Missing You

I miss you so much. You never realized how loved you were, how amazing and irreplaceable and highly thought of you were. I'm so sorry that I was angry the last time we met, I would give anything for just 5 minutes with you. To tell you that I care, that there will always be a part of my heart reserved just for you. To tell you that yes, I do love you and I wish more than anything in the world that our life together had not gone the way it did. To feel your arms around me, we always fit together just right. And to give you the biggest hug ever, so that you would always know that you are loved. I now realize that you never felt loved enough, you were like a bottomless well that could never get full.

I have a picture of you getting sun in Cancun, the second time we went. I put it on the fridge, so I can look at it and remember your body. The way your leg hair was so soft, and you didn't have any hair on your knees, ever. Your big strong hands and your wide shoulders. I remember kissing the scar on your chest, and tracing it with my finger. I loved to watch you sleep, and run my finger along the bridge of your nose, and over your big eyebrows.

I miss how warm you always were, and how warm you would make me, when I was cold. You used to laugh at me because I couldn't make that pen warm enough to bubble, remember? You called me snake and I called you hot rock. And your collection of boxer shorts, oh my gosh. And how beautiful you always made me feel, and how annoyed I'd get when you goosed me from behind. I hated that.

How confident you seemed when we first met, you always seemed so sure of yourself. That night after we first met, we spent an hour on the phone and found out that we'd each always wanted to go to Greece, because of the movie Summer Lovers. We couldn't believe it. Then you told me you'd told all your friends how cool I was, because I'd been watching Tommy when you called me, and you were watching it too.

On our second date, you told me about the history of the word "testify". You told me that it came from Roman times, when men would grab their testicles when under oath. Then I asked you, "so, what does "rectify" mean?" You told me you'd just been trying to impress me, and you couldn't believe my quick wit. You said that was the night you realized you were going to marry me someday.

The first time you took me to Chicago. We ate at that Japanese restaurant, and I used chopsticks for the first time. When you'd first told me we'd be going there, I practiced for a week with two bic pens, so I'd look sophisticated. Then I found out chopsticks were optional, and you didn't use them.

That night, you took me to the China Club and I met your friends. Ben, Andy, Mike D, Adam and Schless. You wore your black leather jacket that had She-She's tags on the zipper. You saw Andy on the sidewalk and just walked up and gave him a huge hug, you loved it when your friends got together. Everybody called you "Julie" from the Loveboat, because you were pretty much the cruise director of the friends. The minute we'd get to the house, you were on the phone, setting up plans for everyone to get together at clubs, restaurants or each other's homes. You loved your friends, and they loved you back. I've never seen such an awesome group of guys in my entire life.

The very first dinner we ever cooked together was chicken tostadas. We got the recipe out of my mom's Betty Crocker cookbook and we shopped for the ingredients together. You purchased avacados to make guacamole with. As we cooked in my kitchen in Bloomington, you told me you loved cooking, and that it was really a lot like chemistry. I'd never met a guy who actually cooked. You amazed me and I felt so lucky that you chose me.

You came to my graduation and gave me a boom box as a gift, and it had a cd player in it! I remember your card, you welcomed me to the 20th century. You had this huge collection of laser discs that we'd watch, and when I came over I was so impressed by how clean your apartment was.

Before I moved in with you, we went to couple's counseling and you were angry that the counselor seemed to take my side. You had a really hard time coming to grips with the possibility that you were in the wrong. We worked through that and I felt like our life was going to be wonderful. You'd always told me we would get married, and I started to see that as a reality, not just a possibility.

Then, in 1995, your beloved grandmother died. Ma. You adored her and she you. You never really bounced back from that. You carried her driver's license in your wallet.

On April 4, 1995, you asked me to be your wife. I was shocked beyond belief, and so happy to accept. I'll never forget that day. We had always talked on the phone at least once a day, ever since we started dating. On April 4th, you didn't call me all day long. I remember wondering if you were mad at me. Then you told me that you'd been too nervous to talk to me. When I walked into the apartment that night, you blindfolded me and sat me on the couch. Then you handed me a velvet box and took off the blindfold. I stared at that beige, velvet box for a long time, until you whispered, "Open it". I whispered back, "I can't". So you opened it for me and there was my ring, how surreal. You whispered into my ear, "Will you marry me?" and I whispered back, "Yes." Later, you told me you had whispered because you were so nervous. I thought it was sweet.

One year and two days later, on April 6, 1996, we were married by a Rabbi at Jumer's, our favorite hotel ever. The wedding was so us. Funny and loving and happy and awkward at times. The wedding was during Passover, and your grandfather blessed the Matzoh instead of blessing the Challah. We were told to buy red wine for the wedding ceremony and we laughed about it later. We had decided to buy a dry red but the Rabbi said "No! You must buy a sweet wine, for your life together will be sweet!" So we ended up buying Mogen David, and sent the rest of the bottle to my dad at the first table because he loves sweet wine.

So our married life moved forward, and with it we experienced my eating disorder, your alcoholism and our financial worries. But we also had a beautiful home and two AWESOME children. And I knew the prospect of parenthood freaked you out more than you let on.

Fast forward 15 years. You were deep into your addiction, I was working two jobs and selling on ebay to support our family and we were having major problems. I was never one to give in, or up, easily, and I was determined that our marriage would work. Because we had children. We had a history.  We had inside jokes. And, as you always told me, we'd spent more time together than apart. It was worth saving.

Then came that day. November 2, 2009. The day before my dad's birthday, I'll never forget it. I went into the basement while you were at school, looking for a heartburn pill. That's when I found the bottle marked "Vicodin 120 tablets". It had been dispensed on October 25. There were 9 pills left. I did the math and realized you had taken 111 Vicodin in 8 days. Along with your Clonopin, Ambien CR and Ativan.

On that morning, I sat on the couch and sobbed for an hour, because that's when I realized how bad things really were. And I realized that I couldn't let our children wake up to a dead father, no matter how in love I was with our history. You were so angry, so hurt and so hateful. So much happened between November 2 and now.

We went through ugly divorce proceedings, incredibly ugly. Because of your addiction, I requested sole custody and you fought that tooth and nail, and so our case went to trial. In May of 2010, you overdosed Zach on his Clonopin, because you had already taken your Ambien and you forgot you'd given him the first dose. That's when I realized I had to file an order of protection, because I couldn't be sure you were safe to be around the kids. You were beyond angry, I don't think there are words to describe how angry you were.

I learned to trust my gut, do what I needed to do to keep our kids safe and I hoped that someday you would understand.

One morning in September you called me, drunk. You had relapsed again and wanted to be done with it all. We talked and you told me you wanted to go to treatment, and so the next morning I picked you up and took you to Proctor.

Can I just say? YOU DID AN AMAZING JOB IN THERE!!! You went to meetings, worked your program and got a sponsor. You completed treatment successfully and stayed sober. I was so proud of you and even better, you were proud of YOU. That was a wonderful thing to see.

Sadly, you relapsed in December and really beat yourself up over it. You came over for Christmas Day and you brought "Scrooge". All four of us cuddled on the couch and at the point in the movie where Scrooge is redeemed by his family, I saw tears run down your face. You wiped them away and I knew you wanted that for yourself.

You got sober again, but for some reason I will never know, you started drinking in April. The last time I ever saw you alive was on April 10, 2011. You and Julia texted and/or talked every day during that week, but you stopped communicating with her after April 15th. I got worried and just had a feeling. A bad one. So I told the kids I was going to the store and I went to your apartment.

You were pronounced dead on April 17, 2011.

You were buried on April 21, 2011.

Both of those days were during Passover.

We miss you every day, my friend.

My children are beggars UPDATE: OMG you guys I totally forgot the *best* part of the story!

That's right, maybe you've seen us? We're the family of 3 in the local Kroger. I look like this:

I know. I look like a total b*tch, don't I? Right. So, with me having this face on, why do my kids insist on being beggars?: 

It doesn't matter where we are. It doesn't matter what the product is. They. Want. It. Hot Wheels and ice cream? Yes:

Popcorn and candy? Bring it:

After a period of time, the girl-child realizes her quest is pointless, and gives up. The boy is more dense, and therefore it takes longer for him to realize he is not getting anything from the store. Not a donut or a box of bandaids:

Not a colander or a roll of toilet paper*:

 

In his desperation, the boy-child grabs blindly at the object nearest him, in a last-bid attempt at garnering some sort of souvenir of his trip to the grocery store:

That's right. Kitty litter and an ice cream scoop. The thing is, we actually need kitty litter, but if I buy it, the boy wins. Do you see my dilemma? So I did what any in-charge, mature parent would do. I said, put down that freaking kitty litter right now and get your butt over here!

Then I gave him two quarters to distract him, and sent his sister back to get it, while he was busy at the machine that dispenses tattoos.

So, I won.

Right?

*unless we really need toilet paper. Then I buy it.

Update:

I just responded to a comment from Christian and then I realized I FORGOT THE BEST PART OF THE STORY! So here it is:

p.s. it was a GIRL tattoo, so I guess he didn't really win after all, did he? He still wanted to wear it but not where anyone could see it so I put it on his chest. And that's how he ended up with a sparkly pink and silver tattoo of a beautiful fairy sprite, purple wings and all, right between his nipples. And if you've read my previous posts, you know how much he *loves* his nipples.

And if you read my comments, or leave one, YES I totally copied and pasted my response. Think smart, not hard.

We may be just a tad mentally ill

My family's life has gone to hell since Ira died. I can't stop thinking about how it used to be, how it should have been and what I should have said blah blah blah. Julia is in a complete state of denial, Dad? Dad who? Ohhh, DAD! Yeah, he's alive you know. Just....away.

And then there's Zach. That's right, he gets his own paragraph. Mostly due to the fact that he would probably hit us or kick us if we let him in our paragraph. Zach is GRIEVING OUT LOUD Y'ALL. His grieving is so loud, we can't hear the t.v., the radio or each other. We can't hear ourselves think and Julia can't hear me ask her to do the dishes (I'm onto her, though. I'm teaching her sign language).

Please don't get me wrong, I have both kids in counseling and I've driven them up to their dad's grave twice since he was buried, (three times if you count that time I drove them up but we ended up going to the Museum of Natural History instead). And that drive is six hours round trip.

Today, Zach saw his counselor Bill. Zach and Bill talked about ways Zach could express his feelings about Daddy, instead of hitting or kicking. Here's how tonight went:

Me: "Cool! So when you're angry what should I say?"

Zach: "Say do you want to talk about Daddy?"

Me (excited): "Ok, I will!"

Awesome! I think happily. This weekend may just have some hope after all.

3 minutes later....

Julia: "OWWW!!! That hurt! MOOOOMMMM!!!!! Zach just kicked me! HARD!"

Zach: "Shut UP!! I did NOT!! STUPID IDIOT!"

Julia: "You BIG...

Me: "Zach? Do you want to talk about..."

Julia: "...JERK FACE!!!"

Me: "...Daddy dying?"

Zach (screaming): "NOOOO!!!! I HATE YOU!!! I HATE EVERYBODDDDYYYYYY!!!!!"

Julia: "I hate you too, you big butthead!"

Zach kicks Julia again. Julia punches Zach. Did I forget to mention we're all trapped in the car together? Going 55mph? Well, we are.

Me (desperately): "Zach? Buddy? Remember what you and Bill talked abo....."

Zach: "Shut UP you big booger! You're the worst Mommy EVARRRRR!!!!!"

Julia: "I hate this! This sucks! I want Daddy back!!! *starts sobbing*"

Zach: ".....I miss DADDY!!!!"

Then.....silence.

3 minutes later......

Zach: "Guys? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have hit you Julia. Mommy? You're not the worst. Not really."

Us *sighing*: "We accept."

Rinse and repeat.

That's progress, right?

Today I was driving to an appointment and I passed a billboard that said, "80% of teens think drinking alcohol is wrong!"

That got me to thinking. And what I thought was "bullshit".

Then I pictured the interview taking place in a mall office. It probably went like this:

Interviewer with clipboard and lanyard: "So tell me, do you think drinking alcohol is wrong?"

Teenager: "Um, no?"

Interviewer *sighs*: "Ok, do you think it's wrong for teens to drink alcohol?"

Teen: "Again. No."

Interviewer *clenching teeth*: "Look. I've got a deadline to meet, and I need 80% of the kids I've interviewed today to say Yes! Yes, I think drinking is wrong! Can you say that for me? Please? Cuz right now I'm at 79.4%."

Teen *thinking hard*: "Um, well. If I was at a party and my buddy had some beer and he wouldn't give me any, I'd say Dude! Not sharing your alcohol at a party is wrong! Is that better?"

Interviewer *getting more excited*: "Yes! Now, I need you to say Dude! Drinking alcohol (at a party and not sharing) is wrong!"

And that's how I think that went down.

Also, I checked my Klout score, which has dropped to 48. But! I found out that I'm influential in the areas of moms and alcohol! That's progress because up until now I was only influential about moms.

Go me!

Lookitmeeee!!!! I'm on BlogHer.com!! And? Some Google search terms.

So, BlogHer is an awesome site that bloggers can join (at some time in the distant future). They have a conference every year, this year's is in San Diego (I can't go 'sad face'). They also give opportunities to blog for payment, as well as awesome giveaways. Some incredible women (and men) are members of BlogHer. I applied last Fall, and was just notified I would be accepted as an affiliate member. Awesome. So that explains the banner at the top of my blog. You know, the one with JUSTIN BIEBER on it? I know, it's kind of messed up, the BlogHer people are on it. But in the meantime, who doesn't want to look at a picture of Justin Bieber?

So yes. I am now a professional blogger.

I checked my stats and here are some of the most bizarre Google search terms (in no particular order) that people have made, which landed them on my blog. (These are verbatim. So no, these aren't my typos).

1.   sexy incontinent - there's a website for that. I checked.
2.   wifes aunt let me watch her p*ss - why would you Google that? To see if it was a common occurence?  It's not.
3.   vomiting kid meme - because that would be *hilarious*!
4.   "my son" "his nipples" -inverted -swollen -lump -pain - I think a trip to the ER is in order. Or possibly to  the lactation consultant.
5.   one girl, one dead cow - Ok. This one I would like to know more about.
6.   abused penis - Reader? Please come up with a response to this one for me?
7.   are fish attracted to shiny stuff - Yes. Yes they are. A 5-year-old knows that. And no, cows can't read.
8.   bloody and meaty cow bone - Soup. Make soup.
9.   cow femur modified as weapon - YES! That's the way to reduce, reuse and recycle.
10. cross dressing in vintage wigs - Ooooh! I love vintage.
11. easter bunny with pants around ankles - I don't get it. Does the Easter Bunny have his pants around his ankles? Or do I? More detail, please.
12. grandmas crotch - Ew. That's all. Just ew.
13. girls standing on testicles - See #6.
14. is there a meme with shiny pants - I don't know but that would be awesome!.
15. my son peed in his eye - You might want to take him to the Dr., and I don't mean Dr. Google.
16. Plants can rape people/plants rape girl/plants rape people. - Not unless you're watching Japornimation, they don't.
17. was hellen keller pimped out - No. Not that I know of.
18. what do u mean by personality/what do you mean by not limited to/WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY CROSS/what do you mean by obsessive - What do you mean by "what do you mean by"?
19. white girls are cleaner - WHAT???!!!

Excuse me ma'am, do you have any nitwits in your home? Or, stuff that happened this week.

This is going to be a short post, because I have to get my drink on.

1. Today I got a text from my mother, who watches my kids way more than any single person should have to. It read as follows:

oh just for your info Zach "accidentally" peed in the little trash can in the bathroom. his bad luck i had just dumped everything out of it this morning so it was a little obvious.

Because who hasn't accidentally peed in Grandma's trash can? Be honest.

2. A text from my neighbor Jenny, whom we all affectionately call "Jenny-from-the-block".

Good morning...i just drove past ur house and saw ur car door was wide open...did u know this? I am just returning from walmart in ep always interesting lol.
1:10am

Well, at 1am I'm guessing it's super fun at Walmart. And that's right, I was bringing in groceries and got distracted by a prism of light and forgot to go get the rest of my groceries. This resulted in a DEAD car battery the next morning.

3. Did you know that pregnant fish are called nitwits? Neither did I.

4. Yesterday I saw a woman walking very quickly after a person, who was also fast-walking. She was saying things like, that's right b*tch! Think you're gonna hit my car and then just walk on you got another think coming! I'm gonna kick your ass bitch, get back here so I can do it. (In defense of the b*tch, if someone said they were going to kick my ass, I would be fast-walking in the opposite direction too).

When I looked closer, I saw the b*tch in question was, in fact, a man. Fast-walking and dialing the police on his cellphone, from what I could gather by listening to the....go ahead and call the police on me b*tch! Think I care? I'm gonna kick your ass, think you can hit my car and walk off like the b*tch you are. Then a woman from the church/shelter across the road called to the angry girl, Child, come here! Come on over here, why you gonna go to jail for that fool? Let the police handle it.

Wise words, church/shelter lady. Wise words.

5. Tonight my kids got angry at each other while I had them at work. Normally I intervene, because I don't know any other way. I'm an only child so I honestly have no idea how siblings are supposed to act. Tonight I decided to perform a social experiment and let them handle it. So they decided to fight three times while I wrote reports and ignored them.

5a. Julia kicked Zach's butt and then taunted him with you mess with the bull...you get the horns. He has 2 rug burns on his forhead.
5b. It was a tie.
5c. Zach bit Julia (cheap shot but he was on the bottom and desperate) and kicked her in the throat. Then he finished by saying you mess with the bull....you get the horns. BUTTHEAD!

Then he ran away fast.

*sigh*

And my mom wonders why I drink?

What happens when you mix vintage print ads and google search queries? You get a MEME!!!

I loved the idea so much that I spent most of Sunday downloading the perfect vintage print ads to go with the best-of-the-best google searches people who have landed on my blog have made: 

"Girls can't pee standing up"

 

"How to get shiny testicles"

  

"I like to watch my boyfriend pee"



"It's headless chicken time"



"I killed the Easter Bunny"



"Incontinence dating site"



"I'm attracted to little girls peeing"



"My 3 year old son pees straight up on his head"

"How is an 11 year old supposed to make out with someone"

"My Aunt let me watch her pee"

"My penis looks like the Easter Bunny"

"What does obsessive personality mean"

"Voices in your head, telling you what to do"

Someday my (Nigerian) prince will come.......Plus? A gratuitous rant about my ex in-laws, because really, if they're taking time out of their busy day to stalk my blog, I should at least say hi, right?

I was checking statcounter to see who was stalking me admiring my writing style today, when I ran across this, wedged right between google searches for "shiny testicle" and "incontinence fetish":

I NEED A LOAN IN USA $2000usd very urgent please help.







 Hmmm........ 

So I dug deeper into the search profile (yes, dear ex-inlaws, that's how I know you stalk me, and how I know you also have your friends stalk my blog. Here's a hint: when stalking, don't have your friend from Lake In The Hills check my blog 184 198 times. I haven't even written that many entries. In fact, your bumbling stalker is on my blog right now, going through October - November's entries. For the 8th time in two months. You really need to be smarter, and find smarter friends. NOT that person in Oak Brook, though. That person is nearly as lame as your LITH person. Using two slightly different IP addresses and checking my blog over 181 times in 5 weeks looks a little suspicious. I really don't know what you think you're going to find, but feel free to increase my site revenue by making numerous and continuous hits on every page. Insert smiley face here.)*

So, where was I? Oh right. I dug deeper into the search and came up with this: 

That's right! This person is from Nigeria, so you know what this means, right?

Wait for it........wait for it.......

An actual Nigerian Prince *squeal* has visited my blog! OHMIGOD I may just faint. Right here, right now.

Now, if you will excuse me, I'm waiting for a very important email.



*gratuitous rant

Save the kittens

Today, I received this text message:

This cat is dying. She has brain cancer. Every time you forward this picture comcast donates a quarter to help save this kitten. If this was your cat you would do anything to save it. So please forward and help save the kitten.

Along with this picture, presumably of the cancer-ridden kitten:

That cat is totally faking it.

But, just in case it's not, and just in case Comcast doesn't follow through on their promise to donate a quarter each time this text is forwarded, I went ahead and Googled "Comcast dying kitten". That's how I found this e-how article entitled, "How To Save A Dying Kitten." Italics are my own thoughts.

Awesome!

Step 1. Pick up the kitten and take it home. Put it in a box filled with wood shavings and scraps of wool. It may bite/scratch you. Worry about rabies later. Remember! The dying kitten comes first. They're practically extinct, you know.

Step 2. Offer it some food. It may not eat, due to it's possible imminent death. Don't take it personally.

Step 3. Call a cat doctor. Tell them it's important and you need them to save a dying stray kitten you found on the side of the road. Cost is no object.*

Step 4. Obtain a title loan at 845% interest at the nearest money store. The kitten will thank you later.**

Step 5. Make sure the box you put the kitten in has a lid. I sh*t you not.

Step 6. There is no step 6.

If I perform these steps as instructed, does the author guarantee that my kitten will not die? Because of the title, you see. I think it should be titled, "How to try to save a kitten, but it may die anyway. Because this article is a piece of sh*t that I threw together at the last minute so e-how would pay me $4.39."


*unless it is. Then the kitten is screwed.
**or not.

My GPS is trying to kill me. That, or get me fired.

For my job, I drive approximately 95% of the time. I usually drive between 50 and 75 miles a day, and it is imperative that I arrive at my destination in a timely manner. It is also imperative that I arrive at my destination alive.

Not unlike my 8-year-old, my GPS has decided that it is smarter than me, and doesn't have to follow rules.

Here is an example of an interaction between me and my GPS.

This happens on a daily basis.

 Monday
GPS: Turn left in approximately 250 feet. Then go left.

Me: But Tomtom, your screen shows that I should go right...."

GPS: Shut up.

Me: Well it's a good thing I'm not blind. I'm going to follow the arrows and ignore what you say."

GPS: Whatever. Turn left in 20 feet. Oh, and Yvonne? If you were blind, you wouldn't be driving. Dumbass."

Tuesday
GPS: In 30 feet, turn right. Then, in 8 miles, make a U-turn. Drive 8.5 miles, then you have reached your destination.

Me: But Tomtom, why should I drive 8 miles one way and then drive 8.5 miles in the opposite direction? All I need to do is turn left and drive .5 miles, right?

GPS: I feel like seeing some sights.

Wednesday
GPS: In 50 feet, turn left. Then continue for 20 feet.

Me: But Tomtom, that's a one way.

GPS: Shut up! This way is faster! You said you wanted faster, not shorter, right? RIGHT?? Welcome to faster b*tch! Now shut up and DRIVE!!!

Thursday
GPS: In 200 yards, turn left...

Me: *sigh*

GPS: Now, in 15 feet turn left and then.....WAIT!!! I just remembered a shortcut! Quick!! Go right and then make a U-turn!!

Me: But Tomtom!! There's a semi behind me and.....

GPS: DO AS I SAY WOMAN!!!!

*screeching of tires, sound of metal grinding against metal, glass shattering, etc*

Friday
GPS: beepbeepbeep!!!

Me: What???

GPS: You are driving 55mph in a 40mph speedzone. 55/40. Beepbeepbeep!! Slow down!!

Me: Tomtom, you're wrong! I'm looking at the speed limit sign right now and it says 55mph, so shut up!

GPS: BEEPBEEPBEEP! SLOW DOWN!!

Me: SHUT UP!!! I F*CKING HATE YOU!!!!

GPS: Whatever. In 2 feet, turn left.

Me: What??!! That doesn't even make any sense!! Who has reflexes like that? And besides, THAT'S A BIKE PATH!!

GPS: I know a back way. I found it on mapshare. *rollafattie* uploaded it last night.

Me: THAT PERSON WAS PROBABLY HIGH!!! I mean, come on!! Roll a fattie??? They're just uploading crap to mess with people like me!!

GPS: Really? Bwaaahahahahahahahahhaaa!!!!! That's f*cking AWESOME!!!

I hate my GPS.

5 things I always thought would happen, that didn't

I'm obsessive. I worry about everything. Often. I used to be much worse, I'm better now. I don....shh! Did you hear that? Wait...a....second.....there! You heard it now, right?

I'm joking!!! I bet you thought I was all set to do some lame parody of my fearful self, didn't you? Well, you were wrong.

Here, in no particular order, are 5 things* I thought would happen to me, along with the 5 things that actually did happen, instead. See? You probably thought I was going to just list 5 things, you didn't know you were getting 5 more things! 

Age 9-
1. Due to the general dorkiness of myself, I worried that nobody would ever marry me, thus leading to a perpetually lonely and childless state, which I would offset by being the owner of at least 185 cats.

What actually happened - I met a guy and got married. We know how well that turned out, don't we? I am also the proud owner of two children, who in turn own a guinea pig, a hamster and their late father's senile, arthritic cat.

Age 8-
2. I would suddenly awaken one morning only to find that I had mysteriously gone deaf and blind, necessitating the use of both a tappy-cane and a complete library of the Little House on the Prairie books, in Braille.

What actually happened- I didn't go blind or deaf *YET*. And do you know how hard it is to learn Braille? It's really, really hard.

Age 5-
3. I would lose my first tooth in my sleep, so I didn't have to encounter any blood, gore or pain.

What actually happened- My dad tied a string around my loose tooth, sat me in his lap, told me to close my eyes and pretend we were on a motorcycle ride. After he PROMISED not to pull my tooth, (even though the string was hanging out of my mouth), he said, Oh no! A stop sign! and pulled the string. My tooth went flying across the living room and when we couldn't find it, I cried. Then the tooth fairy left me a $5 bill and that's how I found out that guilt pays.

Age 11-
4. Around Christmas of 1978, after my mother bought me Shaun Cassidy's Born Late, along with KISS' Double Platinum (no, the irony does not escape me), I decided I would either be married to Ace Frehley from KISS, or Shaun Cassidy. On the one hand, Shaun was super cute and had dark blonde hair that feathered perfectly. On the other hand, Ace looked awesome in his black leather catsuits and 8" platforms. And don't even get me started on the mystery of being married to someone and never knowing what they looked like. Makeover party!!!!!

What actually happened -  I read an interview in Tiger Beat which said that Shaun Cassidy had always wished he had a little sister. I saw my chance and immediately wrote him a letter, offering to be his little sister. I figured I'd get my foot in the door and we could worry about sibling/spousal relationships later.   


My "good boy" husband.



My "bad boy" husband. Man, I was complex.

Age 9-
5. My favorite Saturday morning show was The Shazam! Isis Hour. I came to believe that I had all of the powers that Mighty Isis encompassed, such as the ability to read minds, the ability to make objects levitate, the ability to hold back elements, the ability to act as a human lightning rod, and the ability to stop and reverse time. Every Saturday after 11:10am, I walked around the trailer court chanting "Oh zephyr winds that blow on high, lift me now so I can fly!" I communicated telepathically with crows. Plus? I could fly.

What really happened- My bestie, Kristine, who's grandma sold Tussy products, gave me a gold necklace that had a charm filled with old-lady cream perfume. I became convinced that it was my Mighty Isis pendant. I repeated my chant and made Kristine close her eyes while I ran from the swingset to the tree. When she opened her eyes....POOF! Magic. Plus, I went along with her delusional belief that she could become invisible. Shut up.

*This post was originally going to be about 10 things, but I got bored and then Zach started screaming because he wanted to grow some stupid crystals that I bought him at the Museum Store in Chicago yesterday and I said no, it's 8:30 at night and you have school tomorrow. Then he told me I was the worst mom ever and I said no, I'm not. Grandma was, because she let me believe that killer bees were coming to get me when I was 11. Plus? she and Grandpa took me to see scary movies when I was little.  And Grandpa's not much better. Then Zach was all, what do you mean? And I was like, well, all I'm saying is don't fall asleep at their house if you have a loose tooth.

What the hell am I going to write about? F*ck it. Let's just see what happens.

I really don't know what I'm going to write about. I've had a glass of wine, so let's just go with it and see what I come up with.

Let's see. My kids have started counseling, so there's that.

Um. Yeah.

My kids are watching Adventure Time. I personally think that Cartoon Network supplies those writers with a steady stream of hallucinogenic mushrooms, such as Peyote. Just like I'm pretty sure CN buys really good weed for Trey Parker and Matt Stone and then leaves them alone in a room filled with crayons and calzones.

My son took a Spanish test. He got a 67.5%:

But the best part is what he drew on the back of his test: 

Me. Cleaning out the cat box. Happy, shiny poop.


Then there was this:

 See? That's me, apparently having fallen in the toilet. Then Zach comes running up the stairs after I yell, "I SMELL SOMETHING!! I'M STUCK!!" On his way up to help me, he apparently finds a "poop" and some "pepe", thus causing him to yell, "AAAHHHGGG!!!!"

I just wonder what his teacher thought.

Oh, and in keeping with my obsession with counting roadkill, I leave you with this. My tally last Saturday:


I'm almost 99.481117% positive I saw a platypus. Seriously.*



Don't judge me.

*no actual platypuses, kangaroos, ostriches or giant rats were harmed in the making of this post. Because there's this one stupid dude who apparently thinks I took a road trip to Australia last weekend.