We DO NOT own a bidet!

That moment when a person snaps, today I think I have reached it.

Ok, so those of you that read my blog are most likely my Facebook peeps, so I probably don't have to do a lot of review here, but I will, for the sake of keeping everyone on the same page.

It's been a crappy few months, moving, dead things, water leaks, broken dogs, etc.  Blah, blah, blah.  However, I keep hoping things will get better.  They aren't.  Most recently, we came home to a door tag stating that the last power outage had caused the community well we are on to lose pressure and thusly pull contaminated water back into the well from all of the pipes of the people that share this water supply.  No drinking the water for 10 days while they back wash the system with chlorine and run tests on the water.  No drinking, brushing teeth, washing dishes, etc.  It could be excrement, it could be dead animals, it could be used water that we are using, so basically, don't ingest anything until they give us the all clear.  So, we stock up on water, buy paper plates and live like we are camping.  I mean sure, I get to shower in bio-hazard, but I'm really hoping the toxins from the water will fertilize my hair and speed up the growth.  At worst, I'll have diarrhea, rashes, flu-like symptoms and eventual death (I added that part, because it isn't a lie, we are all one day closer to death).  It's fan-fucking-tastic.

All the while, I'm trying to stay calm, right?  Trying to roll with the punches.  Trying.  As luck would have it, work has been full of little events that have left me tired and worn out on top of my daily will to live, which honestly, is getting less strong each day.  Add to that my desire to get my eating back on track and I'm struggling.  The freaking Girl Scouts are out, too. They are like grocery store cookie ninjas.  I mean, it's a jungle out there.

This brings me to today.  Today, I wake up tired.  Not a good start, but I wander in to the bio-hazard shower and get "cleaned up."  My hair is a little softer than normal, my guess is that the feces really plumps up the hair shaft.  Anyway, I come in to get dressed and all is going okay.  All except my mother trucking bra.  Hey, Victoria, your "secret" is that your bra is a piece of shit.  The fucking straps will not stay up.  I call Shark Bait in, "Shark Bait, I need help!"  He comes in reluctantly, like a baby deer coming in out of the forest for the first time.  He knows the bedroom is a war zone when I get dressed.  I've got a lot of fat control trying to happen and the right tights or nylons, the right skirt with the right shirt.  It's complicated.  Don't get me started on accessories. Anyway, I have him come in and change up the straps so that they criss-cross in the back. Now they won't slide. Perfect. The straps are, however, creating this weird hump on my back.  Mother Trucker.  I go in to melt-down and order Shark Bait away. He can't help me now, I'm too far gone.  He willingly scampers away to the safety of the front room.  I put the bra straps back and resign myself to just pulling up the straps all day every 10 seconds.

I arrive at work. Pissy.  I'm really pissy.  I open my email and the first email just sets me off.  I rip the sender a new asshole and proceed with the other emails that need attention.  Not long after that, the crowd starts to form by my desk.  Apparently, some guy was bold enough to go into the men's room and go into a stall vs. just using the urinal.  No one else was in the bathroom at the time, so why didn't he just use the urinal.  When our Glass Palace reporter came on the scene, the man was standing up in a stall peeing.  Apparently, this is cause for alarm.  All of the guys were baffled on why this person would pee in a stall.  I suggested maybe he was shy about his junk.  They all said that no, that shouldn't be a problem, especially if he was alone in there at the time of commencing urination.  What was he doing in there?  I suspected, peeing in privacy, but the men of the conversation finally decided, he must have open sores on his penis.  So, let that be a lesson to all you urinating stall users, there's a stigma to using the stall.  Maybe he started out being a pooper and then assumed the urination stance?  We can never truly know and I'm fine with that.  Look, I'm just happy there have been no incidents in stall one in the ladies room, okay?


The crowd finally left.  I continued with my admin work.  I had a problem with an invoice not being approved.  Apparently something had gone wrong behind the scenes and my boss didn't have the rights to approve it.  I got on it, did some research, sent some emails, finally got it fixed.  I was pretty proud of myself.  That's how you handle that.  I'm a fucking rock star.  You know what?  I'm gonna pay it forward.  I let our VP's admin know I had fixed the problem and other people might run into the same issue.  It wasn't long after that I received an email that would screw my day.  Apparently, some things had changed behind the scenes that no one bothered to tell me about.  This might not have been a problem, except that the contacts I made to get it fixed  actually gave my boss all the super powers of the VP....and took them away from the VP.  I didn't personally do it, but it happened as a result of me trying to "fix" my problem.  Seriously.  I give up. I was assured it wasn't my fault, but nonetheless, it is now something that will need to be un-fixed tomorrow.

About this time, Valerina came down to visit me.  Thank God she did, because I was losing it.  I asked her to come into my bosses office (my boss was gone).  I said, "I need you to help me not hurt other people.  I need you to help me get these bra straps off before I tear my arm off or take a hostage."  She gladly complied and assisted me.  Valerina is good in a crisis like that.  She knew the danger, and like a good little soldier, did what needed doing.  God bless her.

Beyond that, you can just insert in a bunch of other crap that irritated me and there you have pissy admin.  I decided to use my forward momentum to contact the eye doctor that had "done me wrong" on my glasses.  And by "done me wrong" I mostly mean my glasses don't fit right.  I call the office and the gal has that dead soulless voice that says she could give a shit about my problem.  That's when I became that customer.  She started to talk over me and I just talked louder and over top her until she shut up and then I drove it home about how bad my glasses fit and how I hated them.  I'm not proud, but I did get an appointment this afternoon to have the doctor fix them. Victory was mine.

I got my glasses fixed and came home a little earlier than usual.  I took the dogs out and then came in to take care of my business.  Watching the dogs pee made me need to pee, and soon.  I go running into the master bathroom and as I lift the lid, I notice that clearly there had been a struggle before Shark Bait had left this morning. Whatever, I have to pee.  I am trying to get the layer of FCD (fat controlling device), skirt and nylons down and start to bend down to take a seat when I noticed it looked like footprints on the carpet.  What is that about? Weird....OH SHIT!  SPLOOSH!  My ass was in water!  I repeat, my ass was sitting in water!!! I jump back up and realize that SOMEONE had clogged the toilet and walked away and went to work.  I don't know how long the water ran over the toilet, but enough to entirely soak the rug on the bathroom floor.  Like, there is a shit ton of water, no pun intended.  I looked at the water.  It was clear, which is why I didn't notice it being up to the brim.

So now, my skirt and nylons are down to my knees, my ass is dripping with water and my body wants to start peeing.  Don't pee, don't pee, don't pee!!!!  I start waddling and then I realize, in order to get to the other bathroom, I have to walk in front of the living room window where anyone could see me with my skirt around my knees and my bare ass waddling across the front room. I had nylons and shoes on, this was not a quick fix and my body was going to start peeing if I couldn't get this show on the road!  I pull things half-heartedly back on and truck it to the other bathroom.  I check the toilet.  It has one of those blue tablets in there, so I can see the water level and that it is safe to descend upon the seat.  I sit my wet ass down and take care of the task at hand.  I just sit there for a second and shake my head.

What exactly have I done?  Who have I pissed off?  I mean, aside from the glasses lady, and frankly, she was rude to ME first.  Now I had to take my still wet ass back across the great living room divide and get to the bedroom for clean clothes. And, furthermore, I'm not cleaning that up.  Shark Bait better get home at a reasonable hour, because SOMEONE has some cleaning up to do!

I just really want to know what animal I need to sacrifice to make all this better?  We already sacrificed a possum, and housed him after his demise (regardless if it was by our intent or not).  I don't think it is too much to ask that I not have to bathe.... or sit in feces. 

So, I'm hoping that is all the drama for today.  I'm going to see about making something for dinner that takes the least amount of cookware and that we can eat on a paper plate.  I think I'll call Shark Bait, too, and see when he plans on coming home...

And hey, word to the wise, look before you sit. 

To Mom, With Love...

This year, thus far, has been full of angst for me and for many people I know.  Several people that I work closely with have lost their parents just since the beginning of the year, so really, my angst is just superficial at best in comparison.  When I talked with one of my co-workers about how many people we know that were experiencing this, he said it's because we are getting older and it just happens.  I think he just called me old.  I mean, I am getting up there, but still.  I guess I am beyond the age of wearing glittery eye-shadow and sporting the cat-eye look.  And, even if I wasn't old, anyone can experience a loss at any time.  Life is not fair in that respect.  When our time is up, it's up.  It's like all those meme's on Pinterest and Facebook that say how tomorrow isn't promised (which, as you know, pisses me off).  It made me think about my parents. I've already lost my Dad, but I can't even comprehend losing my Mom.  And so it goes, I have some things to say...just in case.

My Mom is amazing.  She is my best friend in life, really.  She is a great part of who I am today.  When I think about my childhood and all the time in between that brings me to today, the influence she has had in my life is incomparable to anyone or anything else.  She has always been there.  Always. She has never been cruel, judgmental or selfish.  She has supported everything I have ever wanted.  She is the dreamer.  She is the one that says everything is going to work out.  It's going to be okay.  She knows it, she believes it.  She stayed in a difficult marriage with my Dad all those years and yet, she always believed it was for the best and that things would be okay in the end.  I don't know how she did it.  I don't know what driving force inside her kept her positive.  To this day, I still can't comprehend it, but a part of me relies on that piece of her to keep me sane.  A part of me wants to believe it will be okay.  And some days, I do believe it.

As most of you know, I have always been a big girl, from the start.  My Mom never shamed me, never made me feel limited in my abilities.  She quietly took me to the doctor to have tests run, or supported my weight-loss efforts as I got older, but she never allowed me to feel bad about it.  We never really figured it out, but she was there to listen or witness the crying from the cruelty of others.  We just kept moving forward.  Even as an adult, she was there to help when I had my weight-loss surgery.  She was scared for me, but she supported it because she knew it was what I wanted. She knew it would be okay.

She encouraged my love of the horses and allowed me the freedom to experience a lot of different things with them.  They were my savior from the depression, they were my everything. As I got old enough to go to horse shows, she took me and my friends.  She created a 4-H group for us all and found a way to get us to the fair every year.  As an adult, I look at all the financial burdens I have and I think I can't make it and I worry so much.  When I was a child, my Mom made sure if I wanted to go to a horse show, we went.  How did she afford that?  We were essentially poor.  I mean, we had a horse farm, Dad worked and Mom had the horse breeding business and sold them as well.  But we didn't have money.  I had what I needed, food on the table, clothes on my back, but we did not have "extra" money, we barely scraped by.  How did she do it?  How?  I never questioned it much growing up.  I mean, I knew, on some level, that money was tight, but now, trying to pay the rent, pay the PUD, pay the phone, pay for food, pay for insurance and all the things that come with being an adult, how in the hell did she do it?  It will always be a mystery to me, but God bless her for making my childhood full of wonderful memories when there was plenty of darkness.

And, I would go to those horse shows with horses that we raised and that I trained myself.  I wore clothes that I bought with money I made from training other people's horses.  They weren't fancy.  They didn't make clothes in fat girl sizes that were fancy.  We would go to those shows and all the kids with the fancy horses and the fancy saddles and outfits would snub me.  I would be so sad and my Mom would say, "Their parents bought them that win.  You've done all the work yourself, it will mean more when you do well because you did that.  You love your horse, they love what the horse will do for them."  And we went on. We went to show after show because we wanted to and because we belonged, in our own way.

I was also in band while growing up.  That woman took me to every band concert.  There she was in the audience, usually by herself because Dad didn't go.  She made friends wherever she went.  As a kid I would cringe wondering what embarrassing tale I would hear on the ride home.  She would sit out there and chit chat with anyone.  She's friendly like that.  She would sing her heart out at the Christmas concert.  She came to the plays I was in during high school.  Didn't matter how long her day was, there she was to take me where I needed to go. 

As I got to be a teen-ager, we'd go to the grocery store and Mom would go in and I would wait in the truck.  She would find the cutest box boy and have him help her out to the truck with the groceries.  She was so proud of herself. She'd come trotting out in her little princess shoes (just flats, but she wore them everywhere). Meanwhile, I'm sitting there in my barn boots and stinky horse clothes dying a thousand deaths.  She would get that smile that she gets, that one where her lips are super tight and she is suppressing the biggest laugh ever.  She enjoyed doing that to me.  Ever-hopeful that some day I would find a boyfriend, I think.  She had all kinds of boyfriends in school and went to parties.  Not me, I went out to the barn.  Boys didn't like fat girls, but she always told me it wasn't true and kept on trying.

I stayed at home for a long time after graduating college and some of the best times we spent were in the evening after Dad went to bed just hanging out.  My Mom, my sister and myself would watch our favorite TV shows and there was one that made me laugh the most.  The show was called Sex Talk with Sue.  We would laugh so hard because it is this older woman taking all these calls from the audience about sex and explaining how sex toys worked.  It wasn't like porn or anything, just no holds barred straight talk.  Anything about sex.  Mom was pretty sheltered in her upbringing and then had been married all these years, so much of this was foreign for her. Not everyone can sit up and watch a sex show with their Mom, but we were all comfortable like that.  Whatever it was, we could talk about it.

When the day came that I did finally move out, it was the hardest thing I had ever done.  We both cried.  I still can't think about that day without crying. I remember it vividly.  I needed to do it, we both knew, but it was the beginning to the end of the constant companionship.  It was leaving my Mom alone with my Dad who was fighting demons that none of us could help him with.  It was separating myself.  It hurt.

People always thought my Dad was the strong one and my Mom the weak one.  While my Dad was a larger than life force to be reckoned with and I learned a lot from him, my Mom was the strong one.  To be married to that man for just over 40 years and to be there for him through his illness and eventual death and to come out on the other side still believing that everything is going to be okay, that's strength.  To be able to give of herself to her children, not just me, but also my brother and sister, to the point where she would go without, that's love.  To this day, she still would do anything for her children, and does.  I can't speak for my siblings, but it amazes me.  And I know she gets it from her Mom.  My grandmother is that way, too.  So giving, so feisty, but in a way you don't see right away. The strength lies within. 

My Mom has that "thing" that I can't explain to you, but it is that "thing" that makes perfect strangers in a line at the grocery store open up and tell her their life stories.  That thing that makes people tell her their darkest secrets.  She doesn't ask for it to happen, people just open up to her.  She is a kind soul and I think people sense that.  Do you know I have never been able to get my Mom to say the word, "Fuck?"  I've tried.  I've told her that it is so freeing and therapeutic, but she won't do it.  She'll say other cuss words, but not that one. She doesn't believe God wants her to say that, nor any of the nuns that scared the bejezzus out of her as a child.  I just pray God finds his way to forgive me, because I've said it a few times now.  I mean, who's counting, right?

I'd like to think, if I would have had children that I would have been a good Mom, but I don't think I could have been as good as my Mom.  We'll never know, but I like to believe that I got my strength from both my parents and that will be enough to get me through this life.  Even when I think I've had enough, that inner fighter always pulls me through. It pulls me through as it must have pulled my Mom through a million times over.

If tomorrow never came and I never got a chance to say all those things, it would be the biggest regret of my life.  No other regret could compare to my Mom not knowing how important she was, how important she is and that she is the most important person in my life.  The words, "I love you, Mom" just don't seem adequate, but they are all I have to give. 

I love you, Mom.