Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Locked out and Locked in

It's one of those extra special days here at the Fickle house!

I got up at 4:30 and made The Cowboy his lunch, went back to bed til around 5:15, got Monkey up, we showered, we dressed, I grabbed my purse, locked the bedroom door to keep the heathen out of my crap, and headed to the kitchen. I poured my coffee and orange juice, took my vitamins, helped Monkey brush the back of her hair, and headed toward the garage while digging in my purse for my keys...

No keys.

... (light bulb!)...

After a momentary pause I remember why I never, under any circumstances, put my keys in my pocket.

My keys are in my jacket.

And where is my jacket?

...not on the computer chair; where I usually attempt to hang it to show the heathen that we don't just leave our things carelessly around the house.

(If you're not going to put something away, at least make it look like it belongs where you leave it.)

...not tossed carelessly on the arm of the couch; where The Cowboy and I typically deposit our his hoodies, coats, hats, gloves, etc.

(I know... we're awesome role models.)

My jacket is hanging on my bedpost. Right where I left it last night after unloading the shit-ton of Christmas gifts, that I purchased yesterday, into my closet.

I am stuck at the house, all day, in my work clothes (because of course my laundry is never in the laundry room, ready to be washed), trying to entertain a Monkey who cant get to school because I cant drive because my car keys are locked in my bedroom!

I actually called my office and told them that. Seriously, if I was just trying to get out of going to work I'd have come up with a way better lame-ass excuse.

I keep going upstairs to try to get stuff out of my room or put laundry away. I even got the bright idea to wrap all the presents while everyone but Monkey is gone for the day. But the presents are locked in my room, with my keys. and the wrapping paper, tape, scissors, bows, pretty colorful super-fine-tipped Sharpies, and my wedding guest list which would be handy for sending out my Christmas cards.

I thought about working out, but I realised I'm in work clothes.

Maybe I'll bake something. Yeah! Maybe if I get all of the domestic things done, that I don't have time to do because I work all day, and if have a big dinner on the table and a smile on my face and I'm still in my "nice" work clothes instead of my green Hollister sweats or yoga pants, when The Cowboy gets home then he'll let me quit my crappy job and stay home! I can become all Martha Stuart-like and I can play with my horse while the kids are at school and I can work out and shop and be crafty and bloggy and ... and ...

Oh! What...Sorry...
Then there's reality and all...


Well... at least I got a post in :o)
Oh! and the heathen's laundry is finally done.

If I don't write before then, Have a Very Very Merry Christmas!


Wednesday, December 2, 2009

I don't feel like I'm thriving, but who knows.

So, I have a new husband, thus I have new health insurance. Almost free, incredible coverage, fully reimbursable, union-health insurance. I'm not bitching.

OK. I am.

I loved my old doctor. I had 11 years of history with her. She delivered my daughter. For 3 years she continually told me I was not crazy, when clearly I was. She wasn't a doctor who handed out script and rushed you out the door, but she wasn't opposed to helping a girl get a good night's sleep every now and then either. She is not part of my new coverage. I married into the big box club that wants the world the "Thrive."


(I'm going to make some microwave popcorn so I can grease up my keyboard as I type this... just a sec.)

(OH! did I mention that last month I found a cockroach in the drawer, in the break room at work? A COCKROACH! Seriously. I took the rest of the day off... Paid!)

OK, thanks for your patience. Back to my story.

Monday, I went in for an establishing physical... I will mention now that I had to argue with the appointment lady, who's switchboard is in another state, to get a girl doctor. "Thrive" is apparently so popular that none of their women doctors in two states was accepting new patients. I was like, "Bull Crap. I didnt choose to "Thrive" I married into it. I want a woman doctor, find me one."... and she did... sometimes it pays to hold your ground. When it doesn't, be a tactful-bitch.

(see. I was raised right!)

Fortunately this wasn't the gown with socks and speculum physical. More like a nice-to-meet-you-what-drugs-are-you-currently-prescribed-none?-would-you-like-something-oh-by-the-way-you-drink-too-much physicals.

I left work, picked Monkey up from school, arrived 15 minutes early, like their courtesy reminder call from Friday requested, and got checked in. Then we sat in a waiting room, which was more like an airport boarding area, full of people coughing and sneezing into their hands then touching the chairs and magazines and each other, all being redirected to another boarding area to enter the raffle for an H1N1 Vaccine. For An Hour.

Finally this 40ish perky lady calls the next name, "Fickle Newwife". I look around to see which germ factory's turn it is. She says it again, "Fickle Newwife" sounding a little less perky. Finally on the third time I realise she's talking about me. I've been Fickle Chic for a long time, Newwife isn't familiar on anything but paper yet.

(I hope you're enjoying this story as much as I'm enjoying this popcorn.)

I explain the name thing as she walks Monkey and I though the door. She resumes perkiness and tells me to have a seat, right there in the hall. Monkey stands, like an angel, against the wall (shocking!) and the preliminary interview begins.

"First your Temperature: 98.9 good. Blood pressure? excellent. Pulse? yep, still there. Weight? well that's not bad for someone who drinks a bottle glass of wine everyday. Height? You shrank an inch this year. Now follow me this way and you can wait for the Doctor."

In the exam room Monkey sat in the chair and I on the "table", and the full disclosure began... This is my favorite part because I get to talk alot about ME.

"I'm not sure but I can call my mom.... I don't think so but that sounds familiar....I think my sister has that... Yes, I have but I don't anymore... Just once, but that was a long time ago and I didn't inhale... Could you please define alcoholism (we're not mean or anything.) Really? then my whole family and almost everyone I know is likely affected by that... No, I haven't had a TDap. You're right I should probably get one. I tend to step on rusty barbed wire with my bare feet."

So the Not Doctor leaves and Monkey and I get really involved in an intense game of "I Spy" when the Real Doctor comes in.

I should've been a Doctor. She's my age (ish.) and even though she works for "Thrive" I bet she makes alot more than I do... and seriously, she spent all of 5 minutes with me over an hour after I was on her schedule.

(I'm seriously chowing this popcorn... I feel like a pig, but it's friggin' good!)

"Ears; good. Throat; normal. Glans; normal. Boobs; nothing out of the ordinary. Are you taking any medication?"
"Is there any questions you have for me."
"Well... I keep gaining weight no matter what I eat or how much I exercise."
"That happens as we get closer to 30."

(insert blank stare...)

If you went to a hair stylist, and you were asked to be 15 minutes early then you sat waiting for an hour only to have some other person who looks like a stylist but isn't actually a stylist come wash your hair and set the foils then rinse and prep you for the cut only for your real stylist to come in with the scissors and give you a quick, cold, trim then say "you should probably drink less. did you have any questions for me. OK good. it was nice to meet you. not-stylist will be right in to blow dry and style as you wish." wouldn't that piss you off?

OK. I wasn't pissed, just in awe. Taken aback, if you will.

So, Real Doctor leaves, Not Doctor returns. Monkey sees the TDap and immediately says, "Mommy, I'm not sick. I don't need a shot."
To which I reply, "No baby, the shot is for me."
"Not feelin good huh? It's OK, you're a big girl. Just sit up and take a deep breath."

I Love Monkey!

A quick stab in the arm, didn't feel a thing. I mention that the last time I got a tetanus shot it hurt immediately, like when the horse bit my arm. Serious muscle cramping ache in my arm. This time nothing.

Not Doctor explains that sometimes people hit the wrong spot.

Yesterday, my arm hurt. That horse bite, deep muscle, painful to stretch or reach for things hurt. I went to my girl gym to work out, and my arm cramped up and it was painful to do three of my arm exercises. It still hurts, popcorn and all.

Not Doctor is a liar.

This is not "Thriving".


Monday, November 30, 2009

I Am Thankful For My Family - because we make everyone feel welcome even when we can't stand them.

Happy Holiday Season!

I just enjoyed 4 days of blissful chaos! I'm talking baking, pretending to like my in-laws, shopping, arguing with The Cowboy about how mean his mother is, dancing, drinking, cleaning, telling The Cowboy how to put up Christmas lights, and most importantly... SLEEP!)

I made 3 incredible pies, by hand from scratch with (almost) all home-grown ingredients! Spent some quality time with my family, Thursday night. (which tremendously made up for missing dinner.) Spent an entire paycheck on stuff The Cowboy and I wanted, without actually buying a single Christmas gift, on Friday. Had an amazing date night with my husband, Saturday. Decorated Gram's house, Sunday.

It Was Fabulous!

My in-law suck, but I made it through my first Thanksgiving dinner away from the people I love. Thank GOD we all live in close proximity. I could not imagine having to spend more than a couple of hours at a time with those people.

The lovely woman who birthed my husband constantly refers to his ex-wife, and previous girlfriends. Seriously... we were setting the food out and she was stating where everyone was going to sit for our meal, all of the children were to sit in another room except Pretty Boy, he sat between his father and his grandmother. I was wedged in the corner between Pretty Boy and The Cowboy. Which she so kindly explained was "where we always put the extra person."

So apparently the wedding, and house buying, and my last name matching yours on the check I write you every month so you can pay your bills, doesn't elevate me from "the extra person" to "family" status.


I was raised in a family (with manners) where it is polite to take a little bit of everything at Holiday feasts. After you've sampled you go back for a little more of the things you really liked. This pretty much assures that you are going to stuff your face and belly, thus feel like a big fat hog the rest of the evening and well into the next day. I am not so good at going back for seconds. I like to keep my jeans buttoned and I really enjoy the 2 pieces of pie I eat each year. (one at Thanksgiving. one at Christmas.)

Apparently in The Cowboy's family, everyone takes crazy-heaping-helpings of the things they like but they don't actually try or eat everything on the table. So The Cowboy, his parents, sister, and bro-in-law, their 6 kids and my 3 new kids, have piled their plates with un-glodly amounts of like 3 things each, while I enjoyed a sample size portion of everything offered. My plate was covered, but not ready to topple over. Through dinner, Cowboy's father keeps making comments about how much food I had on my plate as though I piled it high and was eating for seven. Truly, I ate less than anyone there! Then he starts asks The Cowboy "How much are you up to now?"

The Cowboy's parents are on this Ionized-Water kick. They spent the last $4000 dollars they had on this water filter machine, hoping that the pyramid scheme would work against the odds and help bring them some income.

(Perhaps if the salesman wasn't a Nazi he could sell something, to someone.)

Anyway... They're all bat-shit crazy about drinking at least 8 glasses of Ionized water, everyday, and subsequently they have both dropped like 20 pounds each. I don't see it, but that's what they're claiming. Personally, I drink a couple bottles of water at work then enjoy a little wine or a couple of beers (or whatever.) when I get home. Apparently, (and this might be a shock to some of you.) if you drink a whole bottle of wine, then drink 2 glasses of Ionized Water before you go to bed, you wont have a hangover the next day.

You don't say... (snort!)

Then there's The Cowboy's sister. See, while she has 6 kids, she is pale and emaciated. She seriously looks like she hasn't the strength to hold her newest child for more than a few seconds at a time, and she was dosing off through our "pre-meal" mingling because he blood sugar was low becasue she "forgot" the day before. No one suggested she perhaps eat a little something before dinner, you know, to keep from falling over or passing out! Did I mention she is nursing the newest addition?H

Honestly, who forgets to eat for an entire day? You feed 6 children and it doesn't occur to you to stick some nourishment in your own mouth?

The Cowboy and I are not large people. In the last 2 years we've gone from "single-skinny" to that extra 10 that happens when you get in a comfortable relationship. But we are not, by any means, fat people. His Wranglers are still a 31x38, and I'm... well I'm not a 2 but I'm not a 10.

His parents spent the entirety of our first Thanksgiving, as a family, being just vile. From the food comments, to talking about everything from his ex-wife to "who was the last girl you brought to Thanksgiving? She was lovely." ... I'm not really sure why we were "requested" in the first place.

We are so not going there for Christmas...


Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Pulling The Plug

"Maybe not all friendships are meant to be saved. Maybe we're meant to spend a certain part of our lives with certain people -and move on..."

I came across this quote in Status Shuffle on Facebook. It is so true and appropraite for today. Some people, no matter how good of a time you had with them, no matter what your past shares, just have to be let go. When it is undelialby obvious that a friendship has become one sides, it's probably time to take it off life support.


Tuesday, November 10, 2009

At Least We Made an Appearance

I'm going to post this... I don't know where it's going, but it will end up on my page.

Good Grief! I missed my blogs first birthday. Pardon the absence... life got crazy and I couldn't write a coherent sentence, let alone a post. There are a shit-ton of new drafts saved though. I got to work today and decided, I'm going to write for 30 minutes and I'm going to post; no matter what.

I spent last night at Pretty Boy's football banquet. WooHoo!

I'm soooo not a "soccer mom". I go to work at 6am, come home, cook dinner, drink a glass of wine, fold laundry, bathe a monkey, feed my horses, and try to make sure the kids did their homework before they got on Facebook, MySpace, and XBox.

I apparently was the only "team mom" who fit this description. They all sat together at one table, wearing black and orange, with the same damn haircut; a couple of dad's, who didn't get to stay home and watch the Steelers game, sat another; and the team, of course, sat together. (wow. that was alot of commas and semi-colons. If I were a little less lazy I would check a reference book. But seriously, I'm not kidding anyone.) The Cowboy and I sat together at the back table, clapped for each kid, and faded into the scenery.

You see, we moved the night before school started so Pretty Boy joined the team about a month late...

I know I never wrote about the wedding and moving and how both of those incredible life altering events took place within 2 weeks of each other.
I may eventually get around to that, perhaps when I no longer wake up at 2am in a cold sweat, frantic, shaking, curled up in the fetal position and wondering why in the hell I left my apartment 2 years ago in search of a "more dignified, simpler, life".
Cowboys do weird things to women. Something about the Wranglers and scuffed up boots; the crinkle in the corner of their eye when they smile. The smell of horses, fresh air, and lush acreage. It's a spell I tell you, a damned spell. They enchant you and get you to lose all your sences then POOF! Next thing you know you're married, with kids and horses and dogs and cats and acreage; and the Cowboy doesnt want to get off the couch except to come to dinner and grab another beer ... ...

(deep breath.)
(smile. blush. smile again.)

Where was I? Ah yes... football

Pretty Boy joined the team the 2nd week of school. You might know that football practice starts in August, sometimes late July, so we weren't there for all of the getting to know you, fundraising, team building bru-ha-ha. He only got to play in 2 games and, being the awesome hard working mom that I am, I'm only going to leave work early to embark on a 45 minute hell ride, to watch a game that he is going to get to play in.

I mean really, if I want to watch him stand around and act like an idiot, I can do that from the comfort of my kitchen and be making dinner and laughing with the children who actually like me.
So basically, the "banquet" was long, and boring, and most of the moms gave me "the look" when we walked in 5 minutes late because we didn't know where the damn media room was. We probably shouldnt have even bothered going, but then we'd be "those" parents. We're new in town; I was kind of hoping to meet the parents of some of the kids, that will be getting arrested with Pretty Boy in the next couple of years, before the inevitable 2am encounter at the Police Station.

Maybe I should try to get more involved with wrestling from the beginning...

... ... ...


Cause that'll happen.


Thursday, July 23, 2009

Prost: To Concerts in the Rain

You were kind of broke. Definitely didn't have the funds to go out drinking for a night, so in anticipation you downed 3 drinks before you left and stopped at BK for a chicken sandwich on your way. Remember: You hadn't eaten anything else that day...

It was raining, lightly. But you didn't care. Steve Miller was playing, you got tickets months ago, and by gosh... you guys were going to enjoy the show.
Yes, you were!

You called your sister when you got to the parking lot, passing Mom and Dad and their buddies on the way, and told her to buy the first round and meet you inside the gate. MUAHAHAHA -- HAHAHAHAHA

It wass dumping buckets by the time you got to your spot on the grass.
Festival Seating = Love!

You found Dad, his best friend, and your uncle, in the "bar" just before the show. He was so excited that you were all there. He handed you his beer so he could go to the "bucket", and you proceed to drink it until he returned. He handed you a wad of $1's.

Your uncle says, "What's that for?"

Dad replied, "I'm buying my beer back!"

He paid $8 for a half glass of beer. SCORE! :o)

Pass the Ruby Ale...

Oh, the show started. Find your soaking wet lawn chairs on the grass!

Insert one big blur: awkward conversation with The Cowboy about past partners, wisely postponed for another time and location... general ornery banter between sister and self, as expected... random encounter with distant aunt whom you see, never... oh, time to go? you think there is going to be an encore but The Cowboy doesn't want to sit in hours of parking lot traffic... you carry the lawn chairs... you stumble, multiple times, giggling all the way to the car because you realise you are way more intoxicated than you thought or intended to be... sitting in the car your head grows heavy... um, cowboy, please pull over.

FWD>> Wake up. It's Monday, you're hung over. Refer to the text messages, that you don't actually remember sending, from the night before. Get to work (on time!). Mom calls to ask if you had fun last night, and relates the story about Dad wanting to knock out a "security" guard for not letting you and sister into the seating area. An event you and "misplaced" in your memory. Giggling. Sister calls, she couldn't drink her coffee this morning either.

Everyone concurs... Good Times Were Had!

Thank you Steve Miller, for rocking my socks!


Wednesday, July 22, 2009

HEY! Are you still reading this?!

Um, Hi!

I, apparently, have not posted in over a month. Sorry 'bout that, if you've actually noticed that I haven't posted.

I didn't.


We got a house. 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, with a barn on 5 acres!! It's wonderful and magnificent and incredible. Truly. I cant not believe that I will get to call it home. More on this when all is signed and the keys are in my hand :o)

The wedding is a month from yesterday! I have less than a handful of little things left, but nothing major. The bridal shower was cheesy but fun, the bachette should be great times, and for some reason I totally can not wait to sit up til late in the night tying raffia, adorned with little silver cowboy boot charms, onto mason jars.

Ah... joy!

Seriously, I cant wait!

So I've been reading tons of incredible blogs, almost daily, and frankly... I'm envious. I have all these everyday life occurrences that would make for excellent blogging, but I don't walk around all day and night taking notes so I forget the details of these little stories.


Note to self: All the pot you smoked between 19-25 just caught up with you.

Anywho, check out the ladies (ahem!)(snicker) over at Aiming Low, for those of us who, for the sake of our own sanity, strive for good enough instead of perfect. Bouts of laughter and nodding of your head in affirmation, guaranteed!

I hope summer is treating you well. I hope your skin is golden brown and not blistered, your kids are bound and gagged in the closet enjoying the time off and staying out of your hair, and that you have plenty of ice cold beer to quench your thirst.

More to come, I'm sure.


Friday, June 19, 2009

I can justify, just about, anything

I have a confession... I have not been blogging because I don't know how to post from Google Reader and I'm too lazy to log into blogger after I've read through my blog roll. It seems your adventure stories are far more entertaining to read than mine are to write. What can I say, I'm selfish and I don't like sharing.

Ok, that's not entirely true...what? it's not, I swear. I like sharing... I bought 4 bags in the past month (more on this. keep reading.) and my mom likes one so much that I've decided to give it to her for her birthday. See... I share.

I've just been spending far too many work hours shopping on eBay! I have developed a new fixation on Coach purses, and I'm trying to get better deals on wedding extras. It appears that once you say "wedding" or "bridal" the price, on simple accessories and favors, increases a million times over. Hair pins, for example, at the bridal shop run $75+ for a set of 6. If you log into eBay and search "Australian Crystal Hair Pins", one can acquire a set (or two, should you have trouble choosing) for $20.00 including international shipping.


Needless to say, my mother is a big fan of my ebaying! The Cowboy, on the other hand, is not as enthusiastic about it. His wallet was grateful that I got our wedding party gifts for a quarter of the price we would have paid at any typical engraving store. His wallet was even grateful that I got my first Coach bag for significantly less than he would have paid at even the outlet in Woodburn or Lincoln City... he was a little less grateful that I purchased an additional 3 Coach bags because I got such a killer deal on the first.

Does your brain justify things that way? If I get a really incredible deal on something I buy multiples. For instance, I can not possibly justify spending $300+ on a bag. I've never spent more than $100 on a bag, and I only went that far once. BUT! If I can get FOUR bags that would each normally cost upwards of $200, for right around $200, then by gosh I'm going to spend that $200 and not think twice. Am I crazy or is that as logical as I think it is?

Speaking of logical... I just consumed a rather large, highly caloric, authentic (read: straight from the Mexicans on the grubbinest roach coach around) breakfast burrito. I am stuffed. Like gluttonously stuffed. I knew I would feel this way when I ordered the burrito. I knew, when I grabbed five bucks and only my coffee on my way out the door this morning, that I was going to be this stuffed. I did it anyway. Why? You might ask. Because I know that this burrito will keep me full until well past dinner time. So this getting very sleepy, full like I just ate Thanksgiving Dinner feeling... so worth it. I have satisfied my hunger for the day. I will take my brisk, lunchtime walk; with no remorse about eating when I get back. When I get home I will pour a strong cocktail and serve leftovers for The Cowboy and Monkey. I will spend my evening relaxing with The Cowboy, pretending not to hear The Crazy Horse Lady ranting about the government, instead of cooking dinner and doing dishes.

Tomorrow morning, I meet with the florist to make final flower choices. Tomorrow afternoon, The Bridal Shower! We opted for rum punch over martini's only because, as mom put it, "It will be easier to keep the glasses full."

My Mom Rocks!

I'll try not to be so damn lazy, and post more. It's countdown time. 2 months and 2 days!


Thursday, May 28, 2009

Enlighten Me... Please!

The Cowboy: Where do eggs come from?

Me: Um.. chickens...

The Cowboy: But the chickens come from eggs, so where do eggs come from?
Me: Chickens. The chickens came first.

The Cowboy: Then where did the chickens come from?

Me: God. God spoke and created everything... remember?!

The Cowboy: Oh yeah.


The Cowboy: So, why did the chicken cross the road?

Me: To get to the other side... obviously.

The Cowboy: Well, what was on the other side that was so important?

Me: The rooster.


The Cowboy: You're naughty.

(more giggling.)


Wednesday, May 27, 2009

The Little Purple Monster

I mentioned, a little over a month ago, that my beloved truck died. The first truck my father bought brand new (in 1993.) and swore he would never part with. The truck that took me on innumerable adventures and excursions, that my father gave to me when I was car less and single trying to get Monkey to daycare and my rear to school and to work. I felt like I won a battle when he signed the title over to me. The Cowboy just replaced the engine a year ago. That truck was my trophy. It wasn't great, but that didn't matter. It was my Toyo, my little-red-girl-truck. Now it rests under a tree in the yard, next to two other broken down trucks awaiting The Cowboys surgical genius.

(Sooo Redneck! We have three... errr four broken down vehicles lining the driveway. "Welcome to The Swamp Ranch - Horses, Bugs, "farm" mud, and now offering Used Trucks".)

When the truck died we started scouring Craigslist for a cheap car, since we can't alter our credit until we get a house. We looked at a mexi-gangsta-fied Turcel ("All my friends know tha low-rider...") A white Mazda at a bonafied chop-shop (call this number on the door... it's a digital voice asking me to leave a message.) And ultimately found a Purple Mazda 626 in Colton for $1000.

We test drove the Little Purple Monster, and it appeared to be in fine working condition. Something that would get me to work and around town until we move and can finance a new, more suitable vehicle.

(read. Ford Expedition. Diesel.)

We lay down the cash, sign the bill of sale, take the keys and head home. Not twenty miles up the highway, the "check engine" light comes on.


We concluded that lots of cars "check engine" lights are on, and well, what's done is done. So the next day I drive the Little Purple Monster to work, the brakes start screaming at me on my way home. OK, brakes. Sure, no problem, I can do brakes.

Day four with the little purple shit, the "Hold" light starts winking at me on the way to deposit Monkey at school. I look up what that might mean (I love google.) and learn that the transmission needs to be serviced.


I register the Little Purple Bastard, get the oil changed and have the transmission serviced. The Cowboy changes the breaks AND routers, which have a lovely 1/8 inch lip on them.

Week two:
Squealing. High pitched, embarrassing, torturous squealing. All the way down the 6 mile stretch of highway to Monkey's bus stop. Good thing I was early enough for the bus that day.
High pitched, embarrassing, torturous squealing. All the way back home. Took the day off work. My boss is a very understanding man, in case I haven't mentioned this before.

No car = No work
No Work and No Kids = Sleep
Sleep = Peace

The Cowboy came home, bought a water pump and the next weekend spent an ENTIRE day putting it in. A Water pump. A DAMN water pump, required dismantling the better half of the engine and removing most of what was under the hood. And the passenger wheel.

(This is ultimately what is required to fix my Toyo. Pull out the engine and send it back to be repaired or replaced.)

Water Pump in, car happy.
Yeah? Um-No.

Week four:
Engine light has not come back on. Shifting is still quirky, but I'm letting off the gas and not forcing it through. I'm learning if I baby The Monster, it will take me where I need to go. It's not making funny or horrendous noises, it's not smoking or screeching, the blue smoke is mostly gone in the morning... we're learning to like each other.

Then for no apparent reason, the bastard died when I was half way to work on Friday. No sputtering, No stall out, No knocking or sign of protest. It just died while I was at a stop light waiting to turn right, and refused defibulation. I tried, I begged, I didnt pound on the steering wheel, I talked really nicely to it, to no avail.

Fortunately The Cowboy works four 10's, so Friday is his day to sleep in and sit in front of the computer. So I called him. He wasn't surprised. He didn't even seem upset this time. He just rolled out of bed and came to my rescue.

We chained the LPM to The Beast, his borderline obnoxiously huge truck (Which is the only material reason that I fell in love with him.) (He knows this. it's all good.) and towed it home.

(When I say the only material reason I mean; when we started dating I told him I didn't really like him I just loved his truck. It's become a running joke with us. He knows I really love him for the way his butt looks in Wranglers.)

Fortunately the car died on a Friday, so I didn't have to miss another day of work. Unfortunately that Friday landed on Memorial Day weekend. So our plans to go riding at the beach were nixed for the exciting world of car parts.

We decided not to fix the PM when it became apparent that the car itself doesn't know what is wrong. One minute it thinks its the oxygen sensor, the next it's the fuel pump (or something stupid like that.) So, just as I was preparing to call my sister and ask to borrow their nightmare spare car, The Cowboy got a text from his friend. It seems this friend acquired another horse and has decided that he needs to go buy another truck, so he is selling the Saturn he just picked up. We were welcome to buy it for the $1500 he had put into it, if we wanted. He said he wouldn't sell it to us if he didn't have absolute faith in it, since he knows the luck we've had with cars over the past 2 years.
So we went out to Greshlahem, and test drove the ... I haven't thought of a nickname for it yet. It's clean, it doesn't stutter or smoke or scream. The engine light didn't come on when I drove it home, and it seems to like me.

I tell ya, for as bummed as I was that The Cowboy was working 60 hour weeks in February and March, I am sooooo grateful now. We set that overtime aside so we'd have money for escrow when the time came, and we have since spent over half of it on 2 cars and car parts in the past month.

As I thanked the friend I told him if the car dies on me in the next month I will have to kick him out of the wedding.

I was kidding of course.



Friday, May 15, 2009

pssst! I have some things to tell you

I love dill pickles. Sometimes sliced into quarter size rounds, placed on top of an equally sized square of Tillimook cheddar cheese. Other times, straight out of the jar. I used to drink pickle juice until my sister told me it was vinegar.

I cant stand sweet pickles.

When I was 18 my hair was purple for a couple months, then blonde... bad bad blonde. When I was 16 it was black, and red... most of the time.

I have very plain, annoyingly fine, uncurlable brown hair. With highlights, of course.

Why does spell check want to take the "e" off the end of "blonde"?

I got my first tattoo when I was 16. My mother discovered it just hours after arriving at our hotel in Disney World, the beginning of a 2 week adventure. All she said was, "That better not be real."
It was never mentioned again. You already know this because I am alive to tell you about it.

I love egg salad, but only when it's made with Miracle Whip. I think part of the reason I love it so much is that my sister hates the smell. When we were growing up we went skiing alot; I would always take egg salad sandwiches, which would stink up the entire cab of the truck, annoying the crap out of my sister, often resulting in her sitting outside in the snow to eat her lunch. With her outside, I could stretch out and take over the entire backseat. Thus my love for, and her loathing of, egg salad was born.

Yesterday I ran two miles in 19.9 minutes. But if I'd have tried to run a third I would have collapsed. If I slow down I will be walking, so perhaps I need to just keep running like I did yesterday and someday I will get to three, or thirty minutes... then six and an hour... then...

Tuesday night I drank an entire fifth of Citrus Skyy and didn't realize it until I went to make another drink and the bottle was empty.
I was not hungover on Wednesday.
This is a little concerning to me, but not enough to do anything about it at this juncture.

If someone had told me, ten years ago, that my life would be the way it is I would have told them they were full of it; then, armed with that information, I probably would have gone on the adventure that everyone thought I went on after High School. I stayed in town for a boy whom I allowed to crush all of my aspirations. Then I left him and started on another adventure, in the same city.
I am really glad no one told me.

I hated beer and wine until I was 24. Now to go beer or wine tasting, is one of my favorite things. I have learned to appreciate the color, aroma, taste, texture, and various complexities of beers and wines. While I am far from a connoisseur, I am definitely an aficionado.

My favorite beer is Drop Top. If you've never experienced it's milky amber goodness, I strongly suggest you add it to your list of things to try before you die.

I loved writing, most of my life. That is until I took my college English class. I never put much thought into being grammatically correct, I just wrote and things always seemed to turn out alright. Then my college English professor got all anal about grammar and proper punctuation and now I can not seem to write a proper sentence.

It's a random road trip weekend! First, pick North-South or East-West. Second, flip a coin; Heads = North (or east), Tails = South (or west). Third, grab a camera, toothbrush, and a jacket with a hood (just in case). Fuel up the truck and drive in the direction the coin stated. There is no specified mile marker to the next coin toss. There is no destination or expectation. Just adventure. See what's down that road you never turned down before.

Happy Friday!


Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Three Love Letters

Dear The Wonderful People at Chase;

Congratulations on your acquisition of WAMU! I'm sure you are very excited about the new surge of business coming your way.
Personally, I think it's sad that so many people are now being forced to deal with your incompetence and complete disregard for your customers. I, for one, completely understand. I'm sure acquiring all of those struggling mortgages was a brilliant idea, given the kickbacks Uncle Sam is going to give you when they all finally go into foreclosure. But really, you should be just a little bit willing to actually try sell the houses while they are in short-sale. If not for the fact that foreclosure can destroy a family's credit, think about the families out there that have been responsible and are able to buy in these times. If you dont want to sell anything, just say so. But losing paperwork, twice, and then taking the maximum 14 days, EACH TIME, to look at a damn fax, is just a little ridiculous.
I am not trying to steal a property from you. I would like to purchase it at a fair market value; which is completely insane on my part anyway, but that's beside the point. I have financing available. All I need your "customer service agent" to do is to say, "Yes, we will accept this price." or "No, a person's life earnings, is not quite enough for this particular plot of land and moderate house." That's all you really have to do. Yes, or No. If you say, "No." I can hopefully get an offer in on another property that is not in short sale, and which I love far more than the one you own, before my pre-approval expires and I have to start this entire process over again. The problem is the Cowboy, the wonderful loving man that he is, wants the house that you own, more than his children or our pending marriage. (ok, not literally.) He thinks it's perfect for our needs and that the work needed to make it our dream home is far less than that of the house I actually want.
So please, just answer that pesky real estate agent that calls you every day. Just tell her "No. We actually want this property to foreclose so that we can destroy a family's credit, then sell it for less than what your people are offering." or say, "Sure, we will accept this offer. Assuming that, in another 45 days in the closing process, the buyers bank is still willing to offer them the killer financing deal they've spent the last 5 months trying to secure."

May your greedy asses fry in your Lear jets!

A Slightly Disgruntled Would-Be Home Buyer

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

Dear Gigantic-ASS Hornet,

It was kind of you to greet me in the bathroom this morning. You are lucky that I was only wrapped in a towel and that Mr Man was still home, lest you would have been smashed into, and likely along with, my medicine cabinet's mirror. Your dance around the light bulbs was awe inspiring. It's almost like you knew I was waiting to hit you with my hairbrush just as soon as you got far enough away from anything breakable.
I'm not entirely sure how you got in there, while I slept, but I hope you find your way out before I get home.
There is a large can of Raid waiting for you.

Loathing You,
The Girl Who's Shower You Ruined

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

Dear Monkey,

Please quit kissing Henry!
You are only 6. You can not have a boyfriend for at least 20 more years! Trust me, boys are really not worth your time until then anyway.

Your Mommy


Monday, April 27, 2009

You did not just say what I think you said

Happy Monday!

Have I regressed to prudishness or, if after hearing what I heard this morning, would you would feel even a twinge of the same stupefaction that I am experiencing?

Upon exiting the K-8 school that is educating my 6 year old, my right ear is graced with this incredible question: "What the F**K are you wearing?"

Not absolutely sure that I was hearing a student rather than a song or recording or something, I look over to see three boys, 10 years old max. I'm not even kidding, that lovely question was directed from one of them to another.

A fourth grader dropping an F-Bomb in the school yard! Lovely.

This is not so much astonishing as the fact the I was apparently the only person who was even phased by it. The recess ladies, (I don't know if it's still ok to call them that. Please correct me if that phrase was deemed politically incorrect.) (or don't.) who were standing in ear shot and didn't so much as bat an eye, went about their coffee sipping and smiling at the parents depositing their children. There was no bugging eyes or covering of mouths by other kids that the boy had used the expletive of all expletives... nothing.

I'm pretty sure I send my child to school for an education. Meaning to learn. Things she needs to know, behaviors she should exhibit, in order to be a respectful and self sufficent person. Do we honestly live in a society that has deteriorated so far that it is now deemed pseudo acceptable for a 10 year old child to talk to his peers this way? I mean, really, adults shouldn't even talk like that. (you know this.)

I know that I heard and said some things in school that would have mortified my mother. But some words we just not uttered, and had they been parents certainly would have been called and soap likely would have been administered.

I'm not trying to get preachy, but what the hell happened to the world of just a little decency? Mutual respect for other people. Letting kids be kids. Telling a child, I don't care whose child, that they are out of line or they shouldn't behave a certain way, because well... they are out of line and shouldn't behave that way! If some kid is bullying my child, or swearing in front of her, I let them know that they should not act/speak that way. I've had parents chew me out for correcting their little spawn, even when they knew the brat was out of line.

Way to go buddy, lets reinforce bad behavior by acting like a jack ass to another parent. Couldn't you just correct your child and let them know that cursing at a 4 year old is just not OK, PERIOD!

I seriously wanted to correct the kid at school this morning. I'll admit it, kids older than 7, that I don't know, scare me. Kids are violent. They have guns, no respect for anyone or anything, are seemingly invincible, and they know it.

The lack of common sense in our State Offices deems that; we can not discipline them, correct them, hurt their feelings or tell them that they are not entitled to anything except food and shelter. These things are called abuse and cruelty. Instead we are supposed to set them up for disappointment, pay for their therapy, and let them move back in to our homes when they get fired for asking their bosses "What the F**k are you wearing?"


Thursday, April 23, 2009

I started over here and ended up waaayyyyy over there

What a lonley day. It was one of those mornings that would have been better spent under the down, curled up with a book.
The sunshine is leaving... I'm watching it make it's exit at this very moment.
Goodbye friend. Come back soon... like before lunch!

I'm thinking of about a billion other places I would rather be, than sitting at this desk. This is nothing new, mind you, but I feel that I have successfully accomplished every single personal task that can be completed from behind a computer. I officially need a week off just to tend to personal matters.

My To Do List:

- Contact a Minister and meet them in person
- Take new crap car in for a tune up
- Pray that a tune up is all new crap car needs
- Pick shoes and accessories for self and 4 bridesmaids
- Meet with florist
- Get house to a living state of clean before Crazy Horse Lady comes back home and fills it with smoke and grease, again!
- Find back-up house incase offer falls through
- Ride Horsey before he actually does forget what a saddle feels like
- Refrain from beating children (repeat as necessary)

It seems the clock drags to 4:30p.m. then fast forwards to 5:30a.m. and there is not a moment in between to get anything accomplished besides dinner and laundry. I'm finding it increasingly difficult to be cheerful when I get home, and I'm losing my patience with the Cowboy oldest and youngest children.

Is this what I was waiting for all my life? Let me warn the kids. Heed this advise: Your parents are right. Enjoy being a kid. Stop trying to grow up so fast. There is pleanty of time to be a grown up... just enjoy growing!

Now... get the heck out of my house. Use your imagination, thats fun part of your brain that rarely gets any exercise. Go get dirty!

(I know they aren't listening.)


Friday, April 17, 2009


Back in January my mother took my sister and I to the Bridal Show. An overwhelming event held at the Convention Center where all of the big shops in the Metro area rent booths and try to convince brides-to-be that if they don't book every aspect of their wedding five years in advance, their wedding will be disastrous. It's a cross between wandering through a mall full of kiosk vendors who want to put smear you with crappy lotion and shopping for a used car. But we endured, and I managed to get all the information I could possibly want or need without committing to anything that day.

The most important parts of the wedding, to me, were my dress, location, and the photographer. I confess, since confirming these three essentials I've kind of slacked off on everything else. It got really frustrating at first. It seemed like every vendor I called was already booked, or had booked up in the time it took me to call them back. Apparently, Christmas was not early enough to get engaged in order to plan an August wedding. (Seriously, one vendor all but said that.) Fortunately, things are coming together. We got a great outdoor venue that includes catering, and booze! (SCORE!) Our photographer has an incredible portfolio! The flowers are handled. The cake is ordered. All I really need is a minister, and I still have 4 months to go so... Whoever said it takes a year (or a decade) to plan a wedding is just trying to get your money before anyone else does.

Which brings me to, The Dress!

Almost immediately after The Cowboy proposed, I started looking at dresses. I didn't really have anything in mind at first, but I knew that something super extravagant was just not my style. I got a couple of ideas, and while meandering though the Bridal show, I saw a dress that stopped me in my tracks. I walked up to the lady at the booth and said "I have to try that dress on." She smiled, opened her little appointment book and penciled me in for the next weekend.

Fast forward seven days...

We booked two dress fittings that day. The first in Clackamas at 9am the other in Longview at 1pm.

Coffee ingested and a little weary, we entered the first shop. It took an hour just to look though all of the dresses. Each cut has a section, and each section had between 10 and 25 dresses. Once I had picked one or two from each section we proceeded to the dressing room. The process of elimination had begun. Many were easy to nix before I even looked in the mirror. I never felt like such a princess (I kinda liked it.) (shhhh.) Trying on wedding dresses is a lot like playing dress up! (maybe that's what it's all about.) I narrowed it down to two and had to put them both on twice before I picked the one I really liked.

I knew it was nothing like the dress that I had seen at the bridal show, but I really felt like Cinderella in it. I almost cried when I had it on, then I felt silly for being all girly, only to be reminded by several strangers that brides are supposed to get all excited and emotional when they find the dress. We took down all of the information about the dress and told our attendant that I needed a day to think about it. She tried everything she could to get me to order that dress that day, but I told her if it really was the one that I wouldn't need to rush... I still had 8 months!

We stopped in Vancouver to pick up my Grandmother, on the way to Longview. All the way up there all I could think about was how I felt in that dress, and how incredibly exhausted I was.

We got to the cute little hole in the wall shop. There was a tiny (in comparison) section to the right, a platform with 3 mirrors to the left, and a larger room full of hideous prom dresses to the left of that. The dressing rooms in the back. The owner checked us in, I told her I wanted to try on the dress from the bridal show, she said she knew the one and told me to go ahead and look through what she had hanging just to see if there was anything else I liked. I picked 3 other dresses, and almost immediately discarded them in comparison to the dress from the Clackamas store. She saved the one from the bridal show for last. She said she just had a feeling about it.

It's not extravagant. It's rather simple actually. It doesn't have a bustle, it doesn't require a slip, the train is an accessory that I later decided to add.

The minute I put it on I knew it was The One, as assuredly as I know The Cowboy is the one. I wasn't emotional. I didn't feel like a silly girly princess. I felt like a confident, beautiful woman. I went out to the platform and imagined the look on his face when he sees me for the first time on our wedding day. It was (is.) perfect! I found a simple veil on the rack that didn't cover my face, but is a hair piece, with these clear sequined "daisyesque" flowers all around the trim, which completely matches the detail on the dress. The shop owner was a little surprised when I showed her. She said she couldn't have picked a better one for that dress.

I made my decision. My mother was hesitant. She said I didn't look as excited about it as the one at the other shop. I told her I was tired, but I knew this was my dress. The shop owner told us it could take 12 weeks to get the dress in so we needed to order it as soon as possible. I didn't want to drive back up to try it on again so I decided then and there to just go with it. As she made her calls to place the order and started all of the paper work, my mother just looked at me with questioning eyes. She was trying to read me, to see if I was settling. Upon passing her silent quiz, she paid for the dress.

I slept so hard that night. I dreamt that the dress came in and I hated it. That I wished I had picked the other dress, and that I felt awkward on my wedding day and everything was just awful. I woke up a little panicked, but reassured myself that I picked the right dress and would have had the same thoughts about the other dress had we decided to go with that one.

The dress came in two weeks ago. (12 weeks my ass.) I took Monkey with me to try it on again, and you know what? I LOVE IT more than I did the first time I tried it on! When Monkey saw it she said, "Oh Mommy, it's perfect."

It Is Perfect!

(and since this blog is my secret... I can post a picture for you to see!)
(no that's not me.)



Everyone knows that all men look at porn. That's a given. It's expected.
That being said, it still bums me out when I actually bust The Cowboy looking at porn on the computer. It's a little "awe com'on" when I find it in his phone, but to come home from picking up my wedding dress, walk up the back steps and look through the back door (which is a big window) to see naked chicks on the computer monitor... it's a little depressing.

All in all I think I handled it well. I shook the handle (to get his attention.) set my purse down on the porch, told monkey to go find the puppies, so she wouldn't catch a glimpse, and methodically started digging for my keys. He had to close several screens before he could come open the door. He was pale... that part was funny. He thought my mom was with me. Fortunately she had decided not to come in. I didn't say anything, but I didnt act like I wasnt saying anything because I was upset either. I just went through the kitchen and set down my things then went to folding the laundry.

I know The Cowboy likes beautiful naked women. I've happened upon his "picture" files on more than one occasion. And, I've met more than one of his ex-girlfriends. I know it's silly to let it bug me and I try really hard not to, because I know that ALL guys do it. There is just something about not being ogled by the man who wants to marry me, knowing that he ogles lots of far more beautiful, photo shopped women, that just ...

dammit! it hurts my feelings and makes me feel inadequate.
OK I said it.

I know it's stupid and lame and well... stupid and lame, but I cant help it. God didn't bless me with beautiful full breasts and it's something I've always been very self conscious of. I've suggested a remedy to this problem, but he seems to think that should I get this "correction" it will automatically mean I will cheat on him... because apparently that's what women do when they get that done. I have a different opinion; these are for ME!

Him being fully aware of this insecurity of mine does not stop him from hunting down better things to look at, on the internet. I don't even know how to broach this subject with him. I know that, really, I just need to get over it. I know he does it... just something about catching him, not just finding the pictures, but actually catching him surfing thorough them...

~cheers (it's Friday)

Thursday, April 16, 2009

I Am Jack's Incurable Boredom

Have you ever read a post on another blog and wondered if you had your own version of Tyler Durden and have just happened upon them? Have I started another post with another version of this very question? aw jeeze, I think I have. But I'm not going back to check.

I really just want to kill the last half hour of my work day, and it occurred to me that I don't blog anymore. Mostly, because I read what I write and am dumbfounded that anyone would read this crap so I just delete post instead of posting post.

The economy has finally struck my place of employment. Not in the sense that I'm out of a job, rather I get to come to the office every day and sit at my desk and surf the Internet and hope that the phone rings or a fax/email comes. My office has never been so organized, and frankly I'm afraid of what will happen if (when.) things pick up again. I have taken on everything because, well, there is just nothing to do. I am so very grateful that I am still employed full time, I just dont handle boredom well... I get a little stir crazy.

There has actually been a lot going on, outside of work. The House Hunt. The Wedding Plans. An Unexpected Car Quest. oh the things I have to share...

Perhaps, just maybe, I will conjure up some stories to share in the next few days. Perhaps this will keep me from reloading the Cars For Sale page on Craigslist every two minutes.

Ok, probably not. But anything is possible. Right?


If that isn't irony...

Hey look who works for the Oregon Department of Revenue...

When exactly did He become a tax collector?

Happy Thursday!


Friday, March 20, 2009


We got our pre-approval yesterday! So, I'm back in the spirit of actually looking at houses with the intent of purchasing one. The following things have occurred to me in the past 18 hours:

1) Property taxes in Oregon, for anything worth living in, are friggin' re-cock-u-lous!

2) It seems that every place with land is only for sale because some crap-ass developer bought out everything surrounding said land and has since turned another bit of beautiful country into one more suburban tract-housing hell hole!
(No offence to those who love their suburban homes.)
These developers need to leave some country for those of us who want to enjoy scenery and our horses, rather than board them and see them only when the weather permits. Besides... they built all these cookie cutter "custom" homes that apparently no one could actually afford, so now these homes sit vacant on land that was a family's heritage, but that family was forced to sell because some city decided that rezoning and forcing them out in order to expand is what was best for them... assholes...

sorry. off my box. moving on.

3) Whoever invented wood paneling should be hung by their Achilles and beaten with said paneling

3.5) and who in their right mind would panel every wall in their house, and then think someone might want to purchase that house some day?

4) The Cowboy baffles me... he has searched endlessly for months on end (probably years) for houses he may potentially some day want to purchase in the hopes of removing his parents' claws from his checking account. When I told him we got our approval, what did he do? He watched TV, completely ignored the computer (which is not like him at all) and didn't so much as say "Sweet!"...

I know this adventure has only just begun.

Happy Weekending!


Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Because Life Aint Always Beautiful

15 random things that I love:

sunshine - through a window but preferably on my skin

fresh air - especially after it rains and the sun has returned

Tanner the quarterhorse buckskin gelding

the internet - which I completely take for granted

Widmere Drop Top - mmmmmmm

the accomplished feeling I get when I work out - especially when I dont want to

cuddling - in pajamas

monkey's laugh - especially when she's being tickled

blue skies

green grass

the coast - rain or shine

camping - without kiddos (sorry, it's just more fun)

rodeos - bring 'em

dancing - with the Cowboy


orange juice - plain old OJ

I sat here all day trying to come up with something to write that I might actually be interested in reading... I got nothin'! It seems so easy to write about the hard stuff and not so easy to think about the good stuff. So I decided to just write some good stuff.... forgive, or enjoy :o)


Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Dear Future Father-In-Law

Remember your ex-daughter-in-law? Well, I'm nothing like her; I'm not going anywhere. So play nice. Because trust me Sir, I'm going to out live you. Which means, I can tell everyone who thinks that you're upstanding (a short list I assure you) what a bitter, rotten, bastard you really are. It also means I will likely get to speak at your funeral.

Love Always (because I'm going to be required to),
Your Adoring Almost Daughter-In-Law

Just wait till I get to sign the checks ;o)

I remember as a kid being told, "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all." I was never very good a keeping this motto.

It has taken many moons for me to learn that speaking my mind is not always the intelligent thing to do. Sometimes it's better to let other people bury themselves, than to call them out on their idiocy. While biting my tongue, quite literally at times, may be a bit painful; it's never quite as bad as eating my own words or worse having to apologise because, wrong or right, my opinions are neither wanted or appreciated.

Having said that...

I think it's best I bite my tongue.
and smile politely.


Thursday, March 5, 2009

Finally! I can stop typing and take a walk

This mornings observations:

Burnt raisin bread toast is far better than burnt regular toast.

14 year old boys should be quarantined until they mature to, at least, a tolerable level of "normal".

There are 5, yes five, different kinds of bar-b-cue sauce in my fridge, and ZERO salad dressing.

Children consume food with the semblance of raccoons plundering a garbage can. But for some reason they only want the things I covet. They never want the healthy things at dinner, why would they want them for a snack? Eat the friggin' left over pizza, leave my salad goodies alone!

Maternity panties are a non-essential item, and should be banned... except for high school girls who don't use condoms. For them, maternity panties should be mandatory. (thank you kaydee.) Actually, all teen-aged girls should be required by law to wear unflattering undergarments... and possibly chastity belts.
(can you tell the I have 2 nearly teen-aged step-daughters to be?)

Portland truly is a melting pot. A town full of character. Television is really not needed in this town. If you want entertainment, just pop down to any local coffee shop (not Starbucks. they can be avoided with little effort here.) with a book or laptop to pretend you're engrossed in, and just observe your surroundings... without bothering your neighbors, who are likely doing the same thing. Or they just want to be left the heck alone. Which is completely understandable.
I grew up in Portland. I utilized Tri-Met (public transportation) for the better part of 10 years, therefore have become aloof to the oddity of others outside of my immediate world. I have seen my share many crazy ass people, even from this town's standards.
There are some folks in this corner of the planet, who would assume that because you made direct eye contact with them, for a nanosecond, it means you want to immediately follow them home and try not to make babies. It's sometimes daring to simply offer a friendly smile and hello to strangers anymore, lest you invite a stalker into your life.
When I was 7 months pregnant I was on MAX heading downtown to meet my mom for lunch, and this group of guys, 17-20ish, asked me if I wanted to hop off and go get high. Seriously! I was WAAAY obviously pregnant. I mean, thanks for offering, but get a life. After they departed the train, an honest to goodness DEA agent flashed me his badge and started questioning me about if I knew those guys, and did they really just say what he thought they said. Honestly, things like that are not so uncommon. You'd be amased at the things you hear people talking about on Tri-Met. It's like they think no one can hear them. But I suppose when it seems common place to discuss your sex life, drug use, or to make drug orders in public, one might begin to assume that everyone does it so it becomes psuedo-acceptable.


I love this town. I hate it too, in the way that many people hate where they grew up... ghosts and old drama and such. Still, hearing another person's tale of Tri-Met (that really does sum it up.) never ceases to make me giggle a little and say "yup." to myself. I can relate completely.

This post went in an entirely different directed than when I started. Though I can not bring myself to split it into separate posts because it is a fairly accurate trip through the spagetti.


Thursday, February 26, 2009

White Russian Blackberry Cheesecake

I'm trying to decide on a cake for the wedding, but I'm not a cake person. I love cheesecake... like more than anything in the world of desserts, but I come from a family of lacotse intolerant people, so having cheesecake as my wedding cake would be just cruel. Besides, it's in August so I scrapped that thought. Then I stumbled upon a list of "Specialty Cakes" on one bakery's website... HEAVEN!
Kahlua Mudslide: Chocolate cake soaked with vodka, baileys and Kahlua, filled with a french vanilla cream.
Peaches and Cream: Moist white cake baked with fresh peaches soaked with peach schnapps filled with white chocolate cream.
*Have a favorite drink let us know we can create just about any flavor*
Black Forest Cake: chocolate cake with french vanilla cream, chocolate ganache and cherries
and of course: White russian blackberry cheesecake


Then I went to my cycling class, and kicked my own butt... seriously, just reading White Russian Blackberry Cheesecake (my mouth is watering again...) I felt I needed to burn off the calories I fully intend to consume when I taste this cake.


I tend to space off.

Seriously! My brain just shuts down and I become just mildly conscious of the fact that there are things going on around me. I think people refer to it as daydreaming, but I don't dream about anything... kind of like when I sleep... THAT'S IT! I'm daysleeping.

When I get caught in this state, it can take me a few seconds to "wake up". Some people don't notice so much, others think it's weird. I did it at a cafe the other day and Cowboy (my love) made fun of me. He said I went cross eyed. I think he was full of it, but then again things do get a little fuzzy...
I think sometimes my brain just needs to rest and sort out it's intake so it kind of just goes in sleep mode for 15-30 seconds to reset.

This doesn't really bother me. It's something that has always happened. It happens more when I'm stressed or overtired. It's actually kind of relaxing.



We got pre-approval for a mortgage! YES!!! Cowboy is still diligently scouring John L Scott's website, every-stinkin-day. The same houses are there. The very same ones we've been looking at for 6 months... Now he's not ready to actually talk to the realtor and go LOOK at the houses. We're right there... it's at our fingertips...


Monday, February 23, 2009

Dancing Crazy Superbug Love

I'm getting the superbug. I can feel it in my muscles. I'm achy and tired and feeling all around craptacular.

But I made it to work today. Half asleep at the wheel. Seriously! Driving half asleep is worse than driving after perhaps consuming one or three too many.

(Not that I have ever done that.)

Moving on.

I had a blast Saturday night! We went out for a friend's birthday; and it seemed that everyone we knew, related to that friend and not, was at the bar, in good spirits (or full of them) and having a fabulous time. We danced most of the night, got to catch up with some friends we haven't seen in a while, and really enjoyed ourselves... OH! and we only spent forty bucks!

(seriously, two alchys in a bar for 4 hours only spending $40... that's just awesome, wouldn't you say?)

I will take a moment to say that I do not miss my old friends. I do not miss the drama, I do not miss the fighting, I certainly do not miss their apparent need to create drama and fights in the event that something is not already brewing.

Yes. Saturday night, Life was GRAND!


I was crazy pregnant woman yesterday.
Except I'm not pregnant, so I guess I was just...

It was one of those days that should have been spent in bed, with a book and earplugs. Instead it was spent on one emotionally distraught misadventure after another; while my love did actually feed most of my roller coaster, he also caught the receiving end of the majority of my frustration, agitation, raw emotion, and subsequent burnt pizza.

The alarms should have sounded when I felt like crying, yes crying at the discovery that there were not enough eggs to make french toast, like I wanted. So My Love decided to make pancakes instead.

Saturday morning, I took the girls adventuring. He made himself an extraordinary to do list, which upon it's completion would have left Sunday for us to spend at our leisure. Only, unbeknown to me, he got to his parent's house, parked his rear in front of the computer and didn't come home until 8:00 pm, when we were supposed to be across town at a friend's birthday party.

At the discovery that, once again, our Sunday was going to be spent chasing everything he neglected to do on Saturday, I was... less then happy. THEN He sat on his rear, in front of the computer AGAIN, looking at houses for 2 hours, THEN he had to read the paper, THEN...

Ok, it was just NOT a good day.

Today, aside from being achy and tired and almost killing multiple people in my half asleep drive to the office, has been pretty ok.

I'm sheepishly trying to make ammends with My Love, who is surprisingly not ready to kill me.

(He did tell me not to ever have a bad day again.)

I discovered Google Reader. (sigh.) I'm in love. The office shall never be the same.

I also had my first Diet Rockstar in more than a month.

Oh -- it's raining. And truth be known, I'm glad.


Friday, February 20, 2009

The Return to Random

I offer my apologies for the... crappyness of my blog.

I started off as random as my brain is, then it seems I sank into somewhere yucky.
I'm trying to resurrect the spunky side of me; winter can be such a bitch sometimes.

Bear with me... I'm trying :o)


Hi there Mr. Sun!

You are my friend. I love to walk with you in the afternoon. To feel your warmth on my face, even when you are not strong enough to warm the air around me.
I cant wait for the flowers to bloom and the cold to stop... please keep up the good work and come out more often, I've missed you!


Dear Mister Jerk-O, (I forgot the other name I called you in this blog. It may or may not have been nicer, but I assure you it had the same loathing sentiment behind it.)
Learn how to write a packing slip. If the client ordered 200 sets, we are billing for 200 sets, and sending 200 sets, write 200 sets not 600 pieces.
I know it makes sense in your brain, but not all of us think like you. That doesn't mean either one of us is wrong, per se. It just means that if I cant bill it so the client understands it, well... you did it wrong!
Enjoy your 3 day weekend. I'm scheming to clean out your desk while you are away.

The Naggy Bitch in the office


Today is Friday.
It's Friday, it's Friday... doin' the happy dance!


Oh! So, I got new boots for Valentines Day!

Because My Love loves me. He keeps saying I'm spoiled. But I reassure him that I'm just loved!

Thank you My Love! I hope you enjoyed your massage... oh and I bought you that cologne you love because I also LOVE it. So open it and wear it... every day... please!


I also got this new phone, at "wizen-wizer's" as monkey says. It's pretty SWEET!

It's got a touch screen, a QWERTY keyboard, a decent camera, two incredible screens, and an actual web browser; which I completely admit I love but have yet to actually master.

I still amused just playing with the scrolling part of the touch screen. It's just fun to watch my contact list and inbox spin uuuuppppppp and dooooownnnn, with the touch of my finger.
Yes. I know that I'm as easily amused as a small child. That's part of the greatness of being ME!

(I know the US is in a depression and everyone is freaking out and scrimping and saving and here I am planning a wedding, applying for a mortgage and buying new boots and a new phone... but there are a handful of us that are still working and doing our best to single handedly revive the economy. BESIDES, my other phone snapped in half one day when I flipped it open... seriously! One of the hinges broke and the top part spun around backwards when I opened it.)


Coffee... need I say more?
oooooh frozen berries for my oatmeal!


... Cheers!

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Catching Wild Pigs

I did not write this. I dont know who did. My father forwarded it to me, and it struck me profoundly enough to pass it on for all of you who may happen across this blog. I've always been a roll with the punches kind of person. I dont watch the news, it's depressing. I got so incredibly disgusted with the election that I just basically quit paying attention to anything on a national level. I have a job, I can buy food and take care of my family; everything else seems so forign to me anymore... it's all reality TV. But I read this and some things started clicking, I know something needs to be done. But What? How do we stop the seemingly inevitable?

Catching Wild Pigs.....
Reply to:
Date: 2009-02-19, 11:08AM
Catching Wild Pigs... There was a Chemistry professor in a large college that had some exchange students in the class. One day, while the class was in the lab, the Prof. noticed one of the exchange students who kept rubbing his back and stretching as if his back hurt. The professor asked the young man what the matter was. The student told him he had a bullet lodged in his back. He had been shot while fighting communists in his native country who were trying to overthrow his country's government and install a communist government. In the midst of his story he looked at the professor and asked a strange question. He asked, 'Do you know how to catch wild pigs?' The professor thought it was a joke and asked for the punch line. The young man said this was no joke. 'You catch wild pigs by finding a suitable place in the woods and putting corn on the ground. The pigs find it and begin to come everyday to eat the free corn. When they are used to coming every day, you put a fence down one side of the place where they are used to coming. When they get used to the fence, they begin to eat the corn again and you put up another side of the fence.They get used to that and start to eat again. You continue until you have all four sides of the fence up with a gate in the last side. The pigs, which are used to the free corn, start to come through the gate to eat, then you slam the gate on them and catch the whole herd. 'Suddenly the wild pigs have lost their freedom. They run around and around inside the fence, but they are caught. Soon they go back to eating the free corn. They are so used to it that they have forgotten how to forage in the woods for themselves, so they accept their captivity.' The young man then told the professor that was exactly what he seeing happening in America 'The government keeps pushing the people toward socialism and keeps spreading the free corn out in the form of programs such as supplemental income, tax credit for unearned income, tobacco subsidies, dairy subsidies, payments not to plant crops (CRP), welfare, medicine , drugs, etc, etc, etc. while the people continue to lose their freedom - just a little at a time. One should always remember: There is no such thing as a free Lunch! Also, a politician will never provide a service for you cheaper than you can do it yourself.' So, if you see that all of this wonderful government 'help' is a problem confronting the future of democracy in America , you might want to send this on to your friends. If you think the free ride is essential to your way of life then you will probably delete this email, but God help you when the gates slam shut! Listen closely to what the politicians are promising you - just maybe you will be able to tell who is about to slam the gate on America "A government big enough to give you everything you want, is big enough to take away everything you have." Thomas Jefferson

Location: Clackamas County
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

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Friday, February 13, 2009

Love Is

I started to leave this comment on Brandy's page, but thought I'd use it as a post instead.

Finish this sentence: Love is ________________________________.

Love is... plucking his uni-brow into two, distinct, well manicured, eyebrows; without teasing him about it, because he was man enough to ask you to do it.
Love is... giving up the last bite of a perfect steak, just because you know how badly the other person wants to taste it
Love is... saving him hot water on Sunday morning
Love is... laughing when he raises his voice toward you, because you guys dont fight
Love is... reading Green Eggs and Ham, every single night
Love is... our special bedtime song
Love is... waking up in his arms
Love is... Over cooked steak (because he cant get it right yet), perfect potatoes, and Coors in a bottle
Love is... not wondering or worrying, because you know they're yours!


*If you loathe Valentine's Day like I do and try to show the people you love how much you love them every single day of the year: HAPPY SATURDAY, tomorrow!


Thursday, February 12, 2009

Pirate Princess Monkey

My Daughter is the light of my world
She is my reason for breathing, for growing up, for going to work everyday, for not settling.

My Daughter once broke my nose with her forehead
I tried to pick her up while she was protesting

My Daughter is a princess
and acts accordingly, on all levels

My Daughter's life saved my life
Plain and simple

My Daughter was born with huge feet
I had to buy her 3 month socks as a newborn

My Daughter is misunderstood

My Daughter is difficult
Just like her mother

My Daughter used to throw these intense fits
I was afraid to take her anywhere for an entire year

My Daughter is strong willed
May that never be broken

My Daughter is beautiful
And she's missing 4 teeth

My Daughter loves all things girly
I dont know where this came from

My Daughter gives the worlds best hugs
And kisses

My Daughter loves Green Eggs and Ham
Thank you, Thank you, Sam-I-Am

My Daughter is afraid of large groups of people
and the hair dryer, vaccume, bathroom fan, and coffee grinder

My Daughter can speak!
Even when she's not makign sense... they are words... and you can understand them

My Daughter has the heart of an angel
She's hurt easily, but forgives quickly

My Daughter cries if I cry
Because it makes her sad
Then she wraps her arms around me, pats my back and says "Dont be sad mommy, it's ok."

My Daughter is not violent, "spoiled", vindictive, or a brat
She is not retarded. She is not misdiagnosed.

My Daughter is Autistic.


I did not make Monkey autistic. I could not prevent it. Vaccines may not have caused it. No one knows what did. I dont blame anyone. I'm not angry. I dont want "justice" at the price of however millions of dollars some attorney seeks for other parents of autistic kids.

I love my daughter... with all that I am. She is healthy. She is active. She loves school and her friends. She needs patience and love, just like every single other child on this planet.

Last weekend I was out shopping with my best friend. We walked past a young mom struggling with a little girl, about 3 or 4 years old. The girl was tired, didnt want to hold her mom's hand to cross the parking lot, and eventually parked her rear on the sidewalk. The mom was trying the "good mom" things to get the child to get up and come with her, in her calm voice holding on to the girls hand... wanting to drag her along side but not willing to go to such extremes in public. The child was screaming and making a scene. The mom maintained composure. I smiled at the mom... I wanted to go over and hug her. I wanted to tell her it was going ok, that I could relate to what she was experiencing. I wanted to tell her not be embarassed, and just keep breathing, that she was doing a great job!

I love Monkey! I love her more than anything.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Monkey For Sale (attitude included)

Monkey and My Love had a rough night. Seems she's missing Her Dad, and that means she can not possible reciprocate any kindness to My Love. It amazes me the way she acts sometimes. I can see it in everything she does. It's as though she thinks she's betraying her dad by letting my love fill that role. Sometimes she allows it, but its like she'll realise what's happening and she'll stop and recoil.

She's 5. Her dad and I split when she was 2. She has seen him exactly twice in a year. I don't get it

Monkey had a hard morning. This means mommy had a hard morning.

It started out typically enough. I turned on her light, as I went to get in the shower, and said "Time to wake up Princess!"

As I was getting ready My Love commented that Monkey is a grump this morning. I reminded him that she is always a grump first thing. We ladies, are not what you call morning people.

I made her lunch, as always, and got mine together while she got her self dressed followed by her customary, "Look at me!" pose in the kitchen.

I told her she was beautiful and to go brush her hair and her teeth....
You would think I told her to go scoop barn mud.

She wrinkled her brow and proceeded to with, "Nooooooo! I already. It's not bedtime. I don't haf to brush my teeeeeeeth!"


ROUND I (in the kitchen)

"Monkey, don't argue. You don't want icky breath all day. Go brush your hair and your teeth."

"No. I NOT! I already brush my hair!", hands on her hips, one foot in front of the other stance.

"We are going to be late. Go BRUSH YOUR TEETH, and brush your hair again."



ROUND II (in the bathroom)

"Monkey, put your hands down and let me brush your hair."

"I ALREADY! NO! You use your brush, not my Tinker Bell bruuuusssshhhhh!"

"Monkey, stop wining and yelling and let me brush your hair!"

"NO! I ALLLLREAAAADYYY!", hands on top of her dread locked, hand in a light socket, resembling hair. "JUST STOOOPPP!"

Mommy wants to throttle Monkey. Brush lands on floor. Mommy exits bathroom wishing to sell monkey to band of gypsies.




Round III - mommy's bedroom

"Mommy," crying the I'm not getting my way cry "Mommy, Monkey is talking to you! Mommy Look at Monkey's eyes! MOMMY!!!" stomps feet

Mommy continues getting things together, alarm on phone rings signaling time to leave.

"When you stop yelling at me I will listen to you Monkey. You need to stop, NOW, or I'm going to have to spank you."

Mommy exits room heading for kitchen... and coffee!


"I'm leaving Monkey. Are you coming with me or are you going to stay home with the horses today?"

(please keep in mind Monkey is 5... and I would never ever ever ever ever actually leave her at home)


Mommy exits kitchen, heads down porch to start truck.

Monkey gets jacket and backpack and runs to the truck, "YOU CANT LEAVE ME! MOMMY I'M SORRY! Mommy... Monkey Loves You!"

yee-gads! Someone, tell me... how did I get myself at 15 in a 5 year old?

Monday, February 2, 2009

A Breath of Fresh Air

Happy Monday!

I'm in good spirits today.

I'm sure you all know that the Steelers won the Superbowl... I'm not a huge football fan. I "watch" when I must. But when James Harris ran 100 for a touchdown in the 2nd Qtr, I was hooked. It was probably the best game I've seen in a LONG time!

I actually had a great time at the Superbowl shindig yesterday. I really need to learn not to let my own insecurities get the best of me. (that was hard to type) I got to talk to my love on our way home about how I was feeling about going, and he basically came to the same conclusion. I came from a group of friends who got together all the time (seriously... every weekend) and when I met my love we hung out with his friends pretty regularly. But families happen and life happens, and unlike my old friends who still party like their 22, we're all settling down and growing up (in that sense) so just because we don't hang out with them all the time doesn't mean they aren't our friends.

I'm But also because we picked a place and set the date for the wedding!
YES!!! So now I can leave my love alone about it and start the fun stuff. Like colors and flowers and bridesmaids dresses and decorations and stuff... yep yep I'm gettin' 'xcited!

I also got to talk to the former other office goddess this morning. Once again, I took her actions personally when in fact they were not directed toward me at all. Someday I will stop doing that... maybe... I hope

Monkey is getting one of those coughs that makes me sad for her. Her lungs sound awful, and the roommates are due home this week. I'm praying praying praying for her sake that they catch another load or two and can stay on the road for at least another week.

I'm reading this book called "The Shack" by Wm. Paul Young. The other office goddess recommended it about a month ago when I was talking to her about my inherit struggle with church, keeping a faithful heart, and reflecting a "Christian" attitude in a world full of hypocrites and negativity. In the incredible way that God works, I happened upon it at Costco for $9.88 (I LOVE COSTCO BOOKS!) so I picked it up. It's such an incredible testimony. I don't know if it's part because it's local or because I'm a mother, or just because the Lord puts things in our lives to talk to us and sometimes we don't always see them for what they are, but I want to drive out to Wildcat and see if I can find the author's house just so I can give him a hug and thank him for sharing his story. I highly recommend it! If like to read, and you have time for such things, you'll blast right through it.


Friday, January 30, 2009

I'm Outta' Here

Happy Fried-day!

I have nothing too pertinent to share today. Which means this is going to be long post, doesn't it?

I'm sad that my former co-office goddess has chosen to part with ME in a negative light. Her uncle let her go, because she doesn't want to come in and work, she just wants to write herself checks once a week. Things slowed down to the point that he doesn't need two people in the office anymore... and for somehow that makes me the wretched b**** who deserved to be shunned. Sad yes, I am. So is she.

We're off to find a wedding site tomorrow. We being my mom and I. I'm excited and annoyed. My love... oh how I love thee. Why on earth did I think that he would be any different than any other male when it came to planning our wedding? I dunno either, but for some reason I thought he'd at least help me pick a place. Oh No! I wanted small and intimate, he wanted a real wedding. OK I can do real wedding. Now his input is limited to "If we have it on a Friday people wont come." that's all... nothing more.
ooh ooh ooh I did find a pretty dress though!

I'm not big on football, but beings that I am "maritally required" to root for the Steelers, YAY Steelers! (or whatever.) We are going to a Superbowl party on Sunday, so that should be fun, right? Hang out with a bunch of My Love's friends wives, who thought I was a flash in the pan and are now forced to remember my name because I'm not goin' anywhere. I love these few and far between shindigs... practice the smile that shows in your eyes, be polite, and remember they don't want you to engage in their conversation just pretend that you're interested in what they're saying.

OH, and the last thing I will blurb about today... something I don't think many women say... I love my bathroom scale! I bought one last weekend, and while I'm sure it was just adjusting or whatever those things do... the past 3 days it has consistently showed the same weight, which is 4 pounds less than it said the three days before that! So, Yay for little insignificant things that keep the happy bubble inflated!

Have a joyous weekend!


Friday, January 23, 2009

Oy Vey!

What a week.

The roommates came home on Sunday.
My great uncle died on Monday.
A very incredible extended friend died on Tuesday.
I found out about Monday's death on Wednesday. The funeral is next Monday.
Boss Man fired the other office goddess on Thursday.
Sing with me: "It's Friday... I'm in love"

(I'm in a weird space today. Please don't hold anything I write against me.)

I messed around on HR Block this morning to see what kind of check I could expect... turns out I owe the state more than the fed is giving me back. Please keep in mind that I already paid the state as much as I paid the fed. Figure that one out. Yes, the same state that wont do anything to make Her Dad pay me a friggin dime in child support, but gives his lazy ass food stamps because he wont get a job! Basically I get to work my butt off to be responsible and pay my bills, and when I make more than they think a family of 2 should make I get to give them money to hand out to people who aren't even citizens or who choose not to work to support themselves, let alone their kids.

(ok off that soap box.)

I did finally buy wrecking balm, it's this tattoo fading system that seems to have a very good reputation. I'm a pretty skeptical person when it comes to advertising, but I've heard from people that I actually know who have experience with it so it came highly recommended. After going in for a consultation for laser tattoo removal, I decided that $250 is worth giving a shot. I have better things to spend 5 grand on, even though having two youthful indiscretions removed is most certainly high on my to do list before the wedding.

(note to those who may not understand tattoos: Permanent doesn't mean much when you're 18-19 years old.)

I am once again reminded that I truly am the girl most people love to hate. It seems, as a rule, people do not generally like me. Maybe it's my tattoos, Maybe it's my face, in some cases I know it's a false reputation superseding me. Maybe it's something that I am totally not conscious of. Whatever it is, it seems to be much easier for people who have never spent any real amount of time with me, to hate me first.

On a better note: tomorrow I am going with my mom and sister to try on dresses. no we haven't set a date. no we dont have a venue picked out. no it's not sounding like its even going to happen in 2009. but I'm still excited to go try on pretty white dresses!

May next week fare better than this has.


Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Co-Habitating Has Lost It's Charm

I have an unwelcome guest staying with me. It announced it's impending visit last Tuesday, and my efforts to dissuade it proved futile. I have no idea how long it will be here, I'm trying to make it as uncomfortable as possible with the hopes that it will decide to go bother someone else... far far away from me.

Yes, the guest I speak of is a cold. My head feels like a balloon, my throat is parched to no avail, and I have this tremendous knot in the middle of my back that no length of massage or stretching has been able to relieve. I would LOVE to call in to work and stay in bed for a whole day, but The Crazy Horse Lady decided to come home after a week instead of staying out on the road. Needless to say, sitting at my desk sipping tea and filling tissue beats laying in bed inhaling her fumes while she curses Obama and talks about the impending doom of the world, hands down!

Between her and my going-to-be-father-in-law, I got so incredibly burned out on politics during the election that I have not given one aota of thought to the outcome. I'm glad Obama won. I thought Sarah Palin was a kick in the pants, but in hindsight I think the right person won. Hopefully he has what it takes to turn the country around. Maybe he can get away from the bickering of two sides and take the side of ALL of the American people who are just trying to live their lives, raise their kids, and not step on anyone else's toes.
(I'm going to leave it at that.)

I am so over roommates. A couple of years ago, I loved living with people. It was like always having company and I thought it was fun. Even though my last roommates pulled a Jekyll and Hyde on us, I didn't understand how people could grow to hate having friends around all the time. Now, I absolutely can not wait to buy a house. We are pretty close actually, should get our pre-approval this week!
(hoping. praying. lots of praying.)

OK. sorry to cut this off abruptly. perhaps it is complete, perhaps my brain has officially ceased function. I don't even remember what I was thinking about, suddenly I've been inundated with inauguration and I want to go to sleep...


Wednesday, January 14, 2009

To Blog or Not To Blog... Is that a question?

I apologise. Apparently blog-block is a handicap. Almost daily I log in to blogger, click new post, and type a bunch of randomness. As, I'm sure, you've come to expect. (if you're still reading )

Have you ever been bored with yourself?

Seriously. I have gone to preview, read half of my post and deleted them. If I can't read my own post, why would anyone else. However, as annoying as my randomness can be, it's not even been interesting to me lately.

All I can think about is buying a house and planning a wedding. Knowing that both are major life events, each really does require two people, and alot of phone calls. I hate making phone calls, but I have a desk job which allows for things such as blogging, and emails, and copying 25 documents to fax over to a lender and...
(see... not interesting blog material)

But then I was reminded, by myself (go figure), that this blog is "Conversations With Myself". This is a place for my randomness, uncensored, raw (as it can be), and anonymous as I want. Of course I love comments, and I love that a handful of people may see that I've posted something and stop by to see what is coercing through my brain on any given day. But my stage fright has apparently gone into overdrive and I am criticising myself for my thoughts shared on my blog.

(did you follow that?)

I am going to post this post. Whether it's crappy or not. Whether it annoys me, and probably you, my lovely readers. Because I guess a lame post that is honest is better than no post at all. Especially when my brain is overflowing, with I don't even know what, and if I don't get it out somewhere I'm likely to start having 2 way conversations out loud with myself. Which could potentially have some serious consequences, especially at work.

So, I guess what I'm saying is, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy the little bits of my world that I get out here. I'm sorry I have stage fright, I'm going to work on that.




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