WHAT IS MY DAMNED ACCOUNT NUMBER??

For some reason, the past two nights, I have fallen into a coma-like state at approximately 6:30 pm. I am always watching "24"...hmmm? Anyhow, my husband wakes me up and I stumble into bed. I drift off yet again. Not last night. I got back to a deep, deep sleep. The type of wondrous sleep where when you wake up you don't know who you are or where you are or how you got there, but there is no booze involved. Just deep sleep.

My phone rang. I didn't hear it. My husband heard it. Of course, having "Let It Be" by the Beatles as my ringtone sort of makes sure I don't hear it ring. Anyhow, it stopped ringing, I guess. Then it started again, so my husband woke me up. I fumbled around hollering, "Wha? Huh?" and picked up the phone. It was a person who sounded familiar, but their voice was amazingly LOUD. I realized it was because my phone was plugged into my speakers so I could listen to my thunderstorm all night because I'm neurotic, and as a result, his voice was amplified. That confused the hell out of me. Then I got mad that he would call so LATE! Um, wrong. It was 7:30.

It was my youngest son. Awww..he was calling to say he missed me and loved me. WRONG. Here is the conversation:

Ty: MOM!
Me: WHAT?
TY: WHAT ARE YOU DOING???
Me: sleeping...why are you up so late?
TY: MOM, IT'S 7:30!
Me: No way.
TY: Way.
Me: Ok. What.
TY: WHAT'S MY ACCOUNT NUMBER?????
Me: *?*
TY: MOM???? WHAT'S MY ACCOUNT NUMBER???

Now, it was still dark in the room, and I had no EFFING CLUE WHAT THE CHILD WAS TALKING ABOUT. I got the lamp turned on and my husband was sitting there asking, "What is he talking about?" That helped.

TY: MOM!!!!
Me: What account number?
TY: COME ON, MOM!!!! MY ACCOUNT NUMBER!!!
Me: Assuming I know what you are talking about, what do you need an account number for right now?
TY: UGH! MOM!
Me: Don't talk like that to me! I'll hang up.
TY: I NEED MY ACCOUNT NUMBER.

I realize this conversation is A. A dream, or B. Typical Tyler conversation.

I go with B.

Me: What account are you talking about?
TY: MY DEBIT CARD ACCOUNT! GRANNY GAVE ME MONEY AND I NEED TO PUT IT IN THE ACCOUNT!!!!
Me: Now?
TY: YES! NOW!
Me: (assuming some international espionage deal had to do with this account, I began asking where I could find the information.)
TY: YOU KNOW WHERE IT IS!!!
Me: You better watch that damned tone.
TY: UGH!
Me: Hang on, Dad is waving some paper in my face.

Sure enough, it was Ty's bank statement. I open it. I can't see shit because I just woke up. I don't have my reading glasses on. Much fumbling and squinting and cussing ensues.

Me: Okay. Here it is...
TY: LET ME GET A PENCIL AND PAPER.
Me: *pissed*
tick tock tick tock
TY: OKAY, GO AHEAD.
Me: blank blank blank, blank blank blank blank, blank blank blank blank.
TY: What?
Me: *repeats number*
TY: Repeats back COMPLETELY INCORRECT NUMBER WITHOUT ANY OF THE ACTUAL CORRECT DIGITS.
Me: NO! I SAID... *repeated correct number slowly and succinctly*
TY: YOU ARE YELLING AT ME!!!
Me: YES I'M YELLING AT YOU! YOU ARE BEING A BRAT AND I'M GOING TO BEAT THE HELL OUT OF YOU WHEN YOU GET OFF THE PLANE!!!
TY: Can you give me the number again, please?
Me: That's better. *I give him the number*
TY: *REPEATS BACK DIFFERENT TOTALLY INCORRECT NUMBER*
Me: I'm going to hang the hell up, Tyler.
TY: NO! ONE MORE TIME!!
Me: Fine. I repeated the damned stupid assed number
TY: HANG ON.

I wait while he attempts to access his account through a computer, I guess. It works. Hallelujah! We can all go back to sleep.
TY: IT WORKED.
Me: Good. Um, do you have anything to say?
TY: IT WORKED.
Me: Tyler?
TY: THANKS. I LOVE YOU.
Me: Better. I love you, too.

End of call. So, this morning, bright and early, I called him and screamed, 'WHAT'S MY ACCOUNT NUMBER????" at him repeatedly. He wasn't amused. Now, to be fair, one reason his voice was so loud was that it was coming through speakers. The other reason is that he is a LOUD TALKER ALL THE TIME. The third reason was that he was being a brat.

Tonight, my boys come home from Chicago. I have missed them. They left on Christmas Eve. I had no Christmas because without my children, why bother? I made him promise not to be a brat and not to fight with his brother when they got off the plane. Especially during the hour ride home. He promised. I forgot to tell you...he lies.

My Majestic Life

I got the bath mats. They are amazing. Not really. They are bath mats. They were on sale and I had a 20 dollar off coupon.

How boring is that? Pretty damned boring. Anyhow, I am supposed to start Grad school January 8. Tuition is due tomorrow. I really do need a new laptop as I can't even update things on this one because the OS is 10.6. My computer outlasted everything. I can do word documents and things, but cannot use peripherals because it's out dated. Do I NEED a new computer? It would be best. Will Wally lose his last ounce of shit if I get one? Undoubtedly. I said, "fine I won't go to grad school...screw it . It isn't worth your hounding me for two years about the money." It's 3 grand for two classes. Yeah, it's expensive. I don't HAVE to have it for my job, although I'd make a teeny bit more money if I did have it. I have no desire to go into administration in my job, so I'm not doing it for that. I wanted to do it for ME. Not good enough. Right now, he is in the other room compiling a WRITTEN (at my behest) list of what the hell we can CUT BACK ON, CUT BACK CUT BACK CUT BACK!! In order to afford it.

Now, let's go over some facts: We own our home. We have no mortgage, no rent, nothing. We own a huge, custom built home outright. We have no debt. We pay cash for our brand new cars. However, we don't do it often. My car is about 10 years old, but with less than 60,000 miles on it. It's like new. His car is a Crap Wagon. Anyhow, we've had them for awhile. We don't get new cars every couple of years. We do not qualify for any financial aid, for God's sake. We are part of that cursed 1% everyone babbles about. Well, maybe 5%. I don't know. We go to Europe. (When he isn't insane). He retired at 46 BECAUSE HE COULD. I work and make a decent living. Basically, I work for insurance, I think. Now, he is mad because he has to use his RETIREMENT MONEY TO SUPPLEMENT MY SALARY, EVEN THOUGH HE IS, IN FACT, RETIRED. JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH!!! Am I the ONLY person who sees the insanity in this???? He just presented me with a list of things off our last Discover bill that he thinks should be gotten rid of. An example: Wine. Ha! No.

Next: Eating out. No problem, I rarely do. He and the boys do, but I don't.

Netflix. Fine, I don't care. Whatever with that one.

Stuff I buy for my job. Um, no. Just random shit he found on a bill. No plan on how to CUT BACK CUT BACK CUT BACK. I'm about to lose my mind, quite literally. I am going to go now and make him make a real list. But first, I'll cancel that pricey Netflix that we so callously use while our neighbors go without food. Shit, I won't finish all seasons of "24", now. Dammit. I was on the next to last episode of season one.

I know I'm behind, but hey. Coupla things about Jack Bauer. He whispers a lot. He is unfailingly polite. He says "Thank you" to people shooting at him. He is so nice. Well, this season. I don't know how it plays out. His wife is a pain in the ass and looks like a 12 year old boy. His daughter is boring me. The senator is the Allstate guy. I keep expecting him to ask me if I'm in good hands. HIS wife is a raging bitch.

Well, I guess I'll go, now. Goodbye forever, polite Jack Bauer. I hope you stay as sweet as you are now. Stay away from that lady you work with and her boyfriend. I don't trust them. Dump the wife and daughter. That Allstate guy would make a HORRIBLE president. Unless every speech ended with "Are you in good hands?" That would be pretty awesome.

HEY BITCHES!!! It's me, again. I just ran a 5K. Yes, me. I know, I know...you're amazed. I am, too. It was shorter than I usually run, but when I go do a REAL race, i don't want to be the loser who limps in last, you know?

So, my military cadence songs are getting more familiar. I am getting fond of the "Marine Baby" one. It's a little gross, but hey. What baby doesn't climb down, cut his own umbilical cord and head out the door, then follow the sounds of crying and go in the nursery and inform the babies he won't take anymore squealing and crying and he is the commander of the baby brigade. Because he has a camo diaper,(who put it on him?), black boots, (again, who put those on him?) and AND THREE DIAPER PINS ON HIS COLLAR. Whatever that means. Who uses diaper pins anymore?

I am still pissed off every time one of those stupid duh duh duh duh duh duhhh duh duh duh duh duh duhhhhh duh songs comes on. It makes me want to punch something. I will have to do something about those songs.

I didn't get to all of the questions, so I will answer a couple more here:

From Wayne in Washington: "What's your favorite food?" Well, Wayne, believe it or not, I'm a picky eater. I'd have to say my favorite food would be ice cream, my Mom's chocolate pie or her potato cake. Any of those, I'll never turn down.

From Corinne in Georgia: "Do you use that language in front of children?" Listen up, Corinne. I am a grown ass woman. Of course I don't. Well, just my kids sometimes, and they are grown. Plus, they get mad at me, so obviously I raised them correctly. I do not use it at work in front of other people's children. I have burned myself on glue guns and not said a bad word. Try that! Don't be so sanctimonious. Like you've never flipped anyone off or said, "Fucker!" in traffic. Give me a break. I bet you have a Jesus fish on your car, call yourself "Christian" and "Moral" and then picket abortion clinics but won't adopt one of those babies. Shut up, Corinne.

Whew. Okay, now on to Meg from ...well, I can't tell...is she from Dallas or Ft. Worth? I don't know. Anyhow, Hey Meg. What's your question? Meg: "How many times have you been married?" Well, Meg...that is pretty nosy, but what the hell. I've been married three times. The first one last less than 2 years, but I got a perfectly wondrous child out of it. The second lasted 5 years and I got another perfectly wondrous child. The third...we are in our 14th year together. We have no children together, but have one of those whaddayacallits...blended families. His daughter from his first marriage and my two boys. To be fair, I was never the abuser, cheater or liar. However, if you come home and say "I don't think I love you anymore.." Boy, you better have an apartment ready to go and some plans in place because my FIRST stop is the bank and my SECOND stop is my lawyer. The Wallet isn't like that. He is crazy and loses his temper, but not like hits things or anything. Plus he loses it over stuff like cell phones not working or slow fast food workers.
I don't think I'm very good at marriage, since I've done it three times. However, I must appear to be very marriageable.

From Amanda in Oklahoma : First off, I am sorry you live in Oklahoma...my condolences. " Are you close to your family?" Amanda, Amanda. That is such a complicated question. I'll try. I am very close to my Mom. I am very close to my brother. I am very close to his children, who I am only loaning to him. My father has done things in his life and made choices that make it impossible for me to have a relationship with him. I have funny stories about him from my youth, but that's about it. Now, it's a shit carnival with him. His family? I have no contact with and want none. They are incredibly ignorant people who don't believe in global warming and called sectional furniture "SEXUAL furniture". You see my problem with them, I assume. Plus, all their kids come out EFFED UP. I won't go into details, just trust me. He has interesting history in his family...ancestors and such. That's about it. My Mom has a huge family. She is one of 9 kids. My grandparents were two of my favorite people and I miss them so much. BUUUUT, when you have that many kids, they end up insane. They compete for attention all their lives and they end up insane. I don't know how else to put it. Plus, mental illness runs in the family there.

From Terrence in Idaho: "Do you have a favorite sports team?" TERRENCE! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN??? Duh! I bleed orange and blue! GATORS, BABY! I am a Gator fan, through and through. My Grandfather worked for the University of Florida Athletic Assoc. for many, many years. My Gator history goes way back. However, I live near UT Austin. One of my children is there, and Austin is my favorite place to live. The Gators are my faves, though.

That's it for now, bitches. I have to do mundane things like shower and well...read or something. OH! THERE IS A SALE AT KOHL'S! I NEED BATH MATS! My life is phantasmagorical.

TWO IN ONE DAY!!!

Okay, I have some stuff to say. I got the Nike/Ipod thing. I thought, "Awesome." Because I love awesome stuff. I go to download music to this damned thing. OH WAIT! My son had an Ipod Nano. He gave it to me. I placed it in a very visible spot. My children weren't here, so they didn't do it. It has disappeared. Gone. We looked EVERYWHERE. It was taken by aliens.

So, I bought a new Nano. Whatever. I take it home to sync it and all that jazz, and guess what? My awesome MacBook Pro has outlasted the interwebs. It works. It's never broken. It's never crashed. Now, it is old enough to where I can't update programs like Itunes and Adobe. So, now I need a new laptop. Plus, I'm starting Grad school. Good excuse.

I bring the new shit home. I hook it up. BUT NO. My shit is too old. Need new shit. Use school's shit. Still can't figure it out. I'm fairly tech savvy, so I was losing my shit. I FINALLY get to download some shit for my run. I go to the Nike sports part of Itunes. Let me tell you this:

IT SUCKS ASS BIG TIME.

Having said that, when the first military cadence came on, I was stunned. Then, I got into it. "I can do this, I thought...my family has done this..." I did it. Then some ATROCIOUS SHIT CAME ON. Sure, it's great music if you are on X and at the Jersey Shore. Gimme some glow lights and some bottles with sparklers on them, and we're set with that damned music. Seriously? What is the "dubstep" shit? It isn't good for running. It's stupid. My son likes it. Case closed. I was glad for "C-130 Rolling Down the Strip" when it came on. I at least knew the words. Then, some more freakin' club music came on. What was it, the 80s? It pissed me off.

I'm finished. I'm slightly inebriated. Not so much to type wrong, but enough to know that it's coming. Quickly.

Until we meet again. To da loo, Bitches.

Seriously? Questions for me? Okay. Whatever, I guess I will answer some.

These were emailed to the email connected to this blog, which I forgot I had. Some are old.

1. From Virginia in New Jersey: (If that's really your REAL NAME). "Are you mentally ill?" Well, Virginia, yes. Yes, I am. I don't care who knows. I'm raging Bi Polar. Deal. I take meds. If I don't, you will know it in a hot minute. I'm not ashamed. If I was ashamed, and if nobody told the truth, people would keep saying, 'THAT KID MUST BE BI POLAR" every time a child threw a fit at the Walmarts. I won't be responsible for that.

2. From Eileen in West Palm Beach (which I know is in Florida..so there.) Eileen asks, "Why don't you have a book?" Well, Eileen...that's a damned fine question, there. I write my ass off, but nobody seems to want to publish me unless I do a self publishing deal. No can do. I need an editor. I need an agent. Anyone? Anyone? Let me know. I am SUPER easy to work with. However, I am creative, so I'm a bit of a bitch. Sorry, I figured I should be up front.

3. From Robert in Tempe, Arizona: "Do you really drink that much wine and take prescription meds?" Yes, Robert, I do. Don't judge, Robert. It's not nice. To further his question, he asked, "Aren't you afraid you'll die?" No, Robert, I am not. No further answer necessary.

4. From Chris in Colorado: "Do you have AdHd?" Yes, Chris, I do. I can't stay focused on shit for any length of damned time.

5. From Cedric in Nebraska: "Are you married? Happily?" Awwww....Cedric. Yes. Yes, I am. However, I have been known to marry frequently, so don't lose hope. I have to say, I will go with Ryan Gosling first, of course. Unless of course, you are ACTUALLY Ryan Gosling, in which case I will squeal and rip your clothes off no matter where we are. If not, sorry. I am happily married to the Wallet. He is weird and crazy and I love him. It's a conundrum. I'm more of a guy when it comes to relationships. I would rather keep things uncomplicated. In and out, you know? However, men seem to want to marry me, and damned if I don't keep saying "yes". Such is life, I suppose.

6. From Jane in Omaha: "What do you think the meaning of life is?" Well, Jane. How much more of a loaded question could you ask me? I'll try, though. MY idea of the meaning of life is this: Try and do as much good as you can for others, and try to do as little HARM as possible to others including the Earth. Life with as few regrets as possible. Do what you love. Stop time when your children are toddlers, because damn, that shit goes by fast, you know? Also, take time out for the good of yourself, occasionally. If that means see a shrink, then do it. No shame. If that means take meds, do it. If that means run until you have sweat out all problems, do it. Life will never end up as you plan it, so go with it. That is truth.


I think that will do it for now. Unreal. I can't believe people asked me questions other than, "Mom! Where are my socks?" and shit. Thank you for reading. Thanks for letting me know you're there.

Later, Bitches.

A Sensation Like Hot Charcoal

Well, Karma is a bitch. Tyler and I have been making fun of the man on the Shingles commercial who describes his symptoms as feeling like having "hot charcoal" poured on his neck. We have imitated him, asked questions about how a "slight irritation around the neck" turned into "hot charcoal" and so on.

I think I have Shingles, people. I have a rash on my neck, under my chin. It's much like having hot charcoal poured on my neck. It has been red, burning and itchy for four days. Yesterday, some of the area became rough. I have used hydrocortisone cream and Elizabeth Arden 8 hour cream, (which works way better). I just got all stressed a second ago and it's worse.

I took one of my anti anxiety meds. Well, I took three. Hopefully the rash will go away.

We had our "Christmas" today. Our sons are leaving for Chicago tomorrow, and our daughter is spending the day with her mom. We are alone. Why have Christmas at all? So, I expected little to nothing as usual. I was SO surprised I actually cried. Wally got me the camera I wanted, and three creepy little dolls that I showed him because they were so weird! I have Oscar Wilde, Jane Austen and Sylvia Plath! Right now, they are embroiled in a love triangle which is ironic given Oscar's tendencies, and all. Jane is eavesdropping on Oscar and Sylvia's conversation. Oscar is being witty and Sylvia is bitter and talking about killing herself. Jane is feverishly taking notes for her next romantic comedy novel. I also got...YAYAYAY~ An electric wine cork opener! Score.

Our kids got everything they asked for plus more. One just got his hair trimmed by me because I am a horrible troll. Then, his glasses broke because he falls asleep in them whilst playing video games and they bend. Again, why can't I fix that? Because I'm a troll. The other is playing video games. Neither have begun packing yet. I am not packing for them, either. I can't print their boarding passes because the stupid airline makes you wait until EXACTLY 24 hours before boarding.


I have lost my voice, I am coughing and I am pretty sure I have shingles. Merry Damned Christmas.

Our Annual Holiday Letter That I Hate

December 22, 2012

Well, here it is, folks. My annual Holiday Letter. I am afraid if you depend upon me for frivolity and general hilarity, you may be disappointed. Sorry, that’s life. It’s been a year of shame, tears, disbelieve, horrific working conditions, insane relative, (not you, Mom). (Well, a little bit you, Mom.) and you know, basic things that make me need medication, which just got increased, so rest easy, world.

I guess the good news is that if you’re reading this the world did not; in fact end, as the Mayans predicted. I wasn’t actually too worried, as they didn’t seem to be able to predict their own demise. So, here we are, muddling through yet another craptastic year.

Let’s see…just to keep in the “what we’ve been doing this year” tradition other people use; I’ll update you on the activities of my family.

Firstly, we are all physically healthy, thank God. Nobody has any diseases that I am aware of, and if the children do, they certainly aren’t telling me, because that would mean they have been doing things they shouldn’t and I would be forced to kill them.

Kira is 21 and is about to enter her last semester of under grad work at UT Austin and we are immensely proud of her. She is completely independent and takes no shit from anyone. Good girl. Not only is she gorgeous and brilliant, but she is, also, thank God, nothing like her insane father. She is my cherry on top of the cake of kids.

This brings us to our next child: Jack. Jack is 20, now. He is still in school here, in Killeen because Killeen sucks and is stupid (I agree) and he doesn’t see why he should put forth full effort in classes that are stupid and sucky in order to go to a larger school, DUH. (I don’t agree) He will transfer to Central Texas A & M until he gets his shit together enough to go to a place that isn’t stupid and sucky. I think he is getting the message, finally. He is gorgeous, brilliant and the light of my life. I would, however, like to spank the hell out of him. Alas, he is too large.

Last, but certainly NEVER least is our baby. Tyler is 16. He is over 6’ tall and is built like a farmer from Eastern Europe. This means his bones are incredibly large. I mean, so large you stare at them in a mesmerized state thinking to yourself, “How can a kneecap be THAT large???” He is a junior at Ellison. He is continuing the proud tradition set forth by his elder siblings. (Not really. He goes to socialize. He will be whipped harshly and frequently if he doesn’t get that shit locked down real quick.) So far, his punishment has been no Driver’s Education classes, therefore, no driving. His grades have improved a bit. He isn’t failing anything, which he takes as a success. I expect a wee bit more. We’ll see with Tyler. He is a work in progress, as we all are. He is funny, gorgeous, and actually quite brilliant although he would like to believe otherwise and if Jack is my heart, Tyler is my soul. I couldn’t make it without those two fools.

Now. Now, we come to my dearly beloved husband, Wally. Wally has had quite the year. He has used his computer a LOT. He has pet the dogs COPIOUS AMOUNTS. Their relationship is co-dependent, I’m pretty sure. He has lost all semblance of sanity. He has lost his temper in public and nearly been arrested several times. He has called strangers horrible names that even I wouldn’t say (TO THEIR FACES). That’s pretty freakin’ bad, when you think about it. He is no longer allowed to carry a gun on his person. I check the safe twice a day. He has blamed me for many, many things, including financial issues (of which there are none), a broken (but not really) garage door, dogs needing to go to the vet (as they should do yearly) a parking ticket I did not deserve (and subsequently was dismissed because I caught a cop near the spot I got the ticket and asked him and got his card and all that jazz and he was awesome and it’s taken care of.)

Me? Let’s skip that, shall we?

We will nave no children for Christmas for the first time ever, and I am therefore not having Christmas. I thought Wally and I could get away and get our minds off of it. Say, perhaps…Paris? Wally said he would prefer Hawaii or Rome.

I priced both. Hawaii was more expensive. What’s up with that, Hawaii? You aren’t even Christmassy! Seriously, take a look in the mirror, Hawaii. You are NOT my idea of a Christmas destination.

So, Rome it would be. I booked the trip. Airfare, hotel, the whole deal. Got a GREAT deal on it, too. JUST shy of 24 hours later, Wally decided to have a financial mental breakdown because I was such a horrible person. I said, “Fine! You want me to cancel the trip???” He said, “Yes!” So I did. Done. Full refund. Happy now, Wally? Because, I’ll tell you what…I’m not. Christmas day, I will be in bed, heavily sedated, possibly watching episodes of “24”.

We have both been on a nutrition plan called Visalus. I have lost quite a lot of weight, while he seems to have lost a bit. I am running daily, and working my way up to my previous ability of ohhhh 17 years ago. It’s not as hard as I thought it would be, either. I’m pleasantly surprised that I look forward to running everyday. Because of the Visalus, all of Wally’s blood work is perfect. His glucose, his blood pressure, cholesterol, it’s all good. That alone makes it worth it.

I have no diseases other than mental ones that I am aware of. Of course, I have more than my fair share of those, so it evens out. I won’t bore you with the details, but I’m probably on several local law enforcement agency watch lists or something. I haven’t been violent, UNLIKE WALLY. In case you are wondering.

Last night we had our MANDATORY FAMILY TRADITION. Which we all hate, except for Wally. Kira is forced to drive to Killeen from Austin. We get ready to go to dinner, dammit! We are informed that we will LIKE IT, TOO, DAMMIT!
So, we are driving my car, since some BITCH hit Wally’s car by accident, by the way. He wishes he had a 9mm to shoot her for some insane reason. I mean, it was an ACCIDENT.

Anyhow, we are in my car, and I’m driving, and I back out of the garage, and we hear a God-awful sound. Evidently, the little red emergency cord to the garage door opener got caught on my luggage rack, because I am a stupid bitch. I should have known that would happen.

Consequently, as the car moved backwards, so did the garage door, which resulted in my car colliding with the garage door. Oopsies. Wally got out of the car spewing profanities that I’m not sure I’ve ever heard before and pushed the door up.
I backed out into the driveway. The kids were not surprised or even fazed by this, but they did inform me that I would be blamed forever. I agreed.

We watched, (and I filmed) Wally begin to try to “fix” the door. He first pushed and punched it. Nope. Didn’t work. Then, he got some random piece of crap he keeps in the garage and began using that as a tool to knock the shit out of the door. Nope. Didn’t work. It DID, however, result in completely knocking the door off its tracks. Way to go, Wally!

He screams for Tyler to come help. We all yell, “Don’t go, Tyler!!!” He gone. Tyler gone. Goodbye, Tyler. Your choice. We’ll miss you.

He was holding up the door because he is gigantic if I didn’t mention that already. Wally is pounding on it with various things, and cussing. We are all hollering encouragement from the safety of the car (which we kept running in case Wally began shooting or something). We were yelling, (from the safety of the locked car with the windows slightly cracked,) “Don’t make eye contact, Tyler!!” and “Move slowly, make no sudden moves!!”

Wally and Tyler return to the car with the garage door still open. Wally informs me that because of my stupidity, the garage door will remain open for all eternity, and let’s go for our family FUN, DAMMIT. I said, “Uh, no.”

He ended up calling a garage door company who came out within an hour and fixed it. Meanwhile, while he waited happily arguing with people on his computer as he waited for the repairman, the kids and I went out to eat.

I had Prosecco to go with my Xanax. We went back and picked him up and I made him drive. Yes, I drove with Xanax and Prosecco and some chicken dish in my bloodstream. Get over it.

We drove the million miles to the light display that we go see EVERY.SINGLE.YEAR. AND. IT. NEVER. CHANGES. EVER. The kids hate it. I hate it. Wally loves it. I didn’t yell at anyone this year. I fell asleep. It was quite nice. Occasionally, I opened my eyes and saw some stupid assed display I had seen a million times before and closed my eyes again and drifted off. The kids were whispering once and I did halfway holler at them to be quiet. I was sleeping, after all. I am assuming Wally enjoyed it immensely. It was very crowded which I hope made him furious. I hope he was so frustrated he couldn’t see straight. I wouldn’t know, as I was, as previously mentioned, asleep. I am informed that I snored, but I don’t give a rat’s ass at this point.

THIS…this….was just LAST NIGHT, PEOPLE. The rest of the year was just more of this and many times more intense.

Now, we’re all sick with some cold. Our dogs are all healthy and really old and probably immortal. Let’s face it; if anyone deserves immortality and health it’s dogs. My dogs are usually great, except when they bark for no reason for about an hour straight. Then, I want to shoot them. BUT I DON’T DO IT BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE BAD AND ILLEGAL, WALLY.

So, there you have it. Our year. Hope yours was better, bitches. (There were parts of ours that I couldn’t even PUT INTO WORDS. THEY WERE SO SHAMEFUL AND DISGUSTING AND HORRIFIC…AND THEY WEREN’T OUR FAULT…JUST TRUST ME.)

So, have a happy whatever you celebrate and an adequate New Year. I don’t think the world is supposed to end this year; so don’t worry about that bullshit.

Love,
Helen, Wally, Kira, Jack and Tyler
(and the dogs, MacGregor, Haggis and Dixie)

My sons and I have had an awesome idea. Well, maybe not awesome, but it makes me hapy and skippy.

See, we are those people on the block that have NO Christmas decorations up. NONE. However, our neighbors have PLENTY. We decided we would go in the dark of night and sneak up and abscond with all of their lovely festive lights and thingies.

We have it planned. Balaclavas on our faces. Gloves so as not to leave fingerprints. Dark hoodies. Innocuous shoes that are easily available anywhere, in the wrong sizes for our feet. We will have hand gestures just like Special ops guys. We will communicate with nary a word. When the mission is complete, we will take said decorations, and completely crap up the empty house that is for sale. How brilliant is that? Who will suspect us? People will be confused and indignant! HOW DID THOSE NON EXISTENT PEOPLE WHO DON'T LIVE IN THAT EMPTY HOUSE GET OUR DECORATIONS????

I mean, we watch "The First 48". It will be AT LEAST 11 weeks before they have a break in the case. We even have street names. I am "Tay Tay". We dont' know why. It just sounded right.

In other news, I will be soon posting our annual dysfunctional family holiday letter.
Too da loo, bitches.

It's been awhile. I know, I know. Life got in the way of frivolous blog posting. I know that many of my rabid fans have been anxiously awaiting my newest addition. Sorry to disappoint, but this isn't going to be Earth shattering.

First: We are almost halfway through the school year and it's been one unbelievable crap carnival. I don't even know where to start, so I won't. Just take my word for it.

Second: I have written anything personally other than modeling how to NOT write for my students. I have been daily begging them to capitalize proper nouns and capitalize the first letter of sentences, and for God's sake use punctuation! To no avail. Forget getting them to decide if they want to use first person or third person...forget having them use figurative language...I just want their damned names on their paper, now. Oh, expectations, how you have fallen... To add insult to injury, my own writing is now horrific and I have become a horrible speller. I used to be able to spell anything. I think my brain is actually shrinking.

Third: Today as I was leaving the grocery store with Wally, we heard a car horn. We turned from putting bags into the back of my car and saw a small car almost back into a large SUV like mine. The person driving the SUV tapped their horn to alert the troglodyte driving the small car to their impending doom if they did not stop backing up. You know, a polite "Hey, watch out...I'm back here, and I'm way bigger than you are, so you might want to stop backing out like your ass is on fire.."

Anyhow, the incredibly stupid and probably criminal asshat driving the small car slammed on his tiny little brakes on his tiny little car and hopped out...yes...hopped. He wasn't intimidating, he was just an asshole. He proceeded to begin screaming, "SHUT THE FUCK UP! WHAT ARE YA GONNA DO ABOUT IT, BITCH???" Of course, everyone was staring open mouthed at this fool. The lady who had the bad luck to assume she was dealing with a rational human being just sat there and stared at him.

I was simply amazed that a grown man would do that to a woman. No, no...scratch that. I was amazed that he would do that to ANYONE. Not only was it unforgivably rude and disgusting, but it was stupid, as well. In our state, it's a good bet to assume people are carrying firearms. As a matter of fact, we had just returned from the range before going to the store. Doing something like jumping out of your car because someone honked at you and then cursing at them is not bright. You might just meet their "little friend".

I usually brush that sort of thing off. My husband is the type who pulls out his gun and will eventually end up in jail and I'm not bailing him out. For some reason, this particular incident got me so mad I was almost speechless. Well, I was babbling is more accurate. I was driving and I kept hollering "Can you believe that??? WHAT AN ASSHOLE!!!! I WISH HE'D SAID THAT TO ME!!! I WOULD HAVE ..." then I realized I was acting like my husband, and that made me even madder. I yelled, "I'm not normally like this!"
"Slow down..."
"What? Don't tell me what to do! I can't believe that! I am so upset..."
"That's a red light there...you might want to..."
"Shut up! I can't believe that happened..yes, I see the light. I am very upset! What would you cops call it? Highly agitated?"
"Yes"
"Okay. I'm that. I'm highly agitated. HIGHLY agitated. I think that's what they put on your file in the psych ward, too. I'm pretty sure I saw that...I swear to God.."
"You need to turn here..."
"Shut up! I'm highly agitated!"
After every sentence I pounded on my steering wheel. I realized I had worked myself up to a raging migraine over people I don't know at the stupid grocery store on the day before Thanksgiving.
And that is why I hate Thanksgiving.

Oh, the other day we had to go buy the boys some heavy winter coats since they are going to Chicago to see their father for Christmas break. They don't remember cold. We left Michigan when one was 4 and one was 2 weeks old. They think they are going to like it. I laugh at them. HAHA! We live in Texas. They are Texas boys. They will be crying like little babies when that cold wind hits them.

Anyhow, they both decided that they wanted balaclavas. I thought that was a damned musical instrument. Seriously. Where I come from, those don't exist. Nobody needs those. I asked them if they were planning on joining a folk band in Russia and they both stared at me. I was telling them "You need waterproof warm gloves...you need thick good socks, and a hat.." and that is when they both began babbling about Russian stringed instruments. Or at least that is what I thought they were talking about. But no. No, no...how stupid I was.

See, a balaclava is a knitted piece of head/face wear. It's really quite hideous. They both wanted black ones, and after I purchased these, (which were amazingly available at our sporting goods store...for hunters, I guess...PENGUIN HUNTERS.)they both insisted on wearing them in the car as we ran errands. TWO ENORMOUS BOYS IN THE BACK OF THE CAR LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY WEARING BANK ROBBER UNIFORMS. One is 20 and one is 16. The 16 year old is enormous. I don't know if people thought we had been car jacked or if they even noticed. They tried to wear them into a restaurant, and I refused to allow it. They looked truly dreadful in those things. I am sure they will wear them continually at their father's house.

We were going to go to Rome on Christmas for a week, but Wally had a freak out of staggering over reactingness or whatever. He did a proper wig out. He is like an anorexic...only about money. No matter how much money he has, he thinks he is going to the poor farm. Haven't heard that one in awhile, have ya? The Poor Farm I remember my Mom always saying we were going to drive her to the Poor Farm. I always thought it sounded intriguing. To this day I've never seen one. Anyhow, we aren't going to a poor farm, and we have plenty. I will go to Rome. You see if I don't.
That's it for now. Too da loo, bitches.

OY...

Well, it's that time of year, again. Time for back to school. If you are the parent of a school aged child, you are probably hollering, "YAY!". If you are a child, you probably aren't. If you are a teacher, you are probably either: A. having panic attacks; B. drinking to excess; or C. crying inconsolably. Or, in my case; D. All three.

So, next week I go back for the week of "inservice". This is a period of time where we are supposed to learn new curriculum for the year, get to know new teachers, reconnect with colleagues and generally get back into the "swing" of things. However. However, however, however....it's never like that. Usually, it's a lot of technology related disasters that prevent us from seeing Powerpoint presentations that we don't really want or need to see, anyhow. Then, there is seemingly never ending ...I don't know what to call them...monologues? Speeches? I don't know..there's just a lot of them.

During that week, we have the "Meet the Teacher" night. This is when, as I"m sure you know, students and their parents can come up to the school, find out who their teacher will be for the year, drop off school supplies, meet the teacher and you know...meet the teacher. It's pretty straightforward.

Two weeks from now, I will be back in the classroom teaching. This means I will be at school in the morning when it's still dark, and I will leave well after the dismissal bell everyday.

I will eat my lunch in approximately 2.4 minutes, attempt to have time to use the restroom, wash my hands, pick up any mail I might have, and go back and pick up my students from their lunch. I have 30 minutes to do all of this. When you take out the walk down to the cafeteria and the sprint back up to the faculty lounge, the time it takes to pee, wash hands and God forbid, heat up lunch, I have maybe...ohhh...2.4 minutes. So, yeah. I get lots of digestive issues around that time, too.

I will take the children to the restroom several times during the day, and over the course of the school year, I will have it down to twice a day. However, I will have one time if I'm lucky to use the restroom all day. I MIGHT get a chance during our "conference time". Maybe. I don't count on it.

I will plan lessons, grade papers, put grades into the computer grade book, schedule parent conferences if needed, meet with my grade level to plan, take children to and from "specials" classes, assess children's abilities, attempt to modify instruction for each child, listen to children's sometimes heartbreaking problems, intervene in playground disputes because now it's all about the "bullying", attempt to help any child in need, and in the process, neglect my own family. I do it strictly for the huge paycheck.

Not really.

I don't get paid all that much. Why do we pay doctors and lawyers so much, but teachers so little? Didn't a teacher teach THEM? If you are reading this, didn't a teacher teach YOU?

My brother is a police officer and gets paid almost three times as much as I do. Of course, he is in danger all of the time.

I only have had one attempted stabbing and been on two "hit lists". I think police officers should make MORE than they do. I also think teachers should make WAY more than they do.

Plus, most of my paycheck is eaten up by what I pay for health insurance for myself and my family. My husband is retired, and I have two children in college and one in high school. It's expensive. Almost as expensive as all of those damned Iphones I pay for. However, that is for another post on another day.

I spend probably a couple of thousand of dollars every year on my classroom or my students. Seriously. At least that much. A lot of parents do not purchase any school supplies for their children whatsoever. I understand if they do not have the means to purchase supplies. However, when they cruise up to school in a brand new Cadillac SUV and have their nails done and their children wear all of that Rhino or Coogi or whatever it is clothes...I have a hard time understanding why they can't spring for pencils and paper.

I buy it. I buy crayons, glue, rulers, scissors, paper, pencils, map pencils, powerful pencil sharpeners for my classroom, and all of the other office type supplies I need daily. If I didn't love my job, I wouldn't do it. However, I'm not going to let a child go without in my classroom. No child will feel badly because their parents either cannot or will not purchase them a new box of crayons or a new 50 cent ruler.

So, when you send your little darlings off to school, say a prayer for the teachers, too. We do it because we love it. We love your kids. We love learning. We love seeing children learn. We find your child funny, smart and interesting. Please remember that when your child comes home with a note saying, "Johnny did not turn in his homework. Please speak with him about the importance of doing his homework." it is not because we dislike your child. It's because your child didn't DO HIS HOMEWORK and he NEEDS TO DO HIS HOMEWORK. We aren't out to get your child. We LIKE kids.

Here's hoping everyone has a wonderful school year full of happy memories and many, ,many learning experiences. Please, God. Amen. (And please don't let anyone try to stab me or put me on another "hit list" because I'm strict, thank you.) Amen. Again.