Yesterday I missed a post in my month of June self imposed blogathon. I decided I could blame it on the Mayan calendar ending this year, premonitions of the end of the world being overwhelming and all that... faking how its emotionally affecting me. Basically taking a day to serve as my moment of peace. Whatever. It's all bull anyway, I was really just consumed with summer, kids, mommy camp and all the other crap I deal with on any given day. Here's my post for today, it's kind of, "Meh?", but it entertained me to a level of snorting under my breath so I thought I would share it. Enjoy!
These are things I don't feel like doing anymore today for my kids:
- Telling you to stop yelling, shoving, licking, pushing, hair pulling and tantrumming for the 7,856,932th time.
- Asking you to use your "nice voice" for the hundredth time this last half hour.
- Advising that NO, in fact you do NOT deserve to watch Scooby Doo after falling into a pile of hysterical screaming tears... at Home Depot... when I was trying to ask a complex plumbing question to the nice man who was forced to endure your monstrous behavior.
- Shutting you down for yet ANOTHER glass of water... At like nine pm. Are you a frigging camel?
- Explaining that I can NOT read you a seventy five page historical novel that you RANDOMLY picked when it's already fifteen minutes past your bedtime.
- No you may not horf your corn back up and spit it into the carpet, because you "don't like it".
- State that, NO!, I'm not going to explain, AGAIN, that it's time for bed and there is no more talking. You can ask me to explain what chlorophyll is and what it's scientific compound is tomorrow. And that's when I'll tell you to ask me later because I've not had nearly enough coffee yet.
YAWN. Crap.
5 new Webster's dictionary words
Starchle: it's starchy, it's sparkly, usually used to describe a piece of clothing that omits a certain crispy twinkle to its texture.
Chibble: chewed food in your mouth that dribbles down your chin in a chunky solid line, usually when you're too lazy to wait until you are finished eating to talk.
Brozone: the unspoken designated area of a party where all the men disappear and congregate to, if approached by a female it either spastically dissipates or forms an impenetrable force field of testosterone.
Snough: (pronounced: sn-OFF) the act of sneezing while simultaneously spastically choking and coughing. Usually accompanied with a small amount of urine in your underwear created by the sheer force of the physical event.
Spazzle: the description of a person being completely spazzed out and frazzled over what everyone else thinks is absolutely the most non-important thing ever.
Poopettes: when you think you pushed out a small animal from your colon but instead it's tiny little poop pellets. Similar to the size of rabbit turd.
Chibble: chewed food in your mouth that dribbles down your chin in a chunky solid line, usually when you're too lazy to wait until you are finished eating to talk.
Brozone: the unspoken designated area of a party where all the men disappear and congregate to, if approached by a female it either spastically dissipates or forms an impenetrable force field of testosterone.
Snough: (pronounced: sn-OFF) the act of sneezing while simultaneously spastically choking and coughing. Usually accompanied with a small amount of urine in your underwear created by the sheer force of the physical event.
Spazzle: the description of a person being completely spazzed out and frazzled over what everyone else thinks is absolutely the most non-important thing ever.
Poopettes: when you think you pushed out a small animal from your colon but instead it's tiny little poop pellets. Similar to the size of rabbit turd.
Jaded Kindy Nursery Rhyme by Abbie
(Read to the tune of "Hush Little Baby")
Walking to Kindergarten
It's your last day.
The sky is so bright
And the air freakin' hot today.
Love you so much,
I'll see you at pick up.
Just 'member how fun it'll be
Sleeping in, not having to wake up.
Take home all your drawings,
Say goodbye to friends at school.
Hugs to all the teachers.
There's no more classroom rules!
Excited we wait,
To hear about your day.
As you approach, you exclaim,
"STOP TALKING!" and run away.
Here we go again,
After school 'tude to the max.
I'm so glad that this is over,
Now where's my friggin' Zanax?
I'm sweating profusely,
This heat I can barely fare.
No you can't go to the playground.
Sorry, mommy can't breathe in this air.
In through the door,
You just can't seem to wait...
To tell me how horrible I am
And flourish me with hate.
You're sent to your room
And I am off to cry.
You just don't seem to realize,
My cup has runneth dry.
Don't worry, I'll soon forget,
How you wished for a new ma.
Right around five o'clock,
When I crack open a Corona.
Hellfire, cheekiness,
Attitude & more...
Pour out from every orifice,
Behind your bedroom door.
Repeatedly, I ask myself,
"What karmic sin did I commit,
To be thrown into
This cyclonic blame storm of sh**?".
Breathe, sigh, breathe
And breathe some more.
You emerge with a drawing,
Of cute puppies and smiles galore.
Crap, seriously? I can't effing deal.
This isn't even the first day?
I'm already dreading this transition
And the next thing you'll say.
Ok fine, summer sucks
And this heat is unbearable.
Your rudeness is worse
and flip flopping unfathomable.
Guess I'll just suck it up
To you being six years old.
Note to self: stock beer
And keep Martinis ice cold.
I love being a parent,
The rewards are tenfold.
But on days like this dear,
My cards are ready to fold.
Yet another summer day.
I'm counting minutes 'till school starts,
And ferociously praying.
Narcoleptics should not
I was watching the TV last night, and on came some advertisement for a program that showcases strange disorders. The one they were describing last night was Narcolepsy. Oh. My. Dog. This disorder would just SUCK. I sat and watched this man doing perfectly normal daily activities (like making a PB & J) and slumping over (and whacking his head on the counter mid fall) in the middle of it to sleep. WHOA. That is some heavy shiza. Can you even imagine what kind of life you would have with this disorder? The limitations placed on your life experiences just based solely on your inability to protect yourself from inevitable harm, well, it makes it seem awfully suffocating. You'd literally have to become a bubble person. I really don't think living in a helmet would be all that snugly. I started to think about all the things they couldn't do and the list started to get pretty lengthy...
People with Narcolepsy shouldn't:
Swim with sharks, or just actually be anywhere in close proximity of a body of water.
Work with sheet metal fabrication.
Make hand blown glass.
Cook meals or learn how to chiffonade fresh herbs.
Rototill or mow their lawn.
Handle rock salt or pesticide.
Operate a wave runner, motorboat, or motorcycle.
Change cat litter boxes, or become dog walkers. If they did, it certainly could give new meaning to becoming sh** faced.
Roast marshmallows or make s'mores... Really they should just avoid anything related to camping or the outdoors. Bears get hungry.
Go spelunking. Because falling asleep on the floor of a cave fifty feet below ground level is so not cool.
Take a bath.
Play with icicles.
Walk on stairs. Period.
Become electricians, or high voltage technicians.
Clearly Narcolepsy really takes away from just being able to do everyday typical things. Poor helpless Narcoleptics. Stop whatever you're doing right now and hug a Narcoleptic. Then quickly run away so they don't crush you.
People with Narcolepsy shouldn't:
Swim with sharks, or just actually be anywhere in close proximity of a body of water.
Work with sheet metal fabrication.
Make hand blown glass.
Cook meals or learn how to chiffonade fresh herbs.
Rototill or mow their lawn.
Handle rock salt or pesticide.
Operate a wave runner, motorboat, or motorcycle.
Change cat litter boxes, or become dog walkers. If they did, it certainly could give new meaning to becoming sh** faced.
Roast marshmallows or make s'mores... Really they should just avoid anything related to camping or the outdoors. Bears get hungry.
Go spelunking. Because falling asleep on the floor of a cave fifty feet below ground level is so not cool.
Take a bath.
Play with icicles.
Walk on stairs. Period.
Become electricians, or high voltage technicians.
Clearly Narcolepsy really takes away from just being able to do everyday typical things. Poor helpless Narcoleptics. Stop whatever you're doing right now and hug a Narcoleptic. Then quickly run away so they don't crush you.
Open houses are for nosey neighbors
Our home is on sale right now, and it's been such a tremendous pain in the tookas to keep it show ready for what seems like an eternity, but really has just been two and a half months. Sigh. It's crap-tastically awful trying to keep a house spotless with a toddler and a highly active six year old. That being said, the pressure to be spit shined clean is even worse when an Open House rolls around. Literally DAYS of cleaning in advance, in rounds, and by category, is the only way this place can look professionally cleaned (and no, I don't have a housekeeper or cleaning company that helps out). This is nothing less than a massive three day full body work out. Actually, I'm really surprised someone HASN'T developed a work out based on the different muscles used in the house cleaning frenzy... (abs, back, gluteus, arms, etc). Typically I'm ending this hellish paced cleaning psychosis with massive body aches and in serious need of an Epsom salt bath. I'm stinky, but feel victorious against germs!
Now, here in lies the frustration of the home seller. After all of the above (read: blood, sweat and tears that go into making a home show ready), you need to leave your home on a nationally recognized holiday for several hours so that people can peruse through your home imagining it can be theirs someday. You justify all the efforts you have taken to make it sparkle, by telling yourself it may just attract that one perfectly matched buyer and you'll be able to end this cycle of madness soon. Except, nope, you'd be wrong. Lo and behold, while you are roaming around in the parking lot of your local mini mall shopping center, pointing out the interesting architectural arch design of McDonalds to your kids again - for the millionth time, it's not potential buyers that are viewing your home. Instead it is basically every single neighbor who's ever wanted to see inside your home, who hasn't even remotely tried to befriend you but feels now with an Open House that their skulking around in your private sanctuary is condoned... Well, what do you know? VOILA! They have a special invitation to snoop around handling your heels and peaking in your dirty laundry... for two hours. At least thats what I imagine in MY sick little head. This irks me to no end. The last open house was 95% neighbors. WTF? Seriously. AND, it just brought the number of neighbors who have seen this place in total to a tally of over seventy. SEVENTY. NEIGHBORS. HAVE. SEEN. OUR. HOUSE. I understand it is the nature of the "home sale" beast, but come on! Who's left?!?!? It's the whole damn neighborhood! Even more unfortunate is that in comparison, the total number of actual potential viewers has been about twenty. Mmm hmmm. Exactly. Not worth the effort AT ALL. Not anymore at least.
In summation, we're done with this ridiculous crap. If the rest of the neighbors want to roam through our house then they'll have to ask to be invited or check the Trulia listings. Which is hard to imagine that would even happen because they've all come over already. I'm officially crossing them off my birthday list. For REAL.
Now, here in lies the frustration of the home seller. After all of the above (read: blood, sweat and tears that go into making a home show ready), you need to leave your home on a nationally recognized holiday for several hours so that people can peruse through your home imagining it can be theirs someday. You justify all the efforts you have taken to make it sparkle, by telling yourself it may just attract that one perfectly matched buyer and you'll be able to end this cycle of madness soon. Except, nope, you'd be wrong. Lo and behold, while you are roaming around in the parking lot of your local mini mall shopping center, pointing out the interesting architectural arch design of McDonalds to your kids again - for the millionth time, it's not potential buyers that are viewing your home. Instead it is basically every single neighbor who's ever wanted to see inside your home, who hasn't even remotely tried to befriend you but feels now with an Open House that their skulking around in your private sanctuary is condoned... Well, what do you know? VOILA! They have a special invitation to snoop around handling your heels and peaking in your dirty laundry... for two hours. At least thats what I imagine in MY sick little head. This irks me to no end. The last open house was 95% neighbors. WTF? Seriously. AND, it just brought the number of neighbors who have seen this place in total to a tally of over seventy. SEVENTY. NEIGHBORS. HAVE. SEEN. OUR. HOUSE. I understand it is the nature of the "home sale" beast, but come on! Who's left?!?!? It's the whole damn neighborhood! Even more unfortunate is that in comparison, the total number of actual potential viewers has been about twenty. Mmm hmmm. Exactly. Not worth the effort AT ALL. Not anymore at least.
In summation, we're done with this ridiculous crap. If the rest of the neighbors want to roam through our house then they'll have to ask to be invited or check the Trulia listings. Which is hard to imagine that would even happen because they've all come over already. I'm officially crossing them off my birthday list. For REAL.
Happy Fadda's Day
As it would be said from my toddlers little language. :) Here is a blessing to all of the GOOD fathers out there. The world needs more men like you. In your own unique way, you are improving our children and therefore our future, one child at a time. Although I personally didn't have a good father, I can imagine what a good one would be like and I am dedicating my post today to all those rockstar dads. Your children and wives appreciate all that you do and love you dearly.
Thank you for your kind and selfless devotion to your families, through the best of times and the worst.
Thank you for working late at the job you can't stand because your family depends on you for the income.
Thank you for encouraging your children to do the things that are unknown and maybe a little scary, because you know it will empower them having conquered their fears.
Thank you for having the much needed calming presence in the face of fear when someone has been hurt, assuring that everything is going to be ok.
Thank you for being there to pick up the pieces when the world breaks our heart.
Thank you for showing us how to play ball, spin a hoola hoop, draw with chalk on the sidewalk, ride our bike and how to grill the perfect burger.
Thank you for being the sound mind and empathetic ear when our mothers don't understand us.
Thank you for being you, and being in our lives as the father you are.
My best wishes for all of you excellent fathers out there. May your children bask in the light you project, and grow to be the wonderful human beings you raised them to be.
Thank you for your kind and selfless devotion to your families, through the best of times and the worst.
Thank you for working late at the job you can't stand because your family depends on you for the income.
Thank you for encouraging your children to do the things that are unknown and maybe a little scary, because you know it will empower them having conquered their fears.
Thank you for having the much needed calming presence in the face of fear when someone has been hurt, assuring that everything is going to be ok.
Thank you for being there to pick up the pieces when the world breaks our heart.
Thank you for showing us how to play ball, spin a hoola hoop, draw with chalk on the sidewalk, ride our bike and how to grill the perfect burger.
Thank you for being the sound mind and empathetic ear when our mothers don't understand us.
Thank you for being you, and being in our lives as the father you are.
My best wishes for all of you excellent fathers out there. May your children bask in the light you project, and grow to be the wonderful human beings you raised them to be.
Kindergarten mouthiness
It finally happened. I hit a writing block. I've had severe insomnia for the last three nights and have not slept more than four hours each night. This may have contributed to the bout of nothingness clanking around in my empty brain right now, but it's probably more likely that I'm just hitting a wall.
Insert problem: What do I write about today?
So, in my ever creative spinning mind, I asked my eldest daughter what the kids say in her class. This was not an easy task, since she doesn't talk much about school (or anything at all really) other than telling me how fantastically awful it is to endure this horrible place she's subjected to go to everyday. Using some neat extraction methods I have picked up along the parenting path, I finally tapped the information well within her and some gems started pouring out. Quick, get the buckets! :D
1. "For real!"
This is apparently said ALL. THE. TIME. Like, totally, for sure dude.
2. "Then I'll cross you off my birthday list."
This is only stated by future narcissists and dictators.
3. "You 're not playing with us."
This kid is voted most likely to join a gang and pillage neighborhoods with their posse.
4. "You're allergic to everything, you can't eat anything!"
It's highly improbable this kid will be a social worker or habitat for humanity volunteer, but possibly the CEO and founder of "Insensitive Jerks, Inc."
5. "Aww, do we have to do this all over again?"
Signs of a future procrastinator and poor work ethic.
6. "I'm bigger than you, for REAL."
Thanks, captain of the obvious. And I'm bigger than you, and she's bigger than me and he's bigger than her...
7. "Ew... you're married!"
Marriage? In Kindergarten? What's next? Honey mead and dowries?
8. "So and so and I are married because we kissed each other."
WHOA! Now, hold on there! If this is true, I'm in SERIOUS horse dung. Starting from age ten and counting... I better lawyer up.
9. "Hey!?! You cutted!"
Hey! You need to pay more attention to the learning portion of class!
10. "I'm inviting the whole entire class to my birthday, but not you. AND it's going to be a swimming class AND it's going to have lots of Star Wars and Ninjago's."
How generously awful of this child, to smear fun in someone's face only to rip it away. If this person were an adult, they would be kicked in the cojones and stoned.
Insert problem: What do I write about today?
So, in my ever creative spinning mind, I asked my eldest daughter what the kids say in her class. This was not an easy task, since she doesn't talk much about school (or anything at all really) other than telling me how fantastically awful it is to endure this horrible place she's subjected to go to everyday. Using some neat extraction methods I have picked up along the parenting path, I finally tapped the information well within her and some gems started pouring out. Quick, get the buckets! :D
1. "For real!"
This is apparently said ALL. THE. TIME. Like, totally, for sure dude.
2. "Then I'll cross you off my birthday list."
This is only stated by future narcissists and dictators.
3. "You 're not playing with us."
This kid is voted most likely to join a gang and pillage neighborhoods with their posse.
4. "You're allergic to everything, you can't eat anything!"
It's highly improbable this kid will be a social worker or habitat for humanity volunteer, but possibly the CEO and founder of "Insensitive Jerks, Inc."
5. "Aww, do we have to do this all over again?"
Signs of a future procrastinator and poor work ethic.
6. "I'm bigger than you, for REAL."
Thanks, captain of the obvious. And I'm bigger than you, and she's bigger than me and he's bigger than her...
7. "Ew... you're married!"
Marriage? In Kindergarten? What's next? Honey mead and dowries?
8. "So and so and I are married because we kissed each other."
WHOA! Now, hold on there! If this is true, I'm in SERIOUS horse dung. Starting from age ten and counting... I better lawyer up.
9. "Hey!?! You cutted!"
Hey! You need to pay more attention to the learning portion of class!
10. "I'm inviting the whole entire class to my birthday, but not you. AND it's going to be a swimming class AND it's going to have lots of Star Wars and Ninjago's."
How generously awful of this child, to smear fun in someone's face only to rip it away. If this person were an adult, they would be kicked in the cojones and stoned.
I only wish for attainable things
I wish...
I lived on a Yurt, in the middle of the Ocean, with sweat-less eunuch vampire staff that fed me ice cold martinis on call, and rubbed my feet and neck.
I had a convertible 66 Chevelle, glossy black, with quad exhaust. That or a cherry red Mazda RX7 gull wing... AND matching lipstick to pair with my matching heels. Bite me Tawny Kitaen.
I was a Bond girl named Natasha, who could kick the tookas of ninjutsu warriors and crack high security level missile codes all while looking like a supermodel.
I had endless money and a loft studio in New York that I could escape my life to paint/ draw to my hearts content. Responsibilities? Pish tosh.
I could become a scientist and discover the cure to Autism. Or at least look insanely mad in a lab coat, whilst mixing different elements from the periodic table together creating chemical "Poof!" sounding cloud balls. I just said cloud balls.
I could make an Oreo Cookie ice cream vitamin supplement. Not a flavored chew, but an actual cone filled with ice cream. It would be lactose free, gluten free, fat free and it would lower your cholesterol.
My house wasn't haunted. I'm really tired of sh** turning on by itself already... at like, 2:30 in the morning. For the love of all that is holy, can't a girl get a little sleep?
I could escape to a tropical paradise and learn to play golf whilst drinking island mamasita's. In fact just getting to the island would be good enough. Sitting at the airport would actually suffice. I'll just sit in my driveway.
Life handed me vodka more often then lemons (reference to Ron White comedy). Lemons ARE yummy though... and there's that slurp-a-licious lemonade I make... Hmm. Ok, maybe life can hand me half vodka and half lemons. It's all about balance, right Karma?
Laundry washed and magically folded itself. I think if this were to actually happen, I might turn into one of those religious fanatics. Soapbox preaching to everyone that "Dog" heard my prayers and we really aren't alone.
Wearing wrinkled clothes were "IN".
Coffee breath was considered a pheromone.
I could play the piano, and speak 5 languages (teaching myself Spanish right now).
I could be Storm from X-Men. I've been meaning to master that whole "start-massive-tornadoes-from-my-blank-stare" technique. Plus, all white pupils are hot.
I lived on a Yurt, in the middle of the Ocean, with sweat-less eunuch vampire staff that fed me ice cold martinis on call, and rubbed my feet and neck.
I had a convertible 66 Chevelle, glossy black, with quad exhaust. That or a cherry red Mazda RX7 gull wing... AND matching lipstick to pair with my matching heels. Bite me Tawny Kitaen.
I was a Bond girl named Natasha, who could kick the tookas of ninjutsu warriors and crack high security level missile codes all while looking like a supermodel.
I had endless money and a loft studio in New York that I could escape my life to paint/ draw to my hearts content. Responsibilities? Pish tosh.
I could become a scientist and discover the cure to Autism. Or at least look insanely mad in a lab coat, whilst mixing different elements from the periodic table together creating chemical "Poof!" sounding cloud balls. I just said cloud balls.
I could make an Oreo Cookie ice cream vitamin supplement. Not a flavored chew, but an actual cone filled with ice cream. It would be lactose free, gluten free, fat free and it would lower your cholesterol.
My house wasn't haunted. I'm really tired of sh** turning on by itself already... at like, 2:30 in the morning. For the love of all that is holy, can't a girl get a little sleep?
I could escape to a tropical paradise and learn to play golf whilst drinking island mamasita's. In fact just getting to the island would be good enough. Sitting at the airport would actually suffice. I'll just sit in my driveway.
Life handed me vodka more often then lemons (reference to Ron White comedy). Lemons ARE yummy though... and there's that slurp-a-licious lemonade I make... Hmm. Ok, maybe life can hand me half vodka and half lemons. It's all about balance, right Karma?
Laundry washed and magically folded itself. I think if this were to actually happen, I might turn into one of those religious fanatics. Soapbox preaching to everyone that "Dog" heard my prayers and we really aren't alone.
Wearing wrinkled clothes were "IN".
Coffee breath was considered a pheromone.
I could play the piano, and speak 5 languages (teaching myself Spanish right now).
I could be Storm from X-Men. I've been meaning to master that whole "start-massive-tornadoes-from-my-blank-stare" technique. Plus, all white pupils are hot.
Puppet really a serial killer
The Swedish Chef from the Muppets was totally a serial killer. Am I the only one who sees this?
I was watching one of the older Muppets video's on YouTube the other day, and was both appalled and crying in hysterical laughter while reminiscing over this old video clip. It got me thinking though, as I listened to his gibberish... what sort of television were we watching as kids?!?!? Seriously? What the heck was considered bad if they were allowing this macabre display of a sociopath chef to air on the oh-so-coveted morning children's television time slot? Although it's hysterical to me now (and definitely so back then), I may just have an eensy weensy issue with the airing of a Muppet chef man-handling a duck then throwing his hatchet sized butcher knife haphazardly into the air behind him with an emphatic, "Bork! Bork! Bork!". Hmm kids, it's never OK to handle knives without an adult present or helping you, but if you do, make sure you scream unintelligible nonsense while throwing them blindly into the air behind you, physically molest and grope your live stock, turn around feverishly to find your murder weapon while the animal is squealing in terror and then run like a psychopath after your helpless prey (hatchet in hand). This was considered WHOLESOME TV? WTF? What audience, prey tell, were they targeting with this little Swedish gem? Lizzy Borden? Chucky would be damn proud.
Seventies television at its finest.
No wonder I'm such a mess.
Pass the piss and vinegar please... *throws hatchet behind myself*, BORK BORK BORK!
I was watching one of the older Muppets video's on YouTube the other day, and was both appalled and crying in hysterical laughter while reminiscing over this old video clip. It got me thinking though, as I listened to his gibberish... what sort of television were we watching as kids?!?!? Seriously? What the heck was considered bad if they were allowing this macabre display of a sociopath chef to air on the oh-so-coveted morning children's television time slot? Although it's hysterical to me now (and definitely so back then), I may just have an eensy weensy issue with the airing of a Muppet chef man-handling a duck then throwing his hatchet sized butcher knife haphazardly into the air behind him with an emphatic, "Bork! Bork! Bork!". Hmm kids, it's never OK to handle knives without an adult present or helping you, but if you do, make sure you scream unintelligible nonsense while throwing them blindly into the air behind you, physically molest and grope your live stock, turn around feverishly to find your murder weapon while the animal is squealing in terror and then run like a psychopath after your helpless prey (hatchet in hand). This was considered WHOLESOME TV? WTF? What audience, prey tell, were they targeting with this little Swedish gem? Lizzy Borden? Chucky would be damn proud.
Seventies television at its finest.
No wonder I'm such a mess.
Pass the piss and vinegar please... *throws hatchet behind myself*, BORK BORK BORK!
Fibro-MY-al-WHAT?
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| FIBROMYALGIA: When a bullet in the head feels better than water on your skin. |
On any given day you will find me walking around with an attitude like everything is a pain in my a**, and just about anything gets on my nerves... constantly. What I didn't realize is that I actually have a condition that is CAUSING this, and its not just an attitude adjustment problem. Much to the dismay of my husband, I'm sure.
Side note: to all you PITA's out there, I feel you... and join you whole heartedly in sticking your tongue out to the others who have so insensitively labeled us as malcontents, annoying POS's and just plain over sensitive.
What is Fibromyalgia, you ask? Its a complex overactive and hypersensitive nerve disorder that causes intense nerve and muscle pain in addition to a host of other awesomely fun poo. In the most laymen terms I will attempt to explain it to you in my "Abbie Nourmel" way...
It's a stabbing your whole body with nerve knives from hell, achy muscle, GI leaking, stomach bloating, tired as effing sh**, might be walking with crutches soon, can't stand longer than five minutes, feeling like you have mononucleosis, brain fog-wait are you still talking, cognitive skill lessening to the point you sound like a bumbling idiot, concentration negating - what did you say again?, ripping away others hands because light touch feels like razor blades on skin, sensory overload, opening your eyes lets in so much light it makes you feel like you're a vampire, you can hear ants fart and smell them too from a mile away, doubling over abdominal pain, finger and toe numbing/ tingling, restless leg feeling, migraine creating, anxiety inducing and feeling like you're a cast out zombie in your own private 8th circle of hell disease.
It's AWESOME. Did I mention it's incurable? I'm totally pumped. Just having one incurable disease (Asthma) DEFINITELY wasn't enough to deal with. I totally wanted another one... because my endometriosis and PCOS are just too grumpy to be good playmates. You know, in case Fibromyalgia gets lonely, it will have someone to play with. Good times.
I'm perplexed
If it's an earthworm, why do you always find it on the cement sidewalk?
With things like Twitter and Instagram, is email the new "snail mail"... And regular post mail a new way to *break it down* "old school"?
Is the antithesis of the Trojan virus the fertility virus?
What is the purpose of Turkeys flying?
The early bird does NOT get the worm. He gets the leftover Cheetos... I've seen it with my own eyes.
Where (and what) in the world is Joaquin Phoenix?
Why will I never tire of watching "Big Trouble in Little China"?
Why must I ask my children one hundred and fifty bajillion times to pick up their toys, but only once if they want ice cream?
WTH? Why do we even have toes?
Who is this person , "Smithsonian"? Whoever they are, they have a TREMENDOUS Art collection. If he gets evicted, i bet that he's screwed because Storage containers have a strict "no dinosaur skeletal remains" policy.
If Twitter, email, Instagram, and voice mail alert you of new messages - why do I still check them all obsessively every few minutes/ seconds?
I can't answer any of these, and now I'm just pooped. Sleep deprived EEG's stink all the way up to my sherona. What horrible irony this life is... The one night I WANT to go to sleep, and I MUST stay up for this dang test.
Sorry if the words are jumbled and look like a four year old typed them. My brain is literally shutting down and I just want to crash into the floor... And sleep in my drool.
Zzzzzzzzzzz
Things that totally suck.
Vampires
Going to the dentist, for anything.
Fibromyalgia in your butt.
Breaking a toe.
Spider bites that eat your flesh.
Being bitten by a great white shark.
Stepping in a great dane's poop.
Vacuums
Getting multiple vials of blood drawn.
Narcissistic jerks who use you as a scape goat.
Bottom dwellers.
Squatters, and human leaches.
When you're washing machine stops working mid cycle.
Having to vomit and poop at the same time.
Going number 2 at the airport.
Being near the bathroom when someone went number 2 on a plane.
Kids screaming at a decibel that breaks glass, constantly.
Changing poopy diapers.
Trees that dump their crap all over my deck.
Palmetto bugs, and basically all flying insects in general.
Walking into spider webs.
Sorting through mail that's soaking wet.
Blisters from new shoes.
Cleaning up piss, poop, vomit, and sharts from not so obvious places.
Selling a home, and cleaning endlessly, everyday, for no one.
Unclogging toilets, and getting poop on your hand.
Getting your car washed then the next day it's covered in natures pee (pollen).
Smelly hockey gear.
Smelly shoes.
Migraines on cloudless 70 degree days.
Repeatedly having your cell phone drop calls inside your house.
Straws that fall inside the container.
When the barista fills your drink too high that putting a straw in it causes an overflow onto your clothes, while you're driving.
Neighbors who's dogs bark, loudly, outside, until 2 am, every night.
Knocking down wasp nests.
Natty Bo beer.
Going to the dentist, for anything.
Fibromyalgia in your butt.
Breaking a toe.
Spider bites that eat your flesh.
Being bitten by a great white shark.
Stepping in a great dane's poop.
Vacuums
Getting multiple vials of blood drawn.
Narcissistic jerks who use you as a scape goat.
Bottom dwellers.
Squatters, and human leaches.
When you're washing machine stops working mid cycle.
Having to vomit and poop at the same time.
Going number 2 at the airport.
Being near the bathroom when someone went number 2 on a plane.
Kids screaming at a decibel that breaks glass, constantly.
Changing poopy diapers.
Trees that dump their crap all over my deck.
Palmetto bugs, and basically all flying insects in general.
Walking into spider webs.
Sorting through mail that's soaking wet.
Blisters from new shoes.
Cleaning up piss, poop, vomit, and sharts from not so obvious places.
Selling a home, and cleaning endlessly, everyday, for no one.
Unclogging toilets, and getting poop on your hand.
Getting your car washed then the next day it's covered in natures pee (pollen).
Smelly hockey gear.
Smelly shoes.
Migraines on cloudless 70 degree days.
Repeatedly having your cell phone drop calls inside your house.
Straws that fall inside the container.
When the barista fills your drink too high that putting a straw in it causes an overflow onto your clothes, while you're driving.
Neighbors who's dogs bark, loudly, outside, until 2 am, every night.
Knocking down wasp nests.
Natty Bo beer.
Acting infantile is a good thing
Sometimes acting like a child is actually a good thing.
Yesterday I regressed about twenty years and rocked out with the sprinkler in my front yard. For the first time in a very long time "the sprinkler" didn't involve a raised arm in a bent position, with elbow jutting out and my other arm pointing like a crossing guard, body jerking forward as if I'm having a seizure and flapping both arms towards each other. You know, the sprinkler dance? That's the only sprinkler that I have been privy to until recently.
Yesterday I made an executive decision. I'm entirely too responsible. Its gone on long enough, and it's downright ridiculous. I packed up a lunch, some watermelon and ran through a sprinkler. I let watermelon run down my face, and squealed with delight after each spray that unexpectedly hit my earlobe. It was FANTASTIC. Bonus: I got a tan too. :) I'm going to start calling this regression hydrotherapy. It kind of sounds professional and more adult than "acting infantile".
It's hard being dark
It's increasingly difficult as a dark minded person (and especially as a mother) to find like minded people in this stage of life. Everyone around me seems to be in a different universe: happy, appropriate, saying the right things, dressing the right way, watching the right things and doing all the socially acceptable things expected of married w/ children adults. Me? I feel so UNBELIEVABLY outside of that description. I'm an artist at heart and as such I'm extremely withdrawn... social interaction is a source of anxiety for me. Coordinating play dates quickly becomes a social anxiety nightmare for me, usually. I'm sarcastic, I can be highly cerebral, and way too honest to the point of unintentionally insulting(?), and I really don't know how to sugar coat things. I am 100% real, and I guess I have to come to terms with that... but it can be very hard to fit into the world of people that seem to know how to magically navigate this universe without a bead of sweat from the entire process. Social outings and meeting new people make me sweat with nervous anticipation. In contrast, I enjoy conversations with men and most jock type personalities, because there is no guess work... it is what it is. They lay it out on the line and say what they mean. I respect that (even though sometimes I need it delivered kinder). Most of the women I click with are either 'guys girls" or have similar social anxiety to me - so they get me.
Problem is... I'm the mom who likes thriller and slasher themed horror movies. I listened to The Cure and Marilyn Manson, and went to the concerts of: Rob Zombie, The Cult, Nine Inch Nails, Type O Negative, among others. Those were the BEST concerts I have ever been to... seriously. I am the kind of person to seek out Fearnet on TV when I can't sleep, and I love hearing about stuff that is just dark and twisted. When other little girls were reading fairy tales, I was reading Edgar Allen Poe, and writing dark poetry myself. I found peace by doing my homework in cemetery's. They were the one place I wasn't beaten up, emotionally abused by peers, and just made to feel like an outcast. Only peace and serenity was found there... strange right? I wore black lipstick for a time, and went to goth themed clubs. Honestly, the men and women there were amazingly accepting, empathetic and artistically open in a way that made me feel all my socially awkward weirdness was right at home - no judgement. It was a sanctuary for me.
So here I am now, a mother to two girls... one is gifted, and I imagine the other is along that path too based on my experience with her. How do I navigate this weird world for them in a way they will get it... since I STILL don't? I have little friends, and those I have are similar to me... all feeling that "odd ball out feeling", or plagued with anxiety on some levels too. That's not to say that I'm not certain levels of normal either... I bake home made bread all the time, amazing gourmet dinners, and am recently getting into dresses (really I'm just efficient, and I hate having to think about what I am wearing), and am described so interestingly as a "cheerleader looking type". I am basically, as a friend termed it, "the gothic Martha Stewart". I'm a country inspired cook, IT geek, science nerd, a sensitive and all around cool person. All the positives aside, being the "dark" person among the normal people is not always easy - even as an adult. Just as it wasn't easy as a kid. I'm slowly starting to understand though, that this is more than OK. I am who I am... and if people don't like me... screw 'em. They are missing out, because if they venture beyond the surface - there is a really cool, very accepting individual there who would bend over backward for you... and cook you a killer crab stuffed artichoke dinner.
Until the next post, thanks for reading, and as always I welcome comments from anyone who appreciates my writing! :)
Opening the flood gates
This is how I felt today when I went to a neurologist to find out what the hell is going on with my body. Simply put, he asked what was going on, and I replied with a gushing of choking snot filled tears that basically resembled Niagra falls dam breaking.
Except this was all over his office. Poor man. He was nice too. Probably thinks I'm a psycho.
Hence my post regarding "opening the flood gates.". I know I have shared this feeling with plenty of women, but I also know some men who have experienced this too. It's so challenging to keep your composure without breaking down into a pile of salty boneless flesh, and yet you happen to pull it off for months on end with the neat and easy reply, "I'm fine, and you?". Banking on the fact people will most often talk about themselves (hell, I talk about myself all the time) it's not much more management past that... because they're onto their own topics. BUT... When someone has you cornered like a raccoon raiding your trash can that you just flashed your light on, you can't help but feel as if you're a toilet and someone just flushed you. Sit and whirl in your panic filled tears baby, sit and whirl...
Stages:
1. Darting eyes avoiding contact (nope I'm not gonna cry, dammit).
2. Mistakenly look them in the eye as catch their concern for your emotional well being (shoot, now the first chip of mortar has dropped from the foundation).
3. Lips are quivering, and you breathe loudly (stop it!!! Stop it NOW! YOU HAVE THE POWER!!!).
4. Voice wavers, lips quivering, tears start to shed (it's too late you just can't stop it now...), you apologize for your demeanor to this poor soul encountering your emotionally disturbing verbal sludge.
5. Number 5 is the second to last stage after you have been left a shell of a being (literally you just lost like 85% of your water so you *really* are like a shell) and feeling shamed for your lack of control over your emotions.
I LOATHE this phase in the flood gate mass exodus timeline. You're sitting there, calmly sniffling, several nose blows, and breathing normal again. Convinced this person thinks I am crazy beyond belief, I just decide to deal with the walk of shame out of his office. Damn it, I only wish my eyes didn't look like Sugar Ray after a prize fight. My blood red, half swollen eyes sure as hell give away that I'm an emotional wreck (or i look like a meth addict?).
Then, the final episode... You explode into emotional tears to the extent you're now severely dehydrated on top of being an emotional snot filled mess. Much like the second gush of water that comes out of the tub after you shut the shower off. You think you're done, step away, regroup - then nope... Grab your kleenex, and some Tracy Chapman. This is usually in the car, parked at the nearest strip mall, hidden tactfully in the section where the delivery trucks park to unload their merchandise.
Now having written this, I realize the trick to composing yourself before a doctors appointment. Bawl your eyes out BEFORE the appointment, and your golden.
Must keep this in mind for my next emotionally explosive "cleansing"...
Except this was all over his office. Poor man. He was nice too. Probably thinks I'm a psycho.
Hence my post regarding "opening the flood gates.". I know I have shared this feeling with plenty of women, but I also know some men who have experienced this too. It's so challenging to keep your composure without breaking down into a pile of salty boneless flesh, and yet you happen to pull it off for months on end with the neat and easy reply, "I'm fine, and you?". Banking on the fact people will most often talk about themselves (hell, I talk about myself all the time) it's not much more management past that... because they're onto their own topics. BUT... When someone has you cornered like a raccoon raiding your trash can that you just flashed your light on, you can't help but feel as if you're a toilet and someone just flushed you. Sit and whirl in your panic filled tears baby, sit and whirl...
Stages:
1. Darting eyes avoiding contact (nope I'm not gonna cry, dammit).
2. Mistakenly look them in the eye as catch their concern for your emotional well being (shoot, now the first chip of mortar has dropped from the foundation).
3. Lips are quivering, and you breathe loudly (stop it!!! Stop it NOW! YOU HAVE THE POWER!!!).
4. Voice wavers, lips quivering, tears start to shed (it's too late you just can't stop it now...), you apologize for your demeanor to this poor soul encountering your emotionally disturbing verbal sludge.
5. Number 5 is the second to last stage after you have been left a shell of a being (literally you just lost like 85% of your water so you *really* are like a shell) and feeling shamed for your lack of control over your emotions.
I LOATHE this phase in the flood gate mass exodus timeline. You're sitting there, calmly sniffling, several nose blows, and breathing normal again. Convinced this person thinks I am crazy beyond belief, I just decide to deal with the walk of shame out of his office. Damn it, I only wish my eyes didn't look like Sugar Ray after a prize fight. My blood red, half swollen eyes sure as hell give away that I'm an emotional wreck (or i look like a meth addict?).
Then, the final episode... You explode into emotional tears to the extent you're now severely dehydrated on top of being an emotional snot filled mess. Much like the second gush of water that comes out of the tub after you shut the shower off. You think you're done, step away, regroup - then nope... Grab your kleenex, and some Tracy Chapman. This is usually in the car, parked at the nearest strip mall, hidden tactfully in the section where the delivery trucks park to unload their merchandise.
Now having written this, I realize the trick to composing yourself before a doctors appointment. Bawl your eyes out BEFORE the appointment, and your golden.
Must keep this in mind for my next emotionally explosive "cleansing"...
My identity crisis
I'm sitting here trying to think of a blog post, it's getting down to the wire to be posted within my own set of self imposed rules - so I'm sort of panicking. That emotion, of course for me, is quickly followed by self doubt.
Do I even have anything interesting to write about?
What do I write about?
At which angle/ perspective do I write the topics of the blog post?
Do I even have an angle?
Do I write about me? Someone else?
Am I offensive? Not offensive enough?
Angles seem fancy... I'm not fancy.
Should I be fancy?, fancier perhaps?
Am I my fancy enough to say I am worthy of an angle? Or even slightly intriguing?
Do people think I'm a toolbox?
I suck.
My writing is bull poop.
I'm a toolbox, not fancy, and should just stop writing.
Nobody cares about my worthless dribble.
WTF. Sigh. ::goes pee:: I want Unagi and a sake jar.
Now my hands and brain hurt from thinking about how NOT fancy and non-glamorous my writing is. Poop.
And I'm SUPER hungry now.
Nothing, just typing and filling space with nothing here.
So here I sit, with no answer to my identity crisis... and nothing to write about except my identity crisis.
I'm feeling so narcissistic. I'm going to go kiss my bathroom mirror so I feel loved.
Do I even have anything interesting to write about?
What do I write about?
At which angle/ perspective do I write the topics of the blog post?
Do I even have an angle?
Do I write about me? Someone else?
Am I offensive? Not offensive enough?
Angles seem fancy... I'm not fancy.
Should I be fancy?, fancier perhaps?
Am I my fancy enough to say I am worthy of an angle? Or even slightly intriguing?
Do people think I'm a toolbox?
I suck.
My writing is bull poop.
I'm a toolbox, not fancy, and should just stop writing.
Nobody cares about my worthless dribble.
WTF. Sigh. ::goes pee:: I want Unagi and a sake jar.
Now my hands and brain hurt from thinking about how NOT fancy and non-glamorous my writing is. Poop.
And I'm SUPER hungry now.
Nothing, just typing and filling space with nothing here.
So here I sit, with no answer to my identity crisis... and nothing to write about except my identity crisis.
I'm feeling so narcissistic. I'm going to go kiss my bathroom mirror so I feel loved.
10 Things That Irritate Me
I mean, why would I *actually* need to SEE in the amount of downpour that typically requires two of every animal to be hidden on a large boat? Seeing while you drive is HIGHLY overrated, I'm sure.
2. People that start offensive, opinionated, insulting monologues with the phrase, "No offense, but... (insert random BS telling you who they think you are and what you need to do).".
My retort?
Abbie: "No offense, but... your really an awesomely unperceptive person, and a rather laughable human being at that. You may actually be the longest living relative to Cro-Magnon man. I'll strongly consider taking your ludicrous advice right around the time I decide to permanently switch from female razors to sand paper. I'm curious, how long have you been dealing with your Narcissism?".
3. The word, "Relax", being screamed at you when you are really legitimately upset and hysterical.
Without fail, this spins most women into "Fembot-with-malfunctioning-wires" mode. Steam starts coming from our ears and bullets projecting uncontrollably from our nipples.
4. People that ignore the sidewalk and purposefully walk in the middle of the street, and/ or assume you should immediately stop your car (regardless of your green light and their jay walking) because they are on an unbridled pedestrian mission from god that CAN NOT be interrupted by my vehicle.
News flash: you're actually not a Jersey barrier, you WILL break.
5. People who don't pick up their dog's monstrous crap, and leave it right at the end of my driveway for me to run over with the toddler stroller. Thanks for that pleasant unexpected gift, because really, as I'm still potty training little kid I most DEFINITELY need more crap (literally) infused into my life. AS IF!
6. When a falcon sized bird poops on the inside door handle of your car... And you don't realize it until your hand squishes in it.
Dood. Bird. (Holding in projectile vomit) C'mon! Really? I obviously was wrong and pterodactyls DO still roam the earth.
7. Having something be lost, getting lost, Lost ANYTHING.
This immediately flings me into a panic attack and I'm angrily throwing and dumping poo everywhere while trying to hold back tears from this horrible nightmare I was just flung into within seconds.
Ok, so maybe I need to take up yoga, or a mental health professional for my anxiety... :-|
8. When someone leaves a floater in the toilet or little sprinkles of pee on the seat for my butt to slip and slide with or at my feet for my toes to splash around in.
Eeeeeeeewwwwwww. 'Nuff said.
9. When the weather report says its 99% humidity.
WTF? Is the computer system dealing with some weird weather Y2K bug and you can't round up to 100%? Seriously?!? What happened to the leftover 1%? Is it in a random offshore weather bank account? Shady operation you are running there weather person. Shaaaaady.
10. The MOST IRRITATING award goes to the "Random grocery store stalker".
You know this individual, that soulless "being" who talks at you in the produce isle... and within two minutes you have heard about her five C-sections and how one just "wasn't right and still isn't", and how all of them were 11 lbs or over. It doesn't end there. They follow you down each isle, even after you have managed to escape their succubus-like demonic spell, re-initiating the endless stranger horror stories as if you have been friends for twenty years and your rushed disappearance is just a short pause in your conversation until the next isle run in.
THANK YOU PEAPOD.
My own blogathon!
I'm not entirely sure how many followers subscribe to these posts, and/ or how many people actually read these things (I only see numbers and some comments), but I'm sure by now (if you are doing either) you have recognized that I have been publishing one blog post per day as of late. Although I have not participated in a blogathon, I sort of wanted to challenge myself to see if I could actually post one blog a day as if I were in one. So far so good, there are plenty of subjects that strike my fancy to write about in the very peculiar way that I do. Most definitely at one point I'm going to have writers block... But that's what beer or wine was invented for! The muse of the gods!!!
Anyways, I digress, I'm excited about it, and am really trying everything I can in very creative ways to post like a good blogger. On one hand it's cathartic, and it's really great to be able to depend on at least one thing to be consistent in my life right now... in addition to getting all these thoughts out of my head. On the other hand, it's hard to believe it's resonating with people. Ah well, I'll continue to convince myself that brilliance lies within insanity, and that's my excuse for not having too many people "get" me. I'm insane! That's alright with me... as long as you all are willing to say "Hi" along the journey, and hopefully keep reading and following... That makes Abbie very happy. :)
Until next time, I bid you adieu. Hold your breath until the next post... ;)
Anyways, I digress, I'm excited about it, and am really trying everything I can in very creative ways to post like a good blogger. On one hand it's cathartic, and it's really great to be able to depend on at least one thing to be consistent in my life right now... in addition to getting all these thoughts out of my head. On the other hand, it's hard to believe it's resonating with people. Ah well, I'll continue to convince myself that brilliance lies within insanity, and that's my excuse for not having too many people "get" me. I'm insane! That's alright with me... as long as you all are willing to say "Hi" along the journey, and hopefully keep reading and following... That makes Abbie very happy. :)
Until next time, I bid you adieu. Hold your breath until the next post... ;)
Piss and Vinegar
 |
| Snoopy after a zombie has eaten his brains and he's gotten grumpy. |
Piss and vinegar is something I refer to myself being filled to the brim with sometimes. Side note: maybe that's why my first child has acid reflux? Coincidence?, I think not. Not every day do I act this way, but this feeling of everything just sucks (you know, having "one of those days") creeps up from time to time. Although, in my own defense, several members of my household can be quite full of it themselves - and more often than I. For me though, there is really no excuse... I just take it to a whole new level when I don't really need to. I'll be the first to admit that I came out of the womb bitter, with a shiv and swearing. Which, actually(?) may in fact be quite correct. I've always had a mistrusting chip on my shoulder. I find a way to complain about EVERYTHING. People used to ask why I was so angry (based on my expression of haggard grumpiness), when I was perfectly happy. I'm bitterly sarcastic, even when sarcasm isn't called for. Yup, on the outside a normal looking person, on the inside - a bemoaned, curmudgeonly old hag who despises anyone who smiles. I'm just a few years away from an abandoned crooked house filled with cats, and a "The Witch is IN" sign on my doorway. Well... maybe not SO much. As I have gotten older, my distrusting chilly disposition has melted a wee bit. Now instead of piss and vinegar, I'm more like mildly dirty bath water sprinkled with shots of lemon juice. Kind of soothing and refreshing but that quickly diverts to random episodes of sharp stinging jolts chocked full of awful bitterness. Mmmm... I'm sounding sooooo pleasant... it's really surprising that people aren't knocking down my door to be friends. **Chuckle**
If you aren't familiar with this, some examples (not all of these are me, but you get the idea) of being filled with piss and vinegar are:
Waking up on the wrong side of the bed, every day.
Everything is wrong starting from the moment you open your eyes.
Your lucky charms just sucks today, and you'd rather starve.
You can't stand the way your clothes look/ fit/ smell.
Your toothpaste is burning your mouth.
Everyone sucks, even the nice neighbor smiling at you.
As you walk to the bus, you spill coffee down the one friggin' shirt that you can't wash or dry clean.
You suggest to your coworker that they have chronic halitosis.
You stubbed your toe and cracked your nail in half, now blood is filling up in your shoe... you shout "AWESOME!" angrily at the Starbucks employee.
Your new suede jacket got splashed with dirty city sidewalk puddle water, and you want to rip it off and scream at it.
You piss someone off, and then demand they stop treating you like crap.
You're home from work and there is nothing in the fridge you like... so you cry.
At least you have peanut butter.
WTF, you're out of PEANUT BUTTER?!?!? WHAT ELSE???? LOCUSTS?
And the list goes on and on...
You can plainly see how one bad attitude can escalate into a web of self spinning hatred and disgust towards everyone and everything. Swearing is a temporary fix towards your plight, but honestly it just adds to the downward spiral of negativity (although it's great to see people jerk back shocked that *little old you* sounds like a dirty sailor). Most often a smack in the face of ice cold water (or a hand, or a frozen fish), some incense, a LARGE glass of something with a proof percentage to it, and a shower helps lessen the tension. Until the next day when you're filled with it again for no damn reason by 9 am. Maybe someone should just chuck medication into my mouth as I walk out the door. At least if I choked on it, I'd have a legitimate reason to be grumpy. On the upside, you don't waste money on bug spray... one bite and they drop dead from the acidity in you.
Catching the ITIS
The addition of "itis" (pronounced: EYE-tiss) can be applied to just about any word for added emphasis, and is really effective when used to describe someone's negative behavior. Especially in cases where this behavior is unwarranted, unsolicited, and as if it's coming randomly out of nowhere - all wrapped up in a pretty little package of enraged hatred just for you.
For today's post, my specific inspiration was a person who caught douche-itis. You see, this person (who will remain nameless in order to protect them from their own ridiculous actions) came back from hanging out with another individual who has a chronic case of douche-itis. Unfortunately, the infected person rubbed off on the healthy person and they returned to me with a mild case of douche-itis. They left my presence four hours earlier happy, filled with hope, a pleasant demeanor and extremely healthy. When they returned from the objectionable infected friend, there was an unmistakable chip on their shoulder, a chill in their tone of voice, detached ambivalence towards my emotional sharing and an abnormally heightened level of "I hate the world." dripping from every orafice and pore. It was downright disgusting and absolutely offensive.
When I confronted this individual regarding the newfound illness they most definitely caught, I was met with low grumbling - which quickly escalated to frustration and then in minutes it was furious anger. The cous de grace was when I was being verbally reprimanded (as they were helping me change some bed linens) for not having alternated the sheets for the bedding to the other set, as opposed to what I did (which was just stripping the current linens, washing them and replacing them back onto the bed). The HORROR. GASP! I have defaced the holiest of holy's. Holy sacrilege batman! There is no sin considered higher in evilness level as the one which is committed by the unrepentant linen changer. That's straight to hell - with absolutely no get out of molten lava free cards. I may actually burst into flames at the first sight of a holy figure or a cross.
The next day symptoms had improved somewhat. Apparently, without having caught the chronic case of it, the milder version only lasts 24 hours. So, let this serve as a warning to you all. Stock up on your tocopherols, antioxidants, oregano oil, voodoo dolls, sea salt, dragons blood and any other bewitched or homeopathic items to maintain your health and not be weakened by a case of douche-itis. If you do catch it, the recipe for a quick recovery is to just drown in liquor, let anything fly out of your mouth without thought or concern for your audience (keeping it held inside only doubles the symptoms) and insult whoever is nearest to you as much as possible within a few hours until you pass out from the stress of it all. Screaming at people helps a lot too. By morning (having been separated by a significant distance from any other human beings overnight) things should be right as rain. Although you might have some foggy recollection of the events and how they unfolded from the last 24 hours.
Douche-itis is just bad juju, man.
Thanks for nut'in
Thank you, brown window spiders, for coming to my property, and making me afraid of death inducing bites on my butt every time I sit on my patio furniture. I love extremely toxic arachnid bites.
Thank you, dirty diarrhea diaper for exploding at a Japanese steakhouse restaurant, all over the car seat, my daughters last clean set of clothes and finally, my shirt. That experience just makes me want to go out to dinner EVERY night.
Thank you city property tax employee, for making our conversation as pleasant as a colonoscopy with massive hemorrhoids. You're demeanor was as warm as I imagine an icicle impaling my heart would feel.
Thank you, new postal employee who's filling in temporarily for the vacationing one, for returning my water bill back to the sender as undeliverable "not a legitimate address" because you can't recognize a new house on an old lot and deliver my mail... Ever. I like teetering on the edge of knowing if my water will shut off... that's so exciting!
Thank you, migraines, for crippling me and reducing me to my knees every time a ray of sunshine breaks through the window or a sound enters my ears. Being coherent and able, and not bed ridden to a dark soundless cave is SO overrated.
Thank you, toddler, for not only slapping me, ripping hair by the root from my temples and kicking my face, but also for throwing a meltdown fit for a solid hour whilst screaming at decibels that would break glass directly in my ear - all the while I contemplate knocking myself out to end the pain of this experience. Childhood is so magical and beautiful.
Thank you, Diego, for being one of several preschool aged shows that literally screams at me to pet a frigging turtle (rendering it impossible to nap) while I am trying to distract my toddler for just an extra twenty minutes so that I may sleep for once in this god forsaken role of constant sleep deprivation. I love your program, oh, and also want to see you choke on an Ostrich egg as soon as possible.
Thank you, toothless, creepy, gas station man, for smiling at me in a way that made me want to hide every pair of underwear and shoes I own for fear that you may follow me home and sniff or steal all of them. Thats my favorite emotion, really.
Thank you, stalker, for making me change my number, remove myself from all social media, move from my home and hide behind a fake name for my protection. I just adore living in fear of being discovered by a psychopath.
Thank you, crossing guard, for not having any resemblance of a filter, and insulting everyone who walks past you on their way to dropping off their kids at school. We definitely don't have enough judgement and frustration from our children in response to just GOING to school, your added commentary just makes the morning all the more FANTASTICALLY awful.
Thank you, dirty diarrhea diaper for exploding at a Japanese steakhouse restaurant, all over the car seat, my daughters last clean set of clothes and finally, my shirt. That experience just makes me want to go out to dinner EVERY night.
Thank you city property tax employee, for making our conversation as pleasant as a colonoscopy with massive hemorrhoids. You're demeanor was as warm as I imagine an icicle impaling my heart would feel.
Thank you, new postal employee who's filling in temporarily for the vacationing one, for returning my water bill back to the sender as undeliverable "not a legitimate address" because you can't recognize a new house on an old lot and deliver my mail... Ever. I like teetering on the edge of knowing if my water will shut off... that's so exciting!
Thank you, migraines, for crippling me and reducing me to my knees every time a ray of sunshine breaks through the window or a sound enters my ears. Being coherent and able, and not bed ridden to a dark soundless cave is SO overrated.
Thank you, toddler, for not only slapping me, ripping hair by the root from my temples and kicking my face, but also for throwing a meltdown fit for a solid hour whilst screaming at decibels that would break glass directly in my ear - all the while I contemplate knocking myself out to end the pain of this experience. Childhood is so magical and beautiful.
Thank you, Diego, for being one of several preschool aged shows that literally screams at me to pet a frigging turtle (rendering it impossible to nap) while I am trying to distract my toddler for just an extra twenty minutes so that I may sleep for once in this god forsaken role of constant sleep deprivation. I love your program, oh, and also want to see you choke on an Ostrich egg as soon as possible.
Thank you, toothless, creepy, gas station man, for smiling at me in a way that made me want to hide every pair of underwear and shoes I own for fear that you may follow me home and sniff or steal all of them. Thats my favorite emotion, really.
Thank you, stalker, for making me change my number, remove myself from all social media, move from my home and hide behind a fake name for my protection. I just adore living in fear of being discovered by a psychopath.
Thank you, crossing guard, for not having any resemblance of a filter, and insulting everyone who walks past you on their way to dropping off their kids at school. We definitely don't have enough judgement and frustration from our children in response to just GOING to school, your added commentary just makes the morning all the more FANTASTICALLY awful.
The Pore Goblin
When you have created a red pocked complexion from your ill attempted
facial, and you are not willing to take responsibility for your own
facial scraping actions, you can always blame things on the Pore
Goblin. He comes around right before you fall into REM sleep...
Once you have reached earth shattering snore level, he's ready to advance upon your otherwise still body. Watching evilly as you snore, he slowly crawls toward your face. He's watching us right now, he knows we are talking about him. His troglodyte alien sixth sense works exceptionally well, especially being that he is the runt of the Pore Goblin family.
*SHWING* His razor sharp claws are no match for your mace. In one fell swoop he could literally rip your face apart. Seriously.
Claws descend upon innocent skin, and before you know it, you are about to fall prey to his facial scraping actions. His movements are precise and so light, that you don't even know what's going on, and seldom wake up in the middle of his midnight attack.
The next morning you head to the bathroom to wash your face, and lo and behold... half of it is gone. What has replaced your once even toned, tight pored face, is now a splattering of bleeding red scrapes and pock marks. Calling in sick might be a good option to avoid co-workers, but then what will be your excuse to the Pizza delivery man? Dilemma's Dilemma's... Surely you don't want to be seen in public looking like a rejected cast member from Hellraiser 2. Think of the children, and your elderly neighbor... her 90 year old ticker couldn't handle that visual.
Note to reader: buy stock in concealer, if you don't you're left with only baby powder and nude lip liner to cover the ghastly marks. NOT cool.
This story is based on true events.
Footnote: If you're not worried about spiders crawling into your head from sleeping with your mouth open, or those earwigs from Dune laying babies in your ear, then there is no need to worry about the Pore Goblin. You apparently know something we don't.
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