03.11.03

Today, Monkey is seven years old.

I could have sworn she just turned two.

Seven years ago I was propped up in a hospital bed, with 12 of my "closest" family members, watching Perry Mason, and counting to ten between pushes.

I only counted like four times.

(Don't hate me. My girly bits were on display for every person I was related to because the nurse never asked them to leave.)

(I've since learned to assert myself.)

Last week Monkey informed me that she should get a cell phone when she turns seven.

And that she wants to dye her hair black and blue...

Um.No.

I thought I had seven more years before this came up.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Happy Birthday, Monkey!

(stop growing already.)

I Think I Can, I Think I Can...

I fell off the wagon.

OOOF!

I had a terrible run on Friday. It was forced, and achy, and just all around not a good time.
Saturday morning I woke up just not feelin' it.
So I skipped.

Sunday, was supposed to be my rest day but I got my butt out of bed.

(at 10.)

I put on my running clothes, went downstairs, poured a cup of coffee, ate my yogurt, and sat in front of the TV and watched an entire Planet Earth DVD.

Then the Vegas Race.

Seriously. NASCAR on a 65" TV. It's like you're driving!

Then I did some yard work. Moved the fire pit to a "prettier" spot.
Burned some brush. Made a mulch box. Chased the horses. Played with the puppies.

Basically everything that I've been putting off since we moved.

Monday came.

I've totally talked myself down. I'm just not feeling it. I don't want to run. In fact, I'm dreading it, but I know if I don't that I'll make an excuse every single day and never get back in the game (or my cute shorts.)

So, I went home. I started dinner. I changed into my running clothes, and down the road I went.

Warm-up: stretching the shoulders, talking myself up, breath-in breathe-out.
Run 3 walk 1: singing Free Fallin' makes 4 minutes pass quickly.
Run 3 walk 1: feeling pretty good.
Run 1 1/2: up a big ass hill.
Curse myself for thinking I could run up that hill, after 2 days off, and not want to lay down and die at the top.
Walk 45 seconds: until the world stops spinning, calves stop screaming, and the fire in my lungs is extinguished.
Run 5!: downhill momentum is a beautiful thing.
Walk 1
Run 4: to impress the 3 passing cars heavy traffic.
Cool down.

I did it! I got back out there and ran.

I Am Wonder Woman!

I was back in time to finish making dinner before the Cowboy got home.

A bottle of water. Meat, Rice, Veggie.

A (honestly, just one.) (large.) glass of "Mommy Juice".

By 8:00, I was dead to the world!

and I feel AWESOME!

My Own Best Friend

I may or may not have actually had more than one of these conversations recently.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

(me) "Hi! Will you be my friend?"

(random 1) "Uh, I am your friend."

(me) "Sweet! Lets hang out."

(random 1) "I'm busy."

(me) "Ok, lets hang out when you're not busy."

(random 1) "I'm always busy."

(me) "Well what are you busy doing? Maybe I can help, or be busy with you."

(random 1) "Mostly, I'm busy hanging out with my friends."

(me) "So, you're too busy hanging out with your friends?"

(random 1) "Yeah, I have alot of friends."

(me) "So we can be friends but we cant hang out?"

(random 1) "Yea, pretty much."

(me) "That's not a friend."

(random 1) "Well I still think were friends, always. No Matter What."

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

(me) "Hi! Will you be my friend?"

(random 2) "Uh, whats in it for me?"

(me) "Being my friend is in it for you."

(random 2) "Thats it?"

(me) "Yeah!"

(random 2) "Nothing else?"

(me) "Well, I'm a pretty awesome friend."

(random 2)"I have enough friends."

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

(me) "Hi, can I be your friend?"

"Sure."

(me) "Cool. Wanna get some coffee and maybe go for a walk?"

"Sure."

(me) "So, what's your name?"

"Me."

(me) "Hi, Me. We should probably keep our voices down so all these people dont think we're talking to myself."

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Yoga, Boobs, and Office Space

Why is it that every time I start to do something awkward in my office, like research on breast augmentation or yoga practice, I get interrupted? Yet, if I'm just standing at my desk playing on Facebook or reading the doom-and-gloom, everyone leaves me alone.

It never fails.

After and hour of this:


No phone calls, No visitors, No irritating nosy more-OCD-than-I co-workers popping in.


I decide to bust out this:

or attempt


and then there was the time I was looking at this: CLICK! when the boss walked in.

What do they thing this is, a place of business or something? I'm blogging here.

They, my co-workers and my boss, just laugh at me. There really isn't anything I do that suprises them anymore. Maybe the boob thing, but even that didnt generate a negative comment or snicker.

I just wonder why it is that if I stand here and do nothing all friggin' day, no one needs me. But the second I try to "better" myself, everybody needs something 'right now'.

Don't Cowboys Ride Horses and Drive Big Trucks?

Recently, I promised the Cowboy that I wouldn't charge anything else to my credit card. We are consolidating a few things in order to pay them off at a lower rate (blah-blah-blah) and save bu-ku-bucks for Hawaii.

I, oh so responsibly, told Blondie and Princess that we absolutely could not go shopping "just to look", suspended my B&N Nook account and haven't even opened iTunes this week because there is always "just one" new CD song, that I "need to buy, today."

(OK, so technically I cant actually suspend my B&N account. But I've not purchased any new books in the past week, which is so the same thing.)

The other day he called me at work, from a car dealership and said, "Honey, can you come test drive this car, I think I'm gonna buy it."

(dot dot dot)

I tried, in vain, to talk him out of it.

That man is as thick as the Great Wall of China sometimes.

I told him to leave the car at the dealership, go home, and that we could talk about it. I explained that, if it was meant to be, the car would still be there for us to purchase when the dealership opened the next morning.

I thought he understood that I wasn't saying "You can not buy the car, ever."
I was merely saying, "You should not buy that car, today."

I'm naive.

This was sitting in my driveway when I got home.




This is not for me to drive.

He "let" me drive it home from our friend's birthday party because... well it doesn't matter why.

First, "This is not a good year for you to get your boobs 'enhanced'."

Then, "You really need to watch your frivilous spending; And yes, $50.00 flip-flips are frivilous... I dont care if they're designed to boost your booty."

Now, "Honey, I work hard and I commute further than you. I deserve the new car."

(sigh.)

I am so going to buy new running shoes tomorrow.

and likely those flip-flops also!

Anything but That!

Monkey ate something rancid and threw up for 2 days.

Poor thing.

I dont do vomit. I can handle blood, and guts, and most poo-related incidents without gagging. But vomit... NOPE! I knew going into motherhood that this would eventually be a problem, and have been fortunate enough to avoid it for nearly 7 years.

Fortunately, we have Blondie. She rescued me yesterday.

Monkey was leisurely sipping her soup, when she suddenly got that "Oh-no, not again!" look on her face. She jumped up, ran (or stumbled) through the kitchen and living room, made it to the doorway of the laundry room and lost it right there on the carpet... then proceeded into the laundry-bathroom and finished her business in the proper place. She's a trooper.

I tried to help. Really.

But the mere sound of someone upchucking makes my face pucker and my throat heave.

I think Blondie caught on to this, because she jumped in and said "I've got this, ewww... you go run or something."

So. I Did.

I left my 14 year old step-daughter to clean my baby girls vomit out of the carpet, while I got some fresh air and an awesome run.

Sure, I felt mildly guilty, but Monkey didnt need me. She just went back to laying on the couch, looking all cute and pathetic. And Blondie knew that someone else cleaning the ick out of the carpet was better than my futile attempt, and ultimate addition to the problem, would be.

On the way home I grabbed some Arm-and-Hammer Carpet Deodorizer (light scent my ass.)to try to "help", and brought Blondie her favorite wildberry smoothie.

Then made her dinner.

And did her chores.

and she loves me!

Test #1

There is one secret to "self-help" that I havent read in any book, and I've read my share of books. Do you know what it is?

The biggest step toward change is implementation. None of the principles, incites, or 12-step programs are going to do a lick of good if you don't put them to practice.

I'm reading 2 incredible books right now. Gretchen Rubin's "The Happiness Project" and Joseph Murphy's "The Power of Your Subconscious Mind". Both are motivational-change your perspective-books. . This whole, adopting a new outlook in order to have a happier home/mentally healthy mind, thing has been a long time coming, and I discovered both of these little gems at the same time. I'm not going to try to summarise either because I'm only about half way through each, but I am making a conscious choice to implement the key concepts: Take a moment and pause. If I change the way I think about/approach things, I can change my life. It's going to be a challenge, but with statements like: "Never finish a negative statement; reverse it immediately, and wonders will happen in your life." (The Power of Your Subconscious Mind pp.19)

Today was my first test.

Why did I get so irked with the Cowboy? He kindly offered to call the local sheriff's department to get me some information, and when we realised he did not ask all of the necessary questions, he even called them back. Yet by the time he conveyed the information to me, I was irritated that he didn't get all of the information the first time and spiraled downward into being completely annoyed that he is home sick, when he is not too sick to be at work, and hasn't done anything but play PS3 games all day; yet when I am sick, I still have to watch Monkey (because he wont dare be late for work in order to take her to school), get laundry done, vacuum, clean the kitchen, and make dinner for everyone.

How on earth did I go from a lovely lunchtime conversation and my husband doing something kind for me, to being so completely aggravated that I don't even want to talk to him? This is exactly the kind of thinking behavior I am trying to halt. No more negative, selfish thinking. No more, poor me, where is my gold star, I want some credit- recognition- or gratitude thinking. I do all of the things I do, for myself (truly.) No one else cares if the house is a mess or if I actually stay in bed (or on the couch) when I am sick. I just can not stand to waste an entire free day, sick or not, away from the office. Idle time does not bode well for me. So it is completely unfair of me to be irritated with my "sick" husband because he is still in his pajamas at noon-thirty. There are tons of things to get done, but he is home sick. He should be doing nothing but relaxing, playing video games and eating the left over pizza. And when I get home, there should be a whole pile of used tissues on the floor, remnants of what he's consumed today strung all over the kitchen, an unmade bed, and three teenagers and a six-year-old looking at me asking "What's for dinner."

And I'm going to smile and ask; "What would you like?"

Acceptance

Living with teenagers is an entirely different sport than hanging out with them on the weekends. They've never had a mom and are quite accustomed to "their" ways of doing things. Their way being: not doing until they've been asked 4 times and they realize you're on the verge of packing all of their belongings and moving them to the attic; passing the buck about why the garbage is overflowing, there is strawberry jelly on the counter, a 1/2 full glass of milk in the fridge while they're pouring another one; and telling you they don't know how to fold their laundry because "Grandma always just did that for us because we did it wrong." (Thanks Grandma.)

Needless to say, we're all adjusting, and I'm determined to turn this adjustment a positive thing. I don't want everyone, especially my husband, to dread coming home. I accept that I work full-time, I accept that I can't make the kids disappear when I want to, and I accept (begrudgingly at the moment) that I don't always get what I want, and that I have to make sacrifices for the sake of the "team".

Less nagging, more joking. Less yelling, more running. I mean really, does it matter if the floor is swept every day, so long as I dont walk through or set my bag in any unidentifiable stickiness again? I'll lay off about the 6 knives that were used to make 3 sandwiches in the morning, if they manage to get them into the dishwasher before I get home. Compromise is an art, apparently, so I'll become an artist.

In other words: I accept that it's time to grow up be an adult. (eek!)

I'm thinking of the lovely instead of the ugly, and I'm doing something awesome for myself. I put down my nightly "mommy juice", and I'm taking to the streets (or the forest.)

In a little over 5 weeks, I begin training for a marathon!

Why would I go and do something crazy like, sacrifice my Sunday morning sleep, for the next 6 months, to take up something like running?

Because I needed a fitness goal, and I needed something I would stick to.

Because my sister lost 25 pounds last year, in 4 months.

Because in 304(ish) days I'm getting on a plane, with 25 of my closest family members, and heading to Maui for 14 days! And, beings that Uncle Sam had alternate plans for my taxes this year, I'm not getting the enhancements I was expecting to get. So if I cant fill out the top of a "modest" bikini, I'm certainly not going to overfill the bottom of it.

Today I ran 2 miles in 24 minutes. Not bad for a beginner. My legs are a little sore, so tomorrow I rest. I'm still going to walk at lunch, because Lord knows I need a break at least once in my day, but I will go home and make dinner and watch tv with my cowboy and the heathen wonderful children, who really do make my life better than I ever thought it could be!

Run DONE!

Last year I was envious of my sister and her neighbor. They joined a local running club and ran four nights a week plus Saturday mornings, to train for the marathon. Every time I logged into Facebook I would see their posts: "Run Done! ..." I so wanted to be out there running, but was the queen of excuses as to why I couldn't...

I live on a highway.
I have to make dinner.
There are 30 horses to feed.
The fridge has all this beer in it and if I don't drink it - it's just going to sit there in the dark .... how tragic would that be?!

This year, I live in the country. I'm a half-mile from the road and mile in from "main road to town", there are only 3 horses to feed, the kids can start dinner, and the Cowboy will definitely drink all the beer if I decide not to partake.

Win Win Win! I get to go run and I have no excuses not to. PLUS! I live 2 miles from a lake with some pretty fantastic trails. While it's still muddy on the upper routes, I discovered a great, mostly flat, path that is .9 miles and circles the entire lake.

I'm new to this whole running thing so I'm taking it slow. I got a 5 minute warm-up of brisk walking, the ran 2 minutes / walked 1 minute, for 20 minutes, then a 10 minute cool down and some simple stretching. Stretching is definitely my favorite things about exercising. Even when I dont realise how much I'm working, feeling my muscles lengthen, and breathe when I'm done working them, is so incredibly soothing.

An unexpected perk of running after work, I was actually pleasant when I got home the second time. After my initial drop and escape - where I drop off Monkey, change into work out clothes, and bolt back out the door - I got some quiet, me time, did something healthy that made me feel good, and when I got home I actually wanted to make dinner and converse with my family instead of mixing a drink and zoning out in front of the TV hoping to catch some elusive quiet.

(I know that quiet in front of the TV sounds contradictory; but I dont actually listen to the TV. It's just on to allow my brain to shut down.)

Today, I'm heading out into the sunshine for a lunch walk, and tonight I run again! Tomorrow is my first day to rest.

~Cheers!

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...

(sigh.)

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!


~cheers

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."

(sigh.)

(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?"
"No."
"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".


~cheers!

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.

(Bitch.)

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.)
(Anyone.)

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...

~cheers!

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.

~cheers!

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...

... ... ...

(snicker.)
(snort.)

Cause that'll happen.


~cheers!

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!

~cheers!

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.

Updates:

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.

(SHAME!)

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.

~cheers!

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.

(SCORE!)

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!

~cheers!

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.

(pause.)

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.

(giggle.)

The Cowboy: You're naughty.

(more giggling.)


~cheers!

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.

(Lovely.)

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.

(Sigh.)

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.

Maybe.


~cheers!

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!

~cheers