Barking Mad

Because Mother Nature Was Feeling Generous ...

...and brought with her usual (and annoying) monthly gift, a volcano!   And can you guess where she placed it?  Anyone? 

On my face. 

Along with the monthly reminder that I'm still nowhere near close to getting rid of the curse, she, Mother Nature, Aunt Flo; whatever you want to call her, placed an active volcano - one which is ready to erupt, ON MY FACE!  This wouldn't be a huge deal because she does this a few times a year.  Except then, they are those invisible-but-utterly-painful zits that you know are there, you can feel, and are aware of, but when you try and point it out to anyone else, they think you're delusional.   This time not only does Mt. Vesuvius hurt like a motherf something really bad, I'm pretty sure the entire North American continent can see it. 

If you've been experiencing cooler than normal temperatures, or perhaps there was an occasional blotting out of the sun...never fear, it's only the emergence of Mt. Vesuvius on my face.  My 41 year old face.  Come on Mother Nature, aren't we getting a little old for this?  This thing is so huge that I wouldn't be surprised if Al Gore called a nationally televised press conference to announce that due to global warming, the earth had now shifted off it's axis.  Nope, Mr. Gore, it's simply the Mother-of-all-Zits on my face. 

Small children and animals can be seen running from the monstrosity on my face.  Gaby has told me repeatedly that my zit is going to give her "scary dreams...make it go away mommy!"   Well darling, I hate to tell you this, but there isn't enough benzoil peroxide on the planet to get rid of what's probably going to end up taking over my entire face.

I should have known this month was going to be a little worse than most because there was this seagull at the beach over the weekend that was bound and determined to completely piss me off. He was just standing around, starting at me.

Just look at those beady little eyes, just boring holes through me.  I tell you, it was creepy.  If Hitchcock was still alive he could have penned the script for a follow up to "The Birds"...and called it, "The Gulls." 

Everytime I'd move my lens to focus on something cool, like my kid playing in the surf, or the shoreline, he'd casually angle himself right into the frame and just stare at me.  He stared to really creep me out a bit, too.  So I named him Damien.  I should have known that he was an Omen of Mother Nature's sick sense of humor!

I moved to one side and he hopped over to the same side...

I moved, and he moved as well.

He just stood there the entire time.  I spent close to an hour trying to capture something interesting, and during that time, he managed to get himself into almost every shot.  He even tried to steal the scene from Gaby as she ran along the shore...

For a good five minutes, he flew directly overhead as she ran to and fro.  I was beginning to worry that he'd poop on her as retribution for me calling him nasty names and tossing some driftwood at him to get him out of my line of sight.   Thankfully he didn't resort to relieving himself on my frolicking little girl.

Damien eventually made his way back towards my encampment on the beach but this time he wasn't alone.  He brought a couple of his evil friends (if you haven't already gotten the hint, I hate birds.  They utterly terrify me!), with him...Beelzebub and Lucifer. 

There they stood for more than 45 minutes, staring at me, and then when I'd turn my lens on them, they'd look the other way.   It's almost as if they were taunting me...teasing me, and tempting me to throw something at them again.  But, I didn't.  I know better than to truly tempt fate.  Otherwise I might have ended up with not only Mt. Vesuvius on my face, but his American cousin, Mt. St. Helens!

Anyhow, due to the volcanic eruption on my face, I'm too lazy to come up with an interesting post today.    Not only that but am I the only one who gets completely turned around when we have a long weekend?  I woke up this morning not entirely sure what day of the week it was.  To be honest, I'm still not sure what day it is.   Whatever day tomorrow does end up being, I'll post more photos from this weekend, sans Damien and his cronies.

Of Cookie Crisp Cereal, Benadryl, and Hot Flashes!

 

A few days ago when I mentioned something along the lines of wanting to post more (and I do), I should have added the disclaimer that what I posted wouldn't necessarily make any sense. 

As I slid down the Benadryl coated rabbit hole last night (I think I saw a few of you down there as well?), I was absolutely overwhelmed with a craving for Cookie Crisp cereal.  The odd thing about this...well aside from the fact that, HELLO I'm a 41 year old craving a teeth-rotting-diabetic-coma-inducing kid's cereal - the odd thing is, I have never once had Cookie Crisp cereal.  Not once!  I grew up on oatmeal, Cheerios, Shredded Wheat, and occasionally, Rice Krispies.    My parents never caved to our incessant wailing and whining of "Please, please, please, I'll clean up my room every day and do my chores and won't pull my sister's hair ever ever ever again, please just please can we have one teeny, tiny box of Obesity O's or Cap'n Crack?!?!?" Nope, they never once caved.  Of course, on the weekends I spent with my Aunt Meta, I'd usually get my fill of breakfast at Bob's Big Boy or a teaspoon of sugar on my Cheerios, so it all evened out.  Or so I thought. 

Lately I've been having a horrendous time sleeping.  Actually it's the getting-to-sleep part that is just about to kill me.  Once I'm down, I'm out.  Well unless a certain 4 year old who still isn't sleeping through the night decides to wake up.  But we're not going to talk about that because speaking of a certain 4 year old, who is not yet sleeping through the night (this is not a nightly thing, THANK GOD!), causes my right eye to twitch uncontrollably and at times, I start to drool. 

Try as I might I can not fall asleep.  I have tried everything.  I am on a first name basis with the sleep sheep who are quickly growing tired of the fact that as often as I have them over to count them, nothing happens. They remind me that they're on the clock and have other insomniacs to visit.  I've tried sleepy-time teas, reading boring books (they suddenly became interesting), no sugar/caffeine/fun past 5PM (sorry hunny!), a warm bath,  and exercise.  You name it, I've tried it.  I don't want to go the Ambien/serious big-league-drug route because I tried Ambien during my final trimester when I was pregnant with Gaby.  Oh my God! Not even Demerol or Morphine left me with the kind of narcotic induced hangovers that Ambien did.   Combine the hangover with the fact that I started to sleep-walk whilst on it and you've got a big fat no-no in my book!  This is where Benadryl comes in. I can take a children's dosage of Benadryl and sleep like a rock (no, I am NOT going to say baby, because in my experience, the baby never sleeps through the night.  Haven't we already covered that?), for twelve uninterrupted blissful hours.

Wednesday night I never went to sleep.  Oh, I started to finally fall asleep around 3AM and then Gaby woke up due to a raging thunderstorm outside.  I wanted to cry.  Maybe I did.  I was so seriously sleep deprived by the time the sun finally came out late Thursday morning that I was less than lucid.  By the time Gaby went down for good last night at 8PM I was ready to crawl into bed and not crawl out for a good long time!  However, I didn't want to just trust the fact that I was so completely exhausted and thus would sleep like the dead.  Nope, I was going to insure myself a good night's sleep in the form of some Benadryl.  

After gagging down (if the pills didn't take forever to work, I'd take them! That liquid is the nastiest stuff out there!), the thick, syrupy, and sickeningly sweet red stuff, I sat on the sofa playing with my droid, I was all of a sudden overwhelmed with a craving for Cookie Crisp cereal.  I mean, OVERWHELMED!  I was salivating at the thought of a huge bowl of sweet, yummy goodness.  Despite never having had it before, I just knew it was going to be awesome.  I was starting to get a little sleepy and practically begged Gareth to go out and get me a box.  "Please please please, pretty please, I'll never ask you to ever run out and get me tampons again!  Pretty please with a cherry and a blow job on top?"

Even after the temptation of temptations, he wouldn't budge.  The man would not go out and get his wife a damned box of cereal.  It wasn't even 9PM! So as I sat there on the sofa, my mouth imagining what a spoonful of yummy cookie goodness covered in ice cold milk would taste like, I dropped my droid. While I was bending over to pick it up and trying not to fall out off of the sofa, I said the hell with it. I drowsily climbed the stairs up to our bedroom, cranked the AC to high, passed a toothbrush over my teeth (at this point, I can't even guarantee that there was actual toothpaste on it.), slipped into a tee-shirt and climbed into bed.  That's the last thing I remember until I woke up, out of a dead sleep, at 2AM absolutely drenched in sweat!

I can promise you that it was not hot in the bedroom, yet there I was, my hair plastered to my face, neck and back, my tee-shirt completely soaked through and the rest of me glistening in perspiration.  Yes, I did check just to make sure I hadn't wet the bed, and can assure you that wasn't the case.  As I sat there soaking wet in my Benadryl stupor, I was completely overcome by something akin to someone throwing hot sand all over my body.  I responded to this by breaking out in even more sweat. 

I can only assume this was my first official hot flash followed by the most ungodly case of the night sweats imaginable.  Either that or Benadryl has a fun, new side effect I've never experienced before.  However, because I'm 41 I'm pretty sure it's not a little mentioned side effect, or the results of a neglected craving. I'm assuming that I am entering peri-menopause.  Hell, for all I know, the Cookie Crisp craving is just a lovely little precursor to peri-menopause.

Don't misunderstand me, I hate hate hate hate HATE my monthly visitor.  One of my favorite things about being pregnant was the fact that Aunt Flo skipped me for nine beautiful months, longer if I was breastfeeding.   I despise that time of the month.  But, as much as I hate "The Curse", I'm not quite sure I'm ready for "The Change."  Yes, it's true, when my mom told me how old she was when she hit menopause, I was all, "What the Hell?  I've got HOW MANY MORE YEARS OF THIS TO PUT UP WITH???"  I pictured myself at the grocery store picking up both denture cream and tampons at the same time and nearly cried.  Not only that, she told me she didn't really have much of the whole hot flash, night sweats thing.  I have pretty much followed in my mom's footsteps when it comes to all things girly-related.  I assumed this would be the case with menopause as well.

When I asked my gynecologist about this she told me that I could very well still hit my mid-50's before menopause sets in and simply be peri-menopausal for the next FOURTEEN YEARS!!! What the hell?  I have a 4-going-on-14 year old that I have to manage to raise into a happy, healthy, human being while I'm going through this?  I'm not ready to start buying incontinence pads, wear bi-focals, or start watching reruns of Matlock and Murder She Wrote all while dealing with the torment of Gaby's pre-teen years and subsequent full-on teen years.  That's cruel and unusual punishment if you ask me!  And like hell if I think it's going to be fun teaching her how to drive and then asking her to pull over because "Mommy needs to find a bathroom RIGHT NOW BEFORE SHE PEES HER PANTS!"

Now that I've had a little while to sit and think about this, I think perhaps a celebration is in order.  I mean, it's better to look on the bright side, right?  RIGHT?  When I had my first period at just a month shy of 12, my Aunt Meta took me shopping and we went for a special lunch at my favorite tea garden restaurant.  I felt like a grown up.  So I think it's only fair, now that I'm entering this next phase of life that we have a little celebration. 

In honor of this special passage into a new chapter of my womanhood, I think it's only fitting that Gareth bring me a box of Cookie Crisp cereal. 

 

Why I'll Never Be a Professional Animal Photographer

1. I lack the patience to run upstairs and get one of my good, professional DSLR's.  Instead, I grabbed my point-n-shoot!  The result...blurry photos because the dang thing is too freaking slow! 

2.  Geronimo thinks I might make a tasty snack as evidenced by him licking his lips and the expression on his face.  That's what I get for expecting him to pose with a flower. The chances of being a decent animal photographer when your subject wants to eat you lessen the chances anyone will ever see the finished product!

 

3. I obviously lack any decent "cat-whisperer" skills, like the fabulous Nap Warden and her ever-patient Smokey.   Geronimo immediately rolled over when I put the "cat necklace" on him, which made taking a photo, a decent one anyhow, nearly impossible! Trying to get him to pose was about as likely to happen as me being the next Miss America!  Oh and yeah, that really is a "cat necklace"...or that's what the package at Petco said it was.  Although, I'm pretty slow and that could have been code for "The perfect accessory to make your feline despise you and plot your ultimate demise!"

 

4.  I'm pretty sure, by the look on his face in this next shot, that he's conspiring with Griffy and Gracie, our other two cats in residence, to commit some dastardly deed that ends up in me falling down the stairs or meeting my fate some other gruesome way! 

 

5.  Almost immediately after I took that last photo of Geronimo; Griffy jumped up on the couch and rolled over in what is typically his, "Human! Come rub the belly!" position.  But I'm no dummy!  

 

...I knew what he was really saying was, "Come on, I dare you in 3...2..1...CLAWS!" 

And to think that I had delusions of taking pictures of big cats like lions...or tigers and maybe even some bears!  OH MY!

 

Quote of the Day - Beauty is Only Skin Deep

"Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart"
~ Kahlil Gibran~

"Beauty and folly are old companions."

~Ben Franklin ~ 

"Let the beauty we love be what we do."
 ~Rumi ~

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Why did I pick these quotes?  Well, if you follow me on Facebook then you recently discovered that I am seriously considering having dreadlocks put in my hair.  Yes, I said SERIOUSLY.   Do you need a moment to get over the shock?

I have been mulling this over for a long time and finally brought up the subject with Gareth tonight, to discover that he is completely supportive of it.  I was almost knocked over by that revelation because he likes my hair longer and is really lovely about complementing me on it and doesn't much like shorter hair on me, and to be honest, I look hideous with short hair as we discovered in September of 2008 when I got all of my hair cut off.  If was just barely below my ears.  It was awful!  Just awful!   I cried for months!  Thankfully my hair grows insanely quickly and it's now pretty long again, and that's even after getting a couple of inches trimmed off over the summer.  Anyhow, he knows I'm getting pretty frustrated with my hair.

Dreadlocks are attractive to me for numerous reasons but the biggest one being the low-maintenance factor.  I know people don't automatically think they aren't a lot of work.  Initially when you first get them put in, depending on your hair type, it might take a little work...the dreading itself, possible waxing and depending on how you have your hair dreaded, there's a little more work at the start.  In the long run though, they are very low maintenance and even fun to play around with, and if you take care of yourself and your dreads, they look great!   Hell, I could even decorate my dreads for Halloween, Christmas, Easter...you name it - I can find a matching hair bead for it!  And hey...ever hear of Jingle Dreads?!?!

Seriously though, my hair screams 80's!!! Bon Jovi!  I HATE Bon Jovi...My big. bossy hair begs to have blue eyeshadow smoothed over my eyelids, big gold hoop earrings dangling from my ears, and Lip Smackers lip gloss rolled on my lips.  It's got tight curls on all of the bottom layers and big, floppy lazy curls on the top.  It costs more money than I care to keep spending on products...smoothing gels and creams, straighteners, glosses, and conditioners just to name a few!  As far as the blonde?  Yeah, I'll keep that up because I'm far too vain to go gray, gracefully and I've discovered that with dreads, it's a lot less expensive to keep them blonde than it is to keep my highlights going.

Don't believe me about the 80's hair?  Behold, a chunky monkey version of Blair from The Facts of Life!  I took this earlier today...

  

No matter how I get it cut or end up styling it, it's always big and annoying and a complete pain in my ass.  Most of the time I just put it up in a headband and scrunchie and call it good.

There's just something simple and beautiful about dreadlocks.  Not everyone can rock a headful of dreads...I'm not saying I can.  I am saying that whilst I know that hardly anyone else thinks they're beautiful -  well I find the beauty in their simplicity and fun!  Besides, at this point I'm still thinking about it.  Don't worry...not until you start seeing me quote Bob Marley lyrics and posting about how many different bead shoppes I've hit up!

 

It's a Meatloaf-Sandwich-for-Breakfast Kind of Day

 
image credit

I woke up this morning with a hangover headache.

Alright alright, it was in fact probably a wee bit of a hangover.   Gareth came home from work last night and knew that I hadn't had a great deal of time yesterday to really delve into all of the comments that were left on yesterdays post, or the waterfall of emails it elicited and was a bit worried that once Gaby went down for the night that I'd spend hours on the computer, frustrated.  So he took Gaby and I to dinner where I ordered my first ever Blue Moon ale.   I am not a fan of beer, ales, stouts, or even alcohol in general. I don't think they taste that great.  I drink a few times a year. I try not to overdo it because I've been known to snowboard down the stairs after having a few too many glasses of wine.  Oh...that would be the stairs IN the house!

I don't much care for beer because of the aftertaste it leaves in my mouth and it just doesn't taste good to me.  However, I thought the Blue Moon looked good for some reason so I ordered one with my meal.  A tall one.  A really tall one.   Our server told me it was her favorite ale and it had a slightly nutty/citrus flavor. 

It arrived at our table with an orange slice perched on the side of the glass.  I took a first tentative sip and discovered that I liked it.  I really liked it.  Hey Mikey!  She likes it!  

 

Sorry about that last line.  You'll only get it if you're as ancient as I am.   Anyhow, that first Blue Moon went down extremely well and Gareth, that cheeky bloke I'm married to, asked me if I wanted another? If I didn't know better, I'd say he was trying to get lucky!  

Magically, another tall frosty citrusy (that's not how that's spelled, is it?) Blue Moon landed in front of me. And down it went...albeit a bit slower than the first.  

 

By the time I got around to finishing my second ale, my cheeks were bright red and my nose was bright enough to light up a runway in the middle of a blizzard.  Or that's the way it felt anyhow.   I handed the car keys to Gareth and tucked my hand into the corner of his elbow as I weaved my way out of the restaurant.

As we made our way home Gareth mentioned that we were running really low on milk and should probably stop and pick some up.  Right at that split second my bladder commanded my full attention and I looked at Gareth and told him to go straight home because I had to pee like a racehorse!  It didn't help matters that every single bump he went over damned near sent me into the land of near-incontinence (let's keep in mind, I've had FIVE kids!), and then Gaby kept kicking the back of my seat.  I felt as if the two of them were conspiring to see who could make mommy pee her pants first!

I jumped out of the car and nearly fell flat on my face trying to wobble my way up the front stairs and into the house and then sprinted for the loo!  Relief!  And with it came almost instant sobriety.  That's just the way my body works.  I spent a little time working through the avalanche of emails and comments from earlier in the day and eventually climbed into bed and only to fall into a fitful sleep full of dreams about some sort of bizarre elephant-lion hyrbid.  I'm sure those dreams were a mixture of the Blue Moon and the fact that I fell asleep watching Planet Earth on the Animal Planet channel.  

I woke up seriously craving a huge bowl of Shredded Wheat and glass or orange juice.  This is par for the course when it comes to the night after I've over-indulged when it comes to alcohol and left my liver begging for it's life!  I always want Shredded Wheat.  Some people swear that a huge greasy fry up will kill the hangover whilst others say it's surely a little of the hair of the dog that bit you that will have you feeling aces in no time flat.  For me, it's always Shredded Wheat.  I was practically salivating over how badly I wanted a bowl of the brittle hay-like cereal.

I took a couple of bowls down from the cupboard, grabbed the Rice Krispies for Gaby and the Shredded Wheat for myself and went to grab the milk out of the fridge.  I lifted the gallon milk container and to my horror there was barely enough left for Gaby's cereal and not a drop more.  Shit!

I looked at the box of Shredded Wheat and my empty bowl and stood there, lower lip hanging out whilst I listened to the sounds of Snap, Crackle and Pop taunting me from Gaby's cereal bowl.  Bastards!

I sat Gaby down with her cereal and a glass or orange juice and thought about how a fried egg with a little bacon and toast didn't sound so bad after all.  I dug around in the meat drawer in the fridge and grabbed a pound of bacon then turned a burner on the stove on and banged a pan down on the stove top to heat up.  I really wish I hadn't  "banged" the pan down so hard.  My head is still reverberating from the sound. I opened up the package of bacon and the smell that hit me nearly dropped me to my knees.  Cheeses of Nazareth, how old was the bacon...that pig had surely passed it's "Best By" date.  In between dry heaves I scanned the package and the best by date made me gag even harder...December 15, 2009!  Shit!

OK, so I guess it's just going to be a fried egg on a piece of toast, with a glass of orange juice.  I dropped a tiny pat of butter into the heating frying pan and as it sizzled away I removed the carton of idiot proof eggs from the fridge and set them on the counter.  I opened the carton and to my horror discovered that the only thing remaining in the carton where the cracked and empty shells of eggs I'd used for something else.  Like an idiot, I'd put the empty carton back in the fridge.  Shit!

I shoved the empty egg carton into the trash bin and plopped myself down on the couch, completely disgruntled, head pounding, and stuck my lower lip out as far as it would go.   No milk, no eggs...no breakfast! 

Gaby had been watching my entire tantrum and bless her heart, offered to share her now-soggy Rice Krispies with me.  She said, "Mumma, you gots to have some breakfast! It'll make you poop!"  I told her I was good and that she was such a sweetheart for offering to share her own breakfast with me.  I stood back up and went over to the fridge, opened it and just stood there and stared into it.  Maybe I was hoping for something to jump out at me and offer itself to me.  The only thing that looked remotely appetizing was some leftover meatloaf from Tuesday's dinner.  The thought of a cold slab of ground chicken, oatmeal, eggs (dammit, that was what I used the last two eggs for!), onions and Worcestershire sauce, working it's way down my throat did not sound terribly awesome.  But then I spotted it...a loaf of bread, some mayo and the last bottle of Coke in the fridge. 

I can tell you that was pretty much the most amazing meatloaf sandwich I have ever eaten.  And my hangover headache?  Gone.  Not a trace left. Looks like a meatloaf sandwich is my new Shredded Wheat!

As I was putting away the mayo and the rest of the meatloaf I noticed that a rather large jar of maraschino cherries had been tipped over in the fridge. The lid was laying at an odd angle against the jar of cherries and thick, red, cherry syrup was dripping all over the inside of the fridge and down the back, and in between the drawers and onto all of the produce.  

Shit!

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Thanks again for all of the lovely, heartfelt and supportive comments on yesterday's post.  I have some final thoughts on some of the stuff that was mentioned and alleged as a result of the post and the comments it generated, but I'm gonna give it a day or two before delving back into it.  I still have about a hundred emails to sort through and read (or trash - that Peggy sure is a verbose creature!), and it's going to take me some time to mull it all over.  I am still confused as ever.  But then...that's nothing new.