the good, the bad, the excited

well, there are MANY updates waiting to happen- don’t worry, i’ve kept a list of all the goings on so you won’t miss out on all the shenanigans.

BUT: the biggest update:

I BOUGHT A FUCKING HOUSE!

that’s right- me, the gypsy, the girl who has moved 11 times in 11 years (soon that will be 12 for 12). the girl who swore buying a home was not in any plan in any future in any way.

A HOUSE. a real house. a 1901, covered front porch, back deck, 4 bedroom, 2 bathroom, dining room with a small bay, purple kitchen HOUSE.

i’m still a fuck-ton scared of it. i mean- this means if the water heater shits out _I_ have to replace it. if there’s a leak in the roof _I_ have to repair it. when the lawn needs mowed...well, you can bet your fucking panties i’m calling someone else to do that last one. but it’s MINE. i can knock out walls or rearrange the kitchen (both of which i’m planning). i can PAINT it, rip up carpet, dance nekkid, ANYTHING I FUCKING WANT TO.

but. you know me. for every good there has to be a wrench in the works...here it is:

i called my brother the other day to wish him a happy birthday and he mentioned that one of his friends had let him know i bought a house. why hadn’t i let him know myself? well, because i knew something like this would happen. i’m chatting along, telling him a little about the house, how i’m nervous to buy it, how it’s a TON of money to spend all at once, and he drops this bomb:

“well, it’s not like it’s your money anyway.”

yes, asshole. i realize it’s not _my_ money. i realize i did not earn this money, this is not a nest egg that i saved up for years to make a purchase like this. i realize that this is my fucking lottery ticket. LUCKY FUCKING ME. you fucking asshole. i’m damn well aware of where this money came from. and, more than anything, that makes me extra nervous to spend it because i means that much more to me. i’m that much more on alert about buying a house my dad would be proud of. he always said he wished he could buy me a house and take care of me, and now he’s doing it. i want to make sure to pick out the best house i fucking can and make the best use of the money he left me. it’s been a HUGE pressure to me to not let my dad down. i realize that this is death money. i realize that several people died to provide me this opportunity. i’m more than well aware of that fact EVERY. FUCKING. DAY.

i remember more than once when my dad helped me move he would just shake his head and look around and be SO UPSET looking at the places i was going to call home. more than once he chewed my ass for picking a place he thought wasn’t up to his standard. he was always worried about me having a nice roof over my head. this is his way of taking care of me. it’s a shitty fucked up way, but it’s happening. and i want to make damn sure that it’s one he would approve of. in my head i know he’s still skeptical. he’s a dad. i know he would be looking around, poking at things, worried about something or other falling apart on me. but i also know that he would be so proud that i’m giving my boys a place of their own. i know that after the last two moves he learned to trust me that i can take ANY place and make it a good home for my spawns.

“it’s not like it’s your money.”

FUCK YOU. fuck you for shitting on such a big event for me. fuck you for not realizing how much time and thought and emotion i’ve put into this. i know it’s not what he wanted me to do with the money so therefore it must be the wrong choice. i know i was supposed to not quit my job, invest in college for the kids, make smart decisions.

WELL GUESS WHAT: THESE ARE FUCKING SMART DECISIONS. and they’re the RIGHT decisions for me. NOTHING can replace time with my kids. nothing can replace having a whole summer with them. NOTHING can replace giving them their own spaces to OWN.  they won’t have to move again. they won’t have to share a room. they can decorate, paint, make it THEIRS. i never had that when i was a kid. sure, my mom bought a house, but i wasn’t allowed to decorate it or put up things i wanted or make it my own space- i want that for my kids.  i want the quintessential hollywood kids room with wacky paint and posters all over the wall and a mess that keeps you from seeing the floor. i want them to have ownership and security.

and i ran out of steam about half way through that.

brass tacks: it’s the RIGHT FUCKING DECISION FOR ME.  IT’S A GOOD DECISION FOR MY KIDS.  i am damn well aware of where the fucking money came from.  i’m well fucking aware of how it isn’t really mine, and i’m making the smartest use of it that i can. i KNOW, hands down, that my dad would be proud of me for doing this.

back to the excitement:

I BOUGHT A HOUSE! i’m writing the check out for it today and i will OWN it, free and clear! i’m so excited

rant

dear plenty of fish guy:

can i just say how delighted i am to find out that your sleazy “not into casual sex” asshole self found me “sexy hot”?

why OF COURSE i’d love to stop by your office this afternoon and play dirty secretary with you in your obviously bustling successful office that allows their partners/managers to be online in the middle of the day chatting in completely sexually demoralizing ways with complete strangers.

i of course find it endlessly flattering that based on five pictures of me all from the shoulders up, you find me (and my deliciously sexy legs) to be such a complete and total turn on.

how can a girl resist such a temping offer as to be ravaged in a strange unknown warehouse by a complete stranger who has represented himself to be such an upstanding citizen? how did you know that was my secret fantasy for the day?

good luck finding someone else to entertain you during your oh-so-busy work day.

i hope you get locked in the supply closet and rot there.

not your arm candy OR dirty secretary,

(if i had that job, i'd quit)

me

houston, we have a problem

and now, back to your regularly scheduled crazy:

we have a problem.

ps: this blog is about sex, so if you don’t want to know things about me, you’ve been warned.

i’m not one to keep quiet about people’s freak flag. i get it, we all have one, i’m not judging (yes i am) but that doesn’t mean that i’m not going to take every opportunity i have to let EVERYONE know about the ones i run across.

i call it a public service announcement. where would we all be if i kept quiet? you’d be in for some unfortunate surprises in the bedroom is where.

tee shirts.

i love them. they’re an EXCELLENT invention. ring neck, v-neck, long sleeve, short sleeved, I LOVE TEE SHIRTS.

except during sex.

now i get it. some people are uncomfortable with their body. TRUST. my birthday suit is NOT in tip top condition. i understand stretch marks, wrinkles, unfortunate lumps when you twist and turn. hell, some of us have unfortunate lumps when we’re laying completely flat and still. i get that not everyone is comfortable baring all.

BUT.

this doesn’t make keeping your tee shirt on ok. in any way. even if it has some witty saying for me to read during said sex. and it SHOULD take longer for said sex than it takes for me to read any witty saying. also: although there are some things i enjoy reading over and over tee shirts are not one of them.

if i have to strip, well, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. TAKE IT OFF.

ALSO: if you’re oh, say...30 and maybe, perhaps...oh...a hockey player, in incredible, delicious, hard body shape (pause for drool) WHY ARE YOU KEEPING YOUR SHIRT ON?

there’s one simple reason: it makes the exit that much faster.

oh, i wish i was kidding.

i don’t care how good the sex is. i don’t care if you last two hours (not kidding on that one, there’s your TMI for the day). i don’t care how good all the kissing and (pause again for drool) all of it is. if you keep your tee shirt on the whole time and you can be out my front door less than 5 minutes after the grand finale- THAT IS NOT OK.

i will offer one allowance: SOCKS. men, listen up: YOUR FEET ARE FUCKING NASTY. i know some of you aren’t complete assholes- some of you actually know what trimming your nails means. some of you even willingly get pedicures. for that, I THANK YOU. you are allowed to take your socks off and have your bare toes in the same zip code as me. the rest of you: YOUR NASTY JUNGLE FEET SHOULD BE KEPT UNDER WRAPS AT ALL TIMES. i don’t want your nasty nails scraping my legs. i’ve had some expensive ink work done and i dont’ want to get gangrene from a nasty scratch and have to have my leg cut off. KEEP YOUR SOCKS ON. ALL THE TIME. fuck, i’ll even let you break the socks with sandals rule for that one.

everything else goes though. EVEN THE TEE SHIRT.

family legacy

my grandmother is 81 years old. it’s not the longest run in history, but it’s a damn good one. it’s interesting to think that she was born in 1929. that was the year of the wall street crash, the beginning of the great depression, the st valentines day massacre, the opening of the san fransisco bay bridge. in the same year martin luther king jr was born as well as audrey hepburn and anne frank. (read more here: 1929)

i found out last wednesday night that my grandmother has cancer. she will not be a cancer survivor. this will be the final chapter for her. by the time they found the cancer it was beyond any treatment options. the best they can do now is give her pain meds (which she doesn’t like to take because they make her too groggy) and wait for the end.

i’m angry at the universe about this. i get that 81 is a good run, but this is NOT a fair way for this amazing woman to go. there is NOTHING fair about this. here’s why:

my grandma is where i get my rebellious streak. there’s pictures of her in college holding hands with boys. i know- doesn’t sound so scandalous until you realize she went to a college with separate mens and womens dorms. not very unheard of at the time. but then you look in the background of the pictures and you see signs about men and women not being allowed to fraternize together. pictures of her holding hands with a boy with a sign about no fraternizing in the background. there’s also a picture of her and several girlfriends standing on a wall directly over a sign that says “no sitting or standing on this wall.” she had a strong wild streak to her. granted, i’m basing this off two pictures, but they do say a pictures worth a thousand words. she was also very in love with her first husband and there may or may not have been less than 9 months between their marriage and the birth of their first son. unfortunately at that time it was not at all something that people could deal with like they pretended to do when it happened to me (minus the marriage part). it caused a rift in her family and she was (i believe) disowned due to it. if not actually disowned it caused a large rift that caused great pains later on.

my mum was born in 1955 when my grandmother was 25 or 26 (forgive me, i don’t know her exact birthday- we’ll stick with 26). a few months before my mum was born my grandmother’s husband was killed in a plane accident. i can’t even imagine. 26, baby on the way, suddenly alone. in 1955. additionally, my mum has 3 older brothers. at 26 my grandmother was a sudden single parent of 3 small boys and a baby on the way. can you even imagine? i made the choice to become a single parent at 23 leaving my marriage. granted, not a choice i really wanted to make at the time, but still it wasn’t like having my whole life ripped from me. it was damn hard with two little guys. i can’t even begin to imagine three small boys and a baby on the way. she had to scrape together a few thousand dollars to have his body railed (yes, by train) back to his family AND pay for burial costs. you’d think at a time like this her family would step in and help. remember that whole great pains? they wouldn’t help. his family stepped in to help, but still. she was on her own. talk about a hard knock. she did it though.

in 1958 she married again and had two more kids. six total. that alone deserves sainthood.

now. our family has pretty tight lips when it comes to history but over the years i’ve heard a few things consistently enough to know that there’s a strong truth to them. still, please understand that this is a generation removed and a that no one is willing to talk about what went on.

my grandmother’s second husband is a pretty horrible person in my opinion. he is the type of person that never had qualms about using brute force to get his way. my mum talked only a few times about growing up with him and it was never good. one thing she remembered was my grandmother in the bathroom giving birth while he was in the kitchen demanding dinner. she talks about how when they got in trouble as kids (which was a continual thing due to the type of person he was) he would grab whatever was handy to beat them- a hairbrush, a belt, a metal rod. my grandmother and the kids went through this- no one escaped. in addition to that demeanor, he was also very politically defiant. he has strong ties to branches of the aryan nations and different supremacy groups. it was not 6 degrees of separation to our family when things like ruby ridge happened. it was maybe 1 or 2. hell, the wingnut even started his own “church” and considers himself a minister. hand in hand with all that goes a distrust of modern medicine, resistance to “government tracking” (drivers licenses and birth certificates), stockpiling weapons and food for the end of the world- the batshit crazy just goes on and on. did you know that if you eat mushrooms and ham you’ll catch aids? and that if you snort enough cyan pepper you can cure cancer? (one snort and i would NEVER complain about another medical problem as long as i lived. kind of like the egyptian answer to headaches). he is, to the core, in every way possible, a terrible person. even now, as my grandma is immobilized by cancer he’s demanding that she just needs to get up and walk more and she’ll be better. he gets angry with her for struggling through the pain and being confused or groggy. he talked yesterday about the “good old days” and how when they would argue she would simply say “you’re the head of the household” and that would be the end of the discussion. does anyone else catch the undertone to a discussion like that?

my mum did her best to keep my brother and i away from that whole mess growing up, one thing i am extremely grateful to her for. we rarely visited my grandmothers ranch and we NEVER spent time alone there.

53 years. my grandmother has endured 53 years of abuse after losing the love of her life, having her family shun her and being left on her own in 1955 with three kids and one on the way. she stuck with it because it’s what her generation does. you stay. there is no other option.

and she still maintained the beautiful person that she is. hidden in there peeking out when the coast is clear is that rebel. the amazing woman that gave me my love of vintage books. the first person in our family to go to college. the young lady in the picture standing on the forbidden wall. the woman that i look up to for what she went through and continues to go through. she raised six kids. SIX. she ran the ranch for over 20 years with “small” gardens that would put most gardens to shame (ACRES of gardens). she provided food for countless families that passed through and stayed on the land at different times. she made (and hand tied) quilts for all 9 of us grandkids. every year since my kids started school she helped make sure all their supplies were provided. visiting her over the last week i’ve still seen an amazing sense of humor, beautiful intelligence, unimaginable strength and patience. it breaks my heart to think of how much i missed out on growing up because of what she was stuck enduring.

and i’m angry at the universe because she never got a break. a few years ago her husband was very sick and it didn’t look like he was going to last very long. i was so excited for her thinking that finally she would be away from his tyranny. she would be able to get a nice little place in town and live a few years of her life in peace. a few years away from the constant abuse. a few years with her kids who had all distanced themselves as adults. a few years with grandkids, great grandkids that had been kept at a distance. instead he’s pulled through and is in fine health (aside from dementia) and she’s in the worst possible pain, completely overtaken with cancer and no chance of pulling through. no chance of peace. no chance to have the life she deserved. no chance to be the beautiful independent, free spirited woman she once was. i’m so angry. i’m so filled with hate and rage to see the scales once again not balance out. i don’t understand how the universe works. i don’t understand why things like this happen.

i’m also terrified.

my grandmother has lived with 53 years of abuse. my mother grew up in that household. i have to acknowledge that experience and how it shaped her adult life and approach to relationships. i have no question that her marriage to my dad was unhealthy. i love my father with everything i am, but i am not blind to his faults. i know that he had affairs. i know that he was young and didn’t treat my mother the best he could have. i know they were both young and both came from hard upbringings and didn’t have the healthiest examples of how to be a young married couple. i honestly believe that my mother would have stuck with him forever if he hadn’t come home and announced he was in marriage counseling. with the other woman. if he hadn’t left, my mother never would have. she would have stuck in an unhealthy relationship because it’s what you do. how do i know this? because she’s doing it now. she’s married again to a horrible man. a man that has lied to her, mistreated her, hidden things from her, abused her kids. she is in an abusive relationship now and she is sticking with it because that’s what you do. my grandmother married a second time because she needed help raising four young children. my mother married a second time because she needed help raising two young children. both stuck out abusive marriages because it’s what you do.

i’m TERRIFIED. i’m TERRIFIED to be a third generation of this. and i KNOW i’ve already broken the mold. i was in an abusive marriage and I GOT OUT. but the fact remains that i was in an abusive marriage. i followed their steps. i did it. i married an abuser. a third generation. i did get out, but i’m TERRIFIED that i don’t know any better. i don’t know what a healthy relationship is. i don’t know how people are supposed to work together. i don’t know what the good things are to look for and it’s damn hard shopping when you’re only going off the avoid list.

on the other end i’m terrified of avoiding relationships and not trying to find someone to try to give my kids a healthy example to look up to. no example is just as damaging as a bad example. they need something good and healthy and strong to learn from and aspire to. but i don’t know how to give that to them. i only know that i want to protect them from an unhealthy one. i don’t want to fuck up a fourth generation. i don’t want my kids to look back 15 years from now and be in the same boat facing the same fears and the same bad experiences. how do you fix things like this? how do you unlearn what you grew up with? how do you change the family legacy? i don’t want to be the third generation single mother who marries for help and stays no matter what.

and so what do you do? you’re terrified to get stuck in a bad one and terrified to not have one at all. i want to break the cycle. i want to be the generation that does it right. i want to be the generation that is healthy and happy and successful in a partnership. i just have no fucking clue where to start.

the battle rages

ok. so i realize it’s been a while and a few blog promise fails. it’s been a hell of a few weeks. i know that’s probably the time i should write the MOST, but it’s also the time i usually find myself the mos tongue tied when it comes to writing.

i’ve been having a hard time.

there. that’s on the table. there’s been depression, hard parenting, family emergencies, and a torrent of memories and grief hitting lately. i’m not sure what’s going on- maybe the moon is in a strange orbit. it was a little close to the earth for comfort recently.

a few weeks ago i went out for an evening and had just enough to drink that it seemed like a good idea to watch the dvd from my dad’s memorial service. alcohol is the devil. let me just say that. (it is however being my friend tonight and relaxing me enough to get this started.)

i watched the dvd. all the way through. it wasn’t actually a recording of the service like i thought it was but instead it was a compilation of pictures from the service. pictures of the motorcade, the speeches, the presentations, the bagpipes, all of it. ALSO: pictures from the scene. the parts of the service were hard but i made it through them. the pictures of the scene were unexpected and startling. it’s one thing to see the destruction from the ground, to walk the space where the house was, to sift through the remains. it’s a while different ball game to see the aerial pictures of the scene. to see the complete and total destruction all at once. on the ground you can take it one piece at a time. you can deal with what’s right in front of you and save the rest for when you’re ready. when you see the aerial picture it’s all at once. the whole ball of wax. it was intense to see. it looked like a perfect circle of fire had hit the earth where their house once stood. i still don’t understand the forensics of the fire. i still don’t understand how it decided to destroy some things and leave things a few feet away completely untouched. apparently i’m not the only one. there is no official ruling on the fire and there never will be. the official word is “unknown causes” signed, sealed and delivered by the ATF, the local fire department, all agencies involved. the best of the best review this one and no one knows what happened.

i’m getting distracted and writing myself into a corner. when you find yourself sitting and staring at the screen for 20 minutes you need to switch directions. so. prepare for a switch:

my oldest son has decided to be a teenager. i knew it was coming, i just hoped we had prepared a little better for it. it’s not quite a train wreck yet, but the potential is there. my boys fight. that’s partly what brothers do. BUT, its different when one of them can’t stop of know where the line is for behaviour and interaction. the little spawn is working on learning how to control his body and his interactions but to a certain extent he’ll never be able to really master the skill due to his aspergers. he’s working hard, he’s already come a long way, but part of it will never happen. his brother doesn’t seem to get this. they constantly fight and pick on each other and of course, EVERY. DAMN. TIME. the little one keeps pushing it further and further and the big spawn has to be the winner and it ends up in disaster. several times a day, EVERY. DAY. there’s punching and hitting and name calling. i’ve tried everything to make them stop. they’ve lost privileges, they’ve spent a LONG time hugging it out, i’ve told them to stay away from each other. nothing works. in my mind it’s mostly the oldest spawns responsibility to walk away because #1 he’s older, and #2 he doesn’t have the problem of knowing when to stop like the little one does. he’s just too stubborn and mean to let things end. well, it’s been getting worse and worse. i warned the oldest spawn to just let things drop or he would lose his gameboy, his comics, and his art supplies in that order. the other night the oldest spawn was being horrible all night. snippy comments all through dinner, picking on his brother all night despite several warnings, it just wouldn’t end. finally we stopped to drop a friend off and in the two seconds between me getting out of the car and turning to look through the windshield the oldest spawn had punched the little spawn in the face. full on punched, right in his face. i about popped a cork. when i got back in the car i tried my best to keep my temper under control and told the oldest spawn he was grounded from his gameboy, my iphone and the laptop for a month. he started yelling at me telling me how unfair i am, standard teenager drama and i warned him twice to stop. he wouldn’t quit, so i told him one series of comic books now belonged to me. ONE SERIES. not all of them. not his whole collection, just one series. holy shit you’d think the world hand ended. the yelling turned to sobbing and freaking out- pulling his hair, thrashing all over the back seat, just going off on me. i managed to maintain my temper and let everything he was yelling at me just roll off. he pulled the standard “I HATE YOU”, “THIS IS SO UNFAIR” and even branched out into “THIS IS SOMETHING GRANDMA WOULD DO” and i just let it all roll off. it continued for a good hour after we got home. he just wouldn’t quit. he finally went to bed and things quieted down. a few days later i brought it up again that he needed to turn over one of his sets of comics and the world ended again. this time he started throwing things around his room, punching his walls, throwing himself on the floor. if i didn’t know better i would swear he was 2 instead of 12. i don’t know how to deal with those melt downs. OVER COMIC BOOKS. i get that they’re special. i get that he saved his allowance/babysitting money to pay for part of them. i also get that maybe something that’s so special to him will finally get his attention and get the point across about being better to his brother. but there’s also the risk that he’s getting so upset about things that the anger is building into something worse and he’s missing the whole point. i don’t know. i made him stick to it over spring break- he was allowed to take the portable dvd player for the road trip to his dad’s, but the gameboy stayed home with me. i have no idea about computers or anything while he’s there, but here’s hoping that he sticks to it. snowball in hell, i know. but i don’t know what to do. the way he freaked out was so unlike him. to see him in a complete melt down phase pulling his own hair, punching walls, throwing things- i had no idea what to do besides keep my own temper in check and ride it out (if you’ve ever seen my temper you know what i feat in itself that is). if he gets much bigger though then it could get dangerous. where do we go from here? he HAS to learn to be better to his brother. he HAS to learn to control his anger better. i just don’t know how to get from here to there.

switching tracks again- i have a bit of a rabbit trail brain today, forgive me.

there will be a different blog on this, but here’s a quick overview just to catch you up: i found out last week that my grandmother is sick. they found out that she has cancer and doesn’t have much longer. no one is sure how long she’s had cancer, she’s pretty stubborn about doctors and letting people know when things are wrong. by the time they found the cancer it was in her bones, her blood, it has metastasized through her whole body and she has uncontrolled tumor growth. there’s a whole blog coming about her and how this has made me step back and look at things. so. be prepared for that. suffice to say it wasn’t the best news. on top of the dvd and the pre-teen melt down, i haven’t been dealing with it very well.

switch again- i feel like there’s just been this storm of everything going on and i just feel like it’s hitting hard. and here’s the part where i pull a total melt down.

my kids are gone this week for spring break. i was looking forward to a week of fun and going out and being completely responsibility free. it’s turned into a disaster. the kids left on monday and i finally left the house tuesday mid morning and that was only to drive to colville to see my grandmother. so much for a rowdy good time. yesterday would have also been my dad’s 56 birthday. that hit a thousand times harder than i expected it to. on the way back from colville i decided to go out for a steak dinner and a beer in honor of my dad. if you know me, you know that i get some of the strangest ideas. well, yesterday i had an idea that i would be good to call up the state patrol office in spokane and see if there was an off duty officer that would like to join me for a steak and a beer in memory of my dad. something about sharing that with an officer that seemed like it would be therapeutic or healing or something. talked to dispatch and then the sargent on duty and there were no officers available. also: the sargent threw in some good old sympathy which ended up with me driving down 395 in tears. so last night i took myself out to dinner and drinks in memory of my dad.

**side note: turns out my call to the wsp yesterday rang some alarm bells and i was gifted a call from the district chaplain today to check in on me. awe.some. didn’t know inviting someone out to dinner was such a reason for alarm.**

and pity party, table for one please:

i seem to be doing a LOT of things by myself lately. going out alone, being the lonely (and pathetic) girl at the bar. being the table for one in the corner. especially with everything going on lately that loneliness has been increasingly amplified. it would be nice to have someone to talk to. a sounding board. a check point in this mess. i feel like i could hold on a little better if i had some point of reference, but instead it’s just me out here floundering. tonight i went out again. went to a movie and to dinner. alone. and i know there’s a power to being able to do that. a strength to being able to get off my couch and actually do it. but there’s also a huge embarrassment to it. and i know people don’t know you need help unless you ask for it, but i’m TERRIFIED to ask for help. i tried to reach out to a friend last week. i tried telling him how scared this whole thing with my grandma makes me. how it makes me look at my family and worry about fucking my kids up. i opened up, i reached out. what i got back in return was this: “well, your kids are already fucked up.” supposedly a joke, but. yeah. kinda makes you not want to reach out any more. and i know, i just reached out to the wrong person. but when that’s the only person close by it’s hard NOT to reach out to the wrong one.

side track again:

so here i am. sitting on my couch where my ass has been glued for the week. the kids come home tomorrow and the rowdy week of freedom will be over. i don’t know if there’s a point to all this. maybe it’s just me venting it all. this is titled brain vomit after all. prime example tonight. i’m out of steam whatever it is. stayed tuned for a peek into my family history.

shirt off my back

it's the middle of the night on a thursday and i'm bored. so. here's a few tee shirts i would buy. i'm horrible at photo shop and all that crap, but you get the idea. if someone can make this happen i will worship you forever.

not the happiest place on earth

when i was a kid we took a family vacation to california for spring break one year. after driving down in the family oldsmobile, staying in the cheapest, shittiest motels all the way there, visiting every stupid marine corps site of former glory that my mothers husband felt the need to drag us to, one terrifying day south of the border in tijuana where i was SURE we were going to be stabbed to death, we finally got to visit disneyland- my first time EVER. the ONE good thing about the trip. i was so excited to have one good thing happen that i was almost able to ignore my horrible early 90’s home made shorts, badly damaged permed frizzball hair and blue plastic framed glasses. almost. we show up, i’m all excited, then we found out that every. single. section. was closed for repairs. apparently, the big spring break rush had been a week or so before and this was their chance to close things down for repairs and maintenance. what a fucking waste of time. i remember nothing about the park. i think we walked around for a while. i KNOW we didn’t go to any of the shops or places (my mum was way too cheap for that). i just have a picture of us all standing at the front gate and that’s it.

so. you know. i get disappointment. i get showing up to the park to find out the main attraction isn’t available.

that said: GUYS: YOU ARE FUCKING IDIOTS.

tuesday night the new guy and i were supposed to go out. he ended up not being able to make it (see the previous blog about how i just don’t understand all his responsibilities...this was another instance of that). he said he felt bad and would make it up to me the next night. well, the whole day goes by and i haven’t heard from him, so i texted him early in the evening to see what the plan was. he said to let him know when the spawns went to bed. works for me. so after the spawns are both down for the count i pop him a text to let him know the coast is clear, and, by the way, mother nature stopped by for a visit but it would be great to hang out and watch a movie. yeah. i spent the night on the couch reading. alone.

NOW. i get that mother nature is a huge freak out thing for many guys. (it’s not exactly the happiest event for us either guys.) YES. I’M TALKING ABOUT MY MENSTRUAL CYCLE. uncomfortable yet? set down the offerings of caffeine and midol and back away slowly.

one friend even asked me what the hell i was thinking telling the new guy about it outright. here’s what i was thinking: I KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO SHOW UP AND FIND OUT ALL THE RIDES ARE CLOSED. i’ve had guys get PISSED that they found out after the fact that the main attraction wasn’t available. i would rather be up front and say hey, the rides are closed, but you can still come hang out, see the sights, and who knows, maybe the management will open up a ride that’s generally not open to the public. you never know when an unexpected bonus like that might become available. that’s much better than showing up all excited to have your hopes and dreams dashed once you’ve already paid the fee to get in and spend the time disappointed and not able to even check about other options.

note to guys: just because aunt flo is in town does not mean that sexy time completely goes on hiatus. there are PLENTY of other things to do where you can avoid that whole section of the park (or not, depending on your opinion of things). second note to guys: YES, pms means that hormones are all over the charts. guess what? HORNY IS CONTROLLED BY HORMONES. and when hormones are boosted off the charts by pms...well...if you can’t figure out how that all works then maybe you should be allowed into the park anyway.

i’m not a bashful person (most of the time anyway). i have no problem being up front and honest about things. i am NOT the type to try to trick people or test them, ESPECIALLY when it comes to things like this. i’ve learned the hard way by accident and would rather not repeat the experience. i guess if a guy can’t handle me being up front and honest for one, and two: decides he would rather blow me off (read: no response at all) than roll the dice whether it really means a night of just hanging out or it ends up being a bonus night where the management is feeling generous, then you know what? i really could care less if he ever gets to visit the park again.

i’m going to go consume copious amounts of caffeine and midol now. call me when men learn how to grow a pair.