Tech Support

Image by The Eggplant via Flickr

I desperately need technical assistance, for most everything. I can't figure out my phone (and it's not like I am going to sit down and read the manual), I sent poor Dennis S. a stalker email from the wrong account, and can't get my iPod to stop playing the songs that distract me.

Super new camera, same deal. I know, it would behoove me to sit and read the manual. But who has time? I 'm busy ignoring the damn dog.


Raynard has a MASTERS in technology (as it relates to education.) But he won't teach me, which is unfair because he made me fill out all the paperwork for college loans. I have a tech Guru Annie, but FB is not working well enough for me to catch up with her. And come to find out I did something brilliant today, but will never know which thing it was....'cause I can't get through to Annie.


Skud is in college. He was my "in house" genius, but that is not working out well for me either. He comes home just long enough to do laundry and go out with friends. From the time he was about 8 when ever the DVD player would stick he would take it apart and rebuild it, and it always worked better when he was done. He finds me to be silly the older I get, and I can see the look of pity in his face, as if I am very fragile. (Everytime his eyes roll at me, I can see him say in his head.... Silly Rabbit, technology is for kids.)

Which leads me to my next thought, do you think my children could have me declared incompetant for not being able to turn on the TV by myself? But I digress....

Though I suppose to a certain extent I can understand his frustration with me. It is the same I have for my father. Yesterday morning my father posted to my FB page that Skuud had friended him, but he couldn't find him. I tried to IM...no response. This isn't the first time, he never responds to my IM. So I sent my dad an email explaining the tabs at the top of the screen, if he looked under friends he would find Skud there........ OR he could just try spelling it correctly.

So pops sent me another email that said he couldn't figure out how to get the chat to work. I have been having technical difficulties for a while now; so I told him, it's me, not you. Sending IM is very simple, just push enter. (He hadn't thought of that.)

The Ambitious Violet.

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So I went to leadership training. It was the retreat weekend so mostly about bonding, getting the group in the right head space to move forward as a unit. Help us become leaders in our community and what not. It was invaluable.

I have worked with several of these people before, but to learn about them personally instead of the glib comments made over a lunch meeting. Well, I got to see some of them in a whole new light. Some people I was very unsure about; I now can't wait to see on City Council. This current leadership group has great potential.

I also was fortunate enough to meet a very wise and passionate man from our community. Someone I never would have paid attention to, former city councilman. (Not that I would know this since I am the least political person ever....) And he told this very beautiful and eloquent story about The Ambitious Violet, by Kahlil Gibran.

So this story has both inspired and haunted me since hearing it. It is about a beautiful violet that is content, but longs to have the height, power and beauty of the rose. The rose tries to talk her out of it, Mother Nature tries to talk her out of it, and advises of the destruction that is surely to befall her as a rose. Of course she does it anyway (she must have been an orange violet.....).

One hour after her transformation a storm comes through that topples all the tall flowers. Only the short meek violets, close to the earth and the garden wall survive. As the newly formed rose lays there dying the violets chastise her, telling her, her greed got her where she is.

OK...THIS IS THE PART THAT BLOWS MY MIND...she knows this, she is dying, she could look back and beg forgiveness. But realizes, she would have died anyway. Just as the other violets will, a month from now, when winter comes. BUT in the interim, she lived her dream. Yes, it was costly but she achieved and lived the best of both worlds. She reached outside of herself and gained the knowledge that comes from challenge and change.

Scary, exhilarating thought! I am not sure the that I totally agree with it, but it has given me a lot to ponder.

I've apparently got a lot to learn

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An old friend chimed in this week with the thought of being good just for the sake of being good versus any reward I might receive. Wesley is a very kind ghost of Christmas' past. But he has left me with quite a dilemma.

I am not sure I am capable of being good........at least not without looking forward to the chocolate.

I have to bribe Stinky Pete daily with chocolate to get his medicines down him followed by Sprite. Plus he lost a tooth yesterday and was fairly certain the Tooth Fairy SHOULD leave $200.

Squints and I went for a nice long walk yesterday afternoon around the lake, with no iPods. So we had to make conversation. It was an hour of "Mom, do you know what would inspire me to get my grades up..... Halo ODST"

Skud and I FB'd yesterday, he gave me his Christmas wish list early. Apparently his grades are up as well.

All I'm saying is Wesley really should have chimed in with this before I wired my children this way too. Well, I finished the blog, time for Reese's.

Am I a hack?

Image by lovelypetal via Flickr

So yesterday I spent ignoring my family, lost in decisions, and dirty dishes; totally tuned into my iPod. Thinking about recent events and blogs.

How embarrassing to laugh out loud at your own thoughts and get caught by your husband and children. Thinking about a recent blog when my true brilliance shone through...I was looking at my disgusting filthy kitchen floor, remembering writing I knew it was clean, 'cause I had seen the dog licking it earlier.

Oh my I am so funny! and then it hit me. I think I pilfered that off Guru Annie's blog! Truest most brilliant statement ever, and I totally lifted it. See this is the problem with being so in love with someone that your share the same thoughts. Don't know where my thoughts end and hers begin. This has been happening a lot lately!

So what's a girl to do? Annie, you need to marry me quick, so I can have ownership rights over the other 50% of my brain.

Silly Amy...

Image by portorikan via Flickr

So again, my weekly visit with Amy on the phone has inspired my to write directly to Amy.



Amy & Raynard and I all went to college together. Amy and Raynard did not get along. Amy threw a jar of peanut butter at Raynard, funniest part, not one of us can remember why. So yesterday, for Amy's birthday, Raynard returned the favor and "threw" a virtual jar a peanut butter at Amy. Nice! After 20 years I may still have to separate these two.



But in reality we are old people now, and hopefully closer to acting like adults. I have LESS fears of them being in the room together. With myself mediating I do think they will become fast friends.



Point of the story, oh yeah! Amy and I were talking and she again cannot comprehend Mr. Wilson as being impolite in any stretch of the imagination. Though I have told her, and she reads the blog. But everyone has this perception of my husband as this quiet man, sitting in the corner intensly polishing his halo.



The reason his feet do not seem to touch the other earth when he walks is the gas cloud from the frozen burritos helps him hover about two feet.

A ripple for the reptiles

Image via Wikipedia

OK. I saw her first. Just so you know Annie and I have known each other for 20+ years. We have slept together, on multiple occasions, but all in the name of sisterly love and Bible Bowl.

So after 20 some years we have been quasi planning our fake lesbian wedding to take place in Vegas. Though both of us would go through with this event in a heart beat, she has 5 kids and I have four (including Raynard.) Between budgets and good times of the year it has been a battle. That does not make our commitment any less to each other.

Plus Ethel & Lucy have given their blessing to our union, (as have both of our spouses.) I haven't come right out and told my parents, I figure, I gave them the blog address. If they want to know they will check in on me.

You want to know what I didn't expect.... this girl. She is in love with my Annie too. Which I totally get... who isn't? But some unknown lady vying for my position. Hmmm, what's a girl to do? So I did what any non-threatened heterosexual woman would do. I invited her to join in. But one thing need to be perfectly clear. I get to be the Number 1 wife, I saw her first.

Orange and Purple make Puce....OR.....Orange you glad I didn't turn out PURPLE.....

Image by lumaxart via Flickr

So I went to leadership training this weekend. Turns out I'm a leader, no worries, eventually you will follow (good for the blog...) This is what I learned:

I am the first one that got voted off the island, which would be the wrong choice. 'Cause come to find out, I would be the one who would offer a much needed comic relief.

I am a very bad liar, as in not good at it, not that I do it all the time. One of our first "getting to know you" exercises was tell two truths and a lie. I said:

1. I have a yellow belt in tae kwon do
2. I won a karaoke contest
3. I have a dog that has unnatural feelings for me.

they all guessed two......and not one of them reads the blog! Number 2 was my lie. In high school I did tour four states singing though, so it wasn't a real stretch of the imagination.

The other thing I learned is that I am VERY ORANGE. This I knew before we went to class, Raynard is very PURPLE. Total opposites of each other. I love to tell Raynard that he duped me in college. HE was SO laid back, I fell in love, then he let his true purple show.

Here's the characteristics of each, see if you can pick them out:

Sadie is:
ORANGE: Need for attention and excitement
Outgoing * takes risks * likes variety * likes to have fun * likes to be center stage * can be inspiring to others * can act without thinking... oh and our facilitator added will probably end up in jail. Does that sound like me?

Secondary color RED: Need for power and control

Raynard is:
PURPLE: Need for accomplishment
Frank * organized * independent * gets things done * follows directions * can be impatient * level-headed * thorough. Jannie, sound like anyone you know?

Secondary color BLUE: Need for order

So, after I came home from my big break through weekend (in which I put an attorney on retainer BEFORE we went out for the evening of debauchery... luckily we had an attorney taking the class and I got a deal.) Raynard wanted to know ALL that I had learned. I told him I was right in my theory that he had a corn-cob shoved very far up his ass. BUT also I realized if you are orange and marry a purple it will raise your credit score about 300 points.

I also wrapped my arms around around Raynard and gave him a very naughty kiss...while he was tying to put away the lid to a dish from the dishwasher. And in true Raynard style he COULD NOT kiss back, because something was out of order.

I will not accept the flaws and short comings of a purple, even if he married me, and raised my credit score. Good Night Nurse! If you have someone like me willing to put her tongue down your throat drop the damn lid. I'm orange, I like a mess! Go with that.

People like me will make you laugh, and you will want to follow. I do need the purples to follow...and come equipped with bail money. Like Raynard eventually told me, turns out I'm a PURPLE PEOPLE EATER! I am having T-shirts made up for me and the others in my leadership class.

Jerry's Final Thought: ORANGE you glad I didn't turn out PURPLE....

Leadership training....

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I am leaving my husband. It has been decided. I am going away for business this weekend and leaving him home alone...with the children.

I am sure they will be fed, Raynard and I went shopping for the weekend tonight and came home with:

1. Six pack of Dt. Mtn Dew, that is for me.

2. 3 frozen pizzas...that is for the boys

3. 5 frozen burritos.

4. Beaming smile on Raynard's face.

Raynard is (for obvious reasons...) not allowed to eat frozen burritos unless I am not in the state. He lucked out. I am leaving the state this weekend. What he fails to realize is I will be home Saturday afternoon........ fairly early.

Also, he and the boys will be at school tomorrow. So that means he intends to either:

1. eat all 5 burritos for dinner tomorrow night OR

2. spread them out over the final 18 hours.

Either way, I don't know that gives him enough times to "digest" properly. The good news is, I will probably be detained in Deadwood for some sort of debauchery we can never let them women I work with know about.

Maybe Raynard having to drive out of state to bail me out will allow enough time for his process his refreshments.

Do you think they would let me pay my own bail with gambling chips?

A ripple for the Reptiles

Image via Wikipedia

OK. I saw her first. Just so you know Annie and I have known each other for 20+ years. We have slept together, on multiple occasions, but all in the name of sisterly love and Bible Bowl.

So after 20 some years we have been quasi planning our fake lesbian wedding to take place in Vegas. Though both of us would go through with this event in a heart beat, she has 5 kids and I have four (including Raynard.) Between budgets and good times of the year it has been a battle.

That does not make our commitment any less to each other. Plus Ethel & Lucy have given their blessing to our union, (as have both of our spouses.) I haven't come right out and told my parents, I figure, I gave them the blog address. If they want to know they will check in on me.

You want to know what I didn't expect.... this girl. She is in love with my Annie too. Which I totally get... who isn't? But some unknown lady vying for my position. Hmmm, what's a girl to do? So I did what any non-threatened heterosexual woman would do. I invited her to join in. But one thing need to be perfectly clear. I get to be the Number 1 wife, I saw her first.

Thank you Dennis S!

Image via CrunchBase

Highlight of my week is Dennis S.

So let's review my week.

1. Served 15 board members undercooked stew for lunch. Stew I made from scratch. I don't even do that for my family. Plus I washed my hands before I handled the ingredients. People I put EFFORT into this!

2. Got to meet the Wyoming State Treasurer, didn't understand a word he said.

3. Set up my direct feed from this blog to FB, and I am still waiting for it to feed. Do you think my reptiles could be full?

4. Pretty sure I am suffering from the 24 hour swine flu.

Then I looked down and saw Dennis S. is a fan on my Facebook. What he is a fan of; I have no idea; because like I said, it is not feeding correctly. I don't think he knows I am writing anything. Maybe he just likes ice cream.

So I went out of my way to let this young man know how much I appreciate his support! Let him know if I was 20 years younger I might have to consider stalking him. But as it stands now it is hard to keep up with young bucks while toting my walker. Then I realized the email went from my personal FB, not my Reptiles. So this poor boy has no idea why I emailed him and threatened to stalk him.

Well, gotta go, police are knocking at the door and want to know where I have been for the last 24 hours... Gosh, I hope Dennis S. is okay.

All the married ladies...(all the married ladies) put your hands up....

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All the MARRIED ladies
Now put your hands up

Up by the tub,
we just woke up & we have the house to ourselves
And I'm dreaming my own damn thing
Decided to dart out and left me with the kids &
The the seat is covered with pee.....

Beyonce, you almost wrote an homage to my life.

You are a married woman now. I know you don't have kids, but listen up...'cause they will come. Call me next time, I will help steer you in the right direction. This is how it will inevitably go.

Currently I am watching Pete streak around the house naked while trying to distract me from the medicine that is his daily ritual. I am trying to write "the blog..." which even to Raynard is supposed to be my priority. This is real life. And, I don't show up in a leotard anywhere.

The biggest concern in my life IS the pee on the toilet seat, and the fact that after 12 years of marraige...how do you get him to stop telling you everything? Even bowel movement info. I love you man, but there's a limit. What is it with men anyway?

Beyonce, I am trying to do this for your benefit, it is coming. Even Dr. Oz has us on this kick. Oz wants me to compare this to letters of the alphabet...men (and I'm talking to ALL of you here), this is not romantic. I don't want to know the size, color or letter of the alphabet. Dr. Oz & Oprah asked that question, not me, all I'm asking you to do is phone a friend. I had never even thought of it before. (I told you, I am not that bright.)

My life has become an episode of Scrubs.....everything comes down to poo.

My parents came to visit.

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My parents came to visit, they stayed 36 hours. Raynard says they had two meals at our house, so I should feel okay about it. The best part is Skud came home to see them, he stayed 24 hours. It was a great weekend full of food and laundry. (At least Skud went back went back with clean underwear.) I am pretty sure the clean underwear was a necessity after I found the hickey on his neck.


My mother and I had a turbulent adolescence (for me.) I was not her biggest fan, nor she mine. Which is one reason, though I desperately wanted a daughter, I am sure the Good Lord knew what he was doing when he blessed me with boys. But with age came wisdom (hopefully) and compassion (and the fact that I now know what my mother went through in all those years of trying not to kill me.)

But I have the honored position of press secretary for all my parents visits. This job is poorly paid and very under appreciated. I get to call all my parents friends, let them know when they are set to arrive and where to meet. Oh, these are also scheduled at times I can not be there. So after traveling 600 miles I got to see my folks for about an hour. (They ask why I don't come to visit more....)

I never understood movies like Home for the Holidays. I loved spending time with my family. But the older I get the weirder it becomes. When do parents morph from being quasi cool (as I am now with Skud) into the people who talk about the 1/8 of rain they received last week?

Well, at least Skud has a story to tell from this last weekend and hopefully a higher collar to wear during the rest of the week.

I am a special kind of crazy.

Image by duggar11 via Flickr

List of fears....top o' the list



1. spiders this one comes from one of my earliest memories and something my brother will never forgive me for. When I was about two and a half, my animal crazed brother had a huge "pet" wolf spider. Now I am the youngest of 3 children, and trust me, am not the brightest of the three. So my brother asked me if I wanted to "hold" the spider and of course I said yes. So I put out my arm and he sat that big hairy spider on my forearm, this thing was HUGE and took up my whole forearm...and then it did something I never expected. IT MOVED! I freaked, and flicked it off my arm where it was squished onto the cement sidewalk.



2. traffic the population of Gillette has doubled since I moved here. And people are nuts trying to get from one side of town to the other. The whole town is only about 7 miles long...what are you people in such a hurry about. Wal-Mart is open 24 hours now, it will still be there in 5 minutes if you stop for the red lights. Gillette traffic I can deal with, but put me going south on I-25 and I'll puke. I had to have my parents pick me up in Ft. Collins last year and drive me into Denver so I could get medical treatment for my son....that's crazy.



3. peeing outside this one is more of preference than a fear. One that is proceeded by my lack of balance. I have teetered over mid-stream too many times to chance the humiliation yet again. Plus I have teetered over on gravel roads, and it is not so much the instant sting that detracts as what the gravel does in the underwear later.



4. semis again, this too stems from childhood drama.



Growing up my grandparents had a "farm." And on this farm was the one room school house my mother had gone to school in. Grandpa bought it and converted it into his garage. There was also the "farmhouse" my mother had grown up in. The farmhouse was no longer lived in, but more of an old, scary haunted clubhouse, that had all sorts of old farm antiquities in it.



My father and I were working on a project and he asked me to run back to the house and get him a hammer. I had never considered the old scary clubhouse a "house" even though I knew this was where my mother had grown up. So I took off the other direction crossed the highway and started walking towards the "home" my grandparents lived in. Oh, did I mention I was 4....



And the home that my grandparents lived in was only one wheat field away. About 2 miles, and felt like no big deal when you were in an automobile. But going as fast as four year-old legs can travel I soon talked myself into believing I had walked too far, missed the turn and was lost. Plus, the big semis kept driving by and as they drove the wind they created would knock me off my feet and make me tumble ass over applecart. On approximately my seventh somersault from the semis traveling down the highway, one finally stopped and asked me to get in, he would take me home. I knew better than to get into a car with a stranger, but I didn't know how to run and cry at the same time. Soon, the driver figured there was no winning with this kid and drove away.



I started back towards the farm when a highway patrol man stopped me and asked me to get into the car. Again, the crying and running. So the nice officer drove along side me as I walked back to the farm. Hey, a stranger is a stranger, even in uniform....

Place your add here

Image by Getty Images via Daylife

After losing 130 lbs, there are a whole lot of things I don't like about myself. Naked I look very much like a melting ice cream cone. It's not a pretty sight. So I have seen the plastic surgeon and we are praying that the insurance gods are kind to me.

Many blessings that have come from my new form, not the least of which is that my diabetes is completely gone. Though the thing everyone wants to talk about is how different I look. I get this to a certain extent, it is the most visible change in me. It is the one that you can see.

But it has been almost two years, we don't need to discuss it every time we see each other. There is more to this life than the size of my ass (at least that is my hope.) As funny as the old men at the coffee shop think it is to say "hey skinny, looking good..." that joke has been done to death. It has been acknowledged, let's move on.

The more pressing concern at this point is the skin, and we are working on that. I had one of the coffee shop men tell me this morning, he thinks it will be terribly expensive for me to deal with this. I don't know, the insurance companies have not answered this question yet.

This might be my sign that I have worked for the Chamber of Commerce for too long, it has changed my way of thinking. Because I quickly responded with, "well how 'bout you sponsor my ass... we can get Joe to sponsor my arms... I just need your logo in a pdf file and we will let the tattoo artists do the rest...."

I think I may be raising an evil genious?

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The most disconcerting part is he brings sand home in his shoes every day. I don't know if I should be more concerned over the fact that I think he is trying to bring to life Sandman or the fact that he is okay with stealing from his daycare. Everyday he tries to out-do the previous amount he brought home.

Now Dad and I have talked to him, mostly because he refuses to dump his shoes before he comes into our home. And instead has chosen the daily ritual of dumping his shoes after he is in the house and right in the middle of my living room.

I have (had) white carpet.

The lady in the carpet store talked me into it after I had myself talked out of it. She told me I could clean it with bleach and keep it sparkling white. This doesn't work.

So my living room to date looks more like a scene of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Where Richard Dreyfus has the pickup back up to the window and starts dumping all the dirt in the living room. Yeah, that's pretty much how my living room looks, 'cept we went for more of a beach motif. There is a large sand castle in the middle and we brought in a kiddie pool for a moat. The worst part is I got my foot stuck in a sand pail when I was in a hurry to unearth my flip-flop on my way to work yesterday.

I'm Lazy

Sisterhood of the traveling toilet brushes...

Image by reflexer via Flickr

I was having a very heartfelt discussion with my new friend Cal. We were debating who was the worst mom, her or me. And not the meth-head kind of bad mom. The kind of bad mom where you let your children build up their immunities when they leave their toothbrush on the dirty bathroom counter. Or when you let them pick up something and eat it off the kitchen floor after the 5 second rule expires. They will be okay, I KNOW it has recently been mopped. (And by mopped I mean I saw the dog licking something off that exact same spot earlier.)

Of course the conversation steered towards the bathroom.

EEWWW. I don't even like to go in there....I live with boys. I no longer use the upstairs "Guest" bathroom in my house (if you ever come to visit I recommend that you not use it either.) The guest bathroom has been overtaken by the boys in my home, and we only have two bathrooms. ('Course my bathroom is about 350 square feet, has heart-shaped jetted tub, TV, DVD player and makeup counter...oh did I mention I made Raynard buy me a tiara to wear in my tub?) Unfortunately, I am no cleaner than the boys. Since I don't clean theirs (and they don't clean theirs,) they don't clean mine. Quite a conundrum.

So back to Cal's bathroom, she has girls. But apparently her bathroom is as disgusting as mine. And neither of us have the budget for a housekeeper. (Plus, I would be the kind of person who would not let someone see my house like that, and clean before the house keeper arrived.)

So Cal and I have decided to call upon the spirits of our fellow slobs and create the Sisterhood of the traveling toilet brushes. What on awesome idea!! We will (in tandem) go to each sister's house, clean the bathrooms and the kitchen floors, then the next, and the next and reward ourselves with a clean shower and "spirits."

Raynard wants to be part of the group, but I suspect only in a supervisory position. So I am over ruling Cal (and she is the one with the legal mind) and choosing not to let him in. Though, I will abide by him being Honorary Designated Driver. (and may have to dupe him into "showing me how" on the first few bathrooms)

Any takers?

The squeaky wheel gets the press coverage.

Image by Photo Giddy via Flickr

I am old, and have not watched the VMA's since MTV stopped showing videos. I did tune in a couple years ago to see if OK GO pulled off the treadmills live, and was happy to see that they did. But I did watch the replay tonight to make sure I caught all the now infamous highlights. (an added bonus, I got to ogle Rob Pattinson)

But with all the controversy surrounding last nights VMA's I must chime in with my unwanted two cents. What is up with Kanye? Why didn't security stop him before he got on stage? I did admire Taylor Swift (cannot name one song she sings, nor did I know she was a singer before last night) for not being callow in her response.

How did we get to this place, when did it become this acceptable to be rude? (I thought that was only for the French?) We took our kids out of school so they would not hear the President speak. We still have not heard the promised apology from Joe Wilson in response to him calling out liar while our President addressed congress.

Serena Williams is getting added press tomorrow during Good Morning America for berating and arguing with line judges. It is all too much, and I am on overload. I can't waste anymore of my life on these non-essential dramas.

And it leaves me thinking these are all highly orchestrated publicity stunts, so I will put story time with Stinky Pete on hold to watch the VMA's I willing choose not to watch the night before.

Beyonce pulled it off with style and grace, giving up her time in the spotlight to let Taylor Swift have her uninterupted acceptance speech. I liked her before, now I can respect her too. For giving a young artist something to look up to. Plus it made her performance more enjoyable, knowing the end result.

One question remains....how do I get Stinky Pete to take off the leotard and leg warmers and stop going around the house singing...."All the single ladies, All the single ladies..." (And by Stinky Pete I mean Raynard)

Wrong Sadie

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I got a text last week from a college girl that worked with me year ago in insurance, she was our after school helper. (I immediately fell in love with her and asked her to marry my son in fifteen years when he pulls his head out of his ass. She was okay with that...since then kindred spirits and all, we have kept in touch.) So I get the text from my little college girl that announced:

"Broderick got a haircut, so no comb over yet... HA!"

I don't know Broderick, so I had to send back a text that let her know, "I don't think you meant to send this to me."

"Whoops, wrong Sadie" was her reply.

I get this a lot. My work email address is frontoffice@. There are a lot of offices that send emails to THEIR front office and I spend a substantial part of my day emailing CPA's letting them know I don't think they really meant to send me Mr. Smith's earnings for the 2008-2009 fiscal calendar.

"Whoops, wrong Front Office" is their reply.

I also spend a lot of time answering to "Mom?" In group situations it can be very distracting, and at first grade orientation for Stinky Pete last week,

"Whoops, wrong Mom" was the little girls reply.

My mom and dad, Uncle Buck....all think Raynard married the wrong girl. He deserves someone so much nicer than me. Really? How can my own parents not see how great I am? How could I dare defile the sanctity of our marriage by planning my own lesbian wedding? Or telling the stories I tell about him? Or sometimes I just catch them off guard when I tell Raynard.

"You know, I came home and REALLY liked you today. But you keep talking me out of it...."

Again, I say, how can you not know me? This blog is an homage to Raynard, not the aggregate of his many faults. (Though I do keep a list) Raynard is the only man strong enough to stand up to me and smart enough to back down from me. He is my perfect compliment. He will dress up on Halloween, even though he does not like the holiday, and come pick me up when I am out drinking with friends. But in RETURN, he gets me....(and gets to see the gooey nougat center that I share with very few people. And I guess Buck, Dad and Mom, that gooey nougat center makes it worth it to him)

So the college girl has me listed in her contacts as "Wrong Sadie" reoccurring theme in my life. Though, the more wrong things I do, the more I like myself. I am the Anti-Sadie. Not the wrong Sadie.

Guru Annie for President!

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My Guru Annie is going to start a run for the Presidency. She is taking nominations for cabinet members I will likely not be on the list. Annie can run for the highest office in the Nation, I cannot. I am old enough to do so; I just don’t have what you would call an “electable” background.

And I am not talking about the illegitimate children. Among my many transgressions I posed naked for pictures in college. It was for an art class, not just some “A Night in Paris” documentary. It was a very tasteful, artful photo shoot including a hotdog, baked beans and potato chips, but the details aren’t important.

I haven’t thought about those days or those photos in years! This morning however, I did reflect back on the impulsiveness of my youth and really wished my doctor would have been as free with the Yukon Jack as my photography partner.

Yes, again I had to pose naked for pictures, but not the good kind of pose naked that included condiments. More the condemning humiliating kind where they don’t include your face in the photo to protect your dignity, after losing 130 pounds, there is no dignity left with this body. ESPECIALLY naked. In fact I would have almost preferred my face in the photo, so they could see the streaked mascara and snotty nose that came with standing naked in front of a stranger.

The good news is the lady helping me do my paperwork (who was probably a size two), told me she had had a tummy tuck as well. And then left me with this, it will be life changing. I think I could deal with life changing at this point…

An Obituary

I did not write this. But since I did not have time to write yesterday, and because this made perfect sense to me this morning I thought I would put it out there for you.

An Obituary printed in the London Times........ Interesting and sadly rather true.

'Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as:

Knowing when to come in out of the rain; why the early bird gets the worm; Life isn't always fair; and maybe it was my fault.

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).

His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children.Common Sense declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an Aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust, his wife, Discretion, his daughter, Responsibility and his son, Reason.

He is survived by his 4 stepbrothers;
I Know My Rights
I Want It Now
Someone Else Is To Blame
I'm A Victim

Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone.

Had an impromptu strategic planning session today...

Image by Antonio Viva via Flickr

Apparently, my little mental breakdown has people worried so:

1. I am fine, thanks so much for your concern, but I will be okay.

2. I am not really stalking Rob Pattinson, would be, but I don’t know his number or where he lives. (oh, I could Google it, but really I don’t have that much enthusiasm)

3. I am trying to develop a plan to get me re-engaged with the real world…barring the detours I will inevitably take.


So here is here are the suggestions I have received so far:

1. Flying lessons. (Cal is going to take flying lessons! How cool is that! I am totally jealous and would be so in, except for my fear of flying.)

2. Hand Gun practice. (Since I work for the Chamber of Commerce I think this could come in really handy. And may be a needed benefit I could pass along to our members.)

3. Pilates. (Cal says it will make me bendy!)

4. Have an affair so I have something interesting to blog about. (Actually, this one was mine; I will let you know what Raynard thinks of this plan. Plus, it would be a good way to put the Pilates to use.)

5. Go back to college and do something with my life.

I actually could be down for #5. I do think about it. I just think if I am going to spend that much money on myself, I better know what I want to do. I don't know the answer to that question.

I would like to go to yoga every day, finish my black belt in Tae Kwon Do, cook daily for my family, have enough time to write the blog and enough energy to still have sex with my husband. What kind of degree do you get for that?

My journey back to reality, well, sort of...

Image by GeekMom Heather via Flickr

I finally finished the vampires series and hopefully can re-engage in normal life again. As discussed in great detail and I am sure you are all tired of hearing, Skud left for college. And I have been trying to distract myself from the reality of this with the Twilight Series. (incredulously ......Damn that Stephenie Meyer anyway....with her beautiful sparklin' in the sun vampires...)

Raynard (the English Teacher) is all excited about me reading again. And keeps asking what series I would like to conquer next? I keep asking, "did you want me to ignore you for the next 3 weeks as well?"

Skud came home for Lucy & Ethel's wedding. It was great to see him and I was so excited. Yeah, he stayed for 18 hours. I forgo'd blogging to spend time with him. He went to Wal-Mart with friends. I am glad my lessons of priorities have finally sunk in with the young man. But it left me with time to plot LURING Rob Pattinson into my tangled web.

But I have to re-engage in the real world? I have my own lesbian wedding to plan. Which, I think has set my family on edge, and I have definitely been cut out of the will. (But with the recent recession it shouldn't be that big of a deal. So I can be thankful to the greedy wall street bastards for that at least.) Really people, does nobody read the blog? It is a FAKE lesbian wedding PR stunt. I just want to meet the fake Elvis. And my lesbian wedding could be bumped any minute if Annie's fight with Perez Hilton takes off.

But I was thinking, if she can get Perez in on this, maybe he could use his pull to get Rob Pattinson to put on a dress and stand up for me. Then the world will seem right somehow. (it is just not that easy to go straight back to reality, you have to give me room for a couple of detours..)

I know, I know, Bad Blogger

Image by Getty Images via Daylife

I haven't been blogging as I have been consumed with my own mental breakdown. Skud headed off on his own without even the slightest hint of apprehension. Though he does seem to "coddle" me when he comes home. He hugs me more and longer, but he also hugs me as if I made out of paper mache as if he grabs me too tightly I will break. (It pisses me off) I have lived through worse, more than once, how can he not know this about me?

I am so much stronger than he gives me credit for. It has been the ongoing dialogue of OUR lifetime. As Skud's and my lifetime intersected before anyone else in the household. Skud was the reason I left college.

Yes, I am one of those tragic girls that you have no doubt talked about in small circles under your breath. One of those girls that tried to no avail "trap" her unwilling victim into submission. Everyone who knew the two of us always asks this question, so I will give you my side of the answer. His side will be different of course, and it should be, he has his own mind.

When I was fifteen years old I was told I would never have children. (yes, and I believed these gods of medical science in all their wisdom.) I spent a lot of my youth in Dr.'s stirrups under going test why I had so many cysts on my ovaries. I never had regular "monthlies" and I truly believed I could not get pregnant. In fact, my mother talked my Dr. out of removing my ovaries at fifteen as they did nothing but cause me pain and increased her medical payments.

So here I was in college...untouchable, or so I thought. Years of practice, not so much as a scare. And the other half of this scenario, I NEVER WANTED TO HAVE CHILDREN! I was supposed to be on the Tonight Show, snorting coke with Johny Carson, that was what I was meant to do. I didn't know how or what would get me there, I just had this unbridled belief that I was special and meant to do great things.

And in this head space, I found a very articulate creative guy. One that was palpably talented and not someone I would normally have been drawn to. I was always into basketball players; very tall, very thin men. And I let this guys treat me like sh*t. I settled for a guy (who had a girlfriend back home) that told me:

"I wish my girlfriend was as smart as you...I wish she was as pretty & funny...but I will always go back to her."

And he did.

This is where my meltdown is coming from. I gave up everything for the child I never wanted. Let those who want to judge me for "trapping" this guy judge, I am okay with that too. I have very broad shoulders (as I may not have that second x chromosome remember?) But I never trapped or took one thing from this guy, not one dime in child support, not one semester tuition money, nothing. He never made one sacrifice. I gave up everything, or so I thought.

In the end it turns out HE gave up everything. Because 19 years later, I have this incredible son, who loves me. Skud was more of a kindred spirit than a son. Skud is the same ungovernable mess that I was. So of course I don't want to stop this journey, I only want to be along on the ride. But I can't do that either.

What I meant to say is SKUD is one of the special things I was meant to do. One of three. I can see that now. I just have to see it from a little farther away I guess.

So I have spent the last two weeks in my room hiding from the reality of what has transpired and lost myself in vampire novels to distract myself. I have found an opening for the 5th book if Stepenie Meyer needs any help...I will have quite a bit of free time.

I'm getting married in the morning!

Image by maxgiani via Flickr

Ding Dong the bells are gonna chime! Here's the deal, I have been proposed to for what I am hoping will be the last time in my life. Since I am currenlty married to the man who is the most perfect match for me (this is an important point for anyone thinking of becoming betrothed. Not that he is a perfect man; Mom, I'm looking at you here...he is not perfect, he just is perfect for me.) I keep trying to explain this to my children. It does not matter if the PERSON is perfect (as no one is), just if they are PERFECT for you.

I am running off to Vegas to marry my Guru Annie! We are going to have the wedding of our dreams...hers and mine of course, not our husbands. Aside: Sissy in my office says, if we are thinking of doing the whole Elvis Wedding thing we should seriously consider renting the PINK CADILLAC! I think this is a great idea!

Raynard and I had a long discussion tonight about it, and he is totally okay with me running off to Vegas and marrying my former BFF and 16th funniest BLOGGER on the planet. No strings attached. How could I get so lucky, as to find someone who would compliment me so completely that he is not challenged by my Union to Annie even if it is some foolish PR stunt to push people to her blog.

He made one point clear....we have to be SAFE. Now I have been told that Mercury is in retrograde and their is a good chance that I will get pregnant during the honeymoon. But Raynard has already accepted, loved and helped put through college two other bastard children. Really what's the harm in one more?

The only real consensus I CARE about at this point is Lucy & Ethel's opinion. If they find it morally reprehensible, of course I would not go through with it. I would not want to make light of what they are doing this weekend. (I went to dress rehearsal this evening and it made me cry! Two people so much in love, and they had readings from Plato, well, it was enough to bring this stone woman to her knees.)

So, I am off to the travel agency to book tickets. Oh Annie, my buddy James is totally in with getting us transgender bridesmaides! You don't mind do you? Do I get to wear white? I mean Madonna did... how far off can I be?

I am the Pied Piper of nothing...

Image via Wikipedia

I have a Twitter, and apparently I am supposed to Twitter all day everyday about the inane things that happen in my life. I am not that fabulous. Do you really want to know that I just clipped my toenails and I am currently trying to coax the underpants off of Stinky Pete's head?

Am I really supposed to be so sucked in by Rob Pattinson I want to know the times and consistencies of bowel movements? (I don't follow Rob on Twitter by the way, afraid it may just burst my sparkles in the sun like diamonds fantasy that I have about him....)

I actually have two Twitters. I have personal one, that might be a little more salty and a professional one that you might receive the riveting update: Board Meeting today at noon Chamber Board Room. On my Professional Twitter I have followers. I rarely Twitter on either, but I was up to 17 followers professionally. This thought amazes me...I am the pied piper of nothing.

I work my butt off at the office and most days I feel overwhelmed as if I am constantly lunging to catch the sh*t that is falling through the cracks. But in the grander scheme of things cannot think of one thing that I do that is remotely appealing enough that you would want to know: Energizer meeting at Boss Lodge, tomorrow noon.

I can however visualize someone wanting read "The Blog." Yet, personally I have 6 followers. And half are probably porn stars trying to get me to check out their "New Nasty Pics." Don't get me wrong...I would be doing this if no one was reading. This is suppose to be my practice. My daily workout that gets me back to being someone I once was. It doesn't matter who reads or if they read. The less readers the better. The less pressure I feel to censor myself, so as to not hurt any one's feelings. A rule I am thinking of throwing out the window by the way....

This was my experiment in life. See what it conjures up and what it would be like to have my fingers on a keyboard again just for the fun of it. The technology has put a pressure on me to be funny everyday and some days this sh*t just ain't funny. Some days it is hysterical but not in the literary sense and some days it is just a reflection of the fact that I had too much wine at dinner.

Kill 'em with kindness...What?

Image by Getty Images via Daylife

I have these two friends who are infinitely kind and compassionate; they are artists, they are community volunteers and for goodness sakes they recycle. What’s not to love right?

I also would not say that I am particularly liberal, but I try to be open-minded. I try to see things through others eyes, as my judgment is not always the best. If you look at my track record with men you’ll know what I mean. (This statement excludes Raynard. As Raynard chose me; that is how I know it was the right thing. Raynard’s judgment is rarely clouded.) But I also believe in the whole judge not lest ye be judged philosophy.

I was at Lucy & Ethel’s bachelorette party/bridal shower the other night and had a wonderful time. How could you not, the house was filled with desserts and some of the smartest, most respected women I know. Ethel was telling a story of how she was standing in line at a grocery store watching an argument between the person scanning the groceries and the person bagging the groceries. They were debating whether or not Ethel was a man or woman. (YES!! With her standing right there, looking on and feeling very uncomfortable I’m sure.) Admittedly, Ethel will tell you she has always been very androgynous, not the point! Who is so socially inept in the year 2009 that they would carry on this conversation? And to Ethel’s credit she simply said, “I’m a lady, and I would just like my groceries so I can go home.” No malice, not even a hint of being cheesed off when she tells the story. Good for her, she is a better person than me apparently…’cause it pissed me off.

It made me so angry that I declared myself “honorary lesbian” for the evening on my facebook. (Which is okay, as I was not wearing nail polish, did not wear make-up or curl my hair, which were the rules for me getting to be invited to the next Lesbian Poker night.) I had expected ribbing from my friends, maybe even a LOL from my pops. What I did not expect was for my cousin to chime in with “gross.”

Okay, that is obviously how she feels. I will be totally supportive of the fact that she has the right to feel whatever way she wants to about homosexuality, but for the first time that discrimination was directed toward me, and I HATED IT!

Ashamedly, I was not as forgiving or without malice as Ethel had been in the grocery store that day. And I only had it posted on my Facebook, I could erase that part of me at anytime. I do not have to deal with it daily. I do not have to deny the person that I love in certain public situations, or suffer the social consequences for being exactly who I am. It gave me a whole new perspective on Lucy and Ethel, and I respect them more for their choice to be public and have their beautiful wedding this coming weekend.

What I hope is that my cousin could get a little taste of discrimination in her upcoming months, not enough to hurt, only enough to bend and maybe see a different side.