Ninja Kitty...

I love this. Looooove it. Wanna bury my nose in it and rub his little head...

http://video.yahoo.com/network/100000086?v=3510825

I Ripped My Pants...

On Thursday I start depriving myself of good tasting things to eat and drink. OK. I will not deprive myself of a good beer or glass of wine, but I WILL stop eating alot of yummy tasting, chock-full of fat stuff. And only eat a normal sized portion. With a tiny baby spoon and shrimp fork on a Frito Bean Dip lid--that way I feel like my plate is full--it should work, don't ya think?

Anyways, today I was reminded of WHY I must do this. And no, I don't mean when I looked at myself in the mirror as I climbed out of the smokey shower. That is why I take HOT showers. It fogs the mirror and I *can't* see myself. I'm talking about when I unlocked the office door after my "errand" trip to the Post Office and Bank. The door to my "building" is metal. and I caught my pants on the jagged metal and ripped my jeans. And now...now, my ass is hanging out. And it isn't pretty. And I know this because I contorted myself and took a picture of my backside with my cell phone. To send to my loving husband.

His response? "LOL!!" That's *it*?!? I ripped my pants, my assssss is hanging out at work, literally, and all he can say is "LOL!!"??? I need to lose some weight. So that the next time I send him a picture of my ass he might think of something risque' and sexy to say. Not fall down on the ground laughing at my cold white rear. Sigh.

PS: I can't leave the office until lunch--so, yeah. I'm wearing a jacket tied around my waist. But it's still a bit drafty in here.

Tiffs, Scratches And Bruises...

I get my feelings hurt easily. I try not to care what others might THINK or say in regards to me--but, yeah. I do. I care. If I walk into a room and 2-3 women are huddled together, talking and they look up and make eye contact with me--then go back to huddling and whispering--I am CONVINCED they are talking about me. And not in a good way. Instead of going over and saying "hello" or "let's take it outside, you bitch!!" I tend to want to crawl into a corner and lick my wounds--or run to the bathroom to see if I have a booger hanging out of my nose. Where I will then stay--because, my gawd! They are out there TALKING about me...

But when it comes to my kids... That is the only time I might get ballsy and kick some real or pretend ass. Today my Sweets took me and his oldest two kids (12 and 11 tomorrow) to lunch. I then proceeded to tell a lovely tale of how my ex husband is being mean to my 17 year old. She was his only bright spot--he spoiled her awful...until she started spending more time with me. Now he no longer takes her out to eat or to the movies or attempts to help her with the new car he insisted she allow him to buy her. Now he has a new sweet thing. She's 20 years his junior...and he plans to marry her soon. So he informed my 17 year old last night that he wouldn't be able to help her for a few months--because he has an engagement ring to buy. This upset my 17 year old--alot. As you could imagine. While trying to tell this tale--my NEW husbands basically says "Well--she wants to be treated like an adult--she should stop whining about having to pay her $400 car payment..." THIS pissed me off. Because this man, whom I love more than I ever thought was possible--seems to be picking the side of my ex asshole over me and mine. Plus, this lover of mine has had financial issues as an ADULT and was lucky enough to have parents who covered and carried his ass when he needed it. So...my heart beat faster. My voice started to strain. My eyes felt full of unshed tears. And I went to the restroom. Where I spent a good 10 minutes. Trying to calm myself down. Lower my blood pressure. And I decided: Maybe some things are better left unsaid. I won't enlighten him of the pressures and problems of MY 17 year old. This is my burden to bear. He wasn't helping me--so I will keep it to myself. Less likely to get scratched and bruised that way. But this feels wrong. I still have a huge lump in my throat.

This post will not be up long. I HATE to say anything negative about my Sweets--but this is my REAL life here folks... this isn't a Disney movie. Sometimes it's a comedy. Sometimes it's a action adventure. And sometimes it's a drama. And sometimes it's just sad.

Nymphomaniacs Are Us...

In my first marriage, sex wasn't a HUGE thing. Ok, well, to ME it wasn't. Not that it wasn't good... It was fine after we got started, but it wasn't something I thought about all day. Wasn't something I craved. I didn't dream about it at night, 1 hour after we had sex. Not even in the "honeymoon" days. And that marriage lasted 19 years...

But, now? My second marriage?? Ohhhh myyyy. I think about it constantly. Body parts get all tingly when I just LOOK at him. I can't get enough of him. We text each other all day. Teasing and flirting. He brings me breakfast by my office. All day long it's foreplay. By the time we both make it home, I can't see straight. I've never felt like this. Is this "a woman in her prime"? If so--dammmnnnnn!

We don't take days "off" either. Heck, I feel lost if it's just once a day! I'm not bragging...I'm really stumped by this--but I don't want it changed. I wanna be 80 years old, bending over in my t-shirt and socks, in front of the Lakers game--just to get a "rise" outta him--hee hee. And you know what makes it *really* good? He's a man with a HEALTHY appetite too. We both are sex crazed. But who knew?

If my ex husband knew my sex appetite now...he'd be wondering "WTH?! What happened to her?" What happened to me? hmmmm... I dunno. Except I feel special. I feel important. I feel wanted and needed. I feel sexy. And all those things add up to some HOT sex--or in our case, ALOT of hot sex.

So, if you are not having sex everyday...my sympathy. And if you are? YOU GO!

Ok, Christmas Has Been Saved...

My Sweets called me last night and asked me if I could go to WalMart for him (he was still at work). He needed me to pick up some cat litter and a cat litter box, Meow mix and a collar. ??

He then quickly informed me that it wasn't for HIM--but for a friend. Whatever.

He brought me the most adorable kitten/cat. He's orange/white tabby. Scrawny. Dirty. In need of LOTS of TLC. Just what a depressed person needs. A small, soft creature...that loves you. Rubs their little head on your shin. Purrs and reaches their little paws out for more scratching. A little baby that needs me. Wants me. So happy to just quietly sit in my lap. Kneading my thigh. Happy to just BE with me.

I now can't wait to go home for lunch. Someone is waiting for me. And they LOVE me. And they need me...just enough.

His name is Earl.

I Don't "DO" Christmas Very Well...

The last week has been par for the course around here. Christmas time is a stressful time anyways. But add a manic/depressive, 2 jobs, 7 kids and a small 3 bedroom house--it's not pretty. Then, for good measure, sprinkle in a 3 year old who has diarrhea. A 12 year old with anger issues and a 6 year old who is being managed by ADHD meds--but *that* is being counter acted by the sugar cookies he has stolen and hidden under his bed.



Saturday and Sunday I had a break down. I told all the kids that the slave/maid was quitting. I told them that the next person who inflicted violence of ANY sort on another living thing would perish at MY hands. I told them that NOTHING liquid would be ingested at my house except water--and they had to be SITTING in the bathtub to enjoy THAT.



On Sunday, they all left. I drank more than my share of spirits. And with every sip...instead of relaxing and feeling better--I felt worse. I feel my life is out of control. I feel I am NOT cut out to Mother 7 children (eight if you include the semi adult who resides with us that I never see)... Plus I suck at being a good wife--and not in the good sense either. My house is a disaster. I feel mean, mad and sad. I AM mean, mad and sad. I feel downright Grinchy.

Christmas music gets on my last nerve, peppermint sticks and candy canes make my stomach turn sour. Green, red...gag. Women wearing Christmas ornaments as earrings should have them ripped from their ears. How dare they pretend to be trees!? Are they retarded? Hot chocolate...even my boss has offered me hot chocolate! WTF? really. W. T. F.

I just want it all to be over. I really just want to run away. FAR away. Maybe become a waitress in a pub in Ireland. Have a tiny room. Just a bed and dresser. A book to read. No house to clean. Massive laundry to do. No ass to wipe. No koolaid to mop up. No heads of hair to wash. Just me. Me. Me.

Let me know when it's Spring. I'll think about coming back then...

My Miserable, Lonely Lesbian Pregnancy...

No, no, no. Not *mine*. Andrea's. Andrea Askowitz. And as quoted " You don’t have to be a miserable, lonely, pregnant lesbian to enjoy this book.”

Buy it for all your friends. And all your foes.

http://andreaaskowitz.com/?p=318

Andrea's a cool chick. She writes amazingly funny stories.

*she doesn't know I'm plugging her (darn. THAT sounded gay).