Holy Mackerel

There are but two three things on my mind right now. Mr. Handsome has announced, rather quietly, that he is no longer reading my blog. Actually, he didn't so much announce it as he mentioned it under his breath in an almost inaudible way. Apparently, he finds my blog disgusting and inappropriate. He is ashamed, and he wants me to stop writing it. Whatever, I say to him. And then, I curled up in the fetal position and sucked my thumb until it was as flat as a pancake. Seriously though ... WHAT. THE. HELLO KITTY??!! MY blog is "inappropriate"? MY blog? A little silly, maybe. Perhaps quite inane and ridiculous at times. I'll even go so far as to say that, at times, when I discuss certain bodily functions, maybe one could take that as being a bit too much information. I see it more as part of everyone's everyday life. We all poop and pee and have sex. We all have either a vagina or a penis, or perhaps a combination of the two, or maybe a few of us wish we had wha

 Life's a rocky road sometimes, and it's our duty as human beings to roll with the punches, go with the flow, run with the bulls, do whatever it takes, turn that frown into a smile. Blah. Blah. Blah. Enough of that crapola. Life is a rocky road much of the time, it sucks the big wazoo, and there are many times a day I wish I could simply do a do-over, like, from before the moment I was conceived in the godforsaken womb that unfortunately turned out to be my mother's. So, I was given the short end of the stick in the childhood family department. Boo hoo for me. I used to be all about feeling sorry for myself, and I guess I still go down that road more often than I should, but I'm much better than I used to be. At least, I think I am. I'd better ask my family and get back to you on that, because chances are I have a rather skewed view of such things. In fact, I know I do, just as I do about how small and cute I think my nose is, or how smooth and supple my bu

Apparently, Mr. Handsome has a problem with healthy flora and yeast infections. He's such a guy. I mean, I don't expect him to actually enjoy such things, but to have no choice but to change the channel when a Vagisil commercial comes on? A bit overboard, wouldn't you say? Here is a man who doesn't understand when I say bodily functions are disgustingly gross, and unnecessarily so. Oh, really? He says the body is a beautiful thing. But you can't even watch a commercial about yeast infections, right? Right. Here is a man who had to stand behind -- WAAAY behind -- my head when I was giving birth to Dee, because standing anywhere near the action would have been asking for trouble. There he stood, hands on his head, a look of terror on his cute face, as he watched from an area of complete safety as his poor and ragged wife put all her effort and energy into pushing a 10-pound lug of a baby out of her hooha. Yeah, and I did that, in three pushes. That's ri

So, Tuesday was the fourth anniversary of my dad's passing, and I (quite appropriately) spent the bulk of it lying on the couch, drugged with codeine and generic Extra Strength Tylenol, another migraine creating havoc in my tiny little head. Ditto for Wednesday and Thursday, hence no posts. I'd apologize, but it hurts too much. I'm no doctor, but I am almost positive that these headaches are hormonally-induced, for the most part, seeing as I'm perimenopausal, and having pretty much every goddammed perimenopausal symptom in the Big Book of Perimenopause. Look up "perimenopause" in the dictionary, and you'll see my ugly mug, no doubt. The wonderful thing with these headaches is that (1) they are fierce, and (2) no amount of intense drug therapy seems to minimize the pain in the least. So, I have to be patient and wait it out, which can sometimes mean days. It also, of course, means days of feeling entirely non-productive, as opposed to only mostly non-p

The excitement was almost unbearable. My heart palpitations were on the verge of causing a myocardial infarction. My breath came in short, rapid gasps, almost sending me into the throes of carbon dioxidosis. A fire truck came barrelling down our street on Sunday, right in front of our house, sirens blaring. And where there's a fire truck, there are firefighters. Need I say more? There were actually two fire trucks, and they stopped not too far from my house. Of course, I immediately thought, 'What a great way to start a Sunday!', and I wanted to get my boots on and run out there to see what I could do to help, because that's how I roll, especially when firefighters are involved. But I didn't. Instead, I perched in front of our big living room window and watched intently. The excitement, unfortunately, was short-lived. About five burly men jumped out of the trucks and ran toward a house on our side of the street. They disappeared into a house. And then,

The Haiti earthquake has shaken up the whole world. Which is a good thing. It's time we remember that we are not the centre of the universe, that there are MANY people MUCH worse off than we are or ever will be, and that it's time we step up and do what's REALLY important in this world. So, today, instead of complaining about how Mr. Handsome doesn't even trust me enough to be able to tie my own shoes correctly (yeah, I went there), or about how the dog's farts smell like a festering skunk in the Arizona summer sun, I'm just going to be glad that I have a safe country in which to live, a roof over my head, food, and every comfort known to man, and I'm going to send every bit of everything I have in me to the people of Haiti, because we're all in this together, and it's time we remember.

I'm bummed. My kids hate me. And, being that I have no idea what I'd like to do with the rest of my life, my only purpose at the moment is being a mom, and well, we can see how that's going. It also does wonderful and amazingly brilliant things for my ongoing depression. Nothing like your kids reminding you daily how they love taking you for granted to make you feel all warm and fuzzy about life. Dee told me the other day that I am the only one who bothers him. Really. And here I was, all these years, pretty sure I am the only one who treated him like his bowel movements were made of solid gold. Silly me. And Em? Well, I can't seem to do anything right by her these days. I know she's a teenager in all her teenage hormonal angst, and it's normal to hate one's mother at this stage in life, but still, it chafes like a guy's 2-day-old beard on your chin during a marathon kissing session when she gives me "that look", or gives me the silent

What a weekend. Got rid of the kids on Friday. Winter camp for them. Lazy weekend of Cheetos feasting, old movie watching, and Facebook surfing was planned for me while I waited for my antibiotics to kick in. And then maybe a nice dinner out or a movie with Mr. Handsome, depending on how I felt. Instead, Mr. Handsome worked. And worked. And worked some more. And I. Did. Nothing. Well, I did watch about six straight hours of The Real World, Brooklyn , which just made me that much more depressed because I was reminded over and over and over again how old I really was, and that I would never again be as young and perky as those gorgeous 20-year-olds on the television screen. Not that I ever was in the first place. But I did have a nice ass and legs. Now, the spider veins double in number every time I look down at my cellulite-infused legs, and my butt cheeks, when not encased in tightish pants, flap loudly against my ankles. And while we're on the topic, what's with my leg

Thank you for all the lovely Happy Birfday wishes for Mr. Handsome the other day! Although he didn't mention it, I know he's very proud of all of you for remembering him on this precious day of his birth. The day ended up being pretty darn perfect, if you ask me, which you didn't. Thanks to my two amazingly deft children, the house was actually semi-tidy by the time Mr. Handsome's family came over for dinner. Dee vacuumed and picked up, and Em took care of the dining room. Em also decorated the entire first floor. Awesome kids. And I only had to show them the knife twice. Despite my killer headache and overall malaise, I managed to put together a pretty nice dinner: lamb roast, roast potatoes and onions, white asparagus, and peas. And for dessert, a chocolate/peanut butter ice cream cake. No one died, so I'm calling it a success. And then Mr. Handsome kindly drove to the drugstore to pick up my antibiotics, because by then my eyes were crossed and my hands we

Today's Mr. Handsome's birthday, guys! Please wish him a big happy 44th, although he swears he's 28. Whatever.  As he reminds me on an almost daily basis, he will always be younger than me. So, as I battle a bad headache and what I am sure is a sinus infection (I'm going to the doctor today, folks, honest), I will do the last bit of running around that needs to be done to get things in order for my husband's big day, a day he'd rather forget, thank you very much. Because, as he so succinctly put it earlier this morning, any birthday after the 28th is just a sad reminder of our impending death. Depressing, isn't it? Thank god I got almost everything done early on, little by little, so today all I have to do is pick up the cake, get one more gift, buy a couple of groceries, throw the lamb roast into the oven, clean the house, take down all Christmas decorations (shut up), and put up birthday decorations. Can you hear the joy in my voice? I'm so glad

Honest to god, this was going to be a funny, hahaha post about one unfortunate event or another that recently occurred to me, but lo and behold! I cannot come up with anything except words filled with angst and pain. Woe's me, people. I think I'm still sick, and I know this blog's kind of become the "Is Mary Ever Not On Her Deathbed?" sort of blog, but seriously? I'm still not well. And it's time, folks. I've now been officially ill with the flu since Dec. 14, and am not pleased. I am experiencing my second eye infection since coming down with this flu back in December, and am still coughing like a 90-year-old smoking tuberculosis patient, although I am no longer on mega-doses of cough medicine, so I guess that's a plus. So, now I look like I'm drunk as well as sick, but not quite as sick as I was. As you know, I always look at the glass as half-full. I still have a sore throat, too, not to mention little energy, and night sweats that end