Saturday, June 30, 2018

Anthony makes my shitlist

 If I’ve decided I don’t like you, there is very little you can do to change my mind. In fact, any efforts on your part may only be making matters worse. Settle in for a bumpy ride.

Generally I’m pretty easy to get along with. Don’t talk shit about my friends or family, don’t touch my food without asking first, don’t flake out on an agreed upon engagement once I’m already seated at the event by myself and for fuck’s sake, don’t get caught lying to me. I mean, there are roughly 40 other offenses and 25 minor infractions, but these come to mind first. Although, now that I’ve said that, I feel I have to mention loud chewing. If you are one of those people, you and I cannot co-mingle. I will kill you and it will suck. I’ll go to jail and end up a drug addicted toothless lesbian trading sexual favors for Top Ramen, tampons, homemade booze, and heroin.

I’ve done some traveling recently for family reasons. I love traveling. Correction: I love traveling when I enjoy my company. I love my husband; my traveling did not change that. My 11 yr. old however, well, there were days that I woke up thinking ‘this is going to be the day that I punch an 11 yr. old.’  There is something inherent about travel that brings about the absolute worst in my child; something that tells him he must test every boundary. Every day it was a game of 'Operation.' Strategically he would provoke all of my annoyances and wait for my head to explode. I pictured myself the animated character in the game, every time Curran got too close to a nerve my face would light up bright red. Fuck that kid.

I can’t write off my child no matter how many of my infractions and offenses he criminally spikes like footballs. Wanna know who I can write off? Sure you do. I can write off the preppy douchenozzle who was seated next to me on the plane on my way home from Minneapolis. I’m going to call him Anthony. I don’t know why. He looked like an Anthony and if I’m being real, I’ve only ever known one cool Anthony. So, there! Anthony, on my flight home from Minneapolis, you are a bag of limp dicks.

Limp dick Anthony had an aisle seat. I get that having an aisle seat is like winning the fucking flight-seating lottery, but sometimes you have to not be a selfish cunt.

My husband, my son, and I walk onto the plane like gangstas. No we didn’t, we were fucking tired and bitchy. Okay, I was tired and bitchy. My son was a bouncy little shit. I’ve never wanted to Hannibal Lecter someone so badly. If they had offered face masks on the plane, I would have paid any price. Anyway, we’re cruising down the walkway to our seats. We already know that we are going to be across the aisle from each other; 2 on one side, and 1 on the other. I figured that once someone saw our adorable family they would offer to switch seats so that we could all sit together. That would be the human and decent thing to do. Normally, I believe that would have happened, but we had Anthony in his creased Chinos and checkered shirt. More on all of that soon, I have so much shit to talk.

It would probably have been very easy to politely ask this twat if he wouldn’t mind switching so that we might all be seated together. Was I even sure I wanted that? But instead I chose to play the manipulative card. I looked at my husband as we seated ourselves and said: “Bye, honey…” hoping to pull at the android's heartstrings. Zero response. He couldn’t even be bothered to look up from his Skymall magazine. Come on, dude! I’ve read that piece of shit. There isn’t anything in there.

I seated my spawn next to the window because even though I was upset, I wouldn’t wish the kind of torture that sitting next my kid for the next 3 hours would be upon anyone.This proved to be a mistake. For 3 hours Curran lifted the window shade and closed the shade, lifted the shade and closed the shade – for the w-h-o-l-e  f-u-c-k-i-n-g ride. I’m seated between these two numb-nuts wondering what atrocity I had committed in a former life that has me serving my penance in this fashion. I don’t think Anthony is breathing, this further confirms my belief that he is inhuman. I’m eyeballing his movements from my periphery. I know he can feel it. Good.

I can see his phone. This dude apparently never checks his emails, his Twitter notifications, or does any updates on his applications. So, I’ve established he’s rude, he’s probably a shitty friend and/or employee if he’s not responding to emails, he’s egotistical if he’s too good to check his Twitter notifications, and he’s lazy if he can’t update his applications. This is what I mean when I say that once I’ve decided I don’t like you, there is no coming back. Nothing Anthony can do will ever be right. In fact, his hair is ridiculous too. I want make sure he knows that I’m still married, so I talk over him, across the aisle to my husband. Ya know, like ya do.

I can’t say it was intentional, but I may have taken my socks off and on 2 or 3 times throughout the course of the flight. I may also have gone to the bathroom even though I didn’t have to go. I definitely put on headphones and sang out loud just as he was falling asleep. Fuck you, Anthony. Don’t fuck with newly married women who’ve just had to go through some emotionally raw family shit AND are traveling with pre-teens. You clearly don’t know our struggle.

I’ve been away from venting for a while. Our family has suffered a great loss and I have not much felt like laughing or writing or even sharing. I’m beginning to feel better. By better, I mean to say bitchy and rant-worthy. Hope you’ll stick around as I get my writing legs back.

Sunday, June 10, 2018


 Sunday, June 10, 2018

Within 48 hours of being married my husband was admitted to the hospital.

We left San Diego on Saturday morning from Las Vegas airport flying into Minot, North Dakota. I know what you’re thinking – that’s some bullshit right there. You’d be right. Minot, North Dakota is way the fuck out there. The reason for our destination wedding is to be with my husband’s father while he undergoes treatment for cancer.

Maybe I should back up a bit…

On Thursday May 29th, we got a call that his father had been admitted to the hospital with the prognosis of cancer yet undetermined but they knew it was in his spine, liver, and kidneys. At this point, we are still waiting on the biopsy results for the type of cancer. By Friday (less than 24 hrs. later) he was paralyzed from mid-chest down. Kevin and I booked our flight on the shittiest and most affordable (cheapest) airline I could find immediately. This scrap metal airline only flies 3 times per week and the next available flight was Saturday, so we took it.

June 2nd we arrived in Minot, North Dakota at Ralph’s (Kevin’s dad) bedside. If you’re hoping for a funny blog, you’ve picked the wrong day to read. Stop now. The rest is a fucking shit show.

The whole family began converging here in Minot. From all over the country people began showing up. Not knowing how long Ralph has left, we’ve all left our lives at home to be at his side.

I’m having difficulty even writing this. Sitting in a hospital room with him and his two sons – the rest of the extended family having gone home, I am flooded with emotions. There is a pride having been accepted by this wonderful family. This family that has rooted themselves in faith and love has accepted me. Loss - the inevitable loss of this man is overwhelming and incomprehensible. His smile, laugh, generosity and his kind eyes are nearly haunting. I can’t bear to think about what life will be like without them. There is also so much love. Even now, there is laughter in this room. As I lift my head from time to time scanning the room, I see adoration, patience, and a kind of acceptance that I don’t understand.

I married Kevin on Wednesday June 6, 2018 in his father’s hospital room. Most of the extended family was present. The family’s pastor performed the ceremony. We really wanted to ensure that Ralph was present for our occasion. There was no gown, no hand selected rings, no after party and it was not at all how I imagined it would be. It was absolutely perfect.

On Friday June 8, 2018 we admitted Kevin to the same hospital that his father is at. This is not how I imagined we’d spend our honeymoon either. I can’t sleep next to the man I love. My heart breaks every night. My heart breaks for Jane, Kevin’s mother, and for her sons. It aches when I drive home 30 mins each night to sleep alone. Jane has slept at her husband’s side each and every night, not leaving the hospital.  The family actually lives in a town called Deering which is 30 mins outside of the main town where the hospital is. Deering’s population is 98. Not 98,000 – just 98. Perspective.

I haven’t been able to write anything. I’m still struggling. I’m wiping away tears as I write this now. I am thankful that through all of this I’ve had a loving family that has banded together. I am amazed at the grace that this family is walking with. Faith and love – these are the tools this family is using. If it is enough for them, I’m certain it can be enough for me.

As it gets easier, I will try to write more. For now, I am walking through this as gracefully as I can with my family. We all need each other. We all offer one another support in different ways at different times. For now, I will sit back and watch these two men with their father and this woman with her husband. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Kevin gets admitted

Pre-Kevin Admission

Wedding Day

Friday, June 1, 2018

Monster truck day dreams and shitty kids

Some days are harder than others.

This morning I dropped my son off at school. It should have been like any other day. My head-space, however, was muffled. All the activity taking place around us seemed to crawl by; like an underwater carousel. If I listened attentively I could faintly make out the sinister plucking of a music box’s song. I was on autopilot. That’s always reassuring – does it comfort you to know that I may share the same school parking lot with your child? Blindly wielding a multi-thousand lb. vehicle through a narrow access passage where children and other moms in athletic wear saunter while chatting over their morning lattes and flat whites? Incredibly distracted and mildly hateful – my daydream of monster trucking through the parking lot is cut short.

I noticed a pattern. That pattern shook me from my happy place. ALL the cars in that parking lot were either minivans, SUVs, or pickup trucks. The colors were all either garnet, slate, or white. There was no deviation. Suddenly I felt like a replicant. Was I in Gattaca? Are all my choices predetermined or set by class? This is some fucking bullshit right here! I snapped from my fog and looked around. Every bitch looked the same. Hair tied in a floppy mess on the top of her head, large framed sunglasses, athletic pants (or yoga pants for the rest of you – I just even hate saying it) and some coffee or tea carrying vessel. Holy fuck! I think all of them laughed in unison; tossing their heads back at the same time. I’m going to die today. That’s what’s happening here.

Children varied drastically. I noticed one of the boys seemed unruly - running wild. He was hitting his mother while she attempted to hold his hand and keep him from climbing on a brick retaining wall. She continued to walk and talk with her girlfriend; paying no attention to him, or at least pretending not to. Sorry, fuck that shit! If my kid was slapping me, (which he never did because he fucking knows better) I would calmly interrupt the conversation with my BFF so that I could address my demon seed. I’d firmly grab him by his shitty little shoulders and remind him that he’s liable to hurt himself if he keeps acting a fool. We address bad behavior incrementally. First the warning, then the action, and finally we give the child up for adoption because who needs that kind of bullshit?

I don’t give a fuck what anyone says about disciplinary action; my mom only ever hit me once, I earned that shit though. I don’t agree with beating your kids, but if your child is an unruly brat, a firm hand is sometimes required. You need to be the judge of that. Hopefully you’re not a dimwitted asshole with rage tendencies yourself. We’ve let children get away with too much in the name of allowing them to “express themselves” or be “authentic” and “individual.” Of course they’re authentic and individual! They’ll eat spaghetti out of their rain boots that they’ve worn in the middle of summer if you let them. So…

Don’t let little people walk all over you. Make the rules, stand by them, make them accountable. Those little assholes will lead us. Please, don’t allow them to become (or remain) sniveling little pussies who believe they’re entitled to everything under the goddamn sun. Obviously, I’m speaking of children and not midgets, although you shouldn’t let midgets walk all over you either. It’s just good practice to hold people accountable to and for their actions.

Wow, this started with the cars in the parking lot. Now I hate uniformity in moms and shitty little kids. Awesome! More on rage and hate later. For now, I need to focus this hostility at people I work with. I’m going out of town for a week, so I only have a few precious hours to make certain they know I barely tolerate them.
Image result for music box ballerina