Distracted Much?

Tonight is definitely a meditation night.  I typically do a smidge of quiet nothing time every night, but I think I may have to work harder at it this evening.

Not to sound like an ungrateful hag, but I'm on a roll today, even with everything trying to smack me back down.

My espresso maker died an agonizing death on Sunday, and after the brief panic attack, I calmly ordered another one and decided to get out that french press collecting dust while I wait for it to arrive.

Espresso is disgusting in a french press.  I suppose there are some out there who love those little contraptions, and if it were for coffee consumption, I suppose I could see the appeal.  However, this is not measly coffee, this is ESPRESSO.  And I take mine like tar that could be slapped on a roof.  I could add even more grinds to the french press to go for a darker brew, but I'm already throwing twice the amount in the glass than what goes in an espresso machine.  And it's such a boring cup of good morning.  I've considered just spooning the sludge out of the bottom and eating it like a bowl of Cream of Wheat, but I only have one more morning of this hell before the new machine arrives.  Plus, as finely as I grind my beans, I'm confident that now amount of tooth brushing could remove those little things from my teeth were I to actually get desperate enough to eat them.

The demise of the espresso machine also means there is not the travel cup filled for my morning at work.  I'm actually making coffee.  And drinking it.  I'm not big on coffee, having been an espresso whore for too long to remember.  Plus, coffee is much more acidic than espresso, and well, honestly, if you are not an espresso fiend, you just will NOT understand.

Blech

 

Despite forgetting my belt, and finding myself changing out of workout clothes at work with pants that can not go without a belt, I managed to muddle through the day.  I actually did not get alot of my chosen work done, since there's that little thing called clients and customers, but all in all, it was a good day.  Even with temperatures ranging in the 20's, after a day of 50's and windows open just 24 hours previously.  Even waking up to snow flurries.

Though cold weather normally makes me think of things like hibernating, it invigorated me today.  I arrived home and started chopping and dicing, cooking up a new recipe though I seem to be the only person living in this house this evening.  I cleaned a bit, did some laundry, enjoyed a new soup, and even took out the trash in the bitter wind.  I hate the thought of a large trash can next to the house, which means ours sits near our property line through the back yard.  Not acres, but a fair sized yard, and it seems even larger when you realize you still have flip flops sitting at the back door for those quick runs outside.  My toes are still frozen into little blocks of ice.

Perhaps that was a little jolt that seemed to wake me up even more.  Because even though it's nearing 8:00 pm, I'm considering cleaning out my closets.  Again.  It would be the 3rd time since I packed away summer things, but now that cold weather seems to be here to stay, I feel like I can let go of a few more things that probably won't get touched this year.

However, what I really need to be doing is reading the book for our Book Club this month.  Our meeting is next week and I have not touched it.  I suppose I will have to bargain with myself, as I seem to be more motivated when I offer myself a reward.   And this month, the reward is huge, because today, my new Stephen King book arrived and everything I've seen about it says scary, scary, scary.  But no, I can not pick up that divine little morsel until I get this club selection read.  Bad girl, do as you are told.

I had another random thought that since temps have plummeted and we're lucky to hit 30 degrees, it could be kind of fun to start getting the holiday and winter decorations out.  There are already icicles showing up outside, so why not have them draped over everything inside as well?  It did not help that I took advantage of warm weather yesterday and draped the outside of the house in pine garlands, wreaths, trees, bows, and ornaments.  Yes, yes, stop your foolish ranting about it being too early in November.  And I will try not to laugh when your fingers are going numb trying to put up one single strand of lights.  Since I don't cover my house in lights, inflated snowmen, or candy canes, it actually looks pretty appropriate for what feels like winter but is technically still fall.  Also, I had neighbors gossiping when I put up fall decorations in September (acting as if that was actually too early), so I figure this will really give them something to talk about.

Kiss my ass.

Along with the espresso maker deciding to take a shit on me, I reached for my hand lotion after washing up pots and pans tonight and felt like crying.  My little pot of Lush Handy Guguru is nearly empty.  I've doled that luscious little cream out sparingly, but alas, it is about to disappear on me.  A simple solution would be to order some more, but I've been trying to not purchase anything but necessities and holiday preparations and gifts.  Another moment of telling the too-soon-holiday whiners to shut up.  I'll be relaxing the weeks before Christmas while others are stressing out, so don't question my madness.  But, back to the Guguru...if you have never tried it, you have no idea what you are missing.  Best.  Lotion.  Ever.  And nearly gone.  I'm sad.

Crying.

 

Only for a brief moment, because my mind has already wandered off to closets and bins of Christmas decorations.

Shut up.

I need to meditate.

Om.

Blurred Lines

No, not the song.  My brain.

But that's ok, because it was COFFEE DAY!

Coffee day saved the day, because the day started with one of those monster headaches.  A headache that required gulping ibuprofen as soon as I got to work and then disappearing to rearrange the lower level just because the lighting down there isn't as harsh as the main level.  Luckily, it was work that actually needed to be done, so I suppose I should look at that headache as great timing.  I guess.  Kinda fucked up logic, but it works.

Damn weather changes.  It's the source of the monster headache.  Along with not being able to remember if I've been taking my allergy medicine every morning.  I could get one of those Monday through Sunday pill sorters, but it would only have the one pill in it, so it seems a little ludicrous.  Plus, I'm 42 (and 358 days but who's counting), so I really don't need a pill sorter at this stage of my life.

Weather change...as in the last summer hurrah.  Maybe.  It's nearly 90 degrees today.  Makes perfect sense, because it's that first week of September and we always seem to get some kind of last minute heat wave.  However, this single hot day is going to suddenly drop so that tomorrow we MIGHT reach a whopping 70 degrees.  And what that becomes is me being obstinate about running air conditioning.  Especially when no one is home all day.  But it's HOT in this house.  So now, with the headache hangover firmly entrenched in my brain, I'm also feeling slightly cranky.  I might just go do some yard work, because hey, I'm already feeling cranky, hot, sweaty, and I think I should regale all my neighbors with the glorious sight of my striped pajama shorts and ragged tshirt with a hole in it.

This time of year is angst time.  Not your typical angst either.  I'm not feeling that anxiety over finances, home, marriage, children, or even about the current sad state of my manicure.  No, this angst is over fashion choices.  Why?  Because I bought glorious boots.  Boots so divine that I actually went through my closets and got rid of two pairs.  (really, a 42 year and 358 day old should NOT be wearing fur boots that make you look like a Yeti)  And while I was at it, I decided to check out those super deep, massively wide drawers I have, because when fall and winter clothes were packed away this spring, I had plenty of room.  And they are now overflowing.

Not only do I have a boot problem, I have a sweater problem.  Never ask me how many sweaters one person can possibly own, because I will cackle wildly and tell you not to ask stupid questions.  In fact, my sweater problem is so bad that it now has caused a problem called "not enough shirts" problem.  The number of sweaters now make me feel like I don't have enough shirts to layer under said sweaters.

But I have boots.  Oh yes I do.  And I'm ready for the cooler weather, because as much as I love and adore having my toes free, I adore boots even more.

Plus, according to FatBastard, it's time for a weather change.  Not because he's lying in a heap of gluttonous fur on the floor since I won't turn on the air.  No, he told me exactly what he thinks of my sandal problem.  But first, the back story...blame coffee day and headache hangover as I ramble all over the place on this one.

Have you ever owned the perfect pair of shoes?  Of course, when buying them, you don't know they are the perfect pair of shoes, so you only buy that single pair.    And then, you wear them, break them in to perfectly fit your feet, and you feel like you have died and gone to heaven.  Or hell, when you realize you should have bought five pairs so you will always have a pair of these perfect shoes in your closet.

Yup, I own one of those.  It's a simple little flip flop.  But not so simple when you attempt to replace it.  A brown leather Reef flip flop with the perfect wide strap (but not too wide) placed at the perfect spot on your feet.  Because they are leather, they mold to your feet perfectly, and even the worst heinous day at work can be spent in these flip flops without feeling like your feet have been reduced to bloody stumps by closing time.  I have owned these sandals for three years, and they are now so worn out that I should be ashamed to wear them.  But I'm not.  The brown leather is nearly black in spots now, because they are really wretched with the constant wear.  But they are PERFECT, other than looking as if I should toss them onto the road so that someone can wonder why there are random shoes on the highway.

At least, they WERE perfect.

I wasn't going to wear them today, but they were sitting at the back door next to another pair of sandals I was looking for.  And when I went to retrieve said sandals, I saw the trail of cat yak.  And could FatBastard yak the chunky hairball on the shoes so that there might be hope of possibly salvaging them?  Oh hell no.  FatBastard yaked the hairball onto the floor, and then yaked that gross liquid like substance I call "after yak" right onto the perfect sandals.  The perfect leather sandals that because they are leather, will absorb the liquid.  Even my love for them can not save them now.

Fine, ya asshole, I'll throw them away.

Jerk.

But, putting aside my sorrow, this is yet one more sign that the season will be changing.  A season that calls for all those bargain finds through the summer of sweaters, boots, scarves, and layers.  I will avoid thinking about what can follow, like a never ending polar vortex that freezes the vitreous fluid in your eyeballs the moment you step outside.  For now, I will dream of my favorite season...autumn.  The smell of the leaves, the bright orange, yellow, and red leaves, the endless raking, the huge fires.

But first, a memorial service for the sandals.  I will bury them in the backyard, and mark them with a shoebox gravestone.  I will mourn their loss, at least, until that first 63 degree day when I can wear the glorious boots.  Or the bitch boots.  Or the sexy beast boots.  I think this year I will name all my boots.  Yes, name them all.  It's good to have goals

Until then, I will keep crafting my fall decorations.  Playing with glitter leaves.  Getting hot glue all over myself and hissing in pain every time I touch the hot glue gun.  You would think I would learn, but I get a little excited and carried away when glitter and hot glue are involved.  And since the heat wave will be over by then, I believe this weekend will be the perfect time to adorn the house in fall/bring on the cooler weather decor.  If I can scrape the hot glue off my fingers.

Never too much glitter.

Sit Your Ass Down!

You would think that nearly 12 hours of a frenetic pace on Friday, and another 9 hour day yesterday, all done in a daze of chanting "get it done, get it done, get it done", would pretty much guarantee that this gorgeous Sunday means just sitting back and relaxing before I get back to it tomorrow.

Nope.

I perused Facebook this morning with a cup of espresso, enjoying reading and not scanning, checking in with friends, and seeing what the world has been up to outside of the confines of our store.

There it was.

TODAY ONLY.  $1 sale at Goodwill.

The Goodwill that is only 20 minutes from my house.

Really, you nitwit?  You've just survived a fast and furious, crazy, hectic, zombie-state-inducing sale of your own in just three short days.  You would think I want nothing to do with a sale.  Especially one that people line up for.  One that includes frantic digging, reaching, and pulling.

But...but....it's ONE DOLLAR.

That means no dressing rooms.  No picture messages asking if someone likes something.  No thinking.  It means picking up those ugly picture frames and wooden shelves because painting them and a little bit of cut and chop, and they become window boxes and more windows for my troll tree.  It means work clothes for the boys.  Funky clothes for the girl child.  Baby clothes for FatCat because his mouse hunting strike means some cat shaming is due.

I hurriedly got my laundry going.  Calculated out how much shopping time I could give myself and still visit family I desperately want to see.  Whipped out a grocery list, that with the week I'm about to put in means a total mom fail filled with foods that require the use of our microwave and a can opener.  Loaded the dishwasher, realizing it was almost nothing but coffee cups, travel cups, and glasses used for alcohol.  Story of my life this week.  Made another round of espresso because if I'm going to do this, I'm going to DO it.  Jacked up on caffeine, music blaring while I throw on barely acceptable clothing, hell, I might even throw on some spackle so the dark circles under my eyes aren't quite as noticeable.

I'll hit the road in about 15 minutes, which will get my timing perfectly to grab a nice little spot in line.  Not in front, not in back, so as not to appear too eager.  My mind starts calculating out the best approach of what racks to zoom to first, and yes, GET THAT CART.  I look at the nails on my hands already wrecked from work and think, what the hell, wreck them a little more with that strategy of grab, dump in cart, look at it later.  I practice my resting bitch face, so the other frantic shoppers around me will know I mean business, and don't fuck with me sister, this is my only day off, and this is serious relaxation time going on.

Yes, I can do this.  And I can do it in a short amount of time that also means I get some girl time in, grocery shopping done, and still come home and finish laundry with a drink in hand.  Perhaps in a new drinking glass that makes me feel like less of a lush while still consuming copious amounts of liquor.

I relaxed this weekend.  Oh yes I did.  After all, I WAS sitting on my ass perusing Facebook when I saw the post for the dollar sale.

Adios motherfuckers. 

Espresso + Jack = Blabbity Bloo

It was COFFEE DAY today, so it's time for some senseless rambling!

We've got that gigantor sale going on at work, and I'm realizing that my alcohol intake needs to increase when I'm supremely busy.  Apparently, my tolerance levels go up the more I need to chillax, because that very large amount of Mr. Jack I poured into my glass has only succeeded to relax my fingers on the keyboard and not my brain.  However, because it was coffee day, which means ZING BOOM WHEEEEE, throwing even more Coke into the gullet is probably not a good idea for a person who limits the caffeine intake to ZERO once 7PM hits.  I look at the clock, seeing it inch closer to 8PM and wonder if maybe I should just throw some Jack over the remaining ice cubes in the glass and call it good enough and then maybe the brain will begin to catch up to the fingers (which initially was typed as finers).  The very small part of my brain (typed bain before spellcheck) that remains a responsible adult tells me I should just call it quits for the night on the drinky poo and reserve the fuckit option for Saturday night when I won't have to get up the next morning to haul, rearrange, smile pleasantly or even think.

Along those thought processes, I do sit here wondering if tonight is yet another sleepless night because I refuse to run air conditioning when the temps are below 80 degrees.  I suffer through waking up with eyeballs full of snot because of allergies because I just like open windows that much (blame the polar vortex).  But, in the rambled mess of thoughts racing through my brain, I think of the happy little birds that decide to sing their good morning song at 4:30 in the morning, then switch gears to putting my fan on high to hopefully drown out that homicide inducing squall well before the alarm is set to go off.  Of course, if I run JUST the window air upstairs instead of the central air, I get the noise of not just the a/c, but also the fan, closed windows, and tweet tweet motherfucker, I can't hear you.  Unless the a/c has shifted in that creaky old money pit window which in that case, I'll be listening to a shake, rattle, and roll the whole night long.  Fuck it, instead of more Jack I can just pop some of that happy pill Benadryl sinus medication and drool on myself all night long in a peaceful slumber.

I do wonder if No Child Left Behind also means No Child Learns Two Syllable Words.  I kind of always thought a "storewide" sale meant the whole store.

Storewide:  adj:  Involving, applying to, or occurring throughout a whole store

What's the number one question I have answered the last two days?  Yup, you guessed it..."Is this on sale too?"  I think that one has been asked at least two dozen times.  I even thought ahead and instead of putting "storewide" on all the signs, exchanged it for "everything" on two of them.  Nope, didn't help.  Still answering that question.  With a smile on my face, because copious amounts of espresso and a replenishing of the liquor cabinet does that for a person.

There's been some kaka shit floating around Facebook about children and the joy of and blabbity blah blah.  Actually, there probably always is, but I've noticed it more this week.  Maybe I'm actually doing more than the typical scanning and actually comprehending what I'm skipping over.  Whatever the case, I've been seeing all the joys, adorations, and rainbows over having boys, having girls, birthing babies, having more than one child, etc etc.  Nope.  Not having it.  Like I said before, pretty sure that mommy gene skipped a generation, but really, I gotta ask, is that ALL there is to talk about?  Blech.  Let's talk about the flavor of Jack once watered down with ice cubes.  Or wearing pajamas in public.  Or why preteen girls are dressing like a cheap two dollar hooker to go to the county fair.  Or why all the construction workers wore shirts EXCEPT the one that looked like Gerard Butler had eaten a years worth of Hot Pockets while guzzling back a case of Schlitz every night?

On the other side of the spectrum, there have been some ADORABLE mini people in the store this week.  The kind of mini's that make me want to hug and squish them endlessly and not just because I want them to be quiet.  The kind that make me pause and think "awwwww" and feel the slightest twinge in the baby making machine until I realize that's really me needing to pee because I haven't had time to go to the bathroom since I arrived to work.

There are bobby pins everywhere.  Still.  One tried to fry my vacuum cleaner.  One came in handy while I was wrapping plastic around the bleach experiment I was performing on my head last night.  The rest sit in the dish in the bathroom.  Waiting for rescue.  Won't she run out eventually?  Won't she have scattered so many around the house that someday before she goes back to college she'll wonder where all her bobby pin friends have gone?   Won't I eventually look at that pretty dish, see it is empty, and feel the emptiness within my soul that is the absence of the adult female child?  Ok, maybe not, but I'll feel the empty ache when I realize I can no longer text a "empty and reload the dishwasher" to anyone.  Or have to clean up the FatCat puke myself.  But the bright side is I won't go into the bathroom two days after laundry day and wonder where all my nice, fluffy clean towels went.  I might even pee with the door open.  Except for those moneypit windows directly across from the bathroom.

What was I saying?

The reward for the end of this madness otherwise known as the gigantor sale and restock is TJMaxx.  Oh TJMaxx, how I love thee.  It's my happy place.  Must look at ALL the things.  Touch them all.  Sniff them all.  Unless I'm looking at underwear or shoes.  That would be gross.  Though it could be interesting to just pretend to sniff them and see what kind of looks I get.

I wish I had a tutu.  I would wear it to work tomorrow.

I'm only joking.
I don't believe a thing I said.
What are you smoking.
I'm just fucking with your head.

I love the Kongos.  I wonder if we can get away with having that one on the CD player at work tomorrow.  It would go well with a tutu.

No, I did not refill the Jack.

12 Shot Thursday

COFFEE DAY!!!!
 Hell yes, baaaaaybeee!  And you know what that means?   Rambling time!  If this is your first time reading something written on a COFFEE DAY, I suggest reading a previous post so you can be forewarned of the jumbled mess my brain becomes on Thursdays.

I ignored the messes I woke up to this morning.  Well, not really, I just drowned them in espresso.  I probably shouldn't complain about having an extra person in the house for the summer.  Especially considering my daughter informed me this is probably the end.  This is the end, beautiful friend.  (Doors reference there in case you missed it.)  End actually meaning that she would like her own apartment by the end of her next year in college.  So, if all goes as planned, I won't have these irritations much longer but for the sake of all that is holy, I had forgotten what a mess a girl child/adult leaves in her wake.  I suppose it could be worse...her laundry isn't as big a mountain as it used to be, since she pretty much lives in work clothes and lounge wear.  She's also working so much that her ability to have a social life is almost nada, so the few occasions she goes out and disappears until the next morning have not been able to get a rise out of me.  However, because of these excessive work hours, I now have not just one, but TWO tabletops covered in girl-crap.  The beginnings of craft projects, about ten books because she has gotten hooked on a particular author, nail polish bottles, dirty socks (yes, on MY TABLE), dirty tank tops, hair bands, jewelry, and money.  She's a waitress, and sometimes, after a particularly grueling shift (or at the end of a double shift) she's just too tired to cash in her tips and stuffs wadded up bills wherever she finds room (which I found out is usually the glove box of her car), along with the five pounds of change weighing her apron down to her knees, and yup, you guessed it, then dumps it on her choice of table.  Then, there's the collection of 40+ bobby pins in the bathroom.  They are in the bathroom, in a dish, because I put them there every time I find one.  And where there's one, there's another.  And another.  And another.  It's pretty common sense my vacuum cleaner hates these things, so I have spent entirely too much time this summer scouring the floor not only looking for mouse carcasses, but bobby pins.  I'm usually rewarded for my efforts.  In bobby pins, not carcasses, because FatCat is still on strike.  At the moment, I'm ignoring the growing piles, cleaning off one table and making one heaping pile on the other table.  She's got three double shifts this week, and I'm waiting for the right moment before ordering a cleanup...preferably through text message once I've left for work.  Smart cookie that I am.

I arrived to work with a greeting from my niece who was helping out today.  I adore that girl, and not just because she's not living with me spreading bobby pins everywhere.  But, since I grew up in a family with a sick sense of humor, I love to give the child loads and oodles of crap.  So, after watching a ten minute video last night of nothing but stupid pranks, I was so ready to mess with her.  My favorite moment was when I was pricing some Christmas greenery (yes Christmas, shut it) and had a long, viney looking spare piece, in which I promptly threw at her screaming "OH MY GAWD, IT'S A SNAKE".

I love to hear her screech.

You ever notice that if people would actually just LISTEN to you, you could answer their question ALOT quicker?

This was one conversation today:

"Do you know where the tea room is?"

Me:  "Yes, are you familiar with our downtown?"  (I should probably note here that the downtown I'm speaking of is only about six square blocks)

"The tea room?  Where is it?"

Me:  (again)  "Are you familiar with our downtown?  Have you been on Main Street today?"  (pointing in the direction of Main Street only four storefronts away.

"I don't know where the tea room is, it used to be across from the drug store."

Me:  "The tearoom used to be close to the drug store (I'm not going to tell her it never was ACROSS from it), but that was about 15 years ago.  Did you see the movie theater when you came into town?"

"Where is the tea room?"

Me:  "The movie theater is right around the corner, so when you see the marquee, look directly across the street...that's where the tea room is."

"I think it's called Betty's Bread Basket"

Me:  (by this point, I'm not going to attempt to give her any more information short of exactly where that tea room is.  If I tell her it's been bought by a new owner, this whole conversation could get even more time consuming and confusing)  "Yes, the Bread Basket, it's across from the movie theater on Main Street".

Did I ever mention I actually have an incredible amount of patience?  Maybe not according to the thoughts in my head, but it at least appears that way.  Especially on coffee day.

Along with a day of questions, I also had a day of muffintops, boobs, and ass cheeks.  I understand it's summer, BUT, I also think that common sense would say a white tissue tee should not be worn with a sky blue bra underneath.  Especially when the tee is at least two sizes too small.  And just a word of advice...if you find yourself yanking at the crotch of your shorts every time you get out of your car, you might want to buy the next size up.  Because not only are they riding up, but they're riding DOWN when you're tugging, and I now know exactly what your thong looks like.  In detail.

I drive home, mind racing on espresso, and OF COURSE, get behind a field looker.  This is farm country, and even when you think there's nothing to see in the fields, there are plenty of good ol' boys that see plenty.  And drive 35MPH to make sure they see every last inch of it.  Lines on the road, be damned and all.  So, I had plenty of time to think about things, like exactly how people get those perfect lines mowed into their lawns.  Ours looks like someone had a seizure while mowing, which maybe I should ask my daughter if she's been twitching lately, since she's the one doing it.  I guess it's possible she's picking up bobby pins out of the grass, so the lines wouldn't be absolutely straight.

I arrive home to the loud buzzing of the generator at the fire station/city office.  Power out.  Again.  I blogged last week that it's not common for us to lose power, and I think someone took that as a challenge.  In reality, I find out some new line work is being done, but I have to ask, why shut down entire grids for a span of over an hour right at dinnertime?  And, huh, big question here, why not tell people, since this is the second time in four days?

The bright side is I used that as an excuse to not cook dinner, since I didn't know how long the power would be out...smart cookie again.  When the power finally returned, I started up the computer, going through emails, and then hit up Facebook.  I found this interesting thing going on...if I looked at certain "likes" on statuses or comments, the number automatically went down by one.  I'm not such a tech-doofus that I couldn't figure it out...it means somewhere out there, someone I am a mutual acquaintance with has me blocked.  So, hovering over a "like" number of three, suddenly flashes down to two.  Suddenly, I'm hovering over ALL the likes, getting a little burst of joy every time my mouse causes a number to decrease by one.  I'm giddy with the BLOCKED POWER (said in a Darth Vader voice)...hover, hover, unlike, unlike.  By the time I get through my newsfeed (or tire of the already increasing political viewpoints), I feel like I have a magic wand in my hands that just makes things go *POOF*.

I tried my *POOF* power on the table of girl piles, but all I succeeded in doing is stepping on another bobby pin.  Power trip deflated.  Espresso high coming down.

Your Offense Offends Me

Not really, but I've always wanted to say that.  Especially really fast, about five times in a row, because I'd become a stumbling idiot in the process and probably spit all over myself. 

I'm not easily offended.  Many who know me would agree, especially after hearing endless f-bombs and off color humor constantly coming out of my mouth.  In fact, it probably could wear thin on people if they don't have a sick sense of humor or are having one of those complete crapola days.  Hey, it happens, and I know I may not be everyone's cup of tea.  I shrug, I move on.

I've decided I really enjoy this blogging thing.  I didn't think I would, because so many times, reading various blogs, I don't feel a sense of authenticity.  It can become a bit like an extended Facebook, where you only see the happy, the shining moments, and you start to wonder if these people ever poop, trip, gush awkwardly, ignore housework, have shitty parent moments, or wear underwear with holes in them.

Boy, I had to end that list quick before I actually admit to too many failings that equal WAY too much information.

Many of my posts have come across with humor, and it's not because I want to gloss anything over.  Actually, I'm not sure there IS a way to gloss over dead animals in trees, or feeling like a 3 year old about to have a colossal meltdown.  This IS my brain.  My brain on humor.  Life without humor is not a life I am willing to live.  Yes, sarcastic humor most times, peppered with vulgarity, which REALLY if that vulgarity is running through my brain, I really should be authentic to those reading and not edit myself.

By the way, today was coffee day again.  Considering I haven't touched on the actual topic of this blog post as of yet, it should be obvious.

Occasionally, I'm serious. 

No, really, I am.

I'm just as capable of serious thought as the next person, though that can be hard to believe sometimes, even by myself.  And just like when I need to purge the vulgarity and sick humor of the day, I purge the serious as well.

Yesterday's blog post was about online charity.  Not in the sense of helping the ill, the downtrodden, the underprivileged.  It was about the online beggars.

Yes, they exist.  Many of them have gathered in one place, and I couldn't help myself when I got sucked into reading all the posts.  I HAD to purge my thoughts.

Obviously, when you blog, you see what kind of activity your blog has.  Well, let me tell you, this particular post got viewed ALOT.  I know several of my friends shared it (thank you!), but what I didn't realize is it caused quite a stir among some individuals.  I didn't know this, because to look at the blog post, you see that little area that says "no comments".

Well, of course, being friends, we had discussion over the negative response.  Interestingly enough, as I started to hear about this silly little strife, I waited fruitlessly for a comment either on the blog post, or on the Facebook page associated with my blog.  After all, it's completely public, and I am more than willing to engage in some discussion as to why someone may feel my thoughts and opinions are incorrect.  That's an expected result of putting your thoughts on the internet, after all.  Not everyone is going to think as you do.

"Not everyone is going to think as you do".  Yes, I just quoted myself.  Because it's such a simple statement.  Dare I say, common sense, even.  I kind of thought everyone knew this, but I also still believe in Santa Claus, so shows what I know.

I find the internet fascinating.  People do tend to get wound up, offended, noses out of joint, hell, even hostile over the written word.  I'll admit, I am not immune to this myself.  Sometimes, you see something so offensive, so totally against the core of who you are and how you think that you feel compelled to say something.  Though typically, a normal person would say it directly on the post that caused such offense.

And really, that's the GREAT thing about the internet.  It gives you an opportunity to interact with people who may not share the same thoughts as you.  It's a way to engage in healthy debate, and there's opportunity for everyone to be heard.  Pretty awesomesauce when you think about it.  Where else can you speak about a sensitive subject and everyone TAKES TURNS to speak their mind? 

Where the awesomesauce ends however, is when it becomes hostile.  I'm sure we've all seen evidence of "those types".  The ones who can't refrain from throwing veiled (or outright) insults, or are so passive aggressive in their attempt to feel superior that they just won't even directly address the original author.

Now, I understand fully that I bring out the chickenshit in some people.  I actually laugh at that statement (and myself) because I am merely this girl sitting at her computer without a bra on and playing Madonna on her speakers.  Yes, Madonna.  Oops, now it's switched over to Queen.  I know I come on strong.  That won't change, because it's who I am.  Blame my dad, he who says what he means and means what he says.

But for chrissakes people, it IS just the internet.  It's not like I'm going to reach through my monitor and bitch slap you for DARING to disagree.  In fact, I encourage disagreement (the non-hostile kind of course), because at least if you are disagreeing, you are speaking YOUR truth.  Because HELLO, your truth does not have to match my truth.

I'm all about differences.  Some of my most valued relationships in this world are made up of unique and beautiful differences.  I have friends all over this country who are vastly different from me.  They are some of the most precious, caring, special people I know.  I love them fiercely, and they have added such an immense amount joy to my life that I cannot ever quite explain.  Their differences, all of the uniqueness, is what bonds us.  We love each other as individuals, and our ability to disagree with each other while loving each other is priceless.  The same goes for family...I have a large extended family that comes from all walks of life, with such vastly different views, but I love each and every one of them the same. 

I personally would never homeschool my kids, but I know fantastic homeschoolers.  I am an atheist, but I know wonderful, loving Christians.  I'm not a huge fan of children, but I know so many people that absolutely love and adore spending time with kids.  I go beserk if I stay home for too long, but I'm surrounded by excellent stay at home moms.  I could go on and on, but these are all differences that may cause someone to say something I don't agree with.  And if I feel compelled to state my own opinions, it's very easy to do in a way that allows for discussion, instead of just screaming from a soapbox while hurling insults at people (and their children...what kind of ASSHOLE does that???)

So, why, on the internet of all places, are differences so freely looked down upon?  In fact, why do some people care?  Why care enough to whine, bitch, moan, belittle to others, but not have quite enough balls to just go to the source?

Well, I will tell you why.

When you feel as if you have to shout justifications loudly to anyone who will listen, EXCEPT the person making the statement to begin with, there may just be some truth in what the original poster is actually saying.

Yup, I said it.  And maybe that post about online charity hit too close to home.  Maybe, deep down, underneath the public rantings and insults, where your truth really lies, hidden underneath the bravado, you realize you're the same type of moocher I blogged about.

But you know what?  Own it.  Owning up to your faults is so completely freeing.  More freeing than taking off your bra in the comfort of your own home at the end of the day.  We are ALL flawed.  We're human.  It's a wonderful thing, this flawed existence we lead.  It's ok,  at least you gave me something to blog about, on a day I wasn't really feeling inspired to blog about anything.  Don't let it get to you.  After all, it is just the internet, and really, if something rings a little too harsh for you, that's on you, not me.  Examine yourself and your own reactions, instead of attempts to attack those who agree. 

And on that note, I'm going to listen to some Justin Timberlake.  Because he's finally old enough to make me not feel like such a perv while enjoying him.

Uncaffeinated

I'm one of those lucky shits that has a work schedule of Tuesday through Friday, so 3 day weekend bitches!  And, looking on the bright side of things, when I work the occasional Saturday (like I will this week), that 3 day weekend turns into 4.  Of course, Sunday, I took my dear old time doing laundry and housework, because i have that four day weekend and have an extra 24 hours in my week to be productive!  I kept thinking of that extra 24 hours as I stayed up late reading a book, because with 24 extra hours, I can take a nap if I'm tired the next day.

I couldn't even get too irritated when my eyes popped open a full hour before the alarm went off.  I couldn't feel more than a smidge of angst over setting the alarm in the first place, though it was to make sure the 16 year old man child did get up and go to work.  I only felt slight violent tendencies when I staggered downstairs to realize that the birds were singing their song of joy so loudly at 5:23 in the morning.  I skipped the routine of making my espresso, because I have that extra 24 hours, and with birds clanging bells in my pounding head, I was going to use one or two of those hours to go back to bed the moment the teen boy stumbled out the door.

As I trudged upstairs back to the gloriously dark bedroom, I whipped off the making-me-barely-decent clothing, preparing for snuggling down in bed for some sheer sloth time.  I grabbed my phone, thinking I better let the hubby know I'm going to snooze, which is really code word for don't blow my phone up with chipper morning text messages.  I see I have a message waiting, and expecting the "good morning, my family!", I open it quickly to see "We are looking forward to your appt: 6/16/14 at 9:00AM" from my dental office.

I'm not sure exactly what came out of my mouth at that moment, but I do know it was loud enough for the neighborhood to hear, because at that moment, the birds seemed to stop their cheerful little song.

I stumble to the closet, throw on some clothes, shuffle my pounding head into the bathroom, throw in some hairspray and mess it up a little (thank you low maintenance hair cut) slap on some spackle just enough to make it look like I made an effort and haul my grouchy ass to the coffee shop so I can get some adequate caffeine intake for this forgotten dentist appointment.

I now know why, even when there are plans to go to the coffee shop, I still down some espresso prior to leaving the house.  I am a bitch without caffeine intake.  Yes, espresso turns homicidal, judgy McJudgerson into a happy little lark who thinks all mornings are glorious.

As I sat in my parked car, thinking the walk across the street to the coffee shop is just too much to ask of me in addition to a dentist appointment, my eyes scan the happy little worker bees going by.  I contemplate slamming my door open into oncoming traffic...just because.  I watch the woman getting out of her car in the pretty coral dress and instantly gasp in horror at her choice in footwear.  Black patent heels with a coral dress?  Really?  As if that isn't bad enough, she can't even walk in the heels and has the classic slight bent knee, something large and stiff shoved straight up her ass stride going on.  Which then just draws attention to the badly coordinated shoe choice with the coral dress.

Hey, I already admitted the judgy McJudgerson tendency.  Give me a break.

I contemplate getting out the car and see the eternally grouchy-I-hate-people receptionist from a medical office getting out of her car.  I consider for a moment flipping her off because she's such an unpleasant person (as if I'm any more pleasant this fine early morning).  The thought crosses my mind that no amount of caffeine is going to make her customer service skills improve, but then I'm distracted by the person walking by my truck with the phone up to their ear.  My thoughts instantly flash to people not being able to just walk without being on their damn phones anymore and I picture myself leaping out of the truck and bitch slapping that phone straight away from her head.

Knowing by this point that caffeine intake is at a point of critical mass, I head into the coffee shop, to stand in line behind Ms. Stiff Legs In High Heels and Eternally Grouchy Receptionist and then run a lengthy mental diatribe about their coffee orders with thoughts like "lightweight" and "amateur" while digging my nails into my palms and breaking out into a cold sweat as the withdrawals set in.

I'm waited on by a new girl, and as I'm mentally screaming "Whyyyyyyy a new one on THIS morning of all mornings????"  I realize my debit card is sitting at home on my desk.  Though I have credit cards with me, I feel this as just one more little thing piling on my uncaffeinated burden of being in public.  I hand over my card after very carefully and slowly explaining my order (because I'm one of those annoying espresso drinkers that never drinks a normal drink right off the menu board), and the new girl stares at the card like it's a ticking time bomb.  I briefly consider snatching it out of her hands and swiping the damn thing myself, but thankfully, I find just enough restraint to stand there politely smiling.  Smirking.  Or sneering.  Your choice.

As my coffee comrades join me (since Monday mornings are our typical coffee gathering, though this morning I had other sloth plans), I explain the horror of the forgotten dental appointment, and realize Whitney Houston is playing on the radio in the background.  Whitney fucking Houston.  Screeching straight into my brain about always loving me.  That song is intolerable WITH caffeine, let alone none, and I briefly consider screeching right along with her at mega-volume.  Again, self control kicks in and I just grind my teeth, waiting for my drink to arrive.  Grinding, right before a dentist appointment.  Great idea.  I should have just screeched.

As we discuss dentist appointments, my drink arrives, and I slurp from that container as loudly as possible because I'm thinking everyone should be just as irritated by life on a Monday morning as I am.  My aunt mentions xrays, and it dawns on me that I'm probably due for xrays at this visit.  I consider telling the staff that I'm pregnant to avoid having cardboard shoved in my mouth to the point of gagging, and then ask my present company if it would work to tell them I'm pregnant every time.  I could always claim a miscarriage, and pregnancy again, and this could go on and on for about ten years until they realize that I'm probably too old to be claiming human incubation.  I think this idea is brilliant, yet that could be the lack of caffeine intake making me think such ludicrously ridiculous thoughts.  At least I've stopped judging the fashion choices of the people walking by.

I'm properly caffeinated by the time I arrive at the dental office, though I freely tell anyone who will listen that this appointment has interrupted my sloth time.  I then get the news that I'm due for a panoramic xray, which means standing with a machine around your head instead of cardboard in your mouth.  I think awesomesauce to that one, until, as the machine starts circling, I realize I'm slightly claustrophobic.  Though the front of the xray is slightly blurred (couldn't be from that momentary panic-fidgeting), the rest of the film shows teeth all where they should be except for two.  Two wisdom teeth, which I think I remember having that information somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain, but have forgotten in a haze of sloth plans interrupted.  I'm informed they're impacted, which is just a heinous dirty word for down in my jaw, and the dental assistant seems to enjoy pointing out the one that's set deep into my jaw and at a complete sideways angle, pointing straight at the rest of teeth as if to say "I'm gonna get ya sucka".  I pathetically tell her in a slightly whiny voice that they've never bothered me, and I'm told that we'll go over it after looking at old scans and when the dentist comes in.  We proceed with the cleaning, and miracle of all miracles, everything goes fine on a day when it just seems that things would naturally not go smoothly.  The dentist arrives, looks at scans, and tells me that the wisdom teeth have moved slightly from the last scan, and MIRACLE, they are something to keep an eye on, instead of the usual "let's take action immediately".  However, I get to hear warnings of things like cysts developing, nerve damage because they are crowded so close to the nerves in my jaw, and something about talking, though that could have been my overactive imagination picturing losing all ability to talk which in my chatty little world would be worse than cutting off my own foot with a rusty children's scissors.

I escape alive, find my iced coffee still cold in my truck, and think, hey, I might actually be productive today regardless of my previous sloth plans.  I drive home with all the thoughts of projects I could complete, work that could be done.  I don't care that it's going to start edging towards 90 degrees today, because I'm still on that high of summer after a polar vortex and don't believe any amount of heat is going to bother me.  I even think that maybe, just for once, I will be able to get the monster weed trimmer started and won't look like an epileptic having seizures as I yank on that thing.  Thoughts of painting run through my head, especially after I remembered to ask hubby to leave the sawhorses set up for me.  All I will need is to grab my craft board and select some fun spray paint when I get home.

And then, I turn the corner of our block and get a view of the driveway.  And see the lock.  On the garage.  The lock that is slowly turning into the bane of my existence.  The lock that has two keys.  One key on hubby's key ring.  One key on son-man-child's key ring.  Both of whom are at work.  Granted, I could drive back to town and try to track down where they have my son working today just to get that damn key.  But that's not the POINT!!!  The point, is instead of a spare key hanging in my house, one of them travels through several states every week because lawd knows you might need that motherfucking garage key while you sit in Montana!!!!  I've been promised a spare to be made, but I guess that gets forgotten when you're busy flying over the handles of your motocross bike and crashing your 40 something body into the dirt so that you're hobbling around and groaning the remainder of the weekend.   It's hard to remember the spray paint, craft boards, and other garage goodies your wife might want when bruised over 50% of your body.  Sheesh.  He should be thinking of MY crafty projects when wondering if those ribs are broken or just bruised.

Breathe.  Drink more espresso.  Rant and rave online.  Publicly shame yourself for being such a bitchy little twit.  Salvage the day and at least weed some flowerbeds.  Grab the weed trimmer sitting in your shed and yank on it like a lunatic.  Listen to some Nine Inch Nails and get the Ms. Crabbypants out of your system while yanking on Jurassic Park looking weeds.

And for the sake of all that is holy in the world, suck it up buttercup and get the goddamn corpse out of the tree.

Happy Monday.

P.S.  I want to punch my computer for not recognizing caffeinated and uncaffeinated as real words.  Uncultured swine.

Slow Your Roll, Crackhead

Coffee, coffee, coffee, java, espressooooooooooooo.

Yeah, it was "coffee day" at work today.  Makes perfect sense to us, but considering I drink the silky nectar of the gods every day, you may wonder how that's different than any other day.

Well, allow me to elaborate, because my brain is buzzing faster than my fingers can type.  On Thursdays, our local coffee shop is open late.  Usually, they close at two, but not Thursdays.  Oh no, not the beautiful, shining, holy day of Thursday.  So, Thursday afternoons, they start happy hour at 2:00, which means 50 cents off a large espresso drink and hell yes, every Thursday, we are calling an order in with glee.  So, that usual 8-10 shots of espresso per day gets upped upped UP to an extra four.

COFFEE DAY!!!!

Imagine my delight when my son called asking if he could hang out with friends after he got off work.  With the daughter at work until probably 9 tonight, that means mommy is ALOOOOOOONE (yes I howled that) in the house tonight!

COFFEE DAY!!!  ALOOOOOOOONE tonight on a major caffeine buzz and it's Pinterest here I come!  And it's not just perusing Pinterest time, but it's actual DOING Pinterest time!

I just baked pine cones.

Yes, I put pine cones in my oven.

Pinterest says it kills any potential bugs and what Pinterest says, I do.

My pine cones are cooling, and I felt like a giddy school girl ripping open my Amazon box that arrived yesterday.  By the way, isn't Amazon Prime just the shiznit?  I can order cheap little $7 items and they are shipped free and in my grubby little paws in TWO DAYS.  Because it was merely THREE days ago that I looked at all my Pinterest projects for pine cones and realized I really need to do something with the hundreds of pine cones I picked up after the polar vortex hell.

Pine cone firestarters.  Yup, I've got my muffin tins ready, lined with Christmas cupcake liners.  I have no idea why I have Christmas cupcake liners, because I don't make cupcakes at Christmas, but there ya have it.  Pine cones are baked (I had to get that little tip from another pin, but I've had so much espresso that clicking and opening another window was easy peasy).   I've opened the Amazon box and popped all the air bubbles like it was Fourth of July, and did a little jig, dancing to the tune of whatever that loud popping noise was making.  I unpacked my candle string and exclaimed a loud (because it's just me and the cat) "oooooooohhhhhhh".  I AM FEELING CRAFTY.

I have this pretty little cabinet in my mud room.  It's whitewashed with tin inlays on the door, and oh so pretty.  Yes, there IS a point to this and it has nothing to do with all that espresso and it's not like my brain is going 85 miles an hour, I really WILL get to the point.  Because this cabinet matches my oh so pretty iron and wood whitewashed bench, it has to sit in the mudroom.  But there is no way in hell I'm going to put typical mudroom things in it.  It is FAR too pretty for shoes, mittens, hats, and other "right inside the door" things.  So, I decided when I got it that it would hold my candles. 

I have a candle problem.  It's slightly bigger than my shoe problem, which really means it's a HUGE problem.  I love smellies.  Yes, I call them smellies.  The cabinet is FULL of smellies.  Tea light smellies, votive smellies, wax melt smellies, pillar smellies.  You name it, it's in there. 

Pier One (yes I digress, but hello...COFFEE DAY) has this really annoying habit of getting you totally hooked on a scent and then discontinuing it.  Kind of like Bath and Body Works and Victoria's Secret with their scents, however, I digress from my digression.  So along with my already heinous smellies problem, imagine my joy and delight when college daughter said she was getting a part time job at Pier One.  Angels were singing, light shone from above.  AND imagine what it must have been like getting THAT phone call.  The phone call that makes your stomach flip and a sweat break out.  She informed me that Pier One was clearancing Spice Cake, and it may not be coming back. 

Let me tell you, I broke light speed getting my ass the 40 miles to Pier One.  And I was like a crazy couponer auditioning for a show on TLC.  Hell yes, I cleared that shelf!  I even made little grunting piggy noises while I filled my baskets.

So, the point to that particular transgression is the Pier One haul means that the smellies cabinet is overflowing.  In my Spice Cake gluttony, I have ignored all the other smellies, and they're starting to feel like the last kid picked for a game of dodge ball.

Rounding out the longest digression in the history of blogging (hello....COFFEE DAY), I need wax for my pine cone project.  Preferably scented wax, which SURPRISE, is no problem for me considering I have a SMELLIES CABINET.

So I selected some smellies wax melts I've been ignoring (yummo, Creme Brulee), and realized I need a glass jar to create a double boiler on the stove.  I search cupboards, wondering where that glass jar went that I had out last week for cucumbers and then couldn't find the lid, mind racing, too much espresso.  Then the light bulb goes on...DING!  I threw it out.

Yes, I went there.  I shamefully (maybe not, because there is NO shame when you're racing to the finish line on espresso) and I pulled the garbage bag out of the can under the sink.  My thought process, which granted, is not the most clear when jacked up on java, was the bags are clear, so I will be able to see if the jar is in this particular bag.  My hand slips and gets a handful of, go figure, espresso grounds, and just when I think all hope is lost and I'm about to waste a jar of food, just to have an empty, I see it.  VOILA!  Not the jar I threw away, but a pasta sauce jar.  PRAISE CHEEZITS!    So yes, even less shame, I dug into that garbage bag and grabbed that precious jar, washed it out without even gagging, and I've got my double boiler going with wax.

Seeing that this method of melting the wax down is going to take awhile, I start typing away at this blog and get carried away (shocker considering it's COFFEE DAY), and suddenly remember the wax melting in the kitchen unattended.  No, this is not where I tell you about the glass jar that exploded wax all over my kitchen (though now that I've typed that, I need to go check it again).  I realized, seeing the wax nearly melted and ready, that I need to get those candle wicks wrapped around the pine cones.  NO PROBLEM!  Here's where that espresso kicks in again and I whip through 18 of those babies in no time!  I start pouring wax, realizing these are really big pine cones and they don't want to stand upright very well, but espresso also increases my patience factor (don't ask me how) and I realize if I just hold each one upright for a minute or two, they're fine.

However, I also realize that the pasta sauce wax jar only holds enough wax for about six pine cones.  I stare at my pans realizing I've got 12 more to go and race back to my smellies cabinet for more wax.  Still an overflowing cabinet, so that's really not a problem either, and I select smellies to sacrifice and start chopping them up when I realize these particular smellies are slightly larger than the mouth of the wax jar.  Of course, in my espresso haze, I'm a bit rushed through the process, and now have wax smellies shreds all over my countertops, but by gosh, I got those suckers in the jars and am melting away again.

As I check on that second jar of wax for the sixth time (the chunks were bigger so this one is taking longer), I see that my first batch of pine cone smellies are setting up quite nicely.

PIN WIN.

Of course, I won't REALLY know if it's a pin win until I start a pine cone on fire.  But right now, I don't think this espresso buzz and a lighter are a good match.

*snort*  Match.  Lighter.  FIRE.  get it?

At some point tonight, after the remaining 12 pine cones are properly ensconced in smellies, I'm going to have to work on coming down off this caffeine high, but right now, I'm in too much of a Pinterest euphoria to worry about it.  For now, I shall get up, check my wax, and dance a little jig.