Email Curiosity

OK. . . I know, you're sick of hearing how I love email, spam and all, but I have a noodle-scratcher for ya: WHY is my spam email box filled up with shit dated January 18, 2038? Like 1450 of them.

2038? Fuck me. . . The last 35 years have been a bitch and I sure as hell don't plan on sticking around for another 30, especially if this is the kind of email I have to look forward to. Maybe they know that's when I'll need Viagra or a penis extender, even though I don't have a penis? Maybe by the year 2038 they'll have magic pills or a cream to hatch a penis of my very own? Maybe the spammers know I just don't have that many years left to give and they have to get their shit to me before I croak? It's worse than a post-dated check. Sorry, dude. If the MS doesn't get me first, the syringomyelia will nail me before I hit 50. Too bad, so sad.

Stephen is offering "high quality medications and natural weight loss." Thanks, but I got enough drugs now to choke a horse, Steve, brand-name, and the size of my ass is only going to be helped by REMOVING IT FROM THE CHAIR from time to time. Seriously, I have an ass print in my chair and if I sit in it wrong, I get a backache. What's worse, it's one of those chairs with heat and massage and now that the cushion is gone, those little doodads that vibrate poke my ass something fierce. Must be I don't have ENOUGH padding back there, so pass the Cheetos and Twinkies, my friend.

Amanda tells me "It's tough being 18 without a boyfriend, help a girl out!" Guess what, Amanda??? I was a teenager once. You couldn't pay me enough to go back there, and there ain't jack shit I can do to help you out anyhow. I got the wrong plumbing and I'm about 18 years too old for you, even if I did swing from that tree, which I don't. Besides, I have the libido of belly button lint, so I'm of no use to you. Go peddle your goods elsewhere.

Monica says "I'm tired of being single, you too?" What? I'm single? When did that happen? How could I miss THAT? Gimme the papers so I can unload this ball and chain I've been dragging around. Oh. Wrong person? Yeah, fuck you and your little dog, too.

Web Cam advertisement for "3rd grade teacher/sexually explicit." Uh. OK. Where the fuck did THAT one come from? That's certainly not a penis extender ad. Talk about barking up the wrong tree. Next, please.

Amanda now says she's 21. Let's pick and age and stick with it, child - 24 was nice. I'd go back there. But you're still not my type, even 176 emails later. And just a cotton-picking minute. . . if the email's dated 2038, whether you claim to be 18 or 21, you're not even jumping from nut to nut yet, little girl.

"Have you ever thought of being a police officer?" Why, yes, I have. In fact, I wanted to enroll in the Ferris State criminal justice program - 50 pounds, 4 kids, 2 blown knees, 1 chronic debilitating and incurable disease, and 20 fucking years ago. Thanks for reminding me of what WOULDACOULDASHOULDA have been, asshole.

Colon Cleanse will flush up to 20 excess pounds out of my body!!!! Well, as long as they don't come off my ass padding, I guess that would be all right. I'd gladly give up these watermelons that occupy the space where my nice perky breasts used to be. That should be 20 pounds, right? Maybe then I could find a bra that actually fits instead of mail ordering from Flint Tent & Awning with enough underwire to build an airplane hangar? Too bad there's not a direct route from my colon to my breasts, I'd just shit them off.

$250,000 life insurance policy for less than $10 a month!!! If they knew the condition I was in, they'd give me a $10 policy for $250,000 a month.

Free sample of Oreo Cakesters. Hmmmm. That might help me with my padding issue.

Singles over 40. Well, I ain't THAT old yet. And I ain't single. This is another of those curiosities like "How did Dick get my email address?"

Conquer hair loss for less!!! Fuck that. I chopped it all off a couple weeks ago anyhow and I don't go anywhere, so who gives a shit if I'm bald or not? Just let nature be, baby. It's only hair. Maybe someday nature will make it stop growing in my armpits like it stopped growing on my head, so I don't need to shave anymore. That'd be cool. Hate hairy, stinky pits.

Pablo is looking for me. Good luck finding me, dick head. I'm firmly rooted in my ass print in a chair in a 7 x 13 basement room with no windows in the middle of nowhere - FOR A REASON!

Amazing, Quality of Safety in Our Public Schools

Almost 5 hours after school was dismissed for the day, an automated call comes through on my cell phone from the district superintendent: Due to news reports this morning of an unapprehended criminal in our area, buildings went into secure mode until sheriff's deputies announced the criminal had been apprehended.

Nice to know that - FIVE FUCKING HOURS AFTER SCHOOL WAS DISMISSED. Not like they couldn't have sent these messages out hours ago, while the buildings were actually in lock down?

And people wonder why I can't stand the public school system and wish I had the time to homeschool my kids.

Anyhow, this is the story. Kind of scary, knowing these raids were going on within a few blocks of one of the schools and two others literally just around the corner from my home and near yet another school. Fucking morons, stealing shit - makes me wish we had the death penalty here in Michigan and the ability to fry these fuckers who steal guns with the intent to put them on the streets, where the intent would ultimately be to KILL SOMEONE, MOST LIKELY A COP.

Justice for Jessie

Justice for Jessie. Do I think it was accidental as he claims? Not really. Why? Because if it were accidental, being a police officer, his first response should have been to contact emergency personnel in an attempt to save Jessie and baby Chloe. That's his JOB, not just as a police officer but as a father. He admitted he was stressed about child support, so what better way to get out of paying for another one than getting rid of it. He couldn't have KEPT HIS PECKER IN HIS PANTS in the first place, right? And sitting in prison, his support obligations can be suspended, even if his parental rights aren't terminated under statute for murdering his son's mother (not sure if Ohio has that statute but probably so).

Rest in peace, Jessie and Chloe, and I'm so sorry for your losses, young Blake.

Children and Bodily Functions

WHY do kids think it's so funny when they fart or burp? There's always the inevitable giggle, chuckle, and, if its particularly loud, outright laugh immediately preceding the wide-eyed "excuse me" followed by uncontrollable laughter. I don't think it's just the current crop of kids, either, since I remember going through this with my boys, who still laugh if it's large, compete in belching contents, and know which brands of pop produce the best ones.

It's not just the kids, either, now that I think about it. I once had a friend who in her early 30s could belch in a manner reminiscent of Booger and Ogre in Revenge of the Nerds. It's kinda gross, but nothing I need to concern myself with anymore since she unloaded me like so much extra baggage on the sinking ship that was her life and, in hindsight, probably best for me. I hear about her occasionally and it makes me sad, my best friend for so many years, but I'd still take her back in a heartbeat, gross belching and all.

I had a great post all planned out, something to make you laugh so hard you would pee your pants (even just a little), but I caught this nasty stomach bug the kids have had all week and between that and my memory deficits (if I don't write it down, I forget stuff I would have remembered for an eternity in My Life Before MS), it's just gone. It was good, too, which really sucks.

Of Course, I'm Confused

My phone came unhooked, mysteriously (not really so mysterious but it sounds good), and I never knew it rang. The caller was directed to voice mail and later after I realized the phone was unhooked, I plugged it back in and saw a message waiting for me. Now, since my number's unlisted and the only ones who call me are the ones I actually give it to, it should be from somebody I want to hear from, right?. . . WRONG. I routinely get calls from credit consolidation companies and mortgage companies, and often I get calls asking to speak to the home owner. I tell them good luck trying to find him since I rent. They hang up. I get calls for all kinds of shit and tell them take my number from their lists (I know they're using auto-dialers) and they hang up on me before I get it out. Once I asked the solicitor for their name and home phone so I could call them in the middle of the night, being as I was as third-shifter and they were calling me in the middle of MY sleep time. I got an apology for that one, miraculously. Now, every day some asswipe calls me and asks for either myself by name or my husband by name. Strange, considering I obviously don't give my name and number out to solicitors and scam artists and my husband is deaf and can't come to my phone and, therefore, would NOT hand out my number either. Fuckers. Today, though, I had a surprise message. In between the 8 hang-ups my dad left (he refuses to leave a message), there was a message with people talking in the background, television on full blast, and someone breathing into the receiver. After reading some stuff online about that number that occasionally pops up on my screen, I figured it was just that fuck face again. Then I hear "Hello? Patty?" and then. . . disconnect.

Who the fuck is Patty? I've had this number for years, but I get her calls all the time. I had another line into the house for years, and I used to get Anna and Robert's calls and messages every day - 5 years after surrendering their number back to the phone company, they were still giving it out to everyone, including their BANK and a local car dealer who notified me that they were approved for the loan on the vehicle they wanted to buy. I had conversations with Anna and Robert's family members, to whom they gave MY phone number. Maybe they just didn't want to talk to their relatives, but I sure don't want to talk to them either. I don't even know these people. That in itself is a chuckle, since our town is so small that our whole residential phone book comes to about 3-1/2 pages, but I don't have a clue who any of these people are and why they're giving out my number.

It Can't ALL Be Just Me

Problem: 2-year-old male child constantly goes into the bathroom and turns on the water faucet, leaving the water running and flooding the floor.

Mom's solution: Close the bathroom door since he's too short to open it by himself.

Dad's solution: Turn off the water valves under the sink so no one can use it.

Seriously, it really CAN'T be all me, can it?

If Only We All Were 3 Years Old

How much simpler would life be, how much more. . . everything wonderful that makes up and follows in the presence of a 3-year-old child, if only we could all be 3.

"Me love you so much, mommy."

My heart stops in my chest now every time I hear that, having gone so many months without hearing it at all and facing the possibility that I may never hear it again. I've spent the last 8 days breathing in and out, amazed and stunned and relieved and ever so thankful to hear those words whispered in my ear, tiny arms wrapped around my neck and baby kisses on my cheeks.

"Me missed you, mommy."

"Why you crying, mommy? Me hug you. You better now."

It takes my breath away. I can't stand being away from my kids for a week, a day, or even an hour and to know that 4-1/2 months passed by, violently and needlessly carved from our lives and nearly destroying me in the process, makes the knowledge that I came through it not just for me but for THEM that much sweeter. Now that the sky has cleared, life moves forward, but at a slower pace, not just due to my multiple sclerosis but more so due to my appreciation for what could have been lost forever.

How Weird Is That?

I had a glass of Mountain Dew on the desk. I went to the restroom and came back and the glass was gone. I looked around and found it on the floor on the other side of the room, Dew spilled on the floor and the cat licking it off the floor. Seriously, if she wanted some she could have asked, she didn't need to steal it. I think my cat is nuts - what kind of cat drinks Mountain Dew? Or eats green beans and broccoli and even tomatoes but turns her nose up at pepperoni? I probably shouldn't question; after all, this is the same cat that catches chipmunks, blackbirds, and snakes outdoors and has been known to go "fishing" (and gotten a few) from the opening at the top of the aquarium and drinks out of the toilet like a dog, sneering at the fresh water in her bowl time and time again, and sleeps under the covers on the bed with her head on the pillow, pushing me if I take up too much of "her" space in the bed. I think she thinks she's a dog or something. Or a person. Or some kind of super-hybrid catdogperson. She's weird. . . but she's mine.

On the 143rd Day

I thanked God for His blessings and my friends and family.
I saw how deep my love for my children ran and how being a mom defined who I was.
I understood that truth and justice ultimately DO prevail, with help from Above.
I woke up from my nightmare and realized vindication.

February 1, 2008, the 143 day, was a day of second chances as well as new beginnings, and the day I finally became right with the small corner of the world I occupy. Two halves reunited to form the whole with a little extra added in to improve the "recipe": Some humiliation, some understanding, a lot of appreciation, and an entirely new perspective on my faith.

I'm back, and better than ever, baby.

I'm So Awesome

Which Great US President Are You Most Like? created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as Abraham Lincoln 16th President, in office from 1861-1865 Born: 1809 Died: 1865 (assassainated) Abraham Lincoln 83% Theodore Roosevelt 81% Woodrow Wilson 74% Dwight Eisenhower 71% Franklin Roosevelt 64% Thomas Jefferson 64% John Kennedy 62% George Washington 55% Ronald Reagan 52% Lyndon Johnson 45% Harry Truman 33%

Untitled Email

I know I've mentioned it before, but I love some of the junk that falls into my email box. I'd turn off spam blocker merely for amusement purposes if I had time to sift through 4.5 million spam messages a day, but I don't and I can't so I won't. No matter how hard spam blocker tries, though, occasionally one slips through and rear its ugly head in my Inbox.

I know not to click untitled email from Harry Longshank or email entitled "Hi" with no sender listed. Even though Snopes debunks many of those telling me not to click on Liberty Torch or Friendship, I have "better safe than sorry" burned in my mind and just don't. Then there are insurance quotes and other stuff I know I didn't solicit but have managed to deceive spam blocker. These all get a ticket from me for operating without a valid license on the information superhighway in my jurisdiction and have a nice day, ma'am (yes, I have a thing for cops, too, once a little bit TOO much--something about a man in uniform carrying a big gun, or was it the siren and flashing bubble light on top of his car???).

I get a cackle out of penis extension emails promising to grow me up to 2 inches, although what I'd do with an up-to-2-inch penis is beyond me--I don't think that's even long enough to write my name with in the snow, a feat I'd always secretly envied men for, being of the female persuasion and hearing what I believe now to be tall tales; somehow, though, I've managed to go 35 years without ever even having seen human-yellowed snow, let alone someone's name sketched merrily across the landscaping. I even find subtle humor in the scads of emails from debt reduction companies, probably owned by the same company owning the credit card that was so kind in assisting me in getting into trouble in the first place.

My favorite emails, though, are of two sorts: First, the inspiring (generally Christian-themed) emails giving me a message that I probably really needed to hear that day and not telling me I need to secure my blessings by passing it on to at least 8 people. I know my blessings come from above, not from the Ethernet, but I also know the person on the other end of the Ethernet was probably asking Him to help me. This is one of my ramblings making little sense, but that's just me, like it or leave it. Second, I love GOOD jokes. They're usually dirty or at least slightly off-color, but they give me the best kind of medicine I need: Laughter. I ain't shitting you that Laughter really IS the best Medicine. . . after all, you're my favorite turd. And I'm as serious as a heart attack, or was it a rubber crutch?

Back to the point. Some while ago someone here on the Internetz (don't ask me who, because my memory's gone down the pipe and there are at least 65 posts in my reader every day--keep up the good work, guys!) posted a picture of 3 somewhat older topless ladies who'd been "decorated" with frog faces. It grossed me out then. . . and today I got an email from a friend I haven't heard from in ages with the same picture. . . and it still grosses me out. But in a morbid kind of way, it IS amusing - if wrong - on a number of levels.

Anyhow, vaguely titled emails sent to me from someone I love dearly are also good medicine for me, and here's another classic. Although it's an oldie, it's still a goodie and made me laugh today just like it did years ago:

Three women, two younger and one senior citizen, were sitting naked in a sauna. Suddenly there was a beeping sound. The young woman pressed her forearm and the beep stopped. The others looked at her questioningly. "That was my pager," she said. "I have a microchip under the skin of my arm." A few minutes later, a phone rang. The second young woman lifted her palm to her ear. When she was finished, she explained, "That was my mobile phone. I have a microchip in my hand." The older woman felt very low tech. Not to be outdone, she decided she had to do something just as impressive. She stepped out of the sauna and went to the bathroom. She returned with a piece of toilet paper hanging from her rear end. The others raised their eyebrows and stared at her. The older woman finally said. . . "Well, will you look at that. . . I'm getting a fax!"

And this, entitled "A Blonde's Year in Review":

January: Took new scarf back to store because it was too tight.
February: Fired from pharmacy job for failing to print labels. . . . HELLLLLOOOOO!!!!! . . . . bottles won't fit in printer!!!
March: Got really excited. . . . finished jigsaw puzzle in 6 months. . . . box said "2-4 years"!
April: Trapped on escalator for hours. . . . power went out.
May: Tried to make Kool-Aid. . . . wrong instructions. . . . 8 cups of water won't fit into those little packets!
June: Tried to go water skiing. . . . couldn't find a lake with a slope.
July: Lost breast stroke swimming competition. . . . learned later other swimmers cheated. . . . they used their arms!!
August: Got locked out of car in rain storm. . . . car swamped because soft-top was open.
September: Capital of California is "C". . . . isn't it?
October: Hate M&M's. . . . they are so hard to peel.
November: Baked turkey for 4-1/2 days. . . . instructions said 1 hour per pound and I weigh 108!
December: Couldn't call 911. DUH. . . . There's no "eleven" button on the stupid phone!

And finally:

A man was in his front yard mowing grass when his attractive blond female neighbor came out of the house and went straight to the mailbox. She opened it up then slammed it shut and stormed back into the house. A little while later she came out of her house again and went to the mailbox, again opened i and slammed it shut again. Angrily, back into the house she went. As the man was getting ready to edge the law, here she came again, marching to the mailbox. She opened it and then slammed it closed harder than ever. Puzzled by her actions, the man asked her "Is something wrong?" To which she replied, "There ceratainly is! My stupid computer keeps saying "YOU'VE GOT MAIL!"

Road to Recovery

A small part of my life was restored to me today, for which I will be forever grateful to my Lord and my friends, but we're still facing some major hurdles in the coming months. Thank you again for your thoughts and prayers and all your support during these past few months, and with good Grace we will be "brought back in from the cold."

Hugs to all,
A.

An Honest Laugh

I've learned some interesting math, or else reinforcement of the adage "appearances can be deceiving." I already learned that lesson the hard way September 12, a day holding far more pain for me than September 11--the day my entire world, my reason to continue breathing, my life and everything I've worked for, was shattered because of another "person" (I use that term loosely, since it's still undetermined whether they are, in fact, human or just a reasonable facsimile) and their web of deceit, which became too heavy to support itself and I "just happened to be in the way." I think it's called collateral damage in the military, but I have no idea what it is when it's a civilian pursuit causing destruction. Life's just shit, now. I no longer feel any reason to get out of bed, no will to function, and certainly no desire to laugh--not a REAL laugh, anyhow--and I force myself to go on day by day, minute by minute, second by second, all the while withering away inside to a dry and brittle shell of myself, awaiting the final hammer stroke that will pulverize me into dust.

For the first time in 137 days, last night I had my first real laugh. Sorry that it had to be at the expense of my husband, but I'm cautiously optimistic. Since my ultimate annihilation as a "person" is still underway, I don't want to bring my mental state too high or it will just have that much farther to fall and crash on the day my destruction is finalized, the day my world is crushed beyond any hope of repair and probably the end of me as I know myself.

I made the mistake of venturing out in public for the first time in a long time, to a restaurant. I can't deal with public places because there are invariably children in public and it nearly brings me to my knees in emotional pain seeing other people's children. I did it, though, because it's not fair to my husband that I completely close myself off from the outside world when THAT IS NOT THE PERSON HE MARRIED. I know he's experiencing the same pain that I am, that his life is being destroyed in the same way mine is, and that after it's all said and done, we will only have each other. So I did it. We only went to Ponderosa, but baby steps are important, I guess.

I ordered two dinner buffets and we sat down to eat. At the end of the meal, I glanced at the receipt and noticed that one buffet was given a senior citizen discount. I couldn't control myself. I started laughing, and it felt GOOD. Husband's face corkscrewed up, looking at me with head cocked, "What's so funny?" I showed him the receipt and a smile spread across his face, as well. He signs to me, "I'm old man. Are you happy, $1 off dinner?" I told him that maybe the cashier (who was a young kid) thought I was a good daughter, bringing my old daddy out to dinner. Husband snorted. "Why you not wear wedding ring?" I realized I'd forgotten to put it back on (I can't type with them on since they get in the way, so I take them off while working). Oops.

What's so funny about it, in retrospect, is that my husband is only in his 30s. He doesn't have an "old" face, but his hair and beard are white as a result of Waardenburg syndrome--which also causes his deafness. So, appearances really CAN be deceiving--just because he has white hair doesn't mean he's old enough to qualify for a senior citizen discount. Or maybe it's the new math?

Shocked

All my life, people have been shoving their opinions down my throat and up my ass, oftentimes the former and always the latter without my consent. I'm obviously quite the pushover since people have been running roughshod over me quite regularly for much of the last 20 of the 35 years of my miserable existence, making it that much more miserable. I ASK for opinions, and what do I get? Not a peep. This little nibbet has been bugging me since I first crossed paths with it, and I just would like some confirmation as to whether or not I'm seeing what I think I am. Maybe it was just too vague in its "depersonalized" state last time? We can try, try again and seriously, I really want to hear your thoughts on this:

how does it feel now, huh? how does it feel to have the county rip your kids right out from under you? if what "B" says about "F" touching her is true, and i know it is so don't you DARE sit there calling MY daughter a liar!, then your sons are the worst i have ever met in my life! you and "E" are THRU making my life a living hell! god-willing you will NEVER see "B" and "J" again!

Come on, people, tell me what you get out of this! Again, PERSON-X sent this to PERSON-Y, after PERSON-X called CPS for the 8th time against PERSON-Y and mere hours after CPS took custody of PERSON-Y's children, PERSON-X having willingly admitted to CPS that they were making these complaints maliciously in an effort to conduct a custody battle (over "B" and "J.")

My Stairs

Oh, am I getting excited. We have the lower staircase in, awaiting the rail and the "finishing touches" that I have yet to get off my large ass and take care of, and then the upper staircase. Yeah. I was taking photos through the process, so I can giggle over how horrid the temporary stairs were. The new ones feel sooooooooooo good on my feet - 11-inch-wide treads instead of 8 inches, correctly spaced so that you don't fall on your ass as you step off the bottom stair, and oh so purty. Photos soon, as soon as my computer stops bitching and moaning. I really think it's time to invest in a new one, but first THE STAIRS! :)

Y'all Got Quiet

Where'd you go?

Opinions Sought

What's your take on this?

PERSON-X messages PERSON-Y, hours after PERSON-X learned that CPS had ripped PERSON-Y's children right out of their arms (action known to PERSON-X because they had registered said complaint with CPS against PERSON-Y, along with 7 others over the course of the prior 18 months, even after admitting to CPS that they were done out of malice, in the course of a custody battle):

how does it feel now, huh? how does it feel to have the county rip your kids right out from under you? if what ##### says about ##### touching her is true, and i know it is so don't you DARE sit there calling MY daughter a liar!, then your sons are the worst i have ever met in my life! you and ##### are THRU making my life a living hell! god-willing you will NEVER see ##### and ##### again!

Or how about this one? PERSON-M messages PERSON-N at the request of PERSON-X:

Look motherfucker, I hear of it again, I will come kill you...I know where you live.

Or this one, conversation between PERSON-X and PERSON-N:

N: the children live with me.
X: oh, that'll change, don't worry.

Whatcha think?

The Cat's a Freak

I think my cat is depressed. When there was a herd of kids chasing her, she played hide and seek to her heart's content. She ran and played and jumped and snuggled with a different kid every day of the week (almost). Now that it's just me here, I've had to take her affections alone, in all their brute force. She won't leave me alone. I go to bed and she curls up beside me, under the covers, head on the pillow beside mine. I sit down to work and she lays on my foot, even though I'm working the foot pedal to do my transcription. I go to the bathroom and she forces the door open and sits there eyeballing me as I'm on the toilet. I venture out of my rooms and she follows me or, more often, leads the way, as if she knows where I'm heading. Sometimes I'm suspicious that she's on a suicide watch, but then if I leave for a doctor's appointment, she sits at the door waiting for me to come home and then wraps herself around my legs as I try to go down the stairs, almost like she's trying to kill me for leaving her alone.

Yes, I think she's depressed. We make a good pair, depressed and lonely, dying inside from missing our babies. So much for the myth that there's a law against "cruel and inhumane" punishment being inflicted upon the residents of this country, but then, I'm not a "criminal" so I don't really count--and obviously neither does my cat.

The Simple Things

Amazing how a few (relatively) inexpensive doodads can spice up a house, look sharp, and give the place some character. One of these days I'll post some photos so you can see what I'm all excited about. Still kicking myself in the ass for not taking photos before we started this project, which has really been quite a nightmare. The house is only 30 years old but had very little maintenance during that time and suffered from severe lack of TLC (and somewhat of a lack of imagination in the planning and finishing). Being forced childless, I have a lot of attention to focus on this place and A LOT of ideas swimming around in my head to make it somewhere I'll actually be able to stand being imprisoned for the next 40 years or so.

Maple Syrup

Back in the day, when I was still a real person and not a quivering blob of flesh afraid of being attacked from all quarters, I was young and healthy and actually saw that big yellow thing in the sky that I hear tell is called "the sun." I grew up on a farm, outside all day working in the fields, and I had beautiful bronze skin that was frequently marred by that notorious farmer's tan: Noticeably darker on the tops of my arms and legs and across the bridge of my nose and cheeks. Then when I was 16 (fortunately before my senior photos were shot), I became ill with SOMETHING (no one still knows WTF it was) and my skin turned green. I looked like a fucking Martian or something. I was green and when my oldest son was born he was yellow from jaundice, so we were a rainbow-colored family. We both lost our respective odd colorings, the boy with treatment and myself with time. After that, I was just white. Painfully white. Glaringly dead-fish-belly white. This became known as my "moon tan." Now, I'm so frigging white that I'm worried soon I will be transparent, although that might end up being beneficial to my herd of doctors. I tell ya, I hated that farmer's tan when I was forced to live with it, but I'd give my left nut to have it back. Unfortunately, since I have no nuts at all, left or otherwise, I'm stuck with being white--I don't tan anymore since whatever it was that made me turn green.

Anyhow, I only mention this because I happened to notice today that my white is getting whiter and my veins look bluer and now I can actually see arteries, and it's really kind of freaky.

As for my staircase, I am finally ready to rip out the old ones and put in the new ones now that the bulk of the remodeling work that could have damaged them is done. I'm excited, too, because now that I'm a gimp, I'm reduced to exercising my "creative mind" and managed to come up with some real doozies for the new stairs going in. I can't wait to see my mental picture take shape in physical form. I remembered to take some "before" pictures this time.

Sad, when I've been reduced from being excited over my babies achieving their next developmental milestones and learning new words and skills to getting excited over some fucking stairs. My life sucks.

Oh, and I seem to have developed an aversion to maple syrup. Don't ask me where the hell THAT one came from.

Rare Find These Days

Mom-law and her significant other are here for a visit. Usually when they're here, I'm working and can spend very little time with them, but I just happen to be off work the rest of this week due to feeling like shit and having a slew of appointments to inspect the waiting rooms, exam rooms, and bedside manner of half a dozen doctors. Anyhow, I digress.

We went out to dinner tonight at my absolute favorite restaurant, Badawest in Flint. I'd live there, if I could. Unfortunately, they'd never eaten Lebanese food before, but I had the pleasure of introducing them. Mom-law was impressed with the food as well as the restaurant itself. They have beautiful murals on the walls and a number of times she commented on how pretty they were. The part that impressed me, though, was the fact that we walked in about 30 minutes before they closed and they were only offering take-out but decided to seat us and let us eat our meal there. I love that, going above and beyond to please a customer. Our waitress was helpful, pleasant and friendly, and she never once pushed us to hurry up so they could close. The last time we'd gone out to dinner with the in-laws, it was a less than pleasant experience that left me in a position where I felt the need to voice my opinion (like that NEVER happens, right?) and ended with a discussion with the manager--and a free meal that totaled well over $250.

The moral of the story: Don't be afraid to voice your opinion if your experience is less than optimal; if something needs improvement, they won't know it unless someone tells them, and this costs them business through loss of customers and word of mouth of displeased patrons. That doesn't mean being nasty--tact works like magic--but politely letting them know your thoughts and feelings helps you feel better and also helps them improve customer service. In the end, its a win-win situation. I was upset, which led to my speaking with the manager, but knowing that he took action assured me that it was unlikely to happen again and assured him that I would return and would not bad-mouth his restaurant to everyone I know.

Someone's Been Shitting in My Gene Pool

Oh, how I wish I could twiddle my thumbs as I while away the time, waiting for God to come and collect me from Unclaimed Baggage. Something tells me He's busy and I've got a while to wait my turn. Like they say, wish in one hand . . .

I was out of my booger mood briefly. For all of about 10 minutes or so. Too bad you missed it. I was getting ready to crack open a fresh bottle of Dew and the Cheetos so we could have a party, but then that big-green-sticky-booger mood came back. As I'm not a professional booger-picker or a booger-picker of any sort for that matter, I just don't have the skill to pick it and flick it so it doesn't come back and stick. Yet another of life's lessons I've failed to learn, I guess. I think it must be like learning not to piss into the wind, but I'm not equipped to do that anyhow.

On to the "good" news. In the past couple months and particularly the past week, I've:

• For the second time lost about 1/3 to 1/2 of my right eye visual field that had finally mostly come back after a bout of optic neuritis I got as a Fourth of July surprise. Attacks of O.N. can leave residual visual loss, so I'm not anticipating much of it to return this time around, based on the prior 25% residual loss I already had. Seeing's overrated anyhow.
  
• I'm down to maybe (if I'm lucky) 10% functionality with my right arm and 50% with my right leg. It's just too bad I'm right-hand dominant and that I actually like to WALK. On a positive note, I'm learning to eat without the use of my hands. Dogs have it made, you know, and straws CAN be your friend. I want a motorized scooter like I "seen" on TV.
  
• My left arm has now become affected by weakness to the point that I had to ask my husband to comb my fucking hair (which is coming out by the double handfuls now) and I've developed a tremor. This is really putting a damper on my cigarette smoking habit, but I'm highly adaptable and will find a way to light those little bastards up one way or the other.
  
• I'm constantly dizzy and lightheaded to the point of nearly collapsing and falling down the stairs on the way to take a shit, yet another function which tends to be impaired when one suffers from MS. I guess I should have read the fine print, that ALL nerve/muscle function can be impaired, including those regulating the digestive tract. Wonder how long until I start pissing myself?
  
• I've had a headache out of the ordinary from my usual migraines for about the past 2 months that I can't even take the edge off with Excedrin - and I can't use anything more powerful because I'm intolerant to most analgesics. Although, I imagine projectile vomiting might take my mind off my headache for a while. Then maybe I can have a movie star career like what's-her-face that had the spinning head and puking on the priest. I don't know any priests, though, so I can't practice.
  
• I'm suffering from confusion and disorientation, which I had not had a problem with before but I think are part of the MS process, and night terrors, which I KNOW are from the trauma being inflicted upon me by Big Brother these past 4 months. I'm just shocked it took that long to catch up to me. After all, it only took about 2 weeks for me to be unable to leave my rooms in my house.
• I have these odd joint pains (? where'd they come from?) not just in my large joints but in the small joints of my fingers and toes. It wouldn't bug me so much but I TYPE FOR A LIVING, AND THAT'S KIND OF HARD TO DO NOW.
  

I'm a fucking wreck. I've been on this Copaxone for nearly 2 months and it's function is supposed to be to reduce exacerbations in severity and frequency, but I am getting worse even while on it, so my next question is: WHY THE FUCK AM I POKING HOLES IN MYSELF EVERY DAY WHEN IT'S DOING NO GOOD?

I think someone must have taken a shit in my gene pool, cuz there's no reason for me to be this fucked up. It doesn't make any sense, though, since everyone else in the family, for generations back, has been relatively healthy except for the cancer that seems to kill them off in their 40s and 50s. Not one of them had any of this other off-the-wall shit like I've gotten. So where'd it come from?

Another Day, Another Nickel

Or in this case, a couple more awards. Y'all know I haven't really been doing a spectacular job of paying attention lately, but a couple of really awesome ladies dropped off some really awesome stuff for me and it's high time I acknowledged it. It means a lot to me - more than I could ever tell you - how much your friendship means and that you're thinking of me (and still willing to come back and read the drivel I've been spewing lately) and wanting to share your goodies with me.

A couple of weeks back Becky set me up with this great award, the Colors of Friendship. In the spirit of "lifting" the paragraph that accompanies the award, here goes:

"I read their blogs because whether they are simply taking care of family or working to make others’ lives better, they do it with grace and dignity despite any roadblocks along the way."

Again, it means so much to me that you're here and that you know I've hit the biggest roadblock of my life but still trying to hang in there. The best part, though, is knowing I can count you as one of my friends. I'm doing my best to try to keep grace and dignity, but every once in a while that F-bomb strikes before I hit "publish" and I read and re-read it and think that even though it's not very dignified, it's what I'm feeling at that moment and it needs to stay. This blog is my catharsis, my journal, my bitch box, my place to share some of the crazy shit I get in the email or read or think or feel , and I think it's important to preserve my feelings in order to maintain the true spirit of why I'm here in the first place.

Another blog-sis, Diamond, has given me this next award and says to keep my head up, giving me yet another finger to count a great friend upon instead of closing it with the others into a fist and banging myself on the forehead in ASL's sign for "dumb". Thanks, girl. It's a picker-upper if I ever saw one and surely is appreciated.

I'm either too lazy or too preoccupied today (and for the next few months, apparently) to build a monster post listing all the great folks I'd love to share these with, but it's easy enough to identify them: They're each mentioned in the last round of awards and Friendship Roses (12/15/07, "It's Been A While" - no post pages so it won't link directly to the post, sorry), so feel free to just snatch them up, folks.

The Panther

Der Panther
Im Jardin des Plantes, Paris

Sein Blick ist vom Vorübergehn der Stäbe
so müd geworden, dass er nichts mehr hält.
Ihm ist, als ob es tausend Stäbe gäbe
und hinter tausend Stäben keine Welt.

Der weiche Gang geschmeidig starker Schritte,
der sich im allerkleinsten Kreise dreht,
ist wie ein Tanz von Kraft um eine Mitte,
in der betäubt ein großer Wille steht.

Nur manchmal schiebt der Vorhang der Pupille
sich lautlos auf -. Dann geht ein Bild hinein,
geht durch der Glieder angespannte Stille -
und hört im Herzen auf zu sein.

In my interpretation:

He peers between the bars, his gaze growing weary
And his memory flickering and diminishing,
As if there were one thousand bars
Imprisoning dreams of a world he once knew.

He paces the confines of his cage and of his regard,
Circles drawing tighter as the past recedes,
A dance of power, a struggle to maintain,
His spirit stunned but longing to run free.

Occasionally, the curtain of the eye is pushed aside.
Silently, an image is imprisoned within
And flees through a body tense with desire--
Only to echo and fade within the soul.

Out With the New, In With the Old?

I am not ready to lay to rest the memories, hopes, dreams, goals, ideals, beliefs, and passions of the person who occupied this body before me, presumed dead 9/12/07. These were powerful within her, and their combination created an energy that radiated from her and drew people to her. She was loved and respected. She was thoughtful, caring, kind, generous, honest, and loyal. She was someone worth knowing, loving, being with; a truly commanding presence. I realize now - hopefully not too late - that she was not my friend but the most essential part of my being and my existence. Knowing that without her I am but a shadow, I can neither let her go nor stop searching for her, to restore her to her rightful place. I cannot exist as an entity torn in two. I need to reclaim the life that is rightfully mine and restore myself to what I had been rather than what I've become - because, personally, I liked that person much better than the one sitting here staring at this computer screen right now.

I sound like I'm all full of myself, but I don't believe that's the case. I'm proud of the fact that I'm a bit odd: I can objectively look at something, including myself, pick it part and analyze it. These past 4 months have provided ample opportunity to do this. I see what I've become and I DON'T LIKE IT. I am now depressed; before, I looked positively upon life and sought the proverbial silver lining. I am now cynical; before, I looked at the world as a glass half full. I am now angry, frustrated, and bitter; before, I eagerly awaited the lemons so I could share my lemonade. I now hide in my rooms, dreading being hurt further; before, I greeted life and all its challenges with a smile. I now believe that evil lurks in every nook and cranny of my fellow man; before, I believed that there was good inside each of us, just buried a little deeper in some than others. Maybe I was naive. Maybe I was just stupid. Or maybe I really was just full of myself.

I believed - and part of me still does - that I had been touched by the Finger of God. I forgot my place, though, and felt I was impervious to the actions and reactions of other mere earthly beings. I had forgotten to place my spirituality above all else and forsaken that Touch, suffering pain at the perceived loss of its presence, not realizing that it had been there all along but that I was too focused on my losses and grief to notice.

I am awake now. I am listening now. I am watching now. There is a breach in my heart of hearts and in my mind, thousands of thoughts and thousands of feelings washing over my conscious being, and I see that my soul is what I have been seeking, that part of me that I thought was gone.

Fuck the New Year

I started loathing "New Year" on January 1, 2006, when my mother passed away, but at least I had my children surrounding me as I faced the future and I felt like I could take on anything thrown at me. Now that I have been stripped of everything and have NOTHING but the privilege to pay taxes to further facilitate the annihilation of my life as I once knew it, I say FUCK ACKNOWLEDGING THE NEW YEAR. It's just another day of another year to face, alone and lonely, the next of many to despise the person I've become and the fact that I "allowed" the shit of the last few months to make me that way. I feel like I've lost control of the wheel of my Life and every time I try to take it back, some cock-knocker sucker punches me in the face while at the same time making ME look like the bad guy. What's the point of trying anymore? I'm just along for the ride.

Yes, things are getting worse instead of better and there are some wounds that even time will never heal.

OMFG

I was disgusted before, but now I'm just pissed right the fuck off.

Here we have in one article parents not only defending but taking legal action to allow the school to continue to use shock therapy on their children for behavior modification, claiming it teaches them to avoid prohibited behaviors (including assaulting others, according to the article). Then in another article, we read that this same school administered shock therapies to two boys on the telephone order of a former student posing as a school administrator.

• One boy suffered suffered first-degree burns.
• One boy was given 77 shocks and the other 29.
• The boys were awakened from sleep and punished for an infraction that supposedly happened hours before.
• The boys' arms and legs were BOUND during the shocking.
  
• Neither boy had been observed by staff to have been misbehaving.
• Some of the other students apparently informed staff that it was a hoax but they proceeded anyhow.
• The order to administer this severe punishment came via telephone and no one bothered to verify its source with the central office and no one bothered to verify if it was appropriate punishment for each of these boys.
  

Now, my argument as to why this shit DOES NOT work: The former student who did this probably received this same therapy during his residence at the school, yet he carried out a "prohibited" behavior (assault seems pretty socially unacceptable to me) by ordering the abuse of another student. If this type of therapy worked, this incident would never have occurred because he would have already "learned the lesson" in the past. I'm thinking about Pavlov's dogs and the bell-ringing shit here, folks. If he'd been truly deterred from unacceptable or prohibited behavior, he'd have been salivating instead of assaulting other people.

Oh, and this makes a lot of fucking sense: Police are looking into filing criminal charges against this individual, someone who is probably disturbed in the first place (else why was he a student at that school?), but NO ONE IS PRESSING CHARGES AGAINST THE STAFF WHO CARRIED IT OUT. They have merely been dismissed. They failed in their duties miserably, not only as staff at the facility but as HUMAN FUCKING BEINGS, did not do their jobs appropriately until AFTER the damage was done, and they physically and emotionally harmed another person, yet they are only "dismissed"? Where are the criminal charges against them?

This school needs to be closed down, the staff members who committed this atrocity need to be held accountable and charged criminally, and every asshole associated with implementing and perpetuating this behavior all the way from the legislature and Department of Education to the sick-fuck parents who ask for it and the judges who sign the orders approving it need to be charged, jailed, and hooked up with their own fucking backpacks. Where the fuck is the accountability here? Where the fuck is the social responsibility?

To me, this violates the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights declaration
Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment. the Declaration on the Rights of Mentally Retarded Persons, and Declaration on the Rights of the Child.

Blacker Days

It's Christmas Eve and I am still alone. My heart aches and I have a pit where my stomach belongs and a headache the size of Texas. In all my life, I never would have dreamed that someone could endure this much pain and still live, yet here I am, continuing on day by day, minute by minute, unable to leave my rooms and go out in public or even to watch television anymore for fear of evoking yet more emotional trauma by seeing children - other people's beautiful children - when I am so filled with longing to hold my own, hug them, touch their faces, kiss their noses, see their smiles, smell their hair, hear their laughter, tell them how much I love them. I feel like cursing each of these 5 senses I have been bestowed and cannot escape.

The destruction of one's soul from the inside-out is most unpleasant.

Every once in a while a thought intrudes into my wallowing and I get an inkling of what God's plan might be for me. I question whether I am strong enough, physically and emotionally, to carry it out; but I know that it's not my place to question His plan or His reasons, and that He obviously chose ME because He knew I could do the job. The hardest part is not knowing exactly what the job is I'm supposed to be doing and the interminable time that passes.

No matter what man may do to me during this life, I know that as long as I hold His light in my heart and do His bidding, serve Him faithfully and unfailingly, someday He will make everything right. I give my life to You, who gave it to me by Your own Grace.

Another WTF - State Sanctioned Abuse

As if there isn't enough of a problem with abuse of children and mentally handicapped people in this country, here we go with a case of what is, IMO, nothing more than state-sanctioned
abuse and torture: State gives center 1-year extension to use shock treatments (for punishment/behavioral modification).

This just pisses me off. If a parent or caregiver did something like this, they'd be crucified in the media, called every name in the book and a few that haven't been published yet, the public screaming for them to have this same device attached to their genitalia or something, and then they'd be sitting their asses in prison for cruelty, child abuse, and any other charges the DA could think to tack on AFTER their parental rights have been terminated. But THE STATE does it, and it's hunky-dory? Granted, it's not the state specifically that is administering this shock therapy, but it is being endorsed, encouraged, and perpetuated by the state when they allow it to continue even in the face of evidence that it has been used inappropriately - not to mention barbarically - at this particular institution. I have a problem with the whole concept of this type of "behavior modification." I mean, really. These individuals may be mentally handicapped and/or emotionally impaired, but is inflicting pain upon them - especially inconsistently and months after the infraction occurred or even while THEY WERE JUST SLEEPING - going to make them BETTER?

I am ashamed of this facility and the agencies that allow them to practice in this manner and of the laws and legislators who created those laws that don't put a stop to this immediately. And people wonder why we're called "dirty Americans." Look how we treat our most vulnerable citizens. Maybe someone should reclassify these people's mental status as "retarded" if they don't have enough sense to treat another human being with a little more respect.

God Said "No"

I asked God to take away my habit. God said, "No. It is not for me to take away, but for you to give it up."

I asked God to make my handicapped child whole. God said, "No. His spirit is whole, his body is only temporary."

I asked God to grant me patience. God said, "No. Patience is a byproduct of tribulations; it is not granted, it is learned."

I asked God to give me happiness. God said, "No. I give you blessings. Happiness is up to you."

I asked God to spare me pain. God said, "No. Suffering draws you apart from other worldly cares and brings you closer to me."

I asked God to make my spirit grow. God said, "No. You must grow on your own, but I will prune you and make you fruitful."

I asked God for all things that I might enjoy life. God said, "No. I will give you life, so that you may enjoy all things."

I asked God to help me LOVE others, as much as He loves me. God said. . . "Ahhh, finally you have the idea."

'Good friends are like stars...You don't always see them,
but you know they are always there.

How Cool is This?

NCU Deaf Choir



Now maybe people can understand what I'm talking about when I say "melodies in motion."

Your Sign Lesson for the Day

This clip cracked me up, entitled "Signing for Deaf (With Translation for Dumb)":



This clip is a great presentation of the letters of the ASL alphabet, this this gentleman does a WONDERFUL job:



And featuring the same gentleman, numbers story in ASL:

It's Been a While

But after all the moping I've done lately, it's time to show you how much it means that you've stuck by my side, so I have a small surprise for you. But first, a fairy tale. . .

Once upon a time, in a long-lost land that exists now only in legend, lived a young woman who had very strong beliefs and even stronger love for her fellow man. She had dreams of making small but significant changes that would help preserve the good she knew existed in the hearts of all people. Most of all, she loved children, her own and others that, while not of her body, were of her heart because they turned to her for love, kindness, and patience, which she gave to them unconditionally. One day the evil witch noticed that this woman was happy while the witch herself was miserable, even though each had chosen to live their lives as they had of their own accord, and she decided to destroy the woman. First she tried to seduce the woman's husband and steal him away so the woman would be alone. The witch did not really want the man's love for herself and, in fact, planned to cast him aside after she was done with him; she only wanted to damage the love between the two. Alas, love proved to be stronger and the witch failed. Then she attacked the woman's children, bribing them with favors and treats so they would come to her and leave their mother, even though she did not really want them; she only wanted to watch the woman suffer. Again the witch failed. Over time, she openly attacked the family, enraged that the harder she fought, the tighter their bond became. Still the family and their love persevered and the woman thought the witch would finally leave them alone, not realizing that the witch was so furious now that she would never stop until all the woman's hopes and dreams were shattered and her life ruined beyond repair. She singled out the "weakest" of the children, a girl of frail mind and weak moral constitution, damaged by the horrors she experienced in life before finding the young woman and her family, and the witch began manipulating the girl's mind. She worked and worked until finally the girl's mind cracked and she began telling horrific stories against the young woman and others in the family, and then all the children were taken away from the woman. She was not allowed to see them and steps were being taken to ensure she never would, not her own children and certainly not those who needed her the most.

How do you think this story ends? How do you think it SHOULD end? Could something like this happen in our society today?

Anyhow. Now for your "surprise." Some while back I gave Jo a Friendship Rose. Since then I've kind of neglected the roses and the garden's grown a little wild, so after some pruning and cutting, I have some new Roses I'd like to give to a few people:

Jo gets another (you know why)
Ev
Dawn
Count (yes, I'm giving a flower to a guy)
Mrs. Count
Becky
Vanessa
Paisley
DiamondsSaphire
You've given me more than I can say, and I am proud to consider you my friends.

Once again, the only "rule" is to pass this rose on (if you choose) to someone who's made a difference in your life, made you feel better just for a moment or for a day, someone who maybe needs a little boost. Sharing our friendships with each other will go a long way towards making this world a better place to be.

In a Morbid Kind of Way, It's Kind of Amusing

$750 and much trauma later, I've decided I prefer being toothless, even if it means never eating a good solid meal again in my life. Besides making me gag and puke, dentures have reminded me of something I hated about my own teeth, specifically the fact that I have quite the overbite - when my face was all sunken in you didn't really notice it but once again my top teeth are jutting out, begging to be teased by some asshole who thinks they're better than me just because their parents could afford an orthodontist. I'd forgotten about it but it's all coming back to me now.

I know it's only a matter of time, learning to get used to having something in my mouth that takes up so much space all at once, and that eventually I will train my mind to overcome this powerful gag reflex (lot of good to have no teeth when you have a hyperactive gag, huh? I know what many men say about toothless women. . .). I have yet to try to eat with them in, since I can't even handle my own secretions, let alone food. Yeah, when I'm not gagging and retching, I'm drooling. It's a pretty sight, for sure.

I have to wonder, though, how come my NAME is printed on them, both upper and lower plates? Is that so if they're lost and then found, they can be returned? So if I throw them away, they will magically reappear in their cup? Or just to make sure the lab didn't mix mine up with someone else's, but in which case, wouldn't a temporary tag have been sufficient instead of a permanent one? Do I just ask too many questions?

Excuse me for a moment while I go clean up my drool and spend a few moments gagging.

I Think I'm Ready Now

To pass along some of these cool blog awards I've gotten lately, instead of hogging them to myself as I've done (as you know, lately I've had other "more pressing issues" that kind of take the largest part of my will and concentration to survive from day to day, so I know you don't really mind - hope you're as glad I'm still around as I am that YOU'RE still around. . . but I digress, as usual).

First of all, thank you again to DiamondsSaphire for appreciating my ability to let the mental diarrhea flow and bestowing upon me this really cool "You Make Me Smile Award," created by Bridget at And Miles To Go Before We Sleep. You made ME smile just by giving me this, much like you make me smile when I read some of the stuff you post about that makes me realize I AM NOT ALONE in this crazy world and I'm not the only one who feels the way I feel sometimes.

I am proud to pass this funky four-leafed clover on to my good buddies:

Ev - My Life Is Murphy's Law
Dawn - Twisted Sister
Jo - Life with Heathens
Becky - Tall Cool Drink of Water
Count - The Blog and Mrs. Count - SoHoS
Dazd - Dazed and Confused From Here

Keep up the great work and keep the stuff a-comin!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Next up, I was just pleased as punch to get this rippin' Be The Blog award from Dawn of Twisted Sister fame, created by Mark from Me and My Drum ". . . for bloggers who make their blog their own, stay with it, interact with their readers, and have fun!"

Please go visit Mark (should you choose to accept) and pick up the code for your own cool badge, which comes in a variety of colors:

Vanessa - Vanessa: Unplugged!
Shannon - Charming Driver
Dazd - Dazed and Confused From Here
Karly - Wiping up Snot (isn't that the greatest blog name? LOL)
Becky - Tall Cool Drink of Water
Count - The Blog and Mrs. Count - SoHoS (can you tell I really like these folks?)
Diesel at Mattress Police (even though his Nazgul friend will probably poke fun about it)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And finally, I recently received another award from Ev at My Life Is Murphy's Law: The I'm a Little Nutty Award, designed by Kimberly of PurpleFrogCat .

Thanks, Ev! I always thought I was A LOT nutty, and it's great to get some reassurance that someone thinks I'm only A LITTLE nutty! I know I'm showing partiality and favoritism here passing this one on to many of the same people as above, but they make me smile BECAUSE they're a little nutty and, besides, IT'S MY BLO-OG AND I'LL DO WHAT I WANT TO, DO WHAT I WANT TO. YOU'D DO IT TO IF IT HAPPENED TO YOU! Anyhow, I proudly pass this award on to the best bunch of "nuts" I've ever known:

Dawn at Twisted Sister (even though she already has one)
Jo at Life with Heathens
Becky at Tall Cool Drink of Water
Dazd at Dazed and Confused (who has also received this - are you seeing a theme here, Dazd?)

Karly at Wiping up Snot
DiamondsSaphire at Nonsense. . .

Of course, I still think you should just go read everything by everyone on my blogroll because I said so, and I'm the boss (again, for a couple more weeks anyhow), but it's nice to be able to give a little recognition once in a while. If any of you choose not to participate, that's also fine, I certainly won't be offended, but I just wanted you to know that I know you're there, and I'm watching you (not literally, just from my Google Reader). Thank you all again and HAVE A NICE DAY!

And Just as a Side Note

If anyone is interested, I have yet another new look around here, so feel free to take a peek if you're in a reader (but don't even think about stealing my DICK badge). Have a nice day!

Tellin' It Like It Is

That's me. I'm tired of being a good person and getting kicked around, being nice and getting stabbed in the back, keeping my mouth shut and getting punked every time I turn around without even the benefit of a little Vaseline. I might have to run my face like I did in my younger days. No one's listening to me now but they sure did then - even though 99% of the time they were either disgusted by what I said or shocked that I had "big enough balls" to say something like that. After all, someone's gotta be pretty blunt to get turned down for a job for being "TOO honest," huh?

If it's in my mind, it's probably gonna find its way out from my mouth. I can be a conniving fucker like some certain psycho/sociopaths I know claiming mental illness and not being able to help what they do - I think I'm gonna develop me a case of severe Tourette's syndrome.

Sorry, I can't help what comes out of my mouth, motherfucker, cuz I'm just a mushroom cloud-laying Tourette's motherfucker, motherfucker.

Now really, I probably really won't go THAT far (maybe) - I do have a FEW self-preservation instincts left, for a couple more weeks anyhow.

How Many Times

Have I told you NOT to cut the fucking lettuce with a metal knife? There are 3 - COUNT THEM, THREE - fucking lettuce knives in the drawer because I hate when people use metal knives on produce.

I pull the salad out of the fridge and what do I find? BROWN LETTUCE. I guess it was too hard to reach for the white plastic thing with a sharp edge to cut the damn head up, instead grabbing that huge-ass butcher knife out of the block and giving me brown lettuce for dinner.

I have 4 words for you, dear husband:


And I ain't even on the rag this week. . .

I Think I Hate Wednesday

It's hump day, right? It would be all well and good if I worked a regular 5-day week but I'm on a cycle where I'm at the end of a 10-day stretch for my main job. Now, I work other jobs that have me working every day anyhow, but it's mostly just a mental thing for me with this: TEN DAYS IN A ROW. I can't explain it. I do think it's completely awesome that when I'm on this cycle I get a 4-day weekend, even though my other jobs get in the way of enjoying that, too! Just kidding. I think it's just easier to break things down by bits: 5 days (Monday through Friday) and 2 days (Saturday and Sunday) instead of 10 days and 4 days. Maybe I'm just weird. (Yes, I know I am, you don't need to point that out.)

**SIGH**

Tomorrow I get my teeth. In a way I'm excited since I've been a year and a half with no gompers and will once again be able to eat things that don't just get swallowed. The bad part is the fact that I'm a gagger. When I had the original molds done, I puked all over the place. When I had the wax liners adjusted, I gagged and puked. When they did the final adjustment before casting the actual dentures, I gagged and puked. I know part of it was the SMELL (that wax doesn't smell pretty) and the actual teeth won't stink like that, but most of it is just the fact that I gag - period. I put food in my mouth, I gag. I put liquid in my mouth, I gag. Wind blows in my face, I gag. This ought to be fun.

Today I ordered my refill on my Copaxone. I get it through a mail order pharmacy due to my insurance, which is fine by me since they deliver it right to my door and it still costs me $40 copay anyhow. The guy on the other end of the line was very helpful. And very funny, which I really need right now. I already owed $40 for the last prescription and now I was going to owe another $40 so asked if I could just send a check for the full amount even though I didn't owe that much yet. "No problem. Do you have a check number?" Um, yeah. I'm digging around on my desk for the checkbook and keep babbling. "I think my husband has it. Hold on. . . No, he says he gave it to me, but I don't see it here. I think he's giving me a line." "Yes, he is, and we do that on purpose. I gave it to you, you gave it to me." I pause for about half a nanosecond. "I KNEW that was a man thing." "Yes, yes it is" he tells me. I still can't find the fucking checkbook, which hubby-man says he put on my desk. "You know, as soon as I'm not looking, he's going to sneak in here and put it on the desk and tell me it was there all along." "Yes, he will do that, too, and that is also a man thing" he says. Finally I just got a new book of checks and gave him a number, and it was well and good. As we were getting ready to hang up, I told the guy at the pharmacy, "You know I'm going to blog about this, don't you?" He laughed and said "Of course, but you know my name is JACK, right?" We both laugh and I shoot off "Suuuuuure, except for you already told me your name was Chris when you answered the phone." (These aren't actual quotes, just from my memory, in quotations to indicate DIALOGUE, okay?)

Hats off to you, Chris, for making my day a little brighter. We need more people in customer service departments who actually HELP their customers instead of speaking in tongues and cursing us out - you went the extra mile and made the difference.

PS: I only have a $40/month copay on this medicine, but in looking at the invoice I see that it is actually over $1740/month for this stuff. Good grief! No wonder no one can afford health care.

People Like This

Are the reason why everyone else, bad parent or good parent or somewhere in the middle, suffer at the hands of Child Protective Services and legislators who create laws requiring, in some cases, forcible "abduction" of children from their biological parents and subjecting innocent children and (in a few cases) innocent parents to months and even years of separation, irreparably damaging the parent-child relationship and leaving a path of destruction causing emotional trauma, financial devastation, and ultimate undermining of Due Process guaranteed by The Constitution, while people like this get away with MURDERING a child:

London Marie Sherwood

Here's what set me off: I got a very touching MySpace bulletin about a beautiful 3-month-old baby girl whose mother was pictured holding her and crying, having decided to terminate life support on the child whose father had abused her so severely she would never recover. It was accompanied by a (difficult to read and disturbing) note from the mother, Jessica, who had made this impossibly difficult decision and begging others to be careful who they leave their children with. Disturbed was a mild word for how I felt - I was mortified. I was going to post this case on my child abuse blog, so I started searching for more information from a slightly more "objective" source, if you will, than the mother (there's always more to the story, this I know). I found what I was looking for and about lost my shit right there. This bitch has the balls to whine about how we need to be careful who we leave our children with because she thought she trusted the man she left her infant daughter with (the baby's father, proven by DNA testing), AFTER SHE HAD ABANDONED THE BABY to this guy 3 weeks prior. This is a YouTube clip with a news report about the case:



In the current climate of "guilty until proven innocent and even then still guilty" where child abuse and neglect are concerned but "claim mental illness because you just can't help what you do when you're sick in the head," I know that both this bitch who abandoned her baby in the first place and the son-of-a-wanker who murdered his own daughter will both be excused from any meaningful form of punishment and will be offered services up the wazoo (at taxpayer expense, of course) to make them fit parents so they can keep breeding, while other parents who have done nothing this heinous (and are denied Due Process regarding their parental rights) will never see their children again and not be able to bring any more children into the world because the state would automatically remove THOSE children as well, will not be determined to be mentally ill and will receive no services PERIOD.

Yeah, great system here in this country, isn't it?

Two Weeks

For the first time in 16 years, I will not be wrapping gifts and placing them under a beautifully decorated Christmas tree, waiting eagerly for the crew to start shredding paper at 5 a.m. and running through the house screaming with glee for hours before finally settling down to thank the Lord for what we have and for each other and eating until our pants need to be unbuttoned.

Now I stare at a tree that has nothing on it and certainly nothing under it, trying not to be a dick and thank the Lord for the fact that now I have nothing and am alone. In less than 2 years I've lost my mother, my health, and my children and all possibilities of either bringing more of my own into the world or bringing others who need me into my home. For that matter, I'm well on my way to losing that home, which really doesn't seem to matter much since I don't need a 6-bedroom house when there are no children to fill it.

I've always tried to teach my children the lessons in life I felt they needed to know in order to make them better people, but recent events have shown me that apparently I was teaching them the wrong lessons - the ones that would help them survive in this "ME" society where integrity and personal responsibility take a back seat to instant gratification and not the ones that would help to ensure their place in serving the Lord for eternity:

• Treat others as you would want to be treated. Do whatever you want, look out for #1, and piss on everyone else - they don't matter anyhow.
• Neither push onto nor seek out from others sympathy but express empathy - those who deserve sympathy don't seek it and those who seek it don't deserve it. Take all you can get and piss on everyone else - they don't matter anyhow.
• Love all God's creations, man and plant and beast, and treat them with respect; He placed us here as caretakers and the well-being of all life is our responsibility. Use what you want, throw it away when you're done (including people), and piss on everyone and everything else - they don't matter anyhow.
• Work hard and earn your way in life - don't look for or expect handouts and don't think you're entitled to whatever you want just because you find that you CAN. Sit back and watch others work, live off the fruits of their labors, and then go out of your way to fuck up their lives when you don't get what you want - they don't matter anyhow.
• An honest mouth belongs to an honest heart, and an honest heart belongs to an honest soul. Sometimes the truth hurts, but a lie hurts more. Lie about everything, even when the truth works better than a lie, just for the sake of lying. Who cares if lies hurt others - they don't matter anyhow.
• God first, then family, and yourself last. Yourself first, family when it's convenient for you, and we'll deal with God when we get there.

I used to have characteristics I liked about myself and that others seemed to like about me. I've changed, though, and not for the better. I really don't like what I've become.

Hopeful is now cynical.
Respectful is now disgusted.
Smiling is now frowning and laughing is now crying.
Understanding is now questioning truthfulness.
Giving the benefit of the doubt is now expecting deceit.
Working for the greater good is now hiding in the corner for fear of being hurt again.
Willingness to be flexible is now fear of destruction.

It's like I've reverted to primal instincts and become a wounded animal. I hide in my rooms, I can't leave the house, I am afraid of other people and their motivations. I am just afraid. Somehow I don't think this was in God's plan for me but I have to keep faith in Him and have patience that He will intervene and make things right. So instead of thanking God for the "nothing" I have now, I realize I have to say thank you to the one who created this destruction, and I no longer feel sorry for you standing in the path of God's vengeance.

I Know I Ain't THAT Interesting

So why on Earth would anyone sit on my blog for 1 hour and 12 minutes? Hell, I don't even spend that much time with myself so I can't figure out why anyone else would want to spend that much time sifting through my mental diarrhea. Just kidding. . . WELCOME ABOARD MY BOAT, whoever you are, and I hope you find me at least mildly entertaining. I have my moments, although they've been few and far between the last 89 days since my life came to a screeching halt and everything that mattered to me and defined who I was as a human being was ripped away from me in a matter of hours in an event so traumatic that even receiving a diagnosis like MS was just a footnote stating "Who really gives a shit???"

It's actually beyond traumatic, being erased as a PERSON, to have your past, present, and future with all your goals and dreams and - fuck it, let's face it - YOUR LEGACY tossed in a pile, covered with gasoline and a match casually tossed on top like it never even mattered in the first place. You never existed, nothing you did mattered, and over time people will forget about you anyhow. You may as well have not even been born.

I try to comfort myself with the thought that God has a plan for me, that He will not give me a greater burden than I can carry, and that He is by my side to help me through this time in my life. I'm having good days and bad days, mostly bad, where that thought gets me through the day but really does little to soothe my soul. What makes it worse is knowing that I've tried to live a good life, played by "the rules," tried to treat others as I want to be treated and then still been fucked so hard that I may never recover but on the flip side, someone else can shit all over the rules and laugh about doing it, go out of their way to deliberately destroy someone else's life, and make a mockery of Truth AND BE REWARDED for their actions. WTF is up with that?

I've said for years that society is going to hell in a hand basket. Was I right or was I right?

Life is Shit

Life Is Shit

I ran into a friend of mine
said was gonna take some words
and make them rhyme I said you can
fool some of the people some of
the time, but you can only fool
half the people half the time

He "Yes I do believe this is
true. Would you like to go sniff
some glue? We'll fly to where
the skys are blue and look
for things both bright and true"
And on a pretty Sunday morning
a bunch of pretty Baptist girls
linked ther pretty hands and sang:

Life is shit, life is shit
The world is shit, the world is shit
and this is life as I know it.
this is life as I know it.

And in the sky I saw Richard Nixon
smoking a lacey with Mr. Dickson
He said "Son there's something
I must say I do not believe I've
found a better way" And then a
vision came and it look a lot
like Bob Crane. And Bob sang:

CHORUS

And when my friend and I were
done we went to rest upon the
sun 'cause life takes from us
the things, we love and robs us
of the special ones and puts
them where where we can't climb
and we only miss them all the time
And we sing:

CHORUS