Category: Deep Thoughts

Broken Moms and Dads

So, I’ve been wrestling with this post for days already and it’s driving me nuts.  I would just drop the whole thing and find something else to write about but there is an article that I want to share.  It came in my email and punched me in the face.  Hard.  And I’m pretty sure there are a lot of Moms and Dads that need to be punched in the face, too.

I don’t want to write a novel on why the article has impacted me, so pay attention because it’s going to be fast and dirty.

I married a child when I was 19 and then gave birth to two more children.  The marriage was shitty, the children weren’t, and as time went on the marriage became shittier and shittier until I almost killed my shitty self.  The only reason I didn’t was because I couldn’t leave my children alone in a shitty situation.  And then every time a shitty thing happened I ‘over-reacted’, ‘needed to take more pills’ or ‘needed to see a therapist again’.  I didn’t understand that the shitty-ness that led to my self-killing would become the shitty weapon that would be used against me forevermore.  I also didn’t know that all that shitty-ness could be passed on to the children like a virus until they became shitty, too.  I was staying in the shitshow for the children because how would I ever be able to support them without the shitshow, but what I actually did was enroll them in Shitty Bootcamp with one-on-one shitty tutoring.  And as the children grew into adults with superior shitty-ness skills, shitty drama happened more and more frequently with higher and higher shitty-ness levels until finally, during Christmas 2018, the shitty threshold was epic-ally breached and shitty-ness exploded and killed me.  The shitty event took only 15 shitty minutes and even I – by now an expert on shitty-ness – was awed by the level of shitty-ness one person can contain and willingly fling.

And that’s the shitty short version of the whole shitshow.  And, as you might imagine, I don’t do shitshows anymore because it killed me and made me want to literally self-kill again.

Thankfully, there’s a Viking for that…..

…..and he gave me several very good reasons why I shouldn’t self-kill and should stay with him forevermore because he’s not shitty.

And this brings me to the Elephant Journal.  I found it when I was still up to my neck in shitty-ness, trying to understand how my life turned into a complete shittery despite my best efforts.  If you have shitty-ness in your life, check out Elephant Journal where they will give you shit-free articles to make you feel better.

It was one of those shit-free articles that punched me in the face: To the Broken Mom who finds Strength for her Kids by Tiffany Timm.

Go ahead and read it.  I’ll wait.  It’s very short but full of love……

Ms. Timm understands shitty-ness, no?  And I’m here to share my shitty shitshow so you know that you aren’t alone in your shitshow.  I can’t trust my judgement anymore because, well, it was shitty, and never ask me advice about parenting because it’s total shit, too.  However, I am willing to dive into the shitty deep-end with you and wallow in shitty self-pity.  And then I’ll help you out of the shit and tell you that you’re awesome despite all the shit people say.  All the best people have survived shit and escaped all sorts of shitteries.  Including you.  And me.

So.  I see you, too.

Is This a Carved-In-Stone Law Or A Suggestion? There IS a Difference, You Know.

I was on my way home from the Danish Store and traffic in the right lane was crawling while everyone in the left lane was zipping so I joined the Zippers because I was getting bored.  It was from the Zipping lane that I saw what was holding up traffic.

It was a minivan followed closely by a one-ton flatbed truck with its hazard lights flashing.  It took me a second to realize exactly what the problem was but when I did see it, I was all what the hell?!

All four wheels on that minivan were wobbling in comic exaggeration.  I mean serious wobbles I could see from a quarter of a kilometer away!

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When I mentioned it to The Viking, he passed on a snippet of his brilliance.

“That’s because they’re fucking stupid.  They didn’t know what they were doing when they changed their tires.”

Evidently, when you change a wheel on your vehicle, you put all the lug nuts on and tighten them individually in small increments so no one lug is tightened more than the others.

Apparently, this is a rule that you should never break.  I understand this is how you are supposed to do it, but I thought it was more of a suggestion than a Carved-In-Stone Law.  And I think I should be forgiven for thinking this way in the face of all the rules that are suggestions rather than Carved-In-Stone Laws.  For instance:

    • Brushing your teeth in an up and down motion – that doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense to me. Even when I was a small child I didn’t believe it because aren’t you just pushing food bits further under your gums?  It’s obvious that brushing side to side or in a circular motion are superior methods and I’m glad the Dental Association finally saw the error of their ways.
    • Speed limits – everyone knows the speed limit, but we all know that it’s an arbitrary number someone in an office assigned decades ago based on the quality of vehicles back then. Today’s vehicles have been engineered by aliens and that old speed limit is strictly a ploy on the part of the Powers That Be to increase speeding ticket revenue.  And to bore drivers to death.
    • Cold medication – sure, there is a dosage suggestion on the package, but that’s totally dependent on how terrible I feel at that moment. I don’t start free-basing cold meds just because I have a sniffle.  By the time I have assessed the severity of my flu symptoms and grudgingly decided I need to medicate, the two-pill dosage is obviously inadequate.    I start with a double dose and work my way up until I’m rendered unconscious for the duration of the flu.  Incidentally, the suggested number of Hot Rum Toddies you ingest during your suffering is woefully insufficient as well.
    • Wine – how much wine I put in a recipe is totally subjective. They say ½ a cup, I say 2 ½ cups and I drink the rest of the bottle because I hate leftovers.
    • Laundry detergent – if a quarter of a cup is good, then a half a cup is, logically, better.
    • Hair products – see above.
    • Serving sizes – once again, suggestions. The suggested serving size of Pickled Herring is categorically TOO LARGE!  A quarter teaspoon is sufficient, thank you very much, followed by 3 servings of something to get the taste out of my mouth.  Ice Cream, on the other hand, is a different matter.  The suggested serving size of a quarter cup is laughable!*  There shouldn’t even be a suggested serving size on Ice Cream and the Monster who suggested it should be jailed.
    • Exit speeds – why so cautious? As long as I have two wheels on the pavement, I’m good.  If someone screwed up the engineering of the exit ramp, forcing drivers to slow down far more than is reasonable, the sign should just be

**

I didn’t bother asking for clarification from The Viking.  He gets all squinty around the eyes when he has to participate in this kind of conversation and it always ends with shouting and eloquent curses.

Perhaps it would be better if I just check on a case by case basis.  You know, rain showers instead of a monsoon.  I’m sure he’ll appreciate my thoughtfulness.

 

* Unless it’s Licorice Ice Cream and then the Pickled Herring size applies

** And now that I’m thinking about it, a lot of traffic signs should be just emojis.  It would certainly make driving more interesting.

My Finger Is Fucked. And Also my Brain.

I believe I’ve passed my ‘Best Before Date’.  I’m not one to worry much about getting older; in fact, I actually like the person I’ve become.  It didn’t come easily though, there were very high hills and very deep valleys that needed to be traversed, but it shaped who I am and that’s fine by me and, apparently, The Viking because he still sleeps beside me every night.  The down-side of getting older, of course, is a body that can’t – or won’t in this case – keep up with my big ideas and crazy dreams.  Or even get out of bed in the morning without a bunch of whining.

I noticed, the other day, that my left pointer finger is evolving, adding an extra lump to the first knuckle below my fingernail.  After rubbing it and poking it and staring at it there was only one conclusion to be made:  my finger is fucked.  Thankfully, the fuckage doesn’t include pain which is great news considering what’s going on elsewhere in Lori Land.

I woke up one morning last week to the shrieks of my left shoulder.  I said, “What the hell?!”  It said nothing but stabbed me in the neck just for spite.

“Oh, come on!  You have to do this now?  I was going to paint the entire house tomorrow!”

……

“……okay….I wasn’t going to paint the whole house, but it still isn’t the most convenient time to have your meltdown.  I need both shoulders at the moment.  If I had known how picky you were going to get I would have exercised more!”

…….

“…….okay…..I probably wouldn’t have exercised more, but that is no excuse for getting cranky.  It’s not like you’re really old yet!”

We eventually had to agree to disagree.  Shoulder was complaining about carrying the weight of the world and I was insisting it was being a big old baby.  It gave up two days later but gives me a twinge every once in a while, just to remind me that it’s still there and not especially happy.

And then the thumb on my left hand……

Gasp!  WAIT A MINUTE!

It’s the finger on my left hand, the left shoulder and the left thumb!  I was working with the theory that random body parts were acting out, but this appears to be a pattern.  A left pattern!  Maybe it’s my entire left side that’s fucked.

Just a minute…..I need to check on something…..another possible theory….

…..

…..

…..

…..

This is what Brain Made Simple has to say.

The left side of the brain is responsible for controlling the right side of the body. It also performs tasks that have to do with logic, such as in science and mathematics. On the other hand, the right hemisphere coordinates the left side of the body and performs tasks that have do with creativity and the arts.*

I am right handed and I’m famous for my logic so maybe my left brain is hosting a sloppy protest about the amount of feelings going on, but only a few body parts want to participate.  Or, it could be my hippy, feel-y right brain is bullying my nerdy left brain for being such a party-pooper.  OR…..maybe it’s the whole brain having tiny hissy fits hosted in random body parts.

Maybe I need some vitamins or something.  I looked up ‘Food that’s good for your Brain’ and found out that I should be eating more of this:

  • Fatty Fish – Yuck! I prefer fish that doesn’t taste like fish.
  • Coffee – Yum!
  • Blueberries – Meh.
  • Turmeric – what the fuck is that?!
  • Broccoli – Meh.
  • Pumpkin Seeds – okay.
  • Dark Chocolate – ummmm….I prefer Milk Chocolate but I suppose I could go with the dark in a pinch.
  • Nuts – Is this a good recommendation for someone who is already a little bit nuts?
  • Oranges – can I drink the juice to avoid all the hassle of the peel? It gets under my fingernails.
  • Eggs – YUM!
  • Green Tea – only if it doesn’t taste like Green Tea because that shit is nasty.**

Sigh.  I suppose I need to take steps.  It seems that my brain has a mind of its own and being reasonable isn’t its forté.

So, brace yourself Brain!  I’m about to dump all sorts of good shit on you.  Lots of eggs and coffee, the occasional orange juice, a couple nibbles of dark chocolate and a pumpkin seed with a blueberry chaser.  You may have won concessions with food, but there is no way in hell that you’ll take away my Lemon Gin & Tonic.

Seriously.  Don’t fuck with the Lemon Gin & Tonic.

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PS:  While I was searching for brain pictures I came across something  Disturbing   and before Brain intervened, Finger clicked the link.  I mention this because I should have a written testament that I was not looking for ways to get a new brain, legally or illegally.  If people start losing their brains in my general vicinity it is a total coincidence.

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*This is a fact, so you might have learned something.  Please accept my apologies.  This blog is supposed to be a total waste of time. 

**Additional Apologies for the additional learning (if you didn’t already know about this, of course).

Ballroom Dancing And Mini-Skirts

So, it’s 2019, and despite all the optimistic memes and heart-felt blessings, I don’t have too many expectations for this year.  I find it cuts down on the disappointments if you aren’t overly enthusiastic to begin with.  You should probably write this down because it’s the best advice you’ll get all year.

I’m not being…..

…..I’m just being realistic.

Of course, I’ll try to work on my procrastinating tendencies, try to be less sensitive, and I’ll do my best to consume less fat and more vegetables and maybe I’ll attempt to manage my time more wisely – these are the standard efforts I begin every new year with.  Unfortunately, I never succeed.

But, if you think about it, success would make me UNBEARABLE.

I would be the perfect human being within 2 years.  By the end of year one, I’d be thin and the house would be immaculate, there wouldn’t be science experiments in the fridge and zero fur-balls floating around the house.  The vehicles would be clean inside and out, the garbage bags of cans and bottles would be at the depot where they belong rather than beside the back door.  An entire month of meals would be planned and prepared ahead of time so I wouldn’t have my head stuck in the freezer for 15 minutes every morning agonizing over dinner plans.  The Matterhorn of laundry in the bedroom would be non-existent and the pile of paper on my desk would have a home in actual files.  The base-boards would be spotless, the family room painted and you could eat off the floor under the stove.

Once I achieve that level of competence, I’m not sure I could contain the urge to judge everyone else around me.  I would have to start a VLOG so others could become just as perfect.  Comedians would start making jokes about me like they do about Gwyneth Paltrow and Martha Stewart.

By year two, I would be an extrovert who loves parties.  I’d chat with people in grocery stores and go to the movies by myself.  I’d take up ballroom dancing and wear mini-skirts……..  Wait.  I wouldn’t wear mini-skirts and not because they’re too sexy but because it gets cold here and I hate a cold ass……

…………

…………

…..if I was perfect though, my ass wouldn’t get cold so, Yes! I would wear mini-skirts!

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And when I’m not ballroom dancing, I’d ride a motorcycle – a huge, fucking motorcycle and I’d wear leather mini-skirts!  Also, my huge fucking motorcycle would always be sparkly clean and have organizers in every saddlebag – I’d need saddlebags to store all my mini-skirts after all…..if I’m being perfect.

Okay.  I realize I’ve gotten carried away here.

Oh!  Just realizing and acknowledging that I’ve gotten carried away is a step in the right direction, right?  Look what I can accomplish without trying!  Maybe a lack of effort is the secret to Perfection.  Of course that theory flies in the face of every critic’s assessment of my faults and foibles.  On the other hand, their exhaustive lists and my valiant attempts haven’t made me perfect yet, so there is every possibility that my critics are full of shit.  Shitty Critics, if you will.

And now I arrive precisely where I started – low expectations for the coming year.  If I wanted to spend all my time cleaning and cooking, I would probably be doing it already.  If the idea of spending evenings and weekends in the company of People were appealing, I’d probably be doing that, too.  But I don’t, so I don’t.

2019 will just have to be happy with my half-assed efforts to eat better, procrastinate less, give fewer Fucks and the minimal efforts I give to limit my play time on Solitaire.  I’m not going to spend what little time I have left, after dithering most of it away, trying to meet ephemeral goals I don’t care about anyway.  Except vegetables – I really do need to eat more vegetables.  And less Toffifee.

You’re welcome, 2019 – go forth with low expectations and you won’t be disappointed on December 31st.  In fact, you might just be pleasantly surprised.

Brace Yourselves…..

Brace yourselves – I’ve done something stupid.  On the long list of stupid things I’ve done, this one is now the Supreme Leader.

I’ve shocked The Viking.

I’ve even shocked myself.

It started with an email from Netflix.  We have an automatic payment on our credit card once a month and I never have to think about it.  Until yesterday when they informed me that my credit card information was out of date and our monthly payment failed.  I thought, “Really?  That’s odd.  Maybe I didn’t update the payment method when we got the new card.”

My brain immediately began searching for references, found many of them in different folders and files, initiated a Defrag in a vain attempt make one complete memory, the system crashed and I sat looking at the email…..

Tiny little synopsis began to fire with random thoughts….

Year-End books.  Sex.  Christmas gifts.  Something shiny.  Julefrokost. Gilligan’s Island.  Garbage Pick-up.  Mortgage and Truck payments.  I’m hungry.  Blog post.  Recharge phone.  Shopping.  Probiotics.  New season of Grace and Frankie.  Gas and electric bill.  Why am I smelling burnt toast?

Suddenly, in a dazzling display of spontaneous rebooting, a complete thought emerged.

DO IT NOW SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT IT ANY MORE.

My finger hit the email button and I entered all the information required and updated it.

….

….

….

….

….

….

What the fuck did I just do?!  Did I just follow an email and plug in our credit card information?

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Fuck

I called Netflix.  “Did you send me an email that my payment failed?”  No, they didn’t.

Double fuck!

I called our Credit Card Provider.  “I just compromised my credit card by giving information to a fake Netflix email.  I’m Menopausal so don’t call me stupid.”

The Viking was totally supportive.  “What the fuck were you thinking?!”

Me:

Thunder Thighs and Sabre-Tooth Gophers

Everything we’ve been taught about evolution is wrong.  No, seriously.  I’m not saying that creationism is real, I’m just saying that evolution is wrong.  Hear me out.

The accepted theory is that humans evolved over millions of years into what we are today.  Some scientists say we walked upright somewhere between 6 million and 2 million years ago.  Whatever.  I don’t dispute this.  However, they all seem to agree that hominids started using tools about 2.5 millions years ago and, in my opinion, that’s where the evolution theory falls apart.  Tools changed everything.

Let’s take one Australopithecus – Bruce.  Bruce was walking upright and, from the new and lofty perspective of his eyes, found a stick that looked like it could be used for something.  He wasn’t entirely sure what it could be used for but he didn’t want to leave it behind and run the risk of never finding it again.  So, he packed it around for a few days, poking things, trying to eat with it (Asians mastered this far sooner than anyone else), riding it like a horse, etc.  Then, one day, he sees a fine-looking female Australopithecus and thinks he’d like to get to know her better.  She’s fucking fast though and he can’t catch her.

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He wishes there was some way to slow her down.  He sits down under a tree (this was still a safe thing to do because Newton hadn’t been born yet) to think.  He’s playing with the stick, twirling it around, and it gets away from him.  He lunges after the stick but knocks it further away and that’s when the gorgeous female Australopithecus(Cheryl) came running past, probably chasing a sabre-tooth gopher.  The stick tripped her and she slid face-first into the dirt only a meter away.  Bruce, knowing a good opportunity when he sees one, sat on her back so she couldn’t get away and began telling her all about himself.  Voila!  The first tool!

It didn’t take him a million or two years to figure out how to trip women so he could sit on them, now did it?  You have to catch her before you can get babies.  Let’s just carry this story for a bit longer.

Bruce is now walking upright and using a stick.  He may have found several other ways to use the stick, especially the pointy end, because he’s packing it around with him everywhere he goes.  Then one day, he’s fucking around and tossing the stick in the air and catching it.  Cheryl ran past, probably chasing a sabre-tooth rabbit………

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and Bruce got distracted and the pointy end of his stick got stuck in the top of his head.

“Ouch!  Fuck!!”

Bruce just became the very first klutz.  After 1257 times of getting the stick stuck in his head, he learned to flinch to the side.  It stuck in his foot 713 times before he mastered the art of the ‘Foot Flinch’.  You get my meaning here, right?  I’m pretty sure it didn’t take Bruce a million years to develop evasion reflexes and that brings me to…..well….me.

I was sitting at the computer, eating a piece of delicious 3-year old cheese last night and because the cheese is 3 years old it crumbles easily and a piece of the deliciousness broke off and headed for the floor except my thighs slammed together with loud clap (thunder-like) and caught the cheese mid-fall!  I couldn’t do that when I was a kid.  I was always picking my food up and brushing the bits of dirt off before I could eat it.  Over the years, my thighs have evolved into powerful tools that keep dropped food/breakables/paperclips/pills from hitting the floor/dirt/pavement.  The skill also came in handy when Jerry thought he could cop a feel at a social function.  It didn’t take my thighs a million years to develop their speed – it happened in less than 50 years.

And it’s not just my thighs.  My feet have developed the ability to flinch away from falling knives/bricks/glass.  My feet and thighs are literally supersonic.  My hands are a different matter; it’s like they don’t even belong to me because they are always getting cut and poked and crushed.  They try to evade but for some reason they are just evolutionary-ily challenged.  As are my boobs.  To be fair though I’m fairly certain that boobs weren’t intended to have built-in evasion abilities because how would babies chase down a boob so it could have breakfast.

So, there you have it.  Necessity is the mother of invention (I think someone said this before but I can’t be bothered to look it up).  If it took a million years to develop adaptations to new circumstances we would have died out as a species before the end of an ice age.  It’s the Slam and Flinch that saved us from extinction.  Sorry Scientists, you’ll have to go back to the old drawing board.