Thursday, May 24, 2012

It's not a plague of locusts or anything, but good grief

Our dumb dog is at the vet for bladder stone surgery. Which costs $500. 500 real American dollars. That's kind of a lot of dollars. Especially for a free dog that was supposed to be inexpensive. We had her fixed. The end. Except then we had to replace the blinds that she destroyed and the curtains and the laptop and the paint on the door frames. Then we had to replace every pair of underwear in the house plus every single pair of my pajama pants and three pairs of blue jeans. And now the bladder stone surgery which follows 2 $200 vet visits in which they tried to determine what was wrong with her in the first place. I have a bald spot on the back of my head. And my husband does not understand why "It is not that big a deal" is not a helpful thing to say to me. I have a fucking bald spot. I realize that it is not exactly genocide or war orphans or those kids with the flies on their eyeballs. I will probably be over it by tomorrow. But right now, I would like to sob inconsolably over my big fucking bald spot that came from no fucking where in peace. Like he wouldn't be upset if he started turning into (non)fucking Quasimodo. My IBS has been overactive the last 2 weeks, and yet for some reason I cannot seem to lose any weight. I'm sure you are glad that I shared that little detail of my life with you. I am a giver, is what I am. A fat, broke, balding giver. My mom's hours have been cut in half at her job. Which means she will start needing money from me again. Which I don't have. Because the dog. And also whatever amount of money I have to give my hairdresser to fix this baldness shit. As long as it doesn't involve hair extensions. I don't know why. Except I'm in a contrary mood and I want my own fucking hair back. Give me things that are impossible. GIVE THEM. I'm 30. Which is fine, except apparently everything in the media is all "30?! That's so gross! Minus 12 billion hotness points, Old Person!You might as well just have your sex organs removed now and die because it's not like anyone will want to have sex with you. Your husband is a total liar who is picturing an 18 year old when he has to sleep with you." Because the balding and the fatness aren't enough. My endometriosis is getting worse again. It feels like someone wrapped several strands of barbed wire around my midsection and now they are trying to cut me in half with it. Which may also explain the baldness freakout and the oldness freakout. I'm going to take, like, 8 Midol and go to sleep now. And maybe a Valium wouldn't hurt anything either.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

The Thing

My mom works as a home health care giver for a very sweet little lady. She works with 2 sisters and they have all gotten to be fairly good friends. One of the sisters has a daughter. The daughter has 4 children. 2 of the children were fathered by her cousin, and were adopted by his family. She is "raising" the 2 youngest boys. And by raising, I mean maintaining custody and leaving them with her mother and her aunt for days at a time while she goes off and gets high. She just got out of jail, had a court date, was supposed to go back to jail, and is now hiding out from the law. The 2 boys' father is...snorting pills or something. Also out of jail on bail.

Back a few months ago, my husband and I were approached by the girl's aunt about the possibility of adopting the youngest boy in order to keep him from going into foster care and losing touch with the family. About the time that we decided we were really into the idea of taking this little boy, the mother decided that the $5,000 tax return, the WIC benefits, and the fact that her drug dealer lets her pay in food stamps (which would decrease without the kids) were worth the few days a month she deigns to remember that she has children. My husband suggested that we could pay her. It would probably work. It's completely illegal, but it would probably work. My husband was unaware it was illegal when he made that statement. Based on conversations he had with a co-worker who adopted his kids through an agency (and was told $10,000 for a black baby, $15,000 for a mixed baby, and $20,000 for a white baby)he failed to realize that was different from buying a baby. How is it different? Well, because. Regardless, neither of us feels that it is a good idea to give a drug addict money and expect her not to ask for more without some kind of official, legal document. We cannot very well legally document the illegal purchase of a baby. Anyway, we decided to tell the aunt that while we had been interested, we were no longer interested. We won't be adopting him because he is now beginning to walk. Frankly, I wish I was a better person, willing to take an older child. But I'm not that good of a person. I want a little time to adjust to HAVING a child before having to adjust to a child that is running around all over the place and falling down and active.

So that was the thing. I was surprised at how badly I wanted that little boy. I have always been a little ambivalent about the whole motherhood deal. Turns out, I want to do it. I am a little late posting this because I was surprisingly upset over the way it all turned out. I'm still a little sad. I apologize for the maudlinness...maudlinity...sorry this isn't funny or whatever. I'll be back to doing whatever it is I do on the next post.

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Night of the Living Yuppies

Today my husband and I attended church, ate brunch with a friend, went to the mall, and then came home to putter around the house. Teenage me would bitch slap me for such a suburban cliche of a day, but I kind of liked it.

To be fair, "brunch" occurred at a Waffle House and "putter around the house" actually means "played Guitar Hero for four hours until I cooked dinner and we watched East Bound and Down".

So it could be worse.

Bonus "view of a marriage" conversation:

While we are playing Words with Friends against one another, in the same room:

Him: Did you like how I crushed you with that last word?

Me: You crushed me? You beat me by 5 points. How the hell did you crush me?

Him: Because I was saving it and you thought you were ahead and then I pulled it out in a last minute defeat.

Me: You didn't crush me. Crushing involves a larger point margin.

Him: I crushed you. I more than crushed you. I ripped your beating heart out of your chest and then I defecated in the bleeding hole. You will never recover.

Me:...It is nice to not always be the crazy one in this relationship.

Him: Crushed. You.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Sick Puppy

Sunny, the dog frequently referred to as "Bunny" in this house, because she is about as close as you can get to being a rabbit while actually being a dog, did something to her neck that is making my life miserable. She is on a muscle relaxant, a ridiculous dose of steroids, and a pain killer that could probably fell a moose. But that is probably a good thing, as she's not supposed to run, play, or jump. Unfortuantely, sometimes it makes her sleepy and sometimes it makes her sit rigidly straight, panting like a maniac, while her eyeballs roll around and she generally appears to be a complete psycho. Also, confession, we don't crate her and never have. I don't usually tell people that because they act like it's a major sin, but frankly she has always ALWAYS hated the crate. In fact, to say she hates the crate is a little like saying the Westboro Baptist Church isn't very fond of gay people. Which is to say, a giant understatement. She trembles violently and generally vomits any time you try to put her in the crate.

Anyway, this means I don't sleep because I have to stop her from jumping up or down on the bed (which is another way the medication sucks, because she has NO IDEA that she is supposed to feel bad). And of course, I keep trying to reason with her, by saying "Now, Bunny, you know you can't jump or play with Stormy, or run right now. I know that sucks but you have hurt yourself and have to lie still for Mama so you don't herniate a disc and require expensive surgery and/or become paralysed for life." And she looks back at me with her super dialated eyes, and basically says, "Dude. I understood the words Bunny, Stormy, and Mama. Because I'm a fucking dog. And also I am so high right now."

And then she jumps down from the couch or up onto the bed or whatever thing I am convinced will make her crippled forever. I managed to stop the running in the yard by making her harness, though. She used to have one and then Stormy ate it and it's a whole big thing and they always go out in the yard anyway so we never replaced it. Plus they require a PhD in mechanical engineering to actually get on the dog. So I made one out of an old pair of thong panties. Don't judge me. It makes an excellent harness. And I'm not going to actually WEAR them again. So shut your pie hole.

And we get to do this for a MONTH! Super yay!

Thursday, February 9, 2012

2nd sick day in a row. It's like a vacation only with more vomit and trips to the bathroom.

Actually, it's fairly similar to my last vacation in Mexico. Except of course for the fact that I haven't thrown up in 10 years, and my whole streak is ruined. Wasn't there a t.v. show with an episode where one of the characters was vomit three since '03 or something? It was like that, except I was vomit free since like, 2001 or 2002. But that doesn't rhyme.

Um. Anyway. Very productive two days. I've watched about 7,000 episodes of Law and Order (SVU and Criminal Intent) because it's the perfect sick day show. It's oddly soothing, for all that it is about killers and rapists and whatnot. If you doze off in the middle of one episode, and wake up in the middle of another, it doesn't really matter. Also it's fun to play "Spot the Famous People". Every one who was ever in The Wire or Oz appears to have shown up in Law and Order at some point. Plus other people.

Truthfully, I like to watch Law and Order on the treadmill too. The storylines distract me from the discomfort while being predictable enough to let me know how much longer I have to go without watching the clock.

I...really have no idea why I'm babbling about this except that I must be on the mend, because yesterday I was not at all bored and today I'm starting to be a little bored with the laying around. Also, the dogs are totally over me. Yesterday they were all about taking care of me, and today they keep shoving me off the couch and stealing my pillow and my blanket. I'm going to go shove them around a little, so I can take my lunch nap.

Monday, January 23, 2012


You know how you sometimes catch yourself thinking, wow, my life is really awesome? And then the next day all the little things start to pile up to the point that you wish you never got out of bed?

So have you ever had one of those days where you get up super early to get to a meeting that is supposed to be before 8:00 in a town about an hour away only to get there and discover that due to poor reading comprehension skills you are actually there 4 hours early? And then your mom calls, sobbing, to tell you that her boyfriend is moving out and that the way he told her was by...moving half his shit out while she was at work the night before? And then been on your way home when you realized you had a flat tire? So you stopped and after about 15 minutes it occurred to you that you could change the tire? And then you dig around in the trunk because the jack appears to be missing? So you have to rely on the two semi homeless looking dudes to change your tire for you? (In fairness, they change that tire with the ease and speed of a freaking NASCAR pitcrew). And then you get home and call your husband in the hopes that he will tell you it is totes okay to drive around on the spare tire indefinitely? But he tells you this is a bad idea so you have to go to the tire place and spend the rest of the afternoon you were supposed to have off because you got to work at 6:30 a.m.?

Anybody else? Or is that just me?

P.S. Still not pregnant.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Edited: The I'm NOT PREGNANT Edition, which is what I should have called it in the first place, apparently.

Life changing things are possibly in the works. And are also possibly not happening, and I've already jinxed it enough by talking about it with a few select people, so...yeah, that's a sucky thing to do. Cool things may or may not be happening but I'm not going to tell you what they are. Which also implies that I think you care. Which, truthfully, I kind of do. Because one thing I have learned about myself: on the surface I have some issues with body image and whatnot, but underneath? In my deepest, truest self? There is nothing wrong with my self confidence level. I generally assume that people think I'm interesting, intelligent, and attractive. And I generally think those things about myself. And that's fine...except 1. I learned early that to fit in you have to pretend that you don't believe those things, and at some point when you are pretending, you maybe start to get a little confused and 2. just because those things are possibly true doesn't mean that everyone is always fascinated by every minute aspect of my life at all times. Sometimes my self confidence crosses over into a self centeredness so vast, it could cover the entire state of Arkansas. It's generally followed by a session of self disgust at my own vanity that probably balances everything out pretty nicely, though, so I got that going for me.

Anyway, my point, before I wandered off to chase butterflies in the woods, was that because of the maybe thing I have not really known what to talk about. Like, once I say I can't talk about one little (possibly life changing) thing, I get tongue tied (finger tied?) and I can't seem to talk about ANYTHING. So expect a lot of drivel until probably around the beginning of April, when the thing will either have happened or will not be happening at all. I can talk about it then. And I will. Ad nauseum. Till you are like, can you please shut up about the thing that totally didn't even happen?

In the interest of blog consistency: Razorbacks totally won the Cotton Bowl. Which was a much more interesting game than LSU/Alabama. We finally have 3 SEC teams in the top spots of the BCS and then LSU phones it in like a bunch of testicles. I am totally stealing from Betty White. When I want to call something weak, I'm calling it a testicle. It's a new year's resolution I'm pretty sure I can keep. Because she has a point: vaginas are fucking tough. I'm not saying whether the pun was intended there or not.

Speaking of resolutions, I don't really do the New Year's Resolution thing. Not because I am against them (Ells- I really liked your post about resolutions actually. When did it become such a mockable thing to want to make yourself better?) But I tend to make resolutions all year. Like, back in June I resolved to quit smoking cold turkey and I have not had a cigarette or any nicotine product for over 6 months. I resolved in November a few years ago to dig myself out of my debt-hole. That one is taking awhile, but is slowly becoming reality. I dug myself a pretty deep hole. Mostly by refusing to look at the hole. Seriously, I recommend everyone regularly add up exactly how much they actually owe. If you had asked me to guess, at the time, I would have told you a number fully 2/3 lower than the actual total. Like, the number it is now, I would have told you that's what I owed then. I also resolved to do regular nice things for other people. Success rate on that is debatable.

For instance, I totally went through the whole house and pulled out about 7 boxes worth of nice things to donate to a local homeless shelter. I set it out on the curb for pickup, and went back in the house. A short while later I was leaving to go run an errand and noticed that the pile was considerably smaller. Someone stopped at the curb, went through the boxes that were clearly labeled Little Rock Compassion Center, sorted out what they did not like, and took about 5.5 boxes worth. So when the charity showed up, I had one small pile to donate, and it was some random stranger's reject pile. My intentions were good, Charity Dude, I swear.

I also intended to anonymously send my oldest friend some cute things for her two daughters. Just a nice surprise post Christmas thing. There were fairy wings, and a wand, and some books, and some paints, and some play dough. I was really impressed with myself. She'll never know who it is from! Except I...put the return address on the box because I was listening to the radio and they were talking about letters and packages delivered like 30 years late. And I thought of like, undeliveravle mail purgatory, and put my return address on the box. So, she'll still get nice things but the anonymous part...I'm going to have to practice that part. And I hate that I messed that up, because I don't want it to be weird. Like now she's expected to do something for me. That wasn't the point, but that's kind of what happens when you give people gifts. They think they should do something for you. When the idea is to get them to do something nice for someone else entirely. Like this all started because someone raked our leaves for us. And I'd like to be a better person.

I did accomplish a few things successfully, but blogging them seems to defeat the purpose, which is just to do something nice. I only blogged the failures because I think it's sort of entertaining. Plus I think it reinforces my point about my inability to keep my giant yap shut about things.

Except the thing I'm not going to tell you about until the beginning of April.

EDIT: Bleh - I can't comment on my own blog. But in response to comments. DUDES. If it is what you guys think it is, I'm seriously gonna have to break up with my birth control. I better not be pregnant. Damn. Now, I gotta go pee on a damn stick. But seriously, I'm 100% sure that's not what I'm talking about, and also, I'm 99.999% sure I'm not pregnant. Sorry for the confusion.

Friday, January 6, 2012

Woo Pig Sooie

Watching the Cotton Bowl, rooting for the Razorbacks (ha! see what I did thar? root...hogs...because hogs root...for...things...nevermind).

Quick update during the commercial break: no New Year's resolutions. I generally just make changes as I notice they are necessary. It seems to work for me. I've spent the last month cleaning out the closets (then filling them back up at Christmas) and organizing sock drawers and shit. Not that it was really necessary. OCD girl likes things organized.

Games back on - have to go watch us kick Kansas' ass. Unless we aren't and then I have to stop watching because sometimes I think I'm a jinx. I haven't really watched the games this year and we were ranked 3 in the SEC, so...

Sorry, enough football talk.

Go Hogs!