Thursday, April 28, 2011

Grumpy, a list, IIII

I have good days and bad days. Today is a bad day.

You'd think by now I'd be able to forgive and move on. But, I'm just not ready. I'm not ready to extend forgiveness for sheer stupidity.

I spend a lot of time in my own head space. For right now that seems to be the safest place for me. No one yelling at me. No one judging me. No sideways glances. Nothing but peace & quiet.

I’ve decided that I torture my body with exercise. That way I can physically hurt as much as I hurt emotionally.

My sister thinks I’ve lost my marbles. I have – but, I’m just trying my best to keep them corralled in my mind.

I breath deeply a lot. A LOT!! I deep breath so much you’d think I was starting my own Lamaze studio. ::sigh::

I feel like life is punishing me for something - it's just that I have yet to figure out what for.

I want a whole day to do nothing but watch what I want to watch. High on that list? Movies. Practical Magic, The Other Boleyn Girl, Ever After, Hope Floats, Anna and the King and some more Practical Magic...

I also want a day that is fill with copious amounts of coffee, coffee flavored ice cream, toast w/ peanut butter and jelly, and probably more coffee. Oh - and maybe a fountain diet coke. Yep.

But, what gets me thru the bad day? I know that at least tomorrow is a new day. And that a new day has the potential to be a good day.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Grumpy, a list, III

I pluck my own eyebrows, in my car, on my lunch hour. I find that the natural lighting is amazing and perfect at that time of day.

Extra plus to car plucking? I can get the little visor mirror really close of my face.

Not so good thing about car plucking? I can get the little visor mirror really close of my face.

My sister is a really fantastic writer. If I had even a tenth of her talent, I bet we could make a fortune.

I gave up ice cream for lent. Typically it doesn't bother me to give up things for lent. This year, no ice cream is KILLIN me.

Pettiness grates on my nerves.

I excel at being passive aggressive. Actually, I thrive on it.

I don't play well in the sandbox with others. You'd think that after 33 years of life I learn how to do that.

Either do something right, or don't bother to do it at all. Perhaps that is why I don't ask for help?

I am an OCD perfectionist. (yes, you should pity my husband)

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Hope

Hope is a word we have lived by for the last two and a half years.

Hope that things will get better. Hope that things will get easier.

Hope that we can make ends meet each month. Hope as we scraped together quarters, nickels and dimes to make a car payment. Hope we can work out a deal with the bank. Hope that everyone could just be a little more understanding and patient with us regarding money owed.

Hope that our 3 year old daughter would understand why we can have bananas this week, but not both apples and bananas. Hope that our daughter understands that next week why we can’t even have bananas – because we need bread and milk more.

Each month we held out hope. Hope that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. And, that hopefully when we got to the end of the tunnel, we would be able to bask in that light. That hopefully, we could breathe a little bit easier.

That has been our existence for the last two and a half years.

We have lived with nothing but hope of a better tomorrow for so long that we know no other way to live. And, as I write this I realize that my family is not an exception. We are one of many families feeling the crunch of the economic crisis.

I hope that that it will get better.

I believe in the possibility of a better tomorrow. Because, right now? That is all I can hope for.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Grumpy, a list, II

My husband misplaced our daughter's bear one night last week. He couldn't remember if he had put it in the car when he picked her up from the sitters. I had to drive country roads & look in ditches with a flash light for my daughter beloved bear. I thought I was going to have to bury him in the backyard, vertically, up to his neck. (We found it - at home - in plain sight. Go figure)

I hate it when I work all day and arrive home to a house full to two cranky people that have been at odds with each other all day. I blame the full moon.

It snowed. Yesterday. 4 days before the start of May. What the fuck.

I wish life would stop handing me lemons. I am really not a fan of lemonade. Hand me me coffee beans. At least then I could make coffee.

I am tired of being poor. And, if one more person tells me that I am rich in life I just might have to club them in the head with a baseball bat.

I have been on a diet for 6 weeks now. This is in addition to giving up soda and baked goods of all kinds for lent, prior to the last 6 weeks. I have lost a total 15 pounds. Have I mentioned that I am miserable? I want to do nothing but eat - so in place of eating I drink water. Which means not only am I miserable, but I am miserable and have to pee all the time.

There has been nothing on TV lately. This is no inclusive of the almost 80 hours of television I have recorded to our DVR to watch. Its all stuff I enjoy to watch - but, yet, I sit and whine that there is nothing to watch, because, well, I am not in the mood to watch what is on.

Did I mention that I am also, in addition to the diet, am trying to quit smoking. SO, I guess that makes me a miserable person constantly seeking a bathroom to relieve my over worked bladder while wishing I had a Camel Light. Want to come hang out with me?

Thursday, April 1, 2010

The Pivot Questionnaire

These 10 questions originally came from a French series, "Bouillon de Culture" hosted by Bernard Pivot. They're better known as the questions that James Lipton asks every guest at the end of "Inside the Actor's Studio" show. I LOVE that show and always watch it every time that I see that it is on.

As I was answering these questions for some reason I was able to imagine Jame Lipton sitting next to me, the coolness of the room and a the rapt attention of those in the audience. So, without further ado:

1. What is your favorite word? shenigans

2. What is your least favorite word? can't

3. What turns you on? the smell of freshly washed sheets that have been hung outside to dry in the warm summer breeze

4. What turns you off? ignorance

5. What sound or noise do you love? My daughter's laugh

6. What sound or noise do you hate? The buzzing an alarm clock makes

7. What is your favorite curse word? ClusterFuck

8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Fashion Designer

9. What profession would you not like to do? doctor

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? Here's your Mocha Latte with extra whip, everything bagel with cream cheese and Oh - you never have to worry about doing laundry again.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Grumpy, a list

People who don't return email piss me off. I can handle 48 - 72 hours passing without someone responding. Because, well, life happens. I know this. I understand this. But, a week? Come on. How busy can your life really be? I am a mom, I have a full time job, keep 3 blogs going, 3 personal email accounts + the one for work and yet, I still find time to respond to email.

My husband is a big one for “It’s just a stage” “You need to remember she is only 2” “Why do you have to over react all the time” and my personal favorite “You need to relax and let her be a kid”. These phrases piss me off.

My face is still a train wreck in terms of blemishes. I swear to God the zits on my face are trying to create their own subway map for Townsend. Note to reader: Townsend doesn't have a public transportation system. It's not even big enough for a stop light. Just sayin'.

The usage of the phrase 'WE'. WE this, and WE that, and WE should, and WE could - it too, irritates me. To the person using 'WE', do you have a freakin' mouse in your pocket? Because last time I checked, just because you spawned me or were married to me, didn't automatically make me the other half of 'WE'. {thank you E (you know who you are) for bringing this to my attention}

I can't do laundry. I can fold it, put it in a basket, but that is about it. I think I can fold it because it's something I can do while watching TV. The whole put it in the washer, then from the washer to the dryer, and putting it away - yeah, that eludes me. It's not that its hard to do, but, it just something for the last 32 years I have been unable to wrap my head around.

I got ID's at a gas station today. The cashier said that I didn't look like I was 18. 18? Are you kidding me? What have you been smoking lady because I want some. I may not look like I am 32 but I damn well know I look like I am at least 18.

The sky is supposed to open up and shit 8 - 12 inches of snow in my neck of the woods. I am not sure I have enough toilet paper to help wipes the asses of all those clouds. But, I will be damned if I am going to go to the grocery store today. All the white hair'd crazy ladies will be there stocking up on bread, milk, eggs and processed cheese foods. *belch*

This whole giving up soda for Lent is killing me. Its making me grumpy.

Monday, February 22, 2010

tick TOCK

I have a ticking clock in my abdomen. *tick TOCK* *TICK TOCK*

It seems to have migrated there from my heart. Before I got married, I had a tick tocking heart. A heart yearning for a wedding ceremony involving the love of my life. It took my husband 5 years of togetherness to propose. But, I got that wedding ceremony. The pretty dress, the flowers, the beautiful red shoes I had always dreamed of wearing. Yep. I got it all. Even got my dad telling me dirty jokes as we walked down the isle. I laughed my way down the isle to my to my future in the same church that my parents got married in 30 some odd years ago. It was magical and magnificent all at the same time. It was all I had ever wanted.

And, then, well, that ticking clock, it migrated south. Not migrated south in terms of a northern seeking warmer weather. Oh no. I migrated to my uterus. And, it took up residence there. I was the proud owner of my very own tick tocking squatter in my womb. Great. Just what I need. Some days it was almost as if that clock was one of those alarm clocks with a radio - and that it was hosting all night raves with my fallopian tubes. That's how loud my lady parts were about getting the attention they craved.

But, I did finally manage to find the snooze button. I got pregnant shortly after the hubby and I tied the knot. For those 8 months or so we affectionately referred to her as our alien ape baby - alien for not knowing if she was a boy or girl, and ape because she gave me heart burn. Heart burn so bad that it that rivaled the flames of hell. And, at just 36 weeks of incubation she came kicking and screaming into this world. It was as if she couldn't get out fast enough.

And, that clock, it went quiet. For a LONG time. Madaline is a difficult child, a spirited child if you will. Oh...and she screamed. Like a banshee. All. The. Time.Screaming so bad that if you would think we were trying to skin her alive with a rusty spoon. It was awful. I credit the screaming with drowning out the ticking of the clock. It was almost as if it was afraid to be heard. Or perhaps because we got so much more than we bargained for with Madaline, that it was broke.

Until recently. And, it's back. With a vengeance. And, suddenly it feels as if time is passing me by. That's it has all gone by so fast. Too fast sometimes. And, I find myself trying to slow down time. That maybe, just maybe, if I can slow down time, the ticking will stop. The batteries in the clock will die. Because, honestly, we can not afford to indulge this clock. As much as we would both love too, we just can not. And, so I try to do things to run down the clock. I put off potty training, even thought I think she was ready a LONG time ago. My 2 1/2 year old baby still sleeps in a crib. I keep her nuks hidden in our junk drawer as I just can't bear the thought of throwing them away. I ache for my baby. Just a little more time with my baby.

And, yet, the more I treasure each of these moments, the more I savor them and let my heart soak them in, that louder the clock gets. The ticking. And the tocking. That is the sounds that I hear the most. Not Madaline's sweet voice or her infectious giggle. All I hear is ....tick tock, Tick TOCK, TICK TOCK. And finally I realized - each day that passes, each day that my baby gets older, the louder that tick tock becomes. At least it seems that way.

And, sadly, right now, the sound of my clock is so deafening - its all I can hear.