Saturday, December 31, 2011

2011- Nice To Know Ya

Sending the year out with a bang, in my own way.  Spending the last 15 minutes writing in this year is how I want to go out.  It's been a great year, mostly things on the upside of life.  I've taken up writing in earnest and become an editor.

The Kiddo and I had a backwards party to celebrate the end of the year.  Ice Cream Cake, followed by giant sparklers and other things that shoot sparks, and breakfast food.  Bacon, fried eggs, and biscuits for dinner was so yummy.

I'm glad it's over and done with. 2012, bring it on!

Thursday, December 29, 2011

I Don't Have Many Original Ideas Right Now And Need To Post

If I'm going to admit it, I've been a lazy blogger as of late. Wish I could offer legit excuses, but I'd be blowing smoke up my own ass.  Been watching too much TV, reading too little, and writing even less.  Bad, bad, bad girl.

Thank God 2012 is just around the corner.  I can make a new set of resolutions that I will maintain for three weeks days before I break them.  Well, at least I'll follow up on the lose more weight train.  I've got a wedding to be in for April and I wanna look super hot!

Since I "work" with Aunt Becky and The Band, I usually see when she or my other Bandmates have updated their blogs.  I, however, doubt that many don't take much interest in mine.   And I'm not a big Memer, but I figured this was my lazy bloggers way out of getting some writing done. Plus I get to link back to Mommy Wants Vodka, who started me on this little path.

1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?
Started freelancing, for reals yo!  I've written articles on spider porn, the beautiful nation of Belize, and cycle safety in the UK.  I bit the bullet, opened up my can of crazy and started sharing my fears with the Net and all of my 2 readers.

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
Nope and nope.  Because I will inevitably break said resolutions, feel immensely guilty, which will lead me into a shame spiral. So this year, I resolve not to make resolutions.  Dammit!  Now I just broke my own resolution.  Shame spiral here I come.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Yes.  Several people.  And while my heart was saddened with jealousy, my uterus was doing a happy dance.  
4. Did anyone close to you die?
Yes.  My Gonga died over the summer and I miss her so much.  Every damn day I forget that she's dead and I get ready to call her three times a day.

5. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?

6. What countries did you visit?
Ummmmmm I'd need money to do so, which I had none.

7. What date from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why:

The Kiddo's first day of school.  September something or other.  (As a History major, it's a crying shame I suck remembering dates).

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
See # 1.  Also?  Became an editor at The Band.

9. What was your biggest failure?

I haven't learned how to stop hurting myself as a way to deal with stress.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Dropped 40 lbs of frozen Kumquat puree on my finger.  The pain was soooooo intense I almost blacked out and the damn cut kept reopening.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
My new phone.  I <3 it so much!  I use to scoff at those who raved about the capabilities of their wonder phones.  But when I found out that my phone had a flashlight built in, I wanted to marry it right then and there.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
I was going to say Antoine "Hide Yo Kids, Hide Yo Wife" Dodson, but upon Googling him I realized that was a 2010 event.  (I am always late to the game.  Like I just discovered the awesomeness that is Psych and The Big Bang Theory). So I don't know.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Sandusky.  Child rapists sicken me.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Gas.  When prices reach $4/gallon, I am trading in for a horse.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Going on a date for the first time in three years.  It was a total bomb, but I was proud of myself for getting out there.  Plus I have a funny story.

16. What song will always remind you of 2011?
Yea, gonna pass on that.  Have no idea. Maybe something from Weezer.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
i. happier or sadder? Happier 
ii. thinner or fatter? Thinner.
iii. richer or poorer? Based on money: poorer, life experience: richer, and I am all the more happier 

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Blowing my nose.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
It's over at this point, but The Kiddo and I spent the night at my parent's house so they could see him open up the presents Santa brought him.

22. Did you fall in love in 2011?
I fell in love with an English hot toddy.  Which makes me sound like an alcoholic, but it was the only thing that calmed my cough.  But with a real person--James Roday of Psych, Jim Parsons of The Big Bang Theory.  Always been in love with David Boreanaz. So in the realms of being possible, yea.  No.

23. How many one-night stands?
I'm not capable of that.

24. What was your favorite TV program?

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

26. What was the best book you read?
How I Write ~ Stephen King

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Les Fragments De La Nuit

28. What did you want and get?
I wanted the courage to write and I got it (mostly).

30. What was your favorite film of this year? That sucks. I’m going to make up a new question:
Where are your pants? 
Not on me.  All pants, except yoga, are bullshit.

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
  I turned 30, threw a party where I made authentic gyros with the best lamb meatballs.  Lamb meatballs sounds redundant, but who wants to say they ate lamb balls?

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Drunk dialing a long time friend and him not laughing at me the next day.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?

34. What kept you sane?
A large quantity of coffee and well-timed naps.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
See #22.  Also, I really have a girl crush on Jen Lancaster.  She's funny, out-spoken, and a former member of the rat race that became a writer after being fired.  I'm trying to do that.

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
Don't get me started.  My days of getting hot under the collar about politics were over after I left DC.

37. Who did you miss?
My sanity?  Oh wait, the question was who, like a person.  My Gonga.

38. Who was the best new person you met?
My many BandMates.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011:
I must absolutely do what I love, or else I'll run the risk of doing nothing at all.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
Hide Yo Wife, Hide Yo Kids

If you care to follow suit and link back here, please do so after the beep:

Friday, December 23, 2011

Friday Fluff N Stuff

Let me preface this post: I have been drinking hot toddies tonight like they are going out of style.  Part medicinal (I am nursing a wicked cough), part I feel like I can loosen the hell up.  My Kiddo, my pride and joy, is staying with my parents for the next few days (relax! I'm not ditching him for Christmas).  


BK (before Kiddo) I was (what I consider) a functioning, depressive alcoholic.  Drinking was a way for me to self medicate for the fact that I was in my rape victim mode for 6 years, whereas now I am the survivor/not-a-victim/balls-to-the-walls/kicking-ass-stigma-buster.  Now when I choose to have an adult beverage, I do so in severe moderation (I'm usually toasted by 3/4 of a beer) and I don't feel like I have to hide. 


Anyhoo, I stumbled across this hilarious Holiday Post from Seeking Elevation (what up, YO!) and decided to link up.


Inappropriate responses to follow. . .


PS. Don't tell Becky and Ben that I'm using ellipses.  They hate that shit.  Plus I am double spacing!


Friday Fluff

It's time for the Fluff of Friday.  It's the Holiday Edition, yo.  And I think the way I'm meant to answer these is as a would you rather this or that kind of thing.  Here goes:

Get kissed under the mistletoe or in the snow?
Make out under the mistletoe (What?  It's been 3 friggin years since anyone kissed me!)

Santa or Rudolph?
Rudolph.  Santa was a dick to him in the 1964 TV show.

Stocking or presents?

Egg nog or hot cider?
  Like I said above.  Hot toddy.

Angel or star?
  Cheap, from Wal-Mart star that would look fitting on a pimp's Christmas tree.

Decorating the tree or putting lights on the outside?
  It's kinda hard to decorate the tent I'm living in.

Warm cozy fires or sleigh rides?
I burned down my college dorm room, so I am all about THE FIRE. 

Family time or friend time?
Ummm...Plead the 5th.

Expensive presents or presents that come from the heart?
From the fucking heart.  Last asshole I was with decided that I wasn't excited enough when he bought me a friggin $800 bracelet.  I'm sorry, jack fuck, I was too fucking shocked to think that anyone could afford to spend that amount of money. Sorry I didn't jump up and down like the bimbos on the commercials.

Snow ball fight or snowman?
Snow-wrestling.  Much easier to make out.

Coal or present?
I can burn coal I suppose. . .

Open presents quick or slow?
Slow.  No one likes a quick draw McGraw.

Caroling or christmas stories?
  Stories, as evidenced of my son reading "How the Grinch Stole Christmas."

Snowy days or ice days?
Today it was fucking 80 degrees outside.  I'm lucky if I drops below 75 on Christmas day.

Red or Green?
Fire Engine Red.  Like the color of my pretend future wedding gown.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

The Kiddo Does Dr. Seuss

My darling little Kiddo wanted to read "How The Grinch Stole Christmas" for his Aunt Kathy, who is far off in VA. I have to share; memories like this are too precious not to share. 

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Justin Beiber Is A Sign The 4 Horsemen Have Arrived

Just when I've thought I've seen every frigging stupid toy (Hello, Pictionary! When I was a kid we used a pen and some paper. What's with hooking yourself up to a TV screen and doodling on a smart pad) out on the Christmas saturated market, something else comes along to replace my blown brain cells. 

So when I caught site of the Justin Beiber real hair doll, I knew that the Apocalypse is only weeks away.  Apparently if you get tired of doing your own hair you have the freedom to mess with The Beiber's tresses. 

It can only get worse from here, so I've been told.

In other non-sarcastic news, December 8 has always been a big deal for me since 99.  It was 12 years ago this day that I got the courage, strength, and Heavenly guidance to escape an abusive relationship.  A chain of events were set into motion that I can only attribute to Heavenly Assistance which ended 4 months of hell on earth. 
I was going to get super deep and emotionally vivisect that time, but I'm too friggin tired and frankly don't want to go there now.  I've got those demons out.  The people closest to me know what happened and how I believe that night 12 years ago was a make it or break it night.  So as I say my prayers as I drop off to sleep, I'll send up an extra thanks to the BVM.  I've never had a close relationship with her, as I'm more of a Magdalen type, but I am forever grateful.

To date, which is 3.5 wks, I have lost 6 lbs. Which is a huge boost to my ego and confidence about kicking this weight to the curb.  But really when someone tell me that I'll go back to being "your old gorgeous self" after I lose XX number of pounds, it takes all of my willpower not to reply, "Bitch plz!"

Thursday, December 1, 2011

*If Zombies Are Real Then I Want F. Scott Fitzgerld To Go After "The Great Gatsby 3D"

Redford. Hot then, pretty damn good looking still.
For the love of tea and crumpets, why in the name of Lay's Potato Chips would someone greenlight a remake of The Great Gatsby? In 3 fucking D?

I'm beyond flabbergasted.  Actions movies, space movies, movies about human-animal hybrids having sex with their tales--fine do it in 3D.  It'll cover the fact that the plot holes are so big the national debt could fit through it. 

I'll be there with popcorn when Fitzgerald comes back to gnaw the brains out of those involved in this hack job.  But I will not be wearing the 3D glasses.

PS-Maybe if I got more sleep I would see this as humorous instead of sending me into a pissy hissy fit.  I apply the same feeling towards "healthy" junk food.  No, I don't want to see that my Lucky Charms provide me with 9 grams of fiber.  (Not that I believe that.)  Nor do I want to hear that the trans-fats have been removed from my Oreos.  THEY DON'T TASTE THE SAME ANYMORE. 
Please powers that be, stop fucking with the classics.  Now hand me that stick of butter while I enjoy my first editions. 

*Alternately titled "Caroline Is On A Diet And Needs A Xanax Donut" 

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Finding The Pulse On The Trigger Point--Or--Hooray For PTSD!

So today I had a fantabulous flashback that came out of nowhere.  Really I don't understand how can my brain jump from fold box flap A into flap B, stack in alternating patterns, to being back in a frightening place, walking alone across a dark windy campus.  I was crying, more like sobbing.  I remember two friends coming across me trying to ask why I was so upset.  I couldn't answer; the words wouldn't come.

But the memory stopped there.  I wasn't going to allow myself to wander down those dark paths again.

I don't know what set me off.  There wasn't any music playing.  I wasn't uncomfortable with my surroundings.  So strange.  

I'm just proud of myself for becoming aware of what was going on in my head and I was able to short circuit that mess.  I don't give myself enough credit for being strong and amazing, but damnitall I am! 

And now once again, that it is nearing midnight, I should really contemplate going to bed.  I know I'm going to hate myself in the morning for staying up this late, but I had to get these words out.  But I had to watch Psych first. 

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Just Do It

My head spins.

My demons, my insecurities, things I have been told before tell me that I am no good, that I can't write to save my life, that my job to provide for my son is a huge, fucking joke.
  • I think I could love you, even though you didn't have a good education.
  • You're not capable.
  • We doubted that you'd bond with your son.
  • When are you getting a real job? 
  • You have readers in Kuwait? So what?
I doubt myself, I cringe when I think of writing.

Just do it, dammit!

You know you are better than this, you've come so far and you are still afloat.  Remember the tattoo you have? You might not know your plans but God does and so far He has dropped you. 

Write the damn book!

Stop doubting yourself! 

You are worth it, your life is wonderfully interesting, and your wonderful, wild imagination should be a playground for the world. 

You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

The Difference Between Wants and Needs Pt. 2

My darling Frister Kathy is engaged to be married.  Her man-to-be is so darling, I want to carry him around in a obscenely expensive purse like a toy poodle, much like (A Nite in)Paris Hilton is seen often doing.  Of couse, this can't really happen because he's almost 7 feet tall.  And I don't think he'd let me do that.  Plus, the most expensive purse I've ever bought cost me $30.   

This very joyous event has brought my wants in the department of ideal men to the forefront of my mind.  I mean, it's always hanging around in my subconscious, but now the ideals are pounding on the door.  Lest you think I am jealous of her, I can tell you that I am not.  She was the first person I called when I discovered that I was pregnant.  Her excitement almost cased her to drive off the road.  We've been through so many ups and downs.  One of the low points came when we had a HUGE blowup over the demise of my relationship with her friend; the next time we spoke was a year later and I thought she had come to stab me with a butterfly knife.*

So now that relationships/men/desires/needs, I figured I should hammer out a list.  Because the good Lord knows, I need a better winnowing process.

And damnitall, I NEED to write.  My brain has been mushy, my mental health checking it's coat at the door on and off, and my vocabulary is stilted, so if I set up another 30 day challeneg like my shrink had me do several months ago, I'll get back in the swing of things.

I (foolishly) signed up for NaNoWrMo, have the entire novel plot line written out, but have written 250 words.  My execution of said idea has fallen flat, not because the idea sucks, but because I am completely scared.  I know that the idea is great.  No one has written a story about this woman, from this approach, EVER.  It has the possibility to be something awesome, but it's my doubting voice, the only that mocks me which is holding me back.  I keep finding up new excuses to keep me from writing.  And I'm finally sick of it.

But, bringing this derailed train of thought back into the station, I'm going to start a running list of qualifications I am desiring in a potential mate.  Hell at this point, I'd be happy with dinner and coffee with a warm body, but since I am bound and determined not to go down wrong avenues again, I need to write a map for myself.

*Note: I had mono which enjoyed manifesting itself in hives.  When she walked into my dorm room unannounced, I was curled up (naked) under my extra-large-cheap-ass-king-sized-"feather"-comforter.  She was wearing her leather jacket and her don't-fuck-with-me face on.  There was snow on the ground and I distinctly remember thinking, how am I going to explain it to the Dean when I am seen running across campus in my Hanes Her Way cotton undies?   Obviously, she didn't stab me and the 250 student at school were spared the site of me sans clothes.

Monday, October 31, 2011

The Difference Between Wants and Needs

Several years ago I when I was still a wreck,* I believed that I NEEDED a man to complete my life.  I was a new mom, very single, very sad, very scared.  I felt rejected on so many levels.  The thing that hurt that most, that I have not gotten over yet, that I know is still hanging like a big, fucking albatross around my neck is the fact that the newsletter writer for my alma mater told me that my 'situation' wasn't something that others needed to know about.**  I hated myself so much.  Like Hester Pryne, I had proof positive of my sins, while the father hid in the shadows.  I felt that if I HAD a man to give some type of legitimacy to my child, than I would be a socially acceptable person again.

Fast forward to present day.  My son is turning 6 on Wednesday.  He's excelling in school where he thinks he's the big man on campus, is loved by his family, and couldn't be more adorably cute if I asked him to be. I have pictures to back that up:

I've come to understand over the past 2 years with a lot of help from a wonderful therapist, a handful of loving friends, and an amazing Band  to back me up, that I don't NEED a man to make my life complete.  I don't feel like a scarlet whore any longer.

I've come to a point where I WANT a man in my life.  I want to share my life with someone else.  I want someone to sleep next to me at night.  That person who can meet my eyes and know that the person I am talking to is a complete idiot.  I want someone who will love and respect me the way I know I deserve to be treated.

I'm lonely tonight.  I hate having these feelings that I can't do anything with.  I'm through needing someone.  I'm ready to want someone.

*I don't claim to have all my shit together, but I am a far more happier, SANER, grounded person now. My life isn't the shambles it once was.

**I finally sent an email to that asshole tonight.  He's finally going to get a piece of my mind.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

About Benjamin

Since I'm working for myself, I am really nobody's bitch any more.  Except for when I am working with The Band.  Then Benjamin becomes the task master.  I haven't been beaten with the whip yet, but I just waiting for him to tell me that my editing could use some fine tuning.  According to him, I'm not allowed to double space my sentences anymore.   Whatever!  I do what I want. . . .at least here. . .and I'll use my ellipses whenever I damn well feel like it, Aunt Becky and BreakfastMeat.

So Benjamin has decided to join the blogsphere which he realizes is kinda late in the game.  After all it's not 2003 anymore.  Go check him out.  Tell him The Diatribest sent you and that you think he's hot.  Or not.  I don't know. All I can tell from his photos is that he is a skinny tow-head and I would probably crush him.

Peace and Chicken Grease,
The Soliloquy of the Antihero

A very long time ago, in the cold tundra of Minnesota, I was born. Kicking and screaming, I was brought into a world I didn’t understand, to be the antihero in my own life story.
Thirty years and a few crazy decisions later, not much has really changed. I’m a new transplant to the Chicago area, and took up writing and editing mostly as a side-effect of joining The Band. It turned out I wasn’t as bad as your average chimpanzee, and so I decided that writing was something I was going to start doing on a regular basis.
I love food, children, games and puzzles and have spent my whole life trying to figure out new ways to play with all of them (not at the same time) and that’s kept me amused most of the time.
If it’s crazy, I probably tried it. If you can make a buck at it, I probably did it for a living, and if it was fun, I probably tried it again. I can’t stand ellipses, bad use of semicolons or the phrase “The fact that” in a sentence.
Benjamin Searle, an important part of a nutritious breakfast.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Aunt Becky, You Shut Your Whore Mouth

I am tempted go all John C. Mayer on Aunt Becky's ass. Because I want to be #3 on Google entries about songwriters who are waiting for the world to change while they touch bodies of wonderlands.

I will use ellipses if I damn well want to. . . and there's nothing you can do.
By the way, US Postal Service, why the fuck did you think that an 8x10 one of a kind, limited edition, autographed print of a Land's End model slightly crazed, rhinestone-studded, chainsaw-wielding mother of 3, wife of The_Daver would fit in a 4x3 PO Box slot? 

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Exhausted, Yet Alive

I'm tired.  Not just tired, but beyond fucking exhausted.  Like it hurts to keep my eyes open and feel as if I am moments away from bursting into tears, but I have to write.

My mind has been still for too long, my soul shut up and chained.  And I'm finally finding sweet relief. 

Things has started off badly about a month ago.  I had a massive panic attack for 2 DAYS. I'm not sure what triggered it exactly but it was a combo of dealing with child support remodifications paper work
and finding some of the hateful letters my ex sent trying to convince me to give up my son, hating my weight which is more than it needs to be, feeling inadequate around the soccer moms at Jeremiah's
school (one mom started her sentence with 'my husband the dr'), not being able to see my shrink for over 3 months because I was/am broke, and stressed about being REALLY fucking broke. 

Like beyond broke. At one point I was down to $3. I wasn't just robbing Peter to pay Paul but I was beating the shit out of the other Apostles. I had lost my internet, received my final motice for my electric bill, my rent
was over due along with my car payment is overdue, and I had two bills that got resent to collection when my scheduled payments bounced.

It's not that I'm not working!

I am busting my ass everyday. And now it looks like things might be turning a corner.  Good things are finally coming my way.  I'm going to be teaching math to 3 and 4 year old every Tuesday and Thursday, so within a few months that should be a stable source of income that will allow me to finally break from from writing crappy $2 articles.  I'll be able to focus so much more of my time into my writings.

I've been asked to join the editorial board for Band Back Together, which just applied for non-profit status.  Things are taking off for this group and I am so proud to be a part of it.  I cut my hair to my sassy, kick-ass, curly short style that's I've dodged for three years. 

I know things are changing, I'll be doing good as long as I plug on. 

Monday, September 19, 2011

Fatty Gets the Last Laugh

Hey Maura Kelly, remember when you wrote that piece of drivel "Should Fatties Get A Room (Even on TV)?" How did it feel seeing Melissa McCarthy walk across stage in front of MILLIONS upon MILLIONS of views to accept that Emmy?

Did it make you a little sick inside?  ***" To be brutally honest, even in real life, I find it aesthetically displeasing to watch a very, very fat person simply walk across a room."***  Did you want to run and purge because a fat person has gotten an award that will never touch your hands?

I've got news for you sweetie, you are a jerk.

In a society where girls are bombarded with images of slender sexuality and giant, fake boobs (see Toddler and Tiaras, more on that later) there stood a proud, confident, large woman who got where she was by being herself.

I love Melissa McCarthy in all her wonderful, funny humor.  And I love that she makes no apologies for her size.

Like that foot you've choked  on?

Friday, September 16, 2011

What was I thinking?

I was doing a little cleaning up across the multiple social sites I am on, deleting old contact, blocking people that have no right to be in my life, I popped into my draft sections of my blog.  Some of these things make no sense to me, but obviously at that point I thought it was good.

What the hell was I thinking?
  • "9:49-You are officially my hero" --Why is a point in time my hero? AM or PM?
  • "Confidential to M" --Who the hell is M?  Was it really confidential if I was writing it on Teh Internet?
  • "Kicking glass bottle to avoid muggers"--Is this a public service announcement I'm working on?
  • "I think of elephants AND zebras"  
  • Rat Dropping--Don't even ask.  I have no idea.
 So I can't think of anything else, so I'll leave you with this hilarious picture.  It's the greatest thing I've ever encountered on the Fl beaches.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Milestones #2 & 3

Back in March, I reached my first milestone, 101 posts.  It was a fantastic feeling, waxy buildup on teeth included.  And now 6 months down the road, I'm at 2 & 3.

(Actually, I'm behind.  These things happened last month but since I'm the only one who keeps track of this, I'll write about it when I damn well want to.)

Milestone #2
The Kiddo started Kindergarten!  I couldn't be more proud of him if I wanted to.  
Heirloom lunchbox

There were no tears that day.  When he greeted me at the end of the day, his exact words were, "I had so much fun, I forgot to miss you!"
I take a lot of pride in the statement.  It is proof that I've done a hell of a great job raising this kid.  So to all the assholes over the years who said I was going to raise a momma's boy/sissy/weakling, I can say, "Screw you."  He's not the biggest kid in the class, but he's not the smallest.  He's still deathly afraid of butterflies, but he's the most out-going.  His penmanship is awful right now, but he amuses his teacher with his comical facial expressions and Italianesque hand gestures. 
He'll be 6 in less than 2 months and he's doing great.  So for all those who told me I couldn't raise a healthy child without a father, how do you words taste now?

Milestone #3
Happy Blogaversary to me.  I've been here at My Daily Diatribes for over a year now.  What started as a bad blind-date with an awkward handful of posts as I sought to find my voice, has turned into a full-blown love affair with the written word.  Over the past year I have come to face some of the more comical aspects of life around me, faced some of my fears, bared my soul, sought support, and found strength in becoming me.  
  • Thank you so much for all the wonderful people who have encouraged me along the way.  
  • Thank you to the people I've met through Aunt Becky and The Band.
  • Thank you to my business partner Amanda Abella, for giving me advice on how to stop whining and start making my writing my job.
  • Thank you to Jenny Lawson who makes me laugh, cry, and feel better for being quirky, wonderful me.
  • Thank you, my readers who come back time and time again to catch up on my ramblings and think I am the bees knees.  I am STILL surprised that people read this stuff.
Stay tuned for year 2!

Friday, September 2, 2011

Committing Myself

So here's something embarrassing about me, my dirty little secret (other than the fact that I am watching Phineas and Ferb while I write this).  My life is bordering on Teh Normal right now.  And I don't know what to do.

For so long I've lived in a constant state of CHAOS that now I am in a position of near normalcy, I feel totally out of whack.  According to my shrink this isn't uncommon.  I mean,
  • I have a ton of talent some which I recently discovered (thank you YouTube tutorials on Kompozer web design!), 
  • I have a growing clientele base, 
  • I've got a great group of people that I can reach at any moment (seeing as some live in the UK, one in Hong Kong, and the rest are scattered across the US it's high percentage that one of us will be online)
  • My Kiddo is absolutely flourishing in school
  • I am actually able to let go of a lot of the hatred and doubt that I've struggled with for years
yet I feel like things need to be out of control in order for me to feel secure.  I've been so accustomed with being in a constant of turmoil that I feel so out of touch, like I need to create some insanity.

What I realize that I am looking for is a way to sabotage myself.  And that is SUCKTASTIC!

I don't want to be THAT girl that is always in over her head.  I've  been there for years and I want to leave it behind.  Yes, this is a new and (for now) unpleasant experience of having to rediscover normalcy, but I have to settle into this new routine.

How weird is that?  Feeling uncomfortable that my life is now bordering on Teh Normal. 

I am going to make a commitment to myself, right here and now that I will not sabotage myself.  I will do what I do best and I will continue on this calmer path.

I know I can do it. 

Am I an adult who enjoys cartoons?  
Yes, yes, I am.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

When 18 isn't 18

I was 17 when I met him.

He was 23.  He was a former Marine.  He was a jackal hiding behind a songbird.

I was 18 the first time he touched me.


I was a legal adult.  By the time I was able to admit to myself what had happened, the statute of limitation had expired.

I was 18, but I may as well have been 12. 

I grew up in a very conservative, very sheltered household.  I was a homeschooled, outspoken sports jock, who preferred a good book to fawning over the local high-school meatheads.  But that didn't mean I didn't dream about having my first kiss.

My parents didn't allow me to date, which meant if a boy wanted to see me, he'd have to come to the house so we could be chaperoned.  Of the three boys that dared to come over to my house for dinner, 2 never called me again, the other turned out to be gay.

I had no working knowledge of boys, emotions, or physical responses.  Sure, I knew the physical act of sex and procreation but that was only because I read my science books.  My sex education went like this: "Sometimes boys want to kiss you a lot.  You just have to tell them no."  Put like that, it seemed to me that kissing was an awkward event that girls merely tolerated while they were dating.

When I went away for a weekend visit at what would become my Alma Mater, I met him.  It was at a dance, "A Night in Old Vienna." Girls were dressed in mock ball gowns from yesteryear and boys wore ties and coats.  Dance cards were given to the visiting kids, so they could meet up with different people on the dance floor.  He was third on my list.  For years I wondered how God could have allowed his name to appear on my dance card.  I realized in the end, it didn't matter.  I was his target.  One way or another, he would have found a way to get at me.

He was charming and flattering.  Praised my intelligence and wit.  He said I was pretty and that the boys at home were stupid for failing to see what they were missing.  I thought I had found the perfect man.  What I didn't know was that I was going to be another victim to this serial predator.

For six months, we corresponded by mail.  He sent me a country CD of love songs for my 18th birthday.  The man in the letters was so polite, so well spoken, so considerate of me as a whole person.  He said in his letters that he would 'protect my virtue.'  I was in love.

My first kiss was during a walk in the wood.  The next night, he taught me to french kiss by the water sewer lines on campus.  The first time he touched my breast 2 days later, I objected, said I didn't feel comfortable with him doing that.  He assured me that it was okay, that 'lovers have rights over each others bodies.'  I didn't know what to say, how to respond.  It didn't seem right. It felt so dirty. 

I felt dirty.  But I loved him.

I stayed with him for 5 months.  I hated every minute of it.  But I stayed because I was scared, because I didn't know better, because I felt ashamed, because when I tried to say no he always talked me out of it, because the one time I tried to physically run away from him he chased me and tossed me against a building.  But something inside me still loved him.

He did things to me.  He mocked me.  He hurt me.

The night he forced me down on him, I thought I was going to die.  I was choking, I couldn't breathe.  I was crying, begging him to let me stop.  He wouldn't let me.  When I couldn't do what he wanted, he finished himself off.  I was horrified.  I was disgusted.  I wanted to die.  I no longer loved him. 

I wanted him to die.

That was 12 years ago, but this is the first time I've shared this without breaking down in tears.  During those years I did some horrible things, to myself, to others. I hurt a friend, I lied to family, destroyed property, blacked out from booze binges, narrowly avoided arrest twice, and got dumped while 20 weeks pregnant.

I can't undo what happened or how my life was effected, but I'm making peace.  All things happen for a reason, even when they don't make sense at the time.  I'm not whitewashing the pain or the events that took place, but I am understanding how my life path has been shaped and not destroyed by what occurred.   

Friday, August 12, 2011

Message to my Younger Self

At 30 I'm becoming far more comfortable in my skin than was at 20.  If I could go back in time, I'd tell myself this:
  • Don't obsess about the size of your thighs beginning at 8.  You will be a skilled soccer player for 13 years and those muscles will serve you well.
  • When the little shits in 7th grade makes fun of you for your disastrous 'mushroom bowl' haircut, calling you a lesbian, don't just cry, kick them in the crotch.
  • That boy in choir you will have a 4 year crush on?  News flash, he's gay.  He'll never put the moves on you, no matter how many times he drives you home from play practice.
  • You will never make Coquina Shell soup.  Stop collecting hundreds of defenseless sea creatures in sand buckets which you will repeatedly forget in the sun.  Every damn time you go the beach.
  • When you have the chance to ride around in a decommissioned ambulance to get donuts at 2 in the morning, stay out all night.  You'll wind up skipping class anyways.
  • When all your friends tell you that getting involved with G is wrong, don't listen to them.  Things won't be any different.  He will leave you when you are 20 wks pregnant but your child will be the best thing in the world.
  • Never, ever, ever feel bad about being true to yourself.
And since I can't go back in time to tell myself this, I tell all the young women out there.  Love yourself and don't put up with any shit.  You deserve so much better.

Here Comes The Sun--From Miami to Fort DeSoto

<When I question my sanity (which is often) I take solace in remembering that as long as I can realize I'm being a nut, I'm not a complete nut.  I might be a disorganized serial writer at times, but comforting words from kind friends can renew my spirits rather well.>

On a lighter note, I've got some of my pics from recent trip to Miami while my frister Kathy was in town.  (Frister is my term for friend/almost sister).  

The Kiddo meeting my great uncle for the first time.

Tio Javier, Tia Ella, The Kiddo, and Me
Clowning around

Mugging for the camera

Pretending to be residents at the Biltmore Hotel

Kathy and I pretended to be heiresses in the shiny bathroom.  Eat your heart out Paris!

Manning the Cannons at Fort DeSoto

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Getting My Rant On

I've been feeling down on myself for the past few days, in part to reading and re-reading a comment that someone made to me on Teh Book of Face.  I had made an off-color but totally comment in an effort to cheer up a friend.  In reply, a guy I once knew as the biggest clown/screw-up/disgusting slacker came back at me with "Dude, who says shit like that?"

To say I was shocked was to say the least.
  • A-It's not like I said this in front of a bunch of 2nd graders
  • B-You use to say stuff like this all the time
  • C-Why did marriage and a child turn you into a humorless bastard?
But being myself, I agonized over it for days, until now when I finally said to myself today, "Screw it and the horse he rode in on." 

That's me, far right, hideous floral skirt from Goodwill
See, one of my biggest struggles in the past oh, I don't know, 12 years is to speak up for myself and not allow the resulting fall back impede on what I was doing/standing up for/participating in/just being me.  One particular time that I look back on with a bit of regret mixed with anger and sorrow was when a (male) friend of mine said that my association with a group of girls (a feisty bunch of women who took shit from no one) was unbecoming and a turn-off.
Still reeling from a sexual assault that no one knew about, I was cut to the core.  I had found some strength in hanging out with these women, trying to recover the shattered person I had become, and yet here was a person who I (had) respected that conveyed my actions, my interactions, my choice of friends, a part of me was something to be ashamed of.  And I listened to him.  And I didn't hang out with those girls for almost 6 months.  I missed out on 6 months of laughter, late night coffee parties, commiserating over a certain professor with a faux-English accent and Slurpee runs 15 minutes before curfew.  All because I was too ashamed of myself, of the person I no longer was, of the secrets I was hiding.

Payback is a bitch
I'm not that person anymore.  I've been working too damn hard to get rid of the insecurities that have hounded me.  I'm not about to allow myself to be cowed again.  I have no right to doubt myself.  I am a strong, kick-ass woman, who happens to be a great mother, friend, sister, and daughter. 

I have a great sense of humor that some don't get, plenty love, and some who laugh but act ashamed to acknowledge me.  To the last group, I say, grow a fucking pair.

I need not feel ashamed of who I am, how I act, how I walk, talk, or think.  I'm not harming anyone, causing anyone to do evil, or leading people towards death. 

I am me and I am proud.  I have a great group of girl friends from my past and a great group of people who Band around me when I'm down on myself. 

I am one lucky, blessed, and strong/crazy/fun-loving/intelligent woman. . .and I'll say whatever the hell I want to.

I can't remember if we were Bond Girls or Charlie's Angels

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

To my Angel

If you are reading this, whoever you are, thank you so much.  You will never quite know how much your gift means to me.  

Fuck it all, I'm crying my eyes out.  I'm not sure who did this for me, all I know is that I got a deposit into my paypal account that said Because of Band Back Together.  I am so touched.

Whenever I tell friends or family that I've been doing work for The Band, their first question is, how much am I making,  I laugh because even if I or anyone else with this group were drawing a salary (which we aren't) I'd be doing this anyways.  I'm not doing much, a little of tweeting, some social media promoting, hell I've pledged to work on 2 pages, but haven't finished them because my inner critic has been telling me that I suck at writing.  (I know, I know, baby steps!)  But I've been doing what I can to help The Band and now I'm on the receiving end of some help.

Since I'm only partially employed, I can still get a portion of my unemployment check from when I got laid off from my job w/ Social Security.  One of the stipulations is that you have to search for work every week and report it.  Well, when my Gonga died in June, I spent 3 weeks getting her estate in order.  So when I reported that I didn't look for work the week she died, unemployment stopped my check so they could verify her death.  That was on June 23.  So since I've gotten down to my last $5.  I haven't paid my rent in 2 months and I've been praying that this horrid mess will straighten itself out by the end of the week.

I've been fortunate enough to pick up a few small jobs last week, and it looks like I might have a new client who will supply me with steady work, so I think my luck will be turning around.  I've worked so hard to make a life for myself and my son and I'm not about to give up.

So whatever angel of mercy sent me that gift, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Love, hugs, and happy tears,

Monday, August 8, 2011

Search Words of the Week

Seriously Google?  Who the hell searches for "seeking Viking male?"  I mean, I know I wrote those words in a post several months back, but really?

I'm off to grind my ax.  And while I wish I could say it was a metaphor for something dirty, it's not.  I get totally squigged out about the idea a self ax grinding.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

A Day in the Life of the Kiddo

Conversation in the Diatribest household

"Momma, you are the bestest thing that has ever happened in my life."

"Thank you, Baby-Man"

"I'm all done with my shower."

"Okay, get dressed.  The laundry isn't dry yet, so you don't have an underwear.  Just put on your pj bottoms."




Sunday, July 31, 2011


If you think it's me, well guess again.  I don't need a facelift although I could use a bobby lift.  I'd work on getting me ole' knockers tucked back up under my chin. I miss the days when I could find a bra that wasn't just beige, black, or white.  Or the days when I could run around without a bra.

Why do clothing manufactures think the bigger you are, the less taste in clothing style you have.  Honestly, how many large women think, "Now that I weight over 200 lbs. I'd like to dress in nothing but large floral prints.  I think I'd look great looking like a giant field little children can get lost in."

Seriously clothing manufactures, get a grip!

Anyways, My Daily Diatribes is getting a bit of a facelift.  I'm trying to get the word out about yours truly and by running a blitzkrieg across the world wide web, I might get some more opportunities drummed up.  Momma's got bills to pay!

So do your part my Ministers of Mayhem!  Get your Diatribest out there!  Tell your mom, your dad, you cousin twice removed, and you best friends.  Spread my awesomeness around! 

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Flamingos. I haz them

I've got several articles to write today, so what better way than to tackle the work by avoiding them and writing a silly blog post.  Yea, me!  The way I see it, if I can get my creative juices flowing and actually chase away the daily doubts I can tackle the job that might actually bring in some income. 

Seriously? Why?
This morning I was re-watching a video of The Bloggess which was a reminder of how I need to do the things that make me 'furiously happy,' and that pursuing my dream of writing as a full-time career is what I truly believe that I am called to do.  And even though I have no stable source of income, what with picking up small jobs as I attempt to pursue bigger clients, I am determined not to give up so easily.  So I stare at the pink flamingo that sits at my desk and ponder, what the hell should I write about this morning and it hits me.  Why the hell do I like flamingos so much?

It certainly can't be because I want to own one.  Frankly, I think birds are disgusting creatures that should be kept outside.  God gave 'em wing, why the hell do they need to be kept in a cage with those things clipped?  Birds with clipped wings seems like the Venus de Milo, pretty to look at but reminds me of a victim of a serial killer who took the arms as a trophy.  Okay, maybe that's just me, and I have a really sick, strange associative mind.  But whatever, I don't care.  After all, I am the serial_writer.

Plus, birds shit all over the place.  I already have to wipe my kid's butt, so no thank you I do not want to clean a birdcage. This is why I prefer cats over dogs, just for the sheer fact that they have the decency to cover their own shit-shame.

So really I don't like the actual bird, I like the pink plastic representation.  I think growing up in Florida, you are accustomed to all things 'tropical' themed.  Never mind the face that the flamingo is not native to Florida, much less the US.  But they just seem to fit.  The greatest use of pink flamingos, IMHO, was the time someone flamingo'd their friends front yard to celebrate her birthday.  40 flamingos for 40 years.  Very cool.

Come Christmas time, these babies are gonna be pulling Santa's sleigh.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Next Time on House: Dr. Chews Gum While He Amputates Leg

I'm damaged good.  Naturally all women want to hump me.
Search engines, all I have to say is what the hell?  How to you explain that two people searching for "Can Dr. House amputate his leg" and another searching "Why do I chew gum daily" land on my site.  I find it hard to believe that terms like Dr. House's leg has been so underutilized that my page pops up first in Google results.  I don't know if I should be flattered or irritated.  Maybe I should start throwing out random words and see what happens next.

Burbank, California!
Old Spice (just cuz I luv the dreamy man your man could smell like man)
The Book of John
Ice Cream Cones

I'll let you know what that brings.

 I'm going to introduce you to a new segment of my blog I'd like to call "News that Pisses Me Off (Because It's so Fucking Dumb.)" So without further ado:
News That Pisses Me Off  
(Because it's so fucking dumb)
  • First up, Bolton, England where a British whorehouse fitness group is offering a pole dancing class. FOR SEVER YEAR OLD GIRLS!  I understand the way capitalism works.  You make a product, no matter how dumb it is (see truck testicles below) and the consumer will by it, thereby you laugh all the way to the bank.  Now here's what really pisses me off.  It's not the "gym" that is offering the classes.  It's the PARENTS that are allowing their pre-prepubescent innocent girls to attend these classes.  I mean for Gods sake, why don't you just pimp them out of the street for an honest dollar if you want your child to have a career in pole dancing.  That's every pedophiles wet dream come true.  I'm not for Big Brother stepping into peoples lives, but in this cases, I'd be all for it.  Do these assholes even realize what they are doing to these babies, turning them into sex on a stick when most of them can't ride in a car without a booster seat?  For you parents in Bolton, England--You are sick fuckers!
  • Apparently a cop in Bonneau, North Carolina had nothing better to do than to hand out a $445 ticket to a woman who had 'truck nutz/bull balls' hanging off the back of her truck.  Here's the thing, personally I find those things juvenile, disgusting, and frankly, if you have to hang fake beanbags off your truck to prove something, you're overcompensating  (i.e. men who drive fast, red sports cars).  Citing an obscure public decency law, her trial is set for August 1.  If he wants to play fair, what's good for the goose is good for the gander, why doesn't officer jackass pull over semis with naked lady mud flaps.  Oh, that's right.  Because he'd be too scared to do that.  

It's late now, I've finished my rants.  I should finish up a page I've been working on for The Band, but I think I'll make some cinnamon and sugar toast. 

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Don't Get Mad, Get Creatively Even

Do you remember watching Sesame Street as a kid hearing the song "Three of these things belong together; three of these things are kind of the same; But one of these things just doesn't belong here?" It was pretty obvious if you were over the age of three what item didn't make sense, like the glass of milk didn't match the three daisies.  

Oh, yes.  You heard me. Wear this with wedding rings.
Yesterday, I came to realize that writing SEO articles for certain clients, the Sesame Street principle applies. I had a client ask me to write an article about 'glow-in-the-dark nail polish' and 'wedding rings.'  In the same 400 word article.  Mind you, this client lives in Slovenia so maybe she doesn't realize that outside of Halloween and the rave club scene, no one besides tennie-boppers wears that shit.  Seriously, I have no fashion sense, nor do I give a shit about fashion opinion, but I will never wear glow-on-the-dark nail polish to my wedding.

Here's the thing.  Writing SEO is not my first choice of work.  I would love to write humor columns for on-line sites or articles on single-parenting magazines.  Hell, I'd be happier writing ad copy for Scotts Brand Toilet Paper.  I would love to have to ability to turn down work based on the fact that I have a full client list and have work scheduled out three months in advance.  But that hasn't happened yet.  And until I can make some better connections, I'm stuck writing on shitty subjects.

This particular client I dropped like a sack of rotten potatoes today.  Seems that she was doing some false advertizing.  When your job posting says you'll be paying $750-$1500 a month for articles because you are looking for high quality writers as you've been unhappy with previous writers, please honor that.  Don't be surprised when I fly off the fucking handle when I write 3 trial articles and you send me 3 fucking dollars over Paypal.  So when you write back that most of your writers are paid 80 cents for an article and that you are doing me a favor, don't be surprised when I give you a poor rating on your feedback.

And believe me, when it comes to your rating score, don't be surprised when your profile is banned from the website for false advertizing.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna munch on a handful of antacids.

Monday, July 25, 2011

I'm With the Band and I Rock At Life

So I did a little dance today.  Actually, it was a dance that I preformed several different times in front of several different family members.  It included a flying Superman dive onto my parents bed while my mom talked with her BFF. 

See the other day, I decided to put myself out on the line.  I sent an email over Linked In to Rebecca 'Aunt Becky' Harks and asked if I could be an editor at a group blog she started up after delivering her third child, who suffered from a neural tube defect at birth, realized, with the help of her amazing Band of Merry Pranksters, a need in the blog world for a place where we could all come to put our thoughts down.

She replied that she didn't need an editor, but she wanted me to join the brains behind the band.  MAJOR YEA!!!! 

I am so happy and beside myself I want to dance a lot more than I am right now.  No money changes hands but it's major boost for my portfolio.  Plus, when (not if, but WHEN) I get my novel finished (please God, by the end of the year) I'll have a much larger audience to work with.  I feel like I got a great big hug today.

So now I am going to learn to juggle SEO articles, DZI, the Twitter, this blog, and whatever I'll be doing over at BBT.  And I couldn't be happier!

Band Back Together strives to provide a safe and supportive space on the internet where anyone in need can find support, resources, catharsis, healing and/or hope by connecting with the blogging community through writing.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Part II: Because Cancer is Bull$#*%

( If you don't understand this post, go to Cancer is Bullshit Part I).  Brendan is having surgery today following 5 rounds of chemo.  It has really rocked his system, but he's stayed positive through this ordeal.  Please keep him in your prayers that the doctors can remove this cancer without having to amputate his leg.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Big Momma Would've Been Proud

Since I'm writing for Assocaitaed Content again, I'm hoping to expand my audience and gain more clients.  Business has been slow and I'm trying to rally.  I was assigned to write a short fictional piece, so I based my story on a fictionalized event from my Gonga's life.  For instance,  Big Momma was actually the name of my great-great-great Grandmother Orbie Johnson, and it was a steak knife, not an icepick.


As I trod barefoot across the worn wooden floor, I bent down to pick up the discarded tissues that lay scattered. My friend Judy sat cross-legged on a worn couch, wrapped in a multi-colored afghan despite the sweltering mid-day Georgia heat. Half packed boxes filled with stacks of framed pictures awaited packing peanuts and bubble wrap. A bookshelf of dog-eared romance novels had been pushed aside to reveal a small hole in the wall. Curious but respectful of Judy's present anguish I squelched my desire to look inside.

"Judy, I'm so sorry Big Momma died. I know you've heard that so many times already, so I won't try to offer you any false comfort. Death stinks and right now is a rotten time, but I'm here to help you. We've got to get this place packed up and cleared out by the end of the week before the condo association changes the locks on your Grandma's place." 

Sighing, Judy cast off the afghan and stood up. "Thanks for coming. I just can't motivate myself to finalize anything. I get a box half packed and then I find something of hers that makes me cry. I know once I seal these boxes shut, I have to admit that she's gone. I can't pretend that she's in the kitchen frying chicken."

"I know dear. Loosing my Grandma last year was difficult and I was fortunate to have the nursing staff handle all her affects. I wish you had that, but since you don't I'll do what I can to make this easier."

Determined to move Judy into action, I tossed a tissue at her. "Come on. Big Momma wouldn't want you crying. She'd be telling you to put on some makeup and go buy drinks for the cute guy at the bar. Here's a box."

For the next three hours we packed pictures, dusty figurines, and assorted knickknacks into stiff cardboard boxes. I would run the tape dispenser across the top while Judy looked away. We talked about friends we grew up with, gossiped about the local beauty queens affair with the town mayor, occasionally reminiscing about Big Momma. When we arrived at the bookshelf I couldn't contain my curiosity any longer.

"Judy, why on earth is there a hole in the wall behind the bookshelf?"

She began to laugh, the first time in days. "Big Momma hid an ice pick in there so the cops wouldn't find it."  

If you want to find out why Big Momma hid an icepick in the wall, follow this link to read the remainder of the article. 

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Chewing Gum Can Be Hazardous To My (Mental) Health

Came across a snarky, inappropriate blog that I have crush on right now, A Beer for the Shower.
Check it out if you like laughing at the antics of under-published, under-employed writers, such as myself.  But as much as I am falling more in like with the beer swilling boys, I am really, really grossed out.

I'll tell you why.  Bathrooms have bathroom germs!

Here's the thing, I've watched the science shows, I know about the water mist dispersal rate with each flushing of the toilet, and that I am probably using a tooth brush that has been covered in a light mist of urine and poo.  I just tell myself that the cleaning ingredients in my toothpaste eradicates all icky germs that might be dancing on the spiny bristles.

Food and drink however, have no protective barrier.  There is nothing that could convince me to eat or drink in the bathroom.  My frister (friend/sister) drinks her coffee while she puts on her makeup.  EW!

I'm so paranoid about floating bathroom germs coming into contact with my food I won't even chew gum in the bathroom unless I hide the gum under my tongue with my lips tightly clamped shut.  Yes, I do know how neurotic and insane that sounds, but it's my quirk that I'll gladly hang out to, even though I've worked out most of my neuroses via therapist the past three years.  

Food and/or drinks do NOT belong in the bathroom!
Bathrooms Do Not Equal Foodrooms

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Haiku You Too or Random Stuff That I Think Of

I'm picking up writing for Associated Content again.  I got assigned a haiku the other day, which is the only piece of poetry that I can write.  The 5,7,5 rule rocks. I'll be haikuing everyday for them.  At 1 centavo per 100 clicks I should be making 2 cents everyday! 
Last week after I stopped crying, pulled my head out of the pillows, and got back to work, the first thing I decided to do was to get back to work.  Because nothing more says "I should tackle the 3 weeks of work I left unattended while I dealt with dead grandmother stuff," then re-arraigning the furniture in three rooms.  If I could just remember that I decided this impromptu reorganization at night.  So far my midnight trips to the loo have involved several bruises and a near encounter with a door frame.  But I digress.
My sarcastic mouth is going to be biting me in the butt soon.  The Kiddo heads of the Kindergarten next month and I can just imagine the phone calls I'll be getting:
"Ms. Pollock, when I asked your son to stop picking his nose, he informed me he was digging for gold."*
"Ms. Pollock, when we go on field trips, please teach your son not to yell at other drivers for driving like morons."
"Your son told another student, 'I might be short, but you are ugly.' This is not an appropriate response towards bullying."
"At Wednesday Mass, when the Priest says 'The Mass has ended," he yelled "Yes!" and attempted to fist bump the child next to him.  This is not tolerable."*

(I know these things are gonna happen, because he's already said this at home.)*
I can't wait for school to start! 

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Things I Don't Understand

---  How vacant-faced Casey Anthony wasn't found guilty of at least child neglect or manslaughter?  With my <very limited> knowledge of the law (2 paralegal courses thank you very much!) I understand that in criminal cases the burden of proof is on the prosecution proving their case beyond a shadow of a doubt, but SERIOUSLY, how did the jurors find her innocent of those charges? 

----How female journalist Mac McClelland found violent sex to be the cure to her PTSD?  As an assault SURVIVOR I am all for women taking back control of their lives whether it be facing their attacker in a court, writing or talking openly about their experience without shame, learning self-defense moves, or working with an organization that promotes healing such as the Joyful Heart Foundation(Thank you Mariska Hargitay!) 
Several years ago I struggled often with flashbacks during intimate moments with an ex.  It was so hard on the both of us.  Rather than enjoying the expression of our love, I would curl up in a ball crying.  The moment would be lost, he would be angry, and I would usually get drunk.  I have no desire to ever put myself in a situation where I felt like I was under attack again.  Now it took me 7 years and three broken knuckles to get myself the help I needed, so I don't want to discourage this woman from healing, I just have no idea how to support this method of therapy.

----Why my grandmother had to die.

I don't have too much more right now.  I've been out of my groove for a while.