Monday, September 28, 2015

The Balls Are In Your Court

I did not die.


It is true, though, not much funny has been happening around the house. Maybe I need to change that. It seems to be rather melancholy. Yeck. Pooey.

School stuff has been taking over our lives, but volleyball is coming to a close. I do enjoy the games, just not the crazy assed practice times that I am sure Sybill Trelawney created just to keep all of Hogwarts on schedules of massive frenzy. It drives a parent to madness. Yes, it's a short trip for me.

Then along comes a weekend of two weddings? Geesh.

In the middle of this comes my Greece work trip. I'm getting nervous. How silly is it for me at the age of 48 to be traveling overseas to a foreign land for the first time? I don't count Mexico and Canada. A ten hour flight? Egads. I can barely sit still for two. Four hour ones make me cranky. This will be a life changing experience. Then just think of what will happen once I get off the plane.

Ooo. Then Halloween. Fun. SQUIRREL!

October is busy.

Does anyone else have large quantities of chaos in their households? I long for the days of crisp misty mornings, cuddled up next to a fire or in a warm blankie, soaking up knowledge.  OR... perhaps some trashy mindless entertainment from reading books while sipping warm cocoa laced with peppermint schnapps marshmallows. And a dog or two curled up next to me. Yeah. That is the life. I think that is the remedy they use to treat patients in mental institutions as well. Hmmm. Now that's an idea. I look good in white. Kind of angelic, if you will.

But instead, my nose is to the grindstone...looking for a higher paying job...trying to figure out how to pay for grad school next fall all while maintaining the Momster status. Whew. I'm exhausted just thinking about it. Add in the fact I signed up for a free program with our Working Well department for a lifestyle and fitness coach. Eek. So has been a great way to keep myself accountable to get to my fighting weight...

Is this too much to aim for?

Public shaming at the scales is the first way to keep me honest. Just like 4-H (only in reverse)...stick your calves on there and hope for the best...feed them well. Don't have one that is underweight. Ok. Maybe this is a different kind of weigh-in.

May the balls be with me.

Yeah. I know. Strange idioms. It means it's up to me and the balls are in my court. (((giggle)))  I said balls.

Soooo...the fitness coach has me buckling down on my food plan. It is working even though I sometimes protest at the exactness in which she fares. I'm not a measuring type of gal. I admit, my estimations are pretty right on, but not every time. When it says 4 oz of meat, I might choose 6 oz. Is that so bad? I don't know. Maybe it's good to give her a good work in progress student.

And as far as working's getting better. I have come to the point that I no longer have to introduce myself each day. I'm there. I love it. I'm in a groove. Thus far, I've lost 7 pounds. The next weigh-in is Wednesday. Maybe it is a little like 4-H...

I just have to be stronger than my excuses which used to dominate me. Erg. What the erpy derp? How do we get to that place where excuses take over and before we know it...we have gotten lost? Beats the hell out of me. Obviously, the balls were no where near me. I was playing air tennis.

I guess I decided I didn't want to think of  I COULDA SHOULDA WOULDA moments. Just fucking do it. Be about it. Don't end your memories with, "I MEANT TO."

There has to be a way without all the money in the world and without all the fixins' to be what and who you want to be in life. I will find a way.

And...why not experience the later half of my life in good health? Yes!

Broccoli rocks! Or so I keep telling myself.

And the side effects? Farts.

I guess I'm going through this rocket propelled. That is the Fargo way.

Hopefully, when I land I have a good parachute.

Thursday, September 24, 2015

Jeremiah Was A Bully Frog

It's really hard to gauge which hardships in life shape us in a positive or negative direction. Did I get bullied? Sure. Did I bully people? Sure. I remember some of the incidents so I guess they stay with you in that respect. However, I think all of the events made me stronger or learned me a lesson.

Never in those dark moments or despair did I think life was over or become disconnected. I had a strong family structure and after short periods of time, those issues dissolved. Sometimes I changed my behavior because of them and sometimes I took it in stride. Many times I had my feelings hurt. But I got over it. And when I was the bully, I think I felt bursts of power or accomplishment that I squashed something or someone. That is unfortunate. People suck sometimes, but we are human and to be human is to err.

It's different through the looking glass as an adult. If your child is the brunt of the words, it really hits you in right the feelers.

This week has been difficult.

My relationship with my daughter in the teenager stage is a struggle. I am taming the beast inside me when she pushes my buttons by gritting my teeth and breathing big gulps of air before my ninja reflex skills send her to the next planet. It's really the first urge to curb back talking and sass. At least it's my first urge. It is my hot button.

Despite all that, she is a really good kid. She works hard in school and sports. She just sasses the mother which creates THE MOMSTER. It happens. I hate the conflict. NOT because I don't like conflict...but because teenagers should be respectful and when naught...I get fuming pissed. I don't like myself like that.

But...what's worse?

When your kid gets bullied and it hurts your heart. Like hits you right...there.

This week two incidents happened at school. She sat next to a girl in the cafeteria with her lunch and the girl and her friends left the table to sit elsewhere. Then, in the gym, she sat next to one of her friends and a group of girls left. Her friend told her they didn't like her because she is pretty and dresses nice. Well poop shit. How do you answer that?

My cute Bug

I told her she couldn't make people like her. I told her to be kind. I said she is beautiful and they are jealous. Wait until they meet THE MOMSTER. Not really. It just is my first instinct...protect your young. But I will not interfere in this one and let my daughter sort it out.

Bitches. Girls are mean.

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Farts On The Plane

There are some things which just bless my life without any invitation. Although I don't mind flying, I don't like being that close to strangers. Like ever. Even with my resting bitch face with ear buds installed and instant narcolepsy, there are always those who break the force field. People get too personal, too close, and too invasive which results in angering me.

A-N-G-E-R-I-N-G: pronounced ang-er-eeng: The act of making one pissed as hell and irritated like a vaginal infection which can only be relieved by a hairbrush.

But the problem doesn't usually start ON the starts BEFORE the plane experience...even sometimes before you reach the airport. It's a big build up to the climax. Like sex...only not great sex...but bad sex or messy sex. Riding planes is like laying in the wet spot.  

Like take Sunday, for instance. I was on the way to the airport and had to fill up the rental car. After opening the door at the gas station for a very ginormous man, he looked down and patted me on the head, "Thank you pretty lady." Really? Do I look like the head patting type? Instantly I freaked. But what do you do? Take it? Say something? 

I chose to stand in the middle of the floor making a lot of drama and screeching...."AH! DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T TOUCH ME!" Then I shut it off instantly like it never happened and walked up the to counter, paid for some gasoline. Perhaps he didn't get the clue as he shuffled to his car with a bewildered look on his face. But hey, the rest of the place parted the sea like Moses. 

On a side note, I chose certain clothes to be comfortable and blend in.

Perfect plane attire: I like the planar design and choice of fabrics with Bohemian color.
I try to blend in as to avoid conversation.

I moseyed on and got to the airport. The first puddle jumper was not bad because I got that one jump seat by myself on the other side of the plane. I think they reserve it for trouble makers. So I slept.

This was a bad choice because after the 40 minute power nap, I was wide awake, yet had to endure another 2 hour plane from Denver to Indy. Which.was.delayed.

Story of my life. 

I think my life is on delay. 

Once in flight, I sat next to Chatty Kathy and Pig Pen. I had not even buckled in when the blond next to me started unexpected chatter. 

"I think you have my buckle," I said.

"Ooh, that's why it wouldn't latch. I was just holding it together."

She was also a rocket scientist.

"It really is only for your comfort. If we crash, we are all going to die."


I was trying to deter her from conversation, but my scare tactic was to no avail. 

Because I am trained in actively listening which includes smiling fake smiles and nodding, I did not retain any of her nonsense drivel. 

"Sir! Do not move my computer. Do not touch it. It needs to stay right there! Sir! I said, NO!"

A big voice boomed from behind me. I already knew by the sound of his voice that he had to be about 300 pounds. I was right. The man standing over me trying to rearrange the luggage compartment was startled.

"Wow. Rude." Yeah. That came from my mouth. I have not learned to keep it shut. 

Pig Pen next to me said, "People are funny, aren't they?"

"No people are jack holes."

If one person comments like that, then others chime in and it was like the Muppets scolding Miss Piggy. This encounter pretty much started an entire plane fiasco. The flight attendant had to calm the situation. 

Then we settled in. I put on my fake sleep pose.

It was soon interrupted by the frail looking, young college student next to me. I'm pretty sure he was a Doomsday Prepper and the end of world was on that day. The noise was more than I could handle. 

"What in the world are you doing?" Yep. That's me again.

"Oh, this blizzard is so good. I also have chips, and Kit Kats, and Powerade and Vitamin Water and a Cinnabon and a pretzel."

"Good night. How do you fit all that in there?"

"Well, I am going into a food coma. Have you ever had airport food? It's sooooo good."

"I see."

Fuck me in the ass. Are we there yet?

I went back to faux sleeping. I had visions of Hemsworth brothers and Channing Tatum.

After about an hour, I suddenly awoke from my slumber and jumped up out of my seat, only to be restricted by my seat belt which pulled me back down. This began a panic struggle for my life. I was in disbelief. My moves resembled the Elaine dance from Seinfeld. 

Good Lord, I peed myself. Or was it the climatic moment after Channing Tatum did that last floor thrust? Shit.  What happened?

Ok. Gather yourself. You are about to never see these people again and face what you have done. I put my hand on my chest. I wasn't breathing hard. I was relieved it wasn't that kind of wet moment.

I really didn't think I had one of those dreams where I was going to the bathroom only to find I peed the bed. That hadn't happened for at least 4 years. Yeah. Pretty sure that was the last time I dreamed about pissing myself. Damn. It had to happen on a front of God and everyone.

And on this day, I didn't remember any of that. I don't even know if I was dreaming. I went into a faux sleeping pattern with a scowl. Usually I wake up with headaches when I do that.

"Oh, ma'am! I am so sorry! I am so sorry! I just spilled my glass of water on you."

I looked down. Sure enough. Not only that...but with hard wood floors it went straight to the vagina. There was nothing to slow it down. Thank you, God. At least I didn't have urine all over myself and others.


"Wow. I'm going to get off the plane and everyone is going to look at all of this (circling my vaginal area) and snicker to themselves...'Oh look...she peed all over her pants.' " I sighed and fake smiled trying to make her feel better. I don't know why. I didn't feel better. The flight attendant handed me napkins. Like that was going to help. It was already all the way to the va-jay-jay and settled in the crack of my ass on the other side.

"I am so sorry. At least it was just water."

Yeah. Ok. Let me see how you like it. Take this! I took some ice water from the flight attendant and threw it on her crotch.

Not really. But I played it over and over in my mind like a serial killer.

"It's Ok. Really. It will be fine."

LIKE.IN.THREE.HOURS... when I'm home.

My face continued in permanent scowl mode and I tried faux sleeping again, reengaging no one with my ear buds. My music was not even turned on. It was all part of my disguise.

About 20 minutes later...people started to shift in their seats and sigh. There were a few groans nearby. I know this, because the two next to me kept bumping me. Then, it hit me. Literally. A wall of fart.gas. They were the worst ever in my life. The air was disappearing. My throat was closing up.

Frantically I looked around for the dude who had "casual fart face", hoping no one would notice he farted. It was definitely a dude fart, not a girl fart. Don't ask me how I know. I just know these things.

WOW. I couldn't find the origin. Maybe I didn't want to know. My face started melting. My clothes were peeling off. Oh no! I was going to be exposed to everyone on the plane. I was pretty sure I had acid burns and the flavor was ass undertones with a hint of broccoli.

Coughing took over me. I grabbed my throat and struggled to reach out to the flight attendant...

"Water. Water. I need water. Can we do an emergency landing? I'm not going to make it. I am starving for air. Help me. Help me."

Not really. But all that went through my mind. Like 60 times while I simulated 50 ways to die. Fuck me in the ass. WTF? Really? Ass Cracker couldn't go to the bathroom and rip one in there? Lord, have mercy.

There were many moments on the plane I felt closer to Jesus than on the ground. This was one of them. Was this what my end would be? Suffocation?

It took 30 minutes for the air to clear. I'm sure I overheard the attendants telling the captain that we needed to cycle the air through the plane. I wonder if fart gas gets stuck in the luggage compartment and then our clothes smell like ass.

Well, I couldn't get off the plane fast enough. Yeah. Row 29 is only good in a crash, but substandard in speedy exits.

Luckily, my suitcase was the first one off the baggage claim. Something was in my favor.

I made my way to the parking garage to find my car, only to discover it was stolen. Bastards. And I had a new pack of gum in there.

Not really.

I searched the wrong parking level for about 30 fucking minutes before I realized I parked on level 2 not 3. Typical blond move.

Eventually, I figured it out. It was a DOH! Moment. In fact, my first clue should have been the valet area which was blocked off that I had to jump over with suitcase in tow. I didn't remember that going into the airport. Why did they put up a blockade now? Doh! Because you weren't on this level, idiot!

I think my hairspray got melted off with the fart gas on the plane. This led to lower brain activity as well.

I was going to be lucky to be able to navigate home.

But I did.

Just think. My flight to Greece is going to be almost 12 hours. I can't wait. Yippee. 

Thursday, September 3, 2015

MOMsterhood: Are You A Vagina?

Momsterhood is often challenging. I mean, what does it take to be the world's worst mother? Not much according to my daughter. Yesterday was simple. I just was being myself and apparently it resembled being a vagina. Now is being compared to a vagina a bad thing? I don't really know. I do know it doesn't sound like a good thing. Although, I am proud of having one...I'm not sure I want to be compared to it. It's not like I show it off or parade it around. Perhaps it means moms take a pounding? I don't know. It brought up an internal debate when I tried to analyze what my daughter's learned lesson from school.

First, all I did was pick her up at the school after volleyball practice. As most mothers, I failed at being perfect....even at parking. The conversation started out the same as usual. She never looks around for me. It's not like I'm invisible. It's the same car, the same area...every.single.time. I try to make it easy, yet it is a treasure hunt every. single.time. I almost wish I had a different vehicle each day. SHE.DOES.NOT.OPEN.HER.EYES. Drives me nuts, I tell you.

Our text messaging was also typical...mostly typical...

BUG: Mom, where are you? 

ME: Across from the front doors, in the same area as yesterday.

BUG: Where?


BUG: Don't yell at me.

ME: I'm not yelling at you. I'm putting some caps in your ass. 

BUG: Mom, that is violence and language!

ME: It is not violence. It is the language I had to use.

BUG: I mean the a word.

ME: If I don't use words like that, I can't be classified as a ghetto mother. 

BUG: You are crazy.

ME: Yes, yes I am. Thank you. 

BUG: I can't find you. Where are you?

ME: Go to the front door. Turn about face and look to the field toward the railroad tracks. Walk 100 feet. See the car? My lights are on. I can have the mother ship launch a beam for you if you need.

BUG: Why did you park so far away?

ME: To punish you.

Several minutes go by.

ME: Where are you? 

BUG: I can't find you. 

Lord, please help me. 


BUG: I am!


BUG: Oh. I see you. 

So when she opened the door and entered, it was a revelation to see her mom. 

"Hi, Mom!"

"Hi,Bug. Why do you have such difficulty finding me when I am always in the same place?"

"Well, I don't know."

"It is crazy."

"Well, Mom.  It's not like you are the first thing on my mind."

"Uh, well I should be. What does all that mean?

"Maybe it's because today Raika said moms are like vaginas."

"Uh, what?"

"Yeah. She said every girl has to have one, but you really don't want to see it or talk about it. But if you ignore it, it becomes infected and retaliates. And then you are miserable. So, it is just better you take care of their needs."

Whiskey-tango-foxtrot. I wonder what Raika says about fathers. Hmm...

Australian worm:
And were we really talking about mothers resembling vaginas?

And do mothers LOOK like vaginas, too? I mean full body vaginas or just on the face vaginas? Like do we all have big Botox lips which look like giant vaginas under our noses? Really makes you wonder. "Yes, Doc. Shoot me up some (points to lips) I want to have a vagina on my face." I guess if you walked around all cock-eyed, lips could look like vaginas...sort of plump ones... 

Photo courtesy of
I don't know. I have never compared vaginas to know how different every woman looks down there. I wonder if there is a study on that and why the differences? Not really. I don't really think I want to study vaginas. But what does a gynecologist think? What signifies a good one? Or a nice one? Is it...(1)Do you have to have shaved ones? (2) Or keep the "GROWLER"? (3)Or a nicely trimmed lady garden?(4)Smell floral pretty, fresh, or no smell?  I would think clean would be a qualifier. But, hey, I'm not judging. Yeah. No one wants to get down there and have a smell contest. Ok. Poking my eyes out.

Is Raika saying we smell or we have certain smells? Some better than others? Some like roses? Some smell fishy? Time to stop taking Fish oil. Stop the runaway brain mind channeling nonsense!

"I have no words."

"Yeah. I didn't understand it."

"Ok, then. How old is Raika?

"She is 16."

"Maybe she is on to something."

"No, Mom, she is not on drugs."

"No, that's not what I meant. Anyway, let's go home. How was practice?"

"It was Ok, Mom."


"Why do you talk funny like that? No one says that anymore. No one talks like that. Gah."

"Vaginas talk like that."

"MOmmmm! Gross."

Cue the embarrassed teenager whine.

I have always thought Lisa Renna was beautiful...her figure, her skin, her boobs, her hair, her lips. I mean she is just a sex pot and all momsters want to be that way, right? But now am I going to look at her and think...what a huge and plump vagina she has on her face?

Lisa Renna

Or did Raika mean this?
I don't know if I will ever understand teenagers. ((((Sigh))))