Outliving

Today is the day that marks the time in my life that I have officially lived longer than my father.  He passed away 78 days before his 40th birthday.  Feb. 22 is 78 days before my 40th birthday.

My older brother never made it to this date. 

Rest In Peace Grandpa

Today, a great man passed on.  He was my father's father, but the man who walked me down the aisle at my wedding as my own father should have, had he been alive.  My grandpa meant so much more to me than words can express.  I will eternally miss my grandpa, he was the only one I had.  I will remember him as the kindest man I ever knew.

He was the namesake of my father and brother, and now, the last of the Johns is gone.

This, on the day I lost my dog Riley, just 2 years ago.  Well, May 18, you take the greatest on this day, so thank you for peacefully taking my grandpa.  As was his belief, may he be reunited with his loved ones, but mostly his beloved wife, Eva.  May it be the glorious reunion he anticipated.

My grandpa suffered for a year from what we would later learn was cancer.  The fight is over, he won on his own terms. Rest In Peace, Grandpa.

20 Years Ago Today

Twenty years ago today I said good-bye to my father for the last time.  Officially, he will have passed away on July 24, 1994 just before one o'clock in the morning.  I said my final farewell the evening before in a sterile hospital room filled with family, no privacy for the matter.  I whispered "good bye"; I gave him a kiss on his lips.  He never responded.  I promptly walked out of the room and stood against the wall until I could no longer stand before sliding down the wall while crying.  A nurse passed by me and made some exclamation along the lines of "poor girl".  She asked me if I wanted a Popsicle.  I have spent many years wondering when my last real good-bye was, the responsive one anyway.  I do not even remember how many days my dad was comatose, but that last real good-bye would have been just before the coma.  I do not remember many of the gritty details anymore; it is probably a good thing.  The only good bye I have to remember was a kiss upon unresponsive lips. 

It was twenty years ago today that my Aunt Jo Ann offered to take my brothers and I to her home for food and rest.  I do not know why I said yes, but I did.  She took my older brother home while my younger brother and I went to her house.  That house...it has seen more tragedy than a home should.  I slept in my cousin Sara's room with her.  Sara, who passed away in that house in January this year, was so kind to me.  My junior by 9 years or so, she refused to let me sleep on the floor.  I would find out that following morning that my dad was gone as my aunt sat next to me on her sofa while gingerly giving me the news.  To be honest, I had known before she even said the words.

It was twenty years ago today that I realized my life would be different.  I had known this time was coming.  This death was from an illness that took its time and crept into my dad for years.  He was 39 when he died.  I knew it was coming.  Nevertheless, until the moment I kissed my dad good-bye, that very last time...it was just another day to get through.  That last time I left the hospital was when I knew things would never be the same.

It was twenty years ago today I said good-bye to him.  I do not know what my life would be like if he were still here.  There is no point in imagining it.  Regardless, it has been twenty years of missing the best parts about my dad.  It has been twenty years of consoling others while saying, "the pain never goes away, but it does get easier" because I actually know.  It has been twenty years of life moving on without him.

Most Memorable Gift

I'm having one of those days where I've learned it's best to put my headphones in, put my head down, and ignore the world. When I'm overwhelmed I become surly. That is in fact one of my nicknames, Surly. So, I just ignore people so not to offend. You might be wondering why I'd take time to write a post in my surly mood. Well, I entered a contest where I simply had to answer a question. I knew the answer before I finished reading the question. Even though the answer made me a bit sad, the thought of the gift made me very happy!

The question: what was your most memorable holiday gift ever?

My Answer: My most memorable gift was a cassette tape recorder I received as a child (maybe 4 years old, I loved gadgets back then too).I used that recorder for countless hours of fun with my friends creating our own radio show and made up songs for many years.I would say though, more than that recorder, the most valuable part of the whole gift was the cassette inside.When I played it for the first time, it was “Santa” greeting me (an amazing thing all its own).Learning later that my dad couldn’t get Santa to sit still long enough to record a greeting, he recorded one for me in Santa’s place.Now that my father is gone, I’d pay a lot of money to get that cassette back so I could hear my father’s voice one more time.

Do you have a favorite gift?

18 Years Ago Today

I remember what I was doing 18 years ago today.  I sat at my Aunt JoAnne's home with my younger brother at my side.  We were informed that at nearly 1:00 in the morning, my father had passed away.  July 24th, 1994. He was only 39 years old.

Less than 12 hours before that where I was exhausted from being at the hospital, Aunt Jo asked if we'd like to stay at her house with her over night.  My older brother who had no fear of being home alone chose to get dropped off at home.  Drew and I went to stay with Aunt Jo.  I went to say good bye to my dad, to say I would see him in the morning.  By this time he was already in a coma, and as I went to give him a kiss good bye I knew it was the end.  Despite all the signs, the words, the "understanding", this time I knew it.  When I kissed him good bye, the last time I ever would do so, he didn't return the kiss.  I'd watched him in a coma for at least a day or more and had no idea really.  This time I did.  I would never converse with or gain affection from him ever again.

I said good bye, I touched his face, and I walked out of the room where I pressed my back to the wall and sunk to the ground in an uncontrollable fit of tears and sadness hoping no one saw me.  I calmed down to a point and remember (of all things) a nurse asking if I wanted a Popsicle. 

18 years later I still remember the lack of response the last time I said good bye.  I still regret not being a more loving child, a more supportive child, just a better person in general.  I still regret mean things I said to him or about him.  I've learned that you can't live life in such a way that allows these regrets to seep into you.  Sure, everyone has passionate bouts where they say or do the wrong things...but I had more of those than most, and perhaps some justified.  By the time I got to say goodbye, my father didn't know.  Now all I can do is show up at his grave and remember the last place his body ever was...

Dani will never know him; he never got to see me graduate high school or college (twice!); nor was he able to walk me down the aisle and have a father-daughter dance with me.  These things are what hurt.  But to every sad thing I know there are positives.  My father was unhealthy and now that isn't an issue.  He met Holly before he left us, a very rare opportunity for fate to show its face.  Our lives could have been tragically different if things were the way the had been the last year's of my father's life.  A thousand "what-ifs" are all we can speculate. 

I suppose my father's passing has made me a better person, more understanding, and watchful of the horrible words I may say.  It made me grow up at 15 years old.  It made me appreciate the things I had and things I earned.  It made me proud to talk about my dad, to honor him.  To this day, 18 years later, it isn't easier, I've just gained more understanding.

Dirty Dancing

I was thinking earlier about when I was 8 or 9 years old...I went to a slumber party where we watched Dirty Dancing. When the movie came out on cable my dad let me get up at what seemed like the wee hours of the night to watch it. That very night I ended up wetting the bed. My dad reassured me while I sobbed about it and changed my bed clothes while I changed my pajamas.

What I can't recall is whether he woke me to watch it because he knew how much I liked it or if he let me watch it to cheer me up after the incident.

I Lost the Election

Phew, it's one of those days, but thus far productive!

First I want to say that I in no way intend to offend anyone who reads. For instance, the whole "strictly 2 kids per couple" ideology...well, I am part of 4 siblings; my sister has 4 wonderful children; my dad was 1 of 5 children and my mom was 1 of 5. I love each of these people completely independent of some numeric embodiment. My ideas are just that, my ideas. So, never take anything I say personally. I don't want to judge you. I don't want to judge anyone! I'd rather see that you are different and learn from you than for you to think I'm unswayable in opinion! Got it? It's just that I honestly write for me, so I splatter my slobbery words all over this blog, and rarely think before hitting the "Publish Post" button!

Now I want to say that I made awesome apple pies. I plan on writing my first food blog soon! So stayed tuned for that!

I heard from Shane again, who claims he will be "ok". I can only assume he won't lie to me, and while he appears to have never made a huge effort to lie to me, I don't trust people, so I can only have some faith in this instance [faith is something I have little of].

I also heard from Holly, I am glad to see she is alive and functioning about the best she can! Keep the chin up sis! She was also able to provide me with some insight and opinions, which I always appreciate!

I made this blog/site for an organization I am involved in: http://www.seistudents.com. I volunteer for a lot of stuff, SEI-St. Louis for one, of which I am the chairman only because I lost the election. I need to learn to say no, so, yea, give me any tips you can. I typically feel guilty for saying no, and yet I can be so mean...how does this work exactly?? Really though, I blog for work and enjoy it. I used to do a newsletter for SEAKM (another eng. org.) and I enjoyed it for a period of time. This little web thing I'm doing it fun for the moment. I feel so compelled to help people I almost don't notice the stress and socialization required. It all catches up with me though! Eh, whatcha gonna do?

Never Being Repaired

All of us will inevitably go through life with some terrible story that we will never forget until Alzheimer's or death. We'll each carry that story with us close to our hearts recalling every tiny detail as we remember them. It's hard to share those stories, for each time we tell them we realize how much we have forgotten, but we also recall how painful some of those details are to us. My story goes like this.

I was 15. My friend Kelly and I spent countless hours in her backyard escaping from reality. We knew everything about each other, that we were at least willing to share. As such, she knew how I wished my father dead. I did so nearly every day. I wanted him gone for the abuses he inflicted upon my brothers and my mother. Despite what I ever endured, it seemed nothing in comparison to my poor mom. She loved him so dearly, did she not see? Looking back from 15 years in the future, I now understand that she did see, and yet her love was unwavering. It is hard to not love someone when the love is there, even when that person breaks your heart continually. I will never say what I would have done in her situation, it is not for me to judge. I know what is considered the best decision, and it was tried but to no avail.

So it was a summer evening that my mom hurried over to Kelly's yard. Her face and eyes were red so I knew something was more serious than normal. It was this moment that I heard the first phrase that I would replay over and over in my head, "they say he has about 2 weeks left". I don't know that I said anything, how could I when the wind was knocked out of me. As soon as my mom was out of hearing range, Kelly said, "looks like you got your wish", yet other phrase I replay in my head. It's this phrase that haunts me to this very day. The phrase that has willed me to never use the word "hate" towards any individual, and the phrase that always makes me think wisely before any wishing is had.

I have to admit that I can't sufficiently recall the details of these two weeks at all. I had for some reason failed to believe that dad could die. He was the cat with nine proverbial lives. He'd lived through much worse. I saw him every day. Every day he lay in that damned hospital bed I would tell him about my daily adventures with Kelly. Surely he wasn't leaving.

At around 6 in the morning the phone rang. I answered at the same time my mom answered. I kept quiet, knowing I needed to hang up, but not wanting to sacrifice the knowledge of the call. The nurse told my mom that "he is slipping into a coma, perhaps having you here to talk to him will keep him from slipping too quickly, and if nothing else, your chance to say goodbye". It was only moments later that the four of us, mom, Dusty, Drew, and myself, were at the hospital, beside dad, who would never speak to us again.

Everyone told me how brave I had been, how it was difficult to go through this, and yet I was strong, not crying, not yielding to the stress. I needed to be strong for my mom, this was no time for faltering will. The reality was though, that it hadn't hit me yet. After a few days of enduring dad's coma, my aunt offered to take me and my brothers to her house for some sleep. I gladly accepted as I was exhausted and knew Drew wouldn't go without me. I walked into dad's room full of loved ones, walked passed the eyes watching me, and to dad's bedside. I looked at his yellowed face and leaned in to say "bye dad, love you". I gave him a kiss on his still lips. I will never forget the feeling of kissing someone and getting no response. It is the most unloved feeling I have ever known.

I don't recall leaving the room, but the next memories I have are of me sitting in the corridor outside his room crying for the first time. I have a memory of a nurse giving me a Popsicle. I know that Aunt JoAnne dropped Dusty off at home since that is where he wanted to be, while Drew and I chose to sleep at Aunt JoAnne's home. I awoke the next morning and was sat at the couch in the living room with Drew; Aunt Jo told us that our dad had died at 12:54 in the morning. I did not cry. I did not speak.

It was about 2 weeks after we buried my father when his dad, my grandpa, was over repairing the air conditioner. I was excited that I got to help! I couldn't wait to tell dad. I sat in his chair waiting for him to get home from work, and as time passed I thought he was running late. I walked to the window to peer out and saw his truck sitting in the drive way. It was this very moment that I finally understood that my dad was gone. He was never coming home, he would never hear my stories, he would never sit in his chair. I had my heart broken by him on many an occasion, but this time, it would never be repaired.

Maker

Dear Maker,

Where is my Apocalypse?

Sincerely,
Me

P.S.: Say hello to Dad and Darwin for me and also, thanks for Guy and Rodd!

Heh, I like camels!

I've always wanted to attempt this!

Words...
walk of shame: When a woman leaves the home of a man (quite possibly one she met the night before) in the early morning hours-hair sticking out in all directions, make up half gone, with her undies in a pocket or her purse.
I'm not gay seat: The empty seat in a movie theater that two males leave between them to show the rest of the audience they are straight.

15 Years

Not feeling really bloggy today. Today marks the 15th anniversary of my dad's death. I have officially lived half of my life with and half of my life without my father.

Anything you can do to cheer me up would be greatly appreciated. Funny video? Magic tricks? Just a photo even might work.

Dad wouldn't want me to be sad, and he'd surely be trying to cheer me up in some way.

Anyway, try your best please.

Miss you daddy!
Miss you too Shane Brain! You've been deadly at making me laugh!

Word-
shine:

1. Jewelry. Bling.
2. To insult someone in front of other people.
In Use: Damn, that girl was shinin' on yo' ass and you didn't say nothin' to hit her ass back.

Twisted Clarifications and Additions

I wanted to step back to my Twisted Traits blog to add another trait, and to clarify one that apparently has people believing I am a morbid person who likes to hang out in coffins.

ADDITIONAL TWISTED TRAIT
-Your idea about food pantries having can throwing donations. -Amanda

CLARIFICATIONS FOR TWISTED TRAITS
-The can throwing thing:

This is one of those instances where knowing me helps make sense of the oddities you might read about me. I've learned to accept my idiosyncratic self as is and to try and make do with the tools I've been given. One of those idiosyncratic tools is the art of throwing heavy objects to release frustration. We all know someone who does, or wants to do this. I like to call these people the "stompers". You know who I'm talking about; your friend or family member that doesn't get his or her way and stomps wildly in a tantrum! Had they a heavy object to throw, they could very well be aiming at your head!

So, I have a brilliant [or so I think] idea! A food pantry could set up a "throwing booth" where "stompers" such as myself could come, pay a dollar, bring a can, and hurl it as hard as possible at some cushioned backdrop! It serves three very valid purposes! One is the obvious release of frustration by said "stomper". Two is the donation of canned goods. Three, the food pantry also gets a monetary donation. So, tell me how this is a bad idea?

-The coffin thing:

I do not lay down every night and pretend I'm hanging out in a coffin.

Sometimes when I lay down at night smitten with an inane bout of insomnia, I go through thousands of thoughts. And when I lay just right with my hands folded this way or that, I start to think that I must look like I'm laying in a coffin, which leads to thinking about dead bodies and what it might feel like to be in the coffin with that frilly white pillow puffed up around my decaying corpse painted and modeled just so for everyone to see, and stuck that way for eternity. When I say "I like to lay in bed and position myself in various "coffin positions" to see what would seem a best way to rest forever"; I don't mean to make it sound like I have the time of my life and that I would even do this often, because that is not the case; but in terms of major bouts of insomnia, it is just one of those odd and perhaps twisted things that I do. I also honestly believe everyone does this, or has done this at least once in his or her life (especially children after first seeing a loved one in a coffin). If not, you will now!

Painted-face-a-phobia?

Oh boy, lots & lots to say...this could become a rambling mess, but I'll try to focus it up a bit...

1. Thanks to Janet, I found this pool of pictures called "Looking Into the Past"; pictures of pictures . . . please take a look for yourself! I think JPo would really appreciate these.



2. This may be totally morbid, but that is me. I went to dad's grave for Father's Day. I took him flowers and beat myself up the rest of the day because I can no longer remember what his favorite color was. It's hard to lose memories you can't bear to lose. Before you know it, they are gone.



3. Bella has some odd bumps all over her bully dog body. Best guess is that they are hives. Can't find the cause, they don't appear to be getting worse, but I can't say for certain they are getting better. My poor sweet baby! Any ideas?

4. I am going to start Geo Caching. Not sure what it is? Well here is my summary: modern day hidden treasures. Go check it out for yourself. James already told me that he is in for this adventure, and I know Amanda will be involved. It's very interesting, though I need a GPS unit! Here is a website you can check out: GPS GeoCaching

5. DUDES, no one told me that Tim Burton was making an Alice in Wonderland. Even worse is that no one told me Johnny Depp is going to be the Mad Hatter. Oooh, let the nightmares begin! (Trust me on this, A-in-W has always scared me to the point of nightmares, so yes, I am a complete and total sissy (side note: make up covering the entire face and masks really really scare me) could some one please tell me what this phobia name is)!



6. Some quotes from the book I'm reading that some of my readers will find amusement from:

"I have it on good authority that her feet are like ferryboats. They strap them under her gown to keep them from flapping when she walks."

"I don't trust anyone who appears so trustworthy. They must be up to no good." (Click here to recall why this sounds like me)

"Do you think [they] are poofters, or are they, you know, just fucking French?"

7. A 105 degree F. heat index is really much warmer in St. Louis than Jamaica. Maybe it was the rum in Jamaica that made it feel less painful?

8. An ad in the Planetizen online mag., for HOK, my employer:



9.Words:
man stand: The act of a man standing outside of a shop while his wife/girlfriend/partner shops inside. Man standing involves looking into space, at other women, or in the case of multistory shopping centers, leaning on railings of an upper floor watching people below.

break the seal: The point at which you first [urinate] after you have been drinking alcoholic beverages. After that you will have to [urinate] a lot more often.

Why Is This Wet?

Hoo-rah...hoo-rah; today is my birthday. 30 years ago around nine in the morning, I was born, dislocated hip and all! I wanted out real bad, eager to get this life going. I chose to come out before the doctor was ready to deliver and somehow managed to dislocate my hip! I would have to say that this particular action set me up for how I would manage the rest of my life; too eagerly and far too clumsy! Those of you who know me well enough are laughing. Maybe not laughing at me, but laughing at how true this all is!

Before I move on; I want to rewind back to last week. The hi-lite didn't occur until Friday evening, and frankly, it's well worth the rewind. Chris and I went to the Trowbridge's for movie night (featured presentation=Bolt (2008)). So let me cut to the chase, Grace, my 3 year old buddy was carrying around a pink flamingo doll. Christine, (a.k.a. mom) picked up pinky and felt that it was wet. "Grace, why is this pink flamingo wet?"; "because I -----". That last part so indistinguishable, we all leaned in further to hear; "what Grace, why is this wet?"; "because I peed on it"! It was beyond difficult to stifle the laughter and tears that were slipping out; a rather tense moment for a 3 year old turned my entire week into a great one!

So, fast forward to Sunday, Mother's Day; a decent day all in all. The one thing though, worth mentioning, is that some one thought I was young. Very young! I met Jen for a bike ride, and her step-mother (in-law?) was at the house. Jen introduced us and we chatted for a moment before Jen and I took off for the Katy trail. Later that day, Jen called to tell me that Step-Mom thought it was so nice of Jen to take the little neighborhood girl out for a bike ride. It wasn't until later that she noticed a car parked next to hers that she asked Steve (Jen's hubby) about it. Steve told her it was mine; her response was to ask Steve if I was old enough to drive! It was an extreme compliment! Here I am disdainfully celebrating 30, and she thought I was barely old enough to drive! In hindsight I wondered if it is because I acted immaturely . . . but I really don't care how I acted since I was polite and I enjoyed myself!

Other stuff to note: I broke my phone Friday, had to get a new one (which was going to happen this year anyway); purchased a new pair of eyeglasses (will get them in about a week); Chris planted a tomato and cucumber plant(s) in the backyard; I blogged on Friday for work; stole old photo albums from mom to scan photos for online (yes Holly, that does mean I will get you those promised photos of dad finally (albeit electronic)); last, but most unpleasant, I got bad news about my cousin Matt who had a stage two cancerous tumor in his brain (if you pray, please pray for him).

So, that leads me to here, today, my birthday (Dusty's as well). I hope your day is enjoyable.

Word of the today and the weekend-
moose knuckle: The male version of camel toe. Usually found on older rotund gentlemen wearing a suit.

pour one for my homies: To pour liquid (usually an alcoholic beverage) on the ground as a sign of reverence for friends or relatives who have passed away. In many cases, a 40-ounce bottle of liquor is used.

Anxious Woolly Bodies

Some books are written for the sole reason of having me read them. I know that no one but me will ever believe this. In fact, I know that the authors would laugh at me for having such a bizarre take on their literary works. But, if you read often enough (and I know you are out there (Mike C., Kelly G., Jen S. and Eva)), you will understand what I mean. Sometimes you read passages of a book and you think to yourself "am I being spied on"; or "wow, I never knew anyone else thought of a bridge the way I do".

I continued reading Let the Right One In by John Ajvide Lindqvist, a spectacularly spooky, brilliant, and bittersweet book that I can't even begin to explain. While reading it last night there were a few passages that I believe were written for me. Here are excerpts from those passages, [my notes following]:

Passage page 255-

He knew exactly how it was going to go.
In an hour or so the bottle would be empty and Janne would go home.
Then Dad would pace...decide he needed to talk to Oskar.
He would come into Oskar's room and he would no longer be Dad. Just an alcoholic-...

[I think the author must have met my father, or, is it that all alcoholics with young children do this, forcing their children to think that an evil monster is inside their father, taking over Dad's body?]

Passage page 285-

I'm not completely normal.
...organic machines with the brains turned off.

[This is what humans are, organic machines, few would agree with me on this. When we die, our brains are turned off for good. No button to push in order to make them come back on . . . or maybe there really is!]

Passage page 293-

The Traneberg Bridge. When it was unveiled in 1934 it was hailed as a minor miracle of engineering. ... One mighty single arc that soared ... . A life-weary senior, sorrowfully pondering the days when the heavens were brighter, the clouds lighter, and when it was still the longest single-span concrete bridge in the world.

[I do not believe that there are many people in the world that would ever speak on bridges as having a human context. I see a bridge and see its functioning parts, its ragged body, and its desire to be noticed as a bridge instead of some path people take to get from Point A to Point B. Every bridge is significant to me, not only in its purpose as a path, but for its engineering.]

Passage page 297-

Ten minutes later the first patrol car had turned up and the first thing the officers did was check the stables, nervous, their guns out and ready.
The sheep had become restless and before the officers were done combing the building the whole place was a seething mass of anxious woolly bodies, loud bleating, ...

[Uh, yea, sheep. I like sheep. They are cool little dudes. I'm not completely normal. ]

Words of the day:

nowt: Nothing, zero

In use: Can you lend me some money, I haven't been paid yet so I have nowt.


bakeage: Drugs that get you baked.

Funerals Suck and Justin Rocks!

So today is a new day, but you know that already.

Today is Amanda's father's funeral. It makes me miss my dad. I still plan on going to lay on top of his grave and just crying for about an hour. You'd have no idea how much you'll miss some one until they are no longer around to hold you when you just need to be held. I could talk hours about my own dad; I have a lot to say about him. He was a good person, some of the time, and a bad person a lot of the time. It's what one might expect with an abusive alcoholic father. I wrongfully wished him gone for a long time. I had always assumed that his drinking and desire to be "outta his mind" were due to the fact he was unhappy with his life, unhappy with his family. He degraded me often, so I had also therefore assumed, he didn't want me around. I knew his alcoholism was a disease, something he couldn't quit. It took me a really long time to know there was a difference though. The sober guy that was my daddy was the coolest man on the face of the planet. He was funny, smart, and loved music. We would rock out all the time together. We listened to everything! When I was small and we would be travelling by car, he carried me up the apartment stairs when I fell asleep from the ride. When I was upset, he'd let me curl up in a ball in his lap and he would just hold me. Those are the things I really miss. But what I guess I'm really getting around to talking about is the funeral, not really my dad.

So this funeral, will be a Catholic service at some little church in the middle of Nowhere, Illinois. Last night was the visitation. I really loathe that part. People go and look at a dead body to see what the person, if they were still alive, might look like. I have an aversion to dead bodies for one. Secondly, I don't want to remember or see what some one would have looked like alive if they weren't dead. I want to remember the good things. When I think of dad, I think of the dead version of him, in the casket so that when you looked just right, he was smiling! So when I go to these things, I try only to glance when I have to, and spend more time ignoring than anything else.

But I've gone on long enough about some of my idiosyncrasies; it's time to move on to some one else's! That someone would be Justin, my favorite blogger [said with a dreamy smile and twinkle in my eye]! He didn't mention me this time, but a coworker that I don't know. In this story, Justin goes by a supposed character name of Mitch, of which I highly approve! His blogs are always thoroughly entertaining with little hints of sarcasm and misanthropy. I feel that while I don't know him at all, and have a slight aversion to his desire to be an architect, I feel he is a kindred spirit! He is after all my blog crush! I treat him as though he were Douglas Adams, an untouchable writer! But instead he is Justin Mitch Z! Ahhhhhh!

So I want to thank Holly for taking the time to blog, you go! No one has to write excellent to blog, you just need to do it! And if you are lucky, you might get one very interesting freak named Steph to fall in love with you!

I want to thank Eva for taking time yesterday to sit down to dinner with me and let me vent and whine pretty much the whole time. I don't share a rank, which is good to know!

Thanks people for reading, you don't have to; so I hope this is at least entertaining with a mix of odd humor, distaste for mankind, and a draw of strong depressive mood swings!

Onward with the word of the day:

ACB: Short for "air-conditioner booty". A woman whose buttocks, when viewed from the side, resemble a wall-unit air conditioner protruding from a house.

In use: Jodie's ACB was knocking people's drinks off the table last night!

Dead Version of Him

So this morning, as I wait for others to get to the office, I will write my daily blog. The problem with getting to work early is that often when things need to be done by others, I must wait. Anyway, so I had a lot of thoughts about what I wanted to write about today, so in my most awful penmanship, I jotted them down.

For starters, when I walked in today, I had to weave through a massive crowd of athletes all waiting to climb the stairs of my building. Here at Met. Square, is this crazy thing called, Master the Met, where individuals climb the stairs to the 42nd floor. Yea, I briefly thought about doing it, but when exercise without the stair climbing makes my knee swell to the size of a cantaloupe, I think maybe I should avoid this obstacle in life! So to the elevators I go, "Elevator going up"!

So speaking of hellish things like stair climbing, last night I had some nightmares. Actually two nightmares, but the same one twice (if that made sense). The basic premise of the dream is that my father killed my grandparents, chopped up their bodies and put them in a clear plastic trash bag stuffed in a closet in the basement of my house. Well in my dream the house that was "mine", was actually my family's (we're a happy family; me, mom, and dad) but actually took place in what is today my grandfather's house. In the dream, the guy who was my father was the dead version of him, the guy from the casket anyway. My mom was herself, but young like in her photos. My older brother and I were as we are today, but my younger brother was small, like 3 or 4, when I used to take care of him in those family crises that meant my older brother and I would sneak, with baby brother to the car (sweet Nova), get into the back seat, slink down real low and hide! Anyway, that's a whole different nightmare I called reality that doesn't get discussed; so in the dream, I find out that my father did this and I have to get my brothers out of the house so they don't find out. Well I don't know how the dream ended in this version, but the smell was very real, and awful. I cried a lot in this version of the dream, imagine that, I cry a lot all the time! In the second version, the basic same thing happened, but I had to tell my mom what happened and show her the body parts. I had to sneak us out of the house, I had to get clothes for everyone, I had to get our valuables. At the end, before calmly walking out the door, I told my dad not to take all of this personally, that he would always be my daddy, no matter how old I was. I got in my car with family and things in tow and started to drive off when my older brother jumped out of the car to get, of all things, the hose! By this point we were fleeing for our lives so I had to run out and help him as fast as I could and I was falling and trying to move without being able to do so. I was wakened by my alarm, so I'll never know how that dream ends, thankfully.

Since I woke up with what felt like little sleep because of nightmares, I got dressed half asleep. What was I thinking, red and white striped socks with pink and gray plaid loafers. Really what was I thinking??!!??!! Anyway in addition to my "getting ready soap box", I realized as I brushed my teeth, that I will be a really overburdening mother. I'll always be saying things like "stand up straight", "tie your shoes", "eat your food", "take your medicine", "stop slouching", "squeeze the toothpaste from the end of the tube", "pull the shower curtain out to dry", "clean up your mess", "wipe up your crumbs" . . . . etc. That could a really frightening thing to do to another human being. Poor children! Speaking of moms and children, I'd like to wish my preggo friend Rachel a speedy recovery. Such an enigma she is indeed!

Okay, so I've written a lot already, so I'll save the following topics for another day this week, the apocalypse (and my preparedness), Mardi Gras, Teaching at SIUE, and guitars (redemption song and crazy little thing called love).

I'd like to give you the word of the day and finish this with a tiny list of small things that make me happy.

tramp stamp: A tattoo above a woman's ass crack. In use: Her pants were so low cut, you could see her tramp stamp

A few of my favorite things:
-The sound of a guitar, more specifically when you can hear the finger glide along the strings of a guitar.
-Lyrics, especially the kind that mean something to you
-Being so sleepy that there is no lying awake thinking and staring
-The way Listerine kills germs, and anything inside the mouth, I'm amazed I still have a tongue!
-My favorite T-shirt, the Airstream T-shirt!