Monday, August 31, 2009

Wine Dispensing Drive Through and don't tell anyone but I bought a BOX...shhhhhhh

After 15 days of self-imposed sobriety due to the recent economic downturn and future high costs of putting braces on teenage girls without help from the ex, and fixing my car which is now loud enough to rumble instead of hum, I have given up and become one of the wine box drinking hoard. Hoard is a word that means angry crowd of wine drinkers who storm a liquor store because they've recently decided to not stop drinking after all and they aren't very happy about drinking cheap wine.
These are the people who take the wine bag out of the box and blow it up like a balloon in order to inhale the last few drops.
These are the people who always have a splattering of wine on the kitchen floor, directly under the counter where the wine box always goes. They'll say it's part of the tile pattern, but it's really from that last drop after they've taken a glass.
These are the people who never need a bag at the liquor store, who avoid direct sunlight, and who are usually toasty by two in the afternoon because when they open the fridge to look for orange juice and the wine box is sitting there, it's difficult to look away.
But my sobriety was making me bitter and unfunny and not a very good mom. And I was eating a lot of sugar to try to get that same high, but it never worked out.
So then I decided that wine was necessary for my health, because without it I'm a rambling anxious mess and I don't sleep more than a couple of hours, and it's noisy in my head. So I took my insurance card down to the liquor store because it's cheaper for the insurance people to pay for wine instead of a nice prozac/lorazepam/sleeping medicine mixture. I'm sure they would agree and would actually APPRECIATE that I was trying to save them money. So I decided not to tell them and instead surprise them with the idea later.
I swiped my card through the credit machine, while grinning madly at the cashier in an effort to distract her. I don't want other people to copy me because I'm sure that the BUSH people are still out there and would try to stop the typical American Family from buying a box of wine because that money is needed to bomb other people on the other side of the world who don't agree with the BUSH World Domination plan.
It DIDN'T work! DECLINED. Sigh.
I guess I'll call the insurance company tomorrow or maybe write to them. They might take a professional looking letter much more seriously.
So I drove to the ATM to get $20 out and thought that it would be a great idea to put a wine machine next to the ATM in order to save me the time and gas money to run all over town for wine. A wine dispensing unit that would refill my empty bottles while I was sitting in my car!!! Or at least a vending machine that I could drive up to right after I take money I don't really have out at the ATM!!!! With all the time I would be saving, I could do something more productive. Like BLOG. Or spend time with my kids. Or get a second job so that I can pay more taxes! I know this idea will be found by someone IMPORTANT who loves wine as much as I do and they'll send me money for it!

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Avoiding Hannah Montana

I was in Payless yesterday looking for sneakers that didn't have Hannah Montana's face on the side, or were pink, or were "MOM" shoes, whatever THAT means. It was an impossible mission as Hannah Montana has taken over the World, the only color all the OTHER girls wear is PINK, and anything else is more than ugly which somehow equates to being MOM-LIKE.
Then in the shoe-store-silence, a muffled ringing sound. I looked at Gina. She looked at me. The cashier looked at me. And then I realized that I'd accidently left my new cell phone in my bag after the Fair. This new cell phone experience is overwhelming. I like to be UNAVAILABLE. I like for people to think that I'm doing something so super important that I can't talk to them right now. I like to hide when my child visits the school nurse for the 20th time this week and it's easier for the school to call me and ask me what to do about the paper cut on their tongue.
I answered it ONLY because everyone was looking at me.
Haley's voice sounded far away, another cell phone feature I hate.

"Mom, can I jump off the footbridge on my way home?" she asked.

"Aren't you wearing your green plaid pajama pants?" She'd already lost one pair of pants in the river this week. That I had to stick my hand inside of to turn right side out before washing them. The thought of it makes me cringe.

"Yes," she said.

"Then no, you can't jump in the river," I said and hung up.

Now, was that conversation important enough to call me when I really just want to hide out in the mall and avoid Hannah Montana? That's difficult enough without being distracted by the ringing in my bag.
And would Haley have jumped off a bridge if she hadn't been able to reach me?


Friday, August 28, 2009

Was it Worth $100 to go to the County Fair?

Here's what I got for my money:

  • 2 Jumbo bags of Cotton Candy
  • A short ride on the Merry-Go-Round with 10 noisy teenagers who got in trouble for facing the WRONG WAY (nope, I don't know them).
  • Fifteen minutes on the Ferris Wheel which included at least 2 minutes of terror at the very top as the people under me laughed. They knew me.
  • A nice long talk with Haley's boyfriend who had Candy Apple dripping off his nose, while she stood in line for one of the rides without him.
  • The look on her face when she saw me talking to him.
  • Two dozen sneezes after visiting the chickens.
  • Being used as a towel three times by children with wet, sticky hands.
  • The guilt on the face of an old roommate who screwed me financially by running out on our lease. I love guilt.
  • This paper bracelet that says "Dreamland Amusement, Inc." that I won't take off until it falls off.
  • A stomach ache from all the cotton candy.
  • 3 happy children

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Kristi's Hypothetical Facebook Obituary

Kristi will be sadly missed by her family and all her friends on Facebook, including people that she hadn't seen in twenty years, old boyfriends, and the occasional rock star. She led a long and active life that revolved around plowing her fields and begging for harvesting workers in Farmtown, committing random acts of crime with her gang in Mafia Wars, and posting stupid pictures of squidlike thread on her profile page. She was always getting old friends together and guilting them into friending each other, as well as making everyone feel welcome by leaving sarcastic comments anywhere she could. She was a great help in the community as well. Her efforts at curbing teen angst that had been left for future employers to see and her ability to spy on the underworld of the teen population through a puppet, made the world a safer, less bitter place. We will miss her profile picture and her little green dot, which she left on almost all the time so that none of her friends would feel alone. We hope that all her quiz results and her IQ score will remain up so that the world can always compare themselves to this great Facebook icon.
Donations will be accepted in her memory at The Recovery Center For Facebook Addicts.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

My Calculator is Worth More Than My Car

Today I HAD to buy my 14 year old a Texas Instrument Graphing Calculator for Advanced Algebra I.

But first I ranted for twenty minutes about how I had to graph on GRAPH PAPER with a PENCIL all the way up to Calculus III at U.V.M. and how all they are teaching kids these days is how to press buttons to get an answer, but never teaching them how to think through anything and how some day what if all the electronic shit we rely on dies for some reason and we have a graphing emergency and how she won't be able to survive because she won't know how to graph the old fashioned way.

Then I went to New Hampshire and bought it. I had no choice. My kid won't be able to graduate and land a job as a hair stylist if I don't spend as much money as her first semester at Cosmetology School on this calculator.

I spent an extra $10 on a warranty for 2 years because this is the same child who lost her pants in the river on her way home from school yesterday. She should be declared a disaster area. I should call FEMA right now and have them buy her the calculator. They would want her to be prepared for that graphing emergency.

So we get it home and I have her scratch her name into it and I put it in a briefcase that has a coded lock and handcuff it to myself because I'm going to follow her around all day to make sure my investment is safe and while I'm doing all this what does she do?

She uses the keys on the calculator to type me a message: "Hi MOM, What's Up In The Hood?"

$119 well spent, I do declare.

For some reason I can't stop swearing in my head.

My Wasted Moment of Brilliance For the Day

They say the most important place in your house is the kitchen. In mine, it's the bathroom. This is where the kids yell for help when they're out of toilet paper, or yell for me to come see what one of their sisters did NOW, or yell for me to come see their poo in the shape of a pretzel. If I'm looking for something important it's probably in the bathroom. I even do my best thinking in there.
By now you know that I live in a house full of women and that means alot of PMS and alot of HAIR. With all the brushing, straightening, shaving and pulling I am amazed they have any left. I think most of it goes down the bathtub drain, or almost down the drain.
Last night the drain was clogged again. Happens all the time. I unscrewed the screw that holds the trap in place, patting myself on the back for doing such a manly chore. I took it out and said a few choice words as I tried to slide the slimey clot of hair and soap scum off the screw where it firmly attaches itself. Foolish thing--having a screw there. Hair just winds around it until it forms a nastyass hair ball that eventually hangs down to clog the pipe. I finally whittled the hairball off with my screwdriver. Gak.
But the water still wasn't going anywhere. I poured a bottle of Liquid Plumber in and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The Liquid Plumber went down just a little bit and I ran some hot water after it just like the instructions said to do.
Nothing was moving.
I imagined having to ask the maintenance guy to fix it and he'd be all "What didja put down there anyway?" And he'd probably find a popsicle stick or a Bratz shoe or a small child that I didn't know I had, like that time I took the VCR to the repair shop and it worked just fine after they took the TOOTHBRUSH out of it.
I imagined them having to tear out the bathtub to get to the giant hairball which had settled somewhere impossible to reach and not showering for days because I am not going to lower myself to walking next door to ask my mother to use her shower, which would be more proof that I'm a bad mother by letting my children lose so much hair down the drain and not being able to control THAT.
I gave up for the night and left 2 inches of water still sitting there. In the morning I'd find something else to pour down or come up with some other plan of attack.
So 5 a.m. arrived and so did my 15 seconds of brilliance for the day, wasted before the sun was even up. I sat up in bed and thought "Was the lever that closes the drain up or down?" I couldn't remember and I didn't know if that meant it was open or closed anyway.
I couldn't go back to sleep so I got up and went into the bathroom to find out. The lever was UP. All of the water was right there where I had left it. I pushed the lever down and the water drained quickly with a whooshing sound. I'd been trying to unplug a drain that was closed.
I wish someone had been there to share the moment. No, really. Someone who would have said "Don't worry. This happens to everyone."

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

How I First Met Harry the Spider

I should take a minute to tell the story of Harry, the spider to show that we really aren't crazy.

I moved into the ghetto two years ago this October and found the first Harry in my upstairs bathroom sink. As we are not allowed pets in the ghetto, I was very excited to have something ALIVE living in my apartment. I named him Harry because it just felt right. I left him alone for weeks, as he grew from a tiny speck to a gangly teenager with a small body and thin, long legs.

One day I came home to find his place on the bathroom counter behind the toothbrush holder EMPTY.

"Harry," I screamed. "Where's Harry???"

Haley admitted to washing him down the sink drain because he had taken up residence under the faucet and she needed to brush her teeth.

I was forlorn, but soon discovered other small Harrys around the apartment, dropping out of the ceiling vent in the kitchen, hiding behind the toilet in the downstairs bathroom, living behind Haley's bed. They are all so cute, I hate to kill them. I let them go outside or wait until they get bigger and I just happen to have a vacuum in my hand and I'm having a bad day. They all grow up to look just like the first Harry.

And the kids always say "Harry's come back to life, Mom." And we cheer.

So it would then make perfect sense that Gina would come rushing downstairs and say "Harry is a ballerina and he's in the shower."

My conversation with gmail

I was chatting with Abrah on gmail this morning and then SUDDENLY:

Abrah did not receive your chat.
Abrah did not receive your chat.
Abrah did not receive your chat.
me: ack
Abrah did not receive your chat.
Abrah did not receive your chat.
me: Stop not receiving my chat!
Abrah did not receive your chat.
Abrah did not receive your chat.
me: fuck you gmail
Abrah did not receive your chat.
Abrah: LMAOhahhahhahaahhahah
I'm currently receiving your chat
me: well you weren't

The Untimely Death of Harry the Ballerina

Harry, the ballerina, was hanging out in the corner of the shower on his newly constructed web. He was a big spider, with long thin legs and a tiny pin head body. One leg pointed straight down while the other seven clutched the thin rope, as he twirled like a ballerina.

Gina discovered Harry the Ballerina as she got ready to take a shower and came running for me.

"Harry the ballerina is in the shower! Help!" she begged.

Now, I don't mind little baby spiders. I usually set them free outside or ignore them. But Harry was a full-sized spider and there was really no way to get him down without hurting him. As he lay crumpled in the tub, seconds before being washed down the drain, I felt sad while looking at his twisted legs. He pathetically tried to untangle them and run from the water that washed him away to ballerina heaven.

It was a shame to have to kill him, but I'm sure there are 50 more Harry's hiding in corners waiting to grow and become lovely ballerinas just like their mom.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Insanely Dumbass Things Men Have Said To Me

that I want to write down before I forget them:

  • "You're 38 and desperate to settle down before you get much older."

(Actually, since I already have kids and have been married I am much less likely to ever want to settle down again unless it's with the absolutely right person.)

  • "If you're in a relationship with someone, then you should be an open book. If you don't answer every question then you're keeping secrets."

(After reading the most PERSONAL questions out of a book of 4000 questions to get to know anyone, and too easy to say if you're 28 and you've never DONE anything.)

  • "I'm an INDEPENDENT kind of person."

(As a reason for not returning my calls for two days, just after spending 9 straight days at my place because he didn't want to go home alone.)

  • "If we were to have children and then you died because you're so OLD, then I would be robbing the children of time with you."

(After one month of dating.)

  • "Your starting to sound in some ways like one of those parents that comes into the office to have their kid fixed because the kid is the identified patient and the kids problem has absolutely nothing to do with them. " (His spelling error, not mine)

(This was after I said something about Joe being the cause of Haley's problems, which the experts have agreed with, and some naive booksmart kid shouldn't ever say to me anyway.)

  • "I like YOU alot but I don't want to be with anyone with 3 kids."

(After a year and a half of dating.)

  • "Driving half an hour to see you after work is too hard. You have more energy than I do because you don't DO anything all day. "

(After he saw only 2 clients all day at work. You're right. I don't DO anything.)

  • "I'm perhaps a bit scared that you would treat me like shit if things didn't work out the way you wanted them too. I don't want to be run through the mud or bullied or treated badly. I know you have done that to some degree with Joe. So I see that explosive potential and that scares me.Italic"

(Huh? What? I think I called Joe an asshole over the phone only once in all this time and it was just last month. I am the complete opposite of explosive, which has it's own problems.)

  • "You're attached to me at the hip . . . you want more from this relationship than I do . . . You want to be together all the time."

(During the very conversation when I was gently breaking up with him.)

  • "So if you move to Wyoming can I come visit sometime and you can show me around?"

(I don't even know how to reply to that one and so haven't.)

I can write these things here because some people have no interest in reading anything I have to write. That ALONE should have warned me. I am what I write.

And I don't mind if people say dumbass things to me, as long as they stop and realize that they're dumbass and then apologize for being such a dumbass and we laugh about it and they bring me wine when I'm out.

P.S. When I started writing this I forgot the thing that was said that was so inane and inappropriate that I was stewing on it a bit because I can't get it out of my head, which is why I wanted to post all this, so that it's out of my head and I can leave it on this blog and go about my life without thinking about it. So here it is:

Him after two months of dating and lots of ambivalence: "Let's do a threesome."

I ignored it the first time.

Him a week later: "Let's do a threesome."

"Are you serious?" I just couldn't believe that someone would say this to me. I'm old, been there done stupid things, and I'm now a halfway (snort) respectable person in the community. And to be honest, I was just sitting there thinking about someone out there who is NOT ambivalent about me.

Him: If you're with someone and you care about them then you want to help them fulfill their fantasies.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Ambivalence and relationships

When the kids were little I taught them to say "MUD" after I said "What does Mom hate most in all the world." It didn't stop them from wallowing in the irrigation ditches and tracking brown footprints through my kitchen. Hosing them down with the outside faucet did. But it was still nice to not lecture them EVERY TIME and nice to know that they remembered even if they still loved MUD way more than they loved MOM.
Now that they don't play in the mud so much (perhaps because it's way too common in this swamp I live in, in Northern Vermont) I'm going to change my MOTTO.
It now is : What do I hate most in all the world?


I can't stand ambivalence when it comes to most things. But it is the death knell for me in a relationship. This word was said to me in the last few relationships I attempted. Men would say they were AMBIVALENT about me and then want to hang out with me and go on trips and have lunch and play games and stay over.
If you've got cold feet and are feeling uncertain, or have both positive and negative feelings about me--go somewhere else and don't waste my time!!! Go be ambivalent about that tree over there or the sidewalk! Don't act like you need time to THINK things through or tell me that I look really good on paper and you don't know why you feel the way you do.
If you're trying to fit crazy old me on a piece of freaking paper, that's why this isn't going to work out in the first place!
You can't write a three page biography of Kristi and think that you understand me. I've been living with myself for, um years, and I get about 32% of the things I do. The awesomeness of me comes from being inexplicable. Like a supernatural miraculous happening.
If you're trying to look at the facts, you'll be missing out. And you're not the kind of person I need.
I need someone who looks at me and KNOWS me, without looking at all the details. Someone who can look past the degree and the kids and the exhusband and the past and just wants to be near me right now, to sit in the warmth of my PASSION. I am anything but ambivalent.
Ambivalence is just a good way to hide from having to do anything, a way to not have faith in the universe, a way to reap the benefits of Kristi without having to reciprocate feelings of any kind.
You're ambivalent because you can't keep up! It requires alot of attention and energy, integrity and faith, kindness and hope and humor--to keep up with me. I see ambivalence as a character flaw on your part. Something that shows up with my expectation that you must always be authentic and I'm going to call you on it if you're faking.
I would much rather have someone say to me "Kristi, I can't stand you. Your breath smells like monkey balls and if you look in the microwave for your coffee once more time I'm going to have you committed." At least that would be authentic.
I don't ever want to be ambivalent about anything. Every day since I ran from Joe is a gift I've given to myself and I don't want to waste another breath on someone who can't get off the fence long enough to have a clearly defined feeling about me.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

For Everyone who wanted to dial 911

as they saw me walking along the road tonight. I wasn't waving my arms around because I was schizophrenic and paranoid that alien motherships were trying to beam me up. I wasn't having numerous tics that included slapping my forehead, arms, and legs. I didn't swear like a tatooed trucker bitch from Michigan because I have Tourettes.
It was the herds of giant hovering mosquitoes that rose out of the swamp and were dancing around me with their frenzies black fly companions that caused the bizarre dance I was doing. I apologize if I scared your children or aging grandparents, or if your windows were rolled down and you heard my profane rants.
And when I got home after the swamp water evaporated into the sky and rained back down on me, and the black flies tried to find shelter in my damp and tangled hair my children looked at me and told me to take a shower. Sigh.

I Refuse To Be A Morning Person

5:45 This Morning

I was awake, staring at the ceiling.


There is still a week of summer vacation. No one needs to get up yet. And I'm awake. I just KNOW that once school starts and all the alarm clocks start going off at various times: 5:00, 6:00, 6:45 --that I will groggily drag my old ass out of bed, wander through the morning with eyes half shut attempting to kick the girls out the door to school before crawling back to bed or the couch to get another hour of sleep. I will wake up in the late morning to realize that I haven't DONE ANYTHING with my day and by the time I'm done the normal chores of washing the dishes and picking up from the morning's tornado, I will discover that it is 3:00 and the bus is on it's way to drop them off and I'm still in my PAJAMAS. So I'll quickly get dressed and look like I've had a busy and exhausting day so that they'll think I was actually doing something.

Hungry. Am I hungry at 5:45 in the morning? How could I be hungry when I fed you steak and potatoes and corn and hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps last night? Late last night.

Everytime I wake up hungry at this hour my first thought is that I must be pregnant. All the rumblings and the gas bubbles moving around under my skin--like an alien has made its home in my pudge. What else could it be? I'm not going to feed you!

I can lay here in bed and try to go back to sleep, but the more I want it, the less likely it is ever going to happen. I may as well get up and try to look productive. Then I can take a nap before dinner. :)

Friday, August 21, 2009

Things I Discovered Today

  • My middle child is smart enough to cut her mouth while sucking on a popsicle stick and she is thirteen.
  • I can turn OFF my new cell phone if I don't want any calls, which I will be doing ALOT.
  • I need to take out an insurance policy on Abrah, because if she dies in a bizarre accident or otherwise then this blog will have to end because I will be muse-less.
  • Abrah is kayaking to some island in New Hampshire tomorrow in thunderstorms and Hurricane Bill, with her boyfriend Bill, which is too ironic and worries me because if she was to die it would probably be while doing something ironic.
  • Waiting for word from literary agents is harrowing and requires lots of entertainment and wine.
  • I am amazed that I made it through the past 8 years. I was sorting through 2 huge boxes of court papers, throwing alot away that I don't need anymore, and working toward my final hearing to end this whole mess--and I will have to create a post about some of the things he did to me. How did I not go crazy? Or did I and I just don't know it yet? Maybe that's what makes me soooooo special.
  • Sometimes I talk about my laptop as if it is me. I believe it is more me than this pudge that appears to have attached itself to my middle. I should have a laptop attached there instead, something I can pull out and fold open so that I don't have to lean over the kitchen table anymore.
  • I would fit into the dry hold on a kayak if given enough incentive.
  • Degradation is a really good word to use instead of poverty. I look up to the degradation line! Someday I look forward to living in degradation. If I could just reach degradation I would be perfectly content.
  • 4 teenagers = 1045 times the noise.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Was I a Cougar or is he Just Learning Wrong?

I went to a family BBQ last night and picked up a new boyfriend. He's a bit young. It was an accident.

The one problem with these parties is that no one drinks. I have opened a beer before ALONE but everyone looks at me funny and I feel like an alcoholic under surveillance, so instead I read a book, or hang out with all the kids (they are more MY SPEED), or sit on the couch. Last night I sat on the couch right next to this thumb-sucking little boy named Owen. He got up to play for a minute and someone took his spot and he yelled:

"I want to sit next to my girlfriend."

So I looked around and then he pointed at ME. Wow, men are pushy these days. They learn early. The kid was only 5. So I found myself saying "Listen kid, I'm old enough to be your grandmother." Eeeeeeeek. I am not going to blog about that.
Then I suggested someone more age-appropriate, like my 11 year old daughter, who heard me and tried to kill me with her razor sharp eyes.
But the boy said that she could be his girlfriend too. So there we go, with the threesome fantasy. Whose fault is it that we teach these little boys to feel so entitled that they can go around claiming women? It wasn't even cute at 5. What's he going to be like when he's 28?

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

The Office of Child Supports wants my UNDERSTANDING

I received this notice on Friday. It's taken me this long to stop feeling that pain of profound frustration that causes the crease in my forehead, and to find this at all FUNNY.

"In an effort to help you receive your full child support obligation, the OCS reviewed your child support account with [Dumbass] and found past due child support owed."


He's owed me back child support since a month after I divorced his ass in December of 2003. The amount of arrears only compounds on itself and although I'm not sure of the exact number when the 1% lousy interest is added, I do know that it's about 11,000 + 150 interest EVERY MONTH for the past how many years???

And that is with the lowered amount that doesn't even buy enough toilet paper for 3 teenage girls to wipe wipe their proverbial asses.

There was a little box checked off with an X, something they needed from me in order to grab money he doesn't have BECAUSE he moves from state to state, works for tips, and doesn't have a bank account.

They need me to sign A STATEMENT OF UNDERSTANDING. Everytime I say or read that I use a deep booming voice like a narrator in a commercial, or the voice of God in a movie. It's not a consent to their terms. It's a STATEMENT OF UNDERSTANDING. I signed it although I couldn't read it because it was causing me chest pain. And then I made up my own.

  1. I understand that if I divorce this asshole I will fight for every penny I can get from him and it will cause my death because I will no longer be able to digest anything with any real nutritional value without causing myself painful bloating.
  2. I understand that I will have to constantly find out where he is working and supply this information to the OCS because they don't have time to go look for him.
  3. I understand that if I take him to court to try to get my child support, the judge will lower the support amount in the hope that he will start paying it. He won't. If it was $5 a month he would still keep it until I could find a way to take it from him using force.
  4. I understand it may take OCS 6 years to discover that he owes arrears, when by state law he should be in jail by now, but I need to not appear to be upset about this because then I will look terrible in court when no one from OCS wants to go with me.
  5. I understand that he will die before I see much of anything and that I'd better be able to support myself and the children without any help and that I will look like the bad guy when I have to say no all the time and make us live in the ghettos, while he will continue to be allowed to argue in court that I'm a bad mother and not providing for them the way I should.
  6. I understand that owing me $20,000 or whatever it is does not have anything to do with his visitation because not paying child support does not mean that he's a bad father. He is a GOOD father and has a GOOD relationship with the kids unless I prove otherwise.

This is what it should have said! I wish them luck in trying to find something to take away from him! Maybe they can take his shiny new PACEMAKER that the state paid for. Repossess the damn thing in order to pay me. I'll take a shiny new pacemaker!!!! I'll hang it on my wall to remind me that I UNDERSTAND.

Monday, August 17, 2009

No More Applebees

There is nothing worse than eating at Applebees with your daughter and then driving an hour and a half home when it's too hot to roll the windows down and about halfway home your stomach starts rumbling and gurgling like it's going to explode and then you both have horrifying noxious gas every few minutes and it smells like pizza. And on top of that, you drank way too much iced tea and you have to pee badly, so everytime you fart you're afraid you might pee yourself.

I am never going to Applebees again.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

A Cow's Nipple and How to Break Up without The Other Person Knowing It

I'm confused by Men. If things are not working out well and he wants to go think about what he really wants in life and I want the kind of relationship he can't give me at this time and we agree on this and we return each other's stuff, doesn't that mean that we're not together-together?

So here I was last night, playing with Abrah, who is WAY more interesting while chatting online than she is in 90 degree sweltering humidity lying on my couch after a night of drinking and voodoo doll making. Anyway, here I was somehow having dinner with him and Abrah, seated 6 inches from a cow's ass. Not him. An actual cow's ass. Not a real cow. A fake cow painted on the wall almost life size. And not a nice little cow in a field looking at me, but a cow facing away, with its ass hanging over my head and it's udder hanging low enough so that a nipple is at eye level when I'm sitting. I couldn't take my eyes off the cow's nipple long enough to notice that I was being watched by the person who just returned my things.
Yes, stuck between him and a cow's ass. I look too serious.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

They Stole My Phone Number and I Failed a Test on Myself

So today Steve at Voicepulse called, as he seems to be calling thousands of people out there--he's a busy guy, to tell me that Voicepulse has lost my phone number. Some company named GlobalNETS actually owns it and rented it out to Voicepulse before the portability act (which says something about being able to carry your phone with you if you want to go to the bathroom. I don't know how this has anything to do with taking away the number that I've come to know and love).

GlobalNets took my number back from Voicepulse. So I get to switch telephone companies or have a new number outside my local exchange. Steve said a particularly confusing thing, more confusing than a portable rule on portation. He said that I could call him back and to ask for Steve as he was the only Steve at Voicepulse, which seems strange since Steve is such a common name and I really don't need another crazy boyfriend anyway.

I DID file a complaint with the FCC, because it's really against the law for Voicepulse to take my number away. And I can't just switch to a different company because one time I failed a test on myself.

When I moved back here from Wyoming, I tried to set up Verizon. But because I'd been out WEST and never used Verizon they wanted me to prove that I was ME. So they gave me a multiple choice test over the phone about places I have lived before.
EXAMPLE QUESTION: You once lived at which number:
a) 49
b) 102
c) 34
d) 1658

So I've lived at two of those numbers. Maybe more. I don't remember. Do you know how many times I've moved, and how bad my memory is, and how many times I didn't want anyone to find me so I didn't know my own address so that if they did meet me on the street one day they wouldn't be able to torture the information out of me and just show up at my house one day to visit?

I failed the test. So the customer service secret agent said that I would have to fax her a colored copy of my driver's license, social security card, 5th grade report card, and my first baby tooth.
That's when I said no thank you to the woman and decided to find a service that would take a credit card number and just bill me instead of trying to find out my real identity because obviously I must be someone else. I hope the real me is happily married to a wonderful man and living in Wyoming with a black cat and two dogs and laughs alot, and not necessarily at herself alone in the kitchen hunched over her laptop.

I Attract The Crazies

People tell me the strangest things and I must have an "open for business" sign on my forehead. The tiny Walmart clerk reached over for my purchases as I pushed them toward her.
"Wake up," she said to the guy clerk who was just hanging around daydreaming or something.
"It's a good thing he doesn't have dreams like I used to," she said. "I lived in this building that was full of evil spirits and bad energy, with people shooting each other and screaming and putting their hands through the walls."
I tried to listen, but really I was just thinking about donuts. Really. It was lunchtime and I thought the kids would like a dozen donuts.
"And I used to see blue glowing orbs sometimes. And one time I saw an alien hand on my husband's chest. It was dark but I looked over and saw it."
Hmmmm, I was thinking that this was a weird thing to tell a total stranger.
"And then one day a bird came to my windowsill and I asked my aunt who is into stuff like that and she said it was a sign for me to leave."
Wow, I see alot of birds. That must be why I move around so much.
"And so here I am in a better place. I haven't had those dreams in a while."
Walmart. Hmmmm. Yes, probably a step up from the crazy haunted alien-ridden apartment building in a place where the sighting of a bird is extra-ordinary and meaningful.
My youngest child kept a straight face until we left the building and then looked at me and said "People just seem to tell you things, don't they?"
Yup, I attract the crazies. Just look at my ex-husband. And many previous boyfriends. And my mother. And that squirrel. And oh look, a butterfly . . .

Sunday, August 9, 2009

I Could Camp everyday in Vermont without Leaving My House

Camping in Vermont is kindof like dragging a tent out into the swamp. It really makes no difference if I drive half an hour to the National Forest. It looks just like my backyard especially when:

I am woken up by someone mowing their lawn at 7:30 in the morning. Anyone mowing the lawn in the forest really has too much time on their hands.
I wander off down a path that leads off into the woods behind my campsite, thinking I'll go off and get lost and have an adventure. It was all nice and murky and damp and buggy until after 50 feet I run into a dirt road that is someone's driveway.
Trains go by, compete with the clickety-clack train sound and whistles. Is there a train in this forest? A happy elf train?
I'm still sharing a toilet with 28 other slobs who spit on the faucet, leave the toilet seat damp, and don't make enough noise for me to use to cover up the sounds I make when I really need to go.
A man tells me I'm paddling wrong just because we're going in circles. Maybe there's a friendly dolphin under the canoe who wants us to stay over in this part of the lake. Maybe we've become trapped in a Stephen King novel. I know how to paddle--I play Wii sports!!! I'm proud to say that my arms aren't even sore this morning!
I immediately made friends with a chipmunk who wandered around the lean-to and then ran under my chair. I fed him some cashews cause he was giving me that hungry look, like he'd soon be nibbling on my toes in the middle of the night. He must have heard from the squirrels that I was an easy target.
My pillow still gets stolen. I ran out of wine. I dreamed about Wyoming and food all night.
So couldn't I just do this from the comfort of my own lawn next weekend?

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Alien Abduction and Laptop Compliance

For the past couple of days my laptop has been WARNING ME URGENTLY that it is too full and needs help, kind of like a little kid on a long car ride.
I ignored it, cause I just didn't have the time to pull over and let it . . . whatever, um look through and delete files.
It must have worked through the night, adding more and more files and pictures and incomplete songs until it got too crowded and refused to start. It kept getting stuck on the first DELL Inspiron screen, the bar would load halfway across and stop. Aargh.
I swore. I jumped around. I left the room and counted to ten. I had a drink. Then I came back, turned it off, unplugged the cord, and did the only thing I knew how to do. I took the battery out and put it back in, thus magically reminding the laptop that it can start with just a cord. I don't know why that would work, since the battery has been dead for over a year. I don't know why I would do that anyway, as it should logically have nothing to do with booting failure. I can only assume that some mysterious chip planted in my brain by aliens years ago connected intuitively to my laptop and knew what to do. I am usually a rational, reasonable person, as you can tell from my blog, and I can come up with no other answer.

Will Someone Please Create Farm Mafia on Facebook?

I ONLY got on Mafia Wars because Abrah asked me to join to add another number to her mafia. I would most likely do anything she asked me to including becoming addicted to heroin, shaving my head, or giving up my first born child.

So I joined and then became addicted to doing more jobs and getting more money and owning more big guns. I fight people and rob their properties and collect useful things like blackmail photos. But I'm terrible at it.
When I rob someone I rob them only once because I don't want them to notice and hurt their feelings. I rob so quickly it's almost accidental (like eating a skittle as I browse through the kitchen. The calories don't count if I'm not really eating). I run away and start whistling nervously to myself. I would never hit anyone over and over until they're dead, like SOME PEOPLE DO. I do all the jobs I can because I'm a worker and not a fighter. I'll never do a HIT on anyone, although I have put people on the hitlist, those mean bastards who fight me until I'm dead. I'm always like, what did you do that for? I never harmed you!
What's really scary is that I start to see real life as a mafia war and I have this odd feeling that every hour more money should be deposited into my bank account. I don't feel safe anymore because all I own is a softball bat and a rotting cucumber in the refrigerator. I don't own buildings, but I do live in the ghettos.

Meanwhile, some other people wanted me to join a lovely little game called Farmtown. I was surprised to see that I'd already started this application. Sometimes I think Facebook does things without telling me.
Farmtown is all sickly sweet. I plow the fields with a smile on my face. I plant seeds like tomatoes and strawberries. Friends can give me flowers and animals as pets. The worst thing to ever happen is to lose a crop when I don't sign in 22 times a day to check on them. I can go to the market to see other people and sell my harvest. Strange happy little people are always asking me to help with their farms when they are dry or overrun by weeds or a cow is missing and I just can't say no and ruin their joy.
Farmtown is like Pleasantville, so carefree all the time, with my little person sitting next to a rabbit who never eats my garden, chatting with friendly neighbors. GAK. Is it just me being crabby, or is everyone on Prozac? And does everyone in Mafia Wars need a little? What Farmtown needs is the competitive edge of Mafia Wars.
You should be able to sneak in when someone is offline and steal their crops, or hold their dog for ransom. It would be nice to have a weapons toolbar with things like plant diseases, and grenades, and chainsaws. When you destroy someone's farm you could take it over and eventually build up to owning a whole plantation. Of course the other players can't quit. They become your serfs and have to work for years in order to afford an arid little piece of land in Nebraska to try to start over. But if you get caught stealing or setting things on fire you could be put in jail and have to wait impatiently for a friend to bail you out.
While Farmtown makes me want to vomit rainbows and Mafia Wars makes me cringe, I do believe a combination of the two would be the perfect way to spend every waking hour.
Farm Mafia!!!!