Things I Have Learned From Courtney Stodden

I have enjoyed Courtney Stodden for quite some time now. It started with an interview where she writhed around on a couch like she was on the verge of a heaving orgasm. That might have been the end of it, but she was a very determined young woman who went to a pumpkin patch to reenact the Kama Sutra with her sugar daddy for all the kids to see. Unfortunately, all the women were too jealous of how much their husbands were liking it, complained that she was too "sexy", and she was tossed out of there. The problem is that ever since she broke up with Doug, she has become a predictable bore. It has gotten so bad and soooo predictable that now she and I are going to have to break up. I am working on my "Dear John" letter, but until I am finished, here are a few things I have learned from Courtney.

No matter how bad things are, I have never been a mustache for a Santa suit wearing Doug Hutchison. Even on my worst days, it is a comfort to know that Doug's beady eyes have never looked out at the world from between my legs. Especially during a photo shoot that I was trying REALLY hard to be sexy at. Nothing ruins sexy like trying to pull away from creepy grasping Santa who wants to wear you as a too tanned mustache. Knowing that I never have been and never will be Santa Doug's mustache, well, that is something to write home about right there, folks.

"Dear Mom and Dad, 

I got poison ivy on my butt from pooping in the woods but the camp counselor says I will be okay if I don't scratch it. It is really scratchy though!!! I got bit by a spider on my eye lid and it swelled so bad I couldn't see a thing and kept tripping over everything, I even fell in the shower and got a bar of soap stuck in my nose, now one nose hole is a LOT bigger than the other. But it's still not as bad as having Doug Hutchison's red beady eyes peering out of my crotch while he's dressed as Santa. HA HA HA!!!!

Love and kisses

BB"

Put words like "expressing yourself" and "not hurting anyone" together -- along with like statements--  and it will sound like you are deep and smart and stuff, regardless of whether you live by such high flown words yourself. For example, Courtney's recent response to whether she considered herself to be a feminist and her response of, and I'm paraphrasing here, "yes!!!!1!! to me it's dressing how you want, expressing yourself, as long as you are not hurting anyone and supporting other women!" And people acted like that should be Feminism 101. 

Alex: "We're going to start this round off with 'Knowledge So Common, Even Your Dog Knows It' for $100. 'Dressing and acting in such a blatantly sexual manner to attract as much male attention as possible regardless of theirs or your relationship status, even to the point of ostracizing other women.' Yes, Blindbeard."

Blindbeard: "What is Feminism." 

Alex: "Good job guessing the obvious."

And finally, for today, it's not for publicity/fame/attention as long as you can keep coming up with excuses to be noticed. Divorce is very painful, no question about that one. Even when it truly is mutual, it can throw you for a serious loop. My divorce was truly mutual; he bought me furniture when I moved out and even now if I needed help he would do it, even though sometimes we really hate each other, we do get along for the most part. Granted, I'm not a known "personality" so nobody was interested in my story, but I still don't think I would have tweeted 3 times about my exclusive-tell-all-what-went-wrong interview. There is something rather... gross? Distasteful? Insincere? Really inconsiderate to Doug? Publicity-seeking-seeming? Attention-whoring-feeling-giving? And to tweet about your new crush when your ex is choking up during his interview done on the same day isn't that a bit... rude? Cold? Selfish? Insensitive? And to release to the public a separation agreement that lays out the sleeping arrangements is so stupid and unnecessary and attention whoring it should make the person who did it writhe in embarrassment. But it is not for publicity! It is an important document that the public really needed to see, because how were you supposed to get any sleep not knowing how Doug and Courtney were handling their sleeping arrangements? I know I'm sleeping better because of it, and I'm going to go tweet that a few times to prove it.

Unforgivable

I'm a pretty forgiving person in general. I don't have too many things that are absolute deal breakers, there are a few, but not many, and even then with the right apologies etc. they can usually be worked out. This morning I ran into a total nonnegotiable. At 3 am almost to the minute, I was woken up by my cluster headache. This is the usual time so I just glance at my clock to make sure we are on schedule and to track the starting time so I know when to expect the end time, then play the waiting game. I recently started new meds so the severity of my attacks has really come down, so much so that I can play games as I wait out the 2 to 2.5 hours until the hot sledgehammer is done hitting me on the left side of my face/head. Sometimes, just to shake things up, instead of the hot sledgehammer to the side of my face, the cluster will take a pvc pipe and try to force it into my eye socket with the sledgehammer. It likes sledgehammers because they can really get some force behind them and they cause more widespread pain. But the cluster headache wasn't the problem, nor was the fire that was burning in my legs, thanks to my MS that wanted to remind me that it was still there in case I forgot, because when clusters are in town, I don't notice anything else. A pack of wild rabid possums could be gnawing off my leg and I wouldn't know it if I was having a cluster headache at the same time. But worst of all, stuck in my head was that Popo Zao (or however you spell it) song that Kevin Federline did. What in the name of tarnation was that song doing in my head, actually, just that one line, "let me see that popo zao." When was the last time you even thought of that song, or remembered that he did it? I can't remember the last time I thought about him, or the fact that he wanted to be a rapper and tried by making that one song that I think I listened to maybe twice on gossip sites years ago. I tried to think of every catchy song I could. Every song that when I think of it, it is stuck on repeat in my head for the rest of the day, all to no avail, even now that one line keeps popping up. I'm so ashamed. I'm ashamed that somewhere in a wrinkle of my brain, I stored a line of that song for years and it popped up to keep me company at 3 am along with my burning eye and legs. Why couldn't my MS attack that area of my brain? It's probably too busy destroying all my happy childhood memories to worry about silly things like useless snippets of obscure songs. It's unforgivable. 

I'm bored stiff with MS, literally and figuratively, so I am going to start writing about other subjects that are of interest to me or going on in my little world. I just wanted to give the heads up so no one is surprised if they come to a MS blog and read about how my dog threw up under my bed, ate it, threw up again, and then I threw up. These are things that are so exciting that I could not possibly keep them to myself. Now I got to go get into the shower because if I get into the shower just before Princess's alarm starts going off, she will get out of bed faster than she ever has to come galloping in to make sure I don't use all the hot water, how long am I going to take, why couldn't I wait, etc. etc. and that is just too much fun for me to resist. 

Birthdays, Anniversaries, and Architechture

Today is my little dog's birthday. A day of great joy and celebrating in my house. A celebration of 3 years of love, joy, and happiness! (Because it is his birthday, we are going to ignore some of his more irritating habits, like not waking me up at night when something is knocking on his back door. Love those morning surprises.) He has an under bite that makes his bottom lip stick out and I swear he dangles it in front of me hoping I will trip on it and cover him with kisses, all while pretending to want to get away from my loving embrace. I think he is just trying to save face in front of the other dog, that is why he runs away from the kiss storm as soon as he can wriggle away from me, but he has a head that is as soft as a velvet painting of Jesus and I cannot resist trying to cover it with layers of kissies. The other day I came home to find that my dogs had ransacked my potatoes. There were 4 of them scattered around the house. One in the living room, one in the kitchen and two in my bed. I threw away two of them and let them keep the other two because they were enjoying them so much (and had eaten half of them). They kept bringing them into bed with us and I kept pitching them back out. We kept up this charade until I gave up, as they knew I would, and I went to sleep with 2 dogs, 2 potatoes, one rope toy, 2 books, my 2 remotes, and me all sardine-canned in to a full sized bed. I should be embarrassed by how much I spoil my dogs, and I am a little, but I love those little sh*ts so much and I have never been a good disciplinarian. I set his birthday on the 5th on purpose, because I wanted something positive the day after something negative, which is the anniversary of my being diagnosed with MS.

Eight years ago yesterday I got the news that I got the MS from sitting on an infected toilet seat, probably at a store somewhere. I really should use those paper seat covers, but I didn't think I would ever contract anything. How naive I was, putting my bare arse all over toilet seats wherever I went, never for one moment stopping to think of the possible consequences! Nah, I just had to give the public what they want, a reason to treat me as a person with a communicable disease. The thing about having MS for this long is getting over having MS at all, whether that is good or bad, I leave to each person to decide for themselves. I'm not saying I don't hate it or get frustrated by it, but I no longer rage and shake my fist at my crappy immune system. In fact, I am not even doing any of the DMDs anymore. I remember in the early days after being diagnosed, whenever I heard of someone willingly not doing any of the DMDs, I thought they must be crazy. I never thought I would be one of those who stopped clutching my sheets with sweaty palms at night, worrying about not having that 30% (more or less) reduction in disease activity or whatever, but here I am not caring. I was getting so bad about giving myself my shot that I only did it once or twice a week, just to be able to show my family an itchy red welt to prove I still was doing my shot, kind of. I talked to my neurologist about it, we tested me for the virus (is it JCV, JVC?) that excludes you from taking Tysabri. I tested positive (good thing I quit doing Tysabri) so that was out, and she and I agreed to stop with the facade of doing Copaxone because there is no benefit to taking it so little, and just waiting for some of these new meds to make their ways down the pipeline. Now I have 3 months of Copaxone chilling out in my fridge, waiting for a good home. I would like to find someone who is really struggling with being able to afford it to give it to. It is house broken, crate trained, and ready to cuddle with its forever family. If interested, contact Blindbeard at Blindbeard's MS Medicine Rescue.

Lastly, I have a few words to say about architecture. The other day Princess asked me how it feels to play the same game that little kids play. She was talking about my enjoyment of Angry Birds. Yes, it may seem like a game for little kids, but that is only if you look strictly at the graphics. Those damn egg stealing pigs are architectural geniuses! Their structures are marvels of engineering! If we could build stuff as ridiculously strong and stable as they do, no tornado or hurricane could ever destroy any home or building, EVER! There is more to the game than just flinging birds at those irritating, albeit very cute, pigs. It takes some finesse and figuring to bring down those structures. I get so angry at those pigs, I swear I'm going to have bacon for my next meal. Princess hates when I say that because it makes her hungry for bacon. I'm just hungry for revenge and my eggs back! The only complaint I have, other than their building skills, is how they get black eyes and lose teeth. It makes me feel bad, but then they smile when I don't beat the level and I swear I'm having bacon as soon as I finish that level and go to the store, or they give me my eggs back, whichever comes first.

Mountainous Expanse Of White Flesh

Princess came in, saw the title of this post and said, "You're writing about mom?" Sharp as a tack, that one. We just got through another fabulous blow out fight in our house. The best analogy I have that sums up Sugarbowl's and my relationship is to compare it to a pressure cooker, especially the old ones that exploded so easily. My mom said that growing up they had one and my grandmother forgot to let off the steam one time and green beans got blown all over the ceiling. The pressure builds up and we have to vent at the right time or risk a big explosion. We didn't vent soon enough this time and our relationship green beans got blown all over the ceiling. The reason for the fight is not particularly interesting, in fact I'm not sure what started it all, but once Sugarbowl gets mad/hurt/upset etc. her Borderline Personality Disorder comes out to play. I don't like that playmate. It really sucks, but someone has to stand up to its hideous bullying ways, and that someone is always me because I am the one person who can tell her to shut the hot hell up and knock her crap off and still be friends with her again. This time she disabled all her electronic stuff so no one could use it. She took all the cords to her TV, DVD player, computer, phone, the wii and so on. We all made up yesterday and she started to bring down the cords from her room and slowly put them all back. I didn't want her to know how much I was missing some of those electronic things, so I read my brains out the last 2 days, which is great but sometimes you just want to kick back with a movie. I took back my robe that she stole from me awhile ago and kept meaning to take back, but she is always naked when she wears it and until I can boil it I have no use for it. Last night I woke up to her naked in my room trying to set the computer back up because she wanted the wireless stuff back on. It would not have been so horrible if all the needed cords were in one area, but she had to go around my bed, plug this in, go back around and put this one here, apologizing the whole time for her nudity because she couldn't find the robe. I didn't bother to tell her it was stuffed in my closet. Some things are better left unsaid and I didn't want to extend the conversation any. I just wanted my room back so I could go back to sleep without the risk of waking up to that sight again. Things should be better soon because the neighbors in the other unit are moving out and she will be moving over there. So when we fight we can go back to our own side and beat on the walls to annoy each other instead of having to argue in person. The neighbors are moving out because they can never seem to remember to pay rent and are being evicted, which has made them very pissy. Not sure what they told their friends across the street, but I can feel the daggers being stared into my flesh whenever we see each other. We have given them so many chances and warnings to pay rent on time, even letting them get really far behind because they were having some financial problems, but it was getting ridiculous. Plus they have a very mean pit bull that scares me and they play their music really loud. All these things add up to me not caring how much the neighbors across the street may think we are in the wrong and hate us, and instead accepting it all as a good exchange to be rid of them. I really hate that dog and am hoping that when it does hurt someone, as it is bound to do, it is one of the owners and not an innocent person. I could be out working in my yard without my dogs, and it will try to charge me. You don't even have to be doing anything, just sitting on your porch, and it will try to get at you. I hope something happens to it before it can do anything to any other animal or person. Keeping my fingers crossed here. Other than that, my MS is as much of a hoot as always. Lately my legs have been feeling so weak and shaky, especially as the day goes on, that I feel like a newborn colt trying to get some errands done. It scares me to have these kinds of problems with my legs because I DO NOT want to lose my ability to walk safely. In fact, I am more likely to take injuring myself over needing better support than a shopping cart or an arm can give. That will show you, MS, when I fall and get hurt instead of doing the smart thing! I hope it burns, because I can be a hardheaded ass all day long. I may need to stock up on Ace bandages while running errands today. It's worth it.

APB

We got an APB out on one Blindbeard. That's one Blindbeard. She was last seen traipsing through Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado in an embarrassing pair of spotted pajama pants, looking like the frumpy tourist she is.
We have reason to believe that she changed her clothes in Colorado, where she stopped for the night, and is now wearing something more socially acceptable, but don't count on it. If you see her, contact her family immediately so they can hide from her. She is not considered dangerous, just crazy -- and hopelessly uncool -- so they would rather not be seen with her as she will only ruin what fragile hopes they have of not being uncool by association.

She was traveling in her sister's car, which is a traveling trash heap, so keep your eyes out for a mobile dump. You will hear her bitching about the condition of the car and her sister telling her to shut her dirty pie hole about it. This conversation will be heard for miles around and will give a good idea of the general vicinity of her whereabouts.

She usually wears a stocking cap in winter, but if she does not have a hat on, you will know her by her mane of woolly hair that resembles a camel's butt. She has a distinctive walk, dragging her right leg along, and crabbing about how everyone walks too fast and she can't drag her leg that fast, so slow down, bitches. She tends to need to urinate more than the rest of her party, and was spotted using the men's room 3 times during this trip because women are so damn slow in the bathroom, and she would rather have her family embarrassed when she comes out of the men's room than wet her pants.

There is no reward for finding her, but her family will be eternally grateful to whoever finds her because they wouldn't know what to do with themselves without her to bumble around and embarrass them, making them look better -- if they don't decide to go into hiding. Please keep your eyes peeled and avoid her at all costs, or she may try to adopt you and ruin all your hopes of being cool.

Treacherous Roads

Yesterday, talking to my mom about the snow we are supposed to get, she told me to be careful running errands because the roads are supposed to be treacherous. I asked her where they were going to be that bad, because I hadn't heard, and she said in Iowa. In Iowa! And she was concerned about driving to work and she lives 2.5 hours from Iowa. I live .5 hours from Iowa and I'm not worried about the roads. But that is my mom. The woman drinks a glass of wine and won't drive for a year. If it is snowing in Antarctica she won't drive, unless maybe if she has a 4 wheel drive with chains on she might venture out, but only in case of an emergency. I know she is so worried because we are leaving for Arizona tomorrow to spend some time with my dad. I won't go near Arizona anytime except in the winter and Sugarbowl won't go on any trip unless there is the possibility of bad weather and a difficult time getting there. She is so stubborn and impetuous (and nihilistic), there is no talking her out of doing anything! I wasn't going to go at first because it is going to wipe out my meager funds to kennel my dogs, but I would never be able to live with myself if I let her go on her own because I didn't want to spend the money and something happened to her, and Princess, and Jabber. Money is not worth my family, so my meager funds will be drained.

We are leaving early tomorrow and I am 100% not ready to go. Instead of starting all the things I need to do to go on vacation, I chose to hit the peace pipe, watch Mystery Science Theater 3000, and ingest all the chocolate donuts yesterday. Today I'm going to pack and clean my house, because I absolutely, unequivocally, will not come home to a dirty house. That is unacceptable. And I also absolutely, unequivocally, will not leave the littlest dog behind. He must come or I won't go. It would stress me out to think of him being kenneled. The other dogs are old and tired, but he is young and energetic. Sugarbowl isn't thrilled about him coming with, but she knows that is the only way I will go, so she accepts it. I got him a new sweater for the occasion, and he is packing his dog toys and chewies as I type. He has been wanting to see the country, so he's ready to hit the road. He probably won't be able to get a minute's sleep tonight, along with Sugarbowl. I can sleep because long drives don't exactly thrill me, and I can always sleep, if only for a few hours, but that is a full night's sleep for me. My only worry is the treacherous roads in Iowa, because we are going nowhere near there, so we need to be very careful not driving through Iowa. Thank goodness my mom is watching the road conditions for us. We may not know what the roads will be like where we ARE going, but we will know the road conditions for where we are NOT going. My mommy is the best!

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Last night Sugarbowl told me that we were supposed to get some snow today, FINALLY! (My finally, not hers. I enjoy snow.) She didn't mention there would be blizzard force winds that swirl around your face and drive the snow into every slight crack in your clothing, so I was unprepared for what awaited me just outside the back door. The dogs and I tumbled out the door and got the stank blowed off us, a phrase my ex always used and I always found funny. What is it about days like this that make me want to get in the car and drive anywhere, because there is absolutely nothing I need and I don't need to go get it, but I must get out of the house NOW! I'm trying to justify my need to leave the house, wracking my brains to think of anything we need around here, coming up with nothing, and fighting the urge to race to my room to bundle up to go try to find something I may have forgotten the last time I went shopping. I'm sure we need more waxed paper, or maybe some freezer bags, because we rarely use them but we may find we need more on hand. Maybe I should get some donuts or more soups, because cold days do make you want to eat warm stuff. I think the dogs may need some more chewies, because I need to step on them and see how long I can hop around on one leg before falling over. We could always use more pit juice around here. That is one thing you will always need, unless you are like my father-in-law who doesn't ever use such newfangled products, enjoying his stank over freshness. He made beer in his bathtub one year. I think that sums up how much he thinks of personal hygiene better than any words I could use. When he and my ex go fishing, my ex is always careful to make sure that he is upwind of his father. And while they are driving to their fishing hole, my ex keeps a window cracked -- or more than cracked until he's used to the stench -- no matter how cold it is outside. One time we went to go get some watermelons from my in laws, and when my father-in-law lifted the watermelons into the car, we all slipped into unconsciousness until the odor started to dissipate. Hmmm, thinking about all this makes me think that we really do need more pit juice. Even though I use my bathtub for things other than making beer, I don't want to knock people out when I lift my arms. Now I must race off to my room to get dressed so I can get more pit juice. It is very important that I go RIGHT NOW! I couldn't possibly wait another day; it is imperative that I stock up today.

Dear Blindbeard: The "It's All You, Mustanginblue" Edition

Dear Blindbeard,

I tend to have most suicidal thoughts when I think about how moronic the majority of people are. Since I can't take all the morons out of the world, I could instead take myself out and not have to suffer them anymore.

You know, now that you (well your sister to be exact) brought it up, I think I'd like to be embalmed and have my brother and sister have to display me in their homes all their lives. They could trade me off every Christmas! I could be posed on the couch and drunk guys could cop a feel and then later tell my sibling "Man, your sister's hot but kinda stiff."
(Truthfully I,too, want to be cremated and then thrown in a ditch for all I care.)

Mustanginblue


Dear Beautiful Mustanginblue,

This comment made me laugh so loud, and at such an early hour, Sugarbowl yelled down the stairs at me to "shut the hell up because some people have to work." In fact, I love your idea of being embalmed and displayed in various relatives houses so much that I may have to put that in my will. I may even add embalming my dog, too. They could prop me up in the yard in a twisted kind of nativity scene with my dog as the baby Jesus and me as one of the barnyard animals. That's pure genius and you have my undying admiration for coming up with such a fabulous idea!

As to the first part of your comment, I had an epiphany the other day about the "other half" of this world's population -- well, I guess we gimps are in the extreme minority, but that is beside the point, along with hair gel. When shopping recently, and feeling irritated with how people's eyes skitter off when you catch them checking you out, I thought, "Be careful, Honey, it could happen to you." And that is when the epiphany struck. In the blink of an eye, in less than a blink of an eye, something could befall you and you would be in the same rotting boat with me. You could get in an accident, get a stupid disease, heck, even break your leg and never walk the same again, then how would you want people to treat you? While expounding this point, and working myself into a lather, to Sugarbowl, she said that she had been meaning to ask me how I do want people to treat me. I asked her if it was her, how would she want to be treated? She said exactly like everyone else, but she still wasn't sure how to treat them. I asked her how she treats everyone else, and she said she tends to ignore other people, so I told her to ignore them, too. And please, for the sake of all that she holds holy, if you do meet their eye and get caught checking them out, don't try to act like you weren't. At least smile at them, or do something that doesn't make them feel less than human. I think that is what bothers me the most, that they won't meet my eye and that makes me feel like I'm less than human, whether they feel that way or not, that is how it makes me feel.

Love,
Blindbeard


Dear Blindbeard,

What are you reading right now? That is my question.

Mustanginblue


Dear Beautiful Mustanginblue,

What I am reading right now is an eclectic blend of all things really good. Something about the cold weather makes me want to curl up with some good fiction. Summer I tend to read only historical nonfiction, but when it starts cooling down, I need a good story to sink my teeth into. I did not have any fiction around that I have not read umpteen thousand times before, so I asked Princess if she had any good books I could read. She has been reading The Sword of Truth books and suggested I read those. I had this preconceived notion that they would be some romantical fantasy junk that wouldn't hold my interest, probably due to the cover art that looks like some romantical fantasy junk kind of books. I don't mind some fantasy; I enjoy books about worlds where odd things are the norm, so I figured I would give them 100 pages -- what I give every book to see if it grabs my attention or not -- and then try something else, because I'm not into romantical fantasy junk. I can admit when I'm wrong, and I was WRONG WRONG WRONG about those books! I have been sucked in and don't care if I never come back out. Luckily, there are 11 books in the series and I just read that he signed a contract to write 3 more, so I may never leave that world. I'm on the 3rd book and it blows my mind how someone can come up with these ideas, keep introducing new characters and story lines that are just as good as the first ones he had. The author, Terry Goodkind, is originally from Omaha, Nebraska, and that makes me proud. It's nice to have good things come from your state instead of embarrassing things.

Other than that, I'm reading about local history and was pleasantly surprised to find out that I live in a place steeped in interesting history. The town I now live in was a stop on the Mormon trail, and is only a few miles from a sacred Native American site that I have no intentions of burying my dead in for fear they may come back and kill me, like in Pet Semetary -- YIKES! I also found out that the house I live in was once a grange hall outside of town, which they moved in and used as a library for years. They also had a stage on the side I live in -- it's a duplex -- where they would put on plays and other programs for the town. Very cool.

So that is all the stuff I'm reading right now. Hope you aren't too sorry you asked.

Love,
Blindbeard

Memories

Last night my little sister, being an unending font of wisdom, had left her window open all day so she turned up the heat to warm up the upstairs. I was already in bed, sleeping happily in my refreshingly cool bedroom, when she decided to do this. I woke up drenched in sweat with nary a blanket left on my bed after kicking them to the floor, convinced I would have to fight my way through tumbleweeds and cacti to get to the thermostat to restore breathing air that didn't dry up my poor nostrils. After turning the heat back down, I went back to my sweltering bed that reminded me of the hottest days of summer. I spent the next hour thinking about the lakes that we went to all summer, and wondering if I should pack my beach bag and head out to cool off. Ah, the lakes! What a great time that was. We had too much fun there. If we weren't trying to avoid those consummating their love in the water, we were having seaweed wars. Past the buoys, there grows the most fabulous, stinky, thick, luxurious field of seaweed. The trick is to get a massive amount, sneak up behind your prey, and dump the mass onto their head. You had to be on constant high alert or you risked being buried in a heap of that stuff. One weekend the place was swarming with whippersnappers who were way too mature to enjoy the natural games the lake offered. The girls, looking better in their bikinis than I have in a long time, were playing Frisbee while the boys tossed a football nearby, all trying to act like they didn't know the others were there. We were amassing piles of seaweed to destroy each other with and laughing like a rabid pack of hyenas when successful. Or picking seaweed out of our hair when unsuccessful. I'm sure all the whippersnappers were having a good time, but I'm even more sure that we had a better time. Nothing insures a great time more than the air thick with flying seaweed.

What would have been my 9 year wedding anniversary just passed. Depending on who you ask, the date would be either the 3rd or the 4th of November. It is actually the 3rd, but my ex, another font of unending wisdom, when filing for separation, put the date as the 4th. I called him to ask what our wedding anniversary is and he said, "The 4th!" as if he was 100% sure of the answer. I was very kind in my verbal abuse when I told him it is the 3rd. The man kept getting my birthday wrong when we were first dating. His ex's birthday was just a few weeks after mine so he kept switching the 2. One day, while he was sleeping, I took a permanent marker and wrote the month and day on one thigh and the year on the other. He found it very funny and has never forgotten my birthday since. I told him he was lucky I wasn't there to write our wedding anniversary on his legs. I can't think of my marriage as a failure because he and I are still friends, still meet up, and he still thinks I'm the best there is in this world. I swear I only keep that man around for egotistical reasons. He cannot believe that men are not lined up outside my door waiting to date me, and thinks I only wear a swimsuit around him to tease him, not to swim in. Never mind that we are swimming and he is the only one who would think me in a swimsuit is alluring, it is the only reason that makes sense to him. The only reason he filed for separation is because he wanted to buy some land and didn't want the hassle of having me have to sign the papers. He also doesn't want to leave me without insurance, so he isn't filing for divorce for that reason too. He and I understand that when we don't hate each other -- we do get mad at each other -- we still love each other. It also helps that he is always on my side and I can count on him to help me out when needed. Like when my car broke down, he called the repair shop to give them his credit card number to get it fixed for me. When he is not annoying the piss out of me, I kinda love him still. Dagnabbit! I'll never be rid of that man.

My mom manages my finances for me because some days my head is so fuzzy I don't keep track as well as I should. She also wants to make sure my money lasts for as long as possible, so she keeps me on a very short leash. I get a little tired of my short leash, to put it very mildly, so we had to have a talk recently. I let her know, as gently as possible, that it is not her, it's me. I want my freedom to see other mothers and am not sure I'm ready for a relationship of this magnitude yet. The nursing homes are full of mothers who need a good home and I felt that I should try others to see if she is really the mom for me. She found it all so funny that she said she would give me free access to my money and when it ran out, that was it and she wouldn't help me out. I was moved by her pleading so I decided to give her another chance. Now she stole my joke and threatens to breakup with me whenever this subject comes up. She also likes to tell everyone about how I wanted to breakup with her, but she leaves out her begging and pleading and my relenting. Yesterday, while Sugarbowl was talking to her, Sugarbowl told her some things I didn't want her to know and she started talking divorce again. Sugarbowl told her to think of the children! They have no choice in the matter and should not be made to suffer because of our little disagreements. We need to keep it together somehow and maybe couples therapy is something we should look into. Sugarbowl doesn't want us to divorce because my mom pays our utility bills and she pays a lump sum each month that includes all those bills. If my mom and I divorce, she would be paying more to cover all our expenses. I tell ya, if my mom doesn't watch her step, I am going to start frequenting the nursing homes and she will be out on her tight fisted rump with only memories to hold on to.

I Can't Take Me Anywhere

It's true. I am exactly as I seem on here: a raging, stumbling, moronic fool. I act the way I seem like I would, I talk the way I talk on here, and I only edit stuff that would be embarrassing for others, sometimes myself, but not as often. (Side Note: Eons ago, I worked with a girl who told me she could just sit and listen to me talk all day because it made her laugh so much. I was very flattered, especially as she was a very conservative girl and I'm not so conservative in anything.) My little sister and I were at Goodwill the other day. She is not my favorite person to shop with for anything because she cannot leave a store until she has seen all their wares. I, on the other hand, skip all the wares that bore me. She could not possibly leave Goodwill until she has looked at every mother loving book they have. I get a tad bored, to say the very least. It's not that I don't adore books. I do. But I can scan and move on. When I get bored, I turn into a boneless heap whose legs become unable to support her weight and must drape herself over the cart to keep from dust mopping the floors. I wandered on and came across a Count doll from Sesame Street. It was love at first sight. The rest of the day I had to count out everything Sugarbowl got, even adding the "Ha ha ha!" at the end. She was mortified, especially when an old man behind me, who I had not seen, started laughing. She said he was laughing at me. I said he was laughing with me. The debate rages to this day.

Getting groceries, and, again, kicking myself for getting hornschwaggled into shopping with Sugarbowl, she would send me to get things off her list. I would grab them, find her, and see how far away I could throw them and get them into the cart. Princess enjoyed the game so much, she joined in and she and I had contests to see who could make the basket from the furthest away. Sugarbowl said I was a bad influence and next time she was going to leave me at home. GREAT! That is all I wanted in the first place. I also like to act like I am in the Indy 500 with the cart and pop wheelies and skid around the corners on 2 wheels. An added challenge is to have Princess hanging on to the end of the cart and see how well I can take those curves. I'm pretty darn good at it. We let Sugarbowl get a good distance ahead, then skid up as close to her as possible without touching her. Touching her means instant death, because her good humor dries up damn quick when I go into Indy 500 mode.

Leaving Walmart, Sugarbowl said there was a teenage girl who was checking me out, raking her eyes up and down me trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I'm so used to it, I don't notice it. I don't remember what Sugarbowl said, but it made me grab the bag of Oreos and beat her about the head and shoulders with it. She said the girl was very interested in checking me out until I beat her with the Oreos. I guess the public can't figure out the equation of Gimp + using Oreos as a weapon = X. It is a very perplexing equation, especially because the general public doesn't expect someone like me to have any kind of fun or humor in me. They expect dead wrong. Being a gimp does not make one serious all the time. No matter what condition I may ever be in, I cannot believe that it would dry up my deep need to be an embarrassing arse hole whenever possible.

Sugarbowl likes to tell anyone who happens to witness my mortifying ways that she doesn't know me. I like to contradict her and let them know that we are sisters and she is trying to be the mature one. You can't hide what's inside and I know she can be just as much of an ass as me. She's just better at hiding it. I can't be bothered with hiding it.

On The Road Again

Remember a lllllooooonnnnnggggg while back I talked about how my little sister and I were going to go to De Smet, SD and revel in all things Laura Ingalls Wilder? That time has finally come. We are leaving later today. I have dusted off my official LIW sunbonnet, found my I heart Laura Ingalls pin, and still need to pack, but the morning is young and Sugarbowl sleeps late. Besides, how much does one really need to pack for a 3 day trip that revolves around pioneers? Ma knows that nobody hip and happenin' is going to be there. All I need are my pantaloons and I stifling long sleeved dress. No need to pack deodorant or a razor. I'm not sure how or if they brushed their teeth, so I am going to pack my toothbrush. My only nod to modern times will be my Copaxone and assorted meds to keep the crazies at bay (and the nerve pain, and the spasticity . . .).

First stop is Walnut Grove to see the big pit in the ground that was the dugout. If I didn't want to see that so much myself, I would point out that if Sugarbowl wanted to look at big pits she just needs to look at her arse. Sadly, my own pitted arse does not enjoy being punched, so I have to keep my mouth closed regardless of how tempting it is to say such things. I have learned to say it over the phone, when she is nowhere near the house.

At first we were going to wear makeup so we wouldn't have a plethora (and it will be a plethora!) of pictures of us looking like the bottom of the Ingalls' outhouse, but then we remembered that pioneers didn't have makeup. And how good can 2 grown women in sunbonnets possibly look? People should be glad that I'm not going to wear my mustache, because everyone knows pioneers had mustaches, especially the women, but there is no way I am packing my straight razor, so it will probably grow in during the trip. I just hope I don't grow a full beard before we get back.

I will post pictures of our pleasure trip when I get back, or maybe on the trip, because I'm pretty sure pioneers had laptops. I will miss you. Every moment away from you is torture and only my love for Laura could possibly make me leave you behind. If nothing else makes you jealous of my living in Nebraska, the fact that I am only 4 hours away from the Land of Laura should. Heck, that makes me jealous of myself. Now to get into my full pioneer regalia and get ready to hit the road. Miss me.

Yodeling

Yodeling is no longer just for climbing tall mountains or for proclaiming your love for Riccola; it has so many practical uses these days. It's a great way to let the other person sleeping in your bed know that you are awake and it also is a good barometer of the depths of your love. Even though I still like to use it in the old fashioned way when climbing the dog manure pile in my back yard to survey the surrounding countryside, I have found similar joy in using it in other areas of my life.

This morning I popped awake and was sure it had to be pushing 6 am I felt so awake. Oh no! It was barely past 3:30 am. I have an ironclad rule that I DO NOT get out of bed before 4 am, so I had to find a way to entertain myself for 30 more minutes. Princess, who can only find sleep in my bed when spending the night at my house, made the mistake of getting up to go to the bathroom. I laid cross ways across the bed, hung my head upside down over the edge -- do not do it if you have vertigo --and yodeled to announce to the whole house that I was now awake. Princess started laughing in the bathroom and I have a policy of trying to keep her laughing as much as possible because she is such a serious little tween. The dogs were so excited by my melodious yodeling that they were hogging the bed and Princess and I were forced to press together to stay on it. I started giving her hot potatoes (where you blow hot air into their shirts, a very gross feeling that I don't mind giving but hate receiving) and imitating the loud way the dogs yawn their rotten morning breath into our faces until it finally was 4 am. By that point Princess was laughing so hard and giving me hot potatoes, that I was glad to get out of bed so early in the morning. I don't think my morning breath smells like a unicorn's fart after feasting on roses, but I am now 100% positive that Princess's morning breath most certainly does not smell like said unicorn fart (more like a fish's arse hole turned inside out after feasting on his rotting brethren).

While swimming at the lake the other day, Sugarbowl was talking about a certain country singer that she has been in love with since she was 16. She summed up the depth of her feelings by saying that if he wanted to part her meat curtains and yodel into her vagina, she would do it without hesitation. I started laughing so hard I nearly drowned because their is no life guard on duty at the lake, and alcohol and open fires are prohibited. It's so ridiculous it's funny. And I can honestly say that I can't think of anyone I love that much that if they asked me to do that I would acquiesce. But I am still young enough to find a love that deep and true. Think of all the yodeling that would be going on in my bed then...

Hey You Guys!

I have been dying to use that for a title since I started blogging. Growing up I loved LOVED LOVED The Electric Company, and the Super Friends, The Muppets, Slim Goodbody, and 3 2 1 Contact. But all those will have to wait their turn to be used as a title. Today I need the Electric Company to round everyone up for me. I need your opinion.

Last night we were all playing Scattegories. Me, Princess, Acorn, Sugarbowl and Sugarbowl's fiance Vanilla (we call him Vanilla because he can be so bland -- but that is another blog post). If you haven't played Scattegories before, I'll give you a quick rundown. You have a list of topics, like Song Title, Famous Female, Things Found At The Beach, Pizza Toppings, etc etc and you roll a big dice with letters all over it to see which letter you have to start all your answers with. Well, for World Records starting with the letter A, Princess put Armpit hair. Sugarbowl hotly argued against it and Princess had to cross it off her list, even though I agreed with Princess because everything is a world record these days. We were doing our next round, and for Things That Jump/Bounce starting with the letter B, Sugarbowl put Boogers. And with that answer an argument was started that may never be resolved.

Sugarbowl claims that almost all boogers bounce. Acorn agreed that her boogers bounce, too. Princess and I, who apparently have very sticky boogers, disagreed. Boogers do not bounce, they stick. Vanilla wouldn't take a side in the debate so we were at an impasse. To prove her point that boogers bounce, Sugarbowl picked her nose, got a booger and started rolling it between her fingers. She said she was going to bounce it off of Princess to prove that boogers bounce. I told Princess that she needed to pick her own nose, get a booger and fling it at her mother to prove that boogers do not bounce, they stick. If they are so bouncy, why are there boogers on the wall by kids' beds? If they bounced they wouldn't stick to the wall, you could just vacuum them up. Sugarbowl says they are on the wall because kids wipe them there. And I can't disagree with that, but I still say that a lot of them are there because they were flicked and stuck.

We argued this while I looked up records for armpit hair. There is a record -- 32 inches in case you wanted to know. I tried to look up boogers bouncing, wording it every way anyone could think of, and I got nothing except a blog site called Boogers Don't Bounce (I didn't go to the site so I'm not going to link it here, even though I'm sure it is a great site). We continued to argue it as we went outside to smoke and Sugarbowl continued to pick her nose clean to prove her point. I pointed out several great instances of her boogers most definitely not bouncing. Like the time we were driving and she had a booger stuck to her finger that she couldn't get rid of and I was laughing at her getting a booger stuck to her that morning from a towel. A booger that we didn't know where it came from. Or who it came from. YUCK! (http://blindbeardsmsblog.blogspot.com/2009/06/boogers-bitches-and-blindbeards-blues.html) Then there was the time at one of Princess's basketball games that Sugarbowl's nose turned into a magician's handkerchief and she had a big runny booger that just kept on coming out of her nose. We didn't have any Kleenexes so she was wiping it on the bottom of the bleachers. I'm pretty sure those boogers didn't bounce off of the bleachers and are still stuck right where she wiped them.

Anyway, what I'd like to know is if you think boogers bounce. I told her I was going to ask you all -- not that she will ever admit defeat if you do agree with me -- and she was okay with that. You may comment anonymously, I don't care, but please tell me if you too think boogers bounce. The decision of who won the game is in the balance here.

How Do I Love Thee?

With Princess and Sugarbowl no longer living with me, I feel like my creative juices done dried up. Don't get me wrong, Acorn can crack out some hot ones, but Sugarbowl and I have been playing off each others wit for almost 32 years now, so we have perfected our most hilarious (to us) jokes. Sadly, not everyone -- Princess -- appreciates our witty ways. One time, while we were waiting for Princess to finish basketball practice, which is always fun because she lollagags and takes her sweet time about it, we made a list of things about her that annoyed us. It was born from our extreme irritation with waiting for her to come out after basketball practice when she was in there messing around knowing full well that we were sitting out in the car, in the middle of winter, waiting for her. And I don't mean just practicing longer, I mean truly messing around. Like, "we were turning our jerseys inside out and walking backwards! It was soooo funny! Then we took off one shoe and hopped on one leg! Ha ha ha!" All this for 10-15 minutes while we are waiting in the car. It gets a little annoying, to say the very least. So we made this list of things that annoyed us about her, nothing really mean, just things like "she never put out a solo record" and such. The list we made has been lost, but recently, going through our crap getting ready to move, I found the list she made about the things that she doesn't like about us. I am going to put it on here, with all misspellings intact, because it is too good to be lost. She is growing up to be just like her mom and aunt (wiping a tear from my eye), whether she wants to be like us or not.


Reasons I Hate Mom And [Blindbeard]

1. They are butt heads

2. They never forget anything

3.They change a story and think its twice as hilarious as the first time

4. [Blindbeard] steals my animals

5. They rename my animals gay nicknames

6. They snikker alot

7. Mom is always pooping

8. They make fun of me

9. They repeat quotes that weren't funny the first time and make them even less funny

10. You cannot have 2 seconds peace

(crossed out)11. They're borying

11. They agree with each other and not me

12. They don't listen to me


I have been reading this list to everyone and laughing over it. Princess still agrees with everything on there. Maybe my memory has faded over the last few months, but is her mom always pooping? I don't remember her always being on the toilet, but Princess still stands by that list, so I guess Sugarbowl is always pinching loaves.

From The Ashes

Rises a few things Blindbeard didn't know about herself. After my darling little doggie died, I wanted to make him a headstone, so I bought a ton (at least it felt like a ton) of plaster of Paris and have been fashioning headstones for him and for the members of my family who want headstones for their lost pets. I was enjoying the plaster of Paris so much I wanted to branch out into other areas of clay-like stuff that will add to the mess of plaster and paint all over the place. I found out that I enjoy clay as much as plaster and have been going around with clay all over me, my clothes, all over the house, crusted into the dogs' fur, etc etc. I think my new found love of clay is due to the fact that humans have been working with clay since prehistory and I am one generation away from a cave man. I am so adept at hunting and gathering that last night I slayed a box of lemon wafers after gathering a bag of Fritos. The whole village ate good and we even have some left over to get us through until our next expedition into the wild jungles of my kitchen.

The only downside to my clay fixation is that I need a pottery wheel because I'm pretty sure cave men didn't use a kid's pottery wheel. They knew those things are not meant for serious clay workers and invested in a grown up pottery wheel. Too bad I am so poor, but too good that my mom is always willing to fan the flames of any creative spark we may have, so I think a real pottery wheel is in my future. Thank goodness because I don't need any more lopsided ashtrays. I need some lopsided "vases" and "pitchers" and whatever else one makes on a pottery wheel. I'm not sure what but I intend to find out.

I would love to continue my foray into the nonsensical, but the flea market is here and I must get ready to go buy useless crap. If there is anything I don't need more of, it's useless crap, so of course I have been drumming my fingers and checking the time every 38.6 seconds in impatience to go spend my $2. Tootles.

I Guess I Didn't Need That

Good thing I have MS to play Big Brother for me and get rid of the stuff that I don't need or want anymore, regardless of how I feel about those things. According to my MS, I have been hoarding things that need to go, like my right leg. And both of my knee caps. Also my MS decided I should never forget about the trigeminal nerve on the right side of my face. It hugs my chest exactly where a bra strap goes so I find wearing anything but a sports bra uncomfortable -- it decided that I need a uni-boob because the whole "lift and separate" thing is overrated. Thank goodness it pointed out that a stagger and limp are so much more attractive than a regular walk. Who wants to blend in when you can stagger and be an object of interest to the public?

But MS is also a giver. It helped me start an interesting cane collection and knew that I needed a medicine cabinet stuffed full of drugs. It helped me fill my refrigerator with shots that I have to worry about being broken because that is a lot of money there. But MS has made sure that I don't have any money to worry about, because it is an expensive disease.

MS worries about me getting enough sleep. It worries so much about that that I never have to worry about it because it is there to make sure I get my rest. It never wants me to overexert myself so it put a limit on how much I can do before I become too fatigued. MS doesn't want me to get a heat stroke so it made me turn into a puddle of warm jelly in the heat; a puddle that runs to a cooler place at the first sign of melting.

MS decided that short term memory is too much baggage and tossed it overboard along with my ability to recall words when tired. Luckily I am still able to gesture and do a sort of charade to show people what word I'm trying to recall.

Now MS has decided to make my right arm numb and tingly, to keep my right leg company, I suppose. It enjoys giving me those "electric shocks" up the right side of my body, up into my hair, making my scalp crawl in the grossest way. Until it decides to give me my right arm back -- if it ever does -- I'm just going to have to trust its judgement, regardless of all its bad choices in the past. But we all make mistakes.

Ain't Gonna Explain Myself To Nobody!

At my exercise class the other day, we were talking about different things we do so the public won't "get the wrong idea." One lady was saying she had read that you should carry a cane so the neighbors don't think you're drunk, and keep a wheelchair in the garage so you can look at it and let it know that you are NEVER going to use it. I like the wheelchair part, but I don't feel like I should have to explain myself to anybody. I told her that I wanted to get one of those root beer bottles and put it in a paper bag to carry around with me and she laughed so hard and enjoyed it so much that she brought me a root beer bottle the next exercise class. And I have every intention of using it. I'm having daydreams of mowing the lawn with it in my hand... driving down the road with it, waving to police officers... going to the lady's house that gave it to me and slurring out, "you ready to go exercise, baby?"

When I was newly diagnosed, I carried a cane and wore my MS shirts all the time so people would know what was wrong with me. I felt like I had to explain myself to the public so they "wouldn't get the wrong idea." I agreed when people told me that I have MS, it doesn't have me. That things could be worse, which I totally agree with, but am tired of hearing. I bit my tongue when people referred to me as "sick" even though it will bring out the evil in me faster than anything else. I was patient explaining all things MS to anyone who would ask. Somewhere along the line I got over my need to explain and the shame in being what I am, and now there is hell to pay!

I enjoy saying, "MS has me" as an answer to what is wrong with me. I am thinking of getting a T shirt that says that for the upcoming MS walk. I correct anyone who has the nerve to refer to me as "sick." I let them know that I am not sick. I have a disease, but I am not sick in the sense that one thinks of sick. I will not carry a cane for any one's benefit. It makes people feel better about themselves if they get the wrong impression and, if nothing else, I am doing the public a service by making them feel better about themselves. I WILL NOT wear my MS shirts anymore because I don't want to give the answer away to those who are uncouth enough to stare at me and try to figure out what is wrong with me. Let them puzzle over it. It's not my problem whether they ever figure it out. Maybe they should approach me with that old stock question, "Whad ya do to yer leg?" Then I will explain that I have MS and watch as their eyes glaze over when they realize that it is a boring answer to the $64,000 question.

Somewhere along the line, you gotta stop worrying about what others' think of you and just worry about what you think of you. And I think I need to start carrying around my root beer bottle.

This Is Gonna Be GREAT!

Or GR8 if you are a texting kind of person, which I am not. It takes me forever to text the most basic things, like LOL and WTF or even BRB. My little sister's phone is a high tech thing that I can't figure out. One day she and I were getting ready to go pick up Princess from school and do some shopping. The winds had been blowing very hard and the snow had drifted over our driveway. I thought we should dig out a path before we left but Sugarbowl thought I should just gun it and I would go right through the big drift. I gunned it against my better judgement and got high centered in the drift. Sugarbowl got out to dig me out and gave me her phone to text Princess and tell her to walk (she claims she told me to tell her to wait, but that is not what I heard or remember). Her phone was set to that T9 crap and I couldn't get "walk" texted in. I sent Princess 3 texts of "www" before I finally got "walk" figured out. I wanted her to have some websites to check out until we were able to get to her.

Anyhoo, Sugarbowl and Princess got their own apartment due to our recent HUGE fights that annihilated all good feelings between us. Sugarbowl, who is very Borderline Personality, has never been able to keep it all together when on her own. Her part of the rent was $375 here and she never could help with any of the other bills, so I carried it all. Now her rent is $595 and she has to pay all her utilities on her own. Also, moving from a house to an apartment is an almost impossible thing unless you want to use a shoe horn to get everything in. Right now she has not gotten all her crap into her apartment and will not try until I move and she has to take all her crap or lose it. She has such raging hoarding problems that I know she won't be able to part with her crap, so I have made some predictions about how this is all going to play out.

1. She is not going to pay all her utilities. She will make rent because she has to, but everything else will pile up until they are left with no lights or hot water while I enjoy my electricity and hot showers. Maybe I should buy them some candles as a house warming gift... or sit back and enjoy the show.

2. Her apartment is going to be a PIG STY! Right now they are dying to prove me wrong and when I stopped over the other day, they had made their beds! I have never seen her make her bed before and right now they are motivated by their desire to prove me wrong, but I will die of shock if they actually do prove me wrong on this one. I couldn't get her to help out around here and her room was such a disgusting mess it gave me the fidgets to see it. She bought a bunch of cleaning supplies and flipped me off when I asked her if that was the first time she had ever bought such things.

3. I give her 6 months before the whole thing falls apart. She is in a 6 month lease, but I don't think she will be able to foot all the bills much longer than that. What makes me the most mad is that I am still looking to buy a house and -- Dagnabbit! -- I am trying to find one big enough to accommodate us all if/when they need me. It makes me mad that I am doing it, but I know she is going to need a safety net and I will never turn my back on my family, regardless of what 2 bit whores they can be.

Right now my house is clean, quiet and rearranged the way I want it. One of my old foster kids is moving in with me because she wants to go to school here and I want the acorn to come back to the oak tree. I'm play all nice and contrite to Sugarbowl right now to keep the peace, but I am looking forward to being able to do as I want with my life, getting it set up the way I want, and sitting back and watching the bodies hit the floor. If she ever needs me, I will be here with my life the way I want it and will be able to have some control over the situation. I have all these great plans for things if she needs me... but until then, I am going to revel in my clean house. Too bad I can't do cartwheels anymore. I would be doing them all over the house.

2 For 1

I have 2 completely boring things rattling around in my mostly empty head, so I am going to give a 2 for 1 special at bargain basement prices.


I Hate Being Poor

Looking at houses has been a reminder of exactly how incredibly poor we really are. Within our price range is a lovely selection of the most hovely hovels in all of hoveldom. The very first house we looked at was so incredibly horrible that the only good that came from it was the knowledge that it can only get better from there. The realtor that was really trying to get us to buy also owned their own construction business and if we bought that house and had them "flip" it for us, they would give us a great price! Any electrical and plumbing that they did would come with a lifetime guarantee and they would fix any problems in the future for FREE! Damn, baby, where do we sign? Never mind all the holes in the walls, the broken, splintered stairs, the suspicious holes cut out of the carpet when the carpets are so disgustingly dirty it makes you wonder what had been so bad that they needed to cut out just those areas. It wouldn't have surprised me if there had been chalk outlines of bodies and they had just cut along the dotted lines in those carpets, so odd were the shapes of the chunks taken out. When we left Princess said it looked like a mass murderer had lived there. And that sums up that house perfectly.

Another house, which we really liked besides this one little flaw, had floors that were dangerously sloping into what I can only assume was a massive sink hole that is about to swallow that house. As much as we would have loved that house, we aren't quite desperate enough to be sucked into a sink hole, never to be heard from again.

It just goes on and on and on. I can understand being poor, but do you have to be so filthy? After looking at some of these houses I just want to come home and soak in a hot bleach bath. *Sigh* Our search continues and our bleach supply dwindles.


Is That A Hint?

I accept that the dogs like my room so much that they must drag all their toys into my bed, chew up everything under my bed, and regurgitate those things that didn't agree with them all around my bed. But lately they have been dragging a hair brush into my bed. I keep putting it away and it keeps finding its way back into my bed. I know my hair is a wild mop, but if I brush it it becomes all frizzy and even wilder. I explained this to the dogs and they kindly dragged a little gardening rake into my bed last night instead of the hair brush. They finally realized that this steel wool pad on my head needs more than a hair brush and I feel lucky that they didn't drag a bigger rake into my bed. The hair brush will never get to run its bristles through my luxurious locks, but I may start using the gardening rake. I could plant some seeds in the furrows and grow a new chia hairdo. I think the dogs are on to something...

*Author's Note

*Author's Note: I gotta write this quick before the kids wake up. We have Jabber this weekend and have not had a quiet moment since he climbed into the car. If they spill out of their rooms before I'm done, this will disintegrate into a pile of words with no sense in them. Wish me luck!

*Author's Note II: This may disintegrate into a pile of words with no sense in them without the kids' help. It's not fair to blame them for my lack brain cells, even though it sounds better to say, "They did it to me!" then admit I can't string 2 thoughts together without getting confused.

*Author's Note III: I think I'm already confused.

*Author's Note IV: Was I born confused? I'll have to ask my mom, although she can get lost in the simplest of ideas, so maybe that is where I get it from.

*Author's Note V: Maybe it comes from my father. No, he has been stuck in the same rut of ideas for as long as I've known him, so it must be from my mother.

*Author's Note VI: My mother's family is notorious for being... well, out there, off, crazy, nuttier than a truck load of fruitcakes, etc etc. I got the MS from my father's side and got the crazies from my mother's side.

*Author's Note VII: My maternal relatives are fun to visit. It is a whole vacation of randomness. They will pop out something that has no meaning to anything anyone is saying, ever said, or ever even thought about saying.


Wow! Look at the time! It is almost 7am and I have to get my happy arse into the shower before everyone uses up the hot water. I'm glad I got to write down my ideas before I got off on a tangent and totally confused myself. (Blindbeard, you are a fountain of wisdom and a shining example of staying on track and not running off to chase something shiny! You bring a tear to my eye.) Now, off to the shower before everyone barges in to check out my goodies. Tootles!


*Author's Note VIII: I really don't have anything that should be called "goodies." Since losing all that steroid weight my boobs deflated and ran off without even a "Dear John" note. And my arse became as flat as the Nebraska plains, which no one hesitates to point out to me.

*Mental Note to Self: You need to find a better family.