Fumes...

Oh God.
Oh no.

I'm just sitting here trying to enjoy a delightfully unhealthy raspberry muffin and two ladies walked in and sat by me smelling of every flower, plant, tree, weed, and probably fertilizer known and unknown to mankind.
Cough! Cough!  Hack! Hack!
Holy shit.  I'm suffocating.  I can taste their perfume!  It's tastes a tad like what I imagine Windex to taste like.  You know, poisonous.
Should I call poison control?  Have I inhaled too much?  Is this going to cause permanent damage?  Dammit, every time they make any movements it wafts over to me.  I'm sure it's getting into the muffin. Should I stop eating it?  But I'm fucking starving.
Cough! Cough!  Hack! Hack!
It doesn't even smell good.  You know, I can handle strong perfumes to a point, but when it's this strong and directly 3 feet away from my nostrils...it is almost impossible.  It reminds me of a woman who was in my culinary arts class who was a raging alcoholic and tried to "hide" the leftover stink with half a bottle of cheap-ass rose scented perfume.  Horrific memories just relived, without the gin.

Hey ladies, go take a shower with an SOS pad and burn your clothes.  Don't come in here smelling like that shit again.  Quality, not quantity.  You failed...twice.

What Am I 12 Or Something?

I looooove music.  Love it.  Music has found a way to get me through some rough times, it has helped inspire me to do really cool things, and it has given me energy when I've been completely drained.  But lately, my taste in music has...I don't know...changed?  I'm not sure how, though.  I enjoy listening to Pandora.  I listen everyday when I write and when I take Farrah to school.  Different stations, mind you.  My writing requires music that is current, but has a smooth and sexy sound to it.  When I'm with Farrah or at home needing that extra energy boost, then it's the up beat, dance-my-ass-off music.  However, I've found a pattern along the way that has suddenly come to my attention no matter what station on Pandora I'm listening to.

Oh, wow, I love this song!  I'm going to give it a "thumbs up".  I'm going to download it from iTunes!  Who is this?
One Direction?
What?  Who is that?  A boy band.  Hmmm.  Okay.

Oooo, another great song!  The lyrics are pretty good and sweet.  Who is this?
One Direction?  Again?  Okay.  Download.

Wow! This song is so fun and upbeat and it makes me feel like dancing like a maniac.  Who is this?
One Direction?  What the fuck?  Okay.  Download.

Aw, I'm having a sad day, but something about this song is making me feel so much better.  Who is this?
Wait...let me guess.  One Direction.  Jesus H. Christ, what's happening to me?!!  Okay.  Download.

Ummm...these are boys.  Young boys.  Is it even legal for me to enjoy songs by them when they're singing about some other dude screwing their ex-girlfriend. (I assume they share her because they're all singing about the same girl in the same song).  Luckily, I've seen that they are of legal age to be screwing a girlfriend or the same girlfriend, or whatever.

It's just a little weird to me that I truly do enjoy their music, but there's a piece of me that wonders if I'm not just trying to relive my past a bit...

Yeah.  I think that is a good possibility.

Distracted

When is it difficult to write a book?  When you're sitting next to a group of old ladies discussing...a book.  I'd seen the one woman start moving tables and chairs together and I knew what was coming next.  More old women to join her...right next to my table.  A book club.  And since they can't hear well, they talk loud.  Like, real loud.  I saw an open table clear across the coffee shop and started to gather my stuff in desperation to quickly move so I could actually get some work done without this distraction.  No such luck.  Another lady had walked in and took it.  In fact, she made eye contact with me when I looked at her with my computer and cord in hand and then she pretended like she didn't just totally steal my table to save me from the book club next to me.  Real nice.  I should've taken the crumbs from the scone I just ate and made a trail away from the table to lure her away from my table, but I figured that might have been going over the top and I could find a way to survive this.
And here I sit, blogging instead of writing my book because I am distracted.  The women are talking about the book, one of their daughters' wedding coming up, how to email, and their lunch.  During all of this, there is loud music playing today and I am directly under a speaker.  So, to drown it all out I have my earbuds in and the volume up with Coldplay vibrating against my eardrums.
All of this is a mix of not-gonna-get-shit-doneness.  I'll attempt it again, but I'm concerned what I've worked so hard on will suddenly seem like an eight year old wrote it.  It might already be like that, but I'm just sayin'.

Ladies, please wrap it up so I can, too.

Dinner...

I went to a local little drive-thru 50s style restaurant for dinner this evening.  Fine dining for me and Farrah!  I ordered our meals and we pulled up to wait...and wait, and wait, and wait.

Farrah:  What's taking so long?  This is sooooo boring!

Me:  Honey, I ordered the fish sandwich so they had to send someone out to the river to catch it, gut it, and clean it.  They're on their way back now to cook it.  (All with a straight face)

Farrah:  But...wait...what? What???  Huh??

Me:  Everything is fresh here, Farrah, so we just have to wait.  (Now starting to laugh a little at myself)

Farrah:  Mom, are you serious?  You're not serious, are you?  You're laughing.

Then I burst out laughing hysterically.  I kept picturing some guy walking back from the river with a fishing pole and the "catch of the day" and her believing every word.  It's just too easy sometimes...and I can be very convincing when telling her stories.

Dayum!

How do you not laugh when a child swears?  Really.  We're playing Wii bowling, I got a spare, and Farrah says, "DAMN RIGHT YOU DID!!!"

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing."

"Seriously, I need to know so I can correct it.  Did you just say damn?"

"I think...um...yeah."

"Well, don't say that."

That's how I went about "correcting" it and proceeded to laugh with her asking me not to laugh at her.

Damn, she's hilarious!

What's-Her-Name's Wedding Shower

I'm 95% positive I've never written about this, and I am utterly disappointed with my lack of awareness of such an important story.  Mind you, there's still that 5%.  I may have written about it...but I doubt it.

This is not a story about my wedding shower, but rather someone else's.  Years ago, when we joined Gold's Gym in Smokey Point, Mike made a friend that he worked out with from time to time.  They became buddies and decided that maybe the women should meet.  Excellent idea.  We had dinner at our house and it was awkward but fine.  We were later invited to a 4th of July neighborhood party at their place by the guy.  Their neighbors were dicks.  One told us a story about how his cat had pissed him off so he grabbed it by the tail, swung it around and through it outside.  Everyone there thought this was hilarious...HAHAHAHAHA!  Idiot.  Though, I'm not one for confrontation (especially a complete stranger who's patio I was sitting on), I had to educate him in front of everyone.

"Did you know when you grab a cat by its tail, you're grabbing his spine?  So when you flung your cat out the door by his tail, you were actually doing so with a part of his anatomy that keeps him alive and moving."

It got quiet annnnnnd a little awkward after that.  I had already decided about 5 minutes in, I would probably never see these losers again anyway, so who cared?  I remember going in with what's-her-name (Mike's friend's fiancé) to discuss drinks or something stupid like that.  She seemed very socially retarded.  The dumb fireworks were done and we were heading home.  Mike had been invited by his friend to go golfing for the bachelor party.  The day before that, I got a call from what's-her-name (see, not even important enough for me to remember) also inviting me to her wedding shower.  What?  Why?

Ugh.  I even remember hearing the obligation in her voice when she was inviting me...which only made me want to go more!  Hell yes I was going to go to her wedding shower that she actually didn't want me to go to!  Then she hit me with this:
What's-her-name:  "Well, it's a naughty themed wedding shower that my girlfriends wanted to put together."
Me:  "So, what, like playful or dirty stuff?"
What's-her-name:  "Hahaha! Yeah, like that.  Sorry, I know we don't know each other well, but I wanted you to at least know the theme so you didn't feel left out."
Me:  "Oh thank you!  That could've been weird. Haha!  See you tomorrow!"

Next day...
I went to Lover's Package (back when it was still called that) and it took me forever to pick out anything.  I didn't know this girl!!  I didn't know her friends!!  If it were up to me, she'd get some weird vibrator along with some whips and chains, but I didn't know shit about her.  Not even her damn name!!  I went for some candles, lotions, kuma sutra book, and a handful of condoms to decorate part of the outside of the gift bag with.
Got to the party and immediately regretted my decision to be spontaneous and go to this chick's place.  Everyone there was her mother, mother-in-law to be, grandmothers, aunts, cousins, older sisters, and a handful of younger girls about my age.

Oh shit...what was the theme of this "party" again?

I mingled to the best of my ability.  I actually sat next to a girl who asked me how well I knew What's-her-name, and I told her how well and she started to chuckle.  She told me she had only just met her about a month prior and had no clue why she was there.  What?  Was this girl like some wedding shower gift whore?  Terrible.

Present time!!!  As the presents started to get opened, my panic attack started to set in just as it should have.  I turned to the other unexpected guest and asked her what the hell was going on and that I'd been told it was a "naughty" party.  She looked just as uncomfortable as me and said she'd been told the same thing, but played it safe.  DAMMIT!  One after another:  aprons, appliances, dish towels, new glassware, etc were being opened.  I could feel myself getting sweatier and sweatier (and I don't sweat).  There it was.  Amongst the flowery gift bags with pink ruffly ribbons, was my BLACK scandalous gift bag with black and purple ribbon with condom packets mischievously dangling off the sides...and it was next.

And here's where I got pissed...
What's-her-name:  "Um...is this going to be appropriate for me to open in front of my family?" in a tone that was full of Mean Girl-ism.  I wanted to punch her in the throat.
Me:  "I guess we'll see, hmm.  I know what type of party I was told this would be so I hope you like what I got you!"

It was innocent enough and it worked out fine for me, because her dumb friends' gifts were last and were only a little worse than mine...but they KNEW her.  Well, ready to go home.  Wait.  I was blocked in.  And horribly so.  I didn't want to be a pain in the ass, so I accepted the bullshit wedding shower prison I was in...for about 5 minutes when I thought I was just going to hop in my car and drive over the grass and through the rose garden to get the hell out of there.  I announced I needed to go and unfortunately for everyone else, it required several of them to get off their asses and rearrange the parking so I could get the eff out.

I never saw her again.  And good god damn riddance.  She was a total douche bag.  And sorry, I was not going to waste one more second on this person that was breathing the same air as me.  Needless to say since we bought them a gift, we were invited to the wedding...which we respectfully declined.

Not my best work...but I was distracted by mentally reliving that nightmare.

Scumbag Santa

I have to rant a bit about Santa this year...or rather, one of Santa's helpers.  I felt the need to put this entry off...just in case the real Santa found this to not be "nice".
This year, we put off seeing Santa with Farrah for reasons I still don't understand...laziness perhaps?  That sounds about right.
Anyway, while on the dark side of the mountains, I decided to take her to my favorite Santa.  The Santa at the Alderwood Mall.  He is SO real!  I saw him when I was pregnant with Farrah and he was the Santa Farrah saw for the first time.  We'd never gone back simply because it was always so far out of the way and because the line to see him made me think I was in line for the Mr. Toad ride at Disneyland...the ride no one wants to go on.
This year, we went the morning of Christmas Eve (which by the way, is the best time to go do your last minute shopping because no one is there and everything is on sale).  We got in line which was crazy short, and Farrah and I began to discuss what she was going to ask Santa for Christmas and I had reminded her to let him know how good she'd been this year.  As we made our way around a corner, one of the Elf "helpers" came up and asked Farrah what she was going to ask Santa for.
"I want an iPad!"
"Oh, I don't know if we'll be able to help you with that.  We only make toys."
Uhhh...what the hell did she just say?  I figured I'd let it slide because she must have been drunk.
We began to make our way up closer to Santa, and Farrah was getting more and more eager.  I kept asking her to keep her list going so she was sure not to forget anything she wanted to share with the jolly old man.  Also, I reminded her again of how very good she was this year and she should be proud to tell him that.
It was our turn next.
Farrah sat with Santa who looked about as perfect and wonderful as you would expect him to be like he was the last times I saw him.  Simply the best Santa.
But then...he blew it.
Santa:  What would you like for Christmas?
Farrah:  I would like to have my very own iPad.
Santa:  Well, I only make toys so I'm not sure I can do anything there. (in a bored voice, mind you)

What. The. Fuck?  In my mind, the thoughts of "I will kill you Santa! KILL YOU UNTIL YOU ARE DEAD!!!" kept going through my mind.  In the very least, I wanted to kick him in the God Damn shin.

Farrah:  I'd also like to have real dinosaur bones!
Santa:  Uhhh, I don't know how I'll be able to help you.

Hey Santa!  Why don't you go sit on a giant candy cane and spin on it!!!  Yes, this is ugly, but I swear my daughter will NEVER see that jackass EVER again.

So, am I to assume that when a child asks this Santa to help make his dying brother with cancer better, his response will be, "Sorry, we only make toys.  Good luck with that!"
Or, "My dad is fighting in Afghanistan, please bring him home soon."  He'll be sure to say, "You'll need to ask for toys.  I only make toys!"
Screw you fake asshole Santa!
You may not be able to make every kid's request a reality, but it is your fucking duty to fake that shit and make those kids feel special and filled with a little bit of hope.  Even if it is for something as silly as an iPad.  It wasn't silly to Farrah and neither were her dinosaur bones.

In the future, she will not be subjected to the evil lies that come out of the Alderwood Mall Santa's stupid face.  In his old age, he has become awnry, crotchety, Grinchy, and a ruiner of Christmas for any child that asked for, heaven forbid, anything more than a toy truck or a doll.  An absolute dream killer.

Do NOT ever see this guy.  He's crusher of Christmas joy!

See what I mean?

In the end...the real Santa made good by our little girl.  YES she got her iPad!  Not only that, her Uncle Steve and Auntie Bree bought Farrah fossils.  Did she have a wonderful Christmas? Yes she did!  I KNOW she let what came out of Fake Santa's mouth pass from one ear out the other because she knew what she wanted.  She's proof that even at that age, you can still dream and still believe.  She did and she got what she asked for.  Merry Christmas Farrah!  

P.S.  

Dear crappy asshole fake Santa:  I think it's time to hang up your own stockings and retire.  You're so done.

  

Changes

Did you notice the more cheerful background to my page?  I did.  Because I made that happen.  Actually, I wanted to pull away from the dark page (even though I thought it looked rad) and add some "feel-good-ness" to it.  

Not only are there changes on my page, but there are changes happening in my life.  I am working on making these changes to be something that will bring me joy, an open mind, a sense of freedom, and some peace and stability.  What silly things to strive for, right?  

I have pictured in my mind the following:

I am wandering around a large oak tree with the desire to climb that tree, because up there is beauty that I can't reach, but so desperately want.  And a hand reaches down from within the branches and helps me climb the beautiful tree and it ends up being me who has helped me.  

In the end, it is only me that can save me or lend me that helping hand to reach the beauty that I have every right to touch.  With some time and some trust in myself, I will find that girl that I've loved for almost 36 years...me.  I have no doubt and I look forward to my future.  

Okay, life, I'm ready when you are...

Lessons

Add another notch to my life lesson belt.  Times have been difficult, needless to say, for me.  They have been for quite a while and longer than I care to admit.  When we were kids and we'd say we couldn't wait to grow up and be adults, why wasn't there some sort of owner's manual or warning label that came in our 18th birthday card instead of the $5 dollars a relative gave us?  Don't get me wrong, I have had some wonderful times in my adulthood, but the hardest times I've had have also been as an adult.
It's weird when we become so emotional about circumstances in our lives that we suddenly learn to shut down completely.  I had no idea that was even a psychological option.  When things have come to a head and life has kicked me in the stomach over and over again when I was already beat to shit on the ground, the tears stopped flowing and I started to no longer care.
I understand that with pain, comes healing.  And the healing will offer wisdom.  However, it seems like the phrase that adults used on us as children, "Life isn't fair" is quite the understatement.  It isn't.  It isn't fair at all and quite frankly the lessons that have been doled out to me over and over again have gotten really god damn old.
I get it!  People can hurt you.  Those you love can destroy your heart.  You can make mistakes that you will pay for later.  Friends won't always be there and in fact, they can be responsible for some of your heartache.  We meet people and think they're great, when actually there's an ulterior motive on their part.  I had no idea that the shit you see in movies and soap operas could actually happen, and yet this is the life that I am living.  But I'm not alone.  Others experience equal and worse things.  I don't compare my life experience to others though, because we all have our own interpretation of what it looks like and feels like to us.  I don't want anyone comparing their shit with me either.
This is a crap post and I'm actually not sorry at all.  I've kept it to myself and have continued to write about all the funny things that have been happening in between the times when I feel like my entire world is crashing down around me.  Fuck it.  This will probably be my only shitty post for 2012, but it needed to be said.
People, if you're struggling...know you're not alone in your pain.  We are all struggling.  Even those of us who like to write about the humor of life.  Sometimes...it just isn't funny.

My Eye Ball Hurts

Ah, yes...a migraine.  Mother Nature's way of saying, "What?  You've had a really rough day?  Well, let's just add a little something extra to wrap up your evening.  How about I jackhammer a nail behind your left eye?  Sound good?"

No.  It sounds really effed up and totally rude and inconsiderate.

I already know I'm having a shitty day.  It's awful when I get a migraine on top of my shitty day to simply remind me that my day was shitty, still is shitty, and will continue to be shitty until I wake up the next day....and even then, the day can turn into a two-day-shitty-day.  Awesome.

So, it is almost 9 and I'm getting ready to go to bed with a big 'ol cup of caffeine and aspirin.  Hope I get to fall asleep and start fresh tomorrow.

A Day

What?  And today started off...so...well.

I did something today that is so not me.  Anyone who really knows me, knows it is completely against my grain to start up any type of confrontation whatsoever.  But I did.  It was necessary and God damn it, it was time for me to explode after a LONG time of keeping shitty thoughts to myself.  Unfortunately, for the woman who got it from me...she might never be the same.

You know the times when you think after an incident takes place that irritates the shit out of you, you privately say something you wish you'd said?

I said it.

I had just got off the phone having a conversation that bugged the hell out of me, sitting in my car at the gas station, filling up my tank.  Then I looked in my rearview mirror and saw something that got my blood to a very high boiling point.  A gross 40-50 something year old woman was pumping gas behind my car with a lit cigarette hanging out of her mouth and ashes falling to the ground.  This is not the first time I've seen this in my life, but it was the first time I flipped out on someone about their freakin' stupidity.

I got out of my car and this is the craziness of me that happened...

Me:  You know what would be awesome?  Is if you would put out your fucking cigarette when pumping gas!!!

Gross Dumb-Ass Lady:  Oh, yeah...um...ok.

Me:  PULL YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS!!!

What the Hell has happened to me???  I am not that way, but maybe I need to be.  I felt weird afterward, but I also felt good about it.  Too many times I've stood back and watched people do really dumb shit and done nothing about it but bitch about it later.  What good does that do?  None.

But, that lady will probably never forget that someone called her out publicly on her poor choice that put my life and others' in danger.

Or she will because she might have been high as shit.

LOUD!!!

Holy hell, there is a lady who comes into this coffee shop who talks at a very unreasonable volume.  VERY unreasonable.  When she's around, I'm not sure if she's having a conversation with the person she's sitting with or with me.  Whenever she shows up, my brain screams, "NOOOOOO!!!!"  She's in the field of marketing.  How do I know?  Because she told me...without telling me.  She told everyone without telling them.  She is obnoxious and terribly distracting.  I can't even write a good blog about her because her nails-on-chalkboard-voice is giving me a bloody nose from the brain damage I'm receiving from her.  I think I'm dying.

I'm dead.

Hey kids...

I saw something when I was leaving the gym this morning that somehow caught my eye.  The colors stood out first, then it was the odd shape of the vehicle, then it was the massive advertising.  This thing looks like a kidnap caboose.  Plenty of room in the back for plenty of delightful children.  I assume the driver is a harmless person simply running a small business from this fucking weird...truck? Station wagon?  Cut up old Volkswagon bus?  What the hell is it?  But if you read it, it lists all things that would entice a child to look at it, read it, and chase it until the vehicle came to a stop.  It does not, however, offer puppies which I feel is missing on this rig.  Besides the fact that it appears to be a kidnap-mobile, it is also an advertisement of shit food when we're all leaving the gym.  No, I do not want cotton candy, or snocones, or popcorn.  But do you have ice cream sandwiches?  I'd love an ice cream sandwich please!  No?  Then get the fuck out of the gym parking lot!  You've wasted my time.

Hell's Kitchen Bleeeeeeeeep!

I have been pleasantly torturing myself for the past couple nights.  I have decided, on purpose, to watch episodes from Hell's Kitchen on Hulu.  I don't usually watch reality TV because I get what I call, severe embarrassment chills.  They make me squirm, practically pull my hair out, and I scream at the TV with a bunch of "NOOOOOOOOs".
But what makes me most uncomfortable...is the swearing.  Believe me, I swear more than my share and then some.  I'm not always a lady with what exits my mouth.  I know I would never have what it takes to do what they do without telling Chef Ramsey to take his tongs and shove them straight up his ass if he were to yell at me like that, but I thoroughly enjoy shouting at the TV about how stupid these people are.  But what makes them more dumb than anything is every other word that comes out of all of their mouths is "BLEEP!"  I cannot understand what they're even saying.  I'm trying to hear what they're all bitching about, but at the same time trying to translate in my wee brain to match theirs in order to comprehend what the hell is even going on!

"That 'BLEEP' is a muth'BLEEP' fu'BLEEP'ing 'BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!"

What?

And...FOX is kind enough to pixilate their mouths and hand gestures as if we were looking at boobs and junk.  Thanks, FOX for protecting my eyes so I can't see a damn thing and blowing up my ears with the screechy sounds to mask the ugliness that comes out of these people's faces.  The best part?  It's mostly the woman!  They are so trashy, it's rad.  So professional for people who desire to be Executive Chefs at a major restaurant.  Yeah, good luck with that.

I'm watching what is going on, making fun of the fools for stupid mistakes, but mostly making fun of them for their crap behavior and crap attitudes.

Ramsey at least has earned the right to tell people to fuck off and/or piss off.  Those are his favorites. They don't have to "BLEEP" him out to understand what is coming out of his mouth.

I have successfully given myself an anxiety attack watching this crap.  Bring on the next episode!

Bitch Session

I have to write about this right now because it is happening...right now.  There are two women here at the place that I frequent with their children.  I love kids.  Usually.  I love kids when their parents aren't a little retarded.  Hey, here's a good idea:  Let's let the toddlers jump on and off the stage where there are massive wires and other miscellaneous tripping and electrical hazards!  Fun kids! Fun!

What's super awesome is that all of Wenatchee is in a freaky windstorm and it's been shaking my house and several buildings.  So, I thought coming in here would give me some sort of break from the crazy.  Not so.  Every time those "little ones" would land, my table shook like there was a goddamn earthquake.  Oh, and there's a brick wall to catch their fall as well as a giant metal vent.  Don't forget the outlet box sticking out for their little fingers to go into.  Well done, moms!

Some people shouldn't breed.

Ticket!

There is a woman out here in lil' Wenatchee that loves her job.  Loves it SO much that she wants to spread the love to the rest of us, even if we aren't interested.  Actually, she loves me.  She loves my car.  She loves to hate my car.  This woman is the Meter Maid.  I am not a fan.  Not at all.
There is a law here, unlike in Everett or Seattle, that you can only be parked in one spot for 3 hours - however, then you must LEAVE.  Go!  Get the hell out of town!  I was under the impression that I could leave my parking spot at the 3 hour mark and then scoot on over to a new opening.  There usually is an opening...and I take it.  Well, I got my first ticket about a two to three months ago.  Can't remember.  Pissed?  Yes.  But I broke the rule by letting it go over by 20 minutes.  Seriously.  Then last month or so, got another.  WTF?  Then I got a scathing note on my car in angry doctor's handwriting telling me that I had been breaking some RCW-blah-blah-bullshit rule that apparently states that we are to not park within a 2 block radius of the businesses after 3 hours.  Her chicken scratch continued by telling me to "PARK IN THE PARKING LOT!!!"
Oh, really?  Three exclamation points?  Got it.  She's freaking serious about this rule that NO ONE knows exists unless they work at the local businesses.  But okay.  Got the message.

Well, my back that was feeling so not awesome this week made me want to puke when I thought of walking up from the parking lot carrying my silly heavy briefcase and silly heavy purse to the coffee shop.  Luckily, I came across the Meter Maid before I parked in the parking lot as she was getting ready to leave.  I rolled down my window and made very friendly small talk, even teasing her that she had clearly targeted my car and we laughed.  We laughed and we laughed and we laughed.  Ha ha ha! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
I'd made a request that she work with me for that day because I had a pinched nerve that was killing me.  She understood and was convincingly understanding.  She simply told me to go ahead and park up there and to not take advantage of it later.  I agreed and even told her it would probably only be that day and that I heal quickly.  Great!  We were on the same page.  Big smiles, waves, and well wishes were exchanged.  I parked up by the coffee shop and still had difficulty walking with all my shit.  Oh well, I was having a great day and I felt like I Dale Carnegied the shit out of that situation that it gave me bragging rights.  That was until I was done editing my work and headed out to my car...to find another GOD DAMN TICKET!!!
Bitch.
Of course, I laughed as I blurted out every ugly name for the Ticket Nazi that I could pull out of my ass.  While it's only $30, it's freaking $30!  I'm considering taking time out of my life to complain.  Coffee-Shop-Steve suggested that I do since he's lived here forever and has never heard of the "rule" that was plastered all over her note to me, and because she actually gave me permission to park up there.  If she had to uphold the law in this very illegal situation I was walking a very fine line with, all she had to do was tell me no.  But she didn't.  She is an asshole.

Yeah.  Take that, Lady that will never see this or give two shits for that matter.

Bastard Sciatic

My lower left back has been hurting for a little bit lately, but now it's killing me.  I've been wondering if I need to see a chiropractor and get my hips adjusted, but if this is sciatic, I'm just going to have to tough it out.  But now with the smoke outside and any potential allergies I might have...I sneeze.  And when I know the sneeze is coming and the tickle is building up, fear begins to grip at me knowing the torture that is about to present itself.  WhaaaaaaCHOOOOOO!!!
"SONUVABITCH!!  AGHHHHH!"
And then, of course, I laugh.  It makes me laugh because it is so painful, my reaction to it is craziness and it makes me feel old.  Stupid back.  However, I've had this problem since I was in high school.  I've taken Advil and nothing.  I'm going to try heat on my back, too.  Mike suggested Tylenol even though in my entire life, it has NEVER worked for me.  But what have I got to lose...except for pain?
Well, no Tylenol in the house except for a bottle of Pediacare for Farrah.  Someone my size takes 4tsp. I never did well as a child taking liquid medicine.  And the curse continues.  I tossed it back to find it just slowly oozed in, so there was no escape to quickly chase it with something that would kill the sick taste.  Blech!  And the worst part?  It had SO much sugar in it, it had a Pop Rocks crunch to it.  Farrah actually asked me prior to me taking it how many calories it had in it.  What the hell?!!  I NEVER talk about calories because I don't give a rat's ass.  However, after taking that god-awful medicine I let her know I just had about 400 calories.  Gross.  Me.  Out.

I hope this works because I have to vacuum and dust and I know there will be a sneeze or two in my future.  Shit.  Just sneezed and it sucked.

Fiiiiiiiire!

On September 9th, we had an amazing thunderstorm.  Thunderstorms are my total favorite.  They don't scare me in the slightest and I simply find them fascinating.  Farrah and I watched from the porch and it was incredible.  Strike after beautiful strike followed by a bellowing boom.  Sometimes when I watch the storms we get out here, I'm quite vocal about my amazement with them and of course, my neighbors come out to see what all the commotion is about.  Unfortunately, sometimes I let out a "Holy SHIT!!" when it is a wicked forked bolt.  This time of year, we can get them several days in a row.  Well, Saturday was the night that went throughout all of Wenatchee, East Wenatchee, and behind us toward Cashmere.  It lasted for hours and hours.  Sunday, Farrah and I did some chores, took advantage of it being Sunday and didn't even bother to look around at what was the beginning of a nightmare.

Monday morning, I read the weather report and that is how I help determine what Farrah and I will be wearing for the day.  It's super cool in the mornings and then hot in the afternoons.  We also judge what could be awaiting us by checking out the sky before we leave to see what types of clouds are in the sky.  Puffy innocent clouds?  Sheet clouds that could create wind?  Dark balls of clouds which could be more lightening?  So on and so forth.  Farrah said, "Mommy, those look like storm clouds. They're pretty dark."  I wasn't looking in her direction and said, "What are you talking about?  There's only cute puffy clouds out here." "No." Then she pointed me towards what she was seeing.  An all too familiar site that I'd seen out here before.  Brown clouds.

Brown clouds mean smoke...and a lot of it.  Hmm, well I figured we'd see where it was coming from. We drove and the closer we got to Farrah's school the more smoke we saw and we started to see fire.  This was freaking us both out.  However, to put Farrah at ease I pointed out that the fire wasn't heading down the hill toward her school, but rather over the other side.  The day went on and the wind picked up...toward Farrah's school.  By the time I picked her up, I saw that the fire had crept down the hill more and close to a house.  Mind you, when I say "hill", it's more like a small mountain really up close.  Apparently, when I picked her up, Farrah had been very upset and scared about the fires.  However, her fear wasn't that the fires were getting closer and bigger, but whether or not I was okay.  She's awesome.  She worried about me while I worried about her.

Well, it has been weeks since the fires in Central Washington broke out and it hasn't improved.  In fact, it has gotten worse.  The worst part about the fires is the smoke.  Wenatchee has 300 days of no rain...in Washington State.  It is why many people have packed up and headed over here.  It's not as depressingly grey as it is towards the coast.  Now, however, the skies have been covered in a thick fog of smoke everywhere we go.  I got a little emotional one day watching kids walk home from school covering their faces with their shirts because it was so hard to breathe.  I hated seeing that.  Everywhere I went I saw what I thought were little white bugs flying around when in fact, it was ash.  We've been breathing in what we can see...so who knows what we've been breathing in that we can't?  Air quality having a range between 0 (perfect) to 500 (hazardous)---we're at 500+.  I've heard that they can't even give an accurate number of how bad it truly is because it's really beyond the 500 mark.  And it took almost a WEEK for anyone to give us any type of information as to what that even meant.  Supposedly, it is worse than breathing in Mount St. Helens ash when it blew, one week is worse than breathing in L.A.'s smog for a year, and it's as bad if not worse than being a lifetime smoker.  Smokers take a drag of their cigarette and then breathe in oxygen.  We are all simply breathing in toxins with every breath we take.

Farrah's school finally got cancelled on Friday and Monday.  We were pretty much hunkering down in the house because if we even opened the door once, it was like getting punched in the face with campfire smoke.  We had to sleep in the living room with the humidifier going and fans blowing the air in the house we already had all around.  Even if it got hot outside, it was best to turn off the AC.  Eventually, I couldn't take it and had to turn it on and hope I set it right for recirculating air.  Ugh.  I hadn't even noticed how lethargic I was.  I had't noticed the mucous-yness in my throat.  I hadn't noticed that I constantly felt like I was breathing through two cotton balls.  And I hadn't noticed that my voice started to sound like a 70 year old smoker's.  But I did notice the massive migraine I got that knocked me on my ass for almost 2 days.  Finally, I decided we needed to get out of town.  I'd called Farrah's teacher and she was shocked that we hadn't left for a little reprieve since they'd started.  Well, no.  There were several times that I did go out and see how bad the smoke was and found that I didn't smell it anymore.  I still couldn't see much further than 100 feet past my back yard when I can normally see the valley and all of Wenatchee, but the air smelled better.  I would take in deep breaths, oblivious to the fact that: just because I couldn't smell it, didn't mean it wasn't there.  I couldn't smell it because I was used to it.

Farrah and I packed as fast as we could because it was getting late and driving over the pass at night is dangerous but I wasn't about to spend another night there.  That's when it's the worst.  We bailed and as soon as we crossed the pass through a haze of what looked like fog, but was smoke, I rolled down the windows and it smelled sweet.  It smelt like pine!  It was the craziest smell!  It was fresh and healthy air.  So, we've been on the West side to clear up our lungs...for now.  At some point, we need to go back.  That's my home and my stuff and Farrah's school.  But now I'm hearing from Mike that it's back to very hazardous levels and the particles that they're measuring out there are so fine that it will be impossible to cough them out.  They'll be stuck in our lungs.  What would the long term effects be?And, we're not even sure if they measure carbon monoxide.  What a freakin' nightmare.

However, to put a kinda funny spin on it... the night of the thunderstorm, Farrah and I pretended like we were shooting our arms out and causing the lightening strikes.  We do silly stuff like that...because I have a 5 year old.  There were so many bolts it was easy to pretend that one of us made one of the bolts strike.  Well, 2 days ago Farrah quietly told me she was concerned that it was one of her bolts of lightening that started the fires.  I told her it was possible.  And her response was, "My bad."

What?!!

A Lil' Dilemma

So, I got a tattoo over a year ago on my wrist that says, "Who Cares" because it is a motto I have lived by for a very long time.  It began sometime around 2001, when I wasn't going to be able to make my car payment on time (mind you...it was going to be like a day or two late).  I called Mike from work in tears telling him about my problem.  I NEVER went to Mike for money.  Ever.  And I didn't then either.  He and I were very independent with our money and I clearly didn't make what he made at the time.  We didn't even share a checking account until we'd been married for a couple of years and that's after we'd been together for 7!

But, I digress.

I was working in escrow at the time and in my little office crying about paying a bill on time and he had to pull himself away to comfort me with these words, "Who cares?"  I was shocked.  Who cares?  I did.  But then he added, "If you don't pay it today, are they coming to take the car?  No.  Are they going to break your legs?  No.  Are you going to die?  No.  Is it the end of the world?  No.  So...who cares?"

I've held onto that moment and those words for a very long time.  I've used them when I've felt like my world was falling apart and others had the joy of shitting on it in the process.  I've used those words when I've thought all was lost, and I found myself.  I've used those words even against the man who shared them with me in the first place in order for me to find peace in a moment.  But they are words that forever mean something to me and they are words that Mike has shared time and time again in moments when I've needed to hear them the most throughout our 15 years together and 10 years of marriage.  I have, since, changed the phrase to "Don't give a shit" on my mirror included in a long list of positive affirmations.  Not as pretty, but very effective.

But, I digress...again.

Here's my problem.  My tattoo...kinda looks like shit.  The ink didn't take in the word "who", so it looks faded and well...like shit.  I'd like to get it fixed, but the irony is what I'm fixing.  If I were to share this with a tattoo artist to fix, the hilarity that would follow would be a tad uncomfortable.  But "who cares," right?  My tattoo looks like it is in need of a touch up, but "who cares."  I'm not happy with how it turned out, but "who cares?"

Shit.

I guess I do.  The irony is thick with this problem and I'm conflicted because I truly have lived a pretty hard freaking life by these words and how can I even think about fixing it?  But "who cares" that I want my "who cares" tattoo fixed?  Ugh.  See?  Not sure what to do.

Salad Debacle Part Deux

Had to write about this one because it was (at least for me) too funny not to.  Recently, at my favorite little place I go every weekday, I've ordered a mixed green salad rather than the Caesar salad that failed miserably.  Every time I order the mixed green, I'm asked, "Would you like them to mix it with the dressing?"
"Yes, please."
But what I receive is a side of Balsamic Vinaigrette.  Why?  I've ordered it three times, been asked the same question three times, and three times...they refuse to toss my salad.

Why won't they toss the salad?  They have all the tools in the kitchen to toss the salad and yet, they just won't do it.

So, we all know what that means.  I have to end up tossing my own salad.  This is a very difficult and awkward task as I do not have the right equipment to do it.

Also, I'm usually surrounded by some of my things so I have to bend to the side to toss my salad.

Okay...do you get what I'm doing here?  My mind went right to the gutter this afternoon when I had a conversation with Mike about why the cafe wouldn't toss my salad and BAM! Blog-story.

Dumb...but I told myself I'd write about it.  Mission accomplished.