The Alarm Clock

Every morning the alarm clock goes off at 6:30 am and I hit the snooze button so that I can lay there for another ten minutes. I don't fall back to sleep. I never do. Mornings are the worst for me anxiety and depression wise and I will spend that entire ten minutes laying there thinking about all of the horrible things I did and said to people when I was crazy. All of the bad financial decisions after the Paxil made me manic. All of the times that I quit jobs and flew into uncontrollable rages. For the whole ten minutes, it's a daily slug fest with myself.

Well today, I have decided that torturing myself like that every single morning doesn't do a thing except upset me. SO NO MORE !!! Tomorrow morning I am not even going to hit the snooze button. I am going to get out of bed and do something constructive with that extra ten minutes. Laying in bed and dwelling on the past does not change it. I need to concentrate on the here and now and how far I have come. I need to stop trying to live the life that I think that I should have had and live the one that I do have.

You Can't Pet a Fish

It's been about two and half years since we found homes for the dogs and said good-bye to all of our pets. It was a tough decision for me but at the time I was going through Paxil tapering and withdrawal and some other really rough stuff. I had to make my life more simple and not having the dogs actually took away quite a bit of stress from our situation. Derek has never been an animal-lover. He had a cat when we first got married but he confessed to me that he only wanted a kitten because his big brother got one and that he really didn't have much to do with Sylvester. The poor thing was an outside Tom cat so he pretty much looked like he had been run through a blender a few times - plus he drooled when you petted him. As cute, little, fuzzy pets go - he wasn't one of them.

When Derek and I got married, I had a chihuahua named Pedro. He slept with me in my bed and he curled up next to me on the couch when I was watching tv. I toted that tiny little thing around anywhere. Oh yeah - when Derek got me he got the Pedro bonus. My little doggie friend was very protective of me and would growl every time that Derek came near me. Derek was nice enough to let Pedro continue to sleep with us even after the nipper nipped him on the butt cheek while we were being "romantic". I had to laugh. Derek did not.

After I started taking meds, I pretty much became a weird sort of revolving door animal hoarder. I would get a dog that I thought that I really, really, really wanted after spending hours researching the breed on the Internet, talking to breeders, looking at puppies, buying doggie books, etc. - only to decide after about a year that I really didn't like that dog as much as I thought I would and would sell him or her to somebody else. Then a few months would go by and I would do the exact same thing all over again. Oh yeah - I was bat shit crazy ! In the 18 years that my husband and I have been together (and keep in mind that almost three of those years have been pet free), we have had a chihuahua, a doberman, a dalmation, a basset hound (for a few days), a blue heeler, a shih tzu, a welsh corgi, a rat terrier, a miniature schnauzer, another miniature schnauzer, a black dachshund, a red dachshund, another black dachshund, and a blue dachshund. Geez - I haven't even counted that up. If I counted right - that is 14 dogs ! 14 dogs in basically 15 years time. That is insane !! Even more insane was the fact that Derek is NOT an animal lover (did I mention that) and that I basically just let the animals have the run of the place. I expected my small children to take care of the animals and I did very little. That's another lovely side effect of antidepressants - you are an uncaring lump. So during my manic times - another dog was ALWAYS a great idea but taking care of it well - was just too much for my fat ace to do.

In between all of the dogs - I also fed several stray cats who promptly gave some of my kids ringworm and scratched the hell out of them on a daily basis. That's one of the benefits of being insane - you really can't see that feeding every feral animal in the neighborhood might not be the best idea ever. Heck - at one time I even did research about getting a pet skunk. Oh I wish that I was kidding.

So while we had mange covered cats running through the yard, scratching the kids, and crapping in the flower beds; unwanted dogs in the back yard not being played with or given much attention; we also had cages and cages of various vermin in the house. Oh yes !! The kids rooms always had at least two cages of assorted hamsters, mice, guinea pigs, gerbils, etc. at all times - FOR YEARS !! The house stunk to high heaven - a lovely combination of vermin urine (hey that rhymes) and cedar chips. I wouldn't recommend that Bath and Body Works make a candle with that scent - it would NOT be a best seller. But that is another lovely side effect of antidepressants - your house could smell like urine and cedar chips and could basically be falling down around you and you just don't give a shit !

When we had mice they would fight in their little cage every single night. EVERY SINGLE NIGHT ! This wasn't just a little bit of squeaking either. Oh hell no ! This was as if the UFC was holding a free for all in the boy's room. I could almost hear the announcer "and in this corner weighing in at about 3 ounces, wearing the red trunks, and looking really cute is Buster". The college kid working at the pet store assured me that seven male mice in one cage would be just fine. Of course they won't fight ! Um ... well ... he was wrong. They brought guns, and shivs, and baseball bats to the nightly fight. They ripped each others ears off. They chewed eash others legs off. It was awful. Not to mention the nightly screaming. Not cute little mouse squeaking. Oh shit somebody is chewing my ear off SCREAMING ! But of course, me in my doped up stupor thought that it was funny and refused to get rid of the mice. Yes - Derek is a saint !

I won't even go into the Russian Black hamster momma who ate her own babies story. The poor daddy hamster would even try to save them from her. It was too traumatic even to write about. Poor little hamster babies. Sick hamster bitch.

So the moral of the story is that basically I am so glad to not be so bat shit crazy now that I would purposely go against my husbands wishes to hoard animals that I didn't even want to take care of. Somebody from work offered to give me a chihuahua today. I thought about it for about two seconds and then decided NAH - maybe I will get a fish. Or maybe not.

Best Laid Plans

We have all heard the line from the famous Robert Burns poem about men and mices making little plans and how just when you plan on doing something then it all turns to shit and you end up sitting in your kitchen floor covered in rice krispie treat goo and drinking wine straight from the box. Well that probably wasn't EXACTLY what Mr. Burns was referring to, he probably had a cask of wine with wood splinters in it, but you all know what I mean.

Well last night, I made plans. Oh glorious plans ! Plans that any mother would dream of making. Plans that were going to cure cancer and end war ! Plans that were going to make liberals and conservatives hold hands together around a Christmas tree and give the world a Coke. Well you know what they say (thanks to Mr. Burns). The best laid plans of mice and men often go to shit !!! I am paraphasing here, of course.

On the drive home last night, I dreamed of how I was going to take a nice long bubble bath (after threatening the children to leave me alone of be forced to eat cold oatmeal with worms for dinner). They would of course cry "No mother dearest - not again!" and go to hide under their beds. Then when I got out of the tub, I would watch my shows on CBS (Christine and Gary) while painting my fingernails and then snuggle in to watch Glee while eating my dinner (aka a whole bag of microwave popcorn covered in Kernel Seasons Ranch topping !!!) Seriously though - if you are a popcorn eater be sure to go to www.kernelseasons.com and order you some - be sure to tell them that that blogger chick who writes about the dumbest crap sent you and you will get a free Kernel tattoo (ok - they give you those for free anyway but there for a second I felt really important).

Anyway - back to my plans going to shit. As soon as I pulled into the driveway at home (after going to get my lottery tickets and picking up my son, Bryce, from his friend's house) Rachel and Emily come running out to the car really freaked out and screaming about Riley fainting and falling on his face. This was not good. He did this once before during the summer and the doctor at the ER just chalked it up to heat exhaustion and sent him home. Well it is fall in Oklahoma - it can't be the heat this time. So I go running up the stairs after them and he is sitting up in bed with a blood soaked washcloth under his nose. He is pretty much out of it and can't really tell me what happened. I call the fire station and talk to Derek, who tells me to take him to the ER (duh - was planning on doing that anyway just wanted him to know what was going on). We load him in the car and me and the boys head to the hospital.

They run test after test on him and everything comes back normal. EKG - Normal. Cat Scan - Normal. Blood Work - Normal. Blood Pressure checks - Normal. He had a pretty major freak out over the IV, which was tough for me to watch even though he is fourteen years old. It doesn't matter how old he gets, he will always be my baby boy. They basically tell us that they can't figure it out and that we will have to make an appointment with his regular doctor who can order an EEG to test for seizures. Scary stuff ! I quickly forgot about my plans for the evening and decided that a bubble bath could wait and that I could just watch Glee online some other time. So for now - we are in limbo - don't know why he passed out and his face looks like he has been in a bar fight (and lost). Luckily (yeah right - real lucky) he must have hit the ground somewhat centered because the break in his nose did not cause it to bend to one side or the other. They don't even tape them in the hospital now - they just wait until the swelling goes down and then evaluate what to do next. His face is so swollen that he can't chew, he can't smile, and he is having trouble breathing out of his nose.

So for now - we are taking it easy for a few days - and not making any plans ! :)

Bob’s Church of Judgment and Alien Understanding

A friend of mine's husband was basically being forced by his job to get the swine flu vaccine and the only way that they would be allowed to "opt out" was to have a letter from the pastor of their church claiming a religious belief that did not allow for vaccines. Well - me being the snarkiness queen, I wrote up this little letter for her to give to her husband.

Bob's Church of Judgment and Alien Understanding

2121 Oh Enlightened Way

All Places, All Times 90001

The date is completely irrelevant to our cause and is not needed

Workplace that imposes foreign matter on to employees

Anytown, USA

Dear stupid Earthlings who lack understanding,

A member of our beloved congregation has recently come to me in distress claiming that you, his employer, are forcing him to inject evil viruses and mind altering devices into his brain. As the leader of the ultimate group of chosen few who will one day ascend into the heavens wearing fur capes and pointy toed shoes, I seriously have to object to this practice, at least for my loyal followers. Here at Bob's Church of Judgment and Alien Understanding, we believe that only the chosen ones are allowed to push their ridiculous agenda on others and force them to behave in completely absurd ways. Therefore, we must demand that you allow our loyal follower and alien brother to be excused from your ritualistic injections of pig diseases so that he will be well enough to join us in our annual tin foil hat rally.

We also welcome you to become one of us and to embrace the knowledge that pigs are in fact so sacred that any illness they pass on to us is in fact a blessing and not a curse. As a matter of fact, we have made tin foil hats for them as well.

Apples and grapes to you and all of your loved ones,

Your brother in alien knowledge and strange shit

Grandma Vampires

Maybe it's because my daughter is soooooooo in love with the Twilight craze, or maybe it is because I don't find the thought of sucking out somebody's blood the least bit sexy, or maybe it's because those damn vampires are so damn pasty; but I just don't understand the big fascination with it all. Everybody and their vampire dog has jumped on the band wagon. Vampire books, vampire tv shows, vampire movies, blah blah blah. If people still carried lunch boxes then there would be some blood suckers on those things too.

I know that it's all fiction and fantasy which is the only real explanation for why they only have young, attractive, skinny vampires. Maybe I would be on board for the whole thing if there was a practical element to it all. You know that not all of the vampires of the world got sucked on when they were young and got to stay that way forever. There has to be some middle-aged, balding, stock broker vampires out there somewhere. Or the thirty something mom vampire who wears sweats all day and smells like baby puke. What about the geeky teen vampire who plays tuba in the band and spends his Friday nights in the basement practicing his karate moves (chicks dig karate). Oh no - all vampires have to have wispy hair, clothing that blows in the breeze, and glowing eyes. Just once, I want to see a menopausal vampire who has night sweats and is bitchy to everybody. Now that's a blood sucker that I can related to !!!

Who knows - maybe that is my calling in life. To write the perfect vampire book series. I am going to start with the grandma character and call the book "Menopause Sucks". The next one will be the overweight mom of five kids who prefers chocolate cake to blood sucking - that one is going to be called "Dieting Sucks". Do you sense a theme here?