A Life Askew

Bumbling Through One Day At A Time

He’s Gonna Miss Me…

Summer is (finally) upon us and we’ve been crazy busy around here. We’ve had road trips (that were awesome) and spring cleaning to be done. And through all of this, there is one particular song that keeps popping into my mind.
Have you heard that Brad Paisley song I’m Gonna Miss Her (The Fishing Song)? Well, my life is kind of feeling like that right now. Except, opposite. If I don’t go fishing soon I’m going to leave. I’ll just quit.
Actually, that is my plan tomorrow. I’m going to quit, for the morning at least. Which normally, I wouldn’t do. But after the following conversation, well..

Me, “Do you have any plans tomorrow?”
The Honey, “Yes.”

Me, “Uh, would you like to tell me what they are?”
Him, “Well, I guess I’ll just see what gets done.”

All this time, I thought women were supposed to be the ones to have the enigmatic answers that left you with more questions than you started with. I mean, that’s how TV portrays us… Anyhow, getting info out of that man is worse than having dental work done. And they don’t make anesthetics for his particular kind of pain, except booze.
Booze would work.
So, because he’s acting like a petulant child that is assuming you’re going to ask them to do chores before you can say anything, I’m taking the morning off.

When you’re fishing it’s never too early for booze anesthetic, right?

Which brings me to another confusing gender preconception. Aren’t men supposed to be the ones that are nuts about fishing? He refuses to go. Flat out refuses. I do all the stupid crap he wants to, but suggest spending a couple hours on a sunny day sitting at a calm lake and he acts like we’re talking about human sacrifice.
And I LOVE fishing. I can fish all day long, successfully or not. And with this weather and the proximity of some of the best fishing lakes in the state, well, it’s just about too much to bear.

So, while I’m sure running away won’t actually teach him anything, scoring some fresh fish for dinner will make me forget about being irritated all together.

And I might not share.

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Lucky Break

Today I was in a waiting room talking with a lady, whom I know from church but hadn’t ever really spoken with before, and during the course of the conversation kids came up.  Which is surprising, because who talks about kids, I mean really?
After talking about how awesome they are, to how less than awesome they can be and back to them being awesome again, I mentioned my girl had broken her leg when she was little.  That was three years ago, in July.  July 19th or 20th, or not.  Or 12th.  Oh hell, maybe it was June!  I don’t remember for sure.  I’m bad with dates, don’t judge me.  She’s lucky I know her birthday.  Lucky for her it’s a week after mine, and I like my birthday, so it helps me remember hers.

So, in July, just 2 months before her second birthday, she breaks her leg.  It was a gnarly break, too.  I had been out doing laundry at my mom’s because the apartment laundry room was gross, and when I came in she was on the couch watching a movie and jumped up and started to run to me.  Yelling, “Momma!!!  Momma!! Yer home!!!  Yer home!!!”  And proceeded to run right off the end of the couch.  The stupid couch had this one long cushion that wouldn’t stay put and always slid down and it was hanging over the edge a good ways when she ran off it.  Well, it gave and she went down and when she hit the floor it twisted her poor little right leg out and it broke.  Spiral fracture in her femur.  Which, apparently, because some seriously thick-headed-jerk-faces kept mentioning it, is the most painful bone in the body to break.

DO NOT tell anyone that if they have a child that is currently suffering from a femur break.  Just don’t do it.

At that moment I didn’t know what was wrong, just that the happiest, least likely to cry, baby was screaming bloody murder and it was worse if I put her on her feet.  Inside of 30 seconds I decided a trip to the ER was required and off we went.  She calmed down a little on the way, but the second I moved her, the screaming recommenced.  They took some X-rays and through dumb luck caught the tail end of the break on one of them.  We thought her knee was hurt, not her thigh, so we weren’t looking in the right place.  They took some more X-rays and found one of the most horrid visions I’ve ever seen.  Ever.  She had a spiral fracture.  You could see the cracks wrap right around that little bone of hers.  If you’ve never seen one, it’s similar to a can of Pillsbury biscuits, when it pops open and you twist it.  Same, exact, idea.

Now, this, particular kind of fracture is very common in children abuse cases.  It happens when the bone is twisted.  Which is terribly and utterly sickening, if you ask me.  BUT, it’s also very common in toddlers’ legs.  While the hospital we went to took exceptional care of my daughter, it’s a small hospital.  In a small town.  They’d never seen this kind of break in a kid this age before and were automatically suspicious of abuse.  Understandable?  Yeah.  Even remotely helpful to me or my mental state?  Not even close.  So, they’re tossing around hints of me abusing my child.  My mom flat out asked of Chris did it.  Which is fair, but again, not helpful.  Right now.  Thanks.

This was in between muscle spasms in her leg.  The poor doctors were afraid to give her any pain killers because they'd never had a kid in pain like this before.

This was in between muscle spasms in her leg. The poor doctors were afraid to give her any pain killers because they’d never had a kid in pain like this before.

Suspicion of abuse wasn’t the only side effect of the break being new to them all, there wasn’t an orthopedic doctor in the area that felt even remotely comfortable setting her leg or putting a cast on her.  And we have some REALLY good orthopedic doctors here.  But she was just too small and they were just too nervous about it.  So they set us up to be taken to The Children’s Hospital in Denver (where they were fantastic, but I’ll get to that in a few…).
There were two options to get us to Denver.  Either ambulance or aircraft.  They were reluctant to take us by road because of the bumps jarring her already hurt leg.  So they called in a helicopter to take us.

This was the only thing we could distract her with.  I think she was calling for a taxi, or pizza.  Or both.

This was the only thing we could distract her with. I think she was calling for a taxi, or pizza. Or both.

While they were getting a helicopter ready to fly us to Denver, there was a very bad car accident and a woman was severely injured.  As it happened, the helicopter was ready just when she arrived at the hospital and they decided to use it to take her to a better trauma center in another city.  And while it’s not like they asked my permission or anything, they did mention it to me.  Maybe to help me feel like I had a choice.  Regardless, I was fine with it, my daughter was stable, if in pain, but the woman needed it more than we did at the time.
While we were waiting for another flight I was going crazy.  My mom works at the hospital, so I’d called her to come in.  (She fixes their computers, so I was hoping with her around they’d make sure they were on top of their game with her grand daughter.  You know, keep the computer lady happy.)  And while I’d been keeping it together so the kiddo wouldn’t get freaked out because I was freaking out, my mom is over there crying and freaking out.

Not helping.  Geez, lady, keep it together…

So, to both take a break and give myself a chance to react; and to get a moment to pull myself together, I left my mom with my girl and went outside to smoke a cigarette. By now, we’ve been in the ER for 3 hours, or so, and I was starting to get mad about someone else taking our flight. My kid was hurting, there was nothing I could do to fix it.  I was emotionally exhausted, mad I couldn’t fix my little girl’s hurt, angry they would even suggest I’d done it, mad my mom would suggest Chris had, just in general struggling with the whole shebang.  I was the kind of mad you get when someone you love is hurting and there isn’t a thing you can do about it.  I might have kicked my truck.  A couple times.
I was shaking and just about undone when a man approached me in the parking lot and asked why I was there. I told him about my girl and that we were just waiting for a flight, that we’d had one but it had gone to someone else. And right there he began to cry.
He started thanking me through his tears. It was his wife that had been hurt.  Their, grown, children were standing off a ways talking and watching us.  He just stood there and cried for a minute.  He took a second to get himself together and he thanked me again, and apologized for crying.  He told me that without the flight his wife probably wouldn’t have made it.  He said how sorry he was that my poor child was hurting so much, but that it was his blessing, an answer to his prayers.
And then I cried (I may or may not be tearing up writing this…).  I felt ashamed at my impatience.  And so thankful that we could play a part in saving that woman’s life. And humbled.  And so filled with God’s grace and love.  And it helped give me the strength to hold my daughter’s hand through her pain.
I thanked him for telling me that.  And forgave him his tears (what kind of monster would I be to hold them against him?  Hmm?)  And thanked him some more and prayed for his wife and thanked him again for giving me perspective (that I seriously needed just then).  I told him I was so thankful that they took our flight.  And that, yes, it was terrible my child was hurting, but a gift to us to be able to help that way.  And we prayed for each other.  And thanked each other a couple more times.  And he went on his way.

As a side note, that is the only conversation I’ve ever had like that.  It happened so fast.  And I don’t think I’ve ever sat and thought about it like this until now.  And now my memories are just that, memories.  Which means they’re a little (a lot) foggy.  So, maybe it didn’t go down exactly like that, but that’s how I remember it.  And that’s definitely the sentiment of it all.
Also, the woman made it through, in no small part because of the flight.  For such a horrific moment in my daughter’s small life, it had an enormous and beautiful impact on that family and I’ll be forever thankful for that.  I wish I deserved more credit for it, but I don’t.  I’ll have to settle for the gift of knowing we had our part.

Some time later, they finally had a flight lined up for us.  We flew on a little plane (that was really awesome because I like planes but I don’t remember much of because there were more important things going on.  And they didn’t let me sit with her because I was still suspect for the injury).  Tess did wonderfully.  She was still having the spasms every few minutes, but she’s such a little trooper.  A spasm would hit and she’d cry for a second, then stop, then bet her eyes and say, “Hiiiiiiiiiiii.” to the EMT sitting with her.  And while he wasn’t bad looking, c’mon kid, time and place!

The flight was pretty quick and soon we landed and got on an ambulance to take us to the hospital.  The staff at The Children’s Hospital were A maze ing.  They asked a couple questions, took a look at us and assured me this was a common break in toddlers and that helped sooth us both.  It was pretty late at night and we had to wait for the doctor that came in on the morning shift.  So she was able to get a little bit of sleep, and I wasn’t.  The only complaint I have about that hospital is their plastic chairs in the rooms are impossible to sleep in.  So, after trying desperately to doze a little bit here and there, the doctor finally made it in.  They put her in a SPICA cast.  Basically, it’s a body cast/baby torture device.

Full body baby torture, but it comes in purple!

Full body baby torture, but it comes in purple!

As you can see, it’s quite a contraption.  And totally, horribly, vilely disgusting after 8 weeks.  I won’t get into that.  Trust me though, totally gross.  And ginormous.  We had to borrow a car seat that is made specifically for the cast to be able to leave with her.  It was all just nuts.  And for those of you that are wondering, and I KNOW some of you are wondering, under that diaper is a big hole they left.  For diapers I had to get newborn ones and shove them in the hole and then the big one around the outside to hold it all in.  It’s not a perfect system.  Again, I won’t go into detail.  But it’s about the only option when your’e strapped into a monster thing like that.  They comforted me by telling me that at least she’s young enough for diapers.  I guess it’s more more horrific on children that are older and more accustomed to using the toilet.  I don’t even want to imagine….

Once the cast was on everything sped up to light speed and they gave us some good pain killers for her and sent us on our way.  Chris had left earlier to try and be there when we were ready to go, and my step-mom had left work to do the same.  I was finally able to take a deep breath after all night of holding it in.  I was afraid of breathing too deep all night because I knew the torrent of my emotions would be released with little to no instigation.  And I was trying very hard to keep it all in check.  Chris took the kiddo to my dad’s house to rest and stop being on the move for awhile.  And I went with my step-mom to go pick up some things that were now necessary for caring for my kid.  Bless that woman for putting up with me some days, but when Chris drove off with Tess, all that pressure was released and I was totally nutzo for a little while.  It was like I had jelly between my ears.  More than normal.  No, not more jelly, just more of the feeling.  Damnit.  I’m just not thinking of a better way to describe that right now.  Anyhow, by the time we got back to the house and Tess, I was ready to deal with the situation again, and, at least slightly, more sane.

happy kiddoAs you can see, she dealt with the whole thing with a lot more decorum than I did.  And now she’s fully recovered and just fine despite the whole mess.

And now, I think I’ve got this story out of my system.  It had been stuck in my head all day.  I think it was just time to get it out.  Maybe I needed the reminder that even our darkest hours can be a blessing in disguise.  It’s an easy thing to forget.  I guess today was just a day to reflect on how lucky I am, to have such an awesome little girl, and to have been at the right place and the right time, again (that happens a lot to me, I’m just lucky that way I guess).

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Don’t Think And Drive

Before I get too far, I have to note that after I wrote that post about how much I love my dog, he betrayed me.  He sat up until after midnight whining and crying because he wanted to go bark at some unseen entity lurking in the vicinity.  I mean, I appreciate his eagerness to take a stand against lurking, but after midnight, I don’t care who’s lurking, I just want to go to bed.

Moving right along…

I’ve been driving a lot the last few weeks.  Highway driving.  At least an hour each direction.  And I always forget about my stereo until I’m almost where I’m going.  While I’m driving I think to myself.  I think about things that I should be blogging.  After all, I have an obligation to you all.  I’m sure everyone’s happiness in life is hinged on what I write here.  Which means, my absence could be causing some serious upset in the world.  I think about this while I’m driving.  And I mentally write some FABULOUS blogs while I’m driving, too.  Several of them have been about driving….

But right now, I was thinking about how I really do need to be more dedicated to this blog.  Oddly, people actually like this silliness.  So that is motivating, but more over, no one else wants to listen to my rambling. 🙂

So, I will try, from now on, to come here more often.  I’ll write about- Oh!  Oh! Oh!!  I remember that other thing I wanted to write about!  Ah ha!!

I was thinking, when I set out to write this blog, I envisioned all the blogs I come across for recipes or crafts.  They’re always so put together, and witty, and well, damned crafty really.  And when I tried to do that, well, obviously, I haven’t really tried all that hard.  Occasionally when I’m doing those things I remember 5/8ths of the way through to pull out the camera and then it takes crappy pictures and I give up right there.  I wasn’t doing what I thought I should be on here so I wasn’t writing very often.

And then a couple things happened.  One, a couple of my friends started telling me they were looking forward to my next post and that I needed to write more.  One is just a nice (crazy) friend trying to make me feel good.  More than one, well, maybe there is something to it.  So, then I started stressing about what I would write about.  And that made me not want to post either.  Damnit.  But I was looking for this perfect formula for me.  I felt like every post should be the funniest, wittiest, most awesomest post on the internet.

And then the second thing happened.  I stumbled across a page on Facebook called Insane in the Mom-Brain which led me to her blog: Insane in the Mom-Brain.

Seriously (or not even a little seriously) how could you NOT want to check out a blog like that?

I HIGHLY recommend you check her out.  She’s a very talented writer and one of the most creative people you could follow.  But what I got out of it was that I don’t, actually, have to have some form or recipe for my blogs.  I could, gasps, just write about the nonsense I’ve been writing about.  That people do appreciate the lighter side (less organized) of blogging.  That being me and doing it MY way would actually work out for me.

Who the hell would have thought that?

Anyhizzle, I’m going to put more effort into making this an actual hobby instead of an after thought.  And I wanted to share that with you all.


Why My Dog is My Favorite Kid

By now, if you’re following this nonsensical blog, you know that I have an ornery little girl.

We recently added a large dog to the family.


Goobers, our puppy.

I love my family.  They are all wonderful, from the kid, to the dog, to the Lorax.  But sometimes, well, sometimes my dog is my favorite of the bunch.

He is just so nice!  He loves me!  He never talks back.  He cuddles when I want to cuddle.  He doesn’t leave socks on the floor.

And because I think that everything needs a list of examples, here are a few specific reasons why my dog is my favorite kid.

Kid: I don’t want to eat that!  It’s yucky!    Dog: FOOD!!!!

Kid: No! I don’t want to!   Dog: Woof! *Tail Wags*

Kid: That’s not fair!   Dog: Woof! *Tail Wags*

Kid: But I waaaaaaant it!!!!   Dog: *Puppy Dog Eyes*

To kid: Sit down! Kid: *Wiggle Wiggle*   To dog: Sit!  Dog: *Sits*

Kid: But this isn’t the kind of candy I wanted!   Dog: A treat! Yay! *Tail Wags*

Kid bedtime: Jack-in-the-box up and down, screaming, crying.   Dog bedtime: My feet are warm.

Kid: You’re not my friend anymore!!!   Dog: I’ll always be your friend.

Of course, in the end, they’re both pretty awesome.

Kid: I love you!    Dog: I love you! *Tail Wags*

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Ten Turtles Humping

I know it’s been some time since I actually posted anything on here.  I think about it sometimes, but so rarely are there moments in my life that I think anyone who doesn’t actually like me would even bother to sit through a full telling of them, that I just, well, don’t.  But that, I suppose, is obvious.  And while I know that my rare posts are pure gold that the masses yearn to experience, just know that if I don’t really want to write, you guys would suffer.  And I can’t be letting you all down.

That said, it being the Holidays and tomorrow Christmas Eve, I thought this little gem of a story would be perfectly fitting.  And tellable.  Maybe even awe inspiring.

Over this last weekend, my boyfriend, daughter and I went to my father’s house to spend the weekend with that part of the family and do an early Christmas with them.  And that was wonderful.  It was also normal family stuff that no one else really wants to hear about.  My literary opportunity came 4 hours into our ride home.  In a single cab truck.  After stuffing our faces with Krispy Kremes and Jack in the Box (and a morning of Mimosas for me…).

It was starting to get dark, I was starting to get tired, and the kiddo, she was starting to wake up.  Of course.  The Lorax was getting a little loopy too, so it wasn’t just me.  Out of the blue, while following a snow plow (with flashy, glowy blue and yellow lights) I hear quietly from the other side of the truck, “Blue. Yellow. Blue. Yellow. Blue.. Yellow..”  So on and so forth. It went on for a second before I realized it was him, in a weird, growly voice, chanting along with the flashing of the lights on the truck.  You know how you always wish you could get into someone’s head?  You really don’t want to.  That’s the kind of thing you find and it just changes your whole perspective of them..  Or ruins your train of thought when following snow plows for the foreseeable future….

ANYwho…  So we chant for a few minutes, getting the kiddo all worked up and giggling, and again, out of no where, I get this unstoppable urge to sing The Twelve Days of Christmas.  Now, I’m a Christmas song nut.  I mean, when I’m alone in the car in July, I turn off the radio and sing them at the top of my lungs because I just like the damn things.  They’re catchy.  What I didn’t realize until, well, let me recount how the song went for you all.  It’s an instant classic.  I think I’m going to go caroling tomorrow so I can share this with all the neighbors.

Oooonnnnn the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me!!!!!!!!
A partridge in a pear treeeeeeee!!!!!
(While the text doesn’t give it due justice, I’ll try to exaggerate the words so you too can feel their passion.)

Onn the second daay of Christmas my true love gaaave to meee!!
Two turtle doves!!!!!
Aaaand a paartridge in a pear treeeee!!!!

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to mee!!
Threeeeee…. french hens!
Two turtle doves
Aaand a partridge in a pear tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to mee!
Four tur.. TURTLE doves!!
Three french hens!!
And a partridge in a pear tree…

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me!
FIVE GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLD RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGS!!!! (If you’ve seen Eddie Izzard, he’d be proud…)
Four french.. hens..
And a partridge in a pear treeee!!

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to mee!!
Six!!  Six… maids a milking…
Four turtle hens
Three french pigs
And a partridge in a pear TREEEEEE!!!!!

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me!!!
Seven swans a stinking
Six maids a milking
Four turtles humping
Three bunnies running
Two french hens
And a partridge in a pear treeee!

On the seventh.. EIGHTH!! day of Christmas my true love gave to me!!!
Eight…  eight ladies leaping
Seven swans a swimming
Six maids a maiding
Four mocking goons
Three french whores
Two turtle rabbits
And a partridge in a pear tree!!!!

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gaaave to meee!!!
Nine lords a skipping
Eight ladies weeping
Seven swims a swanning
Six maids a milking
Four french breads
Three bunnies running
And a partridge in a pear tree!!!

On the 11th (“You’re on the tenth!!”  “Oh!  damn!”) On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me!!!
Ten things I don’t need
Nine ladies dancing….
Eight…. lords.. in.. clothing!
Seven swans a swimming
Six maids a milking!! *Fist pumps in air for correctness*
Four bunnies dancing
Three french hens!!
Two turtle doves..
And a partridge in a pear treeee!!

(“Wait, what am I on again?” “Eleven!!”  “Thanks!”)

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me!!
Eleven lines I’m needing
Ten things I don’t need
Nine… Ladies dancing
Eight.. Lords.. a’leaping..
Seven swans.. swimming..
Six maids milking..?
Four turtle butts
Three rabbit furs
Two hench frens.. FRENCH HENS!!!
And a partridge in a pear treee!!!!!

On the 12th day of Christmas my truuuuuuuue love gaaaaaave to meeeee!!!!
Twelve songs I can’t sing
Eleven lines I’m needing
Ten things I don’t need
Nine ladies lording
Eight things with something
Seven swans a swimming
Six maids with stitching
Four french hens!!!
Three rabbit dens!!
Two turtle doves..!!!
AAAAANND a paaaaartridge iiiiiiiin aaaaaaa pear TREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!

As you can see, I may have forgotten a few of the words.  I know it’s not super noticeable.  You probably had to look them up to double check, but yeah, there are a few lines that are a little off.

However, I think this version has more, um, character.  I’m excited to try it out for my friends and family tomorrow, as I’m sure they would be if they had any idea what they were in for….

With that, you all have a fabulously Merry Christmas!!!!!  Safe holidays and may your presents all at least be in the realm of thoughtful!!!


The Itch

A few (or more) years ago I fancied myself a poet and a writer of profound things.  Obviously, if you’re read any of my blog you know that isn’t true in the slightest.  Heh.  So, one night, while I *might* have been drinking and tired from being over worked, I wrote this.  When I showed it to a few friends they thought it was hilarious.  So, obviously they were all destined to live in rooms with padded walls or had sub-standard senses of humor.  Either way, I’m gonna see how it goes and share it with you all.  Yes, I know it’s a little weird.  But you know it’s true.

It started with a day that really sucked. It sucked big, hairy, sweaty, nasty, elephant balls, fresh out of the nasty river. I had been at work for 12 hours and was only paid for half of it. I was super tired and bitchy. However, I’d been sarcastically telling someone that the highlight of my day had been scratching my ass.  And that got me thinking.  God knows why, but it did.

(I rewrote the intro, so it would make a little more sense, but the rest I left as is, well, minus the ridiculous amount of typos.)

A couple hours after that conversation I took a few minutes out of my day to actually stop and scratch my ass. You know the good old nails on skin, nearly ecstasy scratch. I know you know what I’m talking about; it’s one of the greatest feelings in the world. Then I began thinking about ass itches. There are so many kinds. They’re entirely unlike your back itching, which is a sharp-needs-immediate-attention kind of itch. No, the ass itch is a dull underlying itch that lasts all day until you break down and cater to it.

Different things create different itches. This is the fun part; I’m going to highlight them for you!! (Yes, it should by now be obvious that I’m half asleep already and absolutely cannot know what I’m saying.)


The dry ass itch-

This comes from wearing something that keeps the fabric from your tender derriere. It may become sweaty, but will dry out and itch. You can try to appease this discomfort while using the restroom’s toilet paper, but only nails will do the trick. And you know it.


The clothed too long ass itch-

This is where every millimeter of your ass itches like mad. But only after you take off your clothes. You will spend 10 minutes just scratching the entire hemispheres of your rump until you are anywhere near satisfied with the end result. Legs do this as well. Especially in pantyhose, which by the way, also cause the dry ass itch.


Opposite of the dry ass itch is the damp ass itch-

This can be blamed on a hot, sweaty day, or an accidental sit on a wet bench. Either way, that ever-so-sensitive skin gets damp and itches furiously. Upper thighs tend to be affected by this itch as well. Sometimes the back too.


Next up, the sitting too long ass itch-

This is very similar to the damp ass itch. You wiggle back and forth to try and ease the suffering all the while staying in your seat. There is nonchalance about it that you have to keep while doing this. You move back and forth ever to subtly trying to separate the cheeks so you can reach everything with the cloth of your pants. This is one of the worst scratches to have to successfully pull off. It generally leads into the next itch.


Which is, the just have to get it now ass itch-

This is the one where you stand up straight, try and tighten your ass to make slack in your pants, and just dig in!! With all you might you reach and stretch and do your damnedest to put a stop to this dreadful itch.


One of the worst itches is the didn’t clean up after business as well as you thought itch-

This one will wait hours to sporadically jump into a chaffed feeling itch.  It’s mean, it’s obnoxious, and it can downright hurt!!  The only real solution is a damp bit of toilet paper, or a wet wipe, if you’re lucky. This can sometimes be the have to get it now itch.  Either way, it’s miserable and you have to deal with it immediately and with extreme measures.


Then there is the can’t get to it through jeans itch-

This occurs all over the ass, and quite frequently legs as well.  You will begin reaching for anything that you might be able to use to scratch through your jeans.  This continues on until it reaches the clothed too long itch.  A tragedy indeed.


I think I’ll end here with one final itch. It encompasses the whole spectrum of itches as its definition is by when it hits you. This is the itch that finds you in that moment that you absolutely cannot scratch at it. You can do nothing more than the half waddle walk while trying to lift your leg and scratch using no hands. This itch doesn’t seem to affect adolescent boys. For everyone else, it is the worst of the worst. There is a good chance that it directly related to bad public relations. “Screw you; just let me scratch my ass.”


*if any of these problems are persistent or more than occasional and momentary discomforts, you may need to see a doctor or physician. This is in no way a reference on rectal health; do not rely on it for such. (God I love disclaimers!!!!!!)

**This was written after excessively imbibing in Corona (if my memory serves me), so don’t judge. 😛


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A Cut Above the Rest

Just over a week ago, I posted about my very bad, terrible, no good day.  Well, my unlucky day anyhow.  The day when I got the awful hair cut.

This post is about how that actually turned out.  Which was pretty bad.

See? It didn’t look so bad….

This is what I had to work with, and it wasn’t soo bad.  Well, that’s what I thought, until I found this….

What can I say that the picture doesn’t?

I couldn’t believe how uneven it was!!  I mean, I knew she was probably a little off, but sheesh!!  And because my hair is so curly, it wasn’t very noticeable until I’d straightened it.  Which was about the only way I could make it look alright.

Now it obviously needed fixing.  And I obviously needed my money back for the first cut.

I had to be back in Craig for the circus a few days later, so I called another place (All About You-They rock there!!) and set up an appointment with them.  (The place is co-owned by a gal I was in high-school with and she actually knows how to cut curly hair.)

Before I went there I figured I’d go by the first shop (cough*Studio 7*cough) and get my money back while my  head was still all screwed up, you know, so they couldn’t accuse my of buyer’s remorse.

I caught the owner (yes, the OWNER) outside and told her what happened, and showed her the obvious problem.  She brushed me off and sent me inside to deal with it myself.  I’ll come back to that point.

So, I go inside to talk to the girl who cut my hair.  Her and the other stylist are standing together at the desk.

Now, let me say this, I really don’t want to be mean.  I know she’s inexperienced and it wasn’t her fault they scheduled her to do my hair.

That said, as nicely as I can, I explain I need my money returned.  And what do I get for my efforts?  The other stylist is glaring at me and the girl that cut my hair is asking me what she did wrong.  So I show her.  Her response is, “If you just tell me how I can fix it…”

I have two problems with this response.

A. She’s not touching my head again, not for all the tea in China.

B. If I knew how to fix it, why would I have to go to a professional to get my hair cut?  I mean, if I can tell someone how, exactly, to cut my hair, then why not stay home and walk my boyfriend through it?  (Which might have worked out better.)

Still, I’m trying to be nice, but my blood pressure is climbing, and I can feel it.  I tell her that I really don’t want her to fix it.  That, in fact, that isn’t an option at all.  I just want my money returned to me.  That’s it.  And of course, she has to continue to press the issue.  “Why don’t you want me to fix it?” she asks.  Why indeed?  Because you’re a twit!!!!!  Okay, that’s not what I said, and it’s considerably nicer than what I was thinking.  I had to, patiently (and while twitching), explain that she simply wasn’t experienced enough to cut my hair.  End of story.  Remember the other stylist?  Darts are shooting out of her eyes, maybe flame throwers.  Because, after all, I’m the bad guy here.

Finally, she agrees to give me my money back, but another problem, the salon doesn’t have the money.  (Deep breaths)

No, they haven’t gone to the bank yet, but if I want to sit there (with the evilly glaring stylist) and wait, she’d be glad to go make change.

That was it.  Last straw.  I mean, are you flippin’ kidding me?  Aside from the fact that I have other places to be, I’ve been put out enough by these ridiculous women.  Not as kindly as I’d been to this point, I tell them to keep their stupid money because it’s simply not worth $25 to spend another minute in their stupid shop.

Which brings me back to the owner.  Who the hell would do that with their business?  While we were getting our hair cut she was asking everyone to vote them the best place in Craig, Co.  So, I mean, it looks like she cares, maybe a little.  But it certainly doesn’t when she leaves her unhappy customers to fend for themselves.  She obviously doesn’t give a crap what happens in her store as long as she keep making money.  Which won’t happen if that crap goes on!!!  Gah!!!  I’m not sure if I’m more bothered that I got bad service or that she just doesn’t care in general.  I mean, if you don’t give a shit, close the doors!!!!

So, yeah, I was ready to blow when I got in my car to leave.  Which set me up for my appointment to get my hair fixed.

I think I was actually shaking when I walked in.

Which was an entirely opposite experience from walking into the first place.  In fact, just looking around inspired confidence.  The fact that the stylist was happy to see me helped a lot too.  The fact that I showed her the most visible problem and she responded with, “What the f-ck did she do to your head?”  brightened my day so much so that it felt like the clouds had just parted and the sun was shining brighter.  Finally, someone gave a damn!!

As the hair cut went on we giggled about the silly music we listened to in high school (I still like the Spice Girls, and I ain’t ashamed to admit it!!), talked about good lookin’ guys and ranted and raved about my terrible, awful, very bad, no good hair cut.  She showed me what she was doing every step of the way and showed me all the things she was fixing.  And explained why she was doing what she was doing.  And my favorite part, she swore like a drunken sailor every time she moved to a new section of my hair and found how completely uneven it was every where.  I’ve never had more fun getting my hair cut. 🙂  Then, she styles my hair.  Then she teaches me how to style my hair (which was fabulous).  Then we get all done, and she notices the floor behind me.

I drew a line to show where the chair centered while I was getting my hair cut.


It’s kind of hard to see, but the left side has a few little fluffs of hair while the right it’s piling up higher and higher.  When it was all said and done, the right side was about 1in.- 1 1/2in. longer all the way around.  I just thought the visual was hilarious.

I left with fabulous hair (that I don’t have a picture of yet… ) and feeling great.  It’s amazing what a difference 1 1/2in can make eh?

I’m glad that it’s over now and I can sit back and laugh instead of want to stab things.  I also learned a lesson here, patience will help.  If I hadn’t been in a rush to get an appointment, I’d have gone some where better.  Next time, I’ll wait. 🙂

Oh!  And my luck seems to have taken a turn for the better!  Last weekend I caught the bouquet at a wedding, where my boyfriend was best man.  Things are looking good!!!


Incessantly Unlucky

Today was an adventure.

It didn’t set out to be.  In fact, it was supposed to be quite the opposite, but, apparently, that is not to be where I am involved.

The plan was to meet up with my sister, childless, and we were going to go get our hair done and go out to a nice lunch.  Basically pretend we’re civilized humans.

So, my boyfriend, child and I set out this morning at 10am so that I will be at my mom’s to meet my sister at 11:30am (we live an hour away).  Not quite a mile out of town we have to turn around to grab the forgotten movies that have to be returned.  Once we have them and get back on the road, things go pretty good.  We get into town at 11am and are supposed to meet my brother at the park so he and my boyfriend can hang out while I’m busy.  He’s late.  I call at 11:20am and he says he’s not even left home yet.  Grr.  Ten minutes later he shows up and I run like a mad woman to meet my sister.  And what happens?  The guy in front of me wants to go 10 mph slower than the posted speed limit.  Grrrr.

So fast forward, I make it in time to pick up my sister and make it to the salon with seconds to spare.  In we go and they’re not very busy.  Yay!  So, we talk to the lady and she tells us to take a seat while we wait for the stylist to finish up with her current customer (there are other stylists that are not busy).  So, we sit.  And I’m watching a little (okay, I was tormenting my sister) and notice the girl who’s to be doing our hair has kind of, well, dull looking hair.  It’s colored, but she hasn’t done anything with it.  Hmmm.  Well, it’s our turn and I let my sister go first (which would have given her a heart attack if she hadn’t been noticing the stylist’s hair as well).  My sister has really long, really curly, really crazy hair so the hair cut took a while.  Which gave me ample time to watch the stylist and wonder if she really knows what she’s doing.  She had some issues getting the lengths even on both sides and, I think, the owner came over and had to show her something.

Now, I’m not an expert, or I wouldn’t need to have someone else do it, but this seemed a little odd to me.  Well, eventually my sister’s hair is done, and it looks nice.  So my fears are put to rest, for a little bit.

It’s my turn now.  I am a little nervous, but I’m also getting most of my hair chopped off too, so that isn’t helping.  While she’s cutting my hair, it feels, well, weird.  She’s sectioning my hair weird and had to ask me where my part was.  Well, had to have me part it for her.  She gets it all cut to the right length and then can’t figure out how to even the sides on front.  Hmmm.  Instead of pulling the hair forward and clipping it even, she stands behind me, takes the two front sections of hair between her fingers in each hand and closes her eyes and slowly runs her fingers to the ends.

“Hmm, they FEEL the same, but they sure don’t look even.  That’s odd, I’ve never seen that before.”


I explained they were uneven, which one was longer and she finally got them even.  The rest of the layers went a little more smoothly, but were painstaking because she didn’t understand the lengths they were supposed to be.  I had to repeat it over and over and then show her over and over.  Which, I guess isn’t terrible, but, I had a picture for her to go from…..

Anyhow, the hair cut turned out okay.  (I think.  I’m still messing around with it.  We shall see.)  We left, commenting once in the car about our shared discomfort.  If I’d known my sister felt the same, we probably would have gone somewhere else.

Regardless, we get in the car and I think, “Coffee!!  Coffee will make us feel better!!”  Off to McDonald’s we go.  We get to the speaker to order and we order vanilla iced coffee and a carmel mocha iced latte.  I am told, “We don’t have carmel mocha lattes.  But you could get a mocha with carmel.”  If you don’t know, a mocha is a latte with chocolate.  Thus making a mocha with carmel also a carmel mocha latte.  My sister looked at me in disbelief and started laughing.  I griped that I deserved a break after being terrified for so long about my hair.  Oh well, the coffee was awesome, so off we went to pick up lunch and go to the park.

On the way, I’m telling my sister that 90% of the time that I go out stupid things happen, like the hair cuts, or the silly order taker at McDonalds.  We laugh and decide to go to Taco Bell.  We ordered a chicken quesadilla and a nacho belle grande with double meat and double cheese.  The quesadilla is hers.  We get to the window, and wait, and wait, and when they open it, the manager asks if I would mind getting two nacho supremes, he accidentally put it in as a supreme instead of a belle grande.  More over, he asked in such a way that it seemed like it was my responsibility to take what they had instead of getting what I clearly asked for.  My sister’s jaw dropped.  I took the food and we left.

After that I quit.  We went to the park to eat and get discovered by none other than the (wonderful and much loved) child and boyfriend that I’m intentionally avoiding.

Which only further proved my point to my sister.

From now on, she’ll be making my hair appointments.  That might fool the fates that torment me so.  Probably not.  I already know that my food will ALWAYS come out wrong, no matter who orders, so I’ve at least accepted that.

At least the coffee was delicious!!  It might have been the only successful part of my day, well, I mean, aside from hanging out with my sister, that was pretty cool, I suppose.



I had time to play with my hair and well…  It’s gonna have to be fixed.  The layers on the crown are neither long enough nor consistent and the bottom layer on my right side is at least an inch longer than on the left.  I WILL be asking for my money back, so let us cross our fingers that I do!

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Things You Can Learn From A 3 Year Old

It’s 11pm and I can’t sleep.

This definitely has nothing to do with the scary book I just finished reading.  Nothing to do with it.

So, as I’m laying in bed, I start thinking (because what else would you do in bed? Sleep? Pssh.) and I realize that my child has taught me a few important life lessons.

I really am tired, just sleepless, so I’m gonna skip the segue and get right to the things I learned.

On a completely unrelated note, walking through a pitch dark entry way to let your dog out into the darkness, out side, is REALLY creepy right after finishing a scary book.

Okay, okay,

Lesson 1:  Don’t sweat the small stuff.

This my terrorist wonderful child has taught me two ways.  The first is learning which battles to pick with her.  Do I want to scream and yell when I see her face is covered in six different colors of marker?  Sure, but I have to save it for when she’s got the dog in a head lock.  The other way she showed me this is one day we were on the interstate driving to my dad’s house and the whole trip I had her pumping her arm up and down trying to get the semi’s to honk their horns.  More than 10 times and not one of them did it.  (Bastards.)  Coupled with interstate traffic and my volatile mild temper, I started getting irritated.  Finally another one didn’t honk and I *might* have yelled (though I’m sure I said it very calmly), “ARGH!!!  What a bastard!!”  To which my darling child says to me, “Momma?  It’s okay.”  And right there, I knew that I let too much get to me.

Lesson 2: Everyone poops, farts and has a butt. 

I grew up where girls didn’t fart or poop and if boys did it you ignored it.  Then I got pregnant and nothing is sacred.  Then I had a sweet little baby and I was a girl again.  THEN I moved in with a guy that taught my sweet little baby to say, “Your turn!” every time she farts.  But yeah, I’ve always been pretty private about any bodily functions, including not blowing my nose around other people.  So having to take my kid with me to the bathroom 90% of the time was a little awkward at first.  Especially public restrooms, where she yells, “Momma!!  You poop!!  Yay!!”  Isn’t potty training awesome?  Anyhow, so the other day we were watching her latest favorite show, The Dinosaur Train, and they were talking about going potty.  The entire point of the episode was that everyone does it so it’s nothing to be ashamed of.  I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything more brilliant, ever.  Now going potty is a normal thing that doesn’t freak me out so much when I have a regular audience.  (That sounds really gross.  I mean when I have to take my kid in there with me.  Heh.)

Lesson 3: Talking cutsie makes you sound stupid.

If you ask my daughter if her food is yummy, she will tell you, “No.  It’s food/dinner/sandwich.”  I knew talking like that around adults made you sound dumb, but when a 3 year old picks up on that too, you’ve gone too far. 😉

And that’s it for tonight folks.  I can’t think of anything else. 🙂  I, totally, thought this would be a lot longer when I sat down to write it.  So, maybe I’ll think of more things when I’m not so tired.  We shall see.


My Kid IS Cute and Other Things

Well, it’s been awhile since I’ve been on here.  To be honest, that people were actually reading this is scary.  I feel like I have to be brilliant to keep writing and that is a hard standard to keep up with.

So, to start, I’m going to do the most annoying thing possible, advertise my child.  And from there, anything else should look great! 🙂

A few days ago I entered a photo of my daughter into a “Cutest Kids Contest” and have been campaigning for her cuteness since.  I figured, I have about 140 friends on my Facebook, all either family or friends and people that I actually know.  That said, I thought these people would automatically want to help out.  The contest started Sat the 5th at 2pm and, so far, we have 16 votes.  16!!!  That’s about 10% of what I was expecting.  So, now it’s turned into a matter of, “What kind of friends are these?!?”  And now it’s time to turn to other alternatives:

Click on the picture and it will take you to the page where you vote.  You have to have Facebook and it makes you agree to another app, but no reason you can’t vote and then delete the app.  The prize is a $500 photo package and the chance to be in their new ads for the year.  It’s not really important, but it would be something cool and special for her for when she’s older.

Anyhow, please help me out.  And I promise I’ll try to write more about more fun things!!!!!

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