Randomly Ranting

Crappy Day

2010-03-03T14:48:00.000-08:00

Good Afternoon all. I wrote a post this morning telling that I did my first guest posting at another great blog. Litte did I know how quickly this day would take a dive. It is not over yet, as it is only 5:50pm. So since I feel the need to rant here it is:

Someone from my old High School came in to apply for a job where I work. They remembered me and wanted a hug, we used to hang around a lot together and he was someone I lost touch with after I switched schools. I walked around the counter and gave him a hug. Then he put his hand on my belly and said "Congradulations on the baby!"

I am NOT pregnant.

I promptly grabbed his wrist and told him "If you would like to keep this, get it off me. I am not pregnant, I am fat." Let the rain of "sorry" begin. First - If I didn't say, "Oh yeah, I'm doing good, about to have another kid!" do not assume I am pregnant. Second - Even if I was pregnant I would not want you to touch my belly. Maybe I started it with the hug, but for fishsticks sake just because I hugged you does mean I am opening myself up to have you touch me any where you please. Keep your hands to yourself and your keep mouth shut, fool.

I ranted on twitter and was assured by my fellow tweeters that it was within my legal rights to shank him with a shiv.

I didn't, but I am seriously concitering getting a stump stupid shiv.

Fast forward about an hour. It is lunch time. We have almost hurricane worthy winds going outside and I am wearing a dress. I walk over to the cafeteria just fine in the gale force winds. Coming back I have a soda in one hand and a BLT in a to-go box in the other. A sudden forceful wind comes up and suprise, suprise, it grabs the tail of my dress and throws it up over my face. Like a fucked up verison of what Marlyin Monroe did. Ye Gods. Now I have just flashed my work place. I am chunky (hense the pregnancy comment from Captain Dumbass earlier) this is not something I wanted to share with my coworkers. They just got a really good look at my white thong and whiter ass, because in true fat girl fashion I could not drop my bacon to put my dress down. I sort of crouched over and half threw half set my food on the ground. This is mortifiying.

I look up just in time to see an entire crew of elderly men who work there look like they are seconds away from stroke. If the sight of my big white ass kills someone I am not sure I will ever recover.

I gather up the hem in my hand and pull the dress tight aganist my body. I managed to get back to my office without further incident.

I promtly dropped the damn sandwich I tried to save earlier on the floor of the office. Since I was the only one there I ate it anyways. I enacted the five second rule. My husband would have had a fit if he had seen me do this. Fishstick him, the fat girl is sad and wants bacon.

Finally this shitty day at work has passed. I get home to what else? My annoying new neighbors are blaring their stupid music again. Maybe I wouldn't bitch so much if they were playing decent music. These are the same people who last week I called the cops on because of loud music at 1am and when I asked to turn it down they called me a bitch. I am in a mood to fight today. I stalk over to their door and beat on it like I am on the SWAT team or some shit. The suprised woman came to the door and gave me a nasty look. "What do you want?" Oh bitch please like you don't know what I want? "You need to turn that down. I am not listening to it all fucking night again. I will call the landlord and have you evicted if I have to call his ass every day. Don't fuck with me tonight - just turn that shit down." I walked away while she stood there with her mouth hanging open like a guppy fish. I have not heard the music, maybe I just looked crazy today with my wild wind blown hair enough to convince her that I might just do as I threatened.

So what have I learned today boys and girls?

One - I need to burn the dress I am wearing - it makes me look pregnant and will fly over my head at the worst possible moment.

Two - My neighbors think I am some physco bitch (maybe this is a good thing)

Three - the wifi in my house is pissing me off cause I have tried to post this more than once and I can not seem to maintain my internet connection.

Im not here

2010-03-03T05:37:00.000-08:00

Hey Hey! All 12 of my followers! Today I am not here I am over at Sandy B's place! Check it out http://reinventingsandyb.com/2010/03/01/posting-other-peoples-birthday-lists-is-kind-of-like-being-a-voyeur-into-their-dreams-today-get-inside-lilys-head/

She is awesome, really.

Not funny then, Funny now.

2010-02-24T16:25:00.000-08:00

As some of you know I am a big fan of the show Big Bang Theory. The producer Chuck Lorre always posts a vanity card at the end. For a while he did a series about "Not funny then, Funny now". I loved these and came up with a whole handful of those. The story below is one of those stories. What made me bring this up was while on twitter tonight someone (@KMont) was talking about cleaning up a mutt mess. I had a flashback to almost 7 years ago.

In 2003 the only Aunt of my boyfriend (now husband) was pronounced to have cancer, and she decided to come live with his mother while getting treatment. I was living with him because I was about 5 months along with our son. We drove up there in a U-Haul and when I got there I was sentenced to sitting. No helping at all because of all the complications I was having with the baby. I was bored out of my skull 10 mins into being there. My boyfriend, his mother, and his little brother were all with us (little brother was 14 and more annoying than you can EVER imagine) and it was killing me not to help. So his Aunt comes in with the best looking Black Lab I have ever seen. She said "Her name is Onyx and she is about 1 year old. She can keep you company so she don't get under foot."

(not really Onyx below but a VERY good likeness of her)

Oh I was in love with this dog.

She played fetch.

She begged for treats.

She snuggled me.

Finally it was time to go and my boyfriend puts in that the dog is going to make the journey from South Carolina to Florida in the back of the U-Haul. I was outraged! No way was my new best friend going to be locked up in the back of that moving truck. A long conversation was held about what to do with the dog since I was throwing a fit and insisting the dog should not ride in the back of the truck.

We finally all come to the agreement the dog will ride in the cab of the truck with us.

I am thrilled.

I get towels and put them down on the seats, because she refuses to lay in the floorboard.

I strap her in with the seat belt so she won't fall out.

Everything is peachy. I have a dog next to me, my boyfriends arm around me and life is good.

Then....

I look over at the dog when I feel a huge glob of spit hit my arm. Onyx is drooling like crazy. I say "Baby, why is the dog drooling so much?" he says "Some dogs drool a lot, babe." I look suspiciously at her. She was NOT drooling like this at the house, at least I think she wasn't....

then out of the corner of my eye I see a dry heave!

OH, HELL NO!

I start yelling for Shug to pull over "NOW!" he starts flashing the lights and honking the horn to get his mothers attention because she is in her car in front of us. Let's just say it ain't working. I am going from yelling at him to pull over to screeching at him to pull over the f-ing thing RIGHT now. Let his mom go on! We'll catch up! I need this dog out of this truck like 3 mins ago!

I think I am smart. I jerk one of the towels out from under the dog out and put it up under her muzzle. Mind you this dog is almost as big as I am. I hold it there to catch what I know is only seconds aways from an Alpo lava rush. The dog is heaving, I am panicking and my stupid Shug is still trying to get his mother to pull over. The dog finally lifts up her catcher mitt size paw and jerks the damn towel down just as the Purina shower begins.

SON OF A BITCH!!!

She manages to get it all over me. My hair, down my neck, all over my sweater, all over my pants, it is HOT, it stinks, its effing sticky. Now I look over and the damn boyfriend is gagging.

Kill me now.

FINALLY his damn mother pulls over. I bail out of the cab, trampling the freaking dog on my way out. To hell with her. I am on the side of the interstate, vomiting myself now - and flapping my arms like a chicken trying to get dog barf off of me. I retch until there is nothing left but the horrible stench, and even worse I can not wipe my own GD mouth because I am coated in half masticated Purnina. Dogs do not chew their food well.

This is the worst night of my life!

I look up to the road. They are laughing me. Yes, I said laughing. Like holding their sides with tears rolling down their cheeks. I am livid! Hormones are getting the best of me by now. I sit down in the mud (did I mention it was also raining?) and start bawling. My Shug comes down to get me and is trying to soothe me without touching me because he doesn't want the disgusting brown goop all over him. That's my hero. I get back up the hill and notice people driving slowly past. Damn rubber neckers, nothing to see here folks just your average run of the mill car sickness. They finally convince me to get back into the rancid truck to get to the next rest area so I can clean up.

We get to the truck stop and I head for the bathroom at a dead run, because I know chunks of dog food are falling off of me. I know I stink. Once inside I take off every stitch of clothes I have on, including my shoes. I throw them all into the sink and start scrubbing. I have to get this smell off of me and my clothes. As we only went up there for one night I did not pack anything but a night gown. I look around a realize with horror there are no paper towels. Just a hand drier.

Kill me now.

I scream for Shug. He comes to the door and I jerk him inside. I have no clothes to change into.

I make him take off his boxers. (this took a lot of convincing on my part.)

I walk out of that bathroom with my head held high in nothing but my boyfriends underwear and my bra. I am sure I shocked the holy bible belt out of everyone in the store.

Getting to the car, I made a deal to trade vomit mutt for annoying little brother. And don't you know it? Damn dog laid down in that car and slept the whole way to Florida, while I got to listen to the little brother complain about the smell. Like I didn't know.

It was not funny then, but very funny now.

Stupid Stupid Me

2010-02-22T07:29:00.000-08:00

Since I do call this Randomly Ranting. I feel the need to rant.

I fall for it every time. I trust people, this has to be my number one flaw. I honestly believe people when they tell me they are going to do something, and like a dumb ass I think this time they are actually going to do it.

I came to a conclusion this weekend. House is right, and Zarek is right:

House - Everyone lies

Zarek - You can't trust anyone, not even yourself

I will now spend the rest of the year kicking my own ass for being stupid enough to trust someone who is consistent in one thing - letting me down. But can I be smart and walk away? Of course not, I like being kicked apparently.

From now on my new code is

Promises = Bullshit

I know this is vague as hell and a little like WTF?! But think about that one person who you always seem to give that 800th chance to, thinking this time, maybe this time they are not full of it and you always feel like it is a slap in the face when you find out they were lying.

So to you, that person who always gets me - and you don't even follow this blog so it is pretty much like I am talking to myself - I found a little poem for you:

I'm tired of being sweet and nice,
fuck you once and fuck you twice.

Have a happy Monday folks!

Llama song.

2010-02-19T09:47:00.001-08:00

Another WTF Friday thing. I know I have been slacking in posting but I am feeling like shit again. So here was something that made me laugh and go WTF?

This made me laugh. Llama, Llama, Duck. hehe Hope this does not replace "My Horse is Amazing" in your heart.
Have a great weekend people.

WTFckery Friday

2010-02-12T05:02:00.000-08:00

You know all those little things you see that make you go WTF? Well this is going to be a weekly post about some of them.

This is the first wtfckery thing that came to my mind.

Seriously? Who thinks this shit up and who takes the time to put it together. The only part that made me chuckle? Where she goes "OOO that's dirty!"

That's I got for now. I am quite sure I will across something before next Friday.
Have a good weekend.

Fighting

2010-02-10T10:17:00.000-08:00

Today while just talking random crap with Randy we started a conversation talking about the fights we were in as kids.

He is a giant, so even as a kid other kids feared him. Only fight he ever got into involved him pinning a kid by his throat and holding him there until others pulled him off. My story is far more colorful, and mean.

Let me set the stage for you. I am 16 and in the 10th grade. I just transferred to a new school and joined the JROTC program. As everyone in my family was a member of the military at some point this is something I take great pride in. Wednesdays we dressed in our uniforms and even had competitions for things like shoe shining. I loved this part. I would lovingly spend hours shining these shoes until they had a mirror gloss to them and looked like patent leathers. This was some serious time investment. Because at least 3,000 other students attended this school the hallways were crowded during class change. Like any responsible ROTC member, I would wear flip flops in the halls. As soon as I got to class the real shoes went back on.

First thing in the morning we did the Pledge.

All ROTC members must stand at attention during the Pledge.

My boyfriends ex-girlfriends best friend is in this class with me. For what ever reason she decided it would be fun to mess with me. She walked WAY out of her way to scuff the toe of my shoe.

I was pissed but stayed at attention.

Of course it is Fire Drill day (there is no time to change shoes) and she steps as hard as she can on the heel of my left shoe.

I told her to keep off my damn shoes.

This was my own fault. I never should have let on that her stepping on them bothered me so much.

On the way back in from the Fire Drill she steps hard on the heel of my right shoe.

My shoes are now fucked for inspection.

In one pure movement of anger I spin around and connect my binder with her face. I use all 5 foot and 100 pounds of myself to ride her to the ground with my Trapper Keeper.

POW! It was a solid hit. If you have ever smacked a binder against flesh you know what a satisfying sound it makes. The teacher spins around and she is laid out trying to get up.

"She hit me with her binder!"

teacher looks at me

"I did no such thing, sir." I go for the innocent and confused look (it's working) "Can I help you up?" I reach out to her. She slaps my hand away.

Later there are threats of kicking my ass on the road that runs beside the school.

"Meet me on Marshall Farms Rd if you're not chicken shit." She tells me as she walks out class. I roll my eyes, what the hell is this, some 20 year old western rerun? Oh wait they never would have said shit on TV back then. Maybe Yellowbelly.

Anyways school is over and I am getting ready. I start taking off my uniform right there on the side of the road. I don't want to get it dirty, so I wear basketball shorts and wife beater under it. I change into my flip flops. I walk out to her. There she is with her friends. She comes up and says

"Look here bitch, I'm gonna -" and then I punch her in the face as hard as I can. She grabs her face and starts screaming about her nose. "You cheated! I wasn't ready!"

my reply was simple "I didn't cheat! There are no rules in fighting."

"You close fist punched me!"

"What did you think I was here to do, make you kool-aid?"

Needless to say the "fight" was over. She went back to calling me names, but never again made the mistake of challenging me to a fight or stepping on my shoes.

So what are the morals of this story?

One - No rules in fighting. I will not slap you, if I have room to slap, I have room to punch. Having 5 brothers I know this for a fact.

Two- Don't talk shit and invite your friends to watch you get your ass handed to you. Shit talking is cheap, and it's really funny the next day when you sound like Urkel when attempting speech with a busted nose and all I have is a big smile and a bruised hand.

Three - You don't know me. You have no idea how easy you just got off with a single pop to the nose.

So out there in blog land....ever kicked some ass? Tell me about it.

Gross Coffee

2010-02-09T10:15:00.000-08:00

Yesterday on twitter I was told to visit this blog (http://puttingweirdthingsincoffee.com/), where they put weird things in Coffee. It seemed like the worst idea ever. The blog has them putting raw eggs, salmon flavored cream cheese, curry and only who knows what else in a cup of coffee. The person actually had the gall to say some of it tasted good. I could NEVER do that to coffee. That is just wrong, and nasty. Maybe they do it just for the shock factor as none of the pictures showed anyone actually drinking said "flavored" coffee. One of the pictures showed a whole egg in the bottom of the glass, and I could not think of how funny it would have been to see them look at that egg and envision Balut in the bottom of the cup. I bet that would have turned them off. Oh hell who am I kidding, if they are willing to put Salmon in coffee they might just want to try this next time. After all they were complaining about the texture being that of warm snot.
Balut - What’s balut, you ask? Find yourself a fertilized chicken or duck egg and you’ll have a balut in your hand. That’s right. I said fertilized. The embryo inside is nearly developed before the egg is boiled and eaten - shell and all. Baluts are popular in Southeast Asian countries like Vietnam and Cambodia. They’re considered to be a healthy snack chocked full of protein. (::shutter::)

I know somewhere out there in blog world there is someone who is going to try to tell me this is great and delicious. If this is true I am sure there is someone out there who would love to put Salmon in their coffee. (::shutter again::) Randy has already used this quote on this blog but I think I need to revisit it. In Pulp Fiction, Jules and Vincent are sharing breakfast:

I know you heard the line:
"Hey, sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I'd never know 'cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfucker."
How fitting - I'll never know.

Bleeding is good - sometimes

2010-01-25T11:18:00.000-08:00

I woke up the past few days with an illness, but for once in a long time my soul did not feel bad. I have carried burdens I should have let go of a long time ago. I have more horror stories, that would keep you pinned to your chair, thinking I am some abused, malformed person. I'm really not. The last 3 posts are the things that have been the anchors around my legs for a long time. I didn't think anyone wanted to hear them, my fears, my horrible nightmare (that is really just a memory on a loop cycle that creeps in when I am asleep) and the most horrid of all that sad game of "what if?" that I allow to creep into my life and eclipse what joys I have.

There is this beautiful quote that says

"Let us never forget that happiness does not come by getting something we don't have, but rather by recognizing and appreciating that which we do have." - Frederick Keoning

How apt that is for me. Since letting those nasty demons I kept hidden inside me, which can be louder than Edgar Allen Poe's Tell Tale Heart at times, free to just get some air to them and not be trapped inside festering, finally allowing the maggots to eat out the damaged part of soul, I have been happy.

I have every reason to be happy. I will give you my blessings list in a second, but I want you to know, I struggle with depression, more often than I like to admit to even myself. I feel like crap some days, and some days it takes everything in me to crawl out of bed. I have perfected the "life mask", you know what it is, I'm quite sure I am not the only one that has done it. Smile. Stand up straight. Lie like crazy. "Yes I am doing good, how about you?" while on the phone to your friend because you are tired of saying "No, I feel like shit. I hate breathing. I hate talking and the only thing I want to do right now is get back in my bed and lay there with the covers over my head. If the house burns down around me bring marshmallows and hit on the firemen. I'm going back to bed." Maybe you never said it out loud, or quite like that, but you know you have. Maybe it was more like "I'm fine, I'm just tired. I have not been sleeping good. Oh work? I'm tired of that too. I need a new job." So what did you do? What did I do? Candy coat like this is an M & M factory. "Oh every thing is fine! I am doing good! How about you?" Why do we turn the topic away? Because we just don't want to get in depth about how deep fine is.
Want to know the definition of FINE?

Freaked out
Insecure
Neurotic
Emotional

Yes, I know. Most days I'm FINE too.

But some sunshine on this cloudy day?
Things I call my blessings
1.) My children. They light up my life, even when I only have one nerve left and they are not just on it, they are doing back flips all over it. When the boy tells me I am a rock star to him, and my little girl cuddles in my lap they make my heart lighter. My son learned the sign for LOVE in ASL, everyday when I drop him off for school he turns at the gate and makes that sign to me. How could I ask for more?

2.) My husband - he makes me crazy. He makes me want to lose my mind. He makes me laugh when I want to punch him in the face. He can be hopelessly romantic and giving. He tickles me until I threaten to pee on him.

3.) My boss. He is sarcastic. He is so funny and smart and patient. He has seen me freak out in the office and lets me yell at him. At the top of my lungs while he sits there, and tries not to laugh at me. He tells me I have good ideas, he supports my work. He encourages me to be what ever I want to be. He told me once I was leader. I told him I couldn't be a leader, I don't lead anybody. The next morning was a quote on my desk. It said "If your actions inspire others to dream more, do more, and become more, you are a leader." - John Quincy Adams

4)My book Buddy Maryse (I name her a lot on here), she is a awesome at recommending books to me, and always sneaks book chats with me while we are work. No one else I know in person likes to talk books with me. I also love how she will tell me the whole story when I beg her to, there are no spoilers for me, I am the one that has to hear the whole recount then read the book on my own.

I am thrilled that I am happy. I had the best time while sick, I didn't feel like the walls were crushing in on me, I enjoyed being alive this weekend. I felt good, and to tell the truth, I think the maggots are hard at work eating out the dead infected chunks of soul.

What are you thankful for?

~~Lily~~

Good Morning, vomit. Warning this is GRAPHIC

2010-01-19T06:08:00.000-08:00

Sunny beautiful day, Dad tells Brother to go cut the grass. Bubba is 16, thinks he shouldn't have to, he wants to hang with his friends. I'm embarrassed. My new friend Jessie stayed over last night and our walls are thin, you can hear the whole thing. Dad tells Bubba "Do it or else." and leaves to go out for the day. His decree has been made. I hear the lawn mower start up. Bubba must be having an OK day.

The sun pours into the room, lighting up the small usually dark space. We have no a/c, the windows HAVE to be open. Me and Jessie are singing Backstreet Boys songs at the top of our lungs, we are 13 and the only adult is my Grandfather, sleeping in his rocking chair as usual on these hot summer days. My Bubba is at the door. I tell him to go away. He doesn't need to hang out with us, go find his own friends to hang with. "By the way," I ask, "Is the lawn done?" I know it can't be, he was only mowing for 20 mins, we have a big yard. "No." comes his sullen reply. "Well get to it, Dad will be pissed if he comes home and it isn't done." I am just looking out for him, Dad slapped him yesterday for having a smart mouth. He just shrugs. I pretend to throw the cd in my hand at him. Jessie and me bust out laughing when he kind of ducks down. "It would have been funny if it had slipped and sailed right over your head." I manage to get out. We are having at fit of the giggles that most 13 year olds get. It doesn't have to funny. His face is not amused. "You know what would be funny?!" he yells "If you saw me kill myself!" I stop laughing. He was such a drama king, always yelling out things like that and that he hated all of us. He was 16, he was overweight, not a cool kid by any means and was always angry. He didn't have many friends. "Oh stop." I said. I turned my back to him and went back to talking with Jessie about some other girl at school. He has been dismissed. I close the door in his face. He will be mad for a while. He will get over it.

The lawn mower has stopped again. I look out the window. He is finally going to trim the trees like Dad told him to do last week. Good. Maybe that will make Dad forget about the lip Bubba gave him earlier. Maybe not. Jessie and I are back to singing at the top of our lungs. We stop because we are thirsty. Jessie has a look of pure horror on her face. I turn around.

There he is. Bubba, my Bubby. I could not call him brother when I was small. I called him Bubby. As I got older the name stuck and he was Bubba. It was shock. It could not be my feet racing to the kitchen screaming at Jessie to call 911. I grab the first knife I came to. It was a steak knife. Oh well I halfway out the back door, running with a knife. His feet were on the ground. Almost as if he was kneeling but only the tops of his feet were touching the grass underneath. His eyes were wide open, with blood tears coming out. There was a fountain of blood pouring out of his mouth. Oh my God. Oh my God. I put the knife to rope and begin to saw at it. It is nylon rope. An eternity has passed. Finally the rope is frayed enough to break. He lands with an awful thud face down. He is not breathing. I get my fingers between the rope and his neck, but just barely, there is no noose, just tied so tight it must have be choking him long before he let his feet out from beneath him. There is still no sirens. We live less than 3 mins from the fire station. Has Jessie called 911? I roll my Bubby over, there is sand on his face, and the nasty pulp that used to be his tongue is laying on the ground. I pick it up. I am holding the tip of his tongue in my hand. I don't know what else to do. I run back inside. Jessie is still staring out the window. I grab the cordless.

"911, what is your emergency?"
"My brother hung himself in my back yard, my address is 555 anywhere lane, please come quick!"
"I'm sorry you have to calm down. What is happening?"
Calm down? I am calm. I am holding my brother tougne in my hand, how much calmer can I get?
"My address is 555 anywhere lane. My brother hung himself. He is not breathing. Please send help quick."
"Ma'am I need the address again."
I hang up the phone. I know my address is on the screen. I don't need to calm down.
I run back outside. Grandfather is there. He can't do anything. He is helpless. I get down. I am going to give CPR. I think. I look down, the tongue is still in my hand. I hand it to Grandpa. He looks down at it. It just lays in the palm of his hand. I try to remember everything I ever seen on TV. I begin to give CPR. His mouth is a mess. Blood just pouring out. I stiffen my spine. I can do this. I put my mouth to his I breath into his mouth. I press on his chest as hard as I can. It doesn't move. I use my knees. I am pressing every bit of weight I have onto him. I keep hearing "Oh God. Oh God. Oh my God." I realize it is me. I shut up. I need that air for him. I put my mouth back to his. I breathe into it. Then in the distance I hear the sweetest sound I have ever heard. I hear the siren. Relief floods me. I keeping kneeling on his chest. I hear something break. I stop. I look down. His chest moved for the first time. I did it again. The paramedics are running across the lawn. A firefighter grabs me and pushes me to the side. I stand there. My brothers blood dripping out of my mouth. I dry heave. I watch as they shove a tube down his badly swollen, black and blue throat. They pull out the paddles. I am not stupid, I take another step back. Clear! Shock. Pulse check. Clear! Shock. Pulse check. Clear! Shock. Pulse check. The poor guy sits back on his haunches. He looks like he is going to throw up. Bubba's eyes open. He can't scream, but he is awake. They are moving him to a gurney. He is on a tube to breathe. His neck is a wreck of bruises already, with a thick crimson line. There are trails of blood from his nose, eyes and ears. His tongue is being handed to another paramedic. He looks revolted at it. He puts it in a bag with an ice pack. They are taking him away. He is alive. I have to call my Dad. I vomited. I have not had this nightmare of a memory for a while now. I wake up with bile in my mouth. I have to go throw up in real life. Good Morning, vomit.

Other images flash into my mind, as I lay back against my tub. I am not 13 anymore, that was just a painful memory. Unfortunately that was just the first time Bubba tried to take his own life, it would not be the last. The paramedics were nice, they even got to know him by name. They were able to sew the tongue back on (in case you were wondering, he just talks a little funny now) He was diagnosed with Schizophrenia, and one of his personalities is bi-polar. I would not have thought a person could have people inside them that have other mental illnesses. I was wrong. More images assault me, the time he crushed a glass and raked from the center of his hand to the crook of his arm. I was holding him down with my shirt tied around his bicep. I did not care that I was standing in my front yard in my bra, my brother was bleeding to death. Many months later he was overdosing on pills, months after that confined to the facility for "testing". There were many, many, more about 15 at last count, only few where he was close to getting it. He once even drank bleach, and another time was well on his way to drinking a shot glass full of Black Flag when I smacked it out of his hand and tackled him to the floor. That was the scariest for me. It was a story he heard one of the paramedics talking about on the ambulance ride to the hospital after another blotched attempt. I really think the paramedics should wait to discuss the successful cases of suicide until the attempted one is out of the van. But that's just me. My brother still lives. He is out there somewhere. The song for me and my brother is "Hate Me" by Blue October.

I don't hate him, I never could - even when I wanted to. My Dad could not handle my brother and threw him out 3 years after the first time. Dad thought he would grow up. He hasn't. He will not take the medication, he will not see his therapist. He uses street drugs, and is on probation for a Felony. I love him. I want to help him. It is true, there is no way to help someone who does not want to help themself. It is hard. It is really hard on the days when I wake up to vomit after remembering.

Today my soul hurts for my brother.
~~Lily~~

Recipies for Happiness #1

2010-01-18T14:23:00.000-08:00

You cannot change other people’s beliefs.

Let’s get honest here; you cannot even change your own beliefs. Have you ever tried? Go ahead, right now. Change a belief. If you believe in God, stop. If you don’t, then start believing in Him.

You can’t. You cannot even imagine what it would be like to change that belief. Do you know why? Beliefs are a part of your core. They make up a fundamental part of your being. Changing a belief is like substituting water for eggs. You might still have cake, but it won’t be the same.

But worse then that, if you could change a belief, you wouldn’t. Why? Because it would be tantamount to admitting you were wrong. That in fact you had been fooled. Now who wants to be wrong? Who wants to be the fool? Changing beliefs are hard, and it normally takes years and the help of trained professionals. Changing jobs, spouses, houses, cars, and perhaps even planets is easier by comparison. But that’s just within you.

So, if you cannot change your own beliefs, how could you ever change someone else’s? This brings me to the point; argument, in all its forms, is useless. Don’t argue. Hell, don’t even defend yourself. If someone comes up to you and calls you the lowest piece of whale shit ever to inhabit the earth, just agree with them (in a non-committal way). “You know what? You’re probably right.”

What can they do? Start arguing the other side? “No, now that I think about it, you’re a saint…”

So what if you did argue? Would you change their opinion of you? No, and anyone that has ever had this argument knows I’m right. And besides, once you start defending yourself or trying to prove that you are not the worst person God ever put on this earth (comparisons between yourself and Hitler come to mind), you only fuel the other person’s fire and prolong a worthless conversation.

An argument is not a debate by the way. The way to tell a debate from an argument? If one person is discussing what they believe, it’s an argument. Debates are held over thoughts. “Well I think…” This also calls for the clarifying question, “Do you really believe that?” This is a wonderful question to know if the other person is ready to discuss or simply argue. If they really believe something… agree with them and move on.

Besides, you don’t have to adopt their beliefs. To quote that great philosopher Jules Winnfield, “Sewer rat might taste like pumpkin pie, but I’ll never know. ‘Cause I’ll never eat the filthy mother fucker.”

I hate people – or – My antisocial tendencies

2010-01-18T12:40:00.000-08:00

I have been, many times in my life, accused of being anti-social. The simple fact is that I don’t like people.

That’s not the same as saying that I want to see people suffer. Much to the contrary. I actually like humanity and have high hope for our collective abilities. I want to see people succeed and flourish. I just prefer to keep people at two arms length from me.

It was not until this weekend that I started asking myself why that is. Why is it that I have such a small group of friends? Why do I cringe at the thought of meeting new people, or in fact going to places where there are large groups of people? I started asking myself what in my past has happened to make me this way?

I can remember being young and looking forward to meeting new people, making new friends, going places and having adventures. So what changed?

Then I started thinking about how people have hurt me. We are not talking about little disappointments. We are talking about epic failures! And not just as friends, but as human beings. We are talking about the girlfriend that accused me of rape, when we had never had sex. Come to find out it was her father raping her. He made her blame me in an attempt to extort money from my family. We are talking about friends that have used me for various means to their own ends. Lovers who have broken hearts, and worse… threatened my very life.

Now all this might lead you to believe that I am not a very nice person. And I had considered this for a very long time. In fact, I spent a lot of time alone convinced that I was not worthy of having friends and I would basically ruin the life of anyone I came in contact with. So I avoided people. I avoided any situation where I would run even the slightest possibility of making “friends”. Then something I had not expected happened.

I ran across an old friend. And by old, I mean childhood, 5-year-old kind of friend. She and I spent a lot of time talking and she finally asked one day, “Why are you so anti-social?” I explained how I would ruin the life of anyone that I touched and she was better off to leave now and not have me “infect” her. I was just a bad person.

She told me that I was not bad, but bad things had happened to me. I guess in my way I twisted this to mean “bad things happen when you get close to people”. I had gone 3 years without incident and intended not to have misery revisited upon me. So everyone I have met form that moment on has been kept as far away as possible. Currently have 2 real friends. And I cannot tell you for the life of me, how I got that close to these 2 people.

Two people whom I would trust with my life. I have no casual acquaintances. If I was to meet you today, I would forget your name by this evening. Tomorrow if we passed in the street, I would not recognize your face. It’s a defense mechanism. If I don’t care about you, you cannot hurt me. If I don’t know you, I cannot hurt you. I do not want to be this way.

People who have never met me think I’m an asshole. I give off that aura. Honestly, I do, but it’s on purpose.

People who have met me don’t think I’m an asshole. They just think I’m weird.

Truthfully… I’m afraid of being hurt, and hurting others. Truthfully, I don’t want to be this way anymore. Truthfully, I don’t know what to do about it.

The Reason

2010-01-18T11:12:00.000-08:00

Lilly and I have been talking and we have come to the conclusion that our blog is going to be used for addressing the flaws in our character. We are taking a very medieval medicine approach to it. We are laying bear our souls to allow the maggots to get at them, eat away the dead and decaying parts, and there by clean these old wounds and allow them to heal.

That will be the reason for this blog. You are welcome to join us on our journey of self discovery and purification, or not it’s up to you. However be warned, if you do venture down this road with us, you may just discover some infections in yourself. This is a scary concept for some.

Anyways, where’s my flies and leeches?

People like You

2010-01-18T06:05:00.000-08:00

I am getting ready for work, and again I run into that person I can not stand. She smiles at me as she watches me apply my makeup, with that cynical look in her eye that says "Why bother, it doesn't really make a diiference anyways." I try to ignore her as I move on to my eyeliner.
I look down at the clothes I picked out and suddenly want to go change them. The makeup looks wrong, the outfit is wrong and what the hell possesed me to pick out these shoes. This is not my area. I am not comfortable in this.
I want my jeans and tee shirt and flip flops. I don't give a damn that I work in an office and it is 50 degrees outside. I want to wear my floppy stained college sweater that hangs to my knees, the one that makes me feel safe. I want to scrub my face and put my carefully done hair back into a ponytail at the base of my neck.
Suddenly I feel strangled by necklace I am wearing, I almost break it in ripping it from my throat.
I don't care if I broke it, I need to breathe.
Big gasping breaths.
In and out.
In and out.
I can do this. I know I can do this.
I look up, there she is staring at me again. Ugh, the look on her face says it all. The cruel uptwist of her lips, her hands splayed wide on the counter. I straighten up, no need for anyone to see me looking like this. I can't help it, she just stands there staring back at me. I unleash what is bubbling over inside my head.
"You know what I hate about people like you?" I'm almost shaking with rage, "I hate the way you stand there and judge me, you have no right. I may not be a supermodel but I clean up nice!" I can hear my voice rising with emotion as I look at her. "I can do this, who are you to decide what I am supposed to look like! I can not make myself taller, I am working on getting thinner, and I refuse to have plastic surgery on my face. This is what it looks like, this is my nose and chin, even if they are both pointy and my nose is too long. I don't care!" her look was her reply, it was clear she didn't beleive any of that crap any more than I did. I squared my sholders, and raised my too pointy chin. I released the fists I didn't even realize I had made. I took a deep breath. I laugh a little. I know I sound nuts, but I have one song to sing that makes me happy. I looked into her face and began to sing softly ..."We've got this room for two, we've got all afternoon, one thing that is left to do, discover me discoving you, you're body is a wonderland, your body is where I lose my hands,"
I remember the way he sung it to me so softly on the balcony, his arms around me as we both smoked the days last ciggarette, with my head back on his chest and his face next to mine. I remember the way I felt, warm and loved. Like nothing on this earth could mar that night. Hundreds of miles from home, wrapped in loving arms and accepted as I am.
I am smiling now and resolve once again to figure a way to get ready for work without going through this. Ugh, what can I say? She is always here waiting for me. To remind me of how much I hate her. It is people like her who keep people like me feeling like hell.
Too bad we are the same person. I turn off the bathroom light and steal one more glance at the mirror.
"Yep," the reflection says,"your ass still looks big from back here. Get to work slacker, you're going to be late bacause you're talking to yourself again." I sigh deeply.
If there was just a way to shut her up.
Oh well, people like her keep people like me trying harder I guess. After all isn't the person that is hardest to please none other than yourself?

~Lily~

Don't worry, be happy!

2010-01-15T11:55:00.001-08:00

I spend a lot of time contemplating human nature. I really think it’s more of a pre-occupation than a hobby. And Lilly gives me so many opportunities to ponder aspects that I normally don’t focus on. For instance, today she is playing the “What if” game. My problem with this game is, it focuses on regret. It’s basically a way of saying “I regret ___ (fill in the blank)”

Regret is a cancer, a disease of the brain. Regret eats away at the things we enjoy and leaves us filled with, well, regret. I suggest a new version on this old favorite. The “What IF (I Forgot)” game.

Old What if:
“What if I had never married ___”
a) I have to assume I would be happier. Assuming misery is counter productive to the game.
b) I have to assume more opportunities for happiness.
c) I have to assume problems in my life now would not exist.

New What if:
“What have I forgotten that made me want to marry ___ in the first place?”
a) I rediscover the love I once held so dear.
b) I remember the look in the face I once cherished.
c) I reconnect with the purpose that was so strong it made me abandon all others.
d) I find happiness where I am.

All of this is of course assuming you were married by choice and not forced into what we southerners call a “shotgun wedding”.

Happiness is a choice. I choose to be happy, I choose to be sad. What the world does to me has no affect on my choice. People are in complete control of their mental state at all times, and yet we give this power away. We dwell on the past. We wallow in misery. We “get the blues”, like it’s a cold and we should be over it in a week. The cure is obvious, choose to be happy.

Maybe Bobby McFerrin had it right. But he left out some steps. “Don’t focus on what makes your miserable, and brings you stress, and brings you down. Don’t forget the wonder in your life, the simple joys, the eternal power of your own happiness. Choose happy.”

Eh…, I guess that’s not as catchy after all.

--Randy

Fifteen

2010-01-15T07:35:00.000-08:00

I know you have all heard of the hottest little country pop star in forever named Taylor Swift. For some odd reason I actually like her music, which should be disturbing because I like alternative mostly. Anyways this song called "Fifteen" came on the radio by her, and it spoke it me. Maybe because I can relate to this song a deep level - when I was 15 I went out with my husband for the first time. He was on the football team and I thought I knew everything there was to know about life. How foolish I was. The lyrics that caught me were

"'cause when you're fifteen and somebody tells you they love you
You're gonna believe them
When you're fifteen and your first kiss
Makes your head spin round but
In your life you'll do things greater than dating the boy of the football team
But I didn't know it at fifteen

When all you wanted was to be wanted
Wish you could go back and tell yourself what you know now
Back then I swore I was gonna marry him someday
But I realized some bigger dreams of mine"

But I am not like that song, I did not realize any bigger dreams of mine, I married him and had kids. Do not get me wrong I love my kids, and I love my husband. I do not regret anything I have done that has brought me to this point in my life. But I must admit I played the "What if?" game today.

What if I didn't get pregnant?
At 17 I thought I had every thing in my life figured out. I had a plan. The old saying comes to mind "If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans." I planned to join the Air Force, I was going to serve, I was going to be a pilot. My boyfirend of 2 years was not going to wait for me while I served. We were staying together until I left for basic, I was to sign my delayed entry papers in 1 week. I realized I might be pregnant and took a test. Calling my recruiter, and telling my family I would not be joining the military was the hardest thing I have ever done. They were more dissapointed that I would not be serving than anything else. My family was upset I was breaking the commitment to something I trained very hard for, something I wanted so bad, the only thing I ever saw me doing in my life.

This quote comes to mind for me:
"Sometimes in life, from out of a myriad of prosaic decisions like what to eat and where to sleep and how to dress, a true crossroads is revealed. In these moments, when the fog of relative irrelevancy lifts and fate rolls out a demand for free will, there is only left or right – no option of four-by-fouring into the underbrush between two paths, no negotiating with the choice that has been presented. You must answer the call and pick your way. And there is no reverse. "
--J.R. Ward from the novel Lover Avenged

I was going to be a pilot. I was going to rise in the ranks of the Military, I was going to make my family proud. I have not been an active participant in my family in years. The day I chose my child is the day I broke the bond with them. They did not want my child, they did not want me if I did not serve. I chose my child and decided I could not ever live up to whatever version of me they constructed. I can not be the perfect child they wanted.

I am flawed.

I am being the only person I can be, and that's me.

~Lily~

Blockages

2010-01-14T13:03:00.000-08:00

I have this condition. I call it mental constipation. It’s a condition arising from the act of forcing yourself to do something you don’t want to do, to the point where your brain shuts down in an attempt to keep you from doing it anymore.

Mental constipation is not to be confused with writer’s block. As you may know, writer’s block occurs when you are trying to do something you want to do, but cannot seem to find that inspiration to cause it to flow from you. Now here is where the correlation between mental constipation and writer’s block comes into play.

If you seem to find that you are suffering from writer’s block, go and do something that is mentally taxing, but at the same time completely NOT what you want to be doing. This would not include activities such as watching TV, reading a book (unless you hate to read), or taking a hot bath. I mean find something that engages your mind, but just bugs the shit out of you. Do it till you can’t form another thought, then try to keep pushing there by blocking up your mental sphincter (for lack of a better term), and causing mental constipation.

At this point your logical, rational, sensible brain should be completely numb and there for incapable of interfering with the creative side of you. You will find, just as I have today, that writer’s block is suddenly gone. There by proving the old saying, “It’s gott’a come out somewhere!”

-- Randy

Big Mac's, Midget Porn, and Guilt

2010-01-14T12:43:00.000-08:00

Never before has human culture been so geared against itself as it is today. It seems that everywhere you turn there is something trying to get you to do something, and someone telling you should be ashamed of doing it. And the bad thing is that we (as humans) believe it.

If I’m hungry and want a Big Mac, why should I not eat that Big Mac? Why can’t I have a drink when I get home? Why can’t I enjoy watching porn? Why can’t I smoke that cigarette?

It is not the act in itself that we should be ashamed of; rather it’s the nature of the thought behind the act. A McDonald’s on the corner doesn’t mean I have to eat three Big Mac’s a day. The fact that porn exists, doesn’t mean I have to denigrate women or have sex with every one that I meet. If I buy a carton of cigarettes, it doesn’t mean I have to smoke two packs a day.

So I eat the Big Mac, drink my scotch, smoke that cigarette, and watch midget porn… now I have this resentment against myself for doing all these “nasty” things. Which was worse? The Big Mac, or the guilt? The one drink or the belief that I’m becoming an alcoholic? The cigarette or the fear of lung cancer?

We know when we treat ourselves wrong. The hangover is the prime example. That’s your body’s way of saying, “Hey… jerk… don’t do that again!” If I smoke too many cigarettes, I wake up feeling like a 1000lb man is sitting on my chest. But I cannot believe that God would put anything on this earth that He didn’t intend for us to enjoy. And I think that is the key.

It’s not necessary to take a Dionysian attitude toward life, with all the food, wine and wenches one can cram into every waking second. But enjoy life, this world, that food, that lover. Slow down, savor, relish, and delight in everything you do. If we take this approach, we will not be able to eat too much, we will be full. We will not be able to smoke too much, we will be satisfied. We will not whore around, we will be still discovering this lover.

The only thing we have to be ashamed of is a life filled with experiences unlived.

--Randy

Jackass - Or Reality TV in General

2010-01-14T08:09:00.001-08:00

Since Lily just has to bring up this sore subject, I feel the need to rant a bit about it. Reality TV is the harkening back to Roman Coliseum days. No matter how much shit you were living in back then you could take heart in the fact that you were not that poor SOB getting eaten by lions down there.

It’s called catharsis folks. Yes that wonderful feeling we get when we see some schmuck take a nut shot, eat a snot cover tape worm, or accidentally catch themselves on fire. Just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy thinking about it! Really do we as American’s not have anything better to do with our time?

Survivor – Ha that’s a joke! Drop them in downtown Syria with a tent and a prayer, who ever walks out… that’s a survivor.

Hell’s Kitchen – Julia Childs meets Darth Vader. If you want someone to tell you you’re worthless, join the army. Drill sergeants live for that shit. Seriously, cook for 1000 soldiers, in the dessert, during a mortar campaign… that’s hell.

Jackass – The topic. Well what can I say about this? Honestly, I cannot think of one reason to watch this show. It’s not entertaining, it’s not funny, it’s not educational… if you like this stuff, become a paramedic. Every day at work would be filled with seeing just how stupid people can be and exactly how much they can hurt themselves.

Every other reality show – I basically believe I have enough going on in my life that I don’t need to entwine 12 other miserable people into it. I don’t care who’s screwing (literally and figuratively) who. It’s only what they deserve for signing the contract in the first place.

In closing I would like to say two things. First educational TV is not reality. You cannot learn how to cook watching Bobby Flay do it, but at least you might get two brain cells to rub together watching him. Second, and most importantly, I think the prize at the end of every reality TV show should be a marriage proposal for Flavor Flav (I don’t know nor do I care if I spelled that right). I think that’s good enough… yes even American Idol. --Randy

3 Things I am NEVER going to do

2010-01-14T05:18:00.000-08:00

Cheryl over at http://starbucksbreak.blogspot.com/ posted a blog about the 3 things she was never going to do, and I could not help but post at the bottom of her's what mine would be.

So here it is folks- three things I plan to NEVER do:

1. Join any reality show - ever. I could not stand being watched 24 hours a day and then edited to show whatever the producers felt would increase viewership

(This show is a train wreck, but if it comes on while I am flipping through the channels I can not help it but stop and watch.)

2. Use the prison wallet - I could not shove anything up there and walk around with it, especially if it was drugs! What if that condom packed with coke busts open? Now I am going to die on an airplane flight of overdose and if I don't then I bet the drug dealers are going to want the money for the said drugs that just exploded into my rectum. It just seems to me like they would not be very understanding that accidents happen.

Just one question comes to mind when I found this - That must have taken the industrial jar of lube to get it up there, but don't you worry about all those nasty fluids and other things in there messing up the firing ability? If I went through all the trouble of getting that thing up there I would think you would want to make sure it would work when you got it where ever you were so intent on getting it.

3. Try to preform any type of circus act (swalling swords, breathing fire, tightrope walking) or anything I have ever seen on Jackass - they named the show that for a reason.

Why none of those things? My luck would be I would sneeze with all the swords down in my gut. Fire breathing? Come now I can not fathom of a good reason to fill my mouth with a flamable liquid and light it on fire while I am spitting out - call me crazy but I like my face the way it is, I dont think melting it off would improve it. Tightrope walking? Once I master flat surfaces I might try this one....on second thought I sucked at balance beam as a kid. And finally Jackass - really do I need to say more?

So what are your 3 things?
~Lily~

A prayer to God: Improvements for the species.

2010-01-07T09:53:00.000-08:00

Dear God,

I was wondering if, when you’re not to busy running the universe and all, you could possibly help us out. And by us I of course mean humans.

See here’s the problem. You made us too damn smart. Well some of us anyways. So now we have all these wondrous things in our lives that we cannot help but play with. Cell phones, cars, TV’s, and PlayStations. It’s all just a bit much for animals with only two hands.

I was wondering if we could maybe get a third hand; or if it’s not too much trouble.. maybe a fourth? We would of course need the whole set up. Shoulders, elbow, wrist… all the things that just make a hand useful in the first place. Please God, I need to know that when I’m driving down the road and look over to see the person in the car next to me eating a Big Mac and talking on his phone and picking his nose while smoking a cigarette and driving, that he at least has one hand on the wheel.

Thank You,
Randy

PS. Of course you could just give us all common sense; that might be harder though.

Musing

2010-01-07T06:05:00.000-08:00

This is supposed to be a ranting thing, but I can not help myself. When I woke up the words were pouring out of me. But before I get too far ahead of myself let me give you the back story. I have never seen myself as anything other than a writer, and almost everytime I have ever shared my stuff it has bit me in the ass. Agaist the voice in my head screaming "DONT DO IT!" I entered a contest on Mr. Condeceding blogspot and had to follow this critera (it was to be a love scene):

* Use exactly 100 well chosen words.
* Make it as captivating as possible and keep it classy.
* Evoke a specific atmosphere or situation
* Entries due by next tuesday.
* Make it hot.

So this is what I wrote:

"His hands were reading my body like a blind man reads braile, his face close to mine, he tasted my flesh, nipping at my ear with my sudden breath. His body pressed into mine, my hand buried in hair, promising of something more that would be happening soon. Oh glorious torture, there was too much between us, too much past, and right now too many clothes. I pulled back, and slipped my dress from my shoulders, as it pooled on the ground I looked at my left hand, the gold band slipped to floor. That was all the approval needed."

I have not written anything that I felt like amounted to shit for years. I have written some stuff, little things mind you that made me smile before I moved it to the trash folder.

I told Maryse about it (to be honest I emailed it to her because I was freaking out about actually sending out my writing to someone and needed to be assured I did not sound like a total idiot) and she told me I should write some more.

I told her to tell me a story line she would like to read about and give me some ideas. She told me she wanted to read about a love triangle and for it to be super angsty. I am working on that now. Last night I dreamed about the people I was creating and how they would feel and act what they would look like, and then when I woke up, I was sad to have left them behind in the dream world. I found myself this morning asking myself does love conquer all? In writing the story about 2 boys who are in love with the same girl I wonder if the good guy, the one I am rooting for should actually win the girl?

In real life that is not what always happens, but Heather (also known as BookObsessedGrl) on twitter directed me to their blog and wrote something I don't think I will ever forget -she said "After all, why do we read if not as an escape from the world that is constantly pushing in on us?"and I could not help but nod my head in agreement.

I have discovered I really do that. When it all seems like too much I delve into a book and just absorbe their lives, where although they struggle, true love wins, the bad guys are defeated (or at least beaten back) and although they never say Happy Ever After, you know it is going to be that way. Should I give the happy ending? I almost think I have to. If I don't think the people my mind spun together can have their true love and have the life they deserve, what can I hope for in my personal life?

~Lily~

Why Randomly Ranting?

2010-01-06T09:49:00.000-08:00

Hi I'm Lily! I am going to use this blog to rant about a lot of stuff! I am also going to use this cover my battle to lose weight and get the cash to buy an EReader.
-I was promised $5 per pound for the next 3 months - if I lose 50lbs that will get me an EReader!
Randy will also be on this blog - right now I think he is ready for a rant already today....how fitting. Randy is my partner in crime.

Randy was going to write the first blog on here, but Blogger decided not to save his work. You can check out my musing though.