As I’m currently on a quest to document the historic Hurricane Earl with pictures and live status updates on facebook (while partaking of my Crown Royal Black!) A* decided to help me a bit… the following is an accurate account of what transpired on the phone.

A*: So I’m looking at a map on NOAA. It looks like you guys are under either hurricane watch, tornado watch, tropical storm watch or flood watch. It’s kind of hard to tell because all the watches are colored the same shade of red.

Me: Tornado watch? Really?

A*: I think so. Is Virginia the state that’s shaped like an upside-down piece of pizza?

Me: I don’t know. I have to look at a map. What map are you looking at and I’ll go find it…

A*: I’m on the NOAA site. go to the home page. do you see a picture of some guys in a boat?

Me: Yeah.

A*: Ok, do see the picture underneath that of the big swirly cloud?

Me: Yeah.

A*: Well, that’s earl. Underneath the picture of the swirly cloud, click on national alerts

Me: Ok, got it!

A*: Ok, now where is Virginia?

Me: Go to Florida… you do know where Florida is, right?

A*: Of course I know where Florida is!

Me: Just checking! now go up the coast and the state right over it is either Georgia or Alabama… I get them confused sometimes.

A*: Oh! Ok, then what’s over Georgia or Alabama?

Me: That would be South Carolina.

A*: And what’s over that?

Me: *blink blink* Really? Fucking North Carolina!!

A*: OHHH!!!!!! Duh! And your right over the border? So THAT would be Virgina!

Me: YES!

A*: Well, then it’s not you that is under tornado watch!

Me: Are you sure?

A*: I don’t know really. all the red colors for all the watches and warnings look the same.

Me: yeah they do. Oh well.

A*: I’m off. Gotta headache and I need to take some advil.

Me: yeah, me too… I’m gonna make another drink.

A*: Talk to you tomorrow!

Me: Bye!

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After the little episode displayed during the other night’s phone call, I called the NB Police dept. to go check on her and left a message with her therapist. I even sent a message to her school yesterday morning requesting information on who I send the current custody order to and to find out what I need to do to get copies of her report cards and other notifications.

Of course, by the time the cops showed up, she was apparently (and miraculously!) ‘fine’ and I was then told that I’m not to call her again. You know, because apparently, after not hearing from your child in month and calling to find out if she’s ok and getting unbelievable attitude and snottiness from said child and having to listen the bizzare behavior displayed by her shouldn’t concern me in the least and I’m just ‘harrassing’ her and ‘upsetting’ her! Oh, and the fact that the father, his girlfriend AND the child STILL refuse to follow any court order is of absolutely NO fucking concern AT ALL. WTF???

I’ve also heard nothing back from her therapist and nothing from her school. Because you know, my legal rights don’t even count and the child and her father can just do and say whatever the fuck they want while my concern for her mental health, stability, and safety are continually ignored.

So now what?

Every time I try, I run into another wall and I get nowhere with these people. My whole family has given up on ever having any sort of relationship with her because they know damn well it won’t be allowed by her father and they’re sick of getting nowhere with him OR her, and they’re sick of the courts too. What’s worse is half of the people in my life are telling to keep fighting because this is so wrong, and the other half are saying to just walk away from the entire thing because it will never change… that maybe if I walk away, she’ll come around when she’s older and grown up.

But worst of all, is that I keep fluctuating between the two… half of me wants to keep fighting and then there are times I want nothing more than to just give up.

Fuck it. I’m writing to her therapist, and signing the release of her treatment records from here in Virginia and sending those, along with the results of the psych evaluation that was done on her last year. I’m also going to see if I can get a hold of the copies of the reports that were filed by her with the police and DA last year so he can have those too. It’s high fucking time somebody tries to help her and I don’t think her therapist has the full picture.

If nothing comes of that either and she still doesn’t get the help she needs, then what other choices do I have?

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I distinctly remember talking about tonight’s Billy Idol concert with our neighbor when he was here the other night. He said I should go, and I responded with I’d love to, but who the hell would go see Billy Idol with me? I hate going to concerts alone!

Fast forward to today… Lo and behold, my husband makes a post about Hurricane Earl and a friend of ours invited us to go out with her tonight. Angus said I had class and he was… wait for it… wait for it…

Going to see Billy Idol.

Really?

I wasn’t even asked, much less told about these plans. I don’t even have a clue as to who he’s even going with because he still hasn’t felt it worthy of mentioning to me directly. How the fuck am I supposed to react to this? Especially when the only words he has spoken to me today consist of “the generator isn’t working so don’t get a lot of stuff that needs to be refrigerated” (sent by text mind you) and “Have you seen the Windows 7 disc?” (because the last time it was out it was so he could put it on my machine and clearly, I should have been paying attention to where he put it when he was finished.)

I also found out from our neighbor on Friday that he had invited Angus and I to go to Lake Gaston this weekend. He asked me if we were still planning to go. I knew nothing of this and felt crazy stupid because I didn’t know how to answer. It seems the plans were made over a week ago.

I guess my question is, WHY the hell am always the last to know? I’m only worthy of information through a fucking facebook status or our neighbor?

This bullshit, on top of last night’s bullshit is really making me question shit. It just seems to be coming from all sides, and really… I’m too tired of it all to know whether or not be pissed off or just not fucking care about anything anymore.

I went to the ABC store and picked up some Crown Royal Black and Crown Royal Reserve. I’m having a drink before class and getting stupid drunk when I get home and toast to just not giving a fuck. Hell… if you can’t beat ‘em, might as well join ‘em.

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I’ve long held the belief that actions speak louder than words, but tonight I’ve learned that I can’t have faith in that statement anymore. I’ve also come to the realization that as sad as it may seem, I have to consistently lower my expectations of people in order to survive this world. It seems integrity and honesty have been replaced by manipulation and hatred.

Perhaps the saddest thing of all is that this lesson was taught to me by a child.

Brilliant, beautiful, and talented, but a child just the same. A child with so much good in her, but with equal amounts of permeating darkness, rage and hatred.

The actions displayed tonight and the subsequent consequences of those actions dictate that I can no longer trust anything. Paranoid? Some would say that. Smart is how I prefer to look at it.

Every day, I see another example that shows nothing can be trusted or taken at face value. People lie, manipulate, hurt one another and destroy lives.

Where did all the light and colors go?

I desperately need light instead of all this dark.

I need to know it won’t always be this way.

I need peace.

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Andrea, her son Anthony and her Father came to visit last Saturday! Considering we grew up together and hadn’t seen each other since before I moved to Virginia, it was great to spend time with them. From her nose, to her laugh, straight on down to her views of the world, she is still very much the same as she’s always been. It’s strange to realize how you can lose touch with someone for a while, but when you reconnect, you find neither of you miss a beat and all that time just melts away… and it brought back happy memories for me.

There are no words to adequately describe her son, Anthony. As brilliant, funny, and intriguingly unique as he is, he’s just a normal kid trying to make it in a world idiocy and ridiculousness. He has an extremely mature viewpoint of the world around him and I can’t say it’s entirely inaccurate. His insight to Human Nature and the way he questions it is incredible. These qualities will serve him well when he’s older and I can see him doing great things someday.

Dan is Dan. I’ve always adored Andrea’s father… his quirky sense of humor, his laid back attitude about certain things and after all this time, I can finally admit a bit of envy. I was always slightly jealous that Andrea had a father that looked out for her, protected her and just genuinely enjoyed his family. None of that has changed either.

Anyway, we spent time hanging at the beach, eating great food, hanging on the boat with Angus’s father and just catching up. I can’t wait to see all of them again and I’m especially looking forward to seeing the rest of her family next time I go up North!

Better warn Armand that the Guzzler is coming!!!! LMAO

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After yesterday’s meltdown, I’ve come to realize that something has to give in my life. Priorities, you know? I have this extremely bad habit of taking on too much at once and overextending myself to the point of absolute madness. Unfortunately, in going down the list of things I have on my plate, I can’t seem to figure out what is the least important and that I can afford to give up right now.

Most people would say the house, but that’s just not possible. In theory, it sounds like the most basic thing in the world to NOT worry about, but my OCD is extreme. I can’t function in chaos and disorder. If my immediate environment is a mess, then I simply cannot function on any reasonable level and accomplish what I need to accomplish.

So the house is always my number one priority. What would be helpful is if I had some help. People putting their trash in the trash where it belongs, picking up their dirty clothes to bring to the laundry room and emptying their ashtrays would be nice. Of course, I’d settle for people who just put shit where it belongs! Sadly, I don’t see this happening. So I must learn to accept the fact that those small little responsibilities are solely mine. In other words, I need to suck it the fuck up and make the damn peanut butter sammiches because it’s just not worth the fight anymore. Yes, it’s more work, but in the long run, it may save my sanity.

School is something else I can’t really afford to give up. The long term benefits are far too great, and I want that degree. the easiest thing in the world would be for me to drop my pell grants and take less credit hours per semester, however, if it means I have to pay for those fewer credit hours out of my pocket, then that doesn’t make much sense to me. If I have to take a minimum of 12 credits per semester in order to have my education paid for, then so be it. I can’t see paying interest on student loans and going bankrup because I just had to have that piece of paper. So… dropping classes or school is clearly not an option. I’m in it to win it dammit.

Work is something else that I’m wrestling with. I have a few options here… Yes, I’m part time and temporary with the gubbament at the moment, so that’s not so bad. It’s a paycheck for a couple months and it’s paying some of my bills. However, when this gig is up, I need to figure out what course of action to take. I can do any of the following:

1) find more part-time work that won’t interfere with my other responsibilities, but won’t give me health insurance. This means, I’ll make crap money and the crap money I do make will be spent on my insulin and supplies with maybe some left over to put towards bills.

2) find full-time work (which is insanely difficult) that offers health insurance and possibly a fatter paycheck, but gives me no time to do well in school or time to focus on other responsibilities.

3) scrap the whole going to work for someone else period and focus solely on writing and getting free-lance gigs. Intermittent pay, nothing steady for a while, but something I would love, have time for, and would allow me the time and energy to travel with Angus, take care of the house, dogs, and school.

Those are my three options and looking at them right now, none seem feasible.

Of course, there is a fourth option and that is to once again consider giving up writing. That is perhaps the most feasible out of everything.

As for the rest? Well, with all the travel lined up for Angus the next two months, out of town guests that are coming this weekend and next month, shopbot camp, the fest, and getting everything ready for those events PLUS a full course load starting tomorrow and my work with the census, the only thing I can give up is writing.

I could cry right now because I just have no idea how I’m going to manage all this and there is so much more weighing on me that I can’t even begin to comprehend it all at the moment. I do know that if someone dumps one more project in my lap and tells me to handle it, I’m going to snap. I’m stretched to my limit.

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I think my schedule is starting to get to me already. I said fuck it last night, even though I still had a million things to do. I parked my ass on the couch for a while and had a mini-movie marathon. I watched two of my favorites… Bastard Out Of Carolina and The Princess Bride. By the time I went to bed, all I could ask myself was where in hell was MY Wesley?

The boys were all here and as rowdy as ever, so I had one ear trained to upstairs and was sort of on edge for most of the night. Woke up to find the door to the garage open AGAIN and the dogs running the neighborhood. Do I need to mention the money wasted because the AC was on full blast in the front of the house? If I had pulled that shit, Angus would most definitely say something to me, but because it wasn’t, nothing will be said. After all, what can you expect from entertaining perpetual cases of arrested development?

The thing of it is, I don’t care if you practically live here on the weekends. You really have no excuse in that case because you know better. You know damn well how to shut a god damn door. You know the dogs will run the neighborhood if you don’t and you know one of the neighbors is gunning for them and will call animal control in a heartbeat. You also have the privilege of hearing Angus and I argue about the AC and the cost of cooling and heating this house year round, and you also know how he hates when *I* leave any freakin’ lights on. Yet you seem to have no problem with wasting our electricity or AC because you’re drunk/hungover and know nothing will be said to YOU about it.

And frankly, that’s not right. I’m sick of shit getting broken. I’m sick of picking up empty bottles in the yard and flower beds and I’m sick of chasing my dogs down because no one gives a fuck about them and can’t shut a damn door. Angus wants to know why I don’t party upstairs with y’all anymore. Well, it’s because it’s fucking LOUD. It’s annoying to see the lack of respect to your friends house, property and belongings. It’s beyond annoying to see people drink themselves stupid like they’re at a fucking frat house EVERY. FUCKING. WEEKEND and how much we pay monetarily for YOU to come over and not give a shit.

Most of all, I’m sick of the fact that you can get shit faced, falling down, stupid drunk and do all this crap and it’s cool. If I pulled this shit, it most certainly would not go unnoticed. I would get the snide and snarky comments about how I need to control MYSELF. What’s funny is I don’t go around breaking shit, trashing shit or wrecking other peoples houses and put their pets in possible danger. What I do get to do however, is to sleep with one eye open to make sure the house isn’t burning down, that my dogs are safe, and that no serious injuries occur. I have the pleasure of fucking babysitting 40+ year old men and then picking up after them.

Yay me.

You think I made you cry the last time I yelled at you for this sort of shit? Well, wait until this afternoon when I call you to ream out your ass for this. Because really, if you have to drink so much that you can’t even comprehend what you are doing while you are here, then you clearly have a fucking problem and I have no issue pointing it out to YOU and suggesting you get your fucking shit together before you come back.

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tact audio (tkt) KEY

1. Acute sensitivity to what is proper and appropriate in dealing with others, including the ability to speak or act without offending.

A friend of mine recently turned me on to Jen Lancaster. For those not in the know, she’s an author of ‘chick lit’ (lord, how I hate that term!) and writes about her life as a former narcissistic asshole and her current struggle to become a better person. Needless to say, I LOVE her! There are far too many similarities in our opinions and views of the world to list here, but suffice it to say that she is indeed an inspiration to me.

I’m reading her latest book, My Fair Lazy. In this particular book, she chronicles her efforts to be more ‘culturally savvy’ so as not to appear a dumb-ass in social settings, particularly important ones where she may come into contact with people of importance. I feel her pain, but on a whole different level. You see, while she suffers from an addiction to reality television and spills her knowledge of such at the most inopportune moments, I just suffer from linguistic brain vomit which in turn, creates social verbal vomit. I have this awesome tendency to say the first thing that pops in to my head and I generally manage to offend everyone within a ten mile radius. To say I’m opinionated is an understatement and I will happily share those opinions with you, whether you have asked for them or not.

I am an unmitigated asshole.

So in honor of Ms. Lancaster and her efforts to improve her social skills, I’m following her lead and will now be trying something new – Tact. It seems I lack this thing, and people have told me this for years. Perhaps It’s time I learn some and try to keep from offending the masses. However, I’m at a loss as how to accomplish this. Where does one acquire this particular skill? Is it even a learned skill or is it an innate knowledge that we are supposed to have at birth? I’m unfamiliar with the concept of keeping my fat mouth shut and not saying exactly what is on my mind. Sadly, this affliction has caused me so many problems over the years, that I know I must learn.

*sigh*

I shall start today… I have to go out and deal with the public at large today, so I will test myself and see if there are particular situations which cause my brain to blink out and spew forth this linguistic diarrhea. Perhaps if I can find a trigger, I can then set about finding a cure.

Wish me luck, and if you have any helpful tips or suggestions, I welcome them!

Toodles twiddlebugs!

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Dear Manager:

As a frequent diner at your establishment, I feel I must write to you regarding the quality of your food and customer service. As a former waitress of 20+ years, I believe I can help you in remedying your present situation.

FOOD QUALITY:
The food served at your establishment is severely lacking any quality or substance. While I understand that you are a ‘bar’ first, and restaurant second, this should in no way be reflected in the food. I see no reason why out of all your present offerings, the only things I can safely consume (and barely I might add) are a grilled cheese sandwich and fried shrimp that have been flash frozen and lack any flavor. The fact that the people in your kitchen manage to fuck up said grilled cheese is telling, and do I really need to mention how I was up all night suffering the after effects of their fuck-up?

I also understand that the cost of food is an issue for many restaurants, but I would gladly pay more for a freshly made meal than one that comes pre-mixed in a bag. I’d also like to have to option to order something MY WAY. You know… Like Burger King, only better. The fact that I can’t order your veggie wrap because the veggies come pre-mixed with mushrooms is disturbing. I can assure you that even when drunk, I still will not like the consistency of mushrooms squeaking in my mouth.

Remember-

Freshly made = GOOD.

Pre-mixed, wilted and poorly preserved = Ewww. you suck giant donkey balls.

Please reconsider the menu. If you cannot, then perhaps addressing the quality of your staff will help ensure my continued patronage.

STAFF:

I get it. You’re a sports bar that caters to the young, dumb and full of cum crowd. As such, you need to hire girls that are easy on the eyes and don’t mind cheesy pick up lines. However, could you consider hiring girls that actually know how to wait tables and tend bar? Or perhaps you can consider offering some type of formal training in these matters to your current employees?

You see, I should NEVER have to walk in to any eating establishment, sit at a dirty table or bar while the staff mills around eating, drinking, or texting/talking on their cell phones. Your employees should especially not pick the crumbs of my dirty table and flick them on the floor and call it ‘clean’. I also should never have to wait ten minutes for one of them to come over and ask me if I want a drink while I’m sitting at said dirty table/bar. I feel like I’m disturbing them when they clearly have other important matters to attend to. Mostly matters that have penis’s attached to them, but that’s neither here nor there. I should hope the fact that I have breasts wouldn’t affect the quality of service I receive.

Or perhaps it does? I noticed that my husband was asked frequently if he would like another beer while my glass remained empty and I was ignored. You may want to look into that. I also feel I need to explain that when I order a drink, I should not have to ask to taste the rum in my Pina Coloda or the Crown Royal in my highball.

There is also my concern over sanitation and proper dress for your staff. Have the laws changed that once required long hair to be kept up? When the hair from my server brushes on my plate, I’m a bit skeeved out. I don’t want to eat her hair, no matter how pretty it may be. I want to eat FOOD that has been untouched by hair dye, hair spray/gel, and a deep conditioning treatment. I would also appreciate not seeing the whale tail of their thongs while I’m eating or their ass cheeks when they bend over in skirts that barely cover their ‘landing patches.’

Also, your servers do not seem to be aware of the no texting rule while waiting on customers or sitting on coolers behind the bar to talk to the cute guy whose girlfriend just left to go to the bathroom. There’s something not quite right about seeing ass and cooter prints on the cooler that my Husband’s Corona just came out of.

If you would like to discuss the changes I have suggested, feel free to contact me. Hopefully, this situation can be resolved and I will no longer get sick from eating at your restaurant or be subjected to bad amateur/voyeuristic porn from your waitstaff.

Sincerely,
Me.

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Pookie Love and I finally had a night all to ourselves! Considering he came home Monday night, this was sort of a big deal. We just enjoyed the quiet and headed out to Gator’s for dinner and drinks. Ok… just so we’re clear, I had lots of drinks. With rum.

Lots of rum.

I do believe I got a bit ‘tipsy’ (drunk.)

No matter. We had fun and that’s all that counts!

The problem? All that rum made me sleepy and put me to bed, but the god awful food that I ate (I hate you PMS) woke me up at 1:30 in the morning and I’ve been up ever since. I finally gave up any pretense of sleeping, made coffee and now here I am, planning my day.

So, today’s agenda is:

Pick up all small items of furniture from the carpets and move them out of the way.

Vacuum.

In order to vacuum properly, this means I must dust first and get the cobwebs I missed this past weekend.

Greet Stanley Steemer between the hours of 11 am and 2 pm. (It seems that as soon as the dogs were able to walk on the hall floor, they decided to let us know their displeasure by pissing all over the carpet in the other guest room. I think it’s safe to say that we’re single handedly responsible for keeping Stanly Steemer in business at this point.)

Start reading my training materials for the new phase of the Census.

In order to do the above, I must retrieve them from my car, which needs to cleaned.

Make deposit at the bank.

Go to beer store and cigarette store.

get birthday cards for Angus’s father and my grandmother.

Mail said birthday cards.

Try to accomplish some semblance of work related things. (best done when the gangs all here and occupying Angus.)

Make sure Angus calls someone to come fix the AC in the front part of the house as the condensation pan is leaking AGAIN and dripping all over my new hall floor. (NOT FUCKING HAPPY)

Research ways to rip out and dispose of my uterus and ovaries. (did my part for humanity and no longer need them, tyvm!)

Research cures for PMS and peri-menopause. (eating like a manatee and getting banned from the local grocery store is not good)

Try to make nice with said grocery store so I can purchase dog food.

Would love to squeeze in a nap, but I just don’t see it happening….

The good news is, I have some potentially awesome news that I may be able to share soon… yay!

Oh crap. That bright yellow burny thing in the sky is winking at me.

FML.

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