Random Thoughts and Musings

My new (step)Mama called today to chat and fill me in on the happenings back home. I was really excited at first - they bought a barber shop so my brother would have a place to work AND manage, since he finally got his license. My Dad’s going to Sturgis again, despite their fear they wouldn’t be able to afford the trip ever again, AND (bonus) this is the 70th anniversary. My niece (youngest brother’s daughter) is turning 1 on the 1st of August (and she’s so damn precious - I really wish I could get home to meet her). My nephews are doing well now that my “big” brother (younger than me, oldest of my two younger brothers) has custody of them. These are all awesome news items, and I love hearing them.

And then, she got around to the BIG NEWS.

My father’s three best friends have been his best friends for a long, long time. Clay is a mean SOB, but sweeter than pie to all of us. Cleve has always been the jolly, happy guy who wraps you up in a big hug and makes everything better. Roger was always a little bit of a trouble maker, a pot-stirrer, and never really wanted much out of life.

A few years back (when I still lived down south), Roger had a car accident. The other driver died a few days later, and Roger was charged with a DUI. I never understood the specifics. My (step)Mama thought he’d be able to fight the charges and win, since he wasn’t tested right away. Regardless, he was sent to prison (I don’t think he really fought the charges … which is never a good thing, especially when what you’re being accused of isn’t exactly true). He’s been there for a few years now. My Dad goes to visit whenever he can. One recent trip, he came home and told (step)Mama that Roger (who was ALWAYS overly skinny - he was maybe 130 lbs sopping wet) looked thinner, paler, and was really shaky. She immediately pointed out that she thought his cancer was back (he’d fought off bladder cancer a couple of years earlier). Roger then broke his leg, and again she told Roger to tell them about the cancer. They went in and fixed the leg … and found the cancer themselves. It had spread to his hips and legs, and up into his lungs. He’s going to parole board soon, and hopefully he’ll be allowed to come home for his last few months. I won’t be there to see him, but Dad and (step)Mama can take care of him (Or at least HELP take care of him). His mother is going to be devastated … as are the rest of us, actually. He’s an integral part of all of our lives. Daddy already lost a wife, plus several siblings and siblings-in-law to cancer. This is so cruel!

Then, Uncle Clay and Daddy noticed that Uncle Cleve was being really ornery and rude, pissing people off left and right. This wasn’t normal behavior, so they decided to confront him and have him hash it out with them so he could feel better. They received more than they’d bargained for: Uncle Cleve is also dying, of cancer.

That’s it. This is three, right? It can stop now?

(For those of you not already in the loop, my friend JP called several days ago and told me he had terminal cancer. A few days later, he took his own life, in order to ensure he died peacefully and placed as little burden as possible upon his family and close friends. He threw a big party, first, and took the time to tell people what they meant to him. Not that I agree with his final method, I think he handled things beautifully. It was still very upsetting.)

If I manage to get a job and a car before Christmas, I’ll be going home in the hopes that both Uncle Cleve and Uncle Roger are still around for me to hug and love on.

Cancer’s a bitch. I want to cut her out of my life, but she keeps coming back.

I often get annoyed with the sensationalism of stories. I get overwhelmed by the way news people harp on a subject day in and day out, beating us up with information that isn’t really “new” or “news.” I especially get irritated when the word “tragedy” is used to describe something that has happened to someone who was doing something they wanted or loved to do, just because it results in their death. In those cases, I feel as though “sad” or “disheartening” are appropriate ways to describe their actions and their death.

Right now, there is a REAL tragedy happening. All across the Gulf, wildlife is being destroyed by the thousands of gallons of oil that are being spilled into the beautiful deep blue green waters many of us have come to know and love. All along the coastline, the soft sugar white sand of our beaches is being coated in an ugly brown, slimy substance. Our wildlife preserves are being destroyed.

Seeing the photos brings a catch to my breath, tears to my eyes. Hearing the stories of those who are trying to rescue every living being possible is enough to send a person into a coma-like depression.

And yet … I rarely hear the word “tragedy” in reference to this disaster. Yes, it is a man-made disaster. Yes, humans are suffering too - our livelihoods are threatened, even more so since the economy had already reduced tourism and small businesses drastically. But it is not for the human race I feel the most sympathy. I feel for the furry, feathery, scaly races. The self-housed, flying, crawling folk. The floating, swimming, burrowing kind. The ones who did not choose, and could not prevent, the oil rig.

The damage that has, is, and will be done to the Gulf, the coastlines, and the beautiful gifts Nature bestowed upon us is tragic.

I had hoped to see big names raising arms in outcry, pulling together to raise money with benefits, and digging in to “git-r-done” (as Larry the Cable Guy would say). I had hoped to see news stories on what could be DONE, how everyone across the nation (and the world) could HELP, and where people could go to AID.

Instead, the focus is on who is to blame, what has been tried, and what isn’t possible. I heard there was a telethon on Larry King Live (I’m unsure - I tried to record it, since I wasn’t home but all I got was a talk show). That’s great. It aired on ONE channel - at least, that’s the only channel I saw the description pop up. What happened to interrupting Primetime TV to bring people together across the nation (and world)? What happened to UNITED?

I’ve done what I can from where I sit in my place in life - which, admittedly, isn’t nearly as much as I’d like. I know others who have done the same. I can only hope that our combined efforts will save some small part of our paradise …

So Rena asked me if she could buy some songs for her iPod. As usual, all music she purchases is subject to pre-approval. I’m wary of a lot of the music that is out there. I stopped listening to the radio years ago because I get sick of hearing about “nigga” this and that, pussy in someone’s face, smoking pot, pulling guns on people, and whatever else people are singing about that makes living a high-rolling, fast-paced lifestyle glamorous and cool.

Up til now, I haven’t been disappointed in the music she listens to … up til now, it was mostly influenced by what I bought, encouraged, or suggested. Even the music she picked up from listening to the radio was fairly innocent and positive. Up til now.

Now, her friends all carry their iPods and THEY are allowed to buy whatever they want - explicit, disgusting, whatever. THEIR parents don’t seem to care. Or maybe they just don’t know. Either way, I’m worried.

The list I got today has thrown me for a loop. One or two of the songs, I recognize. The rest, I decided to look up lyrics to see what they were about, because I knew I wouldn’t enjoy listening to most of it. I looked up the lyrics to three songs, and I am ready to cry.

So, I need help from all of you - friends and strangers alike. I’m going to put the list of songs here … and I’d like for YOU to suggest some music she might enjoy that IS NOT about sex, treating women like shit, doing drugs, or the “gangsta” lifestyle. I know some of these songs are perfectly innocent and acceptable - I just haven’t read all the lyrics yet - but I simply CAN NOT read the lyrics to any more songs today. The three I read, I am NOT allowing her to purchase until she’s 18 and can make the decision for herself. Maybe I’m being a prude here. I don’t care. I was shocked, and I’m upset. Maybe I’ll calm down later … I don’t know.

I have already admitted that I don’t listen to the radio much. Therefore, I know there are probably similar styled artists out there who have music with positive messages and encouraging lyrics. Please help!!

Maybe I’m getting old. Maybe I’m old-fashioned. Maybe I’m just a fucking loser. Whatever. She’s THIRTEEN and doesn’t need to be listening to some of this crap, as far as I’m concerned.

On a side note - I asked her about these songs. She likes them for the music itself, and doesn’t even know most of the lyrics. When I asked her about certain words I’d consider at least somewhat explicit, she didn’t even know what they meant or what they were referring to - they were just words filling up space as far as she was concerned. I know I myself rarely understand what a song is about unless I think about it, and I rarely think about it … although truth be told, I prefer romance sweetness to anything hard or edgy. This being the case, most of what I listen to is far from the degrading crap I read today.

The songs she listed:
Forever Young - Jay-Z
My Chick Bad - Ludacris & Nicki Minaj
Bed Rock - Young Money
Lollipop - Lil Wayne
I Made It (Cash Money Heroes) - Kevin Rudolf
Money to Blow - Birdman
Live Your Life - T.I.
Whatever You Like - T.I.
Baby - Justin Bieber
Low - Flo Rida
Alejandro - Lady Gaga
White & Nerdy - Weird Al Yankovic AND
Ridin’ - Chamillionaire (Weird Al was always benign … is he still? Do I have to worry about his parodies?)
Break Your Heart - Taio Cruz
Alice - Avril Lavigne
Try Sleeping With a Broken Heart - Alicia Keys
Let Me See Your Hips Swing - Savage
Heartbreak Warfare - John Mayer
I Can’t Believe It - T-Pain
I wanna Love You - Akon
Rokstarr album by Taio Cruz (I’ve admittedly never heard of this artist/band … no clue what kind of music is on the album.)
Sex on Fire - Kings of Leon
All the Right Moves - OneRepublic
Collide - Howie Day
Fire Burning - Sean Kingston

Let it Rock - Kevin Rudolf
Tie Me Down - New Boz
American Boy - Estelle
Sexy Bitch - David Guetta (seriously, child???)
Whatever You Like - T.I.
Beautiful - Akon
Love Like This - Natasha Beddingfield
Crush - David Archuleta
If We Ever Meet Again - Timbaland
Collide - Howie Day
Differences - Ginuwine
So Sick - Ne-Yo
Live Your Life - T.I.
Got Money - Lil Wayne
Right Now - Akon
Eenie Meenie - Justin Beiber/Sean Kingston
Can’t Believe It - T-Pain
The Middle - Jimmy Eat World
Troublemaker - Akon & ?
Kiss Me Through the Phone - Soulja Boy
Right Round - Flo Rida
Apologize - One Republic
Your Love Is My Drug Ke$ha
Shadow of the Day - Linkin Park

I’ll Be - Edwin McCain

I didn’t ever think parenting was easy. I just didn’t ever think I’d need to worry over such silly things as MUSIC. Movies, I can watch WITH her and answer her questions, talk about the scenarios …

Music, I don’t always understand … and her prime listening hours are when she’s AWAY from me. When we’re together, we’re typically talking or doing something, and music just isn’t a big part of our lives.

Bah, humbug.

Thanks for any input (either referencing the meaning of THESE songs or suggesting other songs) you offer!

xoxo

Yes, I know this sounds overly dramatic. I seriously thought I was going to be beaten to a pulp tonight. My heart is *still* racing, but not from fear. My adrenaline kicked in and I was going to fight that man to the death, in my nightgown, on my doorstep.

So, for the last few nights, my neighbors have been seriously freaking loud. Slamming doors, screaming in the hallways, crying loudly in the corridor outside my door. My daughter kept asking me to go see what was up, and I told her no - I wasn’t going to butt into the neighbors’ business. Maybe they were going through some tough times, maybe they have hot tempers. I was young and pregnant once. I have a **very** hot temper. I am MEAN and LOUD when I am angry.

Tonight, after one a.m. this time, there is banging on the door AGAIN. Only this time it sounds like my apartment door. I race to the door, wondering if they’ve actually hurt one another and the 19 yo pregnant girl is standing on my stoop for help. My heart pounding, I wrestle the deadbolt and yank the door open … just in time to see her throw her food and purse down on her OWN doorstep, and slam the door after she walked in, screaming at her boyfriend.

What. The. Eff.

Ok, NOW it has gone too far. This is too much. I stand there, contemplating. Do I knock on their door? Do I reach back inside for my phone, call the police? Suddenly, the young man comes out.

“I’m so sorry. She’s been acting so crazy. I know we have been loud tonight, but she is just … she is just being a crazy woman. I didn’t know what to do. I was going to ignore it, then she went out and threw eggs at my car - at my CAR! So, I locked her out. I know I shouldn’t have, but I did.”

Oh for goodness sake!

So I say, “Look, dude. She’s young. She’s pregnant. I don’t know what she was like BEFORE she got pregnant, but this isn’t good for her, OR the baby. You need to take a walk and calm down when she starts acting like this. You two need to learn to talk, and work it out. You’ve been disturbing my child all week. Now this? Now I’m pissed. You’ve been waking my kid up from a sound sleep with this nonsense. Please, just tone it down. I know it’s rough, I know you’re wondering what the heck you got yourself into. Please, just TONE IT DOWN.”

He says, “Hush.”

WHAT?

“Hush. You need to tone it down lady.”

Dude, I’m not even raising my voice yet. You want to see me un-toned down, you better prepare yourself.

“Hush. You don’t need to be cussing at me.”

CUSSING? I did not say one single curse word. Not only did I NOT cuss at you, I haven’t even raised my voice or used my MOMMY tone on you.

“Hush. You said ‘pissed.’ You don’t need to use that kind of language with me.”

Ok, maybe he’s a zealot of some sort. Whatever. So I say, “Ok, then I was ANGRY. And NOW, I am going to get loud. It is after one in the morning, and I do not need to be outside in this corridor having this conversation with you. I tried to treat you like an adult and do this quietly, but my next step will be to call the cops. I refuse to deal with this.”

“Call the cops, you fat fucking cow. Call them. See where that gets you.”

Dude, I know I’m fat. Calling me that, doesn’t hurt me. I’ve been called worse. You’re just telling the truth. And now YOU are cursing at me. So I’m going to walk inside quietly before this blows up.

That man steps up to me, looks down on me two inches from my face and starts SCREAMING at me. His arms are flailing all over the place. His face is red, the veins are popping out of his forehead, his eyes are bulging.

Fuck. No.

STEP THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE YOU STUPID BASTARD, BEFORE I GET REAL MEAN. BACK THE FUCK OFF NOW, OR WE WILL HAVE A REAL PROBLEM. You think you scare me? You don’t scare me. You PISS ME OFF. I’ve been beat by bigger, meaner, uglier assholes than you, and YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO SCARE ME WITH THIS SHOW. YOU want to hit me? HIT ME! I’ll get up and BEAT YOUR MOTHER FUCKING ASS! You twerp!

“You can’t yell at me, you fat fucker! You get your fat ass back in your door and step off of me! I’m not going to hit you! What’s wrong with you?”

Ok, you’re not gonna hit me? Fine. Back off onto YOUR doorstep. It’s only two feet away. We’ll continue TALKING about this. Don’t wake my kid up, or we’re going to have an issue whether you calm down or not.

“Bring your shithead out here. I’ll kick him in the face.”

WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY? Are you out of your FUCKING MIND? You’re THREATENING MY CHILD?

“I’ll kill your fucking child, you fat fuck!”

NOW I’m calling the police, you fucking hothead. Get into your apartment and shut the door. Back the fuck out of my space. Good night.

I walk inside, and I’m scrambling around looking for my phone. I ALWAYS have my phone in my hand - what the hell did I do to it? I’m just considering going in my daughter’s room and grabbing hers, when a polite knock sounds on the door. I holler, “Come in - it’s open!” because I think it is the girlfriend, who has been pleading with him this whole time to get away from me and to calm down before the cops come and they get kicked out. I’m thinking she’s coming to try and smooth it over, but I’m too pissed to deal with her. I see my phone, and walk over to it as the guy comes in, tears in his eyes, suddenly looking defeated.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I would NEVER hurt anyone. I get angry and I mouth off, and I do it all the time. I’m so sorry. I swear I would never hurt anyone.”

Are you kidding me? You threatened my CHILD. Dude, you could have beat me to a pulp and I would have fought you tooth and nail. You could have stayed in my face screaming all night and I’d scream right back. YOU THREATENED MY CHILD! Are you fucking KIDDING ME? I tried to have a polite conversation with you, and you turn it into this nasty all-out scream-fest. You get in my face to threaten me, because you THINK it will scare me and back me down, and then you THREATEN MY CHILD when I won’t turn tail and run?

“I’m so sorry ma’am. I didn’t mean any of it. You’re not really fat. If you’re fat, I’m fat too (he’s not thin, but he’s muscular and THICK - enough to scare most people). I seriously, I just run off at the mouth. I do it all the time, it always gets me in trouble. I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what your kid looks like - I would NEVER hurt your kid. I swear.”

By now, I’ve calmed down. His friend, who had been trying to pull him out of my face, trying to get him to go inside through the whole argument in the hall, had walked in behind him. He was apologizing profusely through the whole situation, but I hadn’t looked twice at him. The friend (who I now see has a ROCKIN bod) was of no concern to me - the noise my neighbors were making, and the safety of their unborn child was what I was worried about. Anyway, he walked in apologizing. While the neighbor-guy was apologizing, so was the friend, saying “I know this is a really awful first impression, but I swear he’s just a hothead, he’s never hurt anyone.” The two of them apologizing together had cooled my temper. I was thinking straight again.

I looked at my neighbor, “Don’t you EVER, for ANY reason, threaten a child again. EVER. If anything happens to my daughter, it will be YOUR ass I come looking for, I don’t care WHEN it happens. Threatening a child is a good way to get yourself hurt. It’s a good way to get your ass thrown in jail. It’ll piss me off, it’ll piss my friends and family off. It’ll piss off YOUR friends and family. It isn’t cool, it isn’t okay. EVER. I don’t know what y’all have going on over there. I don’t care. She’s a crazy pregnant lady - FINE! You have NO IDEA what it’s like being pregnant. Things heat up, TAKE A WALK. Calm down, go back and work it out. You have a CHILD at stake here. For the sake of the rest of your life, you have to learn to work with it. Period. Threatening me, my child, or the world won’t fix that. YOU need to man up, take a step back, and fix what’s wrong WITH her. Not stand opposing to her. GROW UP. It’s time. YOU are about to BE A DAD. You need help, fine - I’m next door. ASK FOR HELP. But don’t be all drama-queen-and-king over there, slamming doors, screaming, crying, fighting in the parking lot and in our breezeway. Don’t be disturbing MY family. DO NOT THREATEN MY LOVED ONES. I’ve lived a worse life than you could imagine. You do not scare me. You threaten the ones I love, THAT scares me. It scares me for a split second, and then it PISSES ME THE FUCK OFF. I know what it is like to be young and pregnant and starting out. I’m old and fat now, but I wasn’t always so. I had my kid at 20, I kicked my ex-husband out at 21 because he couldn’t man up. I raised my child for almost 14 years on my own. I’ve been through it ALL. I know how hard it is. Again. You need help, ask. I’ll try to help. Don’t disturb my family again, though. Period.You get your shit together and be a good neighbor, guess what - **I** will be a good neighbor. Continue to be a shitty neighbor, I’ll call the cops. You officially overstepped the boundaries. Threatening a child is NEVER okay. There’s nothing bad about children. What makes children bad is adults doing shit like you just did. THAT is how they grow up into shitty adults. You need to make a happy home for your kid. If you’re the father, you’re going to have to work with her for a LONG time. As long as your child is alive. GET USED TO IT and do it right. And, just so you know - my friends will know about this, and you’re my ONLY next door neighbor, so my friends will know where to point the cops if anything happens to me and my child. OR my pets.”

He had tears in his eyes the whole time. His girlfriend walked in towards the tail-end of it. I looked at her and said, “YOU need to chill the heck out. This isn’t good for you OR that baby.” She says, “I know, she hasn’t moved since this all started.”

Then she asks if I called the cops. Nope, I didn’t even know where my phone was when I came in, I was so pissed off (I’d walked by it four times - blind to it for a reason, I’m sure). She says they’re in the parking lot, and she’s scared. I go out, look around, come back into my apartment and tell them there’s no cops. Go home, chill out, work it out - QUIETLY.

They ask if they can have us over to dinner sometime and start fresh.

*sigh*

I would not be 19 again if you paid me. I was 20 when I had Rena. I turned 21 six weeks later. That was rough enough.

Oh, hell. I just ran and checked the door because I heard someone banging on it. It’s the cops. Next door. Now, I am a *little* worried they’ll think I called the cops.

I sure hope this is the last of it.

I know people who talk about being friendless. Most know they have shortcomings, issues, turnoffs. I still do not understand the concept of not having at least *one* good friend. These people become so lonely they allow themselves to be mistreated by the people who DO come into their lives. It breaks my heart, because they are willing to accept this abuse (mental/emotional/physical) in exchange for feeling loved at least some of the time. I have a hard time not smacking these people around, because I know what it is like to be a difficult person despite your every attempt to be “normal.” I am one of those people who is so difficult, it almost seems it isn’t worth being around me. Unless you *really* get to know me, and can ignore my moodiness.

If you are in a relationship (marriage, friendship, whatever) that relies on you accepting abuse in order to receive some sort of affection, PLEASE move on! You deserve more than this. You deserve to find a person to fill that void WITHOUT hurting you in return. Find a way to accept who you are, love who you are, and work around your shortcomings.

Do not devalue yourself. And certainly don’t allow anyone else to devalue you. Ask my best friend: I am not an easy person to love. But the love I give far outweighs the energy it takes to accept my shortcomings. If I can have a healthy friendship, so can you.

xoxo

Last week, my sister was informed that her contract would not be honored. She is a teacher, in Georgia. I know she loves what she does, and she’s excited about teaching still. I certainly hope things turn around soon, or something opens up for her.

I am concerned about her, because unlike me, she’s a planner. She likes things to be lined up, ready to go. She has an agenda, and knows her next step. She doesn’t like change to be imposed upon her. I know she’s worried about how things will work out from here. I know she’ll find *something* to do, and I know she’ll throw herself into it full-force, making it the best job in the world.

What scares me the most about this has nothing to do with the actual crisis our economy is facing. I know, firsthand, that the job market is not picking up, that the economic crisis is not yet over. I have faced hardship and struggle unlike anything I could have ever expected. Knowing it firsthand did not concern me nearly as much as watching teachers all over the country being laid off.

Why, you ask? Because our parents always told us if we became teachers our jobs would always be secure. Funny how something so simple can affect a person all the way down to their core. There are times when I love proving my parents wrong. This is *not* one of those times!

Selfishness must always be forgiven you know, because there is no hope of a cure.
~Jane Austen

The other night, Rena and I had a “fight.” I spoke, she pouted/whined/spoke back, I got angry at her for acting like a spoiled brat, and then we texted for an hour, working it out (I find it easier to get her to talk when not face-to-face, especially if I am already angry at her and trying not to yell).

It was a silly argument: she has clothes in her closet that she does not wear. Most of these are clothes she has asked for at some point. They are all clothes that are beautiful, and none are clothes that I forced her to choose against her will. I have asked her before to make sure she starts wearing more of her clothes. She tells me things like, “it doesn’t fit anymore,” or “I don’t really like it - I only bought it because I didn’t want to disappoint you.” Uhm, excuse me: it would have fit six months ago if you would have worn it when you asked for it, and I do NOT exert “motherly control” over your wardrobe!

The “fighting” portion of this scenario ended with me ripping (ok, removing with her permission … “ripping” sounds more like what I wanted to do!) the sweater off of her person and throwing it in the garbage to show her what a waste it was for her not to wear it. (It is in the laundry now, folks - I did *not* throw my money away literally! Besides, my niece loves the damn sweater and will be thrilled to wear it!)

Later, in our text discussion, I told her I was angry because I asked her to wear a sweater before it got too small, and she felt like she needed to argue/pout/whine about it. I let her know I did not EVER want to see that behavior again - she knows it angers me, because we’ve discussed it when we have seen other children treating their parents that way. I also let her know I felt like such an attitude was the display of a spoiled, ungrateful child.

My parents did not give me a choice with my own clothing growing up. I always swore I would not treat my own children that way. I have always given Rena choices, and allowed her to express herself however she chooses through her hair and wardrobe. On the other hand, I hate wastefulness. I do not want to be spending what little money we have on something that will go to total waste. It is frustrating and depressing.

I feel like maybe my working so hard to ensure she doesn’t feel deprived has gone too far. I think maybe she is a little spoiled. I’m cooking up a little plan in my head, and I hope to implement it soon. If I do, you know I’ll blog about it! Until then, I am going to remove all the clothes from my daughter’s room that she doesn’t wear. When she ONLY has the choice of the handful of items she wears, I’ll bet she’ll start wanting more options. And when she does, she’ll realize that maybe she needs to listen to me more often and start wearing more of her clothes!

(Thinking on it now, I am realizing the problem is her liking something and wanting to wear it, then realizing her friends probably won’t approve, and chickening out. She’s done that with a few other things before, only with those it was more obvious because she bought items or put together outfits for special days at school - crazy hat day, mismatch day, twins day, etc - then decided at teh last minute not to wear them. I’m obviously going to have to talk to her about peer pressure in relation to even the smallest of decisions.)

This whole scenario represents the lowest of lows in parenting. I shouldn’t have lost my temper - I’m still not sure why it affected me so deeply, although something hormonal is likely, considering the timeline. I do know that while I am not proud of it, and despite the fact that I’ve had a few “friends” on Plurk tell me I’m a shitty mother, I am glad it happened. I’d rather confront her spoiled attitude over something small, rather than have it be displayed over something that truly matters in the scheme of life. At least now I have the opportunity to guide her in another direction!

Feel free to tell me your thoughts in the comments — good and bad.

xoxox

Tonight, i found out a friend of mine tried to commit suicide. It saddens me that I have been so removed, I wasn’t around to talk to him. It saddens me more that he felt this was his only recourse.

My friend, you are important. To me, and to others who know you. Please, reach out to us to at least talk. We may not be able to fix things, but maybe we can help inject some humor into the situation.

xoxo

So, last week when I went to pick up the flea treatments for the two kitties (who are both VERY pleased with me, by the way!), I checked with the Vet to see if Willow D. Kitten was old enough to get his shots, now. When we first acquired him, he was too young to receive them, because his body would have just rejected them. I also knew I had a credit on the account from the last visit, because I had paid in advance for certain things to be done (and the person who gave us the kitten also paid in advance for certain other things).

I asked about the credit, and what it would cover, and what shots the kitten would need. I was told he would receive a rabies & other vaccines, and he would be tested for feline leukemia & other diseases, and the total would be XX amount of dollars. I had four dollars MORE than that in my account, so I set up the appointment.

Yesterday, I rushed home from a short job just in time to pick up Willow D. Kitten and scoop him into his kennel and rush him to the local animal hospital, where his Vet works. We got inside, and he was scratching at the kennel like crazy to get out, so I scooped him up and cuddled him. He looked around a bit, then lay his head down on my arm and just relaxed. There were no other animals in the waiting room, nor were there any in the exam rooms ready to come out.

Suddenly, he started hissing. I leaned forward to open his kennel, and he swatted at my face, getting his claw stuck in my lip. He freaked out, continued hissing, and kept jerking his paw - the claw still attached to my lip. My eyes teared up, but I grabbed his paw firmly and pressed on his pad, while trying to speak calmly to him and settle him down. I set him back in his kennel (I wanted to toss the lil shit - I was bleeding all over the place), and grabbed a tissue to clean myself up.

I have NO IDEA what set him off - nobody was in the waiting room, no animals were present. I think he just caught a sniff of something he didn’t like, poor thing (little friggin devil).

We get into the exam room, and I set his kennel on the table, warning the tech that he’s a little feisty and I am unsure what exactly is the cause of his distress. She said no problem, she would pull him out of the kennel and put him on the exam table so if he got more upset, they wouldn’t have to reach into the kennel to get him out - thereby putting their hands at risk of being sliced open 500 times. She reached in, and he came out just fine, so she closed the kennel and reached over to pet him.

He started hissing and spitting again, and backed away from her, calming down only when he heard my voice as I spoke to him in low tones. He looked at me a minute, then lay his head down on his paws and waited for whatever was next. The tech laughed it off, then was able to pet him. As soon as she tried to pick him up by the scruff, he spazzed out again, and she set him down, looked at me, and said to just let him be for a few minutes til the vet was ready.

The Vet came in about ten minutes later, and Willow D. Kitten and I had been playing with a crumpled up piece of paper and a hair tie, so he was relatively calm. She was able to check over his body, his paws, his eyes, and the inside of his mouth without incident. Then, she tried to lay him down to find his vein, and he started screaming.

Yes, SCREAMING! He sounded like a child in intense pain (later, the front desk personnel and two of the other customers said they thought someone had been attacked by one of the aggressive dogs or had fallen and broken a bone). He screamed each time she touched him, and fought her off like he was a trained boxer with claws.

I grabbed his blanket out of his kennel, threw it on top of him, and scooped him up. I let him pop his head out, but not get loose. As soon as he stopped screaming, and was only meowing, I put him back on the table - with the blanket - for them to try again. The vet grabbed his four paws and held him down, relinquishing one paw to the tech, who had to pull it open to find the vein. Willow D. Kitten was screaming the whole time, fighting, scratching the hell out of them, and managing to get away over and over again.

Finally, the tech threw the blanket over him, muscled him into position, and the vet drew the blood for the test. I was in tears by this point, and Willow D. Kitten did not stop screaming until they put him down and stepped away. The Vet explained we had a ten-minute wait, and then they could give him his shots if he was healthy.

Another ten minutes go by, I find out my baby is healthy as healthy can be, and they have a syringe with medicine they need to give him to deworm him. I crack up, because they’re worried about him taking it. I open his mouth, squirt in the liquid, and he licks it all up. No problem there - he’s been fed medicine before, for his respiratory issues (because he wasn’t nursed by his momma, he had a few issues when I first got him - they’ve all worked out as he ages though).

Now, for the tough part. They have to give him his shot. While this does need to be given in one of his legs, at least they do not need the vein this time. The vet muscles him down in about 3 seconds, Willow D. Kitten starts screaming, and just like that - they’re done. WHEW!

He continued to scream for a moment, to make sure they weren’t going to grab him again. Once he realized they were really done, he stood looking at his kennel door. I opened it up, he went inside, I arranged his blanket, he curled up and went to sleep.

I was still in tears, I felt so awful for him. Talk about a stressful Vet visit!

Not one of my other cats has EVER caused a ruckus like this. If I have to go through this every few months, I am going to need a new heart!

Anyway … as we checked out, I was told I owed XX amount of dollars, after my credit. I didn’t understand why the person last week had told me I would be covered, but now suddenly I owe this much money. I was quite upset - especially when they said, “Oh, and you need to return in 3 weeks for a booster. It’ll also be XX amount of dollars.”

What the fuck? Why didn’t they just tell me that before? Now, not only did I spend money yesterday, but that money is going to go to waste because I do *not* have the funds right now to get the booster. I *might* have them within a couple of months, but that might also be too late. I am quite annoyed.

Asi es la vida. If I can manage to afford the booster, I will. If not, I’ll wait a couple of months and start over. They really need to be up front and tell you EVERYTHING you’ll need to pay for within the first few weeks and let you know when your next exam/shots/whatever will be coming up, so when you prepare for one you can start preparing for the other, yanno?

So - this was why I was grumpy and frustrated yesterday. I think the $$ thing would not have been nearly so upsetting if Willow D. Kitten hadn’t been so horrifically terrified during his appointment.

When we got home, Willow D. Kitten ran straight to Rascal Lee Kitten, who hovered over him and glared at me (quite unnecessarily, thank you - I felt awful enough!) like I was the one sticking needles into the little guy.

Jeezman, I cannot catch a break from the Kitten clan!

xoxo

I SWEAR my life is a comedy of errors.

Today, I could only work for about 3.5 hours. I had to make sure I got home in time to pick up Willow D. Kitten to take him to the vet to get his shots and get tested for feline leukemia. In the first 3 hours, I managed to paint two full walls, two hallway walls, three partial kitchen walls, and two partial bathroom walls. Not bad, considering all the cutting in around stuff that needed to be done.

I wanted to spend my last 20 minutes working on the white semigloss trim on the baseboards and ceiling trim (the word escapes me right now, tho I’ve said it 5 billion times - including at least 10 times on Thursday/Friday of last week). I grabbed the can of semigloss, went over to where the front door was, and started painting. I opened the door to see if I could paint the door trim without causing the door to stick, and slipped on something greasy on the floor. I landed ~hard~ on my ass, and the white semigloss went EVERYWHERE: the brown front door, the tile floor, two of the walls I’d just painted a yellowish color last week, the ceiling, the glass door, the cabinets, the counter … and on my arms and my face and in my eyes.

Holy HELL paint burns.

HOLY HELL was I frantically cleaning it up before it dried anywhere and made more of a mess!

I need a do-over on this morning, please!

Off to the vet I go.

xo

Last night, I had nightmare after nightmare, and couldn’t seem to sleep properly. Some were re-living things that had happened in my past. Others were nightmares about the impossible.

I woke up feeling cloudy, distressed, and had no idea why. I stumbled out into the still-dark living room, and screamed at the top of my lungs when I saw a coil in the floor, poised and ready to strike. I leapt backwards, screamed out “Aidan! Get this fucking snake out of the house!” and flipped on a light.

When the light filled the room, I realized
A) It is *not* 1994 …
B) The ’snake’ was Willow D. Kitten, curled up in a ball, his tail propped up on the glass he’d obviously been sneaking a drink out of when it fell to the ground.

Despite the fact I was alone, had no audience, and was fairly certain nobody had to know what had just happened, I was blushing beet red and laughing my ass off at the same time.

I wonder if Aidan’s ears were burning? If so, I hope he knows, as much as I love him… I’m gonna kick his everloving ass for entering in my nightmares. Ex-boyfriends are supposed to play nice in dreams, dammit, and we’re only supposed to remember the *good* things.

** Disclaimer: this nightmare of mine is based on a true story, when I *did* nearly step on the little poisonous snake my then-boyfriend Aidan had sworn could *not* get out of the fish tank because he’d stacked a dozen porn magazines on top. Aidan was wrong. I was not a happy camper. The snake immediately found a new home.

** Disclaimer 2: I like snakes, I think they are fascinating and beautiful, and I love holding the really really really big ones … the little ones? They scare the bejeezus outta me.