Thursday, February 28, 2013

The Day I Learn to Wear Undies

Mama Kat hosts a writers workshop. This is my chosen assignment. Topic: Show us something you wore.

The Day I Learn to Wear Undies least to work anyway. Some may know, I'm a custom faux and mural painter. I love my job. I get to be creative almost every single day. AND I get paid for it.

It's not uncommon to find me on a job site that is a new build or a remodel. On those days, there are any number of strange people also working (read: Hot Guys) around the site.  All day long I bend, kneel, lay on the floor, go up and down ladders and so on. I realized very early on that my job, mainly the way I move around to do my job, leads to a lot of wedgies.

My simple solution? Just don't wear underwear. Because to pull my creeping draws outta my arse is something I find very awkward in a public setting. Just as awkward as picking ones nose or farting in a room full of young construction (hot) guys.

Thank God, yesterday was not a construction site day. The only dude on site was my brother, who I do most of my sub-contracting for.

As I was moving along the floor, doing some work on the baseboards, I noticed my ass suddenly got very cold. Immediately I thought I'd sat on a wet rag or something. Imagine my horror when I reached back to feel my wet jeans and instead came in contact with skin. Ass skin! Because of course I was not wearing underwear.

Panic set in. We were in a clients house. The clients were home along with their young grandchild. I didn't have on a long shirt. There were no spare clothes in my car. Everyone was going to see my BUTT!

Fast forward about 30 seconds and you would have found me standing naked, from the waste down, in the clients bathroom desperately trying to mend my torn pants with painter tape. There I was praying they wouldn't walk in, because of course the lock on that door didn't work, to find me defiling their designer bathroom. All while listening to my brother laugh his ass off at me.

The demise of my favorite work pants led to a lunch time wardrobe change in the form of hitting up the thrift store near by. The whole drive over there I prayed they had something with the tags still on them that would be even close to my size. I would put money on the fact that thrift stores do not wash their donations. And I'd rather wear my torn jeans that risk someone elses crotch crud touching my skin.

I was successful, in finding a pair of elastic waist khakis and they were only 2 sizes too big for me. But hey at least then I wouldn't risk splitting the ass out of them.

Mama’s Losin’ It

You can play along too if you want. Just go visit Kat for the skinny.

Random Thursday Thoughts

Back when I was an unemployed dedicated blogger, I used to participate in Random Tuesday Thoughts, RTT for short. I've not been able to find any evidence that this still exists. But seeing as it fit the format in which my brain spews information, I'm going to continue it in the form of Thursday Thoughts.  If you know what happened to the original RTT, please, Do Share!

First...Where have all the good blogs gone? (Sung in the harmony of "Where have all the cowboys gone?") I fully expected to pick up right where I left off.  Except most of my favorite blogs aren't active anymore. These people made me laugh! A Lot! How dare these bitches go have a life somewhere other than bloggerville!

Also, I'm feeling quite stupid in reference to the format changes. I've found another blog I really like, ( Finding Fairy Tales ) but can't figure out how in the hell to comment to it.

Is it unreasonable to expect a 9 year old to be able to get herself ready for school in the morning? I give her one hour to get dressed, eat breakfast and brush her hair and teeth. This doesn't seem that complicated to me. So why is it every morning she almost misses the bus?

As a custom painter, I've had the opportunity to observe two different points in the spectrum of the economic scale. Middle class, where the homes don't cost more than 200,000 and Upper class, ranging from 1 to 6 Million dollar homes.

If you were thinking the "rich" people are more concerned about their belongings, you would be wrong. I've observed an odd phenomenon where these people leave their houses open, as in unlocked. Even while they are away from it running errands and such. And if they are away on vacation, which happens a lot, they give us a key. We are always free to come and go as we please.

The middle class clients, are far less inclined to give anyone free reign of their homes. Things are locked up tight. No work can be done while they are out of town. And if they are running late on their errands, we end up waiting in the driveway for them to return home before we can get to work.

Today, Itty Bit wore a pair of jeans, a rainbow tie-dyed t-shirt and cowboy boots to school. She thinks she is a fashionista. I think she is a unique individual.

I think coffee makers should be more technologically advanced. As a matter of fact, I think it every morning while I wait for the liquid of the Gods to brew.  They should come up with a reserve for grounds to last at least a week (14 pots). And have a water line that you can hook to your sink system. They should also be "smart" enough to figure out when you are going to come down for your first cup and be ready to serve up that first cup. I mean, my freezer automatically makes ice and knows when it needs to stop. We have phones with broads who talk back to us, find stuff for us, give us directions and type out our text messages. I think the coffee pot situation is far more critical than either of those two things. I'm a single mom. I work full-time. I'm basically a walking zombie. I can't possibly be expected to remember to set the pot up on a timer every night.

FYI: a lot is not one word. We say it as one word, but in written text is should be a (space) lot. NOT alot. Also, y'all, while slang, has a proper spelling. It is the combination of two words; you and all. The apostrophe goes after the y not after the a. Y'all not ya'll. Got it?

Okay, that's enough for me today. I'm too stupid to do linky or any of that crap. If you want to share your randomness, just leave a link in the comment section and I will pop over to see whats brewing.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

14 years in the making

Dear DQ
Happy 14th Birthday.
I love you no matter what.

Love, Mom

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Darling Daughters

Some of you know that I had DQ and Itty Bit 5 years apart almost exactly to the day. In fact, had DQ been born 6 minutes earlier and Itty bit 4 minutes later, they would share the same birth date.

Itty Bit's birthday was yesterday and DQ turns 14 tomorrow. And while I adore my children, it has NOT been an easy road.

Itty Bit used to adore me. She thought I was the greatest thing since sliced bread, or the Beastie Boys. But as of late she doesn't like me very much. It's not her fault. She is a young child, forced to deal with divorce. The Douche has planted seeds of doubt in her beautiful head.

It's hard not to bawl your eyes out when your baby says things like,

Daddy just wanted us to be a family....
Daddy says you're being selfish....
Daddy didn't want to break us all up, you did!

For my part, I understand that it's critical not to put my child in the middle of this. So I hold my tongue while my heart aches and aches. I used to be her super hero. Now I'm the person who tore apart her family.

I know it's not easy for her either. Her daddy has moved on and had another baby girl with someone else. And God love my child... When asked how her first visit with her new sister went, she answered, "The visit was fine. Mostly they paid attention to dinner and that baby." Itty Bit has quickly deduced that she is not daddy's baby girl anymore. She now equates herself to the middle child. I told her, "Well, I'm not having any more kids, so you'll always be my baby girl."

DQ, on the other hand, is my heartbreak. I've failed this child in so many ways. Not for lack of trying, but for lack of know how. The first child is who we learn on. And Bless DQ for teaching me how to be a better mother to Itty Bit. But it's not enough to make up for my failure with her.

She is out of control. For the last year we've been seeing a therapist. She was diagnosed with depression and boarder line bi-polar. I won't get into all the self damaging things she's done or the ways she's endangering our family. Right now I'm terrified that she has some sort of psychosis or personality disorder. The moment you realize you don't know how to help your child is soul crushing.

We spent 10 hours in the ER trying to get her a bed in a psych hospital Sat. I'm wavering between two poles myself right now.
I don't want her to think I don't want her anymore.
I can't allow her to destroy my family, herself included, anymore.

I keep telling DQ, as a mother, it's my job to protect her, even from herself.

Monday, February 25, 2013

Itty and Bitty

Today, my Itty Bit turns 9 years old. You remember Itty Bit don'tcha? The one who can, without fail, make me smile... Every Single Day. Most days she makes me laugh, which I really need. Itty Bit is my youngest daughter and while she is turning 9, she is not getting any bigger. Tipping the scales at a mear 54 lbs, she is very petite.

She is growing up to be my little punker girl. I love that she DOESN'T fall all over herself about Justen Bieber. She'd rather listen to the Beastie Boys and Pantera. She digs clothes with cute skulls on them. She adores Hello Kitty, much to my dismay. Itty Bit has a very interesting style, but it's important that she "match". At least as far as she is concerned. She doesn't particularly care what other kids think of her clothes or the music she likes. She is a person, all of her own design.

I know, all moms say this, but Itty Bit is smart. Like, scary smart. This 3rd grader could read and understand War and Peace should the desire to do so striker her.  People (other than me) have said she is "Wise beyond her years" and she surprises them with her ability to "Understand and contribute to adult conversations." We have to be careful what we say around Itty Bit.

 She is all about Girl Scouts. Which makes perfect sense to me. I wished I'd signed her up earlier. She is compationate and sticks up for what she believes in. She doesn't tolerate bullies picking on other kids.

She'll talk your ear off if you let her.
She poses questions for which there are no answers.
She gives more hugs than I thought humanly possible.
She is a pack rat with a pig pen for a bedroom.
She makes it very hard to stay mad at her. 

I am very blessed to be her mom. 

Sunday, February 24, 2013

I Need to, huh?

Openly, I admit to being a head strong, independent person. I don't like being told what to do. I think it's why I must have a job I love. Nothing sucks quite as much as being told to do something you loath.

Boss: Go clean the men's restroom.

Me: Nah, I quit!

I don't know if 3 words irritate me more than, "You Need To..."? My response, in my head anyway, is 'You need to fuck off.'  It's not always a good idea to talk to other people this way though.

My mom uses the phrase in many creative ways:
When my kids were little...
During my divorce...
Yelling is as bad as spanking...

You get the point. My mom, bless her heart, likes to tell me what to do. As far as she's concerned I don't know my ass from my elbow. Even at 38, she thinks I still need to be guided through life. I can almost tolerate her telling me what do to, not that I take her advice often, because she is my mom.

My roommie telling me how to live my life...? Oh Hell NO! Just Friday she tried a couple of them on me:

"You need to tell DQ to stay out of Itty Bits room. You don't want her to get sick, too." 
Mostly I think she doesn't like my DQ and tries to make her life unpleasant.
"You need to get Itty Bits make up work from school so she can do it over the weekend."
As I'm getting ready to walk out the door for work.

These two seem pretty innocent, but she's been known to make her opinion public with other zingers such as:

"You need to slap her in the face when she talks to you like that."
Speaking about DQ, and her love for talking back to me.
"You need to stop letting Itty Bit go on visitations with Douche."
My lawyer strongly disagrees. So did the judge. I have an aversion to jail, but thanks.

Hey roomie...
YOU need to get off your ass and clean something in this pit of a house that YOU own!
You need to give your husband some sex so he'll stop being cranky!
You need to come back to reality and stop thinking the world revolves around you!
You need to keep your opinions on child rearing to yourself. Because your two children are both grown up drug addicts. You don't even know if the eldest is dead or alive. Clearly, you don't know shit!

Another one who gets my panties in a bunch... Bam. While Bam is around my age, he does not have any children, of his own. But that didn't stop him from verbalizing his opinion on how I should deal with mine.

While I believe Bam's suggestions are well intentioned without malice, I know he doesn't have the experience to speak.

You need to gain DQ's respect.
Actually I didn't do anything to lose her respect. She is being a bat shit crazy teenager.
You need to let Itty Bit call her dad.
No I don't. The court order does not specify that. And she didn't ask to.
You need to spend more quality time with DQ. Take her out and do something.
Sorry, but I'm not rewarding bad behavior by spending money on the movies or new clothes.

Unlike my mom, who I love, or my roomie, who I loath, I've explained my disdain for the phrase to Bam. I told him that nothing makes me want to do the complete opposite faster than telling me I need to...! I had no problem telling him that he doesn't have kids, and he hasn't lived with DQ for 14 years. He really isn't qualified to decide what should be done. I told him that I need him for support, and someone to vent to. That I was never requesting him to solve my problems.

He says he understands and he will try to stop. Every now and then he will still make a suggestion. I just raise my brow and say, "I need to, huh?"

Bam: Sorry, babe.

Yeah... and for the record, I don't like "See, what did I tell ya?" either!!!

Saturday, February 23, 2013

I'm a Chat Goober

I'm going to be sneaky and post this on a Sat. This way you guys can't say I didn't tell ya. But if you're paying attention, it'll help the story along.

About six months after I kicked The Douche out, I started getting lonely. I was so exhausted from working a labor intensive job, I didn't have time to go out and make new friends. I didn't even have the energy to meet up with the few friends I had left.

Enter the chat scene.

I hopped around for a few days until I found a local yahoo chat that I liked. The people were mostly snarky and quick witted, meaning I fit right in.  I made some chat friends and now and then we got together for a chat gathering. I felt like a super chat dork, but whatever. I wasn't as lonely.

Skip ahead six month, to this past summer. That evening found me bitchin' and moaning about work. I'd been refinishing cabinets all day. I'd been at floor level where the terrain was an unforgiving natural stone tile. My knees hurt.

This didn't garner much attention from the group, because I'm always bitchin' about something. There was one exception. A loud mouth we'll call Bam. He, of course, commented something along the lines of  'If you didn't give head all day blah blah blah.' And I, of course, thought he was another uncreative sex pest. I mean really? That joke is so obvious it isn't even worth typing. But boy did he think it was clever.

Turns out he was right. After I properly bitched him out for being an unimaginative, immature ass, I actually talked to him. Well he apologized first, of course! No, that line wasn't very creative but it did get my attention. And then, my sass got his. I think we were up past midnight "chatting". Just a get to know ya kind of thing.

And when he wasn't trying to show off, he was clever and cute. I was NOT looking for a boyfriend, or even a date. I was hanging out with my chat friends being a chat goober. But after a couple nights of chat marathons with Bam, we decided to go out. Coffee and a movie. In a public place, Glock on hip. (I'm not stupid. I've heard the stories.)

When I pulled up he was patiently waiting on me in his pretty blue Beemer. As I walked over to the car, I was greeted by a pretty boy with a pretty face splitting grin. Instantly I was transported to some strange universe where I feel like a giddy dumb girl. Notice I said "feel"? I didn't act like it, of course.

The movie sucked. He laughed at me when I jumped. He did not try to kidnap me. I did not shoot him. In my book that was success.

A couple days later, we walked the boardwalk art show. Come to find out, he hadn't dated seriously in over 2 years. Bad break-up yada yada. And I of course had not dated since, oh god, 2001, when I met The Douche. We were both nervous, being out of practice and all. We were both "giddy" with the possibilities.

Couple days after that, I watched him skate, (Yes! Like on a board) the local... um what do you call that thing... Half Pipe? Bam rocked the $300 shades and his DC shoes on an old beat up board. It was cute.

And hey, did I mention Bam if fuckin' hot? No? Well he totally is. I know, now I sound like a giddy dumb girl. But it's true. At one point, when he had his shirt off, and I could see his nice chest and perfect sexy "V", I told him "You're so pretty." He looked at me like I was nuts. I am nothing if not honest. Or is it blunt?

Anywho...I've dragged Bam into my crazy life and we've been together since. Well except those two times when I went mental and needed my space. He says I'm beautiful and I believe him. I catch him staring at me with love sick puppy eyes. Even when I'm in last nights makeup with my hair in a nest on top of my head. All he's asked of me is that I stop breaking up with him when I need my space. Just to tell him what I need and he'll make it happen.

Now... Before anyone gets on their soap box about all this, let me make some things clear. I waited a whole year before I even considered dating anyone. While Bam has done some family things with us, I've made it clear to the girls that his is my friend and only wants to he their friend. He has no intention of replacing Douche, er, Dad. And more often than not, the amount of time Bam and I actually spend together is seriously hampered. When Itty Bit is away at her dads and DQ is spending the night with someone, I am at Bam's. On a rare occasion, we'll go do something after I get my girls to bed. Mostly we are reduced to talking on the phone and chatting on the internet

So there you have it.  A little bit of happy in my current state of hell.

Friday, February 22, 2013

The Case Against Marriage

The one and only point in my case against marriage is divorce. When we accept that life is not a fairytale and there is no guarantee of a happy ending, it's much easier to see my point.

Did I mention how much I missed blogging? I feel this urge to catch you all up on everything that's happened in the last 2 years. I won't bore you with the details though. I'm not that cruel. I'll just give you some of the highlights.

Please Note:
From here on out my husband will be referred to as The Douche.

Divorce is hard. I had no idea it takes so much work to sever a contract such as this. When I first kicked him out I told people, "I'll never get married again. I'd rather take my tattoos off with a belt sander!" I think I'll always feel that way. If I get to the point of spending the rest of my life with someone, they will love me enough to understand my views on marriage. Or they can continue the journey without me.

It's expensive. And yeah, I have a job, but it barely covers my bills. He refuses to pay his child support. We still use some food stamps. I can't afford a lawyer. So I'm stuck with a legal aid guy, who is so swamped he doesn't know if he's coming or going. Meanwhile The Douche has a shark of a lawyer. I'm getting my ass handed to me in court. It took me a year worth of court dates to figure something out: My lawyer is not as interested in winning as he is in keeping the peace. I've been taking his advice under the assumption he's doing his best. Boy was I wrong. If we were to judge each hearing on a win/lose basis, I've lost every one. I talked to another lawyer that I'd heard might be willing to work with me on money. He won't take my case because it's too complicated, and doesn't think any other lawyer will work with my money situation either.

How is it that the playing field is so unfair? It doesn't matter that he was a complete asshole who used drugs and drank our whole marriage. It doesn't matter that it took a protective order to get him out of my house. All that matters is, he can afford a lawyer, so he wins. I'm still looking for another lawyer.

Divorce is unfair. At least in Virginia. As a mother of minor children going through a divorce, it's frowned upon to have a boyfriend. Even if the case drags on for years. But it's perfectly acceptable for him to live with his new girlfriend three months after I kick him out. No one sees any problem with him knocking her up, (poor girl) while he is still technically married to me. But I can't go on a date!

Oh man, I do sound bitter! Let me clear that up right now. I was thrilled when he got a girlfriend who lived 45 mins away from me. It meant he was no longer sitting outside of my house at 4 am every morning. He quit stalking me when he moved in with her. I thought that was wonderful.

His lawyer tired to appeal the Protective Order. I explained to my lawyer: I don't need the protective order anymore. I moved to a house with an alarm system. I bought a German Shepherd who sounds terrifying. I open carry a Glock 34. I don't live in fear anymore. But I DO NOT want the order overturned. Because I have no doubt some other poor girl will have to go the same route to get rid of him. When that happens I want the courts to see he's had these problems before. I feel sorry for the girl he's with now. They have a newborn baby together. She is tied to him for life. It's my hope that if she needs to get out, my protective order might make it easier on her. The order expired before we could go to court about it. So it stands in his record.

Divorce is funny. When I took off the rose colored glasses and really looked at my ex, I laughed. A lot! He named our daughter Alexis, so he could call her Lex. As in Lex Luther from Superman. About a month ago, his girlfriend gave birth to another daughter. They named her Lana, a character from Smallville, a show about...Superman. I laughed so hard I nearly peed. I wonder if they have a boy will they name him Kalel?

Foxy Friday

Remember the good 'ole days when I would post pictures of hot guys for us all to drool over with our morning coffee?

This may not fit into that category. Sorry if I got your hopes up.  It is however a little picture tour from the last 2 years I thought I'd share.

 This is the new tattoo I have. Well one of them. It's not exactly what I asked for, but that's another story for another day.

Remember when I was a spaz about Twilight? Well I got to meet the guy who plays Jasper Cullen when he came on tour with his band. Sweet huh?

And I found another band that I really like. Framing Hanley. Got to hang for a bit with their lead singer, Nixon. You should look up the band. They are very good.

This is the most recent picture of me (right) with my bestie Abby. If you ever get the chance to see Halestorm live DO IT! Best live concert I've ever seen. No pyro or fan fare, but man can that girl sing. It was an awesome show. Even caught a guitar pick between the hooters.

 This is Arejay Hale the drummer from Halestorm, crowd surfing at above mentioned show. He passed right over us and of course we didn't let him hit the ground.

And that'll about do it for this weeks Foxy Friday.

Thursday, February 21, 2013

I'll Be Back

Okay, fine, I am back. Did ya miss me? No? Well that's alright, because I missed you. 

Jeez, I think the last time I blogged was the end of 2010!. Shame on me you say... well I have multiple good excuses. Some of which I may even get into, who knows.  But mostly, I miss my venue for venting...telling the world what I think...jumping up and down on my soap box. You get the point.

So to pick up where we left off...

I kicked my husband out. Yeah... it wasn't as simple as it sounds. I did ask him for a divorce and he refused to leave. I moved into the living room and slept on the couch for 6 months. Until one summer night when I woke up with a jolt. I looked up to find him standing over me, arms crossed at his chest, with the most intense look of malice on his face. What did I think? "Oh my god, he's going to kill me." That may seem like an over reaction, but our lives had turned into a Lifetime movie about how dangerous marriage can get.

That was the summer of 2011. 

It took a Protective Order to actually get him out of my house, but I did it. Yay me! And let me tell ya, life has been one instance of falling off a cliff, over and over and over again.  But, we got away. And I should thank my lucky stars.

We lost our house. He had been responsible for the bills until I kicked him out. When I went into his room to sort through the hoards of crap, I found all the bills, unpaid, some for as long as 3 months. They turned off my power, my water and gas. I had to get food stamps. My mom made my car payment for 6 months. And whats the point of all this whining you ask... We survived! My point is, paying for our groceries with foodstamps and living with roommies I don't really care for is better than living with my husband.

I've had to suck it up and not be proud for a year and a half now. I hate it, but it's still better than living with my husband.

So you want my good news now? I mean besides the fact that I left the douche? I have a job I like. I'm self employed as a painter. I get to do faux treatments on walls and paint murals on occasion. I am very lucky to get up and look forward to going to work.

I have given up on being a tattoo artist. This is actually good news, I promise. I would need 2 years of spousal support to re-train in the industry. The judge would likely award it to me. But there is no agency to enforce it, so it's a waste of my time. For now. I've diverted to my second choice which was a uniformed police officer. I have started the application process for the local department. Cross your fingers, toes and eyes. Yeah, giving up tattooing is the pits. But I'll get over it.

And the last item for today. I'm going to be moving. Yeah, moving again in such a short time, sucks. But it's going to be a big improvement for me and The Girls. You remember them right? Itty Bit and DQ.

So until next time, hopefully tomorrow, I'll leave you with a smile and a sigh. It's good to blog again.