Sharon Y. Edlin's Blog, page 13

I Freaking Love Amazon!

If you were to look my name up on Wikipedia, though I’m probably not there, just saying, it would have my name in print and next to it there would be an AKA: Amazon Junky and then a list of who I am, etc., etc.

When Amazon first came about, I was still skeptical about online shopping altogether. I was afraid it was a big scheme to empty my credit cards, debit cards, and bank account. I liken my distrust to my grandfather who still believed to his death that the astronauts landing on the moon was a theatrical Hollywood hoax. I kid you not!

My first thought, as I heard the name ‘Amazon’ being slung around was, “Why are you named after that brackish big ass river,” and my second thought was, “Could this Amazon online stuff be the answer to my prayers of never stepping foot into the damn mall again?!”

As I have mentioned before, I abhor shopping and that’s why I say/write this loud and proud, “I FREAKING LOVE YOU AMAZON! You have saved my life!”

Amazon has not only provided me with an array of wonderful merchandise, it has also help me self-publish all three of my books, provides me with bargains at Christmastime so my bargain junky husband enjoys the hell out of himself, and now, there is this thing called Amazon Associates, which allows Amazon to advertise on my websites thus glorifying Amazon even more in my eyes. Now, it’s an application process and I may not be allowed the honor but I’m praying they will except me!! As of now, I have Amazon advertising proudly displayed on all three of my sites for at least 24 hours.

I am pushing the Kindle and its accessories on my author site as well as my blog site and I have STEM toys advertised on my pediatric therapy site. I am so excited to help support Amazon!!

My life revolves around Amazon now. I have bought nearly all of my pediatric occupational therapy toys from them, recommend toys to my patients from Amazon daily, buy gifts and gift cards all of the time, and I literally have been deemed ‘The Amazon Junky’ by my patient’s and their parents. It’s quite funny.

Amazon, thank you for coming into my life, you have saved it more than words can describe!

Love y’all!! ♥

 

Talking To Oneself

I have been talking to myself since I was able to form words and yes, I answer myself all of the time and yes, I may be crazy but I like listening to me, I guess.

In researching the art of talking to oneself, I found a lot of very interesting thoughts about it, for example:

“Talking to yourself, it turns out, is a sign of genius.

The smartest people on earth talk to themselves. Look at the inner monologues of the greatest thinkers. Look at poetry! Look at history!

Albert Einstein talked to himself. He wasn’t an avid social butterfly when he was growing up, and he preferred to keep to himself.

Einstein.org reports that he “used to repeat his sentences to himself softly.”

Talking to yourself means that you are self-reliant. Like Albert Einstein, who “was highly gifted and acquired early in his life the ability to exploit his talents,” people who talk to themselves are highly proficient and count on only themselves to figure out what they need.”-Gigi Engle

Now, does talking to myself in great detail, answering my own questions, and posing other ones to myself make me a freaking genius, um, not to put myself down but I’m smart in certain areas like science, psychology, and the human heart. I’m not, however, a genius.

I am fascinated watching other people talk to themselves and they often don’t even know they are doing it, which I am absolutely positive I am guilty of as well.

My husband catches me pretty much every morning talking to myself in the mirror about they day ahead, what I will work on with each of my pediatric patients during their treatment sessions, what I need from the grocery store, etc. The funny thing is, I kinda talk low to myself but my husband has started doing it too, but lo and behold, his is a little bit louder. I guess I’m rubbing off on him. I have actually witnessed him work out a whole situation in a self-conversation. First, a concerned face talking to himself, then a little bit of eyebrow-raising talk, and then finally a nod and a look that he has figured it all out. Bless him.

My daughter has followed in her mom’s footsteps and sometimes when I go back to start a load of laundry, she’s in her room just yapping away and I swear to you, it really does sound like someone is in there with her because her conversations with herself are a lot more complex than mine were at that age.

Conversation in and of itself is a fascinating tool of communication. We can immediately tell something is wrong with a person if their conversational skills are lacking or their tone is off or their speech is too rapid, etc., etc.

I will continue to talk to myself, answer my own questions, and talk some more because I have worked out some heavy shit over the years doing this very thing. For those of you who talk to yourselves and find someone giving you a hard time, tell them you’re a freaking genius and science has proven it!

Love y’all!! ♥

What The??!!

Yes, that picture above is my new glowing toilet brought to you by my crazy ass husband!

These impromptu scenes are not uncommon in my home. My husband is an Amazon junkie, probably more than I am, and loves the Lightening Deals, Prime Day, which is where my glowing toilet came from, and any other deal that is a color like Black Friday or Purple People Eater Day. If it means deals no matter if we need it or not, by golly, he’s on it!

The dude loves getting a deal but it has become a little crazy here lately!

When I first met him and we started dating, it was at the beginning of April nearly 4 years ago. We were mad for each other and spent every moment that we could together. As much time as I spent with him, you’d think I’d know this little ‘loving deals’ nugget of information about him but it wasn’t until Christmastime, that it reared its ugly little head.

Now, I am not a Black Friday kind of girl. I’m not one to camp out in front of a store waiting for the doors to open so I can knock innocent bystanders down to ‘get the deal.’ I have never gotten in an item fight with another human being nor do I plan to, EVER!

Love is blind so when my beloved said, “Hey, let’s go over to Wal-mart’s midnight deal night,” I idiotically replied, “Oh yes, let’s!” I’m a dumb ass, y’all!

I will give Wal-mart credit,though, there was actually a system so blood wasn’t shed or bones broken but it still scared the hell outta me as I looked into the eyes of the ‘walking deal dead!’ At one point my sweetie, who was waiting in a long line for a trampoline, asked, “Hey, would you go over to the DVD’s and see if you can get some of those movies the kids asked for?” Nodding and then shuffling away, I couldn’t believe that I was actually at this relatively organized madness.

As I neared the DVD area, there were three cops standing there monitoring the chaos. Not being able to help myself, I approached one of them and said, “I’ll bet this is exactly what you had in mind when you went through the academy, huh? Monitoring the shopping chaos of Black Friday.” He laughed, shook his head, and replied, “Well, not exactly.” Bless him.

There is a scene in a Spongebob show that depicts a sea of sardines, I think that’s what they were, and there are thousands of them in the Crusty Crab wanting food. It literally looks like the ocean with waves of sardines crashing and going to and fro. That’s what it looked like in the DVD area and I was not about to dive in to get a damn DVD that his kids probably wouldn’t even damn watch so I turned back around and headed for the never moving trampoline line with him.

As I approached, he looked at me like, “Where are the DVD’s?” After retelling my tale of the sea of people and the poor cops having to monitor, he laughed at me and said, “You’re just not cut out for this are you?” No, no I’m not!

My husband has bought a rocket on some Lightening Deal and it still sits in the box alongside our cabinet unopened after two years. He bought a Life Straw because you never know when someone will whisk you away from your home and dump you on an island in the middle of nowhere, my husband believes this is possible, he also is a Dual Survivor junkie, hmmmm. He has also purchased a fire starter, knife sharpener, cups with thumb indentions, some smelly lotion and perfume, which are just too strong for me, multiple candles, some weird grapefruit peppery bath juice, a gigantic first aid suitcase, yes a damn suitcase of first aid supplies, multiple knives, because you just can’t have enough of those, nevermind you only have two hands, I’m just saying.

I could go on and on about the Lightening Deal, Prime Day, and Deal of the Day crap that he has purchased that we just don’t really need, but my guy loves it, loves the hunt, loves the savings, and therefore, I accept it. The good thing about it though is I like seeing him happy, even if we don’t need half the shit he gets. It’s also never horrifically pricey. He’s not one of the Bi-Polar spenders that go out and buys an entire car or house, so its jiggy with me, I guess, though a bit crazy at times.

May everyone have glowing toilets, Life Straws, and a gigantic first aid suitcases because ya just never know!

Love y’all!! ♥

 

 

 

 

Crazy Ass Dreams!

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I know that I am not the only human being on the planet who has some crazy ass dreams. I also know that I’m not the only one who wishes for a good night’s sleep with no dreams because I’m tired of sorting out the plots and meaning of my dreams each night and just want to get some damn sleep!

I have no idea how old I was when I started having the reoccurring dream that I was a child caught in a spider’s web in the corner of my room. I’d look down at my sleeping self and try to scream out to save me the trapped child up in the web but my sleeping self could never hear me. I had this dream at least 100 times and it scared the hell out of me.

Now a dream analyzer would say that I might be scared of spiders, which I am not and was not even back then, but now that I’m older, I think it was a symbol of feeling helpless as a child sometimes. Not being able to make your own decisions because you lived under your parent’s roof, therefore followed their rules, even if their rules were weird as crap. Like coming to a complete stop on your swing set before you got off so you wouldn’t destroy the grass underneath. I’ll stop there.

I began dreaming in color about 10 years ago. I guess my dreaming has grown up and gone from white, black, and gray to Technicolor!

I started to be able to fly in my dreams only about 5 years ago when I began to dream about flying into my kid’s rooms grabbing them up and flying away from my horrific first marriage. That became a reoccurring dream as well.

My mom and I have had the same dream on the same night before when I was still living in my childhood home. It was something about a bull in a pen and me not listening to my mom when she told me to run like hell towards her. I kept asking why, why, why?

Towards the end of my first marriage, I began having a reoccurring dream that I actually put in one of my books about being in a war zone at night with bombs going off all around me. I held two children under each arm belly crawling under barbed wire stretched across as far as the eye could see, too close together to hop over, so I had to belly crawl. I could smell the gun powder of the bombs as I struggled to save these tiny children. I could feel the barbed wire cutting up my back and I could feel a sickening feeling that I was going to be unable to save me or these two children. I hated that dream, I really did.

Once divorced, I began having another reoccurring dream one that I had had a couple of times while I was dating my high school boyfriend. This dream had so much meaning to me, I broke up with him after having it the second time realizing the guy in the dream was not him. This dream is in my first book and still has a ton of meaning for me now that I’m nearly 45 years old.

I had one of the weirdest dreams the other night and if I was a sci-fi writer, it’d be one helluva book but I can’t put into words the world that I found myself in, the metallic pyramid buildings we had to live in, the dictator that controlled our planet, which was not Earth by the way, and the feeling of being in the wrong place. Water was an important element in this dream but I can’t really explain why.

When I was first remarried to the love of my life, I’d have nightmares that I was still in bed with my first husband and I hadn’t really escaped. I’d shoot up in bed grabbing my chest breathless and in a panic as I’d sickeningly look over to make sure it wasn’t true, that the nightmare was indeed over. I did this constantly over the course of my first year with my new husband. I hated that too, I really did.

I used to put a notebook on my bedside table in high school to write my dreams down at the suggestion of my psychology teacher who told me that she had never met anyone that had dreamed as vivid and with thick intricate plots like I did. I did that for years but of course, lost the notebook which sux because I know some of that material was good and book worthy.

I’m not sure the function of dreams other than maybe it’s a release for your brain, kinda like venting to a friend when you’ve had a rough day. Or, is it entertainment for your brain but sometimes some level of your consciousness surfaces enough to witness the brain ‘movie’ if you will, and you aren’t really supposed to be a part of it but you eavesdrop?

I don’t know, but sometimes, I wish I’d quite damn eavesdropping on my brain’s entertainment because I’m exhausted sometimes from the constant vivid dreaming. I will say this, though, I think it’s really weird when someone tells me that they don’t dream. That’s freaking crazy to me, but then again, maybe that’s why you look so much more refreshed than I do. Maybe you’re onto something?

Love y’all!! ♥

 

 

First Aiding at 2:22 AM!

Yes, I fell victim to a first aid situation at 2:22 am this morning and it really sucked!

So, I had just finished up a really great movie with my husband last night and I had pushed myself to stay awake so when 11 pm hit, I was wiped out. All ready for bed, I do what I always do before I lay down, I put my chapstick on and then put my ear plugs in.

I’ve been wearing ear plugs for many many years because when I was married to my first husband, his horrendously loud ass snoring kept me up all night for the first year we were married. In one of those ‘duh’ moments, those are the kind I have, not the Oprah-inspired ‘ah-ha’ moments, one of my friends told me about her earplug wearing for the same reason and now she slept like a baby. Well, duh, why didn’t I think of that?

With my earplugs in place, I tune out the soft snoring my husband does as well as the other distracting noises that alert my ADHD that something is up, though it may be absolutely nothing. Yes, I rely on my husband to decipher dangerous sounds from house creaking normal ones.

I was asleep and all snuggled in my bed with my human teddy bear snuggled behind me when a knock was heard by my husband at the door, I did not hear this for duh reasons.

There is a ‘button’ if you will, on my body that has many uses. My boobs for my husband are to get my attention when one or both is visited by his hand or hands and a few more purposes I will not go into detail here.

So, when my ‘button’ was grabbed, I knew something was up, I took out one earplug and mumbled a what, and then I heard the knock.

Now, because of the divorce decree that is set with my husband and his ex, his kids have been with their mother for about a month. So, the only kids in the house are mine right now meaning, I had to answer the door at, oh good lord, it’s freaking 2:22 am. That’s got to be some sort of weird omen.

I crack the door open to see my worried daughter and she tells me that we may have to go to the emergency room because her brother has cut his hand open with one of his knives. I tell her I’ll be there in a minute, as I go to put some pants on.

Here’s the scene when I open my bedroom door, all three dogs (I have my mom’s dog too) are running around like it’s really 2:22 pm and not am. My daughter is in the kitchen making food, or so it smelled, all the lights are on, and I hear my moaning son in the back bathroom. Confused, like I was in the twilight zone because surely everyone should be asleep this early, I make my way back  to the moaning and find my son with his butt sitting on the closed toilet seat, his head laid down on the side of the sink, the garbage can next to him for barfing, and his hand streaming blood from his palm under the running faucet. Good God, what in the hell is going on here and again, at 2:22 am?

When I ask what the hell happened, my daughter tells me that my son was playing around with a very sharp knife of his and a plastic Mt.Dew bottle stabbing it when he missed the bottle and pierced his palm. My immediate thought was, “Huh, kinda like Jesus,” although Jesus was pierced in the wrists because the human hand could not have held His body weight on the cross. Anyway, this is where my mind goes this early in the damn morning with my son bleeding out his hand.

My son is not good AT ALL with things like this. He has a tremendous phobia to needles, stitches, blood, hospitals, etc., though it has gotten a bit better over the years. I think the beginning cause of it was when he had to go into emergency surgery at 5 weeks old because of pyloric stenosis, which is the narrowing of the opening of the stomach into the intestines. It makes the breast milk you have just sat patiently feeding to your baby to shoot out like the Exorcist. If untreated, of course, the child starves to death.

He also had to be papoosed for stitches in his eyebrow from hitting the coffee table and I thought the kids was going to just die from the struggle, thrashing, tears, and the screaming he did. So, I kinda get why he has a bit of a phobia.

On with the story . . .

My first order of business was to get the bleeding to stop with pressure from a towel for several minutes all the while my pale son and little sister assistant watched me. Once I got the bleeding to stop, established there was no tendon damage, I could think a bit. I looked at the both of them and asked, “Um, why in the hell are y’all up this late? Does this type of nightlife happen every night? What the hell you two?”

My daughter and son explain to me that since it’s summer, they stay up most of the night and sleep most of the day leaving a window in the afternoon for fun and friends.

“Oh, so this hedonistic behavior is normal for you two? This can’t be healthy AT ALL, Y’ALL! And obviously poor decisions are being made from knives to eating so late that it will turn into fat.”

I was shocked that I was unaware this was going on at night while I slept soundly in my bed. I dared asked if they leave the house at all and they were quick to say no that they knew better and if they got caught, that the wrath of hell would come after them in the form of me.

“Well, what a relief you two stay up all night, slice your hand open, eat all night, and make bad choices, at least my wrath of hell keeps you indoors.”

Once I had my son’s hand cleaned, glued shut, covered, and wrapped, he decided that a cool bath would help his clammy self so my little assistant ran a lukewarm/cold bath for him and once full, he promptly climbed in with his shorts still on as well as his socks. The kid had lost his marbles.

Getting everything settled with him and giving instruction on wringing out his shorts and socks and laying them over the hamper, I went back to bed and dreamed of knives, stitches, tendon injuries, and midnight snacking. Great sleep, NOT!

Things are so different when I was their age. Meals were 3 times per day at a set time over the summer, bed times were set in stone even in the summer, and if you ate past 7 pm at my house, you’d be the size of a whale the next day, we were told or at least made to believe. We also each had our own pocket knife but had the sense, sorry son, not to mindlessly stab empty bottles while holding them in our hands.

Does this make me a bad mom? Maybe, but I’d like to think parenting is evolving especially when you throw in a double whammy divorce blending situation. I will say that when they told me that they knew they’d have hell to pay if they went out at that time of night, I felt a bit better, but I’m also not an idiot . . . but seriously if any of y’all see them roaming at 2:22 am, call the damn police and tell them you’ve seen them rob a house so the shit will get scared out of them and maybe buy me a few more minutes of precious sleep.

Being married is a roller coaster in and of itself, having kids is the upside down kind of roller coaster, divorcing is the roller coaster that you go on that makes you barf, but remarrying and blending is the mother of all roller coasters . . . backwards, upside down, and dangling. It’s quite the ride but I love every minute of it!

Love y’all!! ♥

 

 

 

 

“Mommy, I have a ‘boner’ to pick with you!”

Now, you may be wondering why I titled this in the way that I did and why on earth there is a picture of an ole saggy lady? Well, I’ll pull it all together here in a minute.

When my daughter was about 4 or 5 maybe, she had overheard someone say, “I have a bone to pick with you.” Not sure where she heard it from but when she blurted this out to me one day in the kitchen while making her lunch because I didn’t have any watermelon left, she said with a very serious pissed off face, “Mommy, I have a boner to pick with you!” I about fell out, y’all!

As I turned to look at my ticked off daughter with a scowl on her face and hands on her hips, I started laughing and couldn’t stop. At the time, she thought I was laughing at her and got even more ticked off and then said it again. Needless to say, I wet my pants.

So, today, I say this to gravity, “Gravity, I have a ‘boner’ to pick with you, dude!”

Now gravity is the phenomenon or the force that holds our precious bodies to our round Earth. It’s necessary, I get it, I don’t want to float out into the unknown atmosphere and explode or whatever happens out there if your gravity here on Earth fails and you find yourself floating away, but gravity, give us a damn break and go have a talk with water, would ya?!

When I’m in the pool with my husband, my girls float and I look damn perky. I like perky!

Gravity here’s why you need to have a talk with water, water is buoyant and makes things perky, as I have said but you, you little shit, pull everything so far down South that it makes me want to hang upside down for hours on end a day to maybe coax everything back up into place. Believe me, I’d try this if I thought it would help but I’d also be afraid that my head would explode from all the blood rushing to it.

And gravity, I’m thankful for you, I am, but I think you are just a damn over-kill! You have pulled so hard for so many years on so many of us that our lady bits are slightly unsavory and out of place. I miss my perky boobs and in the right place stomach and really gravity, it’s not all your fault because my belly got stretched from having two kids and my aged skin is losing its elasticity but shit, give me a break, would ya?

The plastic surgeons love gravity and I think they feed it something like steroids or fertilize it to make it stronger, I don’t know but damn it, plastic surgeons, are you guilty too? Are you in on this evil plot gravity just loves doling out to us innocent souls?

I don’t have the answers y’all but I will say this, gravity, it sure is a love hate thing with you and seriously dude, go talk to water and stay away from the plastic surgeons who are helping you get so strong, it’s not nice!!

My only saving grace is that love is blind and thank God for that because my husband tells me I am one hot goddess! LOL! God bless him, he’s really freaking blind!!

Love y’all!! ♥

 

 

 

 

Blending Can Be Painful

Ever since I met my husband, fighting or arguing was something that we rarely did/do. The reasons I think that we don’t do much of it is because we both learned the art of compromise from our past marriages, he and I respect the hell out of each other, and the love we have for each other stifles the need for fighting. However, last night, we got into it about our children.

As I have said before, my husband and his kids are quiet, calm, and introverted for the most part. They don’t have a lot of deep conversations with each other and they aren’t touchy-feely.

Now, me and my two, on the other hand, are loud, direct, extroverted,touchy-feely, my kids tell me almost everything (no, I’m not nieve to know that I don’t know everything), and we have a very close relationship.

This is not to say that my husband doesn’t have a close relationship with his, it’s just different from mine. Mine is more obvious, I guess you could say and his is more behind the scenes.

So last night, my husband pointed out that my discipline could be a little stricter with my son especially. He also pointed out that I give into my children too much and a couple of other digs. Well, step back honey, because here I come . . .

When someone, even if its someone you love, throws beef out about your children, you go off, especially if you have just finished a shumaling.

“Um, well, let’s see, honey, your son worked for two days at his job, made $130, and then had the audacity to ask you for money for gas? WTF?! I have to give my son money each week and yes I know he doesn’t always use it for gas because he has not been able to find a job, although he’s applied at about 20 places. They just don’t seem to want to hire 16-year-olds much anymore.”

He came back with that he doesn’t mind giving his son gas money. Oh, that’s so freaking lame, darling. Is that all you got? You are being taken advantage of, something your older two do very very well!

After a back and forth about how he thinks me and my kids touchy-feely is weird and that he thinks it’s weird how much my kids tell me even if it is not something I really want to hear, we established that my sweet wonderful husband is a bit jealous of the close relationship I have with my kids. It took us a few more back and forths to get to that realization, but it made me sad. Very sad.

I pointed out that the relationship between a mother and her children is vastly different from that of a father and also that his ex is very much a factor in why his relationship with his kids is the way that it is. He’s not allowed to get close with them it seems because he is confounded at every turn, and I’m sure that has to do with the humiliation of his ex losing custody years ago for some very bad decision making. However, last night he decided that enough was enough and he was going to work on getting much closer to his kids. I think he has been rejected so much, he just wants to protect his heart.

I also pointed out that my ex is one of the reasons my kids may seem freakishly close to me sometimes because he was so unpredictable emotionally and his temper was fierce, I became not only their mother but their shield.

After all was said and done, we still love each other to bits, we love our kids, get frustrated with our ex’s, and will strive every day to continue to raise our kids with a calculated effort towards success and humble greatness while sidestepping all the shit that often gets thrown at our little blended family.

Hang in there all you families out there, it can often be a bumpy ride but don’t be afraid to talk to each other. Lord knows the world needs a helluva lot more communication these days.

Love y’all!! ♥

 

 

 

The Art of Perspiring AKA Sweating Like a Pig

For most of my life, I was cold natured. I was the one whose hands no one wanted to shake or hold because as soon as anyone made contact with my hand, they’d immediately pull back shrieking, “Good God, your hand is like ice!” Their faces always had a horrid look on them like they’d just stuck their hand in a pile of shit or something and I’d think, “Good God, it can’t be that bad, can it?”

So for most of my life, I wished I was more of a warmer natured person and because our Heavenly Father above has a sense of humor, I am now a walking ball of hot liquid magma!

When I go to shake hands with someone, if it is ice cold, I molest their hand and put it on the back of my neck and cheeks but I will say, I stop at sticking them in my under pits cuz that’s a bit further than necessary, although I’ve thought about it. Yes, I have startled a few victims by my molestation of their cold hands, but people, when you are hot liquid magma most of the time, this kinda shit can happen.

I know I’m not alone all you perimenopausal or menopausal ladies out there because I hear the chatter and the nodding in understanding when I start sweating like a pig and have to fan myself saying, “If I flash any harder, I’m going to catch on fire!”

For the first time in my life, I miss being cold natured. I miss putting layers on to stay warm because now, I take as much off as legally possible and sometimes it’s still not enough. I take cold showers, something I didn’t think I’d EVER do.

Why is it that women have all the shitty crap to deal with like getting boobs, getting periods, having babies, feeling the need to wear make-up, shaving, waxing, plucking, coloring, and then comes fun ‘ole peri or full on menopause.

Didn’t we suffer enough when we grew boobs that got in the way of our golf game and men talk to them instead of our faces?

Didn’t we suffer enough when some months our periods were so painful and heavy you passed out and because your iron was so low, you couldn’t give blood either?

Didn’t we suffer enough when we squeezed a watermelon out of a dime sized opening?

Don’t we suffer enough to look thin, pretty, smooth, etc.?

I’d say we have suffered enough so why at the end of boob growth, periods, having babies, and all the other shit I know I’m missing do our bodies have to be lit on fire?

I have heard some of my friends tell me that their night time hot flashes are so bad that they literally have a sweaty outline of their person on the sheets when they wake up. I thought, “Oh, surely you jest,” but hell no, I did this for the first time a few weeks back. I was mortified. My husband thought I lost MAJOR bladder function after consuming a keg of water single-handedly as he shook his head at the outline with worry and concern . . . oh, yea, and utter disgust.

It seems his wife is morphing into Lava Girl right before his eyes!

I will say this, though, I love being a woman. I do envy the men though when they can just whip it out to pee wherever but I wouldn’t want a weenie, hands down WOULD NOT! That thing is crazy and when y’all get excited, there’s really no hiding it, we at least can keep our being turned a secret.

Being a woman is powerful! I mean we can grow an alive little person in our bodies and feed them with our bodies when they pop out. Hell, I didn’t even need my ex, I could have done it all by myself with a little borrowed sperm from the bank, although I was doing that pretty much anyway, but I’ll digress.

Being a woman is not easy as I have stated here but I was made this way and this is the way I’ll stay. Thank you God for who I am, even if it feels like I’ve been thrust into the fires of hell here lately.

Love y’all!! ♥

 

 

Above The Law

You are not above the law and it wouldn’t hurt to show a little common courtesy either. You hurt your children when you teach them how to lie, cheat, and manipulate. Just wait, karma’s a bitch!

 

Fear of Shopping!

Now, I know that I am not a regular girl and have really never claimed to be. I hated pink as a little girl, hated Barbie’s and baby dolls. My favorite color was and still is green, I loved riding my bike, playing softball, volleyball, and any other sport I could find. But probably the most irritating activity on the planet which causes me much stress, stabbiness, and grief has got to be damn shopping!

I think it dates back to having to go shopping at a clothing store with my mom. God love her. As she had us kids, as all of our bodies do I guess, her body changed sizes. So, once a year maybe more, I don’t remember really, I’ve put it out of my head because of the horror, she’d drag our asses to the store to get a few new things for herself.

My first concern as we got there always was, “How long is this going to take this time?” My second thought was, “Will my mom be able to find us if we lose her because there are so many racks of clothing, I might get lost along with my two little sisters?” And my third thought was, “How many times is my mom going to ask me to wade back out into the store from the dressing room to hear her frustratingly say,”Find this in a size whatever for me!”

Hey, now that I’m in your shoes, Ma, I get it and yes, it does suck although I think you look fabulous, dawling!

So, having that ‘history’ if you will, not that it’s my mom’s fault really, I just hated shopping from the beginning of time and still do.

However, as you have read in my blogs before, I will occasionally venture into a store or two and no matter how quickly I’m in and out, something absolutely insane happens to me or I spy something insane happening. I’m a magnet for this shit!

It will never fail that when I venture into Sam’s with my husband to load back up on a shit ton of food because the piranha children think they are in a third world country and may starve to death, we get attacked by a damn DirectTv sales psycho.

Let me tell you something DirectTv, retrain some of those scary attacking type sales people you have and here’s why . . .

One day, as we were walking in the direction to get the water we needed, one of those sales dudes jumps out from behind a tall display and scares  the living shit out of me. Of course, when I get scared the first thing out of my mouth is a big ole, “SHIT!” Dude thinks this is hilarious as I contemplate pushing the display over on his DirectTv ass and go about my business. As I try and skirt around him, his dumb ass jumps in front of me again. I looked back at my husband who was positioning himself for an intervention and then back at dude who literally blurts out in my face, as I wipe spittle from my cheek, “Hey, you look like a lady who could use some DirectTv!”

At this point, I was irritated and my damn heart rate was still trying to settle down from his weird ass scare as I said, “No, I’m good, but thanks!” And this is what dude says to me as I walk around him and make my way to shop, “No you’re not. You’re not good. You’re not good at all. Hey lady, really you’re not good.”

I didn’t even turn around as I yelled back, “No, really, I’m good.” Dude has the nerve to yell at me across the store again, “No you’re not!” People were turning around looking at the scene with raised eyebrows at this point.

What the hell DirectTv dude?!!!

So, yesterday, as my husband and I walk into Sam’s to look for a new grill, I decided to change my tactic and lie, something I’m not very good at but I was desperate to not fall victim of these damn DirectTv sales folks again.

DirectTv dude, a different one, walks right up to me and before he even opened his mouth I said, “We already have DirectTv and it rocks!” He smiled, like he was the one that had sold us this and declared, “Well thanks for the support miss, we at DirectTv thank you,” and I mutter in response, “Sure thing.”

Idiot!

It is also not uncommon to get run into from a run away mega cart. You know, those carts that the folks who own Seven Elevens use to restock their stores or maybe now its Circle K, I don’t know. Anyway, one day there was a run away mega cart full of all kinds of shit like candy, water, Gatorade, etc. and I’m not sure how it happened but I looked up to see a dude chasing it down the isle as it headed right for me. I thought, “Shit, I’m a gonner and how pathetic that I die at damn Sam’s being impaled by a runaway Circle K owner’s mega cart.”

I quickly moved me and my cart to safety as the mega cart slammed into a post exploding all of his restocking things all over the place. Now, normally I would stop and help, but I’m pretty sure he was trying to kill me because I lied about DirectTv so he was on his own picking up all of his crap.

But the worst place for me to go is the mall, especially Belk’s. I have never in all my life seen a store cram so damn many racks into one store to where you can barely fit through the aisles.

So, my sweet husband wore a hole into the butt of a couple of his work britches and I kept telling him to either get a damn patch or let me sew it but he would just wave me away and said it was fine. Determined to have my holy assed husband get some new britches, I gave him a gift card to Belk’s to buy some new britches for his birthday.

Will the man go to any store without me? Well, no because he believes in safety in numbers I guess and he has seen first hand what I can get myself into not even meaning to at times.

So, my husband takes me to Belk’s yesterday, y’all, which was not the day to go because there are like a billion sales and with that, a billion people. I’m not a crowd person anymore, though I don’t know why, they started to bother me after I had my kids and it may have to do with a fear of losing them in a large crowd. Now that they are grown though, it still bothers me when too many bodies are near mine. I’m also claustrophobic, also made worse after I had my kids. Not a fun combo at the mall.

The door slides open, the bug blower blows down on my hair forming a butt cut, and there we are in a sea of people, 10 billion racks, and a shit ton of clothing. Goody, yay me we’re here, I just hope we make it out alive.

As we are side stepping our way through the aisle designed for human straws, I have this sudden thought that what if I tripped, fell, and accidently rolled under one of these overstuffed racks. I don’t think I’d ever be found because even if I were to scream, the clothes would muffle the sound. That would be another shitty way to die. Falling under a rack of clothing at Belk’s and starving to death only to be found later when your damn corpse starts to stink. That would suck!

As we burst out of the end of one of the aisles, my husband had me by the hand to help me through, there was an open area and I could have done a dusty carpet angel I was so happy for some space. My husband finds what he needs and now we have to venture through another body squeezing the oxygen out of your lungs aisle to find the dressing room to try his stuff on.

As I am waiting, I spy a couple of little kids sitting on the floor of the dressing room and the looks on their faces as their dad tried shit on, brought back the horror of those moments my sisters and I had to go with my mom. I just wanted to save them but I’m sure I’d be arrested for stealing the dude’s kids. “Save yourselves, small children!”

I refrained from my saving the children intervention but as I stood there watching those poor sweet children, I heard a bickering to my right and sure enough, these two older women were saying to each other, “These aisles are so tight, feel like I’m suffocating!” I had to laugh because yes, it really does.

Once free from Belk’s, we ended up at Home Depot, where we ended up getting a grill there instead of Sam’s. I love Lowe’s and Home Depot, wide aisles and people that don’t attack you!

If you ever find yourself the victim of shopping situations gone wrong, know you are not alone and maybe one day, I’ll start a shopping phobia help group so we can all be together and tell our stories.

Love y’all!! ♥