Sad and angry

Rant warning: I am so angry and disappointed in our country. This morning, I should have just avoided the faceyspace altogether because my friends, people I love and respect have nothing but misguided, uninformed, racist, classist bullshit to spew forth from their cakeholes.

"Blame another religion but fuck your gun control you goddamned libtards."

"All lives matter"

Really? Prove it. Prove to me that ALL lives really matter. Show me you care as much about Black, Asian, Hispanic, Syrian lives as you care about your guns. Prove that women and children matter.

It's great that we can sit here behind our glass walls and touch screens and offer "thoughts and prayers" or blame another race or religion but who among us is doing anything about it? Who is writing letters to their congress people? Who is really making themselves informed about our government, laws, and the next group of presidential candidates? Who is gleaning and sharing information from reputable, fact-based sources rather than sharing "articles" from whatever radical publication seems to fit their particular mood that day? This goes for the liberal and conservatives among us.

STOP SHARING PROPAGANDA!! This is exactly how dictators and fascist leaders gain control of the sheeple. This is how millions of people have been gunned down, gassed, hung, bought and sold in the name of religion, politics or money.

Today, my heart hurts for community of San Bernadino and the families and friends of those who were mercilessly gunned down, wounded and forever changed by these events. My heart still hurts for the victims in Colorado Springs, and Sandy Hook and Columbine and all of these senseless, mass shootings. My heart aches for the families and communities who are reeling from the unnecessary killings of Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, Eric Harris, Sandra Bland and many more. My heart hurts for our country watching this happen day after day.

Put aside your defensiveness and bias. Be informed and educate yourselves. Love and support each other.

~Peace, J

I'm starving...or...The fridge is fucking empty

I love to grocery shop. It's always been my excuse to ditch my kids and steal time to myself. I don't even care about the crazy-ass folks at WalMart, they give me something to watch while I'm perusing the aisles. I always run into someone I know and, yes, I'm that person blocking traffic to have a lengthy conversation with an old friend over an end cap of canned, green beans. Whatevs, go around us.

I also cook a lot and, up until recently, I had a home full of people to cook for. My fridge and cupboards were always stocked, running low on provisions meant I could only put together a 2 star meal rather than a 4 star spread. I'm going to start sharing some recipes and ideas for quick, week-night dinners here soon...stay tuned. Aneeways, back to my story.

Today I ran home for lunch, I opened my fridge and I was absolutely taken aback by the starkness that met me in that cold, white box. My fridge is fucking empty, like bachelor empty. I have an extensive collection of condiments and dressing in the door and virtually nothing else of any palatable value. I'm surprised the whole damn thing hasn't fallen over forward from that door being so laden with ketchup, mustard, sauces and green olives (because bloody marys and dirty martinis, duh).

With just myself and the boy in the house now, I have, apparently, given up. If he told me tonight that there is nothing to eat, I wouldn't even be able to argue with him. I would just be like, "Yep, you got that right, my friend."

Tomorrow is payday, this weekend, a 1-2.5 hr trek to the nearest reasonable town to grocery shop. We will eat like kings, but not today. I believe "struggle" is on the menu tonight. What can I make with 2 old hot dogs, 1 slice of swiss cheese and a freezer burnt half-loaf of french bread? I may just drink my dinner tonight ~ Peace, J.

Forgotten Truths... Or... Teenagers, Amirite!?

I made it through a teenage girl. She's almost 21 and reasonably ok. It was a rough five or six years getting her there,  though. Teen girls are sharp and spiky, like cacti or porcupines. Their defense is to assail you with their needle-y words. There's a lot of eye rolling,  on both parts. Now enter teenage boys, he just turned 13 and has gone from 0 to teenager overnight. Teen boys are rough and blunt,  like a sledgehammer or wrecking balls. When they lose their shit,  they "Hulk out", growling,  punching, destroying, mincing no words. I wrote the following a couple nights ago,  last night he had the mother of all fucking melt downs. I came back to this,  to remind myself that he's still my bud and I'm pretty sure I don't actually want to re-home him like a food-aggressive pit bull.

Sometime,  in the last two weeks,  since the boychild turned 13, he has turned into a complete and utter...13 year old! It's like someone flipped a switch in his little,  teenage, pea brain. All of a sudden he's challenging me on everyfuckingthing. And this is not just his typical arguing (which he loves to do) this is blatant challenging.

 Tonight,  we had a go-nowhere  volley of a conversation for over an hour about respect,  entitlement and expectations. The ENTIRE time,  he was rude,  disrespectful and argumentative telling me I needed to be nicer and respect him. I suggested he find a new mom,  a nicer one.  He agreed and I told him I'd make arrangements tomorrow. Things were going downhill faster than a wagon full of fat kids. I ended our little talk and sent him to bed. I shut down  the house for the night,  doors,  dogs,  lights and I went pee.  While on the thinkin' chair,   I started to write this blog on my phone.  (Remember when you just had to read shampoo bottles?!)  I wiped,  I flushed,  I washed my hands,  tweezed a few stray brows,  checked my chin for stray hairs (none today,  fuck you mother nature) I put on my sleepin' attire. The point here is that about 10 minutes had elapsed. I came out of the bathroom and was startled by that same boy,  teenager now,  poking his head in my room.

 "I'm sorry mom."      
"I love you son. You're my favorite son. "
" I'm your only son! "
"I would never give you away, son."
"I would never trade you for a new mom. "
" Go to bed,  kid,  I love you."

 When your children are separated by 8 years,  you inconveniently forget some things. I had almost forgotten how bad teenagers are, also,  how good. Mostly,  I'm reminded that I really don't want to do this again.   Someone hold me.  ~ Deuces,  J

This road trip called life

It only took me a few days to quit reaching for someone who isn't there,  to quit waiting for a text that isn't coming,  to stop hoping for an apology that isn't going to happen.  Ten days ago, life took another major fork in the road.  The last ten months have been challenging at best. A lay off,  a move,  new job,  step children and now the break up.

The break up was sudden and I was blindsided.  That's how one should feel when their significant other of 2.5 years sneaks out in the middle of the night to abscond with their lousy ex who they've claimed to hate. The real sting came in finding out they had been planning it for weeks. In finding out I really didn't know this guy and he's a really shitty human being. Things hadn't been great the last couple months. His kids coming to live with us was a huge strain on us. He is a non - communicator,  so trying to adjust to two small children in the house was not easy. His young cousin also joined the fray. He helped with the kids at first then went back to his street hustler ways and was being irresponsible,  dishonest,  even criminal. I told him he needed to leave and that was about the time my ex decided he also needed to leave.

They waited until I left for the weekend to my mom's. They grabbed their clothes and went and picked up the baby mama and the kids and took off for Louisiana. I found out from a couple of their family members the next day. I've not heard a word from him. I had a few rough days,  I had to tell my son. He was heartbroken. He adored my ex. What kind of chickenshit coward does that to a kid!? My son is such a great kid,  he cried then sucked it up and realized we don't need that kind of shit in our lives.

So,  now we're stuck. Financially,  physically but not emotionally.  It will take me a little time to catch up financially,  but he didn't break me.  It will take a little longer to leave this town,  but he didn't break me. It took a little time to get over him,  but he didn't break me. I will trust again,  I will love again and he is nothing but Griswold's baggage blowing off the roof of the station wagon, left on the side of the highway on this road trip of life.

Pull yourself up by your bra straps!

I started  this blog with a bang,  then I slacked,  because that's who I am and that's what I do.  I never thought I'd say this,  but,  I need to write.  It's cathartic,  it's therapeutic,  it's calming. I'm a master  at talking people down from their ledges, I fucking suck at listening to my own reason.

This is about taking  chances,  leaps of faith. You really won't get anywhere or learn anything new if you don't try new things and risk it all once in a while.  I don't like living in a stagnant pond. I would much rather live at the bottom of a waterfall, churning,  foaming,  constantly flowing,  dynamic. I get bored,  I get burned out.  I like new challenges.

If you follow or know me,  you know that last year,  after 10 years of employment,  my company was swallowed up by a corporate whale and I was Gepetto or Pinnochio. Stuck in the belly of the beast until I was informed I was being laid off,  they were blowing me out their blow hole like a giant snot bubble. I took it as a challenge,  do something big. I worked out a great opportunity in the middle of an oil boom. Why not?  Great experience,  great money,  definitely a new challenge. Then,  6 weeks later,  the oil market tanked. Life in this crazy little town ground to a halt and with it,  the money,  the opportunity,  the promise.  Poof,  gone. I knew I could tolerate this small town if I was making big money and busy. I'm not and  I'm not. My nearest Starbucks is an hour and a half away. Yeah,  I'm that chick,  I don't fucking care,  I want a fucking caramel macchiato and I want it Right. Fucking. Now!!

If I were talking to me,  I'd tell me not to be down on myself,  I didn't make a mistake,  I took a chance. It didn't pan out. You can't win every bet. You're stronger and wiser for it and you've experienced some new things. Now pull yourself up by your bra straps and get  back on that fucking horse and pull your wagon to the next stop!  Everything happens for a reason,  right?

James of the Plains

This is not a sad post, though I may be writing it through a few tears. I try to smile when I think about my dad. I got my sense of humor from him. All of us kids got a healthy dose of his sense of humor, much to my mother's chagrin.

I lost my dad February 10, 2010. Yesterday was the 5 yr anniversary. I have found someway to let it slip my mind every year, but I'm never quite right on that day, and I'm never quite sure why until the next day or a couple days later. I had a little melt down last night coupled with a little anxiety attack. I chalked it up to the hormone dragon who guards my ovaries, but it's not even that time. I reached for the wine, I'm not a big wine drinker, but I downed a glass and it hit the spot, you know the spot, we all have it, it's the feels. I don't like the feels. I'm much happier laughing and being ridiculous. The feels suck. I just wanted to be left alone. I stayed up way too late trying to fix my wireless router, choosing something that would aggravate me to no end so that I could blame my annoyance and anxiety on the router. I do this subconsciously.

Today, however, is a new day. I am thinking about my dad, missing him, still trying to do things in my life to make him proud. He was proud of me, he told me often. I should be better about telling my kids how proud I am of them. I suck at those kinds of things.

My dad was an English major, a writer, a reader. I excel at all of those, however, I never much cared for writing. I don't know what has changed the last few years, perhaps it was his death, maybe I feel like I need to carry the torch. I'm finding it rather cathartic, maybe I should have started years ago. My dad was a public speaker, he wrote his speeches, his resumes were works of art to him, he also wrote poetry and a short story or two. He was never published, his poems were homages to friends, family and his adopted hometown. I have them tucked away somewhere. I'll pull them out one day and give them the attention they deserve. Maybe he will be a legend in his afterlife, he was always a legend in his own mind.

I leave you with this, a poem I wrote when my dad passed. He was a cowboy, maybe not the best, or the wisest, but he had heart and passion for the lifestyle. As a kid, I thought it was so hilarious when he'd tell someone that there's 3 things you never do: French kiss a rattlesnake, crochet barbed wire, and (insert whatever stupid thing said person was doing or saying at that moment).

He was a tough ol’ bird
And according to his word
There are 3 things you never do,
French kiss a rattlesnake, crochet barbed wire,
And whatever it is that you’re about to.
Melstone, Montana was his home on the range
There is not a thing he would change
About his days learning to rope and ride
With his best friends by his side.
He’d pay you a visit,
that was but part of the plan
Before he’d left,
you’d have bought something
That was Jim, the salesman.
He loved to cook, he loved his kids
And no one put up with more than Bark did. ("Bark" was his wife, Barb, my son mispronounced it once)
He’d spend hours cooking Jim style
And Barb would choke it down with a smile.
Four grandchildren were his prides and joys
And for them, he shopped for “grampa toys” (farm toys)
His latest love was a pup named Scooby,
He was devoted to dad completely and truly.
Joe and Spunky, and Oakey and Buck
And Lonesome and good ol’ Mouse (All of his favorite horses)
Are upstairs waiting in that great big pasture
Out behind God’s house
They need a brush and a flake of hay
And maybe a ride on a clear big sky day
And from all of us here, Jim’s whole troop
We thank you for coming
He’s finished “The Loop”(an inside joke, a run of errands was always referred to as "making a loop" and if you got caught in the car with him, you were stuck, maybe for hours, while he finished his "loop". He loved the company and would sucker anyone he could into riding with him.)

~Deuces, J