tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39395385493935920162024-03-05T04:46:07.978-05:00Life In Left FieldReal life, unedited (except for typos) unscripted and unexpected.Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.comBlogger341125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-32829542037041025392016-04-11T06:38:00.000-04:002016-04-11T06:38:08.316-04:00Dear DQ<span style="font-size: large;">It's been more than a month since I've posted. There's a good reason for that. I came to suspect DQ had found the blog. I decided to go dark for a bit. But now, I'm hoping she's found it. Because DQ ran away from her group home on March 21st. She's been gone for almost 3 weeks. We've followed every lead and sighting. We've paid people to look for her, with a bonus should they find her. We've needled the Norfolk detectives division with phone calls. At this point I'm hoping she will hear my last ditch plea. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Dear Daughter, </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Please know that I love you and always will. I will always hope for the best for you. I want you to succeed and be happy. I hope whoever is harboring you is taking good care of you. With that being said, I feel it's my job as your mother to warn you...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">You want to be out in the world, making your own choices. You think that you're not a child anymore. But this latest choice proves that you are indeed, still a child. You are making snap decisions with no regard for your future. You are living for the moment unaware that what you do today will affect the rest of your life. That is something children do. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If you were grown enough to be out on your own, you'd know that you should be making full use of every opportunity you've been given. You're missing school. Effectively throwing away at any chance of college. How far do you think you're going to get in life being so impulsive? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I won't get into how your being gone has affected everyone else. Because I know, being boarderline personality disorder means, you don't care about how you affect others. So I'll plead to something you understand. How this will affect you...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If you don't turn yourself in soon, your future, the one you dream of, with the big house and the fancy car, will be destroyed. You will be the only one to blame, because you're the one slamming the door in the face of all your potential. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">You are incredibly smart. Please don't waste all your chances for success because you want to be stubborn. Open your eyes. If for no other reason that to save yourself. Because the longer you stay gone, the more bridges get burned. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Please know, if you call me soon, I will come for you. No matter day or night. But at this point, you're the only one who can change your path. You must be willing to work for it. Child of mine, hear me when I say, nothing is just going to land in your lap. If you don't work for yourself, no one else will either. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I love you. Please be safe as you make your way in the world.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Love, Mom</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">To the person who is currently harboring my first born child,</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Regardless of what story she told you, she is a minor. She has a mental health diagnosis and is currently off her meds. You have been informed now. Continuing to harbor her means you understand the full wrath that will befall you, if you do not turn her in. Please understand, while she may seem harmless, my family and friends are anything but. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If you are discovered I will make it my life mission to destroy you. Everything you care about, everything you own, your reputation, your freedom... Everything from your job, your house, your car, your god damn family pet, Will Be Mine. I have people with very specialized skills waiting for me to give them a name and the word 'go'. If you think you are untouchable, untraceable, invincible, let me assure you, when I'm done with you, you'll live with nothing but regret for the rest of your life. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The ONLY way to avoid the inevitable, because trust me when I say, you will be found out, is to turn her in NOW. Call the Norfolk Detective Bureau and tell them where to find her. </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-70259298130323621072016-03-04T20:30:00.000-05:002016-03-04T20:30:19.360-05:00Good For Ya<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/frBcV4ZVlg4" width="480"></iframe><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">For days I've been looking forward to Saturday night.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Mr.
Security is out of town for work right now. Not unusual. It's a big
part of his job. Early on in the week, during one of our nightly phone
calls, we were discussing plans for a date night. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Itty
Bit will be spending the night with one of her grandmas. That means the
tone of date night completely changes. It's not often we get the house
to ourselves. We plan to take full advantage of this.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Mr.
Security has a way of making me feel like a girl. I want to be pretty. I
want him to think I'm sexy and not be able to keep his hands off of me.
So much so, that I started getting ready for date night on Wed. Hair
cut, eye brows plucked, hair dyed...Black cherry, in case you're
wondering. None of those things are out of the ordinary for me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The
big deal here is what I went shopping for. I haven't done this in
YEARS. It never really mattered. For some reason, now it does. He
deserves to be spoiled a little. I bought sexy intimate wear. Way beyond
the functional cotton I normally wear, I suspect he's going to loose
his mind a little. I can't wait to pick him up from the airport!!!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It's kind of fun being girly. I mean, I don't plan on doing it often. But every once in a while...it's nice. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-63623872893853795982016-03-04T07:03:00.000-05:002016-03-04T07:03:27.592-05:00If You're Going Through Hell<span style="font-size: large;">I'm not a fan of country music. It's rare that I'll even entertain the idea of listening to it at all. But this song...It fits.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/sBKybUusyP8" width="459"></iframe>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It's been an interesting few weeks with DQ. All hell is trying to break loose and it's taking every bit of strength I have to fight back.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">DQ needs to be in a full time therapy, behavior mod setting. These things cost money. Unfortunately, her insurance doesn't cover the entire cost. Since I can't cover the cost, I have to basically petition the city to pick up the overlap. In our last city, this didn't seem to be a problem. The funding allocation team seemed vested in her well being and mine and Itty Bit's safety. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But we moved. With that our case moved to a new team. Where the previous team was ready to increase her level of care to a locked facility, this new team...sigh. In a nut shell they said, 'Why should we continue to pay for treatment if she's not doing any work?' The new city wants to send her home. I'm baffled. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And if she turns into Lizzie Borden? If she's stabs some kid at school in a fatal attraction scenario? If she has a baby and realizes it's taking attention away from her? Will she drowned her kid in a bathtub? Or maybe she'll develop munchausen by proxy? Because of the Borderline Personality disorder, DQ is capable of any of those things. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Then it will be; "Why wasn't she given the mental health help she needed?" "Where were the parents? Didn't they know about her mental instability?" </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But for now it; "Money is more important than people." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I took the day off yesterday, because I had 4 meeting regarding DQ. I also took today off because I need to dedicate some time to researching all of our options. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Apparently we need a back up plan. I'm not willing to have Itty Bit go stay with my mom. I'm not willing to have Mr. Security move out because of what she might do to sabotage us. I'm not willing to take a leave of absence so I can monitor her 24 hours of day. I'm not willing to go to bed wondering if she's going to stab me in my sleep.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The last 6 months have been the most stress free normal time I've experienced in decades. Not since I went into foster care and got placed with my 'Mom' have I been so relaxed and happy. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm not willing to trade every ones safety and emotional well being because this city wants to save a few bucks. </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-77979536774175093272016-02-27T06:13:00.000-05:002016-02-27T06:13:48.111-05:00My Lost Child<span style="font-size: large;">I've got the ingredients, and some pretty purple frosting. I've got all the tools I need to bake and decorate a treat. I've been putting it off because it makes me sad.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">DQ turns 17 today. She's still in the group home. I've told the staff I would be bringing cupcakes. I'm not looking forward to this. Not even a little bit.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She is still doing the same things that got her placed in the group home to begin with. Still looking for ways to break the rules. Still contacting males. Still back talking the staff. Still blaming everyone else for the situation she's in.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">DQ has exactly one year to gain some enlightenment. One year to figure out how to live and function as a member of society. One year before she is out on her own. It scares me to think of all the heartache she will suffer, left to her own devices. But I can't save her. I can't cover for her. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It's a horrible feeling...Loving your child. Wanting the best for them. All with the firm belief that she can not live in your house or be part of your family. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I've recently come to realize that she will have to go out and make her own mistakes. She will have to learn on her own, the real life consequences of her actions. I tried to teach her, to guide her, to save her from the ugly side of the world. But she wouldn't listen.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Happy Birthday DQ. I'm going to bring you cupcakes and hope for the best. But my 'mom blinders' are gone now and you won't be coming home. </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-78533385544200880802016-01-05T06:18:00.000-05:002016-01-05T06:18:45.195-05:00It is Cold<span style="font-size: large;">It's the kind of morning that calls for wool socks, to pad your feet from the hardwoods. A morning that demands hot coffee, to wake the soul and warm the hands. It's a cold, windy morning, that would be best spent rolling around naked with someone you love. If for no other reason than to share body heat. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss my love. He's off in another state, working his white hat, network security magic. Sigh....</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I know, logically, it's good for us. We've both been working from home since we moved. I think I was starting to aggravate him a little. It happens. It's not a good idea for any couple to be together 24/7. Doesn't make me miss him any less. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The last couple of months, I wasted some time, wondering why I couldn't have found him sooner. Thinking life would have been so much easier...for both of us. Rather than be dragged through the gauntlet I could have just been madly in love with him this whole time. But I had an epiphany recently: We wouldn't have appreciated each other as much if we hadn't lived though some hell. We might have taken what we have for granted, not knowing how horrible relationships can be. Instead, I know what a stellar human being he is and I couldn't ask for anything more.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It's in the low 20's this morning...and dropping. I miss snuggling up and stealing his warm beams. No matter the temperature, Mr. Security is always warm.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">On a side note: What in the actual fuck???</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It was in the 70's the week of Christmas! So hot and humid I couldn't get paint to dry! And now, two weeks later, the 20's? As Itty Bit so hilariously said the other day, "Weather, you're drunk. Go Home!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-20263818013749597502016-01-04T22:30:00.000-05:002016-01-05T06:16:42.899-05:00Holiday Chaos DONE<span style="font-size: large;">We survived the holiday chaos. I was a little worried, but it turns out, I was over thinking it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The normal level of crazy that flows through my house was exacerbated by the move. Did I cancel Christmas breakfast? No. I still had everyone over, and fumbled through keeping everyone fed and coffeed. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And you know what? It was fantastic. No one cared that we still had boxes and crap laying around. Because they realize, I'm only human. I'm the only one who is freaking out because it wasn't all done. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It was loud. It was messy. Our house was stuffed full of family and friends. It was awesome!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And I won Christmas. Yes, I realize it's not about winning or losing. Especially in my family. But my compound miter saw and antique pachinko machine....They say I won Christmas.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We had an impromptu New Year's Eve party. It went a lot like:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>New Year's Eve...Noonish</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: cyan;">Mr. Security:</span> Sweety, do you mind if I have a few people over tonight?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: magenta;">Me:</span> (as I pop one eye open from a nap) Uh, no. Who are we talkin?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: cyan;">Mr. Security:</span> So-in-so and maybe Whats-their-face and maybe my brothers.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: magenta;">Me:</span> Seriously? (laughing) Are you trying to have a New Year's Eve party? I asked you a week ago if you wanted to plan something.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: cyan;">Mr. Security: </span>Yeah, I'm a dork.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: magenta;">Me:</span> Alright, lets do this thing.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So much fun. We played cards against humanity, which I'd never played but apparently I was good at because I won. We drank Waaaaay to much. I was hurtin' bad the next day. And I got to know some of Mr. Security's friends better and also his brother. Good people. So glad we did that. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Well, you're all caught up now. Back to work for this girl. </span><br />
<br />
Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-38213190633929471072015-12-19T04:02:00.001-05:002015-12-19T04:02:43.936-05:00Peek a Boo<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Granite counter-tops and new cabinets. Stainless steel appliances. Big rooms, huge yard... Yes, everything is just about perfect. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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!?!?!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> 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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I love it. Every single minute of it. The possibilities are endless. </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-67104798050784843952015-11-25T04:54:00.000-05:002015-11-25T04:54:49.509-05:00Friendly Advice<span style="font-size: large;">It's that time of year again. When we're consumed with Turkey day and holiday shopping.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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 <i>their </i>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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I, for one, refuse to shop on Thursday. Hell no! Spending time with my family is FAR more important than spending money. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Catch ya on the flip side. </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-65490749832501912402015-11-24T06:06:00.002-05:002015-11-24T06:06:34.999-05:00Yay<span style="font-size: large;">Recall yesterday's post, Hurry Up and Wait? And just that fast we're done waiting. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We got the house!!! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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!!!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> We can start moving in next Monday. AHHHH</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">After that, I'll turn into a packing, mad woman. </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-4356176767478195022015-11-23T04:27:00.002-05:002015-11-23T04:27:19.840-05:00Hurry Up and Wait<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Grrrr, this state of flux!!! I need this to be resolved so I can start preparing... For whatever this next month will bring. </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-89592668533138268352015-11-22T04:13:00.000-05:002015-11-23T04:28:07.181-05:00Time to Cook Time to Eat<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1 bag (12 oz) raw cranberries</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1 cup of sugar</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1 cup of water</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Ingredients <br /><br /> 10 large russet baking potatoes (about 7 pounds total) <br /> 8 tablespoons (1 stick) plus 1 tablespoon unsalted butter, at room temperature <br /> 1 cup sour cream <br /> 1/2 cup heavy cream <br /> 2 teaspoons salt <br /> 1 1/2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper <br /> 3/4 pound bacon, cooked until crisp and crumbled <br /> 1/2 pound sharp white Cheddar, cut into 1/2-inch cubes <br /> 3/4 pound mild Cheddar, grated (3 cups) <br /> 1/2 cup finely chopped green onions <br /> 3 eggs, lightly beaten</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. <br /> <br />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. <br /> <br />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. <br /> <br />Butter a 9 by 13-inch casserole with the remaining tablespoon of butter and reduce the oven temperature to 375 degrees F. <br /> <br />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. <br /> <br />Recipe courtesy of Emeril Lagasse, Emeril's Potluck, William Morrow Publishers, New York, 2004</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If you want to try it, here's the link, so you can bookmark it...</span><br />
<a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/emeril-lagasse/twice-baked-potato-casserole-recipe.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">Emeril Lagasse's Potato Casserole</span></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-80209728967586533392015-11-20T05:50:00.000-05:002015-11-20T05:50:00.364-05:00Dream Big<span style="font-size: large;">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.)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I've been putting some serious thought into this. I'd like a bigger piece of the pie. I work <i>for</i> 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.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And no, I don't want to be rich. More profit means more working capital to do what I want. Better <strike>toys</strike> tools. Bigger jobs. Cooler outcomes. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Imagine my glee when Mr. Security and I started talking about houses. Real houses, with yards and fireplaces and room, and one of these...</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSNtQxxSt6tVwGeIVxesCQXGD03_nTl22hRgiRxSfaH02XxCzgba-c9Fi56Otzq3IJAMdiCM02BabbBHP8h6HlX5WUdV5822N7lPyz-GlI5KTfm18gKM9M65b_f6y9mu6wCszdhFDZhK0/s1600/ISh3qtovukxku50000000000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSNtQxxSt6tVwGeIVxesCQXGD03_nTl22hRgiRxSfaH02XxCzgba-c9Fi56Otzq3IJAMdiCM02BabbBHP8h6HlX5WUdV5822N7lPyz-GlI5KTfm18gKM9M65b_f6y9mu6wCszdhFDZhK0/s320/ISh3qtovukxku50000000000.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-66709080235260915832015-11-19T05:22:00.000-05:002015-11-19T06:16:04.830-05:00Five Things WW<span style="font-size: large;">Time once again for Writers Workshop, hosted by they uber cute Mama Kat. <br /><br />This week I choose; Five Things. Let's see how much fun I can have with this.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc;"><span style="font-size: large;">List 5 things we don’t know about you.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Jeez, as much as I blog about personal shit, you should probably know me pretty well.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3) I spend hours wrapped up in my head, pondering the best way to build things. Next up, a new headboard.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4) I have a biological sister I haven't seen in probably 30 years. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc;"><span style="font-size: large;">5 things you’re knowledgeable about.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm the embodiment of <i>Jack of all trades, master of none</i>. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1) I could renovate an entire house with the exception of plumbing and electrical.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3) Fabric of all types. And how to turn that fabric into a functional thing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">5 things you know nothing about.</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Only five? There's tons I don't know.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1) Plumbing and electrical.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2) Gaming that doesn't relate to pinball.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3) Gardening. Seriously, it will die.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4) Politics. I form opinions, but admittedly they are uneducated. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5) Cars, specifically how to fix them.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc;"><span style="font-size: large;">5 things you believe.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4) I believe in happily ever after. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Wanna play along? Hit up <a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/2015/11/five-things/" target="_blank">Mama Kat</a>! </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-52428631059336744442015-11-18T05:58:00.000-05:002015-11-18T05:58:13.926-05:00Where is the Love<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And who are <i>they</i>? Terrorist.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It's unfortunate that many Americans, and humans as a whole, associate terrorism with Muslims. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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,<a href="http://www.history.com/topics/world-war-ii/the-holocaust" target="_blank"> slaughtered</a> for what they believe, or how they look. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Recall a time in our own history when America rounded up Asians and put them into <a href="http://www.pbs.org/childofcamp/history/" target="_blank">holding camps</a>. We know now, that we were wrong in doing so. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">How about this time in history? <a href="http://www.history.com/topics/crusades" target="_blank">The Crusades</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">How are we so blind to what history has taught us? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't understand why the world is so angry. I don't understand why there is no compassion for human life. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Forget what religion is involved. It's of little consequence. It only matters to the radical few. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">See the big picture. Hate breeds hate. Will our attitude of '<i>whats mine is mine</i>' lead Muslims to believe that America really is the Land of the Greed? We are only adding fuel to the fire. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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 <i>that </i>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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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; <i>THE MAJORITY</i> of these people, mean you no harm. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Finally, the golden rule; Do unto others as you would have done to you. </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-84312875131790205622015-11-16T04:43:00.000-05:002015-11-16T04:43:24.109-05:00Livid Rage<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Saturday, Mr. Security had plans to go out. I</span><span style="font-size: large;"> dropped Itty Bit off at my Mom's to spend the night. I</span><span style="font-size: large;"> thought, since I had some time, I'd get a haircut. It'd been about 4 months since I'd had one. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She cut it up to my shoulder blades. Itty Bit and I measured it with a ruler. 9 inches. Nine Fucking Inches. Gone!!!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Now I look like every other soccer mom in the neighborhood, instead of the rock star I really am. I'm average, ordinary. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-9735087539776392102015-11-13T05:51:00.000-05:002015-11-13T05:51:01.617-05:00The Christmas Dilemma<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I left her five bucks anyway.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">How can I figure this out without ruining all her Christmas magic?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">What if she does and the older kids laugh at her when they find out?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So how does a parent figure out if a child still believes in Santa?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Maybe I can recruit Stretch as a spy and have him find out for me. Unless, wait! Does he still believe in Santa, too? </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-12524174838107603322015-11-12T04:00:00.000-05:002015-11-12T04:49:39.605-05:00Battling Demons WW<i><span style="font-size: large;">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.</span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>This week I choose:</i> Something you were punished for.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">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.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">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.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">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.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">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.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">You can get in on the Writer's Workshop goodness too. Just visit <a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/2015/11/we-were-grounded/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+MamasLosinIt+%28Mama%27s+Losin%27+It%29" target="_blank">Mama's Losin' It.</a> </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-22155870292178433862015-11-11T04:23:00.000-05:002015-11-11T04:23:17.694-05:00Douche Dilemma<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Itty Bit wants to see the girlfriend and her sister. She does not want to see her dad. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Any suggestions? </span><br />
<br />Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-64497902133806066092015-11-10T05:00:00.000-05:002015-11-10T05:00:02.983-05:00Random Goodies<span style="font-size: large;">Again, with my favorite format, random thoughts. Because... my brain, bitches.</span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">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.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Me:</span></i><span style="font-size: large;"> I can't do anything with them on. They get in the way.</span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Cashier: Have you seen these girls with the super long ones. You know, they start to curl they're so long?</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Me: </span></i><span style="font-size: large;">I know right?</span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Cashier: I mean, how do they wipe their ass with those things?</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">At that point I crack up laughing and she high-fives me.</span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Yeah, I've dated some real assholes in the past.</span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">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.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Girl one: Dem boots. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Girl two: Dat ass tho.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">"Dem" boots are sexy and "Dat" ass is mine.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Yeah, my boyfriend is hot, and his ass in a pair of jeans? Phew, dat ass!</span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>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.</i><br /> </span><br />
<br />Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-18245262676448044512015-11-09T06:14:00.000-05:002015-11-09T06:14:20.683-05:00Weekend Update<span style="font-size: large;">I love weekends with my crew. This past one was no exception. Busy but good.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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 <strike>usually</strike> always bite off more than I can chew. And then I end up frustrated because I can't get it finished. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-90230192722072333642015-11-07T05:02:00.000-05:002015-11-07T05:02:36.651-05:00Olive Juice<span style="font-size: large;">Olive Juice. From the movie The Other Sister. I recall liking the movie. But more, this sentiment stuck with me. <i>Olive Juice</i> 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'.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-27971299786145869982015-11-06T05:31:00.000-05:002015-11-06T05:31:00.699-05:00Frazzled Friday<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>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> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">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?'</span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-75858908470984429012015-11-04T05:59:00.000-05:002015-11-04T05:59:16.113-05:00Lack of Progress<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I asked her, "Are you doing things you shouldn't be on the computers at school?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She started to say no, but I cut her off. "And please understand, I already know the answer."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She's also using other kids' cell phones. Texting people she shouldn't be talking to. Making God only knows what plans.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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? </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-34210107429825065832015-11-03T06:01:00.000-05:002015-11-03T06:01:00.552-05:00Winds of Change<span style="font-size: large;">I'm getting used to being told how awesome, amazing, sexy, incredible, beautiful and cool I am.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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!!!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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?" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> "No." I said. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well don't you disagree about things?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"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."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"It weirds me out that you guys don't fight. It doesn't seem normal."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"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."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She thought about that for a moment. "It's not about winning or losing, it's about solving the problem." she finally decided.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It is, Mr. Security. But you are well on your way to showing her it doesn't have to be. </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3939538549393592016.post-4471034360391537452015-11-01T06:00:00.000-05:002015-11-01T06:00:23.544-05:00Minecraft is Not Scary<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Minecraft may not be scary, but people are freaking weird. </span>Missyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648325812333011430noreply@blogger.com0