Webophobia

No, it is not a word, I made it up, but its cute and I like it, and it fits the point of my blog today, so live with it. My girlfriend is afraid of the Internet. Now I promised her I wouldn’t use her real name here, (you know the whole change the name to protect the innocent or in this case the weird), and when I asked her what name she wanted to go by she couldn’t decide. So, I teased her and explained how there are websites that allow you to put your name in and they come back with what your Porn name would be, or your Bond girl name etc. etc. So, I went to the porn name generator site put her name in and she will now forever be known as (at least in my blogs anyway), Kinky Hymen, and no I did not make that up, that is what the Porn Star Name Generator gave her.

I digressed. Kinky is afraid of the Internet, almost a phobia really. When I asked her why she wouldn’t get a facebook and join the rest of the world on social media networking sites she said the following: “I don’t give a rats ass that my sisters, cousins, nephews, best friend had a smelly fart; I’m not that interested. Why would I want to hear about someone else’s life on a daily basis, I don’t even want to know about my life on a daily basis.”

Classy I know, hence the reason her name is Kinky. After taking a few minutes to point out to her that her quote sounded very close to a scene in Spaceballs which I then had to recite for her, we moved on to the Internet in general. She went on to tell me that when she had purchased her first computer she went into a chat room, which she insisted after I interrupted her to ask, was not a sex type chat room, but since her name is Kinky I somehow doubt that. After a few minutes of being in the so-called non-sex related chat room, someone instant messaged her. It totally freaked her out. She said it felt like some stranger was in her living room with her. I told her she must have been smoking something funny again like the time she watched the Fox TV special about how the whole moon landing was a hoax and she was so totally enraptured with the idea and convinced that NASA was a bunch of bullshit artists that for months afterwards she could not be convinced otherwise.

She of course denied this accusation about as convincingly as she did when she tried to deny she was high for the moon landing show. I teased her about this relentlessly as any good friend would, and am now immortalizing her paranoid fear of the Internet on the Internet. I love irony. I tried to explain that although you may be talking to someone in London, they aren’t actually in your room watching you from a peephole in your computer, but she was sticking to her guns. Her paranoia overflowed to the point where I was wondering if she thought that when she signed on to the internet, strange web beings would suddenly come to her door to take her away to their home planet or something, or perhaps like the pillow tag police they come and hunt you down for various internet offences. Did you ever notice I talk about the pillow tag police a lot, I think I need to examine my obsession with pillows.

So anyway, I am slowly but surely introducing her to the wonderful world of the Internet and all its fabulous and addictive uses. I have convinced her to get a facebook and twitter for her business, but she still wont get one for herself personally. I think she is afraid that once her name gets out there into the wonderful World Wide Web, the Internet demons that lurk in your computer will spread evil rumors about her and defame the good name of Kinky Hymen. I, of course being the great friend that I am told her I could take care of that for them, by writing this blog.

So, day-by-day I am easing her into the Internet. She did get a kick out of the immensely useful Porn Name Generator site, and she did enjoy YouTube and the ever useful and endlessly disgusting two girls one cup. But, I have a feeling I will never be able to fully bring her over to the darkside of Internet addiction. No problem though, at least that way she wont be able to read all the stories I will write about her on this site. Maybe next time I will wax poetic about the time we went to Salem together, that was quite an adventure. In the meantime, Help her Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re her only hope.

P.S. In case you were wondering I put my name into the Porn Name Generator as well. Now, since I have several names due to the fact that I have been married twice, have my maiden name and have used several variations of my first and middle name throughout the years, I was given several choices. I have my favorite, but lets see which one you like.

Lex Diggler
Lana Cream
Kara Jizz
Sassy Spankadocious

Remedial Husband Classes

I have decided to start a new class for men about being the kind of husband that won’t drive your wife crazy. After all, when we are not going crazy because of you, we are sweet and attentive, we don’t get “on your back” about doing things, and we actually want to spend time with you, imagine that! So really the husband is the one who wins out in the end if he would just learn and implement some basic tools. Honestly, read on, I’m not asking for much here.

Lesson #1 – In the bathroom, there is this thing that is called a toilet paper holder. It is usually situated beside or across from the toilet bowl itself. This device is not self-filling. It cannot grow arms and go under the sink take out the next role of toilet tissue and put it on all by itself. It actually needs your help. Although I have heard that Apple is actually working on an app for this, so you never know. Anyway, if you are the one that uses the last piece of toilet paper, you open the cabinet, take out a new role, (now here comes the tricky part, at least for my last husband anyway, since he never seemed to get farther than this and then would lay it on the sink for the next person) rip off the paper, take the old roll off, throw it out, slide on the new roll and put it back on the holder. That’s it, you’re all done, and amazingly here is the best part, you have just stopped your wife from having to yell at you for the 498,235 time about not replacing the roll of toilet paper, which is after all what you husbands always say you want, peace and no “nagging”. Now, wasn’t that easy!!

Lesson #2 – Occasionally you may notice that your underwear, socks, belt, maybe even your shoes are missing, or worse yet hanging from the tree in the back yard. There is a reason for this. It is not a Poltergeist, nor has there been a tornado. It was your wife. I am now going to give you the secret to avoiding this potentially embarrassing scenario, (and yes, it could be embarrassing especially if the only tree you have to hang underwear on is in your front yard). PICK UP YOUR STUFF!! Wow, I bet you didn’t know that it would be that easy. You must be so relieved to find out just how simple it is to avoid this problem. I mean, who would have thought that you could avoid not only yet again being “nagged “ by your wife, but that you would also be contributing to the aesthetic feel of your home, and avoiding your neighbor coming by wondering how your underwear ended up in his yard!

Lesson #3 – Nowadays technology has made life for everyone a little easier, and so it is as well for men. Guys, you no longer have an excuse for forgetting things like your wife’s birthday, your anniversary, Mother’s Day!! With cell phones, palm pilots, blackberries and more, you could potentially have these dates stored in several different places and devices, so there is no longer a viable excuse as to why you not only didn’t remember, but didn’t buy anything either. So in this lesson, I will teach you how to avoid one of the biggest mistakes men make, and one of the biggest fights a couple can have. Remember her birthday!! Christmas, and Valentine’s Day are easy, between everyone talking about them, and all the stores decorating for them, you know they are coming, but her birthday isn’t a National event (although I think mine should be) so you need to remember on your own. So pick up your blackberry, your phone, and your palm pilot, and start entering in reminders. Three weeks before the date, two weeks before the date, one week before the date, four days before the date, etc. etc, I think you get the point. If you want to claim you just have bad memories that’s fine, I’ll let you have that (I don’t believe it, but I’ll let you have it) but with these devices now you have no excuse. So when the reminder bell goes off, go buy a gift and give it to her. Leave it on her pillow in the morning, surprise her, (believe me I would be so surprised I might not be able to awake from the shock) and you’ll be very pleasantly surprised to see a very warm, and gracious woman waiting for you at the door when you come home that night.

Lesson #4 – OK, this is the last lesson for today, not the last lesson I will ever give, (so stop jumping up for joy, boys) but the last lesson for today. Now this is specifically for husbands who are also fathers. Women sort of understand, (although they are not thrilled about this I assure you), that they are responsible for a much larger percent of the child care, house care and overall daily lives of the family. Now, in some respects I don’t mind this at all; I love my children too much to make them spend too much time alone with their father; however there are times when the husband could help out, a little, just a touch…ok once in a blue moon?

Here’s a scenario. Your wife is sick, she has been in bed for three days and finally has enough energy to get up and go take a shower. As she saunters out of the bedroom, still delirious from fever, she finds you in the living room, sitting in your underwear, playing video games with the children. Ok fine, at least you are keeping them occupied and spending quality time with them, but what you apparently don’t notice, and your poor sick wife does, is the pile of dirty clothes on the living room floor, the remains of something the dog ate laying on the couch, the children are still in their pajamas, and it is 2:30 in the afternoon, the shades have not been opened, the sink is full of dishes, the garbage is literally crawling out the door on its own, and you look like you have not been groomed since the late 80`s.

Now, for some reason, here is my favorite part! when your wife starts yelling, you seem surprised! Come on now, I know you know the place is a mess, and I know you know that your wife would never keep it that way if you were sick, so why act surprised. Here` s a secret between you and me, that surprise thing just makes her even more mad than she was when she opened the back door to let the garbage escape on its own. If you’re in charge, be in charge. I’m not asking you to clean the way your wife does, you cant, you’re a husband and not genetically able to its not your fault, but come on, you know you don’t have to be that bad. So, the next time this scenario pops into your life, hopefully you will clean the house, dress the kids, maybe stop the dog from eating your wedding album, and shave once in awhile, before you sit down to play video games with your children. You will once again be amazed at how nice your wife will be to you and how you will be rewarded in the end. Amazing, if you had only known before that you could actually stop your wife from yelling at you by doing these simple things, you could have had a peaceful marriage years ago!!

P.S. – Please guys don’t send me hate mail telling me I am a female chauvinist or, that I am selling you all too short. This is a humor column, although not all of it is said in jest (ok, ok, I know, I know I can’t help myself), please take it in the spirit it was written. Gentle jibes and humorous anecdotes are all that get me through the day, I have been married twice, 18 years between my two marriages, so cut me a little slack!!

Irish Withdrawal

So I am going through Irish withdrawal. What’s that you ask? Well let me explain. First of all, the most obvious point, I am Irish. Being Irish means many things, including drinking heavily, experiencing hangovers that could rival that of an atomic bomb going off in your head, a knack for starting fist fights, and lets be honest here, almost always for no reason what so ever, having a quick and sometimes nasty temper.

I have all of the above traits, however with my second husband now gone I have noticed a peculiar thing. I haven’t had my “Irish up” in quite sometime. Actually I cant even remember the last time I yelled at someone it has been that long. I am too calm, too at peace lately, it’s actually bordering on frightening. I don’t think I have ever been on such an even keel in my life.

I used to hate people that said, their head hits the pillow and whammo they are out like a light. I have had insomnia since I was 11 years old, never in my life has my head hit anything and whammo been out like a light. Except of course when I was drunk, but we`re not counting that for the purposes of this story.

Now, literally my head hits the pillow and I am out like a light and I don’t wake up until my alarm goes off. It is the best feeling in the world. So, like I said above, I am experiencing Irish withdrawal. Nothing seems to phase me, I don’t yell, and have nothing to get agitated about, which believe me is saying a lot since I have two teenagers living with me.

Here’s the weirdest part; I think I like it. I find myself singing in the car on the way home with a smile on my face. I find myself humming and smiling for no apparent reason; it’s a little scary. My friends think I must be smoking a little too much of the happy weed, but I keep telling them, “No, I am high on the peace”, and it’s a great high.

Of course I still have my dark moments that have made me the sullen, cynical person my friends have grown to love, at least I hope they do, but lately that only seems to come out of me when discussing politics, religion or my favorite subject in the world men and marriage. Otherwise I have apparently turned into my father, who has been notoriously known for years in my family as the most irritatingly calm person in the world.

Just to give you an example; when I was 16 I found myself pregnant and to make a long story short, I didn’t tell my parents. I hid the whole pregnancy until the morning I was in labor and literally about an hour away from giving birth right there in my parent’s living room (I will have to tell you that story at another time, its enjoyable I assure you, of course it wasn’t enjoyable at the time for me).

Anyway, when I called my mother into the bathroom to tell her I knew why I wasn’t feeling well, I told her I was pregnant and in labor. She ran to get my father in hysterics. As my father followed my mom back to the bathroom he looked at me sitting there with my fists clenched around the towel rack in immense pain as yet another contraction hit and said, “ Ok get dressed and we will get in the car and go to the hospital”. I think my mother was having heart palpitations that to this day she hasn’t gotten under control, and my father looked like he was ordering Tea and biscuits at some British hotel. As everything was transpiring that morning, in the chaos that was my daughter’s birth, my father called my sister at her job to let her know what was going on.

To this day my sister tells people the story of being at the store she worked at when her manager came over to her to tell her that her father was on the phone. She panicked immediately because my father only uses a phone for emergencies and even then he seems afraid of it, like Freddy Krueger’s tongue will come out of it and lick him. He is not a phone call kind of guy. So panicked and afraid my sister got on the phone to hear the following from my father, “ Hi honey, its Dad. Just wanted to let you know that your sister is having a baby and they are putting her in the ambulance now. If you can get out of the store, meet us there, Bye”. He literally hung up the phone and that was it. My sister sat stunned on the other end of the phone, as co-workers that saw her face rushed to bring her a chair and some water before she fainted dead away. That is my father.

Sometimes I think you could murder someone in front of him, and he would say something like, “ Ok, well you murdered someone, that really isn’t a nice thing to do, but what’s done is done.” I have always been told over the years that I have my mother’s temper, which she inherited from my grandfather. But lately, post second marriage I seem to be slipping a little more closely into my father’s scarily calm and even keeled world.

So for the moment I will enjoy it while it lasts, I think I’ve earned it after the hell of the last five years of my life. But, somehow I have the feeling it wont last forever, that Irish blood will begin to boil up sooner or later, and to whoever is the unlucky recipient of that moment, let me take a moment now to apologize in advance.

Sleep Apnea can lead to Peeing on your cat

So my daughter reminded me of this story the other day so I thought I would post it. When my son was born back in 1994 he was about 1 week old when we noticed he snored. Now we weren’t surprised by this, my second husband could snore the paint of the wall....the seismograph people in California used to send him Christmas cards every year!

But, we mentioned the snoring to the pediatrician at our next visit and she told us it was just breathing, there was no way a baby that young could snore; they haven’t developed the muscles to do something like that yet, but we insisted, so she asked us to tape it for her, which of course we did. She was not a happy camper when she heard the tape and realized my beautiful little baby boy did in fact snore. We tried to tell her it was a family trait; everyone in my second husband’s family snored, and snored loudly, it was sort of their rite of passage.

If God Forbid both my husband and his father were sleeping in the same house they could set car alarms off within a ten mile radius. I remember when we lived with my parents temporarily while waiting for the closing on our house, my mother used to hear my husband in her bedroom which was one flight up! Meaning she was in her bedroom and could hear my husband in our bedroom through the floor, I was not implying my husband was in the bedroom with my mother; that would make this an entirely different story.

So we took my son to the ear nose and throat specialist that my doctor recommended and had him checked out. The doctor said my sons adenoids were already enlarged as were his tonsils. My son, who was a baby at the time, did not like the exam and kept squirming away, so the doctor put my son on my husband’s lap and pretended to examine my husband so my son would see it was all in fun. Unfortunately for my husband, as the doctor examined him he found my husband’s adenoids, tonsils and uvula were severely enlarged and suspected he had Sleep Apnea. So what started out as a visit for my son, ended up as a visit to the surgeon for my husband.

My husband ended up having severe obstructive Sleep Apnea, and we were told my son would most likely have it as well, but was too young for surgery. So he would be monitored and as he got older, would most likely have the same procedure my husband would soon have. Meanwhile they gave my husband a CPAP machine, which stood for Continuous Pulmonary Air Pressure, which was basically a mask he wore at night which pushed air into his mouth to keep his throat from closing in the middle of the night. If you have never had the pleasure of sleeping with someone that has this machine, let me enlighten you on what you are missing.

It was like sleeping next to Darth Vader on a good night. Which for us was ironic since we are Star Wars fans, and named our son Luke, so suddenly my husband was fitting the role of Luke`s father perfectly. Worse yet, the mask would make him sweat, so in the middle of the night in his sleep he would take the mask off his face and always ended up placing it right by my ear on my pillow. Every night I would wake up to what amounted to an obscene phone call from my pillow. It was an interesting few months.

Eventually my husband had the surgery, which back then was long, and not done with a laser. He had a hard time because his tonsils were wrapped up in the skin of his throat and he had a longer than anticipated recovery time because of that. At the time he was a mechanic, and the surgery had affected his voice to the point that when he would start to tell people what was wrong with their car, they would face him and talk slowly, assuming he was deaf by the way he sounded.

Another wonderful side effect was that smoking was hard for him. Now, I know what most of you are thinking, good, great time for him to quit, but this was my husband who once was asked by a friend if he was stranded on a desert island and could only take one thing with him would it be a beautiful naked playboy model, an endless supply of steak or cigarettes…he answered cigarettes. Now he did hesitate for the slightest moment before answering, but that was because he was debating over the steaks, the naked woman never even entered into his equation. He was teased about that for quite some time.

Anyway, back to the dilemma, my husband was an avid smoker and enjoyed menthol only at that. I also was a smoker and smoked the same brand he did. So we began a routine that after a while people asked us to perform at parties, like it was the odd free entertainment for the evening. I would light up a cigarette and take my drag, then on my next drag I would put my mouth up against my husbands, almost as if we were about to kiss and then he would circle his lips around mine and I would blow the smoke into his mouth. I know, even writing it now makes me wonder what sick mental illnesses we both had at the time, but when you got to smoke you got to smoke, and since it was too rough on his recovering skin to take a drag full force, this was the remedy he had come up with.

I realize now that I have digressed completely from what my original purpose of this story was, but as I wrote this and began to reminisce about that time, I realized the whole smoke story was too good to pass on. Come on, admit it, you are now sitting there thinking about what that must have looked like every time I had to do it, in the car at red lights, sitting in a bar, outside at lunch when I would visit him at the shop he worked at; it was a site to say the least.

I do believe once, while driving we were given more than one dirty look from people who thought we were getting amorous while driving down the highway. At least I didn’t have to do it forever, six months later his throat was as good as new, and I no longer had to look like I was giving him mouth to mouth everywhere we went.

Anyway, my son grew up and just as predicted began to show signs of Sleep Apnea. He even had night terrors as my husband had always had, due to the fact that he was not sleeping properly from the apnea. During these times my son would appear completely awake, but in reality be totally asleep. We began to know the signs of when this was happening, especially since I had had experience watching my husband going through it. Remind me to write you a blog on the time my husband was sleeping while I was on the phone with my friend and discussing reincarnation. It is a great story, as he somehow brought in what we were saying into his dream and ended up having an interesting night terror involving reincarnating dogs, vampires and a creepy old house.

Sorry, I digressed again, however I have warned you in the past that I tend to do that, so I’m covered. So prior to his surgery, which I am glad to say was successful and a funny story in its own right, but I will save that one for another time as well, my son was prone to getting up in the middle of the night and not knowing he was awake, walking around in his dreams.

One particular night, my daughter and I were sitting in the living room watching TV late at night, and down comes my son. We knew he was asleep, by then we could tell his sleep walking state from his normal state. He walked into the bathroom, turned on the light, dropped his drawers, left the door open and began to pee. My daughter, who from her angle could see him, burst out laughing, fell off her chair and started to cry from the laughter.

As I asked what was going on, and looked, there was my son, his pants around his ankles as he peed in the toilet, except since he was dreaming he hadn’t noticed our cat had been napping on the toilet as he so often did much to my chagrin, so my son was actually peeing on the cat.

The cat ran off, looking quite perturbed I might add, and my son never woke up. He pulled up his pants, walked back upstairs and got right back into bed. We continued to laugh for what was probably a good hour. It wasn’t a totally bad thing though; at least it stopped my cat from sleeping on my toilet!

My son still gets a kick out the story, although when I tell it at parties or to his friends he tends to get embarrassed. But hey, that is what moms are for. Meanwhile, since my cat was now afraid to sleep on the toilet he had to find another even more annoying spot to sleep, because after all that is what cats do. So now the damn cat sleeps in the bathtub. Do you have any idea how scary it is to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and suddenly hear movement in your shower and see the curtain start to sway as if Obi-Wan Kenobi is behind it practicing his mind tricks...let me tell you it’s a good thing you’re on the toilet when this happens because it scares the shit out of you.

The Grass is always greener on other people`s husbands

The grass is always greener on other people’s husbands. Did you ever notice that? I cannot tell you how many people, friends, relatives, acquaintances would come up to me over the years, telling me what a great guy my second husband was; so helpful and sweet. I would look at these people like they had ten heads, and this was before he became a drug addict. Are you kidding? It takes me two months just to get him to mow the lawn. We lived in our home for ten years and he still couldn’t remember which night the garbage went out without me telling him. The entire time I was married to him, I think he replaced the toilet paper roll correctly twice, and that might even be an exaggeration. Sure, he would open a new one, although only out of necessity, but he would place the new roll on top of the old empty one and walk out of the room. Apparently, taking the other one off, throwing it in the garbage pail and putting on the new one would have taken too much time out of his busy schedule of not mowing the lawn or taking out the garbage.

I bring this up of course, because I am just as guilty over the grass is always greener on other people’s husband’s phenomenon. I have told my girlfriends plenty of times in the past how great their husband is, or isn’t he nice to do this or that, when in reality I know from talking with my girlfriends that they are just as annoying and incompetent in their own ways as my husbands were. Yet, I say it anyway, and why, because the things that they did that drove their wives nuts didn’t really bother me, and of course the things that my husband’s did that bothered me were things that really didn’t irk my girlfriends. So I guess my point is like hair, women always want what other women have.

Of course being divorced now again, I have to say, although I enjoy men’s company in many facets, I actually have been enjoying being without one more than I can even tell you. It’s nice to wake up and not roll over to the pillow next to you which is so covered in sweat you would swear you were in that scene in Airplane where the “sweat” is pouring off the pilots head. Then you get up disgusted and feeling gross to find someone’s underwear hanging your bedroom doorknob.

It’s fantastic to ask my son to take out the garbage and miracle upon miracles he actually does it, and on the first time I ask him too! Of course to be honest, I lived with those small annoyances, we all do, it was the big things like the drug use, stolen money and no job that I couldn’t live with; how unreasonable of me.

One of my friend’s husbands is very obsessive compulsive, and she hates it, it drives her insane. I would take that in a heartbeat over the “Yeah, yeah I know the ceiling is caving in, don’t worry I will get to it soon” attitude my last husband had, or the, “I’ll call the repair man to come glue that corner of wallpaper that is falling off on the kitchen wall, because I have never seen a tool in my life” attitude my first husband had. But she would take a little laziness and nonchalant attitude over problems in the house over what she lives with any day of the week. Perhaps we women could get together and rotate husbands every once in a while, give us a chance to see it from the other side.

I know I say his obsessive-compulsive behavior would be a welcome new breeze, but after awhile, I would probably hate it to, after all we are women, we do tend to change our minds. Perhaps like wife swap we could do a month to month rotation, this could be a good thing for the men as well. After all, after a month with another husband, when you get yours back you will most likely be glad to see him....most likely.  Maybe I should have married Obi-Wan. Of course, if I lived in an alternate reality where Star Wars characters were real, I would marry Han Solo hands down. After all Princess Leia is a tiny little thing, I could so take her.

Cheez-Its as a Lethal Weapon

As if living with two teenagers isn’t enough to age me on a daily basis (I found my first gray hair the other day, and I still haven’t stopped mourning) they seem to like to find new ways to test their mother’s patience and sanity.

On the note of that single gray hair, if I may digress for just one moment, it has been taunting me all week, silently whispering things in my ear like, “Any day now I will have new friends to keep me company. Remember the other day when the kids were arguing over who should make the Iced Tea, that was worth two new gray friends for me, and then the day right after that when they had a wrestling match in the living room over your son burping in the vicinity of your daughter and blowing it towards her, that was worth at least eight new hairs, or better yet, how about the other night when the ceiling almost caved in because they were upstairs going at each other because your son had once again not cleaned his room, which we all now affectionately call "Jabba's Palace", and your daughter said it smelled like boy, that one alone was worth ten or twenty".

That gray hair taunting me all day is starting to get to me, it's like that movie with Griffin Dunne (can’t think of the name of it right now) where his penis starts talking to him at the most inopportune moments (not that a can think of a good time for your penis to talk to you) but you know what I mean. Now every time the kids start going at each other over everything from who used the last bathroom cup (my daughter) to why someone’s (my son`s) underwear was sitting on the staircase, I can literally feel my brown hairs turn white. Thank God for hair dye!

Anyway, this was not the point, although I guess it could be since the following scenario which we now all lovingly refer to as "The Cheez-It Incident" should have turned all of my hair gray and then some. One of my children is a boy, a growing teenage boy who will eat anything you put in front of him even if you tell him its elephants testicles, and when he is done with that, he will eat whatever is in front of you. You would think this would be a great diet for me, since I never get to finish what is on my plate, yet mysteriously I still don`t look like Scarlett Johansson, go figure. 

My son would have been a great contestant on Fear Factor if that show was still around. Anyway, he tends to eat a lot, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week that kid has something in his mouth or is about to put something into his mouth every time you see him.

I can relate. I was married to his father who was a champion eater when I met him back when he was 19 years old. I remember one night after first dating him; he picked me up from work and took me to Roy Rogers to get some dinner before we went back to his house. Of course another digression, I believe I jusat dated myself big time by mentioning Roy Rogers, a fast-food restaurant that has been defunct for probably 15 years. 

Anyway, he asked me what I wanted when we got to the window and I said a burger, fries and a diet coke. He then proceeded to finish the order with the following, and no I am sad to say that I am not making this up or exaggerating for better effect, " 3 double R burgers, a 3 piece chicken with 2 biscuits, two large fries, a baked potato and some kind of dessert" I figured he was ordering some food for his parents or sister who I knew would be at his house when we got there.

I was wrong; I sat eating my burger as he chowed down the rest of that food in front of me. I was in awe and amazed that he not only ate it all but was able to still walk and talk after such a feast. I was convinced he would have a stroke. Needless to say I spent most of the next 17 years watching him eat like that, although once he hit his thirties he wasn’t able to do it as much without consequences. So, when my son hit 13, and 6 foot 1, all in the same day I wasn’t really worried about the eating me out of house and home phase, I had seen it before and from experience at that point, knew it was a common occurrence in teenage boys, or at least in the boys in his father`s family. 

My daughter on the other hand can’t stand it. When I have recited the above story about my second husband to her, she always wonders why I did not run out of the room screaming and never see him again. She seems to think he cornered the market on men and big appetites. I keep telling her she will be in for quite a shock when she gets married someday, and finds out they all do that to one extent or the other. 

That reminds me, I should tell her about the time we were at my cousins wedding and my husband went around to everyone's table asking if they were going to eat the fatty pieces they cut off their steaks. That story should really get her going. 

Anyway, she seems to think that I should put a door on the kitchen with a lock on it that will only let my son in at certain times for minutes at a time, giving him strict access to the kitchen and therefore the food. Her reasoning for this is that it isn’t fair that he eats all the food and then when she wants something that she saw me buy three weeks earlier and it isn’t there anymore waiting for her to finally be in the mood to eat it, she freaks out. And by freaks out I mean the following:

This time I was in my room probably reading or on the computer as that is really all I ever do (I know I have no life, we have established this already, you try having your own life living with these two). I was having what I am sure is a nice quiet evening when the silence was pierced with the sounds of my daughters screams. I tried to ignore it, listening of course to make sure no one was hurt, but ignoring it none-the-less. Now, ignoring my daughter screaming is not easy. At least three times a month neighbors call the cops thinking my daughter is being butchered to death or worse yet she is butchering us, because she has a scream that could probably register a 7.5 on the Richter scale, and goes through you like a knife.

But somehow I managed to ignore her until she truly was screaming so loud that only dogs could hear her. So I reluctantly got up and headed towards the kitchen just in time to watch my daughter throw a box of Cheez-Its at my sons head (who ducked with Jedi reflexes I might add) and watched as the box hit the ceiling fan, throwing little orange bits of Cheez-Its all over my kitchen (and we all know who ended up having to clean that up). Apparently she had wanted some of the Cheez-Its which I had bought at least a week before, and was only now in the mood for. When she got to them there were only a few left, thanks of course to my son whose idea of a bowl of cereal is to take one of my mixing bowls I use to bake a cake and filling it up with half the box and a half gallon of milk.

She was livid; you would have thought someone had shot her dog or something. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling steadily with every breath and she glared at him with death daggers. My son for his part at least, was smart enough to know when to get out before blood is spilled and as he saw me enter the kitchen ran towards and behind me for cover. Coward.

Needless to say I solved this problem by....laughing. I know, not the reaction you expected but when you walk into your kitchen into the sight I saw, believe me you would have thought it funny as well. I promised my daughter that for now on I will buy her, her own box of Cheez-its that she can keep in her room, which still didn’t satisfy her. She wanted me to have my sons jaw wired shut and let him get his nourishment through a straw until he was at least as she said, "36"

Obviously I did not give in to her request and she stomped off telling me I should do something about "my son". Since that time she was taken to labeling food with her name and threats that read something like, "Touch this and I will make sure mom never has grandchildren" and nice things like that. For his part, my son is good and never touches the threat labeled food. When I told my parents this story I was given no sympathy as my father so kindly reminded me that when my then husband and I lived with them for a short period of time waiting for the closing on our house years ago, he had to take a second mortgage out on the house just so he could pay for my husband’s food.

So the moral of the story, well, I told my daughter that living with her brother will be good practice for her for when she is married, as overall men in general do have a tendency to eat a lot more than us. But she balked at this telling me that if her future husband dared do the things she has to put up with from her brother he won’t be her husband for long; my sympathies to my future son-in-law. When that didn’t work I did point out to her that compared to the times I find my son sitting on top of her on the floor farting on her head in retaliation for something she said or did to him, the food thing was way down on the list.

She responded with something that sounded an awful lot like," you should have stopped having sex after you had me." Ah...the joys of raising children. Hmmm...I think that distant sound I hear is my father laughing and thanking God that when it comes to raising children and then becoming a parent yourself, what comes around goes around. Damn, I feel another one of those urges coming on to call my parents and apologize profusely for ever being a teenager. Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi…you`re my only hope.

Passwords, Obsessions, and Star Wars Oh My

So is it a sign of the technological times, or am I obsessive compulsive about my computers, social networking etc. or I am just mental? Sometimes I cannot remember the last two words I said, or can’t remember why I entered a room, or better yet have an idea pop in my head, not write it down and within minutes I am searching the recesses of my brain for what the hell it was.

But ask me my passwords and I could recite them to you backwards and forwards, and I have a lot of passwords. I have too many passwords in my head, mine, my kids, and my work. If I am ever interrogated this is all they will find, jumbled numbers and letters, sometimes from my favorite movies all stored up there and nothing else. I can’t remember what day it is and forget half my sentence as I am saying it, call my kids by the wrong name, but passwords that I can do.

I have several from star wars, varying from the number of the cell Princess Leia was in, (AA23) to the number of the garbage masher that almost crushed the trio to death (3263827). I have used the docking bay that the Millennium Falcon was in on Tatooine (94), to the type of freighter the Falcon is (YT-1300) to of course the ever favorite of Star Wars fans THX 1138 and variations thereof. I also have used ones from another obsession of mine, Titanic, the ship not the movie, although I do love the movie as well. I have used everything from the coordinates of where the ship went down to the hull number and the date of the sinking, as well as an ever present favorite of mine the distress call tags from the Marconi radio calls for help, CQDMGY.

People laugh at me for my penchant of using these for passwords, but think about it, they are numbers that are stuck in my head anyway from being an obsessive fan, and they are not easily guessed by hackers, because they are not my birthday, my kid’s birthdays, my address etc. Of course I am giving them away here, but since you don’t know my email address and what accounts I am referring to I feel relatively safe writing about it.

Like my pet’s names and children’s name for that matter anytime something needs to be named or password protected I seem to pull it from my favorite movies.  As I write this I just thought of another one, the address of the house in Poltergeist, and the name of the house complex they live in Cuesta Verde (which by the way if you really want to see how obsessed I am, means it costs green in Spanish, I googled it years ago.)

So what is my point, the moral of my story? Well I guess the point is that I cannot remember what I start to write about half the time, but if it is something from Star Wars or other movies I am obsessed with or a password derivative thereof, I can recall it like it is a matter of life or death. My friends think it’s funny that I know who Sy Snoodles is, or better yet Salacious Crumb, but I do and because of it I can bet my account won’t get hacked before theirs does. So I guess the moral today kids is love Star Wars, it can protect your online accounts Ha! Help Me Obi-Wan Kenobi..I need a Star Wars support group.

Help Me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you`re my only hope!

So where to begin? How does one start a blog, is it like writing a novel? Once upon a time and so forth, although now a days who starts novels with once upon a time? But either way, where does one begin when they plan on writing about their life for the world to read?

I think, I shall begin with a warning, kind of like when you buy a DVD and they post that threatening announcement that you can be arrested if you illegally copy said DVD. Does anyone ever actually get convicted of that offense I wonder, or is it kind of like the whole tag on the pillow thing, it scares the hell out of some people, but really there is no real threat behind it? Although I do know several people in their thirties who are still afraid to rip the tags off of their pillows, as if they think there is some secret squad out there that monitors pillow tags and will come into your house, breaking down your door to terrorize your family if you rip one of those off. Kind of like a Men in Black squad for rogue pillow offenders. But I digressed.

Actually, that's a great place to start. I tend to digress when I am writing, bouncing from one thought to another as if I am having a conversation with you, so consider yourself warned. Second place, this is a blog about my life, the life of those around me, observations of life, rants, raves, bitching, moaning, you know the usual. So please, if for some reason you tend to be easily offended, or don't like off color humor slipping in to your reading from time to time, then please, stop reading before you feel the need to rip me one in the comments section.

I am a proponent of free speech of all kinds, whether I agree with what is being said or not, and because of that I believe instead of asking or demanding your government get involved and censor or rate things, YOU, as an individual human with what I assume is a brain like everyone else's, should monitor what you do or do not watch. Don’t like Howard Stern, here’s a unique idea...are you ready....don’t listen to him! Wow, easy huh? Bet you never thought of that on your own before. Sorry in that warning above, I guess I should have mentioned I can tend to be sarcastic and a bit nasty towards human stupidity (mine included), consider this an amendment to the above warning.

Anyway, digressing again this is just my welcome blog. I hope to entertain you all with my somewhat strange, hopefully humorous, and always slightly a bit off from center stories. You can revel in the twisted hell that is my life and if it brightens your day to realize someone else is more fucked up than you, and someone else's life is closer to the fifth ring of hell than yours, then I was glad I could help, and my job is done.

The name of my blog should be easy for most to recognize, and if you don’t then you have been living in a log cabin in the woods for too long, and probably are not reading this anyway, because I doubt they have the Internet in log cabins. Although, oddly enough while I was going through a catalog of magazine choices recently, to order some subscriptions through my friends son’s school, my son and I got quite a laugh at some of the magazines being offered, one of them being Log Cabin Magazine.

For the life of me and my son, we could not figure out who reads this magazine, and how on earth they have enough readership numbers to keep publishing, but I guess as we all learn, there are all kinds of people out there, and I guess a lot of Log Cabin owners..who knew? So on the off chance that you are a relative of Abe Lincoln and living in a Log Cabin and reading this, welcome.

Anyway, back to my point, I named my blog Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi you’re my only hope, because sometimes I think he just may be. Between my own life experiences and those of the people I know and the crazy world we live in, which to me seems to get crazier by the day, I am sometimes lost for an answer or an explanation about the things that go on in our lives on a daily basis. Of course the fact that I am a big Star wars fan (yeah, yeah, call me a geek, mock me, giggle, whatever), and an atheist (although when people ask my religion, I usually say Jedi), I decided looking to Obi-Wan Kenobi for guidance couldn't hurt.

So, every time I see or hear something that makes me wonder how we ever evolved from the apes, for instance Octomom and her one woman baby factory, or disgruntled customers at McDonald`s calling 911 because they cannot get their McNugget fix, I tend to find myself saying, "Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi you’re my only hope!"

I want to be Carrie Fisher

I am a star wars fan. I wanted to get that out of the way first so that my kindred spirits out there can feel comfortable and the rest of you can start making fun of me as you read this. I am a geek, a freak, a fangirl, whatever label you want to give me, I am one. I have never stalked the actors or anything, unless you count the vivid dream life Harrison Ford and I have together. But I have seen the movies, yes the prequels too, more times than there are numbers to count. I use lines from the movies in my day to day life as often as I can, and even named my son after a character in the movie. I have also been known to dress up like the characters, in and out of bed (we will get to that later.) All in all Star Wars has been a big part of my life. From teaching me how to be creative as a child as I made up stories with my action figures, which I must confess did seem to have the recurring theme of Han Solo boinking Princess Leia, to becoming a mirror of what would transpire in my life, although some of that part I could have done without, Star Wars connections or not.

OCD runs strong in my family, my grandmother has it, my father has it, my sister has it, and I have it, all to one degree or another. See what I mean about using lines from Star Wars in my real life? Anyway, I have always felt my Star Wars obsession is probably part of my OCD. I truly go through withdrawal symptoms if I do not see it, or hear it, or read it in one form or another at least once a week. Luckily for me, I have my own real life action figure living at home, so it makes finding Star Wars references or lines, easy to come by. I named my son Luke Skywalker, Luke John Skywalker to be exact. Well, the Luke John part is on his birth certificate, the Skywalker part isn't. I wanted to add it as another middle name; however my husband at the time, although a big Star Wars fan himself, wouldn't let me. Maybe that should have been my first clue that things weren't going to go so well with him, who knows.

Anyway, with Luke in the house it is easy to get my Star Wars fix every time I say his name, and lucky for me, he turned out to be a fan too, although in all honesty I am not really sure he would have had a choice. In later years my Anakin Skywalker, Luke’s father, would slowly turn into Darth Vader before my eyes, until the dark side consumed him completely, the temptation to the dark side in this case being drugs, not an old wrinkly Sith Lord. I guess that part of my life would be one of those be careful what you wish for things huh?


So my point, I know I had one, Oh yeah, my question for the day. Is it sad that even with all of her mental health issues, relationship disasters and drug problems I would still give my right arm to be Carrie Fisher? Let’s look at the objective facts shall we, and then you can all tell me that I may be as mentally unbalanced as Carrie has tended to be from time to time.

First and foremost, I know for a fact she slept with Harrison Ford. Ok, well not for a fact per se, but from enough gossip, innuendo, and Carrie’s own witty mouth, and that should be enough to prove it in a court of law. Of course there is also the proof I have in my own Star Wars riddled geek brain that says they did, because I have pictured it and daydreamed about it numerous times, with numerous scenarios and of course numerous positions. Harrison is nothing if not flexible; at least he is when I fantasize it. So it happened. That alone should be enough of a reason to want to be Carrie Fisher. If not let me repeat that one more time....SHE SLEPT WITH HARRISON FORD, and in case you haven't noticed, Harrison Ford is a god. Actually he could be the god, who knows, as an atheist, I think I am entitled to name my own god, and I have decided it shall be Harrison. After all I would have absolutely no problem getting on my knees before bed every night for him.

Ok, for those men who think I need to give more reasons other than Carrie sleeping with God, here goes number two. She was in Star Wars, not just in it, she was Princess Fuckin Leia. Her fictional character gets to bonk Harrison`s fictional character, and make little Han Solo babies! She also looks damn good in a gold bikini (and yes women are allowed to notice that) and although I have been everything from severely overweight, to sleek and sexy skinny, I have never been that skinny so I am allowed to use it as a reason to want to be Carrie.

Third, she is probably one of the funniest women on the planet. From her interviews to her books and her hilarious speeches and roasts at various award ceremonies, her wit and jokes never miss. She is simply brilliant. She is also, and I know she hates this word, a survivor. Despite or maybe even because of all she has done and gone through, she is still standing, something I admire since with all I have been through it is nice to see someone else make it through the haze of bullshit to come out clean on the other side.

I could go on with more like her parents are famous and she was fortunate enough to be brought up in Hollywood around some of the most talented people in the world, around wealth and privilege. But that would sound materialistic of me, and although I wouldn't mind some of her Star wars money, that’s not really one of the big reasons why I would want to be Carrie Fisher, after all there is more to me than money. Which is good, since I don’t have any.

Of course I could say I envy her being able to have electro-shock therapy every now and again, giving her the ability to wipe out huge chunks of her past, which if you had some of my past you would understand why that sounds so appealing to me. Then there is that little part of me that envies the fact that occasionally in her life she was able to go and have a nice, long quiet vacation in a mental institution. I know, I know it doesn't sound like something we should be jealous of, but just the thought of my own private room where no friends, ex-husbands, neighbors or co-workers or even kids would be able to bother me, is just too good to be true.


My food would be cooked for me, served to me and my room cleaned for me. I could smoke whenever and wherever I wanted, since for some ungodly reason smoking is always allowed in mental institutions and drug rehabs, but on the outside I have to wait for every other Tuesday under a full moon, at one of three pre-approved locations for up to one hour. I joke, although with the way the laws have been going, that scenario might not be that far off. Let me remind you folks who are groaning about me being a smoker, its still legal folks! LEGAL! Look up the word if you are unsure of its meaning. At this rate, we may end up with hoards of people in rehabs and mental hospitals who are only there because they want to still be able to smoke when they please and where they please. That should make an interesting dent in the health care system.

Anyway, as I was saying a little mental health break from the world really doesn't sound all that bad. After all sanity isn't all its cracked up to be, in fact I think it is highly over rated. Holding onto my sanity by the small string it is still perilously clinging too hasn't really done much of anything for me that I can see. As we can tell it hasn’t helped at all with my somewhat unstable devotion to all things Star Wars, and it certainly hasn’t helped me with my borderline OCD rituals (don’t worry I’ll get to those later), and it certainly has done nothing to help me deal with the destruction of my last marriage to none other than Long Island’s own Darth Vader (and yes I know that is a Star Wars reference but trust me in this case it fits.) As a matter of fact so far although I know it is still there, it hasn't really done a thing for me, so maybe, just maybe I am better off without it.

As Norman Bates so eloquently put it, we all go a little crazy sometimes and maybe we need to. So yes, after all the evidence is in, I wouldn't mind being Carrie Fisher for a day, a week, a month. I think it would be a nice change of pace from my life, a little out-of-body experience vacation. Sounds nice.

Well I am off to bed to sleep with Harrison, goodnight.

Mom, kids, dogs and cats living together; Mass Hysteria.

I have a dog that marks the furniture if you leave him alone for two seconds, and by alone I mean you turned your back to pick something up off the floor, or god forbid need to use the bathroom. The same aforementioned dog can also get out of a locked cage, without busting through the bars while actually leaving the door closed and padlocked. As if aliens hovered over the house in their UFO, beamed him up for tests (which would explain a lot since I always thought he was a little off) and then beamed him back down, but their GPS got stuck and they beamed him back a little outside of the cage instead of in the cage. How he manages this I don't know, but it happened more than once, so either he is Houdini reincarnated, which seems a waste of Houdini’s talents if that is true, or I should worry that Steven Spielberg has been filming his new movie in my house when I am not home.

On a side note believe it or not while searching online for a new alien proof cage, I found a site that actually deals with what they call cages for “Houdini Dogs”, I swear I am not making that up, look it up yourself when you have a few minutes and nothing to do. It`s worth the laugh, and if anything it at least made me feel like I was not alone, then again I already felt that way when I thought aliens were beaming him out of his cage, just in a different more terrifying way.

Anyway, the same dog who by the way is black and weighs over 125 pounds, seems to think he may be invisible to humans. So, if you are in the room with him and get up to walk towards the backdoor, he will jump and bark at you in circles, sometimes jumping ahead of you onto a piece of furniture so that he can leap in front of you as you walk by, just to be sure you know he is there and would like to go out. Of course this method tends to not work for him when he knocks you over in midstride and you break some important bone you need in order to make it to the door, but he seems oblivious to this particular weakness in his plan.

Besides thinking he becomes invisible to the naked eye like he is wearing Harry Potter’s cloak, he also thinks that when humans sleep at night you somehow forget he exists by morning. This causes him to panic that he will never be walked or fed again. So, exactly one tenth of a second after my alarm goes off in the morning, and I know it is one tenth because I actually used a stop watch to time it once, and we will leave the fact that I obviously have too much time on my hands out of this for now, he begins to bark from his cage loudly and continuously. The cage by the way is now padlocked with my son’s industrial strength bike lock, which so far the aliens have not figured out, so as you can imagine that is a big relief.

Needless to say, I don’t even get a chance to pee. I have to run to his cage and let him out before he wakes everyone else up in the house. I then have to stand by the back door in my pajamas and do the pee-pee dance, hoping beyond hope he is quick this morning since I am a woman who has had two kids, and holding in pee is not an easy thing to do anymore, since some things aren’t as, how shall I put this nicely, elasticized as they used to be. Like a rubber band my ass, I haven’t sneezed without peeing on myself in 17 years. Remind me to find that gynecologist and smack the shit out of him.

Anyway, sorry I digressed. This same dog also thinks that any noise coming from my bedroom indicates that the night is over and it is time to bark for his morning pee. So, if my nose is stuffed, or I have a cold and I wake up in the middle of the night to cough or need some nose spray, which unfortunately happens often as I am hopelessly addicted to it, I have to slowly and quietly close my bedroom door, then grab a pillow and cover my face with it and as gently as possible cough and or squeeze my nose spray so he doesn’t hear me. Sometimes this works, sometimes it doesn’t.  If it doesn’t, I am up now up at 3am, walking the dog to shut him up. Wish you were me yet? No, keep reading then.

I have a cat who uses his litter box to poop but sometimes can't seem to find it when he needs to pee,  but can apparently find counter tops, table tops, and spots on the kitchen floor without the help of bifocals. Both of the aforementioned animals above also have fleas that apparently have never read the side of the box of the Advantix, because they continue to have a party on my cat and dog, sometimes even laughing at us with party hats on their heads, as we put the medicine on.

I have an oil burner that was purchased around the time Lincoln was giving the Gettysburg address that no matter how many parts are replaced or fixed seems to go out just when you need to start using it again, but seems to work just fine in the summertime. This leads to weeks of cold showers for my son and I as I save the money to have it fixed yet again. You may have noticed I did not say cold showers for my daughter, because she doesn't take them, but instead opts to go to friend's homes or my parent's house to shower instead, cold showers and my princess do not mix.

I have a deck that has been slowly falling apart over the years, which as of today no longer has any railings around it at all, and a fence around my property that is falling apart in different places, some pickets from age, some from some violent storms we have had, and some I think are doing it just to taunt me.
I can only afford to pay my lawn guy twice a month instead of weekly, so now at night (because my son doesn't want the neighborhood watching him doing this, not that I can blame him), my son goes out there and using pruning shears to cut the tall grass before it starts to look like a scene from Little House on the Prairie.

I have no car. I share my daughter's car, and what an experience that is. When you allow your kid’s to use something of yours, they are all over it and take it over as if it is their own, and look at you cross eyed when you remind them that it is YOURS and they should treat it as such. But wow, when the shoe is on the other foot, and they have something that you need to borrow, suddenly it is all about making sure you know IT IS THEIR`s and they are only letting you use it out of the kindness of their hearts. You better not change the seat, mirrors or radio stations, even if that means, you have to lean down until your head is in your rib cage to check the side mirrors when changing lanes. (My daughter and I are 1 foot apart in height)

My son, who's DNA has been found to match that of Bigfoots, goes through his sneakers about every two months, what he does to tear through them so quickly I will never know, and honestly am afraid to find out. That in and of itself wouldn't be that bad, except for the fact that he is a size 15, which isn't sold at the cheapy stores like Payless. No, I have to order from Reebok or Nike themselves, which means $100.00 minimum per pair, four times a year. He is damn lucky the sex was worth it to make him; the marriage on the other hand is another story!

I have a first ex husband who thinks having a child means have sex and hope someone else does all the work and a second estranged husband who disappeared over 2 years ago, who in a haze of drug abuse, lost himself and destroyed us and our family in the process. He hasn’t worked in years, doesn't pay child support and thinks the world owes him something.

My washer and dryer were broken years ago by my aforementioned missing second husband, whose idea of trying to fix it at the time meant taking all the parts out and leaving them strewn across my basement floor. So I wash everything by hand in the bathtub. My vacuum broke a few weeks ago, and since my property taxes went up again I am stretched thin, so instead of buying one with money I don't have, I use industrial strength packing tape on my hands and knees to clean the carpet, thank god we have wood floors in most of the rooms.

Oh, did I mention my kitchen ceiling is now leaking and almost ready to come down in some spots? So the money I was slowly saving to put the front fence back in so my dog can run around in the backyard without getting out, although that seems pointless since he can manage to get out of a locked cage, will now have to pay to patch the ceiling instead.

On top of this my daughter needs $200 dollars in December to apply for graduation from her college. Now I know I quit High School and academically I am probably not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but am I the only one who is wondering why I have to pay to graduate college? Haven't I been doing that this whole time with tuition and books and extras? Hasn’t she been earning that by attending, studying and getting good grades? Now I have to pay $200.00 or all of that goes out the window and she doesn't graduate? WTF?

On top of the ridiculous pay to graduate fee that is due, it will be $200.00 for her yearbook, and another $400.00 for her senior picture package, something of course I can bitch to high heaven about in here, but we all know I will pay, because no one wants their kid to be the only one who didn't get what all the others got. Parent Peer pressure is a bitch. That is all on top of the $325.00 I paid last year for yet another class ring. I bought my son’s High School class ring this year at the low sale price of $425.00 (thank you to my husband for passing on his abnormally large size 13 finger genes, (although in another essay, I will explain why I never complained about that trait on him, but that’s a story for another time entirely....and for those using their imaginations, yes it is what you are thinking of!)

My son will also need his senior class photos, which we bought for my daughter when she was graduating High School, so of course he must have them to, those are $500.00 for the ultimate package with clothes changes, different backgrounds, and you can even bring in props. My son better be ready for me to hand him his trusty light saber, because if I’m paying $500.00, he is taking a graduation picture in his Jedi robes, light saber and all! Then of course there will be the Junior Prom this year, and after that I am sure they will find many other ways to suck every last penny out of my hand before it even gets into my hand. My paychecks are spent so quickly, I haven't touched my own money in so long I don't even remember what it looks like anymore.

Oh, wait, did I mention my daughter suffers from Lupus, Lupus Nephritis, Fibromyalgia, Anti-Phospholipid Antibody Syndrome, Raynaud`s, Vasculitis and Sjogren`s? Knew I forgot something. By the way want to have some fun with Microsoft Word spell check? Try putting those diseases in any article, they not only come up spelled wrong, but Microsoft doesn't even have some of them in their dictionary, guess I should tell my daughter they don’t exist! These lovely autoimmune diseases choose any inopportune moment to strike and cause my daughter scores of hospital visits, chemotherapy treatments and more. They can always be counted upon to throw a monkey wrench into our already interesting lives when we least expect it.

My second husband the disappearing magician, is off living with some woman who apparently doesn’t mind paying for him since he applied for welfare recently and had the nerve to take me to court and try to get spousal support from me. That was a joke and a colossal waste of tax payer money since he obviously didn’t get anything from me, I have nothing to give, and would quit before I handed over the few dollars I have. He doesn’t even pay child support and the court thought, " let's bring them in for a hearing anyway on whether the good law abiding citizen who works two jobs and struggles alone to take care of two kids, should give the law breaker, the 15 times arrested drug addict, who is on 3 years probation, who left his family with all the bills and pays no support a chance to tell us why she should pay him some money". WTF is all I have to say to that one.

So what was my reason for this post you ask? No, it wasn’t to depress you all, at least I think it wasn't. Hopefully, it was to make you close your computer screen, after reading it of course and say to yourself, "shit at least I don’t have it that bad." Glad I could be of service.

I have done my part to uplift the community around me, so now I’m off to take  cold shower, go to bed in a blanket I washed by hand and get up at the crack of dawn to go to work in clothes I have had for over three years. Have a good night! You know for some fun on my part perhaps I will put this whole post as an ad in the personals on craigslist, I would love to see the responses I will get.  I’ll be sure to post them as they come in! After all, I might as well get a good laugh at my own expense, what else do I have left? Besides it’s free, which is good, since that is about all I could afford! It is amazing I haven't committed myself by now, although honestly the only reason I haven't is because I don't think they would let me bring my life-size Han Solo in Carbonite cardboard cutout with me, and what point is there of living without that?