Archive for the ‘My Brain Hurts’ Category

While it’s politically acceptable this confusing conversation with the Kittie wrecked my brain for about an hour:

Kittie: Mom, you know that brown broad?

Me: (Straight face) Excuse me?

Kittie: Yeah, that brown broad. Ya know. From Walking Dead. Sasha. Yeah. Her. She’s in my show.

Me: Um. Good honey.

(My apologies to Sonequa Martin-Green. In our house you are now known as “that brown broad”.)

You would think that would have been the highlight of the week but it totally was not. Why we can’t avoid encounters with so many ridiculous people is quite beyond me. Kittie has a Subway addiction. (FREE PLUG…FREE ADVERTISING…Mr. Subway! Send me gift cards!) Luckily for her there’s a Subway inside our local Wal*Mart giving her ample opportunities to buy subs.

I also feel at this time I need to clarify something. We live in a small Texas town south of the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex. The town is small enough to have exactly zero sit-down restaurants (well mom & pop places…you don’t want to eat at any of them) and two grocery stores. One IGA that is out of the way (for me) and a Wal*Mart. That’s it. That’s the list. (However, we confusingly have 4 donut shops, 2 Chinese food restaurants, a yoga studio and two vapor cigarette shops. Thank God for the vape stores. One of the Chinese food places sells “beef” lo mein that I think is made with part leather part unknown mammal.)

Where was I? OH yeah.  What I’m trying to say is unless we want to hoof it into town we shop at Wal*Mart. Trust me. I don’t want to shop there. It’s a total beat down. I mean a punch in the gut 90% of the time because EVERYONE in our lil burg has the same issue I do. I’ve been there when I believe half of our population is present. I honestly considered suicide.


We’re in Wal*Mart and Kittie announces she “needs Subway. And it will be a foot long so I’ll have half for lunch tomorrow and the other half for snack if I don’t want what you’re cooking.” She likes my cooking. When I cook something she’ll eat. Which is basically cheese sticks, crab legs, shrimp, or eggs in a hole.

Entering Subway the Kittie is pleased that there is only one person in line. That was mistake #1. Assuming that one person would be out of there quickly. Here is how this went:

Portly patron clearly trying to make good on a New Year’s resolution is ordering a sandwich. Reading the entire menu aloud. “Turkey, tuna fish, roast beef, ham, BLT, oh nothing with bacon, no, Italian, club…” Deep sigh and “Ok, turkey. I want a turkey sandwich.” We then proceed to indecision on sizing and bread. It’s taking entirely too long to get a turkey sandwich made but finally a decision is made. Six inch on wheat. The girl behind the counter starts to make this and the customer whispers, “Can you make it less….bready?” The girl looks at her like she’s mad. “Yes,” this woman loud-whispers. “Just scoop out some of the bread.”

The Subway girl proceeds to remove some of the bread from inside the roll. It’s not enough to feed a fucking duck. And the customer is happy. Turkey, lettuce, tomato. That’s it. OH WAIT a TINY TINY TINY BIT of mayo. TINY bit.

Time to check out (finally) and the girl asks if she wants to make it a combo. “What comes with the combo?” she asks. Chips, drink, cookie. “OH YES let’s make it a combo……. (loud whisper, guilty glance around the store) one peanut butter cookie.”

ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? You can’t have the two crumbs of bread from the middle of the sandwich but a PEANUT BUTTER COOKIE IS OKAY??? The Kittie looks like she’s about to start stabbing people and thankfully another employee magically shows up and asks, “Can I help you?”

“YES,” Kittie exclaims. She’s gonna show these people how it’s done. She’s a Subway pro. “Foot long. White. Turkey. American & Cheddar cheese doubled. Lettuce. Lots of mayo. Toasted. Please.”

The girl looks at her and asks, “You want the salad?”

So the Kittie walked over to a booth, curled up in the fetal position and cried.

Half has been devoured to ease the pain.

Half has been devoured to ease the pain.

Yesterday was “well woman” care day for me….. which means, of course, I took my clothes off for strangers. Unlike strippers, however, I don’t get tips.

I almost wish I'd Instagrammed instead.

I almost wish I’d Instagrammed instead.

I admit to having a wild side but showing the you-you to a doctor (whom I do trust) still makes me wish for a small sleeping pill prior to the event. Maybe some nitrous. Just to take the edge off.

What I really need is to start taking my health care more seriously. And by that I mean that I can knock off the comic relief while being examined. My doctor, thankfully, is quite a good sport and has a good enough bedside manner to just take it in stride although I’m certain he thinks I’m insane. As we are having general health discussion I start to think “I’m about to intentionally expose myself to this man” or “How does his wife feel about his job? It’s like super 3D porn with utensils.”

Then I’m giggly. I’m fighting it. REAL HARD. Because he’s asking me serious questions like, “Have you had any tenderness in your breasts?”

And because I want to be able to laugh I retort with, “Only when I hug them real close like this..” and yes I proceed to hug boobs. He chuckles and I laugh like it’s the funniest joke ever told.

Proceed to the actual pap smear portion of the exam and I’m looking at the ceiling and I wonder if anyone has ever let fly in his face. Or if someone was so disgusting down there that he had to wear a mask. And AGAIN I’m trying not to laugh….

We get wrapped up with the totally naked part of this medical burden and he informs me that I can “get dressed” and “wait here. You haven’t had a tetanus shot in the last 10 years and you need another one.”

I get dressed and wait. And the longer I wait the less I think I need a tetanus shot. So I listen at the door and I don’t hear anything. Certainly if I ducked out real quick no one would notice right? I crack the door. No one is present. I swing it open and take a step out and to my left at a desk is my doctor. Staring at me.  And his nurse, holding a syringe. Looking at me with her head cocked to the left kind of like a confused dog. I smile broadly and say, “I got dressed all by myself.”

“Great. She’s coming in right now with the shot,” he says. He seems a little less entertained by me at this point.

“I had hoped you’d forgotten,” I say, beaming at him.

So I get the shot….then off to the lab where they take a cup of my blood for testing. I swear it was a real cup of actual blood. I mean, if you broke open all those vials and poured them into a Pyrex measuring cup (the big 2 cup kind) it would have totally been half full. Of my blood. Now I have to make more so thanks for THAT.

Now it’s time for the boob stress test. Why don’t men get a corresponding experience here? IN FACT why don’t they get a corresponding experience with any of this mess? It’s completely unfair and yet another reminder that the next time my Hub complains about having to do a Man Chore like bearing heavy loads or removing a spider bigger than the cat from our house I’m going to threaten to pelt him with tampons.

The mammogram, while uncomfortable, goes quickly. I’m chatting with the tech who is a precious blonde woman about 10 years my junior and I ask her, “Do you have any gross stories about your job?”

She says, “Not that I can really tell.”

I said, “Ohhh yeah that HIPPA compliance crap?”

She says, “Yes.”

I ask, “Do any of your boob smashing friends have stories that you could tell? You know, that you heard second hand?”

After she laughed (a genuine laugh too….so there DOC!) she says, “Actually, yes but it’s really gross.”

“Awesome! Let’s hear it!” I say with what may be too much excitement over the plight of others.

She says, “Well, once there was this woman who was brought in by her son essentially kicking and screaming. She insisted that she didn’t need a mammogram and didn’t want to be there.  I hear that the techs on duty said she ‘smelled bad’ but they didn’t know why because her hair and clothes seemed clean and her son was clean. And they take her back and under her clothes was a feminine napkin that she’d placed between her bra and skin to absorb the fluid leaking out of her left breast because the tumor had mastasized and was leaking so badly she was using pads to absorb it.”

“Holy fu……” I start to say managing to stop myself before I actually said the very bad word.

“RIGHT!” she says.

Anyway…….my medical check up is done. Now just waiting for the labs which I pray say everything is tip-top and now for my PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:

LADIES DO NOT put off getting these exams. A lot of the cancers specific to women are very treatable when caught early. Just think funny thoughts. Or fart in your doctor’s face.


I haven’t even scratched the supply surface.

I have a serious gift wrapping supply problem. It’s a really strange problem to have because I despise wrapping gifts. I suck at it. I mean. Really suck. My solution for tearing corners (which happens an enraging percentage of the time) is more tape. I am always careful to use enough tape to hide what the box looks like under thus the tear is no longer visible and the adhesive can’t be called “invisible tape” but more accurately smooth duct tape. MERRY CHRISTMAS.

I have never purchased these items @ retail. As I type this I am already looking forward to rushing to the local Wal*Mart dive head first into the “All Christmas Items 50% off” section….even better, give it a couple of days after that and it becomes 70% off.

In my closet is currently 25 rolls of wrapping paper (carefully chosen), 12 packages of various tissues (glitter tissue is a huge markdown bonus), 22-1/2 bags of bows….and the pièce de résistance 820 glitter gift tags (self adhesive).

As I am digging through these items to complete my Christmas wrapping, Hub walks in:

HUB: I don’t think you have enough wrapping supplies.

ME: I know!! I am really concerned about getting through the holidays like this. The stress is unbearable.

HUB: Why the hell do you have all these tags?

ME: Please don’t judge.

HUB: I’m not judging. I’m asking an honest question.

ME: I need them.

HUB: How many more gifts are you planning to wrap?

ME: Don’t worry about that. I need the tags. I’m beginning to consider incorporating them into my every day life because I have so many. Do you think that Christmas Tag Glitter Art could be a huge new fad?

HUB:  <sigh> Only if you are stoned.




New Year’s Resolution made 12 days early = an end of laziness!

Stick around and see what happens because I am going to post 365 days in a row in 2014. Don’t think I can do it? I maybe don’t either but that’s my goal!

There is no telling what is going to show up on this blog next year….It may simply be whatever leaps to my mind when I wake up each day…. horses, weight lifting, pizza, kittens, UFOs, paper cuts, pornography, hockey, pudding, ninjas, butterflies, and how disturbing it is to me when my fingers smell like katsup.




The determination was made that a dedicated space for working out was needed at our home. This means that construction will have to take place. In order to accomplish this, we need room in the garage.

Let’s reflect on the definition of the word “garage”. Merriam-Webster states that the word is a noun that means:

   a shelter or repair shop for automotive vehicles

We built our house eight years ago and not one single tire has ever touched the floor of our garage. It has been nothing more but a storage area that becomes more and more full as each year passes by. There are boxes out there that HAVE NOT BEEN UNPACKED from when we moved in. Essentially, everything out there is either Christmas decorations or trash.

I was very happy to have this gym project as a catalyst to clean out all this useless mess that takes up the same room as two full sized vehicles. So we get to work….Hub, the Kittie, and I start clearing paths and opening boxes and filling four giant trash bins. As the day wore on crap started to get spread out into the driveway (which also leads to random drive ups “hey are y’all having a garage sale?” or “how much do you want for xxxx” and I’d yell back “It’s all free!” and Hub would yell, “DAMMIT NO! Nothing for sale! NO!” A lot of really confused people drove off while I dealt with being yelled at for ‘inviting people to rob us’) and now I’m losing track over what is or is not trash.

I walk over to one of the six (not a joke) Coleman coolers we’ve unearthed and bend over to pick it up and Hub shouts, “DON’T OPEN THAT!!!”

I freeze, giving him a sideways glance.

“I mean it,” he says. “Don’t do it.”

Now Kittie is interested. “What’s in it?” she asks mysteriously.

I stand up and say, “Yeah, what the hell is in this?”

Hub says, “I don’t know what that was.”

What……???? I ponder this and say, “So….are you telling me….that this is…a casket?”

Hub chews his lip for a moment and says, “Yeah. It is.”

“EW!” the Kittie and I exclaim and I carry it (held far far away from my body) to the curb w/ the trash cans, three computer monitors from 1990, a tricycle, and an ENTIRE box full of hangers (we had a fight over the hangers and when I threatened to remove an eyeball with one of them he backed down).

After sweeping, admiring our good work, and going inside to shower, we decided it was time to go to dinner. As we drive off the Kittie gasps from the back seat and says, “OMG, Dad…the casket is gone.”

Sure enough the casket, the tricycle and monitors have been removed from our curb.

I hope they don’t bring that damn casket back…..I hope they don’t actually USE that casket…for anything. Blech.

I don’t try to say things that may be deemed offensive nor do try to goad people into making the same type of statements. But every now and then, things just happen.

You remember Michelle Miles from Fairly Famous Friday…. Well, conversations like this seem to happen between us all the darn time.

ME: I want to pat ponies for a living, Michelle. I may or may not have brought that up in the past so since I couldn’t remember I thought I’d tell you that patting ponies is what I wish to be doing.

MM: You may have mentioned that, yes. I need to be writing. Full time.

ME: I want us to do these things. Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket. So we can do these things. And leave town. Forever.

MM: Yes. God YES please. Oh, I forgot to tell you I’m reading the most fantastic book. It’s so good. I have professional envy.

ME: So you read books and have professional envy? I watch YouTube videos of Dr. Dean Richardson fixing racehorses and I have professional envy. Something tells me I’m way off base while you are probably as good as that author even though I have no idea who she is.

MM: You really need to get out more.

ME: I’m watching horses on YouTube.

MM: Well, if you were reading some books you may learn new things.

ME: Are her books about horses?

MM: No. She writes historical romance and she is really good. I could never do that because I’m too lazy to get all the details right. That’s why I write fantasy. I can make shit up.

ME: Can you make up a world where I pat ponies?

MM: You really have a one-track mind.

ME: Isn’t it fun? It’s a fantasy of mine and since you are an awesome writer I thought you could write that for me.

MM: I can’t. I have to give a presentation on world building and I have no idea what I’m talking about.

ME: So given the fact that you make shit up wouldn’t this be the same thing?

MM: Not if you are trying to give an example of how to perform that task.

ME: Yeah, I can’t even make up anything for us to talk about in this email.

MM: Well, what do you think of me having a “Name My Christmas Novella” contest?

ME: OH! I have a name for it: “Jesus Walked In My Tub”!

MM: Ok. You’re done. And I’m going to hell because I laughed at this.



If you drive a truck marked “UPS”, “FedEx”, or “DHL” and are in my area BE WARNED.  That crazy person chasing your truck means business.

The best part of SPENDING money online is bouncing from one foot to the other waiting for the package dump. (I said dump.)

I could literally never stop Christmas shopping. And now with this internet invention I don’t even have to get dressed to go shopping any more.

HUB: What are you doing?

ME: Looking at these shirts for the Kittie.

HUB: I thought you were done Christmas shopping.

ME: I am.

HUB: (Peering over my shoulder) Then why are you on Zappos again? You have seven tabs open.

ME: Shhh I have to COMPARE and CONTRAST.

HUB: I would appreciate it if you kept your word about shopping. We agreed that we were done shopping for her. She’s going to have a great Christmas.

ME: Shut the hell up, Scrooge. She *needs* this.

HUB: Don’t add one more thing to your cart.

ME: Don’t watch. Hey do me a favor… I need your American Express card.

For some reason he got really mad so I saved the cart and waited til he got in the shower and then I bought the stuff. He asked me AGAIN this morning if I was finished shopping. Of course I said  yes.


How pissed is my Hub gonna be when he gets home…cos I’m thinkin’ the living room will resemble this:

Meet our dog, Duke.

He’s amazing. He’s wonderful. He’s got a ‘high-prey-aggression-instinct’ (trait discovered this weekend).

Meet our brand new kitten, Lily.

Lily is eight weeks old and small and precious and lucky to be alive.

When we built our house Kittie (wow this is going to get confusing….Hub and I have a daughter not named Kittie but we call her Kittie and now we have a kitten that we don’t call Kittie we call her Lily. Does that make sense?) asked us, “Can I have a dog?!”

Me: Sure!

Hub: No.

So we got a dog. We rescued Duke via the veterinarian that lives a few houses down. We’d been standing in the street telling the kids to NOT ride their bikes IN the street because that is what the sidewalk is for telling him Kittie wanted a Lab, Rottie, or Boxer (she never said that. I said that which meant that’s what she wanted) and 48 hours before Kittie turned ten years old he called to tell me that a purebred Boxer had been abandoned at his office in a horrible state of starvation. That beautiful animal became part of our family 24 hours later.

For the last six years he’s been a joy … until this weekend. Kittie and her best friend recently helped deliver a litter of kittens in her best friend’s garage. (Like, eight weeks ago recent.) Kittie had brought up getting a cat a lot over the last year or so to which Hub and I both had been saying no.  Mainly because we have to board one animal every time we want to do anything that takes longer than 12 hours (or ya know three days or whatever) and we don’t want to have to do that with two. Then these kittens arrived and we were informed that Kittie’s “life would be over” if she didn’t get to keep Lily. I didn’t think it was a good sign that a kitten that was less than six days old had been claimed and named by my daughter… the fateful day arrived.

I love house cats and miss having them but when my darling old lady cat passed away at the age of 18 (I was a sophomore in high school when I got her) Hub told me, “No more cats. I hate cats.” So I’d just resigned myself to not having one. Well, now I was starting to get excited about a kitten. Last Thursday I message Hub on the IM:

Me: Got a text that Kittie’s kitten is all ready to come home. They’ve given all the others away.

Hub: Fuck.

Me: Look if you want to fight this fight, knock yourself out.

Hub: Fuuuuck.

Me: She’s promised to keep it in her room and take it with her  when she moves out after graduation.

Hub: When is that again?


Hub: This is pissing me off.

Me: What DOESN’T piss you off?

Hub: Not  having a cat doesn’t piss me off.

Me: Talk to you later.

So Friday we get kitten. She’s so tiny……and we introduce her to 70+ pound Duke. For a fleeting second I think, “Holy shit…this is going to work!”

Kittie kneels in front of her trusty pup with infant kitten in her arms. They touch noses. They stare at each other. Duke sits very still, unrestrained…staring….. and a long stream of drool comes out of the side of his mouth.

I don’t know if the kitten noticed that or if there was a telepathic animal exchange of information because everything happened like a bolt of lightening.

Duke lunged. Kitten leapt straight up into the air, over Kittie’s head, and promptly cornered herself in the hall bathroom. Duke runs Kittie over like she’s not there. (I could hear someone yelling…it was probably me.) I’m magically in the bathroom (I may have teleported) and see Kittie tackling Duke like a cornerback making sure that the end zone was not reached. I scooped Lily up who was shockingly drenched in dog spit….without a mark on her.

This is going to be an interesting and extremely long several weeks……..

My sister-in-law is an awesome writer, an amazing friend, and one hot momma. She tagged me in her post with the same title thus not only giving me blog fodder it also saved me the trouble of having to come up with a title for the post. It’s stupid as hell but a lot of times I stop writing a blog post because a decent title escapes me and while you aren’t supposed to judge a book by the cover everyone does so I was rescued this time.

Now I’m supposed to tell you seven things about me that are awesome.  This is really hard because everything about me is pretty fucking amazing so I spent most of today pondering everything about me that is great. I have decided that I’m going to just list the seven most cool, nifty and sinfully awesome things:

1. Monsters, Inc.: Any movie that has the following exchange is just awesome w/o having to discuss it:  “What happens when the whistle blows in five minutes.” …. “I….get a time out?” …. “EVERYONE GOES TO LUNCH! Which means the scare floor will be…??” … “Painted????”

2.  Horses: There is not an item on the planet more spiritual and amazing than the horse. Where would humans be without the horse??? They have built our cities and fought our wars. In this day and age you probably think of them as toys of the rich but they are not. They are willing, precious companions that deserve respect and adoration. And they are the most kissable creatures on the planet.

3. Wrath: Of the seven deadly sins this is the most amazing sin. You can list all seven sins and each and every one of them goes right the hell back to wrath. And I love wrath. I’m gonna stab you just for reading this cos it’s wrathful and I like it.

4. Darth Vader -vs- Han Solo: Here’s a snapshot into the fucked-up my brain is. I was seven when Star Wars came out (I KNOW I’m old shut up) and saw all of the original three movies in the theatre (and the other 3 that came out later … meh)….anyway I remember EVEN as a seven year old little girl with no real grasp on sexuality or power wondering who would be the better person to be married to…… Han Solo or Darth Vader.  Solo = good guys, smart ass remarks, and Chewie as yer dog or Darth Vader = evil, ultimate power, and cool flowy robes.  Still a quandary.

5. Metallica: A laundry list of amazing songs and James Hetfield…the only hot blonde man on the planet….MMMMMMM

6. Boxer Doggies:  No real description is needed here. Boxer + Doggie = beyond awesome.

7. The Shit My Family Says: Oh you don’t think this could be awesome…ok…here’s Actual Quotes From Idiots I’m Related To: “I’ve been cooking for two days and you want to eat a goddamn polluted fish!” ….. “We’re talking about killing animals and you want to talk about goddamn spaghetti!!!” …. “My husband gave me a ring…and a baby!!” ….. “Ya know, this is Sunday and this is the day you are usually a really big bitch so I am probably not going to talk to you.”…… “So the cop told me she wanted to look in my trunk and I told her she was a fat bitch and she arrested me! Can you believe it???”…..”I can’t go with you guys today because I have some…..activities planned.”  (I didn’t make any of this crap up.)

I’m supposed to tag other bloggers but I don’t know any…..Cos my life sucks.

I lost my dad last month and it sucks in proportions so large I can’t even find the words to describe it. I leave tomorrow to go home (Ohio) to basically chill the hell out.  My Native-Texan Hub and Native-Texan Kid ignore the fact that I’m from Ohio until I actually go there. Or try to make them go there.  Native-Texan Individuals are weirdly proud of the fact that, by accident of birth, they are Native-Texan. Here’s an example….actual conversation w/ my then-four-year-old -Native-Texan-daughter:

Kittie: Mommy, where were you born?

Me:  Youngstown, Ohio

Kittie: (look of shock) What??

Me: Youngstown, Ohio, honey. I was born in Youngstown, Ohio.

Kittie: (look of suspicion) Does that make you….Mexican??

Me: (look of shock) NO! What?? Why… no baby…that makes me an AMERICAN…what are YOU?

Kittie: (insert strong Texas accent) I am a TEXAN and so is my DADDY.

I can ASSURE you no one taught my kid that mess….I swear it’s something that her brain simply received via osmosis the day she sprang forth from my you-you and it happened on Texas soil.

Anyway…I’m going home. By myself. Originally I wasn’t going to take this trip because the Kittie is going to Europe next spring…. and while I’m paying that off I couldn’t in good conscious suggest all of us go on a Labor Day trip to a place as horrible as OHIO (heaven forbid)…. But my amazing family insisted and I’m going.  I’m really looking forward to my mom, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. getting this time to visit and go to the Canfield Fair (biggest and bestest in the world!) ….And we’re going to have a memorial service for Daddy while we are there. We need to do it…he was born there, too, and has lots of friends/family but it makes me want to fall on a sword a little bit. The funeral was hard enough and I know I’ll be a wreck during the service on Saturday. Hub insists that I “need it”. That it’s “healthy”.  He’s likely right. Can I get an I.V. martini @ the service, please?

So I start packing and here’s the conversation we have:

Hub: What are you doing?

Me: Deciding what to take. Can I wear a Metallica shirt to the memorial for Daddy?

Hub: Probably not.

Me: That’s dumb. It’s what I want to wear. I’m on vacation!

Hub: Pack something comfortable that’s NOT a concert t-shirt.

Me: This sucks. I’m gonna go fall on a sword.

Hub: Where is your life insurance documentation?

Me: Kiss my ass.

Hub: Do you want me to help you pack?

Me: No.

Hub: Ok. I’m leaving the room…. let me know if you want help.

Me: Thanks, comrade.

Hub: Really?

Me: EVERYONE will be pissed when they find out I’m a Russian spy and sometimes I slip up!!!!! Sheesh!

Hub: <straight face>

Me: SHUT UP I could be a Russian spy.

Hub: Uh-huh. And I could be a ballerina.

Me: The best are from Russia.

Hub: <leaving> Worst spy ever.

Me: <screaming> I NEED MORE RUBLES!