Flying Dogs!

November 30, 2006 BlogPants

I found this on Google Video today and had to share it. My favorite is the brown puppy with her tongue hanging out.

“It’s Over, It’s Over, It’s OOOOOOverrrr!!” She Sang, in her very best Roy Orbison Voice

family

Well Eden, we did it. A lot of us did it, from the looks of things. I could never get the randomizer to work but probably because I’ve got the security set to Paranoid Freak on this computer. Gotta protect my 89,583 fonts! Surprisingly, there is room for everything else on here too.

My computer brings me such joy.

Dylan loves the computer too.? In fact, he has been learning about plug-ins on Paint Shop Pro. Which is really big people speak for let’s put hair on Daddy’s bald head:

Uncanny resemblance to Bon Jovi, circa 1989, no? Ack, maybe an Amish Bon Jovi. There’s a mouthful. Uncle T, you’re looking a little long in the tooth. You might want to look into filing those fangs down!

Jingle Hell, Jingle Hell

November 29, 2006 family

*I already wrote this entire post once and when I hit save….POOF! I LOVE when that happens!*

This morning I dropped Daren and Thomas off at their respective schools, and armed with a scowl and a raging migraine, I went to Wal-Mart to start the insanity that is Christmas shopping. I know, I know, I said I would never go there again (and I haven’t since then) but (insert whiny voice) Sassy decorated her Christmas tree with stuff from Wal-Mart and if we are to be BFF’s foreva just like Paris and Britney, then I HAVE TO go buy the same crap for MY tree. Besides, it’s really pretty, and if you ask her nicely, she’ll probably show you pictures. Just don’t whine or she will smack you in your mouth.

There were a considerable amount of people there this morning. Don’t people have jobs? Oh wait, seniors and housewives. THIS will be fun. They all look as happy as I feel. Also? They take 4 and a half minutes to decide whether they want 97 cent pieces of shit or not. One lady was going ON and ON and ON about a 90 cent placemat. I wanted to jab her in the jowels with my keys and say, “Just buy it so you can add it to our landfills when you’re tired of looking at it! Oh and MOVE YO’ DAMN CART BETCH!”

There is a lot of crap at Wal-Mart. I found the Wal-Mart Christmas Coutre section pretty quickly and fished through 89 boxes of ribbon to find the one pattern I wanted. All of a sudden I was suffocating in the Land O’ Cheap Toys. Dora’s football head and Spongebob’s summer-teeth grin were at me from all sides. Pretty soon I ventured into clothing and found a black shirt like Liz’s white one that will make my chest puppies howl. Or my husband howl, whichever.

The electronics department sucked me in where my mood immediately lightened at the sight of this;

Care Bears Secret of the Box. I laughed out loud and I’m sure all the Grandma’s thought I was nuts. I know Izzy does the WTF Wednedsays, but this one was too good not to share. All 3 Care Bears on the cover look like they really do know the secret of the box.

I know, I’m warped.

Tune in tomorrow Friday when I award a Perfect Post to a blogger I admire very much.

Is your place in heaven worth giving up these kisses?

November 28, 2006 Parentless

My father won’t talk about my mother.

He leaves the room when I bring her up, when I talk about the pain of reading about another man losing his wife, about their far too young daughters. He agrees about hardship, and leaves the room.

Why can’t he realize she dies a little more each time he does this, each time he minimizes her memory to me? My mother exists for me only in the stories other people tell of her, in the tiny ways he’ll occasionally mention as being something she once did. My mother is slowly being erased from me because my father cannot bear to speak her name.

Dianne. My mother’s name was Dianne. She was strong and graceful and took no shit from anyone and she had a name. She had a laugh. She WAS. Her handwriting leaned to the left, and she wrote formal letters with a ruler underneath so each sentence would be perfect. She made poppy seed cake, and I don’t remember the recipie. She loved me, and I don’t remember her arms.

He’s done this since she died, he’s barely admitted to her place in our lives. He’s barely touched on his own pain, and in doing so, he reinforces mine. He makes it vivid, each time he rejects my desperate attempt to keep her alive in my heart.

My mother would totally kick the shit out of him for this. It’s the one thing that makes me hope for heaven.

~ Thordora

PETA Brings Snark

BlogPants

Regarding Eva Longoria: “You’d think she’d be more sympathetic to the plight of rabbits considering the way she screws around like one on Wisteria Lane.”? Also named: Nicole Ritchie as Worst Dressed, and Ashley Olsen as runner-up.? Link.

I Am Afraid to Fart

Me, Unplugged

I can see the headlines now: “Xenical patients reported tighter butts from clenching their butt cheeks so as not to pass wind. This unforeseeable side effect has increased sales by 500%.”

You would be afraid to fart too if you were on Xenical. This stuff kicked in royally this morning. I’ll spare you the details, but making a rice/broccoli casserole with Campbell’s Cheddar Cheese Soup? Not a good idea. I only ate a bit of it, maybe a couple of tablespoons full, but the stomach cramps were fierce. Could have been the rice too, I suppose, since Daren bought this weird sticky sweet rice that was mush (I will be throwing that crap out - blech). We also baked cod with lemon and lime - that was scrumptious.

Any tips on making long grain brown rice taste really good? I also like Basmati, but I’m pretty sure it’s got fat in it.

Other than that, this whole new diet thing is going pretty well. My favorite part is that I don’t have to cut peanut butter out, in fact a tablespoon of peanut butter on a slice of raisin toast is only 4 grams of fat. I’m allowed 40 grams of fat per day, as long as it’s spread out. I can’t seem to even get to 30 when I plan out the day, maybe because I’m one of few freaks who like skim milk.

Thomas is a massive shade of crank today, and the pile of work I have is being interrupted every 6.4 seconds. Me thinks it’s time to grab the toddler by the horns and lie him down for a nap. I told him just now that it would be 5 minutes until naptime and he screamed at me: “MOMMY! You. are. make. king. me. SICK!” The other day he said, “Da E! You’re dwiving me cwazy!”

Okay, naptime. Finally.

Stealing Voices

Parentless

“Backlash” wrote to me and told me that she writes about her abuse in this way.

My mother had 5 children too a psychopath-manic-depressive. Great first line -

I don t know if she knew how ill he was but he was a bent and broken man. A

few days after the wedding he takes her too see Little John-his new baby too a

women around the road. He never did have any shame with us-no after beating

sorry-

Mum was abused by her dad in every way possible-Ive bridged the stories

together-they scream NO at me for my mother.-she goes and Marries a man who

beats her-beats baby number 3 outta her-still she stays-Ive never asked her

why-why did you put me and my sister with ppls-like pass the parcel we two

were-while you roved all over NZ-checked every jodo-judo club looking for

that write off who beat you-who beat the other kids up- I was to wee-But he

had other plans for me-I just got the punch in the head and the Goo-Goo touch

ups later-His sound track of show-Tunes rutting the house.

Why Mum-I hate most parts of you-Love couldn t develop -I was too busy hiding -

You were to busy being in bed ill-the drugs-the doctors-the shots of morph in

the arse. Sending me to Doctors on Saturday for your drugs-me little girl in a

waiting room full of Junkies-You took so much-

You gave so little-why 5 children-? Did he Rape you-I can t image you having

sex-I hear him hurt you from my bed in your room in Aranui. Aaarrrghhh-The

State housing was the Families first big break

.You never ever told me about the home-I was all toddle and you gave me away-

I was a pass the parcel child-No gelling with you. You told me off when I got

ill-You told me off if I had accident-you didn t seem to like me. You go threw

all other names too get to mine-your stoned on pain-killers and tranx. All the

time-Iam just your go get it girl-your legs when your stoned-your legs when

you don t feel like moving-you re a crap mother still. 83 and still going. I

was hoping the cancer would take you.

I have no children-I remember at 12 feeling so infected in the middle-well I

decided then I was too Uggh to breed. You did that-Dad too. But you never

helped me in girlhood-periods I was terrified of-you give me rightwing bull-

shit little track-Pat Roberson Iam thinking. Dirty-the message I get is women

are dirty.

Iam 44 and I sob cos I have no children just abortions. Women you don t even

own the damage your ve done. If I ask any question you have always gone into

dieing swan act-you throw yourself on around bed-you need to take Tranx-you

won t even tell me about my Father-You use memories as emotional cash with me.

I hate that.

And still I wait to bury you. I want you gone-but you hang around-I see no one

from our  Anti-Family

I see no children of the others-we all hate and hide.

I don t see you often–I get triggered by you. When I see you I feel the

hurt. Feel the rage. I feel the loss.

You had shingles-hell you wanted the whole world stopped for you-you go on the

phone about how bad it is-well when I get sex assaulted I get so stressed as

child I get shingles-You didn t help. You never cared. For what ever reason

you were vacant.

I get Hys. Blindness after sex assault. I remember the doctor shouting at you

 What s happened to this child?

It was my first time dating valium-a long, some what stained relationship.

You were mute-then all nothing chatters. I never got help, you denied even

that.

As a child I was thinking you could steal voices-you took that much.

~ Backlash

Broken Shoelace

Coincidence? Wired Magazine’s Story on Lonelygirl15 References Tuesday’s Law & Order: C.I.

November 27, 2006 BlogPants

Tomorrow’s episode of Law & Order: C.I. is about two young online vloggers who get kidnapped. Wired Magazine’s story about Lonelygirl15 included this reference:

Between takes, Rose’s cell phone rings, and she glances at the caller ID.

“It’s the producers from Law and Order,” she says. “Do you want me to answer it?”

“Let it ring,” Flinders tells her.

Coincidence? I think not. Sad that I’m still watching LG15? Definitely. Bad I’m one of those people who HAS to know what happens, even if the series is unfolding rather slowly.

Also, Bree will be chatting with fans from an internet cafe Tuesday night at 6 p.m. P.S.T.

How to Lose 4 Sizes in 67 Seconds, or These Jeans Are Wready to Wear Wright Out of the Dryer

family

While surfing today, I found this. Go ahead and click it, it’s just a picture I found and you can close it up right after cuz I installed a fancy shmancy plug-in to take care of you.

Did you notice the sizes? “…in sizes 6-18.” Translate that to today and what would that be? Those women look extremely slim, don’t you think, maybe a 0 or a 2, maybe even a 4? So let’s say they are size 6 by 1966 standards. Size 6 minus size 2 (today’s sizes) is about 4 sizes difference.

See that? You and I just lost 4 sizes, and we didn’t so much as open a bag of rice cakes, or break a sweat.

Carry on.

The Death Watch of My Mother: Part Five

Parentless

This is part five of the series by Missy. Here are parts one, two, three, and four.

I was lying on the edge of the bed with my Mom for about 15 minutes when I heard a beeeeeeeeee sound. I looked at the monitor and her heart had stopped.

“Mom!” I called out sharp and staccato, the way you might yell a child’s name who was about to touch something he shouldn’t. The beeeeeeee sound did a bip beep and then another bip beep. She took a gasping breath.

A nurse came quickly padding in on her crepe soles. I climbed down from the bed while she took my Mom’s pulse and started checking all of the monitors.

“Is everything okay? What happened?” I asked.

“We just went away for a minute,” the nurse said. “Back again. Not quite ready yet, are you dear?” She touched my Mom’s cheek. She looked up at me. “I’m just a few feet away at the nurses station, if you need anything.” She turned and walked out again.

I guess I should pause in my story and interject here. It occurs to me in hindsight that I should have let her go at that moment. I’ve read that terminally ill patients need “permission” to die. Her body was wasted and gone. Whatever essence of my Mom that was left on the inside knew I was there, I’m sure of it. And maybe dying in my arms at that moment seemed like the right thing to her. Maybe if I’d had more than a few hours to prepare myself and accept her death, maybe if I’d been more mature or experienced I would have let her go. I would have just hugged her and said good-bye instead of calling her back to life by her own sheer will power. Instead I pulled up a chair and started talking.

Iva came back to the hospital shortly after that, around 9:30 PM, to sit with me. “How’s she doing?” asked Iva when she walked into the room. I told her about the heart stopping episode and how I had called out her name.

“She hears you, Missy. She knows you’re here.”

“I know. I just wish Todd were here. I want him to have a chance to say good-bye.” I leaned over to my Mom, “Todd’s coming, Mom. Hang in there, okay?”

And so the long, long night began. Iva and I would talk to each other, talk to my Mom. At least four times throughout the night her heart and breathing stopped. Each time I would whisper in her ear, “Todd’s coming, Mom. Todd’s on his way here,” and she would come back.

It was still dark out at 6:00 AM when my Dad came back to the hospital. Iva put her coat on and kissed us all good-bye. I didn’t tell my Dad how many times she had died that night. What I told him was, “Keep talking to her. Keep telling her Todd’s coming.”

I bundled up and went out to my car, which had been parked in the lot since the previous afternoon. I couldn’t believe how cold it was. At 6 degrees Farenheit, everything freezes. My car was frozen and it took 20 minutes to warm it up and scrape off enough snow and frost to be able to drive. I could have walked to my parents house faster. I went through the Burger King drive through and got a breakfast sandwich. When I reached my parents house and walked in the door at 6:30 AM my brother Bob was standing in the family room waiting for me.

“She’s gone,” he said.

“Oh no,” was all I could say. We cried and held each other for a while.

Finally Bob said, “They’re waiting for us at the hospital.”

“Well,” I said, “my car’s warmed up.”

When we got to the hospital, to her room, I was startled at how different she looked in death. Even though it was her body, her face, even though I had seen her alive less than an hour before, it looked nothing like her. I couldn’t bring myself to touch or hug her lifeless body. Without her warmth and animation, this shell was not my Mom. I asked the time of death.

“6:07 AM,” was the nurses reply. I thought about where I was at that moment. I hadn’t even made it to the parking lot. I turned to my Dad.

“I wasn’t even out of the building yet,” I said to him. “Did you talk to her when her heart stopped?” I asked. “Did you tell her Todd was still on his way?”

“I wasn’t there,” he said.

“What do you mean you weren’t there? I left you with her.”

“After you left I went to the bathroom and then I got a cup of coffee. When I came back there were all of these people in the room and she was gone.”

I felt a blind rage sweep over me. “You left her alone? Why would you do that? Why didn’t you tell me you had to go to the bathroom and get some coffee? I would have waited for you! I would have sat with her until you were ready! You let her die alone!” I knew my words hurt him. His jaw set. He didn’t respond. The doctor was trying to hold a meeting around us. Which funeral home? Did we want to donate her corneas? Bob, my Dad and I were all dazed.

I stood up. “Bailey Newhouse Funeral Home,” I said as I turned to leave. “I’ll see you guys back at the house.”

I had to be at the airport by 10:00 AM to pick up my brother Todd. I thought I would try to get some rest. When I got to the house I went up to my Mom and Dad’s bedroom. They slept in side by side twin beds. I got into my Mom’s bed and lay on my side for a moment. Suddenly I felt a weird pain in my right side, just under my rib cage. It felt like a hand had reached up into me and was pulling on something. I jumped up out of the bed and stood there for a moment. The pain went away. I sat on the edge of the bed and let the tears fall once again. I heard the front door and knew Dad and Bob were back. I decided to pass on the nap and start making plans.

~ Missy

Missy’s Big Fish Stories

Reprinted with Permission