Ass-flavored energy for sale

My sister thought I needed to blog this…

We were talking during Karaoke one night last weekend and somehow I remembered that I had brought her the 5-hr energy that I didn’t finish because I couldn’t choke the rest down, but she downs that stuff all the time.

Her: How old are these?

Me: I have no idea. They’ve been sitting in my drawer for a while. They don’t go bad. There’s nothing in them to spoil.

Her: Yes, they have vitamins in them…

Me: Vitamins don’t spoil. They just get less potent. I can’t drink them. They taste like Sweet-N-Low, which I already hate, minus the Sweet. I can’t handle the after taste. (My throat literally closes on stuff like that, and my gag-reflex kicks in: my body is refusing to consume it.)

Her: <takes a swig> Ew. Why did you get this flavor? I always get pomegranate. That’s the least icky flavor.

Me: They didn’t have pomegranate… they had this. And “Ass”.

Her: <laughing> What flavor is “Ass”?

Me: I’m not sure. I think it’s supposed to be grape or some shit they just made up. It’s like they had no idea what actual fruit flavor tastes like.

I guess they can’t market it as just being “chemically” flavored, even though that’s what it tastes like.

Low blow to start off my day

I started my day today just checking the headlines on my yahoo front page, seeing if there is anything worth reading.  I see this story about babies being abandoned in Greece, Italy & Germany (All over Europe, but focusing in on these 3) because the economy is so bad and so many people are now at poverty level and can’t afford to feed the children they have or clothe them or keep a roof over their own head. It’s a horrible thing that these women must be feeling to have to give up their children to survive and in hopes that someone else can take better care of their child so that it can survive too. Can you just imagine?

My first thought was “Ok, I need to go to some country in Europe- there’s thousands of babies now to adopt and I can give one a good home.” But then my own brain kicks in and I can’t help but think: I can afford to have a baby. To raise it and feed it and give it a home to live in and clothes to dress it in… but I can’t have a baby because I am infertile. All these fertile women are being forced to give up their babies, but they can make all kinds more if they really wanted to (and probably will- if you can’t afford food, you can’t afford birth control), and my body won’t not kill a baby trying to grow inside of it. It’s fucked up, but that’s my brain.

And then another headline catches my eye: Paranormal State’s Ryan Buell is diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer. Wait, WHAT?! When did this happen? OMG. How awful. I used to watch his show ALL the time. Oswald used to get all “you don’t really believe this stuff, do you?” – totally skeptical, trying to call out everything on screen. I loved that show. I had a huge crush on Ryan. He’s my age. And Pancreatic Cancer is a really tough one to beat. Remember in that movie “Space Cowboys”- Tommy Lee Jones’ character had Pancreatic Cancer and knowing it was fatal, he volunteered to fly off with the satellite and land it on the moon so it wouldn’t go crashing to the earth or explode and hurt anyone? And the last shot was that he made it, sitting on the moon, presumably dead or enjoying his last view of the earth before succumbing to death. Patrick “the Swayz” Swayze died from Pancreatic Cancer. Steve Jobs died from Pancreatic Cancer. I’m already vulnerable from the first story, but after seeing this one, I seriously burst into tears. I can’t help it. Both stories just hit too close to home for me. And then I see this picture. And this one. And I’m really bawling by this time. I can’t stop because the world is just so unbelievably fucking unfair.

I’m sorry for 2 depressing posts in a row. No I’m not. It’s my blog and I created it to get my feelings out so they don’t fester inside and I have another nervous breakdown (4 years “sane” this month! whoo-hoo! <eye-roll>).

If you read this, please say a prayer for the abandoned or starving children of Europe- innocent victims who were born into an extraordinarily shitty economy. And say a prayer for Ryan.

One-way ticket to insanity

I can’t take anymore of these flies in my house.

I hate flies so much- I’ve always hated them and thought they were disgusting because they walk all over garbage and poop and then want to land on your or in your food. Oswald makes fun of me because if there are flies around (or A fly in the house) I will cover my drink or my food so that it can’t be compromised by fly-nasties. I refer to myself as “The fly-assassin” because I’m really good at killing flies with whatever is within reach and even my bare hands if I have to. As long as it lands and it’s not way over head where I can’t reach it (although I do climb if I can), that’s a dead fly.

Earlier this summer I witnessed first-hand a case of “fly-strike” on 2 unbelievably precious baby cottontails. I was wondering what was wrong with these little bunnies that were out of their nest, looking like they were sunning themselves, but kind of hopping around in the little grassy area in a drunken manner- they were old enough (between 2 & 3 weeks old) that their eyes were open and they had all their fur, so they should have been moving around like a normal rabbit -and they just let me pick them right up!

Imagine that: a wild animal- just not even caring if you handle it! and a ridiculously cute one to boot. They each were about 4 inches long- just nestled in perfectly in the palm of your hand. Light as a feather, delicate as an antique china tea cup, soft as… well, they’re rabbits. You ever felt rabbit fur before? Beautifully soft, right?

…And then you notice the baby bunny is wet underneath and so you gently turn it over in your hands to find a wound on it’s belly, right next to one of it’s back legs. You panic. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, this poor little precious is injured! You bring it in to try to find something to put it in so that you can figure out what to do with it. Empty kleenex box works just great, just tear the top off, this baby’s not gonna jump out… Start frantically researching online what to do with injured baby cottontails and places that will take them (vet? wildlife center?) while still holding the kleenex box with the baby bunny in it because you’re afraid to put it down.

And then your boss comes over to see the baby and you flip it over to show her the wound… and you suddenly see maggots crawling in and out of it. The complete horror of that sight is burned into your memory forever. It’s something that you see when you close your eyes. Something that pops up in your brain randomly when you least expect it and the revulsion and torment of the vision send chills thru you and waves of nausea sweep over you.

You think I’m being overly dramatic. I’m not.

I went back outside to check on the 2nd baby bunny and it was even worse off than the 1st. It was  just barely clinging to life- it responded when I brushed it’s cheek with my fingertip and would move a tiny bit, but it was already becoming stiff. Long story short, the owner of my company (bless his heart for this- I forgive him for paying me bupkis for almost 4 years because of this deed) took them to a wildlife center in the area that is known for their rehabilitation skills.

ANYWAYS. Ever since then, my hatred of flies has grown a thousand-fold. I kill them with even more pleasure and violence than before. But now my house is infested with Green Bottle Flies. I’ve looked all over the fucking internet on how to get rid of them, but nothing seems to help. One of my aunts suggested a type and brand of fly trap that works wonders for her yard, so I actually left the house after I had already been home from work and had taken off my bra. You know that means I’m serious about ridding my house of these things. I put my bra back on and went to Home Despot, where I normally won’t shop because it smells like sawdust and is really dry and you can never find anyone to help you and you always have to park far away, to buy this type and brand of trap she suggested and brought it home and set it up. It smells, but not as bad as I thought.

3 days later, this trap has caught exactly 1 fly. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

These flies aren’t attracted to any food or garbage (although my sister did find maggots in the garbage can while we were on vacation and dutifully dragged it down to the garage and even picked up the maggots that had fallen out. I have not found a single maggot or larvae or pupae or ANYTHING since then. Only adult flies. And they’re only attracted to the light. So if I’m home during the day, I pull up all the blinds and slam away at numerous flies on the windows. At night I have to be careful to keep doors closed and which lights are turned on so that the flies aren’t in every single room. I kill as many that land as I can and am getting decently good at slamming some out of the air and then finding them stunned on the ground to smash them. It’s kind of hard though when all your flooring is dark…  Oswald thinks I’m out of my mind because I get all edgy and nag-y when he leaves the bedroom door open when the bedroom light is on. I can’t help it. The bedroom has to be my safe-haven. I can’t sleep knowing there might be flies buzzing around me, possibly crawling on me, infecting me with their plagues, laying eggs on me to hatch into maggots that will burrow under my skin and eat me from the inside out…

According to the internets, this type of fly likes to lay it’s eggs in freshly rotting meat, like a newly dead animal. Or like raw chicken in the garbage can. As far as I can tell, we don’t have any dead animals and the trash has been taken out numerous times. I’ve searched all over the house looking for where they could possibly be coming from but have yet to find anything. Besides insanity.

So upset

Today I blocked a family member off of facebook.

For me, that is a HUGE deal. Family means everything to me. This particular family member just willfully refuses to get what I am trying to say. She is so caught up in her own self-righteousness that she can’t see the world beyond her own nose. I can’t take the militant and judgmental attitude anymore. I just can’t.

I think that with everything I’ve been through the last few years, I just have zero tolerance for bullshit. I am not normally like this. My siblings are the overly-dramatic, all-or-nothing types (you know you are. Don’t you go getting all offended at me too. I need you.). I’m the calm one. The peace-keeper. The one that random elderly people love so dearly because of being such a “sweetheart”. I see how my siblings (and even parents sometimes, and several aunts actually) are and I try to keep it reasonable, because family is so important. They are blood, they are part of your heritage… But I am stressed-the-fuck-out and I don’t need your poisonous attitude and comments. I tried hiding her from my newsfeed, but she kept over-commenting her intolerance and judgement on my posts and making me feel like I’m not allowed to my own point of view. “With me or against me” type of attitude. You know what? Fuck it. I don’t need that.

This was really hard to do. This woman was like a 2nd mother to me. She loved me like I was her own before she got married and had her own kids. I don’t know if she just got more of a zealot and fanatic over the years, or if her husband turned her that way, or maybe I just didn’t notice it before because I was a little kid.

I even removed myself off of a private family page that she was on, just so that we wouldn’t accidentally cross paths. I previously threatened to delete my facebook page, so maybe she’ll think I actually followed thru with it… Her own daughter did it several times, why can’t I? I need a break from her. She’s a grudge-holder by nature, so it’s going to be a while before everything is back to normal. (hey, aren’t christians supposed to be forgiving? wtf is up with that?!) There is a very good chance that I may not actually see her for the next year, so this could turn out to be not so bad. I have hope that someday our relationship can be fixed.

I am so upset right now I can’t even sleep. It’s now after 1am and it’s Monday and I have to work this morning. Some days, I think I need to take up alcoholism… or pills… a little “Judy Garland trail-mix” sounds great right now…


hot and bitchy…

Oswald’s watching Men’s water polo on the Olympics… I’m bored and hot, so I’m entertaining myself by sitting in my cold dark bedroom while looking at my funny Pinterest boards (I love you, funnyass pins. Shit does not get old), waiting for the awesome chile rellano casserole with roasted veg and turkey bacon to be ready. It’s like comfort food, but actually kind of good for you…or at least a lot better for you than most comfort food. I can’t believe it’s like 95 degrees out and I turned on the oven… Summer really really needs to just be over already. I’m am so fucking sick of the heat and humidity and all the bugs that have taken over the world. Spiders in my bedroom, all over the inside and outside of my house, nasty nasty flies all over in your face and annoying the shit out of you (regular and gnats), wasps trying to sneak in your house and hold you hostage by having you lock yourself in a room until someone else comes home to kill it or until you can muster up the courage to figure out how to kill it without getting stung a bunch of times. It’s so not fair that wasps don’t die after stinging you like bees do. They are evil.

Anyways. Now that I’m not concentrating on having a baby (even though I desperately still long for and need one) because I want to lose weight to increase my chances… summer is more on my mind and with my “reverse” or “summer” S.A.D. I am fighting every instinct to hibernate. Seriously. I soooo badly want to just take off work (life, really) until it starts cooling down and just hide in my dark cold bedroom and never leave until it’s comfortable out and the bugs are dead or hibernating till next spring.

Also, I hurt. The sun and heat and humidity affect my joints. I’m really sore and stiff. It doesn’t help that I had to stop taking my prescribed anti-inflammatory (prescribed for my back issues) and now ALL of my body is angry that I’m not taking it anymore. I was only taking it for like 2 weeks! I HAD to stop- it was making me feel ill, even when taken with food.

All of it keeps me in depression-mode and I really want to lose weight so that I can start trying again for a baby, but it’s hard for me to actually make myself chose and start a food and exercise program. Wanna know how mentally against it I am? I couldn’t even correctly spell “exercise”. I typed in “exorcise” first- as in “to drive out a demon”… which I guess isn’t entirely wrong. Maybe I just need to drive out the demon of fatness and laziness and overeating…

I GAVE MYSELF SHOTS EVERYDAY for the fertility treatments and I am terrified of needles. I can talk myself into that (and figure out how to kill or at least shoo a wasp out of the house) but I can’t talk myself into losing weight so that I can have a baby, which I want more than anything else on this earth?! It’s fucking asinine, but it’s so me.


Weekend plans convo…

This took place this morning while he was doing his hair while I was in the shower:

Oswald: What do we got going on this weekend? (asked every week)

Me: Nothing that I’m aware of… except there are a couple of estate sales I wouldn’t mind hitting up, even if they don’t really have any taxidermy listed. Although I did see one with half a bear. I’m not sure when that one was though. Half a bear might be fun.

Oswald: Collecting taxidermy is too expensive to have as a hobby.

Me: If I don’t have any babies soon, I need more animals and at least these ones don’t piss all over the new carpet. And you don’t have to pay for food and cat litter and shots and stuff. We’re totally saving money by owning taxidermied animals.

Oswald: So why don’t we just stuff the cats we have?

Me: Like, now?

Oswald: Sure.

Me: Ok, but Meema is going to be made into a pillow because she is so mink-soft and Pookie absolutely has to be made into one of those RC cat-helicopters. It’s like they were born with that as their fate. Kind of like how I am fated to be Plastinated when I die.

Just kidding. I would never stuff my cats… I would totally wait till they died of natural causes and then stuff them.  Seriously, Meema really is mink-soft. You gotta feel this cat. She’s got amazingly soft fur and it’s something that I’ve joked about all her life. I really do love those cats, even though they are gross and did piss all over our old carpet (mostly Pookie, but he did have a UTI and then they both thought that since he had already marked up the place that was perfectly acceptable behavior) and Meema has that bulimia-like thing where she yaks all the time after she eats and drinks. I don’t know how she finally managed to actually get semi-chunky, because it’s miraculous that she actually gets enough nutrition. Also, why do cats insist on puking on carpet? We only have carpet on our stairs, hallway and bedrooms. EVERYWHERE ELSE is tiled and yet she can’t puke on any tile. Nay, nay. Only carpet is good enough for my princess to barf her brains out on.

And I’m not joking about the Plastination. I’m really really having that done when I die.

Day one:

I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, but I’ve wanted to start a blog for eons now but just never knew what to call it. I really don’t give a shit if anyone reads this or not. This is something I am doing for myself, maybe kind of like a journal of my thoughts and feelings. I’m doing this reasonably anonymously as well (I’ll share it with a very select few close friends) so that I can say “FUCK” ALL I FUCKING WANT ON HERE without offending any little-old-church-ladies that I happen to be related to. Because I don’t want to offend them- they’re family and I love them. Image

I’m kind of a loony… not in an “oh God, save us all” kind of way. I just have really eclectic, eccentric tastes and views. Case in point: the picture above. This is not my tattoo. But I get a huge kick out of it because I love Hello Kitty (“Hola Gato” in my world) and Silence of the Lambs. I tend to have a very dark sense of humor. You’ll see.

Fair warning: there will be lots of bitching about life in this blog. If you don’t want to read it, don’t. No one freaking asked you. I need to be allowed to vent. Especially since most of the shit I need to get off my chest is stuff that people are like “oh you can’t talk about that” even tho it’s not like it’s something offensive. It just might be an uncomfortable topic… like my miscarriages. I’ve had 2 miscarriages and lost 3 babies total. Last pregnancy was with twins thru IUI. Not over it. Not sure when I will be, if ever. There are good days and bad days and some days that are just surviving as “OK”. I’ll try not to be a “Debbie-downer”, but no promises. This IS *my* blog and I’ll write what I want.