Friday, October 31, 2008

Fucking funny!!!

My friend Katie posted this on her myspace blog. I guess her friend hooked her up....'>

Momma Mia!!!

Dear sweet Neil Gaiman,

Take me to your leader, your creator, the one that hath planted your rich seed in the ample earth and plotteth for you to grow. I would like to take this entity and make for myself one of your own. You are a God in your own "God-Given" right. *sighsighsighsighsigh*

Check it holmes:

Saw a preview of this bitch when I went to watch Nightmare Before Christmas in 3-D with my sweet Mysty and Daughter Carmen.


It's gonna be in 3-D. Woot. Double Woot.

I so need to complete my Sandman series. I am falling for you VERY HARD Neil. :)

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Successful Yet Defeated

More observations:

Okay, so I have been down at the school all this morning. It was Awards Day for the kids. Haven't been there in forever, really. I'm used to being down there every day or every other day. Well, not now, but then. Last year, the year before that, and the year before that. Wasn't there everyday or every other day last year, but I was there frequently.

So this year, I go up there only to attend parent teacher meetings, or to pick my kids up. It's funny how many observations can be fairly made when you're part of something everyday, and how righteous you are allowed to feel for making these observations. When your not there everyday, well, you simply just become a quiet spectator and wonder a bit about things.

I started going to school everyday with Mike Jr. when we first decided to enroll him into public school, which was when he was in 3rd grade. (Well technically, he was supposed to be in 4th grade, but since he was struggling with so many different concepts because of Autism, we opted for him to do 3rd again in public school.) I just couldn't bare the thought of throwing him to the wolves after having homeschooled him for his first 4 years, especially considering the fact that he was just recently diagnosed as having autism back then.

I was so fucking terrified of what everyone must've thought about me then, following my kid around like a lost little puppy, but I was even MORE terrified of the thought of all the things that might've happened to him that happened to me in public school. So there I was, volunteering everyday.

I wouldn't really LITERALLY call it "volunteering", because I was only mostly there to help Mike. Carmen and David could do okay without me, they could function independantly, but I was really concerned about Mike because of his communication issue. If something went awry at school, how would he ever begin to tell me if he had not the skill to do so? He could barely verbalize his needs to ME, his own mother, what more could be said of complete strangers??

Eventually I had my heart melted away by all the other students with needs, like every mother that usually winds up volunteering, so I helped who I could, but mostly focused on Mike. There were a small handful of kiddos that I helped regularly, and I knew every fucking name of every kid not only in Mike's classroom, but David's and Carmen's as well. I also came to know many of the other students in other classrooms because there is always such a great need for extra support from whomever can be available in the school system.

I began to understand the different styles not only of my own kids, but the learning styles of other parent's children as well. It was invigorating to know that I was a part of these kid's lives everyday, making a difference, in some little way, even if it was teaching them the most basic of neccessities, like Daily Oral Language, or remembering to carry the one to the tens place. I would later reward these kids with learning differences, whom are deemed disabled, with chats about the latest episode of Naruto, or where to go to get all the masks you need in order to gain entry to the last temple of the game in the Zelda's series Majora's Mask. These kids that were/are deemed "disabled" were able to speak a language completely unspeakable to most of society, yet here we were, succeeding in places most people could care less about.

Again, Mike started going to public school in the 3rd grade, so naturally, these kids in Mike's class were considered "the oldest" ones to me in the school, because I had no prior experience with the other grades really. 4th, 5th, and 6th grades were a fucking stretch for me. I just couldn't imagine what it would be like for Mike in any of those other grades, so I didn't. I just focused on the "here and now".

But these kids, the older ones....they all seemed so mature for their age, like teenagers already. Hell, most of the sixth graders pretty much were. For me, they were like this unattainable facade of our lifestyle, and I held many of these kiddos at bay for that reason. I'm not going to lie when I say I was intimidated, daunted by these folk. I was just so fascinated at the little things, like how they managed to have come so fucking far in life, WITHOUT their parents there, riding their asses down the hallway, making sure they didn't forget to turn in last night's homework, guiding them in the proper way to respond to other fellow asshole classmates that want to make fun of each other, reminding them to "wipe their face after they eat". There they were, making a place for themselves in this universe. All by themselves. This kept me up at nights. Worrying about Mike Jr. and how in the fuck was he going to survive all this. I could barely survive it as a kid.

But here he is now, in 6th grade, the same grade that I would marvel at 3 years before,all tall and lanky, tromping along with all the other pre-teens, surviving the chaos and madness that is the school system. He's got hair growing from his armpits, has to wear deodorant on a regular basis, knows how to defend himself in a battle of asshole wits, and can efficiently remember to wipe his face after he's done eating in the school cafeteria. There are girls with boobs bigger than mine, and boys that could succeed in getting a date with me if they lied about their age. (kidding of course)

But really, here my kid is, mingling with society, surviving my worst nightmare come true, and I have to sit back a moment to take it all in. It's just fucking too much to bare. I was at his awards assembly this morning watching all these kids that I've been with over the last 3 years all grown up, and I get a taste of what it must be like for teachers day in and day out.

They do what they do not for money, not for fame, not for self recognition. They do it for the kids. And no matter how fucking ridiculous it can be to get up out of bed in the morning and face these kids everyday, enduring the thankless hours of backtalk and sass, not ever knowing for sure whether or not they have what it takes to lead these kids into what is to be their future, well, they just do it. They just get up, and fucking do it. Because they know some day they'll be able to look back at all the times students gave them shit, all the times parents were doubting their methods, and feel some sort of success in knowing that because of them, these kids survived another day.

I almost had to excuse myself to the restroom a few times for fear I was going to lose my composure in front of everyone because of this notion. But I managed to keep a lid on my emotions this time.

There were other times I wasn't able to. Like the first time I heard Mike Jr. during a Christmas rehearsal, singing along with all the other kiddos. He was right up there with everybody else, singing, smiling, wrestling with other kids his age for his spot on the bleachers, and enjoying life. My heart felt like it was going to split asunder as I forced the tears back, but I failed miserably at the attempt. I don't know if anyone ever saw me crying that afternoon, years ago, but I was. I really fucking was.

There was just so much beauty in that moment.

I have a bone to pick with the school system, though. A silent bone, that will probably reach no further than to the end of this blog and the few who choose to read my nonsense. But yes, I do have a bone.

There are so many kids in school. So many, in fact, that MANY, MANY, MANY of their needs get overlooked. This is not news, I know. The system tries to help out as much as possible, and has succeeded in doing so for as much effort as they have put.

But what I am facing here is what one would call a dilemma, I guess.

I am all for kids getting awards, receiving recognition for all the hard work they've been doing all year. They deserve it. They need it. That affirmation will be what gets them going good for the years to come in most cases.

What I am concerned about is all the kids that DON'T get recognition. The ones that aren't really receiving anything at all. I have been on both ends of the stick here, so to speak, and it is both rewarding but also brutally painstaking as I attend these awards ceremonies semester after semester.

I watch as my daughter face beams when she receives an award for getting straight A's for the umpteenth fucking time. And I beam too. I see David's face light up when his name is called for his well earned efforts in making A/B honor roll. And Mike Jr.'s quite happy as he receives outstanding citizenship for all his good choices in behavior.

But if you take the time to look around, you see the faces of the kids that aren't beaming or lighting up.Instead they are hanging their head down in shame. Most of these kids, you might think, deserve it. But they don't. They've been there every fucking day just like everyone else. Most of them aren't equipped with the skills to individually do well on their own, and with the school staff being limited, they can only do so much to help these kids. Many of these kids have been thrown to the wolves, only to be devoured by society's popular ideal of "You get what you put in".

I feel terrible, because that's just not fucking true in life. Maybe some of the time, but not MOST of the time. And definately not in these kid's cases. The same kids I see up there winning awards for being a perfect citizen are the same ones I hear calling my kids names on the playground when they think no one can hear them. They are the same ones telling my kids that I'm a devil worshipper or a slut, just because no one's around to reprimand their ignorance. Yes, most of the kids that don't get awards have these same problems too, they're just not as sneaky and cunning as the ones that didn't get caught.

So all in all, some kids are just getting awards for being sneaky enough. But again, ALL of these kids have been working hard, but not all of them are getting affirmation, because they aren't making the grade. But they are still working hard. Just because someone understands and some others don't they are being ostracized as failures, deemed unworthy of a shake from the hand of the principal, and a piece of paper stating how great you did for understanding.

A fucking dilemma indeed.

All these kids need to know how awesome they are doing, and I think it's GREAT that there are kids getting recognized, but somehow there has gotta be a way to give these other kids hope. Hope that even though you didn't understand how to do the work, you showed up, you tried, and we still think that you're awesome too.

How does one do that? Because in a way it's not going to be fair to all the kids that DO work hard every night for the grade they have, but at the same time, for kids like Mike, he is putting in twice as much effort as the "typical" kid, and not getting A's. And there are so many others like Mike, and it's just heartbraking to see these kids looking around, wondering how come they aren't receiving affirmation that their efforts don't go unnoticed. When you're a kid, getting an award means you did good. Period. As an adult I can say, "Well, I know you worked twice as hard as anybody else Mike, but you just have to keep trying"...but does a child understand that?

No, not really. Especially ones with learning differences. We are just learning that we have to learn the way everybody else is learning and be able to SHOW that to everyone on command in order to get recognition.

I saw a 3rd grader crying today, with his head tucked in between his knees because he didn't receive any awards. Sure, he's got behavior issues, and probably learning differences of some sort, but does that mean we should forget about him and toss him aside like a 3 dollar whore?

I don't think so.

People need to know when their doing the wrong thing. But how do you tell them that they were awesome for trying anyway? Is there an award for that at school yet?


Wednesday, October 29, 2008


A little Creepshow nod to get the Halloween Festivities a'flowin'???? Um..hmmmm.

Busy, busy, BUSY!!!

So like, my back is about to keel over with pain and exhaustion.

I spent the better part of this afternoon getting my Halloween costume ready, squirting blood all over it and what not. It looks pretty cool though and I can't wait to sport it. Unfortunately I am going to have to discard the ideal that I am going to be a chainsaw wielding, blood spattered maid. I will have to settle for a giant bloody knife again this year, as I never got the chance to buy the chainsaw.


Darn and phooey.

After I was done prepping my costume I moved on to carving the pumpking I bought for Mysty last night. I hope she likes it. It was a bitch and a half to carve. The rinds for these types of pumpkins are uber thick, and it was really hard to get it working into carvable material.

But alas, here are the seeds of what I've sown:

This is one side....

And then, here's the other side:

My hands, neck, and back are KILLING me. I still have to pick up the kids from school, eat, and take a shit. Then I can make dinner, get dressed and go see Nightmare Before Christmas in 3-D with Mysty and my daughter Carmen. I can't wait!!

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

My Current Obsession....

Ain't she a fukkin BEAUT???

And this, this is just icing on the Mysty cake:


Monday, October 27, 2008

The Very Hungry Caterpillar


So here's the "story".....

There's this huge fucking caterpillar thingy we see every year (the "fam" and I, that is) that is on display at Stoney Creek Farm, right?

Fair enough.

It's a blown up piece of rubber, plastic, whatever the fuck you want to call it. It has the ingenious ideal of children entering it all profolactic like (orally), with the mastermind production of these unknowing hosts scrambling with joy to their "questionable" destiny.....

Mike and I have to marvel at this comical ingenuity, as this is by far, THE BEST fucking thing about going to Stoney Creek Farm in the first place. We always forget about it, only remembering the awesomeness of Fall and all it's wonder, all embued into this corner of the world that they deem "the pumpkin patch".

And each year we are sorely reminded, as we wait (Snookms and I) in giggled anticipation, at the end product of our forgotten old insect of a friend:

That's not MY fucking kid being shit out of the caterpillar's ass, I'll tell you THAT MUCH.

I waited for what seems like EONS for this kid to find his way to doom, and I must've looked cold and heartless to this poor kid's father as I stood grinning like the Grinch, ready to snap the perfect shot. His father looked rather shamed for have letting his son go through such an ordeal. I felt his fury and wrath ten fold burning holes in the back of my comfy knitted red winter sweater, wishing it to be engulfed in flames most likely, as well as the rest of my body as I ran away cackling with glee, to share my profitable yields with the group.

Regrets do I have, you ask?


Only time will tell.

Try explaining THIS to the Heavenly Father up above when I'm in line, hoping to get my stamp o' approval in order to enter the pearly gates. Wish me well. I may have wear one of those orange get-ups you see those kids wearing that pick trash up off the highway for awhile. I'll probably be on probation.

Was it worth it, you ask?

Again, only time will tell.

I hope the kid doesn't need therapy after all this.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Midnight ramblings of a mad woman....

I was reading Ghost World in the spawn's room earlier, trying to keep busy while Carmen fell asleep in her bed, me sprawled out the floor, having the zombie edition of Degrassi playing in the backround as white noise. A find uncovered at the new Half Price Bookstore they just recently opened up down the road in Avon, for, of course, "half price". I was more than thrilled to have the chance to read a booked version of the movie Ghost World, which I still adore to this day and beat myself over the head for not buying yet.

I hastily decided Thursday afternoon that it would probably be nice for the 4 of us (Snookms was still at work) to get out of the house for awhile, and while I've had the opportunity to visit HP for myself, that the kiddos haven't. And I also quickly remember the Dunkin Donuts that was recently opened in front of the bookstore, so it was even more of a reason to just "go" and get the hell outta dodge for a few.

So that's what we did, and I managed to find Ghost World for less than 5 bucks in the Graphic Novel section. I finally decided to get a start on it tonight when "Tha Jr." comes stumbling into the "spawn" room shortly after, half asleep, ready to crash for the night. David's still wide awake in the living room with his dad watching Richard Pryor and Jackie Gleason act a genious fool in The Toy. David's laughing his ass off throughout the whole movie.

I'm really re-engaging myself into Ghost World, falling in love with Enid's character all over again, when the Jr. starts coughing up a lung in his sleep. He's had a bit of a cough off and on since Fall Break started, and I've been somewhat concerned, as he's had pneumonia in the past, so I'm kicking myself in the ass for not making an appt. for him sooner this week to be seen at Riley. (Just so the doctor can get a listen to his lungs, make sure there's no fluid building up in there.) So I'm going to have to do this first thing Monday morning, I pound into my head condescendingly. He should be okay throughout the weekend, but if not, I can always take him to the E.R, is what I tell myself.

I hate the thought of dragging any of my kids to the E.R., but it's nice to know it can be used as a last resort.

But anyway, Jr. wakes up coughing and says, "I need cough medicine, or this will keep me up all night". He says it just like that. I marvel at this boy's simple yet ingenious verbal ability.

So I put my book down, "comic", whatever you wanna call it, and head up to the gas station to get him some Robitussin, ASAP. I decide to treat myself to some fresh nachos while I'm there, hoping to entice Mike Sr. into waking back up (he fell asleep on the couch shortly after he and David began watching The Toy) and eating them with me once I got the coughing agenda situated and David in bed for the night.

No such luck when I get home though. Everyone is out like a light, and it's 1:30 in the am at this point. So I administer proper dosages of Robitussin to "those 12 and under", and kiss him and David goodnight. I walk out to the living room, realizing just how quiet and peaceful everything is in this particular moment, replaying the week's events over in my head like a movie projector, resembling something to the effect of American Beauty:

Some of the moments heavenly, others not so heavenly, some mediocre, others chalked up to grandiose notion. I breathe in the moment like a deep rich aroma, praying for it's place in time and space to be forever bookmarked in the travels of my mind, to later relive when hard times are like foes, assailants, attacking at your every, wishing nothing short of your demise and destruction. Small moments captured in wavelengths of emotion and memory can serve as saviours, precious life-givers, energy replenishers, for the dark and dreary battles forged ahead.

Right now it's 3:00 in the morning and I'm as wide awake as I'll ever be, loving quiet moments of clarity like this one.....

All is right with the world.

I feel no one is hating me, I've angered no one. I have clean pajamas and a full belly. None of the spawn went to bed crying. I have Ghost World to look forward to reading when I'm done blogging about nothing, a beautiful mom and dad that love me for me, as well as a gorgeous sleeping Snookms laying beautifully on the couch behind me.

He looks as though he's been chiseled from gold, with his beautiful deity-like features. His eyes are so gentle as he slumbers away. His face resembles that of a child again, wrinkle-free from the adulthood chaos of worry, and doubt. The sound of his breathing is both relaxed, as well as relaxing to me.

I have Wednesday night to look forward to as well, Mysty, Carmen and I are going to try to see "A Nightmare Before Christmas" in 3-D at Rave in Metropolis,(Mysty's not seen it before!) so I think that will just be grand, grand, GRAND.

Earlier this evening the "fam" and I were going for a drive, sort of undecided on what to do for the night. We finally settled on going to McDonald's after driving downtown for about 45 minutes, and possibly going to the pumpkin patch tomarrow (weather permitting). The song "Hold Me Now" by the Thompson Twins comes on the radio as we're driving down Rockville Rd., and I get the same huge pang in my heart that I used to always get when I listened to it as a kid. I always have some sort of a special introduction to each song that happens to come on the radio that I enjoy. Something like "I love this song. This song used to make me "whatever" when I was a kid". Or "Hey, I remember this song, I used to "blah-blah-blah" when this song came out."

Well, for this song I distinctly remember feeling a great sadness in it's eloquent form.

It did use to make me cry.

So that's what I said out loud.....

And then I sit back quietly, listening to the lyrics sang, remembering exactly why it made my heart ache at such a young and tender age.

I was pretty young. I wanna say first or second grade, but I think it was more like 3rd or 4th. I remember sitting on my bed, my head slumped over in resignation, resting my head in my hands, elbows pressed down into my thighs, hearing this song more in my heart than anywear else in my body.

.....I was singing it to my dad.

My heart was.

I loved him so much, but I felt so fucking far away from him. It was like literally seeing him in a prison made of glass walls. I could reach out and pretend to touch him, have a relationship with him, but the fact of the matter, was that he just wasn't "there" at times. When he was "there" it was like Christmas, Halloween, and Easter all wrapped up in one. When he was "unavailable", these are the words that would hang heavily in my heart.....(A scenario in our relationship that I later would find all too familiar in the one I currently share with my Snookms as well.)

"Hold Me Now"

By The Thompson Twins

I have a picture,
Pinned to my wall.....
An image of you and of me and we're laughing.
We're loving it all

But look at our life now,
We're tattered and torn.
We're fussing and fighting, delighting with tears
That we cry until dawn

Hold me now

Warm my heart

Stay with me

Let loving start
Let loving start

You say I'm a dreamer....
We're two of a kind.
Both of us searching for some perfect world,
We know we'll never find.

So perhaps I should leave here?
Yeah, go far away....
But you know that there's nowhere that I'd rather be
Than with you here today.

Hold me now

Warm my heart

Stay with me

Let loving start
Let loving start

Oh hold me now

Warm my heart

Stay with me

Let loving start
Let loving start

You ask if I love you....
What can I say?
You know that I do and that this is just one
of those games that we play.

So I sing you a new song,
please don't cry any more!
And I'd ask your forgiveness though I don't know just
what I'm asking it for...

Hold me now

Warm my heart

Stay with me

Let loving start
Let loving start...

So I sit back, tears running silently down my cheeks, resting my head against the cold hard glass of the window of our car, remembering, and being happy about remembering, knowing full well that I have the opportunity to share this moment in my life with ALL the different facets of myself.

To not feel ashamed or afraid about this, or wrong, or convicted.

It's like what Zach Braff's character tells his father in "Garden State" at the end, when he's explaining to his dad that everything's gonna be okay.....

He takes his hand, places it on his father's chest, and tells him gently, "I need you to be okay with me feeling. Whether it's bad or mad or sad, I just need you to be okay with it. And then everything'll be alright. You and I will be alright."

Maybe I don't have all the words just right, but I know what was in the heart of this moment, and that's what I wanted to share....

For now.

I love you dad. So much.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

More schtuffs

I had so much fucking fun last night with Mysty.

It's the most fun I've had in a long while with a friend.

I was laughing so hard it was like I had taken acid again for the first time.

I had screamer's cough, mingled with laughing my ass off cough.

Mysty asked me which "attraction" was my favorite, and I keep replaying the events in my mind of which one was the best because they were all so fucking lovely, but I still have to say it was the "Blackout". It's pretty much a maze, but there's almost NO LIGHT to guide you, so the whole time I kept running into the walls like I used to back in the day when I'd get piss drunk, but the great thing about this was that I WASN'T drunk, and Mysty would slam her hellaciously wonderful body into mine everytime I crashed into a wall, which only made me laugh even harder.

Being smashed in between a wall and one of the most beautiful souls in the universe in the dark is equivalent to jolly drunkeness. Not kidding.

She bought me a Faery notebook and some Hello Kitty stickers and even gave me the sweetest Halloween card. I have already filled the first few pages with the stickers and the events of our Haunted Housing ventures.

I have more to add to my wishlist.....

Another night of venturing with Mysty, AND Katie.

A copy of Little Women on DVD. My mom has it on VHS, she's the one that got me into that movie in the first place. I remember looking at my mother dubiously as a senior in high school when she was like "Watch this. It's good". I should have known better then about my mother's excellent taste in movies choices, but alas my ignorance walked with me far into my 20's. I NOW KNOW that when she tells me to watch a movie because it's good to obey like that of a robot. Little Women is another flick to add to my list of Fall movies to watch. Wynona is so charming.

I am eating a bowl of sinagan for breakfast. I forgot to mention that you boil all the ingredients I spoke of previously in water, for an hour, and pour it over rice, like a fine tender stew. Perfect for the illustrious Fall chill.

I'm still beating myself in the head for not ordering a Hot Chocolate at Hanna Haunted Acres when we were all done. I ordered a Pepsi instead because my throat was so parched from all the screaming and insane laughing. But Hot Chocolate would've been perfect to compliment the already wonderful night.

I also really loved the Haunted Hayride. But ALL of it was really fun. Especially being able to bury my head in Mysty's ample bosom to hide my face from all the Haunted House characters that were stalking us. I REALLY got to get my bosom's worth in Hell's 1/2 Acre. At one point we were greeted by this hooded being that had a pentagram painted on it's face, and it told us to go to the center of the room and stand in a circle. (There was another couple along with Mysty and I) You walk in the room and there's 3 pentagrams on the floor, we stand in the middle one but fail miserably at the attempt to make a circle because me and Mysty are just laughing our asses off the whole time at this guy in a clown mask. He's talking to me and Mysty the whole time, and then he eventually takes his mask off and starts following us out of the building (all part of the act, of course) but I just couldn't bare looking at this guy, so I hid my face in Mysty's tits the whole time, cackling insanely. Priceless shit.

Quinn needs to leave me blog comments, lest I get all "Jackie Chan" on his ass. I've got a ladder outside, I ain't afraid to use it yo.

I'm still being affected by the excellent read that was Neil Gaiman's Doll's House. I am so hungry for the remaining 9 volumes. Particularly looking forward to volume 4, Seasons of Mist. This book really got into the heads of serial killers, I believe. It made you empathize with them. Now that's ability. I had brought the graphic novel with me when I took Mike Jr. to his speech therapy at Riley on Tuesday, and this really groovy chick stopped me at the McDonald's inside Riley and was like "Ooh, that book is GOOOOD!" I was like "Oh yes it is" so we clamoured on for the next few minutes about the series and then said our goodbyes. It's so cool to see other chicks into shit like that. (Have you read your copy yet Katie????)

Neil Gaiman's also got a new book out: The Graveyard Book. I really wanted to buy it for the kids, and read a chapter to them every night before bed, the way my mom and dad would read a chapter from Charlotte's Web to my brothers and I every night when we lived in Seattle, Washington. I lived for those moments in my early childhood. I think it would be awesome to read about Nobody Owens, whose parents were murdered as a child, and wound up being raised in a graveyard by ghosts to my children every night, especially with it being so close to Halloween and all. I just recently discovered that this book has taken the number 1 slot on the mountainous pile that is Children's Novels.

Mysty took pictures of us but I look like a goober from hell because my eyes kept closing every time the flash went off. Must be a sensory thing for me, because that shit happens ALL THE TIME. I'm not photogenic one BIT!!!

At least Mysty is. I loved her Goatwhore shirk.(Yes, I called it a "shirk" on purpose, that's what Mike Jr. used to call shirts when he was little. So cute. "Shirk". Try saying it a couple times.)

I still say I have the best mom in the universe. I miss her. And I need to take pictures of all the awesome work my mom and dad have done to their house already. It's like walking into a wonderland of Fall and undying beauty. I shit you not.

Monday, October 20, 2008

Fall Break

Well, it looks like the "Katie" weather has finally flown in....

It really is quite lovely. I do so love the coziness of Fall.

Fall = Katie in my book.

And I can't wait for Wednesday....supposed to go Haunted Housing/Gropping with Mysty.

The kids go to school today, and half of tomarrow (minimum day) and then they're off for the rest of the week. I did groceries with David yesterday with this in mind, so I had my cart CHOCK FULL of junk food. I really can't wait for Fall Break to commence. I even bought some Halloween cupcakes for me and the kiddos to bake & decorate, complete with sprinkles and perdily decorated cupcake tins. Goosebumps is on everynight on Cartoon Network until Halloween, so we've been having lots of fun watching that everynight. I'm at a dilemma on Monday nights though, as Big Bang Theory comes on at 8 p.m. and that's when the "newer" episodes of Goosebumps are shown on Cartoon Network. But watching Sheldon's potential autistic flare-ups is worth the trouble.

I have this list of movies that I make it my goal to watch once Fall (officially, meaning weather wise for me) commences.

1. Mary Shelley's Frankenstein

2. Bram Stoker's Dracula

3. Nightmare Before Christmas

4. Garfield's Halloween and Thanksgiving Holiday Special

5. The Very Hungry Caterpillar and other Stories by Eric Carle

6. Donnie Darko

7. Hero

8.Garden State

9. Pride and Prejudice (The one with Keira Knightly)

I especially love watching Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. It EXUDES Fall warmth and flavor. Helena Bonham Carter is amazingly beautiful in this movie....EVEN as the Bride of Frankenstein.

On Friday I went with Mike after I dropped the kids off at school and helped him paint at what used to be "his-Grandpa's-house-but-is-now-his-mom's-but she-is-fixing-it-up-to-sell-it-house". It was nice being able to work with Mike again. The last time we worked together was when I first got pregnant with Mike Jr., almost 11 years ago, when we both worked at fucking Mickey D's in Carmel. I worked the drive thru while he got to hide from customer service responsibility as a cook. Lucky fuck. I HATED dealing with how utterly PICKY people can be. At FUCKING McDonald's for Christ's sake. And when you get their order wrong??? They acted like you committed treason against one's country. I mean, I can understand the usual orders of "hold the onions", or "extra mayo", or hell, even "no bun, just meat". But when fuckers start asking for "no salt" on their fries, or to NOT microwave their burger, and then get shitty because we goofed on the order, well then that's when I call in the troops. I usually would tell Mike to fart in the customer's cups before I put ice. He never does, but just the idea of his ass being that close to what's potentially going to be going into the mouths of these bitch ass customers is almost too much to bare for my giggle girth. Mike would always ask "Why" when I would put the cup to his ass and ask him to fart in it, and all I would have to do is to simply point in the general direction of said ass-fuck, and he would grin, shake his head in disgusted disapproval at my desire to exact revenge for customer's bitchiness, and walk away. I remember the time I yelled "FUCK YOU" to a bunch of feisty teenagers through the drive thru speaker and the reaction of these douchebags was pure DELIGHT. You could hear them cackle with glee at the idea of someone yelling "Fuck you!! Pull around so I can kick your fucking asses!" being spoken to them through the speaker. So much that, they drove past me, stopped, and WAVED. They acted as if I was a hero of some sort. Assholes.

Lucky my boss Terry wasn't on the other head set. Although, Mike and I would have some grand fun at the expense of our boss being on the other head set. One time, Mike thought our boss Terry (we got along really well with the guy) was on the "receiving end of the line", so Mike got on my head set and started singing the "Reading Rainbow" theme...."Butterfly in the sky, I can fly twice as high!!" and then this Asian dude comes out of the back of restaurant with a head set on and is like "What the fuck??" Mike and I bursted into tears with laughter. We also used to take turns chucking condiments at one another when it was time to close up. I'd be in the back doing dishes, and he'd be up towards the front by the deep fryers, so I would chuck pieces of ice over the dividing wall that separated us, making sure it fell in the hot oil. I knew success was born when I heard the sweet sound of hot oil spattering in angst as the ice hit it's preconceived destination. Mike would return the flame with high powered jisms of mayonaise and mustard being shot out of the condiment squirter thingamahoozits. They look like caulk guns, but instead they shot out Ketchup. He eventually mastered this manuever to where if you set the contraption on the ground just right, you could stamp your foot on the squirt lever, and you would get AMAZING results. The shit would shoot straight up to the ceiling at an accelerated enough pace to warrant our boss Terry to stop letting us close up on weeknights. Oh well. At least we got to take home leftover 40 piece Chicken McNuggets and Super Duper Chef Salads. Good times were to be had for all.

So like, I don't know how in the fuck I went from the topic of Fall Break to working at McDonald's 11 years ago, but here I am, and I forgot what the fuck I was talking about....

Oh!! Working with Mike at his mom's potential seller home...

Mike's mom actually paid me to do work for her, even though I insisted her not to, so I used most of the cash and bought the second volume from the Sandman Series: The Doll's House at B & N on Saturday night. I also bought a Toasted Marshmallow Latte, but I accidently called a "T'arshmallow" Latte because I'm just ridiculously retarded like that, and my daughter Carmen gave me shit about it, right in front of the Starbucks clerk and a long line of impatient customers behind us, so hence the "T'arshmallow" default name, and I also ordered a slice of pumpkin pie cheesecake, which was OH!!! so fucking delicious, and read and ate, and ate and read.

I have enormous piles of long forgotten laundry to catch up on, and a new episode of True Blood On Demand waiting for me, not to mention the newest episode of South of Nowhere as well to watch. And I need to finish watching The Love Guru that Mike rented for us last night. That movie is fucking HILARIOUS!!! I can't wait to finish watching it. Mike and I were laughing our asses off, and then next thing you know, we're both passed out on our couches like a bunch of fucking old farts.

But the laundry pile is not going to get any smaller on it's I guess I'll go do that now.

11 more days till Halloween!!! I can't WAIT for Kristi's my sister in law's) wedding! It's gonna be sooooooooooo much fun!!!

Thursday, October 16, 2008


By Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too:

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim,

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same:.

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings,

And never breathe a word about your loss:

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much:

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Fraudulent nonsense

My dad has always (intuitively) been a mechanic of sorts. Not just in the way of engineering, but in all other aspects and mannerisms of the "what makes it work?" mentality.

He would have to sort of work his way into a situation, you know, talk his-self up? Like when he landed the job at Hitco, he had no prior experience with missile heads. But he had the ambition, and intuitiveness to "fake" his way into getting the position. He eventually wound up with other cool ass jobs like that one. Boeing, United Airlines....lead mechanic at that.

I guess I'm just trying to relate my own calculated bullshit equation here to his. I mean, I remember him being able to figure out how to make it all work in his life, from being a father, to being the companion that my mother needed to get her through her "booby hatch" spells, to building a professional deck in his back yard with no prior knowledge as to how to build one in the first fucking place. And he did it. The part that is bittersweet about all this is that he never gave himself enough credit for what he accomplished. He always felt like a "fraud" because he didn't approach the situation like everyone else. He didn't have years of college to show on his "shirt sleeve", or the know-how for all the rules, or even all the right materials for the situation at hand for that matter. But God-damnit, he had intuition and drive. A drive that wouldn't let him stop until he achieved his definition of perfect. And I think that more than anything, the fact that he did all of that WITHOUT the merits of college, the bragging rights of "I know all the rules and you don't", and the financial prosperity to afford all the materials that everyone else needed to make a project work warrants far more than what he's given himself credit for. He did it and didn't need what everyone needed to get him from point A to point B, and managed to come out of it all with a sense of accomplishment. The fucker bent over, showed everyone his ass, and told every orthodoxial mutherfucker out there to "Kiss the Starfish", and didn't even have to say one word.

People like us, with mental differences (fuck disability, that's just neanderthal as all hell) are ALWAYS going to have to face this dilemma, because there is always gonna be that smart ass, that wise guy, that gets all fucking self important and insecure, because someone who was supposed to have the role of the "Tortoise", is now owning your ass as "The Hare".

I'm hurt right now. Really, fucking hurt. And tired. Of society. Of it's ideals. Of everyone out there saying "Hey! You can't do that!"

But guess what assfucks?!?!

We're doing it, aren't we?

Fucking shoes

One of my many pairs of exotic shoes.....

Friday, October 10, 2008

Snookms is beautiful

Yes I took these. And yes, we fucked afterwards.

Thursday, October 9, 2008

An Ocean of Noise

Probably my favoritest song by Arcade Fire, lyric wise anyway....I love The Well and The Lighthouse in all it's beautiful harmony, and My Body is a Cage (GOD-DAMN Win is one SEXY em-effer in this performance, as well as Regine) is spiritually enraptured with so much encrypted melody it makes my heart ache. Black Mirror illuminates my own darkness within, No Cars Go speaks to my inner child like nobody's business, and of course Rebellion/Lies is what "whetted" my appetite for Arcade Fire in the first god-damned place....

But somehow An Ocean of Noise just fills me with so much serenity I feel I could burst at the seams with an array of love and sunshine. Blech. Regine on them drums just makes my vagina throb with anticipation. One of the most beautiful female entities I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes upon.

But anyhoozle, I found this on Deviantart, one of my favoritest sites to go to. I can LITERALLY spend HOURS there, looking for shit. From Ian Curtis artwork to Sigourney Weaver Bleach just don't get any better than that!!

"Things to do when your husband is asleep pt. 1"

1. Paint toenails and fingernails lavishly with deep red nailpolish a few hours before he has to go to work. That way, he doesn't have time to remove such blasephemies...and if you're REALLY good, he won't even notice until he gets to work and all his co-workers are like "Dude, what the hell is on your hands??"....

2. Immerse face and body fully in Badtz Maru stickerage. Fun for the kids too.

3. Make the bed while husband still in it. Cute, clean, and comfy....all 3 birds in one stone.

4. Get out a couple of his old, holy underwear (no NOT the underwear with buddy Christ on em, the ones with lots of holes, you gonad) will need a permanent marker for this, and be armed with this one notion.....

-Men will never throw their underwear away, no matter how carnaged the soul.

With permanant marker in hand, draw a caterpillar....then write "The Very Hungry Caterpiller" at the top. Write one for each day of the week, if you like....(yes there will be that many pairs of holy underwear in your husband's drawer, I shit you not) You can write, "on Monday, the caterpiller ate through one pair of underwear, but he was still hungry".....and so on, and so forth.

Color if desired.

5. Snuggle with him and smell his neck and have conversations with him. Great for when you're really lonely. He'll have a maddened look in his eyes if he ever comes to. That's when you take a picture....

6. You could fart in his face, but that's too easy, and personally, not for me....or Mike. Think about it, you're going to have to kiss that later. Who wants to kiss their own ass, after having to kiss so much of everyone else's all day long?

7. Move the room around while he's on the couch. He won't notice anything until he's woken up, and realizes that he's on the other side of the room, by the sliding door, instead of the far right wall....He'll wake up and say "What the??" Then he'll go right back to sleep.

8. Paint your living room, while he's still on the couch. Use the couch as your step-ladder. Fall on him, with paint roller still in hand, and then fall again on his acoustic guitar. If he wakes up, add ten points. If he doesn't, deduct. (make sure it's 3 in the morning when re-creating this event in your own household)

9. Write poetry targeting his mental psyche.

10. Wonder if he does the same in regards to self.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Hilariously ironic

This guy was pretty much my first real boyfriend in 8th grade. I was a huge fucking dork, trying desperately to emerge from my dorkiness. It wasn't working out too well for me, but I did what I could.

One day, I had to go fight this chick after school, because she kept talking shit to my brother at lunch, (even though he DID sorta start it) so all day long while I waited in anticipation for school to be over, I had to listen to everyone give me advice on how to kick her ass and how to not get my ass kicked. And I was kinda/sorta/sorta/kinda friends with this Kurt guy. He was pretty much the bully of the school, so people tended to stay outta his way. He was an okay guy though. He hung around with me and my old friend Mary on occasion and when it came time for school bell to ring, I met up with the chick I had to duke it out with on the football field and there were all these unexpected spectators there. So I really felt dumb.I just sorta stood there, not knowing what the fuck to do. So the next thing you know we're rolling around on the ground like a bunch of fucking idiots and I'm trying to punch the shit out of her to get her off me, but mostly I just succeed in making myself ridiculously tired. And this bitch could wrestle. For serious. She kept doing all these stupid assed wrestling moves on me that I used to watch Mama Tika do to Lady Godiva on G.L.O.W. (Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling). She tosses me to and fro like a fucking football and next thing you know this funny guy that doesn't get along so well with this chick is sticking his ass on her face while she's got me pinned to the ground and says "I'm farting on you!! I'm gonna fart in your face!" So there I am on the ground, getting my ass owned, laughing insanely. I was just about to give up and let her deal the final blow when this one popular girl looks at me and says "Don't give up. Don't do it." It was just like you'd see in a movie. Priceless shit, I'm tellin' ya.....She must haved sensed how weak I was getting. But when she said that it somehow gave me the strength I needed to get back up and at least throw ONE punch in this chick's face. So I do, and then this chick gets all pissed off and crazy and is like "Ooh!!! Fuck you!! I HATE YOU BITCH!!" and then she basically ramsacks my ass and knocks me to the ground senseless. She spits on the ground and then the funny fart kid tells her "Hey, your mouth is bleeding". And she says, "My mouth ALWAYS bleeds like that". And then next thing you know the principal is coming so everyone makes a run for it.

I manage to scramble away, my witts barely about me, and there "HE" (the picture boy I'm about to reveal) is, with his Bull's Parka coat (member when Parkas were ALL the rage???) and I ask if I can wear it, because I was a stupid ass that day and wore a strapless bra that was all stretched out cause of the fight (I'm pretty sure the spectators got some very much UN-needed boob action on my behalf) and the thing was almost hanging down to my knees. (Plus, I just felt I needed some sorta security for what I just went through, I pretty much got my ass served up to me on plate) and somehow wearing this guy's smelly parka provided just enough of what I needed to make the 2 block away walk to my house.

I wounded up getting suspended for fighting, and having to make a trip to the doctor to get a check up (the bitch bitch bit my arm and broke skin) but my parents were totally supportive of me sticking up for myself, and even administered the neccessary antibiotics to me for the rabies nip inflicted on me.

So it wasn't too bad of a deal. I made a boyfriend out of it, whom I was hardly ever allowed to see cause I technically wasn't allowed to have boyfriends then, so I had to sneak around and lie all the time, and I eventually wound up breaking up with him because of stupid ass Jr. High rumours floating around. You know how that shit goes.

But yeah. Here he is......(he's posing in some "Porn for Women" book, funny shit I tell ya!)

Monday, October 6, 2008

Journaling by pen and paper

October 4th, 2008

Twelve o' clock in the afternoon.

It is a fan-fucking-tabulous beautiful Saturday afternoon. The sun is shining, yet there is a whimsical hint of fall whispering it's cold breeze through the rustle of the tree's orange, yellow, red, and brown leaves. All my sunflowers are out in full force. David and Carmen just went for a walk together to their friend's house down the block, Mike Jr. is in the house playing contently with his Thomas trains, and I can hear Snookms' cheerful voice sharing amusements with his brother Kevin on the phone.

Life is ironically beautiful in this moment, as well as beautifully ironic.

Mike and I made love this morning. I was wearing my Halloween costume.(I'm going to be a maid for Halloween.) Little does he, or anyone else for that matter, know that I'm going to be a blood-spattered maid, that is going to be wielding a chainsaw for a feather duster.....

I already bought the fake blood to spatter all over my dress, as well as the rest of my body. And I found a fake chainsaw for sale at the Spirit Halloween Store in Avon. It's actually supposed to be Leatherface's chainsaw but I think it'll suit me just fine. It even makes the sound of a chainsaw when you push a button. Too bad there are no blood curdling screams incorporated into it as well.....

That would be icing on the cake.

Well I just spent the better half of my yesterday converting my book into a PDF format. I don't know if it really worked or not, but I was able to look at it in a "book" format, and there is indeed a "URL" for it, as well as an "embed" code.

The only problem is that whenever a new chapter starts, it doesn't start on a new page like a real book does. It just continues onto the same page that the previous chapter ended on.


I, essentially, don't know what the fuck I'm doing on Adobe, so I feel ridiculously foolish and ignorant into going into all of this.

And what's even more is that I'm using fucking WORDPAD to write all my shit, which, is probably SOOOO not the way to go. I guess I need to get Microsoft Word up and running on my comp already.

Can it, all you ancient war-mongers that already know this craft and are knee deep in TNR, proper margining and double-spacing.


Today is ironic.

As was yesterday.

I don't know how I am where I am today, except to credit it to the grace of God in all his merciful kindness.

I was a mess Thursday afternoon.

An emotional, mental, physical fucking mess. I'm pretty sure I had a breakdown of some sort. I can still feel the effects of the emotional mess I was in today.

I lost myself around 4:00 p.m. or so on Thursday and then it only went downhill from there.

I couldn't talk, barely walk, feel, function....Not for anything.

I called Mike while he was working to let him know I was going to need to get out for a while when he got home, but the the time he got home it was too late.

I was immobile.

I just locked myself away in the bedrooom and let myself crash and burn. I spent the remainder of the evening curled up in a fetal position on my bed, listening to the sounds of the Weather Channel blare out any feelings of hope I might've had left.

By the time I "came to" it was dark in my room, save for the sarcastic glare of the Weather Channel beaming it's ridiculously gentle tune from the T.V.

My oldest one.

The autistic one.

He has a new obsession with the Weather Channel. He's 12 now, so I find it rather amusing most days that instead of finding him in his room jacking off, I find him sneakily watching the Weather Channel, like it's some sort of guilty pleasure for him. Nobody else can tolerate watching the Weather Channel like it's a movie in this household, so he usually has to resort to indulging his guilty pleasure in my room, which would explain why the T.V.'s always on the Weather Channel whenever you enter me and Snookms' room.

I had neither the energy nor the desire to change the channel the day I chose to lock myself away...

And I don't think I really "choose" to lock myself away, but rather "it" chose to lock ME away.

That's how it felt anyway.

I felt like such a prisoner of myself.

Several times I counted how many pills I had left in my Flexiril prescription bottle, considering and weighing my options countless number of times.

But I kept remembering the kids, thinking "What would they do when I'm gone?"

I think that when you feel like everyone would be better off without you, that THAT'S when we've finally gone off the deep end.

I've been "There and Back Again" several times, but there was always something commanding me to came back to the light.

There was no one calling me that night I was alone, and I didn't care anymore.

I was numb and I didn't want to be.

I spent my night in darkness, curled up on the side of my bed, turning my butterfly night light off and on that my sister in law had bought me for Christmas. I was turning it off and on repeatedly, crying because it just hurt so much to see the beauty in that light.

It was far more illuminating in the darkness, and the beautiful irony of that just pained me so.

I wept deeply, like a lost child as I admired the beauty of the stained glass, the colors of that beautiful butterfly shining brightly for me to see.

I felt a trigger pull through me full force.

In that moment I was taken back in time.

A time when I had admired that same beauty of stained glass, but instead through a child's eyes.

I was in children's church.

1st grade.

Seattle, Washington.

There wasn't many joyful moments in those times of my youth, so I held on to the smallest crumbs of joy that hope could offer me then.

We had a Christmas project going from last week, fashioned together with simple paper and crayons. My Sunday School teacher (it was a guy, but a very kind and gentle one) told me to color this picture of Mary holding baby Jesus as darkly as I possibly could, and then to outline it in black, again, as darkly as I could. He explained to me that he was going to keep it in a tray of oil until next week, and that when we took it out and let it dry, it would give the appearance of stained glass.

I didn't know what stained glass was at the time, so he chauffeured me to the closest window in the building that had stained glass on it.

"That" he said, pointing upward, "is stained glass."

I looked up an saw Jesus being crucified on the cross, stained glass style, and I thought to myself dubiously, "Yeah right".

There was no way what I was being asked to make would turn out as beautiful as what just lay before me.

So I filed that information in the back of my mind, went on about the rest of my ridiculously stressful week, coming into yet another night of Sunday School. (My mom only took my 3 brothers and I to the 6:00 services for some reason) forgetting all about my stained glass project.

My self esteem was at an all time low right then. I had just been freshly yanked from the evil clutches that was my 1st grade teacher that year. School life was in shambles for me, and my teacher just couldn't tolerate me coming apart at the seams anymore. I was having to be dragged to my classroom every morning kicking, screaming and crying, and I think both my mother and the teacher grew tired of this. So my mother did what she thought was best (and believe me, it WAS for the best) and decided to pull me out of 1st grade for the rest of the year.

I was still recovering from those particular events when I enter my classroom to find that the teacher had laid out each and every one of the student's beautifully colored art projects out on the art table.

I felt my breath being stolen away from me in an instant as I gazed at my newly tranformed art. I felt tears welling up inside me that my 1st grade mentality could not comprehend, so I held them deep inside of me and instead, did what I do best....

I asked my teacher a million and one questions about how it all worked.

And you know what?

He took the time to answer every last one of my questions.

Not many adults EVER had that much patience for me.

With me.

Me, and my "questions".

Only my mom. And Jesus.

And now this guy.

This Sunday School Teacher.

So that's what I remembered in the darkness.

In that night.

In that room.

And that's why I cried.

And that's what pulled me out of the darkness, and got me into the shower, forcing me to function and be a part of society and it's ideals once again.

The beautiful irony of BOTH of those situations;

a light amongst so much darkness,

both in the literal and the analytical sense....

is what's got me living another day.

Another beautifully ironic,

and ironically beautiful day.

Sunday, October 5, 2008

People think I suck.

That is all.