Friends

I have recently discovered that I have several "types" of friends. I have never really noticed until now. It's funny how people have different friends for different types of activities.

Jen D is my "grown up friend". I met her in nursing school. When we get together we do things like go shopping at garden ridge or go to candle lite parties. As a matter of fact, we went and played bingo last night. Jen is just a year or so younger than I am and her daughter is a year younger than mine. Sometimes, we just get the families together and bar-b-que.
Shauna D is my "party girl friend". I also met her in nursing school. She is a couple of years younger than I am. When we get together, we basically go out partying to different bars or whatnot. Generally, my husband does not go with us because he does not want to venture too far from home. Consequently, Jen D and Shauna D do not get along, haven't since nursing school so getting the two together is not an option.
Erin S is my "family friend". We were best friends in high school but have since grown up and consequently grown apart. She has two children and is currently pregnant. On occasion, our families get together for bar-b-ques and we sit and talk about old times when I was a "bad influence".
Elizabeth K is my "long lost friend". We went to high school together but since then she has move to Los Angelas and we barely keep in touch. We try to get together whenever she is in town. I also aspire to travel out that way but somehow life gets in the way.
Heather R, Jennifer R, and Nicole W are all my "work friends". We all try to go out on the town once in a while, when work schedules permit, which is not easy to coordinate.
Jen S is my "new friend". We just recently started hanging out together. She is dating one of my husband's friends. She also has a toddler from a previous relationship. They come over for our periodic game night. We play tennis and she introduces me to people around here that I don't know.
Then there's always those friends of friends that you hang out with but don't consider in your close circle.

It's just funny to me how I find myself hanging out with different types of people depending on the activity. For instance, I could never invite Shauna over to a game night because she would be bored witless. The same as I could never invite Jen or Erin out for a night of partying because of their families. Getting the girls from work together for a game of bingo on a Thursday night is damn near impossible because someone inevitably has to work.
I like the fact that I have just a wide variety of friends. I can't honestly see my life any other way.

Huh?

So here's something interesting that I learned all about today. As few know, Kevin and I are trying to get pregnant. Well, I'm trying to get pregant, Kevin's in for the ride, he's such a trooper. Anyway, I was on the Depo Provera shot for several years. As a matter of fact, I went on the shot post partum with my daughter and she is now 7 years old. SOMEONE neglected to inform me of the consequences that I could face being on this damn shot. I know it's partly my responsiblity to ask but hey, I was 19 and a single mother. I was up for anything and it was really nice (at the time) to have have the dreaded "monthlies from Aunt Flo". I'm not saying that I wouldn't have taken the same route of birth control (I'm horrible at remembering to take pills, hence the first pregnancy) but perhaps I would not have continued the same course of action for so many years.
For a long time, we did the whole "not trying to not try to get pregnant" but after using nothing for over a years I started seeing my physician. Well, it turns out that I apparently have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) which basically means there are cysts on my ovaries, hindering me from ovulating. Apparently, this also explains my intermittent acne and inability to lose that midsection weight that I hate. ( i'm super glad to be able to blame that stuff on something else) I am now on glucophage, which is typically a diabetic drug but interestingly enough, works wonders in PCOS.
So now we are no longer "not trying to not try" and officially "trying". I am very optimistic about this but at the same time wondering why it took me so long to realize my symptoms. So, here's hoping and wish us luck. (While you're at it wish us a boy because Kevin wants a boy so bad he can taste it.)

The F Word

So I got a call from the principal today. (dun dun duuuuun) She's in first grade for pete's sake! Maybe I should consider home schooling now, save myself from the heartache of the next 11 years. Too bad I don't have that sort of patience. Dangit!
Anyway, apparently, my seven year-old found a bad word written on the back the bus seat in front of her. Not just any bad word mind you, the F word. Let's add insult to injury and say that it's not only the F word but has "You" tacked right there on the end. Oh geez!
So my little reader sees this in front of her and proceeds to read out loud for all to hear and laughter ensues from all. She perceives this attention as a good thing and keeps repeating it, over and over. Insert the mental picture of my little 7 year old yelling "F*** you! F*** you! F***you!" Ohhhh, bad.
This is the same girl who refuses to say Crap and calls it the "ept word" or the "K word". (funny that she knows what f-u-c-k spells but can't spell crap) I know that she knows that it's wrong and we went through the "shit" stage years ago.
So i have just concluded my hour long lecture on cuss words. No shit, fuck, damn, ass, etc. (yes, dam is okay) I have acknowledged my own affinity for cussing. I tried that whole "I am 26 years old and you are not". Ultimately, here goes my attempt on cleaning up my language. Fruitless? I hope not.

Blah, blah, blah

So, it's been a while since my last post. I guess that's a good sign. Nothing catastrophic to report I suppose. I guess both my husband and my mother have been on good behavior. Only problem is, it leaves me lacking for something to rant about.
I did finish painting the bedroom. I thought I enjoyed painting, turns out, not so much. I did let my husband tape off the doorways and windowsills and such to help him feel useful. However, he neglected to tell me that he had no idea what he was doing and it ended up being more work for me. Oh well.
It was tedious but it's done, thank goodness. It did, however, set off Kevin's (the husband) latest OCD fixation. I accidentally mentioned how the new color brought out the white in the doors. This set off a week long mission to change every outlet, lightswitch, and cover in the entire house from off white to white. I will admit that it looks just a little bit nicer but geez man, get a grip, who cares.
Oh well, my boring life. Nice.

Ewwwww!

Why do the basic ideas of cleanliness elude most men?? We have all heard the stories of the "sniff test" to test the wearibility of laundry. Then there's the blowing their noses in the shower because it just washes down the drain. What the hell is wrong with men?
My husband has brought on this latest rant. Honestly, he's not too bad. His clothes are always clean (thanks in very large part to yours truely). He's always well groomed. Clothes match. I'm a lucky girl. However (there's always a however), some of the assinine shit he does throws me for a loop.
The most recent and biggest deal to me has to do with our dog. She is in heat (that is another completly gross-me-out situation). I have rigged up some little doggie underwear and I am making her wear maxi pads. (damn ingenious, i know) However, she manages to wriggle them off and, for reasons unknown to me, goes to the hallway and shakes herself. (i think this little bitch has it out for me) This splatters disgusting doggie-period blood on the wall. (yes, imagine how i feel) While I'm chasing her down, I put him to cleaning the wall. I know (now) that I should just clean it myself. For whatever damn reason, he grabs my washcloth that is hanging over the kitchen sink. I keep one there at all times for convenience. We have a dishwasher but I wipe counters and whatnot. Anyhow, being my knight in shining armor that he is, he cleans the walls. But wait! What does he do with the now doggie-period blood infested washcloth. Hamper? Nope. Washer? yeah right. HE HANGS IT RIGHT BACK WHERE HE GOT IT! IN MY KITCHEN! ON THE SINK! This sets off an hour long rant that has my blood pressure up and his eyes a-rollin.
I wipe kitchen counters with that! I sometimes wipe my hands when I'm cleaning! I cook food in the kitchen! (the dinner fairy does not Poof! it onto the table!) What the hell?
Here's my favorite part though. He says "well, what am I supposed to use?" I tell him to go grab his washcloth that he uses in the shower then when he's done, put it back and use it later when he takes a shower. Somehow, for some reason, this seems absurd to him. UNCLEAN even. Can you freakin imagine.

Valentine's Day!

Here it is already February. Time for my latest rant. My husband has heard this particular rant many times. Valentine's day is fast approaching. I hate Valentine's Day. Hate is a very strong word to me but I truly do hate it. My whole view on it is this:
If you want to send me flowers, why can't you send me flowers because it's Wednesday and you love me? not because it's February 14th and the card and flower companies tell you that you should? Who ever said that a dozen red roses mean that you love somebody? I personally like tulips. Do they jack up the price of tulips in February? Nope....actually, I don't think you can even get tulips in February....beside the point. I don't even like chocolates. Blah.
My daughter's class even has a party for this "hallmark" holiday. They can't have a Christmas party anymore, it has to be called a HOLIDAY Party lest we offend. Nobody thinks twice about the single parents out there that have to buy valentine's day cards and prepare treats and cookies for the celebration. What if I had a big hissy about celebrating valentine's day? Said it violated my religious convictions? I'm sure it would take more than just me but you get the point. Would they change the rules? Don't get me wrong, I don't begrudge my daughter her holiday party but should it really be considered a holiday? Blah!
Anyway, there goes my little rant that usually occurs around this time of year. Doesn't do me any good, just makes me feel better. Oh well, till next time.

I believe....

Our first paper for our English 101 class is to write an essay highlighting one thing that we believe in. I believe that I am making this more difficult than it has to be. It's not that I can't come up with topics or what to write in those topics. My mind goes with about fifty different things in fifty different directions. I start to write about one thing, then my ADD mind switches to a "better" topic and I'm off to that one. Blah! Problem is, I'm my own worst critic. I think it's too cheesy or not cheesy enough. Oh well, I'll suck it up and focus eventually. I just needed a little break to rant about something and I figured, why not put it in my blog?? That's what it's here for right?

I DO NOT Love New York.

So, it comes down to the fact that my blog will be random rants from me in my everyday life. I'm pretty okay with that.
Today's topic: I Love New York. The word that continues to flash, bright pink, over and over in my mind is Why? Why? Why? Biggest question of all is why the hell do I continue to watch this show. I think it's that whole car accident analogy. You just can't look away. This show would be the severed arm right in my lane of traffic. I do not love her, I hate her soul. Yet, I continue to watch. God help me.
I blame Flavor Flav. It all started with his show, Flavor of Love. Again, the same question, why? I think I kinda know the answer to that one though. Who doesn't love a good cat fight? I think that's what got me hooked. Now, I hated New York, the person (Tiffany I think her name is), way back then. I found her pathetic and sad but in a way that made me feel like a million bucks, cause I wasn't near as crazy as her crazy ass on my best day, so it was okay. So she gets rejected in the worst way, not once, but twice, by some crackhead looking dude with gold teeth, a cane, and a big stupid clock hanging around his scrawny neck. Kinda would make me wanna get a faceplant and move to India. She's not a bad looking girl, crazy as shit, but not completely unfortunate looking. I guess VH1 felt kinda bad for ole crazy ass so they give her her very own TV show, where she can meet the love of her life one half hour at a time. Oh, but she's got some help, her crazIER than shit, momma. That woman scares the bejesus outta me. I would maybe consider the fact that she sold her mom's soul to get her own show but I truly doubt that woman has one. Personally, I would consider selling my own soul to watch those two spontaneously combust on national television. There's must see tv for you.
I realize that, for some of the drama, VH1 is pulling a "jerry springer show" on me and hyping it up but, damn me, I'm a sucker for it. I wanna see these grown men cry over a dog and dress up in gold speedo thongs, strutting their stuff in a "Man-gent". That's right, a MAN-GENT. God help me, I HATE I Love New York, but I'll be tuning in every stinkin chance I get.

Grandparents!!!

My mother. I'm sure that anyone with children who have living grandparents that are close can relate to this story:
My daughter and I drove to my mother's house yesterday with the sole purpose of selling girl scout cookies. We do our business (thank you please come again) and, after 30 agonizing minutes of yet another episode of Spongebob that I did not want to watch but my mother presses PLAY on the ole Tivo, we're off to wal-mart. But wait, my mother needs "a few things" from wal mart also and she will come with us. Dear Jesus help me!! I do not go to wal mart with my mother, or my husband for that matter. I am a very selfish shopper, I want to get my stuff, browse a little (for the stuff I want), and get the hell outta there. Especially when I have the 7 year prima donna with me, who, much to my dismay, has happened upon that stage where she wants everything she sees in commercials. Put into that equation that my mother plus my daughter at walmart equals my psychological breakdown. Dang it!
But...I am brave and must press on. We go to wal mart. No sooner than we get in the door, my daughter is standing on the end of the cart, something I do not let her do, but obviously my mother does. I say "get down" but GRANDMA says "it's okay". By the way, I'm having those words tatooed on her forehead when I admit her into the nursing home. I say, no, it is not. So my mother let's her stand at the front of the cart, in front of her when she is pushing. Whatever! We are not in that store 5 minutes, my mother decides that my daughter needs a lip gloss/key ring thing and into the cart it goes. Now let's mention the 15 thousand things of lip gloss that my daughter already has because my sister wants me to hate her and buys the 7 year old makeup for christmas. Plus, she's 7, and has no damn keys to attach it to. Whatever!! 10 minutes later, my daughter falls to the floor because she is jacking around, still standing on the front of the cart mind you, and falls off the damn cart. She's okay but I'll hold on the the I told you so! After a bit in the store, I go to the electronics while my mother is in produce, I don't need any damn produce. I get what I need, I go back to produce, not there. I go back to electronics, nope. Three rounds through the damn store later, they are in shoes. Now my daughter, who fortunately for me, is not a very good sneaker. She has her hand inside her coat, holding something and she is smiling. I say, what's in your coat. "Nuuuuuthin" she says. I say "Suuuuumthin, and you are a bad liar little girl". My mother starts laughing. Several "Nuuuuthin"s later, I am getting a little aggitated and my mother is laughing harder. Finally, she shows me that she has candy under her coat that my mother told her she could have but to hide it from me, because I generally do not let her have candy. Plus! Come to find out, they had been rehearsing the whole "Nuuuuuthin" thing.For what?, make me less suspicious!! My mother!! Trying to teach my daughter to be sneaky. Dang it! Whatever, she gets the damn candy and we're off to the checkout. Can't quite make it there though!. We stop at the damn Valentine's day display. My daughter "needs" a stupid big pink heart shaped pillow that says Love. What the hell for?? Plus, it's in cursive and she thinks it says Lave. What the hell ever, I want to go home and make dinner. Put the damn thing in the damn cart. Let's go. We checkout, halifreakinlleiya. I head to the car the doors, but, DAMMIT, my mother is diggin for change. Son of a Bitch! We gotta ride the friggin horse! "It'll only take a few minutes, go on to the car, we'll be out in a few". Yeah, of course, it's subzero and I'm loading the damn groceries all by my frozen ass lonesome. Get in the car, warm it up for the treasonous twosome, and we're off. But the fun doesn't stop there!! I glance back, she has one of the bubble things from the quarter machine. What the hell? Is that pink goo??? Pink goo????? Pink goo is the bane of my existance. "But there was no horse and the truck was broken, she needed something, ....blah, blah, blah" I quit listening, the blood was pooling in my ears. I'm planning a drop and run, get that woman out of my car and spray rocks outta the driveway. NOPE! Someone has to go to the bathroom. FUCK! "Can we watch Spongebob?" NO. "Can I have some cranberry things?" (dried cranberries) No, we're going home to make dinner. "But, mom, I'm hungry." That's what dinner is for. "But mom..." Go pee dang it, I wanna go home. My mother unloads groceries, puts some cranberry things in a baggie for my daughter (for a snack tomorrow), I take the baggie, and, oddly enough, she goes in the bathroom with my daughter, who is washing her hands. Two minutes later, here comes my daughter happily chewing on something. Son of a damn, shittin bitch! What are you eating? "Grandma said it was okay." Whatever!!!! Do I bother to yell at my mother??? No. I can't seem to find the words. Whatever, let's go home. Thank the lord, we make it home. I make dinner, then it's bath and bed. I can't even muster the strength to vent to my husband how impossible my mother is because I'm too dumfounded for words and I honestly believe he does not "get it" anyway. I just forget about it until the next time and there will be a next time. But I'll be damned if I EVER go to wal mart with those two again.

Here goes.....

Okay, so I'm new to this whole "blogging" thing. I am doing it as an assignment for an English class. I can honestly say that I have had no interest in blogging thus far and probably will not continue once I am done with the class. Once again, I might find it a good way to vent or what not and continue on far after the class is done. One can never tell. I guess we will have to see.