Offer Me Candy, I Will Get In Your Van

Okay, so I totally forgot to tell you about the shower weekend.

How could I be so silly?

There are several parts to this story.

I will try to keep it short.

Let's get the drama out of the way to explain the EXTREME awkwardness that was said weekend.

My Grandma and my Pap got divorced like 3,000 years ago. She holds a bit of a grudge. He's passed away, but that doesn't stop her from not letting go of that. My Aunt was there. The women on one side of my family can only be explained by an analogy. When you interact, at first you are like, they aren't so bad! Liz totally exaggerates. Then, you start watching and taking in the sites and discussions. The passed glances of superiority. Then, it turns on you and you feel the cold stare of judgement mixed with hell raising fire and Carrie style pig blood coming at you. If there is a hell I would choose it over pissing off those women. Which I did. Over a few posts I made on this blog, that they read out of context, and tried to start shit with my Mom and me. Tried to make me feel guilty for an ONLINE DIARY. This was a big family weekend for the shower, so all but one of those women showed up. I felt like I was trying not to piss off a box of bees on their period.

I will come back to the discussion I had with my mom before I left NC.


Now, I get to my sister's house where I am staying for this short trip to Ohio. (thank goodness) I unpack a bit and get myself unwound and whatnot. We then pack up and head to my Mom and Dad's house for "Dinner." My Mom is a BALLER cook. It's where I learned my awesome ways. We get there, and she says to me, my sister, and her husband, "Well since you guys are late, you can eat in the kitchen." My Mom, Dad, 2 Grandmothers, a Step Grandfather, and an Aunt all ate at the dining room table while the three of us ate in exile. The meal was frozen crab cakes, baked potato, and canned corn. My big weekend at home, celebrating the newest addition to our family, and I am exiled to the loser table in kitchen town, and didn't even get a home cooked meal. Oh well, it saved me from having to make awkward small talk with the bees.

Next night rolls around. We go to dinner. At a place that I like. No one else did apparently.

The shower itself was awesome. My sister did an insanely good job. Everything at the shower was PERFECT. My Mom was the "Director of Events." It was entertaining to see her in this role.

 I think spoke 5 words to the bees. The bees did give me generous gifts. I assume, it was to try to say we are sorry we are bees. In all honesty, I know they can't change who they are at this point. It is what it is. I love my Mom but she can be a lot to take at times. I have the right to talk about it. This offends their demure sensibilities.

They are purple, and I am pine cones.

It's as simple as that.

So back to the conversation I had with my Mom before I left. I wanted this to be the parting of the post.

So, it's getting to be leaving time from here in NC. To the best of my ability I will try to recant the conversation. This is NOT an exaggeration. This is the real deal. 

Mom: When you get into Cleveland, where are you going to meet your father?

Me: I figured I would meet him at baggage claim.

Mom: Ohhhh. Ummmmmm. I think he should try to meet you at the gate.

Me: I doubt he will be able to get to the gate. It's best I just meet him at baggage.

Mom: No. I really don't like that, but I guess it's going to have to do. Now Liz, when you get off the plane...don't talk to anyone. Don't let anyone try to convince you to follow them to meet your Dad or anyone else. 

Me: Well, I planned on going with the first person to offer me candy.

So there you have it. My mom sees me as a pregnant 6 year-old. Sweet. If you have balloon, puppies, and a rapist van I am all yours. A sizable trunk and some of those Dove chocolates would probably work too. Oooohhhhh or donuts. I will totally follow you out of an airport for donuts. 

My Mom needs to lay off the Dateline. 

The Houdini Of Dogs

Last week I kicked a pit bull with scabies in the face.

I've had a serious case of the blooples ever since.

It's my body's own way of dealing with stress.

When I was in college, my roommates all went on spring break. Everyone except for me. My mom told me I would have to move home if I went, because she wasn't paying for me to go on vacation from my "tough life" to contract hepatitis from drunk college boys in Cabo San Lucas. Our landlord and his family also went on vacation that week. I offered to watch his dog. The landlord had a daughter that lived in our house as well...and wellllll let's just say he was a bit "off." Their dog looked like a mini black lab. Her name was Sadie. Sadie was beyond sweet, but she had one bad vice. She was a darter. You open a door and BAM! Off to the races.

I stayed in a college town during the week of spring break. It was beyond Scooby Doo ghost town. Like, cue tumbleweed here. I needed a night out. A friend of mine was in town from OSU, and so he said he would pop over and we could go out for a few drinks. I forgot to mention that I was caring for the Houdini of dogs. He came to the house, and opened the front door. Sadie SHOT THRU front door....and I was up and running right behind her. The few people left at the school were in the glass blowing studio across from my house. They saw me flash past them screaming something along the lines of "SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDDDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" Some claimed to have seen lightning, other said it was a rocket with heels. I smoked a pack a day at this point, and I was running like this was the freakin Olympics. (Keep in mind that I have on "club attire" to go out) It was like 9 at night and I was chasing after this asshole of a dog that was black, in a belly top and heels.

The dog headed toward a shallow patch of woods, and I boldly ran into briars with my belly top on. I wasn't looking where I was going, and WHAM a branch in the eyeball. I wiped the tears away, and realized that the tree kept a keepsake from my eye, my contact. So now I am running, one hand over my one eye, screaming incoherent words in the woods at 9PM. I couldn't see her anywhere....and then she appeared. OUT. OF. NOWHERE. She had somehow gotten behind an 8 ft chain link fence, and was running off into a local neighborhood. Logic played no part in what happened next. Dogs can't climb fences. I didn't think that part through. I decided to climb the fence. I scaled the fence, and got to the top and realized I had just given myself stigmata type wounds on my hands. I had to drop to the other side, and in the process my jean leg caught on the top of the fence and ripped from my crotch to my knee. The fence ended 8 feet to the left. I kept going. I was pouring blood, and then.....SADIE. She was going towards busy streets. I would rather have died in oncoming traffic than face my landlord. He was batshit crazy and may or may not have served time in prison. I wasn't chancing it. She ran off into the neighborhood, and finally I saw her on someone's porch. I threw every piece of deck furniture I could find around that dog to fence her in. I carried that little bitch home, and the minute I got in the door, I put her down, and excused myself to the bathroom, where I threw up in the tub and had blooples. I had to get a tetnus shot the next day. I still have scars on my stomach from that night.

That's how I deal with stress. I get blooples. Terrible, make you cry blooples.

Last week 3 pit bulls came at me while I was walking my 5 and 10 lbs dogs. The guy said, "they don't bite." Right guy. I am going to take your word for it. You have 3 pit bulls. You aren't my definition of trustworthy. Let alone the fact that some lady on this street made small talk with us this summer and said her kid had to have eye surgery because a neighborhood dog bit her kid's face. I'm guessing it was scabie over there. Seriously, the one looked like it had some form of leprosy. So, anyways....they are all coming at me all freaking huge and preggo, and my two very small dogs. I panicked. And gave a size 3 new balance to pit bull face. I have felt bad ever since.

Soooooooo, here I am. My Mother is set to fly in on Thursday, and I am still reeling from the scabies attack, and then another form of stress enters....

I measure my stress levels in weight of poop.

Gotta run. Doodie calls. <- see what I did there?

Puckies

I grew up near a golf course....Wellllll sort of. It was more like a very, very large putt-putt course. If you were half decent at golf, you could drive a ball from one end of the course to the other. Most people that golfed there weren't good. In fact, they were terrible. The course ran the length of a semi-busy street, and golf balls would land on either side of the street. When I was little my Dad used to take me on his bike (with the little kiddie seat on the back) and we would go golf ball hunting. Why? Because it was fun. It was a treasure hunt. What would we do with a bunch of golf balls? We would cut them open. I can tell you what's on the inside of any golf ball from the 1980's. Did you know that some had cement type stuff and then a center made of some plastic with a force field around it that made it impossible to cut thru? (similar to that of a giant gobstopper) Did you know that some had an inner core of a ball bearing and a rubber ball that was wrapped in rubber band material? I did. I don't mean to get all braggy and stuff, but that was pretty awesome.

I used to cry when my Dad would offer to take me on the back of his bike. My Mom didn't like to take me on hers because I apparently did the dead guy lean off the side of the bike and we would tip over. She didn't know I did that on purpose because 1. I had to wear a helmet that had Velcro pieces that cut my face to make it fit and 2. I thought it was entertaining to see her get really mad over this. Riding on the back of Dad's bike was the worst though. He could go fast, and we never tipped, and sometimes he would let me ride without that helmet, but I think we went fast because of jet propulsion. He would FART the WHOLE time! I wasn't a nice kid. I don't blame him. I would fart on me too.

My Dad has perfected what we call "stealth mode." I think he developed this talent out of necessity. He was the ONLY male thing in the house. There were 2 daughters, 2 girl dogs, and my Mom. With that many women, I think I would be inclined to work on my skills. "Stealth Mode" is his crazy ability to come thru a room and come back thru the room the same way. There was a time in between that he went back the other way! I think that's why he likes his comfy sweats and running shoes. They are stealth makers.

During the 80's my Dad had a bought with his cholesterol and weight. To combat the horrible part of getting older he would go jogging. But, being the true inventor that he is, he didn't feel running was enough. He invented a weight belt he would wear while jogging. We will come back to that.

My Dad is a Mechanical Engineer by trade. He knows a lot of stuff about a lot of stuff. During the winter months when we weren't out hunting for golf balls, you could find us in the basement. Dad would be taking car batteries apart, to use the lead from inside of the battery to make "puckies." He would use an acetylene torch, and he would melt down the lead. I would stand beside him during this process. I found it interesting. I was 6 and this was super safe. Ha! It was the 80's we didn't even know about lead paint yet. "Puckies" were a 1/2 measuring cup full of lead with a piece of hangar embedded in the one side of it. That hangar piece allowed him to thread the "puckie" onto a leather belt that he strapped on for his nightly jog. Lead, against skin. Like 20lbs of lead. An ENTIRE leather belt bedazzled with lead 1/2 cups of pure pirate toxin. (it's assumed that's what killed a lot of pirates because their cups and the like were made of lead)


Watching my dad melt lead down in the basement that you got out of car batteries.

That's how I spent the 80's.

How many other people can say they watched their dad's do that?

I will tell you a number.

Zero.

I love my Dad.

No More Kid Gloves

I've decided to take a new approach. The beauty is that my Mom just thinks it's my hormones. She apparently has no internal dialogue, so why should I? I DON'T CARE ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED DURING DANCING WITH THE STARS. PEOPLE HAVE LIVES AND CAN'T WRITE YOU A THANK YOU FOR THEIR BABY ENSEMBLE 2 DAYS AFTER THEY GET IT. PLUS, SHE'S 19 AND JUST HAD A CHILD. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CALM DOWN.

I'm starting to document our conversations. Just the randomness that I deal with. I have to talk to my mom every day. That's how she judges my what I can only assume she calls my "daily fragility." You know, where she decides if today is the day I will off myself. Even though I am now a highly functioning adult, and have been taking care of and dealing with my own mental health for years and I am FINE right now.

The new leaf I have turned over is starting now....No longer will I become irritated over the things she says. Now, I will simply do what I do with every other aspect of my life. I will make it humorous. If there are family members that somehow find this and read it, this is what I have to say to you: YOU DON'T HAVE TO TALK TO HER EVERY DAY!!! I DO!!!! I WILL NOT HANDLE MY OWN MOTHER WITH KID GLOVES. SHE TALKS TO ME LIKE THIS AND TALKS WITH YOU ABOUT ME SO I GUESS I CAN DO THE SAME. DEAL WITH IT. GET OVER IT. IF YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH IT FIND A HOBBY YOU OLD WITCHES. I suggest quilting. Or, not being a bitch. Either one is ok with me.

A week ago I went to the Rodayo. I like them. It is a truly American experience. Plus, it's fun to see some idiot get kicked in the head by a pissed off horse. It's my one exception for being around clowns. When I told my mom I was going, her response was something along the lines of, "Oh they are sooo stinky! How GROSS! I can't believe you are going to sit there in all that filth while you are pregnant!" To which I responded with, "Have you ever been to a Rodeo?" Her response. "No." Then, just to give you a heads up on the crazy level, she GOOGLES the Rodeo in Raleigh so she can learn more about where I am going and what I am doing. WTF?

Call it pregnancy hormones. I doubt it is. "Ever since she had that baby, she's such a bitch." No, I just decided that I don't have time to care about Skins.

I have to spend every day for about 30 minutes on the phone with my Mom. Some days it's conversations about things like visits or Charlie. More often than not, it's about things like Greys Anatomy (which I don't watch) or Dancing with the Stars. She spent a lot of time telling me how disgusted she was by The Jersey Shore when that first aired. I don't even want to think about the amount of hours I have wasted talking about Snookie. The problem before was that I would let her go on and on...Now, I am just saying my internal dialogue out loud. "Why are we talking about this? This is a pointless conversation. Your irritation is making me irritated. Is that what you want for me today? To be irritated?" I actually said that today. Her response after our 5 minute conversation on the show Skins, was to say. Oh ok, I want you to have a good day. You are going shopping? How fun! I will either talk to you later, or tomorrow.

Amazing. I want to be pregnant all the time. Then, I can say things like, "This is a terrible conversation."

This evening I will sit down and tell you about how I spent the 80's watching my Dad play with lead and car batteries.

Post Office Package Enforcer

When Chad was with the 82nd, my health care was awesome. I called, they got me in, and I walked out with free meds and a way to feel better.

Now, I call and I wait. They call me back 3 hours later and tell me I am probably overreacting. I'm over it. I got a human in me. He likes to give me thyroid problems and blood sugar that is low enough I could pass out in laundry room with my dirty underwear inches from my face. I don't want to die that way. I'm using my old period panties to get thru the end of my pregnancy because they are roomy and I don't care about how I look anymore. However, I don't want the CSI to come in and judge me when they find my dirty panties on the floor by my face. They won't know why I'm dead. They won't care either, because I will be too gross to care about. Cause of death Frank? "Panty sniffing Jim."

I should never be allowed in a post office. Several years ago, I went to mail Cha Cha a package while he was in Iraq. I set my keys down on the counter, and took care of the sending of the package. I left the post office, and went to get in my car. I couldn't unlock my car because...I forgot my keys. I went back inside to find out that wasn't the case. I assumed I locked them in my car. I thought I had LOST it. I had to call my mom to come save me with a spare key. I didn't lock them in my car either. I left my phone number. Wish I had a picture of keys so I could post signs. "Have you seen me?" Two weeks later, some lady brought them back to the post office. She had realized they weren't hers. REALLY? It took you 2 weeks to realize they didn't start your car, or unlock your doors? I am one of those people that carried around a ton of keys too. Because that's the only way I could keep track of them. It was like a janitor ring of keys from every place I had ever lived. Did you mistake them as your own because of the Jagermeister key chain? Did you mistake them as your own because of the Eddie Bauer thermometer? Really?

Today, I went to send Chad a package. Cookies, and a new toothbrush head. I used a flat rate envelope. "If it fits, it ships." Not so much. I get to the counter and the lady proceeds to humiliate me by using me as an example to other customers as to what NOT to do. Really post office lady? Really? How's about you calm down. She said, "Ummm no, this won't work." I needed clarification. "You altered the shape of the shipping material," she said. I said, "Yea, that happens when you put things inside of it." She told me I needed to find a new way to ship it. Then called for the next person in line. She said the same thing to her, and her boxes were not even an issue. The lady came to stand beside me in the loser area of the post office for rejects that can't stuff a package correctly. We proceeded to pull out every box they post office had that we knew was too small, and put our stuff in it. We would walk up to her line and say, "So, this doesn't work?" We did this for about 10 minutes. The other employees were all laughing. Gestapo of the post office, don't you know I go from zero to Mel Christian Bale Gibson in 2 seconds?" I mailed some stuff off the same exact way last week and nobody said a word to me. Apparently this lady needs an afternoon nap and a punch in the face.

That's all you get today. I am scarred by post office lady, and quite frankly a bit on the cranky side.

Deal with it.

Charlie and Religion

This isn't going to be a funny post.

This is an honest post.

Meant to get a few things off my chest.

In today's day and age, we don't expect our children to take over family businesses and follow in the path that we choose for them. That is long gone as more and more companies like Wal-Mart and Starbucks move into our every town. With that being said, I believe that religion is the same. I don't speak very often about my religious preferences for several reasons. I believe that because my belief differs from the masses so vastly, all it does is lead to arguments and judgements. I am an atheist. I don't say it often. I respect that others find comfort and guidance in their religion. I however, do not. I don't have a "posse of peeps" in my corner to back me up. That's really not our style. My style also isn't setting things on fire, or navigating through life without a moral compass. I just get so tired of never stating, "Hey, a little less Godish stuff would be cool." I am expected to not get offended with the, "I will pray for you, God bless you, and have a blessed day." If I returned with "there is no afterlife, have a great day" I would be frowned upon. If I don't speak up, and others that have the same opinions don't, we will forever be in this gray area. We have the same right to let it be known how we perceive life. We are not terrible people that will prey upon you and your children. I go by the same moral code as my believer friends. I try to be a good person because that's what I want to do. Not for anyone else. I try to be understanding, kind, warm, and generous because that's what I feel all people should be. Not because of I was told to do so.

I am a little paranoid about putting this out there. Mostly because I don't want to offend any of my family and friends. What I will say is, I am not taking your faith away. I am simply believing in my own.

When I was growing up, I thought God was watching me. No really, I didn't like to take my clothes off to take baths. I thought he was WATCHING me. All the time. It was frightening and scary to me. That's not why I don't believe. I don't plan on telling you why I don't. That's completely irrelevant to this post.

As we draw closer to expulsion date 4/1/2011, I have been asked if I will raise Charlie in a faith. My answer is, yes. I will raise him in lots of different faiths, as I believe that tolerance, understanding, and acceptance is the key to raising a well adjusted thoughtful child. Just like I don't plan on setting out a life path for him, I don't plan on setting out a religious path for him either. That doesn't mean I want our friends and family influencing or pushing him in one direction or another. I want Charlie to experience, Islam, Buddhism, Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, Taoism, and any other religious culture we run into along the way. I know what that entails. I am not romanticizing this. It will be a lot of work. Getting in touch with religious organization after religious organization. Explaining that I intend to raise my kids with a broad knowledge that encourages acceptance and knowledge. Allowing my children to make their own decisions about what's out there, and not forcing them down any set path. It will take time, but I kind of like to view it as an adventure. It will be a learning experience for me too. That's the best way to show children how wonderful learning can be. You want to know more? Let's explore it! It is my job as a parent to teach my children how to obtain answers to the toughest questions out there.

If you are interested in learning more, or want to be involved, please feel free to contact me.

Pepe the Drifter

I am pretty sure that my teen years were an episode of Law & Order SVU that just never actually came to fruition.

No, seriously.


I made eye contact with a drifter earlier today. They like to stand out beside this local quickie-mart that sells  3 items. Porn, smokes, and drugs. I am pretty sure of it at least. I have only been inside of it like 2 times, and that was 3 years ago. A lot has changed since then. Like the amount of drifters that seem to hover around the side of the store.

The drifter reminded me of when I was 15. I had an older friend that could drive, and we used to hang out and go lots of places I shouldn't have gone. Like Perkins at 10:30 at night. To meet guys. Guys named "Pepe." Yea. Pepe wore Jenco jeans and was around 26 years of age. I was thrilled that older guys found me attractive. I wasn't the least bit concerned that "Pepe" was not his real name, and that I MET HIM AT A PERKINS. I saw nothing wrong with the age difference, as it showed how mature I was. My Mom on the other hand, saw a lot wrong with it. Good call Mom. Good call. Looking back, I realize Pepe was most likely a drifter that wanted to kill me and use my hair to make paint brushes.

My mom had an idiot on her hands when I was growing up. I used to frequent teen dance clubs as well. She was UBER strict, but somehow I convinced her that going to teen dance clubs was not only safe but a good social outlet. In case you never ventured to a teen club, let me fill you in on what happens there. It's basically a huge orgy with clothes on. Even that is being generous for what actually goes on at those places. What I want to know is, what did my Mom picture? Did she picture it like the days of yore? I went there with a pink ribbon wrapped around my ponytail, and a poodle skirt and saddle shoes to make eye contact with a boy and then blush? It was a mix of girls gone wild, and MTV spring break. I usually didn't dance with any boys while I was there though, because the guys that went to those places wore visors with plastic stars on them to indicate they were "ravers." Passs. Instead, I perfected my psuedo-stripper moves in case I needed to tell the world about my Daddy issues. There used to be guys there that were at least 24. All they would have to do is wait in the parking lot for me to come out, and boom! Law & Order style murder me.

Yes, I did my fair share of teenage rebellion. I smoked cigarettes. I thought they made me look cool. I drank. I did all the normal things that teenagers do. What I would like to discuss is how my Mom combated my teenage rebellion. Instead of talking to me about the dangers of drinking, and smoking, she would let me go do whatever it is I would say I was doing. Then, she would follow me and spy on me. This isn't like once or twice. She did this throughout my high school career. (ha "high school career" is funny to me because that makes it sound like that's a real job. What do you do for a living?  "I am the CEO of high school.") For realz though, did other people's parents do that? Will I be expected to do that? Because I am not going to. All it did was teach me to be EXTREMELY efficient at deception. Like technically I could be the main character on an episode if I had some sort of psychotic break. I guess as I grew up murder looked less appealing, and I started to calm down....for a while. Then I had like a break from reality at about 24 years of age. I think it was because I had to move home after living away for a few years. I completely lost it. I got all paranoid thinking she was following me around again. It was terrible. I still sometimes feel like she's watching me. It was awkward when I started having sex....I totally thought my Mom was watching me.

I guess what I am trying to get at is, did other people have parents that did this? Was this over the top? Is this how you handle a rebellious teen? I thought you just hope for the best, and close your eyes when you know they are being stupid. Maybe I was worse than I thought. Maybe I really was on my way to juvie, but I sincerely doubt it. As I get closer to parenthood, the more I freak out over what I will do in these situations. I over analyze things, and begin to panic that I am clearly not ready for this.


I am rusty at this. I have lots more to talk about. Truth is, I have been battling a thyroid condition, the beeties, and a lot of in my head kind of stuff. I need this outlet, but I felt guilty for it because people in my family threw a shit fit over it. Then, it sort of made me feel like what I was doing was wrong. Now, I realize that this is how I am coping with so many issues. I am not living life to please others anymore. You don't like me? I have a throat punch picked out just for you. You take my stories out of context, I poop on your porch. Or, go into insulin shock. One or the other definitely.

I promise to write every day for a while until I get all my new stories out.