A Blog That Makes Zero Sense
Oct 11, 2009 All Things Charli, All Things X, Etc., Family, Friday Eye Candy, Parenting, Random, Thoughts and Perceptions, Wicked MOMMY Wisdoms
So much has happened in the past 4 weeks that I don’t even know where to begin.
Yeah, I have blogged. But really the events … the day-to-day have had to be pushed off because I don’t even know what to say about them. I am on a dead run. A different kind of dead run than I was before with school and the old POE. With the old POE, I didn’t do a mufuckin thing for 8 hours. So, what does that mean? Yep. I blogged my Wicked little ass off. I networked and made new friends in the blogosphere. I co-piloted this kick ass website with a kick ass bitch I like to refer to as my Numbah 1.
Now, I actually work. Like, from the minute I get there to the minute I leave and sometimes after. Not that it is a bad thing necessarily … but I miss all of the connections that I have made. I have to figure out how to find balance. Like, it is necessary. It is that or I submit and stop blogging all together. Who wants a blogger who doesn’t comment back to the thoughts the commenter shares on said blog? Not me. Not you. It is rude. I am not rude. Well, I am not rude to people who I like. Usually. Shutup.
I have been having the most random dreams lately.
The other night I had a dream that D had fake tits and I kept motorboating them while giving him a hand job.
A few nights before that I had a dream about a couple of old friends. Friends who are no longer friends. Call it a sore spot or whatever, but regardless they appeared in my dream to reconcile. I don’t really know how I feel about that dream.
Last night I had a dream that I had a pet monkey. It had red lipstick on and kissed me all over my face, leaving red monkey lip prints all over me. Ick. I don’t like monkey kisses.
I think the monkey kissing my face dream was directly caused by my bright idea to mix whiskey in with my nighttime theraflu. I hate them both so I have no idea how I thought that mixing them together would be a good idea.
Also, I pretty much want to fuck every cock that has a pulse right now. What in the fuck is up with that? Is it my *ahem* 30 pound weight loss? Is it that I am 30? Oooh. I didn’t even put the 30 and 30 together. Hmmmm… Maybe my new lucky number is 30. Not 22. Either way, I want to fuck all walks of cock in the world. Not that I will or anything, but I am just saying. I am like an animal. WTF is that about? D knows all about it too. It is no secret. Does he feel threatened? He better not. I only have wet vagina for my man.
For the most part.
Also, I miss the shit out of my kids. More than anyone else that I could possibly miss in the history of missing people. They are so cool. The coolest kids ever. They are so understanding and awesome about all of the crazy dysfunction that happens in our lives. Unmentionable dysfunction. The kind that is acceptable for me to accept but not acceptable for others to accept if that makes sense. (Pull your panties out. I am not talking about any kind of CPS worthy situations. Jesus.) Anyway, my kids get it and I am so excited to get to know them more as they get older.
Xavier is my little skater. He practices his ass off every day to perfect that grind or whatever the fuck the slang is that he uses for skate moves. He eats, breathes, sleeps skateboarding. I love it. He is also a fucking argumentative little shit.
Charli counts to 13. She is 2 and she counts to 13. She talks so great, and is so determined. I swear she is more and more like me every single day. It is fucking scary.
I am such a mom. I get all teary and shit when I think about my kids and how they were born with the awesome gene like I was. I really cannot wait til they are adults. I mean, I am savoring the ages that they are and am excited about the ages they will eventually get to … but I want to travel with them as adults. I want to really know my kids. Whether they hate me or not. Love me or not. I just want to know them.
Lastly, I know I owe you a Friday Eye Candy/YGWM blog. Friday was fucking insanity and I was literally unable to write it. I pinkie swear that it will never happen again. K?
To make it up to you, I have a special treat. A Monday hottie spread like no other. How would you like to be rescued from a burning building by any one or group of these sexy heroes???
You are welcome. Happy Monday!
Name one song that, when you hear it, no matter how hard you try, you can’t get out of your head.
If you could pick only 5 words to describe your life, what would they be?
Tags: count, dream, firefighter, liveitloveit, lucky number, mom, monkey, new job, PQ Nation
I Can Always Depend on My Momma.
Jul 14, 2009 Family
I wrote about my dad a couple of weeks ago. Funny story, I didn’t think to mention it to him. Not because I was hiding it or whatever … but because I just didn’t think that it really mattered to him that much. This could put our relationship in a nutshell. We both spend a great deal of our relationship fighting the fact that we adore one another. I don’t know why. We just do.
I also didn’t post a pic of him in my last blog. I bet he would shit a big fat brick if he knew I was about to post one right now. Heh.
Nah. I won’t piss him off like that. 10 years ago… maybe.
Anyway, with a dad blog comes a mom one too. I have thought a lot about what I might write about my mom. As I have gotten older, I find more similarities with her than my dad. I remember always hearing “you are just like your dad” when I was growing up. I am, but there are a great deal of things that are my mom.
1) The look. When we were growing up and we were fucking up, all my mom had to do was look at us and we knew we better shut the fuck up or it was on.
2) Road rage. Not so much anymore (for her) but I remember several times when my mom would practically fly through the window at someone.
Like this one time when we were on our way to school and this dumb bitch in a mini-van cut my mom off. There my mom was, screaming at this broad, tailgating her until we both stopped in front of “The Crash” (the smoking spot at my school) and proceeded to rush the drivers side, open the door and all you could see was my mom from the shoulders down. Her head and neck were inside the car, telling her alllllllllllllllllll about herself. Then she got in the car, smiled and asked me not to tell my father about the incident.
If I wasn’t sooooooooo stoned… I would have been mortified. Instead I was laughing my ass off.
Pretty sure I told him.
3) Sappy-ness. My mom is a crier. I am a crier. And it is worse now that I am older.
4) Lack of a filter. I think this comes from both of my parents… but specifically my mom. She will tell a bitch to fuck herself with a smile on her face.
My mom and I are friends. But she is my mom. It isn’t the mom-daughter friendship where the line of respect fades with time. I know my role. Dont get me wrong, I push buttons. I always have and I always will. But, I respect my mom for the fact that she brought me into this world. (she may say she can ‘take me out’ but she is a damn lie) I love that she always tells me the truth. I respect that when she has advice, it not only comes from the heart… it comes from experience. I love that I can trust my mom, and that I have built this trust with her that she trusts me back. It wasn’t always that way, and I would say that the worst feeling in the world was to have my mom tell me that she didn’t believe me.
I reach to her when I need to cry.
She knows that I am a good mom, and offers advice when she thinks that I need it. NOT to simply hear herself speak.
My mom respects my choices as a parent.
I know that she would defend me if she truly believed that I was innocent, and she would still love me if she knew that I wasn’t.
My mom eats her steak well done. Like, beef jerky well done. And she smothers that shit in ketchup.
She used to eat her food on a lazy susan. none of it could mix or touch.
My mom used to model.
She falls asleep when she watches movies. 98% of the time.
She has a weird infatuation with Rod Stewart.
She L O V E S her grandkids. Like groovy kind of love styles. And her son in law.
She always calls me Charlie Brown. <-- no clue why.
My favorite memory with my mom was when she met me in San Diego and rode the carrier back up to Seattle. She roughed it (with a lot of anti-nausea medicine) just like we did, flirted with the Chiefs in the galley… and wooed them with her famous potato salad. For the next year after she rode the ship, my Chiefs bugged me about my mom, trying to get her secret recipe to either have me make the potato salad or so they could have their wives do it . (They also dug her tits I am sure). I couldn’t believe that she came and spent that time with me. Not because she was a non-engaged mom or anything, but because 1) she hates flying 2) she gets motion sickness and 3) her and my dad rarely spend more than 24 hours apart.
That is the other thing about my mom … my parents … they are the most devoted people to each other. I haven’t met another couple who truly love the way they do. They compliment each other. There weren’t always rainbows and butterflies either. They have fought to have the deep connection that they do today. That depth that people fall asleep and dream about. The same depth that I fight for on a daily basis with D.
My dad had what my parents are. My mom did not. She grew up in a broken home with several step fathers. Her example of what a healthy relationship should look like was like night and day to what my father had with my Nana and Papa. My dad really committed to what he knew was what marriage was, and held my mom accountable for it, every step of the way. She is such a strong woman, and I think that she owes a lot of that strength to my dad. Not because he controlled her or whatever… but because he didn’t give her the opportunity to walk away.
I respect their marriage a great deal because of that fact.
My mom is one of my hero’s. She is a wonderful, feisty, honest woman and if I can be half as wonderful as she is… I would be content with it. I don’t know what I would do without her.
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Oh. And. Heh. Yeah. I still love to irk his ASS at every opportunity.
Anything about my mom you would like to know more about?
Do you have a special mommy memory? (doesn’t have to be about your real mom… sudo moms are perfectly acceptable)
What flavor of ice cream would you be?
A Blog About Parents: “It Is What It Is”
Jun 29, 2009 Family, Out with the Old Wicked in with the New Wicked, Parenting, Thoughts and Perceptions, Wicked Wisdoms, love
My parents weren’t go-out-and-do-shit parents. Meaning, you know how there are those one parents where every weekend they had this hike or that museum planned to go and do? Yeah. My parents weren’t those parents. For most of my youth, we were poor so it was hard to do stuff.
Looking back I could say that I wished that they were those parents. But I don’t. Not really. We have never really been ‘that family’. We did go and do things. The things we did do were fun times. So I like the fact that what we did meant something… because I think that, from the outside looking in … many of those families are not happy ones behind closed doors. Generally speaking anyway.
(Yes I am aware that this is not all cases and that there are those truly happy 50’s white picket fence chocolate chip cookies when you got home from school families.)
When I was really little my dad drove truck so he was gone during the week a lot of the time. I remember missing him a great deal, and I think that him being gone is the main reason why I was drawn to him the way that I was. I would wait and wait to see or hear his semi truck pull up outside and run as fast as my little feet could move me across the gravel into his bear-arms.
I have always thought that my dad was the coolest dad on the planet.
I remember this one time when he came home, he wanted to take me and my mom out to dinner. As promised, we went to dinner in his truck. When we got there, he came around to get me out of the passenger side. I was so small then; the length of the step from the truck to the bottom step seemed a mile long. I blindly, and in an excited hurry grabbed the steam/exhaust pipe instead of the handle.
I can still feel the pain on the palm of my hand when I think about it to this day.
I screamed and cried as he rescued me and rushed me into the restaurant where I promptly placed my hand in a big glass of ice water. He sat right next to me and told me jokes to try and make me forget about the burn.
“How about I punch you in the other arm. You won’t feel your hand then.”
We used to wrestle.
He used to give me “Monkey Bumps” cause he thought that shit was funny.
He helped me with my math homework. I really suck at math.
He likes to sing. He has a pretty good voice.
He tried to get me to golf. I sucked.
My dad taught me how to drive.
He made me walk to the store when I got my period to buy tampons.
We fish. A lot less than I would like, but…
As I grew into into me, only a hormonal teenager, we began to beef on a daily basis. I don’t know where the rift began, but I know where it ended: When I moved out. He and I are so much alike that it is frightening. Our strong personalities under one roof with one of them being an authoritative figure was like mixing oil and water.
I pushed, he pushed harder. I yelled, he yelled louder. I slammed doors, he slammed harder. But when push came to shove, I knew that he loved me. Maybe that is why I pushed so hard. Maybe … that is why he pushed back that much harder.
Would I change it? Nah. I think that all of the tumultiousness that was our father daughter relationship made us that much more awesome today. He has put up with a great deal of shit with me and my wanting-to-do-it-the-hard-way every time.
When I enlisted in the Navy, and actually followed through with leaving for boot camp,and then tech school… and then a ship… I think that he realized that there was something within me that I actually took away from the things he used to preach to me as a kid. When I returned home, and saw him for the first time, wrapped in his bear-arms again, I truly felt like a little girl again and I remembered that I loved him. We just kinda fell into something pretty great from that moment.
But it wasn’t perfect. *I* wasn’t that great of a daughter all of the time.
I got married before D and didn’t tell my parents until afterward. My selfish ass didn’t consider that maybe my dad wanted to walk me down the isle.
I got my dad fired from Metro. (I didnt know at the time) He had bags of bus fare in his room to turn in, and I stole so.much.change. What I didn’t know, is that he almost faced criminal charges for it. (I later found this out after jokingly telling him that I was the one who stole the change)
The cops were called to my house several times. Because of my fight instigation.
I am pretty sure that I told my dad that I hated him angrily… one time too many.
Above all, my dad has always embraced me for me. He has expressed his thoughts as to who he thought that I should become, but understood (after some adjustment) and accepted who I chose to be and how I chose to live my life and conduct my business. I think that I can say that he is proud of me.
But most importantly, my dad is an honest man. He treats my mom with the utmost respect. My dad (thinks he) is funny. He lives life with an “it is what it is” motto. He isn’t perfect, but he always stands up for what is right and what he believes in. I may not like it at the time… but that doesn’t matter. I know when I call him and I ask him for his advice, he is gonna give it to me. No sugar coating. No bullshit. None of it.
And that is more than I can say for most people in the world.
What kind of relationship do you have with the dad in your life?
Have you ever done something that made your dad burst with pride?
What is the worst thing you ever did as a teen/kid and got busted for?
Tags: adolesence. mom, dad, daughter, father, fight, love, mom, mom and dad, Parenting, respect, teenager
