Inside the mind of America’s (raunchy, foul mouthed, overly opinionated, sexually aggressive, incredibly offensive, fly by the minute, ridiculously absurd, often times erratic, psychologically questionable) Sweetheart.

Happy Birthday…. or is it? October 25, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 5:44 pm

Although I know I was born 29 years ago today at 12:58 in the morning at six pounds and some odd ounces to a couple of crackhead nutsos, the Army likes to argue otherwise. They insist that I was born on October 28th rather than the 25th and since I like the number 28 much better than I like the number 25, I have allowed them to continue insisting on this ridiculous idea at the very least, in print.

Dean says he has no idea how in the hell they came to decide that my birthday was on a day that is not my birthday but I have a sneaking suspicion that it is because he told them the wrong day many, many years ago when he first joined. You wouldn’t think that it’s a very big deal to have such a minor error in your files and on your paperwork but it is in the military for some reason. We get asked our birthdays to verify who we are an awful lot and it has been problematic in the past when I was dumb enough to actually try to correct them.

During my surgery at the beginning of the year was one of those times when my birthday misprint almost screwed things up in a bad way. There I was lying in the pre-op room surrounded by doctors with an i.v. in and I was about to be wheeled into the operating room when an administrator entered and asked me to verify my birthday.

October 25th, 1978, I said.

This was met by confusion from the lady and then a very unexpected flurry of panic as she suddenly declared that I couldn’t have my surgery because my paperwork was all wrong. We ended up delayed for about an hour or so as my doctors argued with administrators that we couldn’t reschedule or wait because this was an emergency situation and that they had to break hospital protocol just this one time. I learned a very valuable lesson and ever since when I am asked to verify my birthday for someone I immediately reply:

October 28th, 1978

and all goes smoothly. These people have my birth certificate so I don’t understand why the hell they don’t just fix the error. I finally told Dean that I’ll just go and have my birthday changed on my birth certificate as well. After all, I’ve already changed my name… why not the birthday as well?

Today was going to be one day and then it became another. Owen is on a field trip right now to a pumpkin patch and we were originally going to go with him and take Olivia and Emi since Matt is in school. I was excited about spending my birthday shrouded in autumn fun like hay rides and mud and pumpkin patches but a problem came up and we didn’t get to go and I’m sad.

Today, is parent/teacher conferences and Matt is on a half day and gets home at 11:45 today instead of 2:45. Our conference with his teacher is at 3 something. This was no issue until we found out yesterday that it is an hours drive to the pumpkin patch and that we’d leave at 9:30 and then get there at 10:30 and if we had to be back by 11:30, then we’d be leaving the minute we got there. So, there was no point in going and I’m bummed out.

Instead, I’m going to spend the day in bed reading, The Milkman, a novel by my good friend, Ian and I’m so excited that I could pee my pants. Then, this afternoon, I’m going to do a test run on Matthew for Halloween. I think I should paint up his Darth Maul face so that I can time myself to see how long it will take so that on Halloween day, I know when to start it. I might also go on the hunt for black boots for the boy. It’s amazing how expensive black boots are.

This morning, I woke up and no one is here. I have an email from Dean in my inbox and it is just the loveliest of love letters, a few lengthy paragraphs on how much he adores me. He signs it and then adds a p.s. to it:

“p.s. I am going to clean the entire house for you today so DON’T lift a finger!”

I hit reply and wrote him back:

“you had me at “clean house”…. you should know by now that when you write things like, “don’t lift a finger” that I get extremely aroused….”

Thinking about it, it’s almost amusing just how true that is. Prior to having kids and responsibilities maybe I would have enjoyed a dinner out or a gift wrapped in shiny paper with a big fucking bow on it. Now, four kids later, I just want my fucking van cleaned out and my laundry put away. Maybe a day to lie in bed and read or watch a Law and Order marathon.

Speaking of television, I have decided to come clean about some of the sort of weird shit I love to watch that I rarely admit to. Of course, I adore my crime dramas, but I also have a weak spot for some other shows that are not quite so thought provoking. Here is a short list of my guilty television pleasures:

1. America’s Next Top Model
2. Project Runway
3. Tori and Dean: Inn Love
4. The Tyra Banks Show
5. Dr. Steve-o

Man, do I ever love that shit for some reason.

Anyways… that’s all I got today.


Chubbins! October 24, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 1:22 am

Wooka my Chubbins!

My darling Emi baby suddenly decided to gain some weight and it’s about damned time, too. At this point with all three of my others, I had 20 pound babies and up but Miss Emi was at ten pounds less than a month ago and now I’m thinking she’s up somewheres around 15 or so. She has a doctor’s appointment on Friday to address my concerns about diabetes and kidney issues and I’m sure they’ll weigh her in and let us know but after her being so tiny up until now, it’s nice to see those cheeks puffing out.

The doctor’s told us to expect her to grow slowly since she was born prematurely and she hasn’t gotten much longer. At least so far everything seems normal for her considering her situation at birth.

Emi is my buddy.

My new shrink, Dave, says that the two of us will have an extraordinary bond because of all the worry during my pregnancy. He also said that I shouldn’t feel guilty and that it doesn’t mean that I love her more than my other three, it just means that it will take some time for me to feel secure enough to not jump every time she makes a noise. I hate putting her down even though I know that it’s not good for either of us if I allow her to become spoiled and since she’s past that three month stage, habits will start forming very soon. I worry about having that baby that won’t let me put her down and won’t go to anyone else but so far so good.

I’m all kinds of excited that her hair is starting to grow and that she looks so normal. Raise your hand if you remember when she was born and how weird she looked with all the bruising and her purple skin. She looked like someone beat the shit out of her but now she is just my little Chubbins and she makes me smile.

Everyone says she is my spitting image. I wonder if that means that she’s going to get ginormous boobs one day. I fear either of my daughters getting ginormous boobs although I think it’s bound to happen considering that Dean’s mom also had some bigguns.

The mailman’s mom had small ones, though, and so with any luck we’ll be able to confirm paternity by the time she’s 16 without having to go through the actual test.


adventures in babysitting October 23, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 2:15 pm

This is me:

and these are the seven children I spent my day with yesterday:

I would just like to say one thing, here: How in the hell do these people find me??? I do not know these children. One of them, the Dylan one, is in Owen’s class at school and they share the bus stop together so the extent of my relationship with his mother is that she stands there gabbing with her friends on one side and I stand by myself and try not to make eye contact on the other.
Then, last week, I overheard her telling her friends about all of her money problems and how she was in a panic because her rent wasn’t going to be getting paid. I came home and I made a few phone calls and got her some referrals to a couple of places that can help with that sort of thing and then the next time I saw her at the bus stop, I told her she could follow me home and get some contact numbers, which she did.

I never told her my name and she never told me hers.

Then, yesterday, I hear a knock on my door and there she is with the Caleb kid who goes to afternoon kindergarten and she wants to know if I can grab her kids off of their buses after school. I agree before fully realizing that I wasn’t walking them to their house and was instead bringing them to my house.

So, Owen and Dylan ride bus number one which picks them up at 8:45 and drops them off back home at 12:45. Caleb gets picked up at 11 and dropped off on the same bus as Matt and Noah at 2:45. I was walking back and forth to the bus stop a bit more than usual yesterday which was interesting only because along with me to the bus stop came Olivia and Emi and then once the younger boys got home I had to show up at 2:45 to get the older boys with Owen, Dylan, Emi, and Olivia to pick up Matt, Noah and Caleb.

I worried that I looked more like a whore than usual toting all those kids around.

What was more bizarre is that I’d never even seen the older boys and could not identify them so as kids were pouring off the bus in the afternoon, I had the Dylan one standing next to me and I would have to point to each kid and say, “What about that one? Does he belong to you?”.

And then what happened next blew my mind: Other kids were trying to come home with me, too. Kids that didn’t belong to me or to this lady who left her kids with me. The first one was this little dark skinned boy who, as I was herding my troop together at the bus stop, I spotted crying under a bush. He must have been about seven or so and I knelt down the way adults do when approaching crying kids who don’t belong to them as if they are rabid dogs and might attack at any minute. I held my hands out and in plain view so that he may sniff them if he so desired and I moved veeeery slowly towards him and then asked him what was wrong.

Some kid hit him, he said.

Which kid?, I asked.

That one in the blue coat, he replied.

Whatsyer name?, I asked him.

Elijah, he said.

Well, I like the name Elijah and so I told him to stay put and that I would take care of it and I got up and followed the blue coat for a second and then said something like, “Hey, kid. You in the blue coat!” and he turned around and I walked up to him and said, “See that kid over there? That’s Elijah and he happens to be a very good friend of mine. Now, Elijah says that you hit him and he is very upset about it and I don’t like to see my friends upset so I’m gonna tell you what. You ever lay another hand or nasty word on him again and they’re gonna be loading you onto that school bus in pieces. You understand me?”

Wide eyes just nods and then I tell him Very good, then you are excused.

So, back to Elijah I go and I pat him on the head sort of and say, “Just for the record, if your name was Steve I wouldn’t even have walked up to you. Now, hurry on home.”

Elijah trots off and I collect up my entourage and instruct them that they are to walk quietly and stay with me at all times.

They fucking took off. Each of them in a different direction.

Jesus fucking Christ!, I holler. Didn’t you listen to me at all?? Come back here right this instant! I am running in a zig zag pattern trying to collect up the smaller ones first before they can haul ass into the road or something and I nab the Dylan one first because he is slow and a bit flat footed and then I have him by the jacket and I get Owen when he stalls to find his friend and then I am sort of dragging those two plus Emi and trying to chase the others and finally I get them all congregated sort of by my building and do a head count.

There are two extra children.

What the fuck? I try to pick out the two who do not belong and narrow it down to a smaller blond kid with glasses as I don’t remember a kid with glasses being a part of my crew. I say something to him, like, “Uh… where are you going?” and he says back, “I dunno.”

“Well, where are your handlers?”, I enquire.

“Handlers?”, he says pushing his glasses further up his nose.

“Yeah, you know… your PARENTS???”

“Oh. They’re at work.”

“Okaaaaaay… do you live around here somewhere?”

I am beginning to fear that I am going to have another child I don’t know hanging out in my house and as I am having this conversation with Glasses, I see the other Mystery Kid floating off towards my house and I call him back.

“How old are you, Mystery Kid?” I ask.

“Ten.” he replies.

“Okay, you’re older. Beat it.”

He looks at Matt and Noah who just sort of shrug at him and then he goes slouching off and I return my focus to Chicken Little.

“Okay, Chicken Little,”I says. “Is there an adult at your house?”

“Uh-huh. My mom.”

“But you just told me that your parents are at work.”

“My mom is home.”

I swear to you I heard church bells in his words and so I made him show me where he lives and then I deposited him safely in his house with his mom. Then, I turn around and my crew has bolted again, those fuckers.

It took me another ten minutes to round them up and herd them into the house and once I got them inside, they all went apeshit. I have never in my life seen children go so completely fucking insane before. It took all of about three seconds for them to locate the lightsabers and then start beating the shit out of each other with them and so I confiscated those pretty quickly and they were off to find other things to beat each other with. I thought maybe if I fed them, they’ll all sort of calm down a bit and so I stuck my fingers in my mouth and blew a shrieking whistle which made them all stop dead in the tracks and stare at me. And then… I made this very big mistake:

“Peanut butter and Jelly or Bologna.”

The response to this was about twenty straight seconds of people shouting out different requests… no cheese! No mayo! You got Miracle Whip?! What kind of peanut butter?! Can you make me some chicken?!

My response to this was to tell them all to go to hell and that I would make whatever I wanted and they would all damn well eat it, too. So, off to the kitchen I went where I assembled six sandwiches and applied Fritos and poured milk for everyone in different colored cups and then I shuffled them all back out in the living room and sat them down and said, “Now eat it.”

And they did.

Now, the Dylan kid is sort of flighty and quiet and just seems to float from one room to the next which was fine by me except that he was in la la land most of the time and if I needed him I’d have to walk directly up to him, place my lips right by his ear and shout at him. The Caleb kid is obsessed with the baby who he referred to as a “he” the entire time as most kids do. He wedged himself right by her side and never really moved too much. The Noah one was very polite although right at the beginning he told me that he is controlled by Satan and does whatever Satan tells him to do. I told him that I outrank Satan in my house and that never has the Devil gotten one past me before and he wasn’t about to start today. Needless to say, Noah was a darling.

My kids were total assholes.

Matthew did just about everything he could to bring madness upon the dwelling and Owen kept dropping to the ground to flop like a fish and scream for no reason. Olivia just got into shit in a bad way and hit people with the lightsabers and everything else she could get her hands on and Emi was just damned fine so long as Caleb was looking in her general direction. If he turned his head for even a second, she was whimpering and tearing up until he looked back at her and then she was cooing and giggling at him which was very strange to see considering she was snotty and teary and laughing.


Naturally, all the kids left about three minutes before Dean got home and so he didn’t have the privilege of being trapped in the house with five boys under the age of 8, three semi-toddlers and an infant.

I was pleased that I really didn’t have too many problems and therefore, wasn’t forced to crack skulls together.

I have a feeling this mystery woman is going to be dumping these kids off on me a lot and I have a feeling that I won’t be answering my door anymore.

And before you can ask, she said she was paying me…. and then didn’t.

Hence, the locked door.


things and stuff October 22, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 3:10 pm

I took Matt out for a Mommy day with me last weekend and we spent all of Saturday running errands and horsing around. Our fist stop was to the hair doctor where we had his hair hacked off and dyed black.

Calling it the Hair Doctor started after Matt’s first ever haircut and it happened because he was scared as hell of the barber but was not scared of doctors. I fixed his fear of barbers by telling him that they were hair doctors and that they would fix his hair and…. it worked. Long since grown out of that stage, it’s stuck and is still referred to as such.

The hair dressers love us. I get cursed out if I enter with any random child and leave Emi at home with Dean. Hair dressers are obsessed with babies. They are also obsessed with Olivia although she has never had a haircut before and Owen because of his big, blue eyes and dimples. Matt they adore because they can screw with him and it’s funny.

So, last weekend it was just the Matt-ster and I and after his haircut we spent the entire day shopping for Halloween craziness as it’s coming up very, very soon. We went and picked up the fabric for his Darth Maul costume and for Emi’s ewok and then later that night I stayed up sewing them until they were finished. Now, I just need to do a dry run on Matt’s face and make sure I’ve got the painting portion of it down really well. And… I have to find shoes.

And then they’ll be done. That is all I have to say on the subject, really.

So, I’m making Emi an appointment to have her kidney’s checked out and to have her tested for diabetes. This is my fourth child and none of them have ever peed as much as she does for the amount she eats. I’m rather surprised that no one checked her for these things after she was born because I had polyhydramnios which is usually caused by excess urination building up in utero by the fetus and is a red flag for kidney problems. I’m wondering if they weren’t just distracted by everything else going on after she was born what with spinal tapping her and going insane on her lungs. But at four months old, I’m officially worried about it and will be making her an appointment today to get checked out.

She’s also gaining a whole shitload of weight all of the sudden with no increase in food. As a mother, I find it adorable that she has turned into a great big fat ass but also as a mother, I have my eye on things.

Owen and Olivia are being assholes. There is no other way to put it, really, as all they do these days is kick the crap out of each other. Oh, and destroy things. I am constantly trying to come between them and stop them from beating each other whatever objects are within reach.

Although they have kicked it up a notch with the aggressive bullshit, they are still best of friends and will burst into tears if one is afraid for the other one. For example, the other day, Olivia spotted a bug that she was convinced was nothing other than a murderous predator who’s soul mission was to hunt Owen down and inject him with potent and lethal amounts of venom.

It was a ladybug.

However, Olivia absolutely freaked the fuck out when the ladybug disappeared from her line of sight and she was seriously convinced that it had gone after Owen and was going to kill him and so she tried to grab Owen and drag him to the safety of the living room where I was. She was in absolute hysterics, tears pouring out of her eyeballs and snot running from her nose as she clung to her brother and tried to drag him from his room by the arm.

He hadn’t a clue what her fucking problem was and so he was kicking her ass right back and screaming at her to let go of him but she wouldn’t. I finally went and dragged them both out into the living room and Owen looked bewildered as to what the hell was going on and Olivia was still sobbing, heaving great big gulps of air into her little lungs and sniffling and trying to explain her actions. The bug was going to get Owen, she said. She had to save him from the man eating…. ladybug.

I have no idea why she got so freaked out because she had the damned ladybug crawling on her finger for a good long while before it flew off and at that point, she fucking lost it.

Who knows. But this sort of thing is going on a lot lately.

As Emi is getting older, her relationships with the older kids is growing. Matt has always had a special bond with Emi since he was there for the birth and so he is delighted at the new things she has discovered she can do. He is also obsessed with her teeth, none of which have popped through her gums yet. He, however, is doing daily checks.

Owen, the snuggler of the family, is snuggling her. He just wants to lay with her all day long and kiss on her and exclaim his deep affection for her, to her.

Olivia has gone from being slightly possessive to inquisitive i.e. “Why do we have a baby, Mommy?” and “So, where did we get that baby?”. Unfortunately, Olivia has also grown to see Emi as her plaything and likes to try to pick her up and haul ass with her.This means that unless I am with Emi at all times, she must be bolted down or Olivia is going to try to abduct her.

The first time this happened, I was in the kitchen making lunch for the Little’s and Emi was lying on a blanket on the floor with some toys and the Wiggle’s on. Big Red Car was playing and all was quiet as Olivia and Emi both sat transfixed by the awesomeness that is the Wiggle’s and then the song ended. I peeked over the bar and all was fine. I turned to add some salad dressing to Olivia’s salad and the next thing I heard was Emi starting to fuss. Once again, I snuck a peek over the bar and there was Olivia, baby in her arms trying to sneak up the hallway.

And this is where a mother has to use her brain because if I screamed and ran at Olivia, she would have jumped a mile, pissed her pants and dropped the baby and then I would have had to yell at her for pissing her pants. (No, not really.) But, I did have to move rather quickly and calmly to prevent any such incidence and I was rather marveling at the fact that Olivia could even lift the little stubby toe of a baby as she has gotten to be quite the porker.

In my head, I said something like, “ACK!” but in real life, I just sort of said, “Oh… no no no no no, Livvie” and as I had her mesmerized by the string of no no no’s I crept up to her and liberated the baby. And then I had one of those talks that a mom has from time to time that involves kneeling down and calmly explaining things.

Now, when I have to leave the room, I just duct tape Emi to the wall well out of reach of Olivia. I figure that by the time she gets a stool and successfully rips off all those strips of duct tape I’ll be finished peeing or switching out the laundry and so far, so good.

It makes me sad to know that by now people will still wonder if I’m being serious and therefore, I feel I need to put a disclaimer stating that I do not actually duct tape my daughter to the wall and by doing so, I have just ruined an otherwise hilarious visual.


I need to take some updated pictures of the stub toe later today and post them.Then, you can all revel in her delightful chubbiness.


the bubble baby October 20, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 4:54 am

I donate plasma now and just being there makes me feel so unbelievably white trashy that I have to seriously manipulate myself into believing that I’m there for reasons other than money. Which is hard to do when the teenage kid sitting next to you has a gun peeking out of the waistband of his humongous jeans and no one there other than me seems to find that incredible.

Dean donates plasma all the time and it’s primarily because he gets a shitload of money for his anthrax vaccinated blood. He doesn’t mind the process in the slightest bit because he breezes in and out of the joint as he’s almost always in uniform and gets put ahead all of the bums and derelicts in there. For me, the process sucks balls and I get to sit and watch movies, chug water and inspect the various types of body lice leaping on to me from those who sit nearby.

I am way too much of a snob for this shit, really.

It’s insanity being in one of those places. They drug test you right then and there and dye your pinky finger and basically it’s all pretty weird. By the time you actually get into the room where they will hook you up to the scariest looking machine of your life, you want to run home and bathe yourself in bleach. It’s just sort of grody.

Yes. I said grody. Because I felt like it.

The stick itself doesn’t hurt too badly if you get the bald guy to do it. He’s bald by choice, too which is a plus because it looks pretty sexy on him a la Vin Diesel or Ami James. The horrible part for me is seeing my plasma separate from my blood and collect in giant splats into a gatorade type bottle. My plasma is the color of the urine of a super dehydrated person or apple cider or maybe even a moderately yeast-y beer. It’s a large container they take from you of your plasma and it’s just slightly disgusting if you look to the right. However, it’s also a bit fascinating and you sort of have to look at it every once in a while.

If you chug a couple gallons of water while in the waiting room as I do then your blood runs faster and you can finish up in forty or so minutes on the machine. If you eat a Big Mac and drink a soda then your blood will take forever and you can be hooked up for over an hour as the machine tries desperately to suck your fatty, nasty blood from your body and it’s a pain in the… arm.

Other than gun wielding teenagers, they have television to watch and they are always playing the latest new releases of movies. I’ve seen quite a few movies and the best part of donating plasma and probably the soul reason I do so is because it gets me out of the house for a few hours and I get to zone out watching the boob tube with no one screaming at me that they want a drink or that someone bit them or gave them an atomic wedgie. It certainly isn’t the money.

If you are lucky enough to be there during a movie switch then you are treated to a sappy video, the very video that I use to help manipulate myself into feeling less like some white trash hobo. This video is about the benefits of donating plasma and it is all about some kid who was all sick and fucked up and living in a bubble because he had no immune system. His mom was frustrated not knowing what was wrong with him and his doctors were assholes and it took forever for them to find a specialist that discovered that with a plasma transfusion, the boy would live freely outside the confines of his bubble.

So, I donate plasma to save bubble babies.

Everyone else in the joint is there trying to earn money to support their crack addiction and to boost their supply of ammunition, but not me. I’m there to save the life of the bubble baby.

I am a fucking hero.


Have no fear.

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 2:45 am

I’m sorry for worrying you guys… I haven’t turned on my computer for a week. It’s part of my “feeling like I’m drowning” bit. I guess I’m just not sure at this point what to say. I don’t know what to write about these days.

I’ll be honest here and say that I’m pretty much afraid that if I don’t constantly have a grin on my typing fingers then people will run away. If I’m freaking out, sad, depressed, overwhelmed then people avoid me or avoid my blog.

I’ve cut myself off from the world outside of my computer. I don’t talk to family or friends anymore because I don’t have anything to say. I have nothing to giggle about, nothing to joke about and not much, really, to say that is uplifting or wise. Basically, I am a quiet, little hermit which is something I never thought I would be. What else can I say? Too much happens and most every single person in my life thinks I am just a pillar of strength to can handle anything and everything but I haven’t been handling much of anything for months. I’m overwhelmed.

I thought blogging was going to be my outlet from all of the things in my real life that were hurting me. I thought I was free to say whatever I felt like and never thought I would get friends who would worry about me or speculate over everything I write. I love my friends but my head is mush at this point and knowing that I am causing even one more person worry or to become uncomfortable by what I’m writing makes me want to withdraw and run away from the last thing I’ve held on to.

I’m manic. There’s nothing else to say. I’m miserable and then have times when I can distract myself or manipulate myself enough to think of other things and I can laugh or be amused but at the end of the day, I’m still feeling defeated and as if there is simply no hope.

I can handle me. I get upset when people …. can’t. It makes me want to just come out and make this huge declaration: IF YOU DON’T LIKE ME OR WHAT I HAVE TO SAY THEN STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME. If I’m not a good enough parent in your eyes or a good enough person then just don’t come here and just don’t tell me about it because guess what? I can guarantee that I’m already feeling that way and any confirmation from the peanut gallery isn’t doing anything but pushing me closer to the edge.

I got a shrink last week. I chose him out of a huge list of hundreds of shrinks in my area because his name is Dave. When he asked me, “Why did you choose me?” I replied, “because your name is Dave. If your name was Vince then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

I asked him how his office was, whether it was empty or cluttered and when he told me it was cluttered I told him that we’d do very well together. Right away he asked me if I have obsessive compulsive disorder and I was surprised he asked me that. I said, “how did you know that?” and he said, “because I’m not a Vince and also because I think that you need my office to be cluttered so that you have something to focus on during our sessions. If the place is empty, you won’t have anything to wrap your brain around and you’ll go nuts.” He says that he has a nameplate for his door and he is going to take it down so that I can put it on his door and straighten it until it’s perfect and mine. Which made me laugh.

You know how when children get bored and restless, they get into trouble? I’m having that right now and my brain is being pummeled with terribly irrational ideas of bizarre things to do. I have contemplated dying my hair blond and getting my face tattooed. I have considered moving my children to some remote island in the south of Asia so that we can live like shit there all alone with hardly any people around.

I have contemplated taking off in the night and just living in the woods by myself. This is how I operate. I haul ass with nothing but the shirt on my back and the shoes on my feet and I go live happily in trees and shit. I need a fucking tree!

This past month, I have become very uncomfortable with loud noises, bright lights and I’ve been getting really paranoid. I’m having nightmares about Emi that are seeping into the daytime. I am looking around at the world as it spins circles in my brain and I can’t focus and I just feel like I’m on a carousel that is speeding as fast as it will go and all I want to do is jump off and I can’t.

I feel like a ghost who is just moving through the days because I have to for everyone else even though I don’t want to. It is exactly these feelings that makes people haul ass from my blog. I can never say the words anyone wants to hear anymore. Nothing is all that funny to me anymore and it’s pretty much better off if everyone just stops reading. Either that, or I just stop writing. I dunno. I write whatever it is I’m feeling and these days, I’m not feeling too good and I get tired of having to come up with cheerful things to write about. I’m just a person and about as real as it gets with more than my fair share of problems. When I’m happy, I write about it, when I’m sad… I write about it. But I’m always left sort of feeling like I’m not delivering what people want and I can’t handle disappointing anyone right now. Either you’re along for the extremely bumpy ride, or you can get off the fucking bus.

I don’t like to make people worry. It’s unavoidable these days unless I plaster a smile on my face and pretend that I’m my usual, perky Kyra self. I get so tired doing this that I just shut up altogether. Then, everyone worries some more. Now all of my handlers have decided I need to put my kids in daycare because I need some time to myself. This makes me feel shitty, like I’m a failure and so I’m staying up all night sewing costumes and reading myself hoarse stories in funny accents to the kids and trying to clean nonstop and I still feel like I’m coming up short. And now people are politely urging me to just enroll them in daycare and give myself a couple of days a week and I can rationalize Olivia having fun playing with the other kids and I don’t feel so badly but I’m not sure about Emi. I’m beyond worried that something awful is going to happen to her and I’m a bit clingy. My life has obviously been a series of tests and I’m pretty paranoid that my biggest test is yet to come and it’s going to involve her. I don’t think god is through with me yet and of everyone who I accuse of wrongly thinking I can handle anything, he is the biggest asshole of them all.

I can say this because I’m a minister and we’re tight like that.

My handlers also say that I need an outlet, like a hobby. So, a hobby and some time away from my family and insert Dave. Maybe it will fix me, maybe not. We’ll see.

So, I’m not sure how much writing I’ll be doing. Whenever it suits me or I feel like it, I suppose. I rather hate the internet at this point and have grown extremely fond of sleeping or numbing my brain with re-bleaching the kitchen counters. I think the most important thing for me when it comes to my blogging is that I need it to help me. I need it to make me feel better and so if I’m going to feel the need to spew out a bunch of morbid shit then I’m going to and if I need to ask for some support, I’m going to do that, too, because I’m having a really tough time right now. If people don’t want to visit and see the sad shit then just don’t come here at all. I’m not here to entertain anymore. I’m here to be me. I don’t want to feel any pressure but I don’t want to be a buzzkill, either and so if you think I’ll just upset you then I recommend avoiding me altogether.

I’m rather glad that none of you know me in real life because if you’d known me over the coarse of the past five years then you’d probably really worry because I used to be cool as hell. Now, I suck.

We’ll see what Dave has to offer and you can all come along with me for the ride. I’ve already warned him that I’m a handful so we’ll see how long he fares with me as a patient 🙂

Look. See there? I smiled a little.


idiots and assholes October 13, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 12:38 am

Why do I even watch the news anymore when all it does is piss me off. I don’t get mad about the horrid rise in gas prices or when two rival gang members shoot each other to death but I get really, really aggravated when people act like idiots and assholes.

Today, I shall spotlight three of these such moron douchebags and I have selected these three fuckers because they have been all over the news today.

The first asshole is not so much of a shock.

Bill O’Reilly: And to be fair, I’ll even use this picture of him looking particularly un-disgusting as he usually looks pretty gross and I must commend whoever had to photoshop the legions off his face. It had to have been time consuming. Bill O’Reilly is almost always saying something that is just extremely fucked up and this time, it’s not much different. Bill O’Reilly thinks that kids just love to be abducted and put through hell for four years. If I were Shawn Hornbeck, I think maybe I’d have some harsh words for Ol’ Liverspot. He’s a real dick. Who says this kind of shit about children??? Asshole is making the allegation that Shawn Hornbeck loved being kidnapped because his home life sucked and because he got to ditch four years worth of school and, uh… play. He alledges that if the kid didn’t enjoy it then he would have fought off his attackers and simply left. You have got to be kidding me. It is fucked up enough to think such a thing much less go on national television and say it. Fuck you Bill O’Reilly!

Ann Coulter, that Nazi whore: Her manliness stated during an interview yesterday on The Big Idea that Jews need to be “perfected” by becoming Christians. So… Jews are religiously inferior because they do not follow or accept Christian beliefs? Whatever, HITLER! And this is her most recent statement of idiocy although it’s not my favorite. That current honor is going to this charming and ridiculous quote: “If we took away women’s right to vote, we’d never have to worry about another Democrat president. It’s kind of a pipe dream, it’s a personal fantasy of mine, but I don’t think it’s going to happen. And it is a good way of making the point that women are voting so stupidly, at least single women. It also makes the point, it is kind of embarrassing, the Democratic Party ought to be hanging its head in shame, that it has so much difficulty getting men to vote for it. I mean, you do see it’s the party of women and ‘We’ll pay for health care and tuition and day care — and here, what else can we give you, soccer moms?’” Um…. although it is questionable… YOU’RE a woman, you fucking idiot! And, you’re single! What a bitch!

Sgt. Andrea Eichhorn: Just so you’re informed… if ever you or your family suffers a horrible tragedy that involves calling the police, make sure you call one who won’t sue you for her rescue efforts. Sgt Andrea Eichhorn makes my asshole number three slot for having the audacity to sue the family of Joey Cosmillo, a one year old who nearly died from drowning in the family pool back in January. The baby wandered outside the back doors and fell into the pool as his mother was distracted and upon noticing her son floating in the pool, the distraught mother dragged him out, brought him in the house and called 911. Sgt. Eichhorn arrived at the scene and slipped in a puddle of water in the family home and broke her knee causing her to have to miss two months of work, something that made her decide that it would be in good taste to sue the family for her troubles. The boy survived his ordeal but is left brain damaged and in a facility where he breathes out of one tube and eats out of another. When questioned about the lawsuit, Sgt. Eichhorn stated that had the mother not been negligent enough to not notice her son had wandered out of the house, then he wouldn’t have been wet and there wouldn’t have been water on the floor. Because she is a stupid, horrible bitch. A terrible, awful accident happens that nearly takes the life of a baby and this woman is bitching because she…. did her job? Fuck you, lady! Thank god someone told her what a shitbag she is because she has finally decided to drop the suit after her precinct put her on leave and begged her not to go through with it. Because it is WRONG, bitch! Her lawyer made this statement:”It’s a situation where the Cosmillos have caused these problems, brought them on themselves, then tried to play the victim.” Yeah? Well guess what? Fuck you, too, David Heil!

Some people are just extremely fucked up.