Critique

As if I didn't suck enough, I now have cluster headaches. I don't know if I wrote about my eyeball pain last year when it started, but I sure didn't hold back around here. I have done all the scans, went through too much none-too-cheap medicines trying to treat a sinus infection that didn't exist, pondered the possibility that 3 times EVERY day at the same time someone took a sledgehammer to the left side of my face/head and for some reason I didn't notice them sneaking up on me, because we all know how much that happens, and finally when all those possibilities were ruled out, cluster headache was the only thing left. I figured it out by myself, because lets face it, the doctors most certainly weren't awake with me in the middle of the night trying to figure out how that person with a sledgehammer got me again. I was looking up how painful gout is and stumbled across a list of the worst pain people can have. Gout is on that list, that list that has as the number one most horrid pain cluster headaches with a description that was exactly what I was going through. Since they hit at the same 3 times every day, I prepare for them as well as one can. I take pain meds at night that make me fuzzy around the edges and make my reading comprehension so low that it is pointless for me to try reading, so I have been watching movies. I am finally getting around to all those movies that I have been meaning to watch for years (and years and years) but just never got around to. I'm trying to stick with classics and any suggestions you may have would be greatly appreciated. Here is my critique of a few.

The Godfather

I have been meaning to watch this movie for years but never wanted to take the time to do it. I don't do good with too long of movies because I get restless unless they are excellent movies. The Godfather, as I'm sure you know, IS excellent. I have watched it so many times, and even now am thinking about getting it from the library again today. My first book is going to be "Things I Would Do Sexually To A Young Al Pacino". And there would be sequels. Many, many sequels. When my eyes first clamped on to him, my pants burst into flames and every time I see young him again my pants burn up. Too bad that I wasn't even born yet when that movie was made. Such a damn good movie and such a damn hot man. That is the definition of win-win right there!

Seven Brides For Seven Brothers

Have you seen this movie? It is so ridiculous yet so much fun and the songs get stuck in my head. Even talking about it I get, "Bless yore beautiful hide, wherever you may beeeee!" playing in my head. I have watched is several times and have enjoyed it each time, damn it! It amuses me that women back when that movie was made sang at such a high pitch. One minute they are talking in a normal voice, then the next they break out in a song in a pitch that can shatter glass.

Some Like It Hot

I LOVE LOVE LOVE this movie! I am going to have to buy it because I have renewed it from the library 3 times and that is the limit. Jack Lemmon as a woman is so friggin' hilarious, and how can you not love Marilyn Monroe in it? She is so cute and I love how she has curves, she's not built like a 12 year old boy like women in movies are now. The pointy boobs are really pointy and you can tell it's a different time by how the men pat the women on the butt and the comments they make that would get them in trouble these days. When Jack Lemmon gets engaged to that man is my favorite part and I have watched it and laughed at it over and over again.

I have more that I will add later, and, like I said above, I am open to any suggestions. There are a few that I really want to mention but I don't want to not give them the full paragraph that they deserve. (If there is anyone who is interested, I can talk more about my cluster headaches, or if you want to tell me about yours, that would be great too. I would love to hear how you deal with it.)

Happy Birthday To Sugarbowl

The main reason that I have not been blogging is because I feel like so much time has passed that I need to bring myself (and any readers I may still have) up to date. Honestly, the idea of having to bring myself up to date makes me want to go to bed with a hot toddy and an ice pack for my head. Not that there is one thing of any real interest, my divorce was finalized in July, I'm still a gimp, my sciatica is still a hot knife stabbing my right butt cheek/lower back, and yet I still feel like I should deal with these issues before moving on to new ones. But in honor of Sugarbowl's birthday, and my deciding to just start from where I am and pretend that I slipped into a coma for the last few months and just woke up from it, I am going to act like we were just talking yesterday, and here is what's going on today.

So, Sugarbowl is 34 today and you would think that 34 is the most ancient age ever, that we would have to saw Sugarbowl in half and count her rings to ascertain her age, then do some carbon dating just to be sure. Maybe if she and I were not 4.5 years apart, I may have an iota of sympathy, but I don't. To a woman who is 4.5 years older, I can't bring myself to cry into my pillow over her hitting the big 3-4. She and I both had to have our driver's licenses renewed this year. Why is it so hard to take a decent picture for those things? Do they do it on purpose so that you don't want to get pulled over and have to show that picture to ANYONE UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, thereby making you are a law abiding citizen? Since she and I both had to go through that hideous event this year, we have been debating whose picture is worse. Spoiler alert: Mine is. But let us start with hers.

Hers

Imagine if you will, a round, white face framed by about 14 chins, a luxurious blond comb-over-looking hair don't, and a look on the face like they just ate a stink bug. They didn't just, "GULP! I swallowed a stink bug!" They chewed that thing 20+ times and savored every bite, then CLICK! here's your driver's license that you get to carry for the next 5 years! She called me and said she wanted to cry and that she would pay me $100 if I could honestly say that mine is worse. (She refuses to accept my arguments regardless of the evidence staring her beady eyeball to beady eyeball, and steadfastly claims hers is worse. She still owes me $100.)

Mine

I would like to pretend that I don't have a driver's license instead of admit that that is supposed to be me. What a sick joke! And the lady had the nerve to lie TO MY FACE and say that it turned out pretty good. I don't even want to think about what I must have looked like to her in person for her to open her mouth and fart out such a lie. But I digress. In my picture my hair is a curly mess that is flat on one side and caught in a wind tunnel on the other. My face looks tired and old, like I spent the last 38 years servicing men in a back alley for crack money. But all of this is nothing compared to my skinny, stingy, dried up old turkey leg of a neck. What was I craning my neck for? Did I want to see how long and stringy I could make it look? It's so horrible that I keep it covered at all times and  live in fear of someone needing to see it.

Even though it is her birthday and I should give her this day to have the worst driver's license, I can't honestly say that hers is worse. I'm going to go over to her house and clean, but I cannot lie and say that 14 chins are worse than stingy, dried up turkey leg necks. It's a toss up at best. There are no winners in these situations. Only losers, and there are 2 victims of the DMV right here.

It Better Be Coming Around The Mountain

I'm so crusty and gross. I am going to be crusty and gross until Lord Lortab kicks in and I can stand upright without a hand on my back, grunting and shuffling along, like my ancient neighbor. Once I can stand, I'm taking the longest, most luxurious shower ever had by man or gimp. I'm going to scrub and condition and pumice like there will be someone else in my bed besides me and the dogs tonight. As it is, I feel my sciatica but not my lortab yet. And I still feel how crusty and gross I am. I have been working on restoring my bathroom floor (it dates from the 1880's) and it requires a lot of scraping and dust and particle flinging. Many nose blowings to see how black my boogers may have become in the 10 minutes since I last blew my nose. Many gouges and cuts on my hands. A blister on my left palm that burst and yet keeps oozing. Countless splinters in my poor arse. Glancing down after that last sentence, I saw my fingernails. Add them to the list of things that are not attractive.

When I realized that my pain had taken over my ability to work, yet my pain meds had not yet given me the ability to lie down on anything I value, (this chair is from Goodwill) I decided to visit my poor ol' neglected blog. I keep telling myself that I need to get back on here, yet I feel like I have nothing to talk about. The only things going on in my life are things that are far too mundane and boring to talk about. Then a slide show of past blog posts plays through my mind and I realize I built my reputation on the mundane, inane, and boring. (I wanted another -ane there, but couldn't think of one that would work. Bane? Candy cane?) I have a few things I've been meaning to write about brewing right now. As I think I'm starting to feel the beginnings of pain management, I'm going to have to go and grab a very comfortable, very ugly, very sleep inviting pair of pants and shirt. I have a hot date with a pumice stone and a heating pad tonight. All this excitement on a Thursday too. Just imagine what my weekends must be like and then you will understand why I'm too busy to blog, I have the softest feet this side of the Platte river.

Excuses, Excuses!

Why has my usually overly verbose self been so silent of late? I have a whole plethora of excuses that no one will buy into, yet I offer them for your consumption anyway. Never mind the expired date on them, you won't get food poisoning, or lock jaw (keep your fingers crossed!).

The main reason for my silence is because -- let me check the area to make sure no one is within reading range -- I have become something of a recluse. My family always accuses me of being one, and I always argue that I most certainly am not! Then I beef up the number of times I have left the house to make myself look like a social butterfly. Why have I been so reclusive and hermit-like? I was shopping with Sugarbowl a few weeks ago when I noticed that my right leg was shaking and feeling very weak, like a newborn colt's. My hands were shaking and doing intention tremors, making it very difficult to hold anything, take a drink from my soda, cross off things from our list, etc. etc. I was embarrassed to be out in public shaking like that, which may have fed into what happened next. I started having muscle spasms from about my Hug area up. My upper body would clench then release on a rhythmic cycle. I can't remember the last time I wanted to get home so bad. We were about 30 minutes from home, and I spasmed the whole way there. If you have never had repetitive muscle spasms, let me tell you how painful they are. My body hurt so bad that night and the next day, I lived on NSAIDs. I knew that my face had been spasming, to the point that my mom, who had not seen me for about 6 weeks, asked if I was having facial spasms or a seizure. (We were at Princess's basketball game and she was going to take me to the restroom to seizure in private if it was seizures.) I can feel my face contort, but I didn't know it was so obvious to others. I thought it was just a barely perceivable twitch, but Sugarbowl said I do this thing with my mouth and she can tell how bad of a day I'm having by it (how often it twitches, how deep of a twitch, and so on).

The best medicine for my spasms is not a muscle relaxer, as one would think. Yes, it helps the muscle stop contracting so tightly, but it does not help that creepy crawly feeling I get when the next spasm is building up. It is marijuana. I have been blazing it up so much at the first sign of a spasm, that I thought this hideous sore throat I have right now may have been caused by it. I finally broke down and went to the doctor after suffering with a throat that feels like someone stuck a shotgun down my gullet and pulled the trigger, spraying shot all over my tonsils, for several days. I was afraid that he would look down my throat and tell me that a massive resin buildup was causing my throat to hurt so bad I would rather let my saliva build up to the point of overspill than swallow. I have tonsillitis and Sugarbowl has a great story to tell everyone for the rest of time. I suppose it is only fair because I have the story of her being full of sh*t, and that makes it worth it.

I have done a ton of research into these spasms and was greatly relieved that they are not an attack, and are usually self limiting, so I can become the social butterfly I say I am to my family, yet have never been in real life! YEE HAW! Or maybe just go do stuff without worrying about the spasms starting up. As the day wears on and I start to get tired, they fire up, and I light up (not cigarettes; I am still smoke free). Something great came out of all this. I was getting tired of my usual movies and crap that I watch when in my down time, because keeping my spasms company is very boring, so I wanted to branch out into something new. I decided to try out The Office because I enjoy Steve Carell and had heard so many great things about it. You may now count me as a fan. A twitchy, spastic fan, but a devoted fan nonetheless. We have Netflix through our Wii, so I can watch all the seasons on that until I can buy them, and buy them I will! Along with a Schrute Farms Beets t shirt, because that is just too great to pass up. The only bad thing about it is that Princess likes it too, but she is not as far as I am so I have to keep all this great stuff to myself until she catches up. The strain of keeping my mouth shut hurts almost as bad as my resin coated throat. And that is saying something.

Treacherous Roads Part 2: The Arizona Edition

So here we are in sunny Arizona, enjoying the 50-60 degree weather while the old people freeze, thinking it the equivalent to an arctic storm. Yesterday it was raining. Not torrential rains, but you would never know that by the way everyone was driving, with their wipers on the highest setting and racing around, switching lanes without using their turn signals because they all opted out of the newfangled gadget option. Or maybe they just need to refill their signal fluid. It could happen. Yesterday Sugarbowl and I were driving around, listening to the radio, and laughing about how they kept warning people about the roads, just because it was raining, until we saw all the wrecks and people in ditches. Then watching the news, we were even more shocked by all the wrecks and people in ditches that we didn't see. It's amazing to us, who are used to much worse weather than this, that people would have a hard time driving in such un-treacherous weather. My dad told us that they get about 10 inches of rain a year here, so for them it is hazardous driving. Hope we will be able to brave this weather and get out of Phoenix safely. We have more to worry about from the other drivers than rain, who are more hazardous than an arctic storm.

Other than that, our vacation is going good. We have seen the sights, destroyed my dad's house, and lost several valuable possessions. Sugarbowl lost a stuffed cat that she has had for 7 years and sleeps with every night, because she can't sleep without a stuffed animal. She has called the hotel, where we last saw him, several times and has even offered an award if they find him. She is heartbroken and I feel bad for her. My loss is a little less sentimental and much more expensive. My laptop got stuck under the rocking recliner and got mashed, breaking the screen and rendering it useless if you want to see anything, which I generally like to do. Now I'm wondering how nice I'm going to have to be to my ex to get a new one. Much nicer than I care to be, you can bet on that. Maybe I can be half as nice as I want to be and he will go halves with me. . . hmmm, that may be a better option because I don't think he or I would know what to do if I was too nice to him.

I will be glad to be home and sleep on a bed instead of an air mattress -- my back is killing me! I will be thrilled to see my doggies again, because I don't sleep well without a living animal pressing me down into a real mattress. Sure, I have my littlest billy goat gruff with me, but 13 lbs is nothing compared to 40 and 80 lbs. It will also be nice to have my own room and not have to sleep in the kitchen. I always thought sleeping in the kitchen would be nice. I could eat my cereal in bed and go right back to sleep. I was wrong. It sucks. Princess and I are sharing the air mattress and she is blocking the cereal cupboard, so I can't eat my cereal in bed. Another loss on this trip. Hopefully that will be the last loss we have. I'm not sure how much more we can take.

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.

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.

Tired Of My Own B.S., Gimme Some Of Yours

I am so sick of the same worries rolling around in my head. I am thoroughly bored stiff with them. I have had the same thoughts tumbling over each other for too long now: Money... need to get packing... little dog not house trained yet... so poor... this stuff ain't going to pack itself... how did I miss that huge pile in my room?... will I ever have more than $4 to my name?... what if this house doesn't go through?... why does he have to hold it until he gets back inside?... maybe I should look into prostitution, I wonder if they have night classes for that?... ugh! I hate moving and if I don't have a perfectly neat move, my mom will bitch the whole time!... is he afraid the grass will chap his poor delicate behind?

And around and around. So I would now like to switch worries with you. You worry about my crap, and I'll worry about yours. Please do not hesitate to tell me what's worrying you right now. I am ready to worry about your finances, living situation, and even the poop and pee stains on your carpets. I'm so sick of worrying about my crap and I bet yours are more interesting.

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.

Good To Know

Now that I have Acorn with me, I have been trying to fill her in on all things MS. She hasn't lived with me since my diagnosis and hasn't spent large quantities of time with me since I became such a broken down old gimp. I've been giving her a crash course in all the things she will need to know if she lives with me -- good thing she is such a good listener to my good talker. Among the important tidbits that she needs to know are these gems:

*I'm tired. No, really, I am tired! As the day progresses, I get more tired and need to hold down the couch more and more. By afternoon I will have to balance my activities by rest, get something done, rest, try and do something else, rest, eat as much junk out of the kitchen until I need to rest, rest, I think there is still some peanut butter and cake mixes left... better get on those.

*I can walk short distances without too noticeable of a limp, but anything more than that and I will be dragging my right leg along. And that gets very tiring. I showed her how to do an arm for me the best way. My little sister has it just right; my mom grabs my arm (instead of letting me take hers) and walks so fast I get drug along behind her, great for energy conservation, bad for the knees of my jeans.

*I forget everything. I will forget what I was just talking about. I will forget what you were just talking about. I will ask the same questions over and over again and never remember what the answer was or that I have even asked that question already. I will forget what I was planning for dinner and what is in the pot that is burning on the stove. When I need to remember something, I tell whomever is with me so they won't forget and it will get done. I carry about 5 million little notebooks to write down things so I don't forget and it is VERY important that I carry them all in my purse, which resembles a suitcase more than a purse, and, yes, I must carry everything I own with me at all times. Why do you think I need to drag around my suitcase/purse? I couldn't possibly only take what I need, I must take everything.

*When I push myself too far, which I have gotten very good at listening to my body and slowing down when I feel my strength ebbing but it does still happen sometimes, I need to rest NOW! And it would be nice if you would drop grapes into my mouth while I repose like the goddess I am.

*I am showing her how to do my shots and explaining that even though she has to feel me up to make sure she is not injecting into an area that is still swollen from a previous shot, it does not mean that we have to take our relationship any further. I don't usually allow anyone to feel me up on the first date, but she and I have known each other for a few years, and even though I want to just be friends -- it's not her, it's me -- we can cuddle sometimes. She can do better than me and I only want her to be happy.

Of course I have been running her through all the ins and outs of what MS is and what it does and how it effects one, which is all that boring crap that, if you are like me, you are bored stiff with. She is a good student and interested in what it all is and is not, and she has the arm thing down just right so my jeans may last a little longer.

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.

*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.

In My Defense

I got this comment the other day in reference to my blog post http://http://blindbeardsmsblog.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-hate-puberty.html.


Why do you need to be so critical, how about instead of venting your story off to the rest of the world you remember your own puberty and realize that she just might be embarrassed or scared? How about you try to make her feel better instead of making up a dumb story of how you're going to kill her. Guess what, every other mother has to deal with these issues and you can read that from other parent blogs or watch it on sitcoms. So get over it! Plus, if your daughter wants to play cash cab trivia, maybe you should just go along with it and then stump her. You sound like my mother: critical all the time, doesn't seem to care, and has no sense of humor other than negative sarcasm. I know she really does care, but would you want to be close to someone so cold? And about the bathroom issue, I assume not caring as much develops with age, but for the mean time, wouldn’t you rather they were embarrassed instead of flaunting their goodies to gods know who? Nonetheless, unless you are like the last commenter, trying to vent some steam, to read such negativity from someone who seems to be so negative and trying to prove she is so much better than two children and a bunch of teenagers. I’m sure if your daughter read this when she is older, she would feel bad and be embarrassed for being so ignorant. But you're the mother and if you weren't thinking about how witless youth can be, I'm not sure what you could have been planning for. Aside from that, your writing is quite superb. I don't know what you do for a living, but you can beyond any doubt be some kind of writer.

--Anonymous


I pondered this comment for almost 3.26 minutes last night, reread that post this morning and am now ready to add a little information that might make things more clear. I'm not Princess's mother; I am her aunt. I agree with the whole respecting-her-right-to-guard-her-goodies-like-they-are-precious-metals. In fact, we are very careful about her in the bathroom. We knock and let her know we need to come in so she has plenty of time to wrap herself head to toe in a towel.

It may sound like I am being cold and critical, but I am not. Or I am not trying to be at least. I still kiss on her and hug her throughout the day. I always tell her that I love her, have a good day at school and to not stop being adorable each morning when I drop her off at school. The problem is her teenager attitude. She is snarky, stubborn, quick to point out anything anyone says or does wrong, and 100% committed to her belief that what's mine is hers and what hers is hers, and gods help you if you touch anything of hers. A perfect example: she took my pit juice to school and "forgot" it, yet still popped a vein when she saw me using some of her old pit juice that she doesn't even want. I had to wear a pair of her socks the other day and she bitched and moaned about it until I really did want to chop her into bits and stuff her into the walls. She wears my socks and when she gets home from school, takes off her shoes and walks around in just my socks for the rest of the day, leaving them nasty and forever stained. She needed new brassieres but wanted me to go get a bunch for her to try on at her leisure here and then I return the ones that didn't work and get her more of the ones that did. She was mad that she had to go with me and try them on. She wouldn't talk to me the whole way to the store and when we were done she said, "that wasn't so bad." Last night she told me that she doesn't want anymore vampire shirts -- she is on a huge Twilight kick -- and to get her some werewolf shirts. Aye aye, Captain Craphead, let me get on that for you. She hates having to load the dishwasher so she loads it so nothing gets clean and when I showed her how to load it so things do get clean, she said that if we didn't like the way she does chores we shouldn't have her do them and just do them ourselves, to which we got a good laugh out of and she still has to load the dishwasher. Now she just has to do it again if she deliberately does it wrong.

When she starts up with an attitude that is going to get her into a lot of trouble, I give her a warning and let her try again before I lose my patience. Most days she will take the warning, other days... not so much. I do remember how it is to have your hormones all messed up and try to be patient and understanding about it, but some days she pushes me until I snap, and then, yes, I do think a quiet cell on death row would be nice. Lastly, she reads my blog posts and knows what I write so it is no surprise to her what is on here.

On a positive note about kids, we were playing Apples To Apples the other day and were reading out loud the cards that we had in our hands still when the game was done. Jabber's first card was "Ever glads," which amused us and Princess, in a rare moment of kindness for her brother, told him it was Everglades. His next card was "Canned Indians," which stumped us because we weren't sure what that could possibly mean. It was Canadians, but now we like to say, "Do you have Indians in a can? You do?! Well, you better let the poor guys out!" He also just had a conquer sore in his mouth. I hate those conquer sores; they hurt! Princess used to say that cracktice made perfect and called Jacuzzis, shaboozies. I miss those good ol' days when she was obsessed with Disney princesses and so sweet and funny. Some days I still see a glimpse of that, and I like those days.

Cast Of Characters

A comment I recently got started the crusty wheels in my head a' turning:

"... I feel like I know you and your family (sugar bowl, princess etc.) Sort of like a familiar tv series that you get to know all the players."

That made me think that maybe I should give a more formal rundown of the main cast to this R rated drama that is my life. (Once upon a time I would have called it X rated, but things have really changed for me.) Princess is going to give her input here too, to help balance (?) it out. Youngest to oldest we are:

Jabber

Blindbeard says: He in an 8 year old ADHHHHHHD kid whose tongue is hung in the middle and flaps at both ends. There are only 2 thoughts rattling around in his head: boogers and video games, namely Mario and Luigi. His hair is a red/orange, more orange then red, so we also call him Pumpkin Top, like if he hits his head we tell him to be careful not to spill his pumpkin seeds, or to start using his pumpkin seeds to form a thought that doesn't involve boogers and video games, or, being a boy, his penis. You don't want his hands to touch your face or, God forbid!, get in your mouth because you run a VERY high risk of getting raging Shigella. But he is also a very creative kid who can entertain himself for hours with the simplest of things, like a pair of earmuffs and a bungee cord will keep him occupied for hours. Who knew that bungee cords and earmuffs could have such great conversations? I wouldn't have thought they would have much in common.

Princess says: He is an annoying 8 year old boy who is addicted to video games but only the video games we have here. He has to take his DS every where and loses his games, and sadly, we bought him more for Christmas. Sorry, I was asleep when you asked me and I had a dream you were drawing a cow that looked like a sink.

Princess

Blindbeard says: She is an 11 year old know-it-all who is highly intelligent and can be a good companion but hates shopping to the point that it drives me crazy to take her with me. She is worried someone might see her naked body and goes to great lengths to make sure no one does. She is one stubborn mule and will dig in her heels and not back down no matter what the consequences may be for doing so. She doesn't think her mother and I are funny when we know we are damn funny. She is breathing down my neck right now and is watching every word I type and correcting me about everything.

Princess says: I'm the best person ever! Don't put that! I don't think that! It makes me sound conceited. You know, I am going to go in and delete all this! I hate you.

Sugarbowl

Blindbeard says: That woman and I are either getting along great or at loggerheads about something or everything, depending on the day and whether she took her meds or not. She is very creative and she and I can play off each others wit and amuse ourselves for too long. She talks too loud, due to ear problems as a child, and will blast everyone out of the bleachers at Princess's basketball games, no matter how many times I try to shush her. Her car is a mobile dump that drives me insane to have to ride in it, so we take my car so she doesn't have to hear me bitch about what a disgusting mess her car is. She likes stupid pets and I have to pull out my bossy big sister to keep her from starting a petting zoo in her room. She is allergic to cleaning and one tired lazy slob, but I still loves her.

Princess says: I say nothing about her.

Blindbeard

Blindbeard says: I know I have a lot of faults. I am a clean, organized person by nature and living with slobs can make me very hard to live with at times. I do not share well, what's mine is mine and I will not share with you. I tend to not have a lot of empathy for others, and do not care what anyone thinks about me, only what I think about them. I have certain things that I do not like anyone else to touch, like my favorite pen. One time Sugarbowl took it to work because she couldn't find any other pens. She didn't tell me until she got back home because she knew I would pop a vein in my head if I knew. I now hide that pen better. I change the words to songs all the time, to suit my mood and what is happening around me. I am very literal and will miss a lot of things that are not meant to be taken literally, or it takes me awhile to figure it all out. I read boring books that no one else can understand why I would read, but I am an historical non fiction addict who can only go so long without my fix.

Princess says: You are a great big glob of greasy grimy gopher guts; smell so bad it drives me nuts. You like to go shopping way way way too much. You can be fun and funny when you want to, other times you are an ass hole (she actually said that! And told me I could write that!). You steal my animals, even though I recovered one. The other I will never recover (her dog). You yell at me to get ready even though you have nothing else to do. You talk constantly; you have diarrhea of the mouth (HYPOCRITE!). You think the couch is yours even though you DIDN'T EVEN HELP MOVE IT INTO THE HOUSE! (The couch is mine, for the record.) You read dumb books. You get up at the crack of dawn.

BB: Don't you have anything decent to say about me?
P: I don't think I do. But you can be my best friend at times.

Shallow Thoughts By Blindbeard

What would I do for a Klondike Bar? Not much. They really aren't my thing. If I'm going to do anything for any sweets, it would be for a Peppermint Pattie so I could ski on my coffee table. Of course, to ski on my coffee table I would have to move my record player and records and I'm not willing to sacrifice them even for the joy of skiing on that humble table.

Denver Refashionista's recent status on Facebook of being who she is with no apologies got me thinking about how, like Popeye, I too "yam what I yam" with no apologies. Well, I will apologize if I trip over you or spray spittle all over your face because I got excited and was talking too fast too close to you, but other than that, I offer no apologies!

How many times can someone ask you the same questions and not remember ever having asked them before? This is a question that has kept me up for a good 10 minutes each night pondering if the lady in my exercise class will ask me again how old I am, if I'm married and do I have any kids. "How many questions can one woman ask before I go psycho and smack her upside the head? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind..."

On the whole who we like best on Sesame Street, I have to cast my vote for Oscar and Bert. Oscar is obvious why I like him and Bert because I too am a pedantic and boring-interests kind of person. My little sister likes Grover best and Princess does not know Sesame Street well enough to pick one, but she adores Animal from the Muppets.

Who started this whole women-must-shave-areas-men-do-not thing? I hate being tied to a razor all the time and am thinking the hippies were on to something. I don't want to burn my bra, but I will gladly join in on a razor burning.

Lethargic Lassitude

I have not been taking my anti fatigue meds because I'm an ijit and have forgotten how incredibly lethargic I am without them. I, in my infinite wisdom, thought that I would go off them then start them again to get maximum energy levels like when I first started them. I'm going to have to scrap that plan or risk melting into this couch and never being heard from again because my roomies will never think of lifting the cushions and cleaning under them. I'm so ridiculously tired I have been taking long luxurious naps, going to bed early and almost hitting 7 hours of sleep at night. I don't know if I can handle so much rest. My body may go into shock from being so over-rested.

On top of skipping my anti fatigue meds, my coffee maker broke yesterday and all my cussing and giving it Shaken Coffee Maker Syndrome didn't fix it, so it is obviously unfixable. I had to drink instant coffee, which is akin to drinking cat piss after so many years of real coffee. The good news in all this is that my bff at my exercise class had bought a fancy "gently used" coffee maker at a garage sale (they were selling it because the noise bothered their new baby) for me. She was thrilled that my coffee maker died so that she could give me the coffee maker she had bought for me and I would actually need it now. I was thrilled because I had to lug my lethargic arse into my exercise class while thinking negative things about having to spend my money on a new coffee maker when there is so much useless crap I would rather spend my $2 on.

Princess is enjoying my lethargy because she gets the computer more now. She, in all her lovely 11 year old just-been-hit-with-a-huge-greasy-puberty-stick-ness, is on a mission to try and beat all my high scores on Facebook. The other day she was playing some pearl worm game and told me that whenever she plays it she wishes she had a pearl necklace. Luckily I was turned away from her so she didn't see my face when she said it. Someday I will tell her all the things that are wrong with that statement, all the things I'm NOT saying to an 11 year old.

The good news, my fellow MSers, is that I am going back on my anti fatigue meds. This experiment has been a total failure and I am ready to join the land of the living again, so expect more nonsense from me. My house is a mess and the laundry is in a janga tower that is threatening to fall on us and smother everyone in this house. Now I must drag my lazy butt over to my medicine cabinet and get my meds -- this would be so much easier if I wasn't so lethargic.

This post has been brought to you by the letter L and the number 11. "Sunny day, sweeping the clouds away. Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street?"

So Busy

I decided that I HAVE to clean and organize my computer area. I have been avoiding it for too long and it is past due. My pictures of the old buildings I photograph are on my desk top and I want to be able to get to them, so it has to be accessible, which it most certainly is not. I wanted to post some more of those pictures on here and a lady in my exercise class is a photography buff and wanted to see some of my pictures. I took myself firmly in hand and put that chore at the top of my list. I started out great. I went through a bunch of old papers and crap that I haven't seen in a llllooooonnnnnnggggg time, and filed away a ton of stuff that needed to be kept. It is no small chore due to my long neglect, but I was determined that it must be done before any other not-essential chore came up. Funny how those essential chores just kept popping up.

Taking a bathroom break, I noticed that the dishes really should be done. Granted they were not a full load, but it is better to get to these things before they get to be too big of a problem. After I got the sink emptied, I had to scrub the sinks because if there is a scrap of food left in them it gets gross.

I had to go to the store and get milk so Princess could have a proper breakfast. It is the most important meal of the day after all, and I want her to get the proper nutrition for a growing girl.

How can I possibly worry about my computer area when the lawn needs to be mowed? If I don't get on it, I will be making hay instead of just cutting the grass. I tried a new direction of mowing, I went up and down instead of side to side, because doing things differently opens new pathways in the brain, and I need new pathways desperately.

Coming in all dirty and grass covered, I was scandalized that I hadn't mopped in... too long. That is just gross and I have to at least be somewhat respectable. I felt so much better knowing my floors were clean again.

Heading back to the computer area, I noticed that my peace lily really needs to be repotted. How can I go on knowing my poor baby is root bound? What kind of a plant mommy would I be if I knowingly let my babies suffer? Princess and I dragged it outside and separated the many new plants that had sprung up and repotted them all. (I have a ton of peace lilies now if any one wants some.)

Whew, glad all that is done! Now it is back to my computer area -- just as soon as I power wash all that dirt off the deck. Princess and I got into a fight over the hose and we both ended up power washed. She powered off a chunk of my hair and my left eyeball is a memory now. But I don't need 2 eyes to see how bad my computer area is.

After changing out of my wet clothes and hanging those clothes on the line to dry, I go back to work on my mess of a computer area. While diligently working, all the animals are harassing me and I have to flea comb them to get any stragglers that are left over after all that flea bathing, because we all know that crap DOES NOT last up to 10 days (FALSE ADVERTISING!). I get what I can and get back to work.

Look at the time! I have to make a nutritious dinner for Princess, who has been helping me off and on all day. It just won't do to have her eat some frozen junk out of the freezer, even though that is usually how we do it.

Of course evenings are my down time, so Princess and I settle in for a little TV watching to end a day of hard work.

Can you believe that after a whole day of working on my computer area, it is still not done?! Today I am going to finish it up. I sure hope it doesn't take all day today like it did yesterday. I think I saw some weeds in the garden...