You Need Mayo for a Really Good Shit Sandwich

I must say, I am ACES tonight.  Turns out that I turned this night into a "ball of shit".  It's an alright award to win, although I must say I'd prefer to turn the night into a glittering unicorn or at the very least if it has to be shit of some sort, then how about Holy Shit (in awe version)!?  

The definition of insanity has burst it's tiny seed shell and grown to wrap itself around the entirety of this relationship.  After I tell him what bothers me, he spends another day doing exactly the thing that I brought up.  For bonus points, instead of understanding my feelings and trying to work with me, he gets defensive and turns things around on me.  He says to try and understand how devastating his life is and I said well of course...that's why I paid for the room this last weekend for his cousin's wedding to be sure that he could go and that's why I dropped off groceries on Monday for him.  He doesn't want to see the nice side of me...I think it threatens him somehow...makes him feel Less Than.   His view in the fun house mirror bothers him so much that nothing is going to make him feel better.  

He did a life comparison thing accusing me of having a better life (how effing DARE he!) than him.  Well, yes, I do have a great job, great benefits.  I've had it for about 13 years.  Maybe there was some luck in getting it but luck didn't keep me there that long.  I am actually doing the work. I don't know when our lives became a competition with each other.  And I would think that when he can be on the phone with other people and talk to them during the heatwave AND walk 3 miles with the dog, that yeah, he can throw me a phone call to say hi.  Why didn't I make the list?

Booooo!  Hiss-a-lot!

The child told me that I embarrass her today when I decided to dance around like a freak in the living room.  I asked her how much.  Was she maxed out on embarrassment or was there still room?  

Anyway, I'm going to see what I can do to examine angles in which to enjoy my responsibility in making the night Shit from what was Paradise.

You Made Me Do Bad with Your Responsible Laundry Night!

A blog to the backdrop of "Golden Girls".  How unusual!  Hope you were sitting when you read THAT sentence!

It's been yet another day of continuing emails filled with Thorns and Fire from FLIP.  Have I mentioned that he gets mad?  Or that he hangs onto things so hard they become 2 Dimensional?  

My darling girl had a chorus concert tonight.  She isn't even taking chorus this year so it's beyond me how this back alley performance invitation took place.  She didn't even practice the songs until...yesterday.  This is the first one that I've gone to without a mate.  FLIP has been to every performance with me for the last few years.  There wasn't much point in asking him to hit the pause button on his Soliloquy of why I am a horrible person and accompany me.  I know, I am horrible.  It was me that forced him to disrespect the relationship and go to a bar and drink to black out and drive and then ultimately end up with melted flower pots on the muffler.  Guilty as charged.  All I had to do was stay home except for that trip to the launder-mat - you know, exciting Karma burning type activity.    When the kid and I fold laundry, side by side, you know some kittens are suffering somewhere.  Or the terrorists are winning.  Or a strange brew of both, throwing in old women with shoe marks on their foreheads.

Miss Teen-a-ling got up on stage and I could see the anxiety eating her alive.  She has epilepsy.  This is pretty much the seventh circle of hell for me as I sit in the rather packed audience and watch her eyes blinking too much and her face showing signs of involuntary tics.  All I can imagine is the concert that no one will forget where "that poor kid" had a seizure right on stage for all to see.  Almost as bad as the dream where you are in your underwear in school, except if you've been doing your squats, your butt should make up for it.  I hovered only once - at the last show.  It embarrassed her when I ran to the front of the stage to see if she was okay. So this time I felt more like a hawk, hunting for prey. My focus was intent and my head would jerk to whatever side it needed to when the man with the fat, bald head would get in my way.  

At first I felt so bad for her.  Look at her having these tics and she's in the front row.  Everyone can see this.  And then I went somewhere peaceful....look at her. She's beautiful and she's perfect just the way that she is.  She has epilepsy and she can't be put into a bubble....she needs to have experiences - or at least try.  I can't keep her from having a life, nor should I try.  I do however, need you, Mr. Bald Guy, to move your dang head so that I can keep a protective eye on her while she's experiencing!  

You can't and you won't and you don't stop (complaining)!

I have discovered something that is newish to this era. Eating corn on the cob with any sort of screen in front of you, even when you think it is far enough away, is not a good idea.  Both my laptop screen and tv had corn juice splatters all over them.  Or in my case, both.  The youngin' has just learned the basics of braiding and I sat blissfully, allowing her to practice on my hair.  While eating corn on the cob.  And making a mess of my electronics.

Adam Yauch of the Beastie Boys passed away the other day.  I had probably a high amount of debauchery during my time of listening to them heavily.  Beastie Boys = Fun and Debauchery.  They were off saving Tibet and I was using their music to get drunk to.  Or as answering machine greetings ("Phone is ringin'..Oh my God....).  I recall being at a Christmas party that lasted a whole weekend.  I drank like a 25 year old Irish girl.  I think Sure Shot came on and I tore off to throw myself on the dance floor as if I were the main event.  I twirled in this black velvet dress that was rising up and up with velocity.  My wavy blonde hair was highlighted by the  dance floor lights.  Supa Stah!!!! 

I'd be really embarrassed to remember this (somehow) but everyone else there was trashed so it sort of evened itself out.

Yes, I still love hearing the Beastie Boys. Good times.

FLIP and I are in our holding pattern of weekday tension that lasts until about Friday, when we then seem to get along better and have a fun time together here and there.  Monday shows up with some unwanted sudden and false revelation that FLIP has and there is no talking him off the ledge.  Unless you want to apologize over and over again, be sure to say "I was so wrong, I'm sorry for what I put you through with my Terribleness" and then erect a statue in his honor.  It may just make things better by Thursday morning.  I used to be more than happy to apologize for things that humans are not even capable of causing, just to end fights.  Now I simply won't do it unless I know that I've actually done something and am not simply moving my naive pawn to the manipulative script that tends to play out.

I simply ignore all the bad emails that come my way and send back nice ones and hope that the boogeyman gets tired of the word, Boo!