I! Want! My! Mommmmmm-my!!!!

Damn it to hell. What a fucking week it's been already.

Yesterday I got up BEFORE the crack of dawn so that PB and I could go over to a friend's house and babysit 2 of her kids while she took the 3rd child to the dentist for some surgery. Noble of us, no? Well, not really, but I was able to convince myself of my true abilities to be a friend indeed to a friend in need. Or some shit like that.

Scratch that bs. Seriously.

We got to said friend's house. Got our coats and boots off. Started to settle in.

Waiiiiitttttttt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Back up a few weeks. Four, to be exact.

I got a new car. I'm in love with him. He's a V-Dub and he's mocha-coloured and dressed quite well. Spoiled, me? Probably. About to be knocked down several notches, me? Absolutely, as usual. Anyway, Baron, we'll call him (the V-Dub), was gorgeous. I was doing a fine job of keeping him spotless and treating him the way a fine piece of machinery should be treated. Yeah, was, is the key word here.

Back to yesterday morning at said friend's house.

She goes out to start her car, comes in complaining that she's not going to be able to get out of her driveway because it looks like someone's had an accident right in front of her house.

WAIT!!! WHAT THE FUCK????

I meekly whispered, "Did somebody hit my car?"

HOLY FUCKING HELL!!! SOMEBODY HIT MY FUCKING CAR!!!

I rushed out the front door, barely pausing to put my boots back on.

HOLY FUCKING HELL!!! SOMEBODY DID HIT MY FUCKING CAR!!! MY NEW FUCKING CAR!!!

Mother fucker. Hit my car. Correction: MF drove thru my fucking car. My parked fucking car.

I'm in mourning. All I want is to call my mommy and bitch and complain and have her completely understand and yet also tell me to "calm down, it's only a car." She'd know exactly what to say and exactly what not to say.

Just another reminder in life that instead of having my lovely, kind mom here for support, I'm left with a Burdensome Bitch for a MIFL (Mother In Fucking Law, in case you've forgotten). Yeah, that's all fresh in my mind again. As a result of many little instances over the past few weeks. Don't even get me started on her right now. Oh, wait. I guess I already got started.

Ah well, not going any further into that. I'm already depressed.

I'm also depressed because I have to go see my therapist(s) tomorrow. Weird, I know. How fucked up am I that it stresses me out to see my shrink(s)?????? SERIOUSLY???!!!! Yet another long story. Suffice it to say that I find it very stressful to bring up that which depresses me and stresses me out. Most days, I'd rather just keep it all swept up under the rug and try to forget about it.

Whatever.

Top 5 Reasons

Top 5 Reasons I should feel shitty tonight:

1. Tomorrow is the 4th anniversary of my mom's death and I still miss her like crazy, figuratively and actually.

2. I'm off my meds and thus, off my rocker. Long story.

3. I'm pms'ing. Hugely.

4. We just signed on the bottom line for $4500 worth of work to be done in the house.

5. I'd rather spend that money on other things.



Top 5 Reasons I don't feel shitty tonight:

1. Twice in the last week, Gentle Giant has opened the front door of our house and pushed me out, insisting that I take some time to be by myself, in my own head, without hearing, "Mommy, Mommy, MOMMY!"

2. On one of said occasions I went and saw Juno, by myself. I just might have a new fave flick!

3. Yesterday, I received an email from a dear friend whom I love mucho muchly, asking me if I want to hang out tomorrow night because she remembered that it is the anni of my mom's death. I am so blessed to have such a friend.

4. Ok, I know this is petty and materialistic, but I have a new car and I'm soooooooo in love with him. Er, it.

5. Overheard here at Chez Shrink while I was putting PB to bed a few hours ago:

Me: Thanks, PB, for being such a great kid. I'm the luckiest mommy in the entire world, including space.

PB: Thanks, mommy, for being the best mommy in the whole world, including space. You rock, mommy.

Me: You rock my world, little dooooood. Keep rockin' it.



Bonus reason? I'm about to pour myself a rye n' ginger.

I Need Your Help

Here's the skinny:

In two weeks we're doing a Hot Wheels birthday party for Peanut Butter. I don't need game ideas or anything because it's going to be at an indoor playground.

What I NEED are loot bag ideas. I like to do something somewhat original, but under $10 per child. Help me out here! What should I use as a container for the loot? What kind of loot (other than a HW car! doh! even I can come up with that!) should I include? Should I do boy loot and girl loot or just do everyone loot?

Pleaaaaaaaaaaaasssssssseeeeeeeee help!

Thanks.

My Life is Great...

...so why do I feel so shitty?

That's my question of the day. It's not rhetorical. I do hope to find an answer. At the very least, I hope someone finds the answer.

Maybe I need to pretend it's Thanksgiving Day and make a list of the things I have that should make me happy? Maybe I need to kick myself in the ass and stop letting the negative thoughts beat me down? Yeah, that's probably it.

Anyway, here I sit. I'm fighting off some kind of virus, missing my friends but not doing anything to reconnect post-holiday-ous, feeling like I need to make tomorrow a special day 'cause it's PB's 4th birthday, kicking myself for booking his party (in two weeks) at a party place instead of putting the effort into a "home-made" party. Generally, I'm beating the shit out of myself. Not sure why.

I'm not sure how I'm doing on my 1-lb per week plan. Haven't stepped on the scale for several days. I'm thinking that I have probably achieved my goal though, as I just don't have an appetite lately. This is really not like me. Really not like me. At all. Nothing really appeals to me and even when I start to eat something, I feel full really fast. Should probably talk to the docs about it. Like I said, it's not like me to be searching for my appetite. It's usually on my shoulder, constantly nagging.

So that's it. Happy new year. Really. No, really.

Post-Christmas Slump

Is anyone else feeling it? Is it just me? Is this cloud over my head assigned to me exclusively, or do I get to share it?

It started around noon or so yesterday. The bitchiness, the tiredness, the blues. I didn't think that I was experiencing a whole lot of the Christmas hype and excitement beforehand, so why is it that I feel so down and nasty in the post-hype hours?

I told Gentle Giant this morning that I didn't want to see anyone or talk to anyone all day. I just want to be by myself, inside my own head and tell the rest of the world to buggar the eff off. Problem? GG had to go to work today, so I was here with the kid all day. Asking an almost-4-year-old to leave his mother the eff alone (NO! I didn't actually say that to him! Geez!) is pretty much (actually, wholly) pointless, therefore I am even bitchier now than I was when i woke up. Thankfully, PB has had some good sleeps the past several nights and he's in a good mood for the most part.

One thing I want to mention on a positive note: The MIFL (Mother-in-fecking-law for those of you who need to be brought up to date) held her usual cardboard-turkey-that's-been-in-the-oven-for-12-facking-hours (NO! this is NOT an exaggeration) dinner yesterday. As per the usual with her, she sits in that fecking wheelchair and barks out orders to anyone who'll listen: "Put that in the oven. Get the Saran Wrap. Put it on the potatoes. That goes out to the garage." No, I didn't leave out the pleases and thank-you's. She leaves them out. Every. Single. Time.

Seeing as how I'm completely finished with ever trying to please her again, I decided beforehand that the minute she started barking orders at me, I'd leave the room and let the shit-lickers (all those in the family who for some inexplicable reason are still kissing her fat ass) do all the work. Feck if I'm ever taking an order from the bitch again. Never.

Anyway, the good news is that I did what I set out to do. I'm a good one usually for making a plan such as this, but then declining to find the balls to follow thru with my plans. Well, the balls were right where they needed to be last night, as I felt the first order spat at me and then proceeded to leave the room. I really, really would have liked to tell her where she could file her orders, but I thought I'd keep my mouth shut. I won't sink to her level. Well, at least not in her presence!!!

I'm out. Going to try to catch up on some laundry. The pile is almost as tall as me. Not at all tall for a person, but much much taller than a laundry pile should ever aspire to.

Going Slightly Crazy And Feeling Slightly Ginormous

Cuckoo. Off my rocker. Nuts. Crazy. Call it what you will.

Hellooooooo..............anybody there? there? ere? re? Echo cho cho cho o o o o...

Ok, so I'm not sure if anyone is still reading this. For the moment, I can't say that I care. Don't get me wrong. I appreciate it when those of you with nothing better to do (seriously, DON'T you have something better to do? anything?) show up in these parts and stumble through the lame-osity that is the narrative of my life.

So today's my birthday. I'm 34. That's what brought me here tonight, actually. Well, aside from the fact that my husband and my son are both in bed, asleep, and I"m sitting here with a glass of water that should be wine, all by my lonesone. Yeah, there's that.

But there's also the fact that I'm so disgusted with what I've let my body become and I desperately need to find a way to make some changes. As I drove home this afternoon from yet another expedition to the Fat Ladies' Store to buy a new blouse (tent?) or two for the holidays, I almost got to the point of tears. Again.

It's gotten to the point where I turn away in disgust when I catch sight of my reflection in a store window. I'm probably about 80 lbs heavier than I should be, in order to be healthy. I need to do something.

So, back to the drive home from the Boutique Des Grosses Dammes. That's where we were, right?

K. Foot on the gas, keep the train moving forward...

I half-assedly brainstormed my way to an idea. Something that I'm hoping will be a motivator. AKA Kick In The Fat Ass. Today's my birthday. I'm 34. Next year, on December 17th, I'll be 35. I'd like to start working on a birthday present for myself. For my 35th birthday. Drumroll, please.............

I want to lose a pound per week for the next year.

This is a goal that should be do-able. It is completely within reach. It won't kill me. Hell, it doesn't even have to hurt. Much.

Oh, I know what you're thinking: "Yeah, Karyn. If that's so easy, why haven't you done it already?" or "Fat chance, cow," or "Tell me another one," or "What makes you think THIS will work? Nothing else has worked thusfar?"

Know how many of these questions I've come up with the answers for? None. Zero.

I have so little faith left in myself that I am afraid that simply typing out this goal is going to be enough to sink it. I've written myself off before I've begun. BUT: I have to start somewhere. Rock bottom is actually a very logical starting place.

I'm not a complete idiot, therefore I've come to the realization that I need to break this 52lb goal into a few or several mini-goals. So here you have it: By January 17th, 2008, I want to have lost my first 3 lbs. Yeah, I know that's more like 4 or 5 weeks and should thus mean 4 or 5 lbs, but I'm trying to be realistic here. Cut me some fat. I mean, slack.

Geez!

So there it is. I've typed it. There is a tiny little bit of me (buried deep within the big-ness that is me) that believes I can do this. I can do this. Will I? Hopefully.

Can You Believe it?

I baked these on Saturday afternoon. Almost exactly 48 hours ago. Put them in the freezer when they had cooled. Haven't eaten a single one. Unfreakingbelieveable!!!

They're for a party I'm having on Saturday. There better be one left over for me!