Archive for August 2012

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!

I’ve been Voodoo pretty much my whole adult life. And by adult I mean I didn’t live with my parents any more. Cos I’m not so sure I’m a grown up even now at the tender age of twenty-nine (+13).

I joined the digital age before digital was cool which not only makes me old as shit it makes me cooler than most people. Even cooler when I admit that the first time I BBS-ed (look it up if you don’t know what it is cos I’m not explaining this) it was on a 1200 baud modem and I was ROCKING IT. When my ex-husband (God rest his soul…ok he’s not dead. That I know of. But he is to me.) first said, “Hey, we can dial into this computer network. It’s cool!” I said, “And do what with it? That’s dumb.” He said, “Play games and talk to people. Do you want to create an account?”  I said, “If I wanted to play games I’d keep having this conversation with you and I hate talking to people.”  I don’t know why he got mad but he stalked off and I heard this weird noise a little while later that was the sound of the modem picking up.

Seven hours later I picked up the phone and there was this weird static noise and from the back I hear him shout, “HEY! I’m on the computer!” Now my interest was piqued. So I check out what he’s doing and think, “Ok, this could be fun.”  So this is the moment that having one computer in the house is not acceptable any more.  I mean, who has more than ONE computer (yes I’m old; we’ve freaking established that cos we have like 12 now shut up…oh and I have a different husband…but I think I’ve established that. I play games w/ him, too. Somehow all my husbands make that that face of disdain. Maybe the common denominator is me. Who knows…anyway) it says, “Enter the handle you want to be known as:”

I straight face.  “What the fuck does this even mean?” I ask. The ex says “What name do you want to be known as?” I say, “Seriously.” He says, “Yeah….you pick a handle.” I say, “Like B.J. from B.J. & The Bear?” (dated again FML) and he says, “Yeah, sure.”

It was a no brainer. I admit to being a nerd. The boxes of comic books and the autographed Spawn #1 (by McFarlane…eat it!) is my most prized possession should prove that….. without having to think about it I type one word… VOODOO.

So there it is.  I have herds of people that know me as Voodoo…some of them, I think, never even learned my real name.  That’s fine. She’s awesome.


What really sucks is I want pizza and beer for breakfast but instead I eat Egg Beaters with a mild feeling of disdain and pride. It’s not that I completely let myself go but I … ok I let myself go.  It was easy after the kid was born cos I could say, “Yeah, the baby weight is coming off. It’s just a slow process.”  Only now I can’t have this conversation cos it just seems odd:

PERSON: You look like you’ve lost a little weight.

ME: Thanks! I’m working on it after having the baby.

PERSON: OH! Congratulations! How old is your baby?

ME: 16

PERSON: Weeks?

ME: Years.

Yeah.  So here I am lifting weights, doing push ups, and avoiding as many carbs and french fries as possible. And I do pretty good. Until about the time of day the werewolves and vampires come out (i.e. 2 a.m.) and I get up from a dead sleep convinced I’m starving to death. I sneak into the kitchen to find myself a snack. Not because I am afraid of waking anyone, I’m afraid that someone will already be up and bust me eating.

Anyway, last night as I’m slithering to the kitchen I try to convince myself that the box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch is actually filled with something gross like dog crap and bell peppers (equally disgusting materials in my hot opinion) and I pour a heaping bowl of cereal and start to happily munch away wondering how many additional squats will be needed to burn off each square of yum. About that time a head pokes around the side of the bar…. big. brown. floppy eared. head. With this look of hope. See, our Boxer Doggie (best in the world) thinks I’m the shit for wanting to eat late at night because he is starving constantly.

“No.” I say to him in a whisper. He takes a step closer. Me, mouth full, “No, Duke, dammit. Get back in your apartment.” (It’s a really nice wooden crate with no door that Hub has christened “Duke’s Apartment”.) He walks in yawning as if to say, “Look, ass, I know what you’re doing and I want in.” He sits in front of me while I shovel cereal into my mouth and he’s grinning at me while I glare at him.

HUB: “Honey?”

I scream and jump and milk falls out of the bowl. Only instead of making a puddle on the floor but starts to run down my leg instantly hacking me off cos I’m not taking a shower at 2 a.m. … screw that. So, I’m chewing and pissed and there’s Hub looking at me like I may have just caught fire. No idea why he’d have that expression on his face.

HUB: “What are you doing?”

ME: “NOTHING dammit I’m starving why do you care?!”

Duke starts to lick milk off my leg certain I’ve spilled it specifically for him.


The dog tries to get small, licks my leg one more time and slinks off.

ME: “I just wanted a snack and stop frakking yelling” …(spoon into mouth…) “and stop making that face at me!”

He sighs like he’s regretting the decision to get out of bed and about that time here comes our lovely daughter who’s wide awake at 2 a.m. and says, “Yay! I want cereal!”

I throw the bowl in the sink and go back to bed. When Hub returns to our room he says, “Feel better?”

ME: No. Yes. Shhh.

HUB: <sighing> You know I don’t give a shit that you midnight snack right?

ME: Shhh.

HUB: Whatever.

ME: Aren’t you glad yer married to me?

HUB: For now. Maybe.


Actual updates and general insanity and curse words coming soon.