Mental health weekend

This weekend my parents are going to LA and desperately need somebody to watch their house and feed their cat for the 36 or so hours that they're gone.

*cough*

I do this occasionally, when my parents go out of town I drive the 30 minutes from my house to theirs and I spend the weekend watching TV in their impeccably clean house and petting their impeccably clean cat (just the one!). There are no kids and no alarm clocks and a bed all to myself and the hours fucking FLY by at warp 9, and I just blink once and suddenly it's time to go home, but it's totally worth it. (I'll try not to blink this time).

Lately I've been feeling like there's too much pressure from too many sources; like things are pressing in on me from all sides: too much work, too many kids, too much messy house, too many things to do. I definitely need this break, even if it's only for the nanosecond or so that it lasts.

I'm in the middle of Season 2 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer; there are 7 seasons of that shit! Have you noticed how there's absolutely no blood in that show? I've been spoiled by True Blood, the "realistic" vampire show. Every time somebody gets hurt in Buffy, I think "just drink the vamp blood, you'll be fine!" I guess it doesn't work that way. At least nobody sparkles.

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I'm thinking of getting these cards printed

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How to be offended by satire: A simple 2-step guide

1. Read title of satirical post (IMPORTANT: Do NOT click on link and read actual post!!)
2. Get offended.

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Why I don't, and never will, hate Nickelback

If we're being honest, we will all admit that it's internet trendy to hate the band Nickelback; just like it's internet trendy to hate the font Comic Sans and enjoy looking at pictures of kittens, but for the most part, probably nobody really has that strong of an opinion about any of it. (Except for the kittens, maybe, because come ON. They're kittens.)

Anyway, last week my buddy Jim asked a very important question on his Facebook page: How do you feel about Nickelback? and the results are shown above. According to this comprehensive and scientific poll, most people really don't care about them one way or another. But... it got me thinking. About Nickelback. (I know, right?) and if I'M being honest? I will never hate them, and I'll tell you why (warning: this post isn't going to be funny, but my blog therapist says that's okay).

10+ years ago hubs and I checked into the hospital so that I could be induced with Child 1. I had spent the previous few weeks or so on bedrest, doing absolutely nothing except working myself up into a panicky froth about how the hell I was going to get this damn baby out of me.

I've already written my birth story so I'm not going to write it again, but you can read the full story here if you're interested. In a nutshell, I was put on Magnesium Sulfate, which is a drug meant to prevent seizures during labor and which, to quote myself, "was like that feeling when you’ve taken a nap in the middle of the day and you wake up too early and then you walk around in a daze; like you’re not really there, but you are, but also add serious dizziness to that." That feeling of spaciness/dizziness/weirdness stayed with me for the entire duration of my hospital stay. I had this new baby, and not only did I have absolutely no idea what to do with it, my mobility was limited by my c-section incision, I was walking around in this weird dream state and it felt like I was watching from afar as my husband took care of the diapering and the wiping. He would bring me the baby, and I would look at it and think "what is this thing? What am I doing here? What the hell is going on?"

Remember that I started this whole process in a frothy panic, and the panic did not go away once the baby was born; it was intensified and lengthened by the drugs and by the newness and the weirdness of the whole thing. Was any of it really real? Was it really happening? Followed by: panic. Oh my god, is this real? Is this really happening? What IS happening? What am I doing? What am I going to do??

We were allowed to leave the hospital three days after we had checked in, and as I was wheeled down the hall and out the door to my car, I was still looking at this baby wondering what the hell I was going to do with him once I got him home. I hadn't been outside or seen daylight the whole time, and it was bright. It was like an overexposed movie scene; almost cartoon-like in its weirdness.

I got into the back seat with Child 1 in the car seat and hubs started the car. The radio came on and How You Remind Me was playing and.... oh my god. It was a song I knew. Something familiar.  I know this song. I know the lyrics. I know the melody. I can even picture the video. It was the first "real" thing I had experienced since arriving at the hospital three days before. I felt almost grounded; not 100%, but more normal than I had felt in what seemed like an eternity.

I'll never forget that feeling of familiarity in an ocean of unknown. And that, my friends, is why I don't hate Nickelback, and why I never will.

Let's enjoy the tune, shall we? No need to thank me.....

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This woman's work is never done

I've had a cold for about a week now. I tried drinking it away and everything, but so far nothing has helped, for some reason. I'm very very tired.

So, as I sat here earlier, feeling like hell, even though I had slept all day, contemplating the three dinners that I would be making this evening, I was reminded of the saying "A woman's work is never done," which then reminded me of the "Women’s Rights Manifesto" that we used to share back in my college days of radical feminism and clinic defense. You can tell from the language that this is old, but I still think it's cool. Wish I knew the original source but I have no idea, sorry:

Because woman's work is never done
and is underpaid or unpaid or boring or
repetitious and we're the first to get fired
and what we look like is more important
than what we do and if we get raped it's
our fault and if we get beaten we must have
provoked it and if we raise our voices we're
nagging bitches and if we enjoy sex we're
nymphos and if we don't we're frigid and if
we love women it's because we can't get a
"real" man and if we ask our doctor too many
questions we're neurotic and/or pushy and
if we expect childcare we're selfish and if we
stand up for our rights we're aggressive and
"unfeminine" and if we don't we're typical
weak females and if we want to get married
we're out to trap a man and if we don't we're
unnatural and because we still can't get an
adequate safe contraceptive but men can walk
on the moon and if we can't cope or don't
want a pregnancy we're made to feel
guilty about abortion and...for lots and lots
of other reasons we are part of the
women's liberation movement.

So, then, later, I was in the kitchen making dinner #1, and I somehow managed to rip off half of the thumbnail on my right hand while opening a can. I'm honestly not entirely sure how that happened, but MAN was it ugly. And I sat there looking at my mangled finger and wondering how the hell I was going to put it back together, and I was once again reminded of the saying "A woman's work is never done," but this time it was in song form:





So, now I sit here, with my thumb all bandaged up, because luckily hubs is home (hence the three dinners, instead of the usual two) and came to my rescue with neosporin and tape (later? Crazy Glue. He might as well just start calling himself a doctor) and I'm having a terribly difficult time typing, because of the bandage. And also the pain. And I'm wondering how I'm going to work with my thumb like this, and Child 2 has noticed that Child 1 has gotten dinner but he hasn't yet, and he has some "questions," and again, I'm reminded of the saying "A woman's work is never done."

I'm strangely calm for some reason, I'm not sure why. Maybe I'm just too tired and sick to do anything else.

Yeah. Good Times.

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Why I support gay marriage

I'm saying WHY I support it, and not THAT I support it, because honestly there should simply be no question about it. There is no rational reason why somebody should not support the idea of two people who love each other getting married. I don't even want to hear any explanations about it, because if you don't support gay marriage? You're just wrong.

Today is the hubs and my 12th wedding anniversary. Long time, right? We had been together for 8 years before we got married, and we had never really had any plans or intentions to make it all legal, at least not in the beginning. Neither of us really saw the necessity of having a "contract;" because if you love somebody, why do you need a contract?

That was when we were young, though. Young, with no kids and no money. Then my brother got rich and was very generous with his family and suddenly.... hey! We can buy a house! No kids yet, but why not put down roots, right?

So, we have a realtor, and we're making offers, and the realtor asks us how we were planning on taking the title once we made the purchase. There were a couple of options, but it would be a lot easier if we were married. Less paperwork, she tells us.

So, off we went to Vegas, with a couple of friends, and we were married in the back seat of a limo in a drive-thru chapel. No ceremony, no family, no hoopla; let's just get this shit done and then go drink and gamble! 

Because being married would mean less paperwork when we bought the house.

And less paperwork was easier.

And that was the only reason.

And we were able to do this so easily because I'm female and he's male.

Does that seem fair to you? Because it doesn't seem fair to me. 

What does that say about the "sanctity" of marriage?

Oh by the way: Happy Anniversary, Hubs!

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How I get my kids to cooperate when personal hygiene is involved

Earlier I was messing around with Child 2 and I noticed that his fingernails were really gross. I mean.... GROSS. They were long and fucking disgusting. They needed trimming.

(Here is where there should be a drawing of really gross, dirty fingernails, except I was completely unable to make that happen. I even traced my own hand on the wacom and no matter what I tried it just ended up looking like a bunch of mangled, dying finger puppets.)

So I grabbed the clipper thingies and grabbed his hand and he freaked out. He doesn't like getting his nails clipped. He always makes a big fuss and pretends that it hurts him, when clearly it really doesn't; the truth is that he's just kind of a pussy about things like this.

We argued about it for a while, I tried to reason with him about the importance of good hygiene and not being gross, but he just wasn't having it. Eventually I made him an offer he just couldn't refuse. That's what we do in this house, we make deals; we constantly barter. Do this for me and I'll do this for you, etc. I'm not sure what kind of future this is preparing him for, but... whatever. Hopefully not as a stock broker or a politician or anything. As long as I get what I want in the end is really what's important here.

So I say "I'll make you a deal: while I'm clipping your nails, you get to curse as much as you want." He was very intrigued by this, because usually these foul, foul words come out of his sweet, innocent face and I get kind of upset about it, because a 6 year old shouldn't be swearing!! And as long as we're being sincere, which I am, the truth is that I don't actually curse around him and I always yell at hubs when he does it. So, I guess it's hubs' fault. I hope he doesn't read this, and if he says anything to the contrary, he's a damn dirty liar!!

Anyway...... I gave him permission to curse like a drunken sailor the whole time I was clipping his nails and ultimately.... of course.... he agreed, because what 6 year old wouldn't want that??

It was painful to listen to, though. I clipped fast.

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Are you awesome enough?

Sometimes my kids make me so fucking crazy I want to toss them both out the window.

Child 1 is drinking water out of a flask right now.

Sometimes I sit here during the bedtime routine and I just shout orders at them without even looking at them. They ignore me. Child 2 apparently isn't capable of brushing his teeth in the bathroom, he needs to be doing a naked butt dance around the room at the same time. While tormenting the cat somehow. And then he wonders why she scratches him.

Sometimes I buy them chocolate when we're at the store but then I change my mind about giving it to them and lie to them that I didn't actually buy it so that I can eat it, myself, later after they're in bed.

Child 2 has the worst fucking potty mouth. Imagine that.

If I ever have to wipe another poopy butt I might just kill something. I don't care what, a bug would be fine. A spider, maybe.

Child 1 is currently in the midst of this calendar obsession and I'm telling you.... I DO NOT CARE when Cesar Chavez's birthday was and I don't have any desire WHATSOEVER to constantly discuss the issue. I also have no idea what the Mexican Day of the Virgin of Guadalupe is (December 12th), and I have absolutely no intention of looking it up.

I dream of being able to sleep at night without having a child next to me. I am the anti co-sleeper. I wish to actively eject my children from the family bed. I would lock them in their rooms if I wasn't so afraid of everybody dying in a fire during the night because they're stuck in their rooms with no way of escape.

We have no fire escapes.

Take that, Mommy Wars. What else you got?

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Heart barfing

I totally drew this.

Remember when I was asking if anybody was a blog therapist? (Neither do I, otherwise I would link to it). I was doing that because I think I've reached a milestone of sorts in my blogging career (it's not actually a career, but I don't know another word to use here) and I needed somebody to talk to about it.  I found one, by the way, but more on that in a minute. Because I like to keep you in suspense. *crickets*

I started this blog with no particular purpose or reason; it was just for the hell of it to see what would happen; because I had spent a week reading Hyperbole and a Half and it seemed like something interesting that I could try, too. But somehow it evolved into this huge thing with all these people and readers and honestly I have no fucking idea how that happened. How did that happen??

In my (limited) experience, most people start blogs because they have something to say: they have an opinion to record, something funny to say, an event to chronicle; and a need to write stuff. I don't really have those. I have opinions and funny shit to bullshit about, maybe, but mostly what I don't have is the need to write. I'm just not a writer, and I don't say that with the intent of calling myself a bad writer, writing is an art form, it's something you're born with and it's something I just don't have. That's not a bad thing, it just is what it is. I don't have the need; the pull, to write. That's what I mean when I say I'm not a writer. I sing. THAT I have the need for. So... why do I have a blog if I'm not a writer? Is what my blog therapist asked me tonight.

You may have noticed that I haven't been blogging much lately? It's because I've lost my blogging mojo (assuming that's a thing) and so I've been taking a break from blogging, hoping that some time away might do me some good. The problem is, though, that the longer I go without blogging, the less likely it seems (to me) that I'll ever be able to do it again. They say writing is a muscle you need to exercise every day, and I think they're right. Mine is getting flabby and fat. Story of my life. Although, just writing this post (which has now taken two hours, what with kids and bedtime and all that, and I've been moving paragraphs around and this parenthetical right here is the last part of this post that I wrote) seems to have made a slight improvement in the writing muscle. It's getting easier as I go. Funny how that works?

So..... I was talking to my blog therapist tonight, Pish Posh, (I warned her I would be giving her this credit. Visit her. PRAISE HER. LOVE HER. Oh and call her Dr. Barf. She likes that. Or was it Barf Doctor? I can't remember. Well, call her both. Whatever.) and she told me that I should barf my heart out onto the page. Just dig around and type out whatever comes to mind, she said. It doesn't even have to make sense! (I don't think she actually said that, I'm adding it after the fact, knowing that much of what I've written doesn't actually make sense). I said "won't that be self-serving and lame?" She said it wouldn't. So.... don't let her down, guys.... tell her it's not self-serving and lame.

That was a good question, though, that she had, in an earlier paragraph. Why do I have a blog if I'm not a writer? I don't know. Why do I? The tagline for this blog when I first created it was "I'm not sure if blogging is the proper forum for me, I might be more effective in 140 character increments." I still think that's true.

And so, I'm starting to think that maybe this blog idea of mine has simply run its course. Maybe I'm just done. Maybe I said all that I needed to say and now it's time to move on to something else? But, see... saying that, I know somebody is going to say "NO YOU CAN'T STOP BLOGGING," but, I think you would say that because you've seen the things I've written (and drawn) in the past and you want that to keep going, but honestly I'm not sure I have it in me anymore. I look at the things I've written in the past and I'm actually jealous of my former self. I used to be pretty good at this shit, right? Well, even if that were true, I'm not now. If you want to disagree with me? Just know that it doesn't feel good. (Then again, there's that blogging muscle thing I mentioned earlier, which does seem to be improving once I force myself. Okay THIS parenthetical is the last part of this post that I wrote. Unless there's another one coming up?)

The truth, though, is that I miss it. I miss the blogging, which is why I'm having such a hard time with this. If it was a simple matter of moving on to a different stage in my life, that would be one thing, but I don't know that I want that. I like being a blogger. I miss it. I liked what I used to be able to do. I want it back!!!

Every night when I go to bed, I turn off my phone and plug it into the charger next to my bed. I used to write posts during the day, and then schedule them to post around 5am my time the next morning, and the act of plugging my phone in was a reminder of whatever it was that I had scheduled to post the next day. On the nights when I had some nutjobbery that I approved of scheduled to post, I have to tell you.... that's a really good feeling. It felt good going to sleep knowing that during the night some theoretically funny shit that I had written would post, and people would read it, and maybe laugh.... That shit felt good; that anticipation. And then I would wake up in the morning and turn on my phone and I would get all these emails of comment notifications of you guys laughing at whatever I wrote, or whatever. I loved those mornings.

These days, I just plug in my phone and go to bed, and in the morning it's just all the spam that came in over night. Plus the digest from our school's e-list, which just annoys the hell out of me most of the time. And then I feel bad, because I couldn't write anything good enough to post, and it just feels.... empty.

So, on the one hand... maybe I'm done with this blogging experiment. But, on the other.... I want it back. Hence the heart barfing. In summary? I have no fucking clue what I'm doing. Oh. Look at that.

Anyway, I'm trying not to be whiny and self-serving, I swear; I'm trying to barf my heart out. I don't know how I've done. Oh, also, I may have been drinking. I'm not sure that's relevant, though. I'm just going to hit "publish" without asking anybody to read this first. I'm sure that's a good idea.

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I'm going to purchase a towel today

Because today is the 2nd anniversary of this blog, and the traditional 2nd anniversary gift is either cotton or maybe a beach towel if you're travelling. I'm not travelling, except to go to Target right now and buy myself a towel.

Can I get you guys anything while I'm there? A t-shirt? Some sweatpants? Whatever you want, as long as it's 100% cotton, I don't mind.

Check out my stats. I don't know if this is good or not, but I do like numbers. And graphs. And spreadsheets!! 100% egyptian cotton spreadsheets with a thread count of 1000. Damn that sounds comfy. I'll see if they have those at Target.

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I have the best friends EVER

So, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm taking a break from blogging. The specifics aren't really important, but I think a break might be good for me. Hopefully this will result in more awesomeness in the end.

Anyway, recently I told some friends that I would be taking a blogging break, and a good friend of mine (a real life friend. No, really, I have those) said that we should go out and celebrate my almost 2 years of blogging. We did that tonight, and when she picked me up, she presented me with this cake that she had made:

And then she says "you're going to take a picture of this and blog about it, aren't you?"

Oh, hell yes.

Hell yes, my friend.

 

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Wordless Wednesdays: Tuesday night's dinner

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