Sharon Y. Edlin's Blog, page 5

Shut The Front Door!

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The first time I heard this phrase it was explosively thrown at me by one or both of my parental units as a kid. I’m pretty sure the entire hotor cool air that we had going at the time would not all be entirely sucked out in one fail swoop and we’d have to start the process from scratch. However, my parents believed that this was a true phenomenon and it would render our HVAC system instantly dead and it would be all of our fault because we left the front door open for a few minutes.

Funny thing, I found myself saying the same thing as a parent when one of the kids would be standing at the door talking to a friend or boy/girlfriend and they’d leave the front door open. I’d have an out-of-body experience as I unbelievably would hear myself say, “Shut the front door!” When I’d come to, after my out of body experience, I’d shake my head and curse my parents some.

Now, I don’t worry about it so much but the Professor does. As I have aged, physically not mentally, just sayin’, I find that the silly things that used to bother me or cause me to have an out-of-body experience, don’t really make a blip on my life radar. To the Professor, I’m entirely too laid back and don’t seem to give a crap about anything. Not true sweet Professor or I’d not continue to be married to you now sit down and keep quiet!

I’ve always had a thread of mellowness however, it had to be hidden for 16 years because it was not allowed but that’s okay because I have it back now and it’s not a thread so much anymore but a big ass rope, according to the Professor, or an anaconda depending on which day you ask him. I drive the man insane yet he loves the stew outta me nonetheless, thank Goodness!

Yesterday was a day of irony, hence this blog today.

My mom has bought a house that she wants to flip and hopefully make a profit. So, in the spirit of destruction, I found myself at this house yesterday destroying the old things to make way for the new. We had a whole crew there: my mom, dad, sister, brother-in-law, my 4 nephews, my son, my daughter, and me. The Professor somehow got out of it but that’s okay.

Although it kicked my ass as I found myself out in the heat emptying the flower beds to make way for new and way better looking foliage, then in the house tearing out carpet, padding, linoleum, back splash tile, and beat up hard woods, as well as sweeping, I had such a ball sweating, cussing, and destroying with my family.

Here’s the funny part . . .

My Ma had the AC turned way down because we were all sweating our butts off and the front door kept opening and closing as we carried things to the dumpster. Several hundred times, someone would leave the front door open and I’d see my Ma wander over and shut it, like 6000 times in the first 2 of the 5 hours we were there.

At some point the poor woman gave up and announced that the front door could remain open as she had just plum given up . . . WHAAAAT?

I had to poke fun at her at this but the pained look and the consistent glancing at the ajar front door made me feel a bit bad for her because it was killing her. On the 4th hour, the door was finally shut because we had demo’d most of what was causing it to remain open and I noticed a calm in my mom and less rubber necking at the front door.

Love my Ma, y’all, she’s a nut . . . so is my Dad! I’m so blessed!

Well, if killing my body for 5 hours tearing things out and cleaning up wasn’t enough, I became the unknown host of a surprise party for my newly turned 16-year-old daughter. I thought the surprise party was going to be at our local Mexican restaurant, Rosie’s, but as the texts started coming in from her friends, it became grossly obvious that I wasn’t told all of the details.

My OT clinic, God bless it, turned into a party room full of streamers, balloons, food, drink, lots of teenage bodies wearing outfits my mom would have killed me in, high ass heals, perfume, lots of hair, big boys that looked like men, and tons and tons of waiting cell phones as she made her way back from Rosie’s with just a few of her friends not realizing what was waiting for her at home . . . it was a surprise party for me as well.

As she came through the clinic door, God bless her, she was mauled with the word ‘SURPRISE’ followed by a paparazzi frenzy and yes, she left the door open because of the mauling. The words were going through my mind about that door but I was not going to say anything as she was being attacked and shutting that door was impossible and that line clearly belongs with my parents not me.

Prior to her arrival, I was helping her friends set up in my precious happy-place clinic when I hear a pop and feel the sickening sensation of cold sticky-ness hit me in my shin and run down into my flip-flop. It scared the crap out of us and then we realized that one of the Sprite 2 liters had burst open and was all over the place, great, sugar in my converted garage equals lots of ants and roaches.

As I told the girls not to worry, inside I my head I was screaming, I got them towels, a mop, and a bucket and they cleaned it up, bless them. I was done at this point, I couldn’t stand by and watch my clinic get destroyed. So, I went in to sit and watch football with the Professor.

Long story short, when the Professor is not pre-informed about something, he gets a little stabby so this surprise party had him waaaaaaaaay outta sorts and the next thing I knew, he is putting on his tennis shoes and says he is going for a unpresidented (my word) walk as he has had enough. He has done nothing but eat the pizza that I had ordered for the occasion at the last-minute so I wasn’t sure what he was talking about.

Off he goes but not before he mentions that I didn’t go to my WW meeting and that I can’t give up because I have worked so hard to lose my weight . . . ladies, do I even need to explain to you what this does to our insides? In my head, I was thinking, “Get out of this house right now before I wrap an entire pizza around your head and suffocate you. This WW stuff is my business not yours and if you manage to eat your way out of that pizza before you die, then go on your damn walk and don’t let the front door hit you in the ass and also, don’t forget to SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!”

The ‘double’ surprise party went on until about 9:30 pm and somewhere in that time, the Professor wandered back in from his walk. I didn’t speak to him because I was afraid of what would come out of it. While he was gone though, I text him that I am making it crystal clear that my WW and my weight is none of his damn business and off-limits forever! I know he pulled this shit because he was ticked about the double surprise party but how childish. I love that man but I swear to the good Lord, I will beat his ass with a pizza if he brings it up again.

Here’s the stinkin’ irony of the entire day . . .

I didn’t sleep so well last night because I was still ticked. The Professor fell asleep on the back porch swing I think, hell, I didn’t even care at this point, and ended up in bed at around 3 am, which woke me up yet again. At 7:30 am my eyes popped open and I was done so I get up, get put together for clean-up from demo day yesterday at 1:30 pm today and as I open our bedroom door to the family room, there is a stark change in temperature and my 2 dogs are gone. Oh shit!

As I round the corner, do I need to even tell you what I see?

Yes, the stinkin’ font door is wide open, I have no idea how long this has been this way but I suspect the Professor is the culprit. Fear tightens in my chest at where my sweet dogs could be and as I peer out the front door fearful they are gone for good, I am instantly relieved that I see them just a few doors down terrorizing a squealing chipmunk. Whew!

I whistle for them and like the good dogs they are, they come running. Thank God they are safe.

Who knew the front door would cause so much to talk about, but it does. The front door is the entrance into your private dwelling, the place where you laugh, cry, wanna kill someone with pizza, throw surprise parties you didn’t know you’d be hosting, loud music, parana children, and much much more.

With all that has been said here how funny is it that I often hear folks say, “You are welcome anytime . . . the door is always open.”

SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!

Love y’all!!♥

Accidental Dismemberment

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Now, you may be thinking, “Oh dear Lord, what has the crazy Southern lady done to herself now? Or worse yet, to someone else?” To this I would have to laugh because I know I use some unsavory and weird words sometimes. I still have all of my parts though some of them have been altered a bit.

So the other day, the Professor and I were watching one of our favorite TV shows called ‘Life in Pieces.’ This is a show about a layering of family members including the older parents of these 2 sons and 1 daughter. Each family is in their own ‘piece’ of life from growing older to having their first baby to newly engaged. These people portray the quirkiest and extremely hilarious family out there, but I know they exist.

In this one episode the Doctor in the group who reminds me of one of my relatives, is tidying up his facial hair and the little hair he has left on his balding head when he accidentally shaves off half of his eyebrow. I looked at the Professor and said, “Who the hell would slip up like that? How crazy!” Long story short, the family tries to make it ‘right’ by guiding him into ‘shaping’ the ruined eyebrow and then making it even with the other one. Inevitably, he ends up with no eyebrows having messed with them so much. So, the two sister-in-laws (actually, one is about to be a sister-in-law) decide to ‘help’ him by drawing more on because he has a photo shoot for an article with his fellow doctors in his practice and wants to look good. Well, the ‘eyebrows’ looked like Uncle Leo on Seinfeld and bless him, he looked like a hilarious idiot in the photo.

Now, maybe a subliminal message was planted in my head as I sat at my make-up mirror the other night, a bit tired, a bit stabby from a long day, and probably not in the best state to do any sort of facial tidying up. I had my tiny trimmer and was shaping things and making sure I didn’t have the Cro-Magnon unibrow going on when I accidentally sneezed and guess who took off 1/4″ of her right eyebrow? Yep, this kid. The funny thing is, I laughed so hard, I almost wet my pants. I think I might have been slightly out of my mind.

I go and show the Professor and he looks at me like this guy here.

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“What in the hell have you done to yourself,” he blurts out and then stammers as he realizes that might not have been the thing to say. Luckily, I was delirious and said, “Yes, this just happened. I sneezed and trimmed a bit too much.”

“Ya think, honey?”

I tell him to have no fear that the power of eyeshadow that my dear friend, Tina, taught me and I proceeded to draw back on the part I dismembered from my eyebrow grouping. When I was done, the Professor says, “Wow, I can’t tell and you don’t even look anything like Uncle Leo so kudos to you,” and then walks out shaking his head yet again.

Well, my dismemberment wasn’t done . . .

About a week ago, I got a phone call from a dear friend of mine and as I made my way into the bedroom so I wouldn’t disturb the TV watching Professor, I hiked my hinney onto the bed and in doing that, somehow hooked my ring ‘finger’ toe on the sideboard ripping the entire top layer of epidermis off and if that wasn’t enough, hooked my pinkie toe, got it stuck, and accidentally fell forward breaking it because of its lodged position. How I managed not to yelp out into the ear of my friend on the phone will forever be a mystery to me.

As you can imagine, I was in severe pain and bleeding everywhere and of course, guess who decides to walk in to use the restroom as I’m cleaning blood up, trying to doctor my toe, and trying to figure out how I would buddy tape my broken pinkie toe onto my dismembered next-to-it-toe without an incredible amount of pain . . . yep, the Professor.

He takes one look at me balancing on the edge of the tub, cleaning up blood, bandaging my profusely bleeding toe, hoping for the best for the broken toe who had no buddy, and all the while balancing the phone on my shoulder talking to my friend.

The Professor looked at me, shook his head, and walked out. Sometimes the man has no words to give me as I proceed to do the most bizarre things to my person. Bless him, I’m a freaking mess.

So, I must have had it out for the dismemberment of my toes as I sheared off the top of my left foot’s big toe with the clinic door the other day. More blood, more yelping containment, as I was seeing an OT kid and his mom off and didn’t want to alarm them, and more doctoring of yet another mishap.

I can’t blame these things on the in-coordination you will occasionally see kids go through when they hit a growth spurt because I stopped growing in college, which was 100 years ago. No, I wasn’t Shumaling-ing either. Who the heck knows why these things befall me.

Why, just the other day I tried to dismember my right hand while getting down off of a horse as it got caught on the saddle somehow and twisted around in a way that hurt like hell. I was with my very decorated horsewoman friend and contained a yelp again as I didn’t want to look like an idiot.

I have contained so much yelping lately, I fear that if I hurt myself again bad enough to require a yelp and no one happens to be around, what comes out of my mouth may damn well be heard around the world.

Y’all take care of yourselves and try to keep your parts together and in one piece.

Love y’all!!♥

Automated Madness

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Automated fake idiot recording people piss me the hell off and I about lost all my marbles today trying to locate a package that has entered the Bermuda Triangle aka the F-bomb Post Office. Yes, F-bomb, I’m so royally pissed off I could spit right now.

So, after my Hippotherapy class that I took last week, it became clear to me that the rhythm of the horse’s gait pattern is key to many aspects of what my OT kids need in the clinic. However, not all of them can do the Hippotherapy for various reasons, but I could see where they needed this so bad so I wanted to simulate it the best way that I could.

During the class I found my soul mate sister, I’ll call her Rose, and she introduced me to two machines that mimic the gait of a horse in the best they can. One machine was in the thousands of dollars and this girl can’t afford such luxury. The other was called the iGallop, which I could afford.

Too excited to express, I got online to find one and wow there were a lot of varying prices. I settled on one on Ebay because it was a great price, new, and the shipping I could handle as it is not light.

Well, the Post Office decided that it would lose the package in the bowels of their darkened going-postal mail room and no one knows where the hell it is. I have been back and forth with the sweet Ebay person as they are concerned about getting a bad review, which I assured them I would never do as this is not their fault.

Ebay person gave me the tracking number so I typed the 3,245 digits that make up this supposed tracking number and this is what it said:

“Scan delay at 3:38 pm on August 8th, postal locker issue. Will deliver the next business day.”

Now, unless a pack of raccoons have hauled it off somewhere to get their horse riding simulation kicks, that sucker has not been here. I let Ebay person know and they suggested I call the Post Office, which I found quite amusing as I have been there in person and not one damn employee answers that phone. But, I tried anyway and sure enough it rang and rang and rang to infinity.

So, I called the satellite Post Office at the Rite Aid and explained to them what was going on. She chuckled and said, “Yea, pretty sure they aren’t going to answer that phone, you may have to go down there.” Um, thanks Lady Obvious.

I thought I’d give a call to the 1-800 number because surely the general number can help me . . . well, this is where I went mad . . .

Automated dummy: (AD)

“Please listen to all of the following options which number about 64.5 so you are going to be on this phone with me for an eternity. You should pee first as you might not be able to hold it for the first 72 hours.”

Me:

“Oh just stinkin’ grand.”

AD:

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get that, I’m going to repeat the menu all over again from the beginning because you said something I couldn’t make out and I’m assuming you have all day long to listen to me.”

Me:

(In my head) FFFFFFFFF-BomB!

AD:   (379.5 hourse later . . . )

“If none of these options fit your need, please press zero, which I could have said first but didn’t, and someone will be with you shortly.”

Me:

(In my head) Are you freaking kidding me right now?

AD:

“I’m sorry but the operator has left the building so the rest of your Post Office experience will be with me, Granny Automation, and I’m going to go through a shortened menu with you as it appears you are a slow citizen who is hard of hearing. If you wish to continue, say, yes.”

Me:

“Yeeeees,” in a moaning tone.

AD:

“I don’t like your tone and because of that, I am disconnecting.”

Me:

I’m mute at this point and cannot for the life of me believe this is actually happening but finally manage a desperate, “Nooooo!”

AD:

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get that. I’m afraid your muteness followed by your obnoxious ‘noooo’ has caused a tuck and roll retreat so good day.” And she hangs up on me.

Now, yes, this is a bit exaggerated but my frustration level after all the yes’ and no’s and transfers, mirrored the rediculousness I have mentioned above. I wasted 30 good minutes on this ridiculous charade and I said things out loud to no one in my home after I got hung up on.

So, I ended up driving down to the Post Office a bit ago and as I handed the unending string of tracking numbers to the girl, she typed them in, got the most peculiar look on her face, turns to me and says, “Um, could you hang on a minute please?” Sure.

She’s gone for about 3-4 minutes and I’m getting irked. She comes back and says this to me, “Um, your package is not here. In fact, it is no where as it has not been scanned into our system. I see that it was delayed but it has to be somewhere so I need your name and phone number so my manager can do some investigating in another couple of months as the postal service is slow as you know and doesn’t answer phones, I’m not even sure half the people here know how to use one, actually. My manager is over-worked hence the months out until you find out about where you package is, or isn’t for that matter. Thanks for stopping by and wasting your time yet again with us. I’m not quite sure how we still have jobs as we fail in so many areas of customer satisfaction. Good day.”

Stunned, mute, and a little light-headed I stagger out of the madness that is the Post Office into the sunlight, and spot another poor soul taking their sanity into their own hands and I can’t help but say, “Be careful in there, for they know not what they do.”

Love y’all!!♥

 

 

 

Discovery of Things Hated

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I don’t hate a lot of things, I’m just not built that way but a few things have crept into my conscious that I deem awful, unbearable, and I hate them!

Roaches . . . need I really say more? I hate these flying miniature bugs of burden and disgust and they make my damn skin crawl just thinking about them. I believe with all of my heart that these nauseating little cusses are not God made but made by Lucifer himself to torture us and good golly Miss Molly, if one takes flight, I about stroke out and die, especially if the little sucker is heading in the direction of my face. I HATE those demon roaches.

Men that talk to my boobs instead of my face . . . need I really say more? The last time I checked, my boobs don’t come with a set of eyes, no, those are nipples and you can’t see with them. My belly button is not my mouth so don’t expect sentences to come out of there. The next time one of you hateful boob staring while I talk to you men stare at my boobs, I will taze your junk, that is a promise. And if I have forgotten my tazer, well, I will knee you in the balls instead so you can liken the pain that I have just caused you to the pissed off pain you cause my insides when you talk to the girls and not to me.

Drunk sloth drivers going negative 12 in the left aka faster lane . . . need I say more? I really don’t have to as I am sure 124% of you have experienced this. I HATE this! Go back to the drunk sloth zoo you drug yourself out of, we don’t need your lazy ass on the road anyway.

Mimes . . . I will say more here. Mimes freak me the hell out and their freakishly white pasty faces do not help their eerie I’m stuck in a box and have to use my hands to feel my way around this box cause. Who in the hell came up with this shit and better yet, why? I saw a mime a few years ago in a park somewhere and it was everything I could do to not to violently shove him out of his box, kick him in the ass, and hope for sound to come out just so I knew he was a real human being. This is not art or a normal way to express yourself. If you want to paint your face white, not speak, and move your hands around funny, visit the psych ward, ask for a straight jacket, and have a jolly good time in the damn rubber room alone, since you don’t speak anyway. Y’all are freaks!

Buying a used car for my soon to be 16-year-old . . . need I say more? I HAAAAAATE buying used cars. Hate it so much, I’d rather drive behind a sloth in the left lane going negative 12 miles per hour, with a boob staring passenger as he talks to me riding shot-gun, a mime riding in the back seat stuck in his box, and a roach sitting on each shoulder. I kid you not, I hate used car shopping. Here’s why . . .

I will NEVER feel as if I’ve gotten a good deal. Never!
You used car people, not all of you, are sneaks and liars. You know who you are! Shame on you and I’m telling your mother.
As you lie to me and sweat and I see it glistening down your shiny red face, I want to stick you in a box with a mime and a mess of roaches licking your lying sweaty face.
I am to the point that I don’t even believe the CARFAX anymore. This point was proven to me today as my husband and I arrived at a used car dealership only to find out that the car we were interested in had a paint job done my Mrs. Scattergood’s kindergarten class in the parking lot only after all the kids had consumed spiked punch that the mime, who visited their class that day for some reason, spilled into the punch bowl trying to get out of his box. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I honestly wanted to punch someone, maybe like a mime, yes a mime would do.
We are shown another car and it smelled like someone had sex in it, afterwards, up and died, then a mime climbed in and got stuck in his box and began sweating profusely, followed by a bit of Fabreeze to cover the stench. Fabreeze can only go so far, y’all.

I know hate is a strong word and I don’t use it a lot, I really don’t, but certain things just get the best of me. Did I mention how much I hate mimes?

Love y’all!!♥

 

 

‘Idiotness’

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That’s what I would like to know sitting here writing in a quite irritated state of mind, “Who left the bag of idiots open?”

Idiots come in many forms depending on their age. I myself was let out of the idiot bag as an idiot teenager doing some of the dumbest crap around. For example, sneaking out of my friend’s house at 2 am quite often just to wander the streets as if we were hoping for our kidnapping followed by our rape and perhaps our dismemberment. I mean we were playing Russian roulette really. Idiots!

I was also an idiot when I thought it wise to camp out in my car in the woods of the Grand Mesa in Colorado over a long weekend so as not to miss one minute of fishing. First of all, I could have been killed by a crazy nature person, mauled by a bear, or any number of things, really. Idiot!

Now, turning the idiot arrow away from myself for a minute, I’d like to begin pointing out the idiotness I have been exposed to over the last several years because its time to vent, y’all.

So, the other day, I was in a rush to get to my Hippotherapy partner’s farm to work on our program with the horses. I was a little on edge because I hate being late, I feel it shows disrespect for the person you have a time plan with. I’m just pulling onto the Parkway and picking up ‘obvious’ speed when this car pulls out in front of me going negative 12 causing me to slam my breaks on. I couldn’t get over as it was rush hour-y morning traffic so I thought, ” Surly this sloth car will pick up speed since we are on a road that requires 50 miles an hour.” Well, no actually, the sloth becomes catatonic and if at all possible slows down to negative 25 and I still can’t get around them. I could feel my stomach getting ticked and I had to do my deep breathing lest I get that road rage stuff and run the dead sloth off of the road.

Finally, a break in the lane next to me happens and I make my move. As I pass the dead sloth I observe a normal looking lady who isn’t on her cell phone, leaning over trying to pick something up off of the floor, or putting make up on. No, she’s just slow as frozen molasses and it really irked me. Idiot!

So, the other day, I’m at the grocery store for probably the 11th time that day and this man decides to be Hercules and zing his recently emptied cart into the cart hold only he is just a bit too far away for a straight line and he did not take into account that the alignment of the cart could possibly be off. Here’s what happens, he zings the ill aligned cart thinking he’s some straight line stud but wait, the alignment goes out, the cart veers right, and slams into the back of a parked car therefore making an obvious dent. What does joy boy do? He takes the heck off for his car as the cart bounces off of the parked car, rolls away, and then proceeds to hit another car. Idiot!

Oh but there’s more!

I’m at Wal-mart the other day, yes the land of peculiar weirdness, and as I go to get in line to check out, I spy a man in front of me with his pants so far down the back of his legs, they were hanging out near the back of  his dang knees and his flamingo boxers are the only thing standing between me and his ass. I couldn’t help but stare trying to figure out how this style is appealing and how this particular style is being perceived as a chick magnet. Of course, dude catches me staring, grins, and then turns around in a smug like manner.

Here’s what I wanted to say, “Dude, really, your flamingo boxers need a good washing as they are horrifically nauseatingly stained, followed by a good tailor to hike your ridiculously low jeans up where they were meant to be. If you are going after leg warmers, well, you’ve missed the boat as leg warmers are two different tubes that fit on each lower leg. You are abusing the power of your jeans and as every girl knows, we like a well-rounded ass in a snug pair of fitting jeans. Your baggy jeans showing your flamingo boxers reminds me of a 200-year-old Dolly Parton with her boobs hanging out at her knees. That is just not appetizing now run don’t walk out of this store so I don’t have to look at your flamingo boxers no more!”

The other day, I was flipping through the channels and I came across some weird hotdog eating contest. There were men and women competing and I couldn’t help but think how ridiculous it all was considering there are people who have no food and would be so happy with just a 1/2 inch slice of that damn hotdog. And what are they doing? They are stuffing them in like maniacs trying to win a dang trophy for the gluttony they are displaying. At one point, this lady is stuffing so fast that she must have hit the back of her throat wrong, tweaking her uvula, and proceeds to barf all over the table, which was so disgusting, I nearly lost my own dinner. In addition, the other ‘stuffers’ have to look away for fear of losing their maniac stuffing hotdog count. It was absolutely the dumbest thing I have every seen. Idiots!

I’m afraid that there are idiots everywhere and no one is immune to the terror and disgust that they can sometimes cause the general public. I have been known to idiot it up, especially as a teenager, but I’d like to think I’ve learned from my idiot mistakes. Some may say, “Ah, no, you still idiot it up now and again.” I guess we all do at times when our defenses are low or we have had one too many shumalings. Hence, my flamingo’s staring over me picture in a blog I wrote long long ago about getting idiotic at a fundraising 80’s party. I was an idiot, I admit it.

If we are lucky, we come away unscathed by the idiots that have been let out of the bag, but sometimes, we aren’t so lucky and one of the idiots gets in our space and really ticks us off or puts a big ass dent in the back of our car.

To all the idiots out there, please leave the innocent people out of your world, they have enough to deal with and don’t need you mingling your idiot stuff in with their’s. To all you ‘sometimes’ an idiot people, like me, hang in there. We got this!

Love y’all!!♥

 

 

Talking To Spiders

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Well y’all, the Professor thinks I have officially lost it as he walked in on me in the bathroom talking to a spider crawling across the floor saying, “Dude, you better go hide somewhere like behind the toilet or under the scale I never use cuz I don’t want to know some days, before you get flattened!” Do I talk to things a lot? Well, yes yes I do.

Let’s back waaaay up . . .

100 years ago when I was a little girl I, unfortunately, went to a nun ruled Catholic school right across the street from my house. Now I’m not saying all nuns are psychotic holy freaks but the ones at my school were. I think it was in their holy water, God love um, or perhaps they were forced into the nunnery against their will and it made them a bit insane and stabby.

We had this one nun that just loved pointing to us and other objects with her ‘bird’ finger and you could tell by the smirk on her face, she knew what she was doing. It was her little secret hell raising moment or moments, I should say as she ‘moment-ed’ quite a lot with that bird finger. It was freaky and God bless her hair style. Words can’t describe the butchered way she wore it. It was like her nun friend that she got to cut her hair had drunk waaaay too much of the wine, got high on that stinky dang incense, turned out the lights, got the rusty pair of scissors in the back of the drawer that no one uses anymore, spun around in circles until she was good and dizzy, on top of everything else she had done to herself, and went to town on the bird flicking nun’s innocent hair. It’s a wonder that this bird slinging nun didn’t lose an eye and hell, now that I think about it, she was probably thinking of the hair cutting nun and what she did to her hair and that’s why she was ‘birding’ all of the time. It was really being directed at her and not us. This story has nothing to do with talking to spiders, I am just reminded of it when I tell the tale of the next nun.

Moving on . . .

The other nun that stands out in my mind was a mystifying yet kind woman who wanted to grow her special ed class so she could get ahead at the nunnery and decided that I would be the only girl candidate in her all-boy classroom as well as her fantasy daughter that she never got to have since joining the nunnery. Here’s where the talking to the animals as if I was Doctor Doolittle comes in.

Aside from being a bit weird yet kind, this nun abhorred killing anything even those satanic evil roaches from the devil. I observed her catching roaches, wasps, hornets, mice, birds, you name it and would release them and I guess a bit of this rubbed off on me. You may ask how some of thos things got in the classroom, well, she left the windows open a lot and nature had a way of just coming on in.

Fast forward to my high school years . . .

I had this very smart, cool, and neat teacher who taught psychology. I looooooved my psychology class and this teacher as well. She too was like that wickedly weird but kind nun from years ago who could not kill anything.

Now, because I admired my psychology teacher and her gentle nature with bugs and other creatures, this philosophy of not killing anything has stuck with me over the years. I do make one exception and that is the devil given roaches. That is not God y’all, that’s the devil thru and thru.

I, however, because there is a freak in all of us in some form or another, take it to the next level of having inviting conversations with the creatures I find in and around my house, hence the Professor finding me having a chat with the spider in our bathroom the other day.

What prompted the conversation with my new bathroom spider friend was when I nearly stepped on him exiting the shower, “Dude, you cannot sneak up on a person like that and what, pray tell me, are you doing in the middle of the floor. If the Professor sees you, he will take your little butt out!”

I dried myself off and went about getting ready all the while telling spider fella to go and hide before he gets squished and by some miracle, he translated my southern dawl and scurried into the toilet room, where I would soon be to lotion up and put my DO on.

Well, spider fella became fascinated with a piece of toilet paper on the floor and was kinda dancing around it or something, I’m not really keen on the secret life of spiders, so as I stood there watching him, I said, “Do you seriously have a death wish today freaky spider fella cuz I just heard the door to the bathroom area open and you are about to be toast!”

The Professor asked me through the door, “Who in the hell is in there with you?” I stuttered because I was busted, “Oh, um, no one, just me and my spider friend.” As I opened the door, I looked down one more time to see if spider fella had scurried off and he surely did, right under my bathroom scale. Whew!

The Professor has this confused look of, ‘what in the hell is wrong with you woman’ on his face as he shook his head and switched places with me to pee.

He has caught me before talking to the red-tailed hawk named Mr. Pickles who I have mentioned before frequents my backyard. Now, I haven’t seen Mr. Pickles in a bit because they are mutilating the land and trees behind us to make a new subdivision and I thought him and his whole family took off.

Well, no, not true at all as I observed Mr. Pickles swoop down and try to kill my mom’s dog the other day, I’m watching their dog for a few days. As I went out to tell Mr. Pickles that his anger about having his home destroyed is being projected on my mom’s dog and that’s not fair at all and that he needs some professional help. Still pissed, he swooped at my own dog too. “Oh no you didn’t Mr. Pickles! I know you are mad about your home, I get it because I am too, but do not take your anger out on these dogs.” I was caught again talking to animal/creatures by my son, who gets me a bit better than the Professor does and he merely said, “Mr. Pickles seems pissed.” My weirdness runs in the family I guess.

Just the other day, in the clinic, I was talking to a fly that had gotten in and warned him that the boy I was about to see next had Ninja like moves and that he better fly on out or meet his death, but the invading fly insect did not listen and yes, he perished just like I told him, but not by my hand.

I don’t just talk to bugs and animals either, it is not unlike me to carry whole conversations in the clinic with LuLu the giraffe or my fish asking them why one of them is missing again and who is murder in my tank.

My daughter talks to her television and my son talks to no one quite a lot so this talking to whatever really does run in the family, but you know what’s funny, the Professor talks to himself, as do I, but doesn’t think anyone hears or notices. I think sometimes he doesn’t realize he is doing it until his son will ask, “Dad, who are you talking to?” The Professor’s head will jerk up and he will reply, “Um, no one, well, me,” and then under his breath he’ll mutter, “Damn it, influential Sharon.”

Love y’all!!♥

 

 

 

Mono What?

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Have I mentioned that growing older can really suck sometimes, not that I’m old, as I feel I am still 22 years old, however, my eyes, I think, ran the marathon to my ripe ole age of 45 without the rest of me because apparently, they didn’t get the memo that I am only 22, not 45 in body and mind. I’m writing my damn eyes up, damn it, and I’m this close to firing them!

I wrote a blog awhile back about becoming enraged that one, my up close vision sucks and two, if I can’t find my reading glasses when I need them, I literally flip out and go for sharp objects to carry around with me on the hunt for who the hell has them or where on Earth did me or someone put them now.

I have 3,256 pairs of reading glasses because my family scattered in fear when they would hear, “WHERE THE HELL ARE MY READING GLASSES,” as I made my way to the sharp object holder in the kitchen. Well, that isn’t really healthy for anyone now is it so I bought a shit ton and they are everywhere now, however . . .

I HATE glasses. They hurt my nose, hurt my ears, squash my rather wide head, my ears are slightly crooked I think because they are never straight sitting on my nose, and sometimes if I push them too close to my eyes, my false eyelashes smash up against them and break loose and then I end up double fisted with sharp objects.

Well, while at the beach before Cindy decided to drop in, I was sitting next to my awesome sister in law on the beach talking about girl crap when vision came up because she had her phone out and wanted me to see a picture, which I couldn’t make out because I didn’t have my damn readers, and yes, as soon as I said the words, the Professor yells to the rest of the innocent family, “FLEE, RUN FOR YOU LIFE I KNOW HER, SHE WILL YANK THAT UMBRELLA RIGHT OUTTA THE EARTH AND STAB SOMEONE!”

My sweet sister in law looked perplexed and I like her so I didn’t want her to see me have one of my “episodes.” I squinted and strained to see the picture but it just looked like a colored blob. So, she launches into blah blah blah monovision blah blah blah bifocal contacts blah blah blah. I said, “Wait, I wouldn’t have to get stabby and I could ditch those stinkin’ glasses?” I could have kissed her sloppy-like on the mouth, well, we were drinking afternoon cocktails and were on our 3rd so anything was possible at this point, thrilled that this could actually be real! (Hey, sis-in-law, I would never have done that, I’m totally kidding, you know that about me.)

I told the Professor that as soon as we managed to get home, I was going to call about this because it was a freaking miracle sent from God and my sister-in-law.

So I did and went in this morning to be fitted for my single contact in my left eye. Um, this is the weirdest thing I have every experienced and my fear that it would kick in my motion sickness because motion sickness is essentially your eyes and vestibular system not communicating properly with each other therefore the output is awful.

I peppered the sweet eye girl about dominant vs non-dominant, vestibular disturbance, depth perception, headaches, and a bunch of other questions. As I sat there thinking, “What the hell have I gotten myself into here? How am I going to drive a whole car around like this? Will I have to close 1 eye at a time to see near and far?”

I felt damn drunk walking out of the office but I was reassured that I would get used to it and 8 out of 10 patients love it and adjust quite grandly. Well, I’m the opposite of a regular person. For example, years ago when that time of the month was coming, I had a big test and my time of the month was being very very mean to me so a friend of mine gave me Midol warning me that it makes people tired. I was in so much pain, I popped the pills not thinking about my irregular human beingness.

Well . . .

My teacher sent me to the office thinking I was high or on some sort of speed as I was literally bouncing off of the walls. It was scary but fun at the same time. I was so hyped up, I couldn’t take my test, that and I got sent to the office for a drug test, just kidding they didn’t do that. Once they established that the Midol must have done it and only after a phone call to my mom verifying my irregular human beingness, I was off the hook. I took the test later and ended up with a C, which is good for me in this particular class.

So, from what I have read the eyes will figure out their jobs and they will do all the work getting there for me . . .

I am sitting here only having been in my monovisionness for only 2.5 hours and I’ll have to tell you, I’m not going to fire my eyes because lo and behold, they have figured it out already and my headache is gone! Fancy that! This is the most “normal” thing to ever happen to me and I’m just so bloody pleased!!!

Thanks to the marvels of modern medicine, growing older doesn’t have to be horribly painful, you just have to try it out and give it a chance I guess. I am so thankful that I had this conversation at the beach with my sis-in-law otherwise I’d continue to grab sharp objects and frighten my poor family. They are thankful too, believe me!

Love y’all!!♥

 

 

Change Is In The Air . . . And a Bit of Manure Too

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The definition of change is to make or become different. My definition of change is an event that you know is coming and you resist it although it is inevitable and can scare the hell outta you sometimes.

All through my life, there have been changes, big ones and small ones.

One of the first major ones was when my grandfather died at only 55 years old. That was one of the toughest changes for me because he was very young, I adored this man, and he taught me how to fish along with my father. I remember being at his funeral and after I had gone up to see him in that weird box looking nothing like himself, my 8-year-old self lost it as I wept for the man that I loved floating up to heaven away from me.

The next change was watching my beloved dog get run over by a dude that was driving down our brick-paved street entirely too fast. That one hurt bad, y’all.

Our move to the South from the Midwest was probably the most difficult change I had ever experienced in my 13 years on the planet but in the end, it was the best change for my whole family with loads of opportunity heaped into it, but Lord not at first. I cried for 3 months and I didn’t know what on earth these Southern folks were saying with some of those thick Southern drawls. I love the South and I’m not going anywhere now, its my home.

Some of the changes along the way were easy but damn if some of them didn’t suck the life right outta ya, like moving away to college, living with a roommate that tried to kill you, trying to get into OT school, being involved in 3 drive-by shooting, and 2 stalkers. Life was a bit scary at college but again, in the end, the change got me a degree and now I have the job of my dreams and a company that I actually own to boot.

The change that I had to endure for 16 years, I literally was not myself for 16 years y’all because I had to behave, but it gifted me my two lovely children and although I’d not do it again because it was a living hell, I’d certainly knock the ex down and steal his sperm to get those two again, I really would.

One of the scariest but most exhilarating changes happened when I bought a whole house and a whole car all by myself when the kids and I were finally free of the beast. That house brought much-needed healing and tranquility to our fragile little lives and it took us a good year to get all the pieces put back into place, they weren’t glued yet, but they were at least in place.

Another change in the wind . . .

God granted me the best change since having the kids by putting the Professor into my life. For the first time in 17 years at this point, I was allowed to be me. At first, I didn’t know who “me” was because I had lost me so long ago but the Professor knew how to get me out and he did a damn good job of it. I am happier than I have ever been in my existence on the planet thanks to him.

Then the telogen effluvium attacked me after all of the stress had passed on and I was happily married, moved, and settled. Yes, I had the most severe case and found my entire body with no hair whatsoever after it fell out in chunks for 3 months until there was nothing left. That was one of the scariest changes in my life because not only was I bald, I had just married the Professor 6 months prior, and I feared he’d be disgusted by my ‘naked’ body that he would up and leave. Silly me, that’s not what unconditional true love does and that made me love him even more if that was at all possible. That man is my soulmate and I thank God he loves me, I feel so unworthy of his gentle kind nature. He bravely supported me through that horrid time and made me strong and believe that love can conquer all, even hair loss.

So here we are . . .

My eldest left for college last year and two weeks later, his daughter decided to move back in with her mother. These changes nearly crippled the Professor and I have never seen him as low as he became. It scared the shit outta me, y’all. Two kids gone within 2 weeks of each other is a lot to take into your heart and his is very tender y’all, it really is.

Change is in the air again . . .

I now have 2 Senior’s in high school, I don’t feel old enough for this as I feel like I’m still 22 years old. I also have 2 Sophomore’s in high school and a Sophomore in college. This is not possible if I’m 22 so when did this happen exactly?

My son and daughter both have significant others and the first time I saw each of them kiss their person, I was thrown all the way back to when they popped outta “my” person and now they were playing suck face with “their” person of significance. Wait a minute! I’m only 22 years old, this is not possible is it? Did I hold a blink for 17 years or something? Crap!

Now change doesn’t have to be just with your children or yourself, it can be in your surroundings as well.

For example, if the inspection goes well, I may have sold my Healing House after trying for 4 years. Just today, my daughter asked if she could walk back through it and while we were there, I was flooded with the memories that still live there. The memories of me and my two kids healing in that house together and facing our demons together and battling together. As my guest blogger, Dee wrote just yesterday, it was a fight all the way to regain peace, calm, and ourselves. To not be afraid anymore and not be abused. It was very freeing.

I also dated the Professor in that house and the memories I have are WOW!

Okay, so that manure smell in the title is the inevitable change that is happening behind our house as we speak. You see if you look at any past picture of any of us or the kids taken on the back porch, it looks as if we live in the country as we have several acres behind us that a little old lady lived on all her life probably and when she died, her children swooped in, removed her house, and stuck a for sale sign on the property. We were devastated at what could possibly go up behind our house and what all the wildlife would do or where they would live.

The property sold after sitting there while we enjoyed it for a year or so maybe longer, I lose time in situations like this, obviously, I still think I’m 22.

Cue the obnoxious front end loaders, dump trucks, and a ton of other tractor things I don’t know what they are called . . .

I couldn’t bear hearing them tearing down the trees, not cutting down so other folks could use them for wood, no they tore down those trees that have probably been there 100 years or more, it broke my heart and I couldn’t be outside in the backyard when it happened because that tearing sounded like the poor trees were screaming. This is like murder for a tree hugger like me, it really is.

Well, this was a farm for years and years and when the tractors started digging and moving shit around, 100 years and 100 layers of cow manure was unearthed and one could not go outside for a long length of time or this smell would envelop you and you’d nearly vomit or pass the hell out. I even had an OT mom that had dropped her daughter off for OT and then was going to push her baby around the neighborhood in the stroller while I saw her daughter for her session. Well, that lasted about 30 seconds as I witnessed her fleeing for her car and her stroller was on 2 wheels rounding the sidewalk corner as she moved faster than a Ninja getting her child and herself into the safety of her car. Bless her!

I feel bad because I have been glaring at the tree murdering, manure unearthing workers who are just doing their job but I hate them and what they are doing to my wildlife kingdom. I haven’t seen any of the red-tailed hawks, I’ll bet Mr. Pickles is pissed and has skipped town with his family, which makes me very sad, gone are the foxes, the rabbits, the deer, the owls, etc. I DO NOT LIKE THIS CHANGE AT ALL!

But this change pales to the one that will hit my heart with such force, I only hope I can bear it . . .

My son will be going off to college and again I think, “Um with me being only 22, how is this possible? Again, did I stay blinking my eyes closed for 17 years?”

Change is inevitable because we live in a dynamic, alive, breathing, goal setting, and getting ahead world so change is going to happen and is necessary. My kids both know there will me no failure to launch, that is not an option. If that happens, then I have failed as a mother. I believe that with all my soul.

I know I’m not alone with all the upcoming changes. I read my friend’s posts on Facebook and there are many of us sending kids off to high school, college, getting married, having babies, dying, etc. I am also not alone with my neighbors as we watch the “massacre” out our windows each day. Oh, my heart for all the changes.

Change will happen, it will, but the best way to deal with change is to attempt to find the good in it, and no, not good in it for you necessarily, I mean the good for all. For example, although I am bracing myself for the launching of my son to college next year, I am eager to see how he does. Has all my hard work with him paid off? Will he make it through successfully? What kind of mechanical engineer will he be? What kind of husband? Will he make the same mistakes I did or did he learn from me? What will his kids be like? I’m excited to see these questions answered but sad all at once.

Embrace change for it is inevitable, y’all, it really is.

Love y’all!!♥

A Guest Post From Sweet Dee

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Well y’all, just when I think I can’t be so honored anymore, my sweet friend approaches me to be a guest blogger on my site and post her heart y’all. This is good, go get your tissues, you are gonna need them. And to you my sweet Dee, you are one tough ass cookie and I’m honored to know ya!♥

Running from the Devil, Discovering Angels, and Finding Hope on the Other Side

Date: June 30th, 2017
LBL

Introduction:

To my absolute awesome friends,  immediate family, extended family, co-workers, and acquaintances, whom I have had the undeniable irrefutable pleasure of communicating with some of you on a daily basis while others not as frequent, however, most of you “think you know me”, but do you?…

I have contemplated for weeks if this would be a sound idea to unbar the passage gateway to my heart and life to write about such a deep personal experience due to such undue criticism that exists within people’s evil souls that will in return harshly judge my existence.  However, if it will help just one person, just one, it is worth writing, sharing and reading.  The desire is for an open mind and positive response with a realization that each one of us is, or has, gone through our own hell and there is hope, yes, there is hope, your own salvation and the warmest brilliant light at the end of the tunnel.

I dedicate this article to the love of my life, my son, and to my Lord and Savior, which has made it attainable for me to discover my path back as a survivor, stronger, resilient and more benevolent with a greater understanding.

I was raised in a small town with an indestructible Christian background (Presbyterian…then later in life Lutheran) and an even more indisputable work ethic (some call it stubbornness). I was saved when I was thirteen years old. I had always struggled with myself, depression, weight, self-image or fear of never being good enough. My parents were strict, however, gave me an excellent foundation.  Fast forwarding to 2012.  THE DIVORCE. THE MADNESS. The inevitable irreconcilable differences that had given me the worst beat down, how could anyone have survived the brutality nature of subjects? I did not, and do not believe in divorce and after seventeen years, one child it was happening…to me…. The reasons for the divorce are not even relevant at this point…How could this be happening I thought to myself?  Be strong and don’t look back I told myself. Move forward. One step at a time. Easy enough, right? Well no, it wasn’t. I went on an uncontrollable downward spiral each day becoming progressively worse, a self-sustaining vicious circle through my runaway thoughts. Was I sleeping in the Devils den? It sure felt like it.  The Devil had a stranglehold on me so tight I couldn’t feel my heart or breath, shear panic anxiety was taking permanent residency within me. Whether it is best for the divorce or not, it is never easy. My son was twelve years old at the time and was heartbroken. He is my miracle child after believing I could not have children then losing my first child and later after having a child, the choice to have any future children was medically taking from me. I was devastated.   I retained sole custody with his father having visitation rights. On the day his dad would pick him up from my house, I would fall to pieces on the floor for an entire weekend, crying and sleeping, not eating nor moving. All contact was reduced greatly on my part towards my family and friends. Resound screaming with no sound. Nebulous and depression had taken over my soul.  I prayed every night for God to just “end it” and take my life. I did not have the “guts” to do it myself. I truly believed the world would be a better place without me. Feelings of worthlessness, great pain and despair had set deep inside me.  Get your shit together just in time for your son to come home, don’t let him see you weak, I would tell myself. So to all my righteous friends and family, unless you have ever been to the bottom of hell with the devil, you don’t have any right to judge anyone that has been there, tried, or thoughts of suicide.  Suicide is not selfish in the mind of the victim; in the victim’s thoughts they wonder whether the world would be a better place without their wretched existence. Each day was a daunting task to make it through without incident. Missed meals, no strength, did I really want to die? Or did I just want the excruciating pain to subside…. I think we all just want the pain to go away and to know that we are truly loved. Our worth. Our value. Someone that won’t give up on us….. Don’t give up on yourself. Don’t keep putting yourself last. Honey, no one else is going to put you first but yourself and that by no means is selfish. Walk away for whatever isn’t healthy for you, even if that means particular friendships or situations. Surround yourself with support. I kept telling myself over and over again that even if no one else ever loved me again, that I know God loves me and that is sufficient for me. Every day, I said those exact words. I believed it and it helped me to regain perspective.

 Reality is, the world is not a better place without you, and it’s a better place with honest, caring, loving people like you. Yes, I said you.  Let’s think clearly now….how the hell did I ever find my way back without dying? One foggy day at a time, day after day, and I don’t mean without struggles along the pathway back to a normal existence. God carried me through my darkest, lowest days and I didn’t even realize it at the time it was happening.  One brick at a time, one day at a time. He brought friendships into my life and made existing friendships closer to help watch over me. My angels. My son. My reason for existence. He became closer to my heart, day by day; I began to get back to my foundation and beliefs.  I started going to a local “book meet” and we started the book “The Purpose Driven Life” “What On Earth Am I Here For” By Rick Warren.  I couldn’t get enough, chapter by chapter, was like my life was being renewed with a second chance.  After many obstacles and five years later I can finally talk and write about it because I am no longer anywhere near that dark hole and I am not ashamed.  I know my worth and value and I have learned to love myself and the woman I have become. I busted my ass to get to this place and no one will ever take this from me.  Love and happiness comes from within. Know that the only perfect love is Gods love. Understand people will be a disappointment to you at some point, no one is perfect. Forgive, love and always be kind to everyone. Most importantly, forgive and love yourself first and foremost. You see a happy person smiling all the time? Well maybe she isn’t always happy; maybe she is making the choice to be appreciative, positive and accept the grace and joy that God has given her despite the problems or situations that may arise in her life.  Don’t take friendships for granted and don’t assume or judge others when you clearly haven’t walked in their shoes. Make a difference. Make the world a better place and start with yourself.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 24/7 1-800-273-8255. Crisis and distress does not discriminate. You are either an asset to society or a nuisance… be an asset.  Build awareness. Have character. Show the mercy and kindness you would want shown to you. Every struggle is different, every story is different but the devastating feelings are the same.  Learn about prevention and the signs. Understand. Be an advocate.

Accidents, Cindy, and Whistle Blowing Nazi’s

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Once upon a time, there was a blended family who went to the beach each year with the Professor’s whole family. On one of those trips, the Lady and the Professor got married right there on the beach just 4 years ago.

These trips have had many many moments and memories . . .

Two years ago was the last time they went but no fun was had because one of the children required surgery and the Lady had to sit at the hospital the entire time listening to the bellowing child, it was hell.

There was no trip last year for the Lady and the Professor because taxes saw to the draining of the beach fund . . .

So this year was going to be awesome for this blended family but wait, let’s throw in about 653 sticks in their little spokes and see how they respond!

Yes, this is my story and every word is true, y’all and yes, I am the Lady . . .

The Professor’s style of travel is as laid back as styles come and I love that to bits because the last dude I said vows to was a freaking Nazi lunatic that didn’t believe in waking up leisurely, no, it would be more like 4 am to beat traffic and stopping be damned, I don’t give a crap if you pee your pants. True story!

So, the Professor and I go to bed late the night before having not packed and have made no preparations whatsoever with the plan to roll out of bed, pack, prepare, etc. and take off when we got everything together because we were alone on the trip down, here’s why.

My daughter was in Iceland for two weeks with her dad.

My son had taken the week off for a Young Life camp before the beach trip and having just gotten a new job, didn’t want to take another week off and push his luck at his work.

My eldest step-son was also working and taking classes at the local college so he stayed behind too.

The other two step kids had left the week before with their grandparents who stayed nearly two weeks total.

So, the Professor and I roll outta bed at around 10 am the day of departure for we had stayed awake entirely too late the night before but we were gleeful and excited about our trip to the beach, FINALLY!

We get everything together and take off around 11 am and sailed smoothly until after we passed through Birmingham and that’s when all hell broke loose . . .

Traffic came to a standstill or a crawl, not once, not twice, not thrice but at least 54 1/2 times, I am not kidding. Between the 9 or more accidents, torrential rain, road ragers, people trying to merge on from the on-ramp, and 18 wheelers who stayed in the left lane going 5 or more miles under the speed limit, you name it, we had it happen to us.

Now, it is an unspoken “that’s just how it is” thing that happens when we have to drive places, I always drive. It’s not because I’m a control freak, it’s just how it has played out and the Professor and all the kids prefer me driving so I drive everywhere when we all go out together.

I started out happy as a clam driving, singing, and just damn happy to be alive but that came to a screeching halt just south of Birmingham.

There were so damn many people on the road it was more than I have ever seen in my life going down to the beach. The Professor blurted out at one point, “Who the hell are all these people and where the hell did they come from? I didn’t realize so many people existed!” I had to agree with him.

So a trip that should have taken 6ish hours turned into 8.5 hours and I was ready to kill someone and was so stabby I feared I’d alienate myself from human beings altogether.

Well, by the grace of God we made it safe and I managed not to kill anyone but I did get a bit stabby about ordering pizza and when it arrived, managed to knock a few kids and old people to the wayside so I could have at least 5 pieces. Sorry Weight Watchers, but it was thin crust so there’s that.

By the next day, I had my happy back again as I looked out the window to a beautiful sunny beach day but the Professor was still asleep. As I ran through the condo taking my clothes off to get into my bathing suit, the Professor looked up at me and said, “What are you 10 or something acting all crazy to get to the beach?” I did a happy dance and said, “Hell yes, get outta that bed, let’s go!!”

We had exactly 2 decent beach days until . . .

Call in, Tropical Storm Cindy, not my new best friend at all . . .

Tropical Storm Cindy came in pissed as hell and ready to take beach folks out and blow them over with her furry. She was one pissed off woman-storm thingy.

For two days she blew in and dumped so much rain on us, many of the roads flooded and they ended up putting up two red flags which meant the beach was closed. The only unfortunate casualty that happened in this storm was a freak accident of a 10-year-old boy who was close to the water and a wave with a log in it came up, hit him in the face, and killed him. Pray for that family, y’all.

I, on the other hand, I was content for those two “Cindy” days. I liked watching the waves come in, liked watching the rain, listening to the thunder, reading 3 books, and watching the silly sausages that decided it was a good idea to be at the beach anyway, for example, the surfers who had no thought to ending their lives with a rip current or two.

Cue the Whistle Blowing Nazi Lifeguards . . .

After Cindy unleashed her fury over two days, the day after was perfect and so, as we all do, or me anyway, we ran through the condo undressing in a furry to get our suits on, packed our beach bags, and packed our coolers, by God, it was time to reclaim the beach and swim in the ocean, however, the Nazi’s had other ideas.

Now, in my opinion, no one “owns” the beach because is belongs to God and He gave it to all of us but when you venture into the ocean at shin level, you hear a screaming bleeping whistle blown at you followed by a rude teenager or early 20 something telling you to get out of the water that the beach is closed. Come again oh idiot one? You can’t close nature, you can’t keep folks off of the beach or out of the water, and shove that damn whistle up your you know what!

For the two good beach days we had left at the end of our trip, the Nazi’s came in on three 4-wheelers, 1 Sea Doo, 2 lifeguard stands, in one helicopter, and on foot. If I ever hear another damn whistle blown again, I may just tackle the person that is blowing it.

Kids and adults would get in, not too far because we knew it was bad we aren’t idiots, and here they would come screaming and blowing their whistles at you but here’s the thing, no sooner after they extracted you from the water and walked/ride/fly away to go tick off someone else, everyone would get back in. It was quite the losing battle for these lifeguards but they kept on at us.

At one point, I was talking with some folks who had been accosted by the whistle- blowing and screaming lifeguard and I said, “We need a signal and when it goes off, every single stinkin’ one of us needs to rush the water! What in the hell can they do?” That got quite a laugh.

A lot of folks got mad at one point and started yelling back at the lifeguards that if they wanted to be in the water and risk their own life, well, it was their American right and I had to agree with that. Ya know?!

And oh y’all, there was so much flesh shown this year, I felt like I was at a Sports Illustrated shoot. Unfortunately, some of these folks weren’t in the best shape and probably were showing entirely too much as it was a bit unsavory. I’m not saying you can’t but . . .

The people watching was prime this year, especially when the lifeguard would get on them about being in the bloody water, body language is so cool!

So one night, the fam decided to go to this fancy restaurant, which I had not prepared proper attire for but I didn’t care and off we went. After dinner, my father-in-law wanted to take pictures outside on the docks well, it was so stinkin’ windy, we almost lost my mother-in-law into the water and nearly lost one of the kids as well. This Cindy just can’t take a hint, move on sister, you’re done now!

The Professor and I had Thursday and Friday to ourselves because the others went home Thursday morning and that was awesome. He and I have such crazy fun together and I swear we both think we are still in our early 20’s or something, no joke, and no, mom, the honeymoon period is NOT over, not by a long shot. I’m one lucky girl!

So, let’s recap:

It took 8.5 hours to get down to the beach when it should’ve only taken 6.

We had 2 good beach days at the start and then Cindy swept her mean self in and we lost 2 to rain, wind, and lightening . . . oh, and tornado’s, though we didn’t see any ourselves.

We watched surfers try to drown while surfing the very big for our area waves.

The Nazi brigade came out and “closed” the beach, what a freaking joke.

We saw a lot of flesh at the beach some of it was a bit unsavory.

Oh, I failed to mention while at the beach, we celebrated 2 birthdays and 2 anniversaries, that’s a story in and of itself but I’ll digress.

My mother-in-law and a child nearly blew away from Cindy’s apparent still pissed off presence.

Two good beach days and 2 days to ourselves.

Cue the nausea and tears . . .

So, I’m in the kitchen cooking dinner the night before we were to leave and the Professor is on the balcony just drinking it all in before we shove off the next day. It is still a two red flag evening but folks were getting brave and the Nazi’s were gone . . .

The Professor screams into the condo and yells, “Get your phone, you may have to call 911, there’s a dude screaming for help, and I think he’s drowning!” Oh crap, maybe the Nazi’s were right.

I grab my phone and scream out to the balcony and this is what I see . . .

I see a dude about 14 or so in the water further out then he should have been and he is screaming this primitive gut wrenching extreme fear “HELP.” I almost threw up at the sound of the fear in his voice and started crying. I dialed 911 and explained to the lady where we were and what was going on. I was on the 14th floor otherwise if I had been on that beach, my ass would have been in that water saving that baby boy as I remember my lifeguard training from years ago and have managed to save exactly 3 kids over the years at the beach.

But, by the grace of God, a brave beachgoer jumps in, swims to him, and pulls his ass in thus saving his life. In the meantime, the sheriff pulls up as well as another dude with a lifesaving foam thing but he was too late as this man brought this poor kid in. I observed his mother and sister run up to him and they all fell into each other’s arms sobbing. Oh, my heart, y’all. I’m not sure what happened that he ended up out there but it was obvious he got plum tired trying to get back in and needed help. Bless him.

The next morning was departure time and I was ready to be home. I missed my home, my dogs, and my son. But alas, the trip back was as bad as the trip down.

Cue the torrential rain with zero visibility . . .

Long story short, slow or stand still traffic, a shit ton of hard rain, and a growing stabby sensation in my chest but, thank God above, we made it home safe.

If I had to critique the trip in its entirety, it was good, y’all. Being with my family and my husband was great plus the beach was the added bonus. Those two days of rain were good too because for once in a long time, I relaxed and didn’t run around with my head cut off studying, writing notes, doing laundry, grocery shopping, and all the other 4 billion things I do when I’m home. Plus, I had the Professor to myself for 2 awesome days. Glass half full, y’all.

I hope all of you have safe trips to and from your locations this summer and even though those sticks will get stuck in your spokes, enjoy the good parts, really enjoy them because those joys makes life worth living. Ya know?!

Love y’all!!♥