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.