There are times I want to shut down & let someone else take over. Everything. There are stresses in my life, & people that stress me out, too.

But you know what? I stand & I fucking deal, half-ass, irrational, & incorrectly, sometimes, but shit gets done. By me.

I may be a lot of things, but I am also reliable, dependable, honest, dilligent, & determined.

Say what you will, but happy just ain’t always on the must-do-today list. But I recognize it should be . . . And I’m fucking trying.  But for now, I’m busy plotting, planning, running, & fixing shit.

Peace, ya’ll.


I hate a lot of things. Small-minded people. Having allergies, and debt. Tantrums. Arguments. The political machine. Big Pharma. War. Poverty. Being sick. Mental disorders. Pain. Anguish. Inconsiderate people. Rudeness.

I feel like a fat bird on a thin wire. And I can’t fly, but do bounce.  Life just keeps throwing stuff at me, & it has gotten out of hand.

I wish I could just relax, take what I’ve been given & embrace life. Oh, why couldn’t I have been born one of those happy, peaceful people? Is it really that easy to choose to be happy? Can I just as easily will all of my troubles away? Is it just as easy to choose happy over hate?

I guess so, as I lay here miserable, body aches from the horse-riding accident, & drowning in my own snot, living in DFW during Spring.  It takes effort to retrain your brain to make good from bad, instead of just getting overwhelmed.

I love when my son really wants to hang out with me. And when my daughter hugs me. The laughter of my kids playing together. Swimming. Cooking. A clean house. None of which go together. Hence my constant search for happy.

Hmm. It’s a special kind of fucked up, this world I live in.

Responsibilities becon, so I must go. But I’ll try for that happy.  And if that fails, there’s a liquor store I can get to in under 10 minutes.


No rest for the weary


Yup. Diva’s fingers, & some beads . . . Under the door. I just had to take a solo. Under 1 minute . . . And she flipped shit! I had to get a pic, tho. That added about 20 seconds.  Every mother can appreciate this, though. Here’s one for us all.


I. Am. Over. Toddlerhood!

So, the incessant “No, no, no,” has been kicked-up a notch, which equates to around 800 decibels. Diva has an amazing range, though. I swear I could hear dogs whimpering a few times today. Her need for attention has injured us all over the last few weeks, with tonight ending in the need for an iceback on Boo’s lower back.  My jeans prevented her teeth from biting my skin, though.  But she has picked up speed on pushing & shoving me, which is annoying & a bit dangerous as she is increasingly violent. The shrieks, I feel, are a combination of a severe lack of vocabulary skills, a need for constant attention, & testing her boundaries.

After 15 minutes alone with her this evening, Hubs was in shock & awe. (Perhaps I should call her MOAB, instead of Diva??) “She is out of control; what is wrong with her tonight?”

“She has been like this ALL DAY,” I said. I know her molars are causing MAJOR discomfort. We are looking at building a home, which is adding stress. And I’ve got my own box of personal demons. Plus, she’ll be 2 in a matter of weeks.  But she is like a furious storm the last 4 days & increasing her intensity. Violent, combustible, volatile, devastating, & unpredictable. Chaos, mayhem, destruction, & anarchy in her wake. Like a tornado, earthquake, volcano, & tsunami rolled into one experience. Terrorizing & holding us hostage.

And I just want to curl up in the fetal position. But 2 kids are relying on me to not only get them through this, both on very different ends of these outrageous fits of madness – giving versus receiving – but also need help, acceptance, & guidance through this turbulence.

That is just damn hard for any parent, but especially for us “special needs” parents. But I’m trying. Dammit, I am trying my absolute best! And dammit, it’s hard. The only relief is when I am physically restraining her & distracting her with kisses, raspberries, &/or tickle fights. Otherwise, we are just walking on eggshells to avoid an eruption. 

Diva more closely resembles the Warner Brothers’ Tazmanian Devil character every day. Something’s gotta give. I am hoping summer & swimming will be helpful, along with working on her vocabulary, however much she hates it. I may have to take away any non-plush toys until that vocab comes in before someone looses a spleen, tho.

Peace, bitches. Oh, I actually punched myself tonight. Yuk it up. I was jacking with the couch cushion & fluffing the back pillow, & jerked it too hard. My grip slid off the leather . . . And I caught a fist to my mouth & nose. Gave myself a fat lip.  Yeah. It’s been a fucking stellar day.

I’m out.

Almost 5 on Friday.

Lasagna is in the oven, Rio is on the blueray, Boo has minecraft on his tablet, & I have a FULL glass of red . . . Hanging onto sanity for hopefully only 5 more hours till everyone goes to bed.  Then to wait to get tomorrow night’s forcast. Does not look good for the South. Hope the experts are wrong. Gotta love living in Tornado Alley in Spring.

not a second!!


Seriously. I tried to go piss & wash my hands before walking out the door . . . 1 minute, tops! Are you kidding me? Thos Mommy needs a break that lasts more than 5 minutes, & sleeping doesn’t fucking count!

I do love my life, but getting burned out. Gotta get Boo. And the fun continues!

Peace, bitches.

Jaguar F-Type

One word. DAMN. Have you seen the 2014 F-Type? Ohh holy moly!! Diva (2 next month) saw the leaper on a youtube channel, & so she watched it with me.  What the hell, right? She’d get bored & we’d flip back to Netflix for Oogieloves or Barbie . . . But wait.

An engine roars, and she jumps. The tires spin & kick up ice, & her heart starts to race. Another commercial, with a British bad boy comes on, & we are both drooling.

It may feel sooooo good, but the bad thing would be having to own two (one for everyday & one for when that one’s in the shop).

Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE Jaguar. Despite my constant bitching about their gross lack in dependability, I . . . I just have this sick addiction to the luxury of the ride, the allure of the power & handling, but above all, the purely sexual growl when the engine revs. I just can’t get enough. It’s like crack to me, I guess.  Or heroin. Whichever is more deadly & more addictive. If you get the chance, check it out. YUUUUMMMMY!!

In my opinion, nothing compares. And yes, I’ve driven a Mercedes SL500. previously it was my favorite, even above the Porsche Carrera, & the Boxter, even. And the BMWi series (all of which I have driven).  I know better than to even test drive an F-Type till I have the money to drive away with it, because it would take the whole Plano PD to pry me out of that beast.

I drool every time I take one of our XF’s into the dealership. It is simply scrumptious. The Brits do know how to do sex & luxury.

That’s all. I just wanted to share. Peace. Love. & Jaguar.

Sweet dreams, bitches.

A ragin’ case . . .

I got a ragin’ case of the “fuck-offs” today! So does Diva. She pushed me into the kitchen while she had ‘private time’ in the living room with a mini-size bag of Lay’s potato chips I caught her “liberating” from the kitchen pantry.  After she broke the latch opening the pantry door, how could I deny her the prize she’d earned?  So, hopped-up on high fructose corn syrup, my arch nemesis, she pillaged the living room. I would post pictures, but pretty sure CPS would remove her from such squalor!  She did throw her empty bag in the trash receptacle, though, & without being asked.  AND, she peed in the toilet this morning while singing her ABC’s, so fuck-off, I’m doing some things right. Plus, she’s happy as a lark in the living room jungle of toys.

I went to the post office, bought stamps from the machine, Spiderman, by the way, mailed some bills, came home from dropping Boo at school, & made coffee, while doing the dishes. Some dipshit hit a school bus this morning on my street, & I managed to piss-off a cop (I thought he was motioning me to come forward, but he started yelling at me, so I yelled back, then quickly sped off in the opposite direction (of course).

Lower back is now spasming from the nerve damage after the horse-riding incident. At least I have feeling coming back. After 12 days, I have very thin skin on my shin!! Woohoo!! Day 2 of no bandages!! The leg itself is yellow & purple & still swollen badly, but I’m healing.

Yesterday I came up with my book idea – FINALLY. I gotta lot to say, with a real fire in my belly, but until yesterday, didn’t know how. GOT IT!! Now, just to convince a publishing house . . . It’ll come together, or else I’ll just self-publish.

Nope. Still don’t feel like doing shit. But, if not today, then tomorrow . . .Today, I’d rather just carry a sign, wear a shirt, get a sign for my car, & one for the front door & a banner for the patio that all say ‘fuck off’.  Slightly terrified the first word Diva says clearly will be fuckoff, tho, so will soldier on quietly & f-bomb-free.

Eh, fuck me. I can’t just fuck off today. Wish I could. But despite my inability to focus, or ability to hyper-focus . . . I will do the bloody laundry, tidy the toys from hell, & work on my book during Diva’s nap. I feel a run to the liquor store in the near future . . . Like as soon as Hubs comes home from work, right after I drop off Boo at his jiujitsu class with his dad this evening.  Try to find your happy. Today, for me, it’s not on the agenda.

Peace, bitches.

2 hours.

That’s how long it takes, give or take, to get everyone in bed. After jammies are on, or off, showered, prayers & tucked in, it’s at least 1 hour until everyone is settled. 1.5 till eyes begin drooping . . . But 2 hours, & bodies are still, voices are silent, & breathing is slow & rhythmic. And people wonder why I drink. This is a mad house, run by a tyrant in diapers, and policed by an over – zealous eight-year-old.  Hubs & I are their endentured servants, and occasionally thrown into the dungeon for punishment. 

No, I am NOT being dramatic.  I am drowning in sinus drainage, and choking on phlegm, while my poor bones ache & throb . . . I just can’t feel 100% good for a straight 24 hours. WTF?? Colds, sinus’, stress, anxiety, panic attacks, viruses, bugs, accidents . . . . Karma seriously hates my guts. Still, I keep going. Trying to scratch & claw my way to happy.

Well ya know what, happy, here’s the finger!! I am sick & tired, & am just gonna stew on being one hell of a crabby bitch for right now. My house is a disaster area, & I may chomp on negativity tomorrow. Sounds tasty at the moment.  I’ll wash it down with some sinus drainage. Yum.  Hard to be happy when you’re not physically well.

Hang in there, ya’ll, & I’ll do the same.  Sometimes ya just gotta vent. I’m going to sleep now. And I’m going to have delicious dreams-because I can.  I may be Veruca Salt, & push old Willy in his own vat of goodness, then take over the chocolate lake, & set fire to the oompaloompas if they give me any shit!

Peace bitches!

Ahh. Hell. No.


Well, if my smiling hasn’t made Diva a little nervous, it should . . . Actually, she’s oblivious. I am done here. Or, I guess I should say, I’m just getting started.

I feel like crap, but sitting here in a pile of toys ain’t doing a damn thing to make it better.  So, today, I will be the change I want to see.  And it starts with decluttering. And that means minimizing toys!

May need to borrow a truck to haul it outta here. Ya’ll be good.

I gotta work on bills & Cub Scouts . . . Later, but soon.

Peace, bitches!

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