it’s ok to wish for a penis in ghetto mexico

I have a completely illogical fear of mice. And most animals for that matter, but for the purpose of this conversation, mice.

“How illogical?” you say?

I don’t watch Tale of Despereaux or Ratatouille or even Tom & Jerry. I hate the scurrying little suckers. The mere sound of their little feet or whiskers or whatever the shit makes that sound just sends chills up my spine and forces the need for Xanax and vodka. STAT.

Once, about 10 years ago, I went on a mission trip to Mexico (not Cancun people. not one of the good places.) (and no, I’m not Mormon. Uhhhh… obviously, I guess.) Anyway, completely inappropriate rambling aside, there was no plumbing in this particular area. We did our business in an outhouse.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT LIVES UNDER AN OUTHOUSE IN GHETTO MEXICO??? A family of rats, that’s what. I’m almost positive I didn’t shit the whole week we were there. And I know for a fact I didn’t sit on the “seat.” Those creepy little bastards just scurried around under there the whole time scads of girls were squatting above them. Never in my life did I wish I had a penis so badly. Oh to be able to stand up to pee that week.

Ummmm… what were we talking about? Oh, right. I think my kitchen has a mouse! And there is no one here right now that knows how to handle such a crisis. I called the hubbs to come home and deal with it and he said NO. He clearly does not have the sense god gave a raccoon to see this is an issue.

Those fuckers carry rabies dammit. Send reinforcements. I need an exterminator!!!

this is why i’m hot

I’ve had a post ruminating in me for a couple of weeks now, but in the last day or so it’s made a new twist. Now I fear it’s going to whole new levels of sappy love muffin squishiness, and I better get this out quick before it takes on a life of it’s own.

I am one of the whiniest, bitchiest, most annoying women to grace this earth. I know this. I accept this. There are times I endeavor to be better than that, and times I say, “uhhhhh fuck it. I can only be what I am. You must learn to love me.”

No matter which of my personalities I’m sporting around, there is always one constant. I have THE BEST group of friends around me. They laugh at me, cry with me, encourage me, tell me to shut up, inspire me, sweat with me, pee their pants alongside me and take part of any and all drunken shenanigans one of us may come up with. In the years since high school, I have made an army of friends I only dreamt about having during those awkward socially retarded and more than a few mental breakdown laced years. (even then, there were a couple who fit this description and stuck it through with me. :))

My current friends (and try as I might I won’t mention you all) do things like:
– have the courage to write books
-have a gift that finds the most buried but amazing qualities in those around them (especially children) and a heart that knows how to unearth them.
– take care of husbands, may-as-well-be husbands, children, various “handicaps” (for lack of a better word all will relate to) farms, pets, careers, bills, families, businesses, food allergies out the wazoo, babies, “step”-children, sick children, sick husbands, husbands that injure themselves doing idiotic stunts, husbands that undergo career changes and the training that’s involved, countless baseball, soccer and softball games (in the rain)…and the list keeps going.

In short, I am surrounded by wonder women and supermen as friends. How could I not feel supported and encouraged and inspired? I am one lucky woman!

And the best part?

My best friend? Is the most amazing husband and dad a person could dream of. Oh yes, he annoys the living shit out of me some days. I’ve spent the better part of nine years smelling his stinky ass every morning as I wake up and every night as I fall asleep. He is moody and grumpy, an introvert (though no one would EVER guess that) that needs his space, and he knows how to push my buttons all over the place. BUT, he is more amazing than annoying. He sacrifices above and beyond for our family, he works his ass off, he loves, he laughs, he tells me no, and this is the most awesome thing ever, He. Gets. Me.

And I am just the luckiest bitch in the world.

black swan dive

The other night the Hubbs and I watched Black Swan.  I love movies that have tons of stuff going on in them but you’re never exactly sure what it is.  I knew there were enigmas and that which seemed real quite possibly wasn’t.  I knew (and this shouldn’t be a spoiler to you because it says so plain as day on the DVD case) that Natalie Portmann’s character was going to flip out and be a crazy person.  What I didn’t know was how it would affect me to my own crazy core. 

I have a history of mental illness in my family.  Basically, I’m pretty sure every person I’m blood related to is a damn lunatic.  There may or may not be people in my family that have committed murder.  I’m just sayin’ (and I never just say anything.)  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve laid in the Hubb’s arms at night with tears puddling up in my ears asking him if he thinks I’ve finally gone over the edge.  Laugh if you will, but there’s a part of me that’s positive it’s coming.  I’m just waiting for the trigger that finally does me in.

Half way through the movie when I realized that people weren’t at all what they seemed to be and delusions and hallucinations were aplenty, it sent me  off the deep end.  I didn’t totally realize it till afterward, but suddenly I was laying in bed wondering if my husband was even real or if I was actually in a padded room somewhere conjuring him and my two spawn up as a result of tragic miscarriages and too many tokes off the peace pipe.  All I can tell you people is that I lost it.  And how that man of mine talks me back from crazy town I will never know.

I can tell you this for sure, I know God is real because only he, in his infinite wisdom, would know that he just had to give me the man he did.  I swear to you there is no one on Earth that can talk me off the ledge like he can.  BUT – he was not on his game after that movie.  He was playing some idiotic game on his iPhone and I was laying there trying to gauge how far in looneyville I’d slipped when I asked him, “Hey Babe?  Do you ever feel like you’ve maybe lost your mind after you watch a movie like that?”  His amazing response: “Hu-uh.  Good night.”

WHAT THE MOTHER FUCKING FUCK?  I’m envisioning the day I finally lose it and wondering which of the people in my life aren’t actually real, but are aberration I’ve created to help me cope with life this side of vodka and you are too wrapped up in NBA Jams to talk me back to sanity?  Are you kidding me?

So I casually turn over and text my sister {who also happened to be watching the swan at the same time}  if it left her feeling a little on the crazy side.  Well of course it didn’t.  We don’t share genes.  Mid-Conversation the jack-ass finally realized something was going on and slinked over to my side of the bed to see what was the matter.  {Or he was feeling frisky and was met by my evil twin and then realized he better get his shit together.  Jury’s still out on that one.}   After a half hour of repeatedly assuring me I am not one of the crazy ones that seems to hail my gene pool and he will always and forever make sure I don’t become one of them, I was finally calm and peaceful.

I swear to God though, one of these days I’m going to swan dive into the abyss of crazy-dom and you people better be on the lookout.  Someone in my family almost ripped another one of my family member’s ears off.  I’M JUST SAYIN’!!!