Thursday, December 20, 2007

• If I wrote Christmas letters...

  Yep, I am all too aware my blog has gotten boring as of late...and I have every intention of trying to put my all back into it the way I used to.  This past year has just been a really bad year for me.  I barely can find the time or energy to blog some days, but I remember when I used to have a lot of fun with this...and I want to again.  I never realized just how hard having two kids so close in age was going to be, but WOW - to put it mildly, I would not go back and do this over again.  I would space the kids out.  Sheesh.

  I'm sure some people have been shocked to see me go from a happy, if not a little sarcastic, funny person to one who rarely writes and rarely comments and doesn't have much of crap to say when I do write.  All I can do is apologize and say that it truly has been a tough year.  I'm not even going to attempt sending out Christmas cards or an update letter this year.  I can only imagine how that would read.  Okay, let's say the world was about to end and I actually sent one...I suppose it would read something like this:

  Dear Friends and Family,

  Well, it's that time of year again when I will get letters from all of you telling me about how your kid graduated from college on the Dean's List with a 4.0 average and is now getting an illustrious job at Proctor & Gamble of which they had to take rigorous IQ testing for...but you knew they would pass, because, well, they're your child.  That's the sort of things I get from my friends of the upper crust, anyway.  My friends on the crumbly graham-cracker bottom will send more things like, "Well, Alma Sue kicked her crystal meth habit and Bobby Joe didn't get one single girl pregnant this year...so we're having a fantastic year!".

  Congratulations to all of you and your loser and overachieving little bastards.  May they all grow up to hate you.

  As far as my kids are concerned, well Cullen is finally learning to potty train and enjoys watching the pee-pee come out so he can run up and down the hall screaming, "I DID IT!!!!  I DID IT!!!!!" repeatedly until your ears bleed.  He's developed the unfortunate habit of reading his father's motorcycle magazines while on the toilet and saying, "BOOOOOOOBIEEEEEEES!!!!!" when he sees the pictures of the scantily-clad airbrushed bimbos leaning all over photos of choppers.  He's nearly packaged and ready to go as "typical husband material".  I just hope he learns to quit screaming and congratulating himself after every successful piss.

  Caitie enjoys climbing almost as much as her brother did at this age.  She has also developed a disturbing habit.  She climbs on top of our coffee tables from the couch and starts dancing.  I'm so concerned about her future that I'm thinking about looking for a good Catholic school in Okinawa...

  Oh, did I mention we're going to Okinawa?  No Uncle Jim, that's not one of those strangely-named Oklahoma cities.  It's in Japan...kind of.  Actually it's an outlying island of Japan.  Yes, they do have more to eat there than sushi and no, I do not want to borrow your 'I'll Go Hiroshima On Yo' Ass Gook' t-shirt.  Burn it.  Do the family a favor.  Hell, do all of humanity a favor.  Burn the shirt as you wear it.

  We move in several months and there's a lot to be done, but soon we'll be enjoying a tropical climate while your asses are freezing in a foot of cold, Ohio snow.  We'll send you Christmas cards next year of us in our bikinis on the beach.  Even Blaine, who is so hairy you probably would not even see the bikini.

  A reflection on this past year:  It was a year of good times...well, no, that's a lie.  Let's be refreshingly honest shall we?  I mean those crazy Liberals want to take the Christ out of Christmas...so why should I take the hone out of honesty?  Instead, allow me to hone in on our wonderful year.  My mother and aunt visited me at the very beginning of the year.  As typical, my mother and I left not on speaking terms and reconciled by calling each other months later and pretending nothing had happened.  We love each other underneath all that I guess.

  Earlier this year, I also started examining more of the philosophical side of myself and began examining my stances on religion and politics.  I ended up more confused and more disgusted with people the more religious political ads and whack-job leftist conspiracy theories I heard.  I am now somewhere on the fence watching everyone else fight.  I could give a rat's arse about taking part.  I quit thinking about people as Democrat or Republican and started thinking of them as people again.  Wow - isn't that refreshing?  As far as God and religion goes, I just don't know.  I will have to wait until I die.  Calm down, Grandma.  If I go to hell, it couldn't be any worse than having dental work done.  Say some Hail Mary's and smack me with a ruler a few times if it makes you feel better.  I'm just not at a point in my life where religion is making crystal-clear sense yet.  I've heard that kind of clarity comes on your death bed....Speaking of which, Grams...how are you feeling?

  We have had plenty of personal tragedies this year, but I don't feel like delving into them though I'm sure you want to hear about them, right?  You have to have some kind of ammo to one-up me with in your Christmas letter next year because heaven knows, that's what Christmas letters are all about.  Blaine bought me a Fender electric guitar?  Did I tell you that?  A Telecaster.  A bright blue Telecaster just like my dad's.  Unfortunately, I did not even know how to play so I started learning.  Within several months, even Blaine was impressed.  Six months later and I am playing so well for a total self-taught beginner that it's scary.  I'm even rethinking my appearance.  I look too normal to be a rockstar.  I'm debating dying my hair pink.  What do you think?  (Grandma?  Are you okay?).  Blaine is also insanely jealous of the fact that I can sing while I play guitar, but all the good that does me.  I have no invitations pouring in from anyone asking me to bring my guitar and sit around their campfire.  Instead, I have more people wanting to bash the guitar over my head.  In any case, Blaine and I are learning to write songs together...let me change that, we have written ONE song together and performed it together, but he seems more interested in playing with his Wii (not what you think Grandma!) or building things (guitars, motorcycles, etc.) than actually using those things.  I may be going solo before our little band even gets off the ground because I'm writing like a fiend lately.

  Cullen fell out of his high chair and got two black eyes early this year as well.  He's okay though...still got all his teeth.  I know you Kentucky relatives are jealous.  Well, lo' and behold with me filling up a blog with total crap and who came and contacted me but Lifetime television?  They even brought a camera crew to the house and interviewed me on being a military wife.  Unfortunately, this was about five or six months after my daughter was born so I looked like a fat balloonhead.  For some reason, pregnancy did not agree with my head.  I'm happy to say my head has shrunk due to sessions with a voodoo priestess.

  We also took a road trip in the spring to go back home and see family.  We decided to take the redneck route instead of the midwest route this time.  We drove through Oklahoma, Arkansas, Tennessee, and Kentucky...saw a lot of trucker porn stops in Arkansas but not near as many as there are in Missouri (holy geez).  One of the things I remember most clearly from the trip was having to pee and not wanting to touch the door going into the convenience stop because of thinking of all the truckers watching porn in their rigs and then getting out, going into the store, and not able to wash their hands before doing so.  YUCK!

  Blaine's military career has, as usual, been a source of never-ending confusion.  Just this year, I was told, "I may be going to Iraq!",  "I'm not going to Iraq",  "I will probably be getting recruiting orders", "I am not getting recruiting orders!", "I may be going to Iraq!" (again), "I am not going to Iraq" (once again), "I think we are going to go to North Carolina", "We can't get orders for North Carolina", "I am going to Miramar", "No, wait!  I'm not going to Miramar.  There's a chance we could go to North Carolina!", "What do you think about Okinawa?", "We're not going to Okinawa.  I am going to Miramar.  For real this time.", "When we go to Miramar, I will probably go to Iraq...", "No, if I go to Miramar I won't be going to Iraq.", "I might go to Iraq, but not for a while at least.", "No!  We're not going to Miramar...we're going to Okinawa!".  "For real, this time."  Hell's bells.

  So anyway, wasn't I talking about a road trip.  Yes, we had a road trip.  I got to see my father's mother whom I haven't seen so long she's forgotten me.  Oh wait, it's not that, it's the Alzheimer's + Dementia.  Silly me.  It was so good to see her again.  I hate the fact that I'm this far away from her and the rest of my family...except for when I hear frightening things like Uncle Jim has enrolled in a dance contest and wants the whole family to come watch.  Just kidding.  I don't have an Uncle Jim...and if I did have an Uncle Jim I don't think he would dance...unless he was a gay uncle Jim which might be cool considering my horrid ability not to be able to pick out sensible and fashionable shoes.  I need a gay mentor in my life.

  On the way home from our big, super-happy, funtime road trip across America, we were nearly caught in a tornado.  I still have video footage of our whole fun experience, but my lazy ass has been too busy being lazy that I still haven't found a site that will host my video.  Maybe tomorrow I will upload it and finish the damn series so I can get it off my plate already.  All I could think about during our tornado scare was how it would make a great blog talking about how it feels to have a tornado rip you apart.

  Uncle Jim (we've already clarified I don't have an Uncle Jim, but I need someone to address this to), you would be so proud of me.  I got blind drunk on margaritas, puked all over myself, farted up a storm and had to be undressed and propped in the shower by a neighbor.  Don't ask me why my husband wasn't doing this...he was probably too busy playing with his Wii to care.  I've spend the last five months cowering in my house because now my neighbor is no longer my neighbor but someone who has seen me naked.  It's embarrassing to do something that stupid.  First and last time that ever happens.  I guess it could have had something to do with a prescription pain pill I had taken earlier in the day...but I never will know.  All I will know is that I'm embarrassed still.  I wish I had a time machine.  And a lollipop.

  My neighborhood also turned into something from Boyz in the Hood with the Latinas/Sistas against the Whites/Asians.  Nobody won in the end.  Housing threatened to kick their asses out.  I finally came to the conclusion that I am very white and not a down-ass homegirl like my predominately white slice of suburbia led me to believe I was because I knew all the words to Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre circa 1993.  Eminem doesn't count.  He's a white pansy ass rapper.  Only he hasn't realized this yet.  The only caps flyin' in the trailer park are those from John Boy down the street trying to shoot aluminum beer cans off the top of his trailer from 50 feet.  Don't worry, Grandma.  I know green M&Ms are your favorite and not those white ones and you don't understand why I'm talking about the wrappers.  Go back to your crossword puzzle.

  In the devastating heat of the summer, I turned 30 and nobody cared.  I don't think my own mother even called.  I don't know if they were avoiding me or what.  I expected a surprise party...something.  I got nothing, but a neighbor did run over an alcoholic beverage for me figuring I may need to drink and forget.  I did.  God bless the family genes that make me look years younger than I am or I would be trying to find out how my husband's Wii remote is considered "dangerous" so that I may kill myself with it.  Apparently, those things have done tons of damage to homes...maybe it could do mortal harm to myself?

  Just when I thought the year was winding down and I could jot it down in my book of things to forget, the Santa Anas kicked up and sent the fires of hell for all the plastic, bitchy, barbie types in L.A...only it missed L.A. and came for the people of San Diego instead inspiring really bad jokes about "refried beaners" to be pervasive on the internet after even the illegals got scared and started turning themselves into border agents in fear for their lives.  To make things more dramatic and scary, Blaine was gone on a DET (detachment for non-military - just means he was on a small deployment) near Las Vegas.  We were put on evacuation standby but when it got to the point where you could see flames in the distance from our house, I evacuated myself and the kids.  It was kinda like that scene in 'Gone With the Wind' where Scarlett is evacuating with Miss Melanie, not-so-fresh from giving birth.  Only we didn't have a slave girl with us who sounded like she'd been sucking helium.  We drove past flames that were 20 feet high near the airwing.  I've never seen anything like it.  Not even the time when we had the bonfire at the high school after a football game and Tommy Burncock* (name changed to protect stupidity) jumped over the fire and nearly burned his balls.

  This year has all culminated by my son learning to say the F word which he learned from his Daddy's Wii addiction.  His father likes to play this WWII flying game and every time he crashes into a wall, he screams, F#$%!!!".  Now, he doesn't even have to say it.  Our son says it for him.  He also likes to add this exclamation whenever his sister bumbles her toddling self into a wall or other object she expects to give because she is the almighty mutherf$%&ing princess.  "F#$%!!!!" 

  Finally, I have been visiting a dentist for the first time in seven years.  I am writing this with a cheek the size of a golf ball, as I speak.  This after having my teeth worked on four days ago...I think there may be a problem so I must revisit them again tomorrow.  Wish me luck and lots of novacaine.  I hope to be smiling at you with teeth that don't resemble the keys of an 18th century piano...or maybe bearing some slight resemblance as in maybe they'll be straighter...but...hell, what I was trying to get at is maybe they won't be stained and...Oh never mind.

  Merry CHRISTMAS and shove your happy holidays crap up your bunghole,

  Ms. Novacaine

  P.S. - If I offended you, go back and read it again, then repeat.

  And that is why I do not send Christmas letters.

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