Phobia

As if there wasn't enough evidence of my mental illness, I submit to you the following evidence.

I am completely convinced that every time I lift the lid of the toilet, I am going to find a snake.

Seriously.

I can not pee in the dark. I can't pee if I can't see the water. I can't pee if I don't first look into the toilet to ensure that there is not, in fact, a snake coiled in the bowl waiting to lunge out and bite me on the hoo ha.

There is no basis for this fear. It's not as if I have ever found anything more malicious than an unflushed turd in the toilet. But still. THERE COULD BE A SNAKE IN THE TOILET, you just NEVER KNOW. It totally happened in that movie Snakes on a Plane and that guy got his weiner bit and then he TOTALLY DIED, y'all. DIED.

This isn't a fear that I admit to because my husband is an asshole who would find it terribly amusing to leave a rubber snake in the toilet just to hear me scream.

Just when I think I've talked myself out of it, just when I think that I am being irrational, I see this article.

Which includes this picture.





THERE IS A MOTHER FUCKING SNAKE IN THE MOTHER FUCKING TOILET. It swam up the pipes. A SNAKE SWAM UP THE PIPES AND INTO THE TOILET. A real mother fucking snake swam into the sewer and up the pipes and INTO THE TOILET.

For reals.

I'm never going to pee again.

Wordless Wednesday: The Odd Couple

14 is the new 4

(scene: My house, 10:30pm)

I notice M's bedroom light is on and open her door. She quickly stashes something behind her back.

Me: Bedtime, dude.

M: ALREADY?

Me: Yep.

M: But I'm dooooing something.

Me: What?

M: Uh, not playing with my new school supplies if that's what you're thinking.

I close the door and wait silently in the hall way and then whip it open and scream

Me: A HA!

M: OH MY GOD. You made me color outside the lines!

Vanity

Because there aren't enough pictures of me on the Interwebs.

Where you be?

Here's the thing. As previously mentioned, I am all hopped up on drugs. Xanax, Welburtin and Zoloft to be exact. With a side of Ambien CR.

This combination of drugs, while it makes me feel better....well it also makes me feel a little bit of nothing. It's good in that I no longer sit, knees pulled to my chest, rocking back and forth rubbing away the skin of my thumb as I worry a quarter, or a pen, or a folded up bit of paper. It's good because I no longer wake in the morning thinking that if I could just sleep more, if could just close my eyes, then it would be okay. I would be okay. It's good because the sounds of my husband chewing his food, that smack smack smack of his teeth coming down on his food, no longer makes me want to stab him to death with a fork. Wound him, certainly, maim him, maybe, but not kill.

I like to call this "progress".

But it also means my neurosis filled ramblings are a little less neurotic. My need to spill my guts to the world just a little quieter.

Sucks for blogging, right?

So forgive me, kittens, for not being around much. They (and by "they" I mean the legions of doctors who've assured me that I'm not broken, just a little bent) assure me that when I stabilize my ability to see The Crazy and laugh at it will be restored.

Until then, here's a picture CK sent me last night. Check out her chubby little knees! Do you not want to nom them? I distinctly recall that red, white and blue striped outfit that I'm wearing. I recall loving it. Which, I must say, is a vast improvement over one of my other favorite outfits, a cable knit, mustard yellow turtleneck and elephant grey bell bottom corduroy pants. With red shoes. Obviously.

PS.

I thought you'd also get a laugh (like I did) out of the note that CK included when she emailed me the pictures...

Hey-
I asked dad to scan a couple of old photos I found when I was home. Here's a couple of you and I.

One thing I love about our childhood photos is that we seem to have similar expressions in each one. I usually look vaguely inquisitive/good natured (rather like the Far Side cartoon about the irish setter) and you look like "take the photo already! geez!"

Anyway, thought you might get a kick out of these

PPS.

Yes, my Gram did use scotch tape and a ruler to ensure that my bangs were perfectly straight and 2" above my eye brows.

Also? My mother has a lot to answer for when it comes to my pig-tails.

Thirst

I crave you

like air

like water

like sun

you are my heart

in your absence

I am lost

Think on it Thursday: The Reason I don't have a donkey

The Greek stoic philosopher Chrysippus of Soli is said to have died after laughing too hard at his donkey, who was drunk, trying and failing to eat some figs. Given that it was his fault the donkey was drunk (he'd given it wine) he really only has himself to blame

Wordless Wednesday: The Queen of Beers

Not So Handy Annie

I am not so much about the whole "home improvement" thing. I blame my parents for this. My mother LOVES home improvement. She's always dreaming up things for my daddy to do. New decks, new flooring, finishing the basement and so on. My dad, who loves calculation and elaborate planning and reading instructions above all things, is happy to comply. Especially if it means concrete. That mans LOVES concrete. Dozens of my childhood weekends were spent "helping" with whatever grandious scheme was currently under way. You know as well as I do anything you're forced to do as a kid results in absolute avoidance as an adult.

However, as a homeowner, from time to time my standard technique of "ignore the problem until it either goes away or Daddy comes for Christmas" doesn't work. My husband, while very mechanical, is completely incapable of home projects. I don't know why. I suspect it's because he loves metal and the house is made of wood. Maybe it's just because he knows I'll do it. Because if I could get someone else to do it? TOTALLY would. I'd stand around and chat and bring lemonade and even give a back rub when it's completed, but the whole Handy Manny thing eludes me.

This weekend though, I had to go to Home Depot. Now, when I say "home depot" I mean it the same way I mean "any stick on bandage" when I say Bandaid. It's a generic noun meaning "giant building full of expensive things I don't understand".

I bought what I needed and headed home. Turns out I DIDN'T need it. Armed with the original package and the receipt, I swung by the HD closer to my office on my way home.

I strode purposefully up to the return counter and smacked my receipt down on the counter.
The bored looking pink haired, pierced lipped girl looks over the receipt and then says to me

"I can't return this."

Seriously. What the hell am I supposed to do with some stupid thingamagigie?

"Yes, you can." I inform her in my best I am a manager voice. You know, the same one you use with your children. The one that says, YOU WILL NOT ARGUE WITH ME, MISSY.

"No. I can't". She says again

"Why the hell not? I bought it YESTERDAY. I have the receipt, which clearly states you accept returns UNCONDITIONALLY. I need to see your manager."

She eyes me up and down and says

"I can't return it because you didn't buy it from Home Depot. You bought it at Lowes."

Soul Vampires

I like to think I'm fairly reasonable in my expectations of people. I don't expect you to do anything for me that I wouldn't do for you. When it comes right down to it though, in every relationship there is an element of what's in it for me. Let's face it. If you (and by you I mean
me) are not getting something beneficial from a relationship, what's the point of continuing it?

For the most part, in friendships that elusive "something" is just feelings. As my friend, you make me laugh, you listen when I complain, you call me and tell me some crazy thing you saw and I do the same for you. We make each other feel good. Sure, some times you need me to drive you to the airport and sometimes I need you to watch my dogs while I'm out of town. Maybe I always drive and you always pick up the tab for movie snacks. In the end, it's mostly equal. That's why it works.

However, it seems that there are some people who only take. Who, despite the fact that I find their company enjoyable, always seem to want MORE. To want something. I don't mind watching your kids, I have no problem helping you move, I don't even really get upset that I usually wind up subsidizing your meal when we go out Dutch treat for dinner. What I DO mind is that those times are the ONLY times that you call me.

Yesterday, a friend of J's called. This particular friend always needs something. Always. Which, like I said, wouldn't be a huge issue, if when I needed something HE could help with he was willing to do so. He's not. Ever. He's always too tired. Too busy. Too something. Last night he called to ask about a concert the company I work for is sponsoring. When was it? Who was coming? What time did it start?

I answered his questions and added tickets were $30, general admission. "Oh" he says "you can't just give me tickets?" "I figured you probably had VIP tickets or something that you could get for free".

Oh. OF COURSE. Silly me. Why ever would I think that he, of all people would call with out an agenda?

As I hung up the phone I got more and more irritated. Why do people, not all, but some, think that it's okay just to TAKE? Then it occurred to me. It's because people like me, people who say yes, of course when you call them at 3am on Tuesday and ask if they can come and pick them up on the side of the road, fifty miles away where they've broken down, ALLOW them to. It's because no one ever says to them, YOU ARE A BLACK HOLE OF NEED.

Well, I'm saying it now. People in my life, those of you that give me nothing, not happiness, not a shoulder to cry on, not even a forwarded email dirty joke, you are on notice. I am done. I am done allowing myself to be disappointed by you. I'm done giving you everything and having nothing left for myself. I'm done doing for you things that I wouldn't do for myself.

You can either shape up or ship out. I deserve more.

Thanks y'all!

Taylor made it to the finals of the Arizona's Next Top Model contest! Woot!



BUT now she needs your votes again! Click here to help her make it all the way through!



How can you say no to someone this pretty?

Head/Desk

You remember that one time when you were a kid and you were a little distracted and maybe kind of sleepy and you called the teacher mommy? And then you were so embarrased that if there had been a big boiling vat of lava you would have thrown yourself into in so that you wouldn't have to live with the shame anymore?

Well that's nothing compared to telling your boss that you love him at the end of a phone call.

Ouiser says

Enough, already. I'm not even kidding here, chickens. I'm at my wits end. If I had wits and I think we can all agree that at times that's debatable.

I've been treated for clinical depression off and on for about fifteen years. I was diagnosed with a chemical imbalance related anxiety disorder last spring. And now? Panic attacks too? Seriously, WHAT THE FUCK?

If I didn't drink so much I'd probably be really screwed up.

Puhlease?

Can you kids all take a second to go vote for M's gorgeous friend Taylor in the Arizona's Next Top Model contest?

I know because I checked

J: are you eating cucumbers AGAIN?

me: (mouth full) maybe

J: I think that you might need an intervention

me: no way.

J: seriously, you have an addiction

Me: nope. There's no twelve step program for it so there's no way it's an addiction.