Sparks and Butterflies...

But aside from that, she's still completely normal

100 Things About Me

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Edited 6/12/15

Been at this since ’95, and it’s the first time I’ve attempted one of these. Some are serious – some are not (but true).

  1. I don’t like hummingbirds.  They’re vampires from hell that want to suck the juice from my eyeballs.
  2. Bees scare me way too much for me not to be allergic.
  3. They always have scared me… but I got stung by a bee in the crotch. That takes talent.
  4. My husband can solve a Rubik’s cube in under 3 minutes.  Not my thing, but so random I have to mention it here.
  5. I have incredibly curly hair.
  6. I sometimes have pink hair.
  7. My eyebrow is pierced.
  8. I have two tattoos with plans to add more that connect those two into one picture.
  9. Yes, they all mean something.
  10. Yes, I’d do it again.
  11. I waited a year for each to be sure.
  12. I am politically a very random libertarian with some conservative and some liberal ideas. I’m a mish-mash.
  13. I am a Christian. Sort of.
  14. I am not your “typical” Christian. I have some extremely eclectic view which I do not share here.
  15. I do not know who my biological father is.  I will never know, my biological mother is dead and purposely kept the info from me.
  16. My favorite color is green.
  17. I love pasta.
  18. I hate yogurt.
  19. I have 2 ulcers.  I tested negatively for the h-pylori bacteria – yes I do actually worry that much.
  20. Did I mention I’m in therapy? I am. I am no longer in therapy – but I used to be!
  21. I have a hernia waiting to break through.  Can’t do anything until it does, though.
  22. I have consistent migraines.  Have since I hit puberty.
  23. My husband had a brain injury.  Since his recovery, he’s prone to migraines. Since a massive load of dental work, he is no longer prone to migraines, woot!
  24. We don’t go to concerts where there will be strobe lights or else neither of us would be able to drive home. We’re a pair.
  25. I have two uteri & two cervices.  It’s called Uterine Didelphys.  I’m lucky to be a mother, and lucky to have lived through childbirth. Twice.
  26. My husband and I both think I get PMDD, rather than PMS.  He’s learned to deal, but you?  You might want to stay away.
  27. See number 20.
  28. One ear is double pierced.  The other is triple pierced.
  29. I used to be addicted to meth (as of this writing, it’s been over 17 years.) (Yes, I still count.)
  30. I don’t drink much – don’t like the taste.
  31. I have a cat who spends the day on my lap while I write.  It’s a hard life. (Update – 3 cats!)
  32. The same cat sleeps with me each night.  Her head shares my pillow.
  33. I have a half sister I have not seen since she was 6 months old.  I searched and found her.  We are in contact, but neither of us can afford the trip to visit. Unfortunately, we’re not very close, though.
  34. I have a half brother we have not been able to find.
  35. I have another half sister that I think I found who was relinquished at birth.  But until I’m sure, I won’t disrupt her life.
  36. I am one female in a house with three other males. And yet, I clean the toilets. Something’s not right.
  37. I am a great cook – but I don’t do fancy.  You seriously want to eat my pot roast.
  38. I am the only person in the house who will willingly eat something with foreign things in it – like vitamins and minerals.
  39. I am annoyed very easily.
  40. I can’t stand people. Persons I like. People can suck it.
  41. I think artichokes are an awful lot of work for very little return.
  42. Coffee and I are BFFs.
  43. I smoke. I’m not proud that I smoke. I don’t need the lecture. See number 29. It’s hard.
  44. I have green/gray/blue eyes. Depends on my mood and what I’m wearing.
  45. I like them best when they’re green.
  46. I wear glasses.
  47. I will never wear contacts because the idea of putting something in my eye completely squicks me out.
  48. Which is why I will never have Lasik surgery – I’d probably pass out from the anxiety.
  49. I’m scared of heights. It’s just about a full-blown phobia. I will not go on “straight down” rides, like Freefall at Magic Mountain.
  50. I break out in a sweat and use both hands on the rail if I go up or down those stairs you can see through.
  51. I had to walk across a freeway overpass. My husband had to hold onto me, until I broke out into a run ’cause I was almost to the other side. All while telling the kids, “I’m fine, no problem.” And then promptly burst into tears.
  52. See number 20.
  53. I play those annoying Facebook games. (I don’t have time anymore!) If you don’t like it, you know you can block those applications right? If you write me and tell me to stop putting it on your feed… I’m not. It’s because you’re seeing MY feed, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I will also give you detailed directions in how to block the application so you don’t have to see them ever again.
  54. I can be a bit prickly.
  55. I am also kind.
  56. I’m not very sympathetic.
  57. If someone dies, I’m probably not going to hold your hand. (I know, I suck.) But chances are, I’ll make sure your house is clean, you’re eating enough, and your bills are paid properly until you’re back on your feet.
  58. I might be a bit too practical.
  59. And emotions are hard for me.
  60. It has to do with how I was raised, some abuse, rape, and abandonment issues. Oh – and see number 20.
  61. My husband has the capability to completely undo me emotionally in all the good ways. And he’s the only one who can.
  62. My mother has had the capability, however, to completely undo me emotionally in all the bad ways. Again – she’s the only one who can.
  63. I am a strict disciplinarian. My kids both have special needs, and need that structure with monumental boundaries. So if you tell me my son would be fine if he just had more discipline at home – I may scratch your eyes out.
  64. I’m a bit of a mama bear.
  65. I love ghost hunting shows.
  66. Yes, I believe in ghosts.
  67. And I don’t believe any religion has the full knowledge of what will happen in the afterlife.
  68. Love potatoes, doesn’t matter if they’re mashed, baked, fried, or stuffed.
  69. I cannot hear the volume of my own voice due to inner ear damage. My biological mother dropped me on my head 3 times resulting in 3 concussions, hence the damage. My husband has to give me visual clues/cues that I’m getting too loud when I’m excited.
  70. I also have trouble separating conversations in loud places (like restaurants, or cars when the radio is on).
  71. Have I mentioned my dysfunctional family?
  72. Also, see number 20.
  73. I said yes to a guy to marry him after 3 days.
  74. We were married 3 months later (no I was not pregnant).
  75. We just had our 17th anniversary.
  76. I know how to use knives. My favorite is a triple edged dagger.
  77. I have a weakness for pajamas, the softer the better. My favorite part of the day.
  78. I have a weakness for new blank journals.
  79. Oh, and fountain pens!
  80. I wear a toe ring.
  81. I can type as fast as most people talk. (Not as fast as I talk. But as fast as normal people talk.)
  82. I love candles. There is usually one burning all day long.
  83. I’d rather be cold than hot.
  84. I’m not sure if I believe aliens exist or not. But I do not believe it’s impossible.
  85. After all that strangeness, my favorite ice cream flavor is vanilla.
  86. I hate cake frosting, unless it’s cool whip. My grandma used to make me angel food cakes without the frosting for my birthday because of this.
  87. For birthdays I usually make some extra unfrosted cupcakes on the side because of this. Mom likes liked ’em that way too.
  88. I used to make jewelry. I don’t have the money for the findings, so I can’t right now.
  89. I LOVE to read, and do so voraciously.
  90. I have a standard pot-luck meal: Pasta Roni (chicken, butter, or Parmesan flavor). While pasta is cooking, add frozen corn. Grill chicken breast and cut into bite size chunks. Add to final pasta. Top with shredded cheddar. Good hot or cold. Might sound kind of weird, but it’s the only thing I’ve ever taken that every bit of it gets eaten by strangers.
  91. When I make pasta – I make enough to feed an army. It’s seriously sad how out of whack my dried pasta to cooked pasta ratio is skewed.
  92. I’ve learned to love next day/leftover pasta.
  93. I have a strong emotional memory. In other words – if something happens that makes me feel something (good or bad) I’ll remember. Such as that conversation from 1992. I seriously caught my husband  in a 5 year old white lie. He was amazed. And doesn’t lie anymore.
  94. I, however, cannot remember anything I ate last week.
  95. I own my own business. I’m damn good at what I do.
  96. I am a dog person, yet I have two three cats. They are distinct individuals, and we cater to their habits. We? Are also suckers.
  97. I am a terrible, terrible photographer. (I am totally jealous of those who’s candid snapshots look like they belong in a gallery installation.)
  98. I am an Aries. I don’t know what that means, exactly, but I’m told that’s spot on.
  99. My first computer was an Apple IIc+. My current computer is a pink dell named Betsy. (Betsy died a very sad, tortured spilled soda death – I now have a desktop named Big Bertha.) I also have a pink cover on my iPhone. She’s Lucy. My kindle? Lola.
  100. I just heard you roll your eyes.

Mixed Feelings

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**An aside having nothing to do with the topic… I went and got help. My son’s therapist (conflict of interest much?) is seeing me through another service she works with for adults with a spiritual bent. For? $40 a week. Considering I priced therapists at $125-$175 – I’ll take it. So, I’m getting the help I need, and I feel more in control already. Like… I recognized it and am moving forward before things get really bad. This is good. I’m not saying it’s not an ongoing struggle, but I feel as if it can’t go into an uncontrollable spiral because between my husband and therapist, there are people to see when my inner demons are too much to bear. It’s not just me alone. That helps.

OK. It’s my journal, right? Major historic happenings. Osama Bin Laden. Dead. Why am I not elated? Why am I not chanting USA! USA! USA! Because death was involved.

Please don’t get me wrong. I am relieved. One less truly evil man in the world. One less who killed so many. One less who holds so much hate for others. Justice of major proportions for those personally effected by the attacks he perpetuated, and for the country he defamed and scared witless.

But my lack of elation is twofold. I think it’s wrong to celebrate, truly celebrate another human being’s death. I feel it was justified, but we don’t have to revel with joy in the necessity. It feels wrong to me on a very spiritual level. Justice does not equal joy. The other reason? The battle is not over. Where he was one, there are many more. Please don’t let your sense of closure make you think it’s over. No. It’s not. Please don’t let it make you complacent.

Am I wrong? I’m I a horrible American? I hope not. I’m almost ashamed to say, I’m glad he’s dead. Another human being. I’m glad he’s dead. I watch the videos of people leaping to their death, and I’m glad he’s dead. Everything in me that loves Life itself, cringes from that fact. But I am not ecstatic.

Coming Out of the Fog

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Is this depression? This fog I find myself just coming out of? When the day to day “have-tos” seem to be all I can get through?

The last few weeks… They’ve been rough. Some from outside actions (both kids ending up with multiple week groundings). Other times because I just can’t hang. Some days all I would do were my work shifts, and make sure the kids were fed, clean, and had their homework done. WHAT I fed them may be up to nutritional interpretation. But the laundry would get backed up, the house wouldn’t be picked up, the dishes were done simply because there weren’t any clean ones left. And I would sleep any chance/excuse/time I could.

I feel like I’m just coming out though. I’m starting to feel better physically, feel better mentally. I actually want to go on a walk today. Which is outside. Where other people may be. So, yeah, I’m coming out of it.

Plus, we went to Disneyland/California Adventure (more on that in a later post) for family celebrating over the weekend, and even though there was a press of people (of course), and my kids were on excitement overload, and I didn’t get to sleep in my own bed, I didn’t lose my shit. That’s another reason I think I’m on the mend.

But, when you don’t have healthcare, and can’t afford doctor visits, much less $150/week for a potential therapist, what do you do? I can’t see a doctor, and can’t afford medication. What do I do? That’s not a rhetorical question, by the way. What do I do? The only thing I know to do is to try to keep relationships (my kids/my husband) a priority, try to keep stability/security for the kids, and let the rest go to hell while I crawl under a rock. I don’t know any other way.

You can kind of see it through the blog. I might not actually write about it, but when I write at all – it’s more and more infrequent as the bout goes on. I’ll be completely honest with you. Today, and my last entry, were only written at all because my advertiser wrote and said, “Um, Hello?” So, yeah. I love writing. Just the act of it, the clicky-clack, of the keyboard is soothing to me, so I should write MORE when I’m depressed. But all I can do is stare at the screen. There’s nothing to write about. Why? Because when I’m in a depression, I’m actively trying not to think. In a depression, thinking too deeply leads to panic attacks, or horrible bouts of making crap up in my head, mourning over it, and then berating myself because it hasn’t even happened. Writing tends to make me think. You see the conundrum.

Ah well. This is my journal. These are my thoughts. This is what’s going on. I’m trying to make my way out. I’m trying. That’s all I can promise right now. I’m trying.

Princess and Snufflupaguss

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There’s lots’ of stuff going on right now. Frankly, I just don’t want to think about it at all, so I’m just not going to. Instead, I’d like to tell you a love story.

As a crossing guard, I spend a lot of time watching the grass grow. Literally. To remain sane, you become hyper aware of your surroundings. You begin to pick out patterns and routines around you. My “post” is across the street from a park. Many folks walk their dogs there in the mornings.

Around 8:30am, a large gold truck will park. An older, large man in his sweats will get out, hike his paints up a bit, open the back door to grab some stuff, and then will grab his dog. I have no idea what breed this dog is. She’s white (it’s totally a “she”), with curly hair, and on the large side of the small category. She’s totally perked up and ready to go. She doesn’t bark at anyone. She goes right to the grass to do a little bit of “business” and lifts her head and tosses her hair, and goes on to march around their route – which she picks. She picks the same one every time. This is one spoiled dog. On particularly cold days, she has a bright pink sweater on. On rainy days, I kid you not, she wears a yellow doggie rain slicker. (It’s absolutely adorable.) She wears her clothes with a panache that many humans cannot duplicate. I have named her Princess in my head.

On most days, another set of dog/owner come along to the park. Sometimes around 8:30am, and sometimes not. They walk there. The owner is a scruffy man with a large backpack and a visor. They vary their route, and the dog also picks the route. This dog… I don’t know what it is, but it looks like a small horse. I think it’s a “he.” He will bark at all large vehicles – not in a warning manner – more like, “Look!  A Toy!” When standing next to me (they sometimes cross to my side of the street), his head reaches my ribcage. He has very long hair. It is worn in two pigtails so he can see. His hair is so long that when you see him trot from behind, his hair swings in a very distinctive manner. Thus, I have named him Snufflupaguss in my head.

The magic happens when both Snufflupaguss and Princess arrive at the park at the same time. They will spot each other from across the park. At that moment, the music swells, both owners let them off their leashes, and they run to each other from either side. When they meet, their tails wag so hard, their entire bodies move. Snufflupaguss will lay down so Princess can actually reach him. She’ll run circles around his body while he just wriggles. I can tell from all the way across the park and crowded intersection that they are screaming, “OMG IT’S MY FRIEND! MY FRIEND IS HERE! LOOK! IT’S MY FRIEND!” After their initial greeting, Snufflupaguss and Princess will form a circle and go around and around and around greeting each other in the timeless way of dogs… Sniffing each others butts. Their owners look on like proud, indulgent parents.

When these two get together, and I’m able to witness the event – it makes my whole day. Joy. It’s everywhere if you choose to look for it.

Please Read This Article

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Before I share the link with you, let me explain where I’m coming from.  I have a child with mental issues.  I told the school going in that they were there, and they refused to provide services, an evaluation, or early intervention.  As a result, due to their “zero tolerance” policy, my child was almost expelled from school for expressing his anger.  At the age of 5.  Unable to attend another district school.  What I did in that case was fight tooth and nail for an IEP, which would then provide him protections under the disabilities act.  It forced them to help my son rather than kick him out.  And yet, another child tormented mine for YEARS.  But he never did anything that came under the “zero tolerance” policy.  The result of that?  My son being institutionalized when he couldn’t take any more.  Then one of the “patients” tried to kill my child by choking him to death.  That was a fun middle of the night phone call.

You tell me, which was worse?  What did the most damage?  My son getting pissed off at his teacher at the age of 5 (when they still get naps in school for God’s sake) or my son being driven into a mental institution?  We have had to fight long and hard for my son to have an atmosphere where they are helping my son instead of “managing” my son.

Think about your kids, what they do, what the consequences should be, and what they currently are.  What is it going to do to their psyche in the long run?  I am very far from the touchy-feely earth momma, terrified to allow their precious child’s “creativity” be stifled.  We’re highly disciplined around here.  We maintain serious control.  Because of my kids’ issues, it provides safety and sanity for them.  However – as “mean” as we are, we are able to understand the difference between play and violence, toys and firearms, playacting versus intent, and when they are just being kids.

This isn’t about politics.  This is about my child.  This is about how it effected my son.  The long term issues have been such a struggle stemming back to that one day.  And now?  Will he be able to have his dreams?  Since it wasn’t a criminal matter – even though the police got involved without ever talking to me – because he wasn’t charged with a crime, I can’t have his “record” sealed.  Background checks will now show mental institutionalization.  He has wanted for years to become a Marine like his dad.  Will he ever be able to now?

Here’s the article: Zero Tolerance Policies: Are the Schools Becoming Police States?

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