Who knew that someday we would be able to build a page filled with everything about us and connect to old high school friends, elementary bullies and one night stand nightmares? It's the most bullshit world out there on the Internets but we love it and we continue to build our friend list with a shit load of people that we could really care less about but really need to know if they are fat/skinny/single/gay/rich/addicted or just plain interesting. I've spent more time then I care to comment (or like) looking through people's pictures and judging or looking through my own pictures as if I were someone else judging. I check my news feed daily and some folks tend to follow the same pattern so this post is going to call out a handful of status types and my interpretation of the people behind them...
The let's save every damn animal on the planet status - Good for the person who wants to make a difference but you know what would really help? Going and volunteering at the humane society, not blowing up my news feed with the fact that I can adopt a pit-bull now. Don't get me wrong, I love animals and I used to really love my two dogs until I got new pets in the form of children. You want to help out a dog, come get mine because I don't have time for their dog food needs and outside potty breaks. These people probably go through a lot of peanut butter.
The I'm good enough, I'm smart enough and darn it people like me status - People don't really like this person that's why they have to keep telling themselves that. Also, this person might want to check into therapy because at least then someone has to pretend to be interested when they share how they want to be even more good enough and smart enough.
The OMG! I have the best husband/wife/BF/GF and here is why - This person is either a beard or surrounded by cats, never even touched by the opposite sex but you wouldn't know because they posted a bunch of pictures photoshopped with awesome looking people.
The who knows what the hell you just said because no one knows how to read Ebonics status - dis dat stat gurrrrrl where peeps gots to read bout tree diff times cuz it don't make no since...SN SMH LMAO. These people need to be beat about the head and torso with a book, preferably one titled Learn to write English Clearly and Correctly. They also need a belt.
The I just got back from or getting ready to leave on another awesome trip for an extended period of time status - Fuck this person and the jet liner they flew in or out on...
Last but not least...
The I'm so fucking funny status - this lonely soul thinks they are the funniest person alive the only problem is all their jokes and sarcastic comments have been heard about 17 million times by their family and touchable friends. These posts wouldn't even get a smirk from their significant other but on facebook it's thumbs up all day. They live a make believe life of awesomeness via status updates and usually talk to themselves on the car ride home from work laughing at things they think or say aloud.
I mean, who talks to themselves and laughs at their own jokes? Not me!
What Summer? Oh, just saying how I'm so glad I don't have to try to be funny and it just comes naturally and everyone loves me and always wants to be around me and I'm not trying to prove anything by my facebook status updates like how funny I am or how I want to save a whale or that my husband is super hot, generous and kind while I pack for another excursion to Bora Bora ... Oh Summer, lol lol lol you are sooooooooooo funny. Thanks Summer, I love you...
Showing posts with label SAD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label SAD. Show all posts
Sunday
Where's George Clooney?
Last Monday I had an experience that all mothers fear...if you are the mother of someone who was dropped on their head as a small child. My youngest shoved popcorn kernels up his nose...not one or two but THREE popcorn kernels. I don't remember dropping him as an infant but I drink a lot so who really knows...
I stayed calm enough to not swear while I freaked the fuck out. Especially since this same day I was called by the daycare because my oldest son had a 102 fever, and at this same time I had just started boiling chicken and at this exact moment my phone was beeping because the battery was dying and I couldn't get in touch with my husband or my mom or my mother in law or God...
After every unsuccessful attempt at getting them out at home there was no other choice, we were heading to the ER...but not just any ER, the real glamorous one that is located right smack dab in the inner city. Although there is a dire need for hospitals to accept everyone regardless of insurance status you have to be insane to go there. I get to go there for free thanks to my employer and when shit is free, especially a trip to the ER, that can make you reach the necessary insanity level. This is that story...
Hudson and I arrive and pass through metal detectors behind a couple that just beat the living shit out of each other and in front of a cracked out criminal with police escorts. We check in and stand in an area the size of a half bath with the most interesting and intriguing group of people I have ever laid eyes on...one man is holding his finger in a blood soaked rag, an elderly woman is moaning and another lady really just looks like she is waiting for Dr. Feelgood. Other than the company it all seems pretty uneventful...
That is when we are graced by Mental Patient Marcus who approaches the check in window like he is either going to murder it or eat it. He explains to the check in girl that he was just released by the hospital and doesn't have his medication. "I can't be released on the streets without my medication...mumble, mumble, mumble..." Our second guest is Dad of the Year Dave who comes right up on Marcus and yells, "I need medical attention for my son!" He then proceeds to grab his son's wrist and proclaims, "his wrist be broke!" His son wails out since the wrist he grabbed is said broken wrist all the while Marcus is still trying to get his red or blue pills (one pill makes you smaller, one pill makes you tall). Marcus whirls around and says to Dave, "Don't dip in my shit man." Dave, of course, has a retort, "You best step back man...you need to take your ass to the mental joint next door." They both are puffed up and I fear are going to start beating the shit out of each other in this 6x6 hell hole and I can't contain myself so I yell, "THAT'S ENOUGH! There are children in here. Both of you need to GET IT TOGETHER!" In all honesty, I think my animal mother instinct took over and I also think it didn't make a damn difference. These dudes could have cared less that I was going National Geographic on them or that there was children in a 6x6 room they were about to make their personal octagon. Miraculously, Mental Patient Marcus is summoned by the pill distributor and ironically the gal behind the check in glass says that I better go to another waiting room which I reply, "Umm, you think?"
The other waiting room had a nice little play area that I wouldn't have let my child play in if it was the last playroom on earth...we were joined by a mom who said fuck every other word which if you are at the bar is fine but we happen to be in a pediatric ER waiting room so not really a good look, Dad of the Year Dave joins us where he grabs his son's broken wrist on two more occasions to show the nurse it's broken, and finally a 15 year old who had her ass cheeks hanging out of her shorts and is brought in by an ambulance with another 15 year old that put a bullet in her head...how do I know that, you ask? Well, as I am checking my son in with the nurse the ambulance driver happens to share that information right in front of me and my THREE YEAR OLD SON!!!! Thankfully, the popcorn kernels up his nose somehow affected his hearing because he never once asked any questions about that.
We are called back and taken to the curtain rooms of chaos. We are surrounded by a child with a bandage wrapped all around the top of his head who keeps trying to crawl up his mother while she plays on her phone, a pregnant girl old enough to just be starting sex ed (that's 5th grade) and don't forget Dad of the Year that I hear the doctor ask when the break happened and Pops says around 5pm and the doctor seems perplexed considering the entire wrist has to be reset. I am overtaken by this overwhelming feeling of dismay when Hudson sneezes and a popcorn kernel pops out!!! We were starving and really hoped it would have materialized into a fluffy, butter-ific popped corn of goodness but no such luck.
It's then that my angel arrives from the darkness. He has in his hand the magic wand of kernel rescue and with a graceful flick of the wrist releases the other two kernels that have made their home in my son's nasal cavity. That is how I remember it anyway and is exactly what I am going to keep telling myself. No, I did not need to apply my entire weight on my son while this satanic nose utensil gouged and dug in my sons nostril only to cause a severe nose bleed once the kernels had been rescued. It wasn't like that at all, in fact it was a beautiful experience...like how you would imagine floating on a cloud might be.
All in all, we made it through the wilderness of inner city ER! We aren't stabbed, or zombies, no one dipped into our shit and I still love my son. I love him even though three days later he looked at me and slowly put a popcorn kernel up to his nostril...at which point I picked him up and dropped him on his head.
I stayed calm enough to not swear while I freaked the fuck out. Especially since this same day I was called by the daycare because my oldest son had a 102 fever, and at this same time I had just started boiling chicken and at this exact moment my phone was beeping because the battery was dying and I couldn't get in touch with my husband or my mom or my mother in law or God...
After every unsuccessful attempt at getting them out at home there was no other choice, we were heading to the ER...but not just any ER, the real glamorous one that is located right smack dab in the inner city. Although there is a dire need for hospitals to accept everyone regardless of insurance status you have to be insane to go there. I get to go there for free thanks to my employer and when shit is free, especially a trip to the ER, that can make you reach the necessary insanity level. This is that story...
Hudson and I arrive and pass through metal detectors behind a couple that just beat the living shit out of each other and in front of a cracked out criminal with police escorts. We check in and stand in an area the size of a half bath with the most interesting and intriguing group of people I have ever laid eyes on...one man is holding his finger in a blood soaked rag, an elderly woman is moaning and another lady really just looks like she is waiting for Dr. Feelgood. Other than the company it all seems pretty uneventful...
That is when we are graced by Mental Patient Marcus who approaches the check in window like he is either going to murder it or eat it. He explains to the check in girl that he was just released by the hospital and doesn't have his medication. "I can't be released on the streets without my medication...mumble, mumble, mumble..." Our second guest is Dad of the Year Dave who comes right up on Marcus and yells, "I need medical attention for my son!" He then proceeds to grab his son's wrist and proclaims, "his wrist be broke!" His son wails out since the wrist he grabbed is said broken wrist all the while Marcus is still trying to get his red or blue pills (one pill makes you smaller, one pill makes you tall). Marcus whirls around and says to Dave, "Don't dip in my shit man." Dave, of course, has a retort, "You best step back man...you need to take your ass to the mental joint next door." They both are puffed up and I fear are going to start beating the shit out of each other in this 6x6 hell hole and I can't contain myself so I yell, "THAT'S ENOUGH! There are children in here. Both of you need to GET IT TOGETHER!" In all honesty, I think my animal mother instinct took over and I also think it didn't make a damn difference. These dudes could have cared less that I was going National Geographic on them or that there was children in a 6x6 room they were about to make their personal octagon. Miraculously, Mental Patient Marcus is summoned by the pill distributor and ironically the gal behind the check in glass says that I better go to another waiting room which I reply, "Umm, you think?"
The other waiting room had a nice little play area that I wouldn't have let my child play in if it was the last playroom on earth...we were joined by a mom who said fuck every other word which if you are at the bar is fine but we happen to be in a pediatric ER waiting room so not really a good look, Dad of the Year Dave joins us where he grabs his son's broken wrist on two more occasions to show the nurse it's broken, and finally a 15 year old who had her ass cheeks hanging out of her shorts and is brought in by an ambulance with another 15 year old that put a bullet in her head...how do I know that, you ask? Well, as I am checking my son in with the nurse the ambulance driver happens to share that information right in front of me and my THREE YEAR OLD SON!!!! Thankfully, the popcorn kernels up his nose somehow affected his hearing because he never once asked any questions about that.
We are called back and taken to the curtain rooms of chaos. We are surrounded by a child with a bandage wrapped all around the top of his head who keeps trying to crawl up his mother while she plays on her phone, a pregnant girl old enough to just be starting sex ed (that's 5th grade) and don't forget Dad of the Year that I hear the doctor ask when the break happened and Pops says around 5pm and the doctor seems perplexed considering the entire wrist has to be reset. I am overtaken by this overwhelming feeling of dismay when Hudson sneezes and a popcorn kernel pops out!!! We were starving and really hoped it would have materialized into a fluffy, butter-ific popped corn of goodness but no such luck.
It's then that my angel arrives from the darkness. He has in his hand the magic wand of kernel rescue and with a graceful flick of the wrist releases the other two kernels that have made their home in my son's nasal cavity. That is how I remember it anyway and is exactly what I am going to keep telling myself. No, I did not need to apply my entire weight on my son while this satanic nose utensil gouged and dug in my sons nostril only to cause a severe nose bleed once the kernels had been rescued. It wasn't like that at all, in fact it was a beautiful experience...like how you would imagine floating on a cloud might be.
All in all, we made it through the wilderness of inner city ER! We aren't stabbed, or zombies, no one dipped into our shit and I still love my son. I love him even though three days later he looked at me and slowly put a popcorn kernel up to his nostril...at which point I picked him up and dropped him on his head.
Thursday
The time I blogged drunk decided it wasn't a good look and then read it sober and found it completely appropriate...
So, last week I proceeded to get completely annihilated on a weekday because isn't that what great mothers and wives do? Oh... Well, I was raised a little different I guess. Anyway, I never posted the below because at the time, in my drunken insanity, I thought it was terrible...I read it today and it's soooooo terrible that it's fucking GREAT! I might just get drunk tonight and go for round 2!!! The funniest part about the previous sentence is the use of the word might. Mommy LOVES her medicine!!!!!!!
Side note - I left the spelling errors because I think it truly expresses what a complete rock star I am on Tuesdays.
Tuesday, August 26th at entirely too early to be this loaded.
This an experiment...
I've been into the sauce and I'm about to blog. It could be a total nightmare or it might be the best 3 minutes of your life...similar to a one night stand. Let's see how it goes.
Some disclaimers ~ As I am typing this I have no idea where it might go and therefore am not liable for anything I might say about anything. In addition, I'm not that drunk, yes I have consumed three very large vodka and tonics on a random Tuesay night but the only thing being affected right now is my ability to find the period button, . See? Speaking of periods, I'm on mine...I thought you should know.
I have decided to purge in this post anyhtign that comes to mind...
Right now I'll have you know I hate smoking, the smell and the people that do it...however, I have just smoked three cigarettes so take from that what you will judgey mcjudgerton...maybe I am more buzzed than I thought.
This is not going well...maybe I should pick a topic. Hmm, how about people that you manage at work that talk to you like you are a retard.
I have one of these...I tell her a new policy or procedure or something I have handked for her out of kindness and she sits down in her chair, clasps her hands together as if to pray and says EVERYM'FGTIME, "well, I'm not certain how you used to do things but here we...." She does a lot of eyelash batting and nodding her head back and forth as if hse is going into some epilectic seizure. The whole time this scene is palying out I smile because all I want to do is back hand that smug look off her face and tell her that if it was being done the right way the million years she has been there then maybe I wouldn't have to tell her a different way of dpoign it.
Okay, this isn't working out. As I'm typing this I am thinking to myself, "are you really going to post this shit?" Seriosuly it's awful and I am having a hard time even typing it...at the same tiume I'm thinking, "I did say it was an ecperiment so they knew what they were getting into." Let's continue...
I'm smoking another cigarette...that makes four.
What else?
This is where it ended. I might have passed out or developed lung cancer or made a pizza but more than likely passed out as cancer enveloped my lungs while making a pizza...yeah, that's more my style. I'm a multi-tasker!
Side note - I left the spelling errors because I think it truly expresses what a complete rock star I am on Tuesdays.
Tuesday, August 26th at entirely too early to be this loaded.
This an experiment...
I've been into the sauce and I'm about to blog. It could be a total nightmare or it might be the best 3 minutes of your life...similar to a one night stand. Let's see how it goes.
Some disclaimers ~ As I am typing this I have no idea where it might go and therefore am not liable for anything I might say about anything. In addition, I'm not that drunk, yes I have consumed three very large vodka and tonics on a random Tuesay night but the only thing being affected right now is my ability to find the period button, . See? Speaking of periods, I'm on mine...I thought you should know.
I have decided to purge in this post anyhtign that comes to mind...
Right now I'll have you know I hate smoking, the smell and the people that do it...however, I have just smoked three cigarettes so take from that what you will judgey mcjudgerton...maybe I am more buzzed than I thought.
This is not going well...maybe I should pick a topic. Hmm, how about people that you manage at work that talk to you like you are a retard.
I have one of these...I tell her a new policy or procedure or something I have handked for her out of kindness and she sits down in her chair, clasps her hands together as if to pray and says EVERYM'FGTIME, "well, I'm not certain how you used to do things but here we...." She does a lot of eyelash batting and nodding her head back and forth as if hse is going into some epilectic seizure. The whole time this scene is palying out I smile because all I want to do is back hand that smug look off her face and tell her that if it was being done the right way the million years she has been there then maybe I wouldn't have to tell her a different way of dpoign it.
Okay, this isn't working out. As I'm typing this I am thinking to myself, "are you really going to post this shit?" Seriosuly it's awful and I am having a hard time even typing it...at the same tiume I'm thinking, "I did say it was an ecperiment so they knew what they were getting into." Let's continue...
I'm smoking another cigarette...that makes four.
What else?
This is where it ended. I might have passed out or developed lung cancer or made a pizza but more than likely passed out as cancer enveloped my lungs while making a pizza...yeah, that's more my style. I'm a multi-tasker!
Saturday
Fat Pregnant Freak Out...
First of all let me address the title...NO, I am not pregnant...fat and freaking out, sure but that's another post...
Sorry I have been away so long (Melinda) but I have really had some life changes that have stretched me thin and most mothers know when that happens time for you becomes scarce. This morning, I am going to ignore that my 4 year old is trying to make his own chocolate milk (we don't even have chocolate syrup so this should be interesting) or that my 2 year old is hiding somewhere and when your not potty trained that means a dump is on the horizon, AWESOME! I'll make a better effort to tell you about ridiculous experiences that happen in this so called life and that effort begins now...
I'm getting my hair done this week by my tremendously adorable pregnant hairdresser (adorable and pregnant never met when I was carrying my beasts) and she proceeds to tell me that she was recently thrown a surprise baby shower. I know what you are thinking, oh what a sweet concept and that is when I tell you the rest of the story (shout out to Paul Harvey)...The day had begun on the rough side. She was three seconds away from divorcing her husband and was so uncomfortable that day that she wore maternity yoga pants, a stretched out tank and no make-up. Her husband allowed this even though he knew about the surprise shower the whole time (they are still married which is a miracle after that stunt). They pull up to the venue and she knows right away what is going down and begins to sob, first because she looks like a sweaty beached whale and second because she hasn't even registered and has no clue what this shower might consist of. That, my friends, is when shit really hits the fan. Let me paint a picture for you...
You weigh close to 280 pounds, not really but it feels like it, and you are already sobbing because your husband is a selfish asshole who has no idea how it feels to be pregnant or even human. You walk into a baby shower set up as a surprise for you and scan the room. Clothes are hung by a clothes line, every item that you could possibly need for a new baby is scattered around the area and there are weird copy paper boxes with writing on the sides...you squint to see what isn't making sense here when you see the tiny neon circular stickers on each one of the clothing items, you notice there is not one item in the original box and the copy paper boxes have messages on them like, "Riley 6-9 months" only your baby is not going to be named Riley. That's because all of the gifts here waiting for you and your new baby are from....
A FUCKING GARAGE SALE!!!!!!!!!!
Who does that? If the answer has ever been you, you're an asshole. No brand new mother wants a bunch of old, used shit that not only doesn't match but she didn't actually see the place where it came from which could be a total crap hole for all she knows. I just keep thinking about dressing my newborn son in a onesie with formula stains on it from a stranger and placing him so gently in a bouncy seat that has 10 year old teeth marks on it from some nasty ass toddler that did not emerge from my vagina. It's disgusting and I am not even one of those snotty, I need all new stuff because I'm too good for garage sales type of person. C'mon though, a surprise baby shower filled with all items from garbage sales? I would question if any of these people even like me. In fact, if by some miracle I get pregnant and someone thinks that will be a nice gesture since I'm already two kids deep and shouldn't really get a baby shower anyway I am going to freak the fuck out! Not only will I destroy the whole entire shower and everyone in attendance but I will actually eat the person that threw the shower and if you have ever seen me pregnant you know I could ingest an entire human being and still go on with my fat ass day like nothing ever happened...
Sorry I have been away so long (Melinda) but I have really had some life changes that have stretched me thin and most mothers know when that happens time for you becomes scarce. This morning, I am going to ignore that my 4 year old is trying to make his own chocolate milk (we don't even have chocolate syrup so this should be interesting) or that my 2 year old is hiding somewhere and when your not potty trained that means a dump is on the horizon, AWESOME! I'll make a better effort to tell you about ridiculous experiences that happen in this so called life and that effort begins now...
I'm getting my hair done this week by my tremendously adorable pregnant hairdresser (adorable and pregnant never met when I was carrying my beasts) and she proceeds to tell me that she was recently thrown a surprise baby shower. I know what you are thinking, oh what a sweet concept and that is when I tell you the rest of the story (shout out to Paul Harvey)...The day had begun on the rough side. She was three seconds away from divorcing her husband and was so uncomfortable that day that she wore maternity yoga pants, a stretched out tank and no make-up. Her husband allowed this even though he knew about the surprise shower the whole time (they are still married which is a miracle after that stunt). They pull up to the venue and she knows right away what is going down and begins to sob, first because she looks like a sweaty beached whale and second because she hasn't even registered and has no clue what this shower might consist of. That, my friends, is when shit really hits the fan. Let me paint a picture for you...
You weigh close to 280 pounds, not really but it feels like it, and you are already sobbing because your husband is a selfish asshole who has no idea how it feels to be pregnant or even human. You walk into a baby shower set up as a surprise for you and scan the room. Clothes are hung by a clothes line, every item that you could possibly need for a new baby is scattered around the area and there are weird copy paper boxes with writing on the sides...you squint to see what isn't making sense here when you see the tiny neon circular stickers on each one of the clothing items, you notice there is not one item in the original box and the copy paper boxes have messages on them like, "Riley 6-9 months" only your baby is not going to be named Riley. That's because all of the gifts here waiting for you and your new baby are from....
A FUCKING GARAGE SALE!!!!!!!!!!
Who does that? If the answer has ever been you, you're an asshole. No brand new mother wants a bunch of old, used shit that not only doesn't match but she didn't actually see the place where it came from which could be a total crap hole for all she knows. I just keep thinking about dressing my newborn son in a onesie with formula stains on it from a stranger and placing him so gently in a bouncy seat that has 10 year old teeth marks on it from some nasty ass toddler that did not emerge from my vagina. It's disgusting and I am not even one of those snotty, I need all new stuff because I'm too good for garage sales type of person. C'mon though, a surprise baby shower filled with all items from garbage sales? I would question if any of these people even like me. In fact, if by some miracle I get pregnant and someone thinks that will be a nice gesture since I'm already two kids deep and shouldn't really get a baby shower anyway I am going to freak the fuck out! Not only will I destroy the whole entire shower and everyone in attendance but I will actually eat the person that threw the shower and if you have ever seen me pregnant you know I could ingest an entire human being and still go on with my fat ass day like nothing ever happened...
Friday
Tuesday
Ready or not, here I come...
Just as I sat down to enjoy my 2.5 minute lunch break I stumbled across this:
I'll give you a minute...
Don't worry though, a thorough search has been completed and although more bones were found they are believed to belong to horses so no more threat of illegal dumping of plastic. I know that's a happy ending for anyone who could have very well starred in The Hills Have Eyes.
I'll give you a minute...
Now, let me put a 10 foot pile of manure in perspective with a 10 foot Harriet Tubman, a 10 foot bunny rabbit (Easter shout out), and a normal sized man next to a 10 foot fence.
How about telling me how anyone is allowed to build a shrine to horse crap for so long that it grows in excess of 10 feet? Maybe the town folk never noticed but The Law cleared that up for us, ""It was the biggest pile of (manure) I have ever seen. They've been putting it back there for years."
YOU KNEW THE ENTIRE TIME THERE WAS A 10 FOOT PILE OF HORSE SHIT???
I'm surprised that these people are surprised that bodies were found in it. You people are just asking for bodies to be dumped there...hell, I might stop by and dump the turtle for goodness sakes (yes, it's still alive).
When asked if the deceased were white or Hispanic Wyatt Earp had to say, "We're not sure which, but we know for sure they're not black"
Phew! We wouldn't want a Mississippi Burning sequel now would we? Good job on making sure the folks murdered and dumped in 10 feet of horse manure were definitely not black. I'm sure that makes everyone sleep a little more soundly in your Deliverance hell. How can one be so sure they aren't black anyway...considering they're dead, wrapped in plastic and covered in shit? On that note, I could care less if they are brown or yellow, black or white...
Don't worry though, a thorough search has been completed and although more bones were found they are believed to belong to horses so no more threat of illegal dumping of plastic. I know that's a happy ending for anyone who could have very well starred in The Hills Have Eyes.
Who invented running?
I have spent a lot of the new year looking at myself nekkid. Just standing in the mirror...facing front, turning to the side, using a mirror to view the rear, back to the front. I am doing this in hopes that the ever present spare tire I am smuggling under bloused dolman tops causes a fire to light under my pancaked ass to get me moving and change my body's current state.
Spring Break 2010 ~ I'm the hot one...
Although this ritual does cause the necessary depression, towel smothered sobs (I don't want to wake the family) and diminishing self confidence it is definitely not working. The P90x Cd's I had my brother burn for me haven't made it within inches of the DVD player.
So, I decided to take another route...I contacted a running friend and joined her for a Saturday jog. I was extremely nervous considering the last time I ran was close to a decade ago but figured everyone can run, right? Wrong! Running is quite possibly the most ridiculous thing I have ever tried to do past the age of 17. Let me replay for you the disaster that was my running experience...
I text her to make sure we are still "on" for our running date...secretly hoping she has been diagnosed with syphilis which has since made her blind...does syphilis make you blind or is that herpes?? Whatever, any blindness causing disease. No luck, she still has her sight as well as all other senses (I can't remember how many there are because on top of being fat I am also stupid, the cards are stacked against me). I ask what I should bring and she responds to only be concerned with how many sports bras I need to wear. Good point...
I show up, kiss her babies and we hold hands exiting from her driveway because it is covered in ice...that should have been the first red flag. We begin a slow and steady pace and about two seconds into our trip my ankle goes out...I giggle as I limp a few steps here and there and inform her something might be wrong with my ankle. Willing with all my might that my ankle is broken and then I have a valid excuse for not having to run anymore because at about one second into the run I was over this dumb shit. Ankle miraculously heals and we are back at the solid pace.
Fast forward some miles...some meaning one...
Me - "ugh, can we turn around now?"
Marathon Fucking Runner - "we don't turn around...we run an entire block which is a total of 4 miles"
Me (in my head) - "Please God, I don't ask for much but if you could strike me with lightning right now I will go to church every Sunday for the rest of my life and even work in the preschool class..."
Skip more miles...some meaning 0.5...
MFR (coincidence that Marathon Fucking Runner acronyms are MFR, I don't think so) - "Was that a dog?"
Me - "What, where?"
MFR - "I thought I heard a dog charging us..."
Me (I'm taking the liberty that you now know italicized font means this convo is happening in my head) - "Please God, I don't ask for much but if you could please have a rabid dog emerge and literally eat my ankles off I will army crawl around my neighborhood spreading the Gospel for the rest of my life..."
More miles...2 minutes from feared dog attack...
Me - "I have to pee"
MFR - "Do you want to stop?"
Me - "No, I should be alright..."
MFR - "Do you know sometimes runners piss or shit themselves because they exert their bodies so much during a race?"
Me - "AWESOME!"
I then proceeded to piss and shit myself.
Okay, some of this is a tad exaggerated. I did a lot of walking, even more bitching and a tremendous amount of begging to please walk again. The only good thing that came out of that running debacle was the sunshine skillet I inhaled afterwards as a reward.
Going back to being a complete dumb ass, I'm running again this Saturday with the same MFR that almost killed me last weekend. No, not because I felt so great afterward. What a crock of shit that is...you don't feel great after running, you feel tired and then for the next three days you feel like you've been vaginally assaulted by dudes the size of Fat Albert and then made to do the stair master...I am running because I want another sunshine skillet.
Bikini Bod...HERE I COME!
Spring Break 2010 ~ I'm the hot one...
Although this ritual does cause the necessary depression, towel smothered sobs (I don't want to wake the family) and diminishing self confidence it is definitely not working. The P90x Cd's I had my brother burn for me haven't made it within inches of the DVD player.
So, I decided to take another route...I contacted a running friend and joined her for a Saturday jog. I was extremely nervous considering the last time I ran was close to a decade ago but figured everyone can run, right? Wrong! Running is quite possibly the most ridiculous thing I have ever tried to do past the age of 17. Let me replay for you the disaster that was my running experience...
I text her to make sure we are still "on" for our running date...secretly hoping she has been diagnosed with syphilis which has since made her blind...does syphilis make you blind or is that herpes?? Whatever, any blindness causing disease. No luck, she still has her sight as well as all other senses (I can't remember how many there are because on top of being fat I am also stupid, the cards are stacked against me). I ask what I should bring and she responds to only be concerned with how many sports bras I need to wear. Good point...
I show up, kiss her babies and we hold hands exiting from her driveway because it is covered in ice...that should have been the first red flag. We begin a slow and steady pace and about two seconds into our trip my ankle goes out...I giggle as I limp a few steps here and there and inform her something might be wrong with my ankle. Willing with all my might that my ankle is broken and then I have a valid excuse for not having to run anymore because at about one second into the run I was over this dumb shit. Ankle miraculously heals and we are back at the solid pace.
Fast forward some miles...some meaning one...
Me - "ugh, can we turn around now?"
Marathon Fucking Runner - "we don't turn around...we run an entire block which is a total of 4 miles"
Me (in my head) - "Please God, I don't ask for much but if you could strike me with lightning right now I will go to church every Sunday for the rest of my life and even work in the preschool class..."
Skip more miles...some meaning 0.5...
MFR (coincidence that Marathon Fucking Runner acronyms are MFR, I don't think so) - "Was that a dog?"
Me - "What, where?"
MFR - "I thought I heard a dog charging us..."
Me (I'm taking the liberty that you now know italicized font means this convo is happening in my head) - "Please God, I don't ask for much but if you could please have a rabid dog emerge and literally eat my ankles off I will army crawl around my neighborhood spreading the Gospel for the rest of my life..."
More miles...2 minutes from feared dog attack...
Me - "I have to pee"
MFR - "Do you want to stop?"
Me - "No, I should be alright..."
MFR - "Do you know sometimes runners piss or shit themselves because they exert their bodies so much during a race?"
Me - "AWESOME!"
I then proceeded to piss and shit myself.
Okay, some of this is a tad exaggerated. I did a lot of walking, even more bitching and a tremendous amount of begging to please walk again. The only good thing that came out of that running debacle was the sunshine skillet I inhaled afterwards as a reward.
Going back to being a complete dumb ass, I'm running again this Saturday with the same MFR that almost killed me last weekend. No, not because I felt so great afterward. What a crock of shit that is...you don't feel great after running, you feel tired and then for the next three days you feel like you've been vaginally assaulted by dudes the size of Fat Albert and then made to do the stair master...I am running because I want another sunshine skillet.
Bikini Bod...HERE I COME!
Friday
That's a shame...
I am approaching the deadline to get my alien implant removed that prevents unwanted tax deductions and I'm really struggling with my next move here. I have two kids of the male variety. I am pretty sure I'm done unleashing Satan's spawn out into the world but the dream of a daughter causes pause...
I think I would like a girl. A sweet, pretty, organized, quiet, no bone breaking or hitting or kicking or biting or wrestling, pig tail wearing, innocent little girl to cuddle, and play dress up or put puzzles together without mass destruction of said puzzle upon completion. I want to decorate a little shabby chic nursery and shop for frilly tutu's that she would wear with outrageous colored leggings. I want to have her grow up and we talk about everything and be very best friends forever and ever and ever!!!
There is one problem with this fantasy...I will be her mother!
She will probably arrive in this world looking a little like Joe Dirt screaming obscenities and already wearing cut off flannels. She will pull my hair and spit at me while we grocery shop and even the mention of cuddling will send her into a fit of rage that even my boys will cower away from. Her nursery will be a stone gray and the only song that will calm her epic cries will be Cop Killer by Ice T. She will request a black trench coat from Santa that she playfully refers to as Satan and play Mortal Combat religiously by the age of 3. She will grow up blaming me for whatever comatose state she has herself in at that time and I will continuously ask myself, "What did I do so wrong?"
Better go buy a bag of frozen peas because T-daddy is getting his Scrotum chopped up PRONTO! Phew, thanks for helping me with that one...
I think I would like a girl. A sweet, pretty, organized, quiet, no bone breaking or hitting or kicking or biting or wrestling, pig tail wearing, innocent little girl to cuddle, and play dress up or put puzzles together without mass destruction of said puzzle upon completion. I want to decorate a little shabby chic nursery and shop for frilly tutu's that she would wear with outrageous colored leggings. I want to have her grow up and we talk about everything and be very best friends forever and ever and ever!!!
There is one problem with this fantasy...I will be her mother!
She will probably arrive in this world looking a little like Joe Dirt screaming obscenities and already wearing cut off flannels. She will pull my hair and spit at me while we grocery shop and even the mention of cuddling will send her into a fit of rage that even my boys will cower away from. Her nursery will be a stone gray and the only song that will calm her epic cries will be Cop Killer by Ice T. She will request a black trench coat from Santa that she playfully refers to as Satan and play Mortal Combat religiously by the age of 3. She will grow up blaming me for whatever comatose state she has herself in at that time and I will continuously ask myself, "What did I do so wrong?"
Better go buy a bag of frozen peas because T-daddy is getting his Scrotum chopped up PRONTO! Phew, thanks for helping me with that one...
Thursday
This will only hurt for a second...
I apologize for my absence...I'm super duper busy at work and that is when I blog...I'm extremely productive! Want to hire me?
Short and sweet and completely offensive to Catholics (apologies in advance)...
I was driving home from work and I always pass a Catholic school. This specific evening, I see the priest who is a rather young, dark haired gentlemen with a perfectly styled coif walking with a teenage boy, dressed in a basketball uniform leaving what appears to be the priest's quarters and returning to the school located across the street. I immediately jump to the conclusion that this child has just paid his alter boy dues. I concoct this elaborate and rather disturbing story line in my head and then make it my mission to try and get a look at the boys face. What expression lies there...guilt, shame, sorrow, maybe even acceptance? This seriously happened in less then 4 seconds as I passed the school. I was completely sold that in about 5 years I am going to see this kid on A&E's Intervention that I had goose bumps for half of my hour drive home.
What does this prove? Simply that the scene in Basketball Diaries where Coach Swifty tries to touch Jim's nugs in the locker room has made every grown man with a perfectly side swept, lacquered hairstyle accompanied with a high school age basketball player a pedophile. Completely reasonable...
Short and sweet and completely offensive to Catholics (apologies in advance)...
I was driving home from work and I always pass a Catholic school. This specific evening, I see the priest who is a rather young, dark haired gentlemen with a perfectly styled coif walking with a teenage boy, dressed in a basketball uniform leaving what appears to be the priest's quarters and returning to the school located across the street. I immediately jump to the conclusion that this child has just paid his alter boy dues. I concoct this elaborate and rather disturbing story line in my head and then make it my mission to try and get a look at the boys face. What expression lies there...guilt, shame, sorrow, maybe even acceptance? This seriously happened in less then 4 seconds as I passed the school. I was completely sold that in about 5 years I am going to see this kid on A&E's Intervention that I had goose bumps for half of my hour drive home.
What does this prove? Simply that the scene in Basketball Diaries where Coach Swifty tries to touch Jim's nugs in the locker room has made every grown man with a perfectly side swept, lacquered hairstyle accompanied with a high school age basketball player a pedophile. Completely reasonable...
Wednesday
You can take back the bra burning but I'm keeping the weed...
Today a WOF shared that maybe she should go back to working on Fridays because she feels it's not fair that precious husband and father of her children is working seven days straight and they are just making ends meet. Verbatim: "I know I'm being selfish but I truly love dropping off and picking up my daughter from kindergarten one day a week and it's nice to be able to have some mom and son alone time while she is at school"
This thoroughly pissed me off...selfish? It's selfish to want to stay home and spend quality mumma time with your children one freakin' weekday? Selfish because you should be working 50+ hours a week rather than providing your children with SAHM stability and consistency?
As a working mother that's one of the many things you feel though...am I pulling my own weight financially? Is my boss not going to give me that bonus/promotion because Skippy has chicken pox (again)? Is my kid going to be a 15 year old Emo cutter writing poetry about how mommy was never there??? Am I going to make it through another year not being addicted to speed because I don't have energy for it all?
I never asked for this...I don't want to be an equal partner. I want to stay home with my kids and clean the house and make sure the dinner is on the table and still warm to prevent a good backhand from the husband. I want to have play groups and walking groups and book clubs and recipe swaps with other mommies while all of our kids play out in the backyard. I want June Cleaver...with highballs.
I am not in a position to have that luxury so I will continue to say, "You know, I'm just not the type of person that would be truly happy at home all day and that is why I work". Bullshit! I work because I have to...I work because someone had a great idea that I should go to college and make as much as a man and have all the same responsibilities as a man.
That really bit us in the ass though didn't it? Yeah, we have all the same opportunities as a man but in addition need to raise law abiding citizens who don't eat fast food every night who say please and thank you and don't upper cut other children on the playground and have clean clothes and good smelling hair and trimmed nails all while ironing our work suit...oh, and make sure not to spank them because then they'll be druggie alcoholics. AWESOME!
Good lookin' out gals from the 60's!!!
This thoroughly pissed me off...selfish? It's selfish to want to stay home and spend quality mumma time with your children one freakin' weekday? Selfish because you should be working 50+ hours a week rather than providing your children with SAHM stability and consistency?
As a working mother that's one of the many things you feel though...am I pulling my own weight financially? Is my boss not going to give me that bonus/promotion because Skippy has chicken pox (again)? Is my kid going to be a 15 year old Emo cutter writing poetry about how mommy was never there??? Am I going to make it through another year not being addicted to speed because I don't have energy for it all?
I never asked for this...I don't want to be an equal partner. I want to stay home with my kids and clean the house and make sure the dinner is on the table and still warm to prevent a good backhand from the husband. I want to have play groups and walking groups and book clubs and recipe swaps with other mommies while all of our kids play out in the backyard. I want June Cleaver...with highballs.
That really bit us in the ass though didn't it? Yeah, we have all the same opportunities as a man but in addition need to raise law abiding citizens who don't eat fast food every night who say please and thank you and don't upper cut other children on the playground and have clean clothes and good smelling hair and trimmed nails all while ironing our work suit...oh, and make sure not to spank them because then they'll be druggie alcoholics. AWESOME!
Good lookin' out gals from the 60's!!!
Tuesday
of course it is...
I was driving home and this chick driving a big monster truck drove up along side of me...
This truck was soooooo loud, obnoxiously loud, and the whole time I was at the stop light next to her I was irritated. Who drives a truck like that? Why is it necessary to irritate everyone else with your ridiculous noisy vehicle? I hated this chick and if I were Inspector Gadget I would have used my go-go gadget arm to punch her in the throat!
As she pulled away the sound didn’t fade in the distance with her. It was right at that moment I realized it was my truck…the muffler fell off. So, I punched myself in the throat...
This truck was soooooo loud, obnoxiously loud, and the whole time I was at the stop light next to her I was irritated. Who drives a truck like that? Why is it necessary to irritate everyone else with your ridiculous noisy vehicle? I hated this chick and if I were Inspector Gadget I would have used my go-go gadget arm to punch her in the throat!
As she pulled away the sound didn’t fade in the distance with her. It was right at that moment I realized it was my truck…the muffler fell off. So, I punched myself in the throat...
H.Q.B.I.C. - Random Tuesday
Friday started out with a random little carpenter ant in my kitchen that was immediately squashed by my super cute black mary jane...then I noticed that this carpenter ant wasn't so random because they were ALL OVER MY FUCKING FLOOR. Like, everywhere! So, I began shuffle ball changing all over my kitchen stomping out the colonized bastards as I'm yelling to my husband, "get the kids...they are everywhere, go get ant killer, oh my gawd they are EVERYWHERE!" My son in the background reminding me, "mom, we don't say Gawd..." He couldn't hear me pronounce the W. I may have squealed at this point I'm not sure and don't judge. What would you have done if you were standing in your kitchen where you make PB&J's in heart shapes for your children staring down one of these...
Those are PINCHERS people!!!! Ready and willing to rip apart my flesh and drag pieces of my sweet skin to their wicked little queen bitch which could totally happen if by some freak accident during my murderous dance routine I fell and cracked my head on the utensil drawer knocking myself clean out. I would lay there paralyzed as they took me bit by bit in a single file line to the one they worship.
Whoa, whoa...settle down there friend. Everything is fine. I sprayed the entire house down with insecticide made special for ants (it said it was safe and had little children's drawings on it to prove that point so it must be true!) The next day I woke up and none of the family had any bites or the beginning of flesh eating disease so all is right with the world...or so I thought. Once my mother heard of Friday's events she begins to explain that these ants will eat my house from the inside out hence why they are carpenters. So, apparently these guys have tool belts and everything and they are in the wood on my home just taking things apart bit by bit and presenting it to their head bitch in charge, the queen of their colony. So, guess who comes today? Terminex you pinching, wood eating, pillaging, flesh eating, dancing mumma murdering bastards!! Who is the Head Queen Bitch In Charge now M'fers!!!! Mwah ah ah...
Wednesday
so now what...
I have found myself becoming more and more addicted to people and their blogs...I tend to have that addictive personality you hear about on A&E's intervention. It truly is a miracle I never ended up some pimped out junkie. Thankfully, most of my addiction need has been filled by being obnoxious, drinking (that's at least legal) and stalking people I have never or will ever meet. There are some truly brilliant people on the internets. I ask you to visit some of the blogs I follow, you will not be disappointed! I also find that all of these funny people are also walking a fine line between normal and completely out of their fucking minds and that has been very reassuring. I may have even teared up a little reading http://yo-mamasblog.blogspot.com/2010/06/this-post-is-kind-of-serious-i-threw-in.html this morning. Either because I may be having these same emotional issues or I am a giant pussy. Note - I AM a giant pussy not my pussy is giant, thank you very much. So this leaves me with the question of what do I do about it? I'm riding an emotional roller coaster ride to crazy and although I'm safely buckled in I am throwing very sharp objects at the innocent bystanders which just happen to be my sweet family (I am exxagerating a little bit here on the sweet part). I remember one morning, I think I was about 8 or 9 and I awoke to my mom, red faced in anger, screaming at the top of her lungs; "WHERE IS MY FUCKING PIC" (pic-as in hair comb for permed or naturally curly locks). I never used her FUCKING PIC nor did I know where it was but at 6am in the morning I had to now make finding that pic my one goal in life so everyone could calm down. Chanting begins...I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and, doggonit, people like me! Damn you Stuart Smalley! Now, where is my wallet...uh oh.
Fondly ~ SumSum
Fondly ~ SumSum
Tuesday
Tuesday can suck a big fat...
It's already Tuesday...hmm, one week closer to death or if you're the positive type another day to live life to the fullest (barf).
I was told back in middle school by a very trusting OUIJA board that I would die at 19 in a car accident. I guess I got one over on Satan because I'm still busting a move in my early 30's...come and get me Lucifer. Something doesn't feel right about taunting the devil...WWJD?
Well, in addition to deflated boobs, rippled belly and peeing a little every time I jump on the trampoline after my two pregnancies I have acquired allergies. I don't know if being pregnant can create allergies but I am going to blame it on my spawn. Those little bastards! My nose is leaking like a broken faucet, I've been sneezing 7 to 10 times a day, and my eyes are itchy and watery. I feel like a freakin' Claritan commercial. Uggh, I want my pre-baby self back only let me keep the babies...although I do pump my fist in aggravation at the things they do driving me to break down and ask the doctor for xanex, I do love the little buggers and think they are awesome! Someday, Ryser and Hudson, when you are reading this that should make your heart smile. You're welcome!
I'm wondering if I buy running shoes I will actually start running...I'll keep asking myself that knowing I will never buy running shoes so I will never start running.
Back to the trampoline...I used to rock the trampoline in my youth and my boys just recently got a trampoline so I finally got on and gave it a whirl. My insides felt as if they were literally going to just fall out of my vagina with each jump. Also, as previously mentioned, I pee myself a little here and there. AWESOME! I'm doing my kegels right now.
Fondly ~ SumSum
The fungus is among us...Random Tuesday
So, my eye started to itch and leak something fierce yesterday but I didn't think too much of it...I'm dealing with unexplained fevers and being sexually harrased by pediatricians so I don't have time to worry about my oozing cornea. Anyway, I get home and my super concerned and caring husband blasts me as having the plaque and insists I go to the after hours clinic. Great, I'm still scrubbing myself in the shower from the last doctor visit...make my usual long story short I don't have pink eye but it does appear I have a virus in my eye. Yeah, I'll let you rehash that for a minute because if I have a virus in my eye isn't it pink eye???
This picture is kind of like that movie The Ring, now that you've seen it you will have pink eye in 7 days...
That's as random as I can get today because I need to get back to feeling sorry for myself for having pink eye - CORRECTION - a virus in my eye...
Fondly ~ SumSum
Friday
Just the beginning...
So smoke up you nicotine junkies because tonight is the last night you can smoke in public in Michigan! I follow Michigan news because any state shaped like a mitt is awesome but I don't live there (haha gotcha stalker). Anyway, so no more Marlboro Reds with your PBR while playing nekkid photo hunt...bummer. Although I'm not a "smoker", I do like to have the freedom to smoke other people's cigarettes after I'm about 3 brews deep at our local watering hole. The fact that I can't do that anymore seems a little unconstitutional. I know most of you are saying it's unconstitutional to have to smell my second hand smoke as I blow it in your face because I'm a close talker when I've been boozing and my response is don't booze at the bar then. I mean come on, the next thing we know is someone is going to tell me I can no longer shake what my momma gave me on the dance floor or I can't talk at unreasonable volumes at a stranger sitting all the way at the other end of the bar. The bar is for drunk ridiculousness not to be all classy and graceful and sweet smelling...I'm telling you right now that this is just the beginning of "the man" telling us what we can do and when/where we can do it even more so than he already does. Today it's smoking...Tomorrow it could be awesomeness and if that happens we all lose.
Fondly ~ SumSum
P.S. I hope for everyone's sake that the cigarette smell wasn't covering up vomit smell all these years or even worse whore breath...
Fondly ~ SumSum
P.S. I hope for everyone's sake that the cigarette smell wasn't covering up vomit smell all these years or even worse whore breath...
Monday
Place dead turkey picture here...
If there was one I would but no animals were harmed during my supposed weekend of blood lust. Good thing for my husband much of my childhood was filled with empty promises so I didn't lose too many tears over it (sob). No really, I'm okay...the cutting helps.
Instead of murdering game birds with fan-shaped tails and wattled necks I did everything but the dishes and laundry so the house kind of smells like I killed a turkey and left it to rot in the living room...
Fondly ~ SumSum
Instead of murdering game birds with fan-shaped tails and wattled necks I did everything but the dishes and laundry so the house kind of smells like I killed a turkey and left it to rot in the living room...
Fondly ~ SumSum
Thursday
Not Blonde??
A few months ago I noticed this little blonde strand that was peeking through my voluptuous brunette head of hair. I have thinner hair then that Barbie you shaved in kindergarten so voluptuous is not an honest statement but it's my blog and if I want voluptuous hair in my recollection so be it. I pull it and in that swift tug memories come flashing back to me of when I used to pull my dad's blonde hairs, only then the color used to describe these hairs was grey! "Stop it Summer! You don't have grey hair yet! it's just some random blonde hair that is growing and you've never noticed it before." (that's me talking to myself, it was out loud too) My mom always said my hair was sandy brown so it is completely feasible to believe that I have blonde strands here and there.
Earlier this week I find myself again stroking my long, voluptuous, sleek and satin brown locks (my blog, remember?) when there is another pesky blonde strand! This time I wedge myself as close as I can to the bathroom mirror and I begin what would appear to a mere stranger as a lice bug inspection. I have to get to the bottom of this hair color changing mystery! Could this be Vitiligo of the hair? Am I some medical oddity and the masses will label me a liar as my hair slowly changes from brown to blonde right before every one's eyes (I feel you MJ)?????
My fingers sweep through my scalp as I see another one and another one and another one. THEY ARE EVERYWHERE and they are not blonde...
Fondly ~ SumSum (or soon to be GramGram if I don't get to the hair dresser)
Earlier this week I find myself again stroking my long, voluptuous, sleek and satin brown locks (my blog, remember?) when there is another pesky blonde strand! This time I wedge myself as close as I can to the bathroom mirror and I begin what would appear to a mere stranger as a lice bug inspection. I have to get to the bottom of this hair color changing mystery! Could this be Vitiligo of the hair? Am I some medical oddity and the masses will label me a liar as my hair slowly changes from brown to blonde right before every one's eyes (I feel you MJ)?????
My fingers sweep through my scalp as I see another one and another one and another one. THEY ARE EVERYWHERE and they are not blonde...
Fondly ~ SumSum (or soon to be GramGram if I don't get to the hair dresser)
Monday
Better Luck Tomorrow...
I only have time to say these few things:
- I already miss Jersey Shore.
- I can't believe Ronnie and Samantha are not going to be together forever.
- Snookie has no upper lip and it bugs the shit out of me.
- I want to meet one person who does not think "The Situation" is the most feminine straight dude they have ever seen. Did you see how he talks on the phone and the faces he makes??? Total girl!
- MTV has offered the original cast a $10k signing bonus AND $10k an episode (this was after they did not accept $5k an episode) for a Jersey Shore Season 2. There will be 12 episodes so they would each look at banking $130k for occupational duties like hanging out in a hot tub filled with semen, getting black out drunk, boardwalk wrestling and my absolute favorite and quite possibly my life calling BEATING UP THE BEAT. I do this stuff for free! Someone from MTV needs to f'g call me!
Fondly ~ SumSum or my Jersey Shore name SumFunBuns (I just made that up...)
Wednesday
Haley Joel Osment or John Edwards???
Hi avid blog reader...this is going to be a little different than previous blogs but I believe everything happens for a reason and now the reason is to write about it in this blog. How's that for full circle?
Last night I was in the moment where I am sleeping but still awake...hazy, total relaxation, just on the edge of really dozing off into a slumber of beauty when I hear my dad's laugh. I HEARD IT! Somewhere in my mind or in my heart, I'm not sure where really. Although I was in that suspended state I knew I had to hold on as long as I could because maybe, just maybe, I could make it happen again.
For those of you who don't know me and are reading this, my dad is dead. He died this past August and I watched it happen. It was years in the making but time never prepares you for a loved ones end days.
This is my dad and Ry Guy (my crazy oldest son who hasn't yet been properly introduced but more on him at a later date)~
I willed and willed to just hear his laugh one more time as I laid so still in that in between state of reality and dream but it didn't happen. I have been talking to him since the day he left and I always thought I would hear his answers but I never do. Actually hearing him last night was upsetting and comforting. It was upsetting because I miss that laugh but comforting because maybe he isn't sitting around waiting to give me an answer to my latest stupid question. I have solace in knowing that where he is, he is laughing...and maybe he is reading my blog. :)
Fondly ~ SumSum
Last night I was in the moment where I am sleeping but still awake...hazy, total relaxation, just on the edge of really dozing off into a slumber of beauty when I hear my dad's laugh. I HEARD IT! Somewhere in my mind or in my heart, I'm not sure where really. Although I was in that suspended state I knew I had to hold on as long as I could because maybe, just maybe, I could make it happen again.
For those of you who don't know me and are reading this, my dad is dead. He died this past August and I watched it happen. It was years in the making but time never prepares you for a loved ones end days.
This is my dad and Ry Guy (my crazy oldest son who hasn't yet been properly introduced but more on him at a later date)~
I willed and willed to just hear his laugh one more time as I laid so still in that in between state of reality and dream but it didn't happen. I have been talking to him since the day he left and I always thought I would hear his answers but I never do. Actually hearing him last night was upsetting and comforting. It was upsetting because I miss that laugh but comforting because maybe he isn't sitting around waiting to give me an answer to my latest stupid question. I have solace in knowing that where he is, he is laughing...and maybe he is reading my blog. :)
Fondly ~ SumSum
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