The 13th Apostol

Garage Sale 'o' Rama...Mama!

It's official, were having a garage sale this weekend...jesus (little J) what have I gotten myself into?? It's the kids really, wanting to experience what I'd just as soon Freecycle away.

I owe them this experience after all my barking to "Get to work on Mer's room" so now we have half the living room boxed up ready to relocate, and the other half ready for procurement.

Last night the copywriter in me reared it's ugly head, and in an instant was back in school stunning my instructor with my quickness and witt...Oh that I'd ever progressed farther than the learning institution of my youth!

Translates to a wicked-cool Craigslist addy here.

See, I told you I was really doing it. Maybe it's not all that safe to have my address here in bold print, but it wont be my address for long...whatever. Come say hiya and buy some old damn windows .

Wisdom

It's Monday morning, the day I've planned on doing all the stuff that's been put off all weekend. Call utility companies, just took an hour on the phone with Cox, and somehow, somehow I've now upgraded to a bigger bundle, than downsized???

I'm so weak.

Chelsea stayed the night last night. From the neighborhood Chelsea. And around midnight, the witching hour for children of Alcoholics and Addicts, she scampered into my room whimpering, inaudible at first. I was reading and eating my apple with a serrated knife, a nightly ritual that reminds me of my father and his onions.

I patted the bed next to me, and Chelsea scrambled up on it, saying "Please don't tell my mom I told you" I assured her I wouldn't, because sweetie, you haven't told me anything yet.

Out came a litany of childly horrors, so overwhelming the small portion I could make out went something like this: Mom is leaving because of Dad's drinking, and the most terrifying part to this child is, will she lose her new puppy? And now...Al and I are leaving her too.

In an instant I was me, but 35-years-ago-me...and it was all too real. The losses of people, puppies and person-hood, in the face of disease wrought on annihilation. The Witching Hour, the day vs night child locked in battle till dawn...

What did I want 35 yrs ago? What did I need? How brave this child is in comparison, to speak her truth at the Witching Hour...I wanted someone to listen, I needed to be heard...because seven wasn't a lucky number for me anymore than for Chelsea.

Just like the 35-years-ago-me, she spewed for a few minutes, then...as if taking a cue from a brilliant director off stage...stopped cold, wiped the tears and said "I'm ok, it's all right now" Then proceeded down stairs to watch cartoons.

This morning, my gray hair feels a little more earned than cursed.

The $5.50 Nap

I slept through Harry Potter.
Took the kids, because I'm super-human mama, to the one o' clock showing at Penn Square yesterday, and sometime during the previews fell fast asleep.
This is a sure sign I'm just completely exhausted, feeling like I'll never get us moved all by myself.
If it weren't for seeing Texasgurl firmly planted in London, I 'd have a doubt or two I could make it across the housing edition.
I think I'm just so drained from all of this, the chaos of having your home in shambles, not knowing where anything is, and having to keep this stupid smile on my face for Mer-boy...

Maggie tagged me to play, but... I've forgotten HOW to play.

So last night, The Mer stayed the night at Sidney's house next door. I was alone and my mind started to do that thing it does when it's alone...
What if I had a wonderful man to do this with? What if I didn't have to do it all myself, the moving, the raising of the child?
What if, I could feel excited about life, feel passion again? What if I wasn't so exhausted I got to see the movie too?

Then, because this is what happens when I'm alone with the "What if's"...I began to cry... and cry, and cry, and cry, until my pillow, because I'd taken my melodrama upstairs by this point, was sopping wet, and the cat was looking at me strangely.

Then, I was crying because I don't have the money to color my hair, and the gray is far more of an issue now than just roots.
Then, I've been running again for over a week now - and see no difference in the fit of my clothes...A WEEK.
Then, I knew I'd made a terrible decision about the new house - it was the wrong one.
Then, the reality I'll never have another child. I'm POST menopausal at 42.

How can I be buying a home, if I can't afford to COLOR my HAIR.
How can I be doing this all by myself?
How, will I ever get on top of my demons long enough to see the universe as it truly is?
Without myself, at the center.

How I Came To Believe, I Know Nothing

Have I mentioned I don't qualify for down payment assistance? Nope, not a cent.
Why? Well, I'm gonna tell you WHY...
I do not qualify for down payment assistance because the home I'm buying is in too nice an area. Community Action Agency wont help one bit. Their funding is meant for areas that are in need of homeowners.

The reason I bring this up, is the HQS inspection of the Adobe/Greek Revival was this morning. HQS stands for Housing Quality Standards if your wondering...I like it when I sound like I KNOW something. "Yeah, the HQS blah, blah, blah..."
I know nothing.
Here's how I know, I know nothing:

The troops arrived enforce, my worker from the Assisted Homeowners Program, My Realtor, and the "HQS" Inspector.  We all stood around waiting for one of the owners employees, a guy named Reggie to arrive with the key.
Reggie is his name, yet Reggie is white.
I don't know why this bothers me, except it's kinda like me having a little girl and naming her Latifa...beautiful name, but sacredly OFF LIMITS.

So white Reggie arrives with keys. All I could think was the house would fail miserably based on my previous experiences with HQS inspectors. It DID fail, but only by a few easily addressed items. My worker kept saying under her breath "GIRL...you done GOOD"...followed by "GIRL, you really done GOOD" and then "GIRL. GIRL. GIRL...YOU DONE really GOOD"

Apparently she had to bust three contracts so far this week, due to the DEPLORABLE conditions of the homes...imagine that?

So back to the down payment assistance thing.
The price of the house has been raised to cover my costs, buyers costs they call it.
My Realtor David, is also The Patron Saint of Dwellings, and SOMEHOW has come up with my down payment, so I am virtually buying this home with nothing up front.

Here's where I get goose bumps.
If you'll recall I was physically on my way (as opposed to telepathically) to sign a contract on another home. You know, the one with the gas station and main thoroughfare in the back yard? That one.
And I saw my friend in the parking lot/used car lot of the now out of business neighborhood grocery store that CVS bought out the lease on.

I stopped to say hello, because I'm friendly when I want something, and my friend buys and sells property...'hello' seemed reasonable considering my circumstances. He asked me what I was doing, because that's how Okie's greet each other:
"Hey!"
"Hey, what are you doing?"
"I'm on my way to sign a contract on a house."
"You are? There's one for sale across the street from me"
"I haven't seen a sign"
"There isn't one"
It was at that moment I knew, even before I'd seen the house, I knew I was in one of those eerie Rod Serling moments, where you know beyond the shadow of a doubt, YOU'RE RIGHT WHERE YOUR SUPPOSED TO BE.

No, it's not The Twilight Zone I'm thinking of, it's one of those Michael Landon or Della Reese shows...Highway Angels or something along those lines, but anyWAY ...I left my friend to survey a 03 Ford Bronco and drove by the house with no sign in the yard.

All I could do was laugh out loud and say, "No Universe, do NOT do this to me. This isn't even funny. Your giving me what I've been searching so hard to find for the last two months, AND it's a house I've driven by thousands of times and thought "What a cool house. "Universe, your going to make me stand up and back out aren't you?"  (the Universe didn't answer, in case you were wondering) though I probably wouldn't tell you if it did.

 

These events all rolled up into a little cosmic ball of energy PROVE I know nothing.

Wish in One Hand...Sh*t in the Other

I can't get motivated to finish packing...
I'm like an addict telling myself "Tomorrow, tomorrow it'll be different." Then of course it happens all over again upon awakening.

"I'll pack some after I've had my coffee", turns into "'ll pack some after I run", which is inevitably followed by, "I'll pack more after breakfast, (lunch, and dinner)

Part of the problem is I don't want to leave here, but then you all know this already. It's painful and scary, thinking about leaving someplace that's been so good for both The Mer and I...for something unknown...and unremodeled, is that a word?

So packing is saying I'm OK with all this, which I am NOT  by any means. But for the boy I am...EXCITED (yeah right) and THRILLED (sure) to be going on another fucking adventure...please let this be the last for a while sweet Goddess of everything maternal! (which is the only holy for me now)

I keep asking myself, how I'll ever love something covered in dark wood paneling...it's like a red-headed step child, can I truly LOVE it, deep in my soul, enough to make it MINE?

So here I've sat, for the last week. Not really packing anything more, just in a packing stupor if you will...alone, save for The Mer and the gaggle of children we'll leave behind. All asking the same question of me, with probing eyes like aliens unsure of my intentions..."WHY are we leaving, and WHEN will it be happening, and WHO will be living in YOUR HOUSE?

I am the bad guy, regardless of the grown-up circumstances involving things like money, space-time-continuum's and taxes...it's my fault. I'm breaking up the pack and I must face the consequences.

When did I slip from my little girl skin, into this too-big-for-me-skin of mother? We moved so often when I was a kid, I never learned to have friends, be a friend. Just as I'd make friends with the neighborhood kids...you know the rest. Now here I am doing to The Mer what was done to me.

I wish I could have bought this house for him.
I wish I didn't have to move him into a Cinder-ella house.
I wish I could get paid to fucking write.
I wish I could write without 'fucking'.
I wish I could buy The Mer a Wii...to make up for, of course...being a bad mudda in too-big-for-her-skin.

"I Wanna Be a Blue Water Faerie Mom!"...and so he was.

Fairest Sydney with her escort Mer-boy, The Blue Water Faerie

Mer-Boy's been into the faerie dust it seems.

If I Were A Faerie...

I'm having buyer's remorse and I haven't even bought the house yet.
I don't see any way I can afford home owners insurance. These shysters want upwards of $200 smackers a month to insure a home that CANNOT burn... against FIRE.
Two hundred smackers to insure a home that could withstand an f5 TORNADO... against HIGH WINDS...
I mean it whole heartedly when I say...WTF is this world coming to, when a fire resistant home costs more to insure BECAUSE it's fire resistant???

"Replacement value, blah, blah, barf"

I've never had insurance. I mean, well...the LIABILITY kind yeah, cause you kinda have to. But nary the big guns kind.
Loss of limb and stuff.
Never have I had renters insurance, because I've never had anything worth replacing...or so I figured, until the last several days worth of ABSOLUTELY WORTHLESS MINUTES SUCKED OUT OF MY FAT ROLL OVER ACCOUNT.

Insurance people, the salespeople, persons. They enjoy making you feel like an idiot for never having had coverage before, then they give you a hefty DISCOUNT as a result.

Every quote was relatively competitive with another company, it wasn't like "Joe's Insurance Shack" really hooked me up or anything. It made me so sad I decided for ten straight minutes not to buy a house.

What's happening here is this:
If I cruised on over to the hood and picked up an urban blight for $49,500...I'd have no trouble affording the INSANELY HIGH INSURANCE PRICES, based on the fact I am a SINGLE FEMALE, and I have no credit.

Credit I will never be able to obtain this late in the game WITHOUT owning a home. Can ya see what's happening here?

The home buying process reminds me of one of The Mer's PSP games, where you make it to one level and think your safe, only to find out there's some hidden chamber somewhere you didn't know existed.

If you kick seventeen monsters asses, achieve all 42 levels without getting destroyed, are able to morph into the right character at the right time...then and only then does some magic wizard hand you the keys to your new home.

A year ago I was all "It's a MIRACLE, yada yada!"...
Today, yeah maybe, but it's also a helluva lot of work.
If it weren't for each of you cheering me on in your own way, I'd have quit a long time ago. So thank you, and please don't leave me now!

On a lighter less neurotic note:
It's that Magic time of year again...
The Mid Summers Eve Faerie Ball is tonight.

OK-lahoma Where the Wind Comes Sweepin' Through The Isles

The Seller signed the contract yesterday.
I don't even know what to say anymore, this home purchasing thing is more emotionally taxing than having a child. The commitment thing.

I have no business being a home owner. I don't have the money to fix my car, and I'm buying a house. A HOUSE? This is nuts. I should rent a nice apartment, and continue to let others take care of all the grown-up stuff.

I have way too much crap by the way.
Way too much to fit inside this.
What have I done?
I live in Okla HOMA for Christ's sake, not some Mediterranean village.

The Retarded Righter

OK, well...I'm freakin out now.
I STILL don't have the Sellers name on the contract. No, really.
I'm three weeks shy of having to vacate, and dead in the water.
Can't schedule inspections, can't schedule transfers, can't reserve a U-haul.
Oh my Christ I'm freakin out!

I envision The Mer and I sleeping in the back of the Pathfinder out on I-35 in "Velma's"
parking lot. Maybe I could pick up enough cashola for that wii, woo, whatever thing while there huh?

The house is half boxed up, except of course for The Mer's room...he has a social life to consider.  I mean what would happen if the gang came barreling up the stairs all ready to play "Barbie's", only to find the Bratz packed?

What does it mean when your son has a better doll collection than the two girls on the block? It means your an awesome mama, is what it means!

If it makes any of you neurotic, sexually repressed readers feel better, he only plays "Barbie's" when the girls come over... the rest of the time he either practices his ballet, or arranges fresh-cut flowers from the garden.

The realization that I have absolutely no one to help me move, hit me yesterday.
It's as simple as this:

For the last year-and-a-half, all I've done with my free time has been this right here...blog, or some form of writing. Composing press-worthy emails, writing letters of the same caliber. In a nut-shell, if it could be written...I wrote it.

Meanwhile back in real-world, my friends and acquaintances went on with their REAL lives.
How charming.
Marriages were performed, babies were had, er - born, folks went and saw movies, concerts and plays, stuff I just didn't have time for because I was too busy...writing.
Some of you will know what I mean when I say, if I did manage to pull myself away from "My lover" long enough to perform an extra curricular, I felt what can only be described as a "Jones", or a "feam" (?) during the period of separation.

This mental disturbance, this neurosis, can negatively impact ones communication skills. As in, the inability to stay focused on a conversation with another real life person. The overwhelming concern with what one might be missing while apart, er...away from the Internet.

If, on the rare occasion I successfully managed to force my attention to the present, the vocabulary and social skills I had once praised myself for, were all but non-existent. I was retarded.

People, the real life kind, take this sort of behavior personally and find it offensive.
Eventually they stop coming by or calling. Why? It's pointless they think, she'll just be on that f*ing computer.

Which brings me back to the fact I have absolutely no one to help me move. I have absolutely no one to help me move...and I'm retarded. Fabulous.

The Greeks Invented Adobe

I swear to Yawei, we, way, whatever...once I get moved and set up,
this blog is going to explode all over the net.
This is the last time folks, that our lives are going to be uprooted in this manner.
Now I believe I just bought a house, a concrete house that looks something like these do.

Not really, but it feels that way.

Yassou!

Chantix Interuptus

Because I'm a weenie when it comes to vomiting, (the involuntary kind) I haven't taken a Chantix for two days. I tried cutting them in half for a day, but the nausea kept reminding me of the vomiting, which made me want to puke.

I'm jealous of you successful "nonnies", and so disappointed in myself I could just puke. I have a call into my doc, but can't see me taking an antiemetic in addition to all the other pharmaceuticals I ingest to appear 'normal'. Anyway, most of them aren't actual pharmaceuticals, they're supplements. Which don't count right?

It's as if I never slowed down on smoking. If I could ground the tobacco finely enough I'd snort it. I can't get enough nicotine into my system fast enough to scratch the itch. Woke up three times last night to smoke, chewed Mer-boy's dad's head off and spateth it out for coming over and edging the yard, (it was 10p.m. y'all) and, and, and, I don't know 'and' what? 'And' anything, crap.

I have 27 days left for the new house to close, pack our lives in used liquor store boxes, come up with the money to transfer utilities - rent a U-haul, move us, AND pull a nine-year-old's birthday out of my ass. (that's 'and' what)

Maybe, I'm just sayin maybe, this wasn't an optimum time to try Chantix...maybe. Or maybe being the good addict I am, I'll try it tomorrow and it'll be different.

   

   

Micheal Moore's "Sicko"

I stumbled across a link to Micheal Moore's new doc on Maggie's site yesterday.

I'll reiterate what Maggie said about "Sicko" being mandatory viewing for every American, or something to that effect.
It took two days to view the 2 part doc (watch for free with this link) given summertime chaos, and poor sound quality.
Each time I needed to pause in order to break up a quarrel unresolvable on it's own, throw meatballs in the oven, or feed a screaming cat...
I took the film with me, I couldn't shake it.

It was the topic of conversation between myself and the families on either side of us last night, at the Anytown USA Fireworks display. (which btw gave Al nightmares in the night from the "Finality")

To my left was an older Israeli couple and their granddaughter, to my right a Pakistani man and his two small children. The children were terrified, believing fireworks,  missiles until Al and Katie (across the street) convinced them otherwise.

If you don't take the time to watch this film, and given you can see it for free without even having to download, there is no excuse...you will remain as ignorant and vulnerable as myself.

My friend Jonathan lives in a country with socialized medicine.
My friend Jonathan is a very easy going sort of dude, not a worrier, even though he maintains an extremely stressful position, with an enormous amount of travel, and time away from home and family. No worries, what gives?

Could it be this is merely J.'s nature, just a mellow man?
Or could it be he's actually healthier all the way around like Moore's film claims?
Simply knowing your health care is covered, and MORE than adequate might have something to do with it huh?

Micheal Moore has out done himself this time.
Regardless of your opinion of Moore, the facts are loud and clear.
The way Moore finally helps 9/11 rescue workers receive U.S. denied health care in the end is beautifully done.

As someone who knows first hand what the United States government is capable of doing to the private lives of it's citizens, I'm sure Moore pulled many punches throughout the making of this monumental truth-bearing masterpiece.

Part one and Part two: Micheal Moore's "Sicko"

I'm Full of Crap (and Chantix, a drug they tested on people who smoke half as much as I do)

I don't like the way the pills make me feel, or think. My sleep is disturbed, I'm depressed...and I'm still smoking.
To be honest, I haven't felt my compulsion slow at all.
So now I'm smoking AND I feel like crap.

Do you know why I want to quit?
I want to quit because I can't afford the sonofabitches any longer, that's why.
Like any good addict, the consequences must outweigh the instant gratification of ones dope, er...smoke, CIGARETTE.

I don't have a smokers cough...yet.
I don't have emphysema...yet.
I don't have any one of the multiple smoking related cancers...yet.
I haven't burned the house down...yet.
I haven't...wait a minute, what's that smell?

Dang! I smell some rationalization goin on!
WHY, why can't I just smoke?
I gave up everything else, why can't I keep my f*ing cigarettes?

I gave up my extra cheese long coney's (3 of em) every night.
I gave up all you silly boys in my bed every night. (one at a time thank you)
I traded in my Coors light for diet coke (the sober bullet)
Then I gave up the DC for stupid bottled water.
I broke the pipes, smashed the bowls, flushed the pills, and that's all you need to KNOW about THAT...
Now you want my f*ing CIGARETTES?
I hate you.
Who are you?
Who am I?
without my shit.

Chantix is Making Me Sick...Happy Independence Day My Ass

I spent yesterday throwing up.
I get it, the pills make you so sick you can't smoke.
Haven't taken one today yet.
Hell, I'm afraid to.