During my time here, I have noticed a curious phenomenon amongst you… NONE of you know how to drive and I can’t for the LIFE of me figure out how y’all got your damn drivers licenses. So, I’m writing a letter with some pointers in an effort to improve your driving skills.

• If you are feeling the need to conserve your gas by driving 10 miles under the speed limit, then perhaps you should re-think your choice of vehicle. After all, suck-pig SUV’s, Dooley’s (among other types of trucks) and mini-vans are notorious for using up this precious natural resource.

• If you are the mother of ONE 9-pound ‘Baby on Board and drive one of the aforementioned suck pigs to cart your little bundle of joy around because you think it will keep him/her safe, then maybe YOU should re-think driving 10 miles under the fucking speed limit in the fast lane while texting/talking on your cell phone, you stupid, stupid bitch.

• If you are a senior citizen, desperately trying to hold on to some semblance of independence, I commend you. All of you special little Q-tips hold a special place in my heart… However, you may want to prove your independence in ways OTHER than driving. May I suggest a ballroom dancing class or maybe Tai-chi? Make sure to take the bus!

• To the gang-bangers and wanna-be gang-bangers’ in your low-riders trying to be all bad-ass and intimidating… I have only this to say to you… FUCK YOU. I have come across bigger and badder than you could ever hope to be and come out on top. I will trounce your ass like the crazy little psycho white bitch that I am. Make no mistake about that. Oh, and for the record, wagging your tongue at me is not endearing or a turn on. I’ve had bigger and badder than you also, and would never consider wasting my time with the likes of someone who thinks this display will make me drop my pants or to my knees. Get the fuck over yourself little boi.

• If you are at a red light that turns green, there is no reason on god’s green earth that you need to wait a full 30 seconds before proceeding at a snail’s pace… especially when the line of cars behind you is honking at your color blind ass. Fucking MOVE.

That is all for now, but I will be adding to this list periodically as you continue to piss me off with your apparent lack of skills.

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Taking these beasts outside requires a bit of vigilance. The batteries in their collars are dead and Desdemone will take off. However, she is not the problem as she always comes back within a few minutes. It’s Frank you have to watch like a hawk. Their electric collars are on the counter in the food room. They still wear them even though the batteries are dead at the moment. It helps for some reason with Frank.

IMPORTANT FRANK NOTES:

• He usually only tries to get out of the yard at the end of driveway (the garage end). We have the bushes that are still waiting to be planted lined up there, but there is a small gap that he figured out how to squeeze through. He’s also figured out how knock them over to get out. It’s actually very cunning. Anyway, the best way to avoid this is to park your car directly next to the gap (in front of the Cub Cadet) and just play ‘Goalie’.

• Let both of the dogs out of the front door into the front yard. For some reason, they’re lazy and won’t try to run out the yard right away. This will give you time to get to your goalie spot at the end of the driveway. Usually what sets Frank off on his mission to escape the yard is when someone drives up in the driveway of Jimmy’s house next door. It irritates Frank for some reason, but there is more on that later…

• Frank’s favorite poo spots are on the right hand side of the front lawn (facing the street) and in the back yard near the fire pit. You will want to pay attention to whether or not he has poo’ed yet or not, because when he is done poo’ing, that will be when you can get him in the house.

• Getting Frank in is another exercise in frustration. You have to open the screen to the front door and smack it with your hand a couple time and yell ‘FRANK SNACKS’ to get his attention. This is when the games usually begin… he will generally make a bee-line to the front door and then fake you out and run around to the back of the house. This means you have to run into to the house, and open the slider and yell ‘FRANK SNACKS’ again. You will wait a about a minute only to realize he has faked you out again and then you have to run BACK to the front door to see if he’s there. You may have to do this a couple times cuz really… he’s an asshole, lol.

• Once you manage to get Frank and Ditty in the house, there is another game you have to play called ‘the Ditty Dawg is greedy and all Frank Snacks are for her’ game. When they come in, they run underneath your feet all the way to the food room (kitchen). The Frank Snacks are in a cookie jar on the antique sewing machine, next to their food and water. They each generally get one Frank Snack a piece, but Ditty is Devious. She will follow you right to the cookie jar and sit and look cute while you give her Snack, and Frank will wait in the doorway to the food room and wait for his. The problem here is while you think Ditty is still eating hers, you will give Frank his Snack and he will invariably drop it because he’s retarded. This is when Ditty will swoop in out of nowhere and snatch it up. This means you have to get another Frank Snack for him, which Ditty will attempt to eat also… because as noted previously, ALL FRANK SNACKS ARE FOR DITTY!! Try to make sure Frank keeps it in his mouth. Ditty is getting sort of fat.

• They have a water bucket, but they prefer to drink from the potty in Angus’s bathroom off the food room. I cannot explain this disgusting preference, but there you have it. If you could just flush it when you leave so it gives them fresh water that would be great!

• I left the dog food next to the feeder dish in case it runs low.

IF FRANK GETS OUT OF THE YARD:

This also requires a herculean effort to get him back home. I hope you have had boot camp training to prepare.
As stated previously, the only thing that really sets him off on this particular course of action is if someone drives up in Jimmy’s driveway. If he see’s you standing there, he will generally pretend he really wasn’t trying to get out, but you’re smart and will know better. If he happens to get out, DON’T PANIC. Here is his ‘route’ and the steps that will guide you on your quest…

The route:

• He will run over to Jimmy’s yard
• Then he will either run towards the creek or down Jimmy’s driveway toward the road. Chances are he will head towards the road.
• He will make his way to the white house directly across the street from Jimmy’s
• From there, he will make a sharp cut to the right and go behind the little ranch house (Homer’s house) to the evil lady’s house that own Hughie.
• Frank does NOT like Hughie, although I don’t know why. More importantly, he does not like the evil bitch that lives there because she is a cunt.
• This usually where you will be able to catch up with him (if you’re quick).If you’re not quick enough, you will either find down by Jeb’s butcher shop on RT 17, or down by Steve’s house. Every once in a while he downs by Keith’s house.

The steps:

• First, you must have some sort of Frank Snack on you.
• You must have you’re my car keys on you (they are located on the kitchen counter)
• Take the keys, the frank snack and yourself and get into my car.
• Drive to the evil lady’s house behind the Ranch house directly across the street from our house.
• If Frank is there, park my car in the street. Otherwise, she will yell at you. You may have to chase frank down which requires running and cunning strategy. Keep yelling ‘Frank Snacks’ at him and wave it around so he catches the scent of it. (side note: wear comfy shoes for running. I have twisted more ankles from wearing flip flops and clogs)
• You may be required to tackle him, pull him off Hughie and listen to a barrage of verbal abuse from the evil bitch that lives there. Don’t worry about Hughie… he’s awesome and made of win!
• Once you catch him, drag him to the car and throw him in the back and give him frank snack.
• If you don’t find him there, you may have to troll around the neighborhood for him. You will almost always find him at that lady’s house or the above mentioned hot spots.
• Once you get back here, bring him in the house, but do NOT give him any more frank snacks. He doesn’t deserve them for making work out like that.

Once both dogs are in the house, their collars need to come off and put back on the counter in the food room for Steve. When you leave, leave through the back door of the garage and make sure it it’s closed tight. If you have any questions, call me!!!

Thank you!!! I shall reward your selflessness upon my return!

(oh, I left ‘bitter is the new black’ on the counter next to the collars for you and take that bud 55 stuff by the cooler in the garage with you!)

From Steve:

To Whom it May Concern:

This dog instruction manual below for the most part is true. This I know from (bad) experience.

this is my solution to the major problems. I have left two ropes in which to tie these bastards the back yard tree. Once you have done this, help yourself to any adult beverage in the beer cooler in the garage.

Steve

P.S. The booze is upstairs over the garage in “Man-Town’

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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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