Peek a Boo

The house...? The house is fantastic. Original hard wood floors. New tile in the kitchen and bathrooms. Speaking of bathrooms, both have these big bowed-out tubs, perfect for a hot, relaxing bath. It's the first thing Itty Bit did when we got here.

Granite counter-tops and new cabinets. Stainless steel appliances. Big rooms, huge yard... Yes, everything is just about perfect. 

But the house is not what gets me up in the morning. It's the ginormous detached garage. This is what makes everyday feel like Christmas morning. Every morning, I wake up and can't wait to get out to my shop. It's got power, so there is light and heat. I'm going to have to work on the heat situation, because these 2 little heaters are barely taking the edge off. But what can I expect in a space that could easily hold 4 cars!?!?!

 I've already done my first job in the shop. Instead of taking these entry way doors to his shop, my brother had them delivered here. Yay! I got to work on them when it was convenient for me. I'm far more productive at 4 am than I am at 4 pm.

I've been collecting pallets. I need the free wood to build things for my shop. I spent yesterday morning tearing apart pallets. I only hit myself with the hammer twice. And I may suddenly be in need of a new 5-in-1, but I got it done. Then last night I cut, and drilled and screwed my heart out. The end result was a heavy duty work bench. Didn't cost me a penny. Just some sweat equity. 

I walked around home depot for a bit yesterday. Love that place. I priced out the cost of a rack system so I can do kitchen cabinets in my shop. Then I went and drooled over the pretty power tools. 

I love it. Every single minute of it. The possibilities are endless. 

Friendly Advice

It's that time of year again. When we're consumed with Turkey day and holiday shopping.

Black Friday. You either love it or hate it. There is no in between. I used to love it. Keeping in mind that I'm up at 3am every morning after the time change. There was a comradery about black Friday shopping. All us crazy fools were in it together. 

But in recent years the corporate greed has made it anything but fun. It's now a cut throat time of year, with stores opening earlier and earlier. If a black Friday sale starts on Thursday, it's not black Friday. It's Greedy Thursday.

It's bad enough that these non-essential retailers have their employees working. They've also managed to convince the consumer to cut the time with their families in order to go spend money. They have played upon our fears of not getting the best deal or saving the most money. They are playing you for a fool.

I, for one, refuse to shop on Thursday. Hell no! Spending time with my family is FAR more important than spending money. 

I'd like to encourage you not to feed into the frenzy. It's only happening because we play into it. If we all decided 'they can go fuck themselves', instead of shopping on Thanksgiving, I'm sure it would shift back to Friday.

Do you hear me? It only works because we allow it to. Don't let greed dictate how you spend your time or your money.

Now, I want you all to enjoy the holiday season with the people who mean the most to you. I will be doing the same. 

Also, I will be moving, so the blog will take a back seat until we get settled. We'll catch up soon. Until then, Love Peace and Turkey Grease. Or ham drippings, whatever the case may be.

Catch ya on the flip side.

Yay

Recall yesterday's post, Hurry Up and Wait? And just that fast we're done waiting. 

We got the house!!! 

And now, I find myself standing here, looking around at all my stuff saying, "I need boxes. I need to get Itty Bit's school straightened out. I need to get another bathroom set, because we have 2 now. There is so much to do!!!"

I think I could have this place packed up in three days, tops. Part of me wants to get started now!!! Because I've got some free time, and with this looming, I feel like I'm wasting it. Surely there are things we won't need before we move? Everything is so scattered, maybe I should just organize it all? Make it easier for myself?

Mr. Security is going to hire some movers to pack and unpack the truck. That will make my life a little easier. All I have to do is get it boxed up. We can start moving in next Monday. AHHHH

But what I really need to do is slow down, take a breath and deal with one thing at a time. We're doing Thanksgiving dinner here in 2 days. And I'm sort of thankful that it's going to be small this year. I'm going to take the time to enjoy this family holiday. The first Thanksgiving with Mr. Security. The first time in years that Itty Bit will be with us. I need to take stock in what's important. Time...Family...Memories.

After that, I'll turn into a packing, mad woman. 

Hurry Up and Wait

As previously mentioned, Mr. Security and I are looking for a house. We were originally going to wait until the first of the year but shit happens. In this case, a great house with a huge detached garage happened. So we put in an applications for it.

Now everything is in a state of flux. We are waiting to hear back about this house and it's got my brain kind of frazzled. If we get approved, everything will move VERY quickly. 

I don't like not knowing what's going on. I need timelines. I need to plan and prepare. I'm not a fan of running around like a chicken with my head cut off.

I want to start holiday projects but I don't know where we'll be at Christmas. I don't think it's a good idea to start building a train when we might be packing in a week. I'm thinking about cookies and how many we should make this year. If we're in the middle of switching houses, do I really want to add the chaos of thousands of cookie to the mix? Again, probably not a good idea. 

As much as I love that house, I'll be okay if we don't get it. I'll be able to relax and enjoy the holidays with my family. There won't be as much stress and pressure. Then again, if we do get it, I have something else to be excited about. I'll be able to start on these other big projects sooner.

Grrrr, this state of flux!!! I need this to be resolved so I can start preparing... For whatever this next month will bring.

Time to Cook Time to Eat

You like cranberry sauce? You know... the kind that comes our of a can and looks like said can? Yeah, me too. Or at least I used to. Until I figured out how to make real cranberry sauce. Then there was no turning back.

Recently I've been accused of being a good cook. It's not something I ever really considered myself; a good cook. But I suppose I'll take that title. I cook to my own tastes. I make what I think is yummy. I think everyone could do it, if they were inclined. And with the rising popularity of this new thing called the internet, it's really a no brainer.

So Thanksgiving... In recent years I've hosted everyone. This year will be no exception. My Mom is getting up in years, and she's sort of passed the torch. Or did I take it? I'd rather have the chaos here, so she doesn't get stuck with the mess and what-not.

I love to cook for a group. I love having everyone here. I love everyone squeezed around my little table talking animatedly, passing food, drinking wine and being a family.

This year, I decided to make a big ham. It occurred to me that I don't actually like turkey. And if I'm the cook, I get to choose. So ham it is. 

I've already started "cooking". I picked up the rest of our Thanksgiving dinner. I made the hummus, and the cranberry sauce and stuck them in the freezer. The theory is, if I do a little  pre-planning, I'll only have to deal with the ham and potatoes and green beans, the day of. 

This, folks, is the beginning of the end of my summer body. Halloween candy be damned. I love cranberry sauce and twice baked potato casserole. And, because I'm such an awesome chick, I'm going to share the recipes with you.

First up, cranberry sauce. Yeah, opening the can is pretty easy. But when you realize how simple it is to make real cranberry sauce, you might just be kickin yourself. Are you ready?

1 bag (12 oz) raw cranberries
1 cup of sugar
1 cup of water

Put all three ingredients into a stove top pot, at the same time and set to a low boil. Let it boil, stirring occasionally for 5 minutes. Remove from heat and let it cool without a lid.

BAM! Cranberry sauce. And here's another tip for ya. If you forget those easy directions, the recipe is on every bag of cranberries in the supermarket. Trust me, you want to make this stuff.

Now, for my other favorite Thanksgiving dish... Twice baked potato casserole. Mashed potatoes are all well and good. But they got nothing on this dish. I only make it once a year. You'll see why when you take note of the ingredients.  

Ingredients

10 large russet baking potatoes (about 7 pounds total)
8 tablespoons (1 stick) plus 1 tablespoon unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup sour cream
1/2 cup heavy cream
2 teaspoons salt
1 1/2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
3/4 pound bacon, cooked until crisp and crumbled
1/2 pound sharp white Cheddar, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
3/4 pound mild Cheddar, grated (3 cups)
1/2 cup finely chopped green onions
3 eggs, lightly beaten

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

Scrub the potatoes well and rinse under cool running water. Pat dry with paper towels and prick the potatoes in several places with a fork. Place the potatoes in the oven and bake for 1 hour to 1 hour and 15 minutes, or until tender. Remove from the oven and set aside on a wire rack until cool enough to handle.

When the potatoes have cooled, cut each potato in half and, using a spoon or a melon baller, scoop the flesh out of the skins, leaving as little flesh as possible. Place the potato flesh in a large bowl and add 1 stick of the butter, the sour cream, heavy cream, salt, and pepper and mash until chunky-smooth. Add the bacon, cubed white Cheddar, half of the grated Cheddar, the green onions, and eggs and mix thoroughly.

Butter a 9 by 13-inch casserole with the remaining tablespoon of butter and reduce the oven temperature to 375 degrees F.

Place the seasoned potato mixture in the prepared casserole and top with the remaining grated Cheddar. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until bubbly around the edges and heated through and the cheese on top is melted and lightly golden. Serve hot.

Recipe courtesy of Emeril Lagasse, Emeril's Potluck, William Morrow Publishers, New York, 2004

If you want to try it, here's the link, so you can bookmark it...
Emeril Lagasse's Potato Casserole

I'm telling you, this stuff is so good, you won't care that you're eating a shit-ton of carbs and fat. It's a once a year thing. Go with it.

Dream Big

My brother/boss has been encouraging me to branch out on my own. He thinks I'm good enough to do my own jobs. Also, I think he'd like to spend more time on his ebay business. (Read: hobby of collecting and selling old stereo equiptment.)

I've been putting some serious thought into this. I'd like a bigger piece of the pie. I work for him. Which means he makes money off my labor. Of course I get paid, but it would be nice if I got to keep all my labor. When I do jobs on my own, the profit margin is much better.

And no, I don't want to be rich. More profit means more working capital to do what I want. Better toys tools. Bigger jobs. Cooler outcomes.

The only thing stopping me at this point is space. We currently live in a two bedroom apartment. It's tiny. Every available inch of space is used. There is no room for more paint, or to set up a rack system. I can't take on a kitchen job, because I don't have anywhere to put the stuff.

Imagine my glee when Mr. Security and I started talking about houses. Real houses, with yards and fireplaces and room, and one of these...

He's fully on board with space for me to work in. The garage is not only for his bike, but also a workshop for me. Somewhere to store my paint, other than my bedroom closet. Somewhere I can bring cabinet doors to and work on them. Someplace for me to paint canvas and not worry about spilling on the carpet. Somewhere to contain the mess, because the neat freak in me does not love looking at it in our living space.

I'm very excited for an opportunity to expand my business. I'd love to be able to get up and start work at 4 am, because the work is in the garage. I'd be far more productive if I actually worked on my schedule. And it would be nice to earn enough money to do more than just get by. I'd love to be able to tell Itty Bit she can take karate classes, and not worry about the cost. It'll be nice, not having to skip lunch because I'm broke. 

The things I could do with that much space are almost endless. I really want to build a new headboard. I want to make it with salvaged tree branches and such. I could do that. I want to refinish my dining chairs. I could do that. I want to reupholster this chair my Mom gave me. I could do that. I want to invent things, and build things and paint the world. I can do this.

Five Things WW

Time once again for Writers Workshop, hosted by they uber cute Mama Kat.

This week I choose; Five Things. Let's see how much fun I can have with this.

List 5 things we don’t know about you.
Jeez, as much as I blog about personal shit, you should probably know me pretty well.
1) I'd like to get a boob job. They don't sit where they are supposed to anymore. I don't want them any bigger, I just want to be able to go without a bra.
2) I like to drive really fast. Like, if I got caught, they would take me directly to jail, 160 mph down the interstate, fast. And for some reason, people are always willing to let me drive their sports cars. Silly mortals.
3) I spend hours wrapped up in my head, pondering the best way to build things. Next up, a new headboard.
4) I have a biological sister I haven't seen in probably 30 years. 
5) I'm considering branching out on my own away from my brother. He's encouraged me to, but I've not had the resources to do it yet. I'd like to have more input in the process and ultimately a bigger piece of the pie. I'm tired of working for someone else.

5 things you’re knowledgeable about.
I'm the embodiment of Jack of all trades, master of none. 
1) I could renovate an entire house with the exception of plumbing and electrical.
2) I have a good working knowledge base on first aid and more specifically the dermis. If you cut yourself open, I can fix you up.
3) Fabric of all types. And how to turn that fabric into a functional thing.
4) I speak meow and I'm fluent in bark. I know, I sound crazy, but I usually know what my cats want when they're talking to me.
5) Paint and all of it's fun applications. Do you know what it would take to paint a counter top in such a way that it would hold up over time? I do.

5 things you know nothing about.
Only five? There's tons I don't know.
1) Plumbing and electrical.
2) Gaming that doesn't relate to pinball.
3) Gardening. Seriously, it will die.
4) Politics. I form opinions, but admittedly they are uneducated. 
5) Cars, specifically how to fix them.

5 things you believe.
1) I believe in the magic of Christmas. Not the greed, the magic. If you look at it all through the eyes of a small child, you will too.
2) I believe in a higher power but not organized religion. I believe if you do what you know in your heart to be right, you'll be alright in the eyes of whatever God you worship.
3) I believe in the power of laughter. Itty Bit makes me laugh every day and it's kept me from going off the deep end sometimes.
4) I believe in happily ever after. 
5) I believe that I am ultimately responsible for how my life turns out. Others may influence my choices along the way, but it's still always my choice. 

Wanna play along? Hit up Mama Kat! 

Where is the Love

I think Mr. Security might have been on to something when he deleted his Facebook account. Even Itty Bit has lost interest in it because of all the negativity.

I scroll through my timeline and now-a-days it's just angry and hateful. The opinions are either one extreme or the other. Never any compromise. Never a solution to any problems. 

Right now, today, Nov. 18, 2015, everyone is scared and uneasy. The middle east is in an uproar. It's been that way for thousands of years. But what makes this attention worthy, now, is that they took the fight to a civilized country. They completed a horrifying act on Paris, France.

And who are they? Terrorist.

They may claim to be Muslim. They may claim to be a persecuted group. They may claim to be ridding the world of evil. But they are none of those things. They are terrorist. 

It's unfortunate that many Americans, and humans as a whole, associate terrorism with Muslims. 

It amazes me that we haven't learned from the past. We were appalled when we read about these same sorts of things in our history books.  Entire groups of people condemned for the crimes of the few. People, human beings, slaughtered for what they believe, or how they look. 

Recall a time in our own history when America rounded up Asians and put them into holding camps. We know now, that we were wrong in doing so. 

How about this time in history? The Crusades.

How are we so blind to what history has taught us? 

I don't understand why the world is so angry. I don't understand why there is no compassion for human life. 

Forget what religion is involved. It's of little consequence.  It only matters to the radical few. 

See the big picture. Understand that being a bigot, being hateful, being self righteous, as a mass, is going to lead to war. An unpredictable war, with a very real possibility of nuclear involvement. 

See the big picture. It's not about winning or losing. It's about profit and acquisitions. It's about land and resources that only the elitist will make gains from.

See the big picture. Hate breeds hate. Will our attitude of 'whats mine is mine' lead Muslims to believe that America really is the Land of the Greed? We are only adding fuel to the fire. 

See the big picture. What if it was you, who had to flee a violent take over? What if you had to travel to distant unknown lands with your children in tow? Running from the atrocities of a small extremist group, only to be lumped in with them because of your religion. How does that seem fair?

See the big picture. The person next to you could be a Christian, a Wican, a Muslim, or a narcissist. None of that matters. What matters is that they are human. Until that person gives you reason to think they are a terrorist, he or she shall be treated as equal to you. Not should be, shall be. It's your duty as a human being to look out for fellow human beings.

Yes, the refugees should be vetted and documented. Each should be scrutinized, not unlike anyone else applying for citizenship. But it should be done in such a way that they not feel dehumanized. Because here is the thing; THE MAJORITY of these people, mean you no harm.

Finally, the golden rule; Do unto others as you would have done to you.

Livid Rage

As you may know, my hair is part of who I am. Yes, it's only hair, but mine is, for lack of a better word, epic. At least it was.

Saturday, Mr. Security had plans to go out. I dropped Itty Bit off at my Mom's to spend the night. I thought, since I had some time, I'd get a haircut. It'd been about 4 months since I'd had one. 

I told the girl, I wanted 3 to 4 inches taken off, a deep conditioning treatment and for her to defuse it, which is blow it out with a special tool that brings the curl out. 

I don't understand the disconnect. I walked in with hair down to my waist and asked for a basic haircut. That dumb cunt took half my length. 

I left, as soon as humanly possible. The damage was already done. I feared the worst, and worried that I might punch her in her teeth. I had to go. And when I got to a mirror, I started to cry. 

She cut it up to my shoulder blades. Itty Bit and I measured it with a ruler. 9 inches. Nine Fucking Inches. Gone!!!

Now I look like every other soccer mom in the neighborhood, instead of the rock star I really am. I'm average, ordinary.

My hair grows fast. Really fast. But even then it will take 9 fucking months to get it back. And that's only if I don't get another haircut between now and then. 

It's taken every bit of my self control not to go back up there and scream and yell and carry on. I keep telling myself, raging on this dumb bitch will not bring my hair back. But I'm so God damn mad.

As an aside, Mr. Security was very compassionate. He held onto my while I cried. He told me I'm still beautiful. Then he took me out and got me drunk. 

The Christmas Dilemma

Not long ago Itty Bit lost a tooth. It had a cavity in it. She left if for the tooth fairy but "she" didn't take it. Itty Bit concluded that the tooth fairy had no use for that tooth.

About two weeks ago, she lost another. She left if for the tooth fairy, and I was left debating. How can she possibly still believe in the tooth fairy? Could it be that she knows it's not real, but knows if she speaks up, the "tooth fairy" will stop coming? She is smart as hell. I wouldn't underestimate her. I left her five bucks anyway.

Itty Bit is not far from being 12 years old. She's in middle school for Christ's sake. She can't possibly still believe in Santa Claus!!! Or does she?

How can I figure this out without ruining all her Christmas magic?
What if she does and the older kids laugh at her when they find out?
If she doesn't, why hasn't she said anything? Oh I know why... because I've always told them that Santa only bring presents to those who believe in him. And after all, Santa brings a gift for mommy, because mommy believes. A-hem.

My funds are limited. It would be nice to be able to buy her a "big" gift rather than split the gifts so that she gets some from Santa and some from Mom. She wants a laptop this year. That would be a whole lot easier if she understood this whole charade. 

So how does a parent figure out if a child still believes in Santa?
Maybe I can recruit Stretch as a spy and have him find out for me. Unless, wait! Does he still believe in Santa, too?

Battling Demons WW

Mama Kat hosts this Writer's Workshop. Every week she hands down a list of five topics to choose from. I find it useful, because it's like someone else saying, 'Write about this thing', that I never would have considered.

This week I choose: Something you were punished for.

My biological mother was not a nice woman. It's been said that mental illness skips a generation. I've come to realize she had her own demons and it's probably where DQ gets hers.

My brother and I were her punching bags. She used to do cruel things to us for seemingly minor infractions. She withheld food for not doing chores. I won't even look at a bottle of Joy dishwashing liquid, because it was poured down my throat so many times. She once chained me to a pole outside in the middle of summer for an entire day for forgetting to give the dog water. I think you see my point. 

 When I was a small child, I used to love ravioli out of a can. I'm going to tell you a story to shed some light on why I won't touch the stuff now.

She was probably 6 years old. Her little brother was young enough to still be in a high chair. On this night, in the ghetto of God knows where, Kim, a single mother with two small children served ravioli for dinner. She was not obliged to eat this meal herself, so while her children ate, she left the kitchen.

The boy, still a toddler, was happy to play in the slop. For whatever reason he didn't feel like actually eating much of it. He did slide it around his tray and paint his face with the red sauce. 

The girl however, loved ravioli. She devoured the pasta and then used the fork to scrape the sauce to the sides of the plate and into her mouth. 

When Kim returned, she saw the girls plate and the boys tray and began to yell. She became enraged because she thought the little girl had given her brother more ravioli. 

The little girl tried to explain that she'd eaten all of hers. Kim shook her and called her a liar. She sighted the scrape marks on the girls plate as evidence that she'd pawned the ravioli onto her brother.

Again the little girl tried to explain that she'd scraped the sauce into her mouth but the mother didn't believe her. She sentenced the girl to a night in jail.

Down in the basement, she plead with Kim not to make her stay. She'd been told there were bats down there. The child was terrified, but there would be no commuting the punishment.

That little girl lay awake, on the the cold, hard, cement floor. Her eyes wide, scanning the dark for any sign of movement. She wondered why her mother hadn't believed her. She went over the events in her head, again and again. Until morning when she was released from her prison. 

You'll notice I used third-person narative to tell the story. I don't see myself as that little girl anymore. She was a victim of circumstance. Very early on in my adult life I realized that if I acted like the victim, the predators were still winning. It was a bull headed choice not to bow down to the past. Instead I choose to be stronger than what life dictated for me.

How does that set the tone for your morning coffee and blog reading? Not very happy. In fact, it's God damn depressing. Not to worry, there is a happy ending. I'm a well adjusted adult. I'm carefree and loving. I've seen some of the worse life has to offer and I came out the other side, in one piece. And when that little girl said to herself, 'I'll never treat my kids like this.' she meant every word of it. 

You can get in on the Writer's Workshop goodness too. Just visit Mama's Losin' It.

Douche Dilemma

The Douche had his girlfriend call and leave me a voicemail. They miss Lex. I'd take that a lot more seriously if she wasn't so audibly inebriated. Why would you make that call while you're drunk? They're only proving that we've made the right choice.

Itty Bit wants to see the girlfriend and her sister. She does not want to see her dad. 

I'm trying to figure out a way to make this happen. I've explained and Itty Bit fully understands that if they get caught going behind his back, all hell with break loose. Not for us, but for them.

She's expressed to me that she's worried about them. That he may hurt them. Especially her baby sister. I think her concerns are valid.

The Douche always has her phone. He monitors her Facebook account, which means he can read her messages. He's done the same thing to her as he did to me. She is completely isolated and powerless. 

What sucks is I don't know how to fix this for Itty Bit. I don't want to put the girlfriend in danger. I don't want to make things harder for her and her kids. This has to be navigated extremely carefully. 

Part of me wants to rescue her and her kids. Plead with her to leave him. But when she had him arrested for hitting her, she turned right around and bailed him out of jail. She's already shown her insecurities and the likelihood of going back to him. I don't understand it, and I can't fix it.

Any suggestions?

Random Goodies

Again, with my favorite format, random thoughts. Because... my brain, bitches.

There is a crazy cashier at the my grocery store. She talks to everyone, and has no filter. I'd love her, except I think she may actually be psychotic. 
The other day I was checking out and we got to talking about being a girl. That led to the topic of fake finger nails, and how they're a pain in the ass.
Me: I can't do anything with them on. They get in the way.
Cashier: Have you seen these girls with the super long ones. You know, they start to curl they're so long?
Me: I know right?
Cashier: I mean, how do they wipe their ass with those things?
At that point I crack up laughing and she high-fives me.

During that same shopping trip, I saw my friend David. He's a photographer and did the girls' pictures last year. We haven't seen each other in a while.
I was telling him about the new boyfriend and how I'd like to invite him over for dinner soon. He says, "Oh, are you allowed to have friends again?"
Yeah, I've dated some real assholes in the past.

We were brave and went to Walmart over the weekend. Strictly because we couldn't find what we were looking for elsewhere. While there, some girls commented on Mr. Security.
Girl one: Dem boots.
Girl two: Dat ass tho.
"Dem" boots are sexy and "Dat" ass is mine.
Yeah, my boyfriend is hot, and his ass in a pair of jeans? Phew, dat ass!

I bought my first Christmas gift over the weekend. Nothing big, just something I saw that Itty Bit would like. I'm pretty sure I'm going to cave and get her a laptop. She won't be getting much else, but a few little things won't hurt. 

I'm fighting the time change. Still. Trying and failing to stay up late, so I'll sleep lateeeerrr. I am not winning this fight. 4 am and I are not getting along well these days.

Weekend Update

I love weekends with my crew. This past one was no exception. Busy but good.

I didn't have to work, which was a nice change of pace. We did some errands on Saturday. Got Mr. Security's truck serviced. Did some shopping for things we don't actually need. A-hem, another set of cookie cutters, cough.

Sunday was wonderful. Good lovin' at the crack of dawn. Big breakfast. More good lovin' before a mid-day nap. Then we took a long drive down some winding roads to look at some pretty houses, with land for a garden, garages for the Harley, and a proper bedroom for everyone. It's going to be tough to choose. All but one was awesome.

Mr. Security and I spent hours talking about and planning the train set we're going to build. I have most of the pieces to an N scale train. Some track, some buildings and some trees. We're going to build a Christmas train set out of it. 

I can get a little carried away on these types of projects. At one point Mr. Security was looking at me like I'd lost my mind. He's right. I usually always bite off more than I can chew. And then I end up frustrated because I can't get it finished. 

So we've compromised. We're going to do a simple layout for now. And then plan and make a bigger set later, when it's not so close to Christmas. It's nice to have a voice of reason who doesn't treat me like a moron when I get these grand ideas.

We picked up the beginnings of the project and priced out some other pieces. This will be a fun project for us. It's cute to see him so excited about it. He claims to not like Christmas, while also being fully engaged in building a Christmas train set. 

Around here, it's not about the money spent. It's about the time spent...doing family things and building train sets and ultimately, memories. 

Olive Juice

Olive Juice. From the movie The Other Sister. I recall liking the movie. But more, this sentiment stuck with me. Olive Juice is what you mouth to someone when you want to say 'I love you', but they can't hear you. From a distance it looks like 'I love you'.

Mr. Security and I have decided cohabitation is in our best interest. We've past the three month mark and neither of us has turned into a raging asshole. If anything, we get along better. And when we spend most of our time together anyway, it seems silly to pay rent on two places. There's also the madly in love part, and while that is a factor, it's not the primary one. 

We originally decided on the first of the year. But things came into play on both sides that pushed that timeline forward. The what is not important. It seems like the universe is pushing us together. If one were to be the type of person to go with the flow, then this is the natural outcome.

If I take the boyfriend goggles off, he's a wonderful roommate. Considerate, helpful, clean. All important things. That he's actually my boyfriend, makes it all so much better. 

We did a mad scramble to look for a house. But after a few days we decided that actually moving can wait. He's coming here for a few months. Then after the holidays, we're going to look for an actual house. 

The last couple of days, I've been excited to get off work so I can come home to him. I'm feeling domesticated and so is he.

It's funny to think back on the early days. When I gave him a key, strictly for logistical purposes, and he sort of freaked out. I remember rolling my eyes and telling him, "I'm not asking you to marry me. I just want you to be able to lock my door when I leave you in bed to go to work." And now I get to come home and see that panty-droppin-smile every day.

Frazzled Friday

Not unlike Random Tuesday Thoughts, here we have Frazzled Friday. A scrambled format of unrelated thoughts, yet one thing connects them all. They're in my head.

You know what I miss? Flushable cardboard applicators. I'm hard pressed to find these biodegradable gems now-a-days.  Being on the rag is bad enough. But not being able to just drop the tampon applicator in the toilet is another layer of yuck. 

I love my job. But I hate sanding. I'm currently working on some beautiful cherry entryway doors. I don't mind the stripping, or cleaning. But the sanding, is for the birds. Every single inch has to be sanded smooth. Some of the spaces are barely a cunt hair wide. It's a real pain in the ass. 

I'm addicted to Blacklist. Thanks to Mr. Security's Netflix account we can catch up on the previous seasons. Just so we understand, he is also addicted. Probably more so than I. More than once this week, I've woken up on the couch going, "What did I miss?"  You know it's bad when you find yourself thinking, 'What would Reddington do?'

Friday totally sneaked up on me. Yesterday I really had no idea what day it was. Then the client mentioned something about Friday and I just looked at her, "Wait. It's Thursday?" Yeah, apparently my week came and went and I didn't even notice.

Lack of Progress

Has it been three months since DQ went to stay in the group home? Yeah, pretty close. Has she made any changes? No, not really.

I went for family therapy last week. What it boils down to is; She's spent the last 3 months figuring out how to skirt the rules and still do what she wants. 

She's on the internet at school. Of course the school thinks they have their system locked down. But these are teenagers. When it comes to the internet, they're smarter. So of course DQ is talking to people she shouldn't be.

I asked her, "Are you doing things you shouldn't be on the computers at school?"
She started to say no, but I cut her off. "And please understand, I already know the answer."

She's also using other kids' cell phones. Texting people she shouldn't be talking to. Making God only knows what plans.

Friday night, the staff called me. Turns out, DQ left school grounds Thursday and went across the street to some little boys house. Strictly to have sex with him. She claims to have used protection. But as everything that comes out of her mouth is a lie, well...

When she went back to school she told some people what she'd done. But again, these are teenagers. Gossipy little hens that they are, it got back to one of the other girls who lives at the home. She told the staff and they confronted DQ. Yeah, it happened. 

It was the second time in 3 months that she left school to go to a boys house...That. We. Know. About! She's lost all her privileges, again.

We have the funding meeting coming up next week. Remember they will assess every three months to see how DQ is doing? The group home staff are starting to talk about a higher level of care. They're not sure if they can provide the kind of supervision DQ needs. DQ can not be trusted in the community. She's not working on change. She's doing exactly the same things there as she did at home. It doesn't look good for DQ.

I'm not surprised. I didn't think she would get her shit together in three months. But I am a little shocked that they are already thinking about a locked facility. With school on grounds. No freedom in the community. It makes sense. If she can't be trusted, then she becomes more restricted.

Big sigh. I shudder to think what's going to happen if she doesn't see the light. What will it take before she stops doing such dangerous things? 

Winds of Change

I'm getting used to being told how awesome, amazing, sexy, incredible, beautiful and cool I am.
Three months in, and yes, I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but I'm starting to wonder if I'm holding my breath for nothing. 

I've learned the hard way, if something is too good to be true...well you know. Except for when it's not. Is it foolish of me to be leaning towards true?

Mr. Security and I always have fun together. We're always happy. We play at arguing over who gets to do the dishes. He insists, if I cook, he should clean up. Seriously? If that's the biggest disagreement we have, I'll take it!!!

The other day we were at his place for his birthday dinner. I jumped in the shower before we ate, because I was still funky from work. When I got out, everyones mood had soured. 

Apparently the downstairs neighbors had a huge screaming match. It upset Mr. Security because our kids were there. He texts both of them to ask that they stop. He got a big fat 'fuck off.' When things calmed down, he apologized to Itty Bit. Saying he was sorry she had to hear that. She shrugged and said, "It's ok. My dad and his girlfriend do that all the time." That statement made him incredibly sad.

Later, as we drove home, Itty Bit asked why he was so upset. I simply told her that Mr. Security doesn't like conflict. He's a lot like Mom, and I think that's why we get along so well. Neither of us see much in this world worth screaming at your loved ones over. She was confused. "You guys don't fight?" 
 "No." I said. 
"Well don't you disagree about things?"
"On a rare occasion. Mostly about who does the dishes. But having a disagreement isn't about winning or losing. It's about coming to a compromise."
"It weirds me out that you guys don't fight. It doesn't seem normal."
"We may have a disagreement in the future, but there won't be any yelling or cursing at each other. Like I said, it's about compromise."

She thought about that for a moment. "It's not about winning or losing, it's about solving the problem." she finally decided.

Later, Mr. Security and I discussed Itty Bits reaction to the fighting. I was taken back by how upset he was. That Itty Bit had to hear it. But more about her shrugged shoulders and whatever attitude. "It's sad that she sees that as normal and OK."

It is, Mr. Security. But you are well on your way to showing her it doesn't have to be.

Minecraft is Not Scary

Ah Halloween. The time of year when my kids come up with crazy ideas and I'm put to the challenge of making it a reality. Last year it was Itty Bit as Alice in Wonderland. Easy enough. I went as the Mad Hatter. Realistic enough.

This year, being that Itty Bit is obsessed with Minecraft, she wanted to be a creeper girl. I had to look this one up, because I didn't have a clue. I was not expecting this...

Well it wasn't too hard to pull off. Except that I couldn't find a green hoodie ANYWHERE! No worries, we bought a white one and dyed it. Then I airbrushed some pixels on it, and the black frowny face.  I also couldn't find a black skirt that wasn't made out of tulle and glitter. No worries. I made that too. And I turned her treat bag into TNT. 

 
None of the adults who answered the doors had a clue what she was. Leave it to Itty Bit to be out of the box. As it was only one kid we passed knew she was a minecraft character. But the important thing is, she was happy.

I think she had fun last night. Lots of the usual. Candy, mostly chocolate which she won't eat because she doesn't like it. But as a side note, she also got these things. 

Minecraft may not be scary, but people are freaking weird.

I Think I Need a Lawyer

I'm not that person...the one looking for reasons to sue in order to get rich quick. But I do think a lawsuit is a useful tool for affecting change. And I think something needs to be done about this situation.

Back in January, DQ started undergoing another round of psychological testing. The Doctor was able to administer the test, but unable to prescribe medication. She did, however, inform us of a new tool for prescribing physicians and pharmacist. 

A DNA panel. Something as simple as a cheek swab can map a persons chemical make up. This is powerful, because it tells doctors what medications have a better chance of working for that persons specific body. And it tells the which ones absolutely will not work. Amazing.

So, when we got an appointment with the prescribing doctor of that practice, I asked that she do a DNA panel on DQ.  She absolutely refused. I informed her that her office had just done a psych eval, and the testing doctor recommended it. She said she didn't need to look at any of DQ's tests. She wasn't going to read any of the notes taken by other therapist. "I only need to talk to DQ to know what's going on." 

15 minutes later, she diagnosed DQ as bi-polar, gave us a handful of scripts and off we went. 

I was not happy. I thought she was fast and loose with my child. She was very disrespectful to me and our in-home therapist who accompanied us to our appointments.

Two months later we went back to the med doctor, and reported no change. And in fact, DQ was getting worse. More angry, more violent. Again, she acted very blasé. Like she was superior and I was just the stupid mother. She upped the dose on DQ's meds. That was her solution to DQ getting physical with me.

The in-home therapist and I agreed; This new doctor was not going to work out of us. So we sought out another one. Keeping in mind, it takes months for us to get appointments with this practice. I wanted to keep DQ there, because moving her would mean doing another psych eval.

Fast forward another three months and we are finally sitting with another prescriber.  He listens to me. He listens to DQ. And then he starts to tell us how the first thing he's going to do is run a DNA panel. I think I threw my hands up in the air and said, "Thank God." He keeps DQ on her current meds, since they aren't doing any harm. And we wait for the tests to come back.

6 weeks later, we go to get results and meet with the new prescriber again. 

The more he explained, the angrier I got.

These tests show DQ will need to be on a vitamin D supplement for the rest of her life. They show she will have a horrible reaction to valium and any drug in the same class. They show that she should react as expected to any of the psychotropic drugs she's been on or will be on in the future. 

But here is the thing... DQ is not producing serotonin. Why? Because her body is not changing folic acid into l-methylfolate. A key ingredient to making serotonin.

The drugs that are used to regulate depression and mood disorders work my elevating and/or keeping serotonin regulated in the body/brain. But if there is no serotonin to begin with NONE OF THESE DRUGS WILL DO A GOD DAMN THING!!!

I'm left wondering why these tests weren't done by the very first prescribing doctor. But I am absolutely livid at the doctor who refused to do the test when I specifically asked for it.

I am seriously considering getting a lawyer to deal with this matter. I wonder how much harm this one doctor has caused with her, "I'm a doctor, so I'm smarter. You're just a stupid parent," attitude? I think she needs a reality check.

I'm considering a trust for DQ to be dispersed on a timeline after she turns 18. She'll need a way to pay for the meds she'll be on for the rest of her life. Maybe I can insure, no matter where she wanders in life, she'll have the medications she needs to at least function.  

I Love Weekends

What a fantastic weekend! Busy, but so great!

The weekend before Halloween, and I had the novel idea that we should carve some pumpkins. But as life goes these days, nothing is ever that simple.

It's been a beautiful week. This gave me the opportunity to redo the deck and porch system that was on the books. Trying to compact that into one day was going to be tough, so I enlisted the help of the teenager, Stretch. What? I pay ten bucks and hour. It's a win-win.

But Itty Bit had TWO birthday parties to go to. Both were sleep-overs. I nixed sleeping over at the friend who lives around the corner, and we opted for the one she rarely sees. So Friday afternoon she went to the first party. At 9, I drove her out to the other friends house so she could hang out there. 

Stretch and I got up early to go work on the deck. Mr. Security came to pick him up around lunch time, to drop him off at the skating rink. Then...Mr. Security went out to pick up Itty Bit from the sleep-over. Meaning... I didn't have to stop work and do it myself.

Their task for the afternoon was to find pumpkins and carving tools for that evening. They called a couple hours later, saying "Operation procure pumpkins was complete."

Mr. Security then went and retrieved Stretch from skating and we all met back at the house around dinner time. Time for some fun with the family.  

Good dinner, pumpkin guts, carving tools, laughter. It's the little things in life that make it worth living. Sharing time with people you care about. 

The weekend would have been a lot more hectic for me with out the help of Mr. Security. He did the running around so I could focus on working. In between all that he cleaned up the house, so we could focus on fun at the end of the day.

Sunday morning, we got up and made big breakfast. Hand cut, texas friend toast. Bacon and cheesy eggs. Yum.

In the afternoon we battled each other in pinball. Good natured shit talking and mock tantrums. Fun times.

The four of us spent almost the entire weekend together and it was fantastic. No fighting. Just fun-ing.

  

This Heart of Mine

I'm a little insane. But is it all bad if you're not the only one?

It's nuts, right? To see someone almost everyday, and then miss them as soon as they're gone? To think about them while you're standing on a ladder, paint brush in hand, when you just left them a few hours ago?  It feels nuts to me. Selfish...maybe a little stalkery? 

I'm not that girl though. I've never been that female who depends on the man to make her whole. I've long been the one who can take it or leave it. My identity is not wrapped up in the person I'm dating. I even loath girls who act like this. Who want to know what he's doing every minute of every day. You know the ones... Their license plate reads "So-in-so's girl"

So this whole situation feels ... a little nuts. And why do I think about Mr. Security all the time? I almost want to smack myself in the face, "Get it together, girl!"

Consuming, overwhelming, scary, all to the point of  "You're being psycho, chill the fuck out!"

But it seems I'm not alone. Does that make it okay if the feeling is mutual? I feel better when he texts, "I know this is crazy, but I miss you already." Yeah, not crazy, baby. I'm right there with ya.

He said something to me the other day.... "As amazing as this is, I have a feeling it's just getting started. It's only going to get better with time." 

Yes, my love. We're going to have a great adventure. And I'm really looking forward to it.

Its Been a Year

A year ago yesterday, one of my best friends died. This tragedy rocked the world as I knew it. Everyone was affected. 

He was only 34 years old. He got drunk at the bar, got on his Harley, and promptly wrecked it. He went over the handle bars and the back of his head met with the rise of the curb. He was on life support for 3 days before his Mom had to make the most difficult decision of her life. 

I was angry. At damn near everyone. The bar and the bartender that served him. The people he was out with that night. The heavens above for taking him so early. But most of all I was angry with Alex. He would have strangled us for doing exactly what he did. Yet he was too prideful to ask for help himself. I was livid at him for putting his mother through so much pain. I was there when they unhooked him from the machines. And when he flat lined, his mother wailed the most horrific sound, I knew a piece of her soul died that day, too.
 
I was a mess. It didn't seem real for a very long time. I'd been in the middle of a painting of his tattoo when it happened. I didn't pick up a brush for 4 months. His canvas just sat on the easel untouched.

I did eventually come out of the fog. My best friend, also a friend of Alex, gave me a talking to. He said, "Do you think Alex would want to be the reason you stop painting? He'd ask you what your damn problem is, and tell you to finish the fucking painting."

In the last year I've come to terms with this. I accept it as reality now. I'll never see him again. Never hear his laugh. Never wake up to a late night drunk text. It's gotten easier. Not better, but easier to live with. Being angry, being sad... it won't undo what has already been done.

I miss you, but I'm ok now. I know you're watching down on all of us, and waiting patiently with a cherry bomb.

 

She Can Play Dress Up

So... Went to a wedding this weekend. As it was on a Saturday, I had plenty of time to pull myself together and actually look like a girl. Granted I had to borrow a dress, because I don't actually own one. And then I had to go buy boots to match the dress, because, boots bitches. 

Also, now I remember why I stopped trying so hard to be girly. That shit is exhausting. I did acrylic nails the night before. I'd broken a couple during the week, so it had to be fixed. Doing hair, actually putting some effort into make-up, painting nails. Running around like a crazy person for a couple hours, yeah it's for the birds. Mostly.

So why did I put so much effort into this? Mr. Security has never seen me look like a girl. In my paint clothes, on the firing range, in my jeans and t-shirt playing pool.... yeah. But actually dressed up for a special event?

He was in the wedding party, so I met him there. And it was all worth it for the look on his face. Yep, I was hot, and he was stunned. To be fair, he looked good enough to eat in his tux. I should probably mention it was a halloween themed wedding. So cool.

 

The Crux of the Problem

I've been putting a lot of thought into my issues with DQ. I'm still angry. I'm still detached. And I feel guilty for feeling this way. It's been almost 2 months since she went to the girls home. Why don't I miss her? The only things I feel are failure and relief.

So I had to devote some energy to figuring out why. Not pleasant at all. But I did find some clarity.

DQ intentionally lied to the police, for the purpose of having me arrested, so I'd lose custody of Itty Bit. It was the straw that broke my proverbial back.

All of the things she's done in the past, they build a picture. You can come to a conclusion without definitive proof, but for this one thing.

She threatened to do it. She dreamed of tearing my family apart. But to that point, it had been hateful words. Until it wasn't anymore.

My part in this is that I can't forgive her. Had it been anyone but my own child, they would have been written off at the start. I tried harder with her than I would any other person on this planet. But I still can't forgive her for this.

She hasn't admitted wrong doing, let alone apologized. She doesn't even see that what she did was plain evil. She feels perfectly justified. It was a way to get what she wanted and that's all that matters to her. I wholeheartedly believe, given the opportunity, she would do it again.

How do you forgive someone when you're the only one aware of the tort? How do you trust someone who admittedly wants to destroy your family? How could anyone expect you to?

I've also been coming to terms with the reality of it all. 

For years I kept telling myself it wasn't as bad as it seemed. That it felt more dramatic because I was dealing with it so closely. Hundreds of hours in therapy. God knows how much time searching the internet for answers. Even when those things started pointing to sociopathy, I denied it. Blaming myself, saying I was making it out to be worse than it is. 

One of the owners of the group home sat down to talk to me a couple weeks ago. She flat out told me that DQ is showing signs of a budding sociopath. And she confirmed what I already knew. There is no cure. There is no drug. It's 100% up to her to choose how she's going to live her life.

It's terrifying. Coming to terms with this reality. You know it happens. But deep down you think it happens to other peoples families. It couldn't happen to yours. You did all the right things. 

We are at a stand still. I went for family therapy with DQ last night. I told the therapist about not being able to forgive her and that I am detached. And that I won't be able to change my course of thinking until I see some effort on DQ's part. She has to actually believe what she did was wrong, and show remorse, before I can forgive her. 

In Which He Loves Me

I knew. Long before he was ready to admit it. Sometimes he would look at me, like I'm not real. Or he would take in a breath, about to say something and then he stopped.

I can't blame him. I'm pretty guarded too. Telling someone you love them is powerful. It equates to saying, 'I'm vulnerable, and you're the one person who could hurt me.'

I knew I could love him. Easily. After our 24 hour long date. It was only a matter of whether that would be good for me. Would he change? When I realized he is good, I let go. Then I just had to wait for him to catch up. Or was it catch on?

Mr. Security stayed with us last weekend. The impending weather doom lurking and all. We'd made plans to watch Ultron and have a couple drinks Sat. night. I was so tired by that time, that I skipped the drinks and dozed on the couch through the movie. 

He woke me up and made me move to the bedroom. As he was tucking me in, I was fussing about being so tired, and no fun. Apologizing for falling asleep. He leaned in and kissed my forehead. Saying, "Relax baby, I love you. I'll be right back."

In my head I'm all, 'oh thank god!', but I tell him I love him too. He was up and out of the room so fast, it was almost confusing. 

I was more awake by the time he got back. "You love me." I say to him. His eloquent reply, "I didn't mean to say that out loud. I'm drunk. I'm being a dumb boy."  

Needless to say I was a little miffed. I rolled over thinking, 'What the fuck? Who accidentally says I love you?'

Fast forward to the next night. I'd been brooding all day. When we were getting ready for sleep, curled up in bed, I noticed he was very quiet. I asked what he was thinking about and he said, "What I said last night." 

This gives me the opportunity to tell him, "I've been thinking about it too. And if saying I love you makes him a dumb boy, then what does it make me? Because I said it back to you." He gets this look of surprise on his face. "You did?"

Well apparently, Mr. Security didn't hear me. He was so wrapped up in his head, and he ran out so fast, he missed it when I told him I love him, too.  He back peddled hard because of it. 

When we got all that straightened out... both laying our vulnerable cards on the table, I told him I knew he loved me. I was just waiting for him to figure it out.

An Odd Weekend

It was an odd weekend here. For days before, they'd been warning us about impending weather. First it was thought the hurricane would hit here. At one point the models showed they eye crossing directly over the South East tip of VA. 

So we all prepared. And we waited. 

Normally hurricanes don't make me nervous. I've been through enough of them to know when to sweat. And this one wasn't going to be big. 

The problem? The two solid weeks of rain we'd already had. I was worried that any amount of wind would bring trees down easily. With the ground so saturated it wouldn't take much.

But...we didn't get a hurricane. We got rain and wind from two other systems. There was horrible flooding. No major catastrophe. 

It just felt odd. Being cooped up in the house. Waiting to see what would happen. Pressed down by dreary weather. More of the same. 

I think we've discovered that we are not home bodies. We don't like being stuck at home. Not that we have to go, go, go. But we like the option if we're inclined.

Also... we need some sunshine. Weeks of this overcast, wind driven drizzle, has left everyone Blah.  They say the sun will come out tomorrow. Lets hope so. 

Are You Serious

Imagine me, holding a letter from Child Support Enforcement, posture completely deflated, shaking my head. It's exactly what I was doing a couple of days ago.

In it, they informed me that they've filed a lien with the court for 1/3 of what he owes me. $5000 and change. Should he sell any property, his debt to me will be taken into account. 

Awesome! So when he gets around to selling the house... Oh wait, he doesn't own one. Well maybe the... Nope he doesn't own a car either.

Yes, I stood in my kitchen, completely deflated. Until I slammed the letter on the counter, yelling, "He Doesn't Own ANYTHING!"

Don't feel sorry for that fucker. He COULD own things if he didn't spend every penny on drugs and booze. Or, ha, maybe if he got a fucking job! 

Utter disbelief. That's what I feel about the agency looking out for my daughter. It was a waste of their time and resources to even petition the court. Maybe a little digging would have told them he has nothing to sell. Maybe they should skip the bullshit, do not pass go, go directly to jail!!!???

Neener Neener

Tiny bubbles...
Ok, so not so tiny, but bubbles all the same.

I've been painting. No shock. I thought I'd share. Also, no shock. 
Have I ever mentioned how much I love my job?  A client and her designer came up with the idea to paint bubbles on the walls of her pool house. What a cool concept! I loved every minute of it.

My favorite part was getting to blow raspberries at my brother and say, "nee'ner, nee'ner!"

When I was finishing up he came out and checked on me. He said he didn't think the open spaces that didn't have bubbles would pass inspection. I explained that I have a plan from the beginning and that the client had seen it as I was painting and liked it. I showed him how the bubbles could be coming in from the window and moving at an angle up and around the walls to meet in the middle of the opposite wall.  Still... he was sure the client was going to want some of the open spaces filled. I just stared at him, face off style, until he decided to get the client.

She loved what I had done. She could see the flow and movement of bubbles. She got it. She said it was perfect and to tell my boss to bite me.

Some of these bubbles are almost 9" wide. So not so tiny, but very cool. Very simple to do with an airbrush. Hand painting these would have taken me days. 

Also been working on a portrait of Joe Cool's daughter. She's such a photogenic child. It took me a while to get this one to a good place. I'm still working on her eyes, but I think I've made good progress. I've got about 10 hours worth of work in this one. 

I feel so lucky to be able to do this kind of thing. I don't know if I'd call it talent so much as persistence. Whatever it is, I'll take it.

Boo on You

Sunday night as I sat in my slushy hangover fog, I got a text. From an unknown number. It asked if I had just charged $406 at a local drug store.

Um, no. I don't think even $400 worth of drug store crap could make me feel human again.

But I didn't reply. I thought maybe it was a fishing expedition. Instead, I went online to view my bank account. And holy shit, someone just used my card at the drug store. How is that possible? I still have my card.

Apparently I slid it through one of those reader-copier thingys that crooked assholes use to steal you credit card info. And once they had a duplicate card, they went on a shopping spree. 

Ha! Jokes on you dumbass. I'm poor, so there wasn't that much money in the account. 

Also, I'm a proactive motherfucker. I know the location, date and exact time of the theft. You better hope I don't come across a gullible cashier at the drug store who will show me the security tape.

It's instances like these that I like modern technology. I like that we are all being recorded and monitored. I might not have checked my account until it was time to pay my rent. They might have gotten away scott free, were it not for all the invasive things companies do to monitor every part of your life. 

Yeah, yeah. I filed a claim with my bank's fraud department. They are sending me a new card and I should recover my money in about a week. Whatever. 

Believe it or not, I'm not angry. I think it's kind of funny. They went to all that trouble to get to my money, only to find I didn't have any.

The Happy Place

Wow, it's been a crazy couple of weeks.

Itty Bit started school. All the worries of being the little kid in middle school, long forgotten. With her style and attitude she's got no problems. For now.

Our friend came up from SC. It was wonderful, I made a huge meal with steak and tuna bites and roasted red potatoes. They all raved about the wonderful food. Me? I was thrilled to have some of my favorite guys in my kitchen. My bestie included. We don't get to see much of each other.

I've been doing things that make me happy. Painting for one. Currently working on a portrait of our friends little girl. She's so stinkin' cute. Reading for another. I've chomped through 4 books in the last couple weeks. 

Hanging out with Mr. Security is another happy place. Has it only been two months since we started dating?

This past weekend was an interesting one. Friday night he went to his friends birthday party. The tentative plan was for him to come back to my house when it was over. When I woke up in the morning, before God himself as usual, and he wasn't here, I sort of freaked out.

He drank too much and didn't want to drive. But also, I think, didn't want to wake me in the middle of the night to come get him. He seemed very relieved when I text him and subsequently went and picked him up. I brought him back to my house, pumped him with water and motrin and put him to bed. Then I went to work. I came back a couple hours later with greasy McDonald's breakfast, to check on him. He asked, "Why are you so nice to me?" To which I replied, "You'll figure it out eventually." Then I went back to work.

He was so grateful for my "care" that when he started to feel better.... Mother fucker got up and cleaned my house. I came home later and looked around, like... something is off here. "Did you vacuum my floor?"  Yeah, he did. And cleaned my kitchen, and straightened up too. Color me impressed. Hell, I'll buy you crappy breakfast every weekend if that's what it gets me!!!

Warning, for those who are not used to my foul mouth and blunt nature: This next part is graphic.

Jesus, did I win the lottery? I sent him a graphic of a woman with her hands thrown up in praise. It read, "When she finds out he eats pussy, cooks and clean and wasn't lying about the dick." He got a kick out of that. 

This morning I feel like I got beat up. Or fucked proper. You know, however you care to describe it.  Saturday night we worked on a bottle of Vodka together. Which lead to some marathon sex. I didn't know I was that flexible anymore. Really? I can fold so that my knee is on my shoulder? Huh, well that changes the game a little. 

I managed to resist telling him just how head over heals I am for him. Why ruin a perfectly good weekend with 'feels'? Seems to me when those get involved, everything turns to shit. I'm going to let it simmer for a while longer. No sense in turning over the power so soon.

This SOB

I'm growing tired of being so broke all the time. Not that I have a problem being poor. I'd rather do something I love and not be rich. We should all be so lucky. 

No, I'm getting tired of The Douche not paying his child support and not being held accountable. It's been 9 months. Jesus fucking Christ. Why is he still sitting on his unemployed ass, getting high on his girlfriends dime, in his her trailer? 

Division of Child Support Enforcement (DCSE) has a "timeline system". After 3 months, they suspend his license. After 6 he should stand in front of a judge and answer for why he isn't paying. It's usually about that time that the assholes spend some time in jail to remind them about the priorities in life. They took his license but he's not been called to court yet. I think DCSE should be renamed, Child Support Reminder. They aren't enforcing anything.

There are things I want to do for Itty Bit that I can't because I'm currently broke. It makes me want to scream and break shit. Can you imagine what that $700 a month would do for our little family? Give me some breathing room to start. 

I see people/politicians screaming about welfare and their right not to marry people based on their religion and some moron who shot a lion. All I can think is "fuck you!" That's your biggest cause? If we put as much energy in to holding people accountable for the children they brought into this world, imagine how much we could get done. MAYBE, if we could get baby daddies to pay some support, there wouldn't be such a burden on the welfare system.

Friends picked sides and waged wars over the Confederate flag. Maybe we should put just half that amount of energy into calling out parents who don't support their kids.

My ex-husband currently owes us $15,579 in back child support. I don't have a choice. I do everything in my power to give my kids a good life. Provide for them as best I can. Short of getting another job and never seeing them, I'm at my limit. I've considered it. But seriously, why the fuck should I have to provide both sides of the support? And what good would I be to Itty Bit if I never see her, and I'm always exhausted?

I understand that $700 a month is a big chunk. Just so we're clear, his obligation is $500 a month and $200 towards arrears. Still, a lot of money, I know. It cost a fortune to raise kids and I'm the only one chipping in!!!

Surprise

Recall that Mr. Security and I went to South Carolina not long ago. While we were there, our friend Joe was being recruited by a company in TX. Turns out they made him an offer he can't refuse. Turns out he has to be there in the next two weeks. He and his family, I love his wife BTW, are moving all the way to TX. No longer a 6 hour drive away!

Turns out he is coming to spend some time with his friends here in VA before he leaves. It was rumored, but not confirmed. I text him last night to ask if the rumor was true. To which he responded that he was already on his way. I don't think he knew for sure if he'd make it up until he was actually in his truck heading North. 

I don't know Joe very well. He's better friends with Mr. Security and my Bestie, Ed. But this seems like just the sort of thing he would do. Get in the truck and drive up here with no notice. Not that I'm complaining mind you. I know everyone wants to see him before he moves half way across the country.

I'm going to throw together a dinner for the guys. My Bestie, Mr. Security and Joe. We'll see if I can calm my OCD and deal with the short notice. I've let my house go a little, because I've been worrying about other things. Now I feel the need to get it all back together like NOW.

If you need me, I'll be cleaning up after the tornado that I refer to as Itty Bit.

Told Ya So

When Itty Bit was in 3rd grade we battled with her teacher. A stuck up, snot nose bitch who thought her education degree meant she knew my kid better than I did. 

At first it was pleasant. A parent-teacher conference where she told me that Itty Bit was sure to fail at life if she didn't buckle down and do her work. I explained that Itty Bit was dealing with a lot at home. We'd only left her dad 6 months before. I also told her Itty Bit was bored. I'm sure they all hear that about some child over the years, but in our case it was true.

Itty Bit followed the course her sister had been on 5 years prior. Education wise, anyway. I knew the signs and I had a pretty good guess as to what would come. I explained that I wasn't overly worried. Yes, it's unfortunate that she won't do the work, but it doesn't mean she doesn't know it. I told her teacher that by the time Itty Bit got to middle school she would probably be in gifted classes. She wasn't going to participate until she was challenged.

This wasn't good enough. I got weekly emails detailing what a disaster my kid was. As time went on, the contact got nastier. A couple more conferences, and the teacher realized she wasn't bending our will. We ended up meeting with the principle and a counselor and the teacher. I was ready to pull my hair out because no one was listening. The principle all but said I was a horrible mother for not forcing Itty Bit into submission. 

And what does Itty Bit remember about that year? She hated school. She hated that teacher. Everyone picked on her. They made life hard for her.

Fast forward 3 years and here we are, going into middle school. God damn do I wish I could find those fucktards!

We got her schedule the other day....
Advanced placement Math
Advanced placement Science
Advanced placement English

Itty Bit and I talked about it and laughed, wishing we could tell that teacher, "Told ya so!"

Wouldn't it be wonderful if Itty Bit ended up, somehow, being that woman's boss? All the hassle. All the "I know better, because I'm educated." All the nasty spiteful treatment Itty Bit endured.

And in the end, I'm right. Because I am not a horrible mother. I know my kid. I know she's smart. I knew she would excel eventually. 

Told ya so, fucking cunt!

It Is Not Fair

I could fall so easily... All I'd have to do is let go.  I used to jump into things with both feet. Once I'd decided that it's something I wanted, I gave everything, and let the chips fall where they may.

But I've been smacked in the nose with the proverbial newspaper too much to continue the same carefree, love everyone, course my life was on. 

I can see myself loving Mr. Security. It could be as natural as breathing. We work together in tandem. We compromise. We talk about problems and possible solutions. We use each other as sounding boards. We are content to occupy the same space and be doing separate things. We both understand the ebb and flow of relationships. 

I keep looking for flaws. Waiting for the thing that will change our course. Because history has taught me, it's never this easy. 

No relationship is perfect. We are all human. Humans have flaws. A good relationship is about accepting the flaws in each other and loving them anyway. It greatly depends on what the flaw is. I know I can't be with someone who yells, does drugs or drinks to excess, is completely irresponsible, or is generally a horrible human being.

So I'm looking for these things. Waiting for them. And nothing. The most I can come up with is... Mr. Security apologizes a lot. For normal human things. And he truly is stressed that he could have, maybe, possibly caused me some uncomfortable moment. Often his apology is in a justification or over explanation of something. 

For example:
He passed up a parking spot in favor of another that was a little bit farther away. He said he was sorry and started to explain why he'd parked there. I had to cut him off and tell him I didn't care. Not to sound callous, but I really don't care about those little things in life. And if at some point I do care, I'll let you know. So what if we have to walk an extra half block? Now we have time to finish our cigarettes. 

He over explains hanging out with his friends. Especially the female ones. I listen patiently and smile. I've told him I think it's great he goes and does his own thing. I have no desire to be his only source of socialization. Also, I have a lot of guy friends. I know you can be friends with the opposite sex and not fuck them. If he gives me cause to question him, I'll talk to him about it. All I ask is that if he feels the need to stick his dick in someone else, tell me. Be honest, and we will be fine. 

At one point, he was going on and on about why he made some choice, and I cut him off again. I asked him if his ex-wife nagged him a lot. He got real quiet for a few minutes. I waited. And then, like a child being scolded, he said, yeah... she did. 

That, folks, is the only flaw I can see. We're working on it. Sometimes he will start, and I just look at him and smile. He catches on after a minute and says, "I'm over explaining this, aren't I?" He's starting to replace "sorry" with "thank you". I think he's having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that I am not going to badger him to death. I just don't feel that it's productive to waste energy on trivial things.

Damn, I got off track again...

Ahem. So I'm still waiting. For him to decide I'm not what he wants. For him to tell me he doesn't really see us long term. That he isn't looking for his one and only. For him to say I'm not good enough. For the monster to come out of the closet.

I'm so terrified of getting hurt again, that I just can't let go. I want this to be right and true and the end. If he is really the person he's showing me. I could love that person. I could let go and never look back. 

If I reach for the treat and get my hand smacked again? When the universe tells me, I'm not allowed to be loved?  The absolute feeling of being paralyzed by fear? I'm so scared of fucking it up, that I stand in the middle and do nothing.

And is that really fair to him? What if he adores me as much as I do him? What if he has no intentions of hurting me? He didn't do anything to warrant my attitude of self preservation. Why should he have to pay the price?