So all aspects of my life are on hold.
Like a blinking red light... Not being talked to, not being hung up on. Not taking action, not being inactive. Just kind of in limbo. Like a plane doing circles in the sky. Going no where, but not holding still.
And it's making me insane.
I have always been so...ALIVE. I do things, I feel things. But because I'm in this waiting room of life, I feel nothing. I do nothing but see myself move on auto-pilot. Get up, go to work, come home, cook dinner, play with kids, watch baseball (the ONLY thing that makes me feel anymore) go to sleep. Rinse and repeat. That's all I do.
So I wait. For more money, for more time, for someone to DO something first. It's my home life where nothing is what it looks like... It's work- where I am stuck until I get xyz years under my belt, or until after the renovation, or until I find something better...
And all the books say "Take control, only you can make it happen....Blahblahblah". That's great and all, if YOU can make it happen without money...or if YOU can make it happen with no family or if YOU can make it happen with four children who depend on you for their happiness. That is a lot of weight to carry around by itself.
So I need a book. Or some smart ass friends... To tell me how in THE HELL you find your own happy when 4 little people depend on you for theirs and those may not always coincide. How you take control and "make it happen" with no dollars, damn near no sense and without hurting people who don't want ANYTHING to happen holding you down.
Crap. I just wrote those stupid introspective blogs that I hate... Fahk.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
A moment of mush
And another thing about my baseball weekend... Just an itty-bitty bit of mush and then I promise no more...
I want to be caught by the KissCam on the Jumbo Tron. And by someone who knows how. And by someone I want the whole wide world to see kissing me... And I was depressed beyond words to realize I may never get that.
I want to be caught by the KissCam on the Jumbo Tron. And by someone who knows how. And by someone I want the whole wide world to see kissing me... And I was depressed beyond words to realize I may never get that.
LET'S GO RED SOX!
Back to work again after a fabulous baseball weekend in Arlington. Took my monsters up to Ameriquest Field for the Rangers vs Red Sox games Saturday and Sunday. Went on a tour of the ballpark too!
The 12 year old and I went Saturday night and had a blast. We got rained on and didn't care, we yelled and clapped and chanted and woo-hoo'd. We moved down to awesome seats around the 8th inning and were about 5 rows up from the Sox dugout. Can I tell you how in LOVE with Mike Lowell I am? Seriously, if you EVER need anything done, that dude just does it. He's not flashy like Manny or a big power hitter like Papi, he just gets in there and gets it done. And he's so...dreamy... *sigh* (I totally just lost all my guy readers, didn't I?)
It was a fun night, Sox were hot, Texas was not, no one messed with me- not even the a-hole with the frozen margaritas who I begged for and he never materialized. Paps closed the show- good Lord, he is impressive. We watched the tape back and I didn't even realize I was telling my daughter, "Just look at him, watchwatchwatch how he looks at the batter" over and over again.
Sunday was rainy at first, but we made our way out with all 4 kiddos. My boys were in awe of how big everything was. At 6 & 3, I can just imagine. They were all a little disappointed that Papi was sitting this one out, but Tek was catching, so it made up for it a little. Our seats were wayyy to high for my liking, but what made them bad seats was the giant bastard who sat behind us. So my Sox are introduced and we are all cheering. My kids are thrilled to be at a "REAL" game, hearing the names they've only seen on TV. Then this ass-clown starts BOO-ING behind my 6 year old little boy.
"Mommy, that man is booing" he says. So I say to my son while looking at this ass, "I know honey, some people are not good sportsmen. You are 6 and have more class."
AssClown then proceeds to make every tired ass Red Sox "Curse" comment known to man. "They just sucked for 90 years, it was fake blood, they're whiners, blahblahblah." Fortunately for him and his wife, I was with my kids or I would have beat him just on general principal.
So we get our 3 run homer (Woooooooo!) and I make sure to have my kids up on their chairs and squealing good and loud. (We went on into the next few pitches, but I wanted to make sure he knew how happy we were). The Rangers came back with their own 3 run homer and I had to listen to AssClown hoot and hollar. I was waiting for a banjo and a 21 gun salute to go with the dip and fat ass completing the red neck ensemble, but I had to settle for the "YEEHAW--- THAT'S HOW WE DO IT IN TEXAS!"
No, bitch. That is not how we do it in Texas. Ewww.
So we are up on them again and I look to see who's warming up in our bullpen. YESS! It's Okie! Wooohoo! So I tell my kiddos and they are excited. AssClown hears me and says very loudly to his wife "Must be that Jap pitcher they bought for a billion dollars. They're the Evil Empire, you know."
Oh. No. You. Didn't.
I had to say something. I wanted to say something with a LOT of f words in it, but I had witnesses... But regardless if my children bore witness to it or not, I had to set him straight...
"No, actually. That would be the Yankees. And that pitcher is an amazing closer. You'd know that if you paid more attention to baseball than turning the game then drinking beer until you passed out. Who you might be thinking of is Matsuzaka, who is a STARTER and does not make a billion dollars. Any more questions?"
He just smirked, waited until I turned around and called me a bitch. Whatever.
My 6 year old boy is the funnest person I have ever been to a game with. He was taunting the Little League players in the next section, he was screaming "LET'S GO RED SOX" at all the wrong times, he was standing in his seat cheering at every ball that looked like it might be a home run- even if it was a pop up. He is awesome. I let him be as loud as he wanted and I'm sure he annoyed AssClown behind us a lot. He deserved it. Needless to say, we won and that jerk left quickly and quietly. We stayed and cheered for our boys until the section cleared out.
We do love our Sox even down here in Texas.
The 12 year old and I went Saturday night and had a blast. We got rained on and didn't care, we yelled and clapped and chanted and woo-hoo'd. We moved down to awesome seats around the 8th inning and were about 5 rows up from the Sox dugout. Can I tell you how in LOVE with Mike Lowell I am? Seriously, if you EVER need anything done, that dude just does it. He's not flashy like Manny or a big power hitter like Papi, he just gets in there and gets it done. And he's so...dreamy... *sigh* (I totally just lost all my guy readers, didn't I?)
It was a fun night, Sox were hot, Texas was not, no one messed with me- not even the a-hole with the frozen margaritas who I begged for and he never materialized. Paps closed the show- good Lord, he is impressive. We watched the tape back and I didn't even realize I was telling my daughter, "Just look at him, watchwatchwatch how he looks at the batter" over and over again.
Sunday was rainy at first, but we made our way out with all 4 kiddos. My boys were in awe of how big everything was. At 6 & 3, I can just imagine. They were all a little disappointed that Papi was sitting this one out, but Tek was catching, so it made up for it a little. Our seats were wayyy to high for my liking, but what made them bad seats was the giant bastard who sat behind us. So my Sox are introduced and we are all cheering. My kids are thrilled to be at a "REAL" game, hearing the names they've only seen on TV. Then this ass-clown starts BOO-ING behind my 6 year old little boy.
"Mommy, that man is booing" he says. So I say to my son while looking at this ass, "I know honey, some people are not good sportsmen. You are 6 and have more class."
AssClown then proceeds to make every tired ass Red Sox "Curse" comment known to man. "They just sucked for 90 years, it was fake blood, they're whiners, blahblahblah." Fortunately for him and his wife, I was with my kids or I would have beat him just on general principal.
So we get our 3 run homer (Woooooooo!) and I make sure to have my kids up on their chairs and squealing good and loud. (We went on into the next few pitches, but I wanted to make sure he knew how happy we were). The Rangers came back with their own 3 run homer and I had to listen to AssClown hoot and hollar. I was waiting for a banjo and a 21 gun salute to go with the dip and fat ass completing the red neck ensemble, but I had to settle for the "YEEHAW--- THAT'S HOW WE DO IT IN TEXAS!"
No, bitch. That is not how we do it in Texas. Ewww.
So we are up on them again and I look to see who's warming up in our bullpen. YESS! It's Okie! Wooohoo! So I tell my kiddos and they are excited. AssClown hears me and says very loudly to his wife "Must be that Jap pitcher they bought for a billion dollars. They're the Evil Empire, you know."
Oh. No. You. Didn't.
I had to say something. I wanted to say something with a LOT of f words in it, but I had witnesses... But regardless if my children bore witness to it or not, I had to set him straight...
"No, actually. That would be the Yankees. And that pitcher is an amazing closer. You'd know that if you paid more attention to baseball than turning the game then drinking beer until you passed out. Who you might be thinking of is Matsuzaka, who is a STARTER and does not make a billion dollars. Any more questions?"
He just smirked, waited until I turned around and called me a bitch. Whatever.
My 6 year old boy is the funnest person I have ever been to a game with. He was taunting the Little League players in the next section, he was screaming "LET'S GO RED SOX" at all the wrong times, he was standing in his seat cheering at every ball that looked like it might be a home run- even if it was a pop up. He is awesome. I let him be as loud as he wanted and I'm sure he annoyed AssClown behind us a lot. He deserved it. Needless to say, we won and that jerk left quickly and quietly. We stayed and cheered for our boys until the section cleared out.
We do love our Sox even down here in Texas.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Martini Miss
I LOVE this picture. I am not usually a big fan of nudes, but this picture speaks to me... This woman speaks to me. She's saying... "Yeah, I'm in a giant martini glass- so the fuck what?"
No. Seriously. Not just that. She is not perfect. And I love that. See her cute little rolls? Her not hugly inflated boobs? But she is naked and doesn't care. Maybe she dove into that giant martini and drank it all. But she is completely unapologetic for any of it. It doesn't hurt that she also kicked those friggin olives outta there- I would've too.
You can make up your own story when you look at her. Who is she trying to seduce? Is he watching her? Has he already been seduced and now he's looking and appreciating her? Or maybe she is just there for herself. Look at her... just look at her for a minute.
This woman is beautiful and powerful and fearless. She's my new hero. Maybe someday she'll be me.
No. Seriously. Not just that. She is not perfect. And I love that. See her cute little rolls? Her not hugly inflated boobs? But she is naked and doesn't care. Maybe she dove into that giant martini and drank it all. But she is completely unapologetic for any of it. It doesn't hurt that she also kicked those friggin olives outta there- I would've too.
You can make up your own story when you look at her. Who is she trying to seduce? Is he watching her? Has he already been seduced and now he's looking and appreciating her? Or maybe she is just there for herself. Look at her... just look at her for a minute.
This woman is beautiful and powerful and fearless. She's my new hero. Maybe someday she'll be me.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
There's no crying in baseball!
But damn...after the 0-14 red-headed stepchild asswhooping we took last night, I kinda wish there was....
It wouldn't have been nearly as painful if I hadn't danced around the house yesterday after my Red Sox beat the Braves 13-3 in the first game of the double-header. So I danced and woohoo'd, I shook my butt at the TV, I sang "weeeee are the champions...of the wooooorld!"...and then three hours later we got our asses handed to us in an extremely embarassing fashion. A shut-out? For real?
We still have the best record in baseball. We are still friggin amazing. Guess everybody needs a little reality check when they are that awesome...
Speaking of awesome, I have tickets for next Saturday's Sox game vs the Rangers! I am so excited!!! I haven't seen my actual boys since Spring Training! Now they are coming to me here in Texas! So I will pack up the car, drive 3 hours, see the game, drive back home 4 hours later and be blissfully happy about. Not just happy, but I'm even thinking about driving back and then doing it again Sunday so I can take my kids. My girls are d-y-i-n-g to see a 'real' game. And how proud am I that they don't consider it a 'real' game unless it's the RED SOX? I mentioned it to the oldest and her only words were "Oh my God....You mean I might get to see Papi...FOR REAL?"
*sigh* I got a little teary...
It wouldn't have been nearly as painful if I hadn't danced around the house yesterday after my Red Sox beat the Braves 13-3 in the first game of the double-header. So I danced and woohoo'd, I shook my butt at the TV, I sang "weeeee are the champions...of the wooooorld!"...and then three hours later we got our asses handed to us in an extremely embarassing fashion. A shut-out? For real?
We still have the best record in baseball. We are still friggin amazing. Guess everybody needs a little reality check when they are that awesome...
Speaking of awesome, I have tickets for next Saturday's Sox game vs the Rangers! I am so excited!!! I haven't seen my actual boys since Spring Training! Now they are coming to me here in Texas! So I will pack up the car, drive 3 hours, see the game, drive back home 4 hours later and be blissfully happy about. Not just happy, but I'm even thinking about driving back and then doing it again Sunday so I can take my kids. My girls are d-y-i-n-g to see a 'real' game. And how proud am I that they don't consider it a 'real' game unless it's the RED SOX? I mentioned it to the oldest and her only words were "Oh my God....You mean I might get to see Papi...FOR REAL?"
*sigh* I got a little teary...
Friday, May 18, 2007
A different kind of blogging altogether...
So here is my thinking on blogging: Entertain me. Tell me funny stuff. Make me laugh or educate me on something I don't know about. Let me read actual writing that amuses and informs. I don't want to hear whining, or bullshit or about a that dog pooped in your yard, a bird that flew by or some random poetic, flowery sounding prose. You want to have a diary? Fine. Get out your emotions, your thoughts, your feelings, your dreams for the future or a 500 word page essay on how beautiful your kid is. Write all that shit down, and lock it up so no one else has to read it.
My thoughts on this stem from the fact that I myself have a VERY hard time blogging. I've tried my hand on myspace. Most of the time I come up with zip unless something particularly amusing has happened that day or I made a funny I felt compelled to share. I can't share with you what's in my head, my heart, my soul. I just can't do it. I share a lot. But that stuff is hard for me. And how is it meaningful if everybody and their perverted, ass-scratching Uncle Fred is reading about it on the www?
I'm not gonna blog in the traditional sense. My new Pretend Boyfriend Fitzy (www.townienews.com) is my hero. (Actually that's not even his real name...or person...but whatever- it makes him a better Pretend Boyfriend) He doesn't get in front of his camera to do a webcast and bitch about his mortgage payment or tell us how much he loves his wife. He gets up there and makes us pee ourselves with laughter. Yes, he loves the Red Sox almost as much as me... so I'm a little partial to him, but seriously? It is so friggin refreshing to look forward to someone who makes all your problems go away for 5 minutes and doesn't expect you to take their crap in return.
So this is the blog that's not. It will be silly stories about a 30 ish Mommy who trys to be classy and starts the night with martinis and perfect make-up...and ends up being the drunk chick singing into something and doing Jager bombs. (*Sigh* Dammit! Why does that always happen?) About the girl who loves baseball and her crazy 4 children and all the stupid stuff they do. I will not blog on my parenting methods, (I only have one of those and it's this- Don't Let Anybody Die) but I'll tell you how my son calls his penis his "peanut". I won't write sonnets about how beautiful my children are, but they are. I have no doubt there will a drunk story or two (or ten...thousand) but I promise no drunk love letters to anyone.....Except the Sox.
My thoughts on this stem from the fact that I myself have a VERY hard time blogging. I've tried my hand on myspace. Most of the time I come up with zip unless something particularly amusing has happened that day or I made a funny I felt compelled to share. I can't share with you what's in my head, my heart, my soul. I just can't do it. I share a lot. But that stuff is hard for me. And how is it meaningful if everybody and their perverted, ass-scratching Uncle Fred is reading about it on the www?
I'm not gonna blog in the traditional sense. My new Pretend Boyfriend Fitzy (www.townienews.com) is my hero. (Actually that's not even his real name...or person...but whatever- it makes him a better Pretend Boyfriend) He doesn't get in front of his camera to do a webcast and bitch about his mortgage payment or tell us how much he loves his wife. He gets up there and makes us pee ourselves with laughter. Yes, he loves the Red Sox almost as much as me... so I'm a little partial to him, but seriously? It is so friggin refreshing to look forward to someone who makes all your problems go away for 5 minutes and doesn't expect you to take their crap in return.
So this is the blog that's not. It will be silly stories about a 30 ish Mommy who trys to be classy and starts the night with martinis and perfect make-up...and ends up being the drunk chick singing into something and doing Jager bombs. (*Sigh* Dammit! Why does that always happen?) About the girl who loves baseball and her crazy 4 children and all the stupid stuff they do. I will not blog on my parenting methods, (I only have one of those and it's this- Don't Let Anybody Die) but I'll tell you how my son calls his penis his "peanut". I won't write sonnets about how beautiful my children are, but they are. I have no doubt there will a drunk story or two (or ten...thousand) but I promise no drunk love letters to anyone.....Except the Sox.
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