Dear So and So

Another installment of Dear So and So where I tell off people who I can't normally. I have a lot of bitching to do...This may become a weekly thing.

Dear Drivers, 
If you block an intersection, your light turns red, and you sit in said intersection until you light turns green again, you have no grounds to be pissed at me, when I go against my light and nose my way into the line, effectively forcing you to let me in. You were breaking the law by sitting in the intersection through a red light. We've all go places to be. Don't be a douche.

Dear Designer,
Just because you have no real skill in life, doesn't mean you get to make the skilled peoples lives more difficult. Picking 8 different colors for a $200 job, feels a lot like you trying to get over on me. The next job I get with you, will include the price of all the paint I just bought. So think carefully about how many colors you want to use for your jobs. You WILL pay for it one way or another. Cuz here's the thing, my skill is far more in demand than yours.

Dear Sun,
Fuck you with your skin damaging rays. How dare you burn the backs of my legs through my blue jeans!!!

Exhausted on all Fronts

It's 5 am, Wed. morning. I just got up. I didn't want to, but I did it anyway. I've got my coffee, a whole fresh brewed pot. But it doesn't taste as good as usual. I should be getting ready for work. But I don't want to.

I am exhausted. 

I've been leaving the house at 6 am, to get in as much daylight on the mural job as possible. Because by about 2 in the afternoon, the sun starts beating down on the side of that building and it becomes unbearable.

Then, I come home and work on in house jobs. Aside from actually cleaning my own house. I have a project here for a designer. I'm doing my best to get it done. But it's technical, and I'm brain fried.

I was planning on working on the mural until about 7 or 8 tonight. But I got a call from a short term residential respite home about DQ. We have to be there at 5 for an assessment. No telling if they will take her. I'm praying they do. 

I haven't had a good nights sleep in about a year. I recall when she was hospitalized, sleeping like the dead for 10 or more hours. Because finally, someone else was responsible for her. And I knew she couldn't hurt anyone here. Or destroy my stuff. Or run away. I could finally relax. And when that happens, I pass the fuck out.

I'm waiting for other calls to come. The one that will start the ball rolling on a long term residential placement. I'm hoping they can teach her independent living skills, and normalize her social skills. Otherwise, this kid is gonna be screwed when she ages out.

Yes, I'm tired. Work, work, work. Come home and fight, fix and mediate. Go to bed and sleep with one eye open and my ears always listening. 

Don't Try This at Home RTT

We moved in here a little over a year ago. That was the first time I saw one of these...

 Of course I freaked the fuck out. Cuz, well, what the hell is that thing? Being from the logical group of humans, I googled it. Now... I love these guys. They are house centipedes. They eat earwigs, roaches, spiders and other bugs. And they are completely harmless to humans. I just rescued two babies from my tube so that they could live to eat another bug.

I miss my HotRod, and his asshole dog. Usually it's him that is working crazy long hours. This time it's me. After a 10, 11, 12 hour day in the heat, up and down ladders, I'm too exhausted to move, let alone be good company. And we can just forget being sexy when I'm coated in sweat and sun screen.

I forgot how much I like egg salad sandwiches. I made some the other day...on toasted rye bread. 12 hours later I remember why I stopped eating so many eggs. The gas is unbelievable. 

Do you have any idea how fast paint dries when the canvas is the side of a building that's in direct sunlight? It's almost immediate. Which makes it difficult to blend paint for fades, shifts and shadows.

I cut a planters wart out of the bottom of my foot this week. In my defense, I tried the 12 week medicine patches first. When that didn't work, I opted for a new exacto blade. Definitely don't try this at home.

Did I forget to mention how big the house centipedes get? DQ and Itty Bit become paralyzed with fear when we see a big one. 

Maybe I'm losing my mind, but I think I never lost RTT. I just didn't know where to look. But now... I do. It's at Stacey Uncorked. Go play with her.

Take Pause and Think Carefully

DQ walked in the door the other day from school, and saw that I was wearing one of her shirts.

DQ: Um, why are you wearing my shirt?
Me: Oh, I was planning to paint in it.
DQ: You can't do that? Why would you do that?
Me: Where is my iPod, child?

Just the night before I caught her, AGAIN, with my iPod. I'd been looking for it for days. I was really missing my music while I worked on the mural. I thought maybe someone had swiped it out of my car. I should know better by now. Whenever it goes missing it turns out that she took it. 

So when I found her with it, I took it back and stuck it on the charger in my room.

Fast forward 12 hours, when I am ready to do some work from home, and very much looking forward to blasting music from my new (to me) vintage JBL speakers. These suckers are bad ass. I got them for Mother's Day from my brother. And while the band In This Moment mostly sucks live, they are going to sound great pumping through these huge speakers.

Go into my room, over to my bedside table, and what's this? The iPod is gone again. This time I know I've not lost my mind. I know exactly what happened to it. And I'm beyond pissed. 

Back to the conversation at hand--

Me: Where is my iPod, child?
DQ: What? Huh?
Me: My iPod. You took it off the charger in my room. It's not yours. GIVE IT BACK!
DQ: Oh. (As she pulls it out and hands it to me)
Me: Why did you take it again?
DQ: Cuz I do better in school with music.
Me: Bullshit! Why don't you be honest for once and say, 'I don't care about anyone but myself. So I do whatever the hell I want'?  I'm tired of you taking things that don't belong to you. The next time you do I'm going to run through every piece of clothing you own and paint them.
DQ: (Laughs) You can't do that.
Me: The hell I can't. Test me and see what happens.
DQ: I won't have anything to wear to school!
Me: Sure you will. You can wear clothes with paint on them. I do it every day.
DQ: Why are you being so ridiculous? It's no big deal.
Me: It is a big deal. You are a thief. So listen close and actually hear me. I will paint every piece of clothing you own if you take anything that doesn't belong to you again! Got it?

And I meant every damn word. I'm prepared to take a roller and put a stripe on Every Thing!

Grrr Here We Go Again

This is the way my body works...

In the winter time, I weigh between 135 and 140, give or take. Mostly give, a-hem. Not that I have a problem with that. It is what it is. I eat larger, stick to the rib meals. Work is slow during that time of year, so I'm less active. And I bake a lot of damn cookies. My belt gets tightened to the 4th notch.

In the summer time, I weigh about 125. I eat lighter meals, salads and other cold selections. And I'm so busy at work, that I run in circles. When the weather warms up, I am constantly on the move. My belt goes to the 6th notch, usually around July.

I don't really like how I look at 125. Because I lost so much weight, so fast, a couple years ago, I have some loose skin in the belly area. The less I weigh, the more noticeable it is. It weirds me out. 

I'm a little worried this year. It's the middle of May and my belt is already at the 6th notch. Granted I had more work this winter, but not so much that I should lose weight as a result. In my head, if I'm already at the 6th notch, where will I be in three months?  The idea of being any smaller does not appeal to me. 

I need steak and potatoes. Someone get me a plate of pasta. If I had time I'd bake a chocolate cake and eat the whole thing.

I know most women would like to string me up at this point. More often than not, we battle with keeping weight off. But consider my job. I can't really be a waif of a girl when strength is required. I don't feel weak, quite the opposite. But I'm worried about three months from now, when I'm sweating my ass off, and still losing weight.

And if you're thinking I'll look great in a bathing suit this year, think again. Because as previously mentioned, Tummy.

Dear So and So

This is one of my favorite blog formats. Dear So and So. Things you would say to people if you could, or if you would be able to get away with it.

Dear Dave, 
I know you were trying to bait me into a debate over my shitty choice of music. I didn't take it, because I don't give a damn what your opinion is. Or anyone else for that matter. It's funny to me when you chastise people for being sheep, AND belittle me for not liking your music. In case you didn't notice, I'm not one of the masses. And even if I was a follower, you're not cool enough to lead.

Dear Boss/Brother,
I've finally figured out why I get more done when you're not around. It is essentially that you're not around...asking me to help you with this and that. Asking me to grab something for you. Yes, less gets done when there is only one person on the job. But that one person gets a hell of a lot more done, when she works by herself!

Dear Facebook,
Please stop reverting the timeline in my news feed, to top stories. As is evident by your targeted advertising, you've figured out that I like art supplies, rock concerts, chocolate and funky boots. Did it ever occur to you I don't care about what's popular? I want whats most relevant. 

Dear Client, 
Don't argue with the painter about color. And if you insist on arguing don't admit your ignorance at 4pm on a Friday, and ask that I repaint your kitchen with the correct color. I don't do regular painting. I was doing you a favor because you're old. Your only saving grace was the $100 tip for my time and trouble.

The Price of Pretty

My Body Hurts!

I have ladder bruises, from leaning against the rungs to reach high up and not fall on my ass. I may have almost fallen off the 8 foot ladder. I definitely gave myself a heart attack.

My shoulders ache from the pressure required to make sure all the cracks and peels are sealed up tight with a roller. 

My back and shoulders itch for the sun I got. Even though I took measures to ensure I wouldn't get sun. (I'm highly allergic) I can feel the hives and the bra straps are not my friend at the moment. While we're talking about the sun, I've got funny little lines on the backs of my legs. That's what I get for wearing shorts and knee pads.

And... I'm exhausted. Long long days, spent doing what I love. 

I can't believe I get paid to do what I love. Most mornings I look forward to going to work. When I have a mural job, I can't wait to get out the door.  I'm a very lucky girl.

I've been trying to remember to film the work progress. My camera will only take 25 mins of video at a time. So I have to remember to go and hit record again. Well, when I'm wrapped up in painting, nothing else is on my mind. But here are some pictures of the progress.

I forgot to take a "before" pic. This is the closest I have. I'd already starting painting the road at this point.

The road and the cross walk all color blocked.

 Progress so far

I love this car. I used to have a 1971, canary yellow.

 And the sun burn

Stress Indicator

I should rely on my stress levels to tell me when my stomach is going to go bonkers. Unfortunately it's the other way around. My Stomach lets me know when I'm stressed the fuck out!

The last couple years of my marriage, when things were down right scary, I started having these terrible stomach pains. They came on at night. And it was all I could do not to cry. My stomach became distended. I could not lay down or sit. I'd have to stretch myself over pillows in an upright position, just to breathe.

That's when I learned about Prilosec. Wonderful stuff, lemme tell ya. Whoever invented that deserves a blow job. Not from me, but from someone. You take a pill once a day for 14 days. You can only repeat this regimen every 4 months. But it works. The Prilosec turns the acid pumps off, giving the holes time to heal.

After I got rid of the husband, my stomach magically stopped doing that. 

THEN, a year later I was going through court. A LOT! I was scared I might lose custody of Itty Bit. The stomach problems came back. It was so bad one day, that I could hardly move. I think I scared the poor pharmacist when I went in looking for relief that day. I looked like a fiend going through withdrawl. My hands holding me up on her counter, shaking from pain, with a gun on my hip. (I always wore it back then) Begging her to help me. She pointed me in the direction of Zantac. Because it starts working within an hour. I got that and prilosec. I could have kissed her, but I'm sure she would have had me arrested.

I haven't really had much problems since then. The girls and I have been on our own. And my stress levels have been pretty even.

Imagine my dismay when two nights in a row I was woken by this pain again. The first night I took Zantac. It took a couple hours to work, but it did, and I managed to get a little sleep. 

Last night, same thing. But this time I took the Zantac and nothing. Hours later, I figured it was because there was still food in my stomach. Tried to induce vomiting, and nothing! At 5am I gave up and went to the pharmacy. Do you know they don't sell epicack (spelling?) anymore? Well they don't. But the very concerned pharmasist told me it would be ok to take Prilosec now, and tums soft chews until the prilosec kicks in. I ate an entire 24 hour dose of tums sitting in the parking lot. 

In the middle of this chaos, it occurred to me that I am probably at record stress levels at the moment. All the jobs I have working and the bullshit with DQ? Yeah I think that's probably it.

I did manage to fall asleep half an hour before it was time to get DQ up for school. I love that they are old enough to get ready without me. I woke up a little after 8 and they were both gone. To school I assume. Lets hope.

I think HotRod must have seen my late night rant on Facebook about said pain. When I checked my phone there was a text from him:
You are my sunshine....my only sunshine....you make me happyyyyy....cuz you're not gay....

That made me chuckle a little.

Random Vodka Goodness

The Un-Mom used to host a Random Tuesday Thoughts. I don't see that she's even writing a blog anymore, so I'll just carry on this little tradition myself. This format fits perfectly, because it's how my brain actually works.  

I'm at it again, in case you haven't noticed. Blogging. Which means I've got a case of bloggers brain. I come across stuff, and think, 'Oh, that would make a great blog post.' I write the post in my head, complete with hilarious snarky wit. All Day Long. Man this is gonna be great. Unfortunately, I also have a chronic case of Mommy brain. Which means, by the time I sit down to write said post, all pertaining data has been essentially deleted from the hard drive.

I've found my new favorite Vodka. Pinnacle. This shit comes in all sorts of flavors, and it's actually very tasty. I prefer my vodka straight out of a shot glass. I'm not big on fluffy girly drinks. So the fact that Pinnacle Vodka goes down so smooth works well for me. I've also noticed that I usually don't have a hangover the morning after over indulgence. 
As a side note, apparently brown liquor and I don't get along well. One shot of whiskey will knock me on my ass, and give me a hangover. 6 shots of Pinnacle, however, equals a happy drunk with no hangover.

Itty Bit is a great helper. She volunteers to do chores, laundry, cleaning the bathroom, dusting. This does not mean she is a clean child. Her bedroom looks like a bomb went off. She'd rather throw it all out than clean it up. I can't wrap my head around the fact that she would prefer cleaning a toilet to picking up her own toys.

The Douche is currently $13,000 + in arrears. That's almost enough for a down payment on a house. Also, he has no job. I feel so sorry for his girlfriend. He text me Friday afternoon to say; 'I can't get Itty Bit this weekend. I don't have the gas money to get out there. I'm having a hard time finding a job because they suspended my license for non-payment of support.'  Bahahahaha, oops, I think I'm supposed to feel sorry for him.

Hunting Season

Ah good ole tourist season. You're probably seen the bumper sticker that reads something like, 'If it's tourist season, why aren't we allowed to shoot them?'

I don't know of any place where that statement rings more true than My beach.  I live in a tourist town. The oceanfront is designed to make money, hand over fist. And I get it, tourist=tax dollars. But damn, do they all have to be as dumb as bricks?

It's starts in May. People trickling in for vacation. By the time the kids are out of school, for the summer, the place is crawling with bodies. Swarms of people, like waves of bugs. And it doesn't let up until September. Us locals actually have a take back the beach weekend. 

There are a couple of things, in particular, that bother me about tourist season.

First, I park across the street from my shop. There is a whole row of open spaces for me to choose from between September and May. And then, because the shop is next to the lifeguard station house, all these pimply faced, non-driving, know-it-all teens and twentysomethings take my spots. All Of Them!!! Between May and September, my brother and I do a lot of juggling cars around in his one lane spot. It's a massive pain in the ass.

Second, the traffic. Car AND foot. Maybe they think that since they are on vacation, no one else is working either. But for Christ's sake, I've got places to be. Most of my work IS at the oceanfront. So while they leisurely walk across the street, by the hoards, I have to crawl to work at 5 mph, so as not to run one of them over. And don't get me started on the cars! I've actually stuck my head out of my car window and screamed at assholes blocking intersections. 

And last, the trash. The city tries to keep up, I suppose. But by the time all these bugs go back home, it's hard not to notice the ciggarette butts, and plastic food wrappers all in the sand. How can people be so freakin' rude?

Don't be surprised to hear this phrase coming out of my mouth, repeatedly, for the next 4 months, "fucking tourists!"

 

Who's to Blame

I rarely, if ever, regret any decision I make. I can look back, armed with the perspective of the future, and see where I should have choose differently. But at the time, I made the best choice possible, with the information available, therefore, no regrets.

To be guilty of something, I think, requires that you set out to do something you might regret. Being purposefully hurtful to others or being selfish.

The way I live my life, leaves me at peace. I always try to do what I know in my heart to be right. So what should I have to feel guilty about?

The answer: My oldest daughter, DQ.

I waffle back and forth between strong parent and push-over. I want to teach her how to get along in the adult world. But I also feel sorry for her because she is always in trouble. She is not having a very happy childhood.

This is no ones fault. I could not have foreseen what the future would hold for her. I made my decisions one day at a time, with the best of intentions.

My daughter is on a path of destruction. It terrifies me thinking about where she will end up once she leaves my house in two years. And the best I can say is, I tried?

Damn it, that's just not good enough. When you are talking about the care and upbringing of a child, your best is not going to cut it. You MUST succeed. Her life depends on it. And to this point I have failed.

The police were at our house just last night. I forced myself to press assault charges on her. Not because I was badly hurt. Not because I want to get back at her for putting her hands on me. Not because I want her out of my house. I finally took this step because she has to understand that there are consequences to actions like this. She will be in for a big surprise if she does these things as an adult. It's my job to help her avoid these outburst in the near future, when her records will be permanent. 

If there is one thing I feel guilty about, it's not being a better parent for DQ. I will always blame myself and wonder what I could have done differently. Because ultimately, it was my responsibility.  

Another Bing

The Ah-ha moment, if you will. I've been pondering what to name my boyfriend on the blog. I suspect I will be writing about him for a long time. 

Superman? He is my hero...
Mr. Kent? Mr. Wonderful? Mr. Perfect?
Freak? He associates well with that...
Biker Babe? Too girly sounding!
Fur Face? We're closing in on ZZ Top lengths.
Hot to Trot? He does make me weak in the knees.
Hot Rod? Hot Rod... I think we may have something here. 

Yes, yes. I think we have a winner. From this day forward, I shall call him HotRod. Uh, I realize there should be a space between hot and rod. It's a fictitious name. And it's my blog. I'll do what I want, damn it!

In other news, I put in a bid for the mural job. This is the ONE and only part I hate about my job. Trying to put a dollar value on my time. But I do it anyway, because, well, I have to. And what do you know, I got the job. So add this to my already full plate. Don't mistake that for complaining. I'll move other stuff around to do a mural any day!

Inigo Montoya

The Boyfriend... I asked him, hypothetically, if someone were to have a blog AND if he could pick a nickname to be used on said blog, what would it be? His answer: Inigo Montoya. Yes, from Princess Bride.  I figured he'd say something like Superman (there's a story) or Freak (also a story) but no. He choose Inigo Montoya.  Sorry baby, it's cute, but that is not what I picture when talking about you. So, I will continue to ponder the nickname.

No man had ever been interested in reading anything I write. Even my ex-husband refused to help me out when I was writing my books. I can understand that. It's not a subject matter most men are interested in. The books were written with a specific audience in mind; Women. 

So imagine my surprise when, he who has yet to be named, asked to read them. I explained that they were fluffy girly books and he probably wouldn't like them. He didn't care. He wanted to read them anyway. Before we even met! Well that spoke volumes to me. He was interested in the way my mind works. I emailed him copies, and he stayed up 'til 1 in the morning reading. 

With that in mind, I guess it should come as no surprise that he brought up the subject of the blog. Sort of, as an aside. Like, so you write a blog, huh? I think I'd like to read it. 

I had to sit and ponder this request. NO ONE in my real life has ever read my blog. EVER! They don't even know I write one. There is a lot of private stuff in my blog. Real life stuff, that isn't pretty. He'd likely see things that would embarrass me. He'd likely read about things he'd rather not know, a-hem, Bam, a-hem. 

He is smart. That sounds like a generic description, but it couldn't be more true. He is book smart and street smart. As he says, "I know a little bit about a lot of stuff." If he wants to know how to do something, he sets out to learn it. Sometimes he makes me feel dumb. Not on purpose, mind you, but none the less. And I consider myself pretty smart. Why is his intelligence important? Because our relationship started in the brains. 

We talk A LOT. One of our things is open communication and honesty. It's also "Winner winner, chicken dinner", but I digress. 

I could have said 'No' about the blog. I suspect he would have been perfectly fine with that answer, too. It would have been the easy way for me. But... as honesty is part of our foundation, I agreed to let him read. Not before warning him that it's not all sunshine and rainbows.

It is with a humble sort of pride, that I welcome my newest reader. Remember, you asked for it. So don't get your panties in a twist. This is one of my outlets. It isn't neat and polite. It's real. But I know you can appreciate that.

Tied Hands

In case you've forgotten, DQ stands for Drama Queen. And oh does she love the drama. She confessed recently, that she picks fights with me when she's bored, because... well she's bored.

Her In-home-therapist advised me to file charges for destruction of property. Why? Because no consequence I've handed out have made a bit of difference. And, she is a minor. Her "record" will be sealed when she turns 18. So maybe, just maybe, we could make an impression without life long reverberation. 

I called the non-emergency police number Monday afternoon, and requested they dispatch an officer to take a report. I explained to the officers what was going on, and the desired outcome of my call.

The answer? We won't charge a minor with destruction of property. If she were to destroy someone elses property, you, as her custodian, would be responsible for the restitution. So it doesn't really matter because you would have to pay yourself back.

WHAT? 

Yes, apparently, in this city, my kid can destroy anything she wants without consequence. Well fucking great! Now what am I supposed to do?

They gave her a "stern talking to", again. The young officers expressed that they had hope the "talk" would help her see the light. I all but laughed at them. I have a great respect for our law enforcement. But come on guys. You think you're 20 minute chat is going to do something 4 years of therapy hasn't been able to? Give me a break!!!

My hands are essentially tied. She can do whatever she wants and there is nothing I can do about it? And when she goes manic one day and shoots up a public venue? Oh that will be my fault, because I didn't seek the right kind of help for my messed up kid.

 

Busy Busy Busy

As is often the case in my line of work, it's either feast or famine. A week ago, I was on a normal flow. Today I feel like I've been hit with a truck load of work and I'm now wondering when I'll get it all done. 

Excuse me while I get my thoughts together...

Rental 1 needs to be finished, if the damn contractor would give me a fuckin key, it would make my life soooo much easier.

Rental 2 need the front porch and back deck redone.

I have 4 princess canopy swag holder thingys for a designer, currently sitting on top of my bed. I have to paint them all differently, to specs, with a shit ton of different colors. Until that happens, I'll be sleeping on the couch.

I picked up a quick kitchen repaint. It will take me less than a day to do, now I just have to find a "day" to do it. Maybe Friday?

I have to clean for this old guy every other weekend. This, of course, is the weekend I'm due over there.

And I got a call from a major beach front restaurant today. They want me to give then a quote for refurbishing a mural on the side of their building. I WANT THIS JOB!

Oh and then there is my regular job with my brother. Currently finishing a huge kitchen job. I'll be lining cabinet doors and drawers for a solid day at least.

Most of this has to be done by next Monday. Holy shit, when am I going to get it all done.  On the bright side, I've no worries about whether I'll make rent next month.

Now, when the hell am I supposed to hang out with my boyfriend, when I am running around like a chicken with my head cut off?


 

Look Out Below

I started marking my posts with the date. Because, as previously mentioned, I now think of this blog as a digital diary. Every now and then I will go back and read some of the posts, and reflect on how far I've come. How things have changed. 

It was July of 2014 when I finally severed the heart strings to Bam. It's been 10 months, since then. It took me two years to get to that point. It was a long road of many wasted tears. I survived. I came out stronger and wiser on the other end.

I am a people person. I'm very social. And maybe I'm stuck in fairytale land, but I like the idea of having my forever someone. I also understand that no one is perfect and neither are relationships. 

But... Because of the damage, I am very cautious when it comes to matters of the heart. Hyper aware and always on the look out, for anything that might indicate I'll get hurt.

That's why I've been on so many first dates in the last 10 months, just to tick them off the list. No, no, no, psycho, no, no, looking for sex... you get the point. I took my profile down and opted for a break. I was loosing faith in MANkind.

And then BING!

I met him through social media, we both follow a local facebook page. And he expressed that he didn't really see himself dating anytime soon, and that was fine with me. I understand that when a man tells you he only wants to be friends, you should take him at his word. All my friends are guys anyway, and it never hurts to have more. He was a cool mo-fo, so I was content to add him to my friend list.

But the more we talked the brighter the bulb got. For him too, he told me as much. And then we met and the light bulb made a "bing" sound in my head. He later told me, that when I grabbed his face, kissed him and said, "just so there is no confusion", he was 'doneski'. I had him hook, line and sinker. I'd only met him an hour previous.

Because here's the thing, I've learned a lot about myself in the last year. As much as I'm firm on what I don't want, I also know what I do want. And when that "bing" went off in my head, I knew we would be golden. 

I've learned, through trial and error, (mostly error) that three months is a fair amount of time to truly know a person. The normal person can only pull off a persona for about 3 months, before the truth starts to show. For me, I can usually pick up on things quickly now. Even if I never call them on their bad behavior, a little lie, snapping at servers, rude off color comments, all those little things add up to a big picture. So do things such as, spending your Saturday helping a friend in need, taking in and loving a rescue dog, and not beating said dog when he craps on your carpet, making sure your new girlfriend has coffee at your house, even though you don't drink coffee, having a positive attitude about life... It's the last list that is leaving me optimistic. Those are the traits he is currently showing. It's been almost a month since I stole that kiss, and he hasn't given me reason to run.

I haven't named him yet. I'm tempted to call him Metal Head, because half of his skull is made up of metal plates and screws (bad car accident when he was a kid). I'm also tempted to call him Captain, because he fancies himself a pirate. But those seem just too predictable. I'm still pondering something good for this man who is quickly making off with my heart.

 For now, I will leave you with a picture of his son, Ra. The lovable asshole who barks too much and shits in the hallway. Because my man is a sucker for this face.

May 11, 2015

She Does Not Get It

For the past 4 years, I've battled with DQ over just about everything. Some of it is normal teenage girl stuff. Wearing 10 lbs of make-up and hooker clothes to school. Not wanting to do her chores and sleeping a lot. THOSE are normal teenager things. She is 16 and I remember being her age.

Calling me a whore, a bitch, saying she hopes I get cancer... That Is Not Normal.  

Dealing with DQ is an all day, everyday...Whats the word I'm looking for?...challenge? I don't think that accurately describes what my house is like. 

I'm seeing a pattern emerge here. Yes, every interaction with DQ is stressful, and maddening. But sometimes she ramps up the levels to down right unbelievable. And it's usually over a boy.

And does DQ fall madly in love with boys at school or in the neighborhood? Well of course not, that would make her a normal teenager. She seeks out strangers on the internet. People whom she has no means to verify. I use the term "boy" loosely, because I am fully aware they could be grown me.

She "broke up" with some boy in Ohio, who she'd never actually met in person, but who she did exchange nude pictures with. The result, cutting up her arms, and landing in the psych ward. 

A year later, same thing. She'd talked to this boy for about a week. When he called it off, she went absolutely ape shit, threw my house into chaos and then cut up her arms. He was from Florida.

Back in Dec. she made plans with some boy who lived 4 hours away, to come and sneak her out of the house so they could go have sex in the woods. She even talked my Sister-in-law into a spa day where she got a Brazilian wax. For those who don't know, it's where some stranger slathers your girly bit with hot wax and rips all the hair out so you have a nice smooth vagina and asshole for the love of your life. Whom you've never actually met, ahem. She got caught. And again, made everyone's life unbearable for a couple of weeks.

This time...
Last weekend, she told me a surprise was coming at 4pm (it was a Sunday) as part of my mothers day present. The short version of reality is: She opened a dating profile online, where she lied about everything including her age, and used someone elses pictures. Met a "boy" who lives 2 hours away. Talked to him for 2 days. Then GAVE HIM OUR ADDRESS and invited him to come visit. She thought it would smooth things over if he brought coffee for me. 

The part that is terrifying, let me say again, she gave a strange man our address!!! She also told him all about her family life. He knew there were only us girls here. No big males or scary dogs to thwart any ill intentions. Is it any wonder my hair is grey?

Well she got caught, again. I intercepted and messaged this guy, pointing out the fact that since he is an adult and she is a minor it would be in his best interest to not EVER come to this city. I may have also mentioned I have a gun. I think self preservation can be a great motivator.

And DQ doesn't understand why I don't think this is wonderful.  She thinks I'm neurotic because I can't be here to protect my girls 24 hours a day and Itty Bit could become the bystander victim. 

 You know what came next? An absolute breakdown of civil behavior in my house! The next morning I woke to find photographs, that I display in the house, with permanent marker X's through her face. My favorite photo of me and my kids was DESTROYED. There is no way to replace that. And in her head, it's my fault for making her feel depressed. A couple days later, I discover a large painting I'd done of me and my girls, also had a large X in it. 

I went off! And then I went to look for something of hers to destroy. She pushed me, so I grabbed her arm and twisted it up behind her back. Told her I'd break it if she ever touched me again. Then she attacked Itty Bit. Itty Bit defended herself, and DQ was left with scratches all over her arms. She threatened to smack Itty Bit. I told her if she touched her sister, I'd knock her out and have her arrested. And then, my oldest child said to me, "I hope you die in a hole, you fucking piece of shit."

Nice right? 

Yesterday was Mother's Day. DQ called me a bitch and said I don't deserve to celebrate Mother's Day, because I'm a horrible mother.  I looked her dead in the face and said, "There used to be a time when your opinion counted, but it doesn't any more." And then I ignored her the rest of the day. When I didn't answer some question she had, she pushed me again. I challenged her to lay another hand on me, and she backed down quickly. 

I thank God every day for Itty Bit. She heals all my battle scars. Yesterday as we drove home from the Mother's day cookout, (I left DQ at home) Itty bit said to me,
"Thanks for giving birth to me, Mom. Cuz if you hadn't done that, I wouldn't be here, and I wouldn't have the most awesome mom in the world."

May 11, 2015

I'm a Real Painter

Yes, I paint for a living. Oddly enough, I do it for fun too. I got an airbrush a while back. Let me just tell you, that thing is fun!

But I still prefer painting with a "hairy brush". I don't know why, but if I'm doing something other than a portrait, I choose this medium.

I've gotten to the point in my craft where I am comfortable saying I'm a painter. Don't get me wrong, I still doubt myself, Ever Single Time. When I start a project, I always think, "oh, man. This is gonna look like ass." But somehow, by the end, it seems to work out.

May 8, 2015

Lunatic Luau

Our local rock station has a huge concert every spring called the Lunatic Luau. I've wanted to go for many years, but life ( read money ) always got in the way.

This year, my bestie and I turned 40. Yes, my best friend is a dude. Seems logical, when you realize I don't get along with girls. Anyway...

(Bestie and I, drunk as 40 year old skunks, during our birthday bar crawl)

This year I threw caution to the wind, and splurged on VIP tickets for me and my bestie to the Lunatic Luau. This meant we would have the best seats spot in the house to watch all the bands. AND, access to the VIP lounge, ( read bar ) private restrooms, preferred parking and first access to meet and greets. 

On the ticket was Slayer, (blah) Godsmack, Halestorm, Papa Roach, and The Pretty Reckless. A lot of other bands too, but that's who I wanted to see.

So... after waiting 2 months for this event to end all others, May 1st finally arrived and it was... COLD and Raining! My feet were wet before we even got into the amphitheater. Did I mention it was outside? 9 hours outside in the cold and wet. Thank god for the covered shelter that VIP tickets afforded us.

The highlights of the show:
Halestorm was awesome, as usual. I got to meet them, and they were very humble.
Godsmack was ok, Sully apparently had a cold. I was expecting a lot more, honestly. And they didn't do meet and greet. Never had any intention to. Assholes!
Papa Roach was awesome, as usual. Jacoby did what he always does, got off stage and ran around in the crowd. He was covered in mud by the time he was done. That's good people, right there.
But the best part, hanging out with my bestie. We're both "grown-ups" with real lives, so we don't get to hang out much. 

May 3, 2015