Ok. I rushed home in the fever of the moment and tried to blodge it and made every one of you think I was talking about my period. I wasn't. If I were on the rag, I wouldn't have this kind of fever to write. Dang, don't you know me? I'd be drugged up on my couch moaning, fuck this blodging shite, mama hurts, ya know?
What I meant was, whenever you meet someone or talk to a friend and the subject or slur "psychobitch" comes up, you will generally find a lot of holier than thou women, like myself for instance, piping in and in so, denying that the same monster lurks within us. It has nothing to do with menstruation, but it sure as hell is female at the core.
Case in point, that diaper wearing astronaut. I challenge you to find a syndrome that explains that better than the psychobitch. I kid you not. Why were women, even here in the blog world, so sympathetic? It's because everyone of us has likely had the fantasy of taking the rubber tubing to some fucktard that desperately deserves it. Come awn.
Sheesh, it is lonely out here on this limb by myself. Did I just try to garner support for Lisa Nowak? See?
I wanted to further highlight that although Lisa was obviously peaking in the psychobitch syndrome, you KNOW she wasn't on the rag. We heard every nasty detail about her travelling port a potty and you KNOW they would have been singing it loud had there been a tampon in that garbage bag. It's gross, I know, but I speak the truth here and so you must read it.
But enough on that. I just really needed y'all to know that although I was ready to start killing yesterday, I was simultaneously as fresh as a springtime daisy.
Again, I hate to put you off, but I have discovered that it is a beautiful day here today. I must roust the kiddies and get my weekend on. Y'all be good. See you later.
Very busy day so far.
Warning, I must be approaching that magic time. No, not that time, you sickos. However, the cycle is undeniable. Who among you is wise to it?
Ask any woman, and she'll deny it. Wouldn't you? But if you are female and reading this, then you don't fool me. And men, you can shove it. This is one horrific payback for having babies. You know, which kind of sucks donkey dick since lots of good ones can't even have babies and still, they don't get to dodge the psychobitch thing. WTF?? Welcome to the old sin nature of womanhood, peeps--psychobitch, tis a syndrome. Thanks a lot, Eve, you snake handling whore.
Ever since Eve and that demon serpent got together, woman has been the root of all her problems, and all of mens' problems too. Think I'm wrong? Please, let me know.
And now this psychobitch is fresh out of time to blodge the details of today's freak out. Later, my most precious peep eyes. You will be happy you checked back, I promise.
Since the political situation is as scary as all get out, I think I'll resist all the current events topics of the present and channel further into the past. Denial is my happy place, but you knew that already.
On day three, we awoke at a nice hotel in Pensacola, Florida. We could see the bridge to the beach from our hotel, so after a swim at the hotel pool and refreshing the cooler, we headed for a spot known to the locals as mommy beach. It promised to be shallow and kid friendly, and it delivered.
Not much conversation that day, but some great pictures that morning. We could not have picked a better day for the beach. (pics moved after the jump)
We lazed about on the beach, ate a picnic lunch and finally gathered up our beach things and hopped on the road bound for Disney World. While the morning was perfect, the traffic Gods again allowed us a primo beach day and we escaped before the multi mile spring breaker crowds began to back up on the bridge.
I was in for a little time warp. We lollygagged for too long up the coastal highway and by the time we turned back towards I-10, we'd already lost quite a few hours. Then a shock in Tallahassee, went into a grocery store around 3:30 and when I came out, it was 6 pm due to the change in time zone and that kooked up early spring forward creeyap. Sheesh, I've never jetlagged so badly on a car trip. It was rough.
Finally, found myself lost on Disney property by 11. Took another hour to find my hotel and then I was out like a light.
True, "Can we change Alex's name?"
Me, "Sure we can. To what?"
Me, "Frog Alex or Alex Frog?"
True, "Frog Alex."
Me, "I don't think so."
Me, "Because Frog is a dirty slang word for being French. And in this day and age, there's not a lot lower than being called French."
True, "Even better, you should have named him French. That really suits him."
True, "Because he wants to cut off my arm. Isn't that French? Don't they chop off people's heads and stuff? It's perfect. He's Frog Alex to me now."
I hate these conversations. I am so confused by the meandering nature of child speak. You would think anyone of average intelligence would have mastered this after eight years, but not I.
Saturday we woke up with friends in Houston, scooted on to I-10 and straight out of town. Not much to note about this part of the drive besides the fact that we had the most dreamy traffic kharma you could imagine.
Like just outside Houston, True started squealing that he had to go to the bathroom and it might be a poop. Oh man. I darted right off the road at the next exit, came up a hill to see the entire interstate in park for the forseeable expanse. I drove 70 on the open feeder past 15 miles of backed up cars, to a place where they were hosing off the road, on to the following entrance ramp, to the very next exit which happened to be a rest stop. It was amazing. I never even slowed and we passed hundreds of people who probably spent an hour at least just parked right there on the interstate. Freaky lucky, ya know?
Traffic is frightening out there these days. I can't believe how populated the same ole shitty two lane highways are. We saw so much crazy insane crap out there, you should all be ashamed. More about that later, but from this missing the massive traffic jam incident in Htown to getting off scot free on that speeding ticket ten miles from home, our driving kharma was just out of this world.
Sometime around seven that night we rolled into Mobile, Alabama and it took our breath away. If you are unfamiliar, there are a series of tunnels that take you under the Mobile River (I thought it was the Mobile River, but I can't find that anywhere).
The kids creamed their little pants. Driving under a river? Get out of here! It was like the craziest, coolest thing that they never imagined they might do. Of course, in America, cause we rock. The good vibes and the gulf flowing above, I guess, stirred their nether regions, because halfway through the tunnel both boys had to pee.
And I, seeing Mobile for the first time myself, had no idea what treasures still lie ahead. I pulled to the right lane of the tunnel and took the first exit once we ascended to land level again. The exit was Battleship Park. What luck. We needed a place to duck off the road and pee and lookie what we found totally by chance...
The USS Alabama. Awesome. A bonafide WWII battleship. I have to say, there is a fine collection of planes and tanks out there in the dark and we drove around quite a while taking pictures that didn't really turn out. The boys wanted to sleep right there in the parking lot gazing at that battleship but I promised them we'd stop on the way back and we mosied on down the highway.
The boys were basically as high as kites on coke, honey coated granola and candy, stuff they normally wouldn't be allowed to eat but somehow eased our collective roadrage like soul food for the long southern roadtrip. The stick factor was yilko disgusto back there in the boys' area by the end of day two. Beautifully quiet and dark as pitch we pulled away, driving down 90 all by our lonesomes leaving that beautiful battleship in the tiniest spot in the middle of the rearview mirror.
And as we rode off, True, exhasperated with excitement and riding that chocolate high, blurted out, "I love Mobile, it is the most awesome city in these United States, no offense to any of the other cities. It's just so beautiful. It reminds me of how Italy used to be, a long time ago, before it sank."
Ooof. I say that entirely too much in real life. Ooof has become the "um" of my stalled conversations and I think it's likely due to, ooof, being spring broken. In fact life has been all shades of wrong since the man hammered down on me and insisted that I return to my dreaded desk. Ugh. Why me? I just want to go back to Disney World.
Parenting is an acquired skill. Yes, I screw up quite often. Fortunately, the boys have had a team of professionals to help raise them because never have my parenting skills seemed so obviously flawed as during this past week. Maybe that's just because there was never any escaping them. Still, they exhaust me even as they sleep.
And as I eluded, parenting has been all on the job training for me as it's not something I ever really planned to do. Not that I'm not good at it, I have my moments, I just have many more where I wonder how I've gotten this far down the road with two very fully functioning young boys, alive and well. It's a miracle really.
So we are somewhere in Louisiana last Saturday morning when Truett starts chanting something about bragadoches. First, you must know that I have a strict no chanting policy. Not just a no chanting policy, but in all actuality, a very restrictive no chanting barrier that includes my ecosystem, wherever I happen to be. Believe it.
Look. I don't care what the frick you have to say, if you have to say it more than once then chances are it's not that I didn't hear you, it's that I simply don't give a flying fuck. But since I can't say that to the boys, whenever they start repeating themselves, I declare no chanting and all sing songy ranting ends.
But in the car, not so much. True would not shut up about his being a bragadoches, like he was proud of it, singing it loud. Out of left field I decided I would try a little reverse psychology on him. I said, "I wouldn't be yelling that, True, you know what doches means don't you?" After much more (unexpected, yet provoked) chanting, I caved and blurted out that a doches was a butt hole. OH MY GOODNESS, big mistake. Mistake of the century.
Just tell me where to turn in my motherhood credentials. Big assed backfire. The rest of the time, I mean all week, I was hearing doches humor. I had ignorantly invented a family curse word just in time for Disney. There is just nothing like hearing your sweet kid call someone else's grandpa an asshole in chouspeak in the middle of space mountain. Perfect, right? Hands up, anyone surprised? I was.
Prolly the worse was catching True with a couple of kids. Cornered in a line somewhere I'd hear him, "Don't you know what a doches is? My mom says..."
"True," I would grumpily assert to try and stop the conversation, but who knows how many innocent children were educated/scarred while I happily tuned them out? Hundreds, I'm guessing.
And that, my chilly willies, is how I became a shit blogger on my first day of spring break. It also served as a constant reminder that I keep my day job, because I think my chances of pulling out much success in this mothering gig is kinda limited. Don't you?
I know you are dying to travel cross country with me and the fam in our technicolor memories, but for now we must pause to recognize the aging of the Alleymouse (formerly known as the Alleycat). For today my beautiful baby boy is six. No more toothy grins folks, holey smiles are coming.
And for the record, he's still a lovebug. True is done acknowledging me in public, but the sweet Alleymouse? He still thinks I hung the moon. And the day he was born, well, I kinda think I did.
And now I must go wrap his gifts at work and hope to not fall asleep. I was up until midnight making cupcakes and Lego cake for the boy. But you know what? I managed to keep one really super awesome birfday suprise and I'm going to unleash it on the rascal tonight over a big piece o lego cake.
Hey. We live. Quite well and free, I might add. Fabulous, perfect, beyond my wildest dreams vacation with the kids. I plan on inundating you with pics very soon, I got quite a few dandies.
But I'm exhausted. 2794 miles without incident. FINALLY got pulled over tonight 10 miles from home. He was cute and he pulled me over so fast, from the opposite direction, across the median, kicking up dirt dukes of hazzard style. Dang, my heart was racing, my hands shaking, voice quaking. It was like the grand finale or something. He clocked me at 86 and let me go with a warning. Don't tell me my copsucker charms aren't working. Seriously, now.
But while I go and decheeto my car, I leave you with a new beauty I found just tonight. This really needs to be a new segment, perhaps "backin' bou" or something? You know, for that black and blue feeling that comes with raising boys? What do y'all think?
Three was a magic number, but according to the Alleymeistah life would really be dreamy if it were just us two. Enjoy! Translation to follow after the pic:
This is my family in this picsher it shows me me cutting my burothers arm (off).
Sweet, huh. At least the only blood was on the chainsaw. Teacher just sent it home in the folder, another day, another scary assed kinder story. That's just how it goes.
Y'all be well, and see you soon.
I know, I know. I don't post enough. Post more, chou! I want to, I do. Oooof, all that stuff I meant to do this last week? Well, most got done. I have felt overwhelmed between work, mommy life, and bouts of sunshiney daydreaming.
I think the last time I suffered senioritis like this, I was still in college. Ah, the spring in Texas, people. I really don't think it can be beat. Hate to say, cause I know we Texans have a Texas sized problem with state pride and all, but trust me, the weather is like paradise here. I sincerely hate to leave. Sunny. Pretty puffy clouds. Temps in the mid seventies. Dang, take me to the river, I love it here.
Speaking of that, if you aren't planning to get Kerrverted in the late spring, you are missing a fantastic opportunity. Without sweating my blown eyed peeps too terribly much, this is going to be the Helen of yesteryear, folks. You will be sorry you missed it and sorely missed if you don't make it. Already confirmed? That's right, the fabulous guitar stylings of The Grouchy Ole Crippillo & Joisey Jim. Regular outta state blown eyeds also expected so far? Uh huh, that crazy bus driver lady, and I am finally going to meet the ultra fabulous GuyK too. AND, we get to perform our freaky deaky induction ceremonies on Erica this round!! Awe, hells yeah. It is going to be so much fun.
Fellow fryendly Blown Eyed Texicans attending so far...the confabulator, Walrilla, my blue eyed pirate, Marcus, & Nancy, and those are just the ones I know. New to me Texan blown eyeds include Alandp & even a Trainwreck. Badass, no?
Cinco de Mayo in the Hill Country. As a sign of blodge meet solidarity and in support of our troops, we plan on toasting you Milbloggers early and often. Thank you for your service, both online and frontline. Sincerely, you will never meet a more pro military group of non milbloggers in the sphere than we blown eyeds, this I know.
And without answering the question "what is a blown eye?" directly, I would hereby like to declare that it has NOTHING to do with ass sex. This is a fact. If you want the real deal honest meaning then you'll just have to break left over to the confabulator's and get booked! Now!
And with that, I leave you in a chouless lurch while I create long lasting spring break memories with the kiddieokies. We are in fact off to Disney tomorrow afternoon for ten days of chope family bliss. It's ok to miss me though, I'll definitely be missing all of y'all.
Picture lifted at Wikipedia
Ah, my sweet cabbage of love,
I hope these words find you well. Country life is so dull sometimes. I am positively bored speechless.
However, the weather is absolutely beautiful and if I'm not lying around in the gardens, I can likely be found lost in a book in the hammock by the river. Ah, spring days in what should still be the depths of winter. Strange wonderful days, indeed.
My work is the same. I busy myself in the market and leave mindless most days. The people I come in contact with there are ever changing yet always the same. They race from one extreme to the next, angered by anything and everything.
Sometimes they just come off bloodthirsty, ya know? I remember years ago, everyone had finally had it with the King. The talk in the market was about how restrictive the regulations were in bringing drugs to the people. A fight broke out in the town square and the serfs basically accused the royals of hoarding all the medication. The royals bent over backwards to assuage the masses of hysterical towns people and get them the medications they clamored for.
Just a few short years later, they found that the medications didn't really work for everyone, and a few were inflicted with much greater illness, some fatal. And so another outburst in the market erupted, this time accusing the royals of using the lay people as guinea pigs. Now they saw the violence (risk) inherent in the system. The royals had seen it for some time, yet had never solved the central question that eroded all their great plans: How do you control crazy people?
I guess the masses of blood thirsty depression mongers can never be satiated. Thank goodness! They do keep me on my toes. And please don't misunderstand me, I'm thankful for the daily diversion. Between pedicures and spa treatments, life would really seem too opulent for words if not for the infectious townspeople.
Just earlier this week there was some more bloodshed in the market. I forget about what. The end of the world, I'm sure. You know, you don't have to look far. The same people that would claim I'm cold and hoarding their riches, are out spitting on our heroes and cussing our leaders on every corner. The music of the day is discernment. And with all these self appointed judges running about, we are long on fatal tempers and short on actual executioners. All the world is a circus and absolutely nothing gets accomplished while we sit on our duffs in judgement of others.
But enough of that. No more current events talk, mon chou d'amour. There will be plenty of that when I return to the market on monday. But this my last weekend in my country cottage and I have plenty of rest to catch up on here. Don't envy my profusion, please, it is but a small sign of a wasted mind, I assure you.
Plus I don't want lose my head here. Now I'm off to feed the boys bon bons in the flower garden. Unless you are looking to lavish flowers, jewels, soft fabrics and hard liquors, please do not disturb me. A woman's cottage is her castle.
And I don't care to hear about your bread shortage, poor boy. As the dear Duke of Perversion once said to me, "Let them eat Snakes!"