Long time gone…

I’m still Alive!

Just… Busy. And experiencing a ridiculous bout of writer’s block.


Happy Halloween

Happy Thanksgiving

Happy Channukah

Blessed Yule

Merry Christmas

Happy Kwanzaa

Happy New Year


Happy Birthday Peach!

My one and only New Year’s resolution is to get back to my blog. And that might mean me posting some brief and perhaps nonsensical posts because I’ll be trying to post just to get back in the habit of posting. Post. Post. Post… Now the word looks funny. I’m thinking that maybe just posting a little bit here and there might help me get back into a decent flow and break through this dammed writer’s block, one stone at a time. Like how I did that? Dammed? Stone?

Ugh. I need to practice writing again. Even my word play is sadly lacking.



Driving me crazy… Oh. Wait.

Ok. So I’m already crazy.

I’m just incredibly irritated.

Because I finally have a working computer and a place to sit that has been deemed dont-you-ever-sit-there-or-put-your-sister-there-that-is-MY-space. And I’m having some weird sort of writer’s block. It’s not like i can’t write anything at all, I think I’ve posted more in the last 2 weeks than I did for the entire summer, but it’s that I’ve had all these fantastic posts bubbling around in my head and now I can’t seem to access them.

It’s like our pool. We have this lovely pool (that I personally never go in, but everybody else does) and it sits under two lovely trees. So there is constantly all manner of leaves and bugs and sticks and stuff in there that has to be skimmed out. Fine. But then The Peach decided that the skimmer was a really cool shovel and proceeded to (in the span of about 30 seconds while we weren’t looking) dig in the stones by the house and put several large holes in it. So you skim the pool, and everything just slips through the skimmer. Some stuff gets caught, but if you don’t grab it right away, the flow of the water pushes it right through one of those big Peach pits.

Which is where my brain is at right now. I have all these fantastic posts that are practically already written, but I keep dipping into the thought pool to skim them and they just quietly slip through the holes. And yeah, a couple get caught, but if I don’t get them written right away (like this past weekend), they stick briefly, then swish through. If I’m lucky I’ll get another shot if it swirls around again, but I think most of them just break down and get absorbed back into the larger thought flow.

Is there such thing as a thought pool vacuum?

A work in progress…

I am currently sitting in my room, at my desk, on my now working laptop.

It is SO nice to have an actual keyboard to type on.

But we’re still shifting. Trying to make this home fit us, to make this living situation work.

So here’s a (very) rough floor plan-

A General Idea

A General Idea

This is not working too well.

The Family Room has been completely taken over by Princess Punk. It’s gross, the couch (that came with the house) is busted and itchy and the carpet (the only one in the house) is disgusting. Here’s the thing… She’s completely taken over My Mom’s space too. They were supposed to share, but… Have you ever shared anything with a 14-year-old? And both of the girls have wormed their way into my bedroom and latched their sharp little claws into my own space.

The room where the hot tub is was supposed to be my private space. It isn’t. It’s full of spiders and is smells funny from the spa chemicals. It’s fine for the 20-30 minutes I need to soak the worst of my aches out, but as a place for me to just hang out? Nope.

So here’s the current plan… TV and PS3 will move into what is now the living room and will become the family room. The Playwoom (yes I spelled that right) will move into what is now the family room and Princess Punk will move her art space in there as well. It’s much more appropriate (and sanity-inducing) for siblings to share space rather than a teenager share a space with her grandmother.

I’m still working out where I want to be, but honestly, if I can keep the girls out of my bedroom and get a more comfortable desk and chair, I’m fine here. All I want is a comfortable place to write, play CandyCrush and watch Netflix.


Just a little furniture moving...

Just a little furniture moving…

So, a small change should make a big difference-
And The Zen Master? He has the majority of the basement. Not too worried about him. Although he might need a door. Don’t want another generation walking into his office while he’s viewing “questionable material” on his computer…

Good Things Come to…

Waited long enough for me hunh?

I can’t guarantee this post will make up for it, but I will (I hope) be posting a bit more frequently so I don’t go another 6 weeks with nada…


I’m awesome.

Since we last parted ways my dear blog, quite a few things have happened.

  • I turned 35… honestly, not a huge deal, but still, one of those birthday milestones.
  • I got a new(ish) car
  • The Zen Master got a new(ish) car… before you go thinking we won the lottery or something, after some serious number crunching, we discovered that, with our improved, all-grown-up-now credit scores, a car payment with a service plan on a newer car with better gas mileage (Civic for The Zen Master, Prius for me) will cost us the same as gas and repairs for his beater trick and my Subaru. Turns out, the gas mileage on the Prius is so good (50+mpg), I’m actually ahead a little bit. The Zen Master just replaced Bertha last weekend, so we’ve yet to see the benefit there. Since we have been paying an average of $100+ monthly on repairs and on a good day(when it was running at all) the beastly vehicle got about 8mpg, it’s a safe bet that he’ll at least be breaking even as well. Not to mention the “will it start today?” anxiety is done with. Oh, and we kept the Subaru (wouldn’t have been worth much on trade and my father “lost” the title) so now My Mom has a way to get around too.
  • The Peach is using the potty. When she feels like it. Mostly. Sporadically. Kinda… At least she doesn’t think it’s “gwose” anymore.
  • Princess Punk is a STAR. She graduated 8th grade. And got “The Presidential Award For Outstanding Academic Achievement.” This award is presented to (quoting from the US Department of Education) “students that show outstanding educational growth, improvement or commitment… It is meant to encourage and reward students who work hard and give their best effort in school, often in the face of special obstacles to their learning.” Because she is amazing. Even though she won’t get her ass out of bed right now. Oh yeah… She’s also probably going to make varsity soccer when school starts. She’s participating in an informal summer league with the high school team and a handful of middle school players. It’s being coached by the high school coach and he is impressed by her defensive skills. Although he has mentioned that she better start running more and get up her stamina. Princess Pink is stocky and muscular and she can run faster than most of the girls out there. For a very short distance. Which is great when she’s right by the goal and needs to beat the offense to the corner, but if she has to bring the ball up the field, she slows down fast. The girls move the ball up and down the field a lot more in high school, she’s gone have to put in some work to keep up. She can do it, but she is being particularly grumpy and lazy about it at the moment. The team is going to start running in a week or 2, 2 miles, twice a week. That ought to get her going. Note if she would just get going this morning… Oh look! Zombie Teen just walked into my room… Oh. And flopped onto MY bed. That’s not helpful.
  • I am awesome at my job. New trainees LUUUURVE me. And I’m totally loving being a competent trainer.
  • I have a new friend! I’m going to have to come up with a suitable blog name for her. One of the noobs at work, we hit it off right away and are hanging out (like actually outside of work hanging out) on a regular basis. She’s weird. And awesome. And perverted. Just like me. SWEET!

So anyway… laptop is still not fixed. I’m writing this on my kindle, still better than from my phone, but still a pain in the arse.

I’m hoping to be able to post more often… I miss you Blog.


Been awhile hunh?

Didja miss me?

You know you did…

Soooo… Let me start by saying, the title to today’s post has absolutely nothing to do with any battery-powered “massagers” that I may or may not have stashed in my underwear drawer. In the back. Under the black and pink striped bra…

I digress.

Today’s post is actually about just how motherfucking busy I have been of late. Like a bee… Get it?

Work- Buzzz… Training new hires, managing my own workload and taking on a committee that I probably don’t have time for. Loving it though.

New house- Buzz buzzz… I adore my new house. Seriously. This is the first time I’ve felt like I’m home since I was a kid. This is my space, my family’s space and it’s home. That being said… There seems to be some kind of new issue/problem/repair/clusterfuck every day.

Thank you SO much Peppa Pig. ~sigh~

Thank you SO much Peppa Pig. ~sigh~

The paved driveway has more potholes that the dirt road to My Mom’s old house. That expense is going to have to wait. Right now we’re just kinda swerving (maybe pivoting? It’s a short driveway) around the deep ones in order to preserve the exhaust systems on the cars. The Peach thinks it’s fantastic and everytime it rains she has to go “jump in muddy puwdews?”

The pool that Princess Punk was so excited about? Well, the snow melted and we discovered that the previous owner (let’s just call her Frivolous Fanny… Heh… Fanny) had “neglected” to cover the pool over the winter and as a result the liner is shredded and needs to be replaced. As this is a major part of the backyard that would probably require $10,000 to remove and re-landscape and is actually a good investment should we ever decide to sell, we must replace it. That and the fact that Princess Punk’s bottom lip will hit the pavement if we don’t. So… New liner. A little expensive, but easy-peasy right? Wrong. Frivolous Fanny had a tendency to spend a lot of money on things. Top of the line everything. Ok… Top of the line things that she could brag about. God forbid she spend as much money on the electrical system in the house as the TWELVE THOUSAND DOLLAR ABOVE GROUND POOL. Yes. Seriously. Custom built, wood-sided, last forever (if you take care of it) above ground pool. So it needs a special liner. And a foam liner as well since the plastic liner can’t be directly against the wood or it will tear in a fairly short amount of time. And, since she didn’t cover it over the winter, the lining split a little bit. And then water got in-between the lining and the pool. And then it froze. And expanded. And blew out some of the packed-sand base and rocks surrounding the bottom on one side. So it’ll be expensive to fix. Like The Zen Master and I hitting our rather meager Scottrade retirement account (he was NOT happy) and My Mom hitting her rather meager IRA (she was NOT happy) expensive. And when I asked the guy who came to fix it (and left because it was going to take twice as long as he thought and he was already booked for another job that day) if it was worth it, he said, “You know, if this was a regular above-ground, I’d probably tell you don’t bother. But I was the one who actually installed this one and it’s definitely worth it to fix. And if you let it go like this, it’ll be truly ruined.” I need to remember to call him to see when he’s coming back. Princess Punk has her heart set on a pool party for her 8th grade graduation and it’ll take at least a week to warm up after it gets filled since the tap water is about 42 degrees.

Yes. That is my backyard. Jealous?

Yes. That is my backyard. Jealous?

We have a yard. Like a real yard, with gorgeous trees and a Big. Flat. Lawn. We have an acre of land total (which is a rarity since we’re actually in town) and I’m not sure how much of it is grass, but it’s… A lot. Definitely more than Princess Punk, The Zen Master and I combined could handle with our crappy little lawn mower that isn’t even running right now. Since we couldn’t manage any more one-time major chunks of pay-this-now-so-your-house-doesn’t-fall-to-shit, we went to Sears and got a 12 months, no interest, line of credit on a brand new little riding mower. With a bag. Because there is no friggin way I am raking up all those grass clippings. It’s actually pretty cool and if we can afford it someday, we can actually attach a snow-blower to it so we don’t have to pay to plow.

There are little things all over the house that keep… Fitzing. New word. Let’s see…

Fitz (‘fits) transitive verb – to break unexpectedly, causing a new homeowner stress and expense; generally referring to a small annoyance rather than a crushing financial blow.

The wall lights in the bathroom just completely fitzed.

 The wall lights in the bathroom completely fitzed. The mirror backsplash (Yes. Mirror.) behind the stove developed a 2-foot crack. The 3-season porch (that was supposed to be my special place) has undergone land development by ants as if it were Miami beachfront instead of a slate floor with too much loose mortar. The windows in the living room keep coming off their tracks. Some of the pipes in the basement are leaking. Again. The downstars bathroom sink isn’t draining properly. The doorknob on Princess Punk’s room gets stuck, both open and closed. The shelves in the door of the fridge are breaking off. One of the garage doors doesn’t always open. The other garage door never opens. There’s a light in the garage that we can’t find a switch for. Oh, and I’m pretty sure there’s a squirrel living in the attic.

And we’d like to have a garage sale at some point this summer. Because combining 2 households that both already had to much stuff then adding on all the crap that Frivolous Fanny decided she didn’t want to bother moving makes for OBFM… That’d be One Big Fucking Mess.


Kids- BUZZBUZZZ BUZZITY-FUCKING-BUZZ… The Peach is a joy. And a total pain in my butt. She is absolutely friggin nuts and delights in doing really weird shit and then gets extremely pissed off when you call her on it.

“OUCH! GODDAMMIT, do NOT put your wooden blocks under the rug!”


And then she stomps over to my bedroom door, looks at me, slams it, and proceeds to kick at it until her fat little toe makes actual physical contact with the door. Then she cries woefully, sticks her foot in my face and says,

“Moooooommmmm… I hab a booboo… kissit.”

Princess Punk is… Well, she’s a teenager. We live in town now. Princess Punk walks to school. It takes her about 3 minutes to walk to soccer practice. Which is really nice because I can actually be cooking dinner instead of waiting for her to call me for a ride. Several of her friends live within a block or two of us. And we have this great back yard. And a pool table (yet another thing that Frivolous Fanny decided it was too much trouble to move). So our house has become… The Spot. More and more frequently, I find teenagers in my house when I get home from work. They’re just… There.  And while I’d much rather have them here where I know who she’s with and what she’s doing, it is still taking some getting used to. Not to mention, there are boys there now. Did you see the last post? One of the kids she knows lives 2 houses down and cuts through our backyard on his way home on a fairly regular basis. So he ends up stopping by occasionally to play video games and hang out. He managed to be “walking by” when The Princess and two of her girlfriends were playing around with a hose in the backyard. In their 2-piece suits. 20140525_142703

“Heeheehee OHMYGOD, don’t give him the hose! EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!”

Smart kid.

So basically, what I’m saying here is… Life is good. But TOTALLY chaotic. So I’m posting when I can, but I’m thinking it’s not going to be super frequently until things settle down a teeny bit. I do miss my blog, and I’m going to try and take a minute here and there to write (this post took me 4 days), but….



Finding the new normal

M74~Normal-People-PostersRelatively speaking of course. I mean… Seriously, I could never have described myself as “normal.” What is normal anyway? Is anyone really normal?

I digress.

Things are starting to settle in. 90% of our crap is moved in. The other 10% are the various odds and ends that you end up throwing into one big box because you’re just so damned tired of packing already. Stuff that you pack because you probably don’t need it, but you might.

Although 90% of our stuff is moved, I’d estimate that only about 60% is actually in the place it’s supposed to be. And because this is a big new house with a big new family configuration, figuring out exactly where exactly those places are is… Challenging. My new kitchen? Great. With about a million cupboards, drawers, pantries and cubbies in which to stow our myriad of dishes, pots, pans, utensils and multiple kitchen appliances. Who the hell uses a yogurt maker anyway? Trying to suss out where to put all our stuff so that I can actually use the kitchen efficiently is becoming a headache. At least once, every time I cook something, I find myself saying, “Now why the fuck did we put that there?” The pantry is built-in, massive and deep. As in, God help you if you need a can that migrated to the back wall deep. So we’re trying to figure out how to utilize all the space so we won’t have to put a miner’s light on The Peach and send her into the void just cuz we want some mac n’ cheese.

My Mom’s space is crowded, but seems mostly moved in. Unfortunately, the act of moving combined with increased Peach-care has left her too tired to use it most of the time. We’re trying to get to get the chaos down to a moderate level so we can work out a childcare schedule that doesn’t completely suck every ounce of energy out of her. There’s no reason she should end up watching The Peach any more than she did before she was living with us. Since The Peach is now a F5 tornado with the tendency to speed through the house, naked and screeching, I think it’s wise to work that out soon before My Mom completely loses her shit.

The Zen Master is slowly taking over the basement. We’ve been married 3 and a half years now, and I still cannot even venture a guess at how his brain works about some things. He seems to have a system going down there, but it looks like he’s just moving things around randomly. The stuff that isn’t random is peculiar. Since the laundry room is in the basement, he’s now taken over the entirety of the chore. It used to be Princess Punk’s job to fold, but now he does that too. And then puts the neatly (sort of) folded clothes in neatly labeled drawers for each of us. In the basement. 2 floors down from my dresser. When I asked him about it, he said, “People can just come get their clothes when they want to put them away so I don’t run out of baskets cuz they’re sitting there with clean clothes in them.” “People” in this statement would be referring to ME.  3 points babe.

Legos are AWESOME. Laundry Baskets are AWESOME. Legos and laundry baskets are AWESOME!

Legos are AWESOME. Laundry Baskets are AWESOME. Legos and laundry baskets are AWESOME!

The Peach? LOVING IT. Although, she’s so enthusiastic about everything, it may just be everyday life in general that is making her so cheerfully gleeful. I gotta say, I never get tired of coming home to, “Mommy home!!! Hooowaaayyy!!!” That statement is however, frequently followed by a hem tug and, “Mom. Mom! I hungwy. Go get me to eat.” With a subsequent “Peeeeeeeeze?” if I’m very lucky. She has a “big-girl-bed” now. It’s actually quite pretty, honey oak and solid wood. Cheap too. Thank you Random-Asian-Laborer who makes less in a month than I do in a half-hour. I feel shitty about buying that stuff because I know it promotes unfair labor practices. But I still do and hope that maybe those underpaid workers will figure out us fat-assed Americans have been taking advantage of their cheap labor and revolt, cause a paradigm shift in the world economy and subsequently establish us as a utopian Roddenberry-esque world. Anyway. Where was I? Right… The Peach’s new bed. Twin-size and tucked under the window in her new room, she has slept in it since we put it together (about a week and a half) and, for the past 3 nights, has not only slept alone, but has fallen asleep alone after a bedtime story and a tuck in. She is enjoying having her own room and actually stays quietly in bed for a little while in the morning after she wakes up. Amazingly, I got to sleep until 7:30 on Saturday until I woke up to, “Moooom. Mommy… Geh UP Mom.” And, when I appeared bleary-eyed in her doorway, “Mom, I pee in the bed, look…” We need to find her some better diapers.

Princess Punk has claimed her space and it already looks like her closet, backpack and desk simultaneously exploded in the middle of her bedroom. And she HAS unpacked already. But she’s happy. And she’s able to walk to school and she absolutely Can. Not. Wait. until the weather improves so she can use our amazing backyard and POOL. Oh, and she’s already planning the 8th grade graduation party. We’re trying to navigate rules and chores and guidelines in the new house. It was apparently her belief that in the new house, there were no established rules so she could do whatever she wanted. Which she learned (the hard, “you’re grounded,” way) that this was, in fact, not the case. But the adults in the house are also adjusting to new disciplines and structures since the way we did things before doesn’t always translate to our current situation.

BTW, she did a drawing on her ipad that was so good (as her drawings frequently are), I went to Snapfish and got it put on canvases and it now hangs in our new living room.

My girl is talented. Nuff Said.

My girl is talented. Nuff Said.

As for me? Still don’t have my own space worked out. The bedroom is nice, but I can’t sit in bed comfortably with the new mattress and therefore, have no place to type. Hence the no posting for a while. The 3-season porch where my space will be is currently crammed with boxes and freezing cold. There is a hot tub on the way (YAY!). It’s small, plug-and-play and one of the most energy-efficient on the market. It’s also going to be a tax-write-off since I’ll be using it as therapy for chronic pain (actually suggested by my physical therapist). There’s a small, disconnected gas stove out there that we’ll need to hook back up, and that, combined with the heat from the tub and some plastic sheeting on the windows should make it comfortable enough to sit in even if the hot tub is not in use. So I’ll be putting a chair out there and some speakers so I can blog and listen to my audiobooks and chill out to my heart’s content. Definitely looking forward to that.

Nice, right?

Nice, right?

And our bedroom is nice. Oddly shaped because of the way the roof and dormer windows are, but big enough to fit our furniture nicely. Plus, some built-in drawers to put linens and towels in since our bathroom is the size of a closet and doesn’t even have space for a trash can let alone shelves or even a towel rack.

So settling in. Moving things along. And finding a new, often better, happier way to be a family.

At a loss for words. Yeah, me.

So I haven’t been blogging. Obviously. But I came to the realization tonight that I really, REALLY need to. I’ve been incredibly stressed lately. Things are wonderful and exciting and sad and infuriating all at the same time.

And terrifying. Can’t forget terrifying.

But tonight I figured out that I really have to blog. Because I’ve been censoring myself lately. Because I’ve been told that I’m annoying. And needy. And inconsiderate.

I had my evaluation at work yesterday. And while it was ok (satisfactory would be the word they used), there was also a survey from some of my peers about my good… and bad qualities.

I’m “mopey.” And “inappropriate.” And “unapproachable.” And I bring too much of my personal life to work.

My therapist even snapped at me.

And at home, I can’t seem to say anything without getting the impression (or being told straight out) that I’m just this huge emotional vortex and I can’t think of anyone but myself.

Which is really not the case at all.

I just don’t hold anything back. I don’t censor myself. If someone asks me how I am, or how my day was, I’m not going to smile and nod and say “fine” when I’m just not. Apparently most people do that. I just don’t. What you see is what you get.

So lately, I’ve just been avoiding people. Which doesn’t really come across as particularly friendly either. But I don’t really know what else to do. I’ve been withdrawing from my family, my friends, my co-workers, because I’m REALLY FUCKING TRYING not to burden anyone else with my shit. Because I KNOW that everybody has their own shit to deal with. That is just as important as mine. But because I’m trying to damp it down, to keep my stuff to myself so that I don’t appear like I’m seeking attention or pity or whatever the fuck people are thinking, I keep erupting at random intervals in this clusterfuck bundle of emotions that I can’t even sort out. The other day, my physical therapist asked me if I wanted to start my session on the treadmill and I just started crying. I don’t think I was sad, or angry. I don’t even know what it was. But I couldn’t stop. I cried the entire 45 minute session. I felt like an idiot. I felt weak and stupid and helpless and I HATE feeling like that.

We have a new house. It’s wonderful. But it’s not new, it’s old. It needs work. And money is not really readily available. I’m not even going to get into that whole heap of bullshit. We ran out of oil tonight. Which is particularly bad because we’re having the downstairs floor refinished and the finish can’t cure or something if the house is below 70. Which is difficult even with a full tank of oil because the house is old and kinda drafty. So we may need to call the floor guy tomorrow morning and tell him to wait because we can’t get an oil delivery until Monday and when I tried to give the phone to The Zen Master so the oil guy could tell him how to bleed the fuel line if we put diesel (yes. diesel) in the tank, he almost cried. And then he yelled at The Peach (who had just started tearing up some mail) and stormed into the basement. My ZEN MASTER. And all of My Mom’s worldly possessions are clustered in the living room because my adoring father (that was sarcasm) told her that she needed to come get her shit NOW or he was going to put it out in the driveway. The day before the biggest storm so far this year. And two days before we actually owned the fucking house. So she had to get movers in to pack AND move her instead of having a few days to pack on her own. We’re estimating he cost her about $1000 extra for the labor.

So it’s a little crowded. and stressful. And at the moment, cold. But we’re all here and safe and happy and together so it WILL be ok.

But anyway. All of this whole diatribe was to share my final conclusion. I HAVE TO WRITE THIS BLOG. I will completely disintegrate if I don’t have an outlet that is completely unfettered and free-reign where I can get shit out without worrying about hurting someone’s feelings or making someone angry, or making someone else feel like I need something from them. Because I don’t. All I need is to talk.

And here? Here is where I do that.

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