Lucky Seven

**Disclaimer:  The below may contain graphic words, which may be offensive to some.  The author really doesn’t give a shit, and if you find any of it to be offensive, fuck off and do not return to site**

Wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted to write about because I have a million thoughts swirling through my head this morning, so I thought I’d make list.  My life is full of lists, mostly those I lose or forget about, but I suppose this one can’t exactly get lost- maybe in cyberspace somewhere, which is probably better than being lost in one of my purses..

1-I’m over my bags.  Seriously.  But yet I have to buy more and more of them.  Makes no sense.  The problem is that they become huge, gaping abysses.  I don’t care how big or small they are.  I think the smaller the bag, the bigger the abyss it becomes.  It’s like this scienticfic phenomena, which cannot be fully explained like the placebo effect, or dark matter.  If dark matter makes up 90% of the universe how do we not know what the hell it is?  Is it even really there?  Ok- perhaps dark matter should have been its own number.  Anyway, my bags magically get filled with shit I do not need.  Why does this happen and why when I’m standing in the parking lot I pull out everything except my car keys?  I do think there is such a thing as a clutter bug and it lives in my fucking bags.

2- We cut down this huge monstrosity of a tree in our back yard over the weekend.  It took an hour and a half and a half dozen men to do the job.  Now I like to consider myself to be a pretty green person, and I get that no one likes to see a tree come down.  It’s less oxygen in the air, I get it.  And we’re all about saving the trees now.  And believe you me, I’m totally on board with this crusade.  But my backyard is not the fucking amazon rain forest, so mind your business, ok?  One of our neighbors said to my husband, “Now you have a great view of your neighbors backyard.”  Do you hear me complaining about your dozen stray cats pissing and shitting in my backyard?  I think I need to turn over a new leaf (pun was intended) and start being rude and obnoxious.  Thanks.  Maybe you wouldn’t mind the tree falling on your house, but I kinda do.

3- The great thing about being the only one in the house who really likes eating apple pie is that you don’t have to cut nice triangle pieces and eat it off a plate.  Nope.  You can use a fork and dig right in, starting from the outside crust and working inwards towards pure heaven.  The nice thing is that I can leave the fork inside the pie plate.  Just loosely cover in plastic wrap and dig in whenever the urge hits.

4- Was thinking that “curse less and recycle more” is still one of my goals that I’m having a hard time achieving.  The cursing really hasn’t subsided any since last year.  (I’m sure my sister’s father is shaking in disgust over how often I’m dropping the “f bomb” in this post.  And I’m sure I’m going to get a phone call from him as well, but I’m sorry I just can’t help it today!  Clearly I won’t ever be asked to write for The Times or Reader’s Digest.)  I’m getting more sleep so there really isn’t any excuse for the cursing issue.  It’s sad when you have to edit yourself when talking to nice neighbors.  The word fuck really is one of the greatest adjectives ever created.  And it’s just plain sad that it’s not more widely accepted and socially appropriate.  “Where is my fucking phone?”  certainly feels better than just saying, “Where is my phone?”  I wish more people would just get more on board with this word.

5- So what if I’m anti-social.  Now I’ll chat it up with the best of them, don’t get me wrong.  And I do really like people.  Just not all the time.  I have to feel like talking to you.  Then I’ll stop and talk.  I’m still not dealing well with the friendly neighbors around these parts.  I think we just may have to move back to the city.  I don’t do well with superficial lawn talk.  It’s not who I am.  My husband reminds me of my anti-social problems whenever he gets a chance.  It was sad when he stopped to talk to our neighbors the other day, and he turned around to say something to me thinking I was there, only to see the front door of our house shutting.  Bye, bye.

6- I thought I was married to my dad this weekend.  My husband had nothing but pleasant things to say to about my ADD problem.  The topic of the newly organized basement was brought up, to which he said, “We’ll see how long that lasts.”  How about a little support?  We all know it’s hard for me to be organized. Certain things are out of my control.  It’s any wonder I can match up his socks properly… oh wait, that’s right.  I can’t do that either.  Ok, at least I can put away his clothes…. errrr.

Husband:  “I see you jacked up my sweater drawer.  And what’s with these jeans?  Did you  just throw them in the closet?”

Me:  “Mumble, fuck, Mumble.”

Husband:  (BIG SIGH)

Me:  Hows about I just wash your shit and I’ll leave you a nice pile and you can put everything away.

Husband:  “Mumble, mumble, mumble.”

7- My sister just took her ham radio operator test this past weekend.  She now has a license to talk morse code.  My dad has had his license for 40 something years now.  Not only has my sister’s father spoiled my sister rotten with her horse and all her horsey gear, now dad is going to spend all his disposable income on radios and ham stuff for her.  How does she do it?  How does she get to be the chosen spoiled one?  I’m the one who had to grow up with him and put up with all of his non-sense.  I’m the one who is severely warped by this man, yet what do I get?  So not fair.  Not fucking fair.

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Did ya hear?

What would we talk about with our friends and family if we didn’t have friends and family in our lives to talk about?  Imagine living in a world where we didn’t complain or gossip about other people.  I’m trying right now.  I’m really, really trying to imagine this.

Sure, I can talk about other people positively, but how long can I do this before it becomes boring?  I can share with friends how great my sister is doing, and how proud I am of her because she was able to run a half-marathon.  But how many minutes can I spend talking about this?

About two, actually.

Now telling the story about how she got so drunk and didn’t remember getting into a fist fight with another boy because she blacked out, however, can give me a good ten minutes.  At least.  Maybe twenty if I decided to go into the, “I’m so worried about her” route.  (This was many, many moons ago and she won that fight.)

When my sister and I talk, we get the every day stuff out of the way first – the husband’s we want to put up for sale, my annoying kids, her annoying dogs and cats, her horse, my eczema- before we get to the good stuff.  It usually starts by one of us saying, “So, did you talk to your father lately?”  Or, “Your mother called yesterday,”  Or, “Have you heard from your brother?”  Yeah, we have a brother who we love dearly, but who, unfortunately, is an asshole.

My mother’s son has totaled more cars and has gotten into serious trouble too many times to count.  He has lost over a dozen of his cell phones and anything of value really.  If I wanted to get in touch with him right now, I’d have to get all Native American and use smoke signals, because apparently he’s lost his phone yet again, and doesn’t have a home number.  It truly is exhausting thinking about all the drama and what he put my mom through over the years.  Sadly, I know the drama isn’t over with him.  On the bright side, however, he has given my family plenty to talk about.

Complaining about ourselves and what’s going on in our lives can make for great conversation too.  But I’ve learned over the years that as much fun as this can be, complaining and obsessing only brings more of what we’re complaining and obsessing about into our lives.  So the challenge becomes simply sharing the “what is” without getting stuck in the muck.  It can take great effort to be positive and all optimistic and zen like.  Which makes me think that because it does take effort for this way of being, maybe we shouldn’t fight it.

Maybe we need to bitch, moan, and complain and talk about other people because we need to feel better about ourselves.  Hey, life is too short to go around feeling crappy about yourself.  If bitching about how selfish your best friend is makes you feel like Mother Teresa, and if this allows you to feel like you have more self worth for a little while, go for it.  I’ll listen.  Or maybe we’re just analytical by nature and we like figuring people and situations out, which in turn allows us to figure ourselves out.  Or maybe gossiping is fun to do… especially over a bottle of wine and good company!

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My Sister’s Father Part II

Sister’s Father:  Did I tell you what my next purchase is?

Me:  (holding breath)  No…

SF:  Oh, I didn’t tell you?

Me:  (Not breathing.  One never knows what is going to come out of his mouth after his famous, Oh, I didn’t tell you, line)  Noooo…

SF:  Hardwood floors- especially after the Sparky (his dog) episode and all…

Me:  What Sparky episode?

SF:  Oh, I didn’t tell you?

Me:  Nooooo…

SF:  When I came home from work on friday, I opened the front door, and then shut it.  I just stood outside.

Me:  What happened?

SF:  Sparky had diarrhea. Boy was I pissed.  You can imagine what the livingroom carpet looked like.   And remember, it’s the south, so I have all the ceiling fans going. Whole house smelled like dog you know what!  (side note:  Sister’s father is always complaining about Sparky or his cat.  Who was a pain in the ass on the way to the vet, who left a hair ball in whatever location, who’s shedding, who’s wasting food.)

Me:  (uncontrollable laughter)

SF:

Me:  (uncontrollable laughter)

SF:

Me: (Still laughing)

Me:  (Catching breath) Whoa.  Ok.  That hurt.

SF:  Oh, did I tell you about the fly trap?

Me:  (still laughing)

SF:  This is so cool. (He’s so excited, he can’t contain his excitement.  He’s about to explode.)

Me:  Oh boy.

SF:  I was so tired of all the flies biting me every time I went into the backyard so I hung a 2- quart fly trap in the tree.  It’s really cool.  All I had to do was add water to this powder.

Me:  Nice.

SF:  Yeah, only bad thing is that this powder substance smells really, really bad.  The entire backyard smells like shit.  But the flies are drawn to it like a moth to a flame….Sorry for the moth reference.

Me:  No worries.

SF:  You should see all the flies I’ve trapped.  No more fly problem!

Me:  Fantastic.  Your neighbors must really love you now.  And how great that the inside of your house smells like the outside of your house.

SF:  It’s pretty gross though.  I didn’t realize that along with flies, comes tons of maggots-

Me:  Gross!  Gross!  Gross!

SF:  (excited)  I’ll send you a picture.

Me:  No.  Not necessary.  No picture needed.  What are you going to do with the bag?

Contemplation Pause

SF:  I guess I’ll drive it to the dump.

The picture that my sister’s father sent to me is not to be viewed by those of you who are easily grossed out.  Even if you think you’ll be ok, I suggest viewing picture on an empty stomach.

Ten…

Nine…

Eight….

Seven….

Six….

Five….

Four….

Three…

Two…

One…

Don’t say I didn’t warn you….                                                                                                                                                                          to be continued…

Dung Maggots

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My Sister’s Father

My sister’s father lives in the middle of nowhere.  Because his backyard is a lake, he naturally owns 2 boats, which he never uses.  He owns two cars and a truck.  The truck is used only to take his garbage to the dump.  There be no garbage trucks in these parts.

My sister’s father loves to buy stuff.  He loves his toys and gadgets.  The man bought a Blackberry and a mini notebook because he said it would be great to have when he travels.  Um, I tried to remind him that he doesn’t travel, but I don’t think he heard me.

He paid for an elaborate security system with all the bells and whistles, including cameras and monitors.  So far, only the stray cats have set it off.  Another big purchase was a generator for his house.  Ok, one never knows when you might have a power outage, but he had to buy a backup generator just in case said generator happened to quit (I could go on, but I won’t).

Every few months my sister’s father will send us an email highlighting his latest purchase.  I tell my sister’s father that if he’s looking for stuff to buy, I have a laundry list of stuff (washer and dryer, sink, couch, dining room set, living room set, dishes, appliances, muzzles).

Every time I get one of these emails, I think to myself, ha!  Finally.  This is it. There is nothing left for this man to buy.  What will he do now with his time?

Until…

Hi Kids,

Today I went to my insurance agency and insured the Golf Car for liability, theft, loss, collision, and un-insured motorists.  Then I went to the DMV and registered it with the state.  I am legally allowed to drive it on all secondary roads within two miles of my home.  They gave me an ID sticker for it.  Most people do nothing of the sort.

I am the Bomb.

Me

Dad Doesn't Even Golf!

Workers are coming to the house today to enlarge the carport to make room for the golf car.  Imagine.  Really?

After re-reading his email, I’m not sure if I’m more in shock over the purchase of one golf car or the fact that he said, “I am the bomb.”

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Chrissy’s Wishlist

My sister has an 11 page wish list on Amazon.com.  That’s not a typo.  11 pages. She says she edits and adds to her list when she’s bored at the library.  Someone please give her some more books to catalog!  Geez.  Me? Personally, I’d go nuts in a library.  Forget it.  Being surrounded by books all day long and dealing with college students?  I’d lose it.  Forget about creating wish lists, I’d be making origami birds out of all that paper and starting little fires behind the shelves and shelves of books. It’d be like a really, really bad version of  Fahrenheit 451.

My sister is very famous for emailing my dad links to items that she wants.  It’s the running joke that Dad has bought her enough gifts to last her through her 80th birthday.  Her birthday was actually just this past weekend.  She dropped a few subtle hints like, “The alarm clock would be nice, as well as the fiestaware pie dish.  Oh, and the book on how to make pies would be great too.” Shopping was such a breeze!  Except for how I totally messed up the last step because I didn’t click the right box when I was checking out, so all her shit came to my house instead of hers.  It’s all here on my kitchen floor.  Urgh.  That’s why I like ordering stuff on line because you don’t have to deal with packing it up and going to the post office/UPS drop-off place, but because I wasn’t paying attention, I screwed it up!  Mailing anything is a project for me. Such a project that I still have the same stupid Netflix movie for like two months now because I just can’t physically put it in the mailbox.  Why is this?  Why? Why?  Why? Jesus, Mary, Joseph.

Having a wish list is actually pretty great for friends and family.  Suddenly asking, “What do you want for your birthday?” becomes a really stupid question.  There’s no more guesswork.  It’s all right there for you to see.

I always get a kick when I go through her list.  So much of a kick, I thought I’d share some of it.  Here’s a book she picked out.  The title is:  How to Wrap Five Eggs:  Traditional Japanese Packaging. Really Chris?  There’s a book on this?  I guess you never know when you might need this information.

Moving on…

rain gauge

If there was ever any doubt that my sister’s father was indeed her father, this item on her list says it all.  Drum roll… It’s a “Long Term Professional Rain and Snow Gauge.”  As opposed to a short term non-professional one.

Ok, the next item I actually bought (featured below) for my sister, but there was a host of issues, so I just gave up.  I’m sure she will be happier making her pies anyway.

It’s the “Samsung LN40A630 40-inch 1080p 120Hz LCD HDTV with Red Touch of Color.”  I think the problem was that the warehouse was”out” of the Red Touch of Color feature.  Yes, I believe that’s what the issue was.

The next item on her wish list definitely shows that we are sisters.

A bird book! How nice.  I can name that bird song in less than two notes!

Hmmmm, Penis Pokey.  Sounds like fun.  It looks like a board game.  No, am wrong.  I just looked at the description.  It’s a board book.  When might be an appropriate time to pull this out?  Could make for a good coffee table book or a drink coaster, or even a door wedge.

The following items on my sister’s wish list make me say, “Why?  Why?  Why?  Why?”

Handy Farm Devices and How to Make Them?  What?  First off, to sit and read through this book might cause death by boredom.  Not to mention, why do we want to make them?  Who has time for this?

Um, a book on preserving stuff at home?  There’s 400 some recipes.  Ok.  This could be kind of cool.  Maybe. Like in Amish country or something.

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Therapist Needed

Obsession:  

“The domination of one’s thoughts or feelings by a persistent idea, image, desire, etc; the state of being obsessed; the act of obsessing”  

Giving up obsessing about losing ten pounds was huge for me.  I feel so light and fluffy like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.   I haven’t been constantly thinking about what I’m going to eat and how my ass needs to look better than my husband’s ass.  I hypothesised that if I just excersised for the sake of feeling good, the weight would just peel right off.  And I have to say, my hypothesis is correct!  I have lost two more pounds since my last post.  

The problem now is that I’m obsessing about exercising.  So not only have I been running more, but my mind is too (not a good thing).  I’m thinking about when I can go running, what time I can go running, and how long I can go running for.  

But lately, running has become more of a challenge because we’ve been juggling more things, mainly the new house which needs a shit ton of work.  My husband is more on the go, leaving earlier to get stuff done at work, and coming home later because he needs to go to the house after work.  So this leaves no time for me to do anything without the baby, which equals more time with the baby and less of a break.  Hmmm, no wonder I’ve been a bitch on wheels the past few weeks! Seriously, makes total sense. 

In any event, now I’m obsessing about not being able to go running when I want to, and what I’m just realizing now, I’ve been obsessing about not having time for myself as well.  Quite honestly, I used to think that I could have quality time when the baby sleeps, but you can’t leave the house when the baby is sleeping.  And most of that time is spent doing dishes and catching up with stuff from days before.

I think I’m losing it.  Truly.  

Since grade school, I’ve been obsessed with birds.  And when I say obsessed, I exaggerate not.   I thought I was a born again ornithologist.  I read bird books, wrote poetry about birds, stalked birds in camouflage with my binoculars, and daydreamed about the black capped chickadee.  Forget about the dozen parakeets I owned.  

After grade school came the Fab Five- Duran Duran.  Forget it.  I had every book written on the group.  If a magazine mentioned their name, I bought it.  My entire bedroom wall was covered with posters of Simon, John, Nick and Roger (never got into Andy).  My entire jean jacket was covered with buttons with all of their faces (minus Andy’s).  I remember I even performed “The Reflex” song with Chris Dinger in front of my 8th grade choir class.  Oh the horror!  And another thing I’m not so proud about is even to this day I remember most of their birthdays.  Nick Rhodes:  June 8th.  Simon LeBon:  October 27th.  John Taylor’s: June 20th, I think.  Roger Taylor:  Sometime in April.  Have no recollection of Andy’s however.

This obsession business could be something I was born with.  In other words, genetics.  Again, thanks dad.  I give my dad credit for all of my wonderful, positive attributes such as my big ears and flat feet.

Chrissy, my sister, was born with a pony between her legs.  She was drawing horses at the age of two.  She has read every horse book ever written.  Thursday night at her house is pony movie night for her and her horse friends.  She actually owns a beautiful horse named Snuffy.  Nice Snuffy.  Cute Snuffy.  There, there, Snuffy.

 

Snuffy

 

There’s nothing like watching your sister being thrown off a horse.  There I was watching what Chrissy does best, when Snuffy decided he had had enough. 

Chrissy went flying head first off the front of Snuffy.  She did a perfect flip in the air and landed smack on her back.  She decided to totally give me heart failure when she didn’t move for what seemed like an eternity.  Glue Factory ran through my mind along with some other choice words for good ‘ole Snuff Face.  Chrissy got up, dusted herself off and chased after him!  Girl’s got balls.  Those balls are fueled by obsession. 

And dad?  Well, dad has about five hundred radios crammed into an 8×8 room.  He’s a ham operator.  He’s into morse code and all that crazy stuff.  If we could “cut to” dad right now, you’d probably find him in his radio room, sitting at his desk with headsets on, asleep and snoring, with a cigarette burned to the filter in his hand and a cat on his lap.

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