Wait...do port-a-potties flush? Or is it just implied?

I'm still alive and I'm not anyone's bitch.

My teefers have been fixed so there was no need to maul my dentist. It's a shame, because I was readying myself for a little vacay in the slammer.

I hear they have better cable than I do.

Anywho, I had a fun weekend full of good ole hillbilly family time.

Yeehaw!

Yes, I am a hillbilly and I'm not ashamed.

My parents, my big brother, his wife and I all went to the local fair to see a little country star that you might be familiar with...Mr. Alan Jackson!



My Mom looooooooves Alan Jackson, so it was pretty much a given that we would be going to the fair to see him. There's no way she could miss this chance.

MB decided not to partake in the hillbilly happenings. He can tolerate bluegrass, but he just can't handle straight up country. It's like he's got something against rednecks.

Yes, there is a difference between hillbillies and rednecks.

It's difficult to explain, but it's kinda like a nature vs nurture thing. I'll get into it some other time. It's very complicated.

Anywho, I'm not sure where you were this weekend, but it was super hot in my neck of the woods this weekend.

Perfect weather to walk around a fair full of smelly farm animals and fried foods, right?

Yeah. Not so much.

My Mom must have been angry at us for some reason. She wanted us to meet at 3:00 for a 7:30 concert. That's 4 1/2 hours to spend walking around the hot, smelly fair.

I'm blaming my brother. There is nothing I could have done to piss her off that much. It has to be him.

So, after about an hour of sweating and being miserable, we decided to hit the casino that is conveniently right on the fairgrounds.

Air conditioning and the chance to win a fortune and retire from the crisis biz forever?

Yes please!

It turns out that penny slots aren't the dream makers I imagined them to be. $26.47 is not quite enough to get me out of the crisis biz.

(sigh)

It's okay. I got to see Alan Jackson.

I tried to take a picture of the lovely Mr. Jackson, but my blackberry was not having it.



I did get a picture of the lovely port-a-potty trailer that was directly in my line of vision.

I don't think all the occupants of said port-a-potty trailer realized that they were center stage.

I kept hoping someone would come out of the door and give us a proper stage exit but it didn't happen.

Is it too much to ask for a little post flush fanfare for the crowd?

Sheesh.

Wanna see Mr. Jackson performing one of my favorite songs?
Click here.

Are you an Alan Jackson fan? If so, what's your favorite song?

Not a country fan? Tell me how you would have provided a little post flush fanfare for the crowd.

Twin nestled checks and babies with bite.

First of all...
Happy belated Mother's Day to all the moms out there. I never had the chance to stop by and say that over the weekend.

I hope you all enjoyed time with your family and loved ones.

If you aren't a mother, I still hope you had a good weekend. :) I also hope you kept reading far enough to read that.

Moving on...Mother's Day is always a tough one for me. You see, my grandmother died 37 years ago. She died on the Friday before Mother's Day that year. It was also the weekend of my aunt's birthday. It was also the year of my birth. I entered the world 7 months after she left it.

So, I never got to meet her. My grandmother, Alpha. It always saddens me that I never got the chance to know her, even for a little while. I don't even know if she knew I was on the way.

Mother's Day for my own Mom is very difficult because of this. It brings back all of the sadness of that weekend 37 years ago. She cries to this day. When we leave the church and walk past Alpha's headstone, we both gaze longingly at it. Mom is wishing she could have one more day and I am wishing I had had just one day at all.

It's not all sad, though. I know my grandmother has been with me all of my life. I know that she always will be.

Enough of this sad, sappy crap though. This is not what I intended for today's post. Plus, due to the sad memories my Mom has, we all try to make it a special, happy day for her.

So, let's focus on that, shall we?

Saturday afternoon, I loaded up this gorgeous girl and we headed down to my family's for the Mother's Day weekend.


She was super excited to be in the car for two hours. Even more excited that mommy had fast food in the front seat for her to try and steal. So excited, in fact, that she forgot to tell mommy that she had to poop.

That was a fun little side trip to the Walmart parking lot in whatever little town we happened to be in at the time. Thank God for my $8.99 canvas seat cover, my $3.00 dog blanket and the handy stash of poop scooping bags on Skye's leash.

Also, thank God for my lack of shame when it comes to all poop related activities.

So, after that little mishap, we made it safely to the family's house where Mom had this little guy waiting for me.


It's hard to see him because he's hiding his head under that rock. I think he's 'special'.

It's a baby snapping turtle! How cute!

I love turtles. I spent my childhood catching turtles and other critters out of the crick that runs next to my family's house. This little guy found his way into their house somehow and Mom saved him for me to see.

I played with him for a bit and then released him into the crick again.

After turtle time, Mom and I headed to the mall to do some shopping. We are both consumed with wedding, wedding, wedding and went to buy some wedding favor stuff. We also had dinner and dessert and spa pedicures.

They were fabulous! I would allow myself to get groped by that little pedicure lady anytime!

Sunday was church day. Then we all went to breakfast - Mom, Dad, Big Brother, Mrs. Big Brother and myself. We went to this little place that was having a jazz brunch. The jazz part of the brunch consisted of one guy with a guitar playing music and wandering around the restaurant.

At one point, I turned my head and he was right behind me! Sneaky bastard.

It took approximately 27 minutes for the waitress to notice our arrival and make contact with us. It took 7 minutes for her to bring the coffee and tea we had all ordered. It took another 17 minutes to flag down someone else to bring us silverware so we could stir cream and sugar into our coffees and teas. It took another 38 minutes for her to come and take our food order.

Did I mention that the service was pretty sucky?

Our waitress apparently had a twin sister who was also a waitress in the restaurant. We realized this after trying to flag down twin #2 to get some freakin food, thinking she was our twin #1. Then we noticed that there were actually two crappy waitresses, instead of just one who kept taking her glasses on and off.

Awesome.

My favorite part of the meal was the end when we got the bill. Twin #1 came to the table and proceeded to pull a check out of her boob. Seriously. She was elbow deep in there fishing out the check for our table.

So classy.

Then? It was the wrong check! She had to go elbow deep on the other side (twin#2! HA!) to get our actual check.

Mrs. Big Brother and I were dying! When Big Brother asked if his 22% tip was enough, we really lost it.

Not that I'm knocking the twins as storage compartments. I've been to some places where that just makes sense. You spend a little time in the joint and you just expect that she's going to pull your check out of her bra. You might expect her to pull some cream and sugar out of there too...maybe a little dessert.

This place? Not that type of place. Did I mention the 'jazz brunch' part of it?

Jazz brunch and twin nestled checks don't really go together in my mind.

Anyway, it was a good meal with loved ones and that's what really counts. Plus, I didn't have to touch the check!

After breakfast, I gained approximately 87 pounds...in the form of a bridesmaid! A bridesmaid who is going to love me for my weight estimation powers!

She has been a dear friend forever and when I asked, she said yes! Yay!

Mom and I celebrated this news with gourmet cupcakes. It's really the only way to celebrate such news, don't you think?

So, it was a very busy, very fun weekend. Full of lots of emotions and lots of laughs and lots of family. Also baby turtles.

A very good weekend, in my book.

How was your weekend?

Pickin parties, feuds and body disposal. Oh, and birthday cake.

Did I tell you that I threw my Dad a surprise 80th birthday party?

Well, I did.

It was last Sunday and it was amazing!

Happy 80th Dad!

I invited the cousins from his hometown in West Virginia for a mini family reunion. A lot of them live up here where I live so it was pretty easy to get them to come over.

I also invited my half-brother and half-sister from West Virginia. We don't get to see them very often at all. They haven't met the cousins, so it was pretty cool for them to all get acquainted.

My Dad had no idea that all of his kids were coming. That was a total surprise! It was so much fun!

I had a houseful of family, food and music. My West Virginia cousins play bluegrass music and they all brought their instruments and played in the back yard. We had a couple guitars, a fiddle, an upright bass, a mandolin and a banjo.

It was a regular hoe down!

They are all very talented musicians. All self taught. Amazing. I'll talk more about them and my hillbilly heritage later though.

I wish I had some video to share with you. If my niece ever sends it to me, I'll post it. She's kind of slacking on that.

Ahem.

Anyway, the party went off without a hitch. Unless you count the drama caused by my crazy neighbor. Apparently, he decided that he was going to be in charge of the street for the afternoon. He came out of his house to yell at any of my family members who tried to park in front of his house.

On the public street in front of his house. His rented house.

Jackass.

MB is pretty sure he's doing meth. I know he's drinking. I also know he's a weirdo who overshares.

Yeah, it's that neighbor. Were you really surprised?

So, MB and I are now officially feuding with him.

If his kids even think about coming into our yard, knocking on our door or petting our dog, war will be declared.

Of course, now we think he may have killed one of his children and buried her in the fish pond. We realized that we haven't seen his daughter in months. It's very odd.

I already told MB that I will not be doing the inaugural pond cleaning of the season.

Also, if the police show up and start asking questions, I may not answer the door. Not until we get our new privacy fence put up. Or we get a big snarly attack dog.

Boundaries must be maintained, people.

On a more positive note, look who decided to come out of hibernation...

I don't see any bodies in there, do you?

Hi (sniffle, sniffle, hack)

Yeah. That's the same title I just used over at the BLitz. Don't judge me.

I'm full of phlegm. My nose is being blown like a two dollar...I got nothing. It's just really raw. Breathing through my mouth is a necessity right now.

I'm at work right now and I no longer care enough to go into the closet to blow my nose properly, so as not to offend anyone. That's how much I've been blowing my nose today.

My coworkers have got to love me and all of my sniffling, crackling and honking. I must sound like a old man's...again, I got nothing.

Can someone please come drain all of this crap out of my head so I can just move on with my life?

Seriously.

I've got things to do.

I'm hosting a surprise 80th birthday/mini family reunion/bluegrass pickin party at my house tomorrow for my Dad. He turns 80 on the 15th. There will be 23 people at my house tomorrow and I haven't done a damn thing to get ready.

Of course, I've made lists of what I need to buy, what's on the menu, who's coming, who's bringing what, who's wearing what, what needs to be cleaned, what chores I want MB to do, what chores MB will actually do, what chores I will be forced to do, what chores I don't really 'need' to do but 'want' to do, how much xanax and whiskey I will need in order to stop being completely insane...you get the picture.

All of these lists and there is still pee on the living room and bedroom floors because Skye didn't get the memo about her chores.

My brother is already bitching because he has to drive 2 hours to come to my house and then drive 2 hours to get home and then work 24 hours tomorrow. I get the inconvenience. Thank you.

Jackass.

I love him dearly, but he's driving me even more insane.

Also, did I mention that I'm a little phlegmy?

I am.

On a positive note, I got my hair cut Friday and I love it. Also, our new fridge is coming on Monday (yes, that's a day too late to ease my party planning insanity, therefore adding to my party planning insanity). We got a futon to replace the three legged couch we were using. We also got a headboard and no longer have to search for pillows that have fallen into the abyss between the mattress and the wall.

On a less positive note, these are the things I have to do between the end of my shift today (3:30pm) and the start of the party tomorrow (1:30pm):
- make the birthday cake.
- ice the birthday cake.
- buy beer.
- buy the meat for MB to smoke (giggity).
- clean up dog hair from...everywhere.
- clean up pee.
- dye the gray out of my new fabulous hairdo.
- wash my spanx.
- buy more tissues.
- spike my brother's piece of cake with laxatives.
- buy beer.
- rid the yard of all the fallen siding so my Dad doesn't feel the need to
climb up on the ladder and fix anything.
- clean my toilets.
- lose approximately 35 pounds so my cousins don't think I'm fat.
- buy beer.

Pray for me, people.

Send medications. And tissues.

Did I mention I was a little phlegmy?

Blubber, foof and minions.

I went to David's Bridal on Saturday. So there's that.

I also think I had my very first panic attack.

My Mom came up on Saturday to visit and go shopping. I think she realized that I'm not going to go to the bridal shop unless it's by force. That explains her desire to make David's Bridal the first stop of the day.

She's so sneaky.

For some reason, I agree to go. I may have been drunk at the time. It's always a possibility.

Let me explain something. It's not that I'm nervous about getting hitched. I have no doubts about MB and our life together. I just have a lot of doubts about fitting my fat ass into a wedding dress and the thought of it makes me sweat.

So, we walk into the store and are instantly greeted by the greeter. I don't know her actual title, but I'm calling her the greeter. She is cheerful and friendly and everything I ever wanted in all those nasty, nose picking, couldn't care less what aisle the peas are in Walmart greeters.

Anywalmartsucks, the greeter assigns me a consultant. I don't remember the consultant's name because I am too distracted by the rows upon rows of white poof and foof that fill the store.

For the love of taffeta, this is the most foof I've ever seen in my entire life!

As I'm scanning all the foof, I also notice the other brides and their bridal minions. There are swarms of them back by the dressing rooms. They are all poised in front of the pedestals which are sadistically placed in front of rows upon rows of mirrors.

Not a single bride or minion was over a size 6.

I think this is where my face started to lose color.

The mere thought of hauling my foof covered fat ass up onto one of those pedestals for all the tiny brides and tiny minions to see was enough to make me want to barf into the nearest ball of tulle.

Then, I would've owned a lovely barf covered ball of tulle for which to wear on my day of hitching. Not exactly the look I was hoping for.

So, the consultant pulls out a catalog and instantly flips to the fat girl section. Immediate points deducted. But also points added for her ability to do it without missing a beat. A less paranoid fattie probably wouldn't have even noticed.

But I did. I'm like a ninja.

She asks me what I like and I tell her 'as plain as possible'. No foof. No poof. No train. No tulle. Do you have some sort of taffeta snuggie that I could just wear over my jeans? That would be perfect.

She didn't have anything like that.

She did have some very cute simple dresses that I actually liked. We walked through the aisles of foof as she pulled some of them out and made me touch them.

Because how the fabric feels is super important when I have to rip it off of my body because I managed to stuff my fat ass into it but there is no way in hell I'm getting out of it without the use of a rescue truck. I think the paramedics will appreciate the softness of the fabric while they extract me.

You're welcome boys.

I had fondled my fourth dress when she asks me if I want to try anything on.

Mom was ready. Me? Not so much.

I was able to make eye contact with the consultant as she asked me the question again. I'm pretty sure I had lost all color in my face. I was also swooning a bit and seeing stars. I was also on the verge of tears.

Tears.

I wanted to curl up in the fetal position amongst the foof, awaiting my minions to bring me some whiskey.

However, I haven't officially chosen my minions yet and I wouldn't dare drink the required number of whiskey shots to cope with this particular situation while amongst the foof. See the barf comment above.

Thankfully, the consultant could sense my panic. Extra points for her. She totally understood that I just wasn't ready. She got it.

I even felt confident enough that she got it to begin rambling incoherently about not being at my goal weight yet and not wanting to shove my blubber into such beautifully soft foof in front of the judgy judgy minions who looked like they could use a freakin cheeseburger or two.

She had no response for that. She just smiled and suggested we make an appointment for an evening when it's a little more private.

She didn't have midnight appointments. I asked.

So, I didn't try on any dresses but I did end up with homework. Wtf?!

I'm supposed to gather my bridal minions, pick out some styles from the website and call the consultant back so we can make an appointment.

I can totally do shots while I search online, so I think it's going to be okay.

Do you have any advice for me, peeps? How do I get past the whole blubber into tulle anxiety?

I heart you all. Big time.

Hey peeps. I'm back.

First of all, a great big Thank You to all of your well wishes, thoughts and prayers. I heart every single one of you.

My Mom is home from the hospital. They think they identified the specific bacteria causing the infection and put her on antibiotics to treat that. They sent her home with instructions to follow up with all her various doctors. She also has to go to physical therapy due to some weakness in her left side.

They also found a benign 'spot' on the frontal lobe of her brain. That's just about the scariest thing to hear. Ever.

However, they think it's not related to anything that happened and don't see any cause for concern. She just has to have a follow up mri in a couple months.

So, for now, all is well. We have all given her specific instructions to check her temperature at least two times daily and to call the doctor at any sign of fever or icky feelings.

We have also all agreed that if any symptoms return, we are taking her to another hospital. They clearly had very little interest in figuring out what was causing her illness until we all became vocal with our complaints.

My brother and his wife opened my Mom's door and proceeded, very loudly, to voice their disgust with the lack of care my Mom was receiving. I also called and had a firm conversation with the nurse. Only after all that did the doctor actually take an interest.

It's really sad that we have to be bitchy and threaten to take my Mom elsewhere in order to get proper care.

Those bastards.

So, again...Thank you to everyone. I'm doing much better. It's still really hard for me to see her like this. It's hard to accept that she's struggling like she is. But, we'll get through it. I've been blessed with a very close, loving and supportive family and I know we will all be there for each other.

I'll be back later with something a little more lighthearted. MB already told me that my last post wasn't funny and he was disappointed.

Falling apart.

My mother is back in the hospital.

She has been running a low grade fever and just feeling icky for the past couple months. She had a couple episodes early on where she would just get weak and collapse. She said she just lost all the strength in her legs and just went down.

When it would happen, she would find herself on the floor of the laundry room, bathroom, bedroom or wherever. She would try to get herself up using whatever was around. Sometimes it would work and she could crawl herself to the couch or the bed.

Sometimes it wouldn't work and she would end up on the floor for a few hours until Dad came home to help her up.

The first time she went to the ER, they said she had a urinary tract infection and sent her home with antibiotics. The next day, she collapsed and had been on the floor for 3 hours before my Dad got home. She was admitted that night and got iv fluids and antibiotics for three days.

She came home with all kinds of follow up and oral antibiotics. She followed up with everyone she was supposed to. She took all her meds. She continued to run a low grade fever, feel chilled, feel icky and just not quite be herself.

Friday, her boss told her to go home early because she looked awful. She did. She collapsed in the bathroom floor and on the bedroom floor and had to have my Dad help her up. She refused to go to the er.

Saturday, she was in bed when my brother went over to visit. She was so weak she couldn't stand on her own. He called 911 and she was taken back to the er. She was again admitted. She was so dehydrated, they couldn't get an iv.

She's still in the hospital and they are again telling her she has a urinary tract infection. Even on the iv antibiotics and fluids, she's running a fever and feeling icky.

They basically don't plan on doing much else with her because they think it's a uti. I've tried to advocate for her, but they aren't really listening. They refuse to transfer her to another hospital because they don't see the medical necessity.

She's frustrated. She's depressed. She's afraid to leave her home because she's afraid she'll collapse in public. She's afraid to be diagnosed with yet another potential crippling health condition that will turn her into an old lady.

I'm frustrated. I'm depressed. I'm on the verge of tears whenever I talk or think about it. I don't want to see her like this. I don't want this to be her life. I want someone to take an interest and figure out what's happening to her.

My Mom is 68 years old. She has rheumatoid arthritis which causes her a great deal of pain. She overcomes that pain every day so she can continue to work a full time job, take care of her home and her family and do all the things she enjoys doing. She has fought long and hard since her diagnosis of RA to regain her independence and her mobility.

She has osteoporosis and screws in her hip after her brittle hip bone snapped 5 years ago. She has a fragile body with a strong, stubborn spirit.

It kills me to see her down like this for so long. It breaks my heart. I want to fix it. I want to make it better. I want her to be able to feel good again.

But, I don't know how.

I don't know what to do and it's killing me.

I'm advocating for her. I'm pushing for a second opinion. I'm supporting her. I'm sitting by her side. I'm trying to come up with ways to make this better.

But really? I'm falling apart inside.

That's all I can really say about that right now.

Things that I have learned about myself this Christmas:

1) I do, in fact, have the ability to resist chocolate cake. When one was placed directly in front of my face yesterday, I resisted.

That may have been a one time thing though. Remember that the higher the chance of people seeing you devour chocolate cake is, the higher the chance is that you will be able to resist it.

Had I been able to grab that chocolate cake and lock myself in the laundry room for 5 minutes, it would've been a different story.

Don't judge me. That's just science.

2) I will not ever be able to convince my Eastern Shore Redneck Family that I actually do enjoy unsweetened iced tea.
They continue to single out MB as the city boy who likes disgusting tea. No matter how many times I try to explain that I also drink unsweetened tea, they just ignore me.

My cousin had made a pitcher of unsweet tea for dinner on Christmas Eve, just for MB. He was sick though and wasn't able to be there. I tried to tell her that I would drink it, because a)I love it and b)I didn't want to go into a diabetic coma while drinking sweet tea, which I haven't had for approximately 5 years. My cousin's response was "Oh no. I would never make you drink that nasty stuff."

Maybe I'll just start having moonshine with all of my meals. That's something that wouldn't be questioned or frowned upon.

3) I tend to enjoy visiting the pets of my relatives more than my relatives themselves.

Don't get me wrong, I love my family. I just tend to have more fun playing with the pets than trying to make small talk with people who don't understand my beverage preferences.

Dogs don't question things like that.

4) My own dog really seems to like the bed at my parent's house. When we stay there, it's the only time she will actually sleep in the bed with me.

For a dog who doesn't show affection, it's really a big deal. It was my Christmas miracle.

5) I really don't think it's cool or funny to get so intoxicated at a New Year's Eve party that your 18 year old daughter has to put you to bed as your also very intoxicated husband watches and your 7 year old daughter jokes that you are going to bed before she does.

I also have an issue with telling your cousin's underage daughter that she can come to your house and drink this New Year's Eve and stay over, without asking your cousin and without having any intention of telling him that his underage daughter is drunk at your house.

There are rules.

It frightens me that these things are acceptable in my family.

6) My parents are the kindest, most generous people I have ever known. I have truly been blessed with them and I am thankful every day for all that they have done for me.

7) Traveling 2 hours after staying up all night and then having to work 8 hours without any real sleep is not a good idea.

When I left for work, my pup was doing this:



I hope to be doing the same in approximately 2 1/2 hours and counting.

Merry Christmas to all my peeps!
I hope that you are having a wonderful holiday filled with family, friends and loved ones.

Mama Drama, continued.

So, I've been dealing with some Mama Drama over the past weekend and it's really been stressing me out.

My mother essentially collapsed on Friday night. My Dad and Brother were with her and called 911. She was fine and then suddenly lost the use of her legs as she was standing at the sink.

She just couldn't stand up. She had no strength at all in her legs.

The emergency room diagnosed her with a urinary tract infection and sent her home. They said the fever and infection caused her to collapse like she did.

I wasn't convinced, but I'm not a doctor. I also know my mother and the odds that this infection and fever had been raging through her fragile little body for way longer than she let on were pretty good.

Remember the previous Mama Drama?

Yeah. She's not really a good patient.

So, I call her the next day to check in on her.

No answer at the house. Three times.

No answer on her cell. Three times.

I call my Dad at work. He says she was fine this morning and was going to go do some shopping. Nothing to worry about.

Of course she's shopping. She was just in the emergency room and she should be at home, resting and taking antibiotics. Why wouldn't she go shopping?

Grrrr.

So, I don't worry. I know that she is stubborn and if she was feeling better, she probably is out shopping.

I'm still a little worried though. I call my Dad as soon as he gets home.

I can already hear it in his voice and my heart sinks. He came home to find her lying on the floor next to the bed. She had collapsed again and couldn't get herself back up. She had been lying there for 3 hours.

He picked her up and she was saying she was okay and just wanted to go back to bed and rest.

Thank God he didn't give in and he called 911 right away.

I was 2 hours away and utterly useless. He told me not to come down until I heard from him. He didn't want me driving that far at night by myself.

All I could do was wait.

After three hours, I finally get the call from my brother. She was being admitted to the hospital.

I packed my bag and went down the next morning.

When I walked into that hospital room, my heart sank again.

I've never seen my mother looking so fragile. So sick. So weak. So old. It scared the hell out of me.

My mother is 68 years old and she looked like she was 100. In her wrinkled face, I saw the faces of my grandmother, my Aunt Irma, my Aunt Hazel, my Aunt Edna. All who have passed. All who had the same wrinkled face in their later years.

I saw her vulnerability. Her mortality.

I have never been more terrified in my entire life.

My fragile little mother, lying in that bed with tubes everywhere and absolutely no color in her face.

Thank God she was able to get better. Her fever broke by Monday and the doctor sent her home today. They still don't know what type of infection she has or what caused this to happen.

That's a little scary.

She is feeling much better though. She has to follow up with her doctors and do some more bloodwork so they can hopefully figure out what happened.

I've already told her she needs to take it easy and not push herself. She is already talking about decorating the house for Christmas and going back to work tomorrow morning.

Ugh.

I can't argue with the woman. She's stubborn as hell.

All I can do is pray that the doctors figure out what happened so it doesn't happen again.

I've already told her that if she doesn't answer the phone again, I'm sending someone to bust down the door. Just the thought of her lying on the floor, unable to get herself up or call for help breaks my heart.

Sometimes it really sucks to be so far away from my family when they need me the most.

The Beast takes me for a ride.

So, I had a roller coaster of a day on Sunday.

It started out really well. MB and I slept in a little and then got up to do Day 12 of the Couch to 5K. It was absolutely gorgeous outside and we had an awesome run.

It was 2 3 minute runs and 2 5 minute runs and we ran each of them all the way through. We kicked butt and it felt so good! I wasn't even hyperventilating as much as I usually do. Of course, I still had my breathe right strip on, so I was still pretty sexy.

MB likes it when I step things up now and then.

Anysexkitten, after we ran, we went home to get ready for my parents who were coming up to visit.

Usually, it takes them at least 3 hours to find their way to my house which is exactly 2 hours from their house. They like to take their time.

Today, they were right on time. By the time we got showered and I was about to eat breakfast, they showed up.

We chatted for a few minutes and then they wanted to go to my cousin's house to see her for a little bit.

Now, I had eaten a little pack of nuts and a banana before we ran. That's all I had eaten and it had long worn off. My plan was to eat something before they came, but that just didn't happen.

I could feel The Beast looming.

One of my biggest migraine triggers is not eating. If I miss a meal and don't fuel my body properly, it hits. And it usually hits hard and fast.

So, I scarf down an apple and at least get dinner in the crockpot before we head over to my cousin's house. I also popped a half a migraine pill just to head it off a little bit.

I could have easily said 'Hey, I need to eat a little something because I'm getting migrainey.' My parents would have understood. They certainly know what The Beast does to me. They would've been happy to wait.

Of course, they also would've been handling me with kid gloves all afternoon and trying to cut their visit short so I could rest.

So, being the dumbass that I am, I kept my mouth shut.

Off we go to my cousin's house. I was navigating while my Dad drove us there. My Dad has a tendency to speed and then slam on the brakes for stop signs, red lights, speed bumps, other cars, squirrels, etc.

That kind of jostling back and forth is not the best when you are trying to fight off a migraine. It only tends to add to the nausea. Not a good thing.

I'm cracking windows and closing my eyes and praying for a road with no speed bumps. It was futile. The Beast was coming and it was coming hard.

Again...I could've said something. But noooo.

So, we hang out with my cousin for awhile. She is a little younger than my Dad and is going through a really rough time. Her brother just died along with a few of her close friends and she is struggling. She's not sleeping. She's smoking like a chimney (another bad trigger for The Beast) and she's trying to tell us all about it.

Of course, she has family and friends that are popping in and out, along with four dogs that are running around on the floor, along with four other conversations that are going on at the same time...it was the perfect storm for The Beast.

Over stimulation. Cigarette smoke. Stomach jostling. Having to answer the 'when are you going to have kids?' questions.

The Beast was definitely feeding off of this.

By the time we left, I was starving and I took us to Subway for lunch. I had to eat or I was going to lose it. Quickly.

My little six inch tuna sub satisfied The Beast initially. I was able to hold it together until my parents left an hour or so later.

Once they hit the road, I grabbed my ice pack, took another migraine pill and hit the couch.

Of course, The Beast had fully taken over by now and he was punishing me for trying to ignore him all day. He let me have it full force.

It was an all out battle between him and the meds. The meds were trying to do their thing. They made me so sleepy that I could barely keep my eyes open and I was stumbling around like I was drunk. They wanted me to sleep, but The Beast had other plans.

The Beast had a hold of my head and he wasn't letting go. He was squeezing me so tight, it felt like my head was in a vise. He was bringing on the nausea with everything he had. No matter what I did - sitting, standing, pacing, lying down - it was there. It was not going to let me rest until it had it's way with me.

I ended up lying on the bathroom floor with my head on the sink. I had been through this before and I knew there was no use in fighting. It was going to happen and I might as well be ready.

It hit. It hit hard. It hit so hard that not only was I praying to the porcelain God for the next 20 minutes, I was also praying for it to just be over. The Beast had decided to attack my sinuses while I was vomiting uncontrollably. Nosebleeds always freak me out, especially when they are happening while I am no condition to do anything about them and I just have to let them bleed.

The Beast really is a son of a bitch.

I was crying and I was scared and I was humiliated and I just wanted it to stop. If I had been able to, I would've crawled to the phone to call MB because I couldn't fight anymore. The Beast had won.

Thank God, he decided to release his hold on me shortly after that. Maybe he sensed my defeat.

When MB got home, I was passed out on the couch. Defeated. Broken.

Once I woke up and got my bearings though, I was fine. MB and I had dinner and all was right with the world.

I had battled The Beast and lost but at least I lived to fight another day.

Hopefully it won't be any day soon.

I don't think I could survive another battle like that one anytime soon.

If you would like to read more about my migraine affliction and why I choose to share it with you, click on 'The Beast' in my labels.

Vacation photos

I just spent the week at one of my favorite places on Earth. The Eastern Shore of Maryland. Specifically Assateague Island.
Assateague Island is a very special place for me. It's one of the most beautiful places you will ever find.



It holds a very dear place in my heart because it's where I spent my childhood. Every weekend was spent in the camper on the surf with my family. Playing on the beach with my brother and cousins. Searching for seashells with Dad. Walking along the surf with Mom. Helping Dad and Uncle Joe reel in the big fish. Teasing the crabs we caught as they tried to claw their way out of the bucket. Listening to stories by the bonfire at night.



When I was old enough, my Dad taught me how to drive on the surf. I got my first suv and every chance I had, I would load up the dog and spend the day soaking up the sun. It's probably the thing I miss the most about living 2 hours away.



As soon as I cross the bridge onto Assateague Island, I breathe a sigh of relief. All my stress just melts away. The salt air enters my lungs and all is right with the world. It is my therapy. It is my sanctuary. It is my little piece of heaven on Earth.



This past week, I loaded up my Skye girl and we headed to Assateague every day of my vacation. I've turned my little snow dog into a beach dog. She has her very own shade umbrella. She snuggles into the sand and naps while I sunbathe. She walks with me as I hunt for shells and other interesting finds.



When we grill on the beach, she knows exactly where to plant herself. She doesn't stray far from the food. Her strategy is to place herself right in the center of the food prep so she can catch every little crumb that comes her way. That's my girl.



When I wasn't on the beach, I was eating crabs with my big brother. I was having drinks with one of my dearest friends. I was shopping with Mom. I was catching up with friends I don't get to see nearly enough. I was spending time with my family. I was relaxing and rejuvenating.
When my Skye girl wasn't on the beach, she was trying her hardest to find a comfy spot at my parent's house to stretch out. As you can see, my parent's dog's bed is just not quite big enough for my girl. She's so silly.

Vacation! Vacation! Vacation!

Hi peeps!
Hope you are all having a good weekend. I haven't had a chance to check in with everyone over the past few days, but I'm trying to catch up slowly.
Work has been keeping me busy. Can't say too much about that - confidentiality and all.

I have officially been on vacation as of 3:30pm.
Woohoo!
I'm so excited for my week off. I'll be going down to the beach to spend time with family and friends. I can't wait to get my toes in the sand.



That is where I will be spending the majority of my free time. Peaceful, isn't it?
I feel relaxed already.
Ahhhhh.

I will also be spending time with some of my closest friends who I don't get to see that often and miss dearly. I love these girls and can't wait to have some much needed girl time with them.

I will also be taking my big brother out for his 40th birthday, which is today. I can't believe he's turning 40! Omg! I'm already trying to think of fun ways to embarrass him. Teeheehee!

I'm kind of nervous about the potential Mom Stress that comes with my time spent down there. She's already called me 3 times today to see when I'm coming down and what my plans are. When I finally talked to her on her fourth call, she was so worried about planning what we were going to do, she didn't hear half of what I said.
Arghhh!
I know she misses me and I miss her, but she needs to just chill out! I refuse to get stressed out this week. It's just not happening. If I have to stay drunk for the entire week, then so be it.
Bring on the booze!

My biggest decision this week will be which spf to use.
Also, whether to order draft or bottle beer at the bar.
That's it.
I'm not worrying about anyone's suicidality or psychosis. I'm not worrying about green pond water. I'm not worrying about cleaning my bathroom or doing laundry. I'm not even going to think about the stupid cat hoarder's cats and their shenanigans.

I'm officially off the clock.
Yay!!!

Don't worry, peeps. I will be taking Alfreda (my precious laptop) with me on this vacay. Hopefully my parents have wireless internet so I can use her in privacy, without them hovering. If they don't, I may have to sneak onto their computer to check in with you all.
I'm sure I'll be sending drunken tweets at some point also. I wouldn't want to disappoint.

But, if you don't hear from me, don't be alarmed. I probably haven't been kidnapped by aliens. I'm most likely just out enjoying myself.
I hope you all don't go through Girly Bitz withdrawal. If you do start to get the shakes, ingest multiple amounts of cupcakes immediately. It should do the trick.
Later, peeps. :)

Btw, if you want to know how I'm going to handle my BLitz against the Fatness while on vacay, go here. I sort of have a plan.

The farm and MB's rantings from the road.

MB, Skye girl and I went to West Virginia this weekend to visit MB's Mom. She lives on a farm up in the mountains and it's gorgeous. She also reads Girly Bitz and makes her husband read it too. Cute, huh?

MB and I were in the car for a very long time this weekend. MB tends to get a little weird after he's been driving for so long.

Here are some of his rantings from the road, then some pretty pics and then a question for you guys at the bottom. Make sure you read on. I'm dying for your answers to this particular query.

After passing a sign that read: Heavy Traffic Alert,

MB: You calling me fat, sign?

After passing Dans Mountain State Park,

MB: Dan's Mountain? I want my own mountain.

Trying to decide which route to take home,

MB: Should we take 896 to 40 or 72 to 4?

Me: I don't know. Whatever you think.

MB: Well, 40 goes into 896 how many times?

Me: ?

MB: 4 goes into 72...

MB: It's a differential of 8.3 to 1.8.

(This conversation extended into a 1/2 hour long mathematical psychotic break in which he concluded that my name plus his name is equal to the pup's name times pi, or something.)

After going over a very large bump that was alerted to us by a sign that said 'Dip',

MB: Stupid hillbillies.

Commenting on the pup who was perched on her bed on the back seat looking out the front,

MB: Well, doesn't she just think she's the cat's ass.

Enough of that.

I hope you guys like the pics!

Don't forget the question at the end.

This is my Skye girl looking back at the house and barns after our hike along the edge of the property where my fear of heights made me freak out just a little. Come back and read about that tomorrow.

The pond at the bottom of the 'hill'.

One of the mama geese and her baby. Did you know geese can hiss? Me either. Apparently they are biters, too. MB wouldn't test this theory out for me. He doesn't care about science.

More geese and more babies. Super cute.

Meet the hens. They didn't hiss but they follow. They're like little chicken ninjas. You're walking along and all of a sudden - chicken at your feet. Chicken over your shoulder. Chickens freakin everywhere. Stealthy little things.

The llama. I don't really know what to say about the llama.

This is the goat feeder trough/guillotine. Hell if I'm sticking my head through a hole to get some food. Well, maybe for a cupcake. But, that would have to be one damn delicious cupcake.

The goats in their little goat house.

And that's the farm.

On another non-farm related topic, does anyone know how to teach someone to whistle? This came up in the car. I would try to explain MB's lame attempt to whistle and then his hour long demonstration of how awesome a whistler he is and all the celebrity he will be experiencing as a result, but I just can't do it justice. He was essentially just spitting air. Had my blackberry not betrayed me by dying, I would share video proof.

So, how do you teach someone to whistle? I need to know so MB doesn't continue to embarrass himself or me. "Put your lips together and blow" didn't quite do the trick. Any suggestions?

Sometimes poker is just poker.

This is kind of cute. Of course I have to share.
So, the other night, MB invited some of the peeps over to play poker. Most of the peeps were guys. That's why when I mentioned poker night to my mother, I said 'the guys'. Also because she doesn't understand what 'peeps' means.
Anywhatthehelldidyoujustsaytomeyounglady, I was chatting with her and mentioned that MB had the guys over for poker night.
No big deal, right? It's what people do.

Her response: Are you sure you're safe in the house with all of those guys there?
Me: (after recovering from my wtf moment) Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?
Her: I don't know. I just worry about you up there.
Me: You know MB is here too, right?
Her: I know. I know.
Me: It's not like he's inviting burglars and rapists into our home.
Her: So, did I tell you the church yard sale is next weekend?

For the love of cupcakes, I'm 35 years old! I live with my fiance who loves and takes care of me. What in the world does she think is going to happen?
*Just so you know, I had a minor anxiety attack at posting my age. Arghh.

Moving on, here is a list of the things I wanted to say to her, but didn't:
-It's okay. They're nice guys. Except for the gang rape. And the crack.
-Don't worry, I'm making them use condoms.
-The girls will be here later. Then we really get into the dirty stuff.
-They only take their penises out after they eat. Trust me, we've had that conversation: No dicks at the dinner table!

I know. I'm a horrible daughter. I just continue to be amazed at the fact that she thinks girls hanging out with boys equals automatic sexual assault.
Poor woman.

Memoir Monday: He could have been a mafia legend.

Did I ever tell you about the time I took a bullet between the eyes?
It's kind of a funny story, actually.
Now.
So, I was just a kid. I was probably 8 or 9. Somewhere around there. My memory is a little fuzzy about the incident. Probably as a result of the head injury and all.
Anywhatdayisitagain, I was in the kitchen with Mom helping her get dinner ready as was my chore for the day.
Well, every day. It is woman's work, after all. Or so I was told.
My brother, who was 12 or 13 at the time, was outside playing with his new bb gun. He was in the field behind our house target shooting. He had asked to borrow a picture of me earlier that day, but I'm sure it was unrelated.
Again, the memory is a little fuzzy.
AnywherethehellamI, Mom asked me to go call my brother in for dinner.
I skip on out to the field, happy and oblivious to what tragedy is about to befall me.
As I approach the field, I see my brother with his back to me.
I call out to him: "Dave! Dinner!"
As he turns to face me, POW!!!
I get knocked off my feet and I'm on the ground wondering what the hell just happened. I am stunned. My head hurts like a son of a bitch. Of course, in my girly confusion, I have no recourse but to cry.
I vaguely remember my brother taking me into the house in my sniveling state. I think Mom was the one who discovered what had happened and she was not happy.
The details are fuzzy but I remember looking in the mirror after I had calmed down.
There it was.
A bb sized indentation on my forehead, right between my eyes.
Dammit.
That was one hell of a shot.
Looking back, I'm not sure if it was the luckiest shot of his life or if he was just that skilled. I'd really rather not think about that.
It's best to leave some things repressed.

Seeing red...camaros that is.

Memoir Monday: The time a camaro crashed into our house.

I was about to start my junior year of college and was still living at my parents' house along with my older brother. We were both working and trying to find our feet at the time.
That's not important to the story. I just wanted you to know we weren't pot smoking losers sitting on our asses watching cartoons and taking advantage of our parents' kindness. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
On with the story...
Our house is a 2 story house with the kitchen, dining room and little grocery/country store (which was now closed but not emptied) downstairs. The living room, 3 bedrooms and bathroom were all upstairs. My bedroom was in the front of the house. My parents and my brother had rooms in the back.
It was about 4am and we were all tucked in our respective rooms, sleeping soundly. All of a sudden, I was awakened by this horribly loud crash followed by complete, eerie silence. I reached up to turn on my light but it remained dark. Total darkness and a still quiet like I've never known. There was no sound. Nothing outside. Nothing inside. Nothing.
I was immediately frightened. I knew something was wrong. I just didn't know what.
I got out of bed and tried some more lights, but nothing was coming on. I went into my parents' room to wake them. My Dad said it was just thunder and told me to go back to bed. I knew it wasn't thunder. I made him get up. I was not going downstairs alone.
In the process of freaking out, I managed to wake my Mom and Bro along with my Dad. They all tried to make me go back to bed, but I couldn't.
Dad finally gave in and agreed to go downstairs with me. His goal was to replace the fuse so the power would come back on. My goal was to not leave his side because I was terrified of what we'd find down there. I don't think I've ever been so nervous and afraid.
As we walk downstairs, we approach the front door which is directly at the bottom of the stairs. The fuse box is to the left of the door. My Dad starts to fiddle with the fuses but is having no success. He now has to go outside to check the main breaker.
Something still feels wrong.
He opens the door and I see debris. He tries to open the screen door but it meets resistance and only opens a few inches. It keeps hitting something red. It's still dark and we are not quite sure what we are seeing. It takes a few minutes for it to register. The something red is a car. A freakin car!
My Dad goes to the phone to call 911 and I am left standing at the front door. I am in shock. Complete and utter shock. If it had been cool to say it, I would have been saying wtf. Wtf. Omfg. Wtf!
Out of nowhere, a face appears in the door. It is a man. He has long scraggly hair and a beard and his face is just on the other side of the glass. I scream and slam the door, retreating upstairs in fear. I grab my brother and drag him downstairs with me.
It is then that the silence is broken. We hear screaming, and it isn't me. Someone else was in the car and they are screaming and crying.
Then, somehow the ambulance has arrived along with the police and the screaming person is inside the house with all of them. She keeps screaming and she won't shut up. Screaming and screaming. I just want her to shut up! She keeps screaming and then her friend is asking someone to turn the lights on.
Are you freakin kidding me?! Turn the lights on?! You just effing crashed into our breaker box, dipshits! Why don't you go back in time and swerve if you want some effing lights!! Tell your stupid girlfriend to shut the hell up while you're at it. The emt already said she has a scratch on her ear. An effin scratch on her ear! Shut her the hell up or she's going to have some real injuries!
Dammit, I need to get the hell out of here. I'm about to explode.
I walk out the back door and the cool air hits me, refreshing me. I take a deep breath and walk to the front of the house. That's when I see the extent of the damage.
It takes all my strength to keep it together.
The car is a camaro and it is wedged into the cinderblock wall of what used to be our front porch. The camaro sized hole in the wall allows me to see inside what used to be the store. On the other side of the cinderblock wall there was an ice cream freezer. It is approximately the width of a car (handy to have that reference tool readily available) and used to contain ten gallon tubs of ice cream that we scooped out for our sweet toothed customers.
This freezer, which weighs a ton has been propelled across the entire length of the house. That's how hard the camaro hit. The freezer took everything in its path and all the debris is now piled up against the opposite wall. This impact occurred directly under my bed. That's why I felt it more than anyone.
I hear the police officers saying that the driver had tried to back out and I feel the anger rising. I step away from the camaro out into the street. It's here that I begin to get the full picture. It appears that the camaro had come flying down the road. You can see the initial impact where the camaro swerved into the line of hedges that spanned the length of about a quarter acre between our house and our neighbors'. That line of hedges had been there for at least 20 years. Now, it was mangled. The damage started on the neighbor's end and continued, becoming worse as it neared our house.
Then the camaro knocked down the mailbox, knocked over the telephone pole that held our security light (yes, a telephone pole - think giant wooden log-like pole about 12 inches in diameter), crashed through the beam that once supported our front porch roof and into the cinderblock wall. But, that's not all. In the process of doing all of this, the camaro also managed to rear end my car which was parked in front of the house. My car was smashed into the back of my brother's truck which was parked in front of it. My car was totaled. His truck was pretty smashed up.
I lose it. I just completely lose it. I had to go back upstairs and hide until everyone had gone. I just couldn't hold it together.
We spent the next several days cleaning up debris and trying to assess the damage. We found many empty liquor bottles thrown around the yard. I guess the driver thought no one would notice. You know, because we always keep economy size bottles of vodka in the ditch beside the house. Who doesn't?
I managed to go to my first class of the semester later that morning. I think I was still in shock. They asked everyone to say a little something about themselves and I couldn't think of anything to say. Should my first impression be: "Hi, I'm a capricorn, I like puppies and a drunk driver just crashed into my house a few hours ago." It didn't seem like the kind of thing to share. So, I held it in, which is totally healthy. I didn't sleep for months and I was just irritable all the time.
One of the girls who was in the car came by the house a couple days after the accident. She was parked in front of our house taking pictures of the scene. I ran out of the house full of rage. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? Huh? You think this is funny? You think this is cute? You proud of yourself? Who the fuck do you think you are?"
I was quickly interrupted by Mom who made me go inside. I guess she didn't like me dropping eff bombs at the little bitch who needed to be put in her place.
Whatever.
I'm still angry to this day and I wish I had punched that girl right in the face. Stupid mothers and their rational behavior.
Anyway, the house has since been fixed. The guy was not insured so my parents had to eat most of the cost. The guy was charged with drunk driving but released. He was then charged with 2 more drunk driving incidents before his mother was killed by a drunk driver. Karma is a bitch. It's a shame that his mother had to suffer for his wrongs.
So, kids - please think twice before drinking and driving. And if anyone ever crashes into your house and then acts like a self righteous jackass, please punch them in the face. You will regret it if you don't. Trust me.

Don't ever let them out of your sight.

What kind of punishment did my parents dish out?

I'd love to say that my parents were really creative/sadistic and made me eat soap or scrub all the toilets on the block with a toothbrush or shape all the neighbors bushes into the words 'I apologize for...'.

That would be interesting.

No such luck.

My parents hardly ever had to dish out the punishment. All they had to do was give me that look. My mom was the best at it. It was that look that said "If you even think about doing what you are thinking about doing I will burn all of your Barbies and make you eat the ashes."

Actually that is nothing like what my mother would say. She doesn't have a sadistic bone in her body. I think I'm being influenced by the episode of Criminal Minds I'm watching. The unsub kills people and steals their eyes. Eww, right?

So, as I was saying, Mom never really had to take it to the next level once she gave the look. It was over. If we ever did get in trouble, we usually got grounded or got the silent treatment. That was brutal. They wanted to make sure we knew how disappointed they were in us. We were failures as children and had disgraced the family. They never said it but it was implied in the silence.

You might be thinking that I was a little angel if my parents never had to punish me.

Well, if I was, it was only by default. You see, my parents were always around.

Always.

Mom and Dad ran a little country store that was part of our house. So, they were always there. Mom branched out somewhat and opened up a day care in our home.

Always there.

On the weekends, we hit the beach as a family. If you think constant parental monitoring is bad in a 2 story house, try it in a camper.

Always there.

We never had a chance to get away with anything!

If my parents had any works of wisdom, I suppose they would be to never let the kids out of your sight. It's not so hot for the kids, but seems to work well for the parents. I'm not a felon or anything. I'm just a fatty with a no self control and a raging cupcake addiction who is living in sin with her betrothed and no wedding date on the calendar. That doesn't make me a bad person though.

Mama drama.

Let me just say that I love my mother dearly. She is so special to me that I can't even put it into words.

Now that that's out of the way, let me just say that she is infuriating!

Arghhh.

She is the most stubborn woman I know by far. This past week has been exhausting. She told me on Monday that she has had high blood pressure for about a week. High like 184/101 high. For a week!

Then she tells me that she has been having chest "pressure" for a week off and on. It's been so bad that she has woken up in the middle of the night from it and then has to "catch her breath".

(eye twitching)

That's when I call my brother, who lives 5 minutes from my mother compared to my 2 hours. Has he been made aware of any of this? No. Why would she tell him?

(twitching becomes spasming)

I fill my brother in and we take action. I pack a bag and hit the road. His wife drives Mom to the doctor. He can't leave his 24 hour shift so he just waits for our updates.

We are all prepared for her admission to the hospital. Which doesn't happen. She is seen and released with blood pressure meds and nitroglycerin tablets to take as needed for the "pressure".

Of course, she sees this as nothing being wrong.

(spasming)

She is fully convinced that it's probably just congestion or acid reflux. No big deal. She continues to hang on to this logic as she is clearly short of breath and rubbing her chest for the next several hours.

I spend the next several hours trying to convince her to take the nitroglycerin tablets. When she refuses to do that, I try to convince her to go to the emergency room. Clearly she is having the "pressure" (which she refuses to identify as pain btw) and is short of breath.

(spasming becomes seizing)

It's midnight before I finally get her to agree to go to the ER. Midnight.

They immediately take her back and hook her up to a monitor, do an ekg, chest xray, bloodwork, give her a nitro pace and nitro tablets.

She is shocked and amazed by how the nurses respond so quickly. You know, to her chest pain and all. Huh. Imagine that.

(grrrrrrr)

She stays there for 4 hours so they can repeat her bloodwork and then they discharge her because it came back okay. They tell her to take the nitro tablets as soon as the "pressure" starts and to come back if it doesn't help. They tell her she's not congested. They tell her it's probably not acid reflux. They tell her to get the stress test her doc is setting up for her.

What does she take away from this?

It could still be acid reflux. Or maybe congestion. She doesn't need all those meds.

(full body seizing)

My brother and I spend the next morning pleading and crying to Mom to please, for the love of not finding her dead on the floor, take the nitro. We can see that she is again rubbing her chest but does she take the nitro? No. She takes Pepcid. Pepcid.

(omg my head is exploding)

Since we can no longer argue because we are emotionally drained, we just sit and wait. We pester her with questions about her symptoms until she finally caves and takes a nitro. Then takes another.

And do you know what happened?

Her "pressure" went away. Imagine that.

(omfg I think I just stroked out)

One small victory for us. The battle is far from over. For the sake of my sanity, I returned home yesterday. I felt good about that decision. She was on the right path.

Of course, she emailed me this morning to tell me that she took some Pepcid and some Mucinex last night and had a good night's sleep.

(teeth started grinding)

I just don't know what to do anymore. I am a wreck. She is so stubborn that it just may kill her and it breaks my heart. I know she's really struggled with aging and all the health problems she's developed in the past several years. I've struggled right along with her. I've felt her frustration and anger and embarrassment and depression just as deeply as she has. I get it. She knows it's hurt me to see her deteriorate. It's hurt all of us. But we've been right there by her side and always will be.

Deep down, I know she understands how serious this is. I know that. I think her fear is just keeping her from accepting it all.

It's just so painful. So stressful. So heartbreaking.
Please send me some positive energy. I am going to need it.

Gullible is so in the dictionary.

Memoir Monday: The day I shamed my parents and learned how to cuss.


I think I was like most little sisters out there. I listened to everything my big brother said like it was the word of God. He was my big brother, why would he lie to me?
HA!
That blind trust is why I had a broken arm the summer after 3rd grade, flipped a three wheeler into a ditch in middle school and got shot in the forehead with a bb gun one night when calling Bro in for dinner.
It's also how I learned to cuss and shamed my parents.
Just a little background for you, so you get the full appreciation of my parents' shame. I grew up in a very small town where we are all pretty much cousins. Taylorville. My family ran the local country store there for generations. We sold hand dipped ice cream, subs and sandwiches, various dry goods and such and beer and wine. It was the kind of store you don't see around much anymore.
We even had a fully stocked penny candy case, or what I like to call the 'after dinner buffet'. But enough about my food issues. On with the story.
The family store sat right on the main corner of Taylorville. On the opposite corner was the local beauty salon. Our street was the hub of Taylorville, especially at lunch time. Our subs were pretty famous around town resulting in a lunch rush every day (people still talk about our subs, years after the store closed).
The store was located in the first floor of our house. We were always in and out and around and often got sent outside when we were making too much noise horsing around upstairs. Especially during the lunch rush. Mom would get on the intercom and tell us to knock it off and we'd go outside and horse around.
It was on one such day that Bro and I were outside riding our bikes. It was a restless day for us. The store was busy and Mom and Dad were tending to the lunch rush so we were unsupervised. And bored.
Bro saw an opportunity. We had just been watching some show we weren't supposed to be watching and the word 'bastard' had been used by one of the characters. I was too young to know what it meant, but I knew it was a bad word.
Bro decides he's going to call me a bastard as we're riding around outside the store.
Me: Ooooooh. You can't say that. I'm telling.
Bro: I can to. It's not a bad word.
Me: Yes it is. Mom said so. I'm telling.
Bro: You're so stupid. It is not a bad word. Anybody can say it and they won't get in trouble. Bastard.
Me: Don't call me that.
Bro: Why not? It's just a stupid word. Stupid like you. You're probably too chicken to say it anyway. You're so stupid.
Me: I'm not chicken. I just don't want to get in trouble. Like you (sticking my tongue out for full effect).
Bro: Stupid. I told you it's not a bad word. You won't get in trouble, bastard.
Me: Fine! You're a bastard. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.
I continued chanting the word 'bastard' at Bro as we rode around and around the store. Singing it out loud for all of Taylorville to hear.
"You're a bastard." "A smelly smelly bastard." "Eww what a bastard."
"Hi Mr. Johnson! See you at church tomorrow?"
"Bastard. Bastard. Bastard." "Bastard. Bastard. Bastard."
I was quite proud of myself.
Until...Mom sent for me.
Apparently Mr. Johnson couldn't keep his big mouth shut. Stupid bastard. Some of the other customers got a kick out if, I'm sure.
Boy, was Mom pissed though. Her precious little angel cursing up a storm for all of Taylorville to hear. She was not amused.
I'm pretty sure Bro got in trouble over that one.
I hate to imagine what she'd think of me now. Bastard? Come on, that's f*#@ing child's play.

In a world without consequences...

What would I do in a world without consequences? What kind of consequences do I even fear?
Let's explore, shall we?

One of my biggest fears right now is related to money.
I'm sure that's the case with a lot of people. I am so afraid of losing everything and becoming homeless.
I work with a lot of homeless clients and a lot of them were just like me. They had a job, a home, running water. Now they are living on the streets with nowhere to go and stinky feet.
MB already has really stinky feet. I don't know what would happen if he didn't have the means to wash them. Pee U.

I don't even know how much more I can cut back. I already give MB the evil eye if he even looks at name brand shampoo or fancy mustard. When he wanders over to the big screen tv section at Best Buy, I twitch.
He refuses to go to the grocery store with me because of my coupon use.
Also because of his fake grocery store phobia. Does he really think he can fool a mental health professional? Silly boy.

So, if things don't improve (and by improve I mean me winning the powerball), I fear I will be living out of a shopping cart and having conversations with my pup as I pick through the dumpster for any leftover donuts.
Let's face it, if I'm homeless and have to eat out of a dumpster, it's going to be one behind Dunkin Donuts. Who the hell do I have to impress?

I also fear that when I lose all my riches (ha!) that I will also lose my sanity.
Hey, we are all just one big stressor away from four point restraints and a 'soft' room. I see it every day.
If it ever happens, I do have a plan.
You would think I would use my professional skills to access the best treatment and doctors and get on the best meds, blah blah blah.
If I ever lose it, I'm becoming a recluse. Take me to West Virginia and point me to the moonshine. I will be perfectly content.
Just stock the cabin with lots of cheetos and peanut butter cups.
Heaven.
I might even learn to pick a little (for my non hillbilly readers, that means play bluegrass music - google it).

Speaking of donuts, let's discuss the consequence/fear that has the most control over my lie. That's right, fatness.
My fear of fatness and the judgement that comes with it keeps me from really being myself most of the time. Sad.
The really sad thing, though, is the stuff my fear of fatness prevents me from eating.
I love ice cream. I love candy. I love french fries. Cupcakes. Cookies. Pizza. Bacon cheeseburgers.
You get the idea.
If I didn't have to worry about the pounds piling on, I would be eating these things every day. And I wouldn't think twice about it.

Mmmm cupcakes.

But noooooo. Somebody decided these things would be unhealthy.
Bastards.
If I want a cupcake, I should be able to have a cupcake dammit.
I shouldn't have to worry which wall they'd have to smash the crane through in order to get me out.
Skinny bitches don't have to worry about these things.

You know, if there were no conseqences, I think I'd hit a lot more people, especially skinny bitches. I would also be a lot more confrontational with my jerky neighbors.

It's probably a good thing we do have consequences. If we didn't, I'd be one fat heffer with a lot of imaginary friends and probably some charges.