I Cannot Be Trusted in Public

I went on my little trip to Ohio for the wedding. See previous blog. When I got there, my daughter and her fiance took me to this international festival that they have in Dayton every year. We were there for about 2 hours and then they had to go “work” their volunteer shifts. I wandered around for about 30 minutes after they started working, but quickly got bored with seeing the same things over and over again.  I mean, you can only walk past a virgin Piña Colada so many times before you convince yourself that you are in dire need of hard liquor. I decided it was time for a mission. I left the convention center that was conveniently located downtown on a mission for vodka. I walked halfway down the street and found nothing so I turned back and headed the other way. As luck would have it, there was a busker (street musician) playing a guitar so I tipped him and asked him to stop playing. In hindsight, that was probably really rude, but he humored me and took a break to talk to me.  He pointed me in the direction of the bars. “Down three blocks, under the railroad bridge to the cobblestone road.” When I told my friend, she asked me if I asked for directions to the bar or the wizard. I assured her the bar and he was, in fact, spot on. Just to be sure, I asked a local valet where the closest place was for a drink and then I added, also, single straight men, because I have been mistaken as batting for the other team at times, and I was about 90% sure he was too, so I just wanted to end up in the right spot, ya know?

He pointed me in the direction of the bar. I walked in to an alternate universe. It was the most bizarre, inclusive, beautiful little place, ever! It was called Blind Bob’s. I wasn’t sure what was going on because there were young people, old people,  gay people, straight people, white people, non-white people, hip hop people, redneck looking people and everyone was getting along. There were no fights, no dirty looks, no wierd stares, not even at me, the girl who walked in alone with a henna tattoo on one hand and a collection of drinking and admission bands on the other with a kavu bag slung over her shoulder while wearing a girly sundress. I’m sure I was also quite a sight. I should also mention that I had been driving in the sun and heat all day. I did not shower before we left to go out.  Also, my “natural” deodorant doesn’t usually last all day, so I cover it up with patchouli essential oil (insert maniacal laugh here).  My point is, Blind Bob, was indeed blind. Maybe that’s why it’s called Blind Bob’s. Maybe they want everyone to feel comfortable?!  It worked. I felt so comfortable that I was able to drink my usual, double shot of vodka chilled and ice water with extra lemons, with no question to my safety or welfare. I did not have one negative vibe that I would be raped and pillaged by the end of the night. Not that it would have mattered by the end of the night anyway, because after two double shots and a few liquid marijuanas, I was offering to lick people’s faces and handing out my number like it was a free concert flyer.  Luckily, prior to my overindulgence, I sent the girls my whereabouts so they could come pour me into an Uber later. They did…. after taking me to a few more bars just to be sure I had a great time. Then, we got home and my daughter and I  went swimming in 53 degree weather….in our underwear.

I will never deny that I am quite a good time with vodka involved, but it is usually wise for me to stop after the 4th shot or the 2nd double shot before things go downhill or maybe they go uphill, in a roller-coaster fashion, and I cannot be trusted in public.

There was a Wedding!

There was a Wedding!

I’ve been missing in action from the blogosphere for a minute. It was nothing personal. And it wasn’t because I was depressed and/or my life was falling apart. Quite the opposite actually.

I guess I will go back to the beginning. My lovely (beautiful and most favorite) daughter told me in December that she and her girlfriend were going to get married in May.  I’m paraphrasing here, but she basically told me that they did not want to have a wedding (traditional or other) and they didn’t want anyone there. So, basically, the only way I was going to be invited would be if I got ordained and performed their wedding (no pressure).

So….. I did the only thing a mom could do. I went online and got ordained. I know, I know. You’re thinking, “what the fuck were they thinking giving you that kind of power!?!?” Don’t worry. I won’t let it go to my head, until I get ready to start that cult I’ve been dreaming of.

That happened in January. I’ve basically been keeping that little fact a secret, because I didn’t really know what excuse I could use to tell all my friends and family “hey, I can totally perform your wedding now!” So I’ve kept it under wraps.

Last weekend was the big day.

I drove to Ohio, where my daughter lives, carrying along a beautiful “non-wedding” cake in the back seat of my car. The bakery gave me specific instructions on how to travel with cake. “Keep it level and keep it cool.” No problem. My 2001 Honda with no air conditioning should be perfectly temperate on a late may day, right? Yea…. about that…..

 

image
The leaning cake, originally perfectly straight,  made by MagPies of Knoxville, TN

I brought two towels from home to wrap up the cake, went to Walmart and bought three bags of ice. I put one towel around the cake box, stacked the ice around the towel, a bag on each side and one underneath, placed the second towel around the ice to keep in the cool. The bag of ice underneath the cake was perfectly level. I thought I was a genius.

I did not take into account that my five hour drive may turn into six or that ice typically melts in a non-uniform fashion. Also, I may have forgotten to put a towel under the cardboard box between it and the sweating, melting bag of ice thus almost creating a    soggy mess, but, I made it to Ohio and the cake only looked like the leaning tower of Pisa, slightly. We put it in the fridge as soon as I got to my destination. It wasn’t going to be eaten until two days later. So, we went about our weekend (see tomorrow’s blog about why you should never invite me out).

You may not realize how stressful it is to prepare for a wedding that is not supposed to be a wedding. First, I had to come up with a “ceremony” that was not very “ceremonious.” And to add to that, it had to be less than 3 minutes long. My five minute idea was too emotional and neither bride wanted to cry. Ugh!! We made it to the big day. there were six of us. A small, intimate, not-so-secret gathering. It went off without a hitch. Pictures were taken, cake was eaten (the crookedness did not take away from the flavor), drinks were had, dinner was enjoyed. And my first born daughter is now a wife. It was definitely a proud parenting moment.

 

Self Diagnosis

I recently started this working out thing. It’s not like a real thing. It’s more like, I wake up, shower, get dressed, take the kid to school and then get on the elliptical machine for 30 minutes at the YMCA. I sneak in and out like a ninja. I don’t mean illegally. I do have a membership. I just mean,  I get in and get out without too much conversation or eye contact. I know I should probably wait to shower until after I go. Maybe I will change that part of my routine, but then it throws a crimp in my toothbrushing ritual as I like to brush my teeth while showering. I told ya’ll about that. Anyway, I started this new thing because I’ve been feeling “off” lately. The ex told me just yesterday that he was having a conversation with some people from the old job and they were talking about me. “Not bad.” He said. Just that they all think I’m bipolar. Seriously? It kind of made me mad, because I do know there is something wrong with me right now, but then it kind of made me laugh, because three years of therapy and numerous psychs have never used the words bipolar with me. I wish they had. I’d have been the first in line to sign up for a crazy check. They don’t even make you wait when your diagnosis is bipolar. They just start cutting you checks. So, as much as I would like to be bipolar, I know that’s not it. I know part of my problem is Anxiety. If left untreated, it can present itself as depression and maybe even bipolar. And I have been untreated for years. I know medication can help a lot of people, but when I am on medication, it sucks the creative out of me. I don’t even see colors anymore. My whole world is grey. My dog could die and I wouldn’t even feel it. I don’t like that. I want to feel a range of emotions. I’m not gonna lie, though, the way this guy has hurt me recently, I wouldn’t snub my nose at some Buspirone or Citalopram or something of the sort. I’d like to not feel that. The problem though is that, then, I wouldn’t feel anything. I would sleep. I would eat, probably a lot. There would be no fucking. Definitely no blow jobs (and he’d be mad about that). But the other part of the problem, I am convinced is a vitamin deficiency. A few years ago, during routing bloodwork, I was told I had a B12 deficiency. That, in itself, can cause numerous problems that look like depression, anxiety, bipolar. I can also cause physical problems like forgetfulness, cramping and tingling and numbness in your limbs. And I’ve had all of that.  So I’ve been on this quest for “healing.” I’ve been overdosing myself with B Vitamins. Usually taking a five hour energy in the morning  every other day and supplementing with B12, Iron, Magnesium, Calcium, MACA, Multivitamin. I’m a walking supplement factory (not approved by the FDA). I haven’t been doing it long enough for it to help yet, but I’m hoping soon. Because if it’s not the vitamin deficiency then there’s a very good chance my pet brain tumors are acting up. I’ve named them Tom and Jerry. I don’t talk about them much because they are supposed to be “non-incidental.” I think that’s the word the neurologists used. One on my frontal lobe. One on my pituitary. After I found out about them, I basically just put it out of my mind that they even exist. The problem with that, though, is that once I started having the tingling in my arms and the forgetfulness, my mind started wandering to all the things it could be. After ruling everything else out, my subconscious went straight to tumor. I’m sure that’s not what it is at all, but wouldn’t that just be the most perfect fate? I finally decide I’m going to write and I finally start being productive and I’m very close to making money doing something that I love and BAM! Dead of a Tumor. This is where Arnold breaks into my head and says, “It’s not a tumor!” I love him for that. But enough about Tom and Jerry, I’m sure they are still “non-incidental” and enough about the guy because I’m also sure that my mood swings have way more to do with the way he treats me and drives me crazy and a lot less to do with being bipolar. I am going to continue to focus on the vitamin deficiency. I’m adding Vitamin D to my list as that can cause some of the issues I’m having right now. And I will continue to just go about my life with a smile on my face as usual and maybe, possibly, just go have my brain checked out just for shits and giggles.

Back on My Hustle

I’m not much of a shopper. Actually, I’m not a shopper at all. I do like to go looking at thrift stores and vintage stores. I even go to the occasional estate sale, because I really like looking at other people’s lives. Especially old people’s. I don’t know why.  Maybe because things were cooler a few generations ago or maybe they were made better. Or maybe I’m just nosy as fuck. Either way, I like to go look, I rarely buy. Today, I stopped at the flea market by my house. Usually just a lot of junk and stuff that likely “fell off the back of a truck” aka was pulled out of store dumpster or stolen by a store employee instead of throwing it out.

Today, I went looking for a dog food container. I knew I probably wouldn’t find one, but I just don’t want to have to go buy a new one. Those things are expensive. I guess I could take my sister’s advice and just go buy a plastic tote, and maybe I will, but I stopped at the flea market first because they have a little bit of everything.

So, I walked around the whole thing. I got a really cool calendar for a quarter. I only got it for the inspirational quotes. I use my phone for all things really calendar related, but I guess it’s not a half bad idea to know what day it is when I’m all cooped up in my room writing. I also got a tea pot.  I’ve been shopping around for one for weeks now, but I just couldn’t justify paying $15-30 for a tea pot when I could just boil water in a saucepan and move on with my life, right?Anyway, I scored one for a buck.

Then, I was walking around some more and I saw this great set of dishes. Stoneware. I have dishes. They don’t match, but they do the job. But something was just drawing me to it. So I looked at them and asked the guy how much he wanted.  It was service for at least 5+. Dinner plates, salad plates, saucers and mugs. No bowls.  I tried to low ball him, but he turned it down.

I walked to my car and googled the brand. Turns out they were circa 1956- stoneware. I saw six pieces online for $189. I immediately went back and bought them with the hopes that I can sell them online for a little bit of a profit. The site that sells replacement plates, sells them for $29.99 each, and there are at least 8 plates, so I’m sure I can make a small profit on the whole set.

I also bought some cast steel or iron owls for super cheap that date back to 1969. I saw them for sale online too, so I’m going to try to sell those as well. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to get her hustle on, right?

I’m also in the middle of making some hula hoops for adults and some adult “greeting” cards that say everything you wanted to say, but just didn’t know how. I’m calling them Impossibly Inappropriate cards. It’s all just my feeble attempt at not having to work for another moron.

More about all of that later……

The Cabinet Came Down

A couple of months ago, I had to take almost all of the food out of one of my cabinets because it was pulling from the wall at  the top and I didn’t want the whole thing to come tumbling to the ground. So for the last little bit, I’ve had a counter full of canned vegetables (mostly organic black beans for some strange reason). And I’ve asked a handful of people to come help me fix it.

As we all know, (if you’re impatient and) if you want something done, you’d better do it yourself. So, today, I decided, was the day, I would try my hand at a little carpentry, I mean, Carpenter was my maiden name, after all. I took the cabinet off the wall. Initially, I was going to go get a new cabinet, until I found out how much a cabinet cost, which was about $90 for an unfinished cabinet. And it’s not even a big cabinet! Then I would have had to paint it and then watch paint dry, which I am not good at, at all!!

So…….instead of buying a new cabinet with money I didn’t really have to spend, I just ended up fixing the old cabinet myself. The back panel was coming off some, so I took some small nails and nailed it back in place, then I went to Lowe’s and got some drywall anchors for the screws, but as it turned out, I only really needed one because the rest of the screws were in a stud. Long story short, I fixed the cabinet and I was able to put my food back in it and it is still currently hanging on the wall with no signs of falling off.

Who needs a handyman when you can be your own handyman? I’m not going to get too carried away with all this self sufficiency,  but I do feel accomplished. And I will probably try to dig up a dead bush soon. I’ll keep you posted.

Parenting… the other side

With Mother’s day being yesterday, I thought I would let you all in on a little secret I’ve been keeping from you.  Recently, I started working on my first piece of non-fiction writing. I mean, aside from this blog. This is as non-fiction as it gets. But if you were in a literature class, however, the teacher would likely tell you to question everything because a first person perspective is not one that should be trusted. I always have that in the back of my mind when reading first person narratives. I’m always thinking, “do I like this person enough to trust them or are they a fucking liar?” And then I realize, I do the same thing in real life. But, I’m off track. So I decided to write a non-fiction piece and I was wracking my brain about what I could write about that I was really good at. I know, you’re thinking I’m writing a sex book, right? That would be a good guess, but I’m currently keeping the sex talk in the fictional piece I’m working on right now. Yes, I am working on two. No, neither of them is the sequel to my first book, but I will be getting there. I am feeling really writing motivated lately. Anyway, the book I’m working on is a parenting book, but not the kind of book that you pick up that was written by people with a PhD and no kids. It’s more like a handbook, from a “non-traditional” professional. I know there is some debate about whether you are an expert after completing 10,000 hours of something, but I’ve done the math, which is not my strong suit, but if I am correct, I’ve completed 210,240 hours of parenting. Half of that as a young mom. I got the idea because the other day, I was picking my kid up from school. High school. As I was standing in the office, this older lady walked in with a baby on her hip. She was signing out the baby’s mother, who was probably in the same grade as my son, ninth. I signed my kiddo out and went to the car. I was sitting in the car waiting for Mel when the girl and the lady with the baby walked out. The lady handed the baby to the girl and proceeded to pull out two garbage bags, a diaper bag, a pack of diapers, and a car seat. Then she politely got in the car and backed out leaving this little girl in the middle of the parking lot with her baby and all her stuff. I got out of the car, thinking she was going to burst into tears at any moment, and I asked the girl if she was ok and if I could do anything to help. Her only response was, “can you help me take all this stuff in to the office?”  Mel was there by that point and he grabbed all her bags and followed her in while I waited in the parking lot thinking to myself, “what the fuck just happened?”

Then I thought back to when I was a teen mom and all the stupid things I did that turned out to not ruin my kids, thank goodness. And I thought about all the books I read by all these “professionals” that never said anything about, “you may get left holding the baby, literally. What to do if that happens.” It never said anything about, “it’s ok to cry yourself to sleep. That doesn’t mean you are weak or a bad mom.” And about a million other things that I had to figure out on my own because all the books tell you is the pretty side of mothering and they never tell you the side of mothering that involves changing diapers at 5:30am and just falling back to sleep before your school alarm goes off. It doesn’t mention being the youngest parent in a room full of (what I considered) old people when your kid starts kindergarten and all the parents are 20 years older than you and established. So many things it doesn’t mention. So I decided to put a little book together to mention those things, in the enlightening way I like to mention everything, with a twist of sarcasm and an occasional “fuck.”   I’m very close to finishing it. I’ve been writing on it frantically. I’m going to self publish it. Mostly because it seems like everyone is pregnant right now and they are all under 25, so they need it now. Plus, I’m running out of money to live on and I’ve finally found my writing groove. Getting a 9-5 is going to put a major cramp in my writing schedule, as will panhandling, so I’m crossing my fingers on this.

Oh, I’m also taking questions and comments. Either here (in the comments section) or you can email them to me at rouletteweekend@gmail.com.

Secret Stalker Guy

I had a friend request a while back from some guy named “Tom” on Facebook. I like to look at all the details before accepting. Not that it really matters too much because my profile is pretty easily accessible whether you are a friend or not, but still, don’t want to let too many hackers in with permission. Or sales people. Don’t you hate when you get a friend request and you think they are just a normal person like you (you, not me, I’m not normal), so you accept and before you know it they are junking up your newsfeed with shoes for sale or purses or miracle weight loss? I hate that. I don’t hate it if it’s my actual friends trying to sell something. I’m supportive like that. Back to the point. So, I don’t ever friend someone who only has say…..4 friends and all of their photos are of inanimate objects. So this guy sends me a message asking why I haven’t accepted his friend request. I reply because I don’t know you. And he replies that I do. So there was a little bit of mystery and intrigue. So for the next day or so, we went back and forth talking until I finally figured it out. And it turns out he’s not a stalker at all. At least not my stalker. He is someone that I worked with a while ago and we are actually friends on his real facebook page. I’m not sure if he ever did answer me when I asked him why he had a fake page. Guess it doesn’t matter  (maybe he’s stalking someone else). For a minute, though, I thought I had a secret admirer. A tall, dark, handsome, rich, romantic, secret admirer with a nice butt.  Oh well,  I guess not having a secret admirer is way better than have a secret stalker guy…. especially if that guy is a psycopath serial killer (not that Tom is, just generally speaking about stalker type folks). hehe.