Reflecting on 2009

2010 is in less than 13 hours. HOLY SHIT Y’ALL!

Wow! This year has totally flown by. It really does seem like we were just at the beginning of 2009. But a lot has happened this year too. I started thinking about everything and came up with a pretty good list of major events(good AND bad) from 2009:

I crept one year closer to turning 40. Damn I’m getting old.

I visited someone very special to me that I hadn’t seen in nearly 20 years.

I found out the company I work for was being bought out and that I would be laid off in early 2010.

I surprised my best friend and little sister by flying out to be at her baby shower. Because, of course, I just HAD to be there.

I stumbled onto Twitter and it SAVED MY LIFE. Ok, so maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but it has totally been The Awesome.

I had the priviledge of attending BlogHer@Home and met some absolutely awesome and down-right funny people! (And the BEST Longhorns fans EVAH! HOOK EM!) (And trust me the links above don’t even BEGIN to cover all the amazing people I met. I promise I’m not trying to slight ANYONE!)

I finally committed to going back to college and finished my first semester (with A’s, yo! WOOT!)

I emancipated mah boobies! Are you shocked? ME TOO! (Yes I’m crazy, but not so crazy to give you the link right to it. If you send booze, then we’ll talk.)

My son came out to Utah and visited for the 2nd year in a row (I’m definitely hoping for a 3rd year too!)

And with all of that going on, I finally began to find my voice. It took a while, and it’s absolutely a work in progress, but it’s been a lot of fun so far. I look forward to see where the journey leads in 2010.

I wish all of you a safe and Happy New Year! I sincerely hope that 2010 brings you lots of joy! Bottoms up!

All my love,

This is exactly why I don't talk about the sperm donor.

WARNING: This post is a HUGE rant that covers a couple of decade’s worth of shit and even then I’m barely touching on SO many things. I TOTALLY understand if you want to run screaming from it. I want to run screaming from it, and it’s my life! If you do dare to actually read it, well then, consider yourself forewarned.

*****

I have an ex-husband. I admit it.

It’s not that I hide my first marriage. Not in the least. My first marriage played a very big part in shaping the person I am today. I just usually refer to it indirectly (second marriage, second husband, etc.). If you have checked out my sidebar, you might have noticed that I acknowledge my ex-husband briefly. Very. Briefly. And then I go on to say that I don’t like to talk about him. EVER.

I hate my ex-husband. Hate him. Yes, I did just use the H word. And yes, I do know how harsh that sounds.

I met my ex when I was a senior in high school. My first job was at the local roller skating rink (remember those?) and my ex worked there too. We met and got along well enough and started dating about a month after I started working at the rink.

Our relationship…..overall…..was volatile. I can’t think of a better word to describe it. We fought A LOT. I wouldn’t say it was abusive. But it sure as hell wasn’t healthy. It took me years to figure out that I jumped from the frying pan into the fire. I used him as my excuse to get away from my family, which was dysfunctional with a capital D.

I fooled myself into thinking that I loved my ex and stayed in the relationship because the alternative to me was so much worse. It was either him or my family. And it was imperative that I stay away from my family. They were quicksand to me (but that’s a post for another day). So I stayed. Even though he treated me badly. Even through the drugs. Even through the lies.

And then we broke up for a while. Sure, I know NOW that the break up was the best thing. But then? Breaking up with my ex forced me back to my family, which by this time was totally falling apart. I didn’t want to be around that. I still felt I had to get away from them. So when my ex apologized, I took him back.

I was pregnant with my son soon after and we were married a few months later.

After my son was born (at least I think it was after), my ex started having unexplained seizures that left him on disability and without a driver’s license. We had to move in with his parents, which just added more stress and things were already bad between us. By the time he went back to work and we moved out, the relationship was in shambles. The lies started again. When I confronted him with the huge lie he had told all along about his health issues, I said it was over. I took my son and left.

I struggled on my own. And I made mistakes. HUGE mistakes. Mistakes that I still kick myself for. One of those mistakes gave my ex the foothold he needed to separate my son from me. After that, he filed for divorce. Before the divorce was final, I felt like I hadn’t given the marriage 100% effort. I know now that it really was about still staying away from my family. I just didn’t have enough faith in myself.

The lies continued. My ex said that he had a vasectomy. Can you guess what happened next? You got it. I wound up pregnant. Luckily, that pregnancy did not go to term. I can’t even begin to imagine what it would have been like if we had another child together. I don’t want to.

Sadly, I stayed with him for quite a few more months. The divorce was final, but we were still dating. At some point, I FINALLY got a clue! I realized that I had given the marriage every effort, and that I deserved so much better. I told my ex that it was over.

To say he took it badly was an understatement. And he had the upper hand. He had my son. My ex knew that I wanted nothing to do with him, but he knew I wanted my son. And he used it against me every chance he got. When I moved out of state a few years later, I tried to work with my ex on a reasonable visitation, but he would have none of it. The day I left CA was the worst day ever. I didn’t see my son after that for 7 years.

My ex wasn’t planning to make it easy for me to stay in touch. He changed his phone number and refused to let me have it to try to keep me from contacting my son. He even took my son out of town on a weekend I drove back to CA. Yes, my ex knew I was coming. I made plans with him a month in advance. He was just being vindictive. I also knew he was bad mouthing me to my son (which was confirmed in a conversation my son and I had a couple of year s ago). He even told my son that if I attended his high school graduation, he wouldn’t be there. I showed up anyway (TAKE THAT MOTHERFUCKER!).

Thankfully, my son’s (paternal) grandmother made sure I was in his life. She is the primary reason I have such a good relationship with my son today. I will never forget her for that.

*****

I told you all of that because of the phone call I received from my son today. It started off as any other normal conversation. He wanted to get a phone number from me. The more he talked, though, the more I knew something was off. So I asked what happened. He said his father kicked him out last night.

And I wanted to kill my ex. Right fucking then and there.

My son was out here in Utah for a visit just a week ago. We talked about how things were at home. I was concerned at how my son described his father’s recent actions. They didn’t make sense to me. I wondered if his actions had anything to do with my son coming out to visit me. I kept it to myself, though, for my son’s sake. I only said here and there that I didn’t agree with certain things and that I didn’t understand why his father was being that way.

When my son went back home it seemed like things were going to be okay. He told his father he was going to move up to Sacramento because the city college there had space available in his degree (the junior college in Stockton where he currently lives is full). I supported his decision and it sounded like his father did too.

I don’t know what changed. And neither does my son. An argument yesterday culminated in my ex telling my son to get out and leave his keys. He also told my son that he is not allowed to call the house or his father’s cell phone. My son is not allowed to go to the house to get his things. Until this Thursday. For 3 hours. Seriously?!?!

I am at a loss. I don’t understand this at all. My son doesn’t do drugs. He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t smoke. He goes to his classes. He EXCELS in his classes. He is responsible. I DO NOT understand what could have happened that would justify this kind of reaction from my ex.

And it makes me wonder if it has to do with me. Is this my ex’s final vengeful act? He can’t use custody against me anymore, since my son is an adult. So is this his one last ditch effort to try to hurt me? I don’t know.

What does hurt me is that I’m not close enough to help my son. I want so badly to be there for him. But I can’t. And it kills me right now. I’ve been crying on and off since I got his call today. I know my son is strong and he will get through this, but I feel like he needs me. And dammit I’M HIS MOTHER! I should be there, right?

Good job, sperm donor. You get an A+ for acting like an ass and driving your son away. I hope you’re proud of yourself. Because in the end, YOU’RE the one who has truly lost.

Hell really has frozen over and I can prove it.

Theorem - Hell has frozen over.

Proof - According to Miriam-Webster’s Dictionary, one of the definitions of hell is:

2 a : a place or state of misery, torment, or wickedness.

Misery.

Torment.

Wouldn’t living in a state I loathe for the past 7 years (7 YEARS? WTF?), dealing with the end of my marriage, and getting laid off from my job in two months qualify for being in a state of misery and/or torment? Yeah, I think so too. *snort* (I promise you there’s more to that list, but then we totally go off-topic and skirt the realm of TMI, so it’s best for me to just keep those to myself.)

Therefore, I am in hell.

And since this is what it looks like today:

We can conclude that hell has truly frozen over.

On My Mind

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone. Whew!

This year was a simple one for us, and I for one (maybe the ONLY one) was glad for it. We ended up getting a Honeybaked Ham (instead of being covered in turkey guts) and just had a few sides with it. Trust me that was more than enough. And no tryptophan comas this year. SCORE!

*****

Two weeks left and I will have SURVIVED THE 1ST SEMESTER! Where’s my gold statue? (btw, it’s spelled s-t-a-c-E-Y! *sigh*)

The homework for the four PowerPoint chapters in my computer class is crammed into the next two weeks. I KNOW! Plus the final PowerPoint project is due next week too. I’m actually thinking of doing very little for the final project, or not even doing it at all. I have such a high grade in that class, it wouldn’t hurt.

And then there’s the math final, which shouldn’t be too bad. I hope.

I got an email from the college saying that course evals are now available online and they’re due by Dec. 13th. That gives me plenty of time to figure out what I’m going to say about the psycho professor from hell. It totally goes without saying that I will NOT miss her. At. All.

This Friday I will finally be allowed to register for the spring semester (cuz I’m still low on the credits totem pole). I’ve decided on 2 programming classes, but I still haven’t quite figured out if I will take 2 or 3 more classes and what they will be yet. Good thing work is slow DEAD. It might actually give me a chance to figure that all out by Friday. Or not. I’m still behind on blog reading you know.

*****

November 19th was my one year blogiversary. And my blog stayed silent.

I could blame the silence on work. I could blame it on school. I could blame it on the fact that I killed like a million brain cells when I got totally shitfaced that week. But the truth is…..

I don’t know WHAT the truth is.

I don’t know why I write less and less lately. I don’t know why I remind myself that I need to write, and then find anything else I can think of to do instead (and my office is looking better than ever these days!). I don’t know why I write blog posts in my head when I lay down each night (but not write them down) only to completely forget what the hell I was thinking about when I wake the next morning.

I’m hoping it’s just a phase and that it passes quickly.

*****

I had the strangest dream last week. I was at my high school reunion and NO ONE TALKED TO ME. NO ONE. It was absolutely awful. And then I was asked to be a server of some sort. And I was all WTF? I'm being ignored and now I'm asked to wait on the people who are ignoring me? I so don't think so. So I left the reunion bawling.

It was SO WEIRD. I already went to my reunion last year. And even though I wasn't the most popular kid in school (in fact far from it...I was a total band geek), I wasn't ignored. I did, however, manage to make an ass out of myself a couple of times cuz I totally remembered someone's face, but completely forgot their name and even called them by a different one. Brilliant Stacey, just plain brilliant.

I'm so sorry Juan! I really do remember you! You can totally accept my Facebook friend request now!

Yeah, like he reads my blog.

WTF?

Originally, I was gonna file this under gigglesnorts. But I really think it falls more under a WTF? Because, obviously.

Seriously?

Purge, purge again, and just when you think you're done, purge some more.

I wouldn't consider myself a pack rat.  Now.  When I was younger, though, I started to come pretty darn close.  I kept EVERYTHING.

You, know how it is.  You keep every little thing because you just KNOW that someday you will need it or be able to use it.

You need more space to store every little thing you keep because you just KNOW that someday you will need it or be able to use it.

You need a bigger home to get more space to store every little thing you keep because you just KNOW that someday you will need it or be able to use it.

You need more money to pay for the bigger home to get more space to store every little thing you keep because you just KNOW that someday you will need it or be able to use it.

Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. (There was an old lady who swallowed a fly. I don't know why she swalloed the fly. Perhaps she'll die.) I guess you could say the things I have kept are my fly.

Moving has always offered an opportunity to get rid of some stuff. Why pack it when you can purge it, right? Right. But no matter how much I get rid of, I think I only get through the surface and maybe 2-3 underlying layers. Tops.

And then I just start amassing NEW stuff. Such a vicous cycle.

Well, I'm getting closer to breaking the cycle. The downfall of my marriage, my impending "over the hill" status, and getting thrown out on my collective career-ass, just to name a few, have me thinking of ways to simplify my life. FAST.

I'm starting with closing my MK business. Honestly, it's time. I've been trying to decide what to do with it ever since I started, but never actually DOING anything with it. On any level. I just don't see that getting any better in the near future, so I'm kickin' it to the curb for now.

Another purge category that is long overdue is my craft items. For years, I was a psychotic craft shopper. Let me clarify something, though. SHOPPING does not imply CREATING. I had ideas of really cool craft projects out the wazoo! Sadly, the ideas never quite panned out or didn't look as good in real life as they did in my head. Man, everything looks/sounds/feels/is SO much better in my head. Maybe I should just go live there!

The last on my list right now are my collectibles. The Bradford Edition plates that hung on a wall for a mere year out of the decade and a half that I have had them. Oh, and my Cherished Teddies. What the HELL was I thinking? Sure, they are freakin cute as hell, and did manage to be on display in my house(s) for a little longer than the plates. But ever since the hostage crisis began (I really do need to explain that sometime, don't I?), they have been nothing more than garage dust collectors. I don't really think that was the artist's intention and it certainly wasn't mine either.

eBay/Craigslist/KSL.com and the like are prolly gonna become my temporary best friends here soon. And hopefully things get a little (or a lot) simpler in my life. Think I can sell the husband? Cuz that would REALLY simplify my life lemme tell ya.

So, I'm curious who else out there is a closet pack rat? Come purge with me peeps! You know you want to.

I've made my bed, but there are some days I really don't want to lie in it.

Have you ever had days where you were upset, really upset, about something but you don't feel like you can talk to anyone about it cuz everyone knows that you made a decision and that your reasons behind that decision were logical and if you complain about having a bad time you will hear them say just suck it up or move on and you desire neither being unfair to them for having to hear about your situation YET AGAIN nor hearing someone else say what you have already said to yourself repeatedly, leaving you feel completely alone?

Yeah, me neither.

Except today.....aaaaannnd maybe yesterday too.....and maybe the day before that. So pretty much every damn day.

Ok.....so maybe not every day.

There are days when the logic prevails and I'm reminded that this was a GREAT decision. It's been going well. Everything has been moving forward. The light at the end of the tunnel is getting a little closer.

Then there are the days when I repeatedly kick myself at the stupidity of this self-torture I've subjected myself to on a freaking near-daily basis. The days when I wonder just how small I will be made to feel. The days when I think I would be so much better off on my own as a single parent. The days when I think of possible reasons for hiring a hit man drinking myself into oblivion running off with a sugar daddy avoiding going home.

I won't go into detail as to why I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs today (many days actually). The details aren't important. And I know that when my best friend in the whole wide world reads this, she'll be saying, "I'll take Dumbasses whose names begin with the letter 'R' for $200 Alex." Cuz even though I won't tell her what's going on, she KNOWS. And I love her for that.

And I know I will get past this. I will get to one of those days when logic will win out. Hopefully I will start to see more of those.

Nearing the 1st semester half-way point.

I can’t believe it. I’m just about half-way through my 1st real semester of college. And I haven’t dropped a class. And I actually have an A in both classes. This cannot be me. It just can’t. Me, the high school Junior & Senior year slacker (except in Band, of course), who had to cram the night before and the morning of her high school Economics final in order to graduate (got a B on the final & pulled a D out of the class. Whew!).

I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I know it’s coming. I just know it.

It’s funny. My College Algebra class is the one I thought would be tough. I was thinking that a 20-year gap would possibly be too much to overcome. I have been wrong (so far) and I haven’t quite figured out what has made the difference. Is it that whole ‘older but wiser’ concept? Is it that I’m putting forth more effort this time around? Is it that this professor just explains it better? All of these are quite possible, though I’m not sure I can pin the difference down to just one reason. Maybe it’s all of them. Maybe it’s that I have better liquor now. Who knows!

My Computer Essentials class is a whole OTHER story. It’s a stupid prerequisite for the programming classes I need (which I really don’t get at all, but whatever). I was feeling going into the class that it should be an easy A. For the most part, it is. EXCEPT. Except for the fact that the (associate) professor teaching this class is treating the Word section like an English class (e.g. I have to write a paper for my Word Final Project). WTF? AND (here’s one of the best parts) she is grading based on a statement in the book that says something ‘typically’ does not occur. Since when does typically equal a hard coded rule? When you point that out to her and provide examples to support it? She says the book says so, so that’s what it is. She shows a complete disregard of the points made. Might as well have not said a damn thing. I talk to others who have taken the same class at the same school under different professors and I get a very different view. Figures. I get the professor who for all I know is being this way thinking it will get her tenure. It was a mistake to take this class from her. I wish I could test out of it, but that’s not an option. Oh well. I am looking forward to the course eval when this is all over.

Getting a spider put on your fingernail is a bad idea. Cuz you'll probably die. Or go to prison. Where you'll die. Or become someone's bitch.

Basically, nothing good can come of it, so just don't do it.

I have acrylic nails. I have had them forever and I maintain them RELIGIOUSLY. I really don’t have a choice. I have to keep them up. If I don’t, I will have no nails. None. Cuz I’m a nail biter. No, you don’t understand. I’m a BAD nail biter (or would that be a good one?). I’ve been one as long as I can remember. I even think I remember my mom saying once that I came out of the womb with no nails. Which means I probably had it from conception. I totally blame my mom. And she is a former biter too, which supports my case. Thanks so much for the genetic defect MOM!

I go in last Saturday for a backfill, like clockwork. The nail place I go to has a HUGE display table full of examples. Anything & pretty much everything you can think of, they've got. Plus they rotate in some seasonal examples cuz they're greedy mothers cuz it's just good business. I head over to the display table looking for something Halloweeny (WTF is wrong with me? Halloweeny?). But anything I remotely give a second glance to is like an additional $30+. I don’t THINK so. Then my nail tech comes over to ‘help’ and I know I’m in trouble. Actually, ‘in trouble’ doesn’t really cut it. I’m screwed. I just can’t say no to her. So, I let her talk me into getting a spider on one of my nails. Great. Just great.

She gets the backfill done first just like normal. Then it’s time for the spider. She puts a big glob of black acrylic goo in the middle of my nail. I just KNOW that there’s an egg sac in there that's just waiting for Halloween night to bust open and take me as a human sacrifice. But how do I tell her NOOOOO! I’m not ready to die yet! without coming across as rude? I just can’t do it. I just can’t tell her that her idea scares the living shit outta me. So I suffer in silence. And while the end result is quite attractive and season appropriate, it does nothing to calm the horrific fears I have of what is to come on Halloween.

And since then.....

I have to hide that fingernail. I have noticed the spider eyeing people around me looking for more potential victims. YIKES! I can’t let that happen! I’d go to prison for murder cuz who in their right mind would believe that a spider on my nail killed people? Plus, I would not make a good inmate. I would completely freak out. Which would leave me a prime candidate to get a shiv in the prison yard. Yep, I’m that girl. Or another inmate would corner me in the shower and make me her bitch. Neither of those are good options for me.

Also, everytime I catch the spider out of the corner of my eye, I freak out screaming, “Spider! OMG! A SPIDER!” Then I grab my stapler and start banging my hand with it yelling, “Kill it! Kill it! KILL IT!” And then my biting habit kicks in, but I CAN’T GET IT OFF!

So now my hand is a sick combination of black/blue/purple/yellow and that finger is all shredded and bloody. It’s pretty much completely useless. Which is why it took me a week to write this post. And my job is in danger of ending even earlier. I keep getting written up for being a disruption in the office. But then again, my job will be over when I get arrested for murder anyway.

Can anyone recommend a lawyer? I’m gonna need a good one to keep me from going to prison. And then I think I'm gonna sue my nail technician. It's all her fault. Better yet, I’ll sic my spider on her. Yeah, that would work.

My mood at the beginning of the evening would have fit in better at a 2 Live Crew show instead of a Rick Springfield show.

Well, I just finished my homework, so let's see if I can downshift and talk about this weekend. I know there are some curious minds out there. Now, it's entirely possible that this will make sense to no one else but me. And I will not be in the least offended if you run screaming from this post. LOL

Last Friday is the Rick Springfield concert in Wendover. The show starts at 8pm and the trip takes 2 hrs from our house(especially going down Bangerter). I plan to leave home around 5 pm to allow time for motel check-in and maybe food (big maybe). The husband leaves work at Noon to take our daughter to stay with his mother. Even with travel time, he has plenty of time to get ready. I leave work at 4pm, like I planned, cuz I can't take the day off or leave much earlier than that. I plan to dress casual, cuz it's not Vegas people. It's just Wendover. But I want to fix my hair and makeup a little, though. Anyone who really knows me knows that I didn't already have my hair and makeup done for work. And I still need to pack a few things. I get home to find the husband dressing up. And I'm all, "You don't need to dress up. I'm not." He says he wants to dress a little nicer. Fine. Whatever. I pack my stuff in the suitcase and all that's left is to change my top and fix my hair/makeup. Husband says he thought about going to the bank, but didn't actually do it cuz we can stop by on the way out of town. That makes no sense to me since he left work more than 4 hours ago, but fine. Whatever. He then remarks that he didn't realize this was a dress rehearsal. And I'm all, "Dress rehearsal? WTH is that supposed to mean?" And he says nevermind, which of course pisses me off. So when he does finally answer me, it's a derogatory remark about me wanting to make myself look a little nicer. And I'm all, WTF? You're dressing up and you can't understand why I wanna do my hair and put on some makeup? You left work when? And you couldn't bother to stop by the bank to save us some time? Seriously? Ok, so that was all in my head, but still. I was pissed. So I go into the bathroom (slamming the door for the desired effect) and realize that there's no time to do my hair or makeup. That's just great. Thankyouverymuch. I throw my hair up in a ponytail and come out of the bathroom to start throwing my last few things together. Maybe I'll have some time once we get there to put some makeup on. I tell the husband that I'm upset about not doing anything wrong, but yet being made to feel really small for needing to do a few things. The husband then decides to tell me to go by myself and to have a good time. I NEED to have a good time by myself, he says. And I'm all, "Absolutely not! I'm not going to give you an opportunity to throw it back in my face later that I was a bitch who kept you from going to this concert! You're going!" I may not speak to you for the entire trip, but you are FUCKING GOING! Ok, so that last part was an exaggeration. I grab everything except his CPAP and stomp down the stairs. The husband is behind me mumbling how I'm stubborn for not letting him carry anything. And I'm thinking, Dood, you just need to shut the hell up and get in the damn car before I change my mind! I throw everything in the car. And realize I'm starving. I know I won't be eating before the show and I WILL be drinking. A LOT. That's a given at this point. So I search the pantry for something to eat and the husband asks if I want yogurt. And I'm all, "Yogurt? And exactly how am I supposed to eat that?" He says with a spoon. And I'm all, "Seriously? While I'm driving?" Cuz I'll be damned if I'm gonna let YOU drive! We get on the road and he doesn't say a word. Not one. For like 30 minutes. And I'm thinking, Dood, you are SO not helping your case. He finally apologizes, and for once it actually sounded sincere (Long story. Really REALLY long story.). And he offers to drive so I can get ready. No way I'm letting him drive when we're in a time crunch. HELL no. So we settle into a slightly less awkward silence for a while, which is just fine by me.

The rest of the drive was uneventful until the last 30 miles or so, which is where we encounter a bunch of drivers that are freakin' STOOPID. They have no idea of how to drive on a two-lane highway (hint: YOU DON'T CAMP YOUR ASS IN THE LEFT LANE! I'm just sayin.). My tolerance on the road is...oohh...zero. Zilch. Nada. Especially now. So, to get away from them, I end up doing 100 the rest of the way to Wendover. The husband looks over at one point, and I'm all, "Yes, I AM doing a hundred!" Just stay on your side of the car. You're still on my shitlist! Ok, so I only really said that first part. But the rest was on the tip of my tongue, I promise you.

Capping off the night? The motel. I have a reservation, but there's a delay checking in. The desk clerk goes to get someone's help. Oh shit. This other person comes out and says that the reservation was cancelled. Ummmmm, I didn't cancel my reservation. The new clerk says they have one room available (a suite) that's $129.95. Ummmm, I STILL didn't cancel my reservation that was booked at $60. She says they'll get it fixed. She calls customer service who tells her they cancelled the reservation per a phone call on 9/6/09. Ummmm, oooook. I supposedly called to cancel my reservation that I made ONLINE and no one thought to send me a confirmation ONLINE that it was cancelled? Sure, I totally get that. I do it all the time. Amazingly, I stay calm (I have NO idea how at this point). The clerk says they'll fix it and gets us a room. I'm all, Didn't you just say that you only had one room? Sweet, we're gettin the suite? Niiiice! Oh, we're getting a regular room? Fine. I'll take it. We're running out of time before the show starts, so I don't fucking care anymore. I just want a place to sleep tonight. Wait! Didn't you just say that you only had one room left?

We head straight to the concert hall after that and I'm so close to spewing forth the slew of 4-letter words I've been bottling up for the past 2 hours. Ask Twitter. I've got just enough time to throw on some mascara before the concert. And with a wave of that magic wand, I'm transformed into Princess Cinderella who gets swept off her feet by Prince Charming. Ok, so maybe it wasn't quite that magical. Rick never got anywhere near me. But I got to see a great show.

And I can't believe it just took me 3 hours to write this. I was reliving it.....in real-time. Great.

Picture Day is an evil plot to destroy parenthood as we know it.

Today is Picture Day and I'm ready to scream and commit murder/death/kill. Over hair. Seriously.

My daughter is no girlie-girl. She is definitely more of a tomboy. But I'm usually fairly successful in making a compromise with her so that she at least looks somewhat like a girl. Except with her hair. I can barely get her to comb her hair, let alone *do* anything with it. If she had her way, she would always wear a hat. But she doesn't always get her way. I win on occasion, picking my battles carefully. I'm sorry, but I want to have *some* pictures/memories where I can say "There's my beautiful little GIRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLL!"

So this morning the husband tells Ashley to get ready for school so that I can do her hair. And we get the bi-annual *tongue click-foot stomp-sigh-"Noooooo!"*. We'll see/hear it again in the spring when it comes time for those pictures. Can't wait. Her response always helps our mood *so* much and at that point we're all GETREADYFORSCHOOLRIGHTNOW!

Have I told you that I've always wanted to be a motivational speaker? No? Well, that's good, cuz I don't.

After Ashley gets dressed, she comes in my bathroom. And it begins. I'm having a mental discussion with her hair begging it to help me find an appropriate style that won't be too difficult to do. Ok, let's see. I know...I'll comb this part down. Yes. Wet it a little so it lays right. That's good. Ashley, will you please stand up straight and stop tilting your head. Thank you. Now I'll take this small part and wave it back. Hmmm... Maybe. Maybe if I put in a clip to hold it in place? Ye...no. That clip won't hold. Ashley...PLEASE. *sigh* I don't have another clip. The few small clips I have won't match her outfit! WHY DON'T I HAVE ANY OTHER CLIPS? Oh, wait, I found one. Whew! Ok, so let me grab that piece again and wave it back. Slide in the clip. Crap! There's a piece sticking up. Ok, take the clip back out. Comb it back down. Let's try this again. Wave that piece back. And slide in the clip. Almost there. And check her wispy bangs. And ohmyfuckingGODAshley! Can you PLEASE just hold still for 5 minutes so I can make you look like you weren't rolling around in the planter this morning?

These few and far between styling sessions ALWAYS end the same way. I'm pissed off and she's in tears. Over hair. Seriously. Can I tell you how much I'm looking forward to puberty?

And so *I* end up late for work looking like the walking dead. Cuz after all that? I don't give a flyingfartinspace what *I* look like today.

P.S. I'll have to ask my Mom if she had to go through this crap with me on Picture Days. I'm thinking no, but that could be early dementia setting in (I have CRS - Can't Remember Shit) or from the bender I (think I) was on last night.

Six Word Saturday

Frustrated with college online computer class!


Check out Six Word Saturday here!

Timing is everything.

I just know I'm being tested. Tested to see if I can take care of things without the husband. So, of course the check engine light came on in my car when the husband is out of town. And I started to freak out.....a little. I was on the phone with the husband and he told me to take it to the Checker Auto near home to have them pull the code from the computer. I was told at Checker that they weren't allowed to actually do it for me, but gave me the tool & showed me how to use it. The scan tool wouldn't establish a link with my car & no it was NOT operator error. Next stop, Auto Zone. By then, I was comfortable enough to ask to use their scan tool, but the employee was nice enough to do it for me. The result was that my car won't blow up in the near future, but it does need to go to the dealer. Which means I better go to sleep early so I can get it to the dealer in the morning. Bumper-to-bumper warranties are the best.

Ok, world, I passed this part of the test. I'm ready for round 2.

I had to do it to make the voices go away.

I just couldn't help it. Not one bit. While taking my daughter to return her library books (b cuz she told me *tonight* that the books were due back *today* - of course they were), I heard a voice quietly calling my name "staaaaacey". Then I heard it again a little louder "Staaaaaaaaaaacey". Well, I guess the voice wanted to make sure it wasn't ignored, cuz the next thing I heard was "STACEY GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE AND BUY ME ALREADY, OK?????" What could I do? Sure, I could have resisted temptation, but who needs a waistline anyway? I hear they're overrated.

I think I had my 1st drunk blogging experience last nite. How did I do?

You know how after you do something you just have to "talk" about it, so you journal, blog, call your bff, etc. to tell about it? Well, that might not be the best thing for me to do when I've been drinkin'. Maybe it is. I dunno. I remember wanting to write about my BlogHer@Home experience last night, but I do not remember anything about actually writing it. And then I read it. LOL I keep going between "Don't ever fuckin' do it again!" (which movie?) to "Maybe you should do that more often!". Obviously, I'm leaning more towards the latter.

I'm honored to have the http://www.blogherathome.com/ crew visit my site, still being a somewhat new blogger. I (soberly) thank you for a laugh-out-loud funny nite and I really look forward to tonite & tomorrow nite.

I do have to say that I totally meant it when I wrote that you bitches are amazing. And I promise that I can be funny even when I'm sober.

*updated* You shouldn't piss me off in a room full of knives.

Sadly, the husband & I are sitting at the kitchen table.....playing on our respective laptops. Yes, this is our Saturday night entertainment. I have yet to decide if we have no lives, are getting old, or are just too fucking lazy to do something decent on a Saturday nite. It seriously went downhill when the husband opened his mouth & inserted both feet (as he usually does). After a lull in the conversation, he says, "I'm looking on Travis' page right now." I asked, "His Facebook page? Are you still on Facebook?" He replied, "Yeah. His oldest daughter? Is really freakin' cute." And I'm all, "Dood! I'm sitting right FUCKING here!!!!!!!!!!"

Now I realize that this is pretty much a marriage of convenience (& certainly not the good kind of convenience), but I now keep looking over at the knife block, trying to decide if it's worth going to jail to make my point. Hmmm...decisions, decisions.

Update - The husband tried to get out of he hole he had dug himself into by saying, "If she were mine, she would be locked up."

So not helping your case dood.

I never thought I'd see the day when a layoff meeting would be a good thing.

It's official.....I'm losing my job. There I've said it. I knew it was coming, so I wasn't surprised.

The merger closed June 11th pretty much right on schedule. From the day the merger was announced I knew Payroll would be absorbed. There were lots of rumors and speculation (what a bunch of gossipmongers!), but I tried to take them all with a grain of salt. I would not falter in my resolve that I was going to lose my job. It was easier that way.....no surprises. Well, no bad surprises anyway. If somehow I managed to survive this merger with my job intact, it would be a pleasant surprise. Much better, I think, than to hold out hope that I would be safe only to get the horrible shock that a significant part of my world was gonna come crashing down. That wasn't a risk I was willing to take, especially since the husband has been laid off twice in the past 6 years.

However, to say that I was okay with losing with losing my job depended on which day you caught me. I've been on a pretty interesting emotional roller coaster since the merger was announced. It's safe to say that I've been through all the phases of grief at least 5 times and not in any real particular order. I always came back to "what's next for me?" In some ways this could be the best way to move forward with the divorce. And then, there's the inevitable (& frequent) "WTF am I gonna do now?" I think out loud a lot, but have to be careful who I do that around, cuz if they don't know how I deal, I could inadvertantly burn a lot of bridges. Not good. The stress of all of it felt like a brick sitting on my chest, but it was manageable so I didn't worry about it much.

Until this week. We were told a rep from corp HR was coming cuz those who were losing their jobs had to be notified within 30 days of the close of the merger. Yesterday morning, I woke up and the brick had morphed into a 2-ton boulder on my chest. It was all I could do to get ready and actually come to work. I didn't really need to worry, though. My meeting was in the afternoon & I was ready to get it over with when my time came. They confirmed that my layoff date is 2/28/10 (still somewhat tentative) and that I will get a severance, which will be paid out in bi-weekly installments (the only thing I wasn't expecting). I got the feeling that the people in the meeting thought I would have some sort of breakdown. Hello? You're not really telling me anything I didn't already know. Besides, have you WORKED with the Main Sales Floor? They DRIVE you to want to quit drink excessively. My brain liver needs a break. Anyway, I walked out of that meeting with more options than I thought I had going in. I now know that I don't have to hurry to find a job. I've got time to check out ALL my options. I'm doing a lot of thinking outside of the box on this one, which is probably what I'm doing if you catch me muttering to myself.

Life goes on and as long as I stop finding gray eyebrow hairs, it will all be good.

What am I avoiding?

Today? EVERYTHING!

Honestly, the answer to this question really depends on the day.

Farkle is the fucking Devil.

I know I'm not alone in this and I'm asking for your help.

I'm recruiting members for a new firing squad which will have a single purpose: to destroy the creator(s) of Farkle. This won't really be surprising to them. They started this game for their own enjoyment and only turned it on the rest of the world Facebook community when they realized how addicted they had become. This was their revenge against their own Frankenstein monster. We need to put them out of their misery just as much as we need to be released from their curse.

They'll thank us, trust me.

Not all flashbacks are good.

Disclaimer: This is a slightly to moderately gross post. Also, being a former Navy wife, I don't really think that people in the Navy who are on aircraft carriers are cowards or pussies. I have a great respect for all past/present/future members of our military. While parts of this post are totally accurate, my husband knows I'm kidding and so should you.

Every once in a while, the husband has navy flashbacks. Not combat flashbacks, cuz he was cowardly stationed on an aircraft carrier providing air support from a distance with all the other pussies. The flashbacks he has are of the serious hygiene issues that he developed during his time in the service, like many navy men (I SO hope this phenomenae does NOT happen to navy women) seem to notoriously develop. I'm talking about the fact that they lose the ability to keep their asses clean. That is, if they ever had the ability to begin with, in which case, the problem is seriously magnified. Along with this, they adapt an I don't give a shit (pun absolutely intended) attitude towards these issues. In fact, it becomes fodder for jokes. I spent enough time in the house the husband shared with some of them to see these issues firsthand. Hello? Four sailors sharing a house with as many others that could fit passed out (comfortably or not) on the available floor space with no care in the world except how drunk they could get? If there was a line for the only bathroom in the house? No worries, there's always the backyard.

Where was I? Oh yeah. These flashbacks are not pleasant for me. I mean, can I help it if I have a very good sense of smell? I realize that he would rather not be told that he fucking smells like shit (literally). I get that. I actually agree with him; I don't want to have to tell him that either. However, I would rather not be subjected to the reminders of the days when he wore his underwear for 5 days straight. In my mind, not too much to ask for.