Thursday, November 19, 2015

Oh How The Mighty Have Fallen...

Yeah, the title is a little misleading I guess for the post. Especially to those waiting around for an honorable mention here.  Is that cryptic?  Maybe.  But it is what it is.

I'm selling my house.  A house I never thought I'd have to sell, the place that was my constant growing up, the place that contains most of my happy childhood memories, the place I could always call home when my parents couldn't keep the rent paid and we had to move houses....again.  This place that has turned into a poisonous vat of unhappiness that is my life now.  This place that would have ripped a family any less in love with each other than my own apart.  This place that now also harbors so much resentment for what should have been that I've begun to hate the very existense of its cloying stench.  Is this dramatic?  Sure, but what am I if not a dramatic attention seeking person that requires people to feel sorry for what I don't have?  Oh.....wait, that's another blog entirely, but I digress.

This house is mine to sell.  It was left to my mother and her brother, my uncle.  My uncle who also inherited every single penny of the life insurance money my mom thought she was going to get and didn't.  My uncle who had convinced my grandmother, while in the midst of her dementia, to cash in the biggest of several life insurance policies before she even died so he could have the cash to buy a house.  For his asshole of a wife that he was planning on leaving within months.  My uncle who promptly died in a horrific car accident exactly 84 days after my grandmother died.  Leaving my aunt with not only the money from the policies my grandmother held but also, my uncle's life insurance.  He worked at a hazardous job as a chemical engineer at a borax plant so it was a pretty penny.  A very very pretty penny.  More money that I will ever see in my life.  I suppose I should mention my aunt and I haven't gotten along much since she gave me a lecture on Godliness and the fact that my oldest son was born with a cleft lip and palate as my punishment by God and the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ for living in sin with his father before we were married.  Ya know, that guy I've been married to for 20 years now and was married to before my son was concieved?  That very same guy that decided that even though I was pregnant WITH SOMEONE ELSE'S CHILD when we got together that he still wanted to be with me so he was there for the birth of my daughter and has raised her as his own her entire life?  That's the one.  My son has what was deemed to be a combination of genetic and environmental birth defect because we "lived in sin".  That's right people, if you live with someone out of wedlock, evidently you are blessed with a briliant child that may happen to have a special need or two.  If that's my "punishment" I'll take that any day over her crusty, dried up, and probably frigid vagina that was never able to have her own biological children.  I don't think I'm the one being punished there, but I'm a big old fat fucking Pagan, so what do I know anyway?

So moving right along, because chances are good I could complain about her all damn day long but I don't want to sour my mood, and since I'm up at an unheard of hour blogging, I mean, I COULD be in a good mood today, you just never know.  So, the house really is legally mine to sell.  There was never any debate about that, but the way the paperwork looks, it does look fishy if you didn't know the situation in detail.  I happen to have the details lined out in a big old binder that was fortunately kept in the same place all these years.  But the one piece of it I was missing was the death certificate for my uncle.  And I had to get one.  Which meant calling my aunt.  So what did I do?  I had Ronnie do it.  Because I am a chicken shit and I can't stand her.  So it was a game of phone tag for a couple of calls and then he just got brave and left a message that said pretty much that he was sorry to be caling for that reason, but we needed a copy of the death certificate.  But he didn't say why because he ran out of time on her voice mail.  About 20 minutes later she calls back and I didn't get the phone in time.  It really does happen, so don't get all "yeah right you did, you were ducking her call" because I really did miss the call.  The message she left was at best rude, and at worst, meant to make us feel like utter shit for daring to call and ask such a thing, like this was the most awful thing we could do.  "I can't imagine why you could possibly need a copy of his death certificate, that's just such an awful and morbid thing to ask for!  I can't believe you'd ask for that in a phone message, but I GUESS you MUST have some unknown reason for it. But I can't imagine what it would be or why YOU could possibly need it."  But lo and behold about 10 minutes after the message, the doorbell rings and who should it be but her, holding a color copy of the front of his death certificate.  Because we don't rate and actual stamped and seal version.  My 19 year old son (the punishment child) panicked and told her we had stepped out so I didn't have to talk to her (OMG thank you son!!) and took the paper and she left.  

I showed it to my husband, who had been giving the four year old hellion a bath and he immediately called her to tell her why we needed it and to thank her.  He simply told her that we needed to get the trust paperwork in order because frankly, it's not her businsess.  She doesn't want anything to do with the house and none of the profits would be hers anyway, so I am not legally obligated to tell her jack shit.  Why didn't I just go to the registrar recorder and buy my own?  Because I'm broke as a joke.  Not a funny one either and I'll give you a side note that I'm sure will give a few people a giggle and make their day.  So to them, I say, you're welcome for the information, because I know you crave the dirt on us to have something to sit around and gossip about.  Anyway, I literally don't even have the $30 to go buy one until payday and I didn't want to wait.  So I didn't.  I swallowed what little pride I might have left and asked her.  While Ronnie was talking to her, he mentioned my mom had a stroke, something she had not known, because she doesn't care and we never talk to her.  And her comparison to my mom having a stroke and being bedridden is that she spent so much of the life insurance money already that she had to get a job, poor little gal, and she had to have some kind of surgery that requires  physical therapy ALL WHILE HOLDING DOWN A JOB!!!  Because I think she might be the first person to ever do that.  Like, ever.  Because I know I sure as hell never had surgery on Saturday at a surgery center only to have to return to work on Monday because I was out of sick days and vacation days and had bils to pay and kids to feed, and no savings to rely on.   And mine was *gasp* even a full time job as compared to her part time job.  I mean, I know mine was just a laproscopic procedure on my abdomen and cutting out a fibroid and an ovarian cyst the size of a small grapefruit which fucking ruptured during the procedure, compared to her damn shoulder but hers is probably the most painful shoulder injury one could possibly sustain.  I'll ask my husband while he's lifing my 160 pound mom out of her bed to her bedside commode or her wheelchair with not one but two torn rotator cuffs (the part in the shoulder joint that holds the socket together, it's the soft tissue if I understand correcty).  But she's expecting a big congratulations for working like a normal person.  

I WOULD WORK IF I WAS NOT SICK. I AM IN NO WAY FAKING OR EXAGGERATING MY SYMPTOMS. I AM VERY SORRY TO THOSE PEOPLE THAT BELIEVE I AM AND I DO. BUT THE TRUTH IS I SPEND MORE ENERGY DOWNPLAYING AND HIDING SYMPTOMS THAN I DO ANYTHING ELSE BECAUSE ALL I'VE EVER WANTED IN LIFE IS FOR PEOPLE TO LIKE ME AND ADMIRE ME FOR MY TALENTS AND PEOPLE DON'T LIKE SICK PEOPLE OR ADMIRE THEM FOR ANYTHING OTHER THAN BEING SICK AND LIVING THROUGH IT.  I do not want to be admired for being sick, I want to be admired for other things, most of which I'm too embarrassed to put in here and I know for sure that there are people that read this that woud use it to their advantage and just make me feel bad about it.  So I'll just keep it to myself. So there.  

So my poor little rich girl auntie poo pie has to work because she doesn't have a husband to pay her to keep house or to raise their bought babies (because my alcoholic uncle had some dark seedy thing in his past and they could not adopt through an agency, my grandparents, his parents and her parents who have more money than sense, bought them not one but two babies to raise).  Poor thing has to take care of herself and while I'm sitting over here broke as fuck, my family has been blessed with babies and a grandchild that she doesn't even know about because she forgot we existed the day her husband died, and she is telling my husband how disappointed she is in us that she hasn't heard from us until now and then it's over this.  Well, guess what?  No one hears from me sometimes, even the people I love the most.

Speaking of which, that side note, it's one of my all time lows in life.  I really wish people would understand how expensive my utilities are.  I fucking hate having to hear people complain about their little $200 electric bills and how terrible it is to have to pay them.  I would love to see them pay mine.  I'd love to see several people try to live on what we make while they bitch about how broke they are.  They'd miss some of their finer things in life really fucking quick let me tell ya, but the fact is, I highly doubt these people could live on our budget.  Especially while paying for all four of my own kids and my grandchild.  People here don't go without what they need either.  Maybe they don't always get what they want, but that's true for even the most affluent of kids.  Anyway, back to my fucking electric bill.  It is huge.  The smallest it gets all year is about $300.  Everything in this house except the heat and the hot water heater is electric.  In the summer, it's upwards of $700 in the months we have to run the air conditioner 24/7.  I'd like to open a window and have it be livable but when the low temperature is 88 degrees, I can't do it.  I have a physical limitation when it comes to heat.  It can kind of kill me.  Which is how I got in the situation I got in.  I actually have a medical allowance for my electric so they can't disconnect my services until after I reach a certain total.  Our totay is $1,500 so in the summer, it's easy to get to that limit. But the thing is, when you only make $1,800 a month for all of these people, not to mention all these pets, you run out of money a whole lot faster than you run out of bills to pay.  And my mom prioritizes the cable above the other utilities.  The cable includes our phone and internet also, but we still have more cable than we should.  But my mom pays for it out of her social security and all she does all day is lie in bed watching television so I can justify that expense for her while she pays it.  When she doesn't pay it, it will not be here.  When it was just us, it was internet with phone and we watched Netflix and Hulu and we were happy with that.  So we ran up a giant bill.  I'm talking close to 5k.  And I know what you're thinking, that's impossibe, but I assure you it is not.  When your bill averages over $500 a month and you can only ever afford to pay $200-$300 a month, your balance starts to add up.  And up and up and up.  Until you have a leftover balance of thousands of dollars.  And then a very very nasty woman from the corporate office calls you on a Thursday and gives you until Monday at 5 to get $1,800 paid or they will turn it off. One thousand eight hundred dollars.  That is quite literally more money than we make in a month.  I know I said $1.800 before but I lied, we're many dollars short of that number every month.  Then you take out taxes and union dues and you end up with quite a bit less than you started with.  Everyone asks why I don't get social security.  Because I've been denied 3 times.  Two terminal diagnosis for my heart and all MY doctors say I can't work.  That between my heart and my back it will kill me, but the social security doctors say different.  And there are other ramifications of me going on social security that I can't expain here, but they exist. It makes the benefits not outweigh the negatives at this point.  So I'm rambling, it's my blog, sue me.  LOL Anyway, they gave me a weekend to get the money.  An amount I have no way of coming up with myself, and i lost my shit understandaby.  I had $200 in the bank and a water bill left to pay and formula and diapers left to buy for my granddaughter, Mavyn.  Why isn't she breastfed and in cloth you ask?  Because her mom had a horrible recovery from her c section which split open the day she came home, Mavyn has a shallow palate and had a hard time latching, and my daughter was starting to suffer emotionally from pumping exclusively for her, also, all the cloth diaper friendy laundry detergent I could afford gave that baby a rash.  Not that it's anyone's fucking business why I need to spend that money there but since people love to say I just waste all my money on stupid shit and that's why I'm always broke, I figured I'd explain it.

So I had to "borrow" a huge sum of money.  I say it that way because at this point, he's "lent" me probably about as much money as we make in a year over the course of the 8 years I have known him.  I am a pathetic person, I know.  I hear through the grapevine I'm not the only one that thinks that.  This part of this story only gets more pathetic though.  He had the hardest time sending me that amount, first he tried to wire it through western union.  He paid a HUGE fee to do so, we waited, I tried to confirm it before we went to get it so we knew for sure it was available.  I couldn't get it to show up so I  called them, and in turn, they told me to have the sender call them to release it. He did, only to be essentially humiliated by them with a series of invasive questions about how we know each other and for how long.  They then proceeded to explain to him  that they would not put the wire through because they believe me to be commiting fraud.  I have never gotten a western union wire from anyone else in more than 20 years.  And my husband, who the wire was actually made out to because I do not have valid ID has not gotten any.  Ever.  From anyone but him.  Ever.  But they were HAPPY to take his money at the counter, charge him the fee and hold his money for a while because every minute they have it, they collect interest on it.  Then he got to wait until they put it back.  All the while, I am freaking the fuck out about the damn bill and feeling like the worst person in the world for having to ask him for anything let alone that much. But yet again, he saves my ass, he saves my family again.  Like the time he got my gas turned back on, or the time he got my electric turned back on after I woke up to it off (these were both when my mom was being super helpful and making payment arrangements and not telling anyone OR paying them).  So he saves my ass frequently.  What is that relationship you ask?  That is truly none of anyone's business but his and mine.  I will state that I love him very much but like I said, past that, it's none of anyone's business and my husband not only knows about our relationship but fully condones it.  He is my hero in more ways than one.  And then I'm gonna quote Forrest Gump and say that's all I have to say about that.

So that was a long damn blog and it took me several hours to fully write it because I started in the wee morning hours, dealt with a ton of interruptions, got a kid ready for school, drank 3 cups of coffee and watched several episodes of Archer on Netflix.  Or rather listened to them while typing.  So I'm going to go try to rest a bit before I start the stress iof scanning documents for financing my new home.  Because I have no clue where we are going yet.  I will say that my famiy is dead set on a really beautiful 5 bedroom mobile home that we actually can afford that's been on the market for more than 60 days.  Our agent has soken with several mobile home sellers that have told him that absolutely with a 30% down payment our credit won't be an issue.  And it's not that we have bad credit per se, just a low score because we don't buy things on credit.  If we don't have the cash for it, we do not buy it.  Because when you live above your means you get used to the finer things in life and when you abruptly lose them, you are at a loss and think your life is awful and you act like a douche about it.  Trust me.  I know this from being the one that loses and being the one that gets tossed aside like yesterday's garbage because I'm no longer the person they can make fun of to make themselves feel better about how great their life is.  But yeah, I'm not bitter about that at all. So that's my story for today and I am realy leaving now.

Until next time...

Saturday, November 14, 2015

Yeah, I know, I suck major balls...

I don't really. You can ask my husband and various and other assorted men throughout my life, but I don't suck them. I've been known to lick balls but yeah.  Anyway.  I have a lot of catching up to do. I know I do.  I don't know why exactly I didn't write in before now except that so much went on in the last year that I just didn't think most of it seemed plausible.  I know it seems like most of my blogs are fiction.  I wish they were, I really do.  But they're not.

In February everyone in my house got the flu.  We all had fevers of over 100, Memphis got so sick he didn't eat for 6 days.  We still didn't have a car and I couldn't find any way to the doctor until he had been that sick for more than a week.  By then, the doctor didn't even want to see him and basically said if he hadn't died and hadn't had a seizure he was probably going to pull through.  So we kept him hydrated and that was that.  While that was going on, my mom started acting more weird that usual.  She had gotten up one day and told my hubby she didn't know where her car was and he knew something was off.  She had a febrile seizure at the hospital and during the CT scan, it was discovered that she had previously had a TIA, a mini stroke.  

While she was in that hospital, she heard them say she'd had a stroke and decided that she was going to play paralyzed.  I say play, because it works a certain way.  Anyone that has google can figure this out.  If you're paralyzed, you're never able to move.  Not just able to move a when no one is looking.  Whenever she didn't see anyone glancing in, she would move her legs around or pick her nose or what have you.  They decided that we couldn't care for her at home in that state because she was so combative so they put her in a facility that has a short term rehab area and a long term care wing.  She was placed in short term care.  My daughter, keep in mind was still very pregnant.  Part of the reason we were not able to care for her at home at that time.  So time went on, and on, and on.  My daughter stayed pregnant well into her 41st week.  She ended up being induced and with a failed induction had a c section but that is another story.

Eventually, we got her brought back home.  But only after we had to jump through rings of fire because as it turns out, the care facility and the hospice company were doing everything they could to try to trick us into signing over her social security benefits.  They would do things like call at 3 am and tell us she needed medication to help her sleep and that my husband needed to come in and sign paperwork right then to make sure she could be medicated and at the end of the stack they'd slip in the page releasing her benefits to them.  Fortunately for us and for her, we never fell for that.  Fortunately.  But we did get her back home.  That was in April.  When she came home she was on what is called "comfort care".  A company called Los Angeles Hospice was in charge of her home care to compliment the hours my husband cares for her.  Notice none of this is in past tense.  Because even though I was told in February just to let her die, because it was cruel to prolong her "suffering" and to just let her die, she has yet to get any worse physically and in fact has gotten better and better as far as her body.  Her mind, maybe not so much, but let's be real here folks, she was pretty fucked up in the head to begin with.

It's been a journey that has been nothing but heartache.  I has been the most awful time I have ever had in my life.  Like I mentioned, she has physically gotten better.  The hospice nurses were basically no help anyway.  All they ever did was give her a sponge bath and treat us like we were stealing her meds, because ya know, when there's someone that wears dentures in the house and they're under 50 they MUST be a drug addict.  The fact of the matter is. MY drugs are by far stronger, more sedating, and I get more of them.  So no one is stealing her meds, I have my own, thanks.

In October, the hospice decided she wasn't dying fast enough and on a Thursday called us and said that they were discharging her from their care as of that coming Sunday.  We were left with no outside help to take care of her, no nursing care to help bathe her, and no doctor to write a prescription for her meds, so she was going to run out of literally everything she was on, and did.  Everything from her multi vitamin to her seizure meds to her pain med.  And they came and took most of her medical supplies to swap out for supplies from other companies.  That came with it's own host of problems.  Needless to say, it's been a huge ordeal.  But the reality of it is simple.  I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy to die in a place like she was in, why the fuck would I leave my mother there even if she is a total asshat?  The answer is easy, I wouldn't.

I know this is starting to run really long, and to be totally honest, I have so much more to say I could fill up another 50 pages and not be done, but that's what I get for not writing for a year right?  I'm going to do my very best not to keep doing that shit and waiting so long to post.  Unfortunately I made a horrible discovery and no longer have my blue tooth keyboard for my ipad because Memphis likes to ruin my shit, so I can't really write from anywhere but my laptop unless they are tiny short blogs, but I might write in a few of those.  But I will be writing more.  I think some of my depression is because I haven't been writing at all.  So that's what I'm sharing for today...and I'm going to share a short video of my silly silly grand baby doing her things.  I missed you guys.  I hope you missed me too!

Until next time...

Little miss Mavyn Lynn who isn't even 8 months old yet STANDING up on a bed, where there is almost no way to balance, but somehow, she's doing it!! (also, look at that crazy baby hair!)

Friday, September 12, 2014

Stuff and Things and More Stuff...

So first, let me say I'm sorry I haven't been posting like I should be, I've had some health issues and well, my hands are less than cooperative.  My laptop seems to have taken a total shit, so I'm very lucky to have this to blog from and to talk to people, but I won't be going back to work any time soon unless a new laptop falls in my lap (and that's about as likely as me being struck by lightning I think) so my plan to pulll us out of our financial hole was great in theory, but not so much in practice.  So there that is.

My Daughter's pregnancy is progressing well, she's been to see her dr and even gotten an ultrasound aready.  In a couple weeks, they will look again to see if we can tell the gender....she wants a boy pretty bad.  I hope it's just healthy.  

My baby grandchild at 13weeks gestation��
Here is a link to the full ultrasound video (don't worry, it's short!)

The father?  Well, he's been no help at all so far.  Lke NONE.  AND I am gonna gump it out on that, that's all I have to say about it.

The real reason I wanted to write today is my DIY projects.  I have been creating folks!  I love mineral makeup.  But I have yet to find a brand that doesn't damag my skin by making it break out or get flaky gross patches, and it generally just doesn't cover for shit.  I have HUGE pores.  Like big enough to hide a small child in.  So that kind of coverage I need.  So I decided to make my own.  I'm going to give you the recipe (kind of, because you know me, I don't actually measure thigs) I'm also going to tell you how I went from old lady thin tadpole like eyebrows to normal brows in a week flat.  I need to test out my new threading skills now!  Ok, so the mineral foundation first

Cornstarch or arrowroot powder
french green clay
cocoa powder
ground ginger
ground cinnamon
5 drops tea tree oil
5 drops lavendar oil

mix the cornstarch or arrowroot powder and the green clay in equal amounts and then add the following ingredients to get to your color.  You'll have to test it along the way of course until you get to your shade.  Don't be fooled by the green tinge to it, it evens out and your skin will look amazing.  The best part?  The cost.  The green clay I got for $2.09 on eBay, and everything else I had except the lavender oil but I was getting that for another reason too.  Got that on eBay as well for $.99.  You can make a ton of it and your pores almost disapear under it.

My face all done up with my diy makeup!

Moving on to my weird eyebrows.  What do you think of when you think of castor oil?  I think of gross things.  Poop mostly, but did you know it does other things?  Me either.  It makes a fantastic eyebrow/eyelash serum that helps them grow and grow.  Mixed a tube of castor oil and 5 drops of rosemary essential oil and I've been using it two to three times a day every day for a week.  There has been MASSIVE improvement in just that time.  I love it.

Today I'm going to attempt to make diy mascara with activated charcoal, aloe vera and that very same   castor oil.  We shall see if it works out.  If it doesn't I have a shit ton of activated charcoal to do something with!

So there is a bunch of other really shitty things going on in my world, but I thought I'd stick to a semi peasant blog today, because I don't want to bring myself down, or anyone else, but there are police involved this time, hopefully on my side this time.

Also, I keep going back to my broken computer.  I just can't do my job without it.  And I know to some of you ACTUALLY WANTING to do that job seems wrong or off or whatever, but I REALLY WANTED TO GO BACK TO WORK. For the money mostly, but also because I need to be something besides somone's wife or mom or the person everyone yells at when someone else makes them angry so they feel better and I feel like shit. I wish I lived in a world where it was possible to just have and extra $300 for a cheap laptop, that's all I had anyway, but how the fuck am I supposed to be a webcamgirl with no computer?  How do I help myself out of this damn hole if at every turn I'm met with another obstacle that I can't figure out how to overcome?  I'm sure there are people out there thinking "get a regular job" right?  Well, this body isn't designed to do that.  I can't stand on my feet, I can't sit in a desk, but I can lay back on a well made bed with some cheap lingerie and well done makeup and look sexy as hell with no effort at all.  (even if you've seen me day to day, I can actually look good enough to do that and lots of men agree and even some women lol).  So now I feel even more trapped in this shit hole over a dumb thing like that.  I couldn't take it to a repair person either because you guessed it, that's not in the budget either.  You'd think I could just borrow someone elses? No one else here has one that works either, wouldn't that figure?  Ok, enough on that, I've gotten myself all depressed over it again anyway :(

I hope everyone out there is wel and loved and at peace. and I send my love to all that need and want it!

Until next time...

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Big Changes Headed My Way, the Eye of a Storm...

Well folks, I turned forty.  I was terribly unhappy for most of my birthday for mostly selfish reasons.  I never claimed to not know that I'm a selfish person, or to be some martyr that wants everyone else to just be happy for my birthday.  It was a pretty shitty day all around.  My family didn't forget me Sixteen Candles style again this year, and they have indeed done that to me.  For my 37th in fact.  What they did do was spent the day systematically making me feel like total shit in every facet of my being.  Not a damn thing I did or said was quite right and made someone mad.  I didn't get to go out to dinner like I had been promised for months before, I didn't get even one gift from anyone, anywhere with the exception of a spur of the moment drawing my daughter did because she felt bad for me.  I didn't even get to pick what we ate for dinner.  I know what you're probably thinking here.  Suck it the fuck up, you're a grown ass woman and somethings you just don't get any more.  I had wanted something from anyone just to be reminded that I was loved.  That someone had taken the time out of their busy life to do something just for me.  Later that night, my daughter and my oldest son convinced their dad to go get a cake mix and bake me some cupcakes, so at 10:00 at night, got some unfrosted cupcakes to finish off my 40th birthday.  40 was kind of a big deal for me.  This is one I might not have gotten to if I hadn't fought so hard to live and sometimes, when I have days like those, I have a hard time remembering why I fought so damn hard.  But then before we ate the cupcakes, my twenty year old daughter and I went for a walk to the dollar store to pick up a few things.  Cotton balls, baggies, light-bulbs.  And while we're there she says maybe we could pick up a couple cheapy pregnancy tests? I gave her a look mixed with pure joy and utter shock and we picked up two.

While the cupcakes were being baked, and everyone was occupied, I sat in the bathroom with her while our lives changed.  Drastically and for the better.  The line didn't come up right away, she was sure it was negative, but at the two minute mark, a faint pink line appeared as if to say "I am here to give you hope".  She did not believe it.  She was convinced that since it was a dollar store test and the line took so long and was faint, it was wrong.  She was sure she was not pregnant at all and just let it go.  When her period still hadn't come several days later, we had her take the other one with first morning pee.  Of course it was positive too.  It popped up faster, the line was darker, but she still wasn't sure so we scheduled her a blood test for the next day.

We got up, took the bus to the lab, and she had her blood drawn at what by dates should have been 4 weeks 2 days.  It was very much positive once again with a level of 746 beta hcg (pretty high for that dating,so I personally think shes several days past that) but now she is comfortable in the fact that she is indeed pregnant and she has enough of the symptoms, she can't deny it if she wanted to at this point.  She'll be starting her ob/gyn care in August.

There was already a shitstorm brewing with my son's now ex girlfriend before this came to light.  His girlfriend got caught in a succession of lies that even still she is maintaining are not lies, just misunderstandings.  The are lies, plain and simple, and she got caught in them.  She's spun a web of them so far out and so intricate that she can't keep up with them and my son is very protective of his mother.  When she accused  me of doing something he knew for sure I had not done, it was the beginning of the end for them.  He is my first son and we are very close. He turned 18 just 3 days before I turned 40 and we have always shred a lot about a lot of things.  So they indeed have broken up at this point.  Shortly after the break up, her pathological lying went to a new low and she told several people that my son had gotten her pregnant and she'd lost the baby and that he was terribly uncaring about it.  Oddly, they'd never had intercourse during their entire relationship, so I don't know how this mystery baby was conceived, but she forgets how far my reach of information is in this area and exactly how many people know me and the people I know.  And uh...screen shots prove a lot.  I'm going to gump it out now and that's all I've got to say about that.

The trip to the lab for my daughter's blood work started a clogged duct in my left breast that quickly shot into mastitis within a day and a half and then on the Fourth of July, Phiz fell off the bottom step in our house and broke his two front teeth.  They were left very jagged, but there was quite literally nothing we could do but wait until Monday and take him to the dentist, which we did.  It'll be July 29th before treatment begins and I'm still not sure exactly what they will do, but it has caused me so many slices and tears and hurts and pain that I'm feeling so out of it that I'm lost in my own pain most days lately.  And the mastitis isn't quite healing.  I went to the doctor, got antibiotics again and I've finished the round of high dose and still have a lump in there.  I also had a mammogram, my first since having a pacemaker and I may write a whole post just on that because it was definitely strange and more painful that I anticipated.

While I was at it, I got a full spinal series of x-rays done though.  From what I've been told so far they are not good.  I will post a copy of them here when I get a copy of them for my own records (and I always ask for my own copy, ya never know what will get lost along the way of treatment or what radiologist will say when reading another's report).  Giggle worthy, a nurse at the doctor's office just today tried to tell me that progressive degenerative joint disease means I'm getting better.  How on earth she didn't know that the progressive means it gets progressively worse I don't know, but that's what she told me and then I had to remind her it wasn't just my neck they looked at, did she send the whole report to the other doctor.  Of course she hadn't, so when she took a quick peek at it and saw there was a few things mentioned in my thoracic, lumbar and sacroiliac regions as well, I asked if she would please just send them the entire report to the pain management clinic before my appointment tomorrow.  I felt like calling her a moron but I didn't.

I was very excited to go in the morning before my pain management appointment to get my wax fit ins for my new set of teeth only to be called at 5:38 this evening (2 hours after someone had confirmed my appointment as being good) to tell me that there is something wrong with the impressions them made TWO WEEKS ago and I need to have new ones made before they will even start building the wax bites.  All I could do was cry for about 10 minutes and of course, no one in my family could begin to understand why this would even upset me, let alone to this degree.  I miss being my version of pretty.  I miss being who I was and damn it I MISS HAVING FUCKING TEETH.  I am really looking forward to a set I can wear all day every day and feel like a normal person.  There's a certain loss of dignity when you have no teeth in your mouth and all you want to do is smile.  I haven't been quite the same person since I lost my smile.  I was hoping to get that back.

I have some full review posts that are coming up soon.  I really wanted to get back to the mamatography I started at the beginning of the year, and I am definitely going back to work before I get my ass cut open because my house is being foreclosed on for the taxes and fees the bank has paid for me and no one has paid them back for.  So I need the money badly.  And I still need a car in a desperate way.  So I will be going through with the indiegogo campaign very very soon and I hope against hope I've got some readers in a spot that can help me with it.  And for once I'm requesting any donations that anyone has available to them in the mean time.  I've got a donate now button off to the right of the screen there, it goes into a paypal account I can have deposited into my netspend card (not my husband's but my own) so that I can get the little ones some clothes, and get Maxwell ready for the new school year.  He'll need a new backpack, new shoes, new clothes and some school supplies as well as a light jacket and a heavy coat because two light jackets and his heavy coat that wouldn't fit again this year were stolen from him last year.  I did have his name sewn into the heavy coat, but it didn't do me any good obviously, he never got it back.  So now I'm a beggar of my readers too and I'm sorry :(  In all honesty, if you have the clothes, shoes, backpack and jackets, I'd rather have them then money and if anyone out there can help with that I'd be happy to send you his sizes and my address.  Otherwise, there is always good old paypal.  On that very depressing note, I'm off to try to get some sleep for the night so I can get up early and go redo the impressions and hope to someday get my new teeth and feel human again!

Until next time...

Sunday, June 29, 2014

It's Time for a Review...

****This is a sponsored review, I did receive a full size sample of the product along with coupons to try more, I was compensated by the products but have not been monetarily compensated to write this blog, nor did the compensation alter my opinion in any way.  The opinions are strictly my own and are in no way a reflection of the site my blog is hosted by, or the site that provided the sample*****

Snuggle Scent Boosters

Snuggle Scent Boosters are my new best friends.  They are the most amazing little bundles of joy that I am desperately in love with.  Offering full disclosure, I've only used the lavender joy variety of them, so I'm not sure if I'd love the other ones quite as much, but these babies are the best thing since fabric softener sheets. 

I'm not big on liquid fabric softener mainly because it always seems to leave a spot of greasy residue on my clothes somewhere, so for the most part, I really do use sheets or none at all.  Sometimes, I go all easy greeny and put some acv (apple cider vinegar) in my little dispenser.  But for the most part, I just use sheets.  Doesn't do much for scenting the laundry really, so I always had stale smelling towels within a day and clothes too.  I don't like the way closet clothes smell!  So I usually use a ton of "febreeze" that I make homemade on them to make my clothes smell less like that.

No more with these little gems.  You just throw one in the bottom before you put your clothes in, the package says two, but I never have done that because I'm cheap and don't want to waste them.  What I did discover is that I can make one of my home made "febreeze" concoctions with them.  Here is what I do:

1 packet of snuggle scent booster cut open in a large bowl with a spout to pour
two tablespoons baking soda
one tablespoon rubbing alcohol
warm water to fill the bottles you are using (makes two full bottles)\

Mix the top three ingredients together with enough warm water to dissolve everything. Slowly add water to it to make sure there is no gritty stuff at the bottom.  Pour into two spray bottles and top off with the rest of your warm water.  Mix up to make sure everything has been dissolved.  Use just as you would regular "febreeze" but test a small area first to make sure it doesn't discolor your fabrics, I haven't tried this on all kinds of fabric.
Enjoy the lovely scent of fresh laundry around your home!!!
And don't forget to toss those little babies in each and every load guys...everyone deserves towels that smell that awesome!

Once again, this is a sponsored blog!

****This is a sponsored review, I did receive a full size sample of the product along with coupons to try more, I was compensated by the products but have not been monetarily compensated to write this blog, nor did the compensation alter my opinion in any way.  The opinions are strictly my own and are in no way a reflection of the site my blog is hosted by, or the site that provided the sample*****

Until next time folks....

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Eavesdropping and a MAJOR Confession...

The confession will be something some of you already know, so don't get too excited yet, but it is pretty major for me to tell the people that don't.  I'll get to that in a bit.  First, the eavesdropping part of the title.

I have a fondness for doing it myself, and I'm aware it's really rude.  I know that when I do it, the things that I hear about myself, I can't take too hard because the people saying them are not meaning for me to hear and that is why they are saying them to someone else and not to me.  Sometimes, I still take it pretty hard, but I try really hard not to.  That being said, we have a little issue with it here at Casa de Crazy.  Here, we have an over zealous eavesdropper that will listen to any and all conversation being had and will get vindictive and angry at people for having private conversations never meant for their ears.  I bet you can guess who I am talking about.  You would be right.  My mommy.  Goddess love her, she just can't help herself I guess.

It's pretty bad when you can't talk to anyone about anything at all without having to worry about what will be overheard right?  But it's just the way it is.  People ask me what's wrong with her that she does some of these things, and I have to answer honestly with this.  Nothing.  Not a damn thing.  She has no mental or medical condition that makes her act like a child, or do the things she does.  In fact, for the bulk of my memory she has been a very self centered person who just did whatever she wanted and thought about the consequences later on.  It made for a rough growing up, especially after she married someone that really was crazy.  

So back to the eavesdropping part, k?  Let me tell you some of the weirdness.  The  tv in her room stays at it's lowest volume so she can hear what goes on in the upstairs.  She stands in the shadows in the hallway downstairs and listens to my husband and I talk in our bedroom ALL THE TIME, and will even creep halfway up the stairs to listen to us if she thinks she can get back down them quick enough to not get caught.  The way the vents are set up in our house there is an intake vent in the downstairs hallway that she can stand by and hear damn near everything upstairs, and it's located right next to the bathroom, so she can sit in there with the door cracked and listen away.  And she does.  Daily.  All. Day. Long. Every. Single. Day. Of. My. Fucking. Life.  Every little thing she hears, if it's about her or not, she is sure it's about her and she gets herself all butthurt about it and acts like someone just slapped her in the face.  If you hear something bad about yourself while eavesdropping on someone's private conversation, it's your own damn fault as far as I'm concerned.  You shouldn't get all upset and go to your room and cry when you hear people say they are irritated with you for doing exactly what you're doing rght then.  Also, it's fucking creepy to not be able to have any damn privacy at all.  If we did have any semblance of a sex life she'd listen to that too, and well, gross.  It's a tiny little part of why I never really worked here to begin with.  I've only tried to work here a few times even though she does indeed know what my job is and spends money like we're millionaires.  She also listens to phone conversations.  Why you'd want to listen to your 20 year old granddaughter have phone sex I have no idea, but again, fucking creepy.  I have no idea how to handle it except to come here and complain because everyone here is so fed up with it, we have given up trying to be quiet about what we say.

On a side note, we did find the kittens.  Or rather, they just got old enough to come out of the hiding spot their mom had them in and start exploring the house.  They are all just fine, but I'm damn near certain my mom had known all along right where they were and has actually been giving them cow's milk which is horrible for them.  So, we're back to just not buying milk again, or buying it in small, single serve containers for the little boys and keeping it up here in the mini fridge.

Now on to the confession part of the blog.  Many years ago I was in a car accident.  I was driving a 1986 Mercury Lynx station wagon.  At a stop light one day while I was on my lunch break from work, an elderly couple slammed into the back of my car in their mini van.  They had been shopping at the Eastgate Mall in Cincinnati Ohio, and the man thought the light turned green when it had not yet.  I found all this out later, because at the time, they took off, it was a "hit and run" accident.  There was no obvious damage to my car, but it moved my stopped vehicle almost 12 full feet forward while I was at a dead stop and I had my food on the brake.  When they slammed into the back of my car, I slammed my mouth onto the steering wheel and also whiplashed my neck.  That was actually the beginning of my bone spurs there, but from what I've been told, I would have developed them anyway, just later on and probably to a lesser degree.  

I went back to work not realizing I was hurt and finished out my day.  I had a desk job at the time and since my best friend worked with me, she was able to just look at me and tell something was off, so we ended up going to the ER after work and discovered two things.  The first one was that I'd hurt my neck pretty bad, and the second was that the man that was driving the vehicle that hit me and took off had been injured as well and had gone to the same hospital.  Not only was he not telling the doctor there the truth about who was driving (he was telling them he was the passenger), he was telling them it was the other driver's fault.  This was in the days before traffic cams, but there were skid marks that were later measured by the police and the width of my tires was thinner than theirs so they really could tell that THEY hit ME, not the other way around.

Anyway, to move on with the story, I was at the time in quite a bit of pain due to the neck injury and in fact, it to this day causes me a great deal of pain because it never healed right and it grew the bone spurs on it and the discs between the vertebrae are essentially nonexistent but they are in several other places of my spine as well so I'm told I would've had an issue there regardless.  On to the confession part though, when I was hit, I basically bit the steering wheel.  I cracked all of my front teeth, upper and lower under the gum line, and since I already needed some (a lot) of dental work, it got bad pretty quick.  I did have dental insurance, but I maxed out my benefits in just a few visits and not much was done to fix my teeth.  In a short amount of time, I started to look like a crack head.  I got treated like one too.  Most people assumed that my teeth were like that because of drugs.  They weren't, but people didn't care to ask, they just assumed and so that's how it was.

When I moved back, my friends and family were shocked to see what condition my mouth was in (I think they were surprised that I hadn't gotten fat living in the midwest also, but I hadn't).  It was several years before I was able to start having any work done, and by that point, they all needed to be pulled.  I've never been able to have root canal's anyway, they've always come out, the bars that they put in the hold the roots together reject.  So that was not an option, the only option was to pull them all and have full upper and lower dentures made.  That is my confession.  I have no teeth.  I haven't had any for almost 13 years now.  When I had my set made, they were made cheaply (even though I didn't pay for them out of pocket, the cheapest set possible is what I've got because the state paid for them due to me being on state medical for disabled people, which I've been on for almost the entire time I've been back in California).  I have never learned to eat with them in.  I've never learned to wear them consistently.  In fact, I only wear them when I'm going to go out or when people I don't know very well are going to see me.  Of course I wear them to work, because they fill in my face and who wants to fantasize about someone toothless, right?   Why am I telling you all this now?  Because the state took away dental care for many years and I was not able to have them relined or fixed or looked at or have the aveoloplasty I was originally supposed to have done to make them fit right.  The state just reinstated their dental program in a limited fashion, and decided that people on Medi-Cal are now allowed to go to the dentist!  Yay for us poor folks!  I've always felt like dental coverage shouldn't have to be a luxury for people, but sadly, in our country it is.  Some third world countries take better care of their people's mouths than we do here.

So I got to make an appointment to have my teeth fixed and the appointment was for this morning.  I was led to believe that they were going to do a simple hard reline and they'd just fix the pink part to make them fit right.  I got myself all excited, thinking this was it, I'd learn to eat with them, and start wearing them all the time and that the bone loss I'm suffering would stop and all that happens when you have dentures and hardly ever wear them wouldn't keep happening to me.  As it so often happens, I was wrong.  I got to my appointment and waited forever.  Keep in mind, I'd been told if I got there by a certain time, I'd get them back relined by this evening.  I got there by the right time, but while I was in the waiting area, I watched the courier that picks up the appliances come and go and I'm thinking well shit, there goes my chance to get my teeth back today!   I get called back, and the first thing they do is tell me I need x-rays.  WHY the fuck does someone with no teeth need an x-ray?  I'm pretty sure it's just to get more money, because wtf are they going to see except my damn jawbone?  So they tell me I need them but I have to take all the piercings out of my face and ears.  So that's 8 earrings, one of which is pretty new and still healing and shouldn't be taken out at all.  An eyebrow ring, a nose ring, and my lip ring which is also not quite healed up yet.  That alone took me another 10 minutes or so to get them all out and in the baggie and I had to apologize because, honestly, if I'd known I'd have taken most of them out or put retainers or bioplastics in.  Then the dentist comes in, looks at me for all of 30 seconds, asks me how old my plates are and tells me that they're just going to apply to get me new teeth anyway because not only are mine really too old to risk a reline, the bottoms are cut too short on the acrylic to reline anyway!  That's going to take another probably six months before I get good teeth.  I'll have to go through all the gagging impressions and the wax molds and all that shit, that's something like 6 to 8 visits over 6 or 8 weeks.  I'm pretty disappointed about it really.  I thought I'd have teeth I could eat with by my birthday.  Now I'm nervous to go through it all again and all the adjustments again.  The impressions are the hardest part for me because they DO gag me really bad and I've gotten made fun of by dental assistants for it before, I'm worried I will again.  I know I should be grateful I get them at all, and I truly am, I'm just disappointed it'll take so long.  But this time, I hope that they'll fit really well and I'll learn how to wear them the 18 hours a day most people with dentures wear theirs.

So that is my confession.  I hope that the few people that didn't already know about this that will after they read this won't be grossed out by me now.  I hope that it doesn't make them think less of me, but really, if they didn't already, I don't see how this would.  But this explains a great deal why some medical professionals treat me so shitty huh?  See me without my teeth in and at this age?  They think I'm a meth addict or a crack addict or something.  Then they see I'm a pain management patient on my chart and it makes it 1,000 times worse.  When I feel like shit, the last thing I want to do is put my teeth in, because they hurt to wear and I already hurt or I wouldn't be there.  And with all of that, I'm going to close for today because, well, it's a long blog and I'm tired now LOL.  Look forward to some product review posts coming up soon because I've got several lined up and I was blessed to try out some really cool stuff.  Thanks for reading me through, I know this was a long one!

Until next time...

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

What's in a Post? "Still I Rise"...

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history 

With your bitter, twisted lies, 
You may tread me in the very dirt 
But still, like dust, I'll rise. 

Does my sassiness upset you? 
Why are you beset with gloom? 
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells 
Pumping in my living room. 

Just like moons and like suns, 
With the certainty of tides, 
Just like hopes springing high, 
Still I'll rise. 

Did you want to see me broken? 
Bowed head and lowered eyes? 
Shoulders falling down like teardrops. 
Weakened by my soulful cries. 

Does my haughtiness offend you? 
Don't you take it awful hard 
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines 
Diggin' in my own back yard. 

You may shoot me with your words, 
You may cut me with your eyes, 
You may kill me with your hatefulness, 
But still, like air, I'll rise. 

Does my sexiness upset you? 
Does it come as a surprise 
That I dance like I've got diamonds 
At the meeting of my thighs? 

Out of the huts of history's shame 
I rise 
Up from a past that's rooted in pain 
I rise 
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, 
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. 
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear 
I rise 
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear 
I rise 
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, 
I am the dream and the hope of the slave. 
I rise 
I rise 
I rise.

Maya Angelou

This has some meaning to me today. After my keeping up with the joneses post, and the post just before it, I guess the few people that did talk to me are no longer. I'm guessing, they think those posts were directed at them, and where they could have asked if I meant them (it was aimed at no one specifically really, just a whole set of circumstances) now I'm just not worth talking to at all.  Or communicating in any fashion at all, be it personal or social media (which is usually what I get anyway, and that is just fine with me).

This is my life. And people wonder why I don't even bother to try to make more friends when these are the kind I've already got right? I'm not even worth picking up a phone and typing a message to anymore. It's no wonder I'm lonely.  Is it because of the choices I make? The information I choose to share here? I'm not sure. I know people read here, I average some 500 to 1,000 readers a month so I know SOMEONE out there is reading these. Maybe those of you that do read and actually know me could take a few minutes to let me know that you haven't forgotten I exist. I'm sorry I'm a needy paranoid person. You kind of get stuck with an all or none deal with me.  Im flawed, I'm broken, and I still need my friends, even if by some misunderstood reason, you perceived an offense I did not mean. You had nothing to do but to ask...

Until next time...