The Importance of Dressing

Thanksgiving.  That time of year where everyone is so vocal about what they are thankful for and letting us know that they are thankful for everything from their husbands to their coffee pots.  I get it.  I understand why they feel the need to do it.  I've been guilty of doing that myself in year's past.  But this year, well, it was a little different.  Believe me when I say that I am no less thankful than I usually am, because I SO am thankful for all I have or don't have.  But....our family lost its matriarch last April and she was all about Thanksgiving and Christmas time, so I have been struggling with how we would handle this year.  My mother in law had this season down to a pat without blinking an eye.  Cook for twenty five people, no problem.  Have it taste good, no problem.  Me, well....Houston....there may be a problem.

 

You see, not only did we no longer have the Lady who can handle the season, gone....we have new members joining our family.  Not long after my mother in law passed, my father in law connected with a long time family friend who had recently lost her husband and they bonded in a way that our family is most grateful for.  This Thanksgiving, her family and our family, were all getting together..... at my house.... to eat stuff that I had cooked and just.....well, be Thankful.   Now, I didn't mind this gathering taking place at my house.  No big deal because we have enough room.  What I did mind was being volunteered to cook.....The Dressing.  Okay....I can cook.  But not like my mother in law.  Not at all like my mother in law.  You see how I capitalized "The Dressing"?  Well, that's just how good hers was and my Big Sexy felt confident enough in me to say, "sure....Jennay can cook that."  So, now....we are having our first Thanksgiving without Big Sexy's mother, but WITH the lady who will be the step mother and about twenty five more, at MY house, with ME cooking.  I'm not stressed.  I'M NOT STRESSED AT ALL.  Did I mention that we were doing it early because Big Sexy was going to be offshore on Thanksgiving Day?  Did I mention that the day that they settled on was also the same day as the Color Run that I was supposed to participate in?  Oh, but we are doing an evening dinner, so it will be fine, they said.  And it was.  Fine, that is.  Until I got sick the Tuesday before and then my husband's grandfather died that Thursday night. 

 

The being sick part was no big deal.  Bronchitis, sinus infection, ear infection.....you get shots and meds (if you're lucky), you continue on.  You're a mom.  Ain't nobody got time to be sick.  Not on normal days and especially not during holidays.  The Grandfather passing away, well, that was a little bit bigger of a deal.  Why?  Because my father in law had just lost his wife seven months ago and was experiencing a lot of life changes with that, in itself.  He's also a pillar of our community, which is going through some serious budget issues, so he has the stress of that on his shoulders.  Now, his father passes away and I gotta tell you, I was worried about him.  But he's handled it.  He's handled it with a strength that I didn't know was possible because if it were me going through what he has here lately, I would find a hole, bury myself in it and refuse to come out for at least six months.  I've digressed some here....back to Thanksgiving....so with the death, I had to cancel on running the Color Run, which relieved a little stress, and our Thanksgiving was pushed back a day.....which should have relieved a little MORE stress, but it was actually giving me another day to stress OVER it.  I had already taken off two days of work due to being so sick, so I decided to also take off Friday, to clean and prepare for the funeral taking place on Saturday and Thanksgiving Sunday. 

 

Big Sexy and I got the kiddos off to school and commenced to cleaning the house and cooking.  I quickly learned that I cannot cook AND clean at the same time.  How did I learn this?  Because I burnt two pies and broke a ceramic pumpkin and fleur de lis, while trying to do these two things at one time.  So, Big Sexy stopped me and said, "You do the cooking, I'll do the cleaning....it's all gonna be okay."  He said more, but it was of a sexual nature, which was to get me to laugh and lighten up and it worked, but I figured, I would spare those details for you.  And so he cleaned and I cooked.  It semi worked because I only cut one finger and over flowed a couple of things I was boiling.  Everything that could be done ahead of time for Thanksgiving, was done.  The stress of Saturday's funeral came and went and my eyes popped open on Sunday at 5:30AM, ready to get up and get started for our day of Thankfulness.  Or get up and stress about that dayum dressing.  But I was ready....I had a plan.  I decided that I would also make chicken and dumplings because if my dressing was too dry, they could just pour the dumplings over it and BAM....moist.  I made a few casseroles.  I touched up the cleaning around the house.  I re-covered the bar stool cushions (what....you don't re-cover shit when you stress?) and I put together.......The Dressing.  

 

Why is this Dressing so important enough to blog about it?  It's important because, to me, it represents my mother in law.  Weird....I know.  This was our first holiday without her and although she was not gonna be here in body, by Gawd, I wanted our family to walk into my kitchen, scoop that dressing onto their plate, place a bite of it into their mouth and FEEL like their mom had just been in my kitchen cooking.  I wanted them to feel like she was with us again.  That's ALL I wanted.  I needed this one item to be good.  I needed them to feel how much I loved their mother, poured into this dish, to know that I know I could never replace her, but that I would do my best to carry on her tradition and her style, even though we were going through so many changes as a family unit.  Strange?  Probably.  But it's the God's honest truth.  And do you know what response I got back while everyone was stuffing their faces?  My Little Man.....saying, "Ma.....this tastes JUST LIKE Gran's."  I just smiled and said thank you, when inside, I was doing the fist pump saying, "YES!  Mission accomplished."   The icing on the cake was when upon leaving, my father in law stopped, hugged me close and said, "You are in charge of The Dressing every year.  Gran would have been so proud of it, almost as proud as she was of you being her daughter."  Cue the tears.  My thankful ass was done.  Until next year.

 So, I don't seem unthankful.....I'm blessed with my munchkins.

And even more blessed with my Big Sexy.

What My Blog Ladies Mean to Me

  Earlier this year, I felt lost.  It is very difficult to explain why.  My best friend had moved 1300 miles away.  My mother in law was dying before my eyes.  I was struggling with knowing that I no longer would have that go to person right near me.  Not my mother, not my best friend, not my mother in law. Life was carrying on even with this knowledge, as it should, but I was floundering.  What was my purpose?  What do I do with myself?  Who the hell am I?  How do I do this alone?  And when I say alone, I know that I have The Big Sexy.  I KNOW THIS.  But I do better having that go to person, too.....that female.....that one that just "knows" what the hell I'm talking about, because she's been there.  She's experienced it.

So, I was playing around on Facebook and as crazy as it may sound, I stumbled upon a post by People I Want to Punch in the Throat. It was one about the over achieving mom's and the elf on the shelf bullshit.  She had me at hello.  I read her blog religiously because it was almost as though I was reading something that I, myself, would have written because Gawd knows, I had thought what she was writing.  I wouldn't say what she had written was life changing, but it was eye opening in the sense that there were other people that I had never met that truly are, like me.  From her blog and Facebook page, I come across The Underachiever's Guide to Being a Domestic Goddess and You Know It Happens at Your House Too, which led me to Tripping While Standing Still, I Want a Dumpster Baby,  Mary Tyler Mom, and Slice of Humble.  These were all women that I followed for a few months before starting my own blog and Facebook page.  These were the ones that helped me in such different ways and didn't even know how much.   Some of them don't even have me on their radar....and that is okay.  Little did I know just how much more I was going to learn about myself while continuing to follow them and read what they wrote/posted every day.

When I initially was going to start my page/blog, I was going to about being a bitch.  A rock 'em, sock 'em, tell 'em how it is kind of gal.  I mean, this is how some people in real life view me anyway, I was just gonna live up to that.  Yes, I am a person who will not hide how I feel about things.  I am a person who is passionately loyal and protective of my friends and family.  I am a person who believes what she believes and won't let someone intimidate me because they believe differently and somehow, all of that made me a bitch to some and I had let it convince me that I was one.   But, my view of what I wanted for my page and blog changed after continuously reading what these women wrote.  I realize that their purpose for their blogs and pages may be way different than what I walked away taking from them, but the fact remains is that I walked away WITH something.  And that something was good.  I no longer wanted to be a bitch or known as a bitch.  "I" hadn't changed.  I was still the person that didn't hide her feelings.  I was still passionately loyal and protective of my loved ones.  I still believed in what I believed in.....but I now viewed things through different eyes.

What did I take from these blogs?  I walked away feeling that I needed to show more compassion to others.  I walked away feeling like I needed to quit being so quick to judge others (insert disclaimer here....I am judgemental....this I know....I am a HUGE ass work in progress on this one).  I walked away realizing that I don't have things bad.  That things could be much worse and that I needed to be thankful for what I had.  A job.  A husband who adores me.  I walked away learning that I needed to be a better parent to my healthy children.  That I needed to show them more patience and understanding.  I walked away with inspiration to be better.  Better all around.  Be better in my quest for health.  Be better in my parenting.  Be better in my role as a wife.  Be better as a friend.  Just.  Be.  Better.  These ladies helped me so and they weren't the only ones.  God....there were a handful more, but these were the ones who helped me the most and continue to do that every dayum day.

As I created my own page and began writing, I found more and more women who were just as inspiring.  (Craughing, Deb at The Monster in Your Closet, Blissfully Discontented to name just a few) How is it that strangers can help one another so?  I don't know, but they did.....

And for that, I am thankful.





Know Thy Neighbors Well (No...not like THAT)

Oh, Trick or Treating time....how I love thee.  The decorations.  The giddiness in the kiddos ready to get candy.  The cute little costumes.  The walking door to door and talking with the people in the neighborhood that you don't usually talk to.  The running into the neighbors that you don't get to see much and talking with them in the middle of the street.  The finding out from those same neighbors that you have registered sex offender living three houses down.....<record scratching> WHAT?

Yep.  You read that right.  I have a registered sex offender, living three houses down from me and didn't know it.  You know what's even worse?  He's been there for a month.  You know what's worse than that?  My children (12 year old son and 8 year old daughter) frequently stop by that house when walking our dog, because the elderly couple that lives there (his parents), also has a dog and they like to sniff each other.  They don't go in, they just stop by the yard when the dog is out there.  You know what's weird?  About a month ago, I started having overwhelming feelings of anxiety when I would let my daughter take the dog on his walks.  I even mentioned it to my husband, but we both agreed that it was probably because of all the media focus on those poor precious children who had been abducted on their way to bus stops or bike rides and murdered.  So, we both said that we couldn't take away our children's independence because we were scared, but we would just be more wary of what we allowed them to do.  Now, I almost feel that it was more than just the news that had me worried.  Maybe it was my spidey senses going off, saying that something wasn't right. 

After playing over a million "what if" and "this could've happened" in my mind, I decided that I needed to stop and just sit the kiddos down and talk to them about it once I had all of the information in my hands about who this man was, what he did, who he did it to, what he drives, and what our plan of action on OUR end would be.  I know that in some instances of registered sex offenders, not everything is what it seems, so, first things first, I go on the website for our parish that shows me where sex offenders live around me.  Only 3 within a 5 miles radius.  Not so bad when you know that there are some areas that have way more than that.  But one is literally 3 houses down.  Suddenly, it feels like you have 100 in a 5 mile radius.  That is just a little too close to home.  My next step was to register for notification of when a sex offender moved within a few miles of my home and then I registered to follow this particular one who lives so close.  I printed out his picture and information and tucked it into my purse.  Then I started making phone calls to people who could find out some answers for me as to what this man did.  It didn't take long to find out that he was convicted of molesting his 11 year old step daughter in 2002 and was just recently released from jail, moving in with his parents on October 2.  So, for one month, this man has been living so close to us and I didn't know.  No notification was given.  Not by him, not by anyone.  Thank Gawd for neighborhood gossipers, otherwise, I would still be in the dark.

After getting all of the information I could, I brought the man's photo home with me and sat the kiddos down to talk.  My son was okay.  "Ma, I'm a black belt.  If he ever tries to mess with me, I'll kick him in the ballsack."  But my little ChunkaMunk....you could see concern and upset all over her face.  The upset was because she would no longer be able to take the dog for walks alone and that she needed to always be playing with someone else outside, whether it be a friend or me.  The concern was over what if he tried to hurt her.  I did my best to comfort her give her the facts, but gawd....she's eight.  I want to scare her enough to be more careful of her surroundings, but not scare her so much that she can't function alone.  "Ma, we walk by that house every day, twice a day on the way to the bus stop.  What if he tries to get me?", she says.  "Ohhhh, baby girl....that won't happen because the keyword is "we"...."we" walk by that house everyday and rest assured, if anyone ever tried to "get" you, whether it's him or someone else, they would have to go through me first and we all know that I'm one tough mutha, right?"  That seemed to make her feel more at ease.

I guess what I'm taking from this, is that although I think that I am a good parent and I do the best that I can to protect my children, there is always something (or someone) out there, that I don't know about, that could hurt them.  I needed to do a better job in finding out who my neighbors were and not just the ones right next to me.  One way of doing that was for me to register for notifications on the sex offender website.  You better believe that I know the names and the faces of the three who live within 5 miles of me and so do my children and if I get any alerts of more, we will familiarize ourselves with them, too.  Does it comfort me to know this?  Not really.  Especially when I know that in most of these cases, these men (or women) hurt children that they KNEW.  One thing that does comfort me is that the house that this sex offender lives in is up for sale.  May it sell quickly....and in the mean time, I'm getting to know my neighbors....and I suggest you do the same.



I Ain't Nasty Dirty. (Well, Not My House, Anyway)

I'm just going to admit it.  I am not a housekeeper.  I hate housework.  I know, I know...who doesn't?  Well, I don't just hate it.  I despise it. It's not that I don't love a good, clean house...I totally do.  "I" just don't want to be the one to do it.  AND, I don't want to pay someone to do it either.  By the time I get home from work, feed the family, get the kiddos where they need to be in the evenings, well...I'm exhausted and so, I just leave the house alone.  My sister in law is anal about the cleanliness of her home.  To the point that it consumes her.  Every corner is spotless.  I think that she must cringe when she walks into mine, which is oh so not spotless.  Matter of fact, that corner.....right over there....yeah, that's a dust ball in it. 

 

So, here....here is what you will find if you were to come to my house on a NORMAL day (not when we are having a party or planned get together...for those, I clean...like, CLEAN, clean).

 

~ a clean, but cluttered kitchen.  Mail, books, etc...all over the counters.

~ an unswept floor (going on 2 weeks now..I promise...I'll do it this weekend)

~ dusty furniture

~ shoes, in the foyer, in the living room, in the dining room, in the man cave

~ book bags and homework ALL OVER the dining room table

~ unmade beds (all of them.  Including mine)

~ laundry that needs to be a) hung, b) folded, or c) put away

~ an empty chips snack bag in the hallway corner (I refuse to pick it up...I'm waiting to see how long it will take one of my kids to do it.  We are on week 3.  I am about implode)

~ board games on the coffee table (Yahtzee, Monopoly, or Scrabble)

~ beebee gun by the back door (for snakes...thank goodness we are getting out of that season)

~ crayons and paper on MY bathroom floor (what...your kids let you take a bath in peace???)

~ hair bows...every dayum where.

~ clean bathrooms (toilets, tubs...hey...there may be dust on furniture, but I'm not GROSS)

~ a spotless kitchen sink (a weird obsession about water spots.  I hate cleaning, but I hate water spots even more, go figure.)

~ a net by the backdoor. (to use down at the swamp to catch food for the pet turtles)

 

Oh, and HEAVEN FORBID you lift up the couch cushions.  I did.  Here is what I found:

 

~ money (I keep)

~ dirty socks (pisses me off)

~ wrappers from snacks (pisses me off even more...how hard is it to get up and throw in the trash?)

~ batteries (dead...again...pisses me off)

~ forks, spoons (WHY????)

~ an iPod (that has been lost for months and they've "looked everywhere")

~ remote controls

 

So, now that you know that my house is not always in pristine condition, you are prepared for the mess that may be there when you decide to show up unannounced.  It ain't nasty, but it ain't clean either.  You'll just have to deal with it....or not come over unannounced.  Which, I'm fine with that, too.

 

 

 

 



What Are You Thinking???

No...not you.  Not really.  It's a rhetorical question...or maybe not, because I'm not quite sure what that is, but saying big words (even incorrectly used) make me sound/feel smart, so I put that in there. I work as a secretary in a Parks & Recreation Department.  Me and one of the park workers were sitting, dranking coffee and talking about some of the things people do in our parks and it literally had me shaking my head, wondering, what in the world are these people thinking when they do this stuff?  What do you mean, Jennay?  Well, let me tell you....sometimes, Parks & Recreation, it's about playgrounds and sports, then other times, it's about "Parking" & "Recreating" and sometimes, well, I'm just not so sure WHAT it's about.

Here...I'll let you in on some of the things we do and things we find:

~ Every morning, our crew arrives an hour earlier than other department crews.  Why?  Condom check.  Yeah, that's right.  I said condom check.  Eight years ago, when I first started here, I had no idea that having sex in a children's playground was so popular.  But, it is.  We started having to do this condom check due to the fact that a woman took a child to the playground and the child brought a used condom to his mother, who in turn, marched straight to the Mayor's office and threw it on his desk.  Can you imagine how THAT conversation went?  Ugh.  So, now...condom check...every dayum day.

~ Baseball Dugouts AKA Adulterer's paradise ~ hey...it doesn't cost anything for this little "room" but the downside is that you may get an audience without knowing it.  Let's just give this little piece of advice.  If you want to pull up in your minivan with car seats in it and passionately kiss the man who gets out of his suped up Camaro and back your way into the dugout to do the do, well, you may want to do that at night and not in plain site.  You may be playing "ball" while your spouse is at work, but it definitely ain't baseball and while I am enjoying the show from my work window, let's just make it clear that I don't need binoculars to be able to see what you're doing....it's quite clear.  Matter of fact, you taught me a new move.  No, really..thank you for that.  (Readers, if you're wondering...this takes place weekly.)

~ Um...how do I say this....we find sexual apparatus (apparati??) in our park.  From small pocket vibrators to a fairly large dildo found at the end of a slide.  <shudders> I don't even want to think about what was going on with that, but what I can tell you is that when I saw it, my hoohah actually hurt from the thought of it.   Then I was like, surely that wasn't used IN our park.  Surely, some teenager found it in their mom's drawer and took it and was all like, "look what I found" with his friends ...and then, I'm taken to a whole NEW level of gross because of the possibility that some kid is going around holding something that has been in his mom's hoohah.

You found WHAT?

~ Female hygiene products. Yeah...this is always found in the ladies restroom. Obviously. Only, I wouldn't necessarily say that it was a "lady" who does this. Does what? Leaves her used tampon applicator out or laying on the floor ...or worse the actual used tampon. But you know what is the craziest thing done with a used pad? Someone pulls a lot of toilet paper out, attaches the pad to it and takes the time to roll it back up into the commercial sized dispenser, so that later on, another person goes to do their business, pulls on the toilet paper and out comes a used pad. Sick, sick, SICK individuals.

~ Drugs and drug apparatus. This is sad but true, but during "condom check" eight out of ten searches also find drugs or stuff used for drugs.  Joints, syringes and yes, homemade bongs with residue.  This is the serious, not funny part of my story...If you are going to do that shit, do it somewhere other than a playground.  While you may choose to put that in your body, I do not believe that a parent who brings their innocent child to a playground is choosing for their child to find your syringes and bongs as part of the playground equipment.  Stop that shit...okay?

~ Shit.  No...not shit, as in "shit, I forgot something.", but shit as in SHIT.  Do you know that people, grown ass adults, will choose to forgo the toilet in the bathroom stall where they can drop off the kids in private, for a sink?  This is something that is usually found in the men's restroom of our parks.  Those muthatruckers will hike their ass right up on a bathroom sink and drop of lovely little load there.  Now, I try to give the benefit of the doubt by thinking, maybe the stalls were full and they couldn't wait, but Imma tell you this...I would shit my pants and leave the park before I would park my ass onto a sink and have the possibility of someone exiting the stall or walking into the bathroom and catch me pinching one off.   How do I come to the conclusion that this was not an emergency drop off?  Because there is no mess on the floor of the sides of the sink.  Just a perfectly piled up turd, lying in the sink.

~ While we are on the subject of shit...we once had someone take a shit on top of one our dump truck hoods.  Get it?  Yes, someone took a dump, on the dump truck. 

~ Going back to sex stuff, did I mention that a couple was once found having sex atop of the water tower located next to our park?  It's true.  Poor man's version of the mile high club.  Only not a mile high.

As I have typed out all of this, I have just sat here, shaking my head with each one and thinking once again...What were they thinking?  Sex in a playground?  Not my thang, but mainly because I really don't want mulch in my female parts.  That just seems a little uncomfortable.  Sex in a dugout?  Well, these are made of wood and if I was gonna cheat on my husband, it may be a little hard to explain why he's having to help me with pulling pieces of wood (giggle) outta my ass.  Leaving out used female hygiene products?  I would love to slap who ever does that with a bloody tampon of my own, but the truth is, my own used products gross me out quite a bit, so I don't see me doing that.  Shitting in sinks?  Yeah...I got nothing witty to say about that...it's just gross. 

And so ...there you have it my friends....Parks and Recreation.  It is and it isn't, kind of what you see on t.v.  I reckon.

Dear Youth Football Coaches....

This blog is my journal...pardon me while I rant in it....mmmkay?

Dear Youth Football Coaches,

I don't even really know where to start.  Since  Hurricane Katrina, you have been asking when the lights at our park were going to be repaired.  Our answer for six and half years has been the same...we are waiting on the final approved project worksheet and most importantly, the money from FEMA.  The project was going to cost around a half million dollars and there was no way the City could finance it without FEMA.   Finally, early this year we got the project and money approved from FEMA and it went out to bid.  That was a whole process in and of itself....a municipal project going out for bid is no easy task.

Due to spec mess ups and what not, the construction that was supposed to start in May, did not begin until June with a tentative completion by September.  So, the fields to the park closed in June with a large sign posted and field dugouts fenced off.  The fields now belonged to the contractor doing the work, so no one was supposed to be on them.  We had other parks for your football teams to practice in once their season started, so it was going to be okay.  However, there was this little thing called weather and lots of it, that popped up in July, and I don't know if you are aware, but when you are working on electrical stuff, you can't do it in rain, you know, due to getting electrocuted and all, so, the contractor had to add rain days onto his initial deadline date.  Then in August, there was this Hurricane called Isaac that added even MORE rain days to the deadline and oh God...it caused damage to the lighting in some of the other parks you practice in.  Problems that just recently cropped up and we are working on them now.  These things happening were not in the control of our department.  Weather is not in our control.  The contractor needing additional time for our park, due to storms, that is not in our control.

I have tremendous respect for men and women who volunteer their time to teach our children sports.  My children have played soccer, football, baseball, volleyball and basketball.  To volunteer your time to try and teach children...ten to fifteen of them...about the game...the rules, the plays, etc., well...that takes patience and believe me when I say, my hat's off to you for doing it, but my question is this, shouldn't you also be trying to teach them about following the rule for other things outside the game, should that occasion arise?  Such as, understanding that the sign says, "Fields Closed".  Such as, not taking down fencing (just in case you didn't understand the sign, this was put up so that maybe you would realize....oh...we aren't supposed to be on here) and literally walking on it and over it to get on the closed fields.  When I approached you about being on a closed field, your statement of "Well, the lights were on, I thought they were open." makes no sense.  Why?  BECAUSE YOU WALKED PAST A 4 X 6 FOOT DIGITAL SIGN AND STEPPED ON BRIGHT ORANGE FENCING TO GET TO IT.  What you didn't see was the man over at the electrical panels doing work on them.  What you don't realize is that those lights, that are on (and being worked on), have not even been aimed in the direction needed to adequately light the fields.  What you don't understand is that if one...just ONE of those kids gets hurt on that field, you know, the closed one with the orange fencing you took down and walked over, they can attempt to sue our contractor and possibly even our City. 

 Your response at my explanation was that Parks & Recreation doesn't care about the youth football organization.  If we didn't care about you guys, we wouldn't be attempting to keep the children who play your sport, safe.  If we didn't care about you guys, our City would not donate $10,000 from our Parks & Recreation budget to your organization to help keep it going.  If we didn't care about you guys, we would not provide parks (NOT under construction) for your children to practice.  I understand that you are frustrated and feel like we are not helping you out.  We are frustrated with the contractor and inspections taking so long.  But think about it.  If you were building a new home and the electrical work was not finished or had not passed inspection...would you allow your children to in there and play?  No.  You would put their safety first.  We are attempting to do the same for you.  Is it an inconvenience?  Yes, but it will be worth it.   What is NOT acceptable is you showing your team of children complete disregard for rules.  I don't think that is how you play football and I know that's not how you're supposed to play in real life either.

So, Coach, instead of berating a City employee because you are inconvenienced, try finding out what is actually going on and LISTENING.  I will not raise my voice at you, as you have done to me, in an attempt to garner your attention.  I will calmly try to explain to you what is taking place, (in this case...it is construction and working on electrical panels) without making threats to call the Mayor (who is aware of the situation) or media outlets.  Just because it may not be what you want to hear, doesn't mean it is any less true.   We are trying.  We really are.  And I promise...no...I SWEAR....it's not that we don't like your team or your sport....but we are on the verge of not liking you. 

Sincerely,

A berated employee

Who I Am.

I Am ________ Who Are YOU?

I've been struggling for the last two weeks on finding something to write about.  I mean, yeah, I have stuff going on, but it's not really anything that I can share.  Truthfully, it wouldn't do any good for me to share it.  So, every day, I've come into my awfice and stared at this screen.  "What cha gonna write about today, Jennay?"  Nothing....not a goshdayum thing.  I GOT NOTHING.  Until today. 

My friend over at You Know It Happens at Your House, Too, posted this link entitled, "I Am ______, Who Are You?"  Of course, I read it and thought, I can do that, no problem....only...it didn't take me 5 minutes.  It took me an hour.  An hour because it made me sit down and figure out what I really am.  All I wanted to write was what I am not.  THAT, I can come up with.  But noooooo, she had to give me a hard assignment.  And so I completed it.  Here is what she said that I needed to do:

"Sit down for five minutes. I know that is not always easy, but this could be the best five minutes you have spent on yourself in a really long time. Open your computer, grab a pen and a piece of paper (ACK! What is that???), open up an app on your phone. It doesn't matter what you use, just use something that you can save. This is NOT a mental exercise. You must put this on paper (either real or virtual) so that you can refer back to it on those bad days. Set a timer for five minutes and write. Write using the prompt I AM ______________________. Don't edit, don't proofread, don't change it. You are not required to share it with anyone, even though I hope you do, but keep it close by so that on those days when you are feeling really horrible about yourself (we all know that we have those days), you can look back and remember all the things that make you wonderful."

And so, after an hour (not five minutes, because you know...I am a rule breaker) this is what I have come up with...........

I am Jenn.  Well, duh. 

I am a wife. There is not a decision that I make that I don't take into consideration as to how it will affect my husband, who I love and adore, way beyond what can be described in words.

I am a mom. Two beautiful children look at me for guidance, which I admit, is sometimes faulty on my end, but in their eyes, I know all....well, to my daughter, I know all...the son, well he's at that age.  But let me say that when he tells me that I am the best mother in the world and how much he loves me, it makes me feel like I am indeed...the best.

I am honest.  Even when it's a pain to be that way, I am.  If you want the truth, come to me.  I can't always make you feel better with what I say, but I will always tell you the truth.  Always.   

I am a friend.  To have a friend, one must be a friend.  I don't know where I read that, but it has always stuck with me.  I always carry extra clothes in my trunk, just in case I have to help with a body...THAT'S how good of a friend I am.

I am a singer.  Maybe not professionally, but this is the one thing in this life that I know how to do and do it well.

I am an inspiration.  This is hard for me to swallow, but I know that I am.  I have lost a tremendous amount of weight and have inspired others to not give up on their journey. 

I am loving. PLEASE...don't tell anyone.  Despite the hard front that I put on, there are a few that know that it is a show.  I love hard and fierce.  (I cry when I see people hurting...real life wise and movie life wise)

I am funny.  At least that's what "they" say.  And I do try to be, because without laughter, it's a sad, sad world.

I am awesome.  No explanation.  It just is what it is.  That is all.

I am a work in process.  I will always try to better myself without taking away from what and who I really am.  I can still be snarky and sarcastic, without being mean and ugly.  But I have to work at it.  If I had to grade myself on my work right now...I'd probably be a "C"....but I've brought that up from a "D"...see...honest.

 

Thank you, my friend YKIHAYHT....thank you for making focus on what I am for a change, instead of what I am not.  It was time.

Learning Lessons

Does anyone out there have a twelve year old son that on the one hand, he is the kindest, gentlest, sweetest soul.....but then on the other hand, he can do something that seems heartless, thoughtless, cruel and stupid?  Am I the only one with their hand raised at this question?  These last few days have had me thinking, where in the hell is the child that I have raised?   Oh yeah.  He's in seventh grade now.  That explains a good bit, I do believe. 

I will admit.  My son has all kinds of electronic gadgets.   Gameboys, Nintendo DS, iPod, Wii, Kindle Fire.  Three out of those five were gifts from grandparents.  The Kindle Fire....yeah, that was all me.  I had good intentions.   Books, I said.  Yeah, well no.  He now has a cell phone.  My husband and I thought about this for a long time before getting him one.  Trust me.  It's not one of them smart phones.  It texts and dials numbers and that's it.  I learned a lesson from the Kindle Fire about him having access to the Intrawebs and checking his history and such.  I wasn't about to let him have access to that on a tiny device that he can carry in his pocket.  Pocket porn to view by a twelve year old....um, no thanks. 

 

Things were going good.  Every couple of days I would take his phone, check his messages.  He was doing pretty good.  The Big Sexy and I have had many discussions with him about what is appropriate "text talk" and what is not.  "Be smart with it" we would say.  "You can't read someone's tone."  we would say.  "Once you hit send, you can't go back."  we would say.  Apparently, that advice didn't stick.  Here's what happened:

 

Friday Morning:  I get up and I'm getting ready for work.  I grab my phone to check Facebook (yes, first thing in the morning) and I don't know about you, but I get all excited when I see that I have message on Facebook....you know...just for me.  "Hi Mrs. Jennay. This is Atreyu (not his real name, of course) one of <The Little Man's> FORMER friends. He seems to like cursing at me and my MOM. Please message me back or message my mom.  Her name is <Princess Leia>.

 

huh?  The Little Man was with me last night until 8:00 then he was in the tub, then he was in the bed and I had taken his cell phone in my room (we do this so he's not texting people all night long), what the hell?  So, I emailed Princess Leia because I'm weird about interacting with children, privately, on Facebook.  To make a long story, even longer....she explains that her son, Atreyu had shared private information about another kid (we'll call him Gollum) with my son and some other kids at school.  My son then took to texting this Gollum kid (cause they are friends) and Gollum's mother then called her all upset.  So then Atreyu (her son), who shared the information in the first place, then texted the number that he had for my son, asking him to lay off of Gollum.  Then my son told her son to um, well...fuck off and mind his own business.  Then when Atreyu told my son that he wanted MY number so that his mom could call me, my son texted back and said, "fuck you and fuck your mom."  WHAT?????  When did this happen?  I asked...."Last night", she said.  And had the texts in front of her.  WHAT????? 

 

I immediately go wake up my son.

 

 

Who were you texting yesterday?  <me scrolling through his texts and I just see one person that he sent messages to....a kid that he was going to do a sleepover with>

I was texting my friend about a sleepover.

Anyone else???

(At this point he knew something was up.)  Well, I texted Gollum. 

There are no texts to or from Gollum. <I'm looking through his phone, still>

I deleted them because I knew you would get upset if you saw them.

 

ohhhh.  He's caught on how to play the game.  Sneaky little shit.

 

And why would I get upset?

Because I said, "Whassup sex offender."

mmmkay.  And what else did you say?

Well, he didn't respond, so I sent another that said, "Yo...pedophile.  What's up?"

What in the hell were you thinking?  Why would you send that to a friend?

I wanted to know if what Atreyu told us was true.

And you thought that by sending those kinds of messages, that Gollum would tell you?  What was his response?

He told me to shutup.

So what about the texts between you and Atreyu and his mom?  Why would you curse at them for asking you to stop texting Gollum?

I haven't texted Atreyu, you can look at my cell phone.  I don't even have his number.

<scrolling through texts and contacts> you're right, but you deleted the messages to Gollum, how do I know you didn't delete the texts from Atreyu.

I swear, I didn't text him or his mom.  I don't know anything about it.  He's one of my best friends.  I would never curse at him OR his mom.  Cue the tears....big tears.

 

Needless to say.  I didn't believe him.  I was a kid once.  I lied to try and prevent myself from getting into further trouble.  I know how this shit works.  The mom had the text messages to prove it.  So, that's what I was going by. 

So, I sent The Little Man on to school and to the computer I went to pull up the account and see what numbers he had been texting and calling.   Sure enough there were only two numbers he had been texting for the last two days.  The friend about the sleep over and Gollum (whassup sex offender).  After looking at all of his electronic gadgets, we also determined that he had not sent anything from these.  (Let me insert here, that I am technologically challenged and I had no idea that there were texting apps that could be downloaded on iPods and Kindle Fires that would let you text phones from them....well, now, I know.)  It wasn't that I didn't believe that he DIDN'T send those messages.  I was actually trying to prove that he did.  Imagine my surprise (yes, surprise because I know that kids curse) when I proved that he didn't, instead.  We contacted the mother of Atreyu to get the number that these texts come from and the name of Gollum's mom.  Cause we had some fixin' to do.  Turns out...the number that Atreyu had for my son....not his.  How this happened....I don't know.  What I can tell you, with certainty, is that my son didn't get a cell phone until last month and the text apps....those numbers were nowhere near this one either.  So, instead of that person that Atreyu texted just saying, "you got the wrong dude", yeah, well, he chose to curse them out.  Did this get The Little Man off the hook ...Nope...not by a long shot.

You see, he took information....private information...and chose to harass/pick on/whatever another kid with it.  A kid who was supposed to be his friend.  His first mistake was not the text message.  It was him not standing up to Atreyu while he was running his big, fat, mouth about Gollum and saying, "dude....that's not cool.  You shouldn't be talking about our friend and spreading his personal stuff like that."  But he didn't.  Let's face it.  He's a kid.  They don't always do the right thing. They mess up.  At least mine do and I know it.  Instead, he chose to be nosy and try to go about finding out more information in a completely inappropriate and unacceptable way.  So while I was trying to find out how to contact Gollum's mom, The Big Sexy and I made The Little Man write two apology letters.  One for Gollum and his mother and the other for Atreyu and his mom.  He was going to read them, in person, to them. 

I didn't want to involve Atreyu's mom anymore than she already was.  I mean, she was dealing with the fact that her son ran his mouth about sensitive information.  So, I did a little research and was able to find Gollum's mom on facebook.  That was a hard email to send.  It wasn't me that messed up, but it was a twelve year old extension of me and I had to reach out to her so that my twelve year old could attempt to repair what he did.  I had no idea how or IF she would respond but thank the Goddesses she did.  She wasn't happy at all, but agreed for us to all meet face to face for The Little Man to read his letter and talk to them about what he did and when we did that yesterday, she was stern with him, but forgiving.  There were tears.  From everyone.  She told him that in her heart of hearts, she knew that he was a good kid and that she hoped that he learned a valuable lesson from this.  He did.  I truly believe he did.  Then we moved on for him to read his letter to Atreyu and his mom.  He didn't need to apologize for text cursing that he didn't do, but he did need to apologize for taking what Atreyu said and running with it.  If that first text had never been sent, none of this would have happened.  But it did.   And so, for him, another lesson was learned. 

Now, I know that I probably didn't handle this like most parents.  We all do the parenting thing differently.  I know that a lot of parents wouldn't let their twelve year old have all of the electronic gadgets and that if we had not given our twelve year old a cell phone, none of this would have happened.  And they are right.  It wouldn't have.  But, we did give him one.  We felt that he needed it.  I still feel that he needs it.  What I feel that I messed up on is not teaching him, a little better, the responsiblity that comes with it or more texting etiquette.  I failed to teach him the social skills that are needed with it.  And so, for ME, another lesson learned.

I don't know about you....but I would much rather have learned another lesson about Blue Waffles.  But that's just me.

This parenting thing is hard y'all.  But worth it.  I reckon.



Criticizing Success

I never claimed to be an inspirational writer.  I never claimed to be a funny writer.  Hell, I've never claimed to be a writer, period.  I just tend to let whatever is on my mind, spew from my finger tips.  Today, I have something on my mind that is definitely neither inspirational, nor funny.

Steps on to rant box:

Most of you guys know about my struggle with weight and what I did to lose most of it.  If you don't know about that, you can read about it here (My Name is Jennay & I Am Obese).  I'll give you a minute to go do that.  <elevator music playing Tupac's "California Love"....hey, it's MY elevator music>  Okay, now that you've read that, you will also need to go read this (I Wanna Laugh, But It's Not Funny).   I'll give you another minute....<more elevator music..."biggie, biggie, biggie, can't you see....">  Okay.  So, this should catch you up to where I am at.  You can see that I once was a fat girl.  You also know that I don't make fun of overweight people (or anyone other than myself, really).  You now know that I get very uncomfortable when others make fun of overweight people.  I am kind of an advocate for the overweight, I guess you could say.  Now, here is where I may upset people.

I am not....I repeat....NOT, an advocate for overweight people who say they want to do something about their weight, yet do nothing, and who begrudge other people for losing weight and attempt to diminish their success by trying to make them feel guilty for being proud of their weight loss.  I know that in my second post that you read up there, I reminded you guys that you don't know why the person that is overweight hasn't lost it, and that you don't know their history and that is still true.  But just as I don't support the making fun of them, I don't believe that an overweight person being critical of success by others and overly sensitive towards statements made by some is acceptable.  That is not the way to make me want to support you and the challenges that you face in your own weight loss journey.   Negating the hard work that someone else has been doing for themselves is just as wrong as them making fun of you would be.   What I WILL support is you being proud of that person who is working so hard and letting it inspire you to do better in your own battle with obesity. 

I will acknowledge that being morbidly obese is difficult.  I can acknowledge it because I've experienced it.  I have the medical records to prove it.  Not only does it affect you physically, it does mentally, too.  I have been there to see others successfully lose weight and thought, "God...I wish that were me.", but never, ever did I put their success down.  I celebrated with them.  And because I did that, they encouraged me.  And with encouragement comes inspiration.  Criticize those who are doing well with their weight loss because you are jealous and you will find that you will no longer have a support group that you so desperately need.  I can tell you that for months....MONTHS, I was at a stand still with my weight.  I wasn't really doing much about it either.  I was simply wallowing in the fact that I couldn't lose anymore and not really attempting to do anything extra to remedy it.  Then one day, one blessed day, I came across a picture from a lady that I am proud to now call friend.  She was a red faced, sweating mess and it was simply entitled, "after...gah.".  A picture of her after a run.  I started reading her page and got inspired to start running.  I emailed her to tell her how she inspired me and boom...a friendship began and she has been a continuous supporter in my own never ending journey.  She doesn't down me when I am successful while she's at a stand still and I don't down her when she revels in her success, while I'm stalled.  That shit is deserved.  I celebrate with her. 

Anyone who battles any type of problem, whether it be food, alcohol, drugs, gambling, abuse of credit cards, etc....any of them will tell you that YOU have to be the one to want to fix yourself and once you make that decision, it's important to surround yourself with support.  But you can't surround yourself with support until YOU make the decision to fix YOU.  All of the support in the world won't help until you realize that.  I can't make you lose weight.  I can't make you WANT to lose weight.  Only you can do that.  What I CAN do is be there to support you when you make that decision for yourself.  But I won't do it when you begrudge others who are being successful.   Yes, you can say that my support comes with stipulations, but I firmly believe that seeing the success of others should be an inspiration to one's self.  Until you can do that, then you can't tell me that you are really trying for yourself.  I just won't believe it.

Steps off of rant box.

Oh, Wait. I Was Supposed to Relax??

I've been having a lot of problems with my back, here lately, so my husband decided to be sweet and book a massage for me.  I was thrilled, but then I was horrified, because I hadn't shaved my legs in three days and there was no way freaking way that I was gonna let someone rub around on me with three days growth going on.  So on my lunch, I ran home and shaved those bad boys real quick.  After I took care of that, I went back to work and proceeded to look forward to my massage.

Now, I don't know if any of you are like me, but I tend to think weird things when I go to have a massage.  Like, when they hand me the robe and slippers, I wonder how they were cleaned.  If I don't smell fabric softener, I don't think it's clean and well, I couldn't smell fabric softener on that robe.  Yeah, it was all fluffy, but no smell.   And those shoes, well, just how well did they clean those and HOW do they clean them?  Cause you know, when the massage is done and you're all greased up, your greasy feet go in those little slippers and you slip and slide on them on that walk back to the women's changing room.  How do they degrease those bad boys?  And the drink they offer you...I always want the iced peach tea because it's soooo good.  Then I wonder why I can't find a tea that tastes like that.  Then I look around the room and everyone else is drinking wine, but I can't do that because I'm getting a massage and trust me....wine....massage....this equals very inebriated Jennay and a ride in the back of a police vehicle due to one of two things.  1) inappropriate behavior in a spa (for some reason, I'm thinking that standing on a chair and singing "We will, we will rock you" is not behavior appropriate for a day spa. or 2) DUI due to being extremely relaxed from a massage and wine.  All of these thoughts in my head and the massage hasn't even begun. 

However, my REALLY weird thoughts start the moment I take that robe off and slide under the little blanket.  First off, the room is cold.  Hangover II comes to mind and all I can think is "Chow so cold."  So I hurry up and hang my robe on the wall and kick off the little slippers and climb into that nicely heated up bed.  Shit, I can't remember if she said face up or face down.  The little face thing isn't on here, so I'm gonna go with face up.  I'm all settled, then I start thinking on the whole underwear thing.  Do most people wear their underwear during a massage, or do they take those bad boys off?  (I wear mine.)  And if they take them off, is that like a secret signal to massage the ass cheeks?  Or would they even massage the ass cheeks?  Where is freaking John Travolta when I have these questions?  The door opens and in walks "Liz".  She lowers the lights and says here we go. 

Now, I'm not a talker during a massage.  And usually, when I'm feeling nervous about something, I will start chatting away.  I don't know why I'm so nervous during a massage, but I am.  But for some reason, this is the only situation where I don't start rambling on.  What I am doing is focusing on trying to relax.  Closing my eyes.  Relax, Jennay.  Relax.  Inhale, exhale.  Okay.  Okay.  I open my eyes and with what little light that is on in the room, I think that I make out that Liz may have a little cliffhanger.  SHUT YOUR EYES.   SHUT YOUR EYES.  No....I had to see that wrong.  Please God, tell me that there was not a bat in the cave.  Thinks to self, "your wonderful, dear, sweet husband scheduled this for you to relax.....so freaking relax already.  You did not see something in that girl's nose.  It's too dark in here to see anything.  Shut your eyes and relax.  Geesh, Jennay."  Okay, I'm relaxing.   My shoulders go at ease, my back loosens up and my legs and arms finally just lie still without looking like boards.  The massage is moving on and I'm relaxed.  Maybe a little too much, because all of a sudden I felt the need to let one rip.  WHAT?  Hell no, not here.  Here we go again.  Tense up.  Ass cheeks tight as a rock.  "Go away, go away....please don't do this here."  All I can think of is The Big Sexy saying, "Let it ease on out."  only, you can't do that here.  NOT HERE.  Okay....I'm good.  It's passed.  But it was noticeable because Liz just asked if I was okay and I lied and said I had a little cramp.  Well, kind of lied.  It was a cramp.  Only the gassy kind. 

A few minutes later, it was time to turn over.  Now, I don't know about you, but the flip time is always awkward.  "Turn over to your stomach, but turn away from me."  she says, while holding the blanket up.  This shit takes me a minute or two.  I mean, I have to get my legs positioned, then I have to grab my boobs and help to sling them over, all without exposing myself to her.  Now, it's during this time that I tend to think "this is where John Travolta probably made his alleged 'move' on the masseuse."  (I don't know why I think so much about John during my massages because I don't for one second believe he did what those people claim he did, but yet, I still make up these scenarios in my head.)  Okay, so I'm flipped and now my face is supposed to go into that little donut thing.  I never, ever get this right.  And this time was no exception.  Apparently, I didn't scooch high enough to where my face was directly in the center of the hole, but Liz had already began to work on me, so I remained where I was and I stayed like that for 40 minutes.  Normally, it seems like that time flies by.  But when you are all hunched up in the wrong position, trust me, 40 minutes seems like a lifetime.  It was during this time that whatever Liz ate for lunch, chose to start rumbling around in her stomach and I began to think that she was having to clinch her ass cheeks together, just as I had done just a few minutes earlier.  I don't know how she continued to work through that because from what I could hear, there was a fight going on in her belly....one that lasted a good long while and one that was very loud. 

Finally, we're done.  "Take your time getting up, I will meet you outside the door."  She says.  It's a good thing she said for me to take my time, because due to my crooked ass way of putting my face in the donut pillow, I had a stiff neck and it took a moment to loosen it up and come to a seated position.  I put my robe and slippers on and slip and slide my way to the door on those greasy slippers, where Liz greets me with, wait....water???....not my tea?  "You have extremely dry skin and you need to hydrate as much as possible."  What the hell?  Katy from I Want A Dumpster Baby is punking me, isn't she?  Hydrate.....hydrate my ass.  Give me my peach tea.  I give her a dirty look, say thanks and glide on down to the Ladies room.  I quickly shower, dress, and go to the receptionist to pay.  "Thank you so much, Mrs. Jennay."  she says.  "Is there anything else we can do for you?"  Yeah, um....I need to book another massage for Wednesday because I have crick in my neck.  And I walk out the door with the tune of  "Staying Alive" playing in my head.

Judgemental to Infiniti & Beyond

I know that this post is probably gonna have people calling me a Judgey McJudgerson, but you know what?  I'm gonna let it slide off my shoulders.  Not that I don't care, because I do (okay, not really).  But because this is where I post my thoughts, whether they are right or wrong.  So here goes.

My son got off of the school bus on Friday and we immediately left to go get him a haircut.  What used to be called hair on his head could now be called a mop....or something similar.  Upon pulling into the parking lot, I was waiting for someone to pull out of a parking spot, with my blinker on, when someone pulled in from the opposite direction and slid right into that parking spot.  Okay, so yes....I was pissed that they did that.  Absolutely pissed.  What pissed me off even more was that it was a little Infiniti....what topped THAT off was that it was a little Infiniti driven by a teenage boy, accompanied by one of his friends.  Okay, so you have to give me kudos here, because I didn't curse them out, only because my children were in the car and I try to teach them to use their heads when they are angry and not spout off at the mouth, like mommy does.   You know, do as I say, not do as I do......So, I found another parking spot and brought my son in to get his hair cut.  But I couldn't stop thinking about that jackhole and his little Infiniti in the parking spot I was waiting for.  Then I got to thinking.....why in Sam's Hell was a teenager driving a goshdang Infiniti?

So....I posted a question on my Facebook page, asking, what was the first vehicle that you had to drive when you first started driving.  The answers weren't all that surprising.  Buicks, Hyundais, Dodges, Chevys, Nissans....the list went on and on.  71 comments worth.  There was only one car that I deemed "fancy" that was listed and I only call it fancy because of the type...I don't know the condition of it.  But for the most part, they were all older cars, or cars passed down from parents to kids.  I don't think anyone said that they had a brand new vehicle when they first started driving.  But what most of them DID say was that they had great memories of that car.  I know  mine was a 1986 Ford Ranger with a stick shift, that had A/C, but no power steering and no radio.  We used to put a little portable cassette player on the dashboard and everytime we would turn a corner or curve, you would have to hold your hand up on the dashboard to keep the cassette player from sliding back and forth.  I have great memories of that truck.  I drove that truck my junior and senior year of high school, then sold it and bought a 1989 Toyota Celica that I jam packed even MORE memories into.  It wasn't until I was 22 that I bought my first brand new car....a Mitsubishi Galant.  Why did we have such good times in our old jalopy cars.....well....probably because they were old jalopy cars.  They had character and even though most of them were crappy....they were ours.

Getting back to the kid in the Infiniti.  I'm sure there are a dozen reasons why he could have been driving it.  He could have been borrowing it from his parents ( who I don't begrudge having a nice vehicle, after all, they earned it.) , but I don't even remember being able to borrow my parent's car, once I had my old truck. "What's wrong with your truck?", they would ask. "No gas in it.", I would say. They wouldn't just give me money for gas either. I had to figure out a way to earn money....usually washing their car would get me $5 bucks and back then, $5 gave me three fourths of a tank and I could drive all week.  He could have been borrowing it from his grandma (who, I also don't begrudge owning a luxury vehicle, as, she too, probably earned it).  It could have been....I shudder to think....his (okay, here is where I begrudge).  I'm just gonna go with that last option.  Mainly because I'm being Judgey McJudgerson and he pissed me off, so I'm gonna think the worst of him. If this WAS in fact HIS car....what are his parents thinking?  First off, I don't care if you are the best dayum teenager on the face of the Earth.  No kid deserves to drive a luxury vehicle.  No kid.  It's just stupid.  "Here, Son.  You haven't worked a day in your life, but here are the keys to a $55,000 vehicle, you deserve it.  Take good care of her."  Now, I might could see giving them a decent vehicle for graduation, but decent is not Infiniti.    Decent is like, Toyota, Honda, Ford or Nissan. 

Still going on the assumption that it was his....what happened to the days of having to work, really work, for nice things?   I don't know what a 17 year old could possible do to earn that kind of car.  I can not even fathom purchasing a vehicle like that for my future 17 year old.  My feeling is that he needs to grow and work his way up to being able to get something like that for himself.  I feel like that is a lot of the problem with most of today's kids.  They are given way too dayum much, at early ages.  They tend to not appreciate it nearly enough and they come to expect more and more things like that in the future.  It is setting them up for a lot of disappointment in the future.  Then they tend to expect things of luxury to be given to them in the future, without earning those either.  (Or I don't know, their parents COULD continue to give them stuff the rest of their life, I reckon.)  Then they become the asshole teenager who slips right into a parking spot even when he sees someone waiting there for it.  Then, years later, they become the asshole adult who parks his luxury vehicle in a handicap spot because he will "only be inside for just a second".

And so yes....all of this judginess comes from a hypothetical ownership of a car, totally made up in my head.  I even had the kid into adulthood, becoming an asshole.  But you know what....if he hadn't been an asshole teenager, yanking up the parking spot I was waiting on, maybe I woulndn't have thought twice about it and created this whole stupid scenario in my head......but then it again....it WAS a teenager driving a goshdang Infiniti....I probably still would have thought all of that, anyways.  So yeah...my judging him is all his fault, or his parents fault, I reckon.  Not mine.  Never my fault.

Isaac the Ass

You know, I'm no stranger to preparing for hurricanes.  I live in Louisiana.  When you live here, you know that it comes with the territory.  Kind of like California...you know there are earthquakes.  You deal with it.  Isaac was no Katrina.  It was supposed to just be a little Category 1 storm.  Whatevernobigdeal, right?  Riiiiiiighhhttt.  

It all started when The Big Sexy woke me up at 6:30 Sunday morning (August 26) and said, "baby, they are projecting Isaac our way, so I'm gonna go ahead and gas up the cars and cans, buy some groceries and get the generators prepared for just in case."  So, I get up and go ahead and get all of our important papers together (birth certificates, social security cards, insurance stuff, etc.) and start watching the weather.  Isaac looked like a little wimp, so I decided to stay here with the kiddos instead of evacuating, like we usually do.  So, I went on to work Monday and the kids went to school.  Little did I know that we were all about to have a week off (some of us TWO weeks off).  When I arrived to work that morning, we were told that we would be off on Tuesday and Wednesday and probably return to work on Thursday.  So, I prepped  my office as best as I could.  Packed up all my pictures and important papers and loaded them into my car.  You see, my office took on five feet of water during Katrina and I wasn't gonna take a chance with this one, even if it was a measly Cat 1.

Tuesday wasn't so bad.  We were just starting to get some rain and a little wind.  We helped my father in law at his house and went to eat lunch.  That evening, we sat out on the back porch and watched the trees swaying.  The kiddos played and watched t.v.  I wouldn't let them play on their electronics.  "Save them for when the electricity goes out, cause you're gonna get bored."  We all went to bed and I fully expected to wake up to no electricity on Wednesday morning, but nope.  We still had it.  Phhhsh.  This shit ain't that bad, I thought.  My husband got a phone call from his father, asking for more help because at that point, Isaac had shifted some more and they projected more water to move in and his bottom floor (man cave) was going to flood.  So The Big Sexy leaves in hurricane force winds to go help out.  Five minutes later, the power goes out.  Okay....I can deal with it.  I pull the refrigerator out and run the cord to the generator, and do the same with the freezer.  Every thing's good.    30 minutes later.....

"Ma, I'm bored."  Oh shit, here we go already?  I thought we would get at least an hour into it.

"Where's your Nintendo DS?"

"I forgot to charge it up."  code for I was too busy playing and didn't feel like listening to you when you said to charge it.

"Where's my Kindle Fire?  You can play that." 

"I played it last night, and the battery is almost dead."  This answer, after I had already told them to save their electronics power.

"Where's your iPod?"

"I don't feel like playing that.  Besides, it's just music."

"Well, I guess you're not bored enough.  Go read a book, while I watch the wind."

After dealing with all of this for about an hour, I decided, screw it....and plugged in a surge strip and plugged in every gaming device I could.  I didn't care if it drained every bit of gas out of the generator...It was worth it.

Thursday rolled around and we still had no power, so that meant no tv or cable or Internet.  We had our little radio and were listening to it, but let me tell you, when levees are breaking and shit...you want to SEE that.  For some reason, it's hard to take all of that in by just listening to it.  After finding out that levees were toppled in some areas, my husband decided to take the chain saw and boat and try to do what he could to help.  He was gone all day and I just attempted to entertain the kids.  We ventured out to see if we could find an open store and we did, where I promptly purchase 5 puzzles, thinking that this would help entertain them.  Well, it did help entertain....but not them.  It helped me.  I had forgotten how much I loved puzzles and pretty soon, I was taking over that project and continued with them until the lights came back on that evening.  Big Sexy came back and said that some areas were pretty bad and it was hard to see people go through all of that again, after losing so much from Katrina.  Anyways...Friday we spent the day putting things back where they belonged, he had to start preparing to leave for work Saturday morning and I had to start getting back in the mind set of single mom again.  Things seemed like it was about to get back to normal or as normal as it gets for us, anyway. 

Move forward to Saturday.  It started it off a really good day.  We had gotten cable back, so I could watch the news.  The kids were thrilled to be able to play outside.  We went to see an early movie....we were getting ready to watch the LSU game at a friends house.  Then, the phone call came.  "Pack a couple of bags for just in case.  Lock 1 is failing and the failing of Lock 2 is imminent.  If that happens, you will more than likely flood."  Wait, what?  I literally felt like I was going to be physically sick.  I was shaking.  How do you pick and choose what to take with you?  I mean, I have my important papers together.  But my stuff?  What sentimental stuff do you take?  Shit.  I grabbed 3 days worth of clothes for me and the kids, a couple of school uniforms,  jewelry, bobby pins, makeup, deodorant, toothbrushes, medicines.  Why bobby pins?  I don't know.  They were just there.  I was shaking.  Did I mention that already?  I put the bags in the car, without telling the kids what was going on, I told them to get in the car, and went on over to my friends house.  I mean, at this point, what else could I do?  I wasn't just going to wait around.  I was on pins and needles for a good two hours before I got another phone call saying that they relieved the pressure on Lock 1 and it was safe, everything was going to be okay.  I don't think I can ever describe the relief that came with that, but what I can tell you is that I finally broke down, into my can of Pringles, sitting in my closet, on Sunday night.  It was just too much.  Too much stress for me and I didn't even flood.  All I could think of were the poor people who did and wonder, how in the hell do they cope? 

We had the holiday on Monday and yippity doo dah....the kids were going back to school...I was going back to work.  Oh wait....no....ChunkaMunk developed walking pneumonia and tonsillitis during all this.  Nice.  Real nice. 

Thank you, Hurricane Isaac.  Thank you so much for all of the stress.  No, the walking pneumonia and tosillitis wasn't your fault, really, but I'm blaming you anyway.  That's just what happens.  When you are an ass, you get blamed for the assholey things.  I reckon.

How to Make Me Unhappy

Things that make me unhappy.  Oh, that list could probably get long.  Really long.  And I hate that, I really do.  Because I like to be happy.  But...I work as a civil servant, so I am constantly facing the public....who a lot of the time, is not happy and they want to see how unhappy they can make everyone else.  But I continue to smile and let them be unhappy, so that I can make fun of them when they leave out of here.  I can't help but wonder what makes them all so dang unhappy all of them time.  So, on you guys' behalf, I have compiled a list of things that make me unhappy.  These things will make me, want to make you miserable...so for your reading pleasure, here are the things that make me, Jennay, an unhappy girl. 

1. Stepping into a puddle of water from melted ice while wearing socks ~ let's face it.  It was an ice cube.  We all know this.  But my brain tells me that I stepped in throw up or dog piss or dog shit.
2. People who don't pick up dropped ice cube and attempt to kick it under the fridge instead.  ~ no need to explain this one, I don't think.
3. squishing the tube of toothpaste, right smack in the middle ~ I have been known to lock children in the time out closet for this very act (TOTALLY JOKING...there is no closet that can be locked inside my home.....nor is there a closet that we call the timeout closet.)  But seriously, how hard is it to work your way from the bottom up?  Oh but nooooo, lets grab that bad boy right in the middle and just squeeze our fist, leaving plenty of paste at the bottom.
4. People taking food off of my plate....especially anything potato related.....or fried...~this will get you sporked.  And sporked quickly.  It's my dayum plate of food.  Go get your own.  Oh, wait...you've GOT your own...why the hell are you grabbing mine?
5. People who litter ~ my momma  thumped me upside the head if she saw me litter.  I'm not joking.  I once threw something out the window while she was driving and she pulled over and made me walk back to get it.  When I yelled back that there was more than what I had thrown out, she made me pick up everything around it.   Then I got back in the car with a bunch of trash and she thumped my head.
6. People who attempt to jump in front of others in line because they "just have one real quick question" ~ ummmm, I don't care if you have a two worded question....go back to where you were and wait, just like everyone else here.  (I do love it when they are sent right back to the end of the line again).
7. water spots around my kitchen sink (or ANY kitchen sink) ~ pretty self explanatory, I think.  I cannot walk past a sink that has a mess around it.  A mess can be IN it, but not around it.  I need that shit to be dry and clean.  Do you know how hard it is to keep it this way?  It's a dayum sink....with water....there are gonna be spots....yeah, but no....not mine.
8. Someone saying "why you gotta always try to make people laugh" ~  my answer..."why you gotta always be a dick who wants to kill any kind of joy people may find?"  Why in the world would you question my wanting to do that?  What is wrong with laughter?  Happiness makes people just that...happy.  Geeze, Louise.
9. an empty box of something put back into the pantry ~ why be lazy?  Why not just throw that box in the trash?  Cause now, not only am I aggravated with an empty box, I'm pissed off that the snack I was going for, yeah, it isn't there.  I was led to believe it was there, because you know, there's the box.   But, no, it wasn't there.
10. People who make what should be obviously unwise, choices ~ you want to play basketball with your pants or shorts hanging past your ass?  Well, then no, I don't have an ice pack for the ankle you just turned because you had to make a choice to pull up your pants or catch a ball and trip because your pants fell. 
11. Pee or other things that have fallen from the nether region, left on the toilet seat ~ this is just nasty.  Nasty, nasty, nasty.  Now, I know that EVERYBODY looks down at what they did in the toilet.  I'm sorry.  We do.  We are forced to see what is in there when we turn to flush (with our foot, cause using the hand is gross) the toilet.  HOW DO YOU NOT SEE WHAT YOU LEFT BEHIND ON THE SEAT ITSELF?  I won't go into detail, because then I'll start gagging....but working in a gym, I've seen some pretty disgusting stuff.  Stuff where I wondered what in the hell it was and stuff that I KNEW what in the hell it was.  Clean your shit up.  For real.

Actually, coming up with eleven things that I hate was a little difficult, but, now that you know all of this, I'm sure that you will make sure that you don't do any of these things, in order to stay off of my S.H.I.T. list.  If not, then read them again. Learn them.  Memorize them.  You will be tested later.

Blue Waffles are not edible.

Yes, we are entering those awkward years.  You know the one where the Little Man's got some questions.  Important questions.  Thangs he needs to know.  And we have an agreement, that if he hears kids talking about something and he doesn't know what it is, he isn't supposed to confess that to them, nor is he supposed to ask those kids what it is.  He is supposed to come to Mom and Dad because we will always tell him the truth, no matter how awkward it may be, where as those kids may not know what the hell they are talking about and give him some wrong information, and well, I don't want my son to sound like an idiot, especially when it is stuff concerning sex.  I want him to be able make the dumbass kid who is spouting off all kinds of crap about sex, look like an idiot.  We also told him that if we didn't know what it was he was asking about, we would look it up and find out.

The problem with telling your pre-pubescent son to ask you anything is, well, HE WILL ASK YOU ANYTHING.  Usually, these questions come up while Dad is offshore, so I do the best that I can.  My first question, came about a year ago.

"Ma, what are blue waffles?"

Now, this seemed totally legit to me.  I thought, surely, this is waffles with blueberries.  Me, in apparent naivete, did not know what waffle was slang for.  Hell, it wasn't until the last 4 months that I heard the term "twatwaffle" and now use it frequently, myself.  But rest assured, I now know what waffle means.

"Little Man, I don't know.  Can you use it in a sentence on how you heard it being said and maybe I will understand it better."

He kind of shuffles his feet and I can tell that he is nervous about going any further.

"Well, some boys were laughing during recess after lunch and said something about a nasty blue waffle."

Okayyyy, well, that should have been clue number one.  But sometimes, things don't hit me square in the face like they should.  So, I break out the computer (mistake).

"Let's Google it and see what it says."  I had no goshdang clue that I was about to scar my son for life.  To the point to where when I relayed the story to The Big Sexy when he called home from the rig that night, he stifled his laughter and offered to pick up some girlie magazines on his way home, in order to repair some of the damage.

We sit down on the couch, open up the laptop, Google comes up and I type in "blue waffles" and being a blond who will admit to being stupid at times, I clicked the link without reading the description first.  Up comes a page and before I know it, a picture of a nasty, bruised up twat appears before us.  ESCAPE, ESCAPE, ESCAPE....WHERE IS THE EFFING ESCAPE BUTTON!!!!!  Too late, the damage is done.  Little Man is now wanting to know what in the world that was.  So, I made him go sit on the other couch, while I pulled the page back up.  Here is what the website said,

“Severe vaginal infection/STD on the vagina. The infection could cause lesions on the outside of the vagina, as well as bruising, which causes it to look blue in color.”

I look up at my son, whose red face matches mine, and say just a minute...I google some more.  Come to find out, after more research, "blue waffles" is a fictitious STD.  Doesn't exist.  (Oh thank Gawd).  Pictures have been photoshopped or misrepresented.  Yeah, whewsh.  Great.  In the mean time, how do I explain to my son what he saw?  Here's a little bit of how the conversation went:

LM (Little Man) - Ma, WHAT WAS THAT?
Me - It was a vagina son?  A really bad, ugly, beatup vagina.
LM - What happened to it?
Me - I don't know.  But someone thought it would be funny to make up a disease named Blue Waffle and post pictures of that.  It's not a real disease though.
LM - Do vaginas look like THAT?
Me - No son.  But when you are older, if you EVER come across one that DOES look like that, you run.  Run fast and hard and get the hell out of there.
LM - But I thought you said Blue Waffles wasn't real.
Me - It's not, but don't take any chances, okay?

Now, when he has questions for me, and I don't know the answer, he will blurt out, "Don't google it."  Trust me, son...I won't...at least not in front of you. 

At least we now know that Blue Waffles aren't edible.

When I Want Your Advice....I'll Whistle

I was at ChunkaMunk's dance class a while back and struck up a conversation with a guy friend of mine whose daughter dances at the same time. We were talking about how we are raising our children and how things are so different nowadays, than they were back when we were growing up. You know, how back in the day, if our mom or dad said our name in the slightest whisper, we immediately answered to them and how now a days, it's more like the kids are the ones who call the shots.  We struck up this conversation about this because while we were waiting for dance class to begin, he softly whistled at his daughter to get her attention and to come to him. I laughed, because I thought that was amazing that even though she was so busy playing with her friends, her ears picked up on that whistle....his whistle.... and she was there within a split second, saying "yes sir?"

Anyway....he was telling me about how he and his girls were in a grocery store and he whistled at one of them because she had walked away and this woman gave him a horrified look and proceeded to say that she couldn't believe he whistled at his child like a dog.....so I asked him, "Did you tell her that when you wanted her opinion, you'd whistle for it?".....we cracked up laughing...

This got me to thinking and I know, I know...that's dangerous. But, you know how there are times that you want to talk to someone...just get something off of your chest that has been bothering you or you've been feeling guilty about something and you just need to say it out loud, to someone, or you just need to rant, because that's what women need to do sometimes...just rant.....or you want to share some exciting news, or you just need a good ole' cry on a friend's shoulder?   What you don't want is for that friend to judge, to act offended at or pretend to be above what you are talking about....but most of all, what you don't want is their advice. You just want them to listen.... It's especially frustrating when you're excited about something happening and you share whatever that is with friends and they immediately give you advice on what you should do.  Case in point, I went to try out for The Voice and I only told a hand full of personal friends.  Still, I got advice on what to wear, what not to wear, what to sing or not to sing, how to do my hair, how to sing, how to sound unique (what?) what to drink....and it was all good advice, and meant well, but I didn't ask for it and most of it, I knew, and no, I didn't make the show and yes, I was told by one that I would probably had made it if I had listened to their advice on song choice (I'm sorry, but singing Frank Sinatra's "Fly Me to the Moon" wouldn't have worked....no, really...trust me on this). 

I have a friend who, when she was talking to me about something she was going through, I told her that I just didn't have any advice to give, and I truly didn't know what to tell her.  I was shocked to hear her say, "that's okay....I really only want to hear, sweetie, I'm sorry and I love you and I'm here for you". I'm gonna try my best to remember that when I'm listening to my friends....I'm gonna try and wait for them to ask me what I would do instead of just putting it out there, because I know that I tend to be one of those people who want to give advice, even though I am the last one who should be giving it. Geesh, I can barely figure out which is the front part of the underwear, much less, give you advice on love, marriage, or how you should raise your children. Especially how to raise your children.  Let's face it, I had one fall out of a buggy and let another flip her carry seat, while she was in it, off of the table (no worries...they were both okay)....you definitely don't want parenting advice from me, but any ways, I am the one who tends to want to give advice, even though when it comes time for me to bare my soul to you, I am the one who doesn't want the advice you have to offer.

So, here we go....a service announcement, from me to you....When I want your advice, I will whistle.  And you know what....I'm gonna do a better job on my end and I'll be listening for your whistle when you're ready for mine.