Colder than a bitch's ...

I've been watching the clock for the last hour as I ready myself for a 5-hour trek north to Minneapolis. One of my bitches is having her annual Jingle, Jangle fundraiser and the rest of us bitches decided it was finally time to get our arses up there and support her! But my left pinky finger is already frozen.

This post could've been titled 'A Cold Day in Hell,' given the insanity of driving NORTH during the winter season, but Waller's worth it, so it ain't hell! Though it is one cold mofo out there! With Monster House still torn up with all the painting, I'm sitting rather close to the dark fireplace and I can feel a bit of a draft/very cold, frigid chill (hence the frozen fingers).

But it feeds my soul knowing I'm gonna be with my bitches, soaking up their spiritual power and getting my own battery re-fueled. I have no idea or expectation about the event, only anticipation of being with my girls . . . mmmm, mmmm good!

Less news=less crab-ass

It was about 2 years ago when I found myself part of the XM Nation. I'd snagged a free subscription with my wheels and discovered that I totally dug it! Channels filled with specific genres of music, talk, politics, and then some! I loved the 90s on 9 for always taking me back to my college days. I dug the grungier stuff on Ethel and Lucy, igniting memories of my old Doc Martins and flannel. I loved the morning Bob Edwards and the afternoon Leonard Lopate. I enjoyed Mr. Mart's X Country.

I tried to quit the Nation, but like a cult, I'd already been assimilated. I cancelled my subscription, only to rejoin after a couple months. It had become a NEED. And like any good cult member, I set out to convert others and wrangled my husband into the fold.

But guilt was there and I started to feel it a year ago. The Nation felt so frivolous, such an unnecessary extra. But damn it! It was an election year and POTUS was giving me candidate info and race updates to and from work, keeping me posted until I could get home to tele! And lest I forget the 2 CNN channels (and I love me some Robin Meade and AC360). Was this frivolity? No!

With the election now over, not only has my POTUS interest dried up, but I've begun to experience how unhealthy it is for me to have all this news access. (Psst, most of the news out there is negative. Just so you know.)

As with many maladies, the symptoms don't surface until the disease has been simmering awhile. Hindsight shows that the negativity in me had been building for months, but I didn't see it until I found myself in a ginormous shit sandwich, much of which was brought upon by my sarcastic, negative fearful self. Pain is a good motivator for me, and the pain of having ALL NEWS/ALL THE TIME was really starting to kick my ass.

And I think that's what really did it, though the merging of XM and Sirius didn't help. Yesterday, I cut the string and by the time I'd left work, I was no longer in the flock. I listened to NBC radio on my drive home from work. I took in Morning Edition on my way to coffee today. And I survived.

For this impressionable, easily influenced wack-job, less is definitely more.

Kisses!

The walls are closing in

Oh House, Oh House . . .

Hickory, dickory, dock

The mouse ran up the . . .

There once was a man from Nantucket . . .

I got no muse, folks. The walls are closing in and my circuits aren't tolerating the burden of the upcoming holidays. It's a burden I place on myself, I admit, but it's crushing me! Hosting my husband's family for the holidays is something Mart's wanted to do since we upgraded to a bigger Monster House in 2005.

It's one of those fabulous old farm houses, infamous we later learned because of the cowboy who ran a horse ranch from it. Tales of saddles and other tack strewn on cool, fabulously decrepit antique furniture; car engines and oil pans staining the dining room floor; ducks swimming in the bathtub. And I'm not exaggerating. These are the stories that have been handed to us . . . and the stains, chewed wood work, and nicked porcelain are the proof!

It's a great old place, but so labor intensive! We took it on at a time when we were only half-heartedly looking for something bigger. 'Half-heartedly' because we were in the middle of some remodeling that would finally finish our work on our first home, a 160-year-old brick city girl (yeah, we like the old stuff). Then we saw our Monster House, and 4 days later, she really was ours!

Because we had to finish the remodeling at record speed, the thought of doing ANYTHING to the new place sucked ass, we just wanted to chill. But Monster House needed love. Sure, she got some electrical and water and exterior love. But the inside? Oh, her thirsty walls! A month ago, when Sidney shat up our bedroom, Mart and I dug in and started painting. Our bill is currently about $400. And that's just a bedroom, living room, and a couple of stairways! The first gallons weren't even poured! There lids were just popped and shown the walls, and the paint evaporated!

But this is such a good thing! It feels good to give her some love! I just don't know how much more I can take?! My hope for today is to finish the red living room, a portion of the stairway ceilings, as well as finish the first coat on some mauve-action in the entry. There's so much more to do, but the family's just going to have to deal! I'm done! Hopefully we'll get our "holiday fir" (a scarf to anyone who can name the book from which that comes, author's first initial is D) on Sunday so I can start deckin' out the joint in festive crap.

Ho, ho, ho, and the snow is a fallin'!

Namaste, little buddies~

Tic toc, tic toc

So, I'm experiencing another day of rising at 3 a.m. . . . I've unloaded the dishwasher, put other dishes away, and now I'm staring into the blog-o-sphere, and listening to the mice in the walls. Yeah, our two felines can't be bothered. (Bitches.)

Later today, my fellow staffers and I move back into our old office space that was destroyed last January. A major fire took out a good quarter block of the downtown in which I work. The Hallmark store that was the tall old brick building next to us, fell on our building. Except for my little corner, which took a direct hit, little was lost and we consider ourselves very lucky.

For the past 10 months, Bonnie, Bridget and I have occupied tight quarters in a great little office building where most everyone has been really wonderful to us. I did say "tight," didn't I? I don't know what the square footage of our old office was, but it consisted of 7 individual office spaces as well as both a break room and a group room. The "tight" space? Three rooms, about 15' x 15' each which served as office space, reception area, group room, break room and a little storage. But what could've been a total pain in the arse, has been very therapeutic for us.

Some of you may know me as lighthearted, free-spirited, even a little funny, but I'm not always like that. As I wrote once before, long ago, I can be a smidge of a white cunt. (Gasp!) I'm serious, though. I can be a real pain in the ass if I'm in one of those moods. And Bonnie, our glue-like secretary who keeps us operational, gets to "enjoy" that from time to time.

What the past 10 months have taught me is that I need to let others in. I need to let them get to know me so they can, at the very least, understand that on those days when THE MOOD hits, it's not them, it's me.

I have found both Bonnie and Bridget to be a shelter during the past months. When something was wrong, I couldn't hide in my office --- we've all been piled on top of each other. I had to force myself to be honest and share the pain I was in. And what I received was love, for which I'm eternally grateful.

Honestly, it's a little bittersweet to be returning to our old office, though I don't think any of us will deny the fun of having our own little corners again. But I think we're a tad tighter and really, if we can survive almost a year of living out of each other's pockets, a little space won't hurt us a bit.

So, cheers to pulled muscles, building shelves and unpacking boxes.

And now, to continue a little game started by one of my Bitches, Waller. Grab the book nearest you and turn to page 56, read.

My "Twenty-Four Hours a Day" was closest and while this little gem lacks page numbers, I took a guess and this is was the message:

I will start a new life each day. I will put the old mistakes away and start anew each day. God always offers me a fresh start. I will not be burdened or anxious.

Hmmm. . . One of this year's BitchFest themes was 'Expunge Regret.'. . Last Saturday, I reconciled with my loved ones. . . Later today will mark a new start at work. . . I'd say Waller's onto something.

Namaste, my loves~

Bad storm gone

My girl Daisy's been wondering whaz up! Without totally airing everything, let's just say there's been a lot of hurt that I've both hurled and caught, mostly with my 3 sisters. Mom and Oh-Dad were brave enough to referee a sit-down yesterday. And I've got the emotional hang-over to prove it. But after two hours, things actually look a little brighter, feel a little safer, and appear as if we will move forward toward a better idea of what it means to be a family.

But family is a weird thing, I'm learning.

A mentor of mine has tried to explain that "family" is not a spiritual term. "Family" is a term that comes from the material world, and with the material comes all sorts of baggage with how a family should be. You know what I mean: the Norman Rockwell bullshit? the Brady's? the Ingall's? the Huxtable's? All cheery and happy with a 6th sense of always knowing what the other members need at the exact right time, forever on the same wavelength and completely "getting" the others. Fictitious crap, really.

What I'm seeing is that family, while not a spiritual term, definitely comes with opportunities. For me, it's THE opportunity to see just how little I've grown.

I have 38 years of old ideas and views about what family is "supposed" to be. What I experienced yesterday was a mixture of expectation and surprise. I have a deep hope that my family will always love me no matter what, and the fact that Mom, Oh-Dad, and us girls hung in there until the proverbial David Hasselhoff was singing on a tumbling-down wall, proved to me that they are willing to love me. That expectation was met.

What was surprising was how skewed my perception is. A lot of shitaki mushrooms hit the fan this summer and the pile grew from there. My recollection of events was completely different from what was shared by my sisters. My recollection of events doesn't even include some people who were there. And that frightens me. It scares me that my memory is that selective. It's spooky that what I heard was WAY different from what was said. (So I guess it's a good thing I went and got me a shrink and a psychologist last week.)

I know there's the old adage about an event: there's her version, there's my version, and there's the truth.

But what also came to light is just how careful I must be with this blog. When I started it, it was more of a private journal where I vented my religious anger and self-righteous crap. But it didn't make me feel any better. In fact, it felt like I'd swallowed the family hedge hog (poor Otis). I started taking personal pot shots at people close to me. It was usually tongue-in-cheek, joking kind of stuff, but there was an edge to it.

What I'm learning is that if I'm going to honor this penchant for writing, I must use it in a loving, positive way (thank God the election is over). What I am seeing is that when I get caught in negativity, it creates such a shit-storm in me that everything I touch turns to guano.

A few weeks ago I confessed to my doctor that I didn't want to drink, but was afraid I would (hence the additional head guys). Despite my years of recovery, my head was full of such fear and anger and worry and dread that it was manifesting itself in all sorts of harmful behavior. And that's some dangerous stuff. And I was reaping what I'd sowed.

So does this mean it's all daisies and lollipops? Any of you who know me even a tad know that I'm not capable of prolonging sickening, cavity-rich, dimple'ed BS. But I no longer look at the Litterbox as a dumping ground. It's more a platform for sharing that which is good, or changing, or happening. So, I guess I'm back -- a little deflated, a little-less angry, a lot more grateful, and delighted to report that the Magdalene heard my prayer for reconciliation . . . and she delivered.

I send you all so much love---

Namaste~

Puppy halitosis

Who knew the breath of a 2-week-old puppy was so bad. I mean, they're cute and soft and oh-so-cuddly, but skunky? I wouldn't have thought it. But, it is B-A-D. When I picked up 1 of our 7 little ones this morning, I honestly looked around to see if Bambi's pal Flower had paid us a visit.

Holy crap! And then the little fella yawned and JESUS-MARY-AND-JOSEPH! Here I thought we only needed to worry about the poop and stuff. It's tough to say where this has come from or if all puppies have skunky halitosis. Maybe Sidney ate some skunk during one of her recent escapades and it's being excreted in her milk. Great. OR (gasp!) Sidney scored with a skunk rather than a springer!!!

Well, they are cute. Here's some pix from Bath Night earlier this week. They were 15-days-old here. Enjoy (and be glad our computers can only transmit visually)!

When churches fight . . .

I just received this funny, fun fun and found it too fab not to share. Besides, it proves my theory wrong that the catholics are total nut jobs. It would appear from this little conflict between a southern catholic church and an across-the-street presbyterian church that the catholics have a pretty good sense of humor. It's certainly not the first time I've been wrong about a group . . . Enjoy!