someday never comes

Been there, done that... bought the blog....

2006-09-26T22:05:00.000-04:00

How many times have I run away from blogland? How many blogs have I begun and discarded, deleted or forgotten?

When I began this blogging thing, in February of 2005, I was looking for a way to complete myself. Or to get to know myself. Or to like myself.

I was looking for affirmations that I am not as bad as I feel.

But in the end all I have done is pretend....

Let me tell you who I really am. We'll call it the 100 True Things About Me:

1. My name is Melody
2. I'm 41 years old.
3. I am a mother to two daughters, Lorena and Jessica.
4. I am not a particularly good mother.
5. I have been married for over 22 years.
6. I have not been a particularly good wife.
7. I've never liked myself.
8. I've always WANTED to like myself.
9. I am afraid.
10. I have no idea what I am really afraid of.
11. I am selfish.
12. I am greedy.
13. I am not a good friend.
14. I am a liar.
15. I cheated on my husband and ruined my marriage.
16. With a man I don't even LIKE.
17. Because I could not have the man I thought I wanted.
18. I fell in love with this man, but I knew I could not have him.
19. Because I wanted him to save me.
20. And I convinced myself it was ok, because my marriage was bad, and because I believed that this man loved me too.
21. I blamed my husband for my betrayal.
22. Besides being controlling, emotionally absent, and clueless, he did nothing wrong.
23. He can't forgive me.
24. I don't particularly care.
25. My relationship with my children sucks.
26. Because I spoiled them, and wanted to be their friend.
27. And because they don't respect me, because I have never given them reason to.
28. I am jealous of people who have more, and do more, and are better than, me.
29. I am over 100 pounds overweight, because I am too fucking lazy to do anything about it.
30. I cannot stick to anything.
31. I don't clean my house, and it's literally FILTHY.
32. I don't care.
33. I want people to like me.
34. It makes me crazy when they don't.
35. So I woo them.
36. Even if I don't particularly like THEM.
37. I want so badly to be loved, that I "fall in love" with any man who is nice to me.
38. Which pisses my husband off.
39. I have been unfair to my husband. I have written things about him that make him seem like a monster.
40. He is not so very complicated as that.
41. I am ashamed of how I have treated him.
42. And that makes me angry.
43. So I take it out on him.
44. I have no tolerance for stupid people.
45. And I am probably the stupidest one of all.
46. I am a snob.
47. And I have no reason to be.
48. I am not beautiful.
49. I am not sexy.
50. I am not brilliant.
51. I am not popular.
52. I do not have a lot of money.
53. What I am is lazy.
54. Arrogant.
55. Lazy.
56. Scared.
57. Lazy.
58. Immature.
59. Lazy.
60. Unfocused.
61. Lazy.
62. Disloyal.
63. Did I mention lazy?
64. I have a bottle of pills that I have been saving for awhile.
65. They would probably help me if I would take them.
66. I mention them to people all the time, as if I would take them and kill myself.
67. I am far too afraid of dying to do that.
68. But I want people to feel sorry for me.
69. My life has been entirely uneventful.
70. I long for it to change.
71. I dream about it changing.
72. And I daydream about it changing.
73. I think about it almost to the exlusion of everything else.
74. And yet I am too lazy, and too afraid to change it.
75. I'd rather be a victim.
76. I try to laugh at myself before other people can.
77. Because I always convince myself that they are going to.
78. I am a bully.
79. Though not a successful one.
80. Inside, I am terrified of being found out.
81. I talk loud, to be noticed.
82. And then I cringe when people notice me, because I convince myself that my weight is all they see.
83. And I hate them, before I ever know what they truly feel.
84. I don't believe people want to be my friend.
85. Because I don't believe I deserve it.
86. And so I abuse the friendship, and doom it to failure.
87. So I can cry about how no one likes me.
88. That way I feel in control.
89. I am always hungry.
90. I eat until I am sick sometimes.
91. I hate to look at myself in the mirror.
92. Eating is the only part of my life that I feel in control of.
93. And it is probably the most out-of-control part of my life.
94. I hate this person that I've become.
95. I want to be anyone but me.
96. But I am tired of hiding from life.
97. And I am going to do something, even if it is wrong.
98. And I am starting here, with my blog.
99. This will be my last post.
100. Until I am someone that I like.

Th-th-that, th-th-that's all folks...........

She's making a list... checking it twice....

2006-09-24T11:36:00.000-04:00

Despite the title, this post is not about Santa, Christmas, or Obsessive Compulsive checking.....

It's about my love of lists.

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is melodyann and I am a ListMaker.

Whew... There, I've said it. The first step to overcoming a problem being ADMITTING you have a problem, I feel better already.

I make lists everyday. Some of them are the kind of lists that you'd expect, jottings of grocery lists on napkins from McDonald's... long, carefully crafted "TO DO" lists of jobs I must get finished at work... Hastily scratched lists of errands I need to run, written on the back of my bank statement envelope....

I find these lists everywhere. In the bottom of my purse, in the floorboard of my car, stuck in between two files at work, lying half chewed on the floor of the puppies' cage.

Sometimes, the lists are incredibly important, and serve me well, such as the one which reads: 1. Don't forget to wash Hopie's black band t-shirt and socks for tonight's game; 2. Go to the grocery and pick up feta cheese for the linguine and clam sauce; 3. Don't forget to call American Express and make that damn phone payment BEFORE the 21st!!!!

Other times, the lists are left forgotten on the seat of my car as I try to maneuver through the grocery with no CLUE what it is I desperately needed when I came in.

There are other lists that I make, which are not so usual. These lists are made and maintained completely in my head and stored in a way that probably makes sense only to me. Some of these lists include:

Friends I've Had Who Became Slimy Embezzlers, Thus Ending the Friendship
1. Lesa
2. Lana

Although, I've had to revise that one, because I realized I only became friends with Lana AFTER she became a Slimy Embezzler, which prompted the list:

Friends I've Had Who USED To Be Slimy Embezzlers
1. Lana

Starbucks Coffee Drinks I Have Learned to Love:
1. Vanilla Latte'

Well, so far that is the only one I love, as that is the only one I keep purchasing. But I'm sure that list will grow soon...

Fat Women's Clothing Stores Where I Spend Most of My Money:
1. CJ Banks
2. Lane Bryant

Sometimes, things and people are on more than one list in my head. Consider, for example:

Best Friends I Have Made Via the Internet:
1. Luann

Best Friends Who Seem to Have Forgotten That I Still Exist On This Planet:
1. Luann

I maintain these lists with due diligence, furtively writing and rewriting them on the thin walls of my psyche, erasing some, creating others:

Places Where I Am Too Dumb To Drive:
1. Statesboro, Georgia
2. Morgantown, West Virginia
3. Chesapeake, Virginia

This list was scrapped, in favor of a NEW and more preferable list:

Places Where My Husband Thought I Was Too Dumb To Drive, But To Which I Drove, Anyway:
1. Statesboro, Georgia
2. Morgantown, West Virginia
3. Chesapeake, Virginia

This fall I will add Hagerstown, Maryland to that list, and next summer I hope to be able to add, Morriston, Florida, and Topsail Beach, North Carolina.

Sometimes my lists are to remind me NEVER, EVER to do something again, as in:

Foods That I Hope to Never, EVER taste again:
1. Ginseng Soup
2. Beets
3. Liver

And other lists remind me to indulge more often:

Places Where It's Fun to Spend Time and Money:
1. Barnes & Noble
2. The West Virginia State Fair
3. Amazon.com

There are lists of people, too:

People That I Wish I Had Never Had The Horrible Bad Luck To Meet:
**This list must remain in my head, to keep my ass out of trouble, but trust me, it's longer than you might think.

People That I Wish I Knew Better, and Could Spend Time Drinking Coffee and Talking With:
1. FunkyB
2. The Naked Nerd
3. Sheri
4. Burfica
5. Katie Couric, 'cause she's just cute as a bug.
6. Ellen Degeneres, 'cause she makes me laugh till I pee.

I'm currently working on a LIFE LIST, as encouraged by Ellen Degeneres, because SHE thinks it's important, so by gosh, "I" think it's important, and because, dang it, I've never really DONE anything. So far, here's what I have on my LIFE LIST:

LIFE LIST OF MELODYANN:
1. Quit Smoking.
2. Lose lots of extra poundage.
3. Go to Ireland.
4. Go to Italy.
5. Learn to dance.
6. Learn sign language.
7. Go to college.

I'm still working on that list, of course. Any suggestions?

Does that seem a little CRAZY to you?

2006-09-21T00:29:00.000-04:00

Today, boys and girls, we is gonna talk about crazy. More specifically, we is gonna talk about me and MY crazy. Cause I have ~~lots and lots~~ a little bit of crazy. Of course, all of my crazy is self diagnosed, so I may actually be crazier than even I think.

When I was a little girl, I was afraid of my food. This was mainly because my brother Mark told me he put BB's in all my food, and that BB's would choke me to death. Yeah. I was kind of a stupid kid. But wait, it gets better.

I was so afraid of the BB's that might be in my food, that I checked each and every bite with my fingers, before putting it in my mouth. And once it got in my mouth, I checked it carefully with my tongue. And as I was chewing, should I happen to bite down on anything crunchy or hard, the entire mouthful was spat out and examined. You can imagine how much fun I was to have around at dinner.

Later, Mark told me that I was adopted and mom and dad were saving their money to buy an army jeep, with which to run me over. From that point on, I was terrified of jeeps. Can you imagine how frightening it was when my brother Mitch got a jeep CJ-7? I figured mom and dad just couldn't afford the army jeep and had decided that in a pinch, any old jeep would have to do. I still hate jeeps.

When my cousin Randy sold smoke alarms one summer, he showed us a film about housefires. After that I became convinced that we would all die a fiery death, and I spent hours planning and mapping out our escape route. Then I packed everything that I loved in paper grocery bags and stacked them neatly at the end of my bed. I was ready to escape. Until my mom told me to stop being ridiculous and unpack those darn bags.

My mom told us about a man whose last meal was fish and milk. Then he just died. After that, no more fish and milk for me. In fact, just to be on the safe side, I stopped drinking milk altogether. When I went to grade school, I used to beg my friends not to drink milk with their fish. I told them if they did, they would surely die. Yeah, I got laughed at ~~a lot~~ a little back then.

I read a book once about a serial killer who was a mortician. He had a ring specially made with a needle and a spring and whenever he touched some kind of button on the side of the ring, the needle sprang out and a dose of some sort of paralyzing drug was sent racing through the bloodstream of his victim. The drug was so powerful and the effect so lasting, that the person was pronounced dead and buried before he/she woke up. Can you imagine waking up inside a coffin? One person actually woke up during his own autopsy. Freaky, freaky shit. After that book, no part of my body could be out of the covers at night. Especially my feet. Dear God, that man could be at the end of my bed, just waiting to spring that needle into my foot.

I had a lot of fears about bedtime. I was so afraid of spiders and scorpions (ok, we lived in West Virginia, so um... no scorpions, but still...) that I had to take all the blankets, sheets, pillows and pillowcases off my bed each night, to make sure no tiny little murderous creature was lying in wait for me. Then of course, I had to put it all back or my mom went NUTS. She had this unnatural fear of any of her children sleeping in an unmade bed.

I hated going into our basement at night, and of course the washer and dryer were in the basement. I was just sure that Satan, or some of his minions, were waiting to grab my feet out from under me as I skipped up the stairs. You never heard such "Get thee behind me, Satan!"-s as I managed to bellow out during my formative years. Of course, years later, I had to go and watch that damn Blair Witch Project movie, which was completely UNSCARY until the last scene, when the girl goes downstairs, and the boy is standing in the corner. So now I hate to go downstairs, because I am just sure some horrifying THING will be standing with it's nose pressed to the corner of my basement walls.

Just wait. It gets even better....

I read a book called "The Boy Who Couldn't Stop Washing His Hands" or something like that. It's about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Hmmm. I felt pretty safe at first, I don't do the hand washing thing. I don't do the house cleaning thing. I don't do the checking thing. (Well, unless you count the car keys thing. I DO check my purse several times after I lock my car door, even though I distinctly remember putting my keys in my purse, because what if I am remembering putting them in my purse YESTERDAY, and actually locked them in the car today? And then later? In the store? Well, I just check to make sure they haven't fallen out of my purse is all. Or what if I CHECKED several times YESTERDAY and forgot to check today?)

But then I read about counting. Counting things. Counting words. Counting syllables. Counting notes. Counting steps. Oh shit, I thought to myself. Um... I sort of DO this. Like, for instance, if I have a song running around in my head, I will (bear with me here, this is kind of EMBARASSING) sort of click my teeth as I replay the song in my head. It's better if I can remember the whole song, but if not, I will just do it on the part I know. I start with the number of words. I need them to be a multiple of 6, because I have six front teeth. If it doesn't work out, I move to syllables. If THAT doesn't work out, I can add in drum beats, if they are significant. If all of that doesn't work, I can switch it to multiples of 5, and do it on my hands. If I can't get it to work, no matter what I try, I have to find a song that does work, because the first song has now become TAINTED. I can't have a tainted song running amok in my brain, it would be like a train wreck. Who knows how much brain function I would lose? (a case could be made, I think, that I have ALREADY lost a significant amount of brain function.)

And um.... I count steps. I've written about this before. I like to estimate the number of steps it will take me to get from point a to point b. Then, if I am getting to point b too quickly for my step estimate to be right, I will start taking baby steps to raise the count. If I am getting there too slowly, I will take giant steps, as if I am trying not to step in a pile of dog shit, or a particularly nasty mud puddle. Now none of this step counting is particularly bothersome unless I happen to be in a parking lot, and people actually watch me, and I sort of look like one of the 10 Lords a Leaping, or if they actually see me standing at the trunk of my car, marching in place, to get to the right number of steps. Then, to say the least, is my face red.

But the worst part of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, at least to me, are the uncontrollable thoughts. Here is where my craziness is no longer funny, and becomes debilitating and insufferable.

You see, what seems to happen is that a person suffering from this condition has thoughts running randomly through their minds. Sometimes the thoughts fly through my brain so fast that it feels like a "strobe light" of cogitation. It's not frightening, exactly, but it IS exhausting. Say for example that I get up in the middle of the night to pee, and think about smoking a cigarette. I decide no, it's too late, I'm going back to bed. Every conceivable thought that a person could think about cigarettes, will then proceed to meander about in my psyche. To the point that I will feel COMPELLED to get back up and smoke the fucking cigarette. I try to concentrate really hard to relax and clear my head of all thought, when it gets like this. Because if I don't, I'm like a junkie without a fix. I can't sleep, I can't concentrate, I can't function. So, I imagine my head is a sensory deprivation chamber, my brain just floating in darkness, where no light, no noise, no outside influences can penetrate. After YEARS of practice, I can generally overcome this nuisance. But I have to be able to get to a quiet place, a dark place. If I'm at work this is a problem, because of my aforementioned embarassment to talk about any of it.

Sometimes, the thoughts are slow and frightening. Like, for instance, I can be driving along in my car, minding my own business, and come upon a truck, say, a truck full of giant logs. I will "SEE" those logs rain down on my car, crushing me, my girls, my car, all to hell and back. And then my mind starts frantically trying to figure out a way to stop it from happening. I call these my death thoughts. They are completely random, and vary in detail and frequency. Sometimes, I will see myself getting stabbed, can almost feel the knife slicing through my skin, followed by the sting and the sudden gush of blood and "bits o' me". Sometimes, I will see something happening to one of my girls, while I either stand helpless to prevent it, or only find out about it later.

These are the kinds of thoughts that I cannot bear. They are my secret shame, because I have told very very few people about them. People look at you very strangely when you tell them, "Yeah, sometimes I see me or my kids dying as many as 50 or 60 times a day."

I did some research a few years ago, when it had gotten so bad that I could barely drag my butt out of bed, for fear of what I might see in my mind. I was afraid to drive, afraid to go out in public, afraid to open my curtains or my windows. I saw danger everywhere. It was easier to sleep my life away. But it wasn't very much fun for my girls. So I did some research. I read in a few places that doctors prescribed Celexa a lot for OCD, as well as for depression. I talked with my doctor about how I became so depressed each fall as the anniversary of my mother's death loomed closer. I asked him to prescribe the same medication for me. I told him nothing about the death thoughts. I was embarassed and ashamed.

But the Celexa worked! At least for the most part. I now only suffer the death thoughts maybe once a week, or twice a month. I don't keep count of them anymore, and am more easily able to push them from my mind.

Another thing that OCD sufferers contend with are what I call the "Inappropriate Thoughts". When you feel the urgent need to laugh out loud at a funeral, or when you sit in church and imagine having sex with the preacher. When you want to punch your smart ass kid in the mouth, and can actually SEE the blood pouring out of her mouth and over your fingers..... Sex with family members, exposing yourself to strangers on the street. These kinds of thoughts are so shameful to many OCD sufferers that they refuse to seek help, because they can't bear the thoughts of sharing these thoughts with another living, breathing soul. I've had some of these thoughts. And I've been shocked and appalled and damn near overwhelmed by some of the things that I didn't want to "think". I thought for so long that I was so bad, that surely there was a special place in hell for me, because those thoughts wouldn't be in my head if I wasn't thinking them, would they?

But they would. Thank God, I found this medicine, because I very nearly had a nervous breakdown over just the symptoms that I suffered. I am no match for OCD. Some people suffer the same symptoms as me and many, many more. And many of these people suffer it alone, without any kind of medication that could help.

Why am I telling you all of this now? Geez, I just barely started to be able to write anything that anybody wanted to READ again. And maybe some of you will read this and think, "This lady is FUCKED. She's a screwball." Maybe you will be so totally disgusted by what you read that you won't come back to my blog.

But, my goal here is to write about the things that I think, the things that move me, make me laugh, frighten me, make me cry or piss me off. If I have to worry all the time about how my thoughts and written words are being received by whomever happens along to read them, then what is the point of writing?

So, hit me with whatever YOU are thinking. But don't be mean, or I'll ~~cut your fucking heart out and eat it for breakfast~~ cry.

Wednesday.... take out the trash........

2006-09-20T07:33:00.000-04:00

So it's Wednesday again. I know this because my husband told me last night. "Tomorrow is Wednesday. Trash day. Why don't you go through the refrigerator and throw out some stuff?"

He tells me this every Tuesday night. And every Tuesday night, I say: "Thank you, I'll get right on that." And then I continue watching House. And then I watch something else. And then I play some solitaire on the computer. And then I go to bed.

And every Wednesday morning he says, in a not-so-happy voice: "Thanks for going through the refrigerator last night." And I say, in my ever-so-happy voice: "You're welcome."

And then he says, which NEVER fails to annoy me: "Everything in there is rottening." And I reply: "Things are not ROTTENING. They may be ROTTEN. Or they may be ROTTING. But they are NEVER, EVER, ROTTENING. And FYI? I don't like to touch rotting things."

And then he leaves in a huff, and that is how I know it is Wednesday.

I have an aversion to going through the refrigerator, looking for ROTTING things. More so than the aversion I have to cleaning in general. Something about sniffing around here, poking around there, lifting lids on God-only-knows-what-this-used-to-be, and picking up bags of cucumbers-turned-soupy just strikes me as WRONG.

You wouldn't believe how many storage bowls I have thrown away because I could not bear to empty the contents of them. That's why I SAY NO to Tupperware. Too expensive to throw away.

And you wouldn't believe how horrible my refrigerator looks. Which is why I have pictures. Please don't hate me because I am afraid of rot. I have redeeming qualities. Great teeth, for instance. And hair, I have GREAT hair. And I'm smart, and have a good sense of humor. Just because I am a pig in a STY doesn't mean I am unworthy.

When I took these pictures, I counted 9 bottles of salad dressings. Eight bottles of steak sauce, two BIG bottles of ketchup, some soy milk that has never been opened and is God-only-knows how old, 3 containers of cool whip, 5 containers of sour cream, and 7 packages of cheese. Oh, and 5 bottles of soy sauce. I keep forgetting that we HAVE soy sauce.

There are some weiners in there that are good. About 3 packages. And some that are hard as a rock, and sort of look like little red torpedoes. We made tacos with the hamburger last night, and none of us died, so I'm assuming it wasn't quite bad yet.

Somebody spilled a coke, so some of the shelves are sticky. Which is why we have THREE jars of mustard. Two of them were stuck, so I bought a new one. There USED to be a box of baking soda in there, but I took it out when we ran out of toothpaste one time. It got spilled in the bathroom, but that was ok, because the carpet was a bit damp, and starting to smell a littly funky. Baking soda is good for that.

Oh, GodhelpmetinybabyJesus, I'm hopeless. I'm helpless. I'm a pig and a slob.

But I have a good smile.....

Woo, Woo, Woo, (clap), First Down!!!

2006-09-18T23:41:00.000-04:00

So, I went to my very first college football game. Picture it:

It's Thursday evening, about 5:30 p.m. I've been up since 5:00 a.m., getting our shit together, shopping for stuff to make dinner to take to Renie's apartment, cooking, WORKING, going to lunch with my boss, our office manager, and THE single most annoying woman in the world (more on HER later, mkay?), and then making a mad dash to the high school to pick up Hopie, driving like a bat out of hell to Morgantown, dropping dinner on the table, dropping my big butt into a chair and announcing to the world, "I'm not moving again until tomorrow--leave me alone."

I look over at my beautiful daughter, who by the way, has lost weight and looks TERRIFIC, sporting her brand new WVU Mountaineers girlie football jersey.... and she don't look so happy.

"Wanna come outside with me while I smoke?" I says to Renie.
"Melody, you don't have to go outside anymore... we smoke in here now." says Malorie, Renie's roommate.
"WE?" I ask.
"Well, me and Miranda do..." says Malorie.
"Um, well, no, I'd rather go outside." I say.

So, we get outside and Renie is near tears.
"Mommy," she says, "you can smoke in the apartment, it doesn't matter. Everyone else does."
"Well, I'm not everyone else, and I made you a promise." says I. "Besides, this is YOUR home. I can smoke in MY home, if I want to, but in YOUR home, I show respect. Now, tell mommy what's wrong..."

Turns out, Malorie and Renie were supposed to go to the game together, but now Malorie is flaking out, because she is sick. Although she doesn't look sick. And she doesn't act sick. And it's almost 6:00 and Renie doesn't have anyone else to go to the game with.

And Amy and Hopie only have 2 tickets. Cause I wasn't going to go. I was gonna lie on the couch with a Diet Coke and a book, and vegetate.

But no.

My kid needs me.

So we get online, order ourselves 2 tickets, bum a ride with Amy and Hopie and off to the game we go.

My God, it was great.

First of all, our tickets were in the middle of ENEMY CAMP. Yessiree, we were two of the very few yellow and blue shirted souls in a sea of red and black. You Maryland Terrapin bastards. We hated you on sight.

Nah, it wasn't like that. There were a few loudmouthed assholes from Maryland... and many, many more from WVU.

What can I say? The game was awesome. The band was fucking INCREDIBLE. And I learned to do the first down cheer!!! Well, LEARNED might be stretching it a little. I kept fucking it up. But it made Renie laugh and that's all I cared about. Here's how to do the cheer, in case any of you are completely clueless like me:

First, you have to wait till it looks like your team has a first down. Then you put your hands in the air and do jazz fingers till the announcer says, "First Down, West Virginia!", at which point you THEN bounce your hands up and down THREE times while shouting "Woo, Woo, Woo", and THEN you clap, point your left arm at whichever end of the field your team is rushing towards and scream "First Down!"

Only, I kept fucking it up. I got the jazz fingers down to a fine art. I was jazzin' me some fingers, let me tell you.

I even remembered the "Woo, Woo, Woo!"

But I forgot the clap about half the time.

And the pointing? Got it right once, I think. Kept pointing to the wrong end of the field. Yeah, I suck. But, like I said, Renie laughed, and it was nice to put a smile on my kids face.

We watched that game all the way to the last second. Even though WVU was ahead throughout the WHOLE game. Even though it started raining in the fourth quarter. Even though it was freaking COLD out there. Even though my and Renie's hair started to CURL (oh my Gosh!). Cause that's what my kid wanted to do, gosh darn it.

And that night, I also had my very first EVER, Dairy Mart pizza stromboli, and I gotta tell you, those things are awesome. Even if, as Renie says, I wasn't able to enjoy it fully, cause you gotta be drunk to get the full taste sensation.

I wowed my kids with my knowledge of rap lyrics (It's goin' DOWN, meet me in the mall....)

Oh yes, a great time was had by all......... Great googly moogly!

Lots of things about me that you didn't know, maybe....

2006-09-11T13:58:00.000-04:00

I have a mysterious knot on my forehead. You can't see it, but you can definitely feel it. I think someone probably clobbered me in my sleep sometime during my life.

I am afraid of moths. My mother used to tell me that they would crawl into your ears at night and eat your eardrums. I can't sleep if one of those eerie little bastards is in my house. I just know I'll wake up deaf as a doorpost.

I am a great cook. I make up recipes. I can make the best "eggplant stuff in tomato sauce over rice" this side of the international date line.

I DO know how to program my VCR and DVD player, but I lost the remote and now I have to sit beside the damn thing so I can turn it on and press PLAY.

It always shocks me when I happen to look into a mirror without thinking. I can't believe I am that old... or that big. When did I start to look like THAT?

I once asked my husband if he would stuff canned corn up his nose, to save my life. He said no and I was pissed. He's got a big fucking nose, he could get a lot of it up there.

One time I had a nosebleed on the water slide. I was halfway up the stairs, thinking how great I looked in my bathing suit, when all of a sudden some cute guy said, "EWWWWW! Your nose is bleeding, GROOOOSSSSSSS!"

Sometimes I am afraid someone will hypnotize me and make me push my tongue back into my throat. I read it in a book once, so I KNOW it could happen.

I firmly believe that almost anything tastes better with ranch dressing on it.

I want to live in a cottage by the sea.

I am completely lovable.

I started smoking again after 2 1/2 years of NOT smoking. I have been smoking again for a year and a half now. and I smoke like a motherfucker. and i want to quit.

I would spend my last dime on a good book.

I used to have a friend named Michele. And we used to say we wanted to learn how to give blow jobs. Turns out, Michele already knew how. And she gave a lot of them. I'll fucking believe anything.....

I'm against abortion. Don't hate me.

I am afraid of dying.

Apparently, I am also afraid of living.

I am also afraid of jello.

And girls who have been in jail.

I think beets taste like dirt. Not that I have eaten dirt, mind you. I guess they taste like dirt SMELLS.

I'm afraid if I open my door to a Jehovah Witness, I'll get sucked into their religion, and spend eternity knocking on mean people's doors....

When I was in fourth grade, I formed a club. I don't remember the name of it, but I was the president, and what we did was meet behind the maple tree and say bad words.

I need to laugh. Somebody say something funny to me........................

"If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other." Mother Theresa

2006-09-08T21:31:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about belonging. Well, actually I've been thinking a lot lately about NOT belonging. Geez, I never really saw myself as a whiner and a complainer, but I've looked back through some of my posts, and that seems to be all I do now. Moan and groan. Cry and complain. I'm sick of it.

My problem is, I just don't know where I belong. I don't go to church, haven't in a very long time, so I don't feel as if I belong there. I am not a member of any groups or clubs, so it's not as if I have a clique to belong to. I don't have a gaggle of girlfriends, to meet with ever so often, for chick talk, so I don't belong there either.

I'm not really a participating member of my family, as I loathe and despise housework of any kind, my marriage is cracking up, and when I'm here I'm generally asleep, or playing hours of solitaire, so I don't feel as if I belong here either. Most of my family are far away except for Mark, and he's busy learning all about how to live a fascinating life, so I don't have a family to belong to anymore.

About the only time I feel happy is when I'm with my girls. And when we are not here.

So, that's it. My problem, I think, in a nutshell.

I don't belong......

And the Asker Asks...........

2006-08-30T11:09:00.000-04:00

So, I'm bored. As in, "I don't have a clue what to write about because the thing I want to write most about is taboo for me to write about now."

So, here's some questions that will help me to get to know you better. That is, of course, assuming you are reading this and inclined to answer my questions.... I will answer the same questions for anyone who takes the time to answer them.

1. If you and I were stranded on a deserted island, what one thing could you teach me to do, and what would you hope to learn from me?

2. If you and I were to go to a movie together, what movie would we see (assuming we could see any movie ever released), and what snack would we buy to munch on?

3. If you and I were to go on a shopping spree, what one store would you most want to go to, and what store do you think I would most want to go to?

4. If you and I were lost in the forest, what one item would you most hope I have in my backpack, and what helpful item would you have in yours? Would we tell ghost stories or sing campfire songs?

5. If you and I were to have a sleepover (no sex, you dirty minded savages), what late night munchies would we consume? If we played truth or dare, what secret would you confess to me, and what dare would you have me do?

First Day of School........

2006-08-29T06:16:00.000-04:00

Dear God, help me tiny baby Jesus, what I go through....

Today is Hopie's first day of school. You'd think she'd be use to it by now, right? I mean, the kid IS in the 10th grade. She's done this nine times before today.

But not MY Hopie, no way....

She hasn't slept all night.

Not only hasn't she slept all night, she is a bundle of nervous energy. She's bouncing off the fucking walls....

Hopie: "Mommy, I'm feeling a little HIGH!"

Me: "Hopie, you aren't high, you are stupid from lack of sleep."

Hopie: "Man, I'm WOUND up!"

Me: "Yeah, you're gonna UNWIND by about 10:00."

Hopie: "Can we go to Little General and buy me an ENERGY drink, to get me through the day?"

Me: "Are you insane? They'll put you in some sort of asylum this morning if you drink an energy drink..."

So, I take her to Little General for a cup of coffee and a granola bar. I figure coffee will give her a slow buzz which might last awhile.

She changes clothes three or four times, runs to the bathroom several times, chases the puppies, dances through the living room, and finally makes it out into the driveway by 6:30.

Poor kid. She's gonna crash in a few hours and she has band this evening. She won't get a break till 5:00.

After the bus picks her up, I go make myself a cup of hot tea, light a cigarette, and sink into a tub of hot water.

Ya' gotta love the first day of school, don't you?

Canine Love Quad.....

2006-08-24T23:22:00.000-04:00

High drama at our house this week.

We are babysitting Zorro, my boss' dog. This is Zorro:

Zorro is not such a bad dog, besides being uglier than sin.

But we're having some romance problems among the canines in our home.

You see, Zorro is in love with our princess, Shelby. Alas, Shelby is way too good for the likes of him, and she prances around with her nose in the air, ignoring his pleading looks and his advances.

Here is Miss Shelby:

But Miss Shelby has a thing for an older man...erm...dog. Miss Shelby has found herself in love with Vincent-the-saving- dog.

The problem is, Vincent-the-saving-dog HATES Shelby. With a flying passion. Hates her so badly that he snarls and barks at her EVERY time she gets near him.

This is Vincent-the-saving-dog:

He's old and he's grouchy, and he don't want nobody fuckin' with him, least of all some prancy princess like Shelby.

You see, Vincent has had problems with his sexual identity. He had never been with a real GIRL... erm, girl DOG, before, and then we had him neutered, so he COULDN'T do anything with a real girl dog. So he kind of settled down to being an old bachelor, and then Casey-the-gay-dog came along.

Here's Casey-the-gay-dog:

He just LOOKS like a smarmy little bastard, doesn't he?

Let me tell you what he did.

Not only did he have carnal knowledge of every stuffed animal in this HOUSE, and PISS on every plastic bag within a mile of him, but he VIOLATED Vincent-the-saving-dog!!!

I just had to put my foot down when Casey-the-gay-dog introduced Vincent-the-saving-dog to the joys of the flesh. I wanted to put my foot up his ASS, but I restrained myself.

We got rid of the little bastard instead. That's when we brought the girls home. That was a year ago. And Vincent STILL hates poor Shelby.

And then there's Cleo. Poor little chubby Cleo, is pining for Zorro. Who woulda thunk that Zorro would be prejudiced against fat girls. The little bastard.

Here's little (corpulant) Cleo:

Her love for Zorro has thus far gone unrequited. She's persistant though, so she may still win in the end. Zorro will be here till Monday.

Cleo and Vincent-the-saving-dog are pretty good friends, however. I guess you could say Cleo is Vincent's Fag-Hag, (no offense to any gay people out there, just making a doggy joke!)

Do you have any idea what it's like to live in a house with four dogs? It sucks big giant penii, that's what it's like! They're always hungry, they're always thirsty, they NEVER want to go outside, and at least two of them are always fighting. But oh, how sweet they are when they are asleep. Last night I fell asleep on the couch with Miss Shelby laying on the pillow above my head, Miss Cleo laying behind me so that I was afraid of finding a big ball of SMUSH when I woke up, Zorro was curled up against my belly. Vincent-the-saving-dog was sleeping on the floor beside me.

I'm getting all kinds of doggy love this week.........................

Blah, blah, blah... Yada, yada, yada... Poo, poo, poo.

2006-08-21T23:09:00.000-04:00

My baby's back at college.

My other baby starts back to high school next Tuesday.

There are too many fucking dogs in my house.

I do not have enough fucking money.

I want to find a part-time job that I could work on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, but my husband says he will not be able to stand that.

If I don't find a job, I will never get out of debt. Never.

I got the blues, the blahs, and ALMOST the "fuck it all, I don't give a shit"-s

Somebody come up with something fun to do on here, before I go over the edge....

To Market, To Market, to buy a fat pig... (or, $pending the day at the STATE FAIR)

2006-08-16T16:37:00.000-04:00

So, yesterday I took my girlies to the fair. The sneaky things caught me asleep one night back in June and got me to agree to buy tickets to the Dierks Bentley concert. Read on, and relive the day with me:

Took Hopie to band practice at 8:00, promising to find her white tank top and "favorite jeans in the world" and get them washed before 12:00.

Took Mark and his son TJ to work, after making him buy me a sausage McMuffin with egg and a medium Diet Coke.

Went home and told Renie: "Find your sister's shit and get it washed..." and then I got on the computer and played solitaire for 3 hours. Oh, and talked to Lu...

We had a minimal knock-down-drag-out, and headed off happily to the fair. It rained all the way there, but I had been assured by the weather man that all would be sunny and bright by 3:00. Damn weather man... Wouldn't you know he would be right?

So we get to the fair and I make the kids wait while I put on some makeup, cause, hey, you never know, somebody rich and famous might want to look at me, right? Right. 'cept most of it melted off of me after the first 15 minutes, because of all of the aforementioned sun and brightness.

What's the first thing you do when you go to the State Fair of West Virginia? You go eat grilled corn-on-the-cob, of course! They pull it off the grill and shuck it, and you stand in a semi-circle around bottles of liquid margarine and shakers of salt and pepper. At $2.50 an ear, you could easily go broke eating it. But oh my heck, it's delish. Oh, and all the rest of my makeup melted off while I munched on hot corn.

Next Renie decided she wanted to go to the "hippie shops". You know the ones, where the long-haired, beard-y faced guy sits around whittling rabbits out of chunks of wood, while hairy arm-pitted, barefooted women braid different colored copper wires to make bracelets..... We taste-tested salsa and chips, which we swore we would go back and buy after the concert, (and which we COMPLETELY forgot about after the concert, but which we couldn't have afforded anyway, because after the concert I had exactly $5.43 left. And I used it to buy a fish-on-a-stick for Misty.) Renie bought a very cute "goddess" ring for her middle finger from one of the hippie ladies. $13.00. It looked like a bare-assed lady on a silver band to me, but she assured us that 'twas a goddess. Won't people be pleased now to have something ELSE to look at when Renie flips 'em off?

At this point in the day (we had been at the fair all of 30 minutes), my hair is completely wet from sweat, my feet hurt, and I need a cigarette. The makeup that melted off my face rolled into my eyes, along with a gallon or so of sweat, and so I couldn't see all that well. I sat down on a bench and declared it "rest time". Lordy, you should have heard the bitches moan. Finally, Renie gave me her pony tail holder, that she had been wearing on her arm like a bracelet, "in case she got HOT", and I put my hair up, lit a cigarette (after applying for and receiveing permission from Hopie to walk AND smoke at the same time), and off we went.

Next up was the WVU tent, where we got a free fan-on-a-stick, and bought the girls some t-shirts, shelling out only $12 each. Please note that by this point, Renie has a ring on her middle finger, and a t-shirt, and Hopie has a t-shirt. I have a fan-on-a-stick. This will turn out to be the theme-of-the-day.

We decided to go into the poultry house, because it's air-conditioned, and because Renie wanted to show us how horribly chickens were treated. As we walked in, while still feeling the rush of lovely air-conditioned wonderfull-ness, we were offered some free chicken nuggets. Renie turned positively green. She curtly, but politely, turned down the offer and walked on. I wanted to ask if I could have HER free chicken nuggets, but I didn't want to seem greedy. We didn't see nary a chicken, but the nuggets were good, and we got to see some duckies swimming in a big aluminum tub. When we saw the big 50 pound turkey hanging upside down, feathers plucked and head chopped off, our little Renie announced it was time to exit the poultry building. I think her exact words were, "Dear GodbabyJesus, let's get the fuck outta here."

Oooh, then we passed the henna tattoo place, and who can resist gettin' a little somethin'somethin' sprayed on their body? I got a black rose on my arm, just below the shoulder, Hopie got a circle of purple and blue moons and stars on her right shoulder blade, and Renie got a black and blue butterfly in the same place. Another $25, shot all to hell and gone.

Well, you can't go to the fair and not ride something scary, can you? $21 more for some carnival ride tickets. 'Cept Hopie won't ride anything scary. She and Renie rode some crazy thing that didn't go up in the air but spun like mad and threw Hopie all the hell over Renie, squeezing the air out of her. Fun, fun, fun! Then the three of us got on the ferris wheel, and though I am deathly afraid of heights, I actually enjoyed it. Sort of got a little breeze blowing over the sweat on the back of my neck, and cooled me down some. Fucking weather man.

So, now the bitches decide they want their picture made. Off we go to find the "old timey" picture taking dude. They dress up, jump up on the makeshift bar, pistols and whiskey bottles in hand, and faster than you can say, "Give me $28!", we have, two, count them TWO 8 x 10 glossy prints of my saloon girls.

Now we're hungry, and we're HOT. So we find a little eatery on the fairgrounds, which has some ceiling fans and an old not-quite-worn-out-yet window air conditioner. The girls order, then they change their order, then, after the waittress puts their order in, they change it again. I stick with the cheeseburger and fries, throughout all the rewrites.... Hopie thought the bread tasted "14 days old" on her hot ham and cheese sandwich, so she picked off the ham and cheese and munched happily. Renie liked her grilled cheese sandwich, but couldn't eat all her fries (I had offered to share mine BEFORE she ordered, to save money, but NO, she wanted her OWN DAMN FRIES, so there you go...) another $23, shelled out for lunch. Hey, at least my purse is getting lighter...

We visited the WV Building, where I longingly looked at all the quilts and crocheted and knitted afghans. I picked up a few more fans-on-a-stick, and we sprayed stuff on our hands and stuck them under a black light to see how dirty they were. YUCK!!!. Then we washed our hands to see how adept we were at washing. HA! Mine were the cleanest.

Finally, I dropped, exhausted, onto a bench outside of the WV Building. I had to rest. I had to smoke. I had to drink some Diet Coke and restore my faith in life. But wait! What the heck is THAT thing? I point and ask my kids, Did you see that? They're all like, "What?" and rolling their eyes, as if I were a lunatic. "There! That thing that kid has! The bubble thing!!! Is that not the most magnificent thing you ever saw?"

It was a BUBBLE BLOWING GUN!!! Here's this adorable little girl, laughing out loud, twirling round and round in a blizzard of Bubble-opia, and it's just the most beautiful and peaceful thing I ever saw. I knew I had to have one. My kids laughed, and rolled their eyes anew, they called me baby, and silly, but I didn't care. I am a firm believer in the powers of bubble therapy, and I wanted one of those guns!

Lucky for me, there was a bubble selling carny dude nearby. Can you believe I am now the proud owner of not only a bubble blowing gun, but ALSO the batteries to power said gun, plus not one, not TWO, BUT THREE bottles of bubble solution? I CAN'T BELIEVE IT EITHER!! What luck!!! And all for the low low price of $8! There ARE good things left to be had in this ol' world, people.

We went under the grandstand and looked at all the things for sale. Glass cases filled with fudge, velvet lined display cases full of rings and bracelets, tables full of pots and pans and bins of spices. The spice guy pissed us off, as he told Hopie not to squeeze the spices, for the bags would burst. Of course, she wouldn't tell me what he said till we were away from him, because her mommy is sometimes mouthy to people who are stupid enough to be mean to her children.

Then it was time for the concert. Now, understand that I bought these tickets because my kids tricked me into it. Not that I'm against Dierks Bentley, just that I wouldn't have shelled out $40 a ticket for him, had the decision been mine and mine alone. Or rather, had it not been for the fact that I'm an idiot when I'm sleeping and will agree to almost anything.

Andy Griggs was up first, and I adore the song, "You Won't Ever be Lonely." Then he did a very good version of Mercy Me's "I Can Only Imagine". Those were actually the only two songs that I actually listened to, because there were these three girls in front of us who were just pissing me off.

I guess I'm too old to go to concerts anymore, although, in my defense, I wasn't the oldest person there by FAR. Anyway, these three girls acted as if they had never been to a concert before in there lives. They yelled. They screamed. They swooned. They did jazz hands before, during, and after every single song, which made it impossible to get any sort of decent picture, which I COULD have gotten, because we happened to be in Row 11, which was very close to the stage.

They jumped. They danced. They screamed "We love you Andy!!!", and then later, "We love you Dierks!!!" which prompted me to think they were passing out the love mighty freely. They wrapped arms around each other and swayed back in forth, rapturous looks upon their young faces, and they squealed the name of each tune no later than the third or fourth note. I swear, these kids could have made a killing on "Name That Tune."

By the time Dierks Bentley came onstage I was so annoyed I wouldn't have given a fuck if he were Keith Urban, who, by the way can sing and dance CIRCLES around Dierks Bentley. I spent most of the concert sitting on my ass, practicing my DEATH GLARE. If any of those girls had bothered to look behind them, I'm sure I would have fried her brain in less than 15 seconds. My eyes were nearly popping out of my head, I was so intent on perfecting that KILLER GLOWER.

Finally, after about 87 hours, the concert was over. Me and the bitches made haste and scampered out of there, the girls toting their BRAND SPANKING NEW Dierks Bentley shirts, bought for a mere $50.

We headed out to find something sweet to eat. I figured a mega dose of sugar couldn't help but put me in a better mood. We bought two deliciously yummy funnel cakes topped with MOUNDS of powdered sugar, a large drink for the girls to share and a small Diet Coke for me. (It's my NECTAR, it has nothing to do with CALORIES!!!) I was exhausted, but we'd had a fun day, so I figured it was all worth it.

Then Hopie started her usual. "Oh my God, it's 11:30 and I have band practice tomorrow! I'll be too tired, I'll oversleep! We have to leave RIGHT NOW! Mom, will you STOP EATING for God's sake? We have to go!!!" Now, dang it, I was gettin' pissed off. For starters, I had just sat through 3 hours of the loudest country music you would ever hope to hear, WITHOUT a cigarette OR a Diet Coke, I might add, and we had ALL agreed that we would cap the night with a funnel cake or something sinfully yummy and just because I was SAVORING mine, and not snorting it down like a pig with a trough full of hot SLOP, I was being PERSECUTED by Bitch #2!!!!

I started figuring up just how much money we had spent that day, and how much of it was for ME. Here's the conclusion I came to:

ear of corn: $2.50
sample chips and salsa: $0
fan-0n-a-stick: $0
sample chicken nuggets: $0
henna tattoo: $8.00
ferris wheel ride: $4.00
more fans-on-a-stick: $0
cheeseburger, fries and Diet Coke: $6.00
bubble gun: $8.00
funnel cake and Diet Coke: $6.00

$34.50. Not really so bad, when you think about it, huh? Except when you consider the fact that we took TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY dollars with us, and I had EXACTLY $5.43 left in my purse. So here's my kid, complaining that I am not moving fast enough for her, after I have sweated and panted, walked and walked and WALKED with her, sat with my eardrums near to bursting with her, and spent $210 on her and her sister.

But I remained calm, for the most part, because I knew she was tired and I knew she would act like this when she was tired, and hell, I was tired too, so I finished eating, hobbled to the car, stopping only twice on the way. Had to make a pee stop, and then almost got through the gates when I remembered I had promised to bring Misty something from the fair. Guess what you can buy at the GATES of the fair at 11:30 at night, for $5.43? You can buy either a princess set, complete with tiara, sceptor and high heeled shoes. Or you can buy a fart machine-on-a-keychain. Or you can buy a stuffed, fake, NEMO-on-a-stick. The high heeled plastic princess shoes wouldn't have fit a 4 year old, and I think Misty would rather die than even SAY the word fart, so guess what I bought her?

If you said, stuffed fake NEMO-on-a-stick, you are the grand prize winner! Your prize is a fan-on-a-stick, as we are all out of fake Nemo's.

Got home at 12:30-ish, melted into bed, and fell asleep watching COPS.

"Bad Boys, Bad Boys, whatcha gonna do?"

Yes, folks, we went to the West Virginia State Fair. And a good time was had by all.....

NO NEWS is good news....it's ALL BAD...

2006-08-11T06:17:00.000-04:00

I'm not a political person. I don't watch the news. I don't speak out about current events and usually, I have no comment on whether or not U.S. Military troops should be pulled out of Iraq. Hell, I registered as a Republican only to piss of my father-in-law, who is a Democrat to his core. I'm not against much of anything, I don't care if people are gay, I don't care if other countries go to war and kill each other. I honestly don't care if people eat animals, if the spotted owls have trees to live in, or if the icecaps are melting.

I am this way for a reason.

The news depresses me. No, it goes beyond depression. It scares the hell out of me. Since I was a little girl, I have been afraid of war, fire, floods, earthquakes, avalanches, and mudslides. Airplane crashes, automobile pileups and train derailings reduce me to a quavering, tearful puddle of goo.

Which is why I almost missed a small story in our local paper.

Since then I have read everything I can find about it on the internet.

And I have become OH SO FUCKING ANGRY.

A child... A fourteen year old child was brutally raped and murdered, her mother and father were murdered. And her five year old sister was murdered, shot in the head in the bedroom of her home in Iraq.

By AMERICAN SOLDIERS.

Five of them.

Five men who, on a sunny afternoon after hitting golf balls and drinking Iraqi booze mixed with energy drinks and playing cards, decided it would be fun to go kill some Iraquis.

Five men who, after raping this little girl and killing her and her family, after pouring gas on her dead body, after lighting her on fire, came back to their base camp and grilled chicken wings.

And I am fucking amazed. Why is nothing seeming to be done about this? Why is there a "hearing" being held to determine if these men should stand trial? Why are decisions needing to be made to see if they should be court martialed?

I am like a woman obsessed. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop seeing it in my head. I have cried. I have pounded my fists against my steering wheel in utter frustration. I have dreamed about this child.

Why?

Because I have a daughter who is just one year older than her. My Hopie is 15. She's five foot tall and about a hundred pounds. A year ago, when she was 14, she went to school, she played saxophone in the high school band, she played high school softball. She was happy and carefree and funny and smart and full of life and laughter.

And she still is....

But this other little girl, this CHILD, had not only her innocense taken from her, not only her mother and father and little sister were taken from her, but they took her life as well. They tore her clothing from her little body and they did unspeakable things to her, things that a kid that young shouldn't even KNOW about, much less have done to them. They took turns with her. And then they BURNED her.

I hate and despise this fucking country that we live in. I hate and despise a government who has to "determine" if these ANIMALS should be punished for what they did to her.

I hate and despise that I live in a world where ANYONE would hurt a child....

Cursing and the Modern Girl...

2006-08-08T16:14:00.000-04:00

A lot of people are offended by curse words. Some people cringe and make little "tsk"-ing sounds, shaking their heads in disapproval. Those people are just SURE that those foul mouthed "sailors" are gonna split hell wide open.

I say, FUCK those idiots. There are no words, in my opinion, that express more FEELING, more OOMPH, than curse words. I sprinkle them liberally throughout my language, depending, of course, on the circumstances I find myself in, and also depending, of course, on how many IDIOTS I find around me at any given time.

I have nothing but disdain for those namby-pamby pablum sucking wimps who SUBSTITUTE words for curse words. "Cheese and rice", instead of Jesus Christ, "Frig", instead of Fuck, " "Crap" instead of Shit, "Dang" or "Darn" instead of Damn.

Come on, people. Grow the fuck up. If you are using an expletive as a SUBSTITUTION for another expletive, what's the bug-fucking difference? Do you think you are better than me, more HOLY than me, because you exclaim "Cheese and Rice!!!", whereas I would scream "Jesus H. Christ on a K-Mart crutch!!!"

Don't look down your cowardly noses at me. Words are not bad. Words are wonderful, creative, beautiful, expressive things. People made the words bad. Sanctimonious people who imagined themselves sitting at the right hand of God, pointing fingers at the rest of us and tattling, "See that, God? Did you see that dang melodyann, and did you hear the crap comin' out of her mouth?" Well guess what, you holier than thou, sons-of-prick-loving-whores, God knows you MEANT Damn, and Shit. He knows the words you MEAN, when you make your stupid little substitutions.

No, don't get me wrong. I DON'T think it's ok for children to curse. Just like I don't think it's ok for them to smoke, or drink. But when my kids got to the age where I KNEW they were using foul language OUTSIDE of my presence, I figured what was the damn point in demanding they not use it IN my presence.

My husband HATES when I curse. He thinks it's MY fault that the kids do it. If that is true, then I suppose it's HIS fault Renie likes to suck the bottom out of a bottle of beer? "I" certainly don't drink it. And will it be HIS fault if Hopie begins drinking?

I think I'd rather they cursed. They can curse and drive, and not get killed. Or kill anybody. They can curse in public, and not be arrested for it. They will probably never be addicted to cursing (although I must admit, I am perilously close to it). They won't have to wait till they get home to kick back with their first icy cold curse word of the day. And best of all, cursing won't pickle their livers.

So there. Put that in your fucking pipe and smoke it...

In a College Town....

2006-08-05T11:53:00.000-04:00

Dang, I feel old. I brought my girls and Malorie (Renie's best friend and roomate at college) to Morgantown yesterday. We met Amy here. Amy is my husband's niece, and a joy to be around. We hadn't seen her for a long time, because she finished school and moved to Maryland, so it was nice to meet her here for a weekend.

Nicer still to get away from home for a few days.

In case I haven't mentioned, home is not such a fun place to be, so much. I don't want to go into details, because no one wants to read that shit anyway, but suffice it to say that things are not working out, at all. And honestly, I'm not so willing to put any more effort into it.

Back to our weekend. Renie's apartment is cute as can be, and once we figured out how to turn the damn AIR CONDITIONER on (in my defense, I'm 5'3" tall, and the damn air conditioner is in a window about 7 feet off the ground), it's quite comfortable here. We've been moving furniture around, unpacking bags and boxes, and washing dishes.

It's relaxed, and we giggle and joke around, and we eat (of COURSE we eat!). Just a bunch of girls doing the weekend thing.

Except we're in a college town, where everyone is about 20 years younger than me.

Not to mention that everyone is about 100 pounds LIGHTER than me.

I feel like a fish out of water.

But damned if I'm gonna let that stop me from having fun with all my girls.

Hopie, Renie, Mal, and Amy, I love you girlies! You all feel like my kids and I love being with you and you make me laugh and you make me happy. Well, 'cept for when Hopie and Renie make fun of me for lying naked on my bed in the mornings to dry off..... But the rest of the time?

YOU GUYS MAKE MY HEART SMILE!!!!!

Lower Than a Snake's Belly

2006-08-02T11:36:00.000-04:00

I'm so glum.

I want to be able to write funny, witty little posts full of vim, verve, vivacity, vitality and vigor, but I think something must have happened to my v's.

2006-07-25T16:08:00.000-04:00

There once was a little fat girl
Who had not a care in the world
When a problem arose
She turned up her nose
And said, "Fuck This Shit!"

2006-07-20T09:23:00.000-04:00

You know how, when you're just sick and tired of your whole fucking LIFE, and you decide it's time for a CHANGE, and you tell your husband, during one of his screaming TIRADES, that he's RIGHT, it's definitely time for a divorce, and then you tell your kids, "Guess what? Mommy is getting the FUCK out of Dodge, and you better jump on this bandwagon unless you want to stay here in HELL and live with SATAN for the rest of your days", and then you look for an apartment, but all of them want 8,000,000 dollars a month and WON'T let keep your adorable THREE dogs in the apartment with you, and so then you just get fucking PISSED off and decide to buy the house that your BROTHER's landlord is wanting to sell, because you have a GREAT Beacon Score (whatever the FUCK that is) and your brother will be paying most of the house payment anyway, since he will keep renting the garage apartment that he lives in, and so you can take ALL three of your beautiful little doggies, and you think it's just the COOLEST idea ever and then SOMEONE, (and I'm not naming names, Teddy) comes in and says, "Well, hmm, this whole HOUSE thing is a really good idea, except... how are you going to pay for INSURANCE, and TAXES, and utilities, along with all your credit card bills and your car payment on your 1100 dollars a month, even WITH the rent that your brother will pay?" and you just sit and look at him and think, Well FUCK. And then you start to feel trapped again, and you feel like you may just DROWN in a sea of your own FUCKING misery, and so you just have to stop thinking about it, because you just can't HANDLE any more stress and if there's nothing you can DO, you will just do NOTHING?

I may as well just go eat a big steaming bowl of FUCK.

I hate being a GIRL sometimes....

2006-07-11T14:15:00.000-04:00

Home again, home again, jiggety-jig................

Ugh, I HATE coming home from vacation. I feel like the best parts of me shine while I'm away, and then I come home, and have to tuck myself back inside myself and it's not a comfortable feeling at ALL.

I didn't blog so much while I was on vacation because HEY, I WAS ON VACATION!!, and I was having good times, PLURAL.

With the exception of several phone calls every other evening, which threatened to ruin the vacation and my good mood, the whole trip was wonderful.

The beach was completely awesome. I loved it so much there, I could see myself living there, going to work, coming home, eating my dinner on my private balcony while I watched the tide come in................. I don't think I've been so relaxed and at peace for several years. Can you see why I hated leaving it?

We had a good visit with my dad, although I'm completely horrible about taking pictures and only got a couple of my dad with my girls the day we left. At dad's house there is NAUGHT to do but sit around and watch each other melt in the heat. Dad kept his thermostat set on 85. The outside temp. was 98. I actually have a different face now, I did so much melting. But I needed to be with my dad as much as possible because his health is so poor. I cooked for him, and cleaned up the house a little and baked him a cake. And we bought him some movies, and I did crossword puzzles with him. What more can a girl do for her daddy?

I shopped so much I'm still a little dazed by it all. This morning I found a nice skirt and shirt I apparently bought for myself. I had to stop and think to remember where I bought it. I spent more money than I make in 40 years, seems like. I bought myself clothes and books, my goodness, did I buy a lot of BOOKS!! I bought myself lotions and shampoos and earrings and bracelets. I bought new sheets and a new blanket, a veggie chopper, mugs. I bought Lorena a toaster, a fondue pot (how crazy is that?), a cushion for her papasan chair, sheets, blanket, laundry hamper, plates cups, and the like for her apartment. Both girls got shoes clothes, books, watches. I bought gifts for my boss, my office manager, my husband, and renie's boyfriend.

I was a woman possessed.....

and now, I am home, back at work, and all I see when I open my eyes is that I am NOT on jekyll island anymore.......................

boo hoo...

2006-06-28T19:42:00.000-04:00

Back from the beach, a poorer but wiser woman.....

Ok, not wiser at all and I'd do it all again in a New York minute.

Jekyll Island, in a nut shell..... (or should that be CLAM shell?)

We did a dolphin tour, (which really didn't rock all that much, cause we saw only two stinkin' dolphins, and Mitch didn't want to go on the damn thing anyway and so he says, out LOUD: "God, for 125 dollars I could have BOUGHT a fucking dolphin!!!" And then he got in trouble with Kate, cause he was being ugly..............hee)

We did a ghost tour, which should have been called the MOSQUITO tour, because I got 42 mosquite bites in 90 minutes. I counted.

We drove around, looking at beautiful old homes, which have now been turned into hotels and such, and I was FABULOUSLY jealous...........

We shopped, which was FABULOUSLY fun, because I love shopping, and because I bought myself and my kids FABULOUSLY wonderful things.....

We played putt-putt, which should be called bug-bug, because I got 37 more bug bites. Honestly, I look like I just finished a rousing game of SURVIVOR..... (and by the way, I totally BLOW at bug-bug... er, putt-putt. Who knew?)

We swam, laid in the sun, baked, swam some more and got sun burned and blistered and sore. But damned if I don't have a fucking GOOD TAN now... (AND I realized I HATE the beach. I love looking at the ocean, but I HATE sand, I HATE sandy ocean water, and I HATE standing in sandy ocean water while THINGS that I can't see brush against me. And I hate sand in my coochie. Period... end of rant...)

We ate. Oh God help me Jesus did we eat. I had a muffaleta sandwich, the most TO DIE for chicken and pasta, believe it or not a DELICIOUS egg salad sandwich with the best potato salad I've ever eaten in my LIFE, a heavenly delicious chicken quesidilla, a hamburger the size of TEXAS, pizza (which, I have to say, was only so-so) and a really quite wonderfull tuna sandwich on whole wheat.

What was the best thing about the beach? Well, you KNOW how we fat girls like to eat....

2006-06-25T21:30:00.000-04:00

So, the trip down was less pleasant than I would have hoped for. As we pulled out of our driveway, I noticed a certain LACK of cool air. Actually, there was no air at all, cool or otherwise. But, knowing, as I do, that Dora's heating and cooling system is often temperamental, I fully expected the air to be fully functional again by the time we hit Princeton, or perhaps Bluefield, which are about a 45 minutes and 1 hour away from my home, respectively.

No such luck.

We had no air conditioning at all, and we braved it for as long as we could. Finally, somewhere around Statesville, North Carolina, I could stand it no more. I spied a Ford dealership (with a SERVICE CENTER!!!) sitting right by the highway, and considered it fortuitous that I should find it there.

Two hours and $400 later, we were back on our merry way. After a small pitstop in Rock Hill South Carolina (you guess it, BOJANGLES!!!) we made fairly good time, considering we didn't leave home till 10:00 a.m., and not the 8:00 a.m. I had hoped for.

Boy, I was exhausted. The heat and the stress and the driving had really gotten to me. I had been a little TENSE on this trip. But we made it, safe and sound and in one piece. Or, rather, three pieces....

Today I am writing to you from the absolutely LOVELY Jekyll Island, GA. Right outside my room, the surf is pounding the beach, I've been well fed, well tanned, and I'm as relaxed andhappy as I can ever remember being.

Mitch has shown us a wonderful time. We've swam in the pool, been taken to great dinners, shopped a little and watched several movies. Some of which I even managed to stay awake for.

We arrived at Jekyll Island hungry and were directed to a restaurant called "Blackbeard's". Now I have to say, maybe they were having a bad day... We sat there for nearly 30 minutes before anyone even took our order. And the food was overpriced and not that good. Trust me, I'm a fat girl, I know good food. And this was not it.
This evening, however, we sat down for a really great dinner at Latitude 31, which was completely awesome. Mitch got some sort of pasta with shrimp and andouille in a jalepeno sauce. Sinfully delicious. I know, because we traded bites. Kate had grouper, and it was also really good. But my meal outshined them all. I had parmesan crusted chicken in a basil and sundried tomato sauce, with sauteed veggies on the side. Oh my God, I nearly wept with the sweet joy of it all.

I'm trying to watch the diet, but today I totally fucked up. I don't care either, I'm on vacation, and the best part of vacation for me is the food.

Tomorrow, everyone plans to go bicycling, horseback riding, and playing in the surf. I, however, plan to lay in the sand, lay by the pool, and lay on the bed and read. Laying is a big part of MY plans for tomorrow.

We also plan a dolphin sighting tour, a ghost walk tour, and if I have MY way about it, a horse drawn carriage tour.

To any of you who are reading me and care, I am absolutely having the time of my life. I'm stress free, I"m happy, I'm relaxed and content. It doesn't get any better than this place and these people for me, guys.

melodyann is happy as a bug in a big fat rug............

2006-06-22T06:25:00.000-04:00

Well, the clothes are washed, the dishes done, house vacuumed. I've created the PERFECT Beatles' CD for my traveling pleasure. That's all I can do. I've worked my fingers to the bone the last two days and what do you think I have to show for it? Well, NOT bony fingers, of THAT I can assure you. We're leaving for Georgia in a couple of hours, and I'm tired and sad and excited as all hell. I'm sad to leave my best friend Vincent-the-Saving-Dog, and the puppies Shelby Woo and Cleo Too. I'm sad to leave my brother Mark, who seems dejected by my leaving. I'm sad that my husband can't be happy for us that we have somewhere to go that's safe, fun and relatively inexpensive. He doesn't want us to go, and Lord, has he made his opinions known for the last couple of weeks.

But enough of that. Today is the first day of my VACATION!! Excitement abounds! Hope flourishes! Love for my fellow man oozes from all my pores! And I have an ENTIRE bottle of Lorazepam, in case the Bitches make me a bit TENSE.

I wanted to leave you with a picture of my happiness, though. And what better picture than a story about Mitch? I searched the internet and finally found this old post cached (God love Google) from my defunct Searchin' For a Rainbow blog:

Ladies and Germs, I give you:

MARGEURITE? ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME?
by melodyann

Last summer, the Princesses and I spent a couple of weeks with my brother, Mitch, his wife, Kate, and their daughter, Jane. We always have a wonderful time at Mitch's house, because Mitch is a hoot. He is one of the funniest people I know, loves to do stuff like go to amusement parks, the beach, water parks, you name it, Mitch'll do it. He always takes us to do lots of fun things, plus shopping and lots of eating out.

One of the funniest things about Mitchell though, is just his ability to make anything funny. Conversations with him are a blast. He teases the Princesses mercilessly, "hoping to make them cry" he says, "or, at the very least, scream and curse." Generally, Princess #1 curses, and Princess #2 screams.

At any rate, he is clever, witty, and completely out of his mind. His wife, Kate, is just the opposite. Not that she's not fun, she most certainly is, it's just that she is reserved and quiet, and much more refined. Kate wouldn't crack a sex joke if her life depended on it. So, of course, Mitchell makes up vile stories about their sex life to tell in front of her. It never fails to make her blush and say, "Mitchell!" He loves it.

Another thing Mitch likes to do is screw around with telemarketers. He's made a religion of it. If someone calls and asks to speak to Mr. H., or Ms. F., Mitch instantly changes his voice to "have some fun". He can do different voices, male or female, and you cannot tell it is him. Even our mom could not tell. He played countless pranks on her.

Once in particular last summer while we were visiting, Mitch got a call for Kathryn F.. Mitch said, "hold on please, I'll get her." Kate looked over at me and said, "Oh my God, Mel, listen to this, your brother is getting ready to have some fun with some poor telemarketer." And so it began:

Mitch/Kate, in a falsetto voice: "Hello?"
Telemarketer: Ms. F.? Kathryn F.?"
Mitch/Kate: "Yes, who is this?"
Telemarketer: "Ms. F., this is so-and-so, from such-and-such bank, how are you today?"
Mitch/Kate: "Not too good, I just started my period."
Telemarketer: "Umm..., hmmm...., I'm sorrty to hear that ma'am, but...well, have I got some exciting news for you!"
Mitch/Kate: "Who is this? Margeurite? Is this you? Margeurite, are you fucking with me again? hee, hee, Margeurite, stop it! Stop fucking with me!" (Mitch was jumping up and down, and giggling while he said this.)
Telemarketer: "No, ma'am, I assure you, this is so-and-so, from such-and-such bank, and I have called to tell you that your name has been selected to receive a valuable new offer...."
Mitch/Kate: "Excuse me, so-and-so...JOHN, are you watching the baby! John, just answer me, ARE. YOU. WATCHING. THE. BABY?"
Telemarketer: "Um... Ms. F.? If this is a bad time....."
Mitch/Kate: "No, really, it's fine, it's just that man will NOT watch the baby, and she gets into all sorts of trouble... Now, where were we, so-and-so, It's all right if I call you so-and-so, isn't it? (Big, deep, sigh)... I am just at my wit's end here, so-and-so. JOHN?!?! Will you watch the fucking baby? I think she's licking the dog's ass again!!! You have to watch her constantly, John! If you're not capable of doing that, just tell me!"
Telemarketer: "Ms. F., really, I must have caught you at a bad time, it's no problem, we can just call you back.........."
Mitch/Kate: "Are you married, so-and-so? Because if you're not, I would advise you not to be. It's nothing but heartache. Then you have children, and they grow up to be handsome young men who do absolutely nothing but sit around and play with their penises all day. My son, Randy, has gotten carpal tunnel JUST from playing with his penis, non-stop. My goodness, the boy is 18 years old, you'd think he could find something else to do with his hands by now, wouldn't you? I bet a nice boy like you doesn't play with his penis, do you, so-and-so?"
Telemarketer: "Um... no ma'am, not much.... so, getting back to this valuable offer....."
Mitch/Kate: "I just feel so alone..."
Telemarketer: "I understand ma'am, perhaps another time would be better...."
Mitch/Kate: "(bloodcurdling scream) JOHHHNNNNN! Goddammit, John, the baby is licking the dog's ASS again! Now, how the fuck could you be watching her and yet here she sits, the dog's tail in one hand, going at that ass to beat the band?!??!?!?!"

At this point, you can hear laughter from the other end of the phone from across the room. The telemarketer hands up, and Mitch calmly replaces the phone. He looks at his watch, sits back down at the table, and says, "We usually get another one in about 10 minutes......"

2006-06-20T22:27:00.000-04:00

Here's a poem I made up today:

Everybody sucks....
Girls are bitches....
Husband's a dickhead....
I'm goin' to Mitch's....

I personally think it rocks.

So, Thursday morning, I am loading up all and sundry and heading south. 'Cept I'm not loading up the hubster.... or the puppies..... or, apparently any clothes, since no one will go NEAR the washer. Does anyone besides me have to do EVERY FUCKING THING to get ready for a trip out of town? No one will help me do anything. Hence the aforementioned poem....

Today was a GOOD day. Some guy my boss knows was kind enough to die and have his funeral on a work day. No bossie bossie, no workie workie! I made a Dierks Bentley CD to listen to on the way to Georgia. I tried to make a Beatles CD, but clients kept coming in and interrupting my day of play.... So, I have to confess, there was a LITTLE workie workie, but not much.

Oh, and guess what! Apparently, I ROCK. Uh, huh. Because Mike Todd said so. And I for one believe him. Cause why would he lie? Seriously though, every word out of his mouth is funny, so for the two or three of you who still come here to read my ramblings, go give him a look-see. You won't regret it. He makes melodyann laugh. And that's a plus, people.

So, anyways, I'm leaving Thursday morning at 7:00 sharp for Statesboro, GA. And by 7:00 sharp I mean as soon after we run to Walmart for whatever it is we will forget to pack as we can leave. Past history has shown that we generally head out of here about 8:30.

I like to announce to the sleeping bitches as we enter and exit each state. About 45 minutes after we leave, they will just be getting good and sleepy and I will scream, "Hey bitches! We're leaving West Virginia! And....... NOW we are in Virginia!!!!" They, of course, are not excited at all. By the time I scream, "Hey bitches! We're leaving South Carolina! And.... NOW we are in Georgia!" they perk up a bit.

My trips to Mitch's are the best part of the year for me. I can feel the stress literally MELTING off of me as we pass through each state. And I say melting because it's so fucking hot in South Carolina and Georgia in June and July, that your SKIN nearly melts off. But Mitch and his wife Kate pamper me and relax me and treat me and my bitches so well that I bear the heat, just to be with them. This year, we are hittin' the beach. The bitches are excited. They want to bake and toast their young, skinny bodies in the sun. I just want to read a good book or two and watch the ocean at night. It's my favorite thing to do.

I'll be heading on down to Florida to see my dad also. He's been feeling really bad lately, low blood pressure, super fast heartrate, and his blood sugar has been going haywire. I'm scared for him, and I want to make the best of my visit with him, even if I have to visity with Crusty and the Vampire Slayer too. For those of your who don't remember, Crusty is my dad's live-in trailer whore, and the Vampire Slayer is her daughter.

Another thing I like to do on my way to Georgia is to eat at BOJANGLES which is only the most delicious place in the world to eat! And yes, I will be tossing aside all thoughts of RICE DIET, while I enjoy my Buffalo Bites (hey, it's GRILLED chicken!) and mashed potatoes. I'm denying myself the gravy, green beans (FULL of salt) and biscuit, but by golly, I'm having my chicken! I haven't had meat in two weeks!

Mitch has a pool in his backyard. Guess where I'm going to be spending lots of time? You guessed it. In the air-conditioned house with a good book.

Kate and I like to go to Barnes & Noble in Savannah. Barnes & Noble is only the most FABOLOUS store in AMERICA!!! I could spend days there. I like to give the bitches some moolah, tell them "Go buy a frappa-latte-spresso and leave me the fuck alone for 1 HOUR."

I will be in Georgia/Florida for EIGHTEEN days. Yes, I earned it. And yes, I do indeedie ROCK.

2006-06-20T06:31:00.000-04:00

Quick little info post about the Rice Diet for Burfica and Kim:

My sister-in-law, Cheryl, showed me the Rice Diet in a magazine. I think it was First magazine. Anyway, we looked it up on the internet and realized that there's like a whole program based in Durham, NC. Of course, it costs 800,000,000 dollars to go through THAT rice diet program. But here's the link if you want to read about it: http://www.ricedietprogram.com/.

There is also a book, The Rice Diet Solution, which you can buy from the Rice Diet Program's website here: http://www.ricedietstore.com/ridiso.html, or from Amazon.com here: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0743289838/sr=8-1/qid=1150799651/ref=pd_bbs_1/104-6769208-2760761?%5Fencoding=UTF8.

There's also some great information on this website: http://www.angelfire.com/sc2/ricediet/

I am following the MUCH easier program that I found in First magazine, but which is also found here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rice_Diet

The first day or two are hard, but after that, trust me, it gets WORSE! You will find yourself dreaming of sugar, salt, fat, meat, eggs and fish. You will be so jonesing for something sweet, that you will salivate when your co-worker fixes herself a cup of coffee, and inadvertantly drops a grain or two of sugar on the counter. After she leaves the room, you might lick your finger and pick up those grains of sugar and be tempted to suck them right off your finger.

Actually, the program is MUCH easier than I thought it would be, except that you get so fucking bored with fruit and pasta and wheat bread and rice that you want to scream in frustration. Do yourself a favor and prepare some vegetables before you get too hungry, or else you will stand in your kitchen, starving, tears of frustration falling from your eyes as you gaze around thinking, "What's fast? What the FUCK can I eat?"

Good luck, girlies.......

2006-06-19T06:30:00.000-04:00

The Rice Diet for Dummies....

I have to say, the Rice Diet is growing on me. That would be because I have lost 13 1/2 pounds since being on it. I maybe only lost 10, because I MIGHT have scraped 3 pounds of flesh from my leg last night by falling out of the fucking BED as I tried to annoy my husband by climbing OVER him to get in bed. A couple of things to remember when you are trying to annoy your husband at night:

1. If your bed is a kingsized, colossal, vast PRAIRIE of mattress dreaminess, there's plenty of room to get in at the FOOT of the bed.

2. If your bed is damn near taller than you are, you need a footstool to get in.

3. You probably should make sure that you get your feet firmly planted on the dang FOOTSTOOL.

4. You should also probably make sure the FOOTSTOOL isn't perched precariously atop a pile of dirty towels that SOMEBODY (and I'm not naming names TEDDY) was supposed to take down to the washer for laundering.

5. If the stool tips over mid-lunge, and you fall across your husband's body with the force of a wrecking ball, and you scrape the entire LENGTH of your shin on the side of the bed, your husband should probably NOT say, "Oh my God, I think you broke my ribs!"

6. If your husband DOES happen to make that mistake, you should lay on him for a FULL minute, prohibiting free breathing for him, and then you should stand up and cry a little hold your damaged leg up for him to see and shout, in a VERY pitiful way, "I hurt my leg you horrible bastard! fuck, Fuck, FUCK!!!" After he laughs for about 7 minutes, he will probably feel sort of sorry for you.

But this is not about THAT, this is about the Rice Diet.

It's a very simple diet to follow, is the Rice Diet. All you have to remember is are these key things:

1. Eat LOTS of fruit.

2. Eat LOTS of starches.

3. Eat a FEW vegetables.

4. Stay VERY close to a bathroom.

5. DON'T eat anything else, under penalty of death.

6. DON'T put salt, sugar, oil, or TASTE on anything you eat.

The result, if you are a giant HEIFER, is that you will lose 13 1/2 pounds after your first week. If you do NOT happen to be a giant HEIFER, your results may vary, although Lorena is happy to report that you MAY lose 4 pounds.

It's time for my breakfast now. Let me at that Kashi and banana, dude............

2006-06-15T21:16:00.000-04:00

100 Things About Me

Because I love to talk about me, and because my LAST 100 Things About Me was on a completely different blog (dang it, I miss that Rainbow!) and because I have absolutely no idea what to write about anyway, here's my new list:

1. I was born in Chicago, IL, in 1964.

2. That makes me old.

3. I have two daughters, Lorena, and Hopie, who keep me sane. And make me insane.

4. I love to read.

5. Except non-fiction, which I hate and despise with an obscene intensity.

6. My best physical attributes are my teeth, and the pinkie finger on my right hand. It's so delicate looking..........

7. My favorite word is "fuck" and my current favorite phrase is "Why don't you go eat a steaming hot bowl of FUCK?", which I stole from Ron White.

8. I have two brothers that I adore, Mitch and Mark. They make me laugh, even when I don't want to.

9. My mother died in 1990 of a brain tumor.

10. I'm finding it difficult to get over the loss of her.

11. I've been married since I was 19 years old, and I've been a mom since I was 21. Sometimes I'd like to run away, and just be a ME.

12. One thing I like to do in the summer is see if I can get a tan all over, including: UNDER the sagging parts; AROUND the bulging parts; and BETWEEN the wrinkled parts.

13. My husband thinks I'm addicted to the internet.

14. Just because I play TextTwist for 7 hours every night.

15. He's such a STUPIDHEAD.

16. I'm currently on the RICE DIET with my daughter, Lorena.

17. The RICE DIET sucks big fat penises...

18. Lorena said she was so hungry her guts were eating each other.

19. I said I was so hungry that not only were my guts eating EACH OTHER, they wanted to eat HER GUTS too.

20. I am a lover of books. I don't just love to read them. I love to HAVE them. I like to buy them, and look at them, hold them. Just knowing they are MY BOOKS makes me all wiggly inside.

21. I detest those little baby cabbage thingies. What are they called? Ok, I asked my boss and they are Brussels Sprouts. Nasty little fuckers, they are.

22. I just bought myself a bracelet from American Eagle. It's a leather strap with a silver thingie on it that says "dream" which, of course, is my favorite thing to do....

23. I am a miracle. REALLY!! Stop laughing! When I was born I dang near died, because the cord was wrapped around my neck. The doctor had already told my father that I would probably be born dead, but they were working to save my mother.

24. So it isn't just ME that thinks I'm SPECIAL!!!

25. Really! I am! Stop laughing!!!

26. Why don't you just go eat a steaming hot bowl of FUCK?

Stay tuned for more 100 Things About Me!!!!

2006-06-13T10:11:00.000-04:00

There are things that you do in your lifetime that have such a profound influence on you, that it literally changes who you are.

Just as a recovering alcoholic will ALWAYS be an alcoholic, some things that you do mark you for life, and there is NO GOING BACK, or changing what you've become.

Sometimes, of course, you are changed in a good way. The virgin who gives herself to her husband on their wedding night can no longer call herself a VIRGIN, but she will always have the memory of the precious gift she gave to the man she loved.

Sometimes, the changes are not so good. Such is the case with a girl I know. Let's call her helodyvan, why don't we? Sit back and relax while I tell a little tale about a sweet, though misguided girl named helodyvan.

Now, helodyvan had always prided herself on her high moral standards. There were certainly things that little helodyvan swore she would never do. Why, she would never lie, or steal, or drink or use drugs!!

One by one, each of helodyvan's sworn statements was proven false. Oh, she lied. She lied her ass off to all and sundry, at every opportunity. She drank like a fish, popped pills, smoked cigarettes. And one day she went to the bank, Lord, she was poor as a shithouse mouse that day, and she cashed a check for 15 dollars. When the teller gave her a hundred, helodyvan ran like hell and kept that money. She regrets it to this day. I know she does, because she told me so.

But by and large, even though helodyvan had broken most of her promises to herself, she still considered herself to be a "good person". helodyvan thought that morality was relevant anyway, why, just look at television! Fifty years ago, Lucy and Ricky couldn't use the word "pregnant" on television, and now, people had gotten away with saying "Fuck"!

But then one day helodyvan did something that even SHE could not gloss over, explain away, justify. She cheated on her husband.

Little helodyvan was a cheater.

This was much, much worse than anything she had ever done before, and there was no pretending that THIS particular breach of morality was RELATIVE. Nope, this one was still wrong, no matter how you looked at it.

She hurt her husband, and she hurt her children.

But you know what weighed most heavily on helodyvan's mind?

She wasn't who she was anymore. She was someone altogether different now.

She had cheated on her husband, the father of her children, with a man she did not love, because she was frustrated beyond belief that she could not be with the man she had fallen in love with. Who was also not her husband.

And now little helodyvan struggles to find an identity she can live with. She wants more than anything to be in a place where she would be able to look at herself in the mirror and say, "It's ok, helodyvan. You're not perfect, but I love you anyway."

And wouldn't it just be NICE if she could find her way to that place now?

2006-06-12T06:24:00.000-04:00

Prejudice is alive and well in this world, let me tell you. I'm not talking about prejudice against race. I've never had to deal with that. And I'm not talking about prejudice against religion. I've never had to deal with that. I'm not talking about prejudice against women, either. I'm not a feminist, and I don't believe I can do ANYTHING as well as a man. I don't WANT to do a lot of things men do, whether I'm paid the same for it or not.

I'm talking about prejudice against BIG people. Fat. Corpulant. Overweight. Portly. Obese. Porcine. Need I go on?

There's a hierarchy in this country that has nothing to do with how much money you make, what kind of job you have, how much power you wield. It's all about how big you are.

Thin people are, of course, the most desirable. People of average height and weight will do. Chunky people are less desirable, but still somewhat acceptable, if they have good looks to go along with it. Fat people and the morbidly obese are to be avoided at all costs.

I've dealt with the prejudice against "big girls" my whole life. I've been ignored, overlooked, sneered at, talked about, made fun of, and talked down to. I've endured the most humiliating stares and chuckles, and I've sat dateless, on many a Saturday night.

I've been up and down the scale, desperately trying to find my perfect size. I still do it, and I suppose I will for the rest of my life. I'm not good enough the way I am. I must try harder, do more, eat less, get to that perfect size.

I think that "skinny people" look at us and think, "What is wrong with her? Why is she so lazy? Why doesn't she just LOSE THE WEIGHT?" Oh, Happy Skinny One, if only it were that easy.

I've talked to people on the phone, people who tell me what a great voice I have, people who say what a beautiful name I have, what a great laugh I have.... only to look at me with dead eyes when we meet, because I don't live up to the image they had of me.

I get angry when I see big fat women who call themselves "Big Beautiful Women". Those ones who say they are perfectly happy the way they are and have no desire to lose weight. I say, "Who the fuck do you think you are kidding? You don't want to be this big. NO ONE wants to be this big. You simply are outspoken, and want what all the rest of us STOUT women want. To be seen as a woman, to be heard as an intelligent voice, to be spoken of with solicitude."

I am one tiny voice, among millions, which cries out: "Look beyond what you see on the outside. My life has some meaning, I am intelligent, I am thoughtful, I am funny and caring and loyal. Someone notice me. Please, do not dismiss me as useless..."

There's a hierarchy among us fat women too, although we are loathe to admit it. Those of us who are fat despise those of us who are fatter. We hate those who don't seem to care and go dirty and smell bad and wear clothes that are stained and dirty. We ignore the ones who are poor and fat and ugly.

How many of us have NEVER looked at a fatter woman and thought: "Thank God I'm not THAT big..."? Or said aloud to family or friends: "If I get that big, just shoot me!"

How many of us have NEVER gone to the beach and looked immediately for someone BIGGER than us, so we don't have to feel quite so bad that we can't wear bikini's?

How many of us have looked at a woman (or man) much fatter than us and thought: "What the fuck is WRONG with you? Don't you CARE? How can you be so lazy, how can you not fix yourself up a bit, look a little more presentable?"

Three years ago I weighed 288 pounds. I was the most miserable that I have ever been, and I've been fairly miserable in my lifetime.

I lost 72 1/2 pounds, and began to like myself again. People began to see me again, began to acknowledge my existance a little more. I found myself smiling again, caring a little more about how I looked. I bought clothes, I wore makeup, I had my nails done, and I liked how that felt. I LIKED taking care of myself again. I told myself that I'd never EVER go back. I'd never let myself regain that weight.

Ahh, how we lie to ourselves.

I regained nearly every pound I'd lost, and I find myself once again heading back down that long weightloss trail. I see what I've done to myself, and it's time to stop blaming everyone but myself.

I'm not good enough, unless I'm small enough. And I can't be small enough, unless I'm strong enough. And I'm not strong enough, unless I'm good enough.....

2006-06-08T10:54:00.000-04:00

Thirteen Tiny Little Differences Between melodyann and That Man She Married

1. He likes to come home from work and WORK some more. I like to come home from work and pour myself onto the couch.

2. He only likes to sleep up and down, on the left side of the bed. I like to sleep longways, crossways, diagonally, with my feet hanging off, a different position every night, and with lots of pillows!

3. He hates shopping. Dear God, that's a sacrilege to me...

4. He hates reading. Why was it I married him?

5. I like to turn the TV to a country music channel while I sleep. He likes to watch CourtTV all night.

6. He thinks eating out is a waste of money. I'm having a harder time now, remembering why I married him...

7. He loves his momma. I don't love his momma.

8. He loves to hunt and fish, and then hang dead animals on our walls. The only thing I hunt is a bargain, and the only thing I kill is time. And all those animals on our walls give ME the evil eye.

9. He drinks coffee. I drink tea.

10. His idea of a good time involves a television, and a case of beer. MY idea of a good time involves credit cards and a shopping mall.

11. He cannot apologize. I apologize for things I didn't even do.

12. He isn't afraid of anything. I'm afraid of damn near everything.

13. He thinks a wife should clean house. Hee.

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2006-06-07T06:06:00.000-04:00

Frustration, thy name is HUSBAND....

She: "Don't you think you've been drinking too much?"

He: "No."

She: "And what's with the Stares of Death you keep giving me? Are you trying to scare me? Why don't you just talk to me?"

He: "I don't have anything to say."

She: "You have plenty to say when you're drinking...."
.................

He: "Is everything good?"

She: "Good God, yes, everything is FINE."

He: "How do I know you're not lying?"

She: "....I guess you don't..."
.....................

He: "All I want is a clean house, decent meals, and a wife who loves me."

She: "You have a wife who loves you. You want a wife who is obedient. One who keeps her mouth shut and her legs open for you."
..........................

He: "I don't know if I can live with what you've done."

She: "Well hmmm, I guess that means you haven't forgiven me, despite your declarations otherwise, huh?"

He: "I guess not.........."

2006-06-05T16:53:00.000-04:00

Top Ten things that make me scratch my head and go, "Huh?":

1. Our office did some work for a Pastor and his wife. We liked them, and invited them out to eat with us. Of course, our favorite place to eat is a certain Chinese restaurant. Our friends wouldn't open the fortune cookies, because it was "against their religion." Later, when we called them in to sign for the $5,000 check we had won for them, they asked us to "give it to the church, and the church can then give it to us, so we don't have to pay taxes on it."

"Huh?" I guess it's better to steal money from Uncle Sam than to give credence to those nasty fortune cookies..........

2. I took my daughters out to breakfast on Saturday morning. I had $25 dollars to my name, and I asked each of them to kick in about $8 each, so I'd have enough money left until payday this Wednesday. "But mom!" they wailed. We only have ($15/$30) dollars! We need to SAVE our money!!!!

"Huh?" Yeah, ok. Because I certainly don't need MY money for anything, other than to pamper my lovely daughters....

3. My husband recently called me at work to remind me I was sucking the life out of him. "You've got to stop taking the girls out to eat so much," he said. "We can't afford it!" "But honey," says I. "I pay for it myself whenever we go. You don't have to pay for it!" "Well," he grouses, "if you weren't paying for so many lunches and dinners, you could help pay some of these OTHER bills." On Thursday, he called me to say, "Hey! I got my new saw today!" "What kind of saw?" asks I. "My new $900 blah blah blah saw!"

"Huh?" Ok, see, I just didn't understand. I thought WE were supposed to save money. Apparently, it's only MY HALF OF WE who has to save money. YOUR HALF OF WE can go on spending diligently...

4. Last winter, some kids in the neighborhood were sneaking onto the backside of my in-laws' property, where there was a dandy hill, and sleigh riding there. My mother in law fearfully asked me, "Are they BLACKS?" "I don't know, what does that matter? They're just kids!" She says, with a knowing gleam in her evil little eyes: "Well, they may be just kids, but if they're BLACKS, you have to be careful, because they just carry around knives, waiting to stab someone."

"Huh?" You know, this is wrong on so many damn levels, I can't even think where to begin. BLACK kids carry around knives, waiting to stab you? What about the WHITE kids? I guess the BLACK kids got all the knives?

5. My brother is getting a divorce from his wife. She refuses to speak to him, even going so far as to get a Protective Order, forbidding him to see her, call her, write to her, communicate with her in ANY way. Recently, he met a cute girl who seems to want him to take her out. He called me and said, "I don't know if I can." "Why not?" asks I. "I'm scared to death Michelle will see us and then she won't ever take me back...."

"Huh?" Brother, what part of "I'm having your ass thrown in jail if you even LOOK at me" did you not understand?

6. We talk about how acts of terrorism are so horrible. We say that we should move on with our lives and not dwell on it, not let the terrorists have the satisfaction of shaking us, changing our way of life. Then we show news footage of unspeakable horror, over and over and over, until we can watch it, without even flinching. We write books, we make movies, we devote television shows and and magazine articles about the very acts we have sworn to NOT DWELL ON!

"Huh?" I guess it's ok to MAKE MONEY from others' pain and loss. Long as we dont' let the TERRORISTS win, that is. Only, what if their point was to show what a bunch of blood sucking capitalist PIGS we are?

7. A dear friend of mine recently had a terrible scare when doctor's found a tumor during her husband's colonoscopy. He needed surgery. They have no insurance. She contacted the AMERICAN CANCER SOCIETY, you know, that organization that is "Dedicated to helping everyone who faces cancer through research, patient services, early detection, treatment, and education"? They offered her a $100 gas card and a case of ENSURE.

"Huh"? Well, Yeah! Because everyone knows that cancer patients have two main concerns: 1) Having enough GAS and 2) Having enough ENSURE. You're in GOOD HANDS with the American Cancer Society....

8. I had a best friend who was always on my case about credit cards. "You spend more money than you make, Melody, and unless you stop you will ALWAYS be in debt. WE never buy ANYTHING that we can't pay for RIGHT THEN!!" She was incarcerated for embezzling $170,000 from my boss.

"Huh?" I guess she kept her word about the credit cards though. She didn't buy anything she couldn't steal the money for RIGHT THEN....

9. My husband and a friend were having a conversation one day, about drinking and driving. I was trying to ignore them, as I usually do, because I don't suffer fools lightly, but something made me listen in: Says my husband's friend, "I'm a better driver when I AM drinking! I'm much more careful!"

"Huh?" Note to self: Ignorant fucker can NEVER drive me or my children ANYWHERE...

10. My Father has lots of health problems, including, but not limited to, Mitro-valve Prolapse. This may or may not be the cause of his blood pressure dropping to 62/38, or thereabouts, and his pulse rate jumping to 125, or thereabouts. His doctor has told him he may need a new heart valve. My father says to me, "I'm not having surgery again, Mel. I don't think I can live through another surgery."

"Huh?" Dad, you're probably not going to live with no blood pressure either.....

2006-06-02T15:40:00.000-04:00

Fridays used to be great. I get a paid day off every Friday and, back in the DAY, I used to stay home, take naps, read, and go to the mall. Fridays were a joy. I had a whole day to myself, and I enjoyed the hell out of it. Fridays felt like they were 57 hours long.

Now?

Fridays kind of suck.

And by KIND OF SUCK, I mean PASSIONATELY suck. Like, suck a football through a garden hose suck. Like, suck the BIG BODINGIE suck.

I gets to have me no fun on Fridays no more.

Now, there's GUILT involved. Fridays last only 37 minutes now. I get up, send the hubster packing, go back to bed, and the next thing you know, it's noon. The house is a wreck, errands need to be run, and the damn dogs bark and fight all day long.

And then, there's the kids.

They want to go OUT to eat. They want to go TAN. They want to go to the MALL, and to WALMART, and to the YMCA. They want to lay around and watch movies and make up strange new recipes and take long leisurely baths and do manicures and pedicures and other, horrible, time consuming BULLSHIT...........

The house, the hubster, the dogs, the kids........ they have all sucked all the happiness and relaxation out of my life. They've sucked all the fun out of my FRIDAYS..........

I may as well go to work..........

Fucking Fridays.
Fucking dogs.
Fucking kids.
Fuck.

Have a great weekend!!!

2006-05-31T16:18:00.000-04:00

Have you ever wanted something so badly, dreamed of it and longed for it for so long, that you began to believe it was already yours? Did you convince yourself that you DESERVED it? That it was your RIGHT to have that thing? You spend so much time and energy SEEING yourself with the thing you want, and IMAGINING your life with the thing you want,that soon your entire IDENTITY is defined by the thing you want.

And then tragedy strikes.

While you were waiting and daydreaming and generally putting OFF doing anything that would remotely put you in a position to HAVE the thing you want, the thing you want goes off and gets a fucking life of it's own. And soon it belongs to someone else, someone who maybe doesn't want it MORE than you did, or someone who doesn't deserve it as MUCH as you did, but someone who got it just the fucking same.

And now you don't know anything anymore.

Because you never imagined that you wouldn't get it. You never once gave a single thought to planning how to deal with the disappointment of not having the thing that you want. You are lost. You find yourself twisting your thoughts around a NEW fantasy, a fantasy in which the thing that you want realizes it's mistake and comes back, back to belong to you.

But then something really weird happens.

You begin to look around you and see the things that have always been there, the things that you have neglected and ignored for so long that you didn't even realize they were still THERE, but yes, there they are, familiar and comforting and warm.

And each day that you live without the thing that you want, you grow stronger. And each day that you open your eyes and see the things you have, your life grows richer and fuller.

And you start to begin to hope, that perhaps you won't die without the thing you want. The wanting has not abated, but perhaps it will, given time. Perhaps you can live just fine with the things you have. And your heart is just a tiny bit less empty, a tiny bit less dark and a tiny bit less broken.

Has that ever happened to you? No?

Me neither.....

When I die, I'll go to Heaven, 'cause I've spent my time in BUCKHANNON.....

2006-05-29T01:02:00.000-04:00

Friday, I felt like I was in one of those "You know you've had a bad day when...." cartoons. It started out like any other day..............

I woke up around 5:30, groggy as all hell, 'cause I stayed up late the night before, playing around on the computer and reading a book. The book was "The Last Juror" by John Grisham, which I had bought a long time ago, started, hated, and threw down. But ya' gotta give John another chance, 'cause the man has never written a bad book. Anyway, I get up, I'm groggy, and I'm a tiny bit grouchy. And by grouchy I mean I stood in my kitchen and jumped up and down yelling, "Fuck, Fuck, FUCK!!!", because I couldn't find my Splenda, which I needed for my French Vanilla tea, which I needed to revive me.

This was the day I was taking Lorena to Morgantown to get her stuff out of storage and move it into her apartment. Not all her stuff, mind you. The kid has seriously got WAY TOO DAMN MUCH stuff, if you ask me. Anyway, we had to move it on Friday, 'cause she had to work Saturday, we had a picnic at the inlaw's Sunday, and she had to work Monday. If I didn't move it by Tuesday, I had to pay another 30 dollars, and then STILL make another trip up there to move it. I was determined to go on Friday.

Trouble was, I'd spent so much time trying to give ol' John Grisham another chance, that I'd forgotten that I didn't have any clean pants. Or shirts. Oh yeah, and no clean underwear. Nor were there any clean towels to dry off with once I'd taken a shower.

So, needless to say, I'm standing in my kitchen, turning in circles, screaming Fuck, jonesing for my French Vanilla, and I was just NOT HAPPY.

But I find the tea, wash a load of clothes, take the Hopester to school, come home, put drops in Zorro's eye (OK, I may have said "Fuck" a few more times here, 'cause Zorro ain't my dog, Hopie's supposed to be dogsitting, caring for Zorro's pus-ish eyeballs ain't my job, and to top it all off, the little fucker bit me while I was trying to put the drops in. Little RAT bastard...")

I drink my tea, smoke lots of cigs, get a shower, and wake up the PRINCESS. She gets a shower, and then she gets a LITTLE stressed because I'm making a cd of Simon & Garfunkel to take on the trip. And by a little stressed, I mean she kicked, screamed, threw things, cried, pulled her hair, screamed "fucking god damn sonofabitchmotherfuckingshit..........." you get the picture. She was a little tense.

So after a quick and intense she-fight, a skill which Lorena and I have honed to perfection, we load up Zorro, load up the camera that Hopie forgot to take on her (maybe, cross your fingers and hopetoGod) last day of school, load up some more of Lorena's shit, and load up my brand spanking new Simon & Garfunkel CD and head out the door. (we had to drop the OOZING one off at my office, so my boss' wife could pick him up.)

One quick (thirty minute) trip to walmart for cheese and crackers, diet coke and a throwaway camera (we gave Hopie mine, and wouldn't ya know it, Renie's wasn't charged), we are on our merry way. I had hoped to leave by 8:30. We left promptly at 11:30...

Fifty-nine minutes and 65 miles later, I hear a very distressing noise, which sounds like an airplane is taking off from the roof of my car. I turn down the radio, click the cruise control off, and listen. Oh, that's not a good noise. Now, I've never actually HAD a flat tire before, but I've been expecting one, precisely BECAUSE I've never had one, so I pull off the road lickety split. Well, well, well. What the fuck do YOU know. I have a flat tire. My very first one. EVER.

Ok, here's the thing. I don't know how to change a flat tire, we are on a stretch of highway where there is a lot of traffic, a lot of trees, and a lot of mountainous NOTHING. I don't see a mile marker sign, and I can't remember how far it is to the next exit. AND, just to make things interesting, the only people I know who can possibly help me are 65 miles away. And did I mention that it was HOT? Oh, I know, did I mention that the sky looked as though it would open up any moment and POUR out it's watery wrath upon us? NO? hmmm, I should have mentioned that.

I couldn't put the air conditioner on, because the PRINCESS was cold, I couldn't roll down the windows, because she didn't like to hear those big loud TRUCKS going by, and I couldn't smoke, because it made her sneeze. I had nothing to drink, no gum to chew, and I began to get a little tense. And by tense I mean, I got out of my car, kicked my tire repeatedly while calling it every conceivable bad name I could think of. I even made up a few new combinations and called it that with a kick for good measure.

Finally, exhausted. I get back in the car. I call Mark. You know the one, the "He ain't heavy, he's my brother, I'd do anything for him, I'd walk through fire for him, brother?" OH, he was chock full of good ideas, I bet, but he didn't have time to tell them to me, because he was the only one on the car lot where he works, and he had customers. Sure, Mark, I don't care to wait here in this fucking tin OVEN with the UNTAMED SHREW, for you to call me back! I don't mind at all.

By this time I am sort of foaming at the mouth, and so I take a few deep breaths and call my husband. The man I love. My hero. "Hello, honey? Guess what? I have a flat tire! Can you believe that? So, I need you to fix it for me."

Hmmm, honey seems a little tense, too. Seems he can't leave fucking Goddamned work to come fix a tire for me out in the middle of fucking Goddamned NOWHERE, and I should have learned to take care of shit like this myself if I was gonna drive all over God's creation, just doing nothing but putting more miles on a car and don't I understand that cars have only so many miles that they will run?

But, bless him, he did look up a phone number for me to call the state police (how was "I" to know that all you had to do was press *SP? I've never had to do it before!!!

So, I call the police, and a very nice man came thirty minutes later (and yes I DID roll my window down and smoke, by damn it.)and fixed my tire for me. After warning me that you can only go 50 miles an hour (but I shouldn't go that fast) and can only go so far (no clue how far SO FAR is, though) and warning me to JUST be careful, please ma'am. Mr. Sweetie nice policeman drove away, and so did I.

Now, you just have to picture in your head, I'm on an interstate whose speed limit is 70. The policeman has me so scared that I'm only driving 42 miles an hour. Did I remember to keep my flashers on? No, I didn't.

Husband calls and tells me to come home. I make Lorena talk to him and tell him we are carefully going to the next town to see if we can get my tire fixed. He says don't go very far, and don't go over 50 miles an hour. Then, bless him, Mark calls back and asks what he can do. I tell him nothing, but thank him anyway. He tells me not to go over 50, and not to drive very far. Little spare tires (did you know they were called do-nuts?) are cheap and not made for long trips.

So, the next town is roughly 15 miles away. Not so bad. Except for the big, big trucks that run right up your ass and then damn near wreck trying to get around you. It was almost fun. Yeah, almost.

We get to the next town, and wouldn't you know it? Of course you would. They cannot fix my tire. And they don't have any tires. (This is a Chevy dealership, with a service shop, and they have no tires. What the hell is this world coming to?) But they know of a place I can get tires, just 5 miles down the road.

I go to the place 5 miles down the road, turn in at the tiniest, dirtiest, most frightfully horrible tire shop I've ever encountered. And meet the most dirty, crazed looking, mountain man I've ever encountered. I was thinking I was in a horror movie. I kept looking behind me, making sure no one was gonna tie me up and eat me.

Their tires were 87.00 apiece. The husband said not to buy new tires. Cause we would go to walmart here at home and go ahead and buy 4 new ones. And I didn't want to spend anymore time at Chez Cannibal than I had to. So I left.

I called Mark again. "Hello, Mark? Westin is only 33 miles away. They have a walmart. Can I drive on that little tire (I refuse to call it a do-nut. It will forever leave a scar on my brain and ruin any future Krispy Kreme experience I may have) that far? No? Ok, then, thanks, I'll talk to you later?"

Lorena says, "What are we gonna do?" I say, "Go to Westin and get tires."

So, back onto the interstate, set the cruise for 46 this time. (did I remember the hazzard lights THIS time? No, I did not.) 800 hours later, we arrive at Westin. Only there's not a Walmart in sight. I know, cause I drove all over that fucking town. So I had to get directions.

And when we get to the WalMart, THEY HAVE NO FUCKING TIRE SHOP!!!!

By this time it is about 4:00 and we are hungry. They DO have a subway and so we eat. And I peruse the phone book. And husband calls again. "You're WHERE?" You just keep driving further away!!! Come home!"

"Yeah, ok, in a little while. I have an idea, have to go now, love you mean it, bye!

For I have found the answer. I hear angels singing. I see fireworks. There, in that tiny little phone book, I have found another walmart, a walmart SUPERCENTER, just 15 miles away.

We're back in the car, back on the interstate, back to 46 miles an hour. We pull into the walmart, right up to the damn door of the TIRE & LUBE SHOP and it's 5:00.

I go in, see some tires I like, call Husband, and tell him that I am buying 4 new tires myself, and he can either give me advice, or get mad and then God only knows WHAT kind of tire I might buy. Hubs tells me to get a tire in the 70 to 80 dollar range, go ahead and get four of them and I think: "80 dollars? I could have gotten the tires from the Cannibals!" But then, they probably would have eaten us, and we STILL would not have gotten to Morgantown.

The walmart guy assures me it will only be a little while, and I will be back on the road in my brand new tires. Or, as the walmart guy likes to call them, "tars".

Apparently, in Buckhannon, WV, a little while mean EXACTLY 3 and 1/2 hours. Cause we pulled out of that fucking walmart at 8:30. Bought some underwear and t-shirts, called the Hubster and told him we were spending the night in Morgantown.

Now, the cute part of this whole story is that Morgantown is almost exactly three hours from my home. That is, if you stop twice to pee, and once to go through the McDonald's drive through in Sutton to get a Diet coke.

We made it to Morgantown at 9:30. Ten hours after we'd left home. 10. Fucking. Hours.

Well, we absolutely HAVE to go see the apartment, cause I haven't seen it yet. I just have to say, it's the cutest thing ever. It looks tiny from outside, but it's actually quite spacious inside. And CLEAN. And everything works! And there's central air! And a dishwasher, and a washer and dryer, and a GARBAGE DISPOSAL! "I" don't even have a garbage disposal!

Somehow, in our weakened state, we decided that it would be cute and fun to stay in a crappy motel for the night. Instead of the very reasonably priced Ramada that I usually INSIST on visiting on my trips to Mo-town. (all the cool kids call it Mo-town, don't ya know).

So, we stay in the Morgantown Motel, and don't let the name fool ya. It could have been called the BATES MOTEL. Here's what we got for 44.95. Two beds, with crappy mattresses, crappier pillows with Morgantown Motel written on the pillowcases in Magic Marker, a phone, a tiny refrigerator, a tinier microwave, a phone, and a tv. Oh, and a window air conditioner. And an ashtray.

The towels and washcloths in the bathroom were stained. There were two tiny little bars of soap that the paper stuck to when I tried to open them. No hairdryer, no iron, no shampoo and conditioner, and no mouthwash or lotion. No phone book. No welcome book with room service listed, no pen and paper, no cups, coffeepot, or ice.

I began to get a little tense again. And by tense I mean that I whimpered and pulled all the covers off my bed, in case there were spiders in it, sat in the middle of my bed and moaned that the roaches would eat us while we slept, and turned the air conditioner full blast, which meant that we got some almost cool warm air flowing into our little oven-room.

Oh, did I mention that we had a little card with all the television channels listed? No? Probably I didn't mention it, because the little card was all WRONG! None of the channels were listed correctly.

Renie said I wasn't a good sport. She said I wasn't adventurous. She said I was a snob.

I said the woman at the front desk had no teeth and probably was gonna cook us and gum us to death. I'm telling you, there are roaches and cannibals EVERYWHERE!!!

Finally, I calmed down enough to order Gumby's pizza, and if you've never had Gumby's pizza, your life isn't worth living, you may as well step out in front of a big truck.

And so we sat, my daughter and I, stuffing our faces full of Gumby's finest cheese pizza and pokie sticks and watching a re-run of HOUSE. All began to be right with my little world again. House will do that for you. Make boo-boo's all better and stuff.

The next morning we treated ourselves to a wonderful breakfast far, far from the Morgantown Motel, moved her shit in, and hightailed it back to Beckley JUST in time to take Hopie to a birthday party, take Renie to Malorie's, meet with my mom's family for the yearly obligatory, "hey, how are ya', good to see ya', see ya next year" meeting, come home and fall into bed with Mr. Grisham. Er, with my book, I mean.

And a good time was had by all...................

2006-05-25T07:27:00.000-04:00

Thirteen Things you may or may not know about melodyann

1. I have never eaten lobster.

2. I am afraid of moths.

3. I like warm Diet Coke with Lime.

4. I don't listen to the news on the radio, watch it on TV, or read it in newspapers, magazines, etc.

5. I cannot stand for my feet to be hot.

6. I have a very low tolerance for stupidity.

7. I've been married for 100,000 years. Or 22. I can never remember which.

8. My dog, Vincent-the-saving-Dog, is my best friend.

9. I am angry a lot.

10. You've probably never noticed this, but I curse a lot.

11. I have a hard time saying no.

12. When I can't sleep, I imagine having a house of my own, and I decorate it, room by room, until I fall asleep. I always start with MY room. I usually don't get any farther than that.

13. I get a thrill driving down a country road in the fall, when the leaves swirl around behind me as I drive.

Links to other Thursday Thirteens!

Numbers, numbers, everywhere............

2006-05-24T22:32:00.000-04:00

29: The number of days until my vacation starts.

18: The number of carefree days I will spend in Florida and Georgia.

50: The number of dollars I will probably pay for a stupid, ugly bathing suit that is going to look like shit on me anyway.

25: The number of FREE dollars I get to spend on books at Amazon.com! Yay!

6: The number of files on my desk that I have ignored for three days.

4: The number of dogs that are currently residing in my home. (We are dogsitting for my boss' wife again!)

85,347: The number of times my husband has said, "I want a divorce."

85,347: The number of times I have said "Ok."

I'm so very tired....................

My new motto: "Everyday that I wake up, I beat my own personal record for number of consecutive days lived..."

What Seems Crazy on an Ordinary Day........

2006-05-23T06:14:00.000-04:00

As you know, I am never happier than when I can make fun of someone else, and so I'd like to share a few snippets of "what a good time is for me"....

...so, last night the in-laws called me down to their house. They bought a new stove a week or so ago, and just can't seem to get the hang of that clock thingie. I walk in and the display says it's 15:14. My father in law was in full snit mode.

"What the heck is 15:14? I didn't do this melody, I tell you, the repair guy did! And he couldn't fix it, and I've spent 2 hours trying to fix it! You won't be able to fix it either!"

"Yes, I will..."

"Well, we'll see. I know you're good at stuff like this, but I tell you, I've spent HOURS on it, I've read that book cover to cover and I can't get it fixed. If you can do it, you're a better man than me!"

By the time he'd finished that, I had it fixed.

"Hey, how'd you do that?"

"It was on military time."

"Well, ok, you got that part fixed, but now the day of the week isn't on there. I bet you can't figure THAT one out!"

I punched the last button and the display read, 7:41 p.m. Monday.....

"Oh, um, well how 'bout that? You fixed it! Show me how you did it."

I showed him AGAIN, and then he said:

"So 15:14 is 7:41?"

"Um, no. 15:14 is 3:14, you had the wrong time on there too..."

I gotta start charging for those house calls...........

.....................................................................

My boss and his wife are constantly on each other's cases, hurling insults back and forth like it was a gunfight. Sometimes it's incredibly tiresome. Sometimes, it's just completely funny:

"Melody! Get in here, we have an emergency! We have to do a will for X, she's dying!"

"G, you should not do this will. The woman is dying."

"B, that's exactly why we SHOULD do this will!"

"I hope you go to jail."

"B, you're such a smartass sometimes."

"No, I'm a smartass ALL the time."

(Keep in mind, these two are well into their seventies.)

"G, God, all you ever do is eat! I'm going to stop cooking for you at home, since I see now how much you stuff your face here at work."

"STOP cooking? I probably won't even notice!"

B mumbles something, which sounds suspiciously like, YOU FUCKER.

"Hey B, say your favorite word for melody. Hey melody! Guess what B's favorite word is?"

"It's not my favorite word anymore. I fucking hardly EVER say that motherfucking word anymore..........."

.........................................................................

Client walks in on a seemingly normal day.

"Hello, I need some answers."

"Um, hello. I'm fresh out of answers, but I can probably give you euphemisms with a side of innuendo!"

"Huh?"

"Nevermind, how can I help you?"

"Was Mr. P ever my lawyer?"

Now, I'm stumped. Is this a trick question? How the fuck would "I" know if Mr. P was ever this guy's lawyer?

"Sir? I give up. WAS he ever your lawyer?"

He rubs his face with his hands. This guy is FILTHY, skinny, exhausted, and worse, crazier than a motherfucker.

"I just don't know. I've had so many of them............."

About this time, our office manager, M, walks in. I sieze the opportunity.

"M? Can you help this guy? He needs to know if Mr. P was ever his lawyer." And I give her the LOOK, which means "CRAZY GUY, CRAZY GUY!!!"

It works, M is intrigued, and I happily go back to balancing the checkbook.

"Sir? What seems to be the problem?"

Oh, boy. WRONG question, M.

"Well, you wouldn't believe it, but they're after me. They told me to call the President, but I suspect he's in on it too. Everyone else is. All I want is some answers! I want something done!"

"Sir? The President of the United States?"

No, M. The President of West Virginia. The President of CRAZY FUCKERS. The President of "This guy is spewing bullshit out of his piehole".

"Yeah, the President! You see, what happened is this: Everyone is in on it, even my ex-wife. I think she's my ex-wife, I'm not sure if the divorce ever went through. You see, she's makin' it with all the cops in Beckley. (lucky woman, some of our cops are DREAMY!) And they've took my kid, and they beat him in the head till he had a brain aneurysm, and then they molested him and brought him home to his mom. And I need to put a stop to it!"

M says:

"Maybe you should go to the police...."

"I told you, they're the ones DOING it!"

"Why don't you try Child Services?"

"Nope, IN on it!"

"How about the FBI?"

"IN on it!"

By this time, M is getting agitated, nervous, and a little impatient.

"Sir, I really don't think that we are able to help you. (ya THINK?) Why don't you speak to a Pastor or a Priest that you trust? I really think that is the best way for you to go. I wish you all the best of luck. Good day, sir."

And with that, she spins around and walks out of my office. The guy, I'm sure, is looking at me for his ANSWERS, but I keep my nose in that damn checkbook. It's the most interesting thing ever, and my fingers are pressing those calculator keys at LIGHTENING speed.

And so he leaves.

Wow, yet ANOTHER crisis averted! Mr. P's office: 1,874,362 Rest of the crazy fuckers in the world: 0!!!

Have a very nice Tuesday. Remember, Dr. Gregory House will be tickling your fancy (and in MY dreamworld, he can tickle anything ELSE he fancies) tonight at 9:00 p.m. Eastern. That's 21:00 for all you poor fuckers that can't work the clock on your ovens............................

I'm sssssssssssspent!!!

If You Give a Goose a Sandwich.................

2006-05-21T22:18:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I take my kids to the park for a picnic and a walk around the lake. It was a beautiful day, blue skies, bright sun, warm temperature. After the usual screaming, hellacious pre-going anywhere fights, we set out on our merry way.

After stopping to pick up Malorie, who has been Renie's best friend since kindergarten, we stopped at Subway to pick up the usual picnic fare, sandwiches, chips and drinks.

Hopie drove us, which was fun, because now that Hopie's driving, Renie sits in the back seat and moans about how we're all gonna die. She tells Hopie when to stop, slow down, turn, signal, etc. Mind you, Renie doesn't even have her learner's permit, at NINETEEN, but damned if she isn't a good backseat driver.

We got to the park in one piece, thanks to Renie, (actually, Hopie is a good driver, but you can't tell her that, cause then she thinks she is Tony Stewart).

It's a little chilly in the shade, so we decide to look for a picnic table in the sun. What do you know, we find one RIGHT between the lake and the little kids' play area. We sit down and happily unwrap our sandwiches. I wish I had a video recorder, or, at the very least, a tape recorder, for what happened next. You'll just have to take my sworn word for it.

You see, there are GEESE at the lake. Or ducks. We girls are sort of dumb and have no idea which is which. So at first we are calling them ducks. And we talk about how cute they are.

And then they start walking toward us. En masse.

And Renie, our little ovo- lacto- vegetarian, our little animal rights activist, our NINETEEN year old daughter/sister/best friend, proceeds to freak all the fuck out.

"Mommy, the ducks are getting a little close, don't you think?"

"Mommy, do something, they are gonna get me!"

"Mommy, oh my God, he's coming straight for me!"

By this time, the other three of us are laughing our asses off, and Renie is curled as close as she can get into my side, her fists clutching that sandwich as hard as she can. Hopie chimes in with some helpful advice:

"Renie, just give it a piece of your bread and it will go away!"

Renie wasn't falling for it, though:

"Hopie, are you stupid? It won't go away, it will only want more, they'll all want MORE! They'll attack us!"

At this point Renie is really in distress, whimpering and breathing fast. People are starting to stare, and not only that, but they are starting to laugh.

A little boy of about 5 or 6 looked at Renie and said, "They won't hurt you. Don't be scared."

Also, about this time, we hear some people calling them GEESE, and so not only do we feel like complete idiots, Renie freaks out even MORE:

"Oh my God, geese are really mean, they'll PECK you!"
"I want to leave. Mommy, do something!"

The poor geese, they are just looking at her and making these little noises, which scares her even more, and they are just walking around and around, eyeing Renie and her sandwich.

I tell her:

"Renie, they can smell fear!" hee

And Malorie says:

"Don't make any sudden moves, Renie, they'll take that as an act of aggression!"

Oh, that was fun. Good times.

Finally, some people came with bread and cereal and whatever and fed the damn geese, and they left us alone. Hahahaha

We finished our lunch and left for a walk. Fat as I am, I cannot keep up with the girls, so I sent them off and I walked for a bit myself, and then went to the car for a cigarette and my book, which, by the way is AWESOME. If you want something good to read, pick up any book by Elisabeth Berg and you will not be disappointed. I'm currently reading The Year of Pleasures. Good stuff.

Anyway, in my book, it was a successful day, we laughed, we ate, we got to make fun of Renie. A good time was had by all.

Happy Saturday!

2006-05-20T11:31:00.000-04:00

Today, I'm supposed to be cleaning house. Making up for all the work I didn't do all week. I'm supposed to be washing dishes, washing clothes, making beds, vacuuming, dusting, and the like.

But guess what?

I'm not gonna do it.

Not until late this evening or tomorrow, anyway.

Because I'm going to the park for a picnic with my kids. And a walk. Around the lake. It's a beautiful day, and I have the opportunity to spend it with my girls, eating, walking, taking pictures, and laughing. Who wouldn't choose that over cleaning?

I'll be in all kinds of trouble, but I don't care. I got my girls, I got my puppies, I got blue skies and sunshine and FOOD. hee

All's right with MY world....

Talk is Cheap

2006-05-18T22:29:00.000-04:00

Things I wish I could say, but probably never will:

1) I cannot carry your burdens, and mine too.

2) I hope you get caught. And I hope you hurt.

3) I cannot take it back. If I could, I don't even know if I would.

4) You are a lying, conniving bitch, and I'm sorry I ever met you.

5) I will never love anyone else the way I loved you.

6) You are destined for a life of misery. And you could change it, but you won't.

7) I cannot begin to think what I will do without you in my life.

8) I thank God every day for bringing you to me.

9) You can be so much more, if you try.

10) I like who I am when I am with you.

Don'cha Hate it When...............?

2006-05-17T22:26:00.000-04:00

You lay down for only FIFTEEN minutes, just to get warm because even though it is the middle of MAY, it's only freakin' 45 degrees outside and your house is COLD and so you lay down, just to get warm for fifteen minutes, and the next thing you know, it's an HOUR later, and your hair has dried into some freakish mass that sticks out from your head at a very odd and unattractive angle?

America votes off the BEST singer on American Idol (and by saying voted OFF, I mean, "was too stupid to vote FOR") , and it just gives you another excuse to fucking HATE stupid Americans (not that I am prejudiced against stupid Americans. I hate stupid heads of ALL nationalities) Chris Daughtry SHOULD have won American Idol, and really, who gives a big fat shit who wins it now? hmm?

You cook a really delicious meal of eggplant stuff (ok, I made up the recipe and yeah, I call it eggplant stuff, and YEAH, it's DELICIOUS!) and after you and your boss and your office manager eat until you feel like a stuffed sausage, your office manager takes SO MUCH HOME with her, that there's hardly any left for YOU to take home, and still leave enough for the boss to eat on Friday?

You're driving along, windows down, belting out "Bohemian Rhapsody" at the top of your damn lungs, and all of a sudden you find yourself behind a little ol' woman (or man, I'm not prejudiced) who is driving 20 FUCKING miles and hour in a 45 mph zone? I mean, what the fuck is wrong with these people? When you're old, does 20 mph FEEL fast to you? You're ruining my song, granny!!!! "Beelzebub has a DEVIL put aside for ME!!!"

You tell your kid before YOU EVER LEAVE THE HOUSE, even though you are late for work because you were a STUPID HEAD and laid down for fifteen minutes, which turned into an hour, but anyway, you tell her, "If you don't do any work in this fucking nasty house today, I am not driving you anywhere for a week." And you mean it too, even though that damn kid is 19 years old and should have her driver's license already for God's sake, you shouldn't have to drive her ANYWHERE, and then damn it, you go home and she has sat on her ASS, watching Lifetime movies all day and she comes over to you and gives you a huge hug and says, "I love you mommy, let's go tan!" And damn it all to hell, you go, cause what the fuck would you do without your kids?

You have the two most adorable puppies in the entire world, and really, you love them with all your whole heart, but damned if they aren't the most mischevious things, and well, really mischevious isn't the right word for them because they chewed up an IPOD, for God's sake and they've chewed pens and pencils, and 4 packs of cigarettes, and cords and turned your neat little skeins of yarn into tangled masses of fucking FRUSTRATION, and now they've absolutely done the worst thing ever and it's so bad you can barely think about it, much less tell the evil sorcerer that you are married to, because fucking hell, he WARNED those damned lazy kids of yours, he said, "Renie, you better close your laptop, before the puppies do something to mess it up," and your kids just laugh and laugh and whisper to themselves, "Yeah, right dad, the puppies are gonna eat the laptop, hee hee!" and what the fuck do you know? The puppies ate all the keys off the laptop...............

You come home from picking up the kids at the 'Y' and you're so pissed you have steam coming from your ears, 'cause all they have done for the last 2 weeks is make fun of everything you say, like you're some kind of fucking IDIOT STUPID HEAD, and even when the things that you say are completely CORRECT, they laugh anyway and so you get home and you tell your husband, "I AM SO FUCKING TIRED OF BEING THE BUTT OF ALL THE JOKES AROUND HERE!" and you go to the bathroom and slam the door and it makes the most satisfying BANG!CRACK! but then something tells you it wasn't supposed to go CRACK! and then you feel the most Godawful pain on your damn skull and you realize that the fucking DUCK WHISTLE (YES, I said DUCK WHISTLE!) that someone hung on the bathroom door, (Cause everyone knows that's where the fucking duck whistles GO) has whacked you in the damn head so hard that you are BLEEDING (not profusely, mind you, but bleeding nonetheless) and you think "Well, fucking HELL!" Cause you can't say a damn word about it, because how much fun will those bitches have with THIS news?

Yeah, I HATE when that happens....................

My Friend and I.........

2006-05-16T20:51:00.000-04:00

I have a friend who walks with me sometimes, when I need to talk, to think. I wail and moan about the unfairness of the world, I cry with guilt for the things I've done that I feel badly about, I expound at length on the troubles of the world, and I trill happily over small successes and tiny bits of happiness. My friend smiles a lot. And he nods. And sometimes he pinches his lip between thumb and forefinger, lost in deep thought. But he doesn't say much.

Because I made him up.

We walk a lot, in the bright sunlight of midday, on the track around the football field. We walk in the slanted light of late afternoon, on the walking trail, bikers and skaters and joggers passing us by, each intent on his own thoughts. We walk in the heat of the summer, in the short, drenching rains of spring, in the fall, the warmth of the day pierced by a slight nip in the air. We walk in silence during a latenight snowfall, our footsteps soon covered by the swift falling snow. Except, we never leave my house.

Because the walks are make believe also.

"You know," I say to my friend. "Feeling bad sucks. I'm tired of feeling bad. I'm tired of being angry and hurt and scared and bitter. What do you think? What can I do?"

My friend looks at me and gives me a slow, easy smile. I know what that smile means.

"But I don't know if I can forgive everyone I'm angry at!" I exclaim. "You ask too much! I'm ALWAYS the one to do the forgiving!"

My friend laughs, shakes his head. Then he turns those piercing blue eyes on my and puts his finger to his temple.

"But I AM thinking! I've done nothing BUT think for months now!

I want to forgive, really I do. I want to forgive my dad, for all the times he wasn't there, for all the times he hit my mother. For all the times he failed all of us.
I want to forgive that man who thought it would be okay to touch a thirteen year old girl who thought it was her fault.
I want to forgive my husband for telling me on my wedding day that he had married me because once I got his name I would leave him alone and let him live his life.
I want to forgive my mother for dying and leaving me without my best friend.
I want to forgive my "best" friend for stealing money from the only man in my life who was good to me without asking for anything in return.
I want to forgive the man who was determined to get me in bed, while telling me he was my friend.
I want to forgive my dad for having an affair with my brother's wife.
I want to forgive my brother for letting his life fall apart to the point where he lost everything.
I want to forgive my mother in law, who promised to be my "second mother" and then went on to show me how very UNincluded in this family.

I want to forgive all of that, and I know I can, but these things take time!" I tell my friend.

My friend, give me a very knowing look. He shakes his head, he points to me, he points to his heart.

"Forgive myself?" I am stunned. Then I am angry. "You've never given me bad advice until now," I shout at him. "This is pointless! I feel angry and hurt by OTHER people! I don't feel angry and hurt by ME! What do I have to forgive myself for?"

Smiling still, quite sadly, my friend points to me again, then taps his head again with his finger.

Suddenly, I am thinking, thinking about all the times that I felt wronged, abused, used, by someone. I think about all the times I should have taken up for myself, for my kids, for my family. All the times I should have said to that other person, "What you've done/said/thought is wrong. You've hurt me/my family/my friends. I need to know why, need you to stop, need to forgive you."

Then I think about the things I've done and said and thought in my lifetime. I try to think of good things to say or think about myself and suddenly I am overwhelmed by self loathing. Guilt and doubt and fear pour over me like a fountain and I am helpless to do anything but stand there. And think.

"Oh." I say. "I see."

I turn to my friend, and through my tears, I reach out for him. "Forgive myself? I don't know how."

"I don't know if I can."

A letter to Mom...............

2006-05-14T01:56:00.000-04:00

Dear Mom,

I've done this before. Many times. Written to you, both when I am happy, and when I am sad. I've done it for Christmas, for your birthday, and for Mother's Day. I've written to tell you about my kids, about my life, about my mistakes and failures. But I'm not sure that I've ever written to thank you. For being my mom.

Of course, I know, it's not like you chose to be my mom. It's not like you were a better mom to me than you were to the boys. But I know that you had three children because the first two were boys. Because you wanted a girl. You wanted me.

I don't have a lot of early memories, mom. I hate that. I read about people who can remember things that happened to them when they were two or three, or even earlier. I don't remember that far back. I don't know why. But you took pictures, mom, so many pictures of all three of us. I can see in those pictures what kind of life I had, what kind of mother you were. I can see that our house was clean, that our clothes were clean and pressed, always with the iron you were, mom.

Thank you for taking those pictures, mom.

I've seen pictures of me as a baby, in your arms, in dad's arms. There are even pictures where Mitch was holding me. Pictures of me and Mark, side by side, playing, smiling, always smiling. Pictures of dresses that you made me, pictures with my hair all in curlers. I hate those curlers, mom. Did you know that? I used to cry, because they hurt my head when I slept. But I always wanted my hair curled, because you made it so beautiful.

Thank you for curling my hair. For making those beautiful dresses.

I've seen pictures of birthdays, and Christmases, of Easter, and Thanksgiving and Valentine's day. Pictures of vacations, and first days of school, pictures in the snow, and at the lake, on the beach.

Pictures take the place of those early memories, but I have plenty memories, too, mom. I remember lying on the couch and reading to you, while you "rested your eyes". I remember watching you sew, remember you holding me while you sang, "My Sweet Baby Girl". I remember Friday night pizzas, and Sunday dinners after church.

I remember my first day of school, when I sat in the corner of the schoolyard and cried for my mommy. Did you cry that day too, mom? I bet you did. I was the last one to go to school, and I bet you listened to the silence while you waited for the bus to bring me home. It's what I did when my last one went to school.

I remember you waking me up each morning, and I remember that you fixed me whatever I wanted for breakfast. Even that phase I went through when I would only eat creamed corn for breakfast, you fixed it for me. Haha, I laugh about that sometimes. Whatever possessed me to eat creamed corn for breakfast?

I remember you laid my towel in front of that fake fireplace, so it would be warm when I got out of the shower. You'd bring it to me, so I didn't have to get cold. And I'd sit in front of that little fireplace, and eat my breakfast, and wish I didn't have to leave.

Thanks for those warm towels, mom.

I remember how we fought over my clothes. God help me if I wanted to wear something that wasn't ironed. You would be so angry you'd threaten to get rid of all my clothes. You even ironed my jeans. Mom, you would have fits if you saw how my kids dress now. If I even try to offer to iron anything, they panic.

Thank you for ironing those clothes for me, mom.

I remember how you didn't want me to smoke. But when you realized that I was going to, no matter what you did, I remember you began to give me an allowance. YOu didn't want me bumming cigarettes from strangers. I remember you let me smoke in the backseat, but I had to hide, because you told me if you saw me, you'd probably hit me. Haha, you would not believe how hard it is to lay in the backseat and smoke.

I remember coming home from school and finding a new outfit, or a new bra, or a new pair of shoes. Sometimes it would be a new book, or some pens, or packs of gum or candy. Always, no matter what the gift, I felt special, I felt cherished, I felt loved.

Thank you for those surprise gifts, mom.

I remember so many funny things, too, mom. Like that time you couldn't get out to get me a Valentine's day card, so you found a birthday card for a niece, and you marked out Birthday, wrote Valentine's day, marked out niece, and wrote daughter. I laughed until I nearly peed reading it. I remember when we played Monopoly and you cheated so badly that I picked up a go to jail card and told you to "go to hell, go directly to hell". I said it without thinking, and then was sure you'd pop me. But you laughed and laughed. I remember how you cheated at Scrabble, heck mom, you cheated at every game we played, I think. Remember Pictionary? You would talk while you were drawing, and write words, and we'd all scream at you, but end up laughing like idiots, because you were so darn funny. And Lord, when we played Jeopardy, you'd beep in first, but had to be given so much time to answer that we again were all screaming at you.

Thank you for being so funny, mom.

I remember the flea markets and garage sales that you loved. You drove me nuts, trying to find something to buy from everyone. But I never missed a Wednesday or a Saturday going with you.

I remember that you took us on so many vacations, when Daddy wouldn't take the time to do it. We'd all cram into Randy's car, or Aunt JoAnn's or Uncle Danny's. Anytime anyone would take us anywhere, you had us packed and ready to go. You'd go to any park, ride any ride, walk all day, rain or sun, to make sure we had a good time.

Thank you for those vacations, mom.

What I remember most about you mom, is your total selflessness. You made every holiday special for us, you made every birthday, every vacation, every event, special for everyone, and always put yourself last. You loved giving gifts, sending cards, taking pictures, always you were able to put a smile on everyone's face. I've never known anyone in the whole of my life, who gave so much, and got so little in return. But you never, ever complained. You totally and completely lived for us.
The only thing I ever saw you do for yourself, be stingy about, was corn on the cob. Lord, it was the funniest thing to see such a tiny woman put away so much corn. I can remember emptying plates after dinner, and it was nothing for there to be 10 or 12 empty corn ears on your plate. We all still laugh about it mom, and I swear I love corn now more than I ever did.

I never ever, not even for a second, doubted your love for me. I felt it all my life, still feel it now. You were my best friend, mom. And I don't remember if I ever told you.

Remember how you used to joke and say, "You'll be sorry when you see my little coffin floating down the river"? And you used to hold out your hands for me to look at, because once I had said that looking at your hands made me sad, because they were so tiny and bony. Remember that sad look you'd give me when I went somewhere, and sometimes I would come back, because I couldn't stand that look? And you'd laugh and tell me to go on, get out of there. Remember how you used to say, "What goes around, comes around" and "Be sure your sins will find you out."

I say all of those things, mom. Hahaha, it drives my kids nuts. But now they are starting to say some of them too. Just to make me laugh.

You were a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a wife, a cousin, a niece. But first and foremost, you were a mom. You were MY mom. And you were the best mom ever.

Thank you for being my mom.

I love you so very, very much

melodyann

10 Things I Have Recently Learned

2006-05-03T14:17:00.000-04:00

1. Fat doesn't tan easily.

2. Sometimes, when you try to color your hair dark brown, it turns really, really black.

3. And when you try to color it MEDIUM brown, one day later? It turns slightly less black, with some brown and red thrown in.

4. When wearing capris, you only have to shave about 6 inches of leg.

5. A dauchshund puppy named Cleo can oftentimes make even the most awful hurts feel better.

6. You cannot lose what you never had to begin with.

7. You can withstand a whole lot more than you think.

8. Driving along the interstate, windows down, sunglasses on, singing "Bohemian Rhapsody" at the top of your lungs is the epitomy of a GOOD TIME.

9. The more something hurts, the stronger you feel when you overcome it.

10. Sometimes it doesn't matter how much you love him.

Before She Died

2006-04-26T22:38:00.000-04:00

all she ever really wanted

was to calm the storm inside

but the winds shrieked and howled

as she sat alone and cried

and the storm grew in intensity

on the night before she died

she'd begun to rise above the hurt

and the gloom she'd pushed aside

but fate had other, meaner plans

with which to break her stride

and the storm bore down upon her

in the weeks before she died

she had betrayed all that she held dear

she'd cheated, and she'd lied.

his punishment was stringent

'twas done to save his pride

and the storm had roiled and twisted

in the months before she died

she'd prayed for the life of her mother

and been summarily denied

her shattered heart had left her bleeding

left a jagged empty space inside

and the storm had circled round her

in the years before she died

she'd been a lovestruck dreamer

back when she'd become a bride

and she'd struggled to earn the love

of the one she'd stood beside

and the storm had waited for it's chance

in the decades before she died

she'd spent a happy childhood

she'd been bright and sunny-eyed

she'd ignored the fleeting shadows

for she'd been as yet untried

but she'd felt the storm within her

in the lifetime before she died

she'd had a true-love fantasy

but it had blown away and dried

as often happens when reality

and fairy tales collide

and she whispered "I'm so sorry,"

in the seconds before she died

~melodyann

Have you ever really?

2006-04-25T22:09:00.000-04:00

Have you ever really loved a woman?

It's not about the sex..........

To really love a woman, you have to see her. You have to see the way she walks, the way she moves, you have to see what makes her smile. You have to see the way her eyes sparkle, the way her hair shines. You have to see what can't be seen, the dreams, the hopes and fears, the little quirks and idiosyncratic mannerisms she hides. If you can't see her, you've never really loved a woman.

To really love a woman, you have to hear her. You have to listen to the things she says. You have to listen to the songs she sings, the prayers she prays, and the angry words she throws your way sometimes. You have to hear what can't be heard, the tears behind her laughter, the anger behind her smile, the terror behind her bravado. If you can't hear her, you've never really loved a woman.

To really love a woman, you have to touch her. You have to hold her face in your hands while you gaze deep into her eyes, you have to trail your fingers, featherlike, along her naked spine, tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. You have to touch her tenderly when she needs tenderness, and you have to touch her passionately when she feels the fires of passion. You have to touch what can't be touched, make her heart ache with your sweet smile, make her blood run hot with your whispered words, make her spirit soar with the adoration in your eyes. If you can't touch her, you've never really loved a woman.

To really love a woman, you have to smell her. Breathe in the scent of her freshly showered skin, inhale the sensual aroma of her favorite perfume, savor the musky odor of your lovemaking. You have to be aware of the scents that make her happy, make her calm, make her tingle with lust. You have to smell what can't be smelled, the scent of her fear, the fragrance of her lonliness, the aroma of her happiness. If you can't smell her, you've never really loved a woman.

To really love a woman, you have to taste her. You taste the sweetness of her lips, her tongue. You taste the saltiness of her tears. You taste the most secret of her womanly places. You have to taste what can't be tasted, the books she loves to read, the movies she loves to watch, the music she loves to hear. If you can't taste her, you've never really loved a woman.

To really love a woman, you have to know her. You have to know her most secret dream, her deepest disappointment. You have to know what she is afraid of, what she yearns for. You have to know that perfect place to touch, to kiss, that will fill her with tender longing. You have to know her favorite food, her least favorite word. You have to know that she is afraid of loving, and not being loved in return. You have to know that she wants a love that is as magical and fantastic as the mystical unicorn, and as comforting and ordinary as a comfortable pair of shoes. You have to know that she wants to succeed, in every area of her life. You have to know that she is not afraid of hard work, if there is a payoff at the end. You have to know that she loves being held in your arms more than anything that you can buy, more than anything that you can say, more than the best lovemaking you can give her. You have to know that you can make her feel safe, cherished, adored, loved, worshipped. If you don't know her, you've never really loved a woman.

Such Great Heights

2006-04-23T22:39:00.000-04:00

I am thinking it's a sign
That the freckles in our eyes
Are mirror images and
When we kiss they're perfectly aligned

And I have to speculate
That God himself did make us into
Corresponding shapes like puzzles pieces
From the clay

True, it may seem like a stretch
But it's thoughts like this
That catch my troubled head
When you're away, when I am missing you to death

When you were out there on the road
For several weeks of shows
And when you scan the radio
I hope this song will guide you home

They will see us waving from such great heights
"Come down now," they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away
"Come down now," but we'll stay

I've tried my best to leave
This all on your machine
But the persistent beat
Sounded thin upon listening

That frankly will not fly
You will hear the shrillest highs
And lowest lows with the windows down
When this is guiding you home

They will see us waving from such great heights
"Come down now," they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away
"Come down now," but we'll stay...

~Iron & Wine

Pearls of Wisdom

2006-04-19T22:41:00.000-04:00

I give very good advice.

For Mark:

"You have to do one thing each day that makes you proud to be who you are."
"You should write down how you are feeling now so that, six months from now, you can see how far you've come."
"You have to redirect those negative thoughts, Mark, and think about things that don't hurt."
"Sometimes you need to shut your eyes and just BREATHE."
"Every day you just keep putting one foot forward, because if you stop, you break down."
"Baby steps, brother, keep taking baby steps."

For Lorena:

"You cannot let yourself get into a position where you depend on him for your happiness."
"Every day you get up, you decide whether or not you are going to be happy. And if you decide to be happy, then when things come up that make you UN-happy, you decide to not let them take away your happiness."
"You make a list of the things you need and the things you want. If you can afford the things you need, then you can save for the things you want. If you are willing to give up something you need, then you can have something you want."
"There is always going to be someone better than you. Learn to take pride in who you are, and stop comparing yourself to others."
"Look into the eyes of whomever you are talking to and smile. People respond to that."
"Learn to take care of things for yourself. Because when life gets cruel, YOU are sometimes the only person you can count on."

For Hopie:

"You cannot be the best at everything. Don't be angry because someone else is better. Pick the thing you love the most and work at being great at it."
"Treat people kindly. Even the people that everyone else laughs at and pushes away."
"Hopie, in ten years you will not even remember those kids' names. Don't let their opinions matter too much now."
"Bite your damn tongue. You cannot take back the awful things you say when you're angry."
"Get all the education that you can while it's FREE."
"Do not let him know how much you like him. It gives him POWER over you."

For Friends:

"If you love her, you HAVE to tell her."
"You need to do something for yourself. Something kind, something that makes you feel special."
"You have to stop letting people take advantage of you. You are not the fixer of everything."
"Try to find something funny every single day. One good belly laugh a day, it'll do you more good than an ol' apple."
"Close your eyes and let the sun shine on your face. It warms you all over, even inside your heart."
"Ultimately, you have to make decisions you can live with. Stop worrying about pleasing everyone else, and do what feels right to YOU."

So, why can't I follow any of that good advice?

Brain Teaser

2006-04-18T23:43:00.000-04:00

Question: Suppose a man, after having been asked to dinner by his wife at 5 p.m., refuses said dinner (which would make probably the 8th or 9th refusal in the past month, by the way), wonders why his wife came home so LATE (she got home at 5:05, when she usually gets home at 4:40). Then suppose said man comes into the house at 10:00 p.m. demanding to be fed, screeching to the high heavens that he is hungry, that the house is filthy (which, by the way, SHE worked on all weekend), that SHE hasn't worked all day in ... well EVER, and FORGET it goddammit, he will go to bed hungry and just hope he doesn't get SICK tomorrow at work, because all SHE can do is run around with her friends and EAT (she had a sandwich with her BROTHER, by the way). How many beers has that man consumed in the 6 1/2 hours between his arrival home at 4 p.m. and his falling into bed at 10:30?

Answer: It really doesn't fucking matter, it's just the same shit, on a different day...

The Victim

2006-04-17T15:07:00.000-04:00

"Do you want to stay married to me?" he asks.
"I just don't know," she says.
"Well you have to make up your mind, because if you want to leave, I have to start looking for another woman. I need to know soon."
"Well, can I think about it?"
"No," he says, " You either love me or you don't. You're either staying or you're leaving. Now WHICH is it?"
"I'll stay," she says.

"I don't trust you anymore," he says. "I think you're still lying to me."
"I'm not," she says.
"I just don't trust you."
"Then you haven't forgiven me," she says.
"Yes, I have," he says. "I just need time."

"I don't know if I can forgive you," he says.
"What does that mean?" she asks. "Do you want a divorce?"
"I don't know," he says. "I need time to decide."

"How come you get so much time to make a decision?" she asks.

"Because I am the victim." he sneers.

Nothing Fits

2006-04-16T00:07:00.000-04:00

She wonders when everything changed. When she became a merely a piece of the puzzle. A piece who edges are curled and whose colors are faded. A piece which may belong to a different puzzle, but no one knows because no one is putting the puzzle together anymore.

Nothing fits.

There are different realities relative to that statement.

Physically, she doesn't fit anything anymore. Her shoes are too small and too tight on feet that are swollen and tired and aching. Her socks don't fit around ankles that struggle to support the feet that bear the weight she has gained. Her underpants don't fit over hips and around legs and a waist whose skin is stretched tight by the weight she has gained. Her bras don't fit breasts which sag under the weight she has gained. Her shirts and her pants don't fit the body that bulges and aches with the weight she has gained. Her rings don't fit the fingers of the hands that are swollen and throbbing. Theater seats don't fit. Seat belts don't fit. Amusement park rides and turnstiles and seats on buses and planes don't fit.

Her relationships don't fit anymore. She wonders where things went wrong. Somewhere between the wanting to make things good for her children and her husband, her struggling to find fresh ways to make things good for her children and her husband, her giving of her time and energy and money to make things good for her children, and the actuality of things actually being good for her children and her husband, she thinks that there must be some sort of synaptic misfire; her efforts are not recognized, not appreciated. Her familial relationships have degraded to such a degree that her time and her effort and her money are demanded, and though she tries to give them willingly, she realizes that more often than not, she gives grudgingly, sparingly, and with no anticipation of success.

Her home doesn't fit anymore. This house with it's things and it's needs hold no comfort for her. She has no pride in the ownership of her things. She has no desire to make her home warm and inviting, or even clean. There is no privacy, no place inside that is hers, no special niche that welcomes her, no corner she can retreat to, to lick her wounds. She is merely a resident here.

Her job doesn't fit anymore. The work that she once loved, is now merely something to be endured each day. Where once she had the feeling that her work made a difference in the lives of those she served, now she feels pushed and pulled in directions that she has no interest in going. She doesn't care about Bill's bad back and carpel tunnel syndrome. She doesn't care about Mrs. Smith's open heart surgery and living will. She doesn't care if young John gets divorced from the backstabbing bitch who took him for all he was worth and left him with two children and a dog. She doesn't care if old man Ferguson's son's are stealing him blind, providing the bare necessities of life for him, while they live the high life, with booze and drugs and women and fancy cars and nice clothes.

She just doesn't care anymore.

Most days she sits and stares at her computer screen, struggling to remember whose social security benefits she is applying for, whose will she is witnessing, whose bankrutpcy she is filing.

She doesn't fit anywhere anymore. And she really can't find the strength to give a damn.

Where does she belong?

whocares?

Wrong Number

2006-04-14T23:59:00.000-04:00

rrrriiiinnnngggg!!!!

"Hello? How are you doing? I wondered if I could just talk to you for a moment? I just need to say some things... I thought I'd "reach out and touch someone", you know? Have you ever felt just like giving up? Or giving in? Have you ever felt imprisoned? Have you ever been mired so deeply in the slick wet mud of your guilt, that you're just hanging on to the edge, just hanging on to anything that will keep you from going under? And then you start to wonder, what's the point? Maybe under is better, you know? At least you won't have to hang on anymore...

Have you ever wanted something so badly, but you didn't know what it was that you wanted? Did you wake up in the morning with this hunger, this need in the pit of your gut that no amount of food or drink would fill? And you know that no matter what you try, no matter how hard you concentrate on something else, no matter what things you fill your life with, none of it is gonna fill that emptiness? Nothing is gonna feed that hunger, man. Nothing. Because you don't know what it is that you hunger for. You just know that you haven't found it yet.

Have you ever been afraid? Afraid of something that you can't name? You wake up with your heart pounding in your chest, you struggle to hear anything in the thick silence, you strain to see the face of your enemy in the pitch black of night, your breathing is ragged and painful? But there's nothing there to see because your enemy is not a reality and your fear is grounded in myth...

Have you ever felt a storm of emotions swirling and boiling beneath the surface of the calm exterior you present to the world? You spend your whole life pretending the storm isn't there, pretending the fear and the anger and the hunger isn't there... And then you find something that calms the storm. Allays the fear. Dissipates the anger and feeds the hunger. And you want that thing so badly because you know, you just KNOW that if you have it, and if you can keep it, the rest of your days will be good ones? Peaceful and restful and hopeful. That there will be joy and warmth and comfort. But you can't have that thing. You can see it, it's close enough to touch, but it may as well be a million miles away, because it is forbidden to you. Do you think that that feeling qualifies as disappointment?

What's that? Yeah, I know what time it is. I'm terribly sorry to bother you. You have a good night, you hear? Yeah, I'll be ok. I just keep putting one foot forward. G'night, now. Sleep well."

(click)

"Who were you talking to just now?"

"Wrong number."

Conversation....

2006-04-13T19:31:00.000-04:00

"Look at this," he says.

"What is it?" she asks him.

"It's a statement of my 401k. You're entitled to half of it. It will give you a decent start."

"So you've made up your mind, then?"

"No," he says. "I'm just saying."

She throws the unopened envelope over her shoulder, across the room.

"It sounds to me like you've made up your mind."

Everything is falling apart..............

Where is home?

2006-04-13T00:01:00.000-04:00

Unconditional love.

Where do you suppose it's found? I can think of only two ways in which unconditional love is truly shown.

Parents have unconditional love for their children. More specifically, a mother has unconditional love for her sons and daughters. Of course, there are exceptions to this, but I don't like to think about those exceptions. Some people were never meant to be parents. Period.

A mother learns to love her baby while it is cradled inside her. She can feel the movement of her child, she learns it's sleep patterns. She can usually even tell when the baby has hiccups. Most importantly of all, a mother knows and can feel the absolute and utter dependence upon her. It's an awesome and heady responsibility. And most mom's don't take it lightly. She will protect her child from harm, be the threat real or imagined. She will nurture that child, providing it with the love and acceptance that it will find no other place on earth. She will feed and clothe and teach this child. And even when that child (as most do when they reach an age where the acceptance of friends is much more important than the acceptance of family) turns on her, forgets about her, is verbally abusive, argumentative, and irresponsible, that mother will love that child with a ferocity that is awesome in its intensity. Because that's what mom's do.

Pets have unconditional love for their owners. More specifically, dogs have unconditional love for their masters. Of course, there are exceptions to this, but I don't like to think about those exceptions either. Good dogs can go bad.

You can leave them when you go on vacation, scold them, forget to feed them, be too busy to play with them, and they will still be standing there, tails wagging, tongues out and panting, when you remember who your best friend is. When you are sad, or angry, when you feel left out and lonely, when it seems the world is against you and events conspire to bring you unhappiness, that puppy, or that feisty mutt, or that old hound will gaze into your eyes with such longing and lick your face with such happiness that you can't help but feel fully loved.

So, in my own inimitable way, and with my own unique (read eccentric and uncivilized) talent, I have come to the following conclusion:

Home is where the kids and the puppies are.

Questions

2006-04-12T05:49:00.000-04:00

"Do you love me?" he asks.

"Yes."

"No, you don't. You use me." he shouts.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes." she says with a smile.

"No, you love everyone BUT me."

"Do you love me?" he whispers.

"Yes."

"But you're not IN love with me."

"I'm sorry."

"DO YOU LOVE ME?" he demands.

"Yes!" she cries.

"Do you LOVE me?"

"YES..." she pleads.

"Do you love ME?" he screams.

"I'm trying." she whispers.

"You don't love me." he says.

"No?" she asks.

"You won't ever love me." he predicts.

"What is love?" she wonders.

The Superhero

2006-04-11T23:47:00.000-04:00

She knows she's got some super powers.

She can stand in a room full of people and be completely invisible....

She can talk and the words she speaks circle 'round her head and dissipate in the atmosphere, unheard...

She can think a single thought for hours, to the exclusion of everything else..........

She can sit in silence and hear a cacophony of sound..............

She can see, but is completely blinded to all things within her view.....

She cannot bear a future which includes her past, she cannot abide the heart that beats within her chest, she cannot contemplate, cannot differentiate, cannot appreciate, who she is.....

She cannot hate, she cannot love

shecannotfeel

is she really there?