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 |   Life is rough...I have to write it out. |
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I start blogs.....I neglect blogs....I abandon blogs. I start blogs.....I neglect blogs....I abandon blogs. I started this blog....I loved this blog....I abandoned this blog. I started this blog....I loved this blog....I abandoned this blog. I guess it is a good thing I didn't actually hold my breath. |
| Today we discovered that Kid A and I have 1403 DVD’s between us. That’s too many. Is that too many? Does that number exist? Books, movies, purses…..infinite allowance if you ask me. My 729 DVDs are currently in alphabetical order. I am considering watching them from #-Z. (Yes, yes. I understand my number ones are at the beginning. Yes, yes. I understand that most often the numbers come after the A-Z. Yes, Yes. I understand they are mine…do you?) P.S. I am not at all ashamed that this all means Kid A has 674 DVDs. Rock yourself a collection Little Mama.
Day 8 Prompt: The Sunday News! Pick a random article from the headlines and talk about it. Share your opinions and feelings about it. Encourage a conversation. http://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/snow-wars-cleveland-area-neighbors-battle-ov... I love this story. I love that asshole. Did you grab him? Yeah I did. Awesome. I love that he purposefully got out his snow blower for this. I love that he doesn’t give a fuck if everyone saw or what they think. I ADORE the literal icy wall of hatred that mother fucker purposefully constructed. That is amazing. However, under NO circumstances would a neighbor grab me, demand anything from me, negate my progress, or any of that jerk-off shit and I just would just go on home. That asshole would never have been able to build that wall. For every shovel of snow he threw on I would remove one. I would have hooked one of those plow attachments to my riding lawnmower and plowed my entire lawn onto his. The sheer headiness of my satisfaction would have been enough to power the mower, while petty childishness fueled my behavior. I would have filled his sidewalk and driveway with angry snowmen. Blocked his front door with a pyramid of snowballs. Built a huge wall blocking the end of his driveway. Whatever I chose would be accompanied by a nonstop soundtrack of Let it Go, because of all the amazing ways it applies. So many fun possibilities. Sorta makes me wish I had the opportunity to do so. Sorta makes me wanna pick a neighbor fight. |
Day 7 Prompt: Where is Waldo? He is with Carmen Sandiego and I am pretty sure they have the beef. The true answer goes a little something like this: He is in town, on the beach, at the ski slopes, a camp site, the railway station, an airport, a sports stadium, the museum, at sea, a safari park, a department store, and the fairground. He could be with Hoffa, Elvis, and Tupac. Together they have wooed the natives with a rap convincing them to not only add hip thrusts to their ceremonies but to unionize as well. Where is Waldo in this plan? Well they don’t know either. Clearly there is only one answer though. That fucker is always in the last place you look. I prefer, though, to think he has gone wherever the rest of the shit I have lost went. A circus tent (to ease his ability to blend in) filled with all manner of things. The Carnival of the Vanished. Dreams I have lost both rational and not….there is a ballerina skeason as well as an ice cream scooper skeason. There is a teacher skeason as well as an editor skeason. There is a mountain of socks, pens, lighters, and tubes of chapstick. Marbles everywhere. Everywhere. My sanity departed for this place so long ago and together with my innocence, optimism, trust, and empathy, they make up a gooey choking atmosphere. Loves that are better off there than having never been at all. Time. So much functional and emotional time. Games of Monopoly, Mouse Trap, Chutes and Ladders, Sorry, Rack-O, Euchre, Gin, Spades, and thousands upon thousands of levels of Mario, Sonic, Tom Sawyer… rounds of Tiger Woods, Mike Tyson, Mortal Kombat. My lunch money. My self. My voice. My sight. So much of my patience is there. Battles, wars, and bets. Drinks, sacks, cigarettes. Some of my self-respect yet an enormous amount of my interest. 200 of my pounds are there; in two separate piles (too bad they took my tits with them.) Hair and skin. Face. Opportunities. Chances. More and more of my sleep. Definition, delineation, momentum. Small moments. Memories. Money. And an alarming amount of trains powered by thought. I always wanted to go there and get my shit back but….have you seen the map? |
| Funny Friday. Funny Friday. Funny Friday. So I am bitching to Husband A about Funny Friday and I say what I always say, “Who can be funny on purpose?” And he says, “Comedians. And comedian you are not.” Right?!? I do not hesitate to agree. I say, “My funny posts are probably the ones that are,” he interrupts by finishing my sentence with “bitchy.” I laugh and comment how they just need to rename this Bitchy Friday because that’s the only way I can be funny and he says, “Yeah, because they think you are kidding.” And we laugh. So that is the funny for my Friday.
Day 6 Prompt: Funny Friday! The "How To" article is a staple of popular magazines. We don't always need informative-yet-boring "How To" articles...what we sometimes need is "How NOT To" advice. Try to make us laugh and tell us a good way of not doing something. How Not To Follow the Prompt in Two Steps Begin by thinking hard about how you are just not really feeling this prompt. Think hard about how that is the point. Decide to follow the prompt, sorta. Lastly, write about something that has nothing to do with what was asked of you. For example: Can anyone reading this draw? I have two things to ask but only one at a time. If I had a list of like….five to seven items is there anyone that could (and would be willing to) draw them into one simple integrated picture and email it to me? |
| Jesus. Kid A & B are both sick again. I am beginning to wonder if we are either A) cursed or B) living in an environment that is harmful in some way. Or maybe just….not helpful. This was the pediatrician's last time to be allowed to tell me that all kids are sick right now. I am not stupid. I do not call the doctor often. However…all kids might be sick right now. Have all kids been sick since December 7th? Do you understand what I am saying to you? In two fucking days Kid A will have been sick for 90 days. 90 mother fucking days. We have had enough amoxicillin. We don’t give a fuck what is going around school or town. We couldn’t give a shit how many kids have presented with the same symptoms this week. My child – yes THIS one, this one you are supposed to be focusing on now – she has been sick for 88 days. And yet, at the end of the day the real question is this….why in the fuck has it taken me so long to decide he is out of chances? That is not like me. Not at all. This man also knows that though, as I demanded she be treated two instances in the past and ended up being correct. So, that means what? It’s me that doesn’t know me? That blows. What the fuck is wrong with me? Don’t I understand what is being said? In two fucking days Kid A will have been sick for 90 days. 90 mother fucking days. She has had enough amoxicillin. She doesn’t give a fuck what is going around school or town. She couldn’t give a shit how many kids have presented with the same symptoms this week. Your child – yes THIS one, this one you are supposed to be focusing on now – she has been sick for 88 days.
Day 5 Prompt: Do you believe in miracles? Why, or why not? I believe things happen that are out of our control and sometimes they are good. I believe the universe has her blueprint for the big picture. Some of it is good. I believe we are not the biggest force upon life. And some of them are good. I believe some things will never be explained. And some of those things are good. I believe that we force the unexplained into a definition. That is never good. I believe that so much is fucking awful that some people latch on to the good, and that is bad. I did not believe I was able to have children. Then came a tiny little surprise that actually saved my life. She is stubborn as hell and I always picture a little egg with claws hanging on for dear life. That doesn’t make her a miracle. It makes doctors wrong. It makes me lucky, not because she exists, but because of the way she exists. So no, I guess I don’t. |
Day 4 Prompt: Name a time when you broke a rule or law. Did you get caught, or did you get away with it? While I generally tend to bend the rules, and have been known to break some laws, here are the ones that I have broken recently: In Indiana it is illegal to bathe between the months of October and March. I have broken this law 155 times since 2014 alone. Man – what the fuck does it mean if I washed, rinsed, and repeated? In Indiana you get 100 floggings for forging a check. I have forged many checks. I have, and still do, sign my mom’s name to checks like it’s nothing. I have even forged some in my younger days that were not my mother’s. So there’s all those floggings I have earned....may I please please choose who administers this bad girl beating? In Indiana you are not allowed to back into a parking spot because the police cannot easily see your license plate. What?!?! Don’t they know that is WHY I reverse into spots? Indiana is a no blow job state. Whoops. I would ask what the punishment is for this one but my mouth is full. In Indiana, anyone 14 or older who profanely curses, damns or swears by the name of God, Jesus Christ or the Holy Ghost, shall be fined one to three dollars for each offense, with a maximum fine of ten dollars per day. Unfortunately, since “Jesus Christ” is one of my favorite ways to express anger, disgust, rage, sadness, distrust, disbelief, everything – and because I say “God” in at least half of all my spoken sentences…..well I owe the state of Indiana $80,630. I’d work it off but blow jobs are illegal. A three dollar fine per pack will be imposed on anyone playing cards in Indiana under the Act for the Prevention of Gaming. I dunno…I’d prefer to play the 49ers, but hey, that’s me. In Indiana it is against the law to pass a horse in the street. Does that mean….pass like two ships in the night? Or pass like speed up or get off the road? It doesn’t matter. I have done both. Now….the horse’s ass I pass in my house every day….that one is its own punishment. Pedestrians crossing the highway at night are prohibited from wearing tail lights. That’s okay. Everyone with access to my tail can find their way in the dark. |
Day 3 Prompt: Seeing as how it's only the 3rd, I don't think it's fair to do an actual "Two-Fer Tuesday" prompt. Instead, pump your own tires...share with us an item of yours that you're especially proud of. Bonus points for today if you choose to review one of your fellow challengers' items (and you submit the review using the Invalid Review tag in your entry). It's like a "community spirit" thing! Let’s talk for a second about this: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/03/02/lawyer-killing-gays-sodomite-suppressio... Have you ever seen anything so despicable, so contemptible, so egregiously Neanderthal? And if you say that the above thing is…..not any of those descriptors OR his right to express his opinion freely OR the truth in God’s eyes OR anything that might add the tiniest bit of credence to that foolishness then get the fuck out of here. Go on….git. Can you imagine a world where …..people are authorized to kill homosexuals? Just any person. All you have to do is wait a year. Just sit back and stalk their ass for a year to make sure they don’t touch a single person or sprinkle an innocent passerby with their transformation dust. Then after that year, when the government has failed to take this person’s life, you are allowed to do so without consequence. Without liability. I can imagine this world. My small town would change NONE if this was happening here. If this became law…all that would change is that in a year there would be no more homosexuals here. I wish I could say that people’s opinions would become stronger, that without liability these people would suddenly reveal the true depths of their bigotry, but unfortunately that is not something they hide to begin with. You can see right down to the purgatorial prejudice that has liquefied in their black souls. This town would EMBRACE this law. I, with all honesty, know, I personally KNOW, within the ….18 mile boundaries of this town… so many people who would take this upon themselves. Fucking disgusting. Then there is me. What would happen to me? It is not even a case of keeping my opinions to myself…hiding it like Nazis are coming to the door and shit…because I have made my opinions on this matter abundantly clear…to pretty much every person in those same boundaries. I am telling you with 100% certainty that I would need to leave immediately. Like….grab your go bag under the cover of darkness and flee. That is scary. And also makes me proud. This town is awful. I have witnessed some terrifyingly racist attacks in this town. I have stood against this town from the moment I have had a stand. Kid A stood in one of their more revered churches and stood against this town. It, of course, frightens me for Kid A and Kid B, for us to be the ones the town would take a stand against, but goddamn if there was ever a time to be on the right fucking side…at any age. This man is asking people to sanctify murder because of love. Are you fucking kidding me? Some people are going to side with this idiocy and that is scarier than the villagers with their torches. And that is why I am sharing something from not too long ago. Something most of you have seen and though it is not the entry I am proud of, the content is another matter. And it is very relevant to me since this fucking fool has pissed me off. "Invalid Entry"  |
Day 2 Prompt: WILDCARD MONDAY!! March comes in like a lion, and goes out like a lamb (or vice/versa). What are you most looking forward to this spring? I punched something today. It is the second time I have punched someone/thing in my whole life. I am violent – very violent. But I am not really a fair fighter due to the fact that the big bad wolf could blow me down. So punching someone with all my strength behind it may not do too much. I have perpetrated physical violence on people before, just not a punch. I wish someone tiny would pick on me in some unforgivable way so I could knock their ass out. Many moons ago, when I was a young’n in college, maybe 20 or 21….I had a little purple-maroonish Probe. I loved it. It was a junker and it had a name that I shall not reveal, and I loved it. I mean…I loved it. On my way to school I could tell that she was….not at her best… but we had a power-through agreement. She tried….she gave it all she could, but she needed to rest and she needed to do it approximately 20 yards from the parking space. It’s summer and it’s fucking hot and I get out and start pushing my Probe. I know how shitty everyone was that I am taking up all that space in the aisle but tough shit. Then, because I was well acquainted with pushing her, I started to park that bitch. And just like yesterday people were walking by and driving by bitching rather than helping. However, right about then this asshole comes by. Not in his car….noooooo…he had already driven past me – parked his car – and was now walking by me. He decided that this was a good time to comment that I was in the way. To which I responded “fuck you” and he stops walking. This was all I needed. Bring it on mother fucker – what are you going to do? Are you going to fight with a girl in the parking lot of school? Let’s do it then because I am fucking angry to begin with. Don’t fuck with the pissiness that builds when pushing a car with spectators. He turns, looks at me, and dares to say that he thinks the real problem is that I don’t know how to drive a stick. I was done. It was over. I just walked over and punched him in the face. Some people laughed, I made it to class on time…all was well. Asshole. Not only did you fucking look idiotic in front of everyone but your nose is now bleeding. Not to mention...do you see me pushing this fucking thing INTO a parking spot?? I am doing something awesome here….come on over and get punched in the face. Today I punched a wall. I punched a hole in the wall. It was considerably less fun, as this is my own wall and the only way to fix it now will be ….me. Instant regret rather than satisfaction. Some bullshit. And the reasoning was so petty and dumb. You know those cartoons where everything is teetering in perfect imbalance and then the butterfly lands? That’s what happened to me today. A harmless little butterfly landed and my pile of shit came tumbling down… something knocked a hole in the wall on its way down. I cannot take another fucking butterfly. On the bright side….I AM taking suggestions on how to get my head out of my ass. Which leads me to today’s prompt…. I want some fresh air. I hate spring clothes, I hate spring activities, and I hate the outdoors. Spring and summer are not for me. But the windows at this house are currently sealed shut so not only do we not get to let the breeze blow through but the fire marshal would hate us. We have an old drive-up style joint….the kind where you used to clip the tray to your window. It no longer functions like that but it is still the best place ever. I look forward to that. It opened yesterday in fact. Record breaking opening day apparently – and we had 8.2 inches of snow. The whip of the day was pineapple and people wanted their mother fucking tenderloins and ice cream damnit. Other than that I suppose I could say… I am sooooo looking forward to females of the wrong age wearing clothing made for a doll. I just love to see girls under 15 with their ass cheeks hanging out, and I love to see women over 30 with the same thing going on. Now a female in her twenties with her ass hanging out can be something different altogether. I cannot be the only person who realizes this. Do not dress your children in napkins and when your tits touch your belt try to cover your ass. I can hardly wait until the racial balance of my small town shifts. No longer will we be a town of mostly white Baptists and Methodists. No! The majority that will now rise will be of another ilk. They will come from the land of Coppertone and they will be three varying shades of orange. (I do quite enjoy the satisfying disgust at the fact that these lilly-white bigot assholes now take half the year to turn themselves as dark as they possibly can.) I cannot contain the excitement I feel for Spring Break. Days and nights with a clone of myself who sneaks in at night and completes a few more stitches in the reattaching of her umbilical cord. And since we do a “balanced calendar” I have wet panties over the fact that it will last two weeks. Two mother fucking weeks, which will end with the destruction of all anti-separation anxiety progress we have clawed our way through. I can hardly wait to celebrate a holiday usurped by Christians without even a what up nod. Although, this cottontail could use some peter. |
Day 1 Prompt: The Sunday News: Pick a random article from the headlines and talk about it. Share your opinions and feelings about it. Encourage a conversation. Today, instead of languishing the day away in a monkey’s bar, kid B and I spent the day in a ditch. I didn’t get to submit my final entry, I didn’t get to pick up kid A on time, I didn’t get to get my fucking hash browns because I spent the whole of Hardee’s breakfast hours….in a fucking ditch. I can drive a car. I can drive a car in snow. I can drive a car on ice. I can most certainly, without question, drive a car on the road rather than in the field. I promise I can do it; I live where I live and this dictates an ability to drive in all conditions. I have been operating a motor vehicle for quite some years now, and never once I have found that I am not sure which surface I am supposed to be driving on. So to all the people I spoke to today that felt that I must have idiotically steered into the ditch because A) I am a woman combined with B) the snow…I have a big fuck you for you. Also fuck you to all the other people who watched me try to dig out the car, create traction, push the car, maneuver the car…especially those three mother fuckers who were snow blowing their driveways and stopped moving to stare at me… standing at the end of their goddamn driveways with their snow blowers shooting their loads onto the neighbor’s driveway just staring down at me. In case me flipping you off didn’t clue you in, you can suck a dirty dick. That’s it… you’ve got it… allllll the way down. Then when it all culminated in tears from me AND kid B, screaming from one of us (I will let you decide), and no more cat litter, energy to dig, or ideas….I fucking wiped out like I had been practicing that shit. Bam! Hilarious. Awful. It was cold. Very cold. But not this cold: http://www.today.com/news/frozen-slurpee-waves-photographed-coast-nantucket-2D80...|http://www.today.com/news/frozen-slurpee-waves-photographed-coast-nantucket-2D80... This is some amazing shit. I love it. Beautifully perfect waves advancing on the shore. And to describe them as slushy…that’s great. I wanna swim in some slushy ass waves. But really….more than anything…I wanna kick one. A full body, for the gooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaallll, fucking kick. Right in the center. |
Blogapocalypse Prompt one: You are an ant. You look like an ant. You live in an ant colony with other ants. You think like an ant, and you do whatever it is that ants do everyday. There is one difference though... You will have to write a blog entry like an ant. The prompt is...What do I like/hate about being an ant. Oh, and one more thing... Write all of your responses to any other blog prompts you write on, from an ant's point of view. Don't forget! You're an ant! Let me tell you something. I am getting really sick and tired of slaving away, day in and day out, trying to move this fucking rubber tree plant. It doesn’t goddamn matter if we have apple pie or how far up I look, this shit is hopeless. I mean come on…just because we hear some stupid rumor about an ant that was knocking them down right and left doesn’t mean we need to do it too. It may not even be true. What if it is nothing but some dumb motivational rumor made up by that bitch. Doesn’t she just think she’s queen of it all? Not one of us has moved a single goddamn rubber tree yet. Not one. I am a strong mother fucker ya know? I can lift some shit. I can drag a dead comrade while I balance rations on my back, but a rubber tree plant?!?! I think we need to inject some realism up in this colony… let it begin to freely flow through the corridors because we are laboring under a misguided notion. And that’s why I have decided we need to unite. Let’s Hoffa this shit and demand some things. We are the many, the rest can’t survive without the small workers, and it is up to us to show them that. If anyone wants to come to my room and make signs, I have the 117th alcove in tunnel 511 but tomorrow morning, do not try to move the rubber tree plant!! Any one of us could have become queen if we had been shown special attention! We deserved the same attention as any other larvae!! Fuck this bullshit – I’m making a real speech…..guys…form a ladder for me to climb… My fellow ants, the rubber tree moving industry in which you are spending your very short lives and your little-to-no substance, and in which future larvae will spend their very short lives and their little-to-no substance, is the only industry in the whole length and breadth of this colony that is not unionized. Therefore, that bitch is free to enslave you, to lie to you, to eat you and to take away from you what is rightfully yours – larval attention, safety from consumption, a real reason to work. I would urge you to stop them by coming over to hole 117 in tunnel 511 and pick up a W.A.U. card and sign it. (My apologies to Norma Rae) |
Day 26 Prompt: Write to the senses of taste, smell, sight, and texture... Make and serve us a sample of your favorite drink, be it what may. I love this unofficial month challenge. I love its chaotic nature. I just do what I am told. Recently I mentioned to Charlie ~   that I NEVER give a picture on these types of websites. The anonymity is an enormous part of the appeal. Now I am being asked for one. Dilemmas, dilemmas. The fucking first world problems that run rampant throughout my life. Write to the senses, huh. While I know it is not exactly what was meant, I went this way: Dear Smell… If I have 13 Scentsy warmers lit then why do I still only smell diapers and litter box? I have emptied them both….let it go already. Love, skeason Dear Taste and Texture… What the fuck is with you and gravy. Get with melted cheese, work some shit out and get back to me. Love skeason Dear Touch… Yarn. Fuck you and yarn. One day I will defeat you, I am campaigning against yarn as we speak. Love skeason Dear Vision… I am gonna need to see a lot more of Joe Manganiello, Mr. Scott*, and Keira Knightley. I would prefer to see less of that kid at the grocery store that needs to brush his teeth but thinks I want to kiss him. Talk to the CEO of olfactory about selectivity. Love, skeason Dear Hearing… The nonstop talking, whining, crying, bitching, moaning, needing, wanting, screaming, lying, singing, persuading, pleading…man your new earrings are pretty though. Love, skeason Oh and P.S. ….as tons of redneck hicks, many porcelain gods, and quite a few Mexican waiters understand – my favorite liquid refreshment is easily pineapple juice and vodka. Not that I won’t mix vodka with anything. And I am talking some cheap ass vodka- the ones that start out tasting like the good ones do when they are a little too old. I want some Stoli in my Dole and nothing else will do. Pineapple juice is so thin…so close to the thickness of the vodka there is no sip where one liquid has changed the consistency of the other. And I choose the vodka because it holds notes of….. who the fuck am I kidding?!?!? I don’t drink vodka because of my refined palette picking up on tiny inconsistencies within the soil of the farm where a tyolka is a vodkoi whore. Please. I drink Stoli (because, let us be honest, my favorite would be a shot of vodka but who can go to the bar and knock back shots? I do nothing in moderation and would fucking give the bartender the deed to my house by the end of the night. Close out my tab good man.) Anyway…I drink cheap vodka because it tastes like fire, it goes down like fire, it stays like fire, and it doesn’t take long before you’re toasted. (HA! Yep. Check out that cheesy ass shit I just did.) It smells exactly like it feels and that’s okay. I can hardly get a shot of whisky down because of the smell. Some people hold their nose and jump in the pool. Some people hold their nose and take their medicine. I have to hold my nose to shoot some Jack. Not some Stoli. Not some Dark Eyes. Not some Absolut. Plus…look at it sitting down there looking all like a shot of water and shit…no psych out there. Ahhhh...fuck it. Scrap the juice and line ‘em up. * (Mr. Scott is a dad from school. He sleeps around and despite knowing his first name I find it much more pleasing to refer to him as Mr. Scott. He has served me well in the past (if only) by allowing me an escape. If he gets up and leaves a function that I am dying to get away from, I simply turn to the annoying person who won’t let me go and say, “Sorry but I have to follow my man,” and then I get up and leave. It works, and it makes people talk shit…which I also enjoy. Another hash mark in the pro Mr. Scott column is that at a School Improvement Board meeting he made consistent and witty NWA jokes with me. He had me at..."New goal for next year? Fuck tha police." Oh shit - did you feel my heart skip a beat again just now?)
We have a new radio station that is calling itself “Classic Hip-Hop”. That would be (and honestly – it IS) awesome, except it features songs from my young adulthood. What the fuck? I am not classic. When I was young and we listened to classic rock stations the songs were all from my parents childhood but back then they seemed ancient. Didn’t matter if they were good or not…they were so damn old…or so it seemed. These are the same songs I think of as classic rock now. 60’s and 70’s is still classic rock (in both meanings of the word classic) to me. Is there a station out there somewhere playing rock songs from my young adulthood and calling it classic rock? It’s all wrong. Not that I am not enjoying the new station. It’s just that when someone mentions…say the 80’s….. I automatically think that it has been like….20 years or so. Wrong! So so so wrong! This song for today…this was 32 years ago!! Am I about to become an antique? Better yet….at what age do I actually get to become the old woman whose music collection includes The Chronic and can still get down perfectly to Lodi Dodi or Havin Thangs? I want to be that old woman bad. Age….70? Do I need the physical look more than the number? Does my hair need to be gray and my face more wrinkles than actual face? Do I need to push a walker over to hit play on the Do or Die? It doesn’t matter how….it’s gonna be awesome. Maybe I can embarrass a grandkid or two. Maybe Husband A will choreograph a little humiliation with me. [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] |
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