WARNING: THERE WILL BE EXCESSIVE USE OF THE WORD “FUCK” IN THIS POST. IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY THE WORD “FUCK” PLEASE STOP FUCKING READING.
I hate Mondays and I hate mornings. My morning began at 2:00 a.m. when upon going to bed discovered my delightful son had crawled into MY fucking bed, sans me, of course, as I was busy jamming out to Napster and beading, and had wet MY fucking bed. Nate still has a problem with nocturnal wetness and boy did he piss a fucking flood. *Growl*
I had finally worked myself to fucking exhaustion on the fucking car and the fucking beading and all I was looking forward to was going to fucking bed, only to find my son swimming in a sea of fucking urine which most fucking delightfully will have now soaked all the way through to the fucking floor. *Growl*
I know he cannot help this but this did not stop me from being fucking irritated as cranky bitch on her period…. oh yeah, which I started yesterday. *Growl*
After having mopped up the best I could and having sprayed the fucking mattress with Shout, and spreading fucking towels, which were fucking clean, but now are fucking dirty, which means I will have to fucking wash them again! *Growl*
Normally, when I start said fucking red curse of hell and damnation, it takes a while for it to get going so I was unprepared at nine fucking thirty this morning to already have a major crisis on my hands. *Growl* Fuck.
Then, I had to go pay my fucking property taxes, which is a fucking racket if you ask me. Thank you fucking government for punishing me for being able to afford a car and a house and anything else you can fucking tax! 120 fucking dollars just to pay the fucking taxes and the license fee. Fucking racket. *Growl*
I went by the shop and no one was there. I said, “Fuck it. Not going in” But, now, I wish I had gone it because I’m fucking missing a vial of beads. *Growl*
Did I mention it is fucking hot? 82 fucking degrees at 9:45. *Growl*
So, I get home and attempt to fucking bead, which normally calms me down, only to find the beads I had bought were translucent instead of opaque and, while pretty, just don’t go with the other bead I wanted them to go with. So, I used another bead, fucking starting over again, discovering, as mentioned above, that I was missing a vial of fucking beads. I doubt they are at the shop. They are probably in my fucking car, which looks like a fucking dumpster right now.
Nate and I decide we need food, so it’s off to fucking Taco Hell, where we sit in the fucking heat for over 15 minutes only to get the wrong fucking order. With drive time, wait time, and fuck up time, 45 fucking minutes of my life wasted on Taco Hell. Then I didn’t like the fucking food.
I hate being on my period during the summer. I feel fucking dirty ALL. THE. TIME. YUCK! I’m fucking done now. Back to beading. Bzzzzzt!
Well, lost almost a whole day of beading pleasure due to the fact my car said, “Bitch, if you don’t fix me, I’m just not going to run anymore.” I hate it when that happens.
Off I go to my local Advanced Auto to pick up a fuel filter. I’ve never changed a fuel filter before, but I have now. Start car, runs better, test drive, hmmmmmm. . . still hesitating. . . this is bad. Let’s put fucking expensive ass high test gas in it. No, didn’t help much.
Let’s see, the last time I changed the fuel filter was the same time I changed the spark plugs and wires which was. . . 2004. Given my penchant for electrical shit to just not last around me, which is what I told the lady at Advanced Auto on my 2nd trip, I figured this would be a good opportunity to switch them out and see if this fixed the problem.
When I told the lady at Ad. Auto this, she asked me to hold my left palm over her left palm and when I did she looked up at me with wide eyes. Obviously this lady is a force reader and the force is with me. She said, “People think I’m crazy,” I nodded, “I know.”
“Do you know that some people just don’t have that. . . that. . .”
“Life energy? The force?” I offered.
Her eyes lit up and she smiled, “Yes! The force!” I nodded.
Now, my car is sitting in front of my house with the hood up, cooling off so I can attempt to not kill myself or short circuit the electrical system. I’ll be back (hopefully) to let you know how that goes.
*BZZZZZT!* . . . A short time later in Peachville
Well, I didn’t get the plugs changed because I don’t have the correct tools and I only got one wire changed but hey, my car is running and sounds better than it has for five or six weeks. Knowing my luck I’ll get up in the morning and the car won’t start or sound like it did this morning, then I will have to lay my hands on it again. That seems to help. Something about “the force.”
Anyway, Friday night I spent four hours at the shop alone working on getting my beads organized. I’m not even halfway finished. Yesterday I spent time at Wal*Mart and the shop. Here’s the deal. After T-Bird’s aunt passed away a few years back, T-Bird inherited a bedspread and curtains in . . . a bright red velvety sorta material. T-Bird felt she should gift this to me so I could make something out of it IF I also made her something. Fair enough I say.
So, when I started talking about this purse project for Beadwork magazine, T-Bird piped up that she wanted a cigar box purse too. I have since changed my mind about the cigar box and am going with a “coal” theme for the purse for Beadwork magazine but did start on the T-Bird one. I have a design crafted into the material that I cut from the bottom of one of the curtains and that’s about it. So, that leaves me with a big bedspread and 1 3/4 full length curtains. In red. Oh yeah, the possibilities are endless… uh huh.
That is, until I got this bright red idea to make a cloak out of said material. Hence the trip to Wal*Mart to pick up a pattern and thread and a few needles and then a stop at another local textile store where I picked up the tracing paper and that wheel thingy and a gold frog and saw a drunk with dreadlocks hit said textile building, almost drive his car through the window of convenience store and the ensuing fire truck, ambulance, and four police cars. This is up from the one police car at a fender bender on my way to Wal*Mart and still up from the fire truck, ambulance, and two police cars I saw Friday night when some gentleman drove his truck head first into a telephone pole.
Never a dull moment. Bzzzt.
So, I got to the shop and swept the floor and spread out the material and the pattern and did all the things that one should do and sweated and cursed and sang along with the radio and showed off my beadwork to the Computer Guy and his associate and twiddled my thumbs while he met with a client who had the audacity to step on my material which was on the floor since none of the tables were big enough. Then I had to go home and get the 3/4 curtain and something to eat and finally around 7:30 I pieced together what I had just to see if it looked normal or anywhere close to that and it did and I came home, fed the cats, fed the remaining living kitten (Cali, she is SO CUTE and lucky to be alive), and started beading and watching “Cold Case Files.”
This was short lived as AZ called at about 9:20 and was at my house by 9:30 and we had porch time which was nice except the mosquitoes were bad. I knew he had gone to the Girlfriend’s brother’s birthday celebration an hour and a half away and I also knew that while he likes said brother, he didn’t really want to go and when I questioned as to why he couldn’t just get together with said brother for lunch as said brother works in our town he grumbled and mumbled about the Girlfriend pestering him (insisting… uhhhh… whatever) that he go. So, upon his return to town he ditches Girlfriend, stops for some liquid courage and ends up on my porch, with my arms wrapped around him, and his arms wrapped around mine, holding hands.
That didn’t sound real good, did it?
Don’t answer that.
He didn’t stay long though, like I said, mosquitoes were bad and so was the state of my house, so off he went and I went back to beading. And then it was Sunday, which started this post. Amen.
And the most recent victim of “Can Only Make One Syndrome.” The only thing difficult for me to do twice or three times, earrings. I have this horrible habit of only making one. I wish I didn’t have to make them the same. That is all for now.
Jeff decided to have a few drinks before I picked Nate up and it got real ugly, real fast.
I hate drunks. I cannot tolerate alcoholics when they’re drinking. I don’t care anymore who it is. And I especially hate mean, blaming, belligerent drunks.
Now, Jeff wants me to give Nate to him for a year. Right. I told him to fuck off. The man is sitting there drunk. He is slurring his words at 5:30 in the evening. Goddess only knows what else he had on top of that booze.
See, I’m not Mother of the Year by any stretch of the imagination. I know this. My house could stand to be a hell of lot cleaner. Jeff wanted to throw shit on me about Nate and school. I told him that I was the reason that Nate even got to fourth grade. Me. Because he, Jeff, as you all know, WALKED AWAY. I told him that. I said, “You.walked.away.
I told him I was not taking his shit and the conversation was over. Then he got in my face, blah, blah, blah, blah, and I told him, “No, I’m not perfect, but neither are you, but I don’t see me mentioning that.” Then he tried to get me to touch him in some way so he could cry battery and get a DVP against me but I walked away. He tried to say, “Look at how you’re acting in front of your son!” Oh, right, I’m being verbally attacked, he’s bullying me, forcing me backwards, and he’s drunk. Yeah, I’m the bad influence.
For someone who wants to have his son for an entire year. . . funny, he’s only asked to have Nate for one week this summer. Nate asked for an additional two days when his sister was there. Granted, Jeff sees Nate everyday, or so I’m told, since I’ve also been told Jeff naps a lot during the day, but no, he hasn’t asked for exclusive time, meaning, I don’t pick Nate up in the evenings. Additionally, he said I don’t spend any time with Nate. Funny. . . pool trips, movies, dinner every evening, sometimes I bead on the bed while Nate watches TV or plays a video game, sometimes, lo and behold, I read blogs and I write and I bead somewhere else, normally at my desk, and I may even talk on the phone to an adult who isn’t drunk!
He pisses me off.
Oh, and AZ and I are fine. He’s continually amazed by my beading skills and today we worked on an ad for the shop. We may be taking a one day Quickbooks class together in August. But I forgot to remind him about it. Must do that tomorrow. Tomorrow will be better. Pics soon of my new beadwork.
I wrote this about a week ago and didn’t get a chance to post it so it can be the fill in for today
I felt as thought my Fourteen Years War (hereinafter “FYW”) Saga was kind of a downer and negative. Especially since I’ve actually had extremely good times with both AZ and Jeff. Thought I would share two such memories with you.
One night, Jeff and I were driving around (that’s called a “Drive Around Date” in WV) and the song “Renegade” by Styx came on the radio. If you’re not familiar with it, it starts with a harmony of singers and a light drum beat.
Oh mama I’m in fear for my life
From the long arm of the law
Lawman has put an end to my running
And I’m so far from my home
Oh mama I can hear you a crying
You’re so scared and all alone
Hangman is coming down from the gallows
And I don’t have very long
Then there is a high pitched, screaming type “YEAH!”
Since I sing along with every song on the radio, this was no exception. What I wasn’t expecting was Jeff to contribute the “YEAH!” I jumped out of my skin then we both started laughing. I still love that song and I think of Jeff every time I hear it.
Then, one night when I went to a local bar and grill, I was chatting up the owner’s wife, a somewhat ditzy coke addict with an additional alcohol problem. AZ came behind the bar and we smiled at each other. She asked, “Do you know each other?” Without waiting for an answer, she said, “Oh, Inanna this is AZ, AZ this is Inanna. She makes jewelry.” AZ and I shook hands. I said, “It’s nice to meet you, AZ.” He said, “It’s nice to meet you, Inanna.” Both of smiling like Cheshire Cats. We laughed long and hard about that later.
I still laugh about it especially considering on one of my trips last year I ended beside of her on a plane. We had time to catch a drink in Charlotte before our connecting flights (at 3:00 or 4:00 in the evening). I think she had three Bloody Mary’s in 20 minutes. I gave her some beads to share with her daughters. I need to tell AZ about that. Keep meaning to… just keep forgetting.
My car has been acting up and I’m betting it is something that I have already had fixed that shouldn’t be broken already. I looked for arcing and sparks under the hood which would indicate trouble with the spark plug wires but naturally when I popped the hood and gunned the engine the damn thing acted like it was ready to race the Indy 500 until of sputtering and clicking and missing like it has been for the past five weeks.
When I change the channel on the radio, I use the little buttons that I have my stations saved to, if I don’t, when I turn the station knob, it just fucks up my radio. It takes me twice as long to tune my radio with the knob than if I just hit a button because the stupid radio simply will not tune when I turn the knob. Stupid radio.
I bought a new watch face today and then proceeded to waste an hellavu lotta time trying to make a chain mail watchband to go with it. It has taken longer to figure out chain mail then the watch will probably last. Also, I have yet to figure out chain mail. Pretty, tough, pretty damn tough, maybe tomorrow. Regardless, I do not have high hopes for said watch. I will most likely bead a standard two or three drop peyote band tomorrow, embellish it, and call it a day. Not only do watches die on me in a relatively short period of time, battery replacement does no good. When the watch dies, it is dead, never to be resurrected.
We had a horrible, but welcome, thunderstorm on Friday night. The sweltering temps were driving me batty. It moved in fast and hit hard. Kind of like the thunderstorm described in my “Distortion by Thunderstorm” posts, except, it moved faster. A bolt of lightening came dangerously close to my house. Close enough that I could feel the static electricity from it all over my body and the lights dimmed very, very low. Close enough that, instinctively, I ducked. I feel as though had I not been home, it would have fried everything on the east side of my house, which is the important side of the house. TV, cable box, computer, air conditioner, refrigerator, freezer, and alarm clock, all on the east side of the house. Eh, who cares about the alarm clock.
I have a hard time with compasses. Street lights blink off and on. Ask Troy, he is a bona fide skeptical witness. We were standing under one of those quad streetlights favored by large parking lots when they went off like “Close Encounters.” Troy also was a witness to another streetlight phenomena when I snapped my fingers and made one go off.
Lights have come on in my house and the TV once, although I’m not sure if it was me or a spiritual being who happened to be passing through and knew I wanted the TV turned on. Sometimes, I can get all of the stoplights to turn to green.
The lady I buy beads from told me after hearing my lamentation about watches that, “You just have a different body chemistry.”
Tell me, are those little balls they use for the lottery magnetic? Damn. Didn’t think so.
My job is winding down. Any moment they could give us the promised two weeks notice or they could walk in and tell us to pack our things and leave. So, I’m working eight full hours there and working a few hours at the shop and beading at home. The shop won’t generate any money until I start bringing in sales. Beadwork, same thing, although I’m getting ready to be juried again.
I’m sick of being in an office all the time. I would much rather be creative. That’s what I like about the shop. It satisfies many different needs in me. Creatively, numbers, relaxed atmosphere, flexibility, it’s my dream job, except for that whole commission pay thing. So, I’m trying to combine the best of both worlds. I haven’t quite decided yet, but I’m hoping to take a few basic courses in Excel and Quickbooks, and hang out yet another shingle as “Office Girl for Hire.”
AZ and the Computer Guy can’t be the only extremely busy small business owners who need an office girl but can’t afford one full time. I also bid on a transcribing machine today, the mini-cassette kind, but I also bid on a standard cassette kind but didn’t meet the reserve. I’ll keep my eyes open on Ebay although the transcriber I bid on was very, very sweet. I may up my bid. I’m also looking into becoming a medical transcriptionist.
I’ve also been looking into advertising. Damn, if that shit is not expensive! But, have to spend money to make money. I’ve also contemplated using the resources at the shop to take up event planning. We have dozens and dozens of promotional wholesale catalogs. I may add that to my shingle. I’ll have to talk to AZ about that as I would want that to be under the shop umbrella since we’ve discussed plans for expansion anyway. Just have to generate the funds to do it.
I’m nearing high anxiety level though. So many thoughts, so many ideas, so little money, so very little security, which freaks me out. I have a slight fall-back, but who wants to make that call? Not I. This is time when I cannot doubt myself.
That can be really hard but I’m tired of being miserable in my work. I’m to the point where I’d rather work twice as hard and be happy as to work less and be miserable.
I am not a morning person. I hate waking up. It’s a long process and normally I end up running late, forever miscalculating how long it will take me to rouse Nate, clothe us both, and get us where we need to be. Sometimes, I sleep right through the alarm, but only if it is tuned to music. While music is my preferred way to wake up, if I deeply truly need to awaken, then I turn on the blaring alarm.
I am a night person. I wake up when the rest of the world goes to sleep. It is more peaceful and I can relax. My favorite time is from when the sun goes down to about an hour or two after the sun rises. Even after working long hours last week, some 14 hour days, the last six spent in temperatures of mid to upper 90’s at the shop (Friday, while I was cleaning, sweat literally dripped off of my face and nose), after I left and came out into the darkness and relative coolness (if you consider 85 degrees at 10:30 cool), one would think I would be ready for bed. No, not really.
If anything, I was energized. AZ is the same way. We were lamenting that fact after a particularly heinous day of broiling hot temps and disgusting humidity. Since both of us have to rise early, he at 4:45 and I at 5:30 (or so), it doesn’t help much that at 11:00 we’re both very tired yet energized. I don’t know how to explain it. We got around that on Thursday when I text messaged him that he had infected me with “do it twice syndrome.” This was after standing outside the shop with the door shut realizing I had left my purse inside, then coming home and realizing I needed to leave immediately to go pick up wet cat food in an attempt to keep some kittens alive (which has failed miserably), thus, doing things twice.
AZ called me and snarkily said, “I take no responsibility, I believe you may have already had this syndrome and are just now realizing how annoying it is.” HA! Then I thought about it, and I am indeed cursed with the “do it twice if not three times syndrome” and have been most of my life, especially when it comes to leaving in the mornings. Then we discussed various things, mainly I did since I had told him to go lay down and I would lay down too, since, even though we’re a few miles apart, tends to help wind us down if we’re both in the bed, albeit different beds.
I think I was wrong in my belief that he’s totally passive-aggressive. I can see it in both of us but being together or rather, in the same environment, has quelled a great deal of that, especially in the fact that we must communicate with one another and we’re there, in the moment, and head off behaviors, gently. If anything, I’ve stopped taking some things personally and realize it is more the environment versus anything I’ve said or done, which is sometimes hard to do over the phone.
On Thursday, I was talking about my plans for the future and what they included and didn’t include, and after I had concluded that, I added, “Oh yeah, and it would nice to have someone to share all of that with,” and then lamented my recent dating disasters and how I feel, as Celti once told me, if you’re totally satisfied, then you’re stagnant. You have to keep moving forward, ambition in a person is very important to me, and AZ said, “I have more ambition than I know what to do with.”
I said I didn’t want someone holding me back from achieving things or something to that effect and he said, “Can misery come along?” I paused and I said, “Ahh, misery loves company and misery is welcome as long as it doesn’t hold me back.” Misery. Misery being him. He who describes himself as the most miserable person on the planet. The eternal optimist, me, and the eternal pessimist, AZ. Life is about balance.
So, finally after drifting off to sleep, the alarm goes off at 5:30, and I hit the snooze button, twice more until 6:02, when the alarm goes off, the music alarm and one of the few songs guaranteed to rouse me out of bed is playing. The first song of the day on AZ’s shift is “Survival of the Sickest” by Saliva. If you’re not acquainted with said song, it’s a song about rising above, proving who you are, while showing everyone the middle finger who said you couldn’t do it. It’s also a sexual song…
So ease down
And wrap your legs around me baby
Wrap your legs around me
And wrap your legs around me baby
Wrap your legs around me!
Roll over baby, get on your knees
I’m gonna drive this little red love machine
And because I’m the Nanner, I text messaged AZ and said, “Drive MY little red love machine. AZ in my a.m.” Referring to his radio call sign and motto. He called me and read me the morning’s news, which we discussed while I got dressed, fed the cats, packed up my suitcase of beads, and left for work.
That’s not all but this already too long and I’ll just write the rest for me. But things are going well and I had an epiphany last night at about 4:30 when I awoke from my slumber of 14 hours duration. I was a tired Nanner. I’ll need to at some point, write out the conversation about whether or not he should marry his girlfriend. That was. . . *snort* *laugh* very interesting.
Thanks, E-Lo! Not really, but since you just joined the proud and few of us dragging our asses through 30 year mortgages, why not?
20 Things I Hate
3. Pretentious, grandiose, bigoted pricks
4. Dreary days
5. Extremely cold weather
6. Not having clean clothes in the drawer
7. Cleaning the litter boxes
8. Having a dirty house
9. Wasting three hours not being able to figure out a bead pattern . . . grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
10. High gas prices
11. Not already owning my home
12. Being stupid when I know better
13. People who ride my ass in traffic
14. People who cut me off in traffic
16. Not having answers I want
17. Doubting myself
18. My paralegal job
19. Having debt
20. When I lose my temper with Nate
20 Things I Love
1. Nate (what a great sense of humor!)
5. My “job” at the shop
6. My family
7. My friends
9. My blog family
12. Laying in the sun naked or at least topless
14. The mountains
15. An empty beach
16. Sleeping in the sun
17. A good kiss
19. My cats
I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed now.
I am bone tired ya’ll! I just got home from “work” at 10:30 p.m.. I got to “work” at 8:00 a.m. I beaded and reviewed documents until 3:30, then I went to the shop, where I filed and re-did the contract price sheet, met with a client who is not only ordering two necklaces from me, but also wants to a) loan me a newer laptop with bells and whistles and Quickbooks on it so I can b) work for him too since AZ, I’m assuming, gave me a glowing reference. Otherwise, why would a guy who has met me twice now, trust me to input invoices and receipts into his Quickbooks system? So, I know AZ had something to do with it. Probably doesn’t hurt that AZ also uses Quickbooks so I can learn that much faster.
It was fucking hot in the shop today. 92 fucking degrees when I left at about 9:30. It was about 89 in the actual office where the poor pitiful A/C was doing what it could to cool that small area. Stands to reason the one week that Nate is at my parents’ place it would be butt fucking hotter than Hades. I have to say though, I’ve kicked some major ass in the shop. Even if it is on the edge of Hades, I love being there, even by myself. The heat and sweat and grime just doesn’t bother me.
So far, this has been a good thing for AZ and me. Although I didn’t see him Monday, I did talk to him four or five times, which is good, since it broke the ice after our long talk on Friday. Yesterday, he was in a fantastic mood and we worked on several things before I gave him a long backrub and we talked. When I started rubbing his shoulders he said, “Oh, that feels so good. I’m in misery.” I asked, “Why didn’t you just say so?”
“Well, because now I just can’t ask you to rub my back.” I leaned over and whispered, “Yes, you can.” He nodded and smiled, “Yeah, I guess I can.” CHA! He had lips all over my nipples on Friday and yet he’s worried about asking me for a backrub??? CHA!
Today was good, just busy and he had to leave early for some other commitments, but we’re adjusting well.
Now, I had forgotten to tell you all that Mr. Nate and his sister, Danlel, were playing out at the farm (Jeff’s parents’ place for their greyhounds), and they were playing on a sort of exercising machine for the dogs. A pole came around and whacked Nate in the head and he now has four fine stitches to prove it. I took before and after photos with my cellphone, but the hell if I know when I can send them and download and all that. This was last Friday. AZ and I text-messaged back and forth while I was at the ER, since I had left the shop (and him, mrowr), not 15 minutes prior to the call from Jeff. This severely set back my plans to actually sleep before I went to NC. I beaded while Nate sat on the bed waiting on the doctor.
He said, “Mama, I can’t believe you’re beading in this time of crisis.”
“Dude, beading helps Mommy calm down. You want me calm right?”
“Furthermore, since you’re bouncing on the bed, talking, breathing, and watching Nickelodeon, I don’t believe this qualifies as a crisis.”
I swear, not five minutes later Jeff came in and said, “You’re beading?
But Nate is super duper fine and resting comfortably at my parents’ house. Alls well that ends well.