23 September 2010

The One Where I Give Husband A Whole New Nickname

So the other night, Ass-band reached a new level of mean. Which, if you know him, you're probably now sitting there going "OMGNOWAI! HOW?!"! And I would sit here and be all like "well let me tell you" and proceed to type out this blog.

Me: "You never laugh at my jokes anymore... it's like you don't think I'm funny but other people think I'm funny so what's your issue?"
Ass-band: "I laugh at you all the time!"
Me: "THAT'S NOT THE SAME THING!! I hate you!" *takes his shoe off and flings it into the yard while extending my middle finger*
Ass-band: *annoyed face* "Go pi--"
Me: "NO! STFU!!" *random AIDS hateful thing to say and another middle finger*

Me: *random trying to be normal conversation*
Ass-band: *something completely rude and stupid*
Me: "SEE?! You're such an asshole!"
Ass-band: "I love you - which negates the stupid shit I just said, right?"
Me: "You're a douche-y epic fail..."

Me: "I'm going to blog about how mean you're to me and everyone on the internet will see it and call you Ass-band forever! You're like a less productive lap band but you hang out on anuses all day. People will knooooooooow!"
Ass-band: "You don't need to write down every stupid and mean thing I do/say because you know I'm going to do it again..." (which what he really meant was "you don't have to because it would be repetition and then what kind of blog would that be? everyone will see you're really a freaking weirdo and they won't like it anymore and then you'll be sad and I'll laugh at you, not with you.)
Me: "The world is going to pwn you and call you Ass-band." *insert silence and a very disheartened facial contortion - which is what Ass-band calls my facial expressions*
Ass-band: "I'm goin' to poop - leave me alone."

Now, to clarify, he's not really going to poop because that would be too much information. He says that when he either doesn't want to do something, or he wants to shut me up. Which is mean because he'll sit there for half an hour playing solitaire on his phone, use half a roll of toilet paper (no, that's not an exaggeration) just to piss me off, and then make a glass of tea, spill it everywhere, and sit and play XBOX. It also stomps on our communication, which is key for a healthy marriage/relationship, and that makes me sad panda face it for hours afterwards. The spilling of the tea annoys me to no end, and makes me want to throat stab kittens; I love kittehs :( He also likes to scream random things from inside the bathroom and make Melodrama beg and cry and beat on the door for him and that is just wrong. If you want to hide out, don't antagonize the toddler.

So I look up from the outline I'm writing for a speech and realize he's been gone for a while, and it's already late, and I get kinna upset cause he wasn't planning on saying good night or anything. I go stomping off to the bathroom door and stand right outside it and this is the result:

Me: "Dude, seriously, what the fuck - not cool."
Ass-band: "Well I told you what I was doing..."
Me: "Yeah, uh-huh, I heard that. Were you gonna come say good night and pick up shit you left laying out? I'm your wife, not your maid - I work, too, and you said you'd help out if I made money."
Ass-band: "No - you know already so why are you bitchin'?"
(I AM NOT BITCHING! My concerns are legit, son >_<;;)
Me: "Why do you hate me????"
Ass-band: "I don't? If you want a kiss, get it while I'm poopin'!" *cue his weird/creepy laugh*
Me: "Go die, but pick up your mess first, mean ass!"
Ass-band: "I figured you'd get done with whatever you're doing and just come to bed..."
Me: "No, because I have to do all the stupid cleaning shit before I go to bed, remember?"
Ass-band: "Yeah, whatever, they're probably not even going to show up and then you did all that for nothing." *cue more maniacal laughter and a very sad face from me that quickly turned into a really angry face*

Mean. Ass. Man. The End.

So I get right up next to the door and wait for him to come out. When he does, I get right on his back and lean on him while he's walking and the following ensues:

Me: "I'm the weight of the trees that you just killed for no reason!! The trees and the money YOU wasted - FEEL MY WEIGHT SMOTHER YOU!"
Ass-band: "I don't even like trees, woman; They take up space and that space could be a parking lot. I like those better than trees."
Me: *dumb facial contortion* "You could be a parking lot..."

Yes, I realize, that was stupid and a terrible comeback. I'm an awkward reject, it's to be expected of me to say dumb things - though I'm usually the comeback queen so...

Ass-band: "Kate, really? How the fuck am I gonna be a parking lot? You're stupid."
Me: "Well, you can't, but you could be a speed bump and people could run all over you like you run all over my HEART!" *cue sad panda face*
Ass-band: "I spilled tea; you gonna clean that shit up or not?" *maniacal laughter and an ill-timed "I love you" cover-up*
Me: ... *silence and a really random facial contortion*

This has been an important PSA about Ass-band and his mean-ness. If you see this person, call him Ass-band and laugh at him so he's not right about no one liking my blog :/

21 September 2010

Google Talk With Friends

The GT conversation I feel it's necessary for the world to see:

(12:40:05 PM) me: I need a better coffee pot that doesn't shut off after an hour - inset sad face over the Bunn I so desperately desire -
(12:40:41 PM) FRIEND: Rofl
(12:40:51 PM) FRIEND: I need a latte
(12:41:05 PM) me: I want to try the new thing Starbucks advertized on my Fb...
(12:41:14 PM) me: it was a ... fuck. me. I can't remember.
(12:41:56 PM) me: but it fucking looked amazing like a hobo singing Don't Stop Believing on the street corner with a sign that says "will work for awesome ninja powers" would look. only better.
(12:44:27 PM) FRIEND: Haha
(12:44:57 PM) me: lemme go find it again... cause I'm pretty sure you'll agree.
(12:45:56 PM) me: TOFFEE MOCHA :Q
(12:46:00 PM) me: NOMNOMNOM!
(12:48:43 PM) me: think about it - drinkable toffee and mocha... think about it.
(12:57:43 PM) FRIEND: Lol nice
(12:57:48 PM) FRIEND: sounds tastety
(12:57:50 PM) FRIEND: tastey*
(12:59:42 PM) me: tasty... tastey... it's tasty.
(12:59:46 PM) me: TASTY
(12:59:47 PM) me: hahaha
(12:59:51 PM) me: I googled it
(1:00:09 PM) FRIEND: such an odd spelling lol
(1:01:07 PM) me: I guess it's like nosy... http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/tasty
(1:01:32 PM) FRIEND: which is another odd word
(1:01:33 PM) FRIEND: haha
(1:02:31 PM) me: exactly.
(1:04:30 PM) me: dude - so Munchface was chasing me around the house, right?
(1:04:38 PM) me: well I got to the dining room and BLAM!
(1:04:46 PM) me: I caught the edge of the stool and went flying.
(1:04:51 PM) FRIEND: hahahaha
(1:04:53 PM) me: I so totally busted my face on the floor
(1:04:55 PM) me: it sucked
(1:04:59 PM) FRIEND: did she laugh at you?
(1:05:03 PM) me: then we went outside, and I noticed we sparkle
(1:05:12 PM) FRIEND: or did she make sure you were okay and then laugh?
(1:05:13 PM) me: there's something wrong with this picture - and yes, she laughed
(1:05:23 PM) FRIEND: lol
(1:05:24 PM) FRIEND: nice
(1:05:25 PM) me: then she said I'm retarded.
(1:05:33 PM) FRIEND: your daughter is cool
(1:05:34 PM) FRIEND: lol
(1:05:40 PM) me: my kid says "you reTARd" when you do something stupid
(1:05:45 PM) FRIEND: lol

RTT: Letters Are Dead; And So Is Conversation

Because you know, the internet killed them. Just sayin'...

Okay I'm doing this new thing, because I'm already so random people can rarely follow my thought process in any way, called Random Tuesday Thoughts. Enjoy the link, you're very rude.


So I woke up and my back still felt like it's trying to ask for a new mattress through pain. I'm 23, not 43, and I feel like writing a letter to someone just because I'm laying on the floor. It's cold down here; I'm not happy about it.

Munchface was so excited about Lucky Charms and The Princess and The Frog this morning that she almost brought the roof down screaming out the window at the people cutting grass "OHMYGODIT'SAFWOGGIEONTHET.VANDMOMMASAIDI'MHERPINCESSSSSSSSSSS!"
Which, yes, we think it's hilarious when she says "princess" so we tell her she's Daddy's and Mommy's and Gramma's and that random person running on the other side of the lake's "pinCessssssss". But this morning, while my coffee was still brewing, my back was aching like a geriatric, and I hadn't completed my morning routine, she wasn't a princess, she was Satan's child. As she jumped up and down and danced around, I lost my nerve to scold her for screaming like she was getting beat up by the Gnomes, however, because it was so damn cute. I miss the simple joys of childhood.

I got an e-mail from my high school pen-pal. DUDE! PEN fucking PAL. You write LETTERS - not e-mails. I miss letters and cards and written sentiments to save forever. I miss seeing handwriting and beautiful or interesting stationery. I also actually miss phone calls. I prefer human interaction over e-mails and text messages, no matter how awkward it gets for me - that kept me grounded and always finding ways to adapt. Yes, I'm a socially awkward freak unless you put a drink in my hand and some good music in the background. Yes, I'm weird and most people find me extremely difficult to understand when I start prattling on about this and that. Learning to get along with people and communicating on a primitive level is good for me. It's good for you, too, so do it, dammit! 

Husband started out-processing today... insert sad face that quickly turns to a happy sigh of relief. I am going to miss my glorious Bull-DAWG nation (a.k.a Georgia) but at the same time, it's time for a change. We're headed for the dirty south... Louisiana. Yuck.

-- but anyhow! (see, there I go getting off-topic again - do try to follow)

The Housing people reminded us that we need to hire cleaners. I called Husband and told him to make sure that they knew I wasn't paying to hire someone to clean this damn house. I clean it ALL the time, every day, and if that's not good enough for them, they can pay for it.
The doors and window weren't sealed properly so every day I'm cleaning up a multitude of bugs and random particulates from the great outdoors off of everything. It's actually pretty disgusting since I have small person running around. Here, enjoy this picture of what happens when I don't dust for just two days --

my window - two days; just two days...
the corner next to the window (sans random big yellow spot)

So you can clearly see why I feel like I've done enough. They refuse to fix every problem from the busted door that floods my dining room every time it rains like it's trying to convince me to make an Ark for two of each bug, to the leaky roof that stained the floor and ceiling that they want me to pay for... oh well.

I'm on to another subject again...

Munchface told me yesterday that she was going to go to work for Husband and I decided to take a picture of it:
cue the "aww" and stuff...

My plants are starting to make me depressed. I saved them from our last house, where they were going to be demolished, and they've flourished from near dead tiny things, to big huge elephant ears - I can't save them this time. I'm going to miss them..

So my neighbor offered me $1700 for my mixer again. I tried to tell her she could offer me $10k for it and I'd still say no, but no one ever listens to me. I'm just going to stop answering the door. Munchface tells her she smells all the time - I don't get mad at her. That should tell you something.

I lost my favourite shirt. I'm sad about that. I had to wear something random today, which fits the topic of the blog, but not my mood. I look like zebra. My only belt is zebra print, my sunglasses are zebra, and now my shirt. I have a thing for zebra print, and I love it, but I didn't realize how ridiculous I looked until I walked by the mirror.

I just told Munchface not to be ugly (she was screaming about some outside toy she wanted to bring in the house) and she looked at me with her lazer beam ninja death eyes and said "but Momma, I petty pincess, I not ugee!" and walked away.
I was just pwnd.

I want to know how a silverfish got on my ceiling; also why it decided to drop onto my head. Un-cool.

And now for the end of my blahrghhhhhhh...

enjoy the squish face-

20 September 2010

Socks And Dish Gnomes

So I came to the conclusion long ago, and reaffirmed last night, that missing socks and the likes = laundry Gnomes, right?

Well, dishes have Gnomes too, dammit!
let's get some story action going --

I was all set to go to bed last night at an extremely awesome and human time. 10 p.m. Right?


Husband informed me that I had to wash socks. Just socks. Nothing else... socks.


socks... well, ABU socks, but still socks.

He couldn't just look through the laundry baskets and find another pair that were already clean - they HAD to be the ones that he wears every Monday that have the crusted and rotted elastic and that huge toe hole.

I assume the hole is important for proper toe-breathing. What else could it POSSIBLY be?

So I run all around the house, upstairs and down, looking for all of his work crap so I can actually do a full load -- meaning I'm digging in toy boxes, under couches, inside random cabinets and drawers; with the main goal of finding socks. Please remember to note that this is a toddlers home.

yes, this is mine... I know. Don't say anything...

Flash to like 20 + minutes later...

I finally have everything wrangled together in one general pile, right? I start the laundry and settle in to surfing YouTube and playing my Facebook app obsession.

Flash to 10 or so minutes later... Yes, I "flash". I'm a Super Hero with awesome-super hero-Jedi-Ninja powers. Be warned.

I decide that I'm bored, and I want to do something productive with the hour and six minutes it takes to wash the clothes - the dishes.

YAY! I'm not procrastinating! (see previous blog about procrastination here)

Well I figure out there are several ways that I can use my time wisely. I can make the tea which I almost forgot was steeping in the kettle on the stove. I usually forget up to three times before there's finally a gallon of sweet tea in the fridge for Husband and Munchface -- an oversight that I blame on the knowledge that I'm allergic and making it breaks me out. Hives = un-cool un-fun-ness. The end.

I can pick up toys, fix up my coffee so all I have to do is press a button and I get caffeinated amazing-ness in the morning, and yes, the dishes.

the cleaning process - you shoulda seen it before o_o;

I also did something nice and set up a "thank you" picture for the person who gave the board to Munchface...


I do all of the above, and re-settle onto my little spot on the couch to continue my internet debauchery - my little way of doing the whole "relax" and "piddle around" thing...

Ninja-Jedi-super hero-awesome -flash to the highly annoying "beep" sequence of the wash cycle ending...

I'm extremely excited -- it's time for bed and the dishes are done, the toys are put away, the coffee is ready to brew, the tea is made, the internet is surfed, and now the laundry is done - go me.

I even made up a list for Husband ^_^

I get up to meander in to the laundry room, dreading the weight of three sets of ABUs, 7 shirts, and numerous pairs of sock, and what do I see?


This is after I picked them up, but you get the idea (yes, that's my heat that I pack - are you scared?)


DUDE! Did I not JUST do a LOAD of DISHES?!

Dish Gnome, you sneaky, sneaky little rat bastard!

And it's not like it's a load of dishes, either.

It's a fucking cup; It's a fucking salad fork; It's two fucking dishes.

fuck you, dishes.

Do not fail to note that it's Husband's TEA glass -- complete with sticky tea goop in the bottom that I can't scrub out by hand because my hand doesn't fit into teeny tiny crevices, and neither does my sponge.

And they're sitting there all defiantly in the window sill where he put them...

Now, everyone is always complaining about their Laundry Gnomes. Not this guy; This guy is complaining about Dish Gnomes.

Dish Gnomes are not responsible for missing silverware - no, not that. They're responsible for fucking up your clean kitchen and your life with randomly-placed dirty dishes that escaped the last load of the day.

I was so proud of myself and all that I had accomplished... Braving the case lot sale crowd at the Commissary for groceries; Cleaning my house; Cleaning my bird's cage like I was preparing it for his transformation into the first Zombie cockatiel; Cooking a dinner that pleased everyone, including small person a.k.a Munchface; drawing awesome chalk art at 9:30 p.m to amuse Munchface while she trampled invisible bugs and alerted the neighborhood of their impending doom of the presence of the moon at the top of her lungs and honestly didn't really pay all that much attention to my chalk art so I really didn't have to do it but I did at the same time because that's just what the fuck I HAD TO DO...

when he goes Zombie, he's going in style, son...

the rabbit is NOT mine; it's Husband's...

that weird duck thing isn't mine, either.

.. and these two tiny dishes are just fucking raining despair and defeat on my sunshine-and-fucking-rainbow-cereal-shitting-unicorns day.

I felt like the biggest domestic failure ever.

Jedi-Ninja-super hero FLASHHHHHHHhhhh!!! ...

So now I'm sitting outside chain-smoking and sipping the first soda I've had in months; debating on whether or not this is an epic enough emergency to call my Mom's work and have them page her so I can wait ten minutes just to be able to cry about my meaningless woes to someone who gives a shit about me..

Because if Husband loved me, even a smidge, he would've put the dishes in the fucking kitchen where the Dish Gnomes couldn't ruin my night.

Touché, Dish Gnome. You're the clear victor in this battle.

You've won my sanity and an all-expense paid cruise vacation to suck my hypothetical balls.

Douche-y as you are, I applaud thee.

random picture of something I made for work, because I feel like putting it here. fucking deal, son.

19 September 2010

Procrastination And Dinosaurs, Now With Clay-mation!

In lieu of cleaning my kitchen, I'm going to blog.
Procrastination is awesome, is it not? I used to be an expert in the art, but as I got older, I got my life under control and always had things done on time.

Erm... yeah, not so much now.

I'll pretty much put anything off that I can. There are some days I work and take care of Munchface, but that's about all I get done. I even make Husband get dinner if I'm feeling especially lazy. Now, that may not sound like procrastination, but trust me, it is. I have to clean my kitchen, and here I sit... here I've sat.

For two days.

It's just some dishes, and by some I mean like two plates and three cups and a skillet used to make eggs -- I just procrastinated writing by playing Jedi balloons with Munchface... see?! I'm hopeless.

I seriously should be up doing something productive with my time - like the dishes.

But Husband has dinosaurs on his computer screen, and I'm inclined to watch that and cartoons with Munchface. Which paid off because I just heard the words Zombie and brain-swapping in the same sentence. Epic!

I think I'll read some of my book and then get up and do the dishes and wash up some uniforms for the week so Husband doesn't try to wear the same shirt twice. He decided to do his own laundry last week, and only did one shirt and three pairs of socks.

Um, yeah, not gonna work.
Especially when there are five work days, four deducting Blues Monday from the equation.

Yep, I just stalled out again by googling reasons dog tag silencers can smell like a perm. Don't ask.

Here's to procrastination. I just got to see a Youtube video of dinosaur clay-mation.


watch herez :o!


16 September 2010

I Feel: The Need To Share Stupid Things With You

As Husband likes to scream randomly and for no apparent reason - I feel.

Like crap. I don't know if the insomnia, allergies, heat/chill, excursion into public, or general lack of motivation is to blame. I'm starting to believe it's leaving the comfort of my non-socially awkward home that makes me feel like I'm scraping the bottom of the "living and breathing" barrel for days after the trek.

Munchface fell asleep on me today and I couldn't get up and start doing things around the house for fear of waking her, so I slept right along with her.

Bad idea.

I woke up with a strong urge to put the baby gate up in front of her door and leave a snack and a movie rolling so I could go back to sleep. Needless to say, I sat there until I was awake enough to help her down the stairs - while she sat there and played bongo drums on my head. I think she was trying to recreate taps or something as they blared through the window. I just laid there, still and hoping she'd magically fall back and sleep another 12 hours. Didn't happen...

General Dudeman invited Husband to a pin-on ceremony today. Awesome? Yes. Uncool at the same time? Roger. With a little over a month before we're officially a civilian family again, ready to assimilate to the non-military life outside of base confines, we have to buy new Dress Blues. Lame. Military uniforms are basically priced the same way as necessary medications and college textbooks. Ridiculously expensive for no apparent reason other than "we know you need these, so we know you'll pay this asinine amount of money for them".

Not exactly fun for us. Hey, military, if you want us to pay half a paycheck for uniforms when needed - pay better.

Husband came home today after buying said items and was all "Hey! My girls are awake. Woman, baby-thing, how was your day? I'm super hyper, super excited, and super ready to get on your nerves with my chipper demeanor!".

Not really the second part of that, but the first did get on my last nerve. When I'm not chipper and in a pleasant disposition, I don't want you to be either. I want you to recognize the signs of my exhaustion and extreme "blah-ness", and back off. Munchface was extremely happy to see him, and was eager to reciprocate his enthusiasm with equal parts of her own, however, which was a good thing; At least he brought an offering of Red Bull and bottled water.

I read today via military.com that The Air Force has decided to extend deployment times from 120 days to 179 days. Exactly one day short of an achievement medal - which is well deserved after the utter bullshit they have to go through. I for one am extremely displeased, and have already drafted yet another extremely upset letter to my state government. How can you sit there and cheat people who are already spending time away from their family and friends out of something they deserve - by one day? Makes me more thankful that I'm about to join the civilian ranks. They're so determined to screw people at every turn that they're ruining the quality of Airmen they keep in. They're alienating wonderful Airmen like Husband, and keeping in crap-tastic ones that don't care about their job - at all.

Husband is getting forced out, but at the same time, not. We're both extremely happy the MEB didn't correctly review his case file because it means freedom for us.

I kind of secretly hope there's a coup, and the upper echelons of the Air Force are usurped from their positions. There also needs to be a competent president from a military background to make decisions, but I'll save that for another day.

I just had a cookie hurled at my forehead, with deadly accuracy. Munchface is going to be a ninja sniper prodigy at the rate she's going. Special Ops, look out.

15 September 2010

Taps Aren't Cool When You're Tired

Okay, rant time. Small one, but rant nonetheless.

After not sleeping, driving to Atlanta, getting gawked at - oh, just see previous blog; I'm too lazy to type this out again.

Yeah, but after all that, I didn't even get to sleep until the Munchface woke up. Thank you taps at 0700. I'm not that patriotic. I care more about my sleep, than the music you blare into my bedroom window every morning. I stop my car at 1700, I stand with my hand over my friggin' heart if I'm out somewhere, and I make Nigel do the same, whether he's in uniform or not. I'm not doing that in the morning. I'm also not doing it at 2200, either. Once a day should be enough for you! It's enough for the vitamin, why isn't it for you? I can only be so respectful when I'm tired.

On a random happy note, Munchface is completely over the whole stomach bug thing. It doesn't stop her from telling everyone we meet that her "belly hurted". Neighbor decides to walk by randomly on their way to do who knows what? Yes, you guessed it, "HEY! Heeeeeeyyyyyyyy! Hey baby, my belly hurted!". Random group of PT-ers running on the other side of the street? Yes, again, she tells them.

*sigh* Oh, the joys of motherhood.

By the way, is it completely normal to have your kid licking the inside of a chip bag mumbling "nomnom"? I haven't decided to eat my feelings in a while. She didn't get it from me.

*glares at husband's chair*

14 September 2010

Will You Provide Treatment For Us?

My life is apparently destined to suck ass at all times for some reason. I'm feeling like ass after my excursion outside the homestead today. Apparently, I didn't eat this morning - yes, I know, I ignored myself and didn't eat. I'm not going to make excuses, but you try not getting to sleep because of stress/worry/ZA noises outside until almost four in the fackin' morning, getting up before the sun decides to make its daily debut, then trying to wrangle a slightly stupid husband and a very hyper child into a very small car to drive through Atlanta "nightmare" traffic to Scottish Rite Hospital. I might as well have one of those enclosed golf cart-ish tiny cars with as much room as we have in it.

Traffic, albeit not the best, wasn't the worst. Only problem there was I budgeted our time for "bad" traffic, and we ended up getting there like two hours early. Enter stage right - the waiting game. I've never been so bored, or quite so exposed in my life. I might as well have been naked with how people were staring at me. I don't think having an alternative view on how a mother should look really deems all those gawking rejects necessary. Yes, I have a child. No, I don't wear jeans up under my boobs, weird sweaters, and a Farrah feathered hairstyle. I don't think it's necessary to take my piercings out, or cover my tattoos, just because my body made a little person. Stop staring at me like I'm 1940's Germany and you're a fleeing minority.

I'm not going to burn your house down, I'm not going to rob you, and I'm not going to hurt you - though I may talk rather sternly to you like a mother chastising her child because you let your kids run around a very large facility unchecked, and are therefore putting them at risk to be hurt by others.

Yes, obviously my piercings, tattoos, and normal clothes make me a bad mother; yet I've always got my child in check, I'm always watching her, and she's healthy, happy and intelligent. Thank you for your concern, though, stranger. Now please fuck off. Go raise your own child, and I'll keep doing what I'm doing with mine.

When we finally got to see her doctor, I was so happy we I went through all the driving/staring/planning stress to get to that point. He's amazing. Rudy likes him, I like him, and Husband - who cares? He is really good with her; not demanding but polite. He treats her like she's an intelligent child who isn't too stupid to understand simple commands like "sit just like that", "take your shoes off for me", etc. He is also going to get her taken care of, come what may, by the first week of October. Hooray medical competence! Husband doesn't like him as much as I do because he's younger. Guy is like in his early 30's, but he's probably been in college since he was 16. He's extremely intelligent, and he knows what he's doing. Something we haven't seen in any other specialist since Hawaii. He also treated me with respect and not like an overly-concerned parent. I greatly admire someone who treats me like I'm of a higher understanding than a high-school dropout.

I'm desperately thirsty and nothing sounds good but Sonic. I think I'm about to take a blogging break for a huge sprite. Yes, I take snack breaks during my blogging. I'm a dork.

13 September 2010

Look Mother, I'm Falling: A Piece of A Whole

Please remember that everything I post that I've written sans poetry are only pieces of a larger work.
If you get lost, it's okay... they're also the unedited versions... deal with it.

... Look Mother, I'm falling.

Deeper and deeper into this hollow of a black hole.
This expanse of nothingness.
I can feel the darkness consume me.
There is no room for life.
For light.
No need.
It is serene now in this no where place.
The dark is so cool...

I may never recover.
I may never return...

The abyss may become my home.
I may never see life again.
I may never feel light kiss my skin.

There is no need.
For I am left with nothing.

This hollow...
Is so real.
So very vibrant in its darkness...

My heart...

or something like that...
Who fucking knows?

Maybe I am crazy.
Maybe they're right.

Maybe SHE'S right...
Mommy dearest may be correct in assuming I have lost it.
Fucking bitch.
She has no clue.

It's Wednesday.
He hasn't called since Friday.
He's trying to kill me, you know...
I saw him.

Watching me, waiting for his chance, stalking my eyes to see when I would look away...

He thinks I am crazy.
He thinks I love him.
What does he know?

Fucking prick.

Mommy dearest may be right.
I may have lost it...

I should dye my hair.
Cut it.
Cut myself...
I need to do something. I need to change somehow... I am so tired of how I look now. Too thin.

Too thin...
Too fat.
Too brunette.

I think I should cook something with chicken for a nice dinner.
I think I should invite him, even though he hasn't called.
Fucking bastard.

He's trying to kill me, you know...
I told my shrink.
He thinks I have lost it.

What does he know?
He's so one dimensional.
He doesn't ever think I could be right.

I think I love him.
He's good to me.
He gets paid to be good to me.

Sunday I will do the crossword.
I will have bagels.
I will have lots and lots of juice.
Not orange.

Orange juice is the government's way of brainwashing...
They do that so they get you when you're young and stupid and will drink it because that's what you're supposed to do.

I still think he's trying to kill me.

12 September 2010

The Reason You Don't See Me Talk About September 11th

So yesterday was "9/11"... fuck that day.
Seriously, I don't want to hear about it, I don't want to think about it, but that's not going to happen...

See, what people don't get, is I think about it every single day.
I obsess over what I lost that day... all the time.
The people we knew that lost people, the terror, etc.. and more.

The day those towers fell, was the day my best friend, my honest to god soul mate, and the only person in the universe who ever "got" me, and accepted me, flaws and all, changed his life.

He dropped out of college, signed up for the Army, and went gung-ho G.I Joe.
My peace loving, pot smoking, chill-tastic and amazing friend, was going to be a soldier.
He justified it by saying it was his duty, that it wouldn't be that bad, that he'd look smoking hot in that uniform...
Like I didn't already think the sun shone out of his ass. 

So I write to him every day of basic, I go see his graduation, and I settle in as Army BFF and probably future gf/wife/etc.
Things are fine, we visit, I have serious make-out sessions with him because yes, he looked amazing in that uniform, and we go through a deployment.

Then, he has to move. Not like we're not already going months without seeing each other whereas we used to be attached at the hip, but now he's leaving me.
I go on with my life, and we see each other every chance he gets... only now I'm a little older, and I'm a LOT prettier..

As I am heading off to college, his second deployment comes up... this time, it's going to get a lot worse according to him.
"I love you Kateydid, I'll write you. I'll try to call you. Will you wait for me? Seriously. Wait for me..."
"Duh, dipshit. I love you. I'll talk to you soon."

A couple months of sleeping with my damn phone, and constantly checking the mail... and all is well. I'm waiting for him, he's showing my picture off and people are talking about my tits in the fucking sandbox. Totally normal behavior for us.

"Kateydid, we're moving out. I will talk to you as soon as I can. I miss you and I love you... I got your last letter, and I'll write back as soon as we stop."
"Please for the love of jesus, don't be a hero. Just do your job, and call me in a few days. I love you dipshit, I'm still waiting."

Fast forward to three weeks... I'm calling his fucking parents, his friends, his ex girlfriend... I'm FREAKING the FUCK out.
No one has heard from him. According to his battle's wife, that's normal.

No. No the fuck it's not.

Exactly one month and a day, thirteen hours, sixteen minutes after the last time I heard his voice, his Mom calls me...

to tell me he's gone.

and with him, went my life.

My hero, my best friend, my dipshit...

I will always love you, dipshit. I will always remember the good times, the bad times, the stoned times, and the stellar times. I will forever hold you in my heart.

I miss you; I love you; Keep looking out, cause I sure need an angel like you.

Random Poem from forever ago...

As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear all evil.
For it is all around me. It surrounds and swallows my will to live.
To keep walking I must lose pieces of my soul. One for every time I look back and dream of the easy way out.
The way that only the weak take... I am not weak.
I am strong. I defeat the ever looming, ever lurking reality.
I keep walking.
Thinking of what I have to walk for. What lies on this path through  
I face my demons, I scream for salvation from the damned.
I receive no such releif. Only laughter from the ones bound to protect me.
I keep walking.
My life. My love. My sanity. My existance.
All lie at the end of the road I am destined to walk.
A beautiful face, a loving embrace.
A place to call home. Even if I never go back, I kow that it will always wait.
I need never look for love, for I have found it.
I keep walking.
Tales of my life flow in and out of my mind.
I hear the soft laughter of the ones waiting on the other side of this realm.
It gives me hope to know that I am part of the happiness that resides within them.
I keep walking.
There is so much to do. So much to see...
I scream and fall to my knees from the pain of this chosen path.
It holds me there. Paralyzed in its grasp, I want to give up.
Give in.
Soft coos, the feel of a gentle kiss full of all the love it ever promised and more.
I struggle.
I beat  and tear at the hold on me. Call out to whoever created this abyss.
It cannot hold me down.
I overcome the obstacle, and rise from my knees.
I keep walking.
The end nearing, I grow weary. Thoughts of rest fill my mind.
I start to run.
I will never give up, never surrender.
I will break through the haze of the valley before me.
I will be home.
safe in the arms of the one I gave my heart to, smiled upon by the part of that heart that crawls around outside of me.
I will win.
There is nothing I can't do. Nothing I won't do.
I keep running.
Just as cannot go anymore, I am home. Arms strong and full of love envelope me. Comfort me.
Give me the strength I need to make it through another day.
Nothing will ever hold me back.
I gain my greatest strength from the ones who hold my heart.
They free me from the darkest corners of my mind.
I keep going for them.

Promises; Another blast from the past...

Biting her lower lip, she stared into the mirror…

She could see her slightly large nose, her chipped front tooth, the dark circles under green eyes… She was staring so hard she squinted. The reflection squinted back. It was like she saw someone scrutinizing her, telling her she was damaged. She wished the person in the mirror wasn’t so familiar. She closed her eyes to make the assailant fade away.

She was such a drama queen… That’s what her dad said to her everyday over the phone… She couldn’t disagree with him. There was no one in the mirror. It was herself she was so afraid of. It hurt to close her eyes to the truth, but she squeezed them just a little tighter to drown out her conscience.

There was a soft knock at the door, and she opened one eye. She knew he would come to try and take her away… he always tried to save her. The only question was did that make her crazy? Did him rescuing her from absolutely nothing make her one of those crazy people in the padded cells?

“Honey? Is everything okay? Can I come in?”

She cleared her throat and tried to choke back the hot tears of embarrassment. “Come on in, babe. Everything’s fine.” She had become such a liar…

“So, um, whatcha been doing in here?” He tried so hard to sound normal, but his face gave away his concern that she was doing it again. Sadly enough, she was.

“Just trying to clear out some of the clutter… did you know we have like ten bottles of shampoo? I never knew that we had so much space in this bathroom!” She smiled her chipped smile, catching it in the mirror.

She didn’t know that when she smiled, she melted him to the core. She was his goddess. He loved her with passion and fire fit for worship. He had never noticed her chipped tooth, her circles, or the fact that her nose was a little too big for her delicate face. He thought she was an angel. He would die to make her happy.

“I guess we need to stop making a rats nest out of our apartment… It really is small enough already. Hey, sweetheart, want some help in here? It is half my mess, too, you know.”

“Oh honey, it really isn’t your job to clean. If you want, though, you can scrub the toilet. It needs it around the rim.” Her loud laughter made his knees weak. She was smiling a real smile. It warmed his heart to see it. It had been so long…

“For that, gorgeous, I will gladly scrub the toilets of hell…”

“For what?” She giggled and leaned into his broad chest, stroking his neck with a tiny hand.

“That amazing smile, the laughter, the love I feel when I’m near you…”

She looked up at the man she loved more than anyone in the world, and smiled. She couldn’t help but be happy when he was near her. He was her everything. He made her feel like a princess. She was giddy for him. She reached up with her mouth, and kissed his chin. He was so much taller than her…

He kissed her back. A long, drawn out, lazy kiss. One full of the love and heat he felt for her. He had saved her again, and she was responding much better than she ever had. Could this mean she was starting to get better?

“Hand me the brush, and I’m off to slay the scum dragons!” He winked at her and made a low bow.

“Yes, my knight in shining boxers, save me from the evil king scumbag, and his germmenites!” Again, her gorgeous laughter filled his heart.

She went on about the underside of the sink. Thoughts of how happy they were crept into her head. She only wished she could overcome her obstacles for him… it was all so hard, and she was well aware of the fact that he laid awake almost every night and tried to come up with new ways to help her.

She tried every day to stop feeling the way she felt. Like she should give up. She saw all the flaws in her life before the perfections. She thought about her mother a lot, too. She was just like her in her own eyes.

She thought she’d do what she had done…

It scared her. It made her very aware of the resemblance between her, and the woman on the other side of the glass. The woman who had hurt so many…

On the other side of the partition, her knight in shining armor was elbow deep in cleaning their tiny toilet, and even deeper in thought. A tiny bit of water splashed into his face. He paid no attention to the Clorox scented water.

What had brought on the sudden happiness in his lover? He knew she was staring at her mother’s reflection again. Something he couldn’t help but question. She was nothing like her, and he couldn’t make her see.

He had met her while he visited his brother. Locked away for grand theft auto over three years ago. She had been visiting a woman he had originally thought to be her twin. She was so beautiful; he couldn’t help but almost accost her for her number.

They had gone out on a beautiful date. He had fallen in love with her when he kissed her goodnight. She was everything he had ever wanted. His soul mate. It was only months later, when he found her almost dead in her kitchen, that he realized if he was ever going to get to spend eternity with her, he would have to save her from herself first.

He had moved her into a tiny apartment off fifth and sixth. He had let her quit her jobs. He had given her a ring. Given her his hand. His heart. They went to see her mother every week. The therapist he had also given her thought that if he could go with her, listen to what went on, and tell her all the differences he found, it would help.

Nothing was helping. All he could do was watch. Wait.

The woman who haunted his wife’s mind had killed a family of four. Her lover’s family. Her lover. She had hurt her father by cheating on him. Then when things didn’t go as planned, she hurt her lover.

How very CSI…

What he couldn’t understand was how his beautiful and loving wife could ever think she was predestined to do the same.

He could only assume that since she saw her mother in the mirror, she was afraid eventually, she would become her mother. It was so absurd to him, but he could understand her fears.

She had told the therapist, and eventually him, about why she felt this way. She had fallen in love.

She told them both that she was so afraid that history would repeat itself. That their fairytale romance would go cold, she would look for passion, and find it in the arms of another man. That man would hurt her, and she would hurt him back. That she would not only hurt that random man, but in the process, hurt the man she loved beyond reason.

He knew she could, nor would, never do that, but it was so hard to make her understand he saw into her soul, and knew it could never happen. If she would only listen…

“Am I safe for another week, my love?” He reveled in the sound of her happy voice.

“Yes. You are safe now, and forever more, for you have me. And I will never let anything hurt you!” he tried to make it sound light, but the heaviness of his thoughts clouded his voice.

“Methinks someone wants to talk…”

“Methinks you think right. Will you take a walk with me? This apartment makes me claustrophobic.”

“I would follow you anywhere, and you know that. Let me grab some shoes, and I’ll meet you at the door.”

She had known this day would come. The day he could no longer keep his thoughts private. She was ready to listen now, after so many years… she only hoped he could understand if it didn’t help. A wave washed over her. A wave of hope.


At the door, she was greeted with his dazzling smile and rumpled jeans. No matter how much ironing she did, he wouldn’t let her iron those jeans. They fit him to a tee… he was so handsome. She couldn’t help but grin at him.


“You look handsome in those ratty things, and I can’t figure out why.”

“Well, then it must be one of life’s little mysteries, or the fact that I am just so sexy…”

“It’s definitely the latter, hon. You’re always dead on…” her laugh was melodic to him. He was almost in a state of hypnotism just standing where he could see and smell her. Taste the scent of the one he loved.

“Let’s go, angel. We have a lot of walking to do.”

“Lead the way.”

Four blocks later, Starbucks in hand, he finally began to tell her what was on his mind.

Fifty blocks in, she was sitting on a bench beside him, hand in hand. They were both crying. Passersby thought it might have been a death in the family, or even a tiny lovers’ quarrel. It was neither.

It was the two of them realizing that she wasn’t hopeless, and he was the cure to her disease. She couldn’t believe the things he told her.

“You just don’t realize how much I love you. I can see your soul, Nick. You’re not her. Don’t make yourself become her. She’s so fucked up, baby. You’re not. Please… just, I don’t know, just love me. I love you… can you just be happy with me?”

She could just be happy with him. She knew it. Therapists could not help her overcome her fears, but the love of the one she loved could. She was finally starting to believe the words he had told her for so long. It had taken so long for him to open up and be real, instead of real weird, about all of it.

Gone were the days of trying to say something constructive… at block 37, she had told him to let it all out. Get angry if he wanted. Scream and rant, hit her even. Just be real…

At block forty, he let it all out. And it was all the thoughts he had had what seemed like an eternity ago, scrubbing away the germminites in their apartment. She had been such a good listener. She hadn’t gotten mad, she hadn’t walked away… she just listened.

When he had said his peace, they sat on a bench. They didn’t say anything.

They cried together.

She had taken his hand… hers was so small, and his so big…

They were going to be alright.

She was going to be alright…

He had promised her eternity.

He had promised her sanity. He had fulfilled all his promises, and now it was her turn.

Broken; A piece written long ago...

She sat on the floor of her room, surrounded by pictures of her past. A half-empty bottle of vodka sat beside an astray full of spent cigarettes. One still lit filled her lungs and the air with acrid smoke.

Tears ran down her pale cheeks from red, puffy, dull eyes that glistened in the flickering candle light.

Pain seemed to suffocate any light or life that entered the space she occupied. Another swallow of liquor, another cigarette lit, she picked up another photograph and stared. Fresh tears ripped through her. Sobs racked her tiny frame. If she could only die... She wanted the release of death the way addict fiends for the next big score... It was what she craved... Desired...


The quality of her life could only sustain her for so long... She didn't eat anymore... Her friends told her
she had a disease...

No shit.

She tore at the picture until it resembled her once beautiful life. A now broken dream; tiny, irreparable pieces of what was. Her glowing smile, her intoxicatingly optimistic personality, her reasons for living...

They were all broken.

She was broken.

A strange word to use for a person, but her emotions left her almost a robot. She was programmed now to only perform basic functions, and gone were the days of extracting joy from life. She ate, she slept, she breathed.

Until even that had become too much... So she stopped eating. She stopped sleeping...

All that was left to her was breathing... And now that was becoming too hard...

She was barely alive...

So another swallow of vodka, and another photograph. Oh God, they look so happy... she and Him. She destroyed the picture in mirror fashion to all the others. Sobbing even harder, she tore at her arms and legs with bloody, bitten nails.

She screamed.

Her cigarette was extinguished on the pale, taunt skin of her foot. She wanted to feel the pain...

Immediately she lit another, and tossed the empty pack to the side. She groped around in the fleeting light to find another. She heard her conscience tell her to stop. No more. Get over it.


She stared at all the tiny pieces of photo... Hopelessness filled her.

What was the point of life now?


Another photo, and another glimpse at her budding insanity, brought an astray settling on the other side of the room in a pile of ashes and glass.


Just like her.

A rusted and discarded razorblade found itself making a jagged path down a shrunken breast. Blood welled up and trickled down to a scabbed and shriveled nipple. Congealing only for a moment, it found its way to the disgusting floor between her legs.

So ashamed of her body she'd become...

She wanted to cleanse it...

Squeezing on her breast, she erupted in a cacophony of metallic laughter as blood continued to flow unimpeded to the floor. The sound was inhuman... The once creamy skin was tainted with blood.

First bright.

Then dull.

She found a crumpled up shirt of His... It needed washing weeks ago... She scrubbed at her fresh wound.

There was so much pain...

So much pain she convulsed, writhing in agony.

It was so good...

Sweet death...

So close, yet so far... She felt like God was punishing her, keeping her on some sort of sick and twisted life support...

So many pictures to destroy... it was so nice of Him to leave her to her memories...

Cleansed. She wasn't cleansed... She still had Him in her system...

All of this was His fault. He made her do this. Made her hate so strongly the life she once loved.
He broke her.


She put her cigarette out on her breast. The sizzle of the hot ash mixing with the blood was music to her.
She smiled... and the smile, which once lit up entire rooms, now shone of dark madness.

It faded.

She slung an empty bottle at someone who wasn't there. It shattered satisfyingly against some unseen surface, and with a nod of approval, she opened another and drank deeply from it.

She shuddered.

Another cigarette lit, she groped for another photograph.

A beautiful black and white... Her life was now all black and white.

Not beautiful...

She licked her dry, cracked lips, and set the picture on fire.

She watched it burn into nothing. She wanted to be the picture...

She wailed into the night.

She pulled out a handful of dirty, disgusting hair. She felt blood well up in her scalp.

She burned it with insanity now shining bright in her dull eyes.

The ring finger on her left hand was now the enemy. She burned it.

No one was there to hear her agonizing screams as she watched the flesh blacken... bubble... seemingly melt off...

Until there was nothing but bone...

This madness had to end...

She was through playing this game...