Adventure

 As in Choose  Your Own.

Charlie, one fine evening in this clusterfuck of a year, 2020, decided when we were having a fire out in the back yard, that we needed to have a Choose Your Own Adventure story telling time.  What then ensued cemented all of her future therapy needs and will possibly trickle down a generation or four.

Charlie: You are in a prison, trying to escape, and come to the guard.  What do you do?

Me: Kill the guard.

Charlie: Well, there's no violence in prison.

Me: Well, that's counterintuitive.

Later on in the adventure:

Charlie: You find an empty weapon, money, and bread.  What do you do?

Charles: Eat the money, grab the gun, and hide the bread.

Me: Use the bread to make bullets for the gun

Charlie: No, we can't do that.  Someone already tried that and we already lost a player.  Besides, I never told you what weapon it was.

Me: Num-chuks? Please be num-chucks.

Charles: You said the weapon was empty.

Me: They are having an existential crisis.

Charles: Yeah, they are now just numbs.

Later on in the adventure:

Charlie: You are now in the courtyard. Do you wanna fight?

Me: I am a lover, not a fighter.

Charlie: You aren't going to make it in prison (Side note: What happened to the no violence thing???)

Charles: Well, I love to fight...

Later:

Charlie: You see a police car. What do you do?

Me: Break the window and steal it.

Charlie: Well, OK, the doors were unlocked so that was unnecessary. You are driving along and see hitchhikers.  Give a ride?

Me: No hitchhikers.  They could be messed up.  And having an existential crisis.

Our poor kids.  They've never stood a chance.

Letters VI

 Dear Bitchez, 

I won't even go into the amount of tomfuckery that is 2020 because everyone already knows because we are fucking living it.  Figured I'd give (another) update on the family as it's been like a year since the last one.  What, go back to blogging during the quarantine?  That would have been a more healthful choice than wallowing in despair and alcoholic seltzers.  Or than injuring myself constantly.  More on that later...

Elizabeth graduated from college.  She is taking after her mama as I graduated with my B.S. (and yeah, those student loans were ever BS!) the May after 9/11, and with my Master's right after the economy tanked in 2008...so yeah.  Poor kid.  I told her not to take after me. She did manage to find a job at a jewelry store, with some career advancement potential should she choose.  She keeps acquiring cats, which is fine with me because I'm still not quite forty and fourth daughter Jewel had to rebel and have Delilah before then.  That's OK, though, cause Delilah remains perfect.  Her parents, though, are  headed towards the altar next year so I get to have some wedding liquor sooner rather than later (cranberry and vodka, yo!)

Alexis is definitely completely morphed into that elusive and irritable creature otherwise known as 14 year old female.  She and her father argue a lot, but for sport not the kind that gets us all in therapy.  Like, she's gonna make a great lawyer someday if she so chooses that path.  She is already on her third college credit class and generally is adjusting great to quarantine high school.  She's fabulous to talk to about current events and I really like the person she is when she's not being 14.

Charlie has started a new school this year, and is doing 110% better than when she was at her old one.  The shift in her is quite marked.  She is taking horseback riding lessons and has asked about art lessons as well, but as I live in BFE the art might not happen.  As far as I know, her body count is still 0 but I also don't ask too many questions because I don't want to spill the beans on anything during interrogation.  She says the funniest shit just off the cuff and half my Facebook posts anymore are just writing down shit she has said.  

It's a good thing my children are funny because otherwise I might drink more than I already do.

Ten months into 2020 and Charles has not had surgery (and not for lack of trying...he rolled his 4 wheeler earlier this year and did about 3K worth of damage to it.  Luckily, nothing serious to himself.  Yay?)  However...My husband was also told that the next time his surgeon operates on his knees will be to replace them.  Meaning they are so fucked up that there's no point in operating again until he decides to do this.  We knew this day was coming, but hoped he'd be closer to 50 when it did.  Maybe the messages in the cosmos got crossed and instead of waiting to be grandparents when we were over 40, we get knee replacements?  If so, that's messed up, universe.  Not cool.  His job also continues to vex him in every way possible, yet he refuses to go dig up that treasure he buried in the back yard so we can both be independently wealthy.  Though I like my job, even though I miss seeing people in person so really it's just more so he can quit his job and give his poor knees a break.  

As for me...well, I started to break myself back in August.  Just a little bit, though...only a stress fracture in my foot.  Then, because I am an overachiever in all that I do, I fell down the stairs whilst helping someone move and jacked up my arm and leg.  That was a whole fiasco...went to get X-rays, was told nothing was broken.  Got a call next day, "Oh just kidding!  You actually broke your fibula and tibia and your shoulder!"  Get an appointment with an ortho, and he goes "Just kidding!  That radiologist is smoking some serious crack because there are no breaks at all in your leg but you did break the shoulder so wear a sling for the next month.  Oh, and by the way, it's probably going to hurt for a really long time too.  And stay off that leg while you are at it cause you seriously bruised that fucker all to hell."

He didn't actually say those exact words, but that was the spirit.  Woulda been hella cool if he had though.

We also, over the course of this year, lost a neighbor, my brother, two uncles, and had to put Deogie down after a brief battle with Cushing's disease.  COVID funerals suck monkey balls, that's all I have to say about that.  Now the children are bugging me to get a cat, but no.  Roman would lose his shit because the neighbor's cat likes to torture him by walking past our window.  That cat also likes to fuck with Charles and they have a bit of a war going on where the cat comes into our yard and Charles runs it off.  I stay out of it.  Between the cat and Alexis, he's got enough to deal with without adding my crazy to the mix. Maximus, I am pretty sure, also wishes at time that he had an imaginary prescription for Xanax that he could chase with a bottle of wine like I pretend to do.  But for different reasons than me.  I think.  

Anyways, life is still crazy but now it's a new and special 2020 kind of crazy.  I don't know who the hell pulled the tag off of their mattress and enraged the powers that be, but for the love of GOD MAN STITCH THAT FUCKING THING BACK ON SO WE CAN APPEASE THE GODS WE HAVE SOMEHOW DISPLEASED!!!

Love, 

Me

Roblux

So in an effort to bond with Charlie, I have started to play Roblox with her.  My username is Gmaw1217, if anyone is interested in going on there and fucking with me.  Because let me tell you something, my kid sure doesn't have a problem doing that.  The first time I went on with her, she gave me some kind of potion to make my head get huge and then informed me there was no way to get it back.  Well, turned out that was just until you stopped playing for that day but still.  I was stressed.

So WTF is Roblux, anyways?  Well, I think it's kinda like Minecraft?  Except you can actually tell what shit is in it.  And you can't build shit.  And the people look like Lego people.  So actually nothing at all like it.  But you get to run around in your own little world or try to go through what they call obbies which I *think* are kinda like obstacle courses for your little Lego man (or woman).  Then there are simulators too but I honestly have no idea what those are.

Literally I have no idea what I am doing when I am playing this game.

Let me enlighten you on some examples of how this usually goes.  Charlie likes to play this game, Adopt Me, which is where you can choose to be a parent or a kid and try to find a family of your own.  There's literally children wandering the streets looking for a mommy or daddy, or some sort of reasonable facsimile.  That in and of itself is pretty disturbing for me.  Like, what happens if you don't find a family?

Anyways, here is some actual things that have been said and done in game play.

Me: What the...there's something flying at me!

Charlie:  It's a dragon, Mom.

Me: It looked like some kind of demon!  What kind of game are you playing here?

Charlie: People can get them as pets.

Me: I want one.

Charlie:  You can go get an egg to hatch for a pet.  It'll probably be a cat though because those are common.

Me: Wait, what?  I'm hatching a CAT from an EGG?  Someone needs a biology lesson here.

(Sure enough, I end up with a cat.)'

*Cat saying it's hungry again for the fifth time in as many minutes.

Me: Goddamn, this cat is needy.  I'm putting it away so I don't have to deal with it anymore.

(Great life lesson there, amirite?)


Me, decorating my  house:  WHY WON'T THIS CANDLE STAY STRAIGHT?  It's going to burn my house down!

Charlie:  It's not going to burn your house down.  It's too big for that shelf, that's why it keeps flipping to it's side.

Me: Right, that's exactly what one does in real life with a lit candle if it is too big for a shelf, flip it over.  Realistic much?


Me, in public with Charlie on Roblux: Ooohh, look, you can dance!

Charlie:  Mom, don't do that.

Me: There are six different dance moves to choose from!

Charlie:  Mom...just....stop.


Me:  (I took my cat to the hospital because it was sick.  Told you, needy as hell.) What the hell?  There's a demon flying at me here!  I'm leaving!  (Runs out of the building back to my house.)

Gets to my house and runs inside.

Me: Shew, I'm safe now.  Imma decorate some more.  But first I have to shower this stupid cat.

(While cat is in the shower, the demon appears, this time with hair on fire.)

Me: THERE IS LITERALLY A DEMON IN MY HOUSE.

Alexis, hating and doubting: Whatever, mom.  Let me see.  (Comes and sits on the couch with me.)

Me: Well, I ran away.  I'm going back to the village to get food. (Runs away, leaving cat in shower like the stellar parent that I am.)

Two minutes later:

ME: WHAT THE HOLY HELL!!!   THERE IS A DEMON FOLLOWING ME!

Alexis: OMG, there totally is!  That's creepy!

Demon on Roblux: Come with me (You can make these things talk to each other too.  I'm still not 100% sure how.)

Me: I'm outta here!  (Runs to the school)

Demon follows me.

I run to the camp ground.

Demon follows me.

I run to the soccer field.

Demon follows me.  Its hair is still on fire.

Demon: Come with me.

Me: HOW IS IT THAT MY PERSON ON ROBLUX NEEDS AN EXORCISM????

Turns out, this demon was actually my darling baby girl, who had changed her Lego lady into Beelzebub.  With fiery hair.  And you can teleport yourself to where your family is, which is how it kept showing up where I was.

Well played, Charlie.  Well played.

Letters V

Dear Bitchez,
I'M BAAAAAACCCKKK!!!

Took a bit of a hiatus from things here because life just got crazy.  Again.  That and I needed a break from feeling as though I have to come up with content for this blog.  I act like I post so often but goddamn even monthly was a lot.  How do people do this for a living? I mean I guess if I got paid I'd be making my ass think of shit to post....Do people even actually blog anymore?  Well, I was also the girl who french rolled her pants for a solid year after it became unfashionable, so...IDGAF. 

So let's see...where to start?  I'm now solidly in my new private practice and even hired someone.  I don't think she's figured out the level of crazy she is involved with yet so I'm hoping to kind of ease her into it.  I am still at my other place, mostly because I like my clients and my coworkers there, but also because it's currently a steady stream of income.  I'm doing well enough that I bought an expensive vacuum cleaner vs the cheap one.  But in the cheapie vacuum's defense, that fucker lasted over 14 years so yay for the Dirt Devil Jaguar?

Charles continues on his trend of being surgery free this year which is great.  We also decided that we were going to re-side, re-roof, and re-gutter our house after some crazy wind storms damaged the old, really shitty siding.  Let's just say, the roof and siding probably needed to be replaced the year before we bought the house and we just kept putting it off and putting it off because denial totally makes your problems disappear like Democratic votes in North Carolina.  Let's also say that insurance sucks monkey balls and their decision to only pay for 2 sides of the house in the old crappy siding despite there being 3 sides damaged (or, at the cost of the old crappy siding) when all four sides of the house in newer, prettier vinyl siding was only  slightly more ranks up there as a mystery of the times right along with who was Jack the Ripper and what was in the briefcase in Pulp Fiction.  The house now looks amazing but dear sweet baby Jesus having those people here working on the house was incredibly anxiety provoking for me, and therefore terrible for Charles.  We soldiered on through and have put off any additional house projects until next year because of the trauma.

Elizabeth, to my knowledge, continues to get through school without being a functional alcoholic or resorting to selling drugs. I like to think, though, that if she were dealing that she is smart enough to not get caught cause Mama didn't raise no fool.  She completed her internship in New York City at a high end jewelry shop and really solidified for me that my baby girl is likely not going to stay in Ohio.  Which, as much as that would suck monkey balls, means that I will get to travel to visit her.  I am sure her boyfriend would LOVE having the mother in law come to stay.

Alexis continues to barrel on towards adolescence.  She is excited for her 13th birthday, which means things like being allowed to wear makeup and sit in the front seat of the car.  She does occasionally warily emerge from the lair  bedroom to interact with us mere mortals.  She's still dancing and we still continue to root for dancing to evolve into stages vs poles.  She also got bumped up to freshman algebra because she's a fucking rockstar, but now I get to relive my freshman year of math with her.  I told her once she gets to Calculus, though, she's screwed because I only went through Pre-Calc in high school, then somehow convinced my undergrad college that I should take that AGAIN for my math credit.  Again, not a fool here.

Charlie also continues to barrel through life head first, but that's nothing new for her.  She decided to re-join the competition team this year, why, I don't know, but she did.  She is dog-obsessed and once told me "if three dogs are good, mom, five are better."  She has discovered YouTube and that her mother is incredibly mean and abusive and makes her do things like go outside to play and wear clothes without holes in them.  She also tries to get me to play Roblox with her, which is incredibly entertaining for everyone who is not me.  We really should video that shit and go viral, but I like my privacy too much.  Just trust me when I say, it's super entertaining. 

The animals are pretty much status quo, though Roman has decided that he hates all dogs not in his family so we have to work through that with him.  I blame it on spending too much time with Charles, because that man pretty much hates anyone who is not family.  The girls are trying to convince me to get a cat, but hell the fuck no because a.) Charlie's allergies, and b.) our last cat was psychotic and quite possibly plotting my death on the regular.  The chinchilla is just kinda quiet, as are the rabbits.

Oh, and Delilah is perfect as usual.  Duh.  Gigi does not get nearly enough time with her, but Gigi and her mama are both incredibly busy. 

So I guess this makes more than a tri-decadely letter.  Fucking sue me.  You'll get a house with really nice siding and that's about it.  Oh, and crippling student loan debt.  Enjoy!

Love,
Me

Rainbows IV

I went and saw Delilah today because I'd kinda like to establish an actual relationship with her vs.simply bribing her with whatever she wants when she comes sees me.  I mean, I am totally not above doing so if I need to but I figured her parents would probably like me to not have to sugar her up and spoil her with whatever she wants when she's around me.

Wait, who am I kidding?  That's gonna happen anyways.

So let's just say I'd like for her to recognize me when she sees me.  She's getting so alert, and of course was just being her adorable self today.  Even her spitting up and coughing and sneezing and farting on me were adorbs.  And of course she's a total genius because she can hold her head up so well and is so strong and totally knows who her mommy is and tried to hold her bottle all by herself and can get her fingers into her mouth.  Duh.

Before she marked me as her bitch by spitting up on me (three times) and then conking out all snuggled up to me, she appeared to notice my necklace.  She's never paid any attention to it before, but today it seemed to have caught her eye.  I even made a comment about it, but really did not think twice.  I mean, it's shiny.  She's an infant.  It's right at eye level when I hold her out in front of me to discuss very serious issues like how adorable she is.  

On the way home, it started to rain to the west of me, while to the east was sunny as can be.  Naturally, I looked for a rainbow.  I expected to see a normal, thin-ish rainbow, like what you typically see.  It was not:

These pictured do NOT do this thing justice.  At all.

This rainbow was the most intense, brightest one I have seen in my entire life. And it was THICK.  IDK if that was because it was mostly so close to the ground, or what...but I literally stopped my car to take these pictures at an intersection.  (Don't get your panties all in a bunch.  No one was around...I was so enthralled with it that I missed a turn and ended up near a NASA station somehow, so now I'm probably on about 30 watch lists...)

Coincidence?  Again, IDK.  I like to think my boy was signaling his approval of his niece.  Because duh, she's perfect.

Letters IV

Dear Bitchez,

Time for my tri-decadely Christmas letter.  What, Christmas is over, you say?  Huh, funny that...people bitch at me for taking my decorations down the day after Christmas, but I try to extend the season by putting out a Christmas letter three days late and all of a sudden I've suggested the equivalent of torturing nuns and drowning puppies.  I'm trying something new, bitchez, as apparently I definitely can't be arsed to do anything on any kind of regular schedule.  Or even in a timely fashion anymore because late for me is now the new on time.  Which is incredibly anxiety-provoking for me and super awesome for my mental health.

I am still working two jobs, but my new practice is picking up more so now I am in the awesome position of not quite being able to reduce hours at the first practice but needing more for the second and therefore working all the fucking time.  Being a business owner is awesome...if you are a business person.  I am not so it pretty much sucks monkey balls.  Thank God for people who invent electronic health records that pretty much idiot-proof the whole process of insurance and billing.  I  never would have been able to figure out how to open my own practice before the Google was a thing.  I also decided that it would be super fun to occasionally teach a crafting class at a local wine bar, which then led me to being asked to teach a crafting class at the Senior Center.  Oh, and don't forget that I am trying to get EMDRIA certified for my practices which entails occasional (expensive) consultation and that I am trying to get Roman certified as a therapy dog which requires (expensive) training classes. I also recently slipped and fell and gave myself a concussion, which forced me to take off work so now I get to try to make all that time up somehow.  My therapist tells me that I am running away from my crazy because I keep myself so busy.  I then tell her that I don't like her very much sometimes, and we laugh and laugh because a.) we know that's not true, and b.) we know she's right.  It might be time to up  my meds, perhaps pursue that imaginary Xanax prescription...or, you know, learn to say no...

Charles only has three more days left in 2018, and has thus far avoided any kind of surgical procedure.  Go Charles!  He briefly had a stint with a very entertaining albeit incompetent HR lady at work, but alas his employer only enjoys rewarding incompetence in dangerous situations, like while using a crane to lift metal parts that weigh thousands of pounds or whilst handling a machine that melts wire at thousands of degrees.  She was soon let go, so no more entertaining stories of someone potentially more insane than myself.  Now he is back to having that look of desperation in his eyes, and as I've said many times before, this may or may not have a lot to do with to whom he is married.

The girls are all doing well.  Elizabeth continues on at school and working for the same practice I do.  She has been faced with a lot of adult shit this year, like friends with seriously ill mothers, a best friend's pregnancy, (and my resultant becoming a grandma, named Gigi.  Delilah picked the name out as she smiled when I asked her if that was what I should be, and had no reaction to Lala or Mimi. No more GmaL #itspronouncedjamal), and lots of car repairs and the resultant crippling debt.  Oh wait, that's from her student loans...She has handled it all well and as far as I can tell has not resorted to utilizing substances to make her forget how much being an adult sucks.  At least not on a regular basis.  Alexis continues to dance and grow at an unacceptable rate.  She appears to have adjusted to middle school and we do occasionally get her to look up from her phone to interact with us, so all is well there I think.  Charlie's teacher wants her tested for the gifted program, which is OK as long as "gifted program" does not entail throwing more busy work at her like some schools do.  Charlie has also decided to expand her dance repertoire to include tap and hip hop, as well as the acro and ballet, and is now on the Company team for dance, which performs locally.  Charles got upset a few weeks back as the studio owner posted the fees for the competitions in a place he could see them...he said ignorance was bliss and now he can't unsee those numbers.  I say I am looking at this as an investment in our future...if nothing else, to guilt the girls into putting us into a really nice nursing home because of how much we spent on dance for them growing up.

The animals are all cool.  Asher the chinchilla has gotten a new cage and is doing well.  Maximus recently ate 2.5 dozen Christmas sugar cookies and was on my shit list for a while.  Lucky for him they were undecorated.  Fucker also managed to get the lid off the tupperware container without destroying it.  Roman continues on in puppy classes.  We've taught him to fist bump because we need a dog who is cooler than we are, natch.  Deogie could also benefit from a prescription for Xanax, but also does not have one.  The rabbits just kinda chill and do rabbit-y type stuff.  They are pretty unexciting. 

We ended up NOT selling the house and discovered that our realtor was the WORST EVER.  Like, not showing up to show us a house worst.  Like lying about showings coming over worst.  Like having paperwork done incorrectly worst.  Needless to say, we ended up not getting the house we put a bid on and did not renew our contract with her, nor will we be using her in the future.  Back to the plan of building.  That is, if we ever get out from under MY crippling student loan debt.  2018 did nothing but show me how much fun it is to be an adult while not being independently wealthy.  Yay for no surgery though?

Happy Holidays, bitchez!  Looking forward to a 2019 wherein I continue to not be rich and remain just as crazy as I am poor, effortlessly.

Love,
Me

Vegas

So Elizabeth has recently turned 21.  It's crazy to think about, because I met Charles about a month after I turned 21, and you see how that worked out for us.  Well, pretty good for me, I'd say...but for him?  Well, message me for our address for sympathy cards.  Wait, can you do the messaging thing on Blogger?  I don't even know.  So I guess just comment below if you are so moved as to want to offer him condolences.  I'll make sure he gets them.

I had wanted to take her on a trip after graduation, because she managed to survive 18 years of living with me, mostly.  I never had a doubt that she would graduate because she's hella smart.  However, my husband decided to Popeye his arm all up and was out of work for 5 months, so that did not happen then.  Then the following year he decided to do something else to his already fucked up knees and had to get surgery on one of them too and was out for 6 weeks.  This year I pretty much threatened him with additional bodily harm should he require surgery for anything, and since he's a little scared of me he complied.  I mean, I had to be a responsible adult and postpone this trip for 2 years.  The least he could do is not injure himself anymore.  Cause you know, it's all about me, right?

Again, comment below with your sympathies...

So we finally got to do our trip, and since we had never been there, Las Vegas it was.  (My sister Alicia was included in this trip as well, as she pretty much helped me raise Elizabeth.  Elizabeth used to say when she was little that she hated going places with both of us because she thought people thought that she had two mommies.  Which is pretty funny on one hand, because we all look very alike and it is clear we are blood related somehow.  On the other hand, it is so sad that she worried about judgment about having two mommies, though back then it would have been a much bigger deal.  Totes still have a ways to go with that though.  However, don't worry; I pushed my liberal, feminist rhetoric on her enough that she learned to not engage in homophobic thought processes and decided on her own that having two mommies is A-OK.  Funny what happens when you teach your child to think for herself...)

The trip was super fun.  I gambled maybe a whole $40 the entire time I was there.  Elizabeth got to play poker, which she had been "Training" for according to her.  I played a little Black Jack, and we all did some slots.  We saw a show, walked the strip, took naps, ate great food, and did some shopping.  Oh, and went to this bar made completely of ice and drank a drink out of a glass made completely of ice.  It was Frosty the Snowman's ideal place to pick up chicks in there, but it was still pretty cool (pun not intended).  And probably something I would only do in Vegas, because it was ridiculously expensive to get into.  Never thought I'd pay to freeze my ass off...I get that for free here in Ohio.

It was amazing to see my daughter as the self possessed, hysterically funny, smart, mature young woman that she is while on this trip.  She really is a fantastic human being and if you are lucky enough to know her in real life, your life is that much better because of this.  And if you don't, you are really missing out and I want to extend you MY sympathies.  Because to be honest, I'm not sure what is worse...not knowing Elizabeth, or having to live with me. 

Asher

We have acquired a chinchilla.

Seriously.  His name is Asher, and he's pretty fucking cute.  We acquired him because my fourth daughter, Jewel, is currently pregnant with my first grandchild and they did not want the chinchilla with the baby.  I'm not 100% sure why (maybe not having the time for him?  Are they bad around babies?  Do they develop jealousy issues?  IDK...) but we ended up with him at our house.  Apparently I take in strays.  Charlie tried to tell me that since the goldfish and sucker fish died, it evened out, but I didn't buy it.  But again, I am pretty much a sucker for whatever my children want, and Jewel and that grandbaby are included, so we got him.

Side note, I keep joking that the baby, Delilah, can call me GmaL and pronounce it Jamal, but I am worried that the kid won't be able to pronounce that because it seems difficult.  Grammy kinda seems to be growing on me, but Gigi or Mimi are also appealing as well.  There's Lala, too, but I'm pretty lukewarm about it.  Honestly, that baby could call me whatever the hell she wants because if I am a sucker enough to take on an entire chinchilla and all that is involved for her mother, she's likely going to get whatever the fuck she wants, including what she calls me.

So, back to all things chinchilla.  Apparently they are pretty high maintenance.  Like they can't get wet or they will mildew.  We now own a pet with mildew potential.  Pack that away in the category of "concerns I never thought I would have about our pets."  They also get dust baths, and are restricted to a maximum of one raisin a day because anything more will fuck their bellies up.  The little guy also likes to snuggle, but at the same time wants to run and hide under the bed.

I have never related to an animal more in my life.

Well, not dust baths or mildew concerns or limits on raisin consumption.  Plus he's a whole hell of a lot cuter than I am.  If I were to pick up a raisin between my little hands (another similarity we have, for the record...) and to nibble on it all dainty-like, people would probably think I am crazier than they already do vs being absolutely adorable.

Shopping III

It has been almost 6 years since I have gone grocery shopping on a Saturday at Walmart. 

There's a reason I don't.

I remembered it today.

Let's just say, I'm shook.

I had a valid reason for doing this.  Charlie is on the Company Dance team, and they had a Halloween party on Friday night.  Because I have a huge case of (probably justified) Mom guilt going on recently due to working so fucking much between my practice I own and the group practice, I decided to forgo the usual Friday night shopping to go with her to the party.  I don't regret that decision at all.  The party was fun.  There was a buttload of sugary treats.  There were mothers I introduced to the wonders of Celeste Barber.  I danced. I did Karaoke with the girls, who are the only people on Earth who would appreciate my singing because I suck worse than people who don't do the thank you wave when you let them turn into a parking lot from a busy street.  Seriously, those people are a whole new species of human that we should probably exile to some island somewhere.  Preferable somewhere cold. Not a warm island.  Those non-waving bastards don't deserve warmth since they don't have any in their cold, non-waving souls.

The decision I do regret was to not go after we got back from the party and waiting until Saturday morning.  I should have just dragged my tired ass out to the store, but I had had a half-formed plan to maybe drive out to Meijer but that did not materialize due to accidentally sleeping in this morning and I had to pick the girls up from dance so I could not drive that far and be back in time. (Meijer's produce is significantly better, as is their gluten-free offerings.  Because yes, I am now *that* person who is gluten free(ish) and does not have diagnosed Celiac's.  Next I plan to slather my children in coconut oil and start using charcoal tooth powder instead of toothpaste.  Wait, fuck, I already do both things.  Hell, go ahead and judge away at my hippie ass...)

I get to the store and even before I get out of the car I am filled with regret.  People are wandering around the parking lot, in the drizzly suck that is Ohio weather in late October, like they are taking a leisurely stroll through a lovely garden park and stopping to ohh and ahh at the cute little waterfall.  Fucking move, people.   There is nothing fascinating about the cart corral at Walmart.  Plus you are in the rain and my cat like water hating tendencies are cringing on the inside for you, even as I sit in the dryness of my car.

I finally park and get into the actual store, where I am pleased to find that all the carts are sopping wet.  Luckily, this helped to moisten the bleach wipe, the ones they provide in the front of the store to wipe down the carts, that had completely dried out, so I could pretend that it might have had some kind of effect.  Then came the awkward walking past the door greeter situation.  I am never 100% sure what is expected out of me in this situation.  I mean, their job is to literally say hi to people walking into the store; however I generally hate interacting with people socially but feel pulled because this is their job and I don't want to hurt their feelings.  I usually opt for a pained smile that probably makes them all think I am some sort of weird sociopath because they usually shift a few inches away from me.  Probably in self protection.  I don't blame them.  I'd shift away from me too.

Then I get to deal with the people in the store.  Like the ones who park their carts and then wander away like four aisles, then get offended when you move it 6 inches to grab a jar of salsa.  Or the people who stand in produce and hold their cucumber in their hand, looking a little lost, until they see someone else grabbing the bag that is literally right above their head.  And don't forget the awkward getting to the end of the aisle and almost crashing into someone coming the other way.  There seriously needs to be traffic rules for Walmart on a Saturday.  Though people don't know how to work a stop sign and don't wave thank you in real traffic, so there's that.  Bastards.

I get to checkout and of course the cashier is one of those who does not turn the belt on to move your groceries forward.  Seriously, people, I just want to unpack my shit, pay, and get the hell outta dodge at this point...and as quickly as possible.  Leave the fucking belt ON so we can streamline this shit.  By the time the person in front of me has paid and is leaving, my entire cart should be unpacked so I can concentrate on putting the bags back into the cart and not be forced to make small talk or to try to avoid eye contact while you are ringing my shit up.'

I am documenting this on here so that I can remember in the future...no matter how tired you are on Friday night, you go grocery shopping.  I don't care if it is a fucking blizzard and you are dying from malaria...you don't go on Saturday morning.  Ever.  I swear, if there was ever a time when I wished my imaginary prescription for Xanax was real, it was today.  I didn't even get any wine while shopping, either.  Kroger and Giant Eagle totally have the right idea with a bar in their store.  I wonder if there is an untapped market for Ubers for grocery shoppers at these stores.  Because I'd be all over that shit, I tell you what.

Cookies

Oh, hey...been a minute, hasn't it?  Well, I've been busy.  Sue me.  Actually scratch that, because suing me is gonna get you a whole lot of student loan debt and possibly a sweet collection of cobwebs that I've started in the corners of my house (you can't criticize my housekeeping if I say it's a collection, right?  I'm totally starting that rule right now.).

Anyways, I figured I needed to check in so my 9 followers knew that I have not died.  Trust me, though, when I die I am so going to go around fucking with people until the zombie apocalypse happens, in which I fully plan on earning ALL my participation points thankyouverymuch.     (Side note:  I apparently have a thing for the zombie apocalypse because when I did a search to find the above links in my blog, no fewer than 10 posts contained the words "zombie apocalypse."  Add another notch in my crazy belt, I suppose...) 

I had a friend as me about decorating cookies with royal icing, with which I have been playing around some in the last few years because I like to ignore my children and create stress for myself.  I promise, this is related.  I gave her some tips, then re-read what I wrote and was like OMG WTF this needs to be a blog post. (That's how it's related.) But first, some pictures of my cookies to establish my cookie creds:

Some sweet little sleepy clouds.  Or they are stoned.  You decide.

I randomly made gluten free cookies and decorated them as chicks.  Because of course I would.  

And then there are these sad, deformed lambs.  Was I high when I made them?  You decide.

Now that I am done bragging and/or horrifying you with deformed lambs, here is what I wrote to her about decorating cookies with royal icing:

1 cup of powdered sugar, 1 T meringue powder and water. You can add flavoring if you want, just not oil based. I don't because of who I am as a person...that and my sugar cookie recipe has orange zest in it so I really don't feel it needs it. I start with a few tablespoons of water then add more as needed. I use a spray bottle for this as it's really easy to add too much and then there will be wailing and gnashing of the teeth as you try to thicken the fucker up. I beat it for a really long time...like 5 minutes. It gets super fluffy, like a luscious, cavity-inducing pillow. Then divvy it up and add the food coloring (keep in mind gel colors are the best, as the liquid will thin it out some. You can use them, just be aware of that fact.) You want some that is thinner for "flooding", then some a little thicker for outlining. Use a spray bottle for this as well, see above for why. There are a million videos on YouTube about the consistencies for icing. I normally do like a toothpaste consistency for outlining and like a slightly thinner than shampoo consistency for flooding (think like Log Cabin syrup). Another important thing to remember is after you add the color to take the bowl and lightly drop it onto the table to bring up any bubbles, and to watch for them when you flood. Pop those bad boys like a zit ASAP, I do it with a toothpick. On the cookies, not my zits. You can also do the same to the cookies themselves after you have flooded them (very gently, unless your cookies are like bricks, in which case I'm guessing also inedible so why bother? They will be full of disappointment on so many levels that bubbles in the frosting won't matter.) Also, make sure to cover any unused icing with a damp paper towel or it will dry out like a mummy. Mummified icing is a PITA to work with and it never ends well. You also want to make sure to cover the tips of your decorating bags/bottles with a damp paper towel as well or you will get a lovely plug of icing in them. This has been a known cause of mild alcoholism in cookie decorators.

Good luck!

I really should write a cookbook or something.  With instructions like those, who could possibly fail?  Episcopalians?   People with shortness of stature?  Maybe the stoned amongst us?  You decide.