Turkey and Taters for One Please

I officially hate the holidays. There's nothing quite as disheartening as sitting around playing "remember when". Especially when you're by yourself.
The girls typically go with their dad for everything except Christmas, especially now that he's moved since they rarely see him. So that leaves a 16 pound turkey, 5 pounds of mashed taters, stuffing, relish....the works....for the dog and I.
Growing up holidays were huge affairs. Easter and Thanksgiving were at my great-aunt's house while my grandmother hosted Christmas. Every once in a while they would alternate, or someone else would offer to host it only to realize it was a lot more work than they bargained for. Venue aside, the gathering was huge. Granted we often only saw most of the "distant" relatives on holidays it was still family and that's what mattered. Now everyone is scattered to the wind...if not literally then definitely figuratively. My mom moved to Virginia, one aunt to Michigan and another to Arizona. My grandmother and her sister have both passed. As for the family that's still in town...well...we just aren't close anymore. They have their get togethers they just don't see fit to include anyone else.
It's been 6 years now since I have been invited to spend a holiday with my family, even though they live less than 20 minutes away. The twinge of loneliness I get is what I imagine amputees feel when they get phantom pains where their missing limb once was. You know what you once had and have a hard time accepting that it's gone.

The Fine Art of Being Fine

How are you? I'm fine. How have you been? Fine. How are the girls? Fine. How is...how are...how about???? F I N E!
I'm posting this because I'm tired of retelling it and I don't have the emotional strength anymore to keep fielding the damn questions.
In case you've been hiding under a rock lately, or have just lost track of all the endless amounts of crap I have going on, here's a brief recap before we move on.

• I've been out of remission for the majority of this year.
  
• I was laid off from my job at the end of May.
• The following week I had major surgery.
• I lost my health insurance.
  
• I'm trying to run a household and raise 2 kids on less than $25K a year. I have to pay rent, phone, groceries, orthodontist, optometrist, SDGE, gas, my meds, my medical bills....OH, and no Gus doesn't help beyond child support.
  
• 3 weeks ago, Javi moved out.
  

That about covers it. There's plenty of other stuff going on but to list it all would just be whiny.
Now, how do you REALLY think I am? And honestly why bother asking? Everyone assumes everything is ok. It's not until I tell the truth that anyone stops to realize that oh maybe they shouldn't have asked. I can sense the deer in the headlights look as I start listing what's going on THAT week. And then, what's even better, they try to sympathize. Because somehow the fact that THEY have to work overtime or THEY might have to sell their dirt bike is right in line with me having to chose between groceries or lights.
There's days when it's very hard not to be bitter. As an adult I'm supposed to understand why I was laid off, why it made financial sense for the company to let me go. But I have no problem admitting that sometimes it's hard not to feel slighted. Thanks to losing my job there's a very good chance I'll be losing EVERYTHING.
And speaking of jobs....do people honestly think that I haven't thought of EVERYTHING I can possibly do to make a living? What the fuck. YES I've been looking, YES I've put in resumes, YES I'm looking at jobs I swore I'd NEVER do. But have YOU ever tried raising a kids and paying rent on $10 an hour? No? Well, it's a lot like those Choose Your Own Adventure books you read in school. do you pay the light bill and go without groceries? Do you get groceries but end up with the power turned off? Do you get your medicine and tell the kids they will need to go without new contacts and you're sorry they're getting an eye infection from the old ones? Do you get the contacts instead of your medicine and then end up sick?
So, how am I? Well, I'm tired, I'm epically stressed, I'm anxious, I'm scared, I'm mad, I'm sick, I'm afraid that if I start crying I won't stop....Getting the picture?
I don't know how I will cover next month's rent. Hell, I'm still trying to cover THIS month's rent. Oh, and no moving isn't an option. If I had the money to move I'D PAY MY RENT. I'm making a 1 month prescription of my medicine last 2-3 months because I don't have $108 every month to spend on it. My unemployment runs out in 2 months. My eyes are yellow from the jaundice. I'm not eating so that my kids can. None of my clothes fit. I'm losing everything I've worked so hard for. I've sold everything that's worth anything just to get basics like bread and milk.
"But can't your mom", "what about your dad", "doesn't your family".....what about...No. My mom can't and neither can my dad. And my family just doesn't. I couldn't tell you the last time I was invited to a family function...wait yes I can...it was my grandmother's funeral SIX YEARS AGO.
I'm not writing this so people will feel bad for me or to make anyone feel guilty. I'm writing this because this is how things are. This is my reality. This is the reality of a LOT of people right now. So before you bitch about that job that you hate, or gripe about the cost of your car insurance, or ask me how I am....think twice.

Does This Smell Infected?

My kids think I'm crazy...no that's not news. They often look at me and I can see the hamsters running frantically in their heads while they think "Ok, if we put her in a home NOW...what are my odds on getting the car?" or "Can I ride out the next year or two, have her committed and THEN get the car?"
One of the family traits the my grandmother was kind enough to bestow upon me was a heightened sense of smell. My mom has it too. Heightened as in if you were on the same BLOCK as someone who was smoking, I can smell it on you. Most perfumes and body sprays give me a migraine. Which I assure you is great fun when you work in an office with other women. WOMEN WHO THINK PERFUME INSTEAD OF A SHOWER IS OK. It is NOT ok...wash your nasty ass and spare my olfactory system! Then there's the coup de gras.....the smell of mac and cheese (which my 13 is currently cooking in the kitchen...I say in the kitchen as opposed to the hotplate I force her to keep in her bedroom so she can cook her crack) makes me gag. Makes my mouth get all vomity watery. Makes me want to heave up everything I've eaten in the past 18 months. *Oh look...corn*
I can't help myself. There is no particular brand that is less offensive than the other. It all smells like hot garbage to me. This could stem from that one really mean aunt who used to babysit me and forced me to eat it.....or it could be the fact that POWDERED CHEESE IS A CRIME AGAINST NATURE. (Though I do love the Pokemon shaped pasta)
My entire house has been befouled by this crap. *ick*
Even the dog is grossed out. He's currently looking at me as if to say "Seriously? You complain that I piss on the floor but DO YOU SMELL THAT SHIT SHE'S MAKING?"
I have to agree.

Waterballoon Toss Anyone?

I know I know, I promised no more uterus posts. But this one is just too good to pass up. Blah blah....hysterectomy...blah blah...sad...blah blah...whimper. Ok now that we're all caught up with the story, I checked the mail the other day and was absolutely FLOORED by a letter I received from my insurance company.

The opening went as follows:
"We have analyzed medical claims data that indicate you might be interested in or are pursuing treatment for infertility."
The letter goes on to tell me about the services available through my insurance company as well as some statistics for a specific clinic.

Um....hmmm...I honestly didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I must admit that I am amazed at the advances in modern medicine. They can replace your heart, reattach a limb, and now ladies and gentleman a PROSTHETIC UTERUS!! wooot. Wait, no...hold on the peanut gallery is telling me there's no such thing. Ok ok will they give me a pouch like a kangaroo? Imagine the posibilities. If I had a pouch it'd be handy not only for carrying Festus the Fetus, but my cellphone, my car keys, a 6-pack of Mickey's Big Mouths....

I know! They'll put in a water-balloon so it'll be all stretchy and stuff. And the water-balloon, oh man. Once I reached term I could pull it out and throw it as some unsuspecting citizen. I mean come on a water-balloon full of afterbirth...what fun! *mayhaps I've gone too far*

Seriously though I really want to know WHAT data they analyzed to send me a letter TWO MONTHS AFTER MY SURGERY! Not to mention how they plan to accomplish the PHYSICALLY IMPOSSIBLE.

So, I got on the phone and gave them a holler. The first representative was very nice. She was downright horrified that I'd gotten this letter. She transfered me to someone who was supposed to document the incident and pass it along to prevent further oopsies. Well of course rep number 2 was a guy. A guy who had NO clue why I was insensed. A guy who told me to 'just throw it away'. *sigh* Well, instead I pulled out the big guns and WROTE THEM A VERY IRATE LETTER. Complete with finger wagging and everything. I don't particularly expect a response, but I couldn't 'just throw it away' either.

The state of healthcare in America, woe is I. My poor discarded womb. Excuse me I have water-balloons to fill.

Southern Fried Hot Mess

That's what my brain's become since I've been at home. Once upon a time I was an avid reader...I LIVED for books. I could blow through 2 or 3 in a weekend no problem. This was fueled in part by not having cable. And then things changed. The ex lost his house and I somehow convinced him that it was his duty as a good father to transfer his cable and internet service to my house so the kids could use it. But wait, you're not putting your plasma tv in STORAGE are you? I mean that's SO risky...what if the roof leaks? What if rats nest in it? I hear storage is full of roaches and they LOVE electronics! You should let me keep it for you until you're ready to get a new place. He fell for it.
The weekend I came home from having my surgery the cable guy showed up. Nothing's been the same since.
I don't know what makes me feel worse, the pile of stiff smelly laundry that the dog has nested on or the pile of unread books that I'd picked up in anticipation of being home-bound. They watch me move around the house...couch to fridge...couch to bed...where's the damn remote? They mock me for my taste in shows. See, where I loathe trashy romance novels I LOVE a trashy tv show, and sweet mother of crap have I found Valhalla.
Have you ever watched QVC at midnight? It's an absolute train wreck. They are housed back east and are 3 hours ahead of us here in Cali. But what's worse is there are women who will stay up because they CANNOT miss Gem Fest! Lordy lordy. I mean who doesn't want the latest design from Quacker Factory? What will your neighbors think when you show up at the church social and your weenies in a blanket aren't in some daisy encrusted contraption? Not only do these women stay up to order....THEY CALL IN TO TALK ON THE AIR!!! I have NEVER in my life heard a grown woman get so excited about a fucking clip-on pony tail. Jesus lord you'd think they'd invented a vibrator that takes the trash out...no no, it's a cocktail ring the size of your head made of a stone no one's EVER heard of!
But alas, that's not even the tip of the iceberg. Last night during an ever recurring bout of insomnia I stumbled across the mother load of trash tv. It was so epically awful that I DVR'd it for future viewing. First off, it's hosted by Tom Arnold. That should have tipped me off right there. I mean the man nailed Roseanne for Pete's sake. *shiver* CMT now has a show called My Big Redneck Wedding. I can hardly contain my excitement. The first episode I watched (I watched a few...I was hooked what can I say) had a 300 pound bride and a 105 pound groom. Yes you read that right. She was 6-foot and he was 5-foot 6 or so. She tossed him around like godzilla at a red-tag sale. He went squirrel hunting the morning of their nuptuals to make sure there'd be enough food at the reception.....Which by the way had mud-wrestling and a boxing ring, and that's just for starters. The 2nd episode had a bride who made her boquet out of horse shit. Literally, horse turds. At least she painted them red.
This is what I've been reduced to. My life used to be run by a grueling schedule of work and kids. Now I'm controlled by whatever the tv gods bestow on me.
Time to go stock up on munchies, there's a special on tonight about a Small Town Gay Bar...it's about one of the few gay bars in Mississippi. Yay!

Uter-less

This is, hopefully, the last time I will be writing about how some guy knocked me out, cut me open and stole my female parts (last I saw they were available on ebay and there was quite the bidding war). It's been about a month now and most of the time I totally forget that I had surgery (drugs'll do that to you). That is, until I bend or turn juuust right, and then I get a lovely little twinge that says 'hey dummy...you're not quite done healing'. There's still a small scab on one of the incisions and the scarring as nowhere near what I was afraid of. Instead of cool jagged scarring I have little round spots about the size of an eraser that look more like zits gone astray. And...dammit....I still have adhesive from the bandages. It's lovely, my big ol' white belly covered in fuzzy sticky residue..and not from anything exciting either. I tried make up remover (per the doctor's suggestion) but the stuff won't budge.
On the upside, at my post-op appointment I found out I'd lost 4 whole pounds! Woohoo? Hey I'll take it. I also got some LOVELY color pictures of my insides. Namely the top side of my cervix and my right ovary. Behold.....
I know, I know, not what I expected either. Awkward and disturbing to say the least. I mean, why ban ninjas? You'd think they'd be helpful unlike say...sheep herders?
I had mentioned before that from what I had read...the land of 'O' was going to be less than spectacular. Well, let me just say this....LIES....ALL LIES. Things are peachy keen thank you very much. It's ok I know you were dying to know.
I'm still a little moody and stuff, but I mostly attribute that to the fact that I'M STUCK IN MY HOUSE WITH NO JOB AND NO CAR....Oh, and I HAVE TEENAGERS.
I've been watching WAY too much tv. I suddenly live for Wife Swap....holy crap where do they find these nut jobs. And QVC....lord have mercy...QVC. Is there NOTHING to do in the south at 3 a.m.? Don't you people sleep?
So, all in all things are things and it is what it is.
Gotta run, it's time for Reba re-runs.

Got Yogurt?

Well, I survived. Exactly one week ago I had my innards tugged and yanked and some of them removed. And wonder of wonders, I lived to tell about it. I admit I was a little over-dramatic. It's not NEARLY as bad as I thought it would be....so far.
I just wish they'd warned me about the damn constipation. Yes I said it....I was constipated. I didn't shit for almost a week. They don't tell you going in that the surgery will send your system into shock. That the drugs will cause a back up in your colon that makes rush-hour traffic pale in comparison. I digested at the speed of old people humping. Because of course my insides weren't sore enough. I wasn't bloated enough (sidebar: it's EPICALLY ironic that having your baby factory removed makes you look 6 months pregnant). I finally resorted to the ONE thing I could count on...yogurt. Sometimes being lactose intolerant isn't so bad. Tuesday morning however, I awoke with a start. I shuffled to the potty at the speed of....well....I shuffled ok. And then I sat. I sat and I sat. I have NO ab muscles right now.....Ok so you're grossed out now, whatever.
The main thing here is I survived. The world has not caved in...it just feels that way. I still have ovaries and I'm WAY over emotional right now. This could be because they've gone into shock from the surgery (lovely little side effect) or because I'm due for PMS...go team. Either way it blows.

Men*O*Ponder

So...tomorrow's the big day. I'm officially saying goodbye to you. You've been a friend, an ally, an enemy, a demon. You've alternately given me life and sucked the life out of me. At times you clearly defined who I was. I have to come to terms with you being gone. You will no longer be a part of me. I threw you a party, burned you in effigy.
If you, dear reader are confused, I'M HAVING A FUCKING HYSTERECTOMY. Yes, dammit they're removing body parts. I'm glad, terrified, sad, angry, confused, relieved, anxious, frustrated.....pick an adjective and insert it *here*, *here* and *here*. To be more precise I'm having a supracervical laparascopic hysterectomy. Meaning...I get to keep my cervix and my ovaries. And no not in a jar on the shelf.
To make things a little more fun, I was laid off last week. Yep, that's right, more fuzzy lollipops for me. Go team. Oh, and side note...the next person who tells me these things happen for a reason will be removing my foot from their ass. That's right you will have to part your hair to take a shit. Why? Well I'm sure there's a reason in there somewhere.
I really don't know what to think, feel or do. The rational part of my brain says this is totally normal. But the chick in me (what's left of it any ways) is alternating between screaming in my brain and rocking silently in a corner. I know that a body part does not define who I am. I get that. I know I wasn't having anymore kids...between having my tubes tied and my illness, well...that was a done deal. There's just something so FINAL about this though.
Oh, and because this doesn't suck enough....apparently the O's won't be the same either. That's right the BIG-O. As in what makes them so spectacular is the uterine contractions....BUT I WON'T HAVE ONE ANYMORE. *sigh*
I'm torn between scrubbing the ceiling with a toothbrush and hiding under the covers. Overwhelmed much? Nah, not me.
I'm soooooo tired of putting on the game face and pretending I'm ok. I'm not. I'm resigned, there's a difference. Never confuse a desperate bid for survival with strength.
Ok, I'm rambling. But that's why you love me.

People you once knew

Things have sucked around the old homestead lately. Money’s tight, I’m not in remission, and I’m facing major surgery. Somewhere in there I got the crazy notion that my family – you know, those people you saw at Christmas and Easter when you were a kid – might maybe be willing to help. That if I reached out to them SURELY they would help out; SURELY they would be compassionate and understanding. The crickets have never sung so loud or profound. I heard from an aunt….an aunt in Michigan who’s recently widowed, has 2 teenage boys and is going through her very own version of Hell-ville and offered me her spare bedroom. SHE called my mom….who did what she does best, pretended it can’t possibly be that bad, packed up some toothpaste and chapstick and mailed it off to me. Oh the joy of opening prezzies.
And so I wrote a follow up email. One where I said goodbye to my IDEA of family. Where I let them know I wasn’t really asking them for money or shiny new toys, but, an invite to Easter dinner wouldn’t fucking kill them now would it!
I got this in reply:

“Hi there,
So sorry, I did not respond back to your message. I did give you mom a call when I first received your message. Just want to get her take on your situation. Also to see if she was going to come out when you had surgery. Time are tough for everyone. Seems like you are being hit just harder.
Everyone assumes if you don't hear anything everything is OK. And it easier that way.
Hey, I just called your mom and talked for a while with her. She says she's sending you all some care packages. I'll try to get you one also.”

Where do I begin? Maybe with why….WHY would you call my mother? My mother….WHO LIVES ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COUNTRY. To get her TAKE on the situation. Once I was done stapling my head back together and rediscovered how to breath I was still livid. I’m just hit harder….I HAVE A LIFE THREATENING ILLNESS AND I’M HAVING MAJOR SURGERY…..YA THINK!!!
And she really is right….it IS easier that way. For her and her little bubble.
Yep I can never have enough toothpaste or chapstick…it’s what gets me through those harsh lonely nights. Hell throw in some Vagisil and an enima kit and call it Christmas.

I am NOT!!

Contrary to popular belief I am NOT a cheer mom. Yes I’m the mother of two cheerleaders, yes I coach, yes every spare minute and penny goes into fricking cheer, and yes our family “vacations” tend to center around one competition or another……I am NOT a cheer mom. There are no stickers on my car. I don’t deck myself out like some crazed fan covered in buttons and face paint waiving crazy signs. (OK I lied, I make signs)
I DO happen to enjoy torturing little girls….They’re flexi

they’re bendy

and they bounce really well.

I got involved a few years back when Tina first started and now…well….every year I declare I’M NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN, and yet come the new season there I am front and center. I’ve been a Board Member, a Fundraising Coordinator, a Team Mom and now….in our last year with Pop Warner….I’m coaching *GASP*.
I’m not a huge fan of cheerleaders in general, or of cheermoms and their crazy competitive nature (sorta like stage moms but…WORSE). But I like being involved with my kids; I like the camaraderie, and…yes…the coaches meetings at the local sports bar.
If you’ve never had a 12 year old thrown at you, or drop out of the sky at you…it’s hard to explain the physical nature of the sport. My 12 year old has arms like a weight lifter, strong and defined. My 16 year old has legs to die for. If this sport (YES I SAID SPORT) was easy, they’d call it football…at least they get to wear padding.
The new season starts in August but we’re already running clinics and putting together routines.
I and NOT a cheermom….but I am a mom.
Eat. Sleep. Cheer. Repeat.

Straight Crazy – 2009 Nobel Prize Winner

A friend of mine got into it with The Dude....again. She found herself at the drink-o-mat in the parking lot sharing her woes (and bottle) with a new found kindred spirit. Straight Crazy. He's a man of wisdom.....he wrote her a poem and we'd like to thank him. So...Here’s to you Straight Crazy…..may you keep on ridin’ that night train straight to the bounty on Boone’s farm. Where the thunderbirds soar, the colts run free and everyone’s your bud.

Ode to Stressica.....

Jessica,

Your beauty is endless

Your reality is real

you is Jessica, don’t

play mind games you

study and let nothing

get in your way

you fear nothing

you Jessica are an

angle of God

study until your

mind sings if

no more then study (? undecipherable)

again Jessica

you are incredible

one of the finest.

I Finally Did It

Look mommy I blogged all by myself…..ok this is awkward.
Yes, I’ve finally wandered into the 21st century and fixed myself a blog. Not to be confused with fixing a martini, that’ll come later when the kids are asleep and won’t notice the circus midget and jumper cables set up in the living room….now THAT’S awkward, or at least it was the first time.
But I digress.
For those of you who know me, hey how’s it going! If you don’t well, I’m not sure why you’re here, but welcome, we have cookies and we promise not to make you sacrifice any animals during your first visit.
I’ve decided to take this on because I have WAY too much crap stuffed into my head and it’s all starting to jockey for position and I worry that if I don’t let some of it out I’ll start losing fundamental things like how to tie my shoes or pee. Well, that and I figured what the hell, if the Pope can go cyber so can I.
I’m a single mom of 2-1/2 lovely girls. Well, technically it’s 3 girls, the oldest of which is 18 and our relationship is somewhat…..strained. As in I’m the mom and therefore I’m Satan and have ruined her life (gee and it’s only 10 a.m., looks like I’m ahead of schedule and will have time for that latte after all). Recently however she’s decided that I’m not in fact Satan and I’ve been demoted to some lesser demon, Satan’s secretary perhaps. My 16 and 12 year old have yet to decide if I’m truly one of the “dark-ones” or if I can be trusted….funny I was thinking the same thing about them.
Like everyone else, I have issues, hell I have lifetime subscriptions. Some I’ll describe in detail, some I’ll gloss over as denial is a LOVELY coping mechanism.
At any rate, this is me….welcome to my mood swings.