Don't punish me with brutality....

Top 10 Reasons You Are Not Allowed to Make Decisions About my Vagina:

1. You don't have one

2. You didn't buy me dinner, or at the very least pull my hair

3. You think the female reproductive system has a magical off switch

4. You don't understand the difference between tampons and maxi-pads and why wings might be necessary

5. You are nicknamed Governor Ultrasound

6. You have not fought the battle of pubic hair over bathing suit and lost

7. You are riding a moral high horse hiding behind the mask of Christianity

8. Your ideals disenfranchise the weakest among us

9. When you hear the word discharge, you think of a gun

10. You have never carried life in your body and known the full weight of fear and wonder that surround all the decisions that you make from the moment you see the pink plus sign on the stick

I don't usually talk about politically charged topics on my blog, but this week I couldn't help myself after noticing how many people on my Facebook page like Mitt Romney and, heart-breakingly, how many of them were WOMEN.  You know, my contemporaries.  I know I show my naivete in assuming that most people hold true what I hold true.   If I knew nothing else about what Romney and Ryan are up to (tax evasion, tax breaks for the extremely wealthy, union busting, breakdown of Medicare, etc.) knowing their stance on women's health issues would be enough to send me screaming in the other direction.  

So ladies... REALLY?  REALLY?

First Stop Virginia, Next Stop Small Government Near You

Signs, signs, everywhere there's signs...

My cousin Brian once yelled at me in a bar for using his change to play the Tesla version of this song.  I don't blame him especially because the original released in 1971 was significantly better, not necessarily good, just better.  No matter.  I have had some signs of late and am unsure how to interpret them.  

While not the first time that I've been attacked by wildlife (see 2003 OWL Attack - where a TRAINED owl flew into my head at the Denver Zoo), I was recently attacked, that's right attacked, by chipmunks in Steamboat Springs, Colorado.  One would think that having a snack of water and cashews would be a un-punishable offense in the great state of Colorado, but one would be dead wrong.  Think for a moment what you know about chipmunks, go ahead, I'll give you a minute.

I want you to erase what you know about cute, little, innocuous chipmunks because them sonsabitches will attack you for the mere mention of a nut.  They will climb uponst your person, chew through your backpack and chase you into hot spring waters for relief.  I've said too much already.

Then, there was the running out of gas in between two towns that were 60 miles apart.  If not for the kindness of strangers - we'd still be out there, and I would have finished the whole miserable book I was reading about Frank Lloyd Wright.  I played lotto after that save.  As it is, I just finished the book and still haven't won the lotto.

And then, I made a huge pot of sauce with sausage and meatballs for my children when they returned home from a ten day stint in Tennessee. This is not really worrisome, nor really worthy of mention, but I didn't have three things that were noteworthy and considered signs- try as I might.  Actually I did, but due to a combo of atavan and wine, I can't recall what they were.  I did have a few weird dreams, one involving a Brita filter that housed goldfish. But I don't think I should say more about that as it probably says more about my subconcious and less about the world of absurdity that I live in.  Or does it?

Update: I remembered what the other signs were!!  After our narrow escape from bold chipmunks, my husband and I went to a small Italian restaurant that was crowded and forced us to sit at the bar while we waited for a table.  While there we met a guy from Ohio ~ my husband is from there and we always meet a guy from Ohio, which says something about Ohio if you ask me.  Also, the bartender was able to dig up a bottle of our favorite wine to enjoy - literally dig up, as there didn't seem to be any around and it was a mini bottle.  Also, also, we watched a giant of a man crush another man on UFC fighting, which incidentally the guy from Ohio had a brother who was a UFC fighter.  I understand that it's all too much to take in, but something is afoot I tell ya.

Food: Hummus, olives, eggs, cheese - this is pretty much all I eat since I've given up meat and cleaned out the fridge.  I feel good, but not as good as when I snagged a few bites of waffle off of toddler's plate that was loaded with butter, syrup and confectioners sugar.
Movement: I CANNOT be stopped.

This Santa Claus is like an albatross...

I know, I know, dear three readers.  It's been a long ass time since I've written anything, but in my defense it is summer and I am spending vast quantities of time hauling three insatiable howler monkeys around  entertaining the lovelies three.  We've had an amazing summer so far, swimming, movie going, bowling, librarying, and what not.  Summertime and the living is indeed easy.

I've also been a busy little beaver, and yes the word beaver makes me giggle like the 12 year old boy that I am.  A big chunk of my time has been spent throwing things away and clearing out my garage.  The garbage men love me this summer.  I am quite proud to say that I've unloaded (either via the trash man or through Goodwill/ARC donations) the equivalent of the worldly goods of at least three small, underprivileged nations with poor taste.

Most recently I was shuffling around in the garage ~ literally as the lights in there have gone out and I'm too lazy to climb a ladder to replace them so I shuffle around to make the motion light turn on.  I must do all my work at night as I don't want to constantly chase the toddler lovely away from boxes of potentially dangerous items like broken picture frames or soggy porn magazines.  Anyway, I came across The Santa.  Many moons ago my mother gave me Santa and Frosty as a matched set for my Christmas decor.  They were approximately 500 years old when she gave them to me and I considered them kitschy enough to add holiday cheer wherever they were placed.  They stood about three and a half feet tall, were made of very hard plastic (or bulletproof glass material), and had cords sticking out of a hole in their backs that were connected to a large light bulb that would presumably light up their demonic cherubic faces when plugged in.

Needless to say the lights no longer worked, but I put them on the fireplace hearth for laughs and went about my business.  My husband pointed out that maybe we should get rid of the cords as surely there was some hazard in faulty lights being thrown into the mix of holiday cheer. He's all full of sense and logic especially in arenas where no sense and logic enters into the equation in my doings - like bringing home toddler sized, ancient decorations to begin with.  As time has passed I've gotten rid of Frosty, and have attempted to get rid of Santa as well.  This is no easy feat. Each time I've placed Santa in the trash or recycling (because I honestly don't know if he's garbage or recyclable and it all depends on my mood) over the past five years at least one of the lovelies has rescued him, dragged him lovingly through the house, and in some cases even slept with him.  I won't going into the psychological ramifications of this here, but I believe we are saving for therapy instead of college anyway.

Last week I thought I was in the clear.  The oldest lovelies were off visiting their grandparents and I had managed to keep Santa on the side of the house by the trash for days without interruption or mealy mouthed pleas for his rescue.  The night before the trash men were due, he was discovered by the toddler who proceeded to drag him through the front and back yard, the house and into the tub.  When telling my mom about it later she informed me that the Santa (and Frosty) were my grandmother's and the kids knew he was special.  Really?  Now I'll never be able to get rid of the damn thing out of sheer guilt for throwing away a piece of my family heritage.  My current thinking is that  I should create a shrine for The Santa complete with oranges, candles, incense and a picture of the Virgin de Guadalupe.

Santa Pause Stats:
I have been subsisting solely on iced coffee and leftovers off the kids' plates.  I haven't eaten meat since the summer began as there was an unfortunate ground beef incident in my refrigerator.
My movements are repetitive enough to make me wonder if I will wind up with carpal back syndrome from constantly hefting the toddler off of some precarious thing he has climbed.

Introducing Mr. Mumblef**k

 Have I told you about my neighbor?  Mr. Mumblef**k?  I think I may have mentioned him in some other post somewhere.  He's painfully thin, wears bobby pins in his wavy, greasy hair, is always drunk and resembles Bruce Dern's character in The Burbs.  Over the past five and a half years, we've had many, many encounters with him or someone in his dysfunctional family, most unpleasant, some benign, others downright scary.  Tonight's encounter leans toward the unpleasant side, although I locked the front door when he stumbled away.

My incredibly loving husband decided to take all three lovelies for pizza and swimming when I got home tonight, leaving me ALONE.  As it turns out, I should not be left alone for extended periods of time.  Generally speaking I am not very creative when given free time as I do only three things: clean, paint my nails, or take a nap.  Tonight I attempted to do two of the three: paint my nails and clean. 

I painted my toes a very bright pink and while it was drying, I ran up to the back porch to clean ~ mainly to unload the sticks and tree limbs one of the dogs is a fan of dragging into the house and chewing into bits.  I could probably get money renting him out as a wood chipper (note to self: post this as possibility on Craigslist posthaste).  Anyway, since I'd done such a bang up job with the yard, this space seemed like the next logical (logic being a strong suit for me) step, working my way in.  Happily, I wiped down the surfaces in the room and vacuumed with gusto.  I was finishing up picking up the wood and fiddling around with the vacuum when the phone rang.  I was so glad for the distraction as I was sweating profusely and took my phone call out onto the front steps to get fresh air and cool down.  As I was talking, I noticed Mr. Mumblef**k sashaying toward my front lawn with what appeared to be a Big Mouth Billy the Bass.  You know, the singing fish plaque?

And indeed that's just what he had in hand, and more importantly in mind for my family.  He stumbled up to where I was sitting quietly having a phone conversation and slurred something about bringing me this thing for my kids.  This dirty, old fish plaque.  I replied by saying that I was on the phone regarding my work (which I was, sort of) at which point he pressed the button on Billy.  Billy began to sing.  I politely mentioned again that I was on the phone about work.  Seeming offended, he spat that he would shut the thing off and then proceeded to sit down next to me.  Next to my right elbow, breathing moistly as he presumably awaited the end of my phone call.

After about ten minutes, he got up angrily and stuttered down the walk.  He was mumbling about how he gives and I take ~ please note I have never been offered/given a fish plaque by anyone previously.  At this point, I asked my friend to hold on and asked loudly who the hell had asked him to come to my house with his filthy junk?  I followed this up with some choice expletives as he mumbled and careened away.  Little did he know he was dealing with a gal who is just a shade away from a rolling boil lately.  The best part for me was that he left Billy behind and it was another item I could add meaningfully to the growing 'throw away' pile.

Billyday Stats:

Food: Breakfast burrito, apple, slice of pizza, caramel frappucino

Movement: Busying about the 2nd floor hall between various 5th grade classrooms as I have been given the task of creating the playlist for the end of year dance, vigorous cleaning of patio, vocal chord stretching, laundering

Life, liberty and the pursuit of cleanliness...

Ok, so I know I've been doing a piss poor job of keeping up with my newest 40 day challenge, I might need to be more realistic and make it a summer challenge because quite frankly I've got a lot of stuff.  I could really use a Phineas and Ferb summer where there are 104 days of summer vacation, or at the very least I could use a really kick ass platypus spy to hang around with.

I got off to a really good start what with the beginnings of clearing the yard of items best left unsaid, and then I sort of fizzled out.  You know, to have my mental health meltdown and all.  And let me tell you, that was exhausting.  Moving forward I'm going to refer to it as my aura-cleansing because I think it makes me sound productive instead of bat shit crazy (or maybe not?).

This week I began anew.  I started with my work space, and damn was it liberating!  I began slowly and with a sense of purpose, determined to put things neatly in boxes that I would keep and recycle the rest.  But once I started putting things in the recycle bin, I couldn't stop myself and just went frigging nuts and got rid of much of the flotsam of my working life.  After having filled up no less than three recycle bins, I felt high.  Not a marijuana high, because I didn't need a nap or cheesy snacks, but a 'I just ran 10 miles and can still stand up' high.  The feeling followed me home and I went back to work on the yard.  I threw away miscellaneous beat up toys, many tree limbs and two broken patio chairs.  Then I spent a little time in the garage, which nearly paralyzes me with fear, and threw away unused, unwanted, useless baby items, and the base to a coffee table that no longer has a top.  HELL YES!

Besides the 'I'm on a cleaning frenzy' high, the week also brought a job offer and acceptance as well a few steps closer to end of this f**king pit of despair current school year.  Bring it summer, I'm ready!

Oh, and I decided to start keeping track of what I've eaten and done physically again, because I think it's good for me to do so, and oddly I found that people liked reading about what I was eating. 

Recycling stats:
Food: Caramel light frappucino ~ I have a genuine distrust of these baristas and whether or not they are really providing me with non-fat milk, and yet I can't keep away, 1/2 breakfast burrito, mango salsa, tortilla chips, muenster cheese, 2 Ghiradelli dark chocolate squares, vietnamese soup ala Annie Chun, granola bar
Movement: Tracking down fourth graders to complete reading testing, keeping eyes open and head up during reading testing, waltzing around playground to avoid tattle telling first graders, sweeping my concrete patio, chasing rambunctious toddler around soccer field for two hours.

Up What?

Thinking of throwing away much of your household and becoming a minimalist begs the question: what does one do with a f**kton of unwanted stuff?  Of course, there's the 'trash' pile, and the 'donate' pile; for some there is also the 'sell' pile, but I am neither inclined nor interested in garage saling. I know you're impressed by how I made a garage sale seem like a sport.

Recently, a friend turned me onto the idea of upcycling.  This is a fancy way of saying that you will take old, used items and turn them into new useful items - green is the word.  Not quite recycling as you're not taking a bunch of soda bottles and turning them into some other plastic item, but you're taking maybe a curtain and turning it into a skirt.   I hate to admit that for some reason this reminds me of the guys who used to stand outside of the bank in Queens and wait for people to put their 1/2 smoked cigarettes into the sand/ash tray before walking into the bank.  Then those guys would smoke the rest ~ waste not want not. I've been giving some thought to this idea and realize that I'm not crafty enough, (read - not crafty at all) to upcycle anything. I gave some thought as to what I might have inadvertently upcycled over the years and this is what I came up with:

1. I've used socks and tee shirts to clean the bathroom.
2. I've turned cigars into, well better cigars.
3. I've turned used toilet paper rolls and tinfoil into an effective little bong.
4. I've turned gum into temporary glue.
5. I've turned a wine bottle into a candleholder.
6. I've used empty beer cans as ashtrays, ditto for beer bottles.
7. I've used empty cool whip containers as a cereal bowl.
8. I have created a nifty peel off nail polish by combining old nail polish and Elmer's glue.
9. I tried to create a unique outdoor planter by using an unused toilet bowl.
10. I have utilized unwanted waffles as a substitute for dog food.
11. I've turned pad thai into breakfast.
12. I've turned a lighter into a bottle opener.

So there you have it; not only am I an upcycler, but it also appears that I am a genius as well.

Hello! Is there anbody in there? Just nod if you can hear me...

It's been nearly a month since I logged off of my 40 (plus) day challenge ~ lenten observances and 21 day challenges having been completed.  It's been a long and arduous month for me fraught with mishaps and improbabilities as I realize much of my life is.  I've learned quite a bit about myself in just this one month, which I decided to share with you, my dear readers(s).  So here goes:

1. Having returned to meat eating, I realize that meat eating is an obstacle to my general feeling of well being.  Not to say that I have forgone it completely, just that I've learned that I feel better when I don't partake.

2.  I am in the middle of having an existential crisis  & I suck at it.  Having crises is not in my genetic makeup and yet I continue to subject myself to periods of manic positivity and downright sobbing (all in one day) continuously.

3. In the words of Lloyd Dobler, I continue to look for a 'dare to be great situation'

4. I find solace, comfort and sheer joy in music.

5. Being with my children brings me peace.

6. Feeling sorry for myself pisses me off (but I still do it some).

7. I REALLY like painting my nails.

8. In a hot minute I can return to the girl from Queens especially when confronted with very large, belligerent women in a McDonald's drive through line.

9. Laughter is my best medicine (vicodin doesn't hurt though)

10. I actually enjoy doing quadratic equations and factoring (WTF, really?)

11.  My husband is some kind of wonderful

12. I am who I've always been.

This list should not be considered exhaustive - in fact I'm still figuring out how to work taking xanax into the mix, and how to drink wine during the work day.  All things considered, I feel like me with a dash more introspection.  My next project will be to spend forty days cleaning house - literally and figuratively.  This will be accomplished by shedding my spaces of unnecessary clutter.  I started with the backyard and threw away like 6 large, black garbage bags of stuff - what that stuff was I could hardly recount (it involved wet sand and dog poop; I've already said too much).  By the by, throwing away a garbage can is harder than it would seem.  So here I go again, 40 days of physical cleansing to help with mental cleansing (otherwise know as faking it til I make it).