Question...

What is the deal with turning 40???? Why is this bothering me so very, very much????

Okay, it's not like it's tomorrow... I have a few months left... but the closer it gets, the more I hate the idea. 40 sounds so OLD.

A few of my 40-something girlfriends are trying to tell me that turning 40 is "freeing"... I say BULL. What the hell is freeing about getting that much closer to menopause, osteoporosis, whiskers sprouting from your chin, every nice curve you have heading south, people calling you "ma'am" in the grocery store, and ultimately senility and death????? What, I ask you????

Seriously... those of you (ladies only... I don't give a crap what the guys think) who are as close to 40 as I am, or have passed it, I really do want to hear your opinions on this subject. Those of you who are nowhere near 40, you can kiss my lily-white butt. I wish I were you.

I'm such a dork.

Okay, I am just the biggest baby on the planet.

Leaving my current job is going to be sooooo much harder than I thought! I'm even second-guessing my decision a little bit.

I mean, how many jobs does a person get in a lifetime where you really enjoy what you do, have fun with and care about your coworkers, and feel like you're really making a difference in people's lives???? Even with the pay hike, what if I don't like my new job? What if I don't like my coworkers? What if the residents and families bug the hell out of me? What if my new coworkers don't realize that poop is funny, and is too proper lunchtime conversation???????

Maybe I'm just freaked out about jumping into unknown waters. All the same, I can hardly talk to the staff or the residents this week without tearing up a little, sometimes out-and-out bawling. And if you know anything about me, you known how much I detest crying in front of people.

Maybe I'd feel better this morning if I went out for a little fresh air... which is funny, because I'll be chain-smoking, so the air won't really be all that fresh....

New Job!

Yep, that's right. I got a new job.

This one totally fell into my lap. My former supervisor at my current job called me out of the blue and offered me a position at the assisted living facility where she is now Director of Nursing.

Basically, she needs an LPN who knows home care and knows assisted living to come in and overhaul the memory care unit. It's been run like a nursing home for the last 10 years, and corporate wants that to change. As she put it to me: "New policies and procedures, new documentation system, new med system, and new blood all at the same time. And I can't think of anyone I trust more to pull it off. This will be Your Baby!" I was totally honored by the compliment, and by the trust behind it.

Besides the incredible opportunity, I'll be making way more money. Sweet for me, and for my kids.

The staff at my current job is not happy that I'm leaving, but I have to put my family and my career first. Everyone close to me agrees that I would be a complete moron to pass up this opportunity.

I'll start going in here and there after I punch out at my current job, just to familiarize myself with the paperwork, resident profiles, etc before I go full-time in December. I gave this job six weeks' notice so that I can be sure that my replacement and the new supervisor are up to speed and comfortable with the system before I go.

So... yeah. On to bigger and better things!

It's finally happened...

I've finally been confronted with a situation in which falling down is not funny.

You all know how I delight in the sweet biffs of others... the more humiliating and painful the better. I've often wondered if I would ever find myself in a situation where I wouldn't find falling down funny.

Found it. Work.

Here's the thing: people at work (residents, not coworkers... if it were coworkers I'd still laugh) are falling down all the time. At least once a day I get a call that someone biffed it in their apartment and I have to go running up there to see if they're okay. Sometimes they are, and we just have to help them up, but most of the time they're not okay and I have to call 911 and send them to the hospital. Then they're there for a grip of time, have to go to rehab for about a month, and come back to us even more frail than when they originally fell.

It's not that I want to laugh when they fall but restrain myself. It's Really Not Funny. Holy crap, did I just say that? What the hell happened to me?

Dammit... I... CARE. Ugh. Pretty soon I'll probably start feeling sorry for people with mullets and stop laughing at drunk girls.

Aw, CRAP.

Boys are yucky and dumb.

I don't care how old or "mature" they get to be, they're still yucky, dumb pervs at heart.

I'm leading an exercise class at work 3 times a week. Remember, I work at an assisted living place, so the average age of my residents is about 86 yrs old.

The first time I led it last week, there were four little old men in the back row. We were doing chest presses, and I realized that every single one of them was ogling my rack! And not in a sneaky way, either... just STARING. I kept trying to make eye contact so they'd get embarrassed and look away from the headlights, but to no avail.

Yesterday I led the class again, and this time the 4 guys from the back row were front and center. Right smack in front of me and my sweater puppies. For god's sake, if you're gonna ogle, at least don't be so frickin' obvious about it!I mean, one guy even made a couple comments about my flexibility and my "sexy boots" right in front of his wife. Later I noticed that couple waiting for the elevator. I got on and so did the wife, but the dude was moving kinda slow, so the wife pressed the door close button and left him out there. Funny. I guess I would've too if I'd been her.

I'm tempted to show up on Friday in sweatpants and a huge T-shirt and just wreck all their fun. Yucky dumb boys.

Epiphany

I've been doing some soul-searching tonight, and I've come to some conclusions.

I AM POISON. You heard me.

I warned my ex-boyfriend on multiple occasions to get out while he still could. He didn't. I broke his heart. I destroyed what we had with my own issues and insecurities. He's a good man... he didn't deserve what became of us. I know I have a knack for blaming others for their parts in my meltdowns, and he did play his role, but I took it further and destroyed everything.

Once I see something as damaged, I turn tail and run. I don't stick around to do the hard work that it takes to fix things. I just up and leave. I'm terrified of getting hurt, so once I start to feel hurt, I curl up with my prickly spines out to prevent further damage to myself. Selfish? Yeah. I know it.

So I broke this man's heart because I was afraid. Afraid of pain. Afraid of rejection. Afraid of loss. What I failed to realize... or maybe what I just chose not to realize... is that he was just as afraid as I was. Afraid of all the same things, and maybe more so. Yet I rampaged ahead, and destroyed any chance of salvage.

Maybe I did the same with my ex-husband. I justified everything... I was in so much emotional agony... but maybe I was just selfishly unwilling to see past myself.

Now I'm with somebody new, and I've realized that I have the potential to destroy him. He's young, sweet, trusting, inexperienced... and I am a very dangerous thing for a man like that. We've never butted heads, never argued, but it would be unrealistic to say that it won't happen. And when it does... will I destroy him? Will I bulldoze him? I can't promise that it won't happen.

I don't like what I've become. I don't want to hurt people, I really don't. Yet I can't seem to stop myself. It seems that no one in my vicinity gets away completely unscathed.

Maybe my ex-husband was right: maybe having surgery, becoming attractive, turned me into some kind of monster. Maybe it really did turn me into the Mean Girl that I always despised in high school.

Have I really become that self-absorbed, that self-serving? Have I really become the kind of person who is determined to get what she wants, no matter the cost? Has "collateral damage" become okay to me?

Holy shit, I don't want to be that person...

Last week my oldest son said that he can't even remember what it feels like to have a mother. God, it broke my heart. I just figured that because of his age, his lifestyle, and his alliance with his dad, he just didn't need me or want me. I had no idea that he was waiting for me to reach out. What kind of mother is that???? My son needed me, and I had no idea.

I've said before, partially in jest, that I'm not fit to raise Sea Monkeys. Well, now in all honesty, I Am Not Fit To Raise Sea Monkeys, let alone human beings. What have I done??? My kid doesn't even know me anymore. Maybe no one really does. Maybe I'm not so sure myself.

So Yeah... I Am Poison. End of story. Buyer beware.

Um..... yeeeeeeaaaaah.

Huh. Nice last post, Captain Bringdown.

Okay, I was in a really crappy, sick, angry place. But I'm much, much better now.

Lots of big changes in my world. My oldest kids turned 19 in March, and I was feeling old, so I went a little crazy. I dyed my hair red, chopped it all off, and got another tattoo. I was afraid what people would think, but people generally seem to like the new look.

My position at that janky homecare company got eliminated due to budget constraints. It's okay, because it turned out to be the job from frickin' hell. Totally dysfunctional, stressful, and terrible for my health. Now I have a new job, and I adore it. I'm a nurse for assisted living in a Twin Cities retirement community. I've been there about 8 months, and it's totally my dream job. Awesome residents, great coworkers, healthy work environment, and the pay is pretty good. On top of it, I get to use the degree I worked so hard for! I'm leading a Bible study and developing a spiritual care program. I also coordinate the activities program for assisted living. I couldn't ask for more... this is the best job ever, and I seem to be well-suited for it. I even managed my department for 12 weeks when my supervisor went on maternity leave. That was stressful, but nothing went down in flames while she was gone.

I'm seeing someone new. It's kind of a different situation... we've been friends for almost 2 years, and eventually realized that we both wanted more. We were just as surprised as anyone else. He's a great guy... very open and honest, very sweet, romantic and affectionate, always positive and optimistic, and he makes me laugh my ass off. There's nothing we can't say, nothing we can't talk about, no fear, and absolutely no ego between us. I can do something totally stupid and know that he's going to treat me with respect, gentlness and love. I also know that if something tough needs to be said, he's going to say it immediately instead of stewing over it and letting it fester until it damages our relationship. Best of all, he adores my kids and they adore him. It feels so good to be able to be open about our relationship... the last one I was in was pretty clandestine. He didn't want anyone he knew to know we were together, even though we'd been together for quite a while and thought we could spend the rest of our lives together. I couldn't see him when his kids were around. I always felt like his dirty little secret. With this man, I've met all his friends and his entire family, and he's proud to introduce me as his girlfriend. He makes me really, really happy.

That's the big update in a nutshell. I'm in a much better, much happier, much more settled place, and I'm damn glad to be here.

A Really Dark Place

I am frustrated, depressed, scared, and completely pissed off.

Once again, I am having neuro problems. My primary doc has been convinced for 4 years that I have MS, but so far the MRIs of my brain have come up clear. The neurologists I've seen have basically told me that I'm crazy because my scans come up clean. Bullfuckingshit.

So here I am, after catching a goddamn cold, with weak legs, pins and needles, brain fog, the whole nine yards again. I'm walking with a fucking cane because my balance is gone. My doc was alarmed enough to send me to the ER to get admitted to test me for MS. Did they admit me? Hell no. They put me on massive doses of steroids and sent me the hell home. Massive doses of steroids? To treat WHAT??? You don't just prescribe horse doses of that shit without a diagnosis. To top it off, the neuro I saw in the ER told me to make an appointment w/ his clinic the next day to get an MRI. When I called yesterday, they told me they don't see patients on an emergency basis. The best they could do was the end of fucking December. I called my clinic, and they couldn't do any better for me.

This is just like 4 years ago. I absolutely am losing faith in neurology as a specialty. Fuck them all.

So here I am, people staring at me in public, friends and family not knowing what to say to me or how to treat me, my weaknesses on display for everyone to see, and there's not a motherfucking thing I can do about it.

I am pissed as hell.

On top of it, I am UGLY. I can't stand up straight, I can't walk straight, I am weak, and I am miserable. The Love Of My Life is clearly uncomfortable with my infirmity. The one person I really need to treat me like there's nothing wrong... CAN'T. I am not attractive, I am not sexy, I am not myself... I'm just... SICK.

I hate this so much.

I don't want to go anywhere, I don't want to do anything, I don't want to see anyone, and I sure as hell don't want anyone to see me. I don't want to talk about it, I don't want advice, I don't even think I want sympathy at this point.

I think I just want to be angry. I want to fight this thing on my own terms. I want to hate it, I want to hate what it is doing to me, I want to hate what it is doing to my life. I want to wallow here and be left alone.

I think that maybe my anger is the only thing that can save me at this point. I think that maybe my anger is the only thing about me that I recognize as ME at this point. Everything else is Disease, and is out of my control.

I hate not having control. I need to be in control of my life.

Right now, the only thing that gives me a feeling of having any control at all is being Pissed As Hell.

Fuck this shit. Fuck MS. Fuck the doctors and the hospitals. Fuck pity. Fuck it all.

Stupid Neighbors

Okay, yeah... I have no business being up at this time of night, I know.

For the second or third time this week, my stupid downstairs neighbors are having a drunken gaming party.

They have buddies over, play their music super loud, sit out on their deck smoking shwag weed, etc until the wee hours of the morning. This time, they woke me up at 3AM.

Generally, on the off weeks, I'm not here enough for it to bother me. This week, though, I have my kids. The other night the crappy neighbors woke them up too. This is never a good thing, because overly-tired kids are hell on wheels the next day.

So I called the new caretaker and totally narc'd. I mean, how totally disrespectful.

"Quiet time" in the building is supposed to be from 10PM to 8AM. We're not supposed to run our garbage disposals/dishwashers between these hours, and we're supposed to keep our conversation and TV volume low. I get this, and I always abide by it, so it really pisses me off when my neighbors think they can do whatever the hell they want.

The other night, the male half of the duo downstairs was out on the deck getting a bake on around midnight. First of all, I could tell he was smoking crapass weed because it smelled like burning roadkill. Even better was the fact that he was on the phone trying to get his buddy to drop by for some "Mad Gaming." Um... yeah. The conversation went something like this: "Dude. Dude. Seriously, dude. I'm totally on level 18, dude. Dude. I'm not even shitting you, dude. 18. If you come over, dude, I'll smoke your ass. I'll totally get to level 20, dude. I'm not even kidding you, dude. I'm totally serious. Dude. Dude. Dude. Seriously... Duuuude." And this MENSA level conversation was punctuated with him choking on his shwag weed. Priceless. I laughed my ass off. And not polite, in-my-head laughing, either. I found this so comical that I even let the Horshack donkey bray fly a couple times. I felt like hanging over the railing and going, "Duuuuuuude. You're so smart. Seriously, dude. Level 18? Those are some mad gaming skills, dude. Maybe you can find a way to turn those mad skills into some cash so you can afford some better weed. Seriously, dude."

I've been in their apartment, because once I hade to go apologize for watering my plants on my deck while he was out there smoking a ciggie, and I guess I got his chair wet. They've got all kinds of animal heads mounted on their walls (I guess he's a hunter), and they have a couple pinball machines where most people would have dining room furniture, and there were two dart boards that I could see. I should've known right then that there would be loud, drunken, stupid parties.

Now, I am by no means a prude, and I have been known to party late into the night and early into the next morning from time to time. However, the par-tay they had before this one was on a Tuesday night. TUESDAY. Who parties and plays video games all night on a TUESDAY??? Don't these dumbasses have to work???

Anyhow, the new caretaker went down there and told them to shut up a little while ago, and they finally did. I'm quite sure they know it was me who narc'd, but I don't give a rat's ass. I would expect the same if I woke my neighbors up at 3AM.

Once I was having loud sex in the middle of the night, and the upstairs neighbors stomped on the floor, and we shut the hell up. Of course, it kinda ruined the mood, so we really had no choice, but STILL. At least I TRY to be a considerate neighbor. I mean, come on.

While I'm on the subject of neighbors, what's with the 20-something Asian dude who just moved in above me??? This freak paces CONSTANTLY, all day and all night. It sucks, because the floors are totally creaky. Maybe he's a crackhead. Or maybe he has OCD and can't sit down for two seconds. But he has to stop sometime, right? I mean, he's got to sleep sometime. At the very least, he's got to sit on the toilet to take a crap for a couple minutes here and there, right? I have yet to hear him stop pacing, and it's been two or three weeks. He's at it right now.

This is the only thing I have decided I really hate about apartment living: FRICKIN' NEIGHBORS.

Why can't everyone be more like ME???

The Scab Lady

So, there's this gross old lady who lives on my floor and parks her car next to mine in the garage. I call her Scab Lady.

She earned this name because she has these nasty, weeping sores all over her lower legs all the frickin' time. They're usually bandaged, but I can tell right where they all are because you can see the pus seeping through the gauze. Ew, ew, frickity EW.

I have a feeling she might live in her car part-time. The back seat is filled with crap... boxes, bags, empty food containers, you name it. Oh, and her walker, which I have yet to see her actually use. A couple times I've gotten home or have been leaving, and she's been sitting in her car. Just SITTING there, listening to the radio or talking to her dog. And she sits there for a super long time, too. I know this because I often putz around before getting out of my truck or pulling out of my spot. I may decide to clean out the garbage the kids left in the back seat, or throw out the empty cigarette boxes in my center console, put on lipstick, organize my purse, or what have you. And when I finish whatever I'm doing, she's still sitting there in her car. One time when I left, she was sitting there. When I got back more than a half hour later, she was STILL THERE.

Here's another thing that bugs me: she's got this yappy weiner dog named Deuce, and he's never on a frickin' leash. I see them sometimes in the hall, and that stupid dog is running all over the place willy-nilly, yapping away. Once he got underfoot when I was coming back from the laundry room with a huge basket of clothes. That glorified rat almost got himself kicked. Oh, come on... I wouldn't have kicked him on purpose! Luckily I saw him and stopped walking until Scabby Mc Scabsalot could get him to go back into her apartment. One of these days something will happen to him, though, if she doesn't get him on a frickin' leash. He's gonna get stepped on, or get closed in the elevator door or something. And the way she tries to get him to come back when he takes off down the hall... she says PLEASE, and talks to him like he's a kid. I got news for ya, lady: he's NOT HUMAN. He's a frickin' DOG. One, he can't understand you. Two, saying please is not gonna change his mind about bolting down the hall to yap at neighbors trying to get out of the elevator with their groceries.

Here's another thing I've been wondering about that dog: where the hell does he crap??? I mean, she doesn't leave her apartment for days on end, I never see her outside the building, and apparently she needs a walker to get around, and the walker's in the back seat of her car all the time. So, does she let the dog crap in her apartment? Does he use a litter box? Did she train him to use the toilet like some people do with their cats? Inquiring minds wanna know!!!

Maybe this is super mean, but that lady creeps me out to no end. I actually hold my breath when I walk past her, her car, or her apartment because I don't want to breathe in whatever bacteria is infesting her nasty legs. I've never had the dilemma of having to get into the elevator with her, but I kinda think I wouldn't be able to hold my breath that long. I think I'd have to make some excuse to take the stairs or say, "Oops, I forgot something," and go back to my truck or my apartment until the coast was clear. The thought of being trapped in the elevator with her and her rat dog makes me feel like hurling a little bit.

I know what you're thinking: I'm going to hell for being so mean, intolerant and judgmental. Whatever... I am what I am. However, if hell is indeed an eternity of your worst experiences ever, my hell would be being trapped in an elevator with Scab Lady and Deuce, and I could only get off the elevator at Steve-O's on karaoke night.

Maybe I should try to be nicer.......

Nah.

Frickin' Steve-o's

So, my best friend and I went to Steve-o's last week for karaoke with some of the Big Louie's barflies. One of the barflies was totally talking it up, like it would be this great night of fun, so I talked my friend into trying it out.

What a frickin' joke.

First of all, it's a crappy dive bar with no windows. However, my friend commented that it was a lot cleaner than he expected it to be. But it still is a crappy dive, with the clientele you'd expect to see in a bar with no windows that serves 3-for-1's at 8am.

Second, worst... singing... EVER. And I mean EVER. Not a single singer I heard was anywhere near the frickin' melody. The very worst I heard was when a couple drunk chicks got up and completely butchered What's Up by 4 Non-Blondes. It was absolutely painful. And it hurt my ears even worse because it's a song I do from time to time at Big Louie's, and I do it well if I do say so myself. So to hear these dumb girls hack it apart was just sick.

The food was extra, extra greasy... close to inedible for me. We got chicken wings and potato skins, with a complimentary side of... GREASE. We couldn't finish it all, so we offered the rest to this one barfly friend who didn't get his order in before the kitchen closed. Well, you'd think he hadn't eaten all year. He tore into those wings like he'd been raised by wolves. I'm talking food flying, teeth bared, shaking the wings back and forth like they weren't quite dead yet, the works. I expected him to start snarling and then go outside to howl at the moon. I'm not sure he even took a breath between mouthfuls. I didn't know whether to look away in disgust or start laughing. I seriously wondered what would've happened if we'd decided we wanted the wings back. I have a feeling someone would've lost a few fingers or suffered a fang wound to the jugular.

The beer on "special" was a crapass beer served in a thimble. A $2.50 beer ain't a great deal when you get about a teaspoon of pisswater with an orange slice in it.

Needless to say, we didn't stay long. I apologized profusely to my friend all the way home for dragging him to that craphole . Honey, if you're reading this, once again: Sorry, Sorry, Sorry.

Well, at least now we know. I can say with complete certainty that we will never set foot in frickin' Steve-o's again in this lifetime. And I think that's about how long it will take to get Wolf Boy's wing eating display out of my nightmares.

Dig me!

Yeah, don't know why I chose that title. Just thought it was funny.

Hi. How's it going? Seems like I've been doing these once-a-month updates. I just never seem to find the time to get on here and do my usual rants.

So, a couple weeks ago the ex and I dropped our oldest daughter off at college. I thought I was fine with the whole thing, until I was over at my best friend's house one night and he asked me how I was feeling about it. It was then I realized that I was totally not okay with the whole thing. For the week leading up to her departure I bawled at the drop of a hat, thinking about her when she was a baby, toddler, little girl, etc... nostalgic melacholia. The end of an era. And, of course, I totally cried when I was saying goodbye to her in her dorm room. As excited as she was to start this new chapter of her life, and as much as I know she can handle it, I felt like some kind of traitor leaving my baby in an unfamiliar place to fend for herself.

Of course, she's doing great. She's having a blast, meeting new people, and seems genuinely happy. I'm really proud of her, and happy for her. But I'm still struggling with this whole thing.

This is what I have trouble with: first, I am old enough to have a kid in college(two, actually, if my son could get his act together, but that's another story), which means that I am OLD. It's true: I am an OLD HAG. For cripe's sake, I'll be forty in a year and a half. Holy crap. So, sending my kid to college has totally made me feel my age. Thank God I don't look my age on top of it. Then I'd really be depressed.

Second, I really miss my kid! She and I have a great relationship. She confides in me, likes to hang out with me when she's not busy with her friends, she's funny, smart, kind, and generally just a great person. Now, before you think my head is swelling here, let me state that I'm entirely sure the way she turned out is more a product of her nature than of my parenting. I'm not fit to raise Sea Monkeys, remember? But anyhow, I just miss her. I mean, she does text message me at least once a day, and she calls at least once a week, so it's not like we're totally cut off, but still.... I miss her!

Third, now she needs money. Lots and lots of money. That sucks, because I'm not exactly rolling in dough. And she doesn't want to ask her dad, because she's afraid he'll yell at her (and he probably would), and she doesn't think he would send her money anyway (and he probably wouldn't). Now, I racked up my credit card debt paying for pretty much the entire senior year and graduation for both the twins, and the ex, who initially was going to pay me back half, decided to stiff me once he realized I'm not going back to him. So I've got these massive bills thanks to that big winking anus, and I've got a kid asking me for hundreds of dollars. Not sure how I'm gonna make it happen, but I gotta find a way to help her out and still be able to pay my bills. I suppose I could start selling myself on the street.... nah. Then I'd have to go out and buy a whole new cheap, slutty wardrobe.

The trip up to my kid's school and back wasn't bad. I just slept the whole time, so there wasn't much opportunity for sparkling conversation with my ex. Bonus. Right now he's in another "I'm gonna prove I'm a changed man so you'll come back to me" phase. I'm sure it won't last long. He's done the same old song and dance before, and once he figures out it ain't getting him anywhere, he goes all evil again. The other shoe should drop any day now... he hasn't been a major dick to me for a couple weeks now.

My oldest son is not making very good choices. Of course, now that he's 18 and living with his dad, there's not a whole hell of a lot I can do. I hope he'll figure things out and get his act together, but I wonder how long it will take, and how much trouble he'll get himself into in the meantime. I do worry about him. He's basically a good kid, and I just don't want him to get creamed by the real world before he has a chance to reach some of the potential I know he has.

The little kids started school a couple weeks ago, and both of them are doing great. They love their teachers. There's a new principal, which makes me very happy. The old principal was a dick and a half. He was old and crappy, and really had no idea how to deal with kids. He'd use all these big words that I'd have to explain later, and just generally was a sour old butthead. But now he's gone, and the school seems like a much better place to be. Sweet.

My job has been interesting. There's one woman there who hates my guts, and I hear it's because of how I look, and because she thinks I'm in my twenties. I'm sorry, but that sucks ass. Especially since I used to be a fat chick like her. Well, not exactly like her... I was never that ugly, I won't be that old for another decade, and I'm not a chiffon-wrapped, sugar-coated, venom-spewing, baby-waby-voiced bitch from hell. She takes every opportunity to hate on me, trying to trash me all over the office. Yeah... bring it on, witchiepoo. I'm not as young and stupid as you think I am, and I can be as bitchy as you are if I need to be. Let's dance, sugar.

Well, I gotta go eat something. I'm loathe to do it, because I've gained 5 lbs in the past 2 1/2 months. Yuck. I mean, I'm actually at my ideal weight right now, but I've decided I prefer the lean and mean look. Or the skeletal and anorexic look, depending on who you ask. I've been trying not to gorge myself, but in my head I'm still a fat chick who likes to indulge in emotional overeating, and I'm absolutely terrified of making a pig of myself and gaining weight again. However, I am thinking of going out later, and an evening of drinking on an empty stomach is never a good idea, so I think I'll heat up some leftover garlic mashed potatoes and watch a little TV for a while.

It's been real... see ya soon.

Were you looking for an update?

Yeah? Really? Okay, here goes.

I've been so frickin' busy I don't know whether to scratch my watch or wind my ass.

I got a new job about a month ago. I'm the intake and referral coordinator for a growing home care company. It's full-time Monday through Friday, which rocks. Basically, any new patient referrals from doctors' offices, hospitals, nursing homes, county public health nurses, etc. come to me. I triage them, get all the personal info, get prior authorization from their insurance companies, start a file on them, and set them up to be admitted for home care. In my first three weeks I processed an average of fifty new clients per week. I love it, but sometimes the pace is insane. And I'm still trying to figure out all the human dynamics in the office. There are a couple people who make me want to smack them, but most of the people in the office are pretty cool. The best part is that I found out that two of the four other gals in the cubicles around me are rabid Prince fans like myself. Bonus.

The kid thing has been weird. The little kids seem to feel the need to test me every time they come home for their week with me. That sucks. I mean, I look forward to seeing them, but to be honest, sometimes after a couple nights I can't wait to take them back to their dad's. This last week they totally broke my coffee table. I've told them a million times not to frickin' sit on it, but do they listen? Noooooo. Smashy-smashy. I think I might be able to fix it, but not today because I just got my nails done. I want to fix it before they come back, though.

The teenagers don't have much use for me, unless they want to use my sweet truck. Then they're calling, being all nice, etc. Kind of a bummer, especially since my oldest daughter's leaving for college at the end of this month.

Speaking of taking her to college, how the hell's that going to work out with my ex??? I soooooooo don't want to spend several hours in a car with him, and I sure as hell am not going to share a hotel room with him. I can hardly stand him for the time it takes to pick up or drop off the kids.

The poor bastard seems to think that I'm going to change my mind and come back to him. Um, yeah..... not gonna happen. I mean, he's still nasty to me most of the time, and then turns around and tells me how much he loves me and misses me. Today when I dropped off the kids, he did the, "I miss you so much, I love you, I want you back" thing. I go, "Hmmm. I doubt that, since you act like an asshole every chance you get. See ya." And I hopped in my sweet truck and got the hell out of there.

Just a disclaimer: We absolutely do not have these conversations within the kids' hearing. Just in case you thought I was being an extra crappy mom or something.

I'm going up to karaoke in a couple hours. I haven't been in at least a month, and MAN do I miss it. Here's the thing that kinda sucks: think any of my barfly friends miss me while I'm gone? Nope. Well, one does. He calls me regularly and has stopped by occasionally to hang out for a little while. He's a good friend. The rest of them? They can kiss my lily-white ass.

I'm trying something new tonight: I'm totally cabbin' it to the bar. The last time I was up there I totally should not have driven home, but I did anyway. Not gonna let that happen again, no way no how.

Get this: I am one ten-minute speech and one 50 question final away from having my BA. Yep, that's right. After this Wednesday, I hope to never, ever set foot in a classroom or open a textbook again in my lifetime. I am done. D-O-N-E, DONE!!!

So, to sum it up, between work, school, kids, the ex, and spending quality time with my best friend when I don't have the kids, I have been busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. Again with the ass analogies.

Forgive me if I'm not as prolific as I once was. It's not that I have nothing to say, or that I don't miss you, it's just that I just don't have the time on my hands that I used to.

Here's to things easing up again now that school is over for me.

The Best Weekend in the World

So... last Friday I went on a day trip to St. Croix State Park with my best friend. We hiked some of the trails, saw some beautiful scenery, talked, laughed, and had a wonderful time together.

It was so interesting to me how being out in nature changes his outlook and demeanor. I could actually feel his stress level diminishing, and could feel the sense of peace that he gets from being among the trees, near the water, out enjoying creation.

He's a really good photographer, and he took some beautiful pictures that day. He framed an absolutely gorgeous picture of a flower that he took, and gave it to me to commemorate the wonderful day we had together. It's next to my bed, and I can't even describe how beautiful it is. The flower seems to glow and just jumps out of the picture. And it's a pink and white flower, so it goes perfectly with the decor in my bedroom.

On Saturday we went to the farmers' market. He got a bunch of veggies and herbs, and I got some loose tea (smells divine) and a tie-dyed sundress. It was so much fun to just wander around, looking at everything, chatting, sampling food, and just being able to relax.

Then, that night, he made a wonderful dinner for me with the things he got at the farmers' market. We had grilled blue marlin steaks with a citrus marinade, baked potatoes with a delicious topping of butter, sour cream, garlic and chives, and grilled yellow and green zucchini. Everything tasted so good... he is a great cook. I love it when he cooks for me, and he says that he loves to cook for me... so it works out just perfectly.

It was just so, so nice to spend the weekend doing something fun, relaxing, and meaningful. It was so nice to leave the stress of everyday life behind for a couple days and spend time with someone that I can connect with on every level. It was so wonderful to see nature through his eyes. It was so wonderful to be with someone that I can just be myself with. I don't have to censor what I say, watch what I do, or work to keep things even. We have a deep understanding of one another, and we both know that we can say anything, do anything, just be who we are, and everything will be alright.

It floors me every single day to have someone in my life that I don't have to be afraid with, who I can trust and depend on, and who I know loves me just the way I am, warts and all. I'm just not used to that... but holy hell... I certainly could get used to it.

I was sad and a little melancholy when the weekend was over and I had to get back to the daily grind... this past weekend meant the world to me... I needed it like you wouldn't believe, and I cherish my memories of it.

Did you miss me?

I missed you. I really, really did.

The last couple months have been quite the rollercoaster, lemme tell ya.

I finished my classes, and graduated at the end of May. My self-study practicum is due at the end of July, and then I will have my B.A. Sa-weet! I cannot wait to never have to set foot in a classroom again.

On June 1st I left my husband and moved into my apartment. It's a two-bedroom, it's quiet, and my deck overlooks some wetlands. Lots of big trees, geese, deer, birds... I love it here.

I'm all unpacked and settled, and the place finally looks the way I want it to look. This place is a total haven for me, I gotta say. It's so nice to not have to walk on eggshells, to not have to measure everything I say or do, not knowing what is going to set my husband off and make him rip me to shreds. I am feeling peaceful and confident for the first time in years.

The kids are doing okay. It was super hard to tell the little ones that I was moving out, but they seem to be adjusting. They live with me every other week, and this week is my week. They seem to be happy, and they do seem to be less stressed. Although that could just be because it's summer, too. The thing that's hardest right now with the kids is that they keep asking me if I'm ever going to move back in with their dad. I told them probably not. They didn't really react or say anything, so I don't know how they feel about that. The other thing is that they've started saying, "Dad's house," and "Mom's house," but in the past couple weeks I haven't heard either of them call either place "home." That makes me so sad. I think they're feeling uprooted... displaced.

The older kids want to hang out here because I have cable TV and because they need rides places. Yeah, I feel used a little. But I'll take it.They told me that their dad grills them on a regular basis about whether they've talked to me, what we talked about, what I'm doing, where I'm going, who I'm with, etc. They said they never tell him anything, because there's really nothing to tell, and they figure that if he wants to know something he should ask me himself. I hate that he's putting them in the middle, but the whole need to control, even from the other side of town, is so typical.

Speaking of the older kids, my twins graduated from high school this month! I was so proud of them... I totally bawled when I saw them walking in to "Pomp and Circumstance." My first babies are high school graduates!!!!!!! So hard to believe.

So yeah... the last couple months have been kind of a blur. I'm really looking forward to things settling down into some new form of normal.

Tomorrow is it!

That's right, folks. Tomorrow night is the last time I ever have to see or listen to The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up. Oh, I am so thrilled!

Funny story: now that he's a frickin' licensed, ordained minister (or 'license ordain minister' as he prefers to call himself), he had a buttload of business cards printed up with his personal info. I walked into class last week to find that he'd put one on every single desk. I took a look at it and almost fell off my chair... it was so frickin' funny, and so typically Thing. Under his name it says "God lead servant leader." Hmmmm. Yeah. I don't think he meant the kind of lead you find in pencils. I'm pretty sure he meant "led." Then, further down, he has a scripture verse and put a "t" at the end of the word "though" instead of an "h." Yeah, Thing... you might've wanted to have someone proofread those before you made a million copies and proudly distributed them to everyone and his brother. And his picture is all distorted... it makes him look like a squat little round guy, when he's actually tall and beanpole thin. I have that card displayed on my fridge, and I'm showing it to anyone who will look at it. Priceless.

Here's something that pleased me a great deal: he's absolutely not graduating this spring. The program director told me he's making Thing take about a year's worth of classes over because he did so poorly. He also said that he told Thing that he doesn't think he will be able to complete the program, and that, frankly, he doesn't belong in vocational ministry. Gee, ya think? And it took you two frickin' years to figure that out? I coulda told you that during the very first class. Of course, he also said that Thing didn't hear a frickin' word he said. Really? I'm surprised... Thing is usually such a good listener and is sooooooo good at internalizing information and using it in an intelligent manner.

Anyhow, just four more hours of thingisms, and then I'm home free. I'm totally going out to celebrate after school tomorrow night. Champagne and the works. Yeah, baby.

Never ever thought I'd be saying this...

My (soon to be ex) husband hit me last night. Yeah, you frickin' heard me. He frickin' HIT ME.

The first straw was that I dared to buy myself some clothes. I am working full-time, making my own money, and I needed some spring/summer outfits, so I went out and got a couple. He FREAKED. "Why the hell do you get to buy new clothes? I never buy new clothes!" Yeah... well, maybe you should. You dress like hell. I told him it was my frickin' money, and that I don't have to answer to him. So he starts going though my bag, looking at price tags. Screw that. I told him to get the hell out of my stuff.

He got all pissy and took off for the evening. I was so glad. The less time I have to deal with him the better. So I went to karaoke at Big Louie's as usual.

When I got home, apparently I accidentally woke him up. He decided to go all evil on me for disturbing his precious sleep. He didn't even have to work today, so I don't know what the hell his major malfunction was. Anyhow, for the rest of the night, every time I started to doze off, he'd hit me hard in the back or punch the pillow right next to my head. It's like he was just laying there, waiting for it. I didn't get any sleep at all, and I had to work a full day today.

I nearly got up and left. I was going to go spend the rest of the night at a hotel, but somehow I just couldn't justify dragging my kids out of bed in the middle of the night, and there was no way in hell I was leaving home without them. I couldn't even go out and sleep on the couch, because our youngest son was sleeping out there for some strange reason. So I just laid there and took it, hating him more and more with every smack.

So now I'm sleeping on the fold-out couch in the basement. He should be the one sleeping elsewhere... it's MY damn bed. It belonged to my parents. But he refuses to go.

The thing that really pisses me off is that there are a number of people out there who still think he's this great, stand-up guy, and that I'm the bitch who's tearing his world apart. They've never heard him call me fatass, never heard him call me lazy bitch, never heard him tell me I'm stupid and whacked and delusional, never heard him make fun of my thoughts and feelings, never heard him insult everything from my appearance to my parenting skills to my cooking skills to my speech to my mannerisms, never saw me waiting up for him all night long in tears when he wouldn't answer his cell phone or his pager, terrified that he was dead or in jail, only to have him stumble in drunk at 7am, insisting that he could do whatever the hell he wanted and didn't owe me any explanation. And most people who know him will never know that last night he hit me.

Holy hell. Is it any wonder that I'm leaving him? Is it any wonder that I am miserable? Is it any wonder that I never, ever want to get married again?

I cannot get out of this damned house fast enough. I cannot get out of this trainwreck of a marriage fast enough. Just a few more weeks of this hell, and then I'm out.

I never thought I would say this, but I am learning to hate the man I married. Hate him, hate him, hate him.

I'm so frickin' old.

My babies turned 18 last weekend. EIGHT-FRICKIN-TEEN. I now officially have two adult children. If that ain't enough to make you feel old as dirt, I don't know what is.

Here's what's funny: my son is all like, "Now I'm an adult. I can do whatever I want, and you can't tell me what to do anymore." To which I replied BULL. I gave the "as long as you live under our roof" speech (something I thought I'd never do because it sounds so lame). I mean, this kid can't even get his ass out of bed in the morning to catch the school bus. He has no job, no car, and his grades suck. As far as I'm concerned, these are not the marks of a responsible adult who is ready for the real world, and I let him know it.

My daughter is responsible for the most part. She gets pretty decent grades, has a job, and is usually very reliable. She's heading off to college in the fall... not sure how I feel about that. I mean, I'm not worried about her because I think she's got a pretty good head on her shoulders, but man will I miss her. I'm not sure how I feel about one of my babies living hundreds of miles away. And she's going to college with her boyfriend, which could end in disaster.

Next week she and I are going to her school for academic orientation. I dread sitting with a bunch of other parents I don't know for an entire day listening to lectures about financial aid and crap, but it will be cool to stay at a hotel for a couple nights and just hang out with my daughter. I think she and I will have fun together.

I saw it!

I'm driving the kids to school this morning, and I just happen to glance at this guy walking down the sidewalk just as he totally biffs it on the ice.

He totally went down hard. His feet flew out from under him, and if my windows had been down I'm pretty sure I would have heard him go, "Oof," when he hit the ground. I wish my windows had been down. He didn't slide on his ass, which was somewhat disappointing, but watching him try to get up totally made up for it.

The guy's feet kept slipping out from under him while he was trying to get up. It was awesome. He finally managed to get back on his feet, but he looked like an injured, deformed frog as he was getting up. His legs were all shaky and bowed out to the sides.

Here's the horrible part: I found myself feeling just a little bit bad for the guy. Yeah, I totally laughed my ass off, but I felt a little bad doing it. Holy crap, what is happening to me? I cannot have the joy of watching a sweet biff marred by... dare I say it... caring. Am I losing my appreciation for the art of the great winter wipeout? Man, I guess I just gotta toughen up. I cannot allow sympathetic tendencies to spoil my fun.

New Job

This has been quite a week.

A few weeks ago I called my old supervisor at the hospice where I used to work, told her my situation, and asked if there would be any way I can get my old nursing job back. It just so happens that they are really hurting for nurses, and she told me she'd try to get a position posted.

Well, it only took her about a week. She totally jumped on it and pushed it through in record time. I went in and filled out all the paperwork, and I had my interview last week. It was really only a formality since they already know me. In fact, my supervisor said, "It's silly that you have to jump through all the beaurocratic hoops for this. I know you, love you, and can't wait to have you as a part of our family again. In fact, I wish I could clone you about ten times over." She told me that she knows I'm a good nurse, that I give excellent patient care, am very comforting and supportive with the families, and am loved and respected by my coworkers.

Wow. I so needed to hear that. Nothing like feeling needed and wanted.

The huge bonus is that I'll be cross-trained to several different areas of hospice, so I'll have plenty of hours. I won't be eligible for benefits because technically I'll be casual part-time, but that's fine with me. The nice thing about being casual is that I'm not locked into a schedule. I can turn down shifts if I need to for days the kids don't have school, etc.

I'll primarily be doing home care, which means that all my hours will be on weekdays during the day with an occasional Saturday and no holidays. Bonus. I'll do shifts at the residence as my schedule allows and as they need me, but I'll mostly be doing home and nursing home visits.

I cannot tell you how perfectly this works out for my situation. This is such a huge relief. One less thing to stress out about. Worrying about how I would make enough money to leave my husband has been keeping me up at night.

Now I just have to find a place to live and figure out how to furnish it. I guess that means a few more restless nights, but at least I feel like the wheels are in motion.