I think I actually NEED chaos

Or... Not.

Or… Not.

This week has been a bit slow.

Slow at work, slow at home, no rush, no bustle, no OhmigodIforgotto…

It’s not like there isn’t stuff to do, there’s housecleaning and clothes sorting and whatnot but there just no sense of impending HOLYCRAP that has been the norm lately.

I kinda need that.

When things aren’t urgent and bustling and busy and crazy, I get bored. And then I lose all motivation to do anything whatsoever. I think I probably get more done when I have more to do. I thrive on that rush, that chaotic hustle to get things done, and then the ginormous pat on the back when I finish. When there’s just an average amount of stuff to do, there’s no… spice. No flair, no chance to show how totally freaking awesome I am for juggling so many things at once. It’s just normal.

And normal is boring.big.640764


Are you expecting a zombie apocolypse?

big_4374376So here it is…

My post about the gun control issue.

My views have changed a lot since I moved here. When I lived in the shit-hole that is central Florida, I was all for banning guns entirely. I suppose, being exposed to news stories about gun violence every day is likely to direct your opinion sharply in one direction or another. People were either horrified by the violence and wanted to do away with firearms all together, or they were horrified by the violence and wanted a gun of their own to protect themselves from the riff raff. Looking back, neither option was either reasonable or practical.

1352571201997_7342203When I moved to VT, I found that guns are just a part of life here. You live in a rural area, you hunt, you protects your garden from critters or your front porch from bears. My Mom had a black bear up on her second story deck a year or so ago, going after the bird food. Stuff like that isn’t uncommon and, as a result, neither are handguns and hunting rifles.

Here’s the thing.

Having a couple of rifles for hunting, or a handgun for home protection is perfectly reasonable.


C'mon, that's cheating.

C’mon, that’s cheating.

What isn’t reasonable? A semi-automatic rifle that shoots 10 rounds per second (AK-47). Unless you are preparing for a zombie apocalypse, there is no legitimate reason to have that kind of firepower in your home. Seriously. Name one. LEGITIMATE.

There’s the slippery slope argument

“Well if you start regulating semi-automatic weapons, then it’s just a matter of time before Uncle Sam busts into your cellar and takes away the Luger your granddad brought home for WWII”

Yes. Because equating a handgun, hunting rifle, shotgun or pistol to a gun that our troops in Afghanistan use to flush out insurgents is a perfectly logical leap.funny-image-111

“You shouldn’t take guns out of the hands of responsible gun owners.”

Okay… So who determines what constitutes a “responsible gun owner?” If you are advocating responsible gun ownership, doesn’t it follow that you should be in support of legislation that requires firearm training before you can purchase something that has the potential to kill people?

“Guns don’t kill people, people kill people.”

Compensation-sizeOk, granted. A gun is an inanimate object that needs a person to use it (or drop it or mishandle it causing it to fire accidentally). The fact remains, that a person, intent upon killing another person, is a lot more likely to be successful with a gun than without. And yeah, there are people out there who are going to kill other people no matter what, but why make it easy for them?

“We need to keep guns out of the hands of criminals and the mentally ill.”


Ok… First of all, keeping guns out of the hands of criminals? Great idea. But pretty much impossible without stricter regulations and background checks. Because the guy who just got out of prison for kidnapping and rape is not going to check off “yes, I have been convicted of a felony.” Okay, okay, so I know the background checks are more thorough than that, but they’re still way to lax to be reliable in keeping guns out of the hand of violent criminals. And of course background checks have nothing to say about people who’ve never been convicted of anything… Oh, and let’s not forget, it’s pretty easy for someone to borrow someone else’s AK-47 with no background check at all.

Keeping guns out of the hands of the mentally ill… Where do I start with the bad there… Let’s break it down in an orderly bulleted list.

  • Who determines what mental illness prevents gun ownership? Major Depression? Schizophrenia? Bipolar? Because if you’re trying to say that the government can’t be allowed to regulate gun ownership, how can you trust them to say who is and who isn’t mentally stable enough to own a gun? Good lord, Ted Nugent would never make the cut.
  • How exactly do you keep track of that? Do we just throw HIPPA out the window and comb through everyone’s treating notes to catch the one time Sally said “Ohhhh I’m so angry I could just kill him!?”
  • What about the people who’ve never gotten treatment? How do we weed them out? Should we go around and ask the neighbors if Johnny seems kinda weird? Does Brandon listen to that heavy metal music? Oh, and keep them away from Joan, she’s a single mom and we know they’re ALL crazy.
  • Again, like the criminals, what’s to prevent them from getting the guns elsewhere? The Newton shootings? He got those guns from his mom… who can’t even say “Oops” because he killed her.guns_vs_mental_health_political_cartoon

So yes. I believe that people should be allowed to have guns. And yes, I believe those guns should be regulated. And No, I don’t think the second amendment gives you the right to keep an arsenal in your house that Saddam Hussein would be jealous of.

A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the People to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.

Well Regulated.

Suck on that Charlton Heston.351566

And yet…

I should really just not look at myself in the mirror in public bathrooms.

I mean yes, wash my hands and all of course, but I really need to avoid looking up and viewing myself under the glaring flourescent light that blatantly reveals every imperfection I have ever had, anywhere on my person.

Because I will inevitably pick, poke, prod or postition. I’ll lean in close to the mirror to inspect the yellow spot on my tooth that I’d never noticed before or to poke at a pimple (yes, gross), or OHMIGOD is that a black hair growing out of my CHIN????Or I might stand back, pull my shirt up and poke at the loose skin on my stomach to see if I can make it not pooch out under my sweater. Or brush dandruff out of my hair and dog hair off my ass. Or maybe even adjust the girls so they’re not all off-kilter after 200lbs and 2 kids.

And always, ALWAYS, someone will walk in. And there will be this awkward moment as a stranger or a coworker looks at me bent over with one hand down my shirt while the other jiggles my bra cup or an inch away from the mirror trying to pluck the errant hair from my chin (seriously, what is that?) and I laugh nervously and mumble some random excuse for being found in such a compromising position. And I quickly shuffle out and spend the next 10 minutes mortified and praying I don’t see that person again for at least another half hour (or longer depending on what exactly I got caught in the middle of…).

And yet…

I continue to do it. Like the freaking Ponies, I can’t help but look. And then I have to fix it. Whatever is wrong (and there is always something) I have to attempt to make it go away, which of course makes it worse 99% of the time. So I end up embarrassed with an angry red blotch on my face tragically highlighting the pimple I was just trying to get rid of. funny-awkward-dog-shower-cap-bulldog-pics

A text from The Zen Master


And we have climbing.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

Just because it made me giggle…



My morning so far…

Cough, cough, hack…. Ewwwwwwww.

Zen Master leaves for work.

Peach in the walker in the living room while I lay on the couch trying to regain consciousness.

Sesame Street
Elmo’s World (gag)

Goldfish and Cheerios

For The Peach… Because next for me?

Fasting labs.

Pee in a cup, 13 vials of blood.

“Oops! Sorry, I need 2 more.”


Pick up Princess Punk.

Grocery Shopping.

Blueberry pancakes…


It’s not even 11 yet.

Am I allowed to go back to bed now?


This time? Sooooo not me.
The Zen Master has not been with it this week. I’m a teeny tiny bit annoyed. Just a tad. Really…


Ok. Maybe more than a tad.

I love my husband.

A lot.

He does a lot of things for me and for our family. Just last night, he went grocery shopping, cooked dinner, cleaned the kitchen and did laundry. The thing he did not do?

He did not tell Princess Punk to stop acting like an evil little snitch and turn off the TV and do her goddamn chores. Or something to that effect but not so bitchy.

I got to do that. With a splitting headache, in a fog of cold medicine, with almost no voice. I got to be the angry, mean, horrible, “I HATE you” parent. And The Peach spent her evening alternately crying miserably or slapping me every time I held her, while simultaneously hollering “DADADADADADADA” as loud as her voluminous lungs would allow. Which is pretty goddamn loud.

Whoops... Replacement came in early today. Cry me a river.

Whoops… Replacement came in early today. Cry me a river.

And I’m tired of it. I’m tired of being the strict parent, bad cop, bitch… Whatever you want to call it. I’m tired of Princess Punk coming to me everytime she wants something and then getting mad at me when I say no, even if it’s for good reason.

“No, you can’t have that expensive new smart phone because we don’t have enough money to pay our electric bill.”

“Fine. Whatever. I don’t care.” (stomping around and slamming of doors)

I’m sick. And Grouchy. And I’m lonely. Because I’m just there, I’m just the cop, the taxi driver, the cook, the maid, the rocking chair. I’m not part of the family. Princess Punk only deigns to speak to me when she wants something. If I’m lucky I get a good day from The Peach where I’m more than just a sounding board for how mad she is that the doggie took her cheerios and how much she dislikes her socks and how she had an all orange lunch today. Oh, and I’m also her deli, since food tastes so much better if I’m eating it than if it was on her tray. I swear to God, the kid ate ALL of my mashed potatoes last night, right after she had refused said mashed potatoes in her high chair.

imagesCAC65KT8And The Zen Master? I feel like (and this is most likely not the case but regardless it’s how it feels) the only time I can get any attention from him is when I whine or when I grab his junk. Yes. Yes, I actually said that. Deal with it.

I appreciate him going to the store and cooking and cleaning last night, I really do. But what I really needed was to not have to be mad and angry and yelled at and whined at and beat upon. I wanted him to be the leader and for me to follow. Or retreat into a Mucinex induced coma. Or whatever.

And after the fourth time I told Princess Punk to get her shit together and finish her chores, I yelled “I QUIT” and slammed my dinner onto a plate and went into the bedroom and slammed the door. And then, because I could hear The Peach scrambling into the kitchen at breakneck speed (that rugrat can move) and The Princess on the couch and The Zen Master in the kitchen, both sternly saying “Peach!. Noooooo Peach. “Get back here Peach. Hey! Peeeeeeeach…” but not actually pursuing her, I stomped into the kitchen, snatched up my youngest spawn and brought her into the bedroom with me. Where she then ate my mashed potatoes.You know what?

Fuck you. Fuck you all.


I ended up sleeping on the couch because I was coughing so hard.

The Zen Master left without a good-bye kiss this morning.

Can I get a do-over? Where I calmly ask my husband to take over the parenting duties (heh… duties) so I can lay down so my head doesn’t explode?

I think I’ll move the boxes out of the closet.imagesCA1Y88TV

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