Shoe horn

somebody pry me out of my home like a barnacle.

More Panic at the Disco

You know, right up front, one should know I am childish, insecure, jealous, high maintenance, vain and I'm sure I could get references that are much more colorful. 

Just pretend that statement is on the side of a cigarette box to warn of my wiles, but light it up, outside. And for the love of Pete, don't throw butts in my yard.

I realize in the face of a fizzling cold war that has taken a turn towards nuclear threats has truly brought out my inner Howard Stern, though I confess I should probably add a smidgen of Dr. Phil, but forget the yellow tie.  So yes, to follow shall be a frothy bitch session followed by the desire to hear 'Cry Me A River' so I can fake some tears for that damned tie. Not because I cannot cry, oh please, I simply have no more tears and I have fallen for the theory one must cry late at night and alone, but be sure to wash afterwards.  Since when did crying become a sign of a weak person? The thing is, when I stop crying, whomever is court reporter had best make a note of it, as I stop being a shiny thing, and shift into survival mode.  There are a few different models, and well, its time to put on makeup and an outfit that makes weaker men look away for fear I might devour them whole.  The sad thing is, most people never see this me, as I take her out for a spin alone, as its more fun being the unattainable trophy that picks out the menu...

I am kind of losing focus here. I go from beaten puppy dog to egotistical witch, and I cannot decide whether or not to just let that ride and wait.  I just got finished making huge signs to hang in the neighborhood because my Cat Lewis (after C.S.Lewis) disappeared yesterday. He never misses a meal. My cat is amazing, and I feel like everyone is glad he's gone... he has one eye, four teeth and no claws, and the spirit I cannot contain, so out the dog door he went.  Local feral cats my MIL feeds made me his personal groomer as he cannot groom off all the scabs. He sleeps with me nightly. I need to stop it.

The next thing was explaining to my cousin the whole Dad thing, and wishing I could have been so careless as to not call her. I sat on a pine cone.

So then Netflix screws up and I get not my laptop. I find more things. I want to just explode. You know, I've been pretty hellacious to deal with concerning this topic, but I get more sidestepping.  I'm done waiting. I love him, and well , I'm not the stupid troll under the Billy Goat's Gruffs bridge.

I feel so Malignant and definitely want to push that away, but no one at the moment could convince me that retribution reverberates louder than my amp can vibrate the house.  And again I feel outside myself  clinically because no one actually knows or believes much more than the part about being able to suck start a Harley.. and I didn't start that rumor because screw Harley's... Ricerockets have toeholds... and trust me, you could be the bitch and I won't bat an eyelash. 

I've seen that from every angle my whole life. So shakily I consider donning the disco ball confidence, and in some way, exceed proving a point... the concept is to remind the weasels that I'm just a minx slumming (as a friend so eloquently told me)

So real talk: Family talk sucks, my sister sucks, I miss my cat, I hate Netflix, I have to forgive him again, I want to beat something vigorously or burn the house down, but in truth I will:

wear polka dots, hang missing signs, still be mad, love my dog, go drive Betty to the dealership, and pretend nothing is wrong until its in my sweaty hand.  The phone to call BFI will be in the other.  Or convince a rat to do it.. yes, matches and knife...

How to Keep that circle

I am a die hard Yahoo girl.  Who had to open up google to use u-tube, then finding a safe blog.  Facebook, then Windows 7 wants an Id... here we go with hotmail.  Don't forget that provider address.

Good grief trying to have one public face and that disco ball breathing space is too much work.

Loose Ends

So I bought a fishtank and decided the morning of to bring my friend.  I neglected to tell guy I was meeting that he was a huge (in my world handsome) scary black guy.  I'm dressed in a skirt and Mary Janes. I wonder what went through that guy's head, as we pulled up in a truck with my husband's name all over it.  The three of us (friend, husband and I) laughed our asses off at the fun one can have with complete strangers and how actually they are easier to deal with than family.

I have to compare myself with a disco ball. It depends on lighting and situation as to what comes out of me. Thank goodness I keep the rest to myself.  And I'm really good with being mouthy and cussing.  Emotions of the moment demand it, and well, God understands as we're so close I put him in the dog house and such.  In my mind, its easier to believe in something tangible and treating him pretty much like another husband lets me be human and bitch about not getting what I ask for, dealing with no, etc. etc.  Its crazy, I know, but that's how I see him and being raised Catholic and yet having a degree in Anthropology seems hypocritical when I attempt to think why my philosophy doesn't have more of a widespread acceptance other than from nuns, and I blush to put that thought in there, because deep down, I'm a good girl that loves people and how they maintain in a world that really cannot even read/listen to the stuff in the GPS, otherwise known as the Bible.  I'm no expert on that and you'll find little solace in knowing where I picked out an idea from that good old guide, but I know its there, because somebody made sure to tell me about it..

Another thing, it stinks realizing that friends, especially of the same sex, are like having an adder clasped to my breast.. plus friends all require tons of work and babysitting, because for some reason, I must kiss their ass because heaven forbid they have to actually do something.  Plus they think I am some sort of tattooed Peg Bundy and have no life since I stay at home.  Oh shit, word is out.  I did a bunch of housecleaning and people are not projects, they are opportunists.  Shamelessly so am I.  Any new person makes me wonder how they are going to make my life better first, then, what do they look like naked and could I stand that alone in a room with them? So real friends I have in short supply and for once in my life see the reason for thanking God. 

I also have aged like some cheese and see I have a salty rind.  That rind is shitty, but damn its good cheese.  And I whine a bunch since its good to have around with myself. oh ha. ha. Faye shut up

You know, I just realized I can get the marshmallow shooting gun out and test it now, since my Dad was a jerkoff and deep inside the kid in me wants to open it at 3 am.

And I love John's Mom, but if anyone tells her, death by marshmallow, followed by an epitaph using only four letter words.

Between the Lines

I posted the following in my notes on Facebook and since everyone steals anything anyone has written and Between the Lines has so many different interpretations to me I thought my latest addition to my frothing of the mouth should start here....
Epiphany # 812,112,125.025
I want world peace and its easy when your world is the combination of two buildings.  I need to practice that special wave pageant winners lavish upon the crowds.
.026
People are who they are is what they say. Who the hell are they then?
.027
Accepting things I cannot change I feel is a misnomer. For example, a twenty.  Well, no, not right this moment, but later after I buy some starburst, "change"
.028
I cannot change the boooo-shaaa in the Girl Power Handshake to Fuck Em Too..
.029
I don't think anyone will believe my newest family story: the one where I was actually born in China and had cosmetic surgery to look American.
.30
Be careful when dumping your kid's room in the middle of the floor, you might not see your reflection in nearby mirrors.. proving you are morphing into your mother.... nightmare

OK, that's neatly put:  Faye ATE A SHIT SANDWICH and oh yes, we'd love a line longer than our leg, but we grew out of that and became socialized and grown up.

I said somewhere my family was no picnic. Guess what? I want to really mail a huge box of things I hate to my mom that includes the ugliest dishes known to man (which I shall break and shit upon), that ornament that looks like some kid decorated it, a rabbit ripped to shreds, lime green fuzzy dice and for sure a souped up copy of my biological unit complete with horns and tail and a huge fuck you written on it.  Is this very grown up? NO. Do I care No.

Will I do this? No.  I would not waste the postage on anything but maybe sending her a shit I took, but that's just cheap, and since I seem to be made of the green stuff, I would have to drink alot of grape soda to get a lime green shit for her...

I am losing brain cells by this digression.

I am just mad. I had to be honest with my now six year old as to why I cried all day long. I let her hear the message my Dad left on my phone.  I watched two big tears roll down her face as comprehension of the fact that he didn't love me (pretty much) sunk in before he finished talking.  She looked at me and shakily said that she didn't love anyone who didn't love her Mommy.  I snatched up my child and swung her into the air and told her that story about rubber and glue and inside realized how lucky I am. I will somehow let him know she heard it from his lips, and he can take his ass down the road (indirect quote)

All it took for my Dad to tell me get out of his life was my mom and a hammer.  You know what I realized, this goes beyond having no balls.  No, it delves into the realization he is a soulless man.  That made me all scared inside and the adrenals pumped thinking I escaped having my soul sucked out of me by my mother.  I thought pity was reserved for people in other countries, well Thomasville is another country I guess.  I know it seems so very harsh, but I love my parents, but they are these things.  One soulless, the other a soul eater... which in other cultures are feared above all else.  He went from demanding a picture a day to telling me I was not splitting up him and mom.  What the FUCK? Since when did I go from daughter to competition? You things are sick fuckers.  Today I quietly turned off the phone and took him off my credit card.  There is no one on this planet worth trusting other than the cat, and that's only marginally because you know they piss in every plant, chew open the bread and tell the neighbors plainly they are starving.

On another note, I will have Big Magic back on Tuesday.  This being my desktop and world.  I really made the computer guy's butt suck upholstery as I calmly told him that porn is no problem, he missed out on the saga of Down and Out with Maleficent: Her theories on Sharing. Without batting an eye I explained everything from the peon computer guy that I caught turning on my webcams to my husband's texting escapades, how boots don't cover this shit, that I wear waders, and pretty much don't fuck with me because well, I own this goddamned world and am more than good to it. After thought processes cooled, I emailed him and said find me software and relax, I never look for trouble, it finds me.  Like static cling.  Honestly, my husband and his follies are something that needed to be addressed before this whole marriage gig stayed a true band.  No Van Halen here, you know?  I totally understood the whole thing, however, it doesn't change the fact that I'm not stupid either and I believe he counted on the fact I was polite.  He forgot I'm a fucking lady.  In a nutshell, the only thing I really don't  operate well with is someone trying to sell me something I don't want. I didn't marry an idiot, nor Satan. I married my male half, I know exactly how smart he can be. I told him don't play with fire, he'd get pink elephants on parade picture mailed to him six months after the fact with the title: Top that Asshole.

We agreed that hawking should be done together, since we're both pretty damned good at it.

That makes me smile. This rant isn't about being mad at him, he's the greatest, and that seems so vanilla at the moment.  I am glad that today the doghouse only includes my parents and God.

Syndrome

You know, this married gig has me really wishing that I had read the mice type.  I'm not complaining, unless you care to Hancock me and tell me how lucky I am.  Right now I want to rant moan and groan because I am just one person.  Yes, I do want world peace, but you know what? That is 8121 and 8127 side by side and the BFI Dumpster can silently keep watch and embarrass my family as she puts it, because its in her front yard. OMG First, you are staying in my HOME. Second, you are pissed that my husband did not pave your side of the yard, HELLO the fire department Nazi tax ladies bitched about your french drains. I have 18 wheelers backing down my driveway thank you Margaret. Oh and you can tell John that you didn't see the paint can when you drove over it in my driveway. You are so full of crap and if you weren't such an awesome Grandmother, I would nettle you with sharp pointy things. So my husband knows if he ever comes home and the BFI dumpster is in the front yard, there is trouble afoot.  This is just the latest. I really have good intentions, but having to wear a mask to visit and thinking of how my kid smells when she comes home does nothing for the situation.  And she can't smell it. I think she's preserving herself in Winston 100s.  Again, she is the world's most awesome Grandma, but SUCKS as a person.

Moving on, this is a rant. Facebook stalkers and blackberry people who don't have time for me because they sent me a goddammed TWEET need to back off.  True story: My husband walks into the men's room at McDonald's past a group of five intensely giggling teens, I am in the ladies room.  I come out, no husband. I asked these twiddling fingered kids: 'Hey did a tall guy, good looking with a pony tail come out of the bathroom or were you too busy texting?... as they didn't hardly look up and were probably insulting me and congratulating their mental prowess.  They are lucky John rounded the corner. I have Facebook simply to not torture my family with pictures of my kid they will not want to have in ten years but feel obligated to stuff in a box in the basement.  I buy 8x10s for my kid, and that's all the scrapbooking she's getting, and no one gets a booby prize

I am on a roll here. Next in line for intense pondering is my friend whose boyfriend calls me and says she's in jail. This set off a nuclear explosion thinking of all the times in the past I have been suckered into helping a person because I'd like to have friends and be social, but nope, I'm just Faye Money. Aunt Money.  Its true I had to concede to John that its easier being a Hall when somebody wants something. This took a long time for me to get. The first lady of conversation wiped her feet on me and got a fucking sunroom redone, and I am just now, seven years later waiting on my hardwoods and paint to cure because I'm allergic to everything. My husband is a good man. But didn't have a pot to piss in because somebody else cried him a river and by the time we met, he was seeing this, but I had to tell his mother that I was MRS. HALL and that hurt me.. but she crossed a line.... and then his sister calls to borrow money after she rubbed my face in her 7K diamond.  I answered the phone and she said, can I talk to John, I said can I take a message?  She said, he's my brother, and I replied, I'm his wife.  That killed me too because we were tight until I found her God button.

Don't ever push those. You'll get a salivating bitch tell you that if you are a Christian then you want the Bible shoved up your ass (and I quote)... hello.. No, I just wasn't leaving my kid with a stranger weekly and being raised Catholic gives the tattoo and piercings a nice backdrop.  I had those before they were social status symbols witch.

BUT get a divorce, and lets tattoo something ugly and stupid on our forearm because we're an idiot that is planning on finding someone else to listen to testimony and hack up a hairball.  Oh a home schooled brood of five that we no longer vacation with.

My family is no picnic either.  I'm just winding down and my fingers hurt.  My grandmother died last year, and I forgive her for many things because she waited one day and didn't die on my daughter's birthday, which my mom hasn't recognized in three years.  My preemie, my wonder, my greatest achievement is being cheated, but one night at my parent's house and when I found out they left her to cry herself to sleep was the last time too.

OK, lets see. Oh I raised my 25 year old sister, got custody of her and when my other sister died, gave up a full scholarship to Stanford university.  I will admit fear, but truly i loved my sister.Now she's in that know it all phase.

Back to facebook.  People from the rolling days find me.  Its been ten years people, grow up and good for you, and no I'm not single. weird.

I'm still reeling over PTA and NC education lottery and now every week i get asked for 25 bucks, or my child doesn't get a prize. WTF?  I love volunteering but I now wish I keep my ideas to myself.  I teach character education with a SuperDad, who insulted my intelligence the first time didn't call so I did everything, and then touted his kid. I wanted to put his head on a pike in my front yard.

Boy I sound like a bitch. Sound being the key word here. I'm off to actually purchase my first thing off craigslist.  I told the guy I'm bringing a big stick.

So world, I know Justin Timberlake is screaming Cry me River, but essentially this boils down to a complicated: Piss off world.