The final nail in the coffin

I have to apologize for not writing lately. When your husband comes homes after being gone for months you normally want to do other things besides write including but not limited to having sex, having him mow the lawn, have sex, have him take care care of the tree that fell during a storm, have sex, have him fix your headlight, and have sex. These chores needed to be attended to in a timely manner. Man, I'm surprised I didn't end up at the doctor with a UTI. I was mainlining cranberry juice there at the end of his leave period to be on the safe side.

The one thing that has consistently surprised me during this whole deployment is how I've connected with other women and become more domestic. I am cooking and cleaning; being a good little wife and mother. It is so creepy and scary that I almost looked in the phone book to see if there was a listing for Father Murphy. I could just give him a call and he could perform an exorcism on me. Picture the scene--I'm writhing on the bed with is made up in a beautiful sage duvet cover, projectile vomiting cake batter, and instead of the Devil spewing Latin invectives you would hear Martha Stewart's voice explaining how to make a delectable sweet potato pie for Thanksgiving. I might even be able to sell tickets.

Now I was already concerned about this mutability in my personality-kind of like a football player who starts to play soccer-it's just not right. Then the other shoe dropped. I started going to sleep at 9:30 -10:00 EVERY night. Every damn night. And...wait for it....because this is why I know I have officially turned into my mother or some other old person......and I am really scared.....I AM WAKING UP EVERY MORNING AT 5:30 AM. What am I, a farmer now? I don't have any fucking cows to milk or rows to hoe!! So I end up making coffee and cleaning out the dishwasher. All Stepford wife things. Coffee is supposed to be made for me damnit; not the other way around. Eric always got up and made me coffee. Now I wake up before him. This may be a sign of the Apocalype. I know a lot of you believe in that even though I don't. It may be time to wear my tinfoil hat-oh wait that was for aliens not rampaging angels. I wonder what kind of hats we wear for them? I will do some investigating. I have plenty of time at the butt crack of dawn.

Losing an old friend

I lost an old friend yesterday. The Starbucks that I have patronized for 7 years was closed in a round of consolidations on Howard Schulz's part. I don't think he realizes how it made me and lots of others who faithfully went there feel.

I am a Starbucks addict. I would drive 10 miles out of my way to go to a Starbucks instead of anywhere else. When I heard that they were closing I immediately do what I do best: I got mad. I wrote and called Starbucks. I wanted to picket but they wouldn't let me. I wanted to start a petition drive to keep it open but was told it would do no good. Maybe it wouldn't have but it would have shown corporate Starbucks in Seattle that there are a lot of little people in little towns who love the people and the product and they should just leave us alone. As a business person I can completely understand why Howard is doing this. They built a big, fancy drive through Starbucks not far away that does a much larger business. They are also building a new one farther down on I-5 that I will just as easily be able to access that will be open in November. That is not the point.

This was a tiny Starbucks that didn't have all the room for the merchandise and huge seating areas. This was a cozy, intimate place where after 7 years I knew everybody that worked there. They knew my car and if they saw me drive up would have my coffee ready. They went through some rough times with me and I them. I heard about school, lovers, parents, and grandparents passing. They heard about Colin getting diagnosed and those trials, Taylor moving into her teens, and the joys and pains of life in the Navy. Most importantly they were a smiling, stable part of my day during the times when I was quite sure I was losing my mind and unsure if I would ever get it back. I spent part of my afternoon there yesterday. I snitched a momento or two. I made sure that they realized how much they meant to me. Then I went home to figure out how I'm not going to instinctually drive there every day.

Where do I apply?

I was flipping through the pay-per-view channels on DirecTV when I saw that they are now offering porn for my viewing pleasure. Not just any porn mind you, but such treats as "Cherry Butt Blossoms" and "Busty Backdoor Beauties". I decided right then and there I need to quit my job and become the person who comes up with the titles to porn movies. Have you seen some of these titles? Pink-The Other White Meat, Amateur Sex Kittens: Muff Munch, and Tapping Fresh Tail. I could do this. We could have some military ones like Naughty Navy Mamas or Haze Gray-I've got your meat. For us older gals Amateur Pole Dancers: Muffin Top Munch or Sagging Jugs. My personal favorite is Big Black Ding Dongs and Lick it and Stick it up YOUR Ass.

Do you think I need to finish my English major for this job? Is some guy sitting at a computer with a dictionary thinking "Gee, how can I put wet, kinky sluts together in an alliterative sense that will really appeal to my 18-99 male demographic so they will watch this"? Why aren't they all called Naked Chicks Fucking Each Other and Naked Chicks Fucking an Ugly Guy? There really only needs to be 2 movies. Of course that would put the billion dollar a year porn industry out of business. Don't get me wrong. I love porn. I find it fascinating that the most accurate indicator of a recession in the United States is if the porn industry experiences a significant drop in sales. I wish porn could get a little more creative. How come you never see porn musicals? I'd watch "Grease" as a porn, think of the possibilities. How about "My Fair Cock" or "Pussy on the Roof". Great musicals, great porn!! For you dramatists out there, there's "Phantom of the Boobies" or "The Dick King".

The list is endless. Let's have some fun. Come up with your own and share it with me in the comments.

Instant "Car"ma is gonna get you

I don't believe in vampires, spirits, demons, heaven or hell. I don't believe in past lives or reincarnation. (Although if it exists I want to come back as a house cat). I don't believe in anything supernatural. I tend to believe in things I can see, taste, touch and smell. I believe possiblities exist but until things that can be proven scientifically they are just fun stories and myths to pass the time. However I have always believed in the idea of karma. I believe in the cosmic balance of good and bad. Yesterday got me on the road to believing in past lives and the whole concept of working off bad karma. Many of you know that last month I rear-ended a guy and did $4000 worth of damage to my car. Well last night I hit a deer in the butt. Bitch ran right out in front of me like a toddler chasing a ball. I didn't hurt the deer. It was a doe and she may actually have liked it if she swings that way. She ran away after I hit her but I couldn't exactly follow her in the woods. After I ran the couple errands I had I called Eric and he said the deer should be fine and no, I don't have to report a deer butt hit and run. I didn't check if there was any damage because I wasn't going that fast and the deer was pretty small. Then I looked this morning. OMG!!! Who did I piss off in a previous life?



Can you see the deer butt hair? What you can't see is the fact that my headlights are pushed back and that the housing is cracked. Damn deer. I hope it gets shot. Oh, don't get all PETA on me. The stupid thing had some suicide wish anyhow, jumping in front of my car. So I think I'm going to see a psychic and see what I should do about this. Maybe I need to cover all of my bases. Do a couple of Hail Mary's, make a trip to Mecca, speak in tongues, handle poisonous snakes, go to the Wailing Wall, become some guys 8th wife, wear magic underwear, chant, work a spell, meditate. I think that about covers it. At least I don't have to work for the rest of the week. This may take awhile. Let me know if you have any other suggestions. I could use them. Next time it could be an elk. We had two in the field last week and they were eyeing up my car.

Even my ovaries didn't care

I was at work yesterday when this guy comes in to pick up a book titled Call of Duty. The author is a local man who served with the Band of Brothers. Anyway I brought up that my husband was in the Navy like I always do. I am very proud of Eric. Well this man whips out a "Veterans for McCain" business card and invites us to a rally. Yeah I'll be there with bells on. I explain that I am not voting for McCain and as I try to continue speaking he interupts and says "Well I know your husband is". Then he goes on and on about his Russian wife (did he get her out of a mail order catalog?) just had to hear about abortion and gay marriage to know McCain was the perfect man for president. WTF? He tells me all about how their child is an IVF baby and he KNOWS life begins at conception. He told me he knows more about hormones, menstual cycles, and ovaries too. Again WTF? I'm sorry but we are in a public bookstore. I don't want you to share personal details of your life with me. It was probably your tard sperm that couldn't do the job. That should have told you something right there. Nature didn't want you to breed. I mean really people. Why would this guy feel it necessary to share these thoughts with a complete stranger in a store full of complete strangers? And let me tell you his voice was not an indoor voice. I almost said Colin be quiet just out reflex. It is amazing to me the amount of personal information some people are willing to put out to public. I am sure you have all been in a situation where you have met that type of person that after 15 minutes you know WAY too much about them already. Seriously I don't want to know you that well yet. I don't need to be your bestest friend right off the bat. I like to get to know people gradually. It's fun uncovering the little idiosyncracies about my friends at odd times. Those times help build memories. So please people, for the love of all that is good in the world keep your personal stuff to yourself and do not tell it to the world. At the very least do not tell it to a certain bookseller at a Borders in Burlington.

Come on over

After three incredibly delicious mojitos at Krusty's, sorry I mean Kristy's last night I caved in and booked a Pampered Chef party. It will be October 27 at 5:00 pm. Children are welcome and I will have dinner for all including the kids. This is to induce you to drive all the way up to Sedro-Woolley. The other inducement is the fact that, wait for it, Eric will home and I would like a house full of women and children for his evening entertainment. This is going to be a riot. Eric will love to play to host to all the ladies and will grin and bear all the children. The kids can go downstairs in the rec room and Taylor can watch them plus we have DVD's, toys, the Wii, etc. I really hope everybody can come. This should be a memorable occasion for all. This is first time I am entertaining so be a part of my inaugural event. Eva was a fabulous consultant last night and I am sure she will be even better for me because she like me better that Kristy : ) I really hope everybody can make it.

Don't Taylor's teachers know who I am?

I had to go to Taylor's open house last night at Cascade Middle School in lovely Sedro-Woolley. For those of you who may not know, Sedro-Woolley is the "Gateway to the Cascades". This isn't saying much since the Cascades are full of crazy animals, pissed that we've overrun their habitat and crazy mountain people, pissed that we're still using electricity.

The format for the open house is that you go to each period of your child's day, staying approximately 10 minutes when an obnoxious bell goes off signaling the next class. You then have the same time to get to the next period as your child does. Screw that!! I did not come to run around campus. In fact I do not run anywear unless it is around Target the day after Thanksgiving ripping sale items out of slower people's hands. Taylor has a couple wonderful teachers this year. Her English teacher is named Mr. Dohrman. Mr. Dohrman is graying prematurely but it's that sexy silvery gray and he looks like a cross between Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart. Mr. Dohrman is HOT!! I volunteered to be a helper in his class. ( If I'm a cougar with young guys what am I called with guys my age? Just desperate? Boy, Eric needs to come home and grow out his hair. ) Taylor's Algebra teacher, Mr. Braun, is the typical dorky math teacher. Do they come in any other flavor? He has spent 32 years teaching math. I believe his pocket protector is permanent and his dick has shriveled and fallen off. What disappointed me most was was the amount of teachers teaching to the WASL. When I tried to talk about this I was politely ignored. I had even raised my hand and everything!! Well I am not used to being ignored. It just doesn't sit well with me. The PE teachers have to bring reading and math into PE now. Seriously? You're shitting me right? It's PE for gods sake. I was so stunned I couldn't even say anything at the time. At the end I tried to voice my concerns, in a calm, reasonable manner, only to be told that the school's hands were tied. This is coming down from the state. Well the state can kiss my big, fat, white ASS. Don't they know who I am? No Child Left Behind my ass. Bush was left behind and he became president. I am not having Taylor take the 8th grade WASL this year. As a parent I can not have her take it. Since we are transferring, what is the point? My biggest concern right now is wondering whether she will get enough of a competive 8th grade curriculum. I am worried that wherever we end up transferring to she will be stuggling in 9th grade.

I remember junior high school being a time of wonder where I discovered what would become lifetime passions for me in learning: history and english. I remember standardized testing only as an annoying time that was a necessary evil. My teachers, some young and old, some good and bad all shared one common denominator that I remember. They had a real passion for the teaching. They enjoyed bringing the knowledge they had to us. Maybe it was just me. I loved school and still do. I love learning new things. I demand that somebody in a teaching role love what they do; otherwise why do it?

I know this is rambling. I experienced so many conflicting thoughts last night. I left with one overriding goal. I will give my daughter and son the best education I possibly can whether that be in a public or private classroom or it be in one in my own home, after the school day is over. After all, my children deserve the best I can give them.

I had no idea.....

I have had an inkling for a while now that I changed a lot in the past few years but I never knew how great my early 40's would be until yesterday. Yesterday was the very epitome of drama. Let's take a look at that word. Drama...I used to live for it in my 20's. I craved chaos like it was a drug. Drama kept me going and kept me in a spotlight. Drama got me attention. I was also quite irresponsible and that is drama's best friend. Other people's drama was just as good; I could come to the rescue of my friends and save the day. I also looked like quite the normal person and when you are pretty screwed up that is just a bonus. After I got married the drama wasn't quite as fun. The addiction had its' hold though. This is my version of chaos theory. Lots of drama and chaos plus the high you get from all of the action/attention/disruption it creates is my chaos theory. When you get that taste of chaos and drama in your life it can be awfully hard to give up. However I married a man who didn't understand the chaos theory. He didn't understand the meaning of drama. Add to this he was rapidly rising in the Navy and the Navy DOES NOT LIKE DRAMA. So I did what addicts do, I hid my drama by lying and covering up. Soon though I had children, a great job, a husband I adored and the drama was really becoming a burden. The problems I could create or become a part of in my life just enhanced in me an area of immaturity. An insecure, unconfident women who didn't embrace who she really was and had a hard time admitting she needed help. My mid to late 30's were hell. Eric should be given a medal for putting up with me through those years. Then one day, in my 40th year on this planet I woke up and ever so subtly started living my life responsibly and without giving a shit about anyone else's opinion. See, drama feeds off of irresponsiblity and other people's opinion's. If other people do not care then drama starves and dies. If you are a stand up person then you do not create drama in the first place. Once I decided I no longer cared what other people thought about what I looked like, weighed, said, thought, wore, how I raised my children, if I believed in God, the war or Bush, or whether I wore panties or not I was completely liberated on a level that is second only to nirvana. My marriage went through a rebirth that some can only get by going through therapy. I am a much better parent. I am happier more often. I still have my ups and downs. That is after all the definition of my manic depression. Financial responsiblity will forever be the monkey on my back. However I have a more vested interest in taking care of myself that I have never had before. I take care of me for me. I try to stay away from situations where the chaos theory is alive and well. I want to now. It keeps the drama out of my life. For the first time I'm happy to say that I'm just to old for that shit.