksgiving Day, and I will give thanks, for each good thing in my life, past and present.
I will forgive God.

There have been lot of changes in my life this year. And while I will save THAT story for another post, I will say this:

The times, they are a' changin'. And Melody... She is a' changin', too.

Over and around and through me...

2009-06-13T08:54:00.002-04:00

I was behind her in line at the grocery. She didn't have many items, and I was in a hurry. I looked in her cart at the few things she had, and then looked in my own. "Poor thing," I thought. She must live alone, like me.

I checked the clock on my phone. I had 15 minutes to get my things paid for and haul my ass to work. I hadn't slept well the night before, worries and annoyances plaguing me for hours. I was tired. I was cranky. I was in a hurry.

I watched as she began to remove the items from her cart and place them on the counter. She moved as if she was mired in quicksand. "Ok," I thought. "She's old. She's slow. But she doesn't have much and it won't take long. Breathe."

I looked more closely at her. She was a tiny little thing, a little hunched over in that way that older people get. She was dressed in what my kids like to call "old lady clothes": a polyester pantsuit and shoes that looked "comfortable", which is my euphemism for UGLY.

Every hair was in place and sprayed to within an inch of it's life. She wore no makeup except for a touch of lipstick. Her face was lined and her skin was saggy. Her hands were wrinkled and gnarled from arthritis and every move she made looked painful.

I stifled a sigh. I do not have a lot of patience with older people. Quite frankly, they frighten me. I have this fear that one of them will fall or die right in front of me, and I won't have a clue what to do with them. I send a silent wish to the heavens that this little lady doesn't keel over dead, not right NOW, when I'm late for work and my head hurts and my eyes feel like I slept in a sandbox.

I looked around. Why was there no one helping this little old woman? Didn't she have children? Were there not people who took care of this sort of thing? I checked my phone again. I had 10 minutes now, to get my shit and get to work. I considered leaving without my things, but I REALLY needed the coffee. And the milk. And holy SHIT we were out of toilet paper. I couldn't leave.

This time the sigh escaped me. The woman turned to look at me and our eyes met for just a moment. Then she smiled at me, and her face was transformed from the wrinkled little... OLD PERSON that she was... to the beautiful woman she must at one time have been. Her eyes were blue and clear and when she smiled, the laugh lines around them crinkled and framed them in a delightful and lovely way. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just poking along, and you only have a few things too. Would you like to go ahead of me?"

I was immediately contrite. I might have been annoyed, but my mother had taught me good manners. "No, of course not, you're fine. Thank you." I said to her. I was a bit ashamed of myself for being so petty.

After what seemed like HOURS, and after she had found a coupon for nearly everything she bought, and after she had counted out EXACT change from the tiny little faded blue change purse she pulled from her ENORMOUS purse, her bags were placed back into her cart and she began to make her way to the front door.

I was late. Crap. My frustration returned and I quickly paid for my things and began to hurry to my car. I passed the little woman and didn't turned back when she said to me, "Have a nice day, honey."

As I left the store, I noted a car parked at the curb. I noticed it because a little old man, not much bigger than the little old woman, was getting out of the car and looking around. "I bet he's looking for her," I thought. "At least she has someone to help her. Though I can't see how he's going to do her much good. He moves more slowly than SHE does."

I put my things in the car and lit a cigarette. Starting the car, I exhaled a cloud of smoke and looked back toward the entrance to the store as I put the car in gear.

And I sat there. And stared.

And I put the car back in park and rolled down my window.

And I watched them.

He met her at the door and walked with her to the car, one hand on the small of her back, one hand with hers on the cart handle. Slowly, so slowly that it was almost painful to watch, they walked back to the car. He stopped the cart beside the passenger door and opened the door. Turning, he took her hand in his and helped her to the car, bending to help her lift her feet inside.

I watched, my eyes wide, as he put his hand on the side of her face and kissed her on the forehead. She reached up to pat his hand, and her face lit up in that beautiful smile again. My eyes began to fill as I watched, and a jumble of emotions welled up in me.

I felt ashamed for being so annoyed with her. I felt humbled by the courteous and loving care he'd shown her. I felt happiness that two people might still feel so much love for each other, after such a long time together.

I put my head down on the steering wheel as I cried. I felt defeated, for my own marriage had ENDED after 25 years. I was alone. I felt bitter jealousy that I did not have what she had. I had never had it.

And that thought filled me with another emotion.

Fear.

I let it wash over and around and through me, as I sat there that day and cried. I cried for the aching loss of something I had never known. I cried for the young girl I had once been, whose goal in life hadn't been money or fame or power. Her only goal had been true love. I cried for the many pieces of my broken heart, my heart that had reached out so many times, in hope, in love, at times in desperation. I cried for the lonely old woman that I would become.

And then I wiped away my tears, started my car, and drove myself to work.

But the fear and the lonely and the loss still washed over and around and through me.

Divorced? Me? Are you SURE?!

2009-04-27T15:55:00.002-04:00

So, hey internets... how the hell are you?

I've been away for awhile because I've been busy playing on facebook. Would you like to know what's new in my life? I'm going to tell you anyway....

The divorce was final on April 6. Just 35 days from the date is was filed. I don't know if that's a record in my county, but it's definitely a record here in my office.

So, after the hearing, I moved into my new house and it was like a dream come true. Granted, everything that COULD go wrong DID go wrong, I had boxes and boxes and boxes of boxes to unpack, and I moved in without a bed or a washer and dryer. Or a sofa. But move in I did, and I have never in my life felt so much peace.

And of course, since nothing in my life can go according to plan, my EX decides he wants to be my boyfriend. *sigh*

For about the next two weeks, he calls me night and day, wanting to visit, wanting to tell me how miserable he is, and wanting sex. Oh yes! He wanted sex! I tried, I really tried hard to be understanding. I knew he was going to be lonely. I also knew he thought I was going to run right back to him and beg him to take me back. I had no intention of doing this. So it was a fine line I walked....

Finally, I met one of my new neighbors. Who just happened to be a boy I went to school with, and who also just happened to work at the same place my EX works. I thought it was funny, because they are friends, so I called him up and told him. "Guess who lives right across the street from me? JIMMY Frickin' H!"

Ex was not pleased. Ex was so not pleased that he proceeded to bitch about it for five minutes while we were on the phone. I was on my way to his house to pick up my girls, and so I said, "BYE!" and hung up. When I got there, God help me Jeebus, he was like, NEAR TEARS, and saying that NOW HE KNEW I WAS GOING TO GO OUT WITH JIMMY H.

I tried to reassure him, I have absolutely NO intention whatsoever of going out with Jimmy H. NONE! EVER!

But he kept at it so long that I said, "You wanted this fucking divorce. You filed for it. Guess what? You got it. You have no say anymore in ANYTHING I do. Get the fuck over yourself."

It felt good at the time, but since then, it has been at LEAST once a week that he asks if I've seen Jimmy H. The one week that he didn't ask, when Miss Katie was here, stupid Jimmy H walks over one night while I'm outside having a smoke. So we sit on the porch in the dark and talk about all the people from our class that we hate. He was there maybe 30 min.

Did I tell EX? No, I didn't. I actually forgot about it, and didn't think of it again until today. You know why I thought of it today? Because the EX just called me on the phone and said he'd passed JIMMY H at work today and JIMMY H had LOOKED at him. And apparently, he looked at him with a SHIT EATING GRIN on his face.

I said, "you are ridiculous. he did not." The EX assured me that OH YES HE BY GOD DID!!!

I said, "Not my problem. I did not put that grin there, I assure you."
"I know," says the EX. "Cause you said you haven't seen him and I believe you."

We hang up, and I think. Fffffuuuuccccckkkkk. I did see him. Sort of. On my front porch. At frickin' 11 at night.

5 minutes later, the EX calls back. "You are not lying to my about him are you?"

"NO! LEAVE ME ALONE!" says I.

"Long as you are telling me the truth it will be ok." says the EX.

Now... here is my problem. And here is what I WANT to say to him:

"It will ok, anyway, motherfucker, because I am free and I can do whatever I want with WHOMEVER I want, and that includes Jimmy Frickin' H, even though I would not go with him to the FLEA MARKET."

But now that I have already lied, he's gonna think I have something to hide. UGH! Why do I let this shit happen?

He divorced me! He has no right to do this! Understand that I am NOT afraid of him. IT's the embarrassment and humiliation should he say or do something to Jimmy H.

I'm open to suggestions here, because honestly, I don't know what the hell do about this mess. It is not in me to be mean to him. (He would argue that the fact that I cheated on him was VERY mean, but then, this is not HIS blog, is it?)

I just want to be left alone. He divorced me. He has no right to expect me to be his "girlfriend", and even less right to ask me for sex.

And so, internets, other than that, I'm doing great!

Big Day...

2009-03-30T10:17:00.002-04:00

Well, internets, today is the big day.

The day of my hearing. Where we find out if it's a status hearing, a temporary hearing, or a final hearing. Could be any one of the three. Total crap shoot.

My money is on final hearing. Because the HUSBAND made nice-nice with the judge's clerk and got the inside scoop. Everything is being expedited for him because he has to go back to CHINA. Bet he didn't tell them what he was bringing home from CHINA.

Oh well.

I'll let you know how it goes, probably.

love and stuff,

melodyann

My suitcase o' blues....

2009-03-26T08:58:00.002-04:00

I love my little daddy....

Last night he called me to check on me. I have to be so careful when I talk to him, that I don't have a "melody-meltdown". My dad can't handle that, and he's got a bad heart. So I try to spare him the worst of my worst moods....

So, I'm telling him that I'm ok, but sick with a cold, and that I've found a house, but the only reason I haven't moved in yet is the cold that has prevented me from getting anything done.

I'm also whining about not having a sofa or a washer and dryer, because after all, this IS my daddy, and should he so choose, he could instruct me to write a check and VOILA! New sofa, new washer, new dryer.

But then, after all this IS my daddy and he ignored my whining. *sigh*

But he gave me a wonderful idea.

"Sissy," he says, (because he calls me that, of course) "I want you to pack a suitcase." (Oh yay! I'm thinking, "Daddy's gonna send me on vacation!!")

"I want you to pack it IN YOUR MIND...." (huh? But... um... DADDY? How'm I gonna go on vacation with a MIND SUITCASE?)

"In it, I want you to put all the bad shit. Everything you don't want to take into your new home. Pack it into your suitcase. Take your time, sister, and do it right. Pack up all the hurt and the anger and the bad feelings. And when you drive up to your house, leave that suitcase on the curb for the garbageman."

Eventually, my daddy gets around to making sense...

So, throughout the day, I will be "packing" my virtual suitcase, and of course, being the attention whore that I am, I want to share with you what I'm packing.

And of course, if you have any good ideas for me, I'd be glad to hear 'em.

____________________________________________________

Melody's Suitcase O' Blues:

1. My guilt over my mother falling on October 5, 1990. I know she would not have held it against me, and I will learn to not hold it against myself.

2. My memory of the Sperm Donor asking me, "Am I ashamed of you? Well, would YOU want to be seen out with something that looks like you?"

3. My shame for being unfaithful to my husband in a relationship that did NOTHING for me.

4. My fear that I will never find someone that I will REALLY connect with. That I will never MATTER... to anyone.

5. My love of the Little Debbie Devil. (which is Nutty Bars, to be specific)

***to be continued...

Oh, the humanities.... how I hate them.

2009-03-25T11:21:00.002-04:00

I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a good person.

I'm grouchy, and hateful. I'm lazy and fat. I'm depressed and unwilling to work to make my life better. I'm not a good friend, because friendship takes work, and I don't like work. I certainly haven't been a good wife, over the last 25 years.

There are many, many NOT good things about me.

But I will tell you something true. I have never in my life INTENTIONALLY hurt anyone. It is not in me to do so. My soon-to-be-EX husband would probably disagree with me. But he, as usual, would be wrong. I did not try to hurt him.

I am open about my life, about who I am, the mistakes I've made, and all the many things that are wrong with me. The reason I am this way is because I want to know right up front if the things about ME are things that YOU can live with. So I shower you with all the bad stuff. If you can handle that, I figure you're a keeper.

Probably that is not the best way to live. Because, let me tell you.... People lie. Why does this still surprise me? People will say to you, "I can handle all your quirks, I will be your friend no matter what." But it isn't true.... Because when the going gets tough, and with me, believe me, it gets tough, then they bail...

I'm filled with so much anger and disappointment right now, I'm not sure what to do with it all. And it isn't all about ONE thing. Oh, no. It seems like there's something new every single day that sends me right up to... and over... the edge.

I don't have control of my emotions. I don't have control of anything... I have never felt so completely helpless in my life. And it's not a good feeling. Not that I've ever felt like a strong and "in control" individual. No, I've pretty much felt insecure and incapable, for as long as I can remember.

I can't rant about it here. THAT'S one thing that is driving me bug fucking nuts. There's so much I want to say, so much I NEED to say, and my blog SHOULD be the place that I can say it. But I can't. Because I have to worry about what some OTHER people would think or feel should they read about the CRAP I'm feeling right now.

*sigh*

I have a secret blog. Only about 3 or 4 people know of it. And I guess I'm going to have to use THAT forum to get some of this venom out of me. Because I don't know what else to do. If I don't do SOMETHING to vent this rage, it's going to burn me alive. And then I will be CRISPY, dead melodyann....

For now, those of you who are my friends, please know that I AM, for the most part, ok. My hearing is Monday. I have found a place to live. Eventually, I KNOW that I will be better than I am at this moment.

love and stuff,

melodyann

The List...

2009-03-08T09:12:00.002-04:00

I am a list maker. I love making lists. I make lists of books I want to buy, books I want to read, books I've already read. I make lists of songs I want to download, things I want to cook, places I want to go.

I generally never see these lists again.

Because I am also a LOSER of lists. I can make a list of things to buy at the grocery, and WATCH myself tuck it into my wallet, put my wallet into my purse, put my purse on my shoulder.

By the time I get to the grocery, the list is gone. I usually find it a week later, with a wad of gum tucked inside it.

Recent events have certainly necessitated the making of new lists.

And apparently, my LISTER is broken.

Because I can sit down with a pen, and two hours later, I have doodled my name 37 times, written a haiku, added some random numbers (you LOSE those math skills if you don't use them), and drawn 54 stick people.

But I cannot come up with a list to save my fat ass.

So, this morning, I was talking to a friend, and thinking, "What the hell am I going to do today?" He said something that I had no idea how to reply to, and so I let my mind wander....

"melodyann," I said to myself. "you've got to DO something today."

"fuck off," says melodyann. She can be SUCH a bitch, that melodyann.

"i'm SERIOUS," says I. "it's a beautiful day. you are reasonably clear headed, you have a MILLION things that need doing. you need a LIST."

"i don't do those anymore," quipped melodyann. "is there any more coffee? i need to pee. you're out of cigarettes. look how cute Cleo is. why don't you go lay down and cuddle with her? jeebus, your legs are hairy. what's for breakfast?"

"SHUT UP!" I screamed. "you're not paying attention! we need a LIST! Lists are good! they tell you what to do!"

"we could play scrabbbbbb-le," says melodyann. "you know how much you love scrabble... c'mon, just one little game. no one will know...."

But I remained firm. We need a list, me and melodyann. Because there is a very good chance we will be divorced in 22 days. And we are NOT prepared. And so I thought that making a list HERE might be a good idea, since I cannot doodle, draw stickmen OR add any numbers on my blog. *note to self: find some kind of math widget to add to blog.

Here then, is the first draft of my current ToDo List. Believe me when I tell you that it is in no certain order, and it's a VERY rough draft. Feel free to add anything you feel might be important.

1. Go buy cigarettes.

See. I'm already stumped. Perhaps I will try again AFTER I go buy cigarettes...

A Day, a Life...

2009-03-01T21:39:00.000-05:00

dawn comes...
and with it, hope.
the shadows and demons
of the night before it
fade away
in the light of day.

day passes...
and with it, time.
no time for dreams and wishes;
hurry, hurry,
get things done
before the fading sun.

sunset glimmers...
and with it, regret.
time wasted, and love
a myth, a mystery.
fling a prayer into the sky
darkness is nigh...

night falls...
and with it, fear.
monsters roam among the shadows.
the damned cry out
in vain. shed a tear
death is here.

~melodyann

Madness...

2009-02-25T19:39:00.003-05:00

I want to be funny again. I want to laugh and snort and write about the deliciously goofy and hilarious things my kids do. I want to tell stories of The Husband's obscenely ignorant remarks. I want to talk shit about our clients and the complete MORONS that I run into on a daily basis.

But...

I'm so angry.

Oh my God, I'm so angry I feel like my head is going to explode. It's eating away at my soul. It's feeding on my fear and my frustration and my disappointment.

I've never in my life been so angry. Not even when my mother, who was the BEST person I've EVER known, died at the ripe old age of 51. Not even when some kids I went to church with wrapped a trash bag around a little old lady's head who lived only three houses from me, and let her die... Because she wouldn't loan them her car.

I wasn't this angry when I read about the mom who drowned her children in the bathtub. Or when my brother came into my house and stole a thousand dollars of my dad's money that was hidden here. Or when they cancelled Alien Nation.

Every single cell in my body is SCREAMING in outrage. Every smile, every laugh, every word that comes from someone else's mouth fills me with malice. I want to punch the world in the nose.

I don't know what to do with it, all this anger. I don't even really know why I am FEELING it. Despite what you may think is true, I CAUSED this mess that I find myself in. This fucking pit of excrement is of my OWN MAKING.

I really, truly, honestly, don't know what to do...

Anyone for Chinese?

2009-02-18T09:20:00.003-05:00

Well, well, well. Here we are. I sat for a while last night and stared at my blog. I missed it so. And then it came to me.... like an epiphany, only... you know, in a kind of, "oh my Jesus, it's fucking 1:30 in the morning, and I have to get up at 4:00!" kind of way.

I want to WRITE again. I don't care about what. God knows, nothing GLORIOUS ever sprang from my lips, no words of GREAT INSIGHT or INSPIRATION.

But I don't care. HMPFH. This is my blog, and I miss writing in it. And so now I'm going to do it some more.

And I'm not hiding under an assumed name, or a cartoon picture anymore either. Fuck that shit. What do I have to hide? Trust me, there's more going on out there in that great big world than what can be found here on my little corner of it.

So....

How've you guys been? Didja miss me? I better get, like, 50 gazillion comments saying, "oh my heck YES, I was about to go out of my MIND from pining for you, melody!" Otherwise, I'm gonna pick one of you and come move in with you. And bring Things One and Two. And the dogs. And I might find Anny-Banany and bring her too. That would serve you right.

So, gosh, it's been so long since I've actually written anything that MATTERED, I don't know where to start....

You all know that I moved out of the house on November 10th. A lot of you probably know that I moved back in in the middle of December, when my boss decided "We are not running a half-way house, Melody."

So, yeah, I'm still there, at home, still looking for a place to live, or someone who will let me mooch off them. Neither is very easy to find in my hometown, let me tell you. West Virginia is full of mooch-ERS, not mooch-EES. I long to become a mooch-EE.

Oh! There's some interesting news for some of you, who might not have had to listen to me whine and cry and piss and moan in the last couple of months!

My husband went to China and had sexual relations with a 25 year old POSSIBLE Chinese hooker! Twice! See? Never boring around here, let me tell you.

*sigh*

For the past little bit, I've been so goddamned angry that I have completely lost control of my life. Some of you will think to yourself, "Bitch, you deserved it! Look what you've done to him!" And I can tell you, I don't disagree with you. That doesn't make it any easier to deal with.

And I will tell you, I'm not just angry about the sex. Although I am plenty angry about that, and I can be angry if I WANT to so SHUTTIE!

I'm angry because it didn't END there. Oh no, he didn't just have sex. This man, the man that I've been married to, controlled by, talked down to, rejected by, and generally FUCKED WITH for 25 years, has fallen in love.....

Whisper it, won't you..... he's fallen in love.... imagine birds singing gaily, and rose petals floating on a golden breeze....

And then picture this: a $1,100 PINK laptop computer, a $365 dollar Chinese-to-English pocket translator, $400 for a personal translator to TELEPHONE China and talk to said Chinese POSSIBLE hooker, $200 for a new cell phone, $100 for a new pair of tennis shoes, 2 new pairs of jeans (cost as yet undetermined) and 2 new t-shirts (cost as yet undetermined).

A goddamn pink laptop.

And you haven't even BEGUN to hear it all, internets. Because I. ordered. it. for. her.

Oh, yes, I did. I ordered her the pink laptop. I ordered the Chinese-to-English pocket translator. I found the website for the personal translator.

Because I believed him when he said, "I STILL have not done as much wrong as you. You owe me."

Thing Two said, "I feel like I live in some kind of alternate universe. My mom and dad are cheating on each other and helping each other do it." I didn't correct her by saying, "No, by God, no one helped me, thank you very much."

Thing One said, "You two are completely fucked up. Get my sister out of there before you ruin her."

The Chinese girl, who my darling daughters have dubbed Young Chow, wants to get married. Well, isn't that a surprise? She must REALLY love my husband, (and believe me when I say, internets, I use the term "my husband" as an identifier only, as I promised not to use his name on my blog. I don't keep ALL my promises, but this one I will keep.)

Anyway, Young Chow must REALLY be in love. Because she wants to get MARRIED. I guess, "I have to DIVORCE my WIFE FIRST," doesn't translate well. She wants money for her mommy and daddy too, poor things. Maybe she can bring them to live with her and my husband. Lots of Asian families all live together. Think what fun that would be for my husband!

Finally, to Things One and Two, I'd like to say this: Don't be angry at me for what you may read here. This is the only release I have. I love you girls. And I am more sorry than you will ever know for the complete and utter mess I've made of MY life, and your lives. And sorry for the fact that it isn't going to go away quickly. But it will get better. Eventually. I promise.

2009-02-17T23:55:00.000-05:00

Dear Internets,

I'm coming back....

Love, melodyann

What makes me laugh....

2009-01-13T10:16:00.003-05:00

R.I.P. Vincent-the-Saving-Dog

2009-01-05T04:40:00.002-05:00

How I miss you, my little best friend. You made my heart smile for 18 years....

The Most Beautiful Song....

2008-12-29T10:18:00.000-05:00

Just between you and me....

2008-12-08T10:48:00.004-05:00

Ok, so I've been holding out on you just the tiniest bit.

Let's see... STILL living at the office, (except when Thing One is home, and I have to confess, I stay at home when she is there. My kids do not like visiting me at the office....)

STILL have not filed for divorce.... (holding out as long as I can, waiting for Thing Two to turn 18).

STILL have not filed bankruptcy (which I HAVE to do, don't look down your noses at me...)

STILL have not found a home.

OH MY GAWD, this separation thing is difficult....

BUT...

Kids, I have a secret to share with you....

I met someone who makes my heart smile. He makes my toes curl. He makes me giggle in a most unladylike manner. He makes my skies turn blue. He makes the birds sing for me.

He is truly the kindest, gentlest man on the face of this planet. And what do you think about this? He thinks *I* am special! Will wonders never cease?

I call him Booboo. He calls me Yogi. Couldn't you just VOMIT? We are so gay....

Booboo, I have outed us on my blog. Because the world deserves to know just how happy you make me....

Ready, set... JUMP!!!

2008-11-17T13:57:00.002-05:00

For those of you who are interested, I have indeed left my home. I've been living at my office for a week. Thank the stars for my boss, who has agreed to let me stay here until I find a place to live.

I am fine, I have a place to sleep, food, clothes, and a shower. I have books, I have music. I have my phone.

I haven't been hurt or threatened.

If you have called, emailed, texted, or IM'd me, and I have not answered, do not take it personal. I have not talked to anyone. I only just last night called my dad and told him the news.

I am exhausted. I don't feel like talking about it. I love and appreciate each and everyone of you, but right now, I just want to... rest.

I want to talk to and enjoy the time I can spend with my kids. I want to decide what to do about my future. I want to relax and read a couple of books and SLEEP...

Yes, I am worried, sad, lonely, angry, loaded down with guilt and anxiety. I feel in my heart I am doing the right thing, and that's the only thing that keeps my feet moving forward.

Fling a few wishes to the heavens for me, and I'll be back soon....

melodyann

LEND ME YOUR EARS....

2008-11-10T08:49:00.002-05:00

I'm kind of homeless, at the moment.

A little scared.

A whole lot sad.

Completely clueless as to what to do next.

Isn't this what I wanted?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME...........

2008-11-08T17:27:00.002-05:00

Kids, today is my Birthday!!!

I had a lot planned that I wanted to say, but it didn't work out that I could say it...

I'm in Morgantown with my girls and having a really good time. We're about to drink some pomegranate martini's (my favorite!!) and head over to the WVU football game...

I'm trying to squeeze every second of happiness into this weekend that I can.... when I go home tomorrow the shit's about to hit the fan...

Love and stuff,

melodyann

Everything I know about politics, I learned from Tina Fey....

2008-11-02T20:03:00.000-05:00

I hate politics.

I hate talking about politics, and I hate listening to it. I hate presidential debates, I hate political advertisements, I hate polls, and I hate "momocrats." I don't even know what a momocrat is, but I hate them on principal.

The only good thing to come out of this election, in my humble opinion, has been the Sarah Palin skits on SNL. I pink puffy heart Tina Fey.

I've listened, for MONTHS, while people around me discussed Barack Obama, Joe Biden, Hilary Clinton, John McCain, Sarah Palin and others, whose names I have chosen to commit to non-memory. I've been bored out of my fucking mind.

People are REALLY interested this time, though. Perhaps because, Democrat or Republican, this country is about to make history. Which, I suppose, is interesting, in a "Please do not pre-empt House again, you dirty motherfuckers or I'm about to get CRAZY up in this bitch" kind of way.

*sigh*

I've heard people say Obama may be the anti-Christ. I've heard him called a Socialist. People don't like his name. They don't like the color of his skin. They don't like Sarah Palin because she spends money on clothes. LOTS of money. They don't like McCain because... well I didn't listen that far. I have no idea why they don't like him. I fell into a self-imposed ennui COMA, before I listened to everything people were saying.

I'll tell you right now, I have no fucking intention of voting. I could not possibly care LESS who wins. Because I'll tell you firmly what I believe... It doesn't matter who wins. It does not make one tiny little bit of difference.

Because no matter who gets the nod, the rich are going to be rich. The poor are going to be poor. People are still going to kill each other. Children are going to be hungry. Old people are still going to eat cat food. People will still believe in God. People won't believe in God. Teenagers will still do drugs and have unprotected sex.

And the sun will still shine. The rain will still fall...

There will still be fires and floods and earthquakes and hurricanes. A freshly fallen snow will still be beautiful, and Diet Coke with Lime will still be delicious.

Wars will still be fought, husbands will still cheat on their wives (and yes, wives will still cheat on their husbands), and Hollywood will still keep churning out Rocky movies.

You get my drift. Life will still go on. People will adapt. Everything will still suck.

I'll tell you what would happen if I were to be made president....

Not one single child would go hungry.

Not one single person would go without an education, if they want one, whether they are 8 or 18 or 80.

No one would lose their home to foreclosure.

No one would be denied healthcare.

No dollar would go untaxed, and that includes the billions of them that belong to the rich people.

People would speak English in this country or they would get the fuck out.

We'd get our fucking nose out of everybody else's business, and stick it in our OWN business, and fix what is wrong with OUR country, and let the rest of the world fix their own shit.

Children who misbehaved in school would get their little asses spanked.

Any person guilty of hurting, molesting, or neglecting a child would die. Period.

Jell-O would be illegal. That one is non-negotiable, people.

And everyone would be required to buy me presents for my birthday.

And Little Debbie cakes would be free.....

TTFN

2008-10-17T11:18:00.000-04:00

I've decided to muddle through, alone... without the internet...

ta ta for now

what i want for my birthday...

2008-10-15T07:10:00.003-04:00

i want a ticket to paradise...

i want a lifetime supply of diet coke with lime...

i want a cloaking device...

i want to be happy...

i want a pizza, thin crust, with pepperoni, mushrooms, green pepper and onion...

i want new shoes...

i want good sex...

i want to sing...

i want people to stop breathing my air...

i want stoo-pid to be against the law...

i want romance...

i want to write really well...

i want candy...

i want blue eyes...

i want a laptop...

i want a lap...

i want a party...

i want a secret admirer...

i want to be a private detective...

i want to tell people, "i'm a private dick..."

i want my children to be happy...

i want a kiss...

i want to win a contest...

i want to join the circus...

i want to be on oprah...

i want a spa day...

i want a divorce...

i want a shopping spree...

i want a girls' night out...

i want to be excited about something...

i want perky boobies...

i want to be in love...

i want my mommy...

ps: you have 24 days to plan amongst yourselves how best to give me what i want...

hearts and smoochies!

miss ann derstood

simple... and obvious...

2008-10-09T08:47:00.003-04:00

she sits alone in a darkened room and waits for a savior,
but no one comes...
and she thinks, "what is wrong with me that no one comes?"

and so it goes...

she's filled with indecision, with fear, with doubt...
and so she waits
for a savior.
but no one comes...

until one day she listens
to a tiny inner voice
that whispers, "it isn't you..."

and then...

she sits alone in a darkened room and waits for a savior,
but no one comes...
and she thinks, "what is wrong with everyone that no one comes?"

and so it goes...

she's filled with anger, and resentment, and suspicion...
and so she waits
for a savior.
but no one comes...

until one day she listens
to a tiny inner voice
that whispers "it isn't them..."

and then...

she stands alone in the big outside world, and waits for nothing.
and friends come...
and she thinks, "i saved myself, because i am worth it."

and so it goes...

~melodyann~

He's my brother....

2008-09-30T12:39:00.006-04:00

I love you, you crazy fucker...

How do I love Miss Katie? Let me count the ways...

2008-09-29T06:11:00.003-04:00

Today is Miss Katie's birthday... I don't know how old she is, isn't that awful? I'm a horrible sister. However, she's probably very grateful that I DON'T know, because I would announce it to the universe in this post...

I met Kate about.... lots of years ago. (People, I have no mind left. Don't ask me when ANYTHING happened, because I have no idea. But that makes my stories kinda fun, doncha think?) Mitchell brought her home to meet "the family."

Now... you have to understand my family. First of all, there is my dad, and his live-in-LUVAH, Crusty. Crusty has a daughter slightly older than Thing One. Let's call her Crumb. Crumb has some emotional problems and some other stuff that we won't even get into here. Let's just say that if people were placed in order, from the mentally stable at the top, down to the... um... UNSTABLE, at the bottom... my family would not be very high up. Crusty and Crumb would not even make the chart. OK?

So, you've got my dad, who is loud, and argumentative, intelligent, and he packs his jaws like a gerbil when he eats. You have Crusty, who is loud, crass, and calls people "a bunch of assidines." And no, it isn't a word. And you have Crumb, whose favorite expression, at that time (and maybe still, hell I don't know) was "stupid dummy!"

Next up, you have Mark and Michelle and the boys, though Michelle has since run for the hills, creating a scandal the likes of which this family has never... ok, yeah, we've seen it before, because we have MITCHELL.

Mark is not necessarily loud. He's a good ol' boy, who is everybody's friend. Seriously, I don't think you can meet Mark and NOT adore him. It's only after you get to know him that he begins to rub you the wrong way... Like sandpaper. Or a wire brush. Michelle was friendly and outgoing, at least way back THEN, but she, too, was LOUD. Mark's kids, BoyThing One and BoyThing Two were foul mouthed little terrorists, who called each other things like "motherfuckhead" and "cunninglingus".

Finally, a breath of fresh air in the vile pit of familial dung, you have me, and Things One and Two. I laugh, I curse, I shout, and occasionaly, I sing... though off-key. At that time, my girls would have cut off their appendages rather than say a bad word. Thing One was quiet and shy, and Thing Two, though she was NOT a fan of Crumb and would NOT hesitate to tell her at ANY moment on ANY given day, was so cute with her curls and her hillbilly accent, you couldn't HELP but love her.

And into this mix, Mitchell brings Miss Katie....

Lord have mercy...

I watched her, that day... and decided that she hated all of us. And I couldn't understand it. I mean, my God, we were FUN! How... how could ANYONE in their right mind NOT love us? I figured Kate was either NOT in her right mind... OR, it was Crusty and Crumb's fault.

It couldn't have been any of US.

Kate, on this, the anniversary of your birth, let me just tell you that I ADORE you. And here's why:

1. You are gentle and kind.

2. You have a wonderful sense of humor.

3. You are COMPLETELY in your right mind. :)

4. You opened up your heart to me, when I needed a friend so badly.

5. You are incredibly intelligent. This is a biggie, because I have a low tolerance for stoo-pid.

6. You are generous in the extreme.

7. You are a wonderful mother.

8. Even though you are a God-hater, you do not try to force your beliefs on anyone. And I'm only teasing, you are not a God-hater, you are more of a God-Doubter.

9. You tell it like it is. I can always count on you for an honest opinion. And also, you are mostly always on my side.

10. You keep Mitch.

11. And this is the most important one: YOU SHARE YOUR BOOKS WITH ME.

Seriously? You are my sister, my confidant, my "if Mitchell dies and leaves you lots of money, I will marry you and be your non-practicing lesbian LUVAH" best friend. I believe, with all my heart, that Mitchell is the man he is today because of you. And that's a good thing, Kate.

Happy Birthday, Sister. I love you.

ps. I WILL be calling to sing. And you WILL NOT laugh. k, thx, bye.

pps. INTERNETS? Be sure and read the post from last night, to my baby girl....

10:57 PM, September 28

2008-09-28T22:57:00.001-04:00

She is 1/2 of my heart. A beautiful, intelligent, charismatic young lady. I am ever so proud to call her my daughter. Her smile can take away all of my sadness. Her laugh reminds me that I am not alone. And each time she hugs me, I am reminded why I do not run over her screechy ass with my car....

Just yesterday, she looked like this:

Today, she turned 22:

Happy Birthday, Thing One!!

love,

mommy

Well if YOU didn't take it, who the fuck did?

2008-09-25T07:13:00.003-04:00

I get blamed for everything. My God, if I'd done HALF of what I've been accused of, I'd be the world's most accomplished burglar/assassin/bitch/whore.....

If anything, and I mean ANYTHING is lost or misplaced at home, I'm the first one to get blamed for it:

"Mom! What did you do with my bill from the power company? I laid it RIGHT fucking here and now it's gone!"

"Wife, where did you hide my LED mini flashlight? It was here on the dresser when I went to bed last night!"

"Mom! Where's my new white t-shirt? I havent' seen it since we brought it home! I want to wear it today!"

If there's an argument, a disagreement, a knock-down-drag-out FREEFORALL, I'm certainly the cause of it:

"Well, YOU were the one bein' all HATEFUL and shit!"

"Well, if YOU had just listened to me, I wouldn't have gotten mad, and the whole thing could have been AVOIDED!"

"Look, I haven't done anything wrong, I'm the VICTIM here!!"

If there's a question, a suspicion, an accusation one can pull from THIN AIR and pin on me, it will be done:

"Mom, who are you texting? Is it a MAN? Do I need to tell DADDY?"

"Who was that who just spoke to you? A client? What KIND of client?"

"Where are you? Who are you with? Is that a man's voice I hear? Who the FUCK are you with?"

At work, it's the same fucking thing:

"Mr. Lawyer? I called earlier and your rude secretary hung UP on me!!!"

"This bill is LATE! Why didn't it get paid?"

"You double booked me for 1:15. Can you not read? The appointment book already HAD someone down for 1:15?"

"Why didn't you do the dishes?"

"Why isn't the filing done?"

__________________________________________

I'm losing my sweet disposition, here, people.... If I weren't so pretty and sweet and FUNNY, I'd think people didn't LIKE me!

But, as usual, I've come up with a solution. I'm going to print the following sign, and hang it in my home and office:

Frozen in time....

2008-09-24T05:50:00.004-04:00

This is my family. At the front, left, is Mark. And he has HAIR! And of course, he wouldn't be Mark without his bottom lip stuffed full of shit.. er, I mean snuff...

I'm in the middle, and see how UNfat I am? This picture is PRE-good hair, by the way.

To the right is Mitchell, with that million-dollar-smile.

In the back, on the right, is my dad, looking particularly goofy. That's because, apparently, my dad believed if he looked directly at the camera, it would steal his soul. I don't think I own a picture of him looking into the camera. Note that Daddy's jaw is stuffed full of shit also. Lot of shit stuffing goin' on in my family back then, seems like.

On the left, in the back, is my tiny little wonderful mother. My mother with the big hair. The source of most of our smiles.

This is a "frozen moment", a snapshot of one tiny, precious instant, when my family was happy. I can assure you that probably no more than five minutes after this picture was taken, Mitchell was likely doing something that made me call him an asshole, Mark was scrunching up his face, in that look he gets when I'm LOUD, and Daddy was brooding about something that someone did to piss him off.

But my mom's smile, her happiness, would have remained. We were at my Aunt JoAnn's house that day, either for Thanksgiving, or just after Christmas. Mom would have been happy just to spend time with her sister, and my cousin Randy. For that matter, we ALL were happy to be spending time with Jo and Randy. Everyone ignored Uncle Harold, who was a grouchy old bastard. Kevin was practically invisible, and I was the only one who liked JohnPaul.

You couldn't help loving Aunt JoAnn. Her sweetness and willingness to please, combined with her intelligence and wit, well she was just... awesome. Had I not had the absolute WORLD'S MOST WONDERFUL MOTHER, I would have picked Aunt Jo for my mom. Except then Uncle Howie (a name JohnPaul and I called him to piss him off) would have been my dad. And that would not do...

Cousin Randy is one of those people whose goodness is like a light. It shines brightly in any situation, at any time, and on any day or night. He was, and is, just as comfortable playing gin rummy and listening to the woes of his ADORABLE sixteen year old cousin (ME!!) as he was talking politics, coal mining, and unions with my dad. And as comfortable playing chess or shooting pool with my brothers. Randy was who you needed him to be. Friend, confidant, minister, counselor...

My family used to visit Aunt Jo and Uncle Howie several times a year, for overnight visits. They'd come to our house too, though Howie wouldn't usually want to spend the night, the old shit.

Their home was a place of peace for us. An island of calm in the midst of some of our trauma... Most of my happy memories from my childhood somehow involve Cousin Randy or Aunt JoAnn. I don't ever remember not wanting to go visit, or not having a good time while we were there...

_________________________

After my mom died, Aunt Jo, in her grief, cut all of us out of her life. She was angry at my dad, and probably me, for keeping my mom at home to die. Aunt Jo thought mom would have lived longer had she been in the hospital. And maybe she would have, but that was not where she wanted to BE. She wanted to be at home, in her own bed. Surrounded by her things, and her family.

Anyway, for several years I did not see Aunt JoAnn, except by accident. I hid my hurt, and showed my anger, swearing to walk away without a word, should she ever approach me. I don't think anyone was fooled by my show. They knew how much I loved her. The truth is, I WAS angry, but not for the reasons I gave. I didn't care that she was mad at my dad. I didn't care that she thought we shortened mom's life. I NEEDED her, I needed someone for ME, someone whose shoulder I could lay MY head on. I needed my "second" mom.

And I felt she let me down big...

Now, I realize I let her down big too. I should have gone to her, I should have told her what was in my heart, done whatever necessary to preserve our relationship. Instead, I let time slip by, and let the pain and anger harden my heart...

Aunt Jo and I have since reconciled, to a degree. We speak now. We hug. I kiss her soft little wrinkled cheek. We laugh, and talk. But I only see her once a year, and that ache, that need for her in my life, that has never gone away....

I think she is comfortable with the way things are. I don't get a feeling of "unfinished-ness" when I'm with her...

So, I make do with my happy little memories, and my "frozen moments", and I let it be...

Miss Anne in Wonderland...

2008-09-19T07:11:00.003-04:00

"Mom?"

"mmm, yeah? What?"

"um... Daddy's drinking ranch dressing."

*blink*

*blinkblinkblink*

"He's what?"

"He's drinking the ranch dressing. Pouring it in his mouth. Swallowing. DRINKING. THE. RANCH. DRESSING."

......<---(that'd be me, walking to the kitchen to take a look)

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Eating chicken."

"Are you DRINKING ranch dressing? Like, as a beverage?"

"There's no food."

"You just said you were eating chicken!"

"Yeah."

....<----(that's me again, walking back to my computer)

"Dear Brother Mark: Please find me a goddamn place to live, and soon. The Mad Hatter has finally gone 'round the bend. Love, your sister, Alice."

The End

color me.... looking, looking....

2008-09-18T06:56:00.002-04:00

For a new home....

not a blog home...

a real, honest-to-God home. a place to live. a place to lay my head. a place to heal.

A place to be Miss Anne Derstood.

NO.

A place to be melodyann....

It's time....

time to fly...

Raising Aristotle... (Part One)

2008-09-17T06:12:00.001-04:00

I have a story to tell. Read on....

Thing 1 calls me, out of the blue, the other day...

"Mom," she says, "I'm not sure I want to go to law school. I've just been so upset, because I know it's what I've planned for so long, and I owe student loans and shit, but I just don't think I want to be a lawyer! I shouldn't pursue a career that isn't going to make me happy!"

My first thought was, Oh God help me Jesus, she's wanting to get married. I'll fucking KILL her.

"Wha-What are you wanting to do?" I manage to choke out, dreading the words I know are coming. And I'm going to have to fly all the way to Italy to kill that little fucker she's wanting to marry. Shit. I don't have enough money to fly to Italy. I don't have TIME for this. I'm getting more angry by the SECOND.

"I think I want to get my master's in Philosophy..." she says.

*blink*

"Um..."

*blink*

Relief pours over my body in waves. She DOESN'T want to get married! She's not leaving the country in a fit of passion and moving halfway around the world where I can't get to her! Oh, thank you God! Thank you, tiny little eight pound eight ounce baby Jesus!! But wait, what was that she said? She wants to get WHAT?

"Thing 1, what the FUCK did you just say to me?" I demand.

Immediately, she becomes defensive, as if I had said something BAD to her!

"Mom! Goddamnit! Just listen to me! You want me to be happy, don't you? You want my life to have meaning? I don't WANT to be an attorney anymore, I'm so STRESSED!"

"But... but... but... what the hell are you going to do with a degree in PHILOSOPHY? What CAN you do with a degree in philosophy, THINK?"

"Goddamn sonofabitch," says Thing 1, ever eloquent. The degree of her cursing and the apparent LOWERING of her intellect is directly proportionate to how pissed she currently is at me. "You can do LOTS of things with a degree in philosophy! Lots and lots of Goddamned things!"

"Name one then! If there are that many, just name ONE!"

This, then, is when she begins to lose her HUMANITY, and she begins to GROWL at me. "Well, I can't Goddamn Mother-Fuck-Ing THINK of one right now, but there. ARE. LOTS. OF. GODDAMNED. THINGS!"

Her voice is so deep, and the growl so completely GUTTERAL, that I pause for a moment to wonder if this is how it would be to talk to a dog... And wouldn't it be interesting if Vincent-the-Saving-Dog could talk to me? A conversation with Benny (don't ask... it's a nickname... try saying "Here, Vincent-the-Saving-Dog! fifty times a day and see how long it takes you to find a nickname) begins playing through my head:

"Benny! You're talking! Incredible! Say something to me!"

And Benny would say: "Something TO me! Ha. Haha. Waka, waka waka!"

"Benny, this is amazing! There is so much I want to SAY to you! But first, I have to know... you DO love me as much as I love you, don't you?"

"What, are you KIDDING me, here? I follow you from room to room, sleep beside your bed, lick your face when you cry, starve myself when you're gone, and stand perfectly STILL while you cut clumps of hair off my WEINER, and you want to know if I freakin' LOVE YOU? No, it was always about the KIBBLE, baby!"

"Oh, Benny!" I say as I throw my arms around him... "You DO love me! You DO!"

"Mom! MOM! Goddamnit Mom!" Benny screeches in my ear... But... But wait. Benny wouldn't screech in my ear! He LOVES me!

"Goddamn MOTHERFUCKER! I'm hanging up this Goddamn phone, because YOU never listen! Because you don't CARE!"

Oh.

It's HER.

The Spawn.

"I am SO listening," I shout. "I AM!"

"Well, what did I just say, then?" she shouts in my ear.

"You said I never LISTEN! You said I dont CARE! Which is a complete and total lie!"

"Before that! What the motherfucking hell did I say before that! When you weren't Goddamn LISTENING TO ME?" she growls at me again.

Oh, I am fucking getting tired of this. So, I do what I always do in this situation. Because, believe me, we have this situation a LOT.

I hang up.

Ahhh.

Sweet, sweet silence. The sound of peace. The sound of nothing....

And any moment now she will call back, and she will apologize... and I will pout a little, but ultimately I will forgive her, because she is my baby, and even though she is some kind of weirdo freak with the gutteral language and the growling... she is still MINE.

...

...

Yep. Any moment now, she'll call back. Maybe I won't even pout this time...

...

...

Any.

...

...

Moment.

...

...

Now.

...

...

I look at my phone, check to make sure it hasn't died. But no. Phone's good.

...

...

And she doesn't call back.

She. Doesn't. Call. Back.

I flirt with the notion of calling HER, but decide to wait. I'm at work, she's probably on her way to class, I'm sure she will call later. She can't just fucking change her whole life PLAN without discussing it with me. She'll call.

Except she doesn't.

It's been a week.

It's been a fucking week.

She called me one time, responding to a text I sent her about Anny-Banany (the cleaning lady, and believe me, we will discuss THAT shit in another post) and when I said to her, "Thing 1, I need to talk to you about these decisions you are making," she said, "I cannot talk to you about this," and hung up on ME.

I have been thrown out of the loop.

And I don't like it, not even one little bit.

She's all that and a poet, too....

2008-09-16T07:15:00.002-04:00

loneliness is a warm, iridescent mist

tiny drops of infinite beauty

so beautiful to see, they cover me...

i lift my face to let the warmth pour over me

and down, around, and through me, filling me...

tiny drops of infinite beauty

they cover me.

loneliness is a cold, cold bitter wind

a frozen breath of used-to-be

so sad to see, it blows through me

i turn my back and feel it pushing me...

and pulling, twisting, turning, tossing me..

a frozen breath of used-to-be

it blows through me...

loneliness is a thick, dark emptiness

a swirling, slithering black infinity

so terrible to see, it clings to me...

i raise my arms and try to breathe

it fills my eyes, my nose, my throat; it's choking me

a swirling, slithering black infinity

it clings to me...

it's killing me

~Miss Anne Derstood~

Thirty-Fourteen Things....

2008-09-04T06:10:00.002-04:00

In honor (or perhaps in horror) of the fact that I will soon be thirty-fourteen, and doesn't that just sound BETTER than forty-four?, here are a few things you may or may not know about me--

1. I was born on November 8, 1964.

2. I was born in Chicago, IL. I've never been back there, but it's one of the things on my list of "Places I'd Like to See Before I Die of Fatness."

3. I learned to read when I was four years old. I didn't go to kindergarten. My brother Mark taught me to read. I never read kid's books. Except for the Bobbsey Twins. I sooo had the hots for Burt.

4. No books were ever off limits for me. I've never made any be off limits to my children either.

5. I love words. I love to read them, I love to speak them, write them, sing them, and listen to them spoken to me. I love to manipulate them into something that, hopefully, says something people like to hear.

6. I have opinions, but I don't think I'm pushy. I am a firm believer in the "let's agree to disagree" mindset.

7. I have a pink-puffy-hearted love for scrambled egg sandwiches with ketchup.

8. I have changed so much during my lifetime that I often don't have any idea who I am anymore. Not all the changes are bad. Most of them are not good.

9. I have a terrific need to have someone in my life who ADMIRES me. This is often in direct conflict with my husband's need to have NO ONE in my life who admires me. And this might be due to the fact that I'd rather the person admiring me be a member of the male population. I can't help it, I like men. I like it when they like me. So sue me. Or... you know... divorce me.

10. Currently, my favorite television shows are Prison Break and House. I am also diggin' Bones. haha. I made a funny.

11. I like puzzles and word games, and by LIKE I mean that I am obsessed to the point of OCD about them. I am very good at Word Twist... aren't I, Janet? hehe I have several Sudoku books strewn about the house and my office, so that I am never more than four or five feet away from a puzzle, should the need to place numbers in boxes arise. And it does, more often than you know.

12. The safest place in the world for me is with Mitch and Miss Katie. My first instinct, when things get bad, is to run to them. Since the whole DIVORCE thing came up, they've BOTH called me to remind me I am welcome. My safe place is ready for me, whenever I need it.

13. My mother died of brain cancer 18 years ago this November 22. I am not "over" her death yet. I don't think I ever will be. However, something inside of me let go of something this year, because I do not feel that same terrible, horrible ache that always fills me in the fall of the year. For that, I am eternally grateful.

14. I am scared of moths. And Jell-0.

15. Janet reminds me so much of my mother sometimes that I get all misty-eyed. Except that she says Fuck alot. I believe God sent her to me. It ALMOST makes me not mad at Him anymore. Almost.

16. I have a raging, pitch-black fear of death. And of dying alone. And of my children finding me alone, and dead.

17. I have a coffee mug that says, "I see STUPID people." It is my favorite mug. One of my favorite fantasies is of me, drinking poison, from my "I see STUPID people" mug. It never fails to make me smile.

18. I am not vain in any way. Except sometimes, about my hair. I can't help it. I've got great hair.

19. My favorite perfume is Princess, by Vera Wang. Mitch and Kate bought it for me for Christmas. Dear Mitch and Kate: I need more. I have about four sprays left. K, thx, bye. Love, Mel.

20. I am not political. I do not vote. I do not care. I am a registered Republican only because it drove my father-in-law batshit crazy. I miss my father-in-law.

21. I want to learn sign language.

22. I have committed many sins in my lifetime. I have forgiven myself for most of them. I am only human. I will probably commit many more before I die. Of FATNESS.

23. I do not like green eggs and ham. I know this, because I ordered it from IHOP once. Eggs and ham should never be green, that's all I'm sayin'.

24. I do love pancakes. And how. Hence, the terrible FATNESS. I think people who tear their pancakes into little strips and DUNK them in syrup should be drawn and quartered. I will not mention any names, Thing 1 and Thing 2.

25. I am a fairly good cook. This was not always so. I used to be PROUD of my ability to NOT BE a good cook. I used to brag that if it didn't come in a can, a box, or a bag, we wouldn't be serving it at MY house.

26. That was before my mother got sick. I learned to cook for her. She didn't like things that came from cans, boxes, or bags.

27. I now make the world's BEST cornbread. I should be getting my award from the WORLD anyday now...

28. I miss having acrylic nails. I miss having manicures and pedicures. I miss getting MASSAGES. If my husband hadn't met my nail guy and realized he wasn't gay AFTER ALL, I would still be getting my manicures, pedicures and massages. Dammit.

29. Come to think of it, I REALLY REALLY want my nails back. Dear Mitch and Kate: My birthday is coming soon. I really, really want fingernails. K, thx, bye. Love, Mel.

30. I used to be afraid to drive. That is because Husband told me I would never make it anywhere alive. I proved him wrong by driving to Georgia. haha, Husband. You forgot that I LAUGH in the face of adversity.

31. I miss my daddy. I want to go see him, but I have no vacation days left. Damn, and double damn.

32. I just ordered a copy of the movie Bad Ronald. If it doesn't scare the shit out of me, I want my money back.

33. I have a book fetish. I have hundreds of books. I have not read all of them. I keep buying more. I will not part with even one. Husband hates them. I don't care. He hates me too. I still don't care.

34. I don't like people, as a general rule.

35. I really like having general rules.

36. If I could live anywhere, anywhere in the world that I wanted to live, I would live in North Carolina, near the ocean.

37. I truly hate and despise West Virginia.

38. I do not read the news. Nor do I listen to it on TV or Radio. It depresses me.

39. I believe in God. I am just currently mad at Him.

30-10. Another of my favorite daydreams is to go on a nationwide vacation, visiting blogging friends in every state. If I ever win the lottery, or inherit a buttload of money, I'm going to do that.

30-11. I have an ache inside where Luann used to be. I miss her. I miss talking to her. I miss her "sigh"-ing at me. Dammit.

30-12. I want a new camera. I don't even know WHERE my old one is. Probably Anna-Banana stole it to take naked pictures of herself to give to Husband.

30-13. I wish he'd marry her.

30-14. The person who said, "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself" obviously never met Husband. Or, never had a brother who claimed to put bb's in his cereal. I'm just sayin'.

In the face of ADVERSITY....

2008-09-02T05:45:00.000-04:00

UPDATE: I found this in my drafts this morning, and wondered WHY IN THE HELL DID I NOT POST THIS? And then I remembered... Oh yeah, this was JUST before Papaw died.... So, here for your perusal, is further proof of my vast and superior bravery in the face of ADVERSITY...

So, I wake up yesterday morning, happy as a bug in a rug...

Ok, not so much HAPPY as, say, NOT MISERABLE... which is a mighty improvement if I do say so myself. And I do.

I spend my time packratting on Facebook, and beating the SHIT out of Janet at WordTwist, (*note to Jenni* I want a REMATCH!!) and then I go get ready for work. All is well in my world.

And then I go to get some ice out of the freezer, and notice that ALL OF THE ICE SEEMS TO BE MELTING.

.....

This can't be good.

.....

I take a deep breath and decide that I will not let ADVERSITY rule me, thank you very much. Because I have a secret weapon. I have ANNA. The wonder cleaner. HA! I laugh in the face of adversity!! I finish getting ready, write a note to Anna that says, "Dear Anna, The fridge seems to be dying. Please take everything out and move it to the fridge in the garage. Thank you."

And off I go to work.

When I get to work, I remember that Husband has the ONLY REMOTE CONTROL for the garage, because apparently I cannot be trusted in a giant room full of tools and old cars, and I'm going to need to make arrangements for Anna to get the remote.

Not a problem. I LAUGH in the face of adversity, right? HAHA, adversity... HAHA.

I call Husband and tell him I will send Anna by to pick up the remote, because the fridge is dying. And we have a mini-conversation:

Husband: How do you know the fridge is dying?

Me: It left a suicide note.

Husband: What?

Me: Never mind. I know it is dying because everything in the freezer is MELTING.

Husband: Did you check to see if it's plugged up?

Me: Gosh, I never thought of that! Gee, I bet that's the problem! No, you doink, I didn't check to see if it's plugged up! The lights are working. The FAN is working.

Husband: Did you check the controls? Maybe somebody screwed with the controls.

Me: Ooops, I forgot to tell you, I got bored last night and decided to fuck with the fridge controls, just to see what would happen. Jesus. Are you trying to tell me you don't think I have enough sense to know when the FUCKING refrigerator is DYING?

Husband: Maybe the freezer door wasn't shut tight.

Me: HUSBAND! LISTEN CAREFULLY! EVERYTHING ON THE MOTHERFUCKING REFRIGERATOR IS SHUT TIGHT, PLUGGED IN, AND UN-SCREWED WITH! IT'S DYING!!! ALL OF OUR FOOD IS MELTING INTO A WARM PUDDLE OF GOO!

Husband: Ok, call Anna, and tell her to come get the remote.

I slam down the phone. Ok, not really because I was on my cell, but I SLAMMED my finger on that END button, let me tell you...

.....

And then I realized I don't have Anna's number.

.....

Fuck.

.....

I call Husband back and tell him I don't know Anna's number. And we have THIS conversation:

Husband: um.... it's 555... 29999.

Me: That's too many numbers.

Husband: What?

Me: That's too many numbers! You said the last FOUR numbers were 29999.

Husband: Right. 29999.

Me: That's 5.

Husband: What the hell are you talking about? There's no 5. It's 29999.

Me: My God, this is like a Vaudeville act. A bad one.

Husband: Goddammit, I don't have TIME for this. I'm WORKING.

Me: As opposed to me, who is in a TALENT CONTEST today, here in my office.

Me: Listen, you gave me too many numbers. What are the last FOUR fucking numbers of her phone number? And why the fuck do you know her number anyway?

Husband: This is ridiculous. The first one is a TWO. The rest are nines. I gotta go, bye.

*Click*

.....

I spend ONE minute contemplating whether I should call him back and hang up on HIM, because HE KNOWS I HATE IT WHEN HE HANGS UP FIRST.

Then I spend ONE minute contemplating why the fuck my husband knows the CELL phone number of our cleaning lady when *I* don't know it, and I'm a number FREAK.

Then I remember that I LAUGH in the face of adversity, HAHAHAHA.

And I call Anna.

.....

Who is in Florida.

.....

Of course! Where ELSE would she be?

.....

Our office manager came into my office when I started to beat myself in the head screaming, "I LAUGH in the face of ADVERSITY!!!!"

She tells me to take the day off, go home, fix the problem, rest, rejuvenate my soul, and come back bright eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow. She already cleared it with the boss. Go. GO!

So, I do....

I drive to Husband's work to get the remote. He has no choice but to give it to me, because the FRIDGE is dying. I make a mental note to move some of his tools around and leave BABY footprints with the side of my fist in the dust on the floor in front of his bathroom. (have you ever done that? the baby footprint thing? I will take a picture later and show you. It's AWESOME.)

And then I drive home.

.....

Where I discover that I am locked out of the house. Because ANNA has my key.

.....

And Anna is in Florida.

.....

Fuck.

.....

So I walk to the back of the house, where we keep the SPARE key.

.....

Only it's not there.

.....

And then I remember that it's not there, on account of it's laying on my DESK in the LIVING ROOM, because I didn't take it back LAST WEEK when I got locked out of the house.

.....

I start to giggle.

.....

And then I remember that Thing 2 has a key! HAHAHAHA, adversity, HAHAHAHA!!!

I drive to the high school, where Thing 2 is currently running laps in the hot sun on the parking lot of the high school. Which she is NOT supposed to be doing, because of the HEADACHES.

I get her attention and tell her to come over to my car. And we have THIS conversation:

Me: Why are you running?

Thing 2: Because everyone else is running.

Me: If everyone else ran over the side of a mountain, would you do that too?

Thing 2: Mom, why are you here?

Me: You are not supposed to be running! Do I need to see Mr. Band Director and tell him you are not to run?

Thing 2: Mom, don't you dare embarrass me. Why are you here?

Me: Do you have a headache?

Thing 2: Yeah.

Me: *sigh*

Me: I need your key to the house. I am locked out. The fridge is dying.

Thing 2: Maybe it's unplugged.

Me: HOLY MOTHER OF THE TINY LITTLE 8 POUND, 8 OUNCE LORD BABY JESUS!! IT IS NOT UNPLUGGED. MAY I PLEASE HAVE THE KEYS SO I CAN GET INTO THE HOUSE?

Thing 2: They are locked in the bandroom. I can't get to them til we go inside.

Me: HAHAHA, HAHAHA, HAHAHA

Thing 2: Mom! Stop it! What's wrong with you? Hang on, I just remembered I left them in my backpack, hang on I'll get them. Stop laughing, you're embarrassing me!!

Me: (whispering) I LAUGH in the face of adversity...

So, I get the key, and I go home. And I walk into my house, and it's hot. Oh God, it's so hot in here and I know I have to empty that damn refrigerator all by myself. So, of course the first thing I do is sit down and smoke a cigarette.

Many trips to the garage, many near heart attacks, many "Fuck YOU adversity"'s later, I stand, my hair wringing wet, my face red, my ample bosom heaving, and I realize these truths:

I HATE my refrigerator.

I HATE Anna.

I am the fucking QUEEN of Adversity.

I have only thus far cleaned out the freezer. I still have much to do.

I need a nap.

Really, there's only one thing I can do next. Isn't there? I smoke a cigarette. Then I take a nap. Then, when Thing 2 walks through the front door, I get up and announce, "Take the rest of the stuff out to the garage and put it in the fridge out there. I'm not feeling good."

Ha HA, adversity. Ha HA...

You are no match for Miss Anne....

Suffering fools uneasily....

2008-09-01T11:06:00.002-04:00

I've got a real problem with stupid people. I don't mean the kind of person who has a legitimate learning disability. I don't mean developmentally disabled people.

What I mean is "educated" people (and I use that term LOOSELY) who have no fucking idea how stupid they are....

The kind of person, who, when you say to them, "Your father's GODDAMN will HAS to be probated, you pig-fucking hillbilly!" (sans, of course, the words Goddamn, pig-fucking, and hillbilly), he says, "NUH-UH! HE LEFT EVERYTHING TO MOM!! It's all HERS!!"

...

*sigh*

...

The kind of person who stands at the dinner table and says, "Yeah, I hate niggers, they took away all my rights!"

And you say, "Oh for the love of all things tiny, holy, and Jesus-like. What rights have you lost because of ANYONE?"

And he says, "Just you wait. They'll take yours too, Missy."

And you say, "HA! I laugh at your face! Your brother-in-law already took away all mine."

...

*sigh*

...

I live on an idiot farm. And the idiots have run amok....

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

So, I go to the doctor on Friday and I'm sitting on the exam room table, naked as the day I was born, only many, many pounds larger, when my doctor walks in.

"Good morning, Miss Anne, how are you?" he says in his caring doctor voice.

And I promptly burst into tears. "Waaaaah! My head hurts! It's been hurting for weeks! My eyeballs are trying to pop themselves out of my eyes, my brain is trying to ooze out my ears, my husband wants to divorce me, my father-in-law just died, my kids are complete bitches, and I miss my mother! Waaaaah!"

He sits back in his chair and says, "Tell me about the headache..."

You gotta love a doctor who can sift through that kind of shit-storm.

Apparently, I now have high-blood pressure. But my doctor thinks it COULD be due to stress. (Um... DUH?) And so I have to be rechecked in 3 weeks. At that time, if it's still high, I will have to go on blood pressure meds.

Thing 1 made it home safely, and so did my niece, who I adore. Friday was a good, good day, with the exception of the aforementioned doctor appointment.

Saturday was a whole 'nother story....

Which I don't actually care to talk about, except to say, I do not understand how making myself into a doormat for my children could created in them such disdain and utter contempt. Most of the time, I'm so proud of my girls and their wonderful senses of humor, their fabulous minds, their sweetness and beautiful spirits. However, at times, (possibly it's the full moon?) they turn into raving BITCHES, whom I could cheerfully run over with my car.

And so it was on Saturday, when I spent a good part of the day in the cemetery, boo-hoo-ing like a hobo.

And so it was on Sunday morning, when I had been yelled at, in no particular order, by the husband, the eldest daughter, the youngest daughter. Even the fucking dogs had barked meanly at me.

And I cried again.

And my head hurt. Sweet Crispy Jeebus, I can't even describe to you the pain. I was ready to hang it up, give up the ghost, buy the farm, and blah-blah-blah....

I can't sleep. I wake up approximately every two hours... go pee. Stand an moan at the sonic boom and it's aftershock going on inside my head. Smoke a cigarette. Check my email. Smoke again. Go back to bed. Spend an hour trying to get to sleep. Do it all again 2 hours later.

My she wolves and my husband had me in tears before nine o'clock this morning.

I determined to pack my shit TODAY, and move into my office this evening. My boss will be gone for the next two weeks, so maybe I could get some rest?

Then I thought, "No. I'll go to the only place where I can get REAL rest. Where else on earth would I even consider going except to Mitch?"

And then I remembered that I have a job. A job where I have no more vacation days. And a bankruptcy sitting on my desk that will require at least a week to finish.

And then I began to feel trapped, like a rat. And I began to feel like I was drowning. And so I did the only thing I know to do under such circumstances. I went back to bed.

I truly am at a loss here. I go out of my way to try to do EVERYTHING anyone asks of me, even the HUSBAND, to keep things peaceful and running smoothly. I've spent myself into a pool of debt that resembles the mighty Mississippi trying to keep up with what my girls want. I make phone calls for them. I make appointments for them. I fix things that are broken, I step into situations they can't (or, more typically, WON'T) handle. In short, I'm busting my fat ass trying to please everyone in my family.

And in return, they despise me.

My daughter said she couldn't STAND me. My daughter said I was WORTHLESS and USELESS and a LIAR.

My husband said he wants me OUT, but wait, maybe not, but yeah, get the fuck out of here, but wait, if you will STOP fucking around with the MEN you can stay, but no, I can't forgive you, just leave.... But you go with nothing and I will never EVER be able to let you be happy. Don't try to date anyone, don't try to fall in love, don't try to have FRIENDS. Because I will ruin it, I will ruin YOU, I will ruin any chance you have at happiness. But I probably won't kill you.

My friends say Go! Get out of that madhouse! You are worth more than that! You deserve a life! You deserve to be happy! We support you!

My family says, "Come to us! We love you! We will help you, comfort you, take care of you, let you rest. We LOVE you!"

My brain tells me, "If you don't do SOMETHING, you are going to die. You are going to STROKE the fuck OUT, and dying is not something that you can fix, Miss Fix-it."

And my heart... my poor broken, weary, terrified, shrunken heart says to me, "I don't care what you do, but don't hurt me anymore...."

....

*sigh*

....

I wasn't going to do this today. I had a snappy, perky post all ready about HOW I CANNOT TOLERATE BUT JUST SO MUCH STUPIDITY, JUST SO MANY FOOLS. It would have made you smile. It could have elicited a quirky little chuckle. It probably would have made you laugh till you spit some sort of food or liquid onto the face of your computer screen. It most assuredly would have made you pee a little.

But apparently, I am the fool here. I am the moron frozen in indecision. I am the idiot with a sign on her back that says, "Please, I"m not down yet, go ahead and kick me."

....

*sigh*

....

I'm going back to bed... Happy Labor Day, Internets....

Miss Anne would love you, if she had it in her....

A note from Miss Anne:

2008-08-28T07:28:00.002-04:00

Dear Internets:

I gotta tell you, I WANT to write... I want to be cute and funny and entertaining. But I got NOTHING. I have sat here for DAYS, started fifty bazillion different posts, and then thought to myself, "Self, this sucks. Delete this motherfucker."

And you guys KNOW how I love to delete things...

So, I'm at a loss....

I feel so disconnected from the blog world. I go by your blogs, whether I comment or not, and believe me, I TRY to comment on all the ones I read, and I see you are writing, and life is HAPPENING to you, and....

I feel like I have been cryogenically frozen...

Help me out guys. Give me a topic to write about. Ask me a question. Leave a MEAN anonymous comment, so I have something to get PISSED about. (Mitchell, this does not mean you, and I will KNOW if you leave a mean comment, and I will tell Kate.)

Ask me for advice. It's free. Ask me for a recipe. Hell, I'm a fairly good cook. Ask me about a book, or a song, or....

Hell, I don't care what you say, or what you ask, I will respond to it. Otherwise, I'm going to write a post on how many bottles of shampoo are in my shower (8), how many books I own (43 million) or how long my leg hairs are (long enough to BRAID). I'll be forced to write about how many cigarette butts are in the ashtray beside my computer (36, but I'm working on another one, as I write this... PUFF, PUFF, BLOOOOW).

I'll tell you why I dry off with a hair dryer after my shower (because I believe towels just smear dead skin cells around on your skin...); How many times I gag when I brush my teeth (depends on how many times I try to brush my tongue); or why there is a HUGE oily stain on the leg of my favorite jeans (think dark movie theater... think popcorn... think EXTRA butter); or how many steps it takes me to get from my car to my office (73..).

Save me from myself. Save yourselves from everlasting ennui!! Help me escape from the razor toothed, ooze dripping, hot breathed jaws of writers block...

Loves!

Miss Anne

HOLY SHIT, I FOUND IT!!!

2008-08-25T08:53:00.002-04:00

The movie was "Bad Ronald." How awesome that I found it!! And it was a 1974 TV Movie of the Week, so I was FREAKING 10 years old when I saw it!!

Ladies and gentlemen, that was nearly 34 years ago...

I need that movie...

What a terrific birthday present it would make for SOMEONE!! (and by someone, I mean ME)

Someone will SURELY get it for me!! (and by someone, I mean YOU)

Now, did anyone see "Let's Scare Jessica to Death...?"

Monday Morning Movie Trivia, among other things...

2008-08-25T05:52:00.004-04:00

Ok, I'm going absolutely bat-shit crazy trying to find the name of a movie....

Remember when I asked you to help me find the name of that book about the little runaway girl and her imaginary friend, Squire Hemon Monk? And remember how you sucked ASS at helping me find it?

I'm hoping you'll do better this time... because I have faith in you, that's why!!

There was a movie on television, when I was young... It was about a boy, whose mother, (and I don't remember WHY) closed him off in some hiding space inside her house. Then she died. There were other people who moved into the house, and I remember the boy watching them through tiny little pinprick holes in the walls...

And that's all I can remember. I don't remember the end of the movie, or if anyone else died or was murdered. I was a little KID, donchaknow!

Help me find the title, so I can find the movie... or at least a synopsis of the movie.

I'm thinking of hiding myself inside THIS house... 'cause, you know... watching the Husband try to flirt with Anna-Banana should be good for some giggles....

I'm kidding.

The Husband couldn't flirt if you glued one of his eyes shut in a permanent wink...

Speaking of The Husband...

I haven't reported anything new here, because there hasn't been anything new to report. I'm still here... He still has not said he DOESN'T want a divorce. I'm still too poor to find an apartment. For the time being, we've called a truce of sorts, and everything is calm. If I could make that last until Thing 2 graduates in June, I'll do it. If not.... well, I AM still determined to make my life work, with OR without him.

It would be a lot fucking easier if I won the lottery.

Thing 1 is back at school, WITH HER CAR, no less!! She reports that she hasn't had a bit of trouble, which is astounding, in itself. She's supposed to come home for Labor Day, which fills me with the kind of fear that only the mother of a 21 year old child who is "driving challenged" can feel...

Thing 2 starts back to school on Wednesday. Which is a good thing, as her drumming has reached a freakin' fever pitch inside this house. I took her shopping last week, and bless her pea pickin' little heart, everything she picked out was either on clearance, or on a very good sale.

Mamaw said a very weird thing the other day, but I forgave her instantly, as my middle name is "For God's sake, her husband just died, let it GO already"...

I was getting ready to leave her house, and she mentioned that the Husband didn't come down there early to turn on the coffeepot. I said "I fixed coffee this morning, and he just drank mine." As I hugged her goodbye, (which used to be awkward, but I AM a hugger) she said into my ear: "You better stop that... he's MINE". "I know," I said, "and you can HAVE him. But I'm not going to stop making coffee. I need it to SURVIVE."

That's all that's happening in MY neck-o'-the-woods. How have YOU been?

Free to Good Home...

2008-08-17T00:09:00.002-04:00

One wife. Used for 24 years. Still has all own teeth. Can cook. Won't clean house or do windows. Has trashy mouth. Loves to read and will eat you out of house and home. Will make you laugh. May possibly make you crazy. Needs lots of love. Comes with a fair amount of baggage. Can suck a football through a water hose*. Is smart and has great smile. Has crazy little left eye.

*Just kidding about the football.

Here's an interesting tidbit:

2008-08-15T06:09:00.001-04:00

He chose divorce.

.................

What the fuck do I do now?

Let's all yuk it up, why don't we?

2008-08-13T14:24:00.005-04:00

Because my middle name is "Give the people what the fuck they want," I give you these:

This is my "I am GROWLING, not preparing to say the word SHIT" picture. And also my "If I close BOTH eyes, you can't tell which one is LITTLE, can you, ya' FAT BASTARDS!!" picture.

This is my "I'm winking, even though it looks like I'm passing gas" picture. And also my "Fucking hell, even when I close my RIGHT eye, my left eye is LITTLE" picture.

This is my "oopsie! Bad haircut? Smile, anyway!" picture. And also my, "Some people's big boobs go all the way to their NECKS" picture.

This is my "does anyone love their readers more than me, to post this CRAP onLINE?" picture. And also, my "Fat people also have fat WRISTS" picture.

This is my "I STILL have fucking great hair, even if it's UGLY as SIN" picture. And also my, "Is it just me, or does my nose take up over half my face?" picture.

If you can't say something nice....

2008-08-12T21:16:00.003-04:00

Wonder what it means when you get a really, REALLY shitty haircut... and you come home almost in tears... and you text a friend and say, OHMYGAWD IT'S A FUCKING DISASTER!!!

And then that friend says, "It can't be that bad, let me see it..." and so you take a picture and believe me, it IS that bad... and you send the picture... and your friend says...

...

...

nothing?

...

...

Yeah, that's what *I* thought it meant too...

~woe is miss anne~

Just once, I'd like to LOVE Mondays....

2008-08-11T06:04:00.002-04:00

So, here it is Monday again, and I'm kind of blah.....

I haven't blogged, haven't visited any blogs, haven't really even THOUGHT about blogging. I suck, I know.

Here's what's happening in MY neck o' the woods:

I have a horrible headache, which started yesterday morning at 10:30 a.m., and which REFUSES to acknowledge the SHITLOAD of tylenol that I've been feeding it. These are the times when it's fun to sleep alot.... visions of Lortab dancing in my head.

It's lonely at mamaw's house. We've been down there daily, either for breakfast or dinner, always trying to be cheerful, without being totally fake. She seems to be doing ok, though I suspect it's an act. However, I feel that if she cares enough to ACT for us, it's a positive sign.

Tomorrow, I shall be getting a brand new floor in my kitchen, which fills me with joy and hope. You would have to know what my CURRENT disgusting floor looks like to truly understand my joy. My hope is that I will continue to give a shit about my house and put forth that small effort to maintain the weekly cleaning that Anna-Banana gives it. At some point, after Vincent-the-saving-dog gives up the ghost, we will also be replacing the carpet in the living room, and I am DETERMINED to add a new sofa and chair. I've already picked it out, and bargained with husband for it. If he buys the carpet (which, by the way is the most expensive carpet you have EVER seen) I will buy the sofa. And it's fucking AWESOME, the sofa. I am in LOVE with it.

I have been a model wife, for the most part. I say for the most part, because I am still me, you understand. However, I have tried to minimize that fact by running errands, cleaning house, cooking, visiting with mamaw, and giving SEX when sex is requested. Believe me when I say that this is a HUGE big deal. I promised that I would work to become a good wife, and I will.

However....

Nothing is being done, on the part of Husband, in reciprocation. I don't mean in a sexual way. He's more than willing to do ANY freaky thing imaginable. And he works hard, and provides for us well. But he is FAILING me, nonetheless. I've tried talking to him about it, but I'm not going to allow myself to sound like a shrew. He just lost his father. I did however, make my feelings known. I reminded him that I AM STILL HERE, lest he forget, and his inability to make a decision regarding our future is wearing thin.

I put it simply: "I am trying to make you happy. I am doing the things that I know you want me to do, long before you have to ask me to do them. If you want to keep me here, it is important that you show me, in some small way, that my happiness means something to you, too. If you don't want to keep me here, let's make it as painless as possible, and part in a way that doesn't leave too many scars..."

The funny thing is, I don't think he likes the changes in me, as much as he thought he would. I think he liked it better when I was AFRAID of my future, when he could COMPLAIN about the time I spent on the computer, and about the house, and about every other way in which I FAILED HIM. He doesn't like to see strength in me.

I am determined that my life from here on out have some MEANING. To that end, I will pursue some kind of volunteer work. The two things I have thought about most are Hospice, and the assisted living home that papaw worked so devotedly for. I'm much more interested in giving my time at the assisted living home, in whatever capacity they will accept. This is important to me because I feel (and trust me, rightly so) that my life up to this point has been selfish and self serving. I NEED to give something back.

I mentioned this before, but it bears repeating: I NEED A NEW HOBBY. Someone suggested scrapbooking, and, though I ADORE you for caring enough to make the suggestion, I'd rather a rattlesnake sink his fangs into the whites of my EYE and fill me with venom than take up scrapbooking. Likewise knitting, crochet, cross-stitch, sewing, quilting or any other needle-related thing. I can't draw or paint. I am not interested in making jewelry. There HAS to be something I can do. Put your thinking caps on and leave me some suggestions. I IMPLORE you. With love, of course.

I am finishing up Breaking Dawn, and find it to be the most putrid, chock-full-o-bull-shit piece of literature I have ever perused. I am almost ashamed to be reading it. Does anyone else share my view of this literary disaster? I know you do, Janet. Anyone else?

Thing 1 will go back to school this weekend. Again, my heart will go with her. Thing 2 has been in band camp since July 29. Every week day, 8:00 a.m. till 2:00 p.m. Trust me when I say that being hot and tired does NOTHING for Thing 2's mood. She's been a complete BITCH since band camp started. It gets better, I keep promising myself. Myself sees no sign of that yet, but is ever hopeful.

And now I'm off to get ready for yet another week of back-breaking work. Ha. I mean, sitting on my big butt and dealing with the scum of the earth... Did I mention I HATE Social Security? How about Bankruptcy? Wills? Estates? I hate them all......

Have a great week, internets... and remember, Miss Anne fucking loves you...

A Note to myself...

2008-08-05T23:10:00.002-04:00

Dear Self:

Just a few things to remember, the next time someone dies.

1. For a woman of SIZE, wearing 3 inch heels to a wake is NOT a good idea, even if you paid only $12.50 for them on clearance, and even if they look AMAZING with your black pants suit.

2. The next time you have to be last in the bathroom to fix your hair, and it's hot, throw something BIG and SHARP at the child you gave BIRTH to who says, "Dude, did you fix your hair? It's lookin' kind of haggard..."

3. Waterproof mascara was created for a REASON.

4. Remind your children that saying SHIT, PISS, DAMN IT, or SON OF A BITCH are no-no's in church. HELL is ok, though, if you're talking about a place. GOD should only be said if you are praying to Him, and CHRIST ON A CRUTCH is almost certainly taboo in most churches. If they say those words anyway, sit far away from them, so as not to be struck by the lightening that God will surely send down upon them.

5. If the sister-in-law that you adore tells you that you have raccoon eyes, do NOT tell her she has a booger in her nose. She is distraught and trying to help. Oh, and refer to number 3 re: the raccoon eyes.

6. If someone really old takes your hand and says, "And who are you, dear?" It is NOT polite to squeal, "Ohmigawd, you can SEE me?"

7. Voices carry in church. So it's probably not a good idea to stand up and announce, "I have to PEE like a RACEHORSE."

8. It is impolite to say that your husband's cousin is "as fucked up as a soup sandwich"... especially if you are talking to her sister.

9. People will look at you funny if you announce, "Ativan in my car, everyone! Party time!"

10. It is probably not acceptable to take off the offending 3" heels, sling 'em over your shoulder, and announce, "Let's blow this joint, I need some Starbucks!"

Sometimes, you have to laugh in order to stop crying...

Rest in peace, Papaw...

2008-08-04T08:08:00.003-04:00

I will surely miss you...

~Melodyann~

The Future of Miss Anne Derstood....

2008-07-28T15:14:00.002-04:00

Dear Internets:

You probably haven't noticed lately, because I am a MASTER at hiding my feelings, but I've been in a bit of a funk... Yes! It's true!

I have had my feelings hurt, my heart broken, my toes stepped on, my civil liberties denied, and my aura disturbed.

BUT... and you will be interested to know this, so pay attention...

A NEW WIND IS BLOWIN' AROUND THESE PARTS....

And that new wind is called "SELF-RESPECT".

I won't go into any messy details about what is in the past. Because my new middle name is, "LET WHAT IS IN THE PAST BE BURIED AND STAY BURIED FOREVER AND EVER, AMEN."

Here are some things I've been thinking and doing... and saying:

1. I have taken a much more active role in the care of my father-in-law. I thought this would bring about hurt that I couldn't even imagine, but the exact opposite is true. I feel a sense of purpose. I feel needed. I feel that in some way, I am honoring the memory of my mother, by sharing what I know, and what I can do, with my husband's family. And they are beginning to rely on me. Even my husband. Believe it. Or not. It's true.

2. I am a perfectly decent human being and I do not deserve to be treated badly. By anyone. For any reason. And anyone who KNOWINGLY hurts me, FOR NO DISCERNIBLE REASON, is beneath me. And does not deserve to be called my friend.

3. I'm tired of feeling like I don't measure up. Fuck that. I DO measure up. I'm an intelligent, considerate, sensitive forty-something woman. I have a good sense of humor. I'm kind. I don't give anybody any shit, and I don't want to take any in return. I'm not beautiful, but neither do people hide their eyes when I walk by. I'm overweight, but who give a big shit? I don't have to impress anyone. When I lose weight, it will be to improve my chances for a longer life, not to make anyone fall madly in love with me.

4. When my husband's father leaves this world, my husband has a big decision to make. If he wants to stay married to me, I will work my ass off to make a good marriage with him. And in return, I expect him to climb off my ass and treat me as his WIFE, his equal. I don't have to have a fairy tale love, but I need a dash of RESPECT. Find out what it means to me, baby. And if he wants a divorce, then I have no desire to take anything from him that doesn't already belong to me. I will not fight him for anything. A divorce will be hard on me. Mentally, and financially. But I am MUCH stronger than I have ever given myself credit for being, and I have family and friends who LOVE me, and will stand by me and support me.

5. I do not need ANYONE, and most importantly, ANY MAN, to complete me. I will not be complete until I die. Until then, *I* am in charge of my happiness, my success, my failure, and the everyday "whole-ness" that I may or may not feel. What happens to me, for me, and WITH me is no one else's business, no one else's problem, and no one else's responsibility but my own. I am now in charge of ME.

6. I have a lot of faults... I see them, recognize them for what they are, and ACCEPT them: I am impatient. I tend toward grouchy. I have a filthy mouth. I am lazy. And yes, I have an inferiority complex as big as the great state of TEXAS. These faults are MINE and mine alone, and it is and will be my responsibility to change them, eradicate them, or lovingly cherish them as I SEE FIT.

7. I had a WONDERFUL mother. But she is dead. She's been gone for nearly 18 years. It's time to let go. Holding onto the pain and the loss and the sadness does not honor her memory. And this is not a path she would have chosen for me. It is time for me to love and honor the LIVING. My family. My friends. Myself. I will share the memories of her that I have from time to time. I will NOT wallow in my grief any longer.

8. It's time I had a hobby. And that hobby can NOT be the internet. Because when my hobby is the internet, there is trouble galore in my life. I don't know what my hobby will be. I will choose it carefully, because I plan to THROW myself into it with passion very, very soon. For the record, my hobby will not be illegal, immoral, or unethical. Therefore, lesbian crack whore has been taken out of the list of possible choices. Cheating wife-whore has likewise been eliminated.

9. I will continue to write in my blog. Those of you who choose to stay for the end credits, I welcome you with open arms. You will see a new and improved Miss Anne emerging from the ashes, if my will and my resolve prove to be as strong as my hope and desire.

10. Finally, I want to thank someone. And that someone is Janet, the mother of all best-friends, who taught me that I am worthy of her friendship (even if I'm STILL not wholly convinced..) Janet has put up with more bullshit, more snot-flying, screaming, tearful rants than anyone should ever have to put up with, and STILL she loves me. Go figure. God sent her straight to me. And I humbly thank Him for it.

Fasten your seatbelts, friends. It's gonna be a helluva ride....

love,

Miss Anne Derstood

Pity, Party of One? Your table is ready...

2008-07-24T12:55:00.006-04:00

I am feeling some stress.

Jesus God, I am so angry I could fucking kill somebody.

I'm so sad I could lay down and cry for a week.

I'm so tired I can barely keep my damn head up.

I feel UTTERLY alone in this world.

I'll be back soon, when I have something GOOD to say... Till then I'm going into a self-induced Ativan haze.....

(By the way, I stole that title from Dory, who used it or something very close to it a while back. Isn't she cute?)

(Also, Thing 2's CT scan showed nothing glaringly obvious yesterday. We will get the full results tomorrow or Monday.)

Just another day in paradise...

2008-07-23T08:06:00.002-04:00

Thing 2 has to have a cat scan today...

She's been having bad headaches when she runs. This is not normal. Thing 2 is very active. She's been running for several months and the headaches only started a few weeks ago.

Her doctor wants to rule out aneurism, as there is a history of such on both sides of the family. Did I mention I am SICK with fear for my baby? I'm sure she's fine. I am. It's just that the word aneurism strikes fear into my heart.
________________________________

In other news, papaw is much, much worse now. It breaks my heart anew each time I see him. He is now being treated by Hospice workers. Yesterday, a nurse evaluated and examined him for the first time. Her news was not good. She told husband and his sister that she would estimate he had maybe a month... two if they were lucky.

Lucky? That he might live another month... so weak he cannot stand alone... with mood swings and loss of appetite and almost total loss of motor function? That is LUCK?

My prayer is that he stays pain free as long as possible. My prayer is that my husband, and his sister, and his brother, and their friends and relatives don't become so worn out that they cannot care for him adequately. My prayer is that this doesn't drag out so long that they secretly wish for it to just be OVER, then swim in guilt for the traitorous thought.
_________________________________

Thing 1 does not come home from Germany for nearly two more weeks. I do not want her grandpa to die while she is gone. She won't be able to get back, and I don't want her to feel guilty for being there. Is that selfish of me? Probably. But my FIRST instincts are to protect my children from anything that hurts them.

I am counting the hours until she comes home. Then I remember that she will go back to school only a week later. Christ, I hate the thoughts of her leaving again. This time she will drive her car back to school. I don't even let myself THINK about how afraid THAT is going to make me. I can't handle any more worries at this present time.

I will worry about the car later. I will worry about her leaving later. Right now all I want to do is put my arms around her and breathe.
________________________________

I learned a very important lesson last night. I can't write about it here, but suffice it to say that it hardened my heart somewhat, which was a thing I needed. I will say this, in our lives, friends come and go. To save ourselves hurt, we should let them go... when they go. You cannot hold onto something that is no longer there.

Words of supreme wisdom from Miss Anne... no?

Keep me and my girls in your thoughts today, internets....

Random thoughts I thunk over the weekend:

2008-07-21T00:01:00.001-04:00

1. "I've got to get a second job, and get out of debt. If those fucking stores would stop putting things on SALE, I'd be ok."

2. "Spicy Guacamole Pringles are the SHIT."

3. "If I could win the lottery, I'd move to North Carolina and live out my days as a non-practicing lesbian bartender."

4. "I wish my fingernails were longer. And cleaner. And POLISHED."

5. "Man, I wish I had a pancake."

6. "Oh, you did NOT just tell me I can't have OREO Cakesters."

7. "When the FUCK does Prison Break come back on?"

8. "Christ, I don't wanna have to drive back to Maryland again."

9. "Dear Sweet Tiny Baby Lord Jesus: Please take care of my baby girl in Germany. Send plagues of pestilence on anyone who dares to hurt her. Amen."

10. "Wonder if he's gonna eat that whole fucking cheesecake by himself?"

11. "This cheesecake could use some cherry pie filling on top."

12. "So help me God, if you ask me to 'Play with your wiener', ONE more time, I will SNIP it in the BUD. Swear to God."

13. "Dear God: Please kill Anna so she will stop putting things where I don't want them to be. Or, make husband fall in love with her so SHE will have to 'play with his wiener'. Amen."

14. "Lord have mercy, God, your driving scares the living SHIT out of me. Jesus, take the wheel."

15. "The Lord is not going to 'call you on home' at this time, so please suck it up."

16. "Dammit, why can't curling be a summer Olympic event?"

17. "Damn right I make the best squash casserole around. And you'd better not forget it, Mister."

18. "I need a hobby. Wonder what I'd be good at?"

19. "Dear Our-Father-Who-Art-In-Heaven: I need to lose 100 pounds before Christmas. And quit smoking. And make 43,726 dollars. And get a Brazilian wax. Thank you in advance for attending to these matters. Your faithful servent. Amen."

20. "Oh, you may as well give it UP, fucker. I will ALWAYS be smarter than you. Game over."

You bought a WHAT?

2008-07-18T10:42:00.000-04:00

So, recently, I went online and purchased a... um... well, a little something for myself. You know, a v-v-v-v... excuse me... a vi-vi-vi-vi.... er, an adult toy.

So why not? I'm an adult. I'm certainly able to make that decision, and make that PURCHASE... for myself.

OHMYGAWD, it was agonizing... Who knew there were so many of them?

It took me DAYS of going to a couple of different websites.... HOURS of deliberation... and finally, I was so discombobulated that I just said, FUCK IT, I'M GETTING THIS ONE...

Oh. Oh my. Oh sweet crispy jeebus, I made the right decision.

I call him The Purple People Eater. hehehe. Because I am 12.

So anyway, me and the PPE have become inseparable. Well, in a not so EWWW GOD, kind of way.

I told the husband...casually, that I had made such a purchase.

"You did? Why?" he asked.

That stumped me for a second. But then I came up with the perfect answer and said to him, "Because I wanted one."

I figured he'd be angry. I didn't CARE that he'd be angry, but I just figured he would. But he wasn't. Which surprised me.

And then about a week ago, he walked past me in the kitchen and said, "I bought a little something too."

Not realizing what the hell he was talking about I said, "What, a case of beer?" And then it dawned on me, and I said, "Ohhhhh. What did you get? huh? what, what?"

He looked like he was going to tell me. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. And then he turned red. And said, "I'm not going to tell you. It's dumb. I.... never mind."

Well, you know what happened after that.... I followed him from room to room, nagging him incessantly... "What? What did you get? Why won't you tell me? C'mon, you know what I bought, tell me what you bought?"

But he wouldn't. He was embarrassed as hell, and he clammed up and wouldn't say another word.

Fast forward to this past Saturday, and he comes in the house with a box tucked under his arm. "What's that?" I asked him... "Did you find a way to buy BEER CAKES or something?"

And then it dawned on me. "Ohhhhh. Is that IT? What is it? Let me see it!!! C'mon, hand it over!"

And so he got embarrassed again, and said, "Stay away from me!"

And he locked it in his GUN CABINET.

So, of course you know what happened next....

I followed him from room to room, nagging him incessantly. This time, I decided to have a little more fun....

"Is it a vibrator?" I asked. He shook his head no. "Is it a cock ring? A vibrating cock ring? A penis sleeve?" I asked. His head shaking became violent. "Is it a penis extension? A red devil butt plug? A strap on for me?" I asked sweetly. "Is it Asian anal eggs? Ben Wa balls? A whip, a paddle or handcuffs? Nipple clamps?" His eyes were bulging out of his head at this point. He just stood and stared at me.

"Oh, please tell me you bought a squiggle sex probe, or a King Dong," I moaned.

"Who ARE you?" he whispered.

Hee.

"I KNOW things," I blew him a kiss and walked away. Before I embarrassed MYSELF by laughing till I peed right there in front of him. The rest of that day, he stayed well away from me. I think I scared the shit out of him with my recently acquired ADULT TOY knowledge.

On Sunday morning, I was laying in the bed reading. I heard him lock the bedroom door. "Oh boy, here it comes," I thought.

"Ok, I'll let you see it now," he said. "But you have to promise not to laugh."

Of COURSE I promised. Of COURSE it was a big fat lie.

He handed me the box, and then pretended to ignore me.

I open the box slowly, carefully.... and then stare in confusion... I'm looking at something that looks like one of those cookie presses... What the fuck? I looked over at him and said, "Ok, it's KIND of a turn on that you want to make cookies, but why is this embarrassing?"

He looked at me in disgust. "Cookies? I'm not going to make cookies, what are you TALKING about?" And he jerks the box from my hands and dumps it out on the bed. That's when I see the INSTRUCTION BOOKLET: How your NEW Penis Pump Works...

Well, you can color ME confused... What the hell is a penis pump? You HAVE to understand, I am probably the STUPIDEST person about ADULT TOYS and SEX and THINGS OF THIS PARTICULAR NATURE, ever.

So, I'm like... staring at him, and staring at the booklet, and I think.... MAYBE, a penis pump is to PUMP that sum'bitch up BIGGER!! Woo Hoo!!

I throw my arms around my husband and say, "Honey, aren't you a doll!!! Let's get RIGHT to it!! We're gonna PUMP (clap, clap) YOU UP!!"

I check the instructions for how to put it together, and spend a few minutes totally BEWILDERED by three little rubber ring things, find out what THEY are for with an infuriatingly CRIMSON blush... and then I um.... attached it and turned it on.

....
....

Hmmm....

Well, I HEAR a noise, so it must be working, right? And then I look DOWN THERE...

....
....

Ain't nothin' goin' on down there....

"Hey, what's the problem?" I ask. "There's no suction." whispers my husband. Well, I hand over the controls to him, so that I can be a spectator to this miracle. He fiddles with it a bit while I watch, and.... lo and behold....

Something starts to happen....

Oh the excitement!!! Oh the joy!!! I'm like a cheerleader on the sidelines, SCREAMING, "Oh yeah, baby!! We're gonna PUMP!! (clap, clap) YOU UP!!"

And woo hoo!! The damn thing is growing!! I'm up off the bed at this point, with my arms waving in the air and I burst out in song: "Can I get a WIT-NESS??? Can I get a WIT-NESS!?!?!"

"SHHHHH! Shut up! Jesus, you're so LOUD!" says my husband. And he's making this really funny face, almost like he's in PAIN. And suddenly, he's scrambling like mad trying to break the suction and get the penis pump OFF.

"WHOA, WHOA, WHOA!!!!" I scream. "What the fuck are you doing? It's not DONE!!!" That thing has not even BEGUN to fill that tube.

"It's HURTING," he pants. "I've got to get it off..."

Well, shit.... OK, I am nothing if not a team player, so I reach out and push the PANIC button, which stops the suction immediately. Husband slides the rubber ring thingy um... down where it needs to BE, donchaknow...

And we set about making things HAPPEN.

Ok, so far so good...

Ninety seconds later, I hear this: "Ahhhh, shit."

Now, I don't know about you.... but I have to tell you that right smack dab in the middle of MARITAL RELATIONS is not the time I want to hear the words, "Ahhhh, shit."

And then I knew.....

And I said, "Ahhhh, shit."

And he said, "The ring didn't work..."

Huh. Well, well, well. What the fuck do you know about that? The ring did not work. The RING did not work? I'm thinking not a DAMN thing worked, but I say nothing.

I grab the instructions and start at the beginning....

It seems you can learn SOMETHING new each and every day. Because a PENIS PUMP is not used to MAKE AN ALREADY WORKING PENIS BIGGER. It is used to give a LIMP NOODLE a nudge in the right direction.

And the rings? Well, they are used to keep it there.

"Why did that goddamn thing grow, in that tube?" I yelled at my husband.

"Well, you were WATCHING it," he defended himself. "I got excited by that."

I growled. And I kept reading....

"YOU USED THE WRONG RING!!!" I shouted in accusation. "What the hell made you think you need the LARGE ONE?" I am completely bumfuzzled with frustration. "It's supposed to be tight!"

"IT WAS!"

"It wasn't tight ENOUGH, Johnny ComeEARLY!!!"

And then I saw the receipt......

"HOLY MOTHER OF THE TINY LITTLE LORD BABY JESUS!!!! You paid TWO HUNDRED and fifty four DOLLARS for that piece of SHIT?"

And then I saw something in his eyes.... He'd had enough. He was embarrassed and frustrated (though TRUST me, not as frustrated as ME) and he was angry. And he was out $254.

I heaved a very longsuffering sigh....

"Well, maybe you can make it into a cookie press...." and left the room with my head held high. Last word, I win...

The end.

Oh the games people play....

2008-07-16T06:51:00.008-04:00

Move over Scrabulous:

There's a new game in town. And it's name is WordTwist:

And I am it's BITCH....

If you're my friend on Facebook, play a game of WordTwist with me... I double dog dare you...

Sunday Night....

2008-07-13T21:05:00.015-04:00

There's a recurring dream I have. It drives me NUTS.

I am chewing gum. The gum gets too soft and starts sticking to my teeth. I can't get the shit off. Just when I think I've gotten most of it, it goes all soft AGAIN, and there is more and more and more that I am just RAKING off my teeth.

God only knows what kind of noises I am making while I am having this dream.

What do you think it means?

Here's some pictures I decided to put up from a couple of posts ago. I wasn't going to put any up, because I was bummed that hardly anyone asked for pictures, and MITCHELL WILL YOU STOP PUTTING STUPID FUCKING COMMENTS ON MY BLOG?

Ahem.

Anyway, in no certain order, here are a few of your requests, sans the boobs and the BIG BLACK, which does NOT. FUCKING. EXIST. Thank you very much. And Burfica, no way in hell am I posting a pic of me in jammies. NO. WAY. So, I posted a pic of me. Just me. No jammies.

Husband, toes, Me, Vincent-the-saving-Dog, Shelby, my messy desk at home, crop of neck-mole-y-things, my fabulous giant bed, Cleo. Couldn't find a pic of my desk at work. Maybe I will take one on Monday.

Crazier than a soup sandwich (I know you are, but what am I?)...

2008-07-10T06:23:00.002-04:00

You know how sometimes I get all crazy and start deleting shit? I'm feeling that way again... Christ, I'm in a bad mood.

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately... which generally gets me worked up in a bad way. I'm not so easy on myself when I "look in the mirror," whether literally, or figuratively. But sometimes I'm TOO hard on myself, forgetting that there ARE some good things about me, some things that I'm proud of, some things about myself I like.

So, I've decided to write this post about myself, to EXPLAIN who I really am, so to speak. Because sometimes the real me gets lost in the self pity and the fear and the anger and the depression.

You may agree with some of what I say. You may disagree with lots of it. You may have your own opinions, and you may or may not want to share them. I don't mind. Today, believe it or not, I am writing for ME, even though I am talking to YOU. And it will probably be a little disjointed, mixed up, angry and depressing. But somewhere, inside of me, there is some GOOD. No... there is LOTS of good. I know this. It's gotten lost in the shuffle maybe, but it's in there. And I aim to find it, and cherish it.

Because I have a goal. And it isn't to change who I am. It isn't to change how I live. It isn't to run away, or get a divorce, or live in another state. I don't know what the future holds for me, as far as my marital status. But one thing I am CERTAIN of, and I became certain of it YESTERDAY, when a mood so foul it knocked me on my ass came over me, completely out of the blue...

I have to learn to live within my own skin. No matter where I am. No matter who I'm with. I could leave, get a divorce, move away and find a job. But until I can see and recognize that goodness that I know is in me, where would the peace and contentment be? I could meet someone, fall in love, and try to live happily ever after. But until I find the strength within myself to COUNT on me, to CHERISH me, to BELIEVE in me, how will I ever be able to accept that I am deserving of love from someone else?

People go through difficult situations all the time. Some of them wallow in it, paralyzed by fear and acceptance, and lose bits of themselves until they become someone that they don't recognize. I am in real danger of that happening to me. And I don't want it to. I want to be one of the ones who doesn't let the bad touch them... doesn't let it change them... doesn't let it imprison them.

So, you see, at least for now... it doesn't matter where I am... I will not thrive in any environment at this present time. And it isn't anyone's fault but my own. And no one can fix it but me. You can come along for the ride, I surely would appreciate the company. And you can offer advice, and you can offer your own opinion, and you can offer support... I may not take your advice, and I may not ask for your opinion, but damned if I won't hang on to you for dear life, if I need to...

So let's begin to find out who I really am, shall we? And just for fun, let's start with something good...
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I believe, with all my heart, in the power of laughter. If I go through a day without having laughed, a time or two... I feel that day is wasted. Time not well spent, and lost forever... At times I can be funny. One of the greatest joys in my life is making someone laugh. And I will go to great lengths to do it. Here on my blog, I have become decidedly UN-funny, and that's a damn shame. Some people don't understand my sense of humor. Those people are to be pitied, because they are idiots... Sometimes my brand of funny doesn't come across on paper or on my blog, as well as it does in person. Someone said it's all about INFLECTION, but I disagree, mainly because I am pissed off at that someone and wouldn't agree if they said the earth is ROUND.

I think it's all about the eyes... If you cannot look into someone's eyes when they speak, you cannot know exactly how they mean what they are saying, sometimes. And so, I might be extraordinarily funny one day, and no one will get it, because all they will see is my words. They will not see the twinkle in my eye, or the scrunching up of the laugh lines (of which I have plenty now that I'm in my 40's, believe me).

So, that person that thinks it's all about the INFLECTION can suck it, because they are dumber than a five pound bag of STOO-PID. And mean and unforgiving and hateful, but that's a whole 'nother story...

I don't have a twisted sense of humor, though the twisted can often be hilarious. Just ask Adam Avitable. My brand of funny is not slanted towards racial, ethnic, religion or sexual preference, though, to be fair, if it's funny, I'm going to laugh, no matter WHO it slams... Trust me, I laugh at myself much more often than I laugh at anyone else...

In summation, I have determined that I have a wonderful sense of humor. I love to laugh, and I love to make other people laugh. I have self-confidence, when it comes to funny. So, on your scoreboards, on the side of WHY I'M NOT A BIG OL' LOSER FUCKER HEAD, please write, (1) Loves to laugh, (2) Has healthy sense of humor, and (3) Can make other people laugh.

To be continued...

Let's play a game....

2008-07-08T14:05:00.002-04:00

EDITED: I'm adding a wonderful facet to the game. And that facet is called, "ARE YOU TALKIN' TO ME?" That's right, you request me to say, sing, shout, whisper or quote something, and I'll do it. Let my hillbilly voice be heard throughout the land!!! Or something like that....
PS: You all are full of suck because I'm getting so few requests here! Get your shit in gear, people! This is the chance of a lifetime! HA!

Hello internets!!

Let's play a game. And that game is called "Take a fucking picture, whydoncha?"

You request a picture of something. I will take that picture and post it on my blog.

Somehow, that sounded a lot more fun inside my head.....

Be creative, be funny, be serious... I'm in the mood for anything. Only a couple of rules:

No nudie pics (trust me, it's for your own safety and mental well-being...).

Hmmm... that's pretty much the only rule.

Ready, set... go!

This was obviously a rotten idea. Never mind. Carry on. The END.

And we're HOME, and then we're OFF again...

2008-07-03T08:27:00.002-04:00

So, we got home Tuesday night at 10:30 from Tennessee....

I have the most wonderful brother that God ever created... We had the most splendid cabin in the Smoky Mountains, the best food, the most laughs, and the greatest thrills... all paid for by my very AFFLUENT sibling. Ain't life grand sometimes?

I haven't had time to transfer pictures yet, so go here if you want to see our cabin... It was completely awesome.
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Today we are off again, this time to Maryland, to spend a couple of days with my niece Amy. I'm depending on Amy to get us to D.C. tomorrow night (AGAIN I will say, "who, by all that is HOLY and RIGHT, leaves the country from DULLES airport on JULY 4th?).

Yes, Thing 1 leaves us for a month to travel halfway across the world to Germany. My heart is sad and hurt-y... I am happy and excited for her, this is a chance of a lifetime, but at the same time, I'm terrified to turn my baby loose in a foreign country for a month. Jesus, take the wheel...
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The rest of the summer is already locked in for Thing 2. Bless her tiny little pea-pickin' heart, she will be babysitting till school starts, along with a full day, EVERY DAY, of band starting the 29th of July... Had it not been for Uncle Mitch, Thing 2's summer would have been interminable, boring, and completely UN-vacation-y. Thank you, thank you, Mitchell and Kate. Just in case I never say it enough, I am blessed with untold riches to have you in my life.
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Just a small note about my previous post and the comments subsequently left by you:

I appreciate, in ways I will never be able to articulate, each and every one of you. To have even one friend who cares about you makes you rich. I feel like a billionaire...

Having said that, let me say this: my mother told me once, "You choose the life that you live. And if it doesn't suit you, there are two things you can do about it: you can accept it, and live it, the best way you can; or, you can change it. If you choose to accept it, then accept it and shut up about it. People get tired of hearing it, and of watching you wallow in self-pity and inaction."

I was notoriously gifted for completely misunderstanding, ignoring and blowing off her advice, but my mother was a very wise woman.

I apologize for dumping my shit in your laps.

Enough said.
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I will leave you with this conversation with Mitch, in Pigeon Forge, TN:

Mitch: Hey, did you see that pottery girl's hands, how strong they were?

Me: Ummm, I didn't notice so much.

Mitch: I bet she could grab hold of a man and just.... (jerking his fist)

Me: Jesus Christ, you're a nasty motherfucker...

Mitch: I loves me some pottery girls...

It's all about the control....

2008-06-26T06:22:00.000-04:00

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

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

2008-06-25T07:57:00.004-04:00

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.
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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.
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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...
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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..
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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

The same, but oh, so different...

2008-06-23T06:56:00.003-04:00

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...

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

2008-06-19T11:42:00.000-04:00

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....

I absolutely REFUSE to be upset...

2008-06-18T10:32:00.000-04:00

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?

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

2008-06-17T06:41:00.002-04:00

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....

*sigh*

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...

The one where I got TAGGED....

2008-06-16T06:56:00.002-04:00

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?

Janet

Dory

Burfica

Baseballmom

Used*to*be*me

Hilly (because I wanna be her best friend)

What will they say about me?

2008-06-13T07:44:00.003-04:00

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.

And I've come up with a list of the TOP TEN THINGS PEOPLE WILL PROBABLY SAY ABOUT ME WHEN I AM GONE...

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!"

And the number 1 THING PEOPLE WILL PROBABLY SAY ABOUT ME WHEN I AM GONE...

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

but I could be wrong....

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

2008-06-06T06:16:00.003-04:00

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.

*sigh*

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*>>>

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

2008-06-05T07:04:00.001-04:00

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.

On hiatus.....

2008-05-12T07:12:00.002-04:00

I put my blog on private last night. I don't know why.

It wasn't to keep anybody out.

I'm not doing so well, right now.

I'll be back..............

Sometimes, we just talk...

2008-05-09T07:45:00.005-04:00

Conversations:

Thing 1: "I don't think anyone should be mad at Uncle, just because he doesn't spend a lot of time at the hospital."

Me: "Well, your dad is pissed at him, and of course, Thing 2 feels however her daddy feels."

Thing 1: "Everyone deals with stress differently, you know?"

Me: "Yeah, that's true. Thing 2 deals with it by screaming and hitting people."

Thing 1: "I deal with stress by having sex."

Me: "Ha... Haha... Shut the fuck up."

________________________________________

Husband: "Are you on the phone with Thing 1?"

Me: "Yup."

Husband: "Ask her what she's trying to accomplish with all the philosophy classes. Is she trying to become the next Dolly Llama?" (huge grin)

Me: *blink*

Me (to Thing 1): "I think he's dumb on purpose."

______________________________________

Me: "And so I told daddy that you and Thing 1 would take turns spending the night with your mamaw."

Thing 2 (angrily): "Why don't you just admit you're not going to do anything for mamaw during this?"

Me: click.

Me (texting): "I am about tired of the way you are treating me."

Me: "You need to understand that I have been through this once before."

Me: "And just maybe, I am hurting far more than you realize."

Me: "So lay off, Thing 2, and take your shit out on someone else."

Thing 2(texting): "I'm sorry."

_________________________________

Brother 2: "So, when we go up to move Thing 1, is she gonna have all her stuff packed and ready to go?"

Me: "Have you met Thing 1?"

Brother 2: *sigh*

_________________________________

Office Manager: "Wasn't that sweet of my husband to bring me the Dogwood?"

Me: "... yeah... what exactly do you do with tree branches? You put 'em in water to grow roots or what?"

Office Manager: "No. I just put them in water! They are PRETTY! It's Dogwood!"

Me: "Dude. He brought you tree branches."

Office Manager: "He brought me DOGWOOD!!!"

Me: "He brought you wood, alright... in the form of TREE branches..."

Office Manager: "You just don't get it!"

Me: "I guess not..."

_________________________________

*Imaginary conversation with Miss Kate*

Me: "Kate? Did you email Amazon yet?"

Kate: "I forgot AGAIN!!"

Me: "You look very beautiful today. And the new Odd Thomas book is out. I'm DYING over here!!"

Kate: "I'll do it TODAY!"

Me: "I love you. Marry me."

_______________________________________

*Conversation with myself*

Me: "Don't text him again. He's not gonna answer."

Myself: "But! But, it's not FAIR!"

Me: "Nothing is fair, Stoo-pid."

Myself: "But what did we do wrong? We TRUSTED him!"

Me: "Apparently, THAT'S what we did wrong..."

de ja... BEEN there....

2008-05-08T06:06:00.003-04:00

"... so we're gonna take her to UVA today..."

I was sick. Oh God, I don't think I had ever been so sick as I was that day. The night before, after we had spoken to Mom's doctor, I had started feeling really bad. I'd told everyone I had to go home and lie down. I needed to rest, needed to try to turn my brain off and just rest.

There wasn't to be any rest for me that night, however. A couple of hours after I went home from the hospital, I was BACK there, in the ER, an IV in my arm, and some sort of anti-vomit drug shoved up my ass. The doctor assured me it was just a temporary thing, I would be up and about in a few days. In the meantime, I was to eat Jell-O and drink Sprite.

Oh yeah, I was SOOOO surely gonna eat Jell-O. I tried to explain to the doctor the absolute TERRORS that could be waiting in a bowl of Jell-O, but he assumed I'd had too big a dose of the meds. Fucking nazi.

At any rate, Brother 2, had stepped up and taken care of everything with my mom. He'd spoken at length to her doctor, made the arrangements to have her taken to UVA, made reservations for everyone at a hotel across the street, and called all the family to apprise them of the situation. I was the last thing he had to take care of before they left.

"I can't go, Brother!" I cried. "I'm not even supposed to get out of bed!" It was all so unfair. I couldn't even have the comfort of my daughter with me. Husband had taken her to his mom the night before, and everyone had made the decision for me that it was best for me not to be with her. I couldn't even complain, because I didn't want her sick either. But I wanted her with me, I wanted my mother, I wanted everything to be RIGHT.

"Sister, if you want to go with me, today, I'll go rent a van, you can lay down the whole way. You don't have to stay here if you don't want to."

This is the way it was with both my brothers. We'd fought our whole lives, punched and kicked, cursed and yelled, played the most God-awful jokes on each other. But when push came to shove, they'd do whatever was needed to take care of me. And I would do it for them, as well.

I chose to remain home another day, rather than take a chance on anyone getting sick because of me. Her immune system would be compromised because of the steroids they'd given her to reduce the swelling in her brain, and I would not be allowed near her anyway. Husband had promised to take me to Virginia the next day.

The atmosphere was different when we arrived at the hospital. We were at a REAL hospital... with GOOD doctors, and SKILLED surgeons. They'd be able to fix her. We would take her home whole again. The air seemed charged with our hope. We expected God to rain showers of blessings down upon us. We didn't just THINK we would be victorious over the enemy, we KNEW it. We were soldiers, strong and self-assured, marching into battle against an unseen foe.

And it all came crashing down on Friday morning, when Brother came back to the hotel, to the room where we'd all been waiting, our voices hushed and our excitement high...

Brother's face was flushed, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen. He stood in the doorway, and just shook his head. no..... No..... NO.....

No one spoke. No one breathed. No one moved. Except my dad. He'd been lying in the floor, his eyes never leaving the doorway, waiting for Brother's return, waiting for news from the battlefront. He rolled slowly to his side, and hid his face in his hands.

The only sound in the room was the sound of my father sobbing.... It was the most sorrowful sound I'd ever heard, and I felt utterly beaten down by it. In my mind, I pointed an angry, accusatory finger at God.

"YOU. FIX. THIS." I yelled. "YOU MAKE THIS RIGHT. BECAUSE THAT IS MY MOTHER YOU ARE FUCKING AROUND WITH, AND YOU CAN. NOT. HAVE. HER. DO YOU HEAR ME? FIX. HER...."

A cacophony of our grief echoed my fathers wails, and we poured it out in that little hotel room, as one phrase swirled around and between and through us, in a graceful, almost gleeful dance. there's no hope.... There's No Hope.... THERE'S NO HOPE....

..........................................................

"... and we'll be taking him to Duke, or UVA, for a biopsy..."

"Are you listening to me? Did you hear what I just said?" my husband asks. I give myself a mental shake, throwing off memories of the past, and trying to steel myself for the brand new horrors we all face. I don't even bother to pray this time...

Haven't we danced this dance before?

2008-05-07T04:09:00.002-04:00

"You're looking at probably four to six months, at best."

We stood in the hallway outside my mother's hospital room. Her beloved doctor, for whom we all had the utmost respect, had tears in his eyes as he delivered the blow. I held my father's hand, wincing when he squeezed so tightly I thought my fingers might break. I looked at my brother, saw his head down, eyes closed tightly, as if he could somehow block the images those words produced. Tears streamed from the eyes of my sister-in-law.

I felt removed from all of it. He couldn't be talking to us, couldn't be saying that MY mother's days were numbered in such a way. Snippets of their conversations flitted in and out of my consciousness, words like "malignancy" and "brain stem" and "terminal" bumping into each other and exploding like fireworks inside my mind.

My one coherent thought was to pray. These people in front of me, with their tears and their sadness and their blind acceptance of doom could talk their talk with the doctor, but the REAL work, the work of communicating to the Father, the work of calling forth a miracle, that work would be begun by me.

"God," I began. "I cannot pretend to know your will. And I do not have the beautiful words to create a prayer that would be music to your ears. All I can do is bow humbly before you and beg your forgiveness for my sins, and beseech you to spare the life of this woman who means so much to so many. Please, don't take her away from us." I took a deep breath, and added, as earnestly as I was able, "Nevertheless, not my will, but Thine, be done." I wanted to mean those words, with all my heart, and if I was not quite truthful saying them, I figured God would understand.
...........................................................................

"...and so the doctor says we have, at best, four to six months..."

I feel the warmth of the sun on my face, watch a lazy cloud float across the sky. A silent tear slips from my eye and I wipe it away, and turn to face my husband. "The doctor could be wrong," I whisper. But I don't believe the words of hope I'm trying to offer, and my husband recognizes this.

"No," he says with resignation, "I don't believe he is."

Later, my beautiful Thing 2 sits with me on the couch, trying not to cry. I want to tell her she doesn't have to be so strong. I want to tell her that in the coming months, tears will fall and disappear, and fall again. I want her to understand that things were going to get worse, so much worse, and she couldn't hide her pain away. But I remain silent, holding her hand. She is Papaw's girl, and they share so much together, hunting and fishing and church and trips to Wal-Mart for ice cream and mowing the yard together and so very, very much more. My heart aches inside my chest for what she is going to lose. As her sister, Thing 1, lost so many years ago, with the loss of her Granny, who loved her "all the way to the moon and back."

"Mom," says Thing 2 as she cries. "this is going to be hard."

Oh, my sweet baby girl, you have no idea yet, how hard it's going to be....

Cancer... It does a body no good....

2008-05-06T10:09:00.003-04:00

We found out last night that my father-in-law has cancer. Actually, what we found out was that he has several brain tumors that have metastasized from somewhere else. I am assuming the prognosis is not good. But, as I write this, he has not yet seen a cancer doctor, and as the family waits to hear something, anything, about his condition, I am reliving the past in a not so good way...

About this same time eighteen years ago, my family fought its own losing battle with cancer, in the form of a brain tumor. It even had its own trendy little name: GBM. Which, for those of you not in the know, stands for glioblastoma multiforme. A particularly nasty and swift form of brain tumor, considered to be the end-all-be-all of brain tumors, a GBM is, or at least WAS IN 1990, a death sentence. And it claimed my mother at the ripe old age of 51.

But this isn't about my mother, this is about my father-in-law, which is what I have to keep reminding myself. Because otherwise, I'm going to go screaming into the night...

To those of you who are of a praying sort, it would be appreciated by my husband's family, if you could remember them in your daily prayers. To those of you who are NOT of a praying sort, how about flinging a few wishes to the heavens in their honor?

Me, I'll probably try a little of both, as I try my best to see past the shadow of my mother lying in that hospital bed, and focus instead on a man that I do admire, respect, and in whatever way I am yet able to, love.

Miss Anne Derstood

I will survive? I think not....

2008-05-03T10:02:00.000-04:00

You wanna know how I feel today? Watch the video:

Obviously, I need a bigger fan base....

2008-05-02T06:33:00.001-04:00

So, yesterday, I come up with a perfectly good post, a post in which YOU get to participate, and you people blow me off like a patch of dandruff...

Hilly, however, takes it and uses it on HER blog, and gets TWENTY-THREE comments! That's right, TWENTY-THREE people thought it was fun and TWENTY-THREE people played!!

I'm thoroughly disgusted....

This just proves what I've been saying all along, Janet...

"EVERYONE ON THE INTERNET HATES ME!!!"

I'm pouting. The end.

(Blank) me! Oh (blank) me, please!!

2008-05-01T09:22:00.000-04:00

Let's play a game. I don't think we've played one single one of my stupid comment games since I started this new blog. And that is sad.

Today's game is "fill-in-the-damn-blanks-whydoncha"

Here we go:

1. Miss Anne Derstood is ______________.

2. But I am _______________.

3. Just once, I'd like to ________________.

4. I wish I'd ______________ when I was younger.

5. I regret that I once ______________.

6. I love to _____________________.

7. ________________ makes me really fucking mad.

8. ______________ is Stoo-pid.

9. As a special treat, I often like to ______________.

10. You will never see a picture of me __________________.

Have fun! I'll post mine in the comments as well...

A Drop in the Fucking Bucket, Believe Me...

2008-04-30T09:35:00.000-04:00

mommy (5:57:22 PM): by the way i'm not a bitch, you are

Thing One (5:57:35 PM): lol. whatev
Thing One (5:58:28 PM): i cant remember how to write a formal letter

mommy(5:59:25 PM): you can easily look up a formal letter format online

mommy (5:59:28 PM): douchebag

Thing One (6:00:51 PM): im going to be taking it to her...not mailing it

Thing One (6:01:29 PM): if i get misty some mark stuff for wholesale price, do you think she'll write it for me

Thing One (6:01:30 PM): lol

mommy (6:01:49 PM): oh for shits sake

mommy (6:01:53 PM): you can do it yourself

mommy (6:01:59 PM): how come you never offer to get me anything?

Thing One (6:02:10 PM): well, do you want to write it for me?

mommy (6:02:15 PM): no

Thing One (6:02:30 PM): then forget it

Thing One (6:02:33 PM): ha

Thing One (6:02:54 PM): i dont know how to do the block thing

mommy (6:03:01 PM): http://www.law.uh.edu/career/student/coverletterformat2.pdf

Thing One (6:03:04 PM): just do that part for me and i'll write it

mommy (6:03:46 PM): did you go look?

mommy (6:03:55 PM): i think the modified block looks better

Thing One (6:04:02 PM): why do you put the addy twice?

mommy (6:04:09 PM): you moron

mommy (6:04:15 PM): the top one is YOUR address

Thing One (6:04:24 PM): oh lol

Thing One (6:04:32 PM): do you think i should do that part?

mommy (6:04:45 PM): Yes, since you won't be using letterhead

Thing One (6:04:50 PM): god

Thing One (6:04:56 PM): such a waste of trees

Thing One (6:05:04 PM): why cant i just email the bitch

mommy (6:05:10 PM): you are so gay! it will take you five minutes, tops

Thing One (6:05:21 PM): i talked to her! i couldve told her right there about the trip

Thing One (6:05:33 PM): i have to write about how i think the trip will enrich my undergrad exp

mommy (6:05:39 PM): hahahahahahahah

mommy (6:05:46 PM): fun, fun, fun!!!

Thing One (6:06:02 PM): ill say that i hope to sleep with as many germans as possible...

mommy (6:06:12 PM): yeah, that'll impress her

Thing One (6:06:20 PM): thats what i call enrichment

Thing One (6:06:21 PM): lol

mommy (6:06:24 PM): HAHAHA

mommy (6:06:29 PM): don't make me laugh, my head hurts

mommy (6:06:46 PM): I'm copying this whole fucking conversation and blogging it

Thing One (6:06:54 PM): lol fine.

mommy (6:07:07 PM): I need the world to know what I have to deal wiht

Thing One (6:07:24 PM): pshh. some people have it worse. what if i got knocked up at 16?

mommy (6:07:38 PM): well, if i remember correctly, you almost did

Thing One (6:07:58 PM): lol. no. theres no almost in pregnancy

Thing One (6:08:00 PM): hahaha

mommy (6:08:13 PM): I suppose you are correct in that

Thing One (6:08:27 PM): you will have to screen our aol names

Thing One(6:08:43 PM): i dont want the whole world knowing i was a teenage whore

Thing One (6:08:57 PM): actually, come to think of it, that would be a pretty good title for a book

Thing One (6:09:11 PM): "I Was a Teenage Whore"

mommy (6:09:18 PM): whore/schmore, you were probably a typical teenager

mommy (6:09:27 PM): in fact, i think you were somewhat less than average

mommy (6:09:32 PM): judging from what I see

Thing One (6:09:38 PM): psshhh whatevvv

mommy (6:09:49 PM): but then, maybe i don't know it all

mommy (6:09:55 PM): i'm always the last to know

Thing One (6:10:04 PM): hahaha. i dont like being called below average in anything

mommy (6:10:10 PM): hehehehe

mommy (6:10:13 PM): even whoredom?

Thing One (6:10:16 PM): yes.

mommy (6:10:30 PM): that's completely pathetic

mommy (6:10:35 PM): you should see a therapist

Thing One (6:10:36 PM): youre completely pathetic

Thing One (6:10:38 PM): blogger

100 Things About Me... Part Deux

2008-04-29T09:46:00.000-04:00

I've been trying for about an hour now to write about my job. How I came by it, and how it has evolved over the last five years.

But my God, it's turning out boring as fuck, and LONG. And I just can't, in good conscience, subject you to that. I have Damon's ADD to think about, you know. So, I'll fiddle with it and dance with it and maybe somehow, I'll create something good out of it.

Or maybe I'll just push that delete button and send the motherfucker to an early but MUCH deserved grave.

In the meantime, I got nothing. Really. Nothing is happening. There is no gossip. I've heard nothing even remotely funny. Today, my middle name is BLAH. What better time than now to tell you 10 more things about me?

Here goes:

11. I am left handed. This means I listen to a lot of bullshit, and I take it good naturedly, because I'm probably more intelligent than the asshole riding me about which fucking hand I use to write with. You can't tell by looking at my handwriting that I'm a lefty. I don't have to turn my hand into a fucking hook to write, nor do I have to turn halfway around in my seat to achieve that left-handed-writing-zen... About the only way you would know, is if you look at my hand, and see all the ink I've dragged it through going back and forth across the page.

12. My eyes are HAZEL. Not brown. Not green. A curiously uninteresting mixture of both. I don't think it means anything interesting if you have hazel eyes. Except that even your fucking GENES couldn't decide what the fuck to do with you.

13. I am partial to sad songs. And sappy love songs.

14. I am a hopeless American Idol fanatic. Though the Great Sanjaya Debacle nearly made me throw in the towel.

15. I have a really hard time believing I don't deserve every bad thing that happens in my life. I am a firm believer in the whole Karma thing.

16. I have mentioned this before, but it bears repeating: I am terrified of Jell-O. This is probably due to the fact that Brother 2 used to assure me he'd put things in my food. Like BB's. And little soldier men. I was sure if I didn't check each bite with my fingers AND chew a hundred times, I would die a horrible, strangling death.

17. Karma has certainly come back to bite Brother 2 on the ass. That isn't a thing about me. But this is: I feel it is my duty to make his problems MY problems, and I have listened to more of his bullshit and heartache than any 10 therapists should have had to listen to. He ain't heavy, he's my brother... and all that.

18. I think that my two girls are the BEST things I ever did. Sure, they're bitches. You say that like it's a bad thing!! They're MY bitches, and if you ever try to hurt one of them, you will see what a bitch *I* can be.

19. I try not to have too many Philosophies-of-Life. Mostly I live by the "Leave me the fuck alone, and I won't bother YOU either" rule.

20. I think that sometimes, there are people who live their whole lives never getting to know or understand what it's like to be loved. You know, that fairy-tale love, where there are dangerous missions, daring rescues, and happily-ever-afters. I think I am one of those people....

Alright, who took my self-esteem?

2008-04-28T10:17:00.000-04:00

I was clicking around the internets this morning, looking for inspiration, or at the very least, something to make me laugh, when I happened across a blog, I don't even remember which one it was, more's the pity, where the author wrote a letter to her body. In face, she said "everybody's doing it..."

Well, of course you know, in my never ending plot to be POPULAR, or even NOTICED, I have to do what everybody else is doing.

My middle name is "lemming," donchaknow.

Anyway, it seems that SOME PEOPLE are even doing a VLOG (I know, it confused me at first too. Thought I was in Transylvania, or something, with some really hot dude named VLAD, who had the whitest skin... and the sharpest teeth... rowr!!) of their letters to their bodies.

Well... I am not going to do that. Why? Because it wouldn't be PRUDENT at this juncture, you understand, to reveal my body to the world. And 'cause I lack that last little nugget of self-esteem which would allow me to do so.

But letter writing? Piece of frickin' cake. mmmm, cake.
_______________________________

Dear Body-Which-Just-So-Happens-To-Be-Attached-To-Me:

Holy frickin' Jeebus, I don't even know where to begin to tell you what I think of you. I think most people would start with the head, but I am NOT MOST PEOPLE, thank you very much. And so, I shall begin with my toes. Toes, I just want to tell you for the record, I think you really got screwed, being attached to my feet. You're not such bad little toes, as little toes go. Your nails leave much to be desired, they sit, right on the tips of you, and mock me, in their ugliness... And you are attached to feet which are much too wide, whose arches rival the ones at Mc'D's, and whose desire to never wear shoes have created callouses which can be likened to horse hooves.

Ankles, you disappeared long ago, you fucking cowards. Calves, what happened to you? There was a time when you were svelte and sexy... with just a touch of muscle definition. Now you are just two big long gobs of fatty goo... I hate you, you traitorous bitches.

Knees, enough with the popping and cracking already. You haven't seen a day's work in the whole of your lives, and I'm only 43, I'm not fucking 80. You make it impossible for me to steal Husband's cigarettes, in the dead of night. He can hear me coming from a mile away.

Thighs? Is that what you are calling yourselves these days? I'm sorry, I mistook you for tree stumps... Ditto, the hating you. You're not getting shaved until I can BRAID your hairs. Maybe that will hide your dimples on dimples of cellulite.

Girly bits? I have no complaints with you. Really. Just keep doing your job, and all will be fine. Ass, however, you have overstayed your welcome. Seriously. It's time to go. You don't do ONE fucking thing for me, except throw my hips out of joint, and jiggle at all the wrong times. Honestly, your cushioning leaves something to be desired also. Get the fuck outta here, you Whore of Babylon, in ten minutes I can replace you with a pillow with softness to the nth degree.

Hips, stomach and love handles: I cannot even bear to address you. You suck balls. And not even GOOD balls, such as might be found on Vlad the Vampire, no, you fuckers suck the balls of diseased cellar vermin. What did I ever do to deserve what you've done to me? I swear my affair with Little Debbie is OVER. She meant NOTHING to me. It was sex. Pure and simple. I didn't LOVE her. It was only for the mouthgasms she gave me. I am weak, I confess. But for you to punish me in this way for my weakness is just wrong. YOU ARE NOT RIGHT WITH GOD, hips and stomach. Love handles, I know it isn't your fault that you are here with me. But I will never EVER love you. So go away....

Back, shoulders, I admire you for TRYING to hold up boobs. It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it. And you know that a job worth doing is worth doing RIGHT, so let's try to hitch 'em up, just a BIT higher, won't you please? At some point you will be compensated for your integrity and stick-to-it-tiveness...

Boobs, you poor, poor dears. The world would LOVE you, if only you would STAND UP and let them see you!! You are large, soft, and your cleavage is pleasing... once I get you all stuffed in a DDD bra, that is... Please take notice that as I struggle to reduce the size of my big-ness, you will shrink a bit, but that is as it should be, darling boobs, because you, like me, are not supposed to be this big. C-cups you once were, and as God is my witness, C-cups you shall be again. And when I am done, Brother 1, who is richer than God, will pay to put you back where you once lived, high up on my chest in glorious boobie splendor...

Arms, you're fat, I hate you... blah, blah, blah. Your main job these past few years has been primarily to shovel food into my mouth. Well those good times are over, chickies... Find a new hobby, get a life, make something of yourselves!! There are no free rides in this world, girls, and you need to start pulling your own weight around here!!

Hands and fingers? I adore you. Don't ever change. Especially left hand, who has served my letterwriting needs all these many years. Kisses to both of you, for being so wonderfully cute and good to me, if you know what I mean (wink, wink).

Neck, lose the moles and a couple hundred of the chins, and you will be as lovely as you once were... Smooth and graceful, you were, and never a moment's trouble you gave me. At least until the crop of little moley things prevented the wearin'-of-the-bling...

Hair, though you may be a bit thinner than you used to be, you are ever so much more obedient and cherished than ever before. Truly, you are the one thing I love most about me physically. Please, dear tiny baby Jesus, don't any more of you jump ship. I am dangerously close to a bald spot already, from your cowardly departure...

Face... oh face, what can I say to you? You are nearly the first thing anyone sees, when they look at me, and when you form yourself into a smile, you are a force to be reckoned with. What a fabulous smile you have, thanks in no small part to the orthodontia bestowed upon you by my beloved parents, all those many years ago. A little dimple, which would surely show up more clearly were I not the CORPULENT WITCH I currently am, sets off your smile with such delight. Your nose, which used to be such a cute little button-thing, has been literally SMEARED across you by my hands, due in large meaure to the allergens which attack me on a daily basis. That one little FUCKING LEFT EYE has grown exponentially lazier by the MINUTE, but your eyes still shine with intelligence, humor, and that secret SOMETHING, that makes me, ME. You aren't beautiful, face, but you have served me well for 43 years. Kisses on both cheeks for you.

All in all, body, I will say that you have done a pretty good job by not dying, with all that I've put you through. But I have much more life to live, and many more smiles to give, before I'm done here. So let's get our shit together, and get busy. There is much work to be done....

Love,

Miss Anne

The Case of the Missing Bananas... Conclusion

2008-04-24T10:30:00.000-04:00

I spent the rest of that day at work sick to my stomach, wondering what to do. Maybe I was overthinking things... maybe Mr. Dumb Head put those things in a bag only to get them out of the way... maybe I SHOULD have offered to pay them more, to cover what Mr. Dumb Head had done.

But the REAL issue, the thing that was threatening to send me over the edge, was the reaction that I knew Satan was going to have. I found myself hoping someone got sick and the whole crew would have to leave... I nearly called and told them to go ahead and leave early...

But that "Get your fucking money's worth, you MORON" thing kept getting in the way.

So, at 4:30, I drove home as slowly as I could. The garage door was open and Satan stood, his eyes burning into mine as I parked my car. I walked over to him, trying to gauge just how angry he was. "Hey," I said casually. "They're still here, I see."

"Why is there a man in my house?" he asked me quietly.

Oh shit. This was bad. I started to stutter and sputter out an answer, and then something stopped me. "HEY!" I thought to myself. "I'm just as angry as you are, this is absolutely not my fault." So I looked him square in the eye, and said, "They brought him with them. I don't like it, one little bit. Do you?"

He relaxed a bit then, the anger that he'd been ready to unleash on me redirecting itself to the three inside my house. "Miss Anne," he said. "You can't have them back. I don't want strange people in my house. I've got shit in there that's worth a lot of money. A woman might not realize what guns are worth, but most men would."

"Ok, I actually agree with you," I told him. And I told him how they had tried to fleece me for more money.

"If they actually come out and ask you for more money, send them out here to me. I'll take care of that."

I was actually grateful to him. Sometimes I can stand up to anyone, for any reason... but passive aggressive, I don't know how to deal with that.

We sat in the garage for awhile, smoking, talking, trying to decide whether to try and find someone else, or whether I should do it myself. You guys KNOW how I voted on that one, don't you? Right. No fucking way am I going to do it myself. I have a reputation to uphold....

Finally, at about 6:00, I told Satan, "I'm going in there. If SOMEONE doesn't come out in about 30 minutes, come in and save me."

I went in and I have to admit, they'd done good work. My kitchen walls were shiny and white. Counter tops were gleaming. My stovetop looked almost new. They hadn't gotten to my kitchen window yet, but everything else in the kitchen and living room looked very good. But they were STILL working. It was 6:00. I was tired. I was hungry. Satan was hungry.

I walked into my living room and sat down at my computer. It was off again. The last time Linda was here, she'd turned off my computer too. What the fuck? Why do you need to turn my computer off? It takes FOREVER to load everything up. I'll fucking be ASLEEP before this thing is up and read for me to use it. GRRRRR.

While I'm smoking a cigarette (and I had to HUNT for an ashtray, for piss sakes, they'd carried them all to the kitchen) and waiting for my computer to boot up, I listened to the conversation coming from the kitchen. Bits and pieces of truly stupid conversation drifted in to me. "You ever been to the beach Mr. Dumb Head..." "Yeah, I don't care for it. I'm probably unique that way... I don't like the ocean..."

Suddenly, I hear Daisy Doofus, fat sister extraordinaire, say, "You gonna tell her about the bananas?" My ears perked up at this. Bananas? What could they have to tell me about the Bananas? Was there a Banana Incident? A Great Banana Debacle? What the fuck happened to my bananas?

I heard Linda WHISPERING furiously. But I couldn't hear what she was saying. My computer chose that EXACT moment to spit and spew and blink and pop and fizz and stutter to life. My ears are actually PULLING MY HEAD BACK in their attempts to hear what was happening in the kitchen.

I logged into my computer, whispered for it to PLEASE. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP. ALREADY. and leaned back in my chair as if I were exhausted. That got my head about three inches closer to the kitchen, and I listened carefully.

But I heard nothing. Fuck.

I turned around and was just standing up to walk in there, when out they came. The three of them, marching in a straight line, towards my front door. There were mumbled goodbyes, and thank you's and nice to meet you's... Linda stopped with her hand on my door knob. "We'll be back Monday and Wednesday of next week," she said.

And they promptly left.

Um...

"You'll be back next week?" I thought. "You've made that decision for me, have you? You're gonna come in here for another 200 dollars of my money? Who ya gonna bring next time? You're Aunt Sally? The FUCK you will be here next week."

I walked purposefully into the kitchen, looking for signs of a Banana Mishap. I found none. I also found no bananas. There had been four, when I went to work that morning.

All of a sudden I was so fucking angry I had to sit down. This was just too much. They fucking stole my bananas! What kind of fucking person comes into your house to clean it, for decent money, I might add, and then steals your food?

And they took my BANANAS. My bananas, my miracle food. The lovely, lovely sweet fruit, which provides 23% of the dietary fiber I need each day. 33% of the vitamin C. 41% of the vitamin B6. 23% of the Potassium. 30% of the manganese. The Banana, a low fat, low cholesterol, low sodium food of the gods.

Satan walked in and said, "Well? What did they say? Did they ask you for more money? Did you tell them we don't want them back?"

I looked at him through horror-filled eyes. "Dude, they stole my bananas," I whispered.

Satan looked at the counter top where the bananas USED TO BE. He walked over and looked in the top of the trash bag. He looked in cabinets and the fridge. There was no bananas. There was no SIGN of a banana. There wasn't even a USED PEELING. "Well, either they ate peeling and all, or they hid the peeling, hoping we wouldn't notice the bananas were gone."

I told him about what I had heard Daisy Doofus asking Linda. And about how Linda had whispered her answer. "They can never come here again." I vowed. Satan agreed. And that was that.

Linda called me on Sunday night, to tell me she was sick and couldn't come on Monday. Oh, how I wish I could tell you that I told her EXACTLY what I thought of her and her banana pilfering sister and Mr. Dumb Head. But of course I am a card carrying member of the "Biggest Fucking Coward's of America" club, and so what I said was, "Linda, I'm broke (though this is indeed true. I'm always broke.) I cannot afford for you to come next week. I don't get paid till Wednesday, and all my money is already earmarked for other bills. I will call you when I need you again."

"Well, don't wait too long," says Linda. "As it gets warmer, we get more busy. You may not get me for awhile. In fact, I'd really like to get your house finished before the end of April anyway. You think about it."

Now, it's important for you to understand something here. While it is true that I am always broke, I am not a greedy or selfish person. I DO have enough money to buy more bananas. And had Linda called me at work and said she was hungry, I would have directed her to my fridge, which held sandwich makings, milk, fruit, steaks, and the like. Or to my cabinets, which held plenty of soups, snacks, and peanut butter.

Had she told me, when I got home, "Miss Anne, I got hungry and ate your bananas." I wouldn't have minded a bit.

But she TOOK something from me without asking. She took it and she HID the evidence. And she INSTRUCTED the riff-raff that she brought with her to NOT TELL ME.

They stole from me. It doesn't matter if it was a nickel, or a thousand dollars. It doesn't matter if it was a fucking banana, or a big giant gun. Or a playstation II with all the accoutrements. They stole and they lied by NOT TELLING ME.

You can't steal from me. I'll give you anything I have, if you need it, and if I can. But don't you fucking take it and then deliberately not tell me. Especially after fleecing me for more money than we agreed on for a job you are doing for me.

You fucking FUCK.

And your stupid, fat sister.

And Mr. Dumb Head.

Case closed, mystery solved, you're fired, I win.

The end.

The Case of the Missing Bananas... part 2

2008-04-23T18:46:00.000-04:00

So, when last we spoke, "Linda" was about to leave my house to go pick up her sister, whose car had broken down.

I put Linda and her sister and their troubles out of my mind and went back to work. Thursdays are a bit frantic for me, as I have generally laid about and done nothing on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, and, knowing that I'm off on Fridays, I scurry about like a poisoned rat, trying to get my desk cleaned off and my gigantic pile of files completed and put away before I go home. The boss' wife sits at my desk on Fridays, and it wouldn't do to have the SAME work there, week after week. Someone may get suspicious.

But alas, the pile never fully goes away. It is a sad truth in the legal profession that NO CASE is ever fully dispensed-with. Meaning, in short, that we never truly get rid of ANY of those fuckers. And Social Security is THE worst. The Social Security Administration spews more paperwork than you can possibly imagine, and they don't just send out letters. They send copies of letters too. For every letter our clients get, we get one also. As do their doctors and grandmothers, and third grade teachers. It's not hard work, keeping up with it all, but it IS busy-work, and ANY work is generally more work than I want to do.

At any rate, I did as much as I ~~could do~~ felt like doing on Thursday, up to about 11:30, then I zipped to the kitchen to prepare my boss something delicious for his lunch. Delicious is a relative term around our office, as my boss considers a fluffy sardine-onion-feta cheese omelet to be a delicious thing....

Promptly at 12:00-ish, I hied myself away home to put the puppies out to pee. As I approached my house, I heard laughter and much merrymaking. This inspired me. "They must really love cleaning," says I to me, "to be laughing and having such a great time..." Then I heard something that pulled me up short:

A man's laugh. A man. Laughing. IN. MY. HOUSE!

What the SAM-HILL is going on here? There's only ONE man who ever is in my house, and HE. DOES. NOT. LAUGH.

I proceeded with caution, my ears fine-tuned and honed in suspiciously on those chortles, guffaws, and trills of free-hearted glee.

Finally, I came to my door and JERKED it open quickly. I wanted to catch 'em in the act... whatever that act happened to be to cause such laughter. I knew most of MY laughter happens in the bedroom, thank you very much, and I wanted to discover what it was about my living room which inspired such hilarity.

I walked in quickly, shouted "Hey there!" and opened the door to Thing 2's room, as my sharp-as-a-whatever you call those little sharp thingies mind gathered and processed information from my eyes and ears at lightening speed. That is to say, I ducked into Thing 2's room, but not before I noticed a STRANGE man on his knees cleaning my television screen, Linda BEHIND the tv cleaning the wall, and her FAT SISTER seated on her FAT KEISTER in my FAVORITE chair in front of my desk.

Linda called me back to the living room. "This is my sister, something-or-other, and her boyfriend Mr. Dumb Head....

Now, here's the thing. I'm not sophisticated. I'm not outrageously-insanely intelligent. I'm not prejudiced against people for things they cannot control, like race, or looks, or things of that nature. I'm not even, as a general rule, prejudiced against people for things they CAN control, like weight, or religious affiliation, or popularity.

Having said that, let me tell you that I LOATHE stupid people. I can spot 'em a mile away and I HATE those motherfuckers. I know it isn't fair. I know it isn't nice. But oh my sweet crispy jeebus, I cannot tolerate the face of idiocy. I'd sooner be boiled naked in a vat of hot fish oil than spend ONE MINUTE of my precious life in the company of a stupid person.

And I could tell the moment I laid eyes on Mr. Dumb Head that he was dumber than a five pound bag of stupid.

*sigh*

I tried to hold my breath. Because I don't even like sharing my AIR with these people. I don't want YOUR stupid mixing around in the same space occupied by MY crazy. The air becomes be-fouled, unclean, and possibly filled with poisonous gases.

But I retained my composure. Because my middle name is "Grace Under Pressure". And I said hello to the STOO-PID head, and his STOO-PID head girlfriend. Then I turned my back on them and retrieved my darling puppies, and took them outside.

When I came back in, I needed to get from Point A, which is inside my front door, to Point B, which is in front of my FRIDGE, because it was lunchtime and I was hungry. I decided to just make an attempt at barreling through the giant cloud of STOO-PID that was quickly filling up my living quarters.

But, sadly, it was not meant to be. Linda informed me that Mr. Dumb Head had a "question" for me. shit. I was gonna have to trade dialogue with this amateur.

"Yes?" I politely inquired, whilst attempting to look at a spot just over Mr. Dumb Head's left shoulder, because I cannot make myself look into the eyes of my enemy. And my enemy is STOO-PID. In any form.

"Whatchoo want for that Playstation 2, and those pads?" asks Mr. Dumb Head.

Wait. What? I just stood there and blinked. I had no clue what this moron was asking me, which doesn't say a whole hell of a lot about MY intelligence level, just at that moment, does it? "Oh Gawd!" I could hear myself think. "I'm getting dumber just being in the SAME ROOM as these creatures.

"Come here and I'll show you." says Mr. Dumb Head.

Oh, like I haven't heard THAT one before, Mr. Dumb Head.....

Better men than you, and most of them Dumb Heads too, have called me over to have a look-see, at this or that. I figured if he flashed me, I would scream, "Oh my Gawd! That looks like a PENIS! Only SMALLER!!" He would then die of embarrassment, thus ensuring my escape.

But no, he didn't call me over to stare at his Penile Projection. What he DID call me over for, was to see, tucked away neatly in a BLACK trash bag, folded and cords wrapped, was Thing 2's playstation 2, her Guitar Hero guitar, her Dance, Dance Revolution pad, her Karaoke microphone, and my Trivia clicker thingies. About 400 dollars worth of merchandise, I think, if I remember correctly putting all that shit on my various CREDIT CARDS. They will have cost me 52,000 dollars by the time I am finished paying for them, but that's neither here, not is it there.

My brain was trying to come up with a logical reason why this DOINK had my kids' shit in a BLACK trash bag, and fervently hoping I wasn't going to have to perform a Citizen's Arrest!! to regain possession of my merchandise.

What I SAID was: "Dude, NO! My kids just got all that shit for Christmas. It's not for sale. No way. No. Did I mention NO?" I'm also thinking, "All of this shit is in my living room floor, cables and shit hooked up to my television, tucked under this and that and OBVIOUSLY well used, even though new. What the fuck would make you think I would want to sell it?

At this point, I was fairly pissed off, and decided to make my exit. I'd pick up something for lunch at Wendy's, my home away from home.

Linda stopped me just as I opened the screen door. "Are you gonna lay my money out today? Or not?" I stopped in my tracks and turned to look at her. I thought it such a crass thing for her to say, that I, for a moment couldn't think of anything to say back to her. Finally, I found my voice. "Why yes, Linda, I certainly don't aim to cheat you. I just figured since you were working later today, I would pay you when I get home. But here, let me get your money for you now, just so we don't FORGET to pay you."

I got the money out of my purse and handed it over. Just as it dropped into her hand, Linda spoke again, "Did you know Mr. Dumb Head works at "Insert name of Fancy Schmancy Resort"? He works at the golf course.

I wondered how on earth to pull my face into a look that showed I CARED. "Huh." says I. That was the extent to which I have a shit where Mr. Dumb ~~Fuck~~ Head worked. And I turned for the door again.

"Miss Anne," said Linda. Oh come the FUCK ON, I'm thinking. What, do you want to tell me how well he's HUNG now? I pasted a blank look on my face and turned back to her. "Yes, Linda?"

"Yeah, he works at the golf course, and since my sister, Daisy Doofus' car broke down this morning, he couldn't get to work. I had to go pick them up, but I didn't have time to get him to HIS job this morning. So, he's been helping US."

And suddenly, it all clicked. Those SONS-of-WHORES were trying to get more money! I was so angry that, had I a hatchet in my hand, surely one of them would have left my home that day with nearly TWO heads. I wanted to ram their car with mine. I wanted to pour buckets of Pine-Sol infused water over their heads. I wanted to let the puppies chew on the tender flesh of their necks....

But what I did was turn around and smile. "How about that!" I exclaimed. "Lucky me, right?"
And I walked my fat ass out that door and into my car, spun off down the road, screaming and cursing the children of their CHILDREN's children as I sped back to work.

I was gonna have to tell Satan how they'd tried to fleece me. I would have to tell him about the games in the black trash bag. Satan would be apoplectic to discover a man in the house anyway. Oh, God help me Jesus, this was not going to go well. A big fat waxy ball of dread plopped into my stomach and commenced to making my insides fester and bleed....

I would find myself more angry than Satan that evening, as a matter of fact...

to be continued...

The Case of the Missing Bananas...

2008-04-22T09:57:00.000-04:00

Dear Internets: I am adding this little update to inform you that, due to a shockingly stupid move on my part, I lost most of my Twitter followers. Like, last week. I've gotten some of them back, but dang it, I want 'em all!! If you followed me on Twitter, go check it out and make sure you still have me. If you don't, look for Miss Ann Derstood and follow her please.... We'll go someplace nice... like, I dunno, Denny's or something...

Oh, if only I had an "Ethel" to make all my little mistakes and foibles look "cute". If only Satan would put his hands on his hips and, in a lovingly exasperated way say to me, "Miss Anne! You got some 'splainin' to-do!" And then my face would crumple in this really delightful way and I'd say, "AAAAAGGGGHHHH! I'm sorry, Satan!! I can't do AAAANNNYthing right! AAAAGGGGHHHH!" And then he's say, "Awww, hawnee, i's ok, hawnee!"

*sigh*

But that isn't what happened, internets... Here, let me 'splain to you what hah-penned:

So, y'all know I am something of a no-good-nik around the house. I don't like to clean. And that's surely a bold understatement. I hate it with a passion that borders on obscenity. I hate it so bad, I... well, I simply refuse to do it. That's all. You know how some people have the motto, "If it feels good, do it?" Well, so do I. And housework doesn't feel good.

Satan and I have gone round and round about this for centuries. Or, at least, you know... 24 years. I have NEVER been a good housewife. I'll never BE a good housewife. I have other, better, MAD skillz...
_____________________________________

1. Like, for instance, I'm a fabulous cook. Oh, I'm not a gourmet chef, for sure. But, when the cupboards are bare, the fridge is empty, and the bank account dry, I can take a can of beans, a handful of rice, an onion a green pepper, and a few spices, and make a MEAL. Plus, I can make cornbread that'll make you wanna go home and slap yo' momma, just for fun.

But Satan? He don't like most of the food I cook. He likes MEAT. Just big gobs of meat, slung out over a plate and piled high with sour cream and salt and cheese.... Dear God, it's disgusting what that man will eat.

2. I've got a fabulous sense of humor. If I can't enthrall you with my great beauty, mostly because I don't HAVE any great beauty, then I can at least entertain you with my rapier wit. I like to laugh. I like things that are funny. If I have to make fun of myself to make YOU laugh, well, then so be it. If you cut me, I will bleed little clown noses...

But Satan? He don't like to laugh so much. And while that makes him the PERFECT straight man, it gets to be a drag when I can't produce so much as a smile on that beardy face of his.

3. I am handy to have around. I know how to program the VCR, the microwave, and the oven. If something is wrong with the computer, or the printer, or the modem, I can usually play around with it long enough to get it working. I can set the alarm clocks, fetch the voice mail, read a MAP, a RULER, and assembly instructions for nearly anything.

But Satan? Never watches anything but murder shows on TV, would rather DIE than get on the computer, doesn't give a SHIT about voice mail, never goes ANYWHERE he would need a map, and would rather pay that extra 10 dollars to have EVERYTHING assembled by someone else.

4. I have a really cute smile, great hair, and barring that PESKY LITTLE LEFT ONE, I have bedroom eyes...

But Satan? Doesn't smile, doesn't give a tiny rat's ass about hair, and wouldn't know a flirty stare if it gutted him like a fish. He has been known to rant, on more than one occasion--"What the fuck are you lookin' at? What's wrong with your eye?", when I turn those bedroom eyes on him.

5. I can suck a football through a garden hose.

But Satan? ... Well, now that I think about it, he kinda likes that about me...
__________________________________________

But I digress...

After years and years of fighting and threatening and pissing and moaning about the house, we finally agreed to hire a cleaning lady. And I had just the one. Let's call her LINDA. Linda used to be the cleaning lady for my boss and his wife. She comes highly recommended. My boss' wife says NO ONE can clean like Linda.

So, I call Linda up on the phone, arrange to meet her at my house for a look-see, agree to her price of $65 dollars for an eight-hour day (can you BELIEVE that? I don't know whether to be tickled to death or mad as hell).

And promptly wait 3 weeks to ever get her there. First SHE was sick... Then *I* was sick... Then her MOM was sick... I was beginning to think Linda was a figment of someone's wicked imagination, when finally, she showed up at my door.

To give the poor thing credit, she never even FLINCHED when she saw my house. She looked a tad GREEN around the GILLS when she saw the enormous pile of DISHES in my sink, on my counters, on the stove, and on the kitchen table. There may have even been a few on the floor. But I assured her that all the dishes would be done prior to her arrival, and she agreed to come the following Monday.

On Sunday, she called me up and offered to bring her SISTER for only $35 dollars more per day. I cleared it with Satan, who said, "Oh God! Yes! The more the merrier! I'm MADE of money!" That Satan... he's so quirky and cute sometimes...

I sat in a dream-like fog all day Monday, dreaming of windows you could see through, walls you wouldn't be afraid to touch, and kitchen counters that you could actually set a slice of bread on, without fear of catching CHICKEN DEATH...

Thing 2 went home at lunch to put the babies (which are 3 year old DOGS, by the way, and certainly do not count as babies anymore, but they will always be babies to US) out to pee. She came back up to my office and said, "What are we paying Linda's big fat SISTER for? She's sitting at your desk, twiddling her thumbs..."

I was not to be discouraged. "She's probably tired from WORKING SO HARD, and is taking a short break," opined I.

And when I walked through my front door on Monday evening, I WAS tickled to death. Not in the strictest sense of the word, mind you, but the house SMELLED of pine-sol, the walls were CLEAN! and the TURKEY OF DOOM had been brushed free of the 3-inch layer of dust which had nearly hidden him from my view. (Ok, I wasn't so happy 'bout the turkey of doom.)

Tuesday morning, Linda called and said she had a migraine. She'd be there Thursday. I had kind of expected this, because my boss' wife had told me she could be a bit flaky about showing up as scheduled. "If you can put up with her millions of excuses about why she CAN'T come in today," said my boss' wife, "You'll LOVE her, because she's the BEST at cleaning. The BEST!"

Hell, I can put up with about anything. I've been married to fucking SATAN for 24 years! A migraine is no match for MY mad patience.

That brings us to Thursday... The day that I had SUCH high hopes and bright sunny feelings for. Linda calls me at 10:00 and says, "I'm here working, but my sister's car broke down and I need to go pick her up. Is that ok? I'll work later this evening to make up for the time." Awww. That Linda is such a cutie, I thought. Of COURSE it's ok, long as I get my full 8 hours, from each of you. My middle name IS "Get my money's worth" you know.

Little did I know, the crimes that were about to be perpetrated upon my little dirty house...

to be continuted...

How a perfectly good Saturday goes bad...

2008-04-20T11:23:00.000-04:00

So, I get up yesterday morning in a totally shitty mood. There's a reason for it, but I choose not to go there. Suffice it to say that SOMEONE chose Friday night as their "Night to be NOT NICE."

I had a very good conversation with Dory, who, by the way, totally answered questions that I posed to her a MILLION years ago, and I did not link to them. Because I am a lazy bitch, I think. Or maybe I forgot. Or a combination of the two, probably. Anyway, the conversation with Dory helped rise me up out of the muck a bit.

A hilarious email from my friend Mark Willie helped some more.

And a conversation with someone else made me decide to MAKE MY SATURDAY COUNT. I was bound and determined to make yesterday ALL ABOUT MISS ANNE. In fact, I declared yesterday ALL ABOUT MISS ANNE DAY. And thusly, I spoke it into existence.

I got a shower and headed out. Note that the sun was shining when I made my declaration, and it was RAINING when I headed out. But I was not to be deterred.

I headed to Starbucks for a triple vanilla latte-add whip, which is indeed the nectar of the Gods. I remarked that it was nearly a sexual thing.... Add in a cigarette and it was orgasmic... I'm gonna need a moment to revel in the afterglow.... AHHHHHHHH....

So, um.. ok, after the coffee and cigarette, I drove around aimlessly for a while, listening to Daughtry with the windows down. And yes, I did sing. At the top of my lungs. I sang "Over You" something like 27 times. Or maybe more. I kept backing up through parts of it. That song is a very good song. I'm just sayin'.

Then I went to my office and worked hard for 3 hours. I am awesome. It's official. It's been announced somewhere, I'm sure...

Husband showed up at my office to search hi and low for "The Man Who Drives a Red Truck and Parks Beside Me". I had to shorten his name from "The Man Who Drives a Red Truck and Parks Beside Me and Walk With a Cane, and I Don't Know Where the Fuck He Works, Thank You Very Much, Because I Don't Know Him, Get It?" Because that was just a mouthful, let me tell you. After not finding any strange men, and noting the rising pile of work I had completed, and thus figuring that THERE WAS NOTHING TO SEE HERE, husband left, and I continued working, unimpeded.

Had another great conversation, via text, with someone who declared me "totally kissable" and really, who can argue with that? Ahem.. What I meant to say is, "And really, who wouldn't like to hear that?" What a great Saturday.

Then I remembered.... Holy shit, today is Satan's Birthday. Satan is a loving pet name I gave my husband 24 years ago. I believe it was on our wedding night. But memory is a foggy thing with me. It could have been the next day. Or the day I met him....

I hurried home and offered him the only present I could afford... *Note to self: Next year? Save money for a STORE BOUGHT present.

I prepared a veritable cornucopia of fried items, a meal truly fit for the King of the Netherworld. And there was Cheesecake! Oh thank you for creating Cheesecake, Dear Lord Jesus God.

As befits a man of his status, Husband stood in the kitchen, naked as a jaybird, and ate his dinner. That's right. STANDING UP. Most of him, anyway. Then, he spotted a moth, and went on the HUNT. That is when THIS conversation took place:

Me: What the hell are you doing?
Husband: I gotta kill this moth.
Me: Why are you dragging that chair over to the fridge... OH MY FREAKING GOD, you are gonna show your little tiny peepee to all our neighbors?
Husband: Stop doing that.
Me: Stop doing what?
Husband: Saying "Little Tiny PeePee."
Me: "stares pointedly at little tiny peepee"
Husband: Shut up.
Me: I just call 'em like I see 'em.

As I munched delightedly on CHEESECAKE!! straight from the package, with a fork, we had this delightful interchange:

Husband: Stop doing that.
Me: Do you realize that most of our conversations begin with your telling me to stop doing something?
Husband: Stop eating all the strawberries.
Me: Do you not see this GARGANTUAN pile of strawberries? I am not eating them. I am moving them to the side.
Husband: Why?
Me: So I have greater access to the CHEESECAKE!!
Husband: Well, stop doing that! It's a strawberry cheesecake! You're supposed to eat the strawberries too!
Me: "blink"
Husband: WHAT?!?!?!
Me: Dude, you just told me NOT to eat the strawberries. Then you said, EAT THE STRAWBERRIES. I'm confused, a little. Do I eat a strawberry? Do I not? I am frozen in INDECISION.
Husband: You're a smartass, you know that?
Me: I'm just wishing your peepee were on top of this CHEESECAKE!! Then I could move it aside to get at the CHEESECAKE!!
Husband: You're an asshole.
Me: That is entirely possible.

Later, I tucked him in bed, and got on the computer. Because Rhapsody was calling my name. And more specifically, Creedence Clearwater was calling my name....

As I twirled and stomped and danced and swayed and SANG!! my way through Midnight Special, Lookin' Out My Backdoor, Proud Mary, and Midnight Special THREE more times, I wished desperately for some booze. I rummaged around in the fridge, found a Smirnoff Ice, and some old WINE, and some BUDWEISER, and had myself a guzzle or two...

And it's not a good thing when I drink anything. ANYTHING at all....

This morning, I discovered an embarassing exchange of text messages on my cell phone. And I deleted them before I fully realized the comic treasure that I held in my hands. I might have declared myself PLOPPED. I might have noted that I FUCKED SATAN. I might possibly have even told that someone to stop INTRUSTING me....

Holy mother of God, I am an IDIOT. Dear Person Who Got Those Text Messages: It isn't my fault I'm stoo-pid. I'm just drawn that way....................

100 Things About Me... Part the Oneth...

2008-04-18T06:18:00.000-04:00

So, I decided to do another 100 things about me. It's been awhile, and maybe a few blogs ago, since I did a 100 Things thing.

This time I decided to break it up into sections, just like all the cool kids are doing.

1) I say "done" instead of "finished". And I'm not ashamed of it.

2) I would never stick a french fry in a frosty, and will gut, like a fish, anyone who attempts it in my presence.

3) I fully believe that I have not had enough sex in my lifetime. Then again, I also fully believe I've had entirely too much.

4) I refuse to believe that Hugh Laurie farts, picks his nose, or chews with his mouth open. The man is a god, people.

5) I do not have control of my destiny. This may not be a bad thing. I do not have control of my bladder, either.

6) The TURKEY of DOOM sits above my desk and looks down on me in disdain.

7) I do not like the TURKEY of DOOM.

8) I think men are like cute little puppy dogs.

9) I like puppy dogs.

10) If I lost my ability to read, I would throw myself off a cliff.

A haiku

2008-04-16T08:00:00.000-04:00

Miss Anne wishes life
Didn't hurt so fucking much
She wants to sleep now...

SCRABBLE!! It's the newest aphrodisiac!!

2008-04-15T10:45:00.000-04:00

You guys know how I love Scrabble. I was delighted to discover that I could play on Facebook. Nobody in my family can beat me, so they won't play with me. I'm not bragging. I've been playing Scrabble since I was a li'l kid. And I knows me lots of words.

Imagine, if you will, my shock and horror at realizing that SOME really, really stupid people are using my beloved Facebook Scrabulous as a means to their own end. And by end, I mean perverted sexual deviations. What a bunch of FUCKWITS. See, Scrabulous lets you post a REQUEST for a game, and anyone who sees your request and happens to want to sit down for a rousing good game can ACCEPT that request, and voila! The game is afoot.

But some seriously deranged people have come up with a way to FUCK with the purity of thought and love of all things word-y that encompasses a good game of Scrabble.

Of course, I had to share some with you....

Here's what some of these DOINKS are posting in their requests. I've added my thoughts in bold RED:

only cute girls who are looking for a naughty chat... type "yes" if your interested
What I'm mostly interested in, you ignorant ASSCAKE, is seeing an end to the era of the "I'm too lazy and/or stupid to add the EXTRA TWO characters it takes to use the grammatically correct YOU'RE" debacle. But then, I'm not a "cute girl," so what do I know?

Looking for feisty, flirty, filthy & fabulous women who fancy a quickie...
Here is a classic example of how ALLITERATION is not always a good thing. I'm ok with feisty, flirty and fabulous. But FILTHY? What the fuck? Is this a sexual thing, or are you just into grunge?

I don't want weird chat. I prefer ladies. I dislike pumpkin soup. This beard was temporary. I enjoy hats.
Hee. I'll play scrabble with you anytime, darling. (And in fact, I did. Wonderful game. I won. The end.)

START NOW AND FINISH IN ONE SITTING. Do you hear me? If you disappear after a few moves I will come after you and drink your blood in your skull.
Methinks you could use a therapist, sweetie. Or perhaps you are simply in the wrong room. The "SATANIC SCRABBLE SQUAD" meets down the hall.

young girls only pls, who wants sex chat! strat chat with somethin hot...
Ok, Chester-the-Molestor, do TWO things for me. No, wait... THREE. 1) Learn to spell... this is a fucking SCRABBLE game, you fucking moron. No, wait, only TWO things. 2) DIE. Ok, no, three. 3) please learn verb tense. It's a beautiful thing.

wives in UK for hot fun
Hey commitment-phobe! Find a girl. Settle down.

i like playing with men .. he he
Honey, don't we all? But seriously, do I need to remind you that this is SCRABBLE, not SPIN-THE-FUCKING-BOTTLE?

Glamourous LADY magicians assistant required for sawing in half and scrabulous. No cheaters or wordfinders
Damn, someone grabbed you up before I got a chance to ask you which comes first. The sawing or the Scrabbling.

Size 16 or bigger GIRLS, UK only plz, If you don't look that big on your pic I will delete :-)
Am I missing something here? Are fat ENGLISH girls smarter than fat AMERICAN girls? How exciting to know that all I need to do is move to the UK, where they APPRECIATE us fat girls. And oh, how we BBW's TRY to look THAT BIG in our pics..... I hope a building falls on your penis.

young hot guy....loves older naughty woman...lets play
Aw, aren't you just adorable. Here's my number, call me... Love, Mrs. Robinson

G a y scrabble with a strange chap in jAKARTA?
GAY Scrabble? SERIOUSLY? That's a real thing?

no nose pickers. no people in a rush. no al qaeda, no antelopes. no scousers. no smelly people. no chocolate santas. no retards. anyone else is fine, av score 370/380.
Couple of quick things: 1) What's a scouser? 2) You have "smell-net?" How cool is that? I think I'd PREFER the antelopes, thanks....

Looking for a filthy girl for a quickie....
Again with the filthy? Is filthy the new CLEAN? Nobody told ME! I've been bathing every fucking day! What a waste! No wonder I can't get a man... Well, you know, if I weren't married and all...

Looking sleazy girl to talk dirty to me
Honey, do me and yourself a favor. Write a letter to your mommy. Go read a book. Blow some bubbles. I know it's lonely out there, but seriously, sleazy girls are just... sleazy.

more chat than scrabble...flirty women please
So, let me get this straight... You post a REQUEST for a SCRABBLE game... but you really only want a CHAT. With a FLIRTY woman. Honey, the FLIRTY women are out there in the WORLD, having sex with MEN. The rest of us just want a fucking peaceful game of SCRABBLE. Go out. Mix. Mingle. You'll meet that flirty woman. REALLY. I promise. You'll find her. OUT IN THE WORLD.

A challenge to all beautiful sexy undergrads , grads, and PhD's to play erotic scrabble... chat on AIM YAHOO or GMAIL PROFILE PIC OR DELETE!
Well, aren't YOU just the little fucking SNOB! No dummies, uglies or prudes for YOU, huh? Or you will DELETE!! Golly. I think I may have gone to high school with you....

Looking for a feisty, flirty woman for some fun while we play...
See, the PLAYING is the FUN thing, you MOOK. It's SCRABBLE. Sex is fun. SCRABBLE is fun. Both work just fine as a stand-alone endeavor.

FAST GAME, LETS GO, BOOM BOOM!!!!! WHEN I SAY FAST I REALLY MEAN FAST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SINGLE FEMALES ONLY, BRAINIACS NEED NOT APPLY!! IF I LOSE I WILL STRIP FOR U ON MY WEBCAM!! Nd DO THE NAKED FUNKY CHICKEN!!
Here's some advice for you, pumpkin: Lay off the fucking coffee. And you needn't worry about the braniacs... I cannot imagine anyone with an IQ over 50 would seriously spend an hour of their time hoping to catch a glimpse of your naked funky chicken. And, pray tell, GENIUS, what is Nd? Is the word AND so long for you that you have to FUCKING abbreviate it?

And my all time, most FAVORITE request:

i need to be touched
Sweetie, I'm gonna be gentle with you, because it's quite obvious you are a deranged serial killer. But there is SO MUCH wrong with those 5 little words. I'll just touch on the MAJOR ones: 1) You can't be touched here. YOU ARE ON THE COMPUTER. 2) No one is really here to TOUCH YOU anyway. This is a FUCKING SCRABBLE GAME. For the love of all that is HOLY and SCRABULOUS, this is a game of skill, intelligence, and strategy. It is not a dating service. It is not therapy. (something of which, by the way, you are sorely in need) It is not a WHOREHOUSE, or a sex shop, or a fetish-ist's WET DREAM. IT IS A GAME. 3) I'm sorry that your mommy beat you. Or burned you with the waffle iron. Or whatever she did to you that fucked you up so badly. 4) There is a whole great big world out there... full of other nutjobs like you, who probably would be THRILLED to touch you. Don't kill any of them with an icepick. Don't play Scrabble with any of them either.

It's bloody fucking monday again, ain't it?

2008-04-14T10:30:00.000-04:00

I have decided that, since my brain is never fully open for business until TUESDAY, that I shall declare this particular day of the week "Meaningless Meandering Monday!!" A day in which I can spew forth stream-o'-consciousness ramblings like vomitus at a frat house kegger. And without further ado, let us begin the first

MEANINGLESS MEANDERING MONDAY

So, I found out that I'm fairly good at writing porn. Who knew? I have, however, been assured that it is so. I would post it here and let you read it, because my middle name is "I'll fucking post ANYTHING," but really, a girl's gotta have a few secrets, right?

I have actually located a cleaning lady who did NOT run screaming from my house at first sight. She comes this a.m. to work her magic, and I can tell you, it CAN'T happen soon enough for me. Thank God I have a job, so I can't be called on to help her. *confidential to the Husband: Remember when I said I would pay you back whatever she charged you, because I am lazy and good for nothing (except for writing porn!!) and hiring her was MY idea? Dude... I totally had my fingers crossed behind my back.

Thing 2 wants to go visit her sister at college this week, as it is Spring Break for some here in good ol' West-by-God-Virginia, and Husband has nixed the idea. Which totally pisses me off, because Husband must travel to Virginia this week, and I was totally gonna spend that whole day writing PORN. I'm still working on it, though. Because my middle name is "big, fat, tenacious M."

On a more serious note, my friend Luann lost her father last week, and my heart is absolutely breaking for her. We haven't spent much time talking for several months, which is totally my fault, because I am the WORST BEST FRIEND EVER... Forgive me, Lulu, and know that whatever prayers I am able to pray are being sent out at lightning speed, headed straight atcha. Any of you who feel like helping me give oodles of love and warm hugs to my friend should head on over to Just Lu, and leave a sincere message of deepest sympathy. She hasn't posted for a long time, but that doesn't matter, I'm sure she'll see any new comments.

I am completely addicted to American Idol. This is the first year that nearly EVERYONE deserves to win. And I say nearly because, Miss Christy Lee Cook deserves only to be chased off that stage and a formal apology and RE-invite sent out to hunky Michael Johns. Who NEVER should have been ousted from that show at such an early stage, thank you very much. Is it crazy that I have, like, NOT enough money to pay my bills, yet am seriously contemplating spending 60-something dollars on itunes, downloading every song by Michael Johns, David Archuleta, Jason Castro, Carly Smithson, and Brooke White (except for the putrid version of "Here Comes the Sun" which made my head spin around backwords and made me spontaneously spit LATIN words in the general direction of the television screen)? Yeah, I thought so too, which is why I haven't done it yet. But soon, SOON, I will not be able to resist.

The "work that has of yet not been completed" saga continues at my office. I heard through the grapevine that I am to receive an ass chewing of epic proportions on Tuesday, should I sweep through the doors with less than THREE completed bankruptcies in tow. Damn bunch of whiners, calling to complain simply because it's been a COUPLE of months since you paid for your bankruptcy to be filed... I told you I'd GET TO IT, as soon as I could! Do you know how busy I am in a day? There are Scrabulous moves to be made, Twitter-y tweats to be read, emails to answer, books to be ordered from Amazon.com, "Can I help you?" smiles to be practiced, (only because you FROWN on me greeting clients with my standard, "What the fuck do YOU want?" oh Fearless Leader"), and delicious, nutritious lunches to be planned, shopped for, and prepared. And then devoured, of course.

I am, however, proud to announce that I have completed 1.87 of said bankruptcies, and shall be wearing my "That's right, motherfucker, I AM the queen" smirk come Tuesday morning. So stick THAT in your backpocket, you smarmy bitches. (and by you, I mean someone(s) OTHER than you, sweet readers. Stop being so touchy!)

I posed a hypothetical question to Husband this weekend. And it was this: "How long do you plan on punishing me, you self-righteous, scum-sucking, smug bastard?" To which his answer was thus: "Well, how long have you punished ME? 24 years? Yeah, probably about THAT long..." So, since my sins were committed mostly about 4 years ago, seems I'm gonna be doin' hard time for about twenty more years. *sigh* Somehow, forgiveness doesn't MEAN the same thing in my house, as it does for the REST of humanity...

I watched "Martian Child" this weekend, and a better movie has not been viewed by yours truly in some time. I highly recommend it should there be some of you who have not yet seen it. Awesome movie. John Cusack has moved right onto my "Oh he's TOTALLY do-able" list.

In other fab news, Juno will be released on DVD this week, and I urge you to RUN, not walk, to your nearest Wal-Mart, to purchase this FABULOUS movie. I swear you will not be disappointed. I'd say if you didn't like it, I'd PERSONALLY refund your money, but I'm sure SOME of you, *cough Avitable cough*, would email me with a long list of complaints, simply to cash in on my innocence. Seriously, check out this movie if you are among the 3 or 4 people who haven't seen it.

This concludes another fine edition of MEANINGLESS MEANDERING MONDAY, and we now return you to your regularly scheduled, boring, hum-drum existences....

The End.

The answers, they just KEEP coming!!!

2008-04-11T13:03:00.000-04:00

Burfica:

I'm on your blogroll, but how come you don't visit me religiously like I do you???

I'm sorry, Burfie. I don't visit anyone religiously. I'll try to do better, I promise.

NYC Watchdog:

I just want to know the basics, like...
1) Coke or Pepsi?
2) Diet soda or not?
2a) If diet, is it for the taste or the calories?
2b) If not, then what do you have against diet?
3) Meat or potatoes?
3a) If meat, what's your favorite cut?
3b) If potatoes, then what do you have against meat?
4) What is your favorite color?
4a) If your favorite color is orange, then why is your blog background red?
4b) If your favorite color isn't orange, then why isn't it?
4c) Orange is the new pink, did you know that?
5) What made you first start blogging?
5a) How long have you been blogging?
5b) Why did you wait so long until you started blogging?
5c) How long do you think you'll blog for?

My God, you don't wanna know much, do you? *deep breath* ok, here goes:

Diet Coke all the way. With Lime, too. Because I've been drinking Diet Coke since it was created....

Meat AND Potatoes. Ribeye. But I also love turkey and chicken. Baked potatoes, french fries, and sweet potato chips.

My favorite color is pink. My blog background is red because red is just cool. And also because whoever created this blogskin deemed it thusly. I have nothing against orange, but pink will always be the BEST pink.

I started blogging because a friend suggested it. He thought it would help me be less crazy. He was wrong. I think it's been close to four years. Or maybe 3. Hell, I'm HORRIBLE with time. I never even HEARD of blogging till my friend told me about it. I THINK I will blog forever. But I could be wrong. I'm wrong a lot.

Bina:

What's the worst thing you ever did as a teenager that you wish to God you could take back?

I took a lot of valium, locked my bedroom door and went to bed. Scared the fuck out of my mother, who found me....

Now tell me yours...

THopgood:

If I stroke your ego will you stroke mine?

Abso-fuckin'-lutely...

Dory:

Were you in any clubs when you were in school?
What did you think of kids that were in clubs?
I've taken tylenol, advil, and tylenol sinus, yet my head still hurts. Why?

I think I joined the Bible Club, to get my picture taken, because I looked REALLY good that day. Also, I was in FBLA... hahahahaha, my God, what a fucking HOOT that was.
As I general rule, I hated kids that were in clubs. But then, as a general rule, I hated everybody.
Your head hurts because your husband is a PRISSY GIRL. hee.

Used*to*be*me:

What was your other blog? (I told you I was nosey)

I get to play the *I can't answer this question* card, because doing so would reveal my real name to a possible psychotic stalker who will then come gut me like a fish... But if you'd like, you can ask me another nosey question, and I'll try to answer it...

Bubbles (who isn't fooling anybody, MITCHELL):

To Avitable, get semen out by licking it.
To Bina, got married.
To Thopgood, only if you stroke her first.
To Dory, xanax bar will make your head stop hurting.
To Use To Be, She portrayed a lesbian transexual undergoing aromatherapy.
To Mitchell, give me your e-harmony website.

These are not questions, you imbecile. But I do feel I have to expound on YOUR answers to MY questions:

I've never voluntarily licked semen out of anything. You, however, were friends with a gay guy, who gave you dope. hmmm. Got anything you'd like to share?

I do NOT regret getting married. I have two of the most amazing daughters in the world, and I would trade them for NOTHING. If I regret anything, it's what I did to RUIN my marriage. Or, staying IN a bad marriage, at least for the last 5 years.

I am always up for a good stroking.

Dory, don't listen to him. He's an ex-crack head. He just trying to dope you up so he can have his wiley way with you.

I most certainly did NOT portray a lesbian transexual. Where do you GET this stuff?

I'm telling Kate you have an e-harmony website. You are a lecherous OLD fuck. You're lucky I love you as much as I do.

Sleeping Mommy:

1. What is your biggest fear?
2. What is your guiltiest TV viewing pleasure?
3. Who at your house does the yardwork?
4. And does it get done on time, or only after the grass reaches the knees? (like it usually does at my house)

I have two giant fears: a) That my children will be harmed, and God help the motherfucker who does it; and b) That there are little army men in my jello. Cause seriously, nobody chews that shit! They could put ANYTHING in there!!!

My guiltiest TV viewing pleasure is probably Law & Order reruns. I'll watch it for HOURS. Also, Rob & Big. I'm trying to get Thing 1 to marry Rob. I'm sure he'll agree. She's always so PLEASANT!!!

I have no idea who does the yardwork. I only know it isn't me. Probably a combination of Husband, Thing 2, and Father-in-Law. Thing 1 wouldn't mow a blade of grass if it would save an endangered species. Neither would I.

No, usually our grass is so high that you have to watch out for bears when you go out to get in your car. I have taken to carrying a hot curling iron to my car with me. I'll either burn the fucker to death, or give him a nice wave......

I think that was the last of them. If I missed your question, or if you have another one for me? Comment me, darlings....

Why Does Being Me Suck So Much?

2008-04-10T09:39:00.000-04:00

So, taking a break from the questions, just for today.

I think I have more than my share of stress. Perhaps I'm just a big fat whinycrybabyface, but I struggle, continuously, to keep the shit and the muck out of my life, and keep my attention and my effort focused elsewhere.

But sometimes it just isn't possible. And it gets built up inside of me, twisting and throbbing and whispering and pulsating, like an evil thing, until I don't think I can stand it anymore. And then I usually have to come to my blog and rant and rave and scream and piss and moan, until I feel better.

Those of you who have been with me through multiple blogs know that I do this on occasion. And you're still here, so I have to assume that, either you don't MIND so much when I go apeshit, or you're as crazy as a soup sandwich yourself, and reading MY craziness makes YOU feel better about yours. I'm happy to help. You all know my middle name is "Help your fellow man."

Here are a few things that have me twisted up in knots, currently:

I'm missing my daddy. I haven't talked to him in a while, weeks actually, and the main reason for this is that when I DO talk to him, I only miss him more. I want to just drop everything and run to Florida for a visit, because nothing helps when you're feeling all of life's ICKY, like a visit with your DADDY.

Brother 2's life-suckage is creeping over into my space in a big way. This is, of course, due to him FLINGING it at me, in the hopes that I can make it all better. Because that's what I always do. When life hands HIM a bowl of lemons, *I* whip him up a frosty tall glass of lemonade. But this time, I don't feel like coming to his rescue. This time, I don't wanna be the hero. Maybe that sounds selfish. I don't care. This time, I want someone to rescue ME.

My job has gone to hell in a handbasket. I'm so behind in my work it isn't even funny. The only reason I still HAVE a job, is that I keep distracting my boss with delicious and nutritious lunches. Truly, the way to that ol' coot's heart is through his stomach. I can make a monstrous mistake, that costs us a client; then, when he is SCREAMING at me, I say, "You know, I haven't made EGGPLANT for you for a while. I'll pick up the stuff this evening and make it for you tomorrow. We'll settle up on money later." This does TWO things: IMMEDIATELY his eyes glaze over at the MENTION of the word eggplant. And his heart MELTS at the words "settle up later..." My boss is the KING of settling up later.

Thing 1 posted a vaguely pornographic picture of Thing 2 on her Facebook. And also on her MySpace. Ok, NOT pornographic, but... ICKY, nonetheless. Granted, since I know she will likely point this out in the comments, at first I laughed at the picture and posted a comment to it. Then I freaked out because THAT IS MY BABY, y'all, and I told her to take that picture the fuck down.

Thing 1 has a real problem with being told what to do. So, we argued. From a legal standpoint, I told her she could get in trouble, since she is over 21, for posting compromising pictures of her MINOR sister. Of course she then started looking up laws and statutes and legal codes..... Good God, she will argue until you don't have any brains left with which to make a valid point with her. She should truly make a good attorney.

At any rate, she finally took it down, but was extremely mean to me in the doing of it. And when I came home, Thing 2 met me at the fucking door and, catching the baton easily from her sister, continued the argument far into the night. For what it's worth, they both apologized for the way they talked to me, but I'm not in the mood to be forgiving, seeing as how I think they only apologized because I threatened to take away their concert tickets that I spent $150 of my NONEXISTENT secret horde of dollars.

There is something that I want that I CANNOT have. This is nothing new, as there is ALWAYS something that I want that I can't have. The difference here is, while always before I could daydream and fantasize what I would do when the thing I wanted DID finally belong to me, this time I don't know WHAT the fuck I would do with it if I had it. For the first time in my life, I want something that I don't want. That's me folks. A puzzle, wrapped in a big fucking pink enigma....

Husband seems to have stepped up his efforts to MAKE ME SPONTANEOUSLY DIE. There is more drinking involved. There is more, "But YOU are the LIAR and CHEAT. I am a VICTIM." There is more screaming. There is more suspicion. There is more doubt and dread and despair. Interestingly, there is also more ME, caring LESS and LESS. *sigh* Marriage is not easy. Bad marriages, well, they suck the grey hairs off a crippled old donkey's balls.

In the words of Thing 1, back in the day: "I hate my life. I hate the world...."

I got MORE answers!

2008-04-09T00:40:00.000-04:00

A Christian Girl (who goes by ANOTHER NAME in real life, namely my OLDEST brother....)

Mitchell seems like a really cool and hot guy. Why do people call him donkey? Is he your favorite brother? And would you save some adavan for he and you. to take on next vacation? I mean if he wants some....

Mitchell, why do you insist on leaving comments on my blog with ridiculous names? *sigh* Very well, I'll answer your question, as if it were from a REAL LIVE HUMAN.

My brother is a VERY cool guy. Hot? Dear God, I dunno, that's just ICKY. I would imagine people call him DONKEY because he is an ass. He is ONE of my favorite brothers. And HELL NAW, he ain't gettin' none of my ativan (you spelled it wrong, douchebag). Because he goes and tells Miss Katie that I gave it to him. Hi, Kate! Your hair looks lovely today!

NOW GO AWAY, annoying anonymous older brother....

Burfica (God love her, she ALWAYS comes through for me):

okay here is a question for you, how come you didn't go do my cuss o meter?????
Dammit!!!
And how come I don't get no lessie marriage kind of love.
FUCK!!!

Burfie, I DID go do your cuss-o-meter. And believe it or not, I didn't score as high as you. I bow to the queen of cursing, oh Burfeous One...
And I'm sorry I've not given you any marriage proposals... *down on one knee* Burfie, will you do me the honor?

Avitable:

1. Why the fuck am I not on your blogroll?
2. What do you recommend for getting semen out of hair and clothing?
3. What's the dirtiest thing you've ever done?
4. What made you decide to blog?
5. What are your feelings on ass to mouth?

1. You are not on my blogroll? I'll have to fix that... I'm sure it's just a mistake. You know, like how I'M NOT ON YOURS?
2. I recommend that you never get semen IN your hair or clothing. Barring that? I dunno, try peanut butter. It works on chewing gum, dude...
3. I'm not sure how to take this question. I can think of three separate ways to do dirty things. So, I'll answer them all a) I kicked over a chewing tobacco spit can at 5:00 a.m. one morning when I was 16 years old. I snuck up early to call my boyfriend, because I was grounded from the phone. As He usually does, God got me back my putting a spit can (which was FULL, oh GOD, WHY?) on the end of my foot. b) The rottenest thing I ever did, besides the Lisa incident, was when I was first married and I went through the drive thru at the bank to cash a 15 dollar check. The girl gave me 100 dollars, and I kept it. c) Sexually, I never really got to be a "dirty" girl. I married the first man I ever doinked.
4. I actually started blogging about 3 or 4 years ago. A friend I met online suggested I do it. He said I had a very descriptive way of writing, and also that I was crazy enough that I needed to get some things OUT of me. Several blogs, and lots of friends, heartaches, and laughter later, here I am...
5. As a general rule, I am vehemently opposed to mouths and asses joining in any manner. However, there are times when "ass kissers" serve their purpose...

Not a Granny:

Hmmm after Avitable's questions I am kind of frightened.

What is your favorite food?
What was/is your favorite vacation spot?

Avitable scares me too, man.

My favorite food... that would have to be NEARLY FUCKING EVERY FOOD. I am a lover of all things edible. But, in the interest of baring it all, here are some of my faves: Cheeseburgers, spaghetti, pizzza, lasagna, cheesecake, Little Debbie Nutty Bars, Twinkies! Cool Ranch Dorito's, turkey! with dressing! and bread and butter pickles.

My favorite vacation spot is My Brother's Big Giant Plantation Home. In Georgia. Because he has a pool in his backyard, he buys yummy food, he makes me laugh, and when I walk through his front door, all my worries and problems melt away and I am loved and pampered for the duration of my stay there. Besides his house, I would have to say the beach, any beach. I sooo love the giant gigantical-ness of the ocean. It puts things in quiet perspective for me. My problems ain't so big....

to be continued...

I got ALL the answers...

2008-04-08T10:08:00.000-04:00

Here are some of your questions, and my brilliant, if not entirely lucid, answers. I'll try to get them all answered today, so if your question isn't here, check back later....

Miss Britt:

What do you want to be when you grow up?

For some reason, when I first read this question, the first thought that came to my head was "Oh I wish I were an Oscar Mayer weiner.... that is what I'd truly like to be... for if I were an Oscar Mayer weiner... everyone would be in love with me...."

But, since that's kind of a dumb answer, since I can't REALLY be an Oscar Mayer weiner, then I'm gonna go with my SECOND thought, which is a LESBIAN CRACK WHORE, which I think would be an interesting thing to be.

And if I have to give a SERIOUS answer, I will go with FREE. Free to do all the things I've wanted to do all my life, and never had the chance. Free financially, free emotionally, free in every single sense of the word. Free to be Miss Anne Derstood, in all her glorious glory.

Burfica:

Since you wanted to know mine, I want to know what your scariest dream ever was too.

The scariest dream I can remember having was when I was pregnant with Thing 2. For some reason, both times I was pregnant, I dreamed about one particular boy I'd had a crush on in high school. His name was Philip. Not long after we graduated, Philip was killed in a motorcycle accident. He was a great guy, and it was a sad waste that his life was ended so abruptly. When I dreamed about him during my first pregnancy, I remember it being a happy dream. But the dream with Thing 2, was NOT a happy dream. I dreamed we were in a car, and he was driving way too fast. I was asking him to slow down, begging him to pull over and let me drive, but he would only laugh, and go faster. He lost control of the car on this bridge and we ended up in the water. Somehow, and this could only happen in a dream, our car caught on fire. I knew that I was either going to burn to death, or drown, and I was terrified. I kept begging Philip to save me. I remember trying to hold my breath as the car filled with water and, incredibly, flames. He did though, he did save me. He smashed the window, God only knows how, but in a dream ANYTHING can happen, and he pulled me from the car. I was fighting him, and clawing through the water and the fire, knowing if I didn't get to breathe soon, I would die. Finally, Philip pushed me upwards and I woke up as my head broke free of the water, gasping for a good breath and with Philips words ringing through my head: "Why didn't you save ME?"

I haven't dreamed about him since...

Burfica, again:

What's the one thing you would change on the male anatomy?? Female??

Male:
I would put their brains inside their penis, since they apparently only think with that part of their anatomy anyway.

Female:
I wouldn't change a damn thing. We're perfect.

Baseball Mom:

What is your best childhood memory and why?

I've written about this before, I think, but it's been a long time, and possibly several blogs, ago.
When I was twelve years old, my mother let me stay home from school for my birthday. This was unheard of, because my mom made you go to school if you were dead. "Go," she'd say, "You'll feel better by first period."

So, I was excited to be able to stay home with her. She said we'd go out and have lunch. Again, unheard of, because my mom didn't like to drive, so much. She was a timid little thing, for the most part, and driving was just really, really hard for her. But she sucked it up and did it, because otherwise, we would have all had to stay home, all day, every day. My dad worked 24/7, seemed like.

Anyway, I was allowed to stay home, and we were going to lunch. It was all too perfect. I remember being so excited I was nearly sick. On the way out, Mom asked me, "Would you like to sneak and get your ears pierced today?" Sweet Crispy Jeebus, I thought my mom had gone 'round the bend. The thought was so enticing, so completely wonderful, that I could only stare at her in awe. OF COURSE I wanted to get my ears pierced!! I had only been begging for that very thing for a whole YEAR!! HECK YEAH!! What I said to her was in a whisper, I was so afraid to even HOPE it was for real. "Yes. Oh, yes."

Then, reality crashed down. "Mommy," I said to her. "I can't. Daddy said I can't get my ears pierced till I'm thirteen. We'd better not sneak. He'll be mad." I was crushed. But I had seen my dad angry too many times to flirt with disaster. I would not have my mom do something that would get her in killed. Oh, I knew he wouldn't KILL her, but if he'd slap her (and some of you know THAT story) seven times for buying a seven dollar steak, what might he do to her for having my ears pierced a year early?

"No. We can't. Lunch will be enough, mommy. And staying home from school. It's enough."

I wonder what my mom thought, when I said that to her. Was she sad, that I had seen so much, in so short a time, to make me afraid? Or was she angry, angry at my dad, and angry at fate, for putting her in a life where she made no decisions on her own, for fear of the wrath that might befall her?

At any rate, what she told me was this, with a little grin: "It's ok, honey. Daddy ok'd it this morning, as a surprise for you."

We went to get my ears pierced first, and I remember feeling like SUCH a lady, as we sat together and ate lunch. After lunch, mom took me to a movie, I don't even remember which one, but I remember that I had never been happier, sitting beside my mom in that movie theater, my belly full from lunch BOUGHT OUT, feeling grown up with my little topaz earrings (my birthstone, doncha know. The ugliest stone known to mankind).

It was the perfect day. And it was all for me. And she made it special, so that I would always have that memory.

to be continued...

Color Me.... In Court

2008-04-07T08:16:00.000-04:00

So, kids, today I have to go to Bankruptcy Court. Oh not for me, more's the pity, but with my boss and a client. At any rate, I won't be able to answer the questions that SOME of you have asked, until tonight, probably.

In the meantime, comment moderation has been turned off. Feel free to ask me questions. Really. Ask me some FUCKING questions, whydoncha? What do I have to do, BEG, already?

Please, internets, surely there is something about me you'd like to know? Stroke my ego a little, for it is bruised.....

And also? Because if you don't, I'll probably grit my teeth. And stamp my feet. And throw one of those temper tantrum things. Although, with my sweet and sunny disposition, it will be hard for me. But heck, I could learn. My middle name is "I am an accomplished learner of things..."

Jesus, take the wheel.... I'll take the floor for a moment...

2008-04-04T11:12:00.000-04:00

****UPDATE*****

I have enabled comment moderation... I'm really sorry to do that, but I thought I'd made myself clear when I said NO MORE FUCKING DRAMA ON MY BLOG. Those of you who love me? Won't mind for a few days, right? Anyone who does care? Whoop-tee-doo, take it up on your OWN fucking blog. Thank you, the end....

Hooray for me FINALLY having a brand spankin' new moniker. About time, I think....

The winning entry was provided by Miss Janet, but I've decided to reward Miss Ammie and This Mom for coming up with some very good names also. I'd reward you, Miss Katie, but you doesn't has a blog. And plus, you married my brother, so that's your reward. HAHAHAHA

Check back here for some blog bling I dedicate to my three terrific winners... I'm still sick, but I'll be workin' on it this weekend.
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I'd just like to mention ONE LITTLE TINY THING, before I tumble my fat ass back into bed with my babies. (and by babies, I mean dogs, Cleo and Shelby)

I had some drama on my blog last night. I'm not going to point it out, because, quite frankly, I'm getting fucking TIRED of the drama... So I will say this:

To those of you who came here and commented, for ONE particular reason, and ONE reason only? Dude, that sucks.

Do you have any idea how it felt to open my email last night, get all excited and happy because some FABULOUS bloggers deigned to come to my blog and leave a comment?

And do you then have any idea how it felt to realize that they came, not to read what *I* had to say, or to compliment or congratulate me on a good post, or a funny thought, or even an idea that we might disagree on?

No, you came here to sling more shit. The fact that you apologized to me AFTER you slung the poo, was that supposed to make me feel better? I took it like this:

"Hello insignificant blogger. I'm here NOT to read anything YOU wrote, but to stir some shit. You stumbled into some high drama, and so I'm going to have a little fun, and then I'll pretend to feel bad about flicking shit about the walls of your blog when I'm done."

This is MY blog. I write here. I pour out my heart and my ideas, the things that make me laugh, the things that piss me off beyond reason, I bitch and I moan and I piss and yell. But I'm not mean to anybody. And most of the people here know me, from my OTHER blog, and they KNOW I'm not mean to anyone. And they are not mean either.

Yes, it was momentarily exciting to have you here, in this place that means so very much to me. But you fouled it with your venom, and I will kindly ask you not to do it again.

I'm not involved in that drama. I WON'T be involved in it. And I most respectfully resent you using my blog as a platform for your "Vigilante Blog Justice".

I LOVE getting comments. I LOVE being noticed by the "big boys". But if the only reason you come to my blog, or "follow" me on Twitter is to keep the pot boiling? I'd like to go back to being "insignificant blogger" please.
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The end.