Thursday, August 25, 2011

Yea, I'm An ...

Do you know what karma is? Well, I would like to think that karma took place in my house.

Charlie was named after my Pap. He was a kick ass old dude that I lived with for 14 years.

My Grandma was divorced from him.

She still holds animosity.

When they were here dropping off their smelly furniture these were her exact words.

"Hey! What you doin' Charlie? I just love that name! NOT!"

Sorry to break it to you lady, but 14 years kinda makes you bond. I love the name, and your cheap shots are semi-hurtful. Then, you call him fat too? Well, I would like to think that Pap got even with you from beyond the grave through his ass hole grand daughter. I really am grand.

Lodged behind a drawer I found a few items that were left behind. One of which, is something that I will forever picture my Grandmother in. It's like they found their way to me through some bit of magic. I found other things too. She can have her knee highs, ace bandage, and dental receipts back. My grandma isn't getting these puppies back.

I don't think one picture is enough to truly show you the awesome photo shoot I had with these bad boys on.

And this one.
People say I am just like my Grandma.

Wonder if she would have done this too.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

My Fox News Piece

Fox news gets a lot of bad press these days. I for one am tired of it. As Hurricane Irene heads towards where I am currently living, I can't help but have a small panic attack imagining myself cooking small pieces of half thawed steak above a zippo lighter. Since this whole hurricane will somehow be Barack Obama's fault, I figured I would go ahead and take the liberty of writing a piece for Fox.

President Barack Obama and the White House has made some information available to everyone on the eastern seaboard, to help them prepare for the storm. Due to the fact that you are probably a Democrat if you even heard about this information from the President, we strongly urge you to do the following:
1.) Open all your doors and windows. This will make it easier for your neighbors to loot your house.
2.) Give all your canned goods away to the homeless, since you are such "giving" people. Canned goods don't fair well in hurricanes.
3.) When the storm hits, stand near your windows.
4.) Keep in mind that this was all Barack Obama's fault while you are without power.
5.) Place large basins outside to collect rainwater. Wait several days before drinking. DO NOT BOIL. If you boil rainwater you will get hepatitis!
6.) Store your batteries in your oven, when you feel there is impending doom upon you, preheat oven to 350 degrees and bake the batteries for 3 hours. This promotes longer battery life.
7.) Create a panic room filled with knives, guns, and glass, so your kids have something to play with while you wait out the storm.
8.) Don't fill up your car's gas tank. You want your car to be as close to E as possible. This will keep you from going anywhere, and will allow for more quality starvation time for your family if you are stranded for days.
9.) If you are traveling when the storm hits, get out of your car! Stand under trees, and as close to electrical lines as possible. If they happen to come down, you will have something to swing on to get to safety.
10.) Round up all your gay friends, and have a cookout.

You're welcome Fox News. I just did your job for you.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Old People Smell

My bedroom smells like old people. Like a mix of rancid Clinique "Happy,"Aqua Velva, and moth balls. My family is complicated and confusing. I ended up with my Grandma's bedroom furniture. It was a very complicated process to end up with smelly bedroom furniture that Chad refuses to put his clothes in because he doesn't want to be mistaken for an old man.

Let's start out with a little known fact. I have an INSANE sense of smell. Like to the point it creeps people out. I don't use oven timers when I cook. I can be in the other room and can TELL when something is done just by the smell. It's freaking annoying sometimes. Some people's perfumes make me want to vomit. I LOVE my Grandma to pieces, but her perfume permeates EV REEE THING. It's not so much that I dislike Clinique "Happy." It's that when it interacts with her skin it turns into a monster of Jean Nate and and Aqua Net. Seriously, the smell actually makes me ill.

Fast forward to now. My room makes me sick. It all started when my Grandma and her husband decided to move to Florida. They bought new bedroom furniture a couple years back, and the new place they are moving to is fully furnished. So, they offered to sell it to my Mom. My mom said no thanks. Then they asked again, and asked if maybe we would want to buy it. My mom knows that I am not in any position to buy furniture, so she offered to buy it as a Christmas gift.

I'm easy going. I don't want to rock the boat. I said ok. We do need furniture, so it seemed like a good deal. Until it exploded in my face. They backed out on selling it to my Mom, and then my Mom got all like "a deal is a deal." Then, they wanted to stop here on their way down to Florida, and I was all like..."I don't have time for this crap, because my Mom will be like "why you being all nicey nicey to those people that wouldn't even SELL you their used furniture?" To which I would be all like, "Who says NO Grandma you can't stay at my house, and the furniture is all easy come easy go. I have a baby that demands my every minute, and to be honest matching nightstands are not at the top of my priority list. But go ahead and tell them I am busy since clearly hell hath no fury like like a deal is a deal." I do love that my Mom is willing to go to war for me though. Even if this wasn't really a war that I a.) wanted or b.) really cared about. Still, it's nice to know that my Mom is like a feral cat when it comes to her kids.

Then, the Skype rings, and my Mom tells me she told them off. I'm all like whoa whoa whoa! PLEASE don't put me in the middle of this! I am already the hated Grandchild for having this EVIL blog. She tells me she told them off so much that they said they would just GIVE me the furniture, and bring it to me. What the hell did she say to them? It must have been along the lines of "Listen here old people, guess who you named to take care of your DNR?" (DNR is do not resuscitate)

The day came that they would be bringing the furniture to me. They arrived 2 hours early like all old people do, and then proceeded to tell me that my baby is fat. My family makes my head explode. Keep your "fat" comments to yourself when it comes to my 5 month old. I haven't put the baby treadmill together yet, and the diet or pureed Twinkies and soda is what he prefers to eat. Who am I to tell him no? Seriously, he gets breast milk, and like 4 pureed foods including squash, and a little fruit. It's not like I am feeding him gravy.

Now, I have a bedroom filled with a smell that makes me want to run the other direction, and the unsettling feeling that people think my baby is fat. Like, how do you even google a remedy for "wooden furniture old people smell removal?" I thought about using bathroom spray but I fear that might ruin the finish. I just couldn't foresee this in advance. This well fought battle ended in furniture that makes the whole room smell like the perfume counter at Macy's.

The good news, is that the old people smell is bound to cover up the fumes on the bed that is trying to kill me.

Friday, August 12, 2011


I was inspired to write about this.

Based on my last few posts, it's probably quite clear that my depression is back. It never fully goes away, and the medication I am taking is one of the least effective in treating it, but the safest for Charlie's breast milk. I recently went up on the dosage, and I feel...well, I feel numb. Not so much better, but caged. All the things that normally float around in there are still there, but instead of bouncing around they are just kind chilling out in proverbial jello. The meds effect my efforts to be funny, and to communicate what's on my mind.

However, I have the most irrational fear of going off of them. That I would shut down. I would just sit in my own filth and start to look like the Mom in "What's Eating Gilbert Grape." I don't want to have to be removed from my house with a forklift when I die.***I am NOT thinking about my death, PLEASE DON'T WRITE TO ME ASKING ABOUT THAT.  Some of what I am feeling is just circumstances. The adjustments to new life, and the changes that have occurred are not so new anymore. I dreamed of being a Mom since I was a baby myself. I had imaginary "baby boys" I would chase around the house. What 2  year old has imaginary twins? Me. I dreamed of being needed, and wanted, all the time. Now, it is a reality. A wonderful reality, but also a new reality. There's never enough time in a day. Parts of my body hurt that never hurt before (part of turning 30 I suppose) and I don't have the patience for people like I used to. I have new found overwhelming patience for Charlie, but not so much for adults. I guess I feel like if you can drive a car I don't have patience for your crap.

Last time I was at the doctor, they urged me to go see a therapist they have there. Truth is, I've been to a bunch. I am sick of it. With how often I move, it's too painful to rehash all the old stuff to get down to the brass tacks of what's going on now. I don't want to have to retell my life story again. I like avoiding bringing up old things that I have moved past.

This is my therapy. The down side of this therapy, is that you want to know what's going on you read about it. I love being able to open up in written form and spill it, but it also seems that thru this I have lost contact with some people because they just read about me here.

The downfall of over sharing I suppose. That and my family members losing their shit on me for having the balls to spill it on the internet. Whether or not you believe in depression, it is real for me. It's my burden. How I deal with it is my responsibility. I do deal with it. I don't cut people down, or lock myself in a room, I just deal.

We go to the beach in a month. I can't wait. When I am near the ocean, I feel normal. I feel like life all makes sense. It helps me recenter.

Little known fact: Gigi loves the beach too.

Thursday, August 11, 2011


I need to add to my bitchfest.

Now the upstairs AC is out. When I call nothing gets done. When Chad calls they get right on it. Today I had him call first and there was no call back so I called. Anthony answered me right away, and gave me a BS reason as to why he didn't call Chad back. I know bullshit when I hear it dude. We actually have a book in our bathroom entitled "On Bullshit." So, now I will go back to doing what I know works....Calling them back every 15 minutes to check on their progress. You don't keep me in the loop? I WILL DESTROY YOU WITH MY ANNOYING CALLS THAT WILL NEVER END. Anthony came to our house on Saturday for a walk thru unexpectedly, and subtly mentioned my feverish phone calls. What I wanted to say was, "My Mom was here when the AC downstairs went out. You don't know what fury Hell holds when you piss that woman off, and I sure as Hell wasn't going to be listening to the story of "the time she had no air conditioning in the south in August." While she was here she complained my house was too hot. Her thermostat:73 My thermostat: 74 Yeesh that's such a huge adjustment.

OMG MY TEETH ARE KILLING ME. My dentist is a mouth terrorist. I had to go in for "readjustments" because it's been two weeks since I had them filled and they still KILL. So, he looks at them, I bite down on that weird paper of magic, and he says..."What I did is fine. It's that you have to find a new bite." WTF? Really? A new bite? He said my pain was from me clenching and that my teeth had to find a new way to align. Then, he shaved some stuff off the fillings, and said I would have to readjust again. THEN WHY DID HE SHAVE ANYTHING OFF??? Now, I am readjusting to the readjustment that was already an adjustment. That word sounds weird. But, really. I hate that dentist. He's a dick with a drill, and a vendetta against tooth alignment.

My teeth hurt. Not just a little bit. A LOT. My cranky o meter is at a 10 right now. I try very hard to keep myself together. Not to lose my cool. However, if I could remove my own face right now I would. I would place it in a warm bath, and light some candles. Also as Chad has pointed out about me numerous times, I have some sort of weird disorder where I don't sweat. I don't tolerate heat well, because my body decides that it's just going to shut down. Between my teeth and the weird sweat that I do produce I am losing my mind.

I lack the social finesse these days to not be a complete bitch about things like AC in the south when it's 100 degrees outside and I have a 4 month old that doesn't like anything above 75 degrees. Barracuda Liz is making another triumphant return. Don't these people know they are messing with my young AND my ability to live comfortably? I can feel the upstairs heat oozing down off the balcony. Charlie is napping in my room and I will cut a bitch if he has to sleep in our room tonight. He's what I like to call a "squeaky sleeper." When he slept in our room it was like having a pack of field mice next to me, and Momma needs her sleep.

On an unrelated note, I stink. I left some clothes in the washing machine too long...Chad put them in the dryer and didn't realize they smelled. For the past few days I have been trying to think of a nice way to tell Chad that he needs to wash better, or change soaps. Turns out, I am just a horrible housekeeper with laundry funk. Now, every few days I wear something, I think that either Charlie just pooped or Chad stinks...just to realize it's me because I haven't been able to find every last stitch of clothing with the funk on it.

Blow Me Army

Chad didn't get home until 7 PM last night.


Because there's far too much hand holding and butt wiping at his unit. While back in the states (not deployed) these units are supposed to make time for family. Instead this unit is practically passing out coloring books that MUST be colored, in the lines, and handed in to be checked. It's infuriating. Last night I had like an hour with Chad. All because of the Chad's bosses need to micromanage bowel movements.

I need to complain about said things. Like most girls, I complain to my Mom. She's there to listen right? WRONG. She's been defending the 12 hours days as though that's normal. I explained about deployments and how that is hard on a family. She went so far as to say that when my father would travel on business it was practically the same! Really? Dad's trip to Texarkana is the same as going to Iraq and getting shot at? Somehow, I fail to make any real connection between the two. When Dad would drive from the hotel he was staying at to the job site, did he encounter many roadside bombs? What's that? Dad's company would pay for him to come home to see his family once a month? Yes. It's exactly the same Mom.

To this, I want to create my own script of things to say when I complain about the Army, and seeing my husband look like a beat down RSPCA animal with "The Arms of an Angel" playing in the background every time we make eye contact.

Acceptable responses include:
Dude. That sucks. The Army is a shit factory, and we can't wait for you guys to get out.

I hate the Army because of what they are doing to you. You have been through so much with them, and they just keep piling shit tacos on you.

There aren't many acceptable responses OTHER than agreeing with me.

Unacceptable responses include:
I can relate. My husband's desk job is exactly the same. They make him show up at 5:30 to go run, and oh they don't. Seriously. I am not cutting on desk jobs. It's just that Chad has a professional career. There's nothing going on to keep him there. Not only is he there, he's there for 12 freaking hours. It's just plain stupid.

The shit factory he works for is keeping the terrible people, and alienating the one's worth keeping. Does that frighten you? It should. He works with someone that has been in for 17 years, and can't qualify on a shooting range. That's like being a veterinarian for 17 years and not being able to locate a dog's butt hole.  Same same. But different.

I also have a couple of updates.

The shitbag neighbors we had that never mowed their lawn, and had that poor pitbull were evicted. Yesterday I saw lots of their stuff on the curb. So long dickbags! I've been googling the crap out of the house number to see if it's going up for sale or rent again. I want to set up the people that come view the house and either frighten them off with my Harry Caray impression, or bake them cookies depending on if I like them.

There are different types of roaches. The roach that caused my mental breakdown a couple months back was indeed an Woodland Cockroach. They live outside. I had one singular cockroach in my house, and I killed that MF.

Ants hate baking soda.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011


I am feeling so lost. I practically foam at the mouth for social interaction of any type. I went to get my hair cut on Friday, and I just kept having verbal blooples. I just wanted to talk to someone. My social life consists of a 4 month old, and a breast pump. Oh, and the awkward conversations about all things weird with my Mom. I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I am just purging this here. I just feel really trapped. I can't really go anywhere or do anything, because my milk supply suffers as a result. So, here I stay. On the couch. Watching episodes of How I Met Your Mother for the 30th time.

Charlie is sleeping better these days, and I have really had to help him to realize he is tired. Now that he sleeps and takes naps he is such a happy baby. I get excited when I hear him cry that he is waking up. I look forward to our interactions. He's smiling, and cooing, and he laughs....just not for me. That's something he reserves for Chad only.

I guess that right now, I am mourning the loss of my previous life. The life that didn't involve diaper bags, and car seats, and floppy boobs. I miss being able to think about going places and doing things. It doesn't help that I don't have a car which makes me feel like a bigger looser. But, I am not. 1 car is really all we need, and where would I go? Wal-Mart? I don't think so.

Chad's job is ridiculous lately. He works with the biggest idiots on earth right now. (there are some exceptions to this) but it has made him have to be away for about 12 hours each day. It's wearing on him, and me. What's even more frustrating is that it's not for anything important. It's because Joe can't put his pants on right, and Sally decided to just show up everyday at noon. The higher ups are of no help, and the strain can be seen on his face everyday. It hurts me to see him looking so beat down. Chad used to work the watch shift in England that was 12 hours on 12 hours off for 4 days straight. It was so hard on both of us. This seems to be like deja vu(sp?). I could understand this type of situation if there was something important going on, but there isn't. He's basically just running himself silly over nothing. He's tired from the moment he gets home, until we go to bed at 9:30. He isn't getting time to himself, because I need time to make dinner, and take care of things around the house when he gets home from work.

So, here I am. I dream of a little escape. An escape where there is no breast pump waiting for me every 2 hours. There are no douches at Chad's work to deal with. A place where I don't have to get my tonsils out, because of the GROSSEST thing on earth. Wanna throw up this morning? Google search tonsil stones.

I just feel a little claustrophobic lately. I am sure it's all normal, but it doesn't make it any easier.

Friday, August 5, 2011

The Jersey Shore and Me

I can't be the only one that secretly watches the Jersey Shore. I am ashamed because I shouldn't watch. I know it's offensive to Italian Americans and wellll just about every American really, but I love it. Minus the  shitty Sam and Ron drama. Those two are pointless. What is it that I love about that show? The muscles? The tans? The hair? The rampant sexual promiscuity? The famous-ugly ratio? Seriously, I know a lot of Italian Americans. Congrats MTV on scouring the earth for THE UGLIEST people ever. Seriously. Italian Americans are usually really hot. What HAPPENED to these people? The Situation always looks like he just sniffed poop. Snooki looks like a really tan Snoopy. Jwoww looks like a b-team stripper, and that new one you know the Momish looking one? Deena yeah Deena, she HAS to be like 73. Vinny is actually kind of cute and normal. So that makes me wonder about him. Pauly's hair seems to be molded out of semen and cake frosting. But I love them.

I am not alone. This show is a phenomenon. This is how I am choosing to "stay hip." I watch MTV reality shows that I know the youth are watching. What scares me is that all the people on that show are pushing 30 (with the exception of Deena the 73 year old). Just like I am somewhat out of touch with the young kids these days, they in turn are out of touch with me. They think that if I was single, I would be out fist pumping into the wee hours of the morning and dodging grenades.

If you don't know what all these things are in reference to, watch the show.

It's like a car wreck you pass on the highway after being caught in traffic for 3 hours. You don't want to look at it, but you wasted 3 hours of your life trapped in your car and DAMNIT there better be an APOCALYPSE going on up ahead. When you finally drive past the scene, you feel like you HAVE to look due to the fact that all you saw was the back end of a Buick for the past 3 hours. That's the Jersey Shore. We are in rerun season. So that is the 3 hours of traffic. MTV is smart enough to start airing their show before the other shows come back on. I HAVE TO WATCH. By that point, I am hooked.

I like these people. I don't know why. I think they are caricatures of themselves, and at some point it morphed and they thought orange was their actual skin color. They do stupid things. They get into a lot of debacles. I can relate.


I just said I can relate to the cast of Jersey Shore.

I will write a real post in a day or two. For now, go watch the Jersey Shore. I'm sure it's on MTV right now, because that's all they have on. That and that stupid teenwolf shit that is quite possibly the worst show ever created. Don't watch that.