Mariposa's Tales of Madness

LINKS FOR HELP

2005-09-02T22:15:00.000-04:00

Please go over here to Been There. They have a system set up where you can list what you have to donate to the victims of Katrina. Baby items, everyday house items, diapers, baby food, formula, clothing, shoes, coats, blankets... whatever you have that you would like to donate, please post it there. Please pass this information along to others, so they can do the same.

More links:
Katrina.Com

Karmus.Com Photos of missing

Oxygen Campaign

Missing Persons

Network For Good

Salvation Army

Catholic Charities

And finally a page full of complete links for help, how to help, where to help:
CNN Help Center

Changing the mood

2005-09-01T13:17:00.000-04:00

With near apocalypse going on down south. I have to change the mood on here for my own sanity. Days of endless CNN coverage of death and destruction has sent me into a teary spiral. I can't do this to myself. Thank you God for my family and for my home being in a safe place. All we get is occasional snowfall of 3 feet. Or below zero weather. A tornadoe in country places. Or a small flood.

So now, on to the fun topic.

I stoled this from my DOM Maddie.
I like it, here it go:

Blog Secrets
Wanna Play?

Leave an anonymous comment telling one secret you wont/can't blog about, and if you are so inclined...why? I'll jump in when the water's warm.

Help them

2005-08-30T19:08:00.000-04:00

When I saw the footage of Katrina this morning. I started crying. It looked like the tsunami from last December. People on rooftops.A man crying to a reporter, while looking confused and wandering a street. "My house cracked in half. My wife... I couldn't hold on to her. She told me to let go and take care of the kids... my wife is gone. Everything I have is gone..." the reporter began to cry. The man walked on.

I was crying. These people. The people who did not get out, because they were economically unable to move to higher ground. We had warnings. Why couldn't states open up their own stadiums and buildings to let these poorer people in? Why couldn't airlines and buslines offer free rides to higher places? How about out of state hotels offering free places to stay? We could have avoided losing people. Men, women, babies. We had the warning. We had the money to save these people and yet, it was more or less "fend for yourself." And this is what they did. They went to higher ground, meaning attics, rooftops. They waved t-shirts and towels on sticks so that ARMY helicopters could rescue them. Those that lived. Those that weathered the storm and the beastly conditions. Those that survived.

Looting taking place, because people are scared they are going to starve. No food. No water. Nothing. But. Themselves.

They don't know the estimated death toll. But as of this afternoon it was up to 80. The mayor said as he was on a boat to see the damage, he saw bodies floating everywhere. He was at a loss for words.

Help them. Because those that needed help, were not given that help and didn't have a chance.

Help Victims of Hurricane Katrina

Watching the storm

2005-08-29T14:03:00.000-04:00

I am fascinated with storms. As is my daughter. I am beginning to believe that her sense of fashion and her love for weather will lead her in great directions. "And here is Mya C. with the weather... ".

Katrina looks like a bad mama jamma. I can't wait to look on the net with Mya when she gets home, so we can watch footage and sit glued to the tube in her room as we watch the Weather Channel.

She understands the destruction, and her first questions are always "did they tell people to go to safety? What about the people who can't get out, mom?" I always tell her that people will get out. No matter how ugly it really can be. She has this passion for what happens in the skies. And a passion for people. My little weather girl.

We are actually getting the remnants right now of what's going on in Louisiana. If you live in the track of the current storm, and it's raining... you can actually stick your tongue out and taste salt water. That's Katrina, people. I shit you not. Katrina can be tasted all the way up in Ohio.

Here is some info and current up to dates... if you are staying there, God bless you. I hope you're safe.
Watching Katrina

Autumn

2005-08-28T16:43:00.000-04:00

My favorite time of year is right around the corner.

The thing I don't like much about the seasons here in Ohio, is that the good ones don't last too long. Autumn should be 8 months long, and winter should be 2 months long. The Spring should be about 4 months long and then summer should be like 5 months long. So that would change the year to 19 months a year instead of 12. That sounds good. Right?

Mya started school, and so far her new teachers seem promising. Her teacher last year was a favorite playing twat, that didn't know her ass from a hole in the ground. "Mya's constantly tattling..." I told her there was a difference between tattling and telling on someone that has pinched your ass. I ended up taking the situation to the principal and threatened to go to the superintendent if nothing was done. The boy who pinched her ass and called her "booty girl" ended up being severely punished, he also had to write Mya an apology. After that, me and Mrs. Twat Teacher didn't get along too well. She didn't like that I went to the principal. Oh well. I saw her as I helped Mya find her new classroom number and she put her nose in the air. I laughed and kept on walking. I felt a pang of pity for the new kids in her class.

Keifer will be in kindergarten next year. I will hopefully get him into that preschool I was talking about. But as I am not really getting support or any kind of teaching in the driving department ("I am too tiiiireeed" ~ my husband.) who the fuck knows when I will be doing that. I want to give up sometimes. I don't understand why I am expected to give my all and when I do, I never get any help in the areas I ask for help in. I shouldn't say never. I will just say MOST OF THE TIME.

I will be seeking a new layout soon. And hopefully a new domain if I can. I would like to have something new. I feel as if this blogger is tainted with scum.

Well, the baby is crying. I have to take him outside and swing him in his baby swing that his Auntie Sissy gave him. He leans back like Fat Joe and makes a gangster face as he swings sweetly. Little fatness. I love him.

Stuff

2005-08-19T11:57:00.000-04:00

I come on here to post, and I find myself deleting posts instead. I feel a blogger block going on in my brain. I can't figure out why that is. I had no problem before, so help me out here, it's beginning to get old.

My daughter goes back to school next week. Can you say: "A la escuela que te la pela!"... my mother used to say that to me as each summer would end. It was a sort of taunt as in "back to school you go" but not really in those exact words. I loathed when she said that, So now I find myself saying it to my daughter as she cringes and runs off screaming "Nooo! I don't want to gooo!".

My oldest son will be going to preschool sometime this fall. When I am not sure, it depends on when his mother gets her drivers license. I don't have a drivers license you ask... nope. I don't. Why? I can't really give one answer. There are many, and one being I am a huge fucking scaredy cat. I had my temps at one point, and even had a car for myself, but we needed money at the time so I decided to sell it, and there went my motivation to get my license. That was when Mya was 1 years old. I also learned how to drive back in 1995, but backed into a gas pump at a gas station while I was high on pot and my brother was sitting in the backseat. Him and one of his little friends. Luckily the children nor the car blew up, and I drove home feeling like a complete idiot. Hey... no one said I had brains when I was younger. I went home hugging and kissing my then 11 year old brother and thanking God over and over that I didn't kill him. Also, I was in a car accident when I met Keith. So add those things together with the fact that I was never really taught to drive at the age of 16 like most of you were. I just kind of put it in the back of my file cabinet and decided to take it up whenever.

So, now is whenever time. I need to have it. I have three kids, and I hate depending on people to take them places, or wait until my husband comes home from work to do groceries or take the kids to appointments. It's a huge nagging part of my life that I need to get going.

Ryan is taking small steps, and has gone from being my sweet angel faced baby, to being a complete MONSTER. He eats like one, too. Can you say BRUISER? He will be one years old in two months and I am going through denial. "I JUST GAVE BIRTH! IT'S TOO SOON FOR HIM TO BE A TODDLER!" it's worse than when I had the other two get so big so fast, because he is my last baby, and it eats at me when I look at him and feel the need to sponge his babyness into my brain so I will never forget it. Soon no more baby feet, and no more sweetness, soon he will be talking back to me and running from me instead of loving and kissing on me. Denial. Queen of denial I am.

I am feeling the need for yoga, or something. I used to get up each morning at 6 a.m. and do the yoga with that little creepy guy from Oxygen channel. The bald one that looks like a Chester Molester. The one that plays stuff like P.M. Dawn songs and his yoga people dance while twisted up in strange positions? Yea that one. But I enjoyed doing it because it helped me wake up and feel peaceful. I felt nice and ready for my day. I think I am going to start doing it again.

Here is some Ryan goodness:

someone take them. PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

2005-08-13T18:07:00.000-04:00

My kids are so fucking demonic today, that I have realized it is indeed possible, to love and hate your children all at once.

Sounds kinda harsh, doesn't it? No. Not fucking really.

Fighting, arguing, clawing, pulling, climbing, screaming, whining, eating, drinking mess of insanity that is soooo unfucking real, that I really do not want to be here. And if I could, I would run so fucking far away, they would not find me for days. I say days, because they would find me. They always find me. They are like tiny little zombies seeking blood. They always find me. And when they find me I will have a six pack of Coronas and a dozen sugar twists from the bakery. I will be on a small island in the middle of Lake Erie, wearing a tutu made out of moss.

I asked for it? Ohhh. Yea. I see where you are going with this. I did ask for it. I know that. But you see, when I asked for it I was in a pink and glittery haze of love and hearts and rainbows and sparkles. I was 23 years old. I thought I knew all there was to life. I thought I had lived the life I needed to live. I was wild. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I did the drug thing. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I did the slutty thing. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I did the alchoholic thing. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I did the dysfynctional family drama enough for 34 life times. No. No weee. Sometimes that is why I think I decided that I needed to be as wild as I was.

I met Keith, love, love, lovity love love love. He was sincere. He was gentle. He was handsome. He was in love with me and I with him. Insert more Weeeeeeeeeeee Here.
He loves me. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I love him. Weeeeeeeeeeeee! We have an apartment. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! He gave me orgasms. Weeeeeeeeeeee! Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Oh Oh Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! He was responsible. Weeeeeeeeeeeee! He was independent. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee! He was all around a perfect soul mate for me. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I wanted more more more more more more more. I wanted so much more, well I should say, WE wanted so much more, we decided to reproduce more human beings in our own likeness. I was pregnant Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Babies, and duckies and outfits and booties, and strollers and baby food and diapers and weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Then we had two. Then we had three. Weeeeee. No Weee. Weee is over. Weeee is gonna be on hold for a lonnnnnng long time.

I was young. I know that. I am aware I wanted three babies and a husband and a life I had dreamt of when I was a little girl. But nobody ever warned me of the side effects. The side effects being that sometimes, your cute babies can become demonic and make you lose you ever loving fucking mind.

For you single gals out there, don't say I didn't warn you. You are now warned.

So you wonder...

2005-08-05T22:43:00.000-04:00

Where I have been?

I do have a lot going on, but to tell you the truth I had a few incidents that left a bad taste in my mouth. So when I get burned. I stay away from the fire. 'Nuff said.

Also, I was blogging so fucking much, that I just I was ignoring the other things I enjoy. Like playing with graphics, and taking pictures, and smelling baby toes, and cooking. See the Winter Mari, that reads and snuggles under covers and eats chocolate truffles and watches movie after movie, and blogs until she can't blog no more, was still working. She wouldn't take her summer vacation. So Summer Mari had to take over and boot that bitch into next year, because I need sun light. And baby toes. And water with sand. And cooking, and stuff that makes me ponder things. Things that eventually will go stagnant and smell like rotted flesh unless I do something about it and get things movin. Lovely thought, huh? Did that make sense, even?

I will try to keep my blogging going. But I also have two other blogs that I try to upkeep as well. This one is the most read. The others are kind of private. Sorry. (Maddie, contact me, giiirlll.).

So, until the leaves fall, and the air becomes crisp, hang in there. Ok? I will have more madness for you as things happen.

We all know them

2005-08-03T17:01:00.000-04:00

I am hoping i don't know any of them.

But even if I don't, we all know them. They are our fresh faced friends, husbands, brothers, even fathers & sons.

This hit home for me today. Seeking the names of those killed fighting a war that makes no sense whatsoever. Seeking the names and hoping I know none of them, because all 20 or so of them are from my area. It hit home for me today.

Just like the day it hit home back in March 2003, when it all began. As I saw women with swollen bellies, watch their husbands board buses and planes with their fatigues on. Watching them leave as they clutched babies in one arm, and cradled their swollen pregnant bellies with the other. I cried as I looked at my own children. At my own husband, who in 1999 almost signed up for the Navy. Was a few days away from signing on with the Navy. Could have died, being in the Navy. My heart plunges with that thought.

I remember kissing him deeply and crying. Full face of tears streaming steadily, as he wiped them away and told me "I didn't join. Why are you crying?".... "Because I just realized how close I came to losing you".

Just like the time he held me as I cried in sobs, scared of the world around me on 9/14/2001. We sat in the car after visiting relatives. He looked at me and I looked at him. We looked at our children in the backseat. A three year old baby girl, and a six week old baby boy. Do they have futures? Do we have lives? Why did this happen three days ago? We felt so raw, so wounded. Even though we never said a word, he held me and stroked my hair and said he loved me. As though we were diving downward in an uncontrollable airplane.

Please pray for those who were lost this week. Not just because they are from my hometown, but because we all know them. Those fresh faces from every town in the good ol' U S of A. Those that put themselves on the line, for no other reason, than just because.

etcetera, etcetera, etcetera!

2005-07-22T18:39:00.000-04:00

I have the kids birthday party tomorrow. Mya's going to be 7 on Sunday and Keifer will be 4 on monday. Keith turned 28 on this passed Monday.

Today I have to run and get my brother so he can stay over for the party tomorrow. Take the kids shopping for their gifts. Get party stuff. Make cupcakes and salad for the party. Set up tables tonight. Go to the dollar store. Go to Walmart. Wash clothes. Clean this house. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Then my grandparents from Cali are coming in tonight and I have NO IDEA if they are coming to the party or not. If not then most likely they will wanna pay a visit during the week, which I can handle. But if they wanna come to the party, then thats another whole thing. Because you see... the party... is gonna have a ton of people there. My MIL invited a shitload of peeps from her side of the family, including her mother. I invited a shitload of kids from all over the neighborhood and all my friends and their kids. I havent even counted the whole list of people. And all I have to feed all these people will be hot dogs and brats and fucking salad. And cupcakes. If you ever wanna know how to throw a birthday party when you're shit broke, contact me. I can give you some pointers.

I am stressing people. I hate stress. I do not do well under stress. I buckle under stress. In an event of something catastrophic happening... I would be one of those people to scream and rip their clothes off and freak the fuck out. I sure as hell wouldnt be that person who takes hold and controls the situation so well, that later they are given a medal of coolness.

My mind is reeling. My nerves are berserk. I want to climb into a huge cocoon made of comforters and quilts and comfy pillows. I want to metamorphasize into another creature so that I can fly away from this insanity that is my life.

Roasting

2005-07-16T14:25:00.000-04:00

Our AC has decided to take a minor shit. Not a major shit as in "oh my god the ac has taken a shit and we have nothing." but rather "oh my god the ac is acting like a twat and we have to shut it off for the afternoon and for now we have nothing."

Fucker.

A 31 year old woman with her period and three hot and aggitated children, who is hot and aggitated herself... is very very ugly.

My husband's birthday is Monday and he claims that he needs to be "enjoying my weekend before my birthday." Silly man. Birthdays are for kids.

And speaking of birthdays for kids... Mya and Keith Jr. have TWO birthdays next week. Yes. I have been plagued with a husband's and two children's birthdays within 7 days of each other.

Mya will be seven next Sunday, and Keithy will be four next Monday. A week from Big Keith's birthday. Ryan and I are the only ones who don't share a birthday in July. We don't suck, we just know when to be born, ain't that right Bubba?

July is a huge month for us. We are throwing the kids a party next weekend. I hope a lot of kids come, being I am just making calls and sending out emails instead of sending out the invites I made with Kim Possible and Spiderman. They came out cool, but I was out of ink. And stamps. And I just emailed them out, as fucking hick as that sounds. Mommy doesn't have it quite together in the organization department. So sue me.

My grandparents are also coming in from California. Not my nutso grandparents, but my cool ones.

In other news... Mya had to go to the ER yesterday because she has been vomiting and feverish all week. She has a double ear infection. Good times.

Keithy is beside himself because his girlfriend moved away. Yes my almost four year old has a "womans". Or as he says it "a womence". His heart will be eased to know she will come to visit him on his birthday. He "wubs" her. He says. He has already kissed her more than once on the swingset. We call him Don Keithy De Marco.

Ryan is furniture walking. More good times. My god when he begins walking I am in for it. Why am I so fat when I chase him constantly?

I need to go OD on Pamprin and sit in front of my fan while the hubs fixes the AC. Maybe I will pass out and dream about having my uterus torn out of my insides so I will never have to have another period again.

People are people

2005-07-10T01:01:00.000-04:00

I lied. I am back. I can't live without sharing my strange observations about people, while selling my used goods.

So far I made a hundred bucks. Decent for a bunch of baby stuff I actually BOUGHT at a yard sale just last year myself. Well, not completely true, the larger things such as swings and a basinett were bought from my neighbor's yard sale last year. All clothing was bought by ME. Lots of clothings. Lots and lots of clothing. Lemme tell ya though, I have realized, people are strange. And cheap. And just, well, just strange.

Take yesterday for instance, I had people who were so cheap they didn't wanna pay two bucks for a pair of BRAND NEW SHOES. I was like "excuse me? I NEVER WORE THESE! TWO DOLLAH! OR NO BUY!". The lady bought them and huffed and puffed. Then I had a woman discount her own merchandise because she "had to go to the store to buy batteries". I was like "You know what, take 4 bucks off, whatever, only because it's a baby swing, but when I bought it... I HAD TO BUY MY OWN BATTERIES LADY!". GODAMN MAN! Then she made me demonstrate that the swing actually worked with my nine month old son in the swing. Have you seen my son? He is HUGE. He is like 25 pounds, and he looked like a pork sausage in a tight casing when I used him to demonstrate that :

A. the swing worked WITH HER BOUGHT BATTERIES.

B. that a baby was actually safe to be in the damned thing.

After Ryan bitched her out in baby language, she bought it for 14 bucks... with ten bucks of baby sleepers I gave her for 7. So all in all she paid 7 for the swing and 7 for the clothes. THE SWING WAS ORIGINALLY 13 bucks. I was desperate to get her the FUCK out of my yard, so I sold it to her for that. Then she goes "How do I fold this up? My gramma is in my backseat and my boyfriend messed up the trunk last week at a party...". I was like "Oh wow, I dunno. Ask grammy to scooch over cause I never folded that up before." I lied. I laughed to myself. And then her grammy was all scrunched up in the backseat with a sourpuss face. Oh well.

Today I had a woman tell me she wanted to buy the baby bassinet. I told her I would sell it for 10 bucks. She said her daughter would come back to pay for it and then buy some baby clothes from me because she was due in three weeks and had yet to buy a crib. I told her I would put it aside if she could give me a definite time when her daughter would come and pick it up. She said "Oh! Give her an hour, two at tops!". I put it aside. And... Three and half hours later no one came. I put it out in front again, because ya know... people are people and they sometimes lie. After about 5 hours I had someone come and ask me about it. "How much?" I told her fifteen but I would sell it for ten because I needed to get rid of it and didnt want to lug it back in the house." She agreed but asked me if she paid me if I could store it in my garage for the night until her neice could come with her truck to pick it up. I agreed... and then... as I agreed... THE LADY FROM SIX HOURS EARLIER CAME IN A VAN WITH HER DAUGHTER. A short argument ensued while the daughter exclaimed " MY MAMA CAME HERE EARLIER TO TELL HER I WANTED THAT!" the other lady was like "TOO LATE ITS MINE!" then the mama came out of the van and was like "HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO ME!? I told you I would be back!" I was like "Look, you said two hours tops. I held it for three and a half. No show... no buy. So I put it back out and this lady wants it! YOU NEVER CAME BACK!" the lady who had paid me for it said to me in whisper "I can't do this... that poor girl is pregnant and looks about to cry... gimme back my ten and sell it for the fifteen it's worth. You can use another five for her giving you hell." So I agreed... I sold it for fifteen... and they agreed and then I go "look, sorry about that, but you never came back when you said you would, and lots of people do that. I make no profit if I keep things on the side for too long. I tell ya what... since you got so upset... I will throw in this baby seat for just two extra dollars." CAN YOU CALL ME SALESWOMAN? I made 17 bucks on items I spent 11 bucks on last summer. LMFAO! Should I call myself Larry Dallas. No... Larry Dallas is slimey. I am just a good saleswoman. I also threw in a Blue Jean Teddy bear baby room border for free. So don't call me Dallas, yet.

Then I had another lady tell me that the baby clothes was over priced. I HAD THEM FOR A DOLLAR EACH! ALL CHILDRENS AND ADULT CLOTHING WERE PRICED AT FIFTY CENTS TO A DOLLAR EACH! I was like "hey... where else can you get six baby sleepers that were either never worn or worn once for a dollar each? I can sell those on Ebay and make a bigger mint." she rolled her eyes and walked away. WHATEVER!

Don't get me wrong. I had nice people too. People who were sweet, and made nice comments about how clean and beautiful all the baby items were. A woman commented on what awesome shape the clothing was. And I had a pregnant lady say that she was so happy she found my sale and was excited to go put her new things in her babies room. It made me feel good. And almost always, if someone spends five dollars or more, I throw in a couple onesies or another sleeper in for free. I even threw in a carseat cozy for one customer because she spent over twenty dollars. So yea, I am not that Larryish, yet.

Anyhow, I have one day left. I hope I sell the rest, if not the stuff I have is going to my neighbor ladies daughter, because she is having a baby in September. I have an antique baby highchair up for sale, tons of baby clothes, some maternity things, and a couple of borders left. All the big stuff is gone gone gone, and I am so glad I have more room in my house. Sad that Ryan grew out of them so soon, but glad he is getting into bigger and better things.

So in the few days I have made my own little boutique di grass and yards... I have learned the following:

I can indeed burn myself with a cigarette twice in one day while counting change for someone.
People are strange and cheap sometimes.
I can really hurt my back bad, while helping my mother in law transfer a console television from the eighties, from the garage to the lawn.
You can get sunburned even when in the shadiest of areas.
When you try to summon people with your mental telepathy powers, to come and buy from you... it doesn't really work.

Want some clothes? They're free.

MIA for a little bits

2005-07-06T22:33:00.000-04:00

I HATE THIS FUCKING SPACE IN BETWEEN MY NEW POSTS! Can someone help me get rid of it? WTF? Maddie said it happened to her and Evelina, so I don't feel so bad, but SHIT! It won't fucking GO AWAY!

Anywho...I am gonna be missing in action for the next week or so.

I am gonna have a yard sale on friday saturday and sunday. Lots of baby stuff to sell. As sad as it is for me to sell it, Ryan is almost a year old (HOLY SHIT) and I have no use for it any longer. No more babies, no more baby stuff. So, off to the sale it goes.

My mother in law and I are setting a tent up tomorrow for it, and I have shitloads of crap to sort out. Huge totes of useless crap to throw into bags and sell as goody bags (AKA TOYS NO LONGER USED ... SHhhhhh!)... I hope I make a decent amount. I need it because my kids birthdays are coming in a couple weeks and some little bits of money would help out.

I have a sinus headache the size of Texas, and I took some Aleve Cold and sinus... I took two... and I feel like a drugged up moron. My legs are wobbly and I am so tired. So I am off to bed. Tomorrow I clean and sort and wash clothes and basinettes and baby swings to sell.

Also, I need to get a Brownie picnic set up, look for a preschool for my son, and juggle my normal duties. So if I am not around, do not be alarmed and think I jumped in front of a greyhound. Besides, that would hurt, and greyhounds bite. BWAHHH HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

I told you I was loopy. Good night.

2005-07-04T10:01:00.000-04:00

Happy Fourth, everyone. Have a safe one. I hope you enjoy lots of BBQed food, and them pretty sky flowers!

hanging over

2005-07-03T11:48:00.000-04:00

I am fucking hung over.

I got sloppety drunk last night and all I remember is me dancing to Shakira and me wrapping to Tupac. Making fun of people's nipples and eating steaming hot food whilst burning my mouth.

Then I raped my husband. And then I passed out.

I am hung over. Real bad.

Can someone volunteer to take my children for a couple days. I do not want to deal.

Loverly Night Ahead

2005-07-01T12:27:00.000-04:00

My mother in law is taking the two older children tonight. For the whole night. Can I tell you how excited that makes me? No one but me and Keith and Ryan to hang out.

Ryan and I need one on one mommy time. That poor baby gets back burnered a lot of times because of his older siblings. It's so not fair. I plan on munchkin time for quite awhile. Me and him and Daddy playing on the floor. Me teaching him how to do "Pon Pon Pon, por la manito pon, porque el nene puso el dedo en el tapon..." it's a spanish nursery rhyme I tought all my children at his age. It means "tap tap tap, on the little hand tap, because the baby put his finger in the cookie jar" (yea i know it doesnt rhyme in english, and is kinda weird to be tapping a baby's hand when he touches cookie jars, but then again Rock a bye baby is hideous, so there.) It involves hand motions that are easy for them to learn and gets them ready to use their hands to express themselves. I remember even teaching my little brother to do it when he was an infant. Ryan loves it, and is learning more and more of it everyday. By the end of the night he will have it mastered.

When Ryan goes to sleep, its me and Keith time. To snuggle and then some. To just look at each other and laugh and be able to BREATHE. I swear to you people, if I had the money, he and I would go on a honeymoon we never had. And I am so glad my tubes are tied, because if we had the chance to go on a cruise or on a vacation, there will be much lovin' goin' on. If the tubes weren't tied died and burned to the side, I would end up concieving triplets.

Tomorrow is a birthday party for the kids cousin Marisa. And then it's beer and brats time. We are having some people over for beer and all that jazz. Just my husband's childhood friends and me sitting there basically laughing at their nostalgia and how much trouble they were as kids.

Then, this Monday of course is Independence Day. Fireworks and weiners and burgers, oh my.

I hope you all have a wonderful weekend, a safe and blessed one.

little helper

2005-06-30T00:52:00.000-04:00

Why do I feel the need to rescue the world? To make things better for other people?

Could it be the little girl in me that was always there to please? Afraid to let down my mom? My dad? My family? My teachers? My friends? The world?

I remember as a small child, having sleepless nights before a big test. Sleepless nights before the report cards were going out. Especially if it was the end of the year report card, where you would learn if you passed or failed. Even though, most of my grades were A's or B's, I would still worry. "What if" was always on my mind. Sleepless child I was before that card was in my hand. Nervous and just plain terrified. Of what? Of failure.

Somewhere along the line I just said fuck it. What will be will be. Que sera, sera. But that little voice was always in the back of my mind, pushing and squeezing and talking NON STOP. "You can't do this, you can't do that... you can't. You better do well. You better show the world". Sometimes, I would fuck up royal. Not because I didn't know what I was doing. But because I wanted to fuck up royal. I wanted to rebel against that goddamn pigtailed perfectionist from 1981.

I still have that inside of me today. Which brings me to right now. Where I am searching art information for my uncle. My uncle who has decided that art is going to be his ventilation from pain. Art that he loves and is extremely talented- in so many forms. He is painting. In his garden. He is letting out years of pent up emotions, and is forming them into works of art. Vibrant works of endless color and screams. Canvased out for the world to interpret. "Translate this", he is saying. And I want the world to see it. But I can't for some reason find where he needs to try and sell his work. I can't for some reason find a place for him to call. A place for him to exhibit his works.

Why are you searching for him? You ask. I am seeking a way for him to do what he loves to do, and where he can live from his work. Not live from his maintenence capabilities. He is an artist. Not just a carpenter, or a maintenence man. He needs to be able to show the world. So, I, have decided, to take it upon myself to find a way for him to do that.

I take on too many things at one time. I take on too many tasks. Why do I multitask when it gets me nowhere? I am nowhere right now. Not only in seeking him someplace to help him out, but I am nowhere in seeking a way for me to help myself out.

I guess I can do things for others most of the time, but somehow, I forgot how to do things for myself.

Scary, huh?

passion fruits and stuffs

2005-06-25T14:17:00.000-04:00

I forgot what a night of passion fruit flavored rum, a porno, and two horny people who never get a chance to love on one another because they have three small children-is all about.

Weeeee! LOTS OF FUN!

I want more. More of my husband. Isn't that sad? That I want and crave him, but three small childrens have such complete power, that I fell as if they are wardens?

I NEED MORE CONJUGAL VISITS HERE!

black lights

2005-06-23T01:08:00.000-04:00

Did you know negativity surrounds you at this moment? Did you know black light surrounds you. Think of a cloud. Above you. Black. Dark. Ominous. Waiting to shower you with blackness. Death, sadness, unhappiness, evil.

Did you know you can control that negativity? It all depends on how receptive you are to it. If you let it in. If you let it bust the bubble you have built around yourself. Your bubble of peace is vulnerable. It just depends on how you receptive you are to it all.

I have darkness in my world, my soul, but I chose to let it fuck itself right in the ass. Because I can not and will not let it burst my pretty, glassy, purple and pink, yellow and orange, blue and green bubble. My bubble filled with giggling babies, smiling people, fields of daisies and lilies. My bubble is filled with things that make me happy. Things that I love. Hearts and balloons, cotton candy clouds, oceans of glistening blue waters filled with mermaids. Skies that are filled with fire flies, ladybugs, and butterflies.

The passed few weeks, have had demons knocking at my bubble's walls. Trying to bite through with their fangs. Trying to tear at it with their claws. Kicking it with their hooves. Screaming banshee like screams. Making faces of evil at me from the other side.

I chose not to look or smell or feel this blackness. I choose to focus on my horizons. I have to, because if I don't- they will eat me alive.

This old house

2005-06-19T12:00:00.000-04:00

I went to visit my uncle yesterday. I havent seen him since the baby was born, even though I speak to him daily. He has been going through a rough time in all aspects of his life, and I needed to see him and take the kids to his little corner of the world. Being there and in my old neighborhood, helped me to feel my roots. My mother and I went for a walk as Keith and my uncle relaxed at his home. I needed to see my old house. My old yard. My old window. As we walked through, I felt like a giant. Everything that seemed enormous to me as a kid, was smaller. It felt as if I was almost walking amongst a tiny legoland. Did the houses shrink? Did I get too big? I think it was the latter. My old world was no longer this world I was walking in. I was just visiting and I could only stay for a little while. I wasn't part of the scenery anymore. And the scenery, was something different.

Instead of family friendly neighboring surroundings, were renovated homes, where my friend's homes once stood. Those that werent renovated were falling to pieces. And my old home? My home where I grew up, where my mother grew up, was falling to pieces. I felt injured in a way. I took my children through and showed them the field where I played baseball. I took pictures in front of my old home. As old and decrepit as it was. It was important for me to take that picture. I wanted to knock and go inside. I wanted to transform it back to my home. My childhood. But I couldn't. Bistros and cafe's lined the streets where little old "Dona and Dono stores" were once filled with penny candy and limber (coconut snow cones). Carribean and French eateries took their places. People listening to steel drum rythyms instead of the ice cream truck strolling by. There was one thing that caught my eye. And said what I was feeling. The graffiti on the wall on the corner of my old alleyway. It said "I heart you Cleveland" and under that in blue writing was another phrase "This is my life". Yes. It is. Even if I was no longer living there. Even if I was no longer that little girl. This is my life indeed.

This is my old house. My old bedroom window is boarded up.

in front of the old house with my children.

The church next to my old home. I would stare out my bedroom window and daydream while listening to the church bells.

Bistros and cafes.

I love you Cleveland.

You know you like it. Look at it. LOOK AT IT.

2005-06-18T01:36:00.000-04:00

Thank you to my twin sister Maddie for this wonderful layout. YOU FUCKING ROCK SISTER GIRL.

Thank you so much, Maddie. You have no idea how much I appreciate this. You made my night.

I LURRRVE MADDIE. SHE IS MY TOMMY!

TOM + DOM = MAD TWIN LOVE!

GO ahead. Look at it. You know you wanna. LOOK AT IT. LOOOOOK AT IT!

Gone Fishing

2005-06-15T12:29:00.000-04:00

I have recieved many emails from readers concerned about where I have gone. I am here. Gone fishing. Here trying to figure out how to tame three kids instead of just two, being my daughter is home ALL DAY now and not in school.
And on some days... I have six kids here, being that I watch my friends three children as well.

So yea, I have lots to do other than blog. I need to watch kids. Feed kids. Entertain kids. Wash kids. Chase kids. Laugh with kids. Play with kids. Kids Kids Kids Kids.

Ryan is crawling and walking along furniture, so that is another factor. My freedom is going to be very limited for the next ten months. Once he starts walking, its hell on wheels, my people. Lots of me running and screaming "no no! don't touch! caca!". Stuff like that. Preventing him from eating rocks, Barbie shoes, tiny tonka trucks and so on.

I will try to update my life as much as I can, (mostly weekends or nights when I am not dead on my ass.) so you all won't forget about me, and you can read about how my summer is going. But do not expect tons of posts three to four times a day. Or a week for that matter, Lol.

I appreciate your emails and thank you all.

In the meantime, I am sunbathing with my kids in the pool. Going to the beach. Having picnics. Planning Brownie meetings. Planning two birthday parties. Planning BBQ's. Visiting family. Sitting in a lawn chair swiggin' a beer when the kids are down and sleeping... while I am feeling the summer breeze.

Happy Summer everyone!

As TOM says...

2005-06-09T17:00:00.000-04:00

I've discovered this past week that:

them chickens is ash and I am the lotions.
People can scare the living shit out of you, and make you back wayyy the fuck up and re-analyze your surroundings.
I have a good, pretty much long lost sister, in Maddie.
That Maddie has strange people, and lime rinds and salt in her brain.
That my eight month old can tire me, the fuck out.
That said eight month old needs to be contained in a cage.
That when school let out for summer, I got that nostalgic sense of freedom from watching the kids run out of the school and into their yards.
That people are not as friendly as they used to be.
About bra fat. See Maddie above.
About Napoleon Dynamite and how you can be entertained for two hours while quoting him in a conversation, and how you can simultaneously eat tomatoes and salt at the same time.
That my husband doesn't always wanna be used as my personal meat supply.
That my three and a half year old, wants the pool up, but once pool is up, he decided he is afraid of the water.
That I can overcome obstacles and not get down on myself, like I used to.
That I have sexy thighs and legs, even though I thought i was so fat, and that they look pretty good in cut off jean shorts.
That the man who lives upstairs, was checking out my tits the other day and it made me feel violated, and mad. And therefore I want to smack him like a bitch.
That men who come into our country with chainsaws stained with blood, can get away, literally, with murder.
That my brother and I love Dave Chappelle "RICK JAMES BITCH!" ... "THE TITTY MILK'S GONE BAD!".
That as life may send it my way... I will forever meet strange people and have to learn from them, and then one day, write about their strangeness in my book.

How was your week?

Jane asks me

2005-06-07T23:47:00.000-04:00

Jane Magazine asked me (no not really, pretend, mmkay?) The Five Really Key Questions questions:

Are you repressing any urges?
Yes, currently I am. The urge to bitch slap this chick I know at the moment, for being a complete mess and being a total waste of air.

What's the worst you ever screwed someone over?
Hmm. I could say I never have. But I would be lying, now wouldn't I? I mean we all have done this at some point. So let's see... I have to think way back here... oh... when I moved in on this dude my friend had the hots for. He was staying at her house one night, and I was as well. A kind of "we all got too drunk let's listen to some Nirvana and drink more and people can try to make out" type thing. The next morning, after he tried to get it on with her (and failed because she was being "naughty but nice"), I walked out of the shower with only a tshirt on and wet hair. Needless to say, he and I got it on about a week later. But he was an asshole, so I guess in the end, I screwed myself over.

What style trend would you rather die than be caught following?
The latest one in Hollywood, where women refuse to eat and look like walking bones with skin on them. Yea, that one sucks. I like my food.

Have you ever faked an orgasm?
Let's just say, I guess for the six years before I met my husband and was having sex, I must have faked it the whole time. Because I never knew what one felt like until I had one with him, and then I was like "ohhh, that's what's supposed to happen? I am supposed to have that kind of thing going on?". I was smiling for days after that first experience. So yea.

Who's on your "celebs to make out with" list?
Besides the obvious, John Mayer and Jake and all that. Hmm... I like weird and geeky dudes. Funny dudes. Jimmy Fallon is cute, he has something silly about him. John Stewart is a pretty cute dude. Again the funny factor. And good hair. I like the salt and pepper thing he has going on now. Vince Vaughn has a cornball cute thing going on. I liked him much in Swingers. OH! And Brandon Flowers of The Killers, is killer!

Life in a song

2005-06-07T14:59:00.000-04:00

100 Years
by Five for Fighting

I'm 15 for a moment
Caught in between 10 and 20
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are

I'm 22 for a moment
She feels better than ever
And we're on fire
Making our way back from Mars

15... there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose
15...there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live...

I'm 33 for a moment
Still the man but you see I'm a they
A kid on the way
A family on my mind

I'm 45 for a moment
The sea is high
And I'm heading into a crisis
Chasing the years of my life

15... there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose yourself
Within a morning star

15... I'm all right with you
15... there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live…

Half time goes by
Suddenly you’re wise
Another blink of an eye
67 is gone
The sun is getting high
We're moving on...

I'm 99 for a moment
Dying for just another moment
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are

15... there's still time for you
22... I feel her too
33... you’re on your way
Every Day's a new Day

15... there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to choose
Hey 15... there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live

Seven Years

2005-06-05T21:28:00.000-04:00

I married this man seven years ago today. I love him more than I did when I said "I do". I still get a tingle in my body and a flutter in my heart when I see him across a crowded backyard full of people. feel it, stronger than I did when I said "I do".

I have said before in my posts, that I love everything about the life that he and I have together. So I will not bore everyone with more mushy mushy, well... not too much anyway.

This man, was and always will be my best friend. My knight in shining armor. We complete a life puzzle for each other. I feel protected from the monsters of the world with Keith. Something I had never felt with anyone. Anyone meaning my entire lifetime. In the nook of his arm, I feel like I have an armor of steel. Especially when naked & intertwined. Especially when silence surrounds our insane home, and we feel nothing but each other's breath, I feel armor around me, even when my flesh is exposed. Especially when my flesh is exposed.

The life we have built and are still building, excites me, makes me swell with pride, makes me glow. We have a strong friendship. A strong love. A strong honesty. Loyalty to each other is something that comes to us naturally. Neither of us have ever even thought of destroying that. We love each other too much, we have too much to lose, to even begin to think that way.

We struggle in life, with what life has thrown and what it will continue to throw our way. But we survive with each other. Always, with each other. The good times are more often now. The future is brighter now. We know that only good things can continue and that gives us a bigger peace.

I love you, baby. I love all you have given to me. I love your face and your eyes that are as blue as a sky. I love your smile. I love your breath. I love your lips and your voice. I love your strength and your heart. I love you. This much.

You Go Brooke!

2005-06-03T10:53:00.000-04:00

Brooke Sheilds Tells Tom Cruise to SHUT THE FUCK UP!

And for me... I have to add my own two cents...
Hey Cruise, why don't you stop fucking with women who have depression and try to stop hiding the fact that you are putting on an act with Katie Holmes? Oh, and stop giving her herpes on the lips, too. And stop jumping on Oprah's fucking couch looking like a godamn moronic asshole.

You fuckwad... what would you know about women with post partum depression? Your ex-wife didn't give birth. SHE ADOPTED. How would you know first hand what it is like for a woman with this horrible disease? How would you know first hand how she suffers? How she can become ashamed? How she can become suicidal? How she can lose self worth? How she can silently put on a smile, but constantly cries behind closed doors because she is supposed to feel joy, but feels like slitting her wrists? How she can have horrible visions of things happening to her baby, and yet she can't understand why or how this is happening? Do you know?

How would you know, fuckwad Cruise, what it is like to watch your wife suffer and try to kill herself? Or how about men who's wives have killed themselves, leaving them with tiny children to be raised alone? How would you know how terrifying it is to watch the woman you love become someone else? To watch her slowly lose herself? To watch her melt down in front of you as you try to pick up her pieces and help her put them slowly back together.

I have an idea, why don't you take some fucking vitamins, and some fucking CLUE PILLS and learn that the world doesn't live on the belief that aliens are higher power.

And we thought we were crazy?

I know this... I will NEVER watch a Tom Ignorant Fuckwad Cruise movie ever again in my whole life. I shiver with disgust that at one time as a teenager, I enjoyed watching him dance in his underwear.

You go Brooke, tell that alien fucker off!

Today

2005-06-02T13:27:00.000-04:00

I feel bright and full of energy today. Today is going to be a good day.

I felt it this morning as the shining sun and the cool lake breeze flowed. As I passed people's fresh smelling laundry on the lines. As I felt the grass between my toes.

Yep. It would be a good day.

I got a care package from my friend Wendy. She takes care of me. She sends me things for my kids. Things for me. That added the element of love and the feeling of friendship to my day.

My baby is smiling. He is back to his old little happy go lucky self. Another key ingredient to my special day.

I talked to Sis on the phone today, she agreed, what a sunny and beautiful June day it was. Friendship again, added to my day.

My husband called on his lunchbreak, and even though, the kids were in the background creating chaos. It was love and strength- added to my day.

My mommy called, I ate a good ham sandwhich, I ate a popsicle with my three year old son. Good day.

This kind of day is the kind you inhale slowly, smell sweetly, and hope to have the next day, when all hell is usually going on.

Can I bottle a day and save it for another? Can I save the day and put it in a notebook? Can I taste the day and savor small morsels, put the rest back in a pastry box to eat when the days seem glum and gray skied? I don't think I can, but while it lasts, I will enjoy the taste.

And he is better

2005-06-01T01:41:00.000-04:00

Ryan is better. Not 100%, but almost.

Double ear infection. Pain. Screaming. No sleep. Scared daddy. Scared mommy. Temperatures of over 103. Scary.

The spots are from his high fevers. His high fevers were from his infection. His infection if from being born to me, who had ear infections forever in my childhood.

He smiled today, and he ate popsicles, and he crawled. And I knew he would be alright. I knew it was a better day.

People have often asked me "How do you do it? How do you take care of three children?". Some people have children of their own, and some do not and look at me like I am all lunatic.

I do it, because I love it. I love my life. I had a hard life. A life full of many times where I was lost and in the dark. At one point in my life, I was pretty much homeless. Living from family member, to friends homes. When I was in the dark, I prayed to God that I would find someone to love me. To take care of me. To be there for me no matter what. I lit candles and said prayers, and he came to me.

When I met him, all I knew is I wanted babies with him. I wanted to love him. To make love to him and have babies with him and watch babies grow together. At that time, all we saw were cute chubby babies with smiles as wide as the ocean. Not ear infection trips to the ER, not screaming babies at 2 a.m. with no sleep. Not six year olds with attitudes. Not three year olds with sleeping problems and transitional fragility.

But what I did see, was growing old with this man. Growing old with him and having babies with him, and with that... came babies, and things that I just do. I just love them, and do the best I can for them. And we manage. We struggle and we manage and we survive, because of these children.

My kids are the reason I live. They push me to be the best person I need to be.

I see in my children a life. A life for them and my husband and myself. A life of memories and pictures and smiles, memories of sadness that builds strength. Memories of me, at 70 something years old, with my three children and my husband sitting around, and feeling that blanket of love and strength and completely being enveloped by their presence.

Some days I ask myself, the same question. "How did I get here? What was I thinking?" and then, my baby smiles. Or my daughter hugs me. Or my son draws for me an imperfect little stick man on construction paper with a heart and he says he loves me. And then, I realize that within those moments, is my answer.

My baby is sick

2005-05-29T13:38:00.000-04:00

Ryan has a mysterious rash all over his body. Red raised bumps. His eyes look like he has shiners under and above each eyelid.

Now he has a fever of 101.2.

Good times.

I soaked him in baking soda bath mixture last night and it seemed to make the rash on his legs get better, but the upper torso and his face still have it. He also is irritable. And miserable.

Mama don't like miserable babies. Miserable babies make mama sad.

Looks like a trip to the doc is gonna happen, on a Memorial day weekend Sunday. Looks like my baby is gonna have to be miserable and not see the parade. Looks like my poor baby is sick.

Good times.

How dare she

2005-05-26T23:19:00.000-04:00

I don't know if you remember or not, but back in January I had written about a childhood friend that I decided to clean my life of. To wipe her off of my universe. To tell her syanara, see ya tomorrah. Or never.

Guess who emailed me today?

Yup.

This is what the fuckwad writes me:
I was just letting you know if you are able to receive this email that I am now expecting another BOY... in 4 months… Beginning of October... Evan Robert Lee Martin...

(-=

Stacey

... And I should give a fuck, because? Fuck you Stacey. Fuck you and your little asshole ways of trying to slither back into my life. You want congratulations? You want a fucking award? An award for what? Having three different baby daddy's with five children? All boys may I add, who will never have a real man in their lives to teach them how to be men? All boys who have underlying mental conditions because their mother has uprooted them from evicted houses, watching her be a drug addict, watching her never do anything but fuck up her life? And one of those boys being a very special boy to me because I babysat him, and took care of him, made him as my own, who called me "Titi Mari" for years, and you then took him away from me because you were fucking jealous of me having a real life? A very special boy who was fed venomous lies about his Titi Mari. A very special boy who suffers from Oppositional Defiance Disorder because of YOU STACEY?

Fuck you Stacey Jane. I fucking have known you for 24 fucking years, and all that came out of that friendship was me digging you out of shit. Digging you out of one fuck up after another. Digging you up and dusting you off and you going right back to being a fuck up. Over and over and over again. The only thing that is good that came out of knowing you so long, was you introduced me to my husband. Thank you. You actually did something for me.

Fuck you Stacey. You didn't give two fucks that I almost fucking died after I had my last baby. But had to fucking email me, after I fucking BLOCKED you from my godamn email account, to tell me you're having another baby with a crackhead that fucking stoled from us when we were roomates 10 years ago?

You want congratulations from Mari? Oh how nice. Guess I shall give it to you on the internet, and I hope one day you come across this and finally get a fucking clue.

Congratulations, for fucking up a friendship that was worth gold. Congratulations for being an asshole. You win. Biggest asshole of the fucking decade.

My life will forever be golden, because I have left you out of it.

Mama's little lion fish

2005-05-25T01:07:00.000-04:00

He is so full of vinegar. My son. My oldest son, my middle child.

One moment he is as sweet as a sugar cube, the next he is hissing with anger. He doesn't know what to do with his anger, so he does what he feels... he hisses. Like a cat. And he scares kids when he hisses. And he bites. He says mean and horrible things. Things that shouldn't come out of a small three and a half year old's mouth. Not bad words. Not things that make you think he will kill a small animal, but things like "I hate her. I hate you. I hate this." or "Stupid poop head."

As funny as it sounds reading it, it isn't funny when it happens. I am trying to help him learn how to channel that frustration and anger into something other than hate or anger. To channel it so he make something of it, and to go on. But I myself am just as confused as how to do this.

My poor Keith Matthew. My poor little middle boy. Not the oldest, once the baby, now stuck in the middle with me. You and I are so much the same. You may resemble your father in all physical ways possible, but your tiny little soul is inherited from my own. So fragile. So scared. Confused, yet strong willed. You could be my little Pisces, Keifer. You could be more a Pisces than the Leo you were born. My small little lion fish.

I tell him daily, as I rock him in his favorite chair, "I love you, you know that. You are my baby boy, and I always will love you." and he whispers softly, "I know mommy. I love you too." And I feel so full of tears I could overflow a bucket.

This has been a rough year for you, my son. A rough year full of transitions that your small soul can sometimes not muster. You don't know how to take it. You don't know what to do with it. But I promise you, we will figure it out, together.

For Maddie...

2005-05-23T21:34:00.000-04:00

...who says I don't smile enough. Here is my big ol' cheese smile, Maddie.

Oh yea, I cut all my hair off.

I can wear it straight, or as the picture below this shows, with all my curly Puerto Rican roots going buck wild.
that there is a hungover Mariposa. excuse the no makeup and the huge circles under me eyes.

Days like today

2005-05-21T13:59:00.000-04:00

Days like today make me second guess my choices in life.

Days like today make me feel like a caged soul, unable of spreading out the way I need to.

Days like today make me want to give up.

Days like today make realize that I color things too rosey with my glasses.

Days like today make me realize that I have a hard time trying to translate my thoughts to the man that I love, and make him realize that all we need is right in front of us. That the most important things are in front of us. That the things that we never agree upon could be simply resolved if maybe we both listened more instead of just hearing.

My marriage is something that I am proud of. Something that makes me high. But days like today, make me realize that it's hard work. And sometimes you just can't work hard anymore. So you cry. And you hope the tears will cleanse away the unhappy parts.

Just Because

2005-05-20T18:29:00.000-04:00

Tiger's Eye. Protects. Against. Demons.

The power of Christ compells you!

inch worms

2005-05-19T14:11:00.000-04:00

I have a worm in my computer. Supposedly from Limewire, which is the music sharing program I have. Thanks Limewire! Thanks Dave Matthews Band for making a song I wanted to download and was too cheap and poor to buy! Now I have a fucking penis running rampant on my computer!

I am running some scans, and my Norton antivirus and Symantec crap.I hope I will be able to get this fucker out of here soon. Sissy had one that ate pretty much of her PC. That scares me. I better back up some shit, because I am scared.

It's called the W32.Alcra.A . Do any of you out there know how I can get rid of this asshole?

Thanks

2005-05-14T14:28:00.000-04:00

Thank you all for babying me and letting me know I am not a failure.

Although, I feel like a huge ass for posting that little pity party I had for myself on the world wide web. Geesh, I shoulda just posted pictures of me sobbing for the world to see, for chrissakes.

Anyhow, importantly, your comments and personal emails touched me. You all really said some things that made me actually tear up. I so appreciate it.

I will be taking some time out, though, so that I can sort my labrynth of a mind. I need to reconnect with myself and figure out some things.

I just wanted to let you know, so ya'll didn't think I ran out and jumped in front of a clown car or anything.

Much butterfly love,
Mari

I give up

2005-05-13T00:10:00.000-04:00

I have had a really bad week.

I am not going into details because they will bore you. And me. All over again.

One thing I am sure of, I can't write unless I am writing on a blog. I want to write a book. I began writing back in February, as part of my own therapy. So that I could find things that were of my interests and bring them back into my life. Such as writing fiction. I loved it, I loved how it felt. When I put my thoughts onto a screen and there were characters being born. I felt like I was on top of the world. I felt like I had finally found my purpose in life, and godamnit I was going to be a writer!

I am a writer. A writer of a blog. And as it seems that is all I will ever be.

I can't get my thoughts together. Not even thoughts that I had already written years ago, into some sort of order. To make sense of it all. To make some sort of story, whether it be my fiction story, or one that I was trying to put together that consisted of my old entries. I was going to try to put those old entries into some sort of diary type book thing. I can't even do that. I'm lost. I have no clue.

I have spent way too many nights, writing shit down, and then deleting it, just so I can be back at square one. My kids need me to get sleep, so I can be attentive and alert, and be a mom. I feel like I can't even do that right anymore.

I am also slipping back into depression. I cried tonight when my kids wouldn't listen to me. Everyone in my house stopped what they were doing and just stared at me. All I wanted was someone to hug me and caress my back and say it's going to be ok. But how could they? When they didn't know what the fuck I was crying about, and I seem nuttier than horseshit.

My health is fucked up. My mind is fucked up. My outlook on what I wanted on life- is fucked up. It seems unreachable. It seems too far fetched.

I had dreams of writing some great book, whether fiction or non fiction. Something. To make my mark on this world. But all it seems now, is I am just a really good blog writer.

And that, really makes me feel like a failure.

Angels bring angels

2005-05-10T23:36:00.000-04:00

Three years ago tomorrow, I had a miscarriage that forever leaves my heart aching.

My second child was only nine months old and my daughter was only three. It was a surprise pregnancy, and one that we were not sure how to handle. Regardless, we had come to the conclusion that it was something that was meant to happen.

More worries came along when I realized that I would have to have much care for my pregnancy, it would be high risk due to the fact that my body freaked out when I was pregnant. My body actually would try to reject my babies and the placentas would form clotting. Keifer was almost lost this way. He had a fifty fifty chance, but he made it. And so would this baby, I thought.

I had only known a week and a half, and was nearing seven weeks when the bleeding began. It was about the same time that it happened with Keifer. I would be put on bedrest and have to take it easy, I did it before I could do it again. But it was different this time.

I woke up and was losing the baby. Some may think that it wasn't really a baby. But it was to me. It had a face I longed to see, a soul I longed to hold. It was my baby, no matter what. And I was losing it.

The physical pain was like a heavy period, but the pain inside my mind, and my spirit felt like I was dying. As this tiny being slowly slipped away from the hopes and dreams I held so tightly, I felt the part of my life that would always be missing something, I felt that small hole become a gaping wound over time. This part will always be unmendable. The baby I lost and would never see.

I had dreams about her face (I decided it was a girl for my own closure purposes) and knew her name before she left. Her name was going to be Nataly.

Nataly is my own special guardian angel. She saw that I loved her and would always love her and that we would one day meet when I pass on to the next life. I will get to hold her in my arms. She holds that special time for me. The special time when a mother holds her newborn child in her arms for the first time. She holds that for me because she knows that I cherish the births of my children more than breath itself. So she holds that time for me and her to happen in heaven.

I plan on planting a tree or rose bush for her. And I thank her every night, because she gave me the biggest gift ever known. She gave me Ryan Joseph. Ryan was born because I could not have the baby I lost on May 11, 2002. Ryan is here because an angel had to be born to heaven instead of on earth. She made room for him. She gave him the life she would have had here.

So many times we ask why. We don't understand the circumstances as they occur, and then one day, when the sky is as blue as the ocean, and the clouds resemble cotton candy pinks and purples, we realize why. And our question is answered.

bleeding insides

2005-05-09T18:20:00.000-04:00

I have been sick. I don't know exactly what is going on, but I have a feeling I know what is going on. My own self diagnosis and research has led me to believe I am suffering from a bleeding ulcer.

I will leave the gross details out of this post, because as it is I share too much about myself that is gross. So I will leave all the grossness that is inside my insides, to be left to your imaginations.

Does anyone that reads me have any holistic approaches to this? I have a dear friend in NY that I am going to call this week and ask her what she thinks, being that she believes in the power of herbs and such. But if any of you have an idea, they would be grately appreciated.

My husband had a vacation day today. Instead of enjoying the beautiful 80 degree weather, I sat indoors and whined and cried about how I thought I was dying. He wanted to take me in to the hospital, or to a gastroenterologist (is this spelling right?) but I refused. You know why? Because for almost a year I have been poked and prodded and stabbed and jabbed and squeezed and mentally analyzed and so on and so on and so on. From doctor's appointments for a high risk pregnancy, to having a high risk delivery, to having problems from my high risk delivery to having to have my blood transfused upon, to having pneumonia, to having double ear infections, to having a mental breakdown.
So, with that said, if I would have gone, to the gastroenterologistististishness (is this spelling right?), I would ended up getting my insides poked and prodded with and I think I would have just exploded into a huge nutball panic. Most likely stabbing and poking and prodding on the doctor himself. And then I would have been on the nightly news in your home towns as "Ohio woman stabs gastroenterologishtishtishtishness and then shoves doctor's tools up his ass... before performing a labotomy on him and painting his walls with his own innards."

And that just wouldn't have been too good now, would it?

Happy Mother's Day

2005-05-08T13:18:00.000-04:00

Happy Mother's Day to all fellow mother's out there. Enjoy the laughter, the smiles the tiny handprints on your walls.

I am proud of my family. The loves of my life. My heart and soul.

booby show

2005-05-07T23:09:00.000-04:00

I am drunk. And horny. And I just sent my husband to the titty bar with his brothers.

Why did I do that? Because I went to an art opening and am giving him the opp to have some fun? Or because I am drunk? Or because... I know after seeing some titty's he will be mad horny and come home and screw my brains out?

I had the chance to go, but I didn't. My sister in law offered to watch the kids, and I didn't go. I shoulda went to see tittys. I like tittys too.

Maybe I am too drunk.

Sissy's art show

2005-05-07T13:03:00.000-04:00

1Last night I went out with Sissy. Her artwork (the collage on the right for her Sisart link and one of her paintings) was featured in a Mother's Day art show. We went to check it out.

Her work looked gorgeous. Surrounded by other artist's work on the theme of Motherhood, it really stood out and was making me beam with pride. My best friend, my "Sissy Flexitalis" is taking her first steps into the world of an artist.

I tried to be nice and look at all the other works, but I kept walking back to hers. Maybe because I knew it and was familiar, and because I was thinking "I saw that after it was made. I saw that before anyone else!". Or because to me, they were the most original, the most beautiful, the most creative.

We had a beer each and then we decided to go out to eat. We ate at a strange little "World Juice Bar and Eatery". It had the name Mango in it, so I thought I would be familiar with the tastes. I wasn't. Luckily Sissy knew the good stuff to eat so I just ordered a portabello, garlic and tomatoe quesadilla like she did. It was really good. But I was gassy as a mofo all night. Thanks Sis.

But, the "bread and slather" was just fucking nasty. It was some seedy bread with a tomatoe and strawberry salsa. We ate it as an appetizer and we both were confused. "Tastes like one of the kids made a concotion in the kitchen", I said. "Like ketchup and strawberry jam" Sis said. She was right. Why the fuck would you name something "SLATHER" anyway? Slather is gross. Slather is gross on bread. Slather is just nasty no matter how you say it. "How was the slather?" asked the waiter. "It tasted like weird jam" I said.

The Mango and lime spritzer was not too good either. It needed sugar. And everytime I would sip it I would break out in a coughing fit. "I think your allergic to it, Mari." She started laughing. "I know..." and then I would sip it again. And cough again. And laugh again. As we left, Sissy blew her nose and then took her booger rag of a kleenex and smooshed it into her hardly touched Mango Lime Spritzer. "This is what I think of your nasty ass spritzer" and she positioned the kleenex on top of the drink. The waiter was right behind her. I started laughing.

Little college people with weird eyes stared at us like outsiders. Something we love. So we continued to act like asses. Little college people sipping their "world" drinks and eating their "slather". I am so glad I am not a little college person with weird eyes.

I had to put my glasses on because I have been having a problem with my contacts lately, so I took them out. When we were leaving I got a glimpse of my butt in a window and started laughing. "I look like a little church lady with a ghetto booty." Then I made a comment about how I had a bad vibe about something and Sissy started laughing saying "What are you a little psychic with your glasses and ghetto booty?" I called myself The Medium. I guess you had to be there.

In the car, I started making fun of someone we know who shall remain nameless. The face I made when I was imitating them made Sissy stop and laugh so hard that I began heaving from laughter. I didn't wanna go home. But we were around the corner from my house.

As I got out I hugged Sissy and told her how proud I am of her. She is going on a trip for a week and what will I do without her? I call her everyday and vice versa. We are each other's sanity during motherhood insanity.

I guess I can try to write a book, so she can come with me to my book signings?
Sounds good to me.

2005-05-05T23:24:00.000-04:00

My sister in law is sixteen. Sweet sixteen. I have watched her practically grow up before my eyes from an eight year old little girl, into the young woman she is now.

When I met my husband eight years ago, she was only a year older than my daughter is now. We took her places to eat, to play, and we spoiled her rotten. We bought her barbie dolls and I played late nights with her while she stayed over my apartment, braiding barbie's hair, and listening to the Spice Girls.

She is now, like I said, a young woman. And I have become even closer to her now than I could have ever imagined. She comes over almost daily, she helps my daughter with homework, when she sees my husband and I spent and almost dead on the carpet while children climb over us. She changes the baby when I am chasing my three year old around the house. Or she rocks the three year old to sleep while I am juggling house duties.

Today she told me her heart was breaking. The boy she has become quite fond of, the boy she thought liked her mutually, the boy she went to the movies with and walked home from school with. He told her he was thinking of asking another girl out. And her heart broke in two. Friends, he wants to be. Friends is a harsh word to a sixteen year old girl with a heart of gold waiting for love to finally blossom.

My mother in law and Tina don't get along. They actually come over one after the other to tell me how they don't understand each other. How they speak different languages and how they continually hurt each other with hate. It's a relationship I am deathly afraid of with my own daughter. One I know, that will never get to that point for various reasons I will not delve into on here. I am sitting on the sidelines taking notes. Trying to see what I can do differently. Knowing I will take a different approach.

Today, when the boy broke her heart she had no one to turn to. No one at home took her seriously. She was told to grow up and get over it. She can't grow up and get over something when she is only learning how life can be at such a young age. So she turned to me. She told me she hated herself. She told me she hated life. And the words that came out of her mouth on the phone made me ask her to come over immediately. Which she did. My husband sat and told her about the mind of a teenage boy, how not to take things and over analyze them and blame herself. Then it was my turn. I told her to never hate herself. To never hate life. To never doubt how beautiful and full of intelligence she was. How strong she was, how much of a leader she was. How much hope was ahead of her. How funny and sarcastic, how gorgeous and how unbelievably incredible she is.

I told her I was proud of her. I told her it would get better. I told her if she ever felt like she hated life, to come to me. Because I hated life not long ago. Enough to want to end it. Enough to not feel my own self in my own skin. Enough to feel as if my world was death and bones. I told her I never wanted her to get to that point, and if she did, she could come to me. I would listen. I would care. I would do something.

I told her "I know it hurts. I know it is unbelievably painful right now, but it will get better. Don't say you hate yourself or life, because someone doesn't feel the same. Learn from it, and realize that something good will eventually come of all of this."

Then I hugged her. And she didn't want to let go. She clung to me for what seemed forever. And tears streamed down my face because I felt her pain and her confusion. I kissed her forehead and I told her I loved her.

Tina stayed over for another hour or so. Wrestling with my kids, kissing my baby's cheeks and laughing with my husband. I watched her and realized that the sister I was grieving for about a month ago was not gone like I thought, but was in front of me all along. She's not just my sister in law. She is my little sis.

I hope when my daughter is sixteen, that I will be able to have just as much empathy and communication for her.

I know that in time, Tina will figure it all out. But while she can't and while she feels as if the world is black and full of shadows, I promised her tonight, I would help her as much as I could.

"Mommy, Why?"

2005-05-04T17:02:00.000-04:00

Question just asked to me by my 3 and a half year old son Keifer:

"Mommy, why do you grow big human boobies? Why are they round and human?"

Good question son.

Human boobies?

"Women have boobies to feed babies."

"But you fed Ryan with the nipple on a bottle. Not your human boobies."

"Yea, I know."

blink. blink.

Twat Ebay people and other stuff

2005-05-03T23:52:00.000-04:00

I haven't been up to much this week.

Other than bleeding like someone stabbed me with a pitchfork in my nether regions, feeling like I have lost a pint of blood, feeling depressed, and fighting with Ebay sellers- my life is just dandy.

I wrote this woman, actually, I ASKED this woman about her pinup girl creations on Ebay. She sells them pretty high priced and I clicked that "ask seller a question" link, thinking that my question would be posted on her site. I asked her if she was planning on selling her items cheaper because I figured if she sold them cheaper, she would sell more of them since they are in demand at this point in time.

You know what this C U Next Tuesday wrote to me in email? She wrote me this :
I appreciate your taking your time to make your "suggestion" but
this particular dress has been selling like hot cakes...
You must also understand individual craftsmanship - this is not the usual off the
rack you> are used to buying.
If you do not understand this, I cannot
help you.
I am currently over my head in orders primarily due to repeat
clients coming back to purchase various dresses in different colors. If
you are employed, you can afford my dresses. I will be offering items
at a later date at a lower price point. Perhaps you should get a job somewhere other than McDonald's that makes a little more than minimum wage, that way you might be able to save up for maybe one? ... just a little suggestion

Ehem. So I went all ghetto bitch on her ass. I wrote her this:
Wow, do you speak to everyone who sends you a note with such nastiness? I didn't have an ounce of nastiness in my tone to you. I was simply suggesting something that I noticed you sold them over priced, and I was wondering if you sold them cheaper.

Doesn't seem like too many people are buying from you. I was offering you a way to make more money. Being that this style is in such high demand, I wondered if you sold less than $200 worth of CLOTH.

With an attitude like yours, why would I want to purchase anything from you? You make gorgeous clothing, but your attitude and your inside wreaks of ugliness.

I do have a job, honey bunches I am a writer. I don't have to sell on Ebay and rip people off.

I also know what it's like to want pretty things and not be able to afford them, much like many people I do know, who DO HAVE JOBS and work for more than minimum wage.

My other "suggestion" would be to get a real job other than sell things on Ebay. Preferably working with people, so you will learn how to talk to them when they make simple suggestions.

Sincerely,
Sending you the bird and an up yours.

Ok, I told her I was an author. But I wasn't lying. Right? I mean I am writing my first book, no matter what the fuck it is supposed to be, because I am in limbo doing all of that. But that's besides the point. Here is the next episode email from the CUNT:
Don't assume anything about my life, I won't assume anything about
yours. For your info I am a stay at home mom with two jobs and loving
it. An author is not a "real" job so get off your high horse and stop
insulting people, making assumptions, and rude suggestions to people
you don't know. Just to remind you... "tone" is impossible to
communicate to through email but the content of yours was just not
called for.

What an ass is all I can say. Why do women feel the need to go "I AM A STAY AT HOME MOM! I AM SUPER WOMAN YOU ARE NOT". FUCK YOU. I am a stay at home mom you TWAT. Shows what she knows that fucktard. So this is my response:
LMFAO!
Hey honey, I didn't say anything nasty and make assumptions. You were the one
assuming and making an ass out of you. Not Me.
And an author is a real job.
By the way, my first job is a STAY AT HOME MOM. So I know all about that. Don't go all high and mighty and act like you know what I do and who I am by my email asking you for pricing. Stop assuming. Again, making an ass out of you. NOT ME.

You were the one, may I remind you, saying I should get a job that makes more than minimum wage working at McDonald's. You attacked me. Not the opposite.

And high horse? I don't sell overpriced CLOTH on Ebay as a living. Remember. You were the one telling me, again, to get something more than a minimum wage job so that I could AFFORD your CLOTH.

Oh, and I can tell someone's "tone" when they send me a nasty email, such as yours. I have all the copies, maybe you should reread. I am sure Ebay would love to.

So. Um yea. FUCK her. Her and her little reproduction business on Ebay. The Ebay clothes she makes that I am too poor to buy.

She then wrote this (I know you're sick of this already but keep reading and pretending you give two rat's asses about stay at home mom's and their cattiness):
Don't you think I deserve to set prices on my items? I know how many
hours it takes to produce one of these and I have no problem selling
them and having people come back for more more more- so if you can't afford it,
you should keep your smart ass comments to your self.

Stop harassing me or I will report you to ebay. Go write a Harlequin
Romance or what ever it is you write.

Ok KUNT and PAT. (hint hint hint).

I don't write harlequin romances. I write about being a stay at home mother, moron.
When you wrote me back the first initial email, I was shocked. All I wanted was to post a question on the item #'s site. You told me to "get a job that makes more than minimum wage"... you were the one that began insulting me. I simply defended myself.

Hey KAT. Lemme ask you something. When I write my first fucking book, and I wanna buy some nice retro clothes to go with my nice new retro shoes, who should I buy from? Because it ain't gonna be your NASTY ass.

Want her ebay name?? I bet you do. Ask me and I won't be shy about telling. I am nice however, and the fact that she feeds her little children's mouths with her pricey reproductions of Marilyn Monroe dresses makes me so sad for her. So I won't ruin her little "business" on the internet. Her little trailer business that she runs while sucking dick on the side for canned goods.

What we were, are, and will be

2005-05-01T01:18:00.000-04:00

I just wrote this to my new friend Maddie:
" ...Friends come and go, through life, for reasons we can't explain. They drift in for that specific amount of time, to take us wherever we are headed, and then they disappear into the years.
It hurts, it always will. But we all have memories.
*hugs*
Your new friend, Mari..."

It made me think of the friends that I don't have anymore. And the ones I do have now. How I cling to them in my mind because in life I have learned, nothing lasts forever. Not even school yard friendships.

I miss my old friends. Aida, the girl I grew up with as my nextdoor neighbor. The one I called my cousin. The one that I called when I lost my virginity and was crying because it was horrible. The one I would sit with until all hours of the night, talking about hopes and dreams, and how when we got married we would be each other's maids of honors. How when we had children, we would be there for their births.

We never were each other's maids of honors. Or there for births. Because we drifted apart. Because words hurt. Egos hurt. Lives hurt.

My friend Stacey, that I just ended a 23 year friendship with a couple of months ago. We were there for each other through marriages, divorce, break ups, miscarriages, happiness, sadness, babies, unhappiness, drugs, alchoholism.

We are not friends, because she chose to be someone I don't want to associate with any longer. She chose to do with her life things I never would do. She chose. I chose. We drifted. Apart. Forever.

My new adult friends, the few that I have. Are golden. Good for me. Positive. Loving me for who I am. Not making me second guess myself. Good, beautiful people. That I love for a special thing they have inside of themselves that makes them beam, and makes me want to bask in their glow.

Friends come and go, through life, for reasons we can't explain.

Obsessed

2005-04-30T13:32:00.000-04:00

I am obsessed with burlesque dance.

I watched the Bravo series Forty Deuce last night. Bravo had the whole series as a marathon. It ran from 10-2:00 a.m.

I remembered seeing the commercials before, and I could never remember when it was on, because as we all know, my brain has many fart pockets going on. Anything that doesn't require diapers, milk, feeding children or cleaning up seems to become forgotten. AKA my favorite shows, relax time, me time.

I stayed up, even though I needed to sleep. I loved it. After it was done I went to Ebay to look up burlesque fat girl outfits so I could have one for hubby man. I couldn't find one.

Shut up.

I want to be a burlesque dancer. Don't laugh at me. I am serious. Shut up. I am sure they can make an outfit to hide my fat somehow, right?

Anyhow, it was amazing. You could be sexy and not have to take off all of your clothes. It had that old fashioned sexuality about it. The kind where you could shimmy your ass and wear a bikini with fringe on it and be sexier than a stripper at an all nude strip joint.

I have always been drawn to pinup girls, 40's & 50's memorabilia, vintage shoes, clothes, things of that era. So this was a sort of cool thing to watch, as someone took an idea of the old Vegas, and brought it back to the new. Vargas meets Vegas. Awesome.

Now I want to go to Vegas and stay at a nice hotel with my husband, get drunk, go to Forty Deuce and watch the dancers. My god the fun we would have!

Go see the sexy womens...
Forty Deuce Presents The Luscious Peaches

Then go here and check out Dakota Ferreiro, she's my favorite: Dakota

And dont come back here after your done. I don't clean up grown folk.

Fuck You Red Bitch

2005-04-29T15:16:00.000-04:00

I got my fucking period 10 days early.

What. The. Fuck?

No wonder I am tired and dragging ass. No wonder my hair has a life of it's own. No wonder I devoured almost a whole box of Little Debbie Nutty Buddies.

I hate being a fucking woman.

Chucha the Chicken

2005-04-27T18:34:00.000-04:00

The other night, my friend and I decided to hang out at the park while our daughters were at Brownies.

After quickly realizing that the beach section of the park was filled with more washed up tampon applicators than we could count, we began to head back to the car.

We saw a couple. And a chicken. A couple and a pet chicken.

I wasn't gonna say anything, but Trini had to. "Is that your pet chicken?" she asked as I tried not to laugh out loud.

"Jes, she itsa ourrrr pet." Said the woman with the Russian accent.

"Cool... how cool is that!" Trini giggled with enthusiasm.

"Howww cute!" I said as sarcastic as I could be.

"Jes, she vaz given to us for the soup pot, but we decide zat ve love herrr too muchs..." Said Russian lady.

She went on to tell us that the chicken's name, was Chucha. One letter off from Chocha. Which, for you nonspeaking Spanish, means women's genitalia. Chocha is like saying pussy, or like saying coochie, or- well, you get the idea.

Chucha, the chicken.

Trini kept asking questions, that made me want to laugh. And kept saying nice things about Chucha. "Wow, what beautiful colors on her beak. And look at how nice and white she is...." She was right, Chucha had really pretty feathers, big brown eyes, and a pretty bright red beak.

"Jes, I give her bath and make her fluffy. Her legs are blue, see? And her feets are blue (she shows us her "legs and feets") and when I first give her bath, I could not get the you know to be clean and then I realize her you know is blue too!". Thanks for describing chucha's chocha, Russian lady.

"They are talking abouts you Chuuucha! Don't talk dirrrteee about her!" said the Russian man. He cradled Chucha in his arms and pet her gently, like a dog.

The Russian lady told us she was ready to lay eggs (Chucha, not Russian lady). That she had a little box filled with hay and things for her to feel at home in and that she was "fooorrrt-eee years oldah".

"Wha- what?" asked Trini with her bewildered eyebrows sticking up.
"Jes, she is forrrteee years oldah... I look up on internet, and it say that she vill leeve to be abouts eight yearrrrs old." Then we realized she said she was four and not forty years old. Chucha, not the Russian lady.

She also tucked Chucha under her coat and under her tit to show us how Chucha likes to be cradled by Russian woman and be warm.

As we left, I had strange thoughts about Chucha wearing thigh highs and being the new "Subservient Chicken" for Burger King. Complete with a website and pictures of her wearing lingerie.

As we got into the car I said "Only us, Trini. Only we could find a couple at the park with a pet fucking chicken."

"I know. Only us." she said giggling.

"But one thing, I wanted to ask and didn't have the balls to ask is... Does the chicken have large talons?".

Trini just stared at me blankly.

one of them days

2005-04-25T12:43:00.000-04:00

My kids have colds.

It's raining and muddy and nasty and cold outside. Mother nature threw us some nasty shit a week before MAY. Thanks Mother nature. Bitch.

My stomach has been acting up and everything I eat is making a quick exit.

I have hemmoroids.

I have 6 loads of clothes to wash.

I am broke. Even though I have money in the bank, it's not mine. There are bills and CRAP that I have to pay for, therefore, it's already claimed. So, I am broke. Yay. The story of my fucking life.

My Csection scar is acting up, six months after I gave birth.

I have chin hairs that I can't pluck because they have roots made of steel.

I have a pimple on my ass cheek.

My son threw up on the floor this morning, because his phlegm was gagging him. He threw up hot dogs mixed with orange juice. Mmm.

My baby threw up approximately 23 minutes after my oldest son threw up, due to his own phlegm gagging. All over me. Yay. Mmm.

My sewing machine is acting up. And I broke the needle. Great. Now the quilt I have been making my son since I was 5 months pregnant 11 months ago, will never be made.

Happy day to you.

John Mayer has green balls

2005-04-24T11:22:00.000-04:00

I had a celebrity sex dream last night.

I dreamt that I went to a John Mayer concert, he invited me backstage, and we ended up doing the deed.

It was really good. Really crazy, and fuzzy at times. He was wild! Yee haw!

I remember at one point looking at his "area" and his scrotum looked like it was made out of green play dough. And his penis looked like it was made out of mismatched robot pieces.

And I met his mom afterwards. Who declared to me that I was such a nice girl, she wanted to be a grandmother to my three children.

I called my friend Trini, and told her I had slept with John Mayer, and she goes "Dude, you're fucking married, remember?". I was all... "yea, oh, yea. But I don't care, it was good, but something weird about him- his balls are green and he has a robotic penis....".

Then I was being stalked by some serial killer that looked like Scott Savol from American Idol, and Freddy Prince Jr. saved me by hiding me in his bathroom. Then Freddy baked me cookies and we went on his personal jet, where Scott Serial Killer Savol chased us some more and then I woke up scared and sweaty.

Why couldn't the sex be without green scrotums and robotic penises?

My peace

2005-04-22T13:37:00.000-04:00

Do my finger's look like Miss Piggy's hooves?

I once had a guy tell me I had the hands of Miss Piggy. He was a pig himself. Gross. Ignorant. Plain old fucked up.

This is me at night when everyone is asleep. My only peace. My only time. Only breath that I have at the end of a day.

"You have dedicated 6 years of your life to your children and family. Do something for you. Something that is all your own."

I will. I promise.

knock knock...

2005-04-21T00:10:00.000-04:00

I have a tremendous opportunity knocking at my door.

Almost too good to be true.

In fact, so good, that I almost shit myself.

Why do I clam up when things that should be happening to me, happen?

Is it because I feel as if I don't deserve them? Because I feel like I have no clue how to handle them?

I guess you can't help me with that. I guess that is what my therapist is probably for.
Speaking of which, I haven't seen her in like two months. Healthy, good times, huh?

I can't afford to. I want to, but can't afford to. And my shitty insurance only covers so much.

Last time I saw her, I gave her my blog site address. She is probably analyzing my thoughts from her computer desk. Is that why she hasn't called me? Because I scare her? LMFAO!

Lord, I need so much therapy, it's sad.

Which leads me to a thought of peer pressure from the other night, when I sat drunken with "The Lady Upstairs".

The lady upstairs: wanna smoke a bowl?
Me: uh, no thanks.
The lady upstairs: come on! You need to relax a little. You take care of kids all day. I see how much of yourself you sacrifice. I feel bad sometimes because you need to get out and relax.
Me: uh, no thanks.
The lady upstairs: come on! Get a buzz!
Me: I do have a buzz. That's what antidepressants and beer are for.
The lady upstairs: oh.

scared about bacon

2005-04-21T00:08:00.000-04:00

I just ate a BLT.

I cooked the bacon in the microwave. Does that mean I am gonna get worms?

I mean, I cooked it and then put it on the stove because it was almost all the way cooked, but I threw it on the stove to be safe.

It was kind of rubbery and had blisters on it.

I am gonna die in my sleep now, aren't I?

Answers

2005-04-19T23:29:00.000-04:00

Thanks to all of you that asked me questions! I loved them and will do them again soon! Here are the answers!

A dream. A fantasy. A book. A poem. The woods. Real and imagined. Solitude and what 'it' may produce from you. A moment with you inner self, away from daily chores. A hidden Mariposa, still in a cocoon. How would she looks like when free from it?

Very nice question. I do not have an actual worded answer, simply because I have something better to answer this with...
This picture:

My six year old daughter took this picture of me. I was deep in thought, I was, as I like to say "seeking the answers to my little universe...". It was the first day in spring and my soul had opened up and was breathing. Taking in all that was around me.
I love this picture. When she is older I will give it to her and tell her, that it means so much to me, because she took it upon her tiny little self, to take a picture of her mama, that caught me as my true self.

Why is your blog so lame?
Hmm... lame. Ok. LOL. I laughed at this. Because only I know it's a joke. Nothing I do is lame... it's always fabulous!

Tell me about fun or embarrassing things from grade school and high school.
I remember one time I went to a high school dance. I was late getting ready to go and had just grabbed two pairs of shoes and left without looking. I didn't notice until my friend and I had gone to the bathroom, that even though my shoes were both black, they were NOT THE SAME SHOE. I spent most of the night with one foot against the wall and the other down, so no one would notice.

What are your parents like? My parents are very intelligent individuals. Very free spirited. They had made choices in life that gave them both hard times. I learned from things that they did and saw how they struggled with things that they chose to do and I put that together with what I was taught while being raised. Meaning, I learned from them. The good, the bad and the ugly.

Ignore No. 1 (why is your blog so lame?). You know I'm kidding, kid. I know that Hossie!

When was your first kiss? Hee hee... interesting. I kissed a boy when I was 17 years old. I was a very late bloomer in the sexual field of flowers. I kissed him, but being he was only 14, I ended up "talking" with his brother who was 17. I ended up losing my virginity to that brother of 17, and he was a complete jerk. I felt bad about doing that to the younger brother, who was actually a nicer boy and much more sensitive. What is funny is, I thought he was so much more younger than I was, but I married a man that is 3 years younger! Talk about coincidence!

When is your birthday? My birthday is March 1, 1974. Pisces in DA HOUSE! Woot woot! Water signs rule!

Do your have a tub of Vicks Vaporub in your house right now? But of course! LMAO! Half used from this shitty winter we had!

What is the name of your favorite book...movie...song? My favorite book is Dirty Girls Social Club. It really reached me. It talked to me. And it made me a new friend :) My favorite song is "Somewhere" from West Side Story. And my favorite movie is Stand By Me.

Where were you when you heard about the WTC on 9-11? Did hearing about it make you need to go somewhere else? This question is very emotional for me. When 9-11 happened, I had just given birth to my oldest son six weeks earlier. I woke up holding my children in my arms ( my daughter was 3 at the time) and answered the phone that was ringing crazily all morning. My mother had called me to tell me what was going on. She told me to turn on the TV. Which I did. When I did, I saw that picture of the dust clouds over NY from the angle of the Statue Of Liberty in the foreground. I collapsed to the floor as my mother was telling me what was happening. A ton of emotions flooded me, as I held a newborn in one arm and a three year old baby in the other. I felt as if the world was ending, and I would have to watch my world collapse after such happiness was filling it. I had many strange disturbances after that happened. I needed to sleep with my children at all times. I thought that the world would end. I thought my children would die. I kept picturing the whole thing when I would close my eyes. I had a kind of post traumatic stress thing going on and I wasn't even there! I soon had visions of death surrounding me.
I slipped into deep depression and ended up being put on medication because the attacks triggered something in me that had never been let out before. My fear of the unknown. My fear of not being the strength to promise what my children needed promised, a full and protected life.
I now know that as a parent that is not possible, but I learn to take things one day at a time, because that is all we can ever do.

Pepsi or Coke? Hmm... depends on my moods. LOL. Lately, neither, because I am trying to drink only water and juices. I would have to say Coke though. Lol.

Who or what inspires you? Of course, my children and my husband. But also the world around me. I can meet someone on the street and something about their character might inspire me that day. A squirrel stuck in a tree can inspire me to think about how much I hate them and why they are so evil to me, LMAO.
A dragon fly might inspire me to think freely. Anything that catches my attention usually inspires me a great deal.

If you could change one thing in your past, what would it be and how would that affect your life today?
I wish I would have had more self esteem and would have realized how much of a good, creative, beautiful person I was as a teenager. I was full of so much and I never gave myself enough credit. I read things I wrote back then and I just want to grab myuself and just tell myself to look deeper and not just at the fact that I couldn't fit into a size 5 jeans! And maybe I would be able to have more sense of self, now at 31! LMAO!

Describe the colors of a Mariposa's soul... Hmm... lots of pinks, blues, greens, yellows, and oranges. Purples for serenity, blues for peace, reds for love and soul. There is also black. The blackness that I try to overcome each day. The blackness that almost had me consumed a few months back. The blackness that is my depression. I fight the blackness and fill it with the other colors each day. It's a struggle to not be in the land of black and death and bones. But my other colors, they are brighter.

does your husband help you with the kids? Yes, he does. There are times he is overwhelmed and has just worked an overtime shift. His bones are tired. His muscles ache. His head is pounding. He works a lot. So that I can be home. He puts his self on hold daily so that we can eat, and live. He helps me even when he feels like this. He gets up with the kids when I am tired or sick or HUNGOVER (like sunday) and I get to sleep in until the afternoon. He makes dinner some nights. He takes the kids outside so I can get a moment of peace. And he helps me bathe them or put them to bed. He has his moments when he wants to do nothing. But so do I. Don't we all? All in all, he helps me tremendously.

Aren't you glad you used Dial? I don't use dial, it makes me itch. I use Lever 2000 or Olay soaps. Silly ass. But the remedy to itch is more cowbell ;)

Go ahead and ask me...

2005-04-18T11:13:00.000-04:00

Do you have questions for me?
Ask me some questions about me, my life, my brain, anything. I will answer them in the next entry. I need to have at least 10, so everyone leave a note.

BBQ madness

2005-04-17T13:59:00.000-04:00

We decided to cook out yesterday.

We put weiners and burgers on the grill, I made mac salad. We got beers for the adults and pop and juices for the kids.

We had my brother in laws come over and one of Keith's childhood friends. His uncles came over later on and the people upstairs hung out with their kids and us.

I fed the kids, and let them play until 9 p.m. outside. I fed Ryan and by his normal bedtime of 7 p.m. he was grunting to go "night night". As I had him in the stroller, already in his jammies, I decided as the other two ate their burgers and weiners, that Ryan and I would escape for a nice night night time walk.
I took him down some really nice shaded streets. Every time the sidewalk would end, and the little "bum bump" sound of the next sidewalk crease would go against his stroller wheels, I would hear him giggle. He thought it was so funny. He giggled until he went sleepy. I watched his big eyes get sleepier and sleepier as he looked at the orange and pink sky. Soon he was snoring.

As I put him back into the house and set the baby monitor. I got the older two ready for bed. I got them to bed and was going to sit down and watch Cops.

Cops. When there was beer and fun outside.

I went outside.

My sister in law came over and I kept downing beers. Soon it was so chilly outside I could see my breath from time to time. So I kept drinking beers. I lost count.

My brother in law was giving out shots of Jack Daniels. I had one. Nice and warm. Ahh. Nice buzz.

At one point my sister in law and my husband were chasing a cat around the field, screaming "DAISY! DAISY NO!" All I saw was the neon pink of the blanket wrapped around my sister in law's shoulders and I started screaming with laughter. She looked like a vampire and my husband looked like he was running from her. Drunken madness in my brain. I couldn't breathe from laughing.

It wasn't even my cat. It was a stray. They realized this after someone yelled "DUDE! It has STRIPES! Chill out!" Daisy is all black. "oh." said Keith.

Then the lady upstairs (formerly known as ABW= Alchoholic Bitch Whore) came out again after her and husband Potty McPothead, were arguing. She made me a White Russian. I drank it like a mad woman. "MAKE ME ANOTHER!" I said as she giggled and I started dancing to something of the likes of Tupac and Eminem. I don't even know wtf was on the radio. Someone would change the station every song. There was country, then rock, then rap, then blues.

When I went with her to her house upstairs her husband was pissed off because she wasn't upstairs with him and she was sitting with me. I felt kind of strange and left to the stairway. She came out and said "Oh shut up! I will still have sex with you- you FREAK. Let me have some fun with Mari for chrissakes!". I asked her if she should just go in and she goes "No! I am just sitting with you in the yard and giggling. Fuck him!". At that point I realized I needed to get to know her and stop calling her ABW.

I drank two more White Russians and then someone passed around some long island iced tea in glasses. I drank one. After that, it was all funny and blurry. The lady upstairs kept talking about her husband and how she is leaving him. She said she is selling her "cranberry crystal and china from 1943" and I kept smiling and thinking "I have no idea what the fuck your talking about..." She said something about how her china and crystal were her "ticket out of her marriage". Then she told me all kind of secrets about their arguments. She asked me if I hear them argue and I lied and said no.

My mouth, fingers and nose were numb from the cold, but yet, I couldn't quite feel it.

She told me about her sad life, how her fiance who treated her like a queen died 5 years ago before they got married. How she was beaten by her ex-husband. How she had her first baby at 16. How her father died of alchoholism and how she supported the guy upstairs when she had cancer by working while getting treatment... I sat there and wanted to cry. I kept hugging her. I was so drunk.

It was 2 a.m. and everyone was leaving. Lynard Skynard was on in the garage and my brother in law got beligerent and I sent his ass across the lawn to go home (they live across the field next door no driving). Something about "Why does Keith like the Lynard? I thought he was down and liked only rap!". Stupid ass. We are diverse. Even drunken diverse.

The lady upstairs went upstairs, sad and cold. I sat in the lawn chair looking at the sky. I had eaten something and was feeling more sober. I drank some water and felt more sober, and sleepy. I felt so sleepy. I wanted to sleep with the stars in the backyard, but I couldn't, so I went inside.

I put on my jammies, went to sleep and woke up to having to clean out Keifer's turds from his potty. He is now officially trained. THANK GOD. But when you haven't had a drunken night in almost 3 years, and you get up at 7 a.m., the last thing you wanna do is clean out turds from a potty chair.

My husband only had a few beers last night. He laughed as he saw me disheveled and hung over this morning. He told me to go back to sleep and he would get up with the kids. I did. Until 1 p.m.

I had a nice night. Full of drunkeness that I usually never have. I deserved it. But I tell ya one thing, I don't know how I used to drink and party so hard in my early 20's. I can hardly stay up today. I keep drinking water and taking vitamins and trying to keep up with the kids. How did I do a night out in clubs being drunk until 5 a.m and then go to Mcdonald's and then to work for 8 hours back then? HOW THE FUCK DID I DO THAT? Then go home, take a shower, get ready and go back out to end up getting picked up by some club dude and going hotelling with him? HOW DID I DO THAT SHIT?

There were other funny madness stories last night, like my brother in law Bobert putting on a hat made out of aluminum foil and running around a tree only to fall on his face and burn his finger with his cigarette. And my other BIL Guissepe trying to figure out the life cycle of an ant. And some drunken lady that came over to see the lady upstairs to see if she was ok because her and Potty had a huge fight, and the lady ended up being hit on by my husband's uncle.

We sound like assholes. But we never do things like this, honest. We just become crazy drunkards every other year or so. To let it all out. Honest.

Hi, my name is Mari and I am a Coke head.

2005-04-15T21:55:00.000-04:00

I recently started drinking lots of water.

I bought a buttload of sparkling waters last week because they were sparkly. They had fruit flavors in them. No sugars. And they were sparkly, I need sparkly. Bubbles. Carbination.

I figured I wean myself from my coke and pepsi. I drank lots and lots of coke's and pepsi's. Lots. I can drink a two liter like a can of pepsi- I just got a visual of Da Ali G. Show when he played the Kazakhistani guy at a dating service. "I have penis big like can of pepsi...". But anyhow... like I was saying, I can drink tons of pop. Soda. Sparkling sugar. I loved it. I used to drink it in a bottle as a child. Get my drift?

So, as days have come and gone with me dragging much ass, I realized after talking to my friend Trini, that I don't drink much water. In fact I hated water. No flavor, no drinky. Trini had just weaned herself off of her many cokes. So I decided to copy cat her and see if I felt any better. Trini's skin was glowing. So I wanted to see if I could give it a try.

Day One: lots of those sparkly waters. Lots. They were bubbly and had flavor. Not bad. But I was pissing insanely.

Day Two: More waters. Mmm... the taste not bad at all, almost like drinking pop. Many headaches. Kind of bitchy.

Day Three: Waters again. Almost the whole 12 pack gone. Ahh well. I will get more.
More heachaches. Not so bitchy.

Day Four: Waters gone. Husband says we don't need the sparkly stuff, since we have regular bottled shit. No fizzy? No nice fruity flavors? Huh? " Put some fruit juice in there as a splash...". So I did. Cranberry watered down was almost as good. No more headaches. No bitchy.

Day Five: Craving Coffee like a mofo. I sip some of the Coffee Queen AKA my MIL's coffee in the morning before I take Mya to school. On my way back from dropping her off, I get a HUGE migraine of massive proportions type headache. "Must be 'cause I drank a tich..." I say to myself. Yea, dumbass... must be.

Day Six: More cranberry homemade splash. Drank two 16 oz. In 4 hours. Pissing like racehorse. No headaches. No bitchy. No bloat! WOO HOO! NO BLOAT? The bloat was still there before because of the carbination from the sparkly shit. AHA! I SEE!

Day Seven: I decide I been a good girl. Drinking lots of good healthy water. Drinking cranberry splashes. I decide with dinner to drink me some Pepsi in a glass. I drink it and it tastes like gold. One hour later, I have massive fucking bloat and a headache from the bowels of hell. I am also bitchy at my kids and husband. I feel strange. I feel psychotic. I feel... like shit.

Day Eight: I drink another glass like an ass and it tastes nasty to me. I don't even want it.

Another thing I realized, I used to wake in the middle of the night, with a HUGE craving for anything sweet. I would scrounge old Easter baskets in search of a jelly bean, or a reese cup and then I would feel better. After not drinking so much sugar, I notice I don't want that much sugar. I bought donuts two days ago, and I have not eaten all of them. I have eaten 2 of them. ME! ATE ONLY TWO! FUCKING UNREAL!

I have come to the conclusion I was probably borderline diabetic. My sugar levels were fucking WHACKED because I was drinking so much pop. My body craved sugar, because it was used to it in such large levels.

I feel better when I don't drink so much pop. I feel better all around. I need to keep it up. I need to not become dependent on shit food and beverage. I had diabetes with Mya, when I was preggers with her. It sucked. It runs in my family. I am petrified of ending up with it, so I need to do what I need to do now, so that I don't get it.

And not just that, I need to do it, because it feels better. Even thought I thought a donut made me feel better, it really didn't. It was just the sugar high.

My Little Handsome

2005-04-14T14:54:00.000-04:00

My Little Handsome
Ryan Joseph 6 mos. old.

My God I thank you for this face.

Those toes, those eyes.

I thank you for making him look like me, and not just like his father like the other two do.

For making him mild tempered (except for spoon taking), for making him smile at me in the morning like I am the best thing he has ever seen.

For making him a part of my life and for making him fill a piece of my heart that was so sad, so empty.

For making him blow raspberries after he cuts a fart, because it makes me laugh like nothing else on earth.

For making him have an appetite so hardy. Hardy enough to make his thighs wrinkle like a baby sumo wrestler.

For making him exist and show the true love his father and I still have after 8 years, and will continue to have for 80 more.

For making him be a baby brother so that his brother and sister can love someone else and not want to eat their flesh.

For making him chase the cat as he scoots on his belly, because he wants to slobber on her fur.

Thank you God, for my Ryan Joseph. My baby boy. My pride and joy. My life. My happiness. My little handsomeness.

Freak of nature

2005-04-13T11:15:00.000-04:00

I just went off on my husband. He didn't even do anything.

"Why don't you ever push me to succeed?" I asked him.

He was talking about cell phones.

I was talking about life.

He got silent. Confused he said "I never held you back from doing anything you wanted to do. You're full of self esteem, why should I push you when you have all you need inside of you?"

Then I went all woman on him.

"You never push me! You don't want me to do anything with myself? I will not be a lost woman when my children leave the coop!".

Then he wanted to let me go. Because I was going all woman on him, so he could eat his lunch.

Then I cried.

I felt suffocated. Not because my husband said anything or did anything, but becasue I imagined he was suffocating me.

"Never want me to do anything with myself but breed and take care of children? Never want me to succeed? I will show you! You can't hold me down! I will do what I need to do with what I have in my soul!" and I think I pounded my fist on the table. Or something like that. I can't remember, I was all teary and weirdo-like. In a trance.

I always imagine something like this. I always imagine he is some tyrant that he never is. Never was. Never will be.

I am so godamn freakish. Such a freak.

Other crap

My son likes this new Disney show. Called the DoodleBops.

The Doodlebops scare the fuck out of mommy. They remind me of colorful zombies. They are strange. Me no likey. No likey one bit.
Doodlebop Scary Mother Fuckers
Doodle Fucks Part Deux.

if you can't see the link here is an example:

See? See what I mean?

Now THOSE are freaks of nature.

I am irritated. I need a smoke. Bye.

Buttloads

2005-04-12T13:55:00.000-04:00

I have buttloads of clothes to wash.

Beh.

I hate washing clothes. I hate washing dishes. I hate doing anything that requires me to do things over and over.

Clothing is always dirty. Dishes are always dirty. House is always dirty.

I clean them daily. In a haze. I try to numb out the pains of doing these things over and over and over again. But soon, after the last load is washed, the last dish is dried, BAM BOOM! There begins another BUTTLOAD.

That's why I hate doing them. Because they are never ending. NEVER ENDING. PILES. OF DIRTY THINGS.

I'll try to sum it up to people who don't understand. Compare it to climbing a mountain. But never moving from the same spot. No matter how hard you climb. How long you climb. How much EFFORT you put into climbing. Nope, same spot. Fuck you. Same spot.

So, that is why today I cussed out my buttload of clothes, and my buttload of dishes. I called them every name in the book. I HATE YOU!

I rather rescue a small village. Anyone know where a small village needs rescuing? I would gladly do it.

Pat been a bad boy

2005-04-11T13:31:00.000-04:00

What is up with these dirty old men who possess well known jobs in the media- being so fucking dirty and nasty?

I spent the better part of my morning, laughing my FUCKING ass off at the Pat O'brien tapes.

My brother calls me and tells me how Howard Stern (his personal favorite) was making fun of the dude. So I go "why? what happened? That's so mean! What is wrong with Howard always picking on these poor people!"

Turns out I am like one of the only people, on the face of the earth, that didn't know that Access Hollywood's Pat O'brien and how he had made some pretty funky nasty voicemails to one of his co-workers/aquaintences.

So. I Google it. Like I do with everything that puzzles me.

Oh the Google, so good for the informations.

The Google presented me with enough material to make me laugh like a maniacal hyena. I laughed until I cried, people. When I was done, I needed a cigarette.

So I sound mean? Yea, I guess. But so is he, it turns out. Mean and just plain NASTAY.
Supposedly he did the following after I googled all about his NASTAY ass: he has licked the face of co-host Nancy O'Dell at an office Christmas Party, grabbed the ass of another co-worker and made nasty sexual comments to an openly gay producer... "I got something for ya... bend over".
Also he said something of the likes of "What's up my n_ggas!" to some african american co-workers as well.

He allegedly did these things before he went into rehab. BEFORE the tapes came out.

There are also pictures of him masturbating all over the internet. I am NOT Googling that shit.

This man scares me. I am gonna have scary celebrity sex dreams because of all this Googling.

He and Bill O'Reilly need to go hell together in a hand basket. Weeeeeeeee!

The best ones are:

http://www.thesuperficial.com/archives/000793.html

http://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/227154 (*be sure to watch the little movie with Pat on the phone little icon next to it.)

And this message board with hilarious comments from people: http://chud.com/forums/showthread.php?t=79055

So, go on ahead, listen to this idiot. Why would a man, with a voice known for narrating hollywood access television voice overs, leave messages like this??? We know it's you Pat. C'mon, now.

When I feel down, I shall listen to this moron say things like "you are so fucking hot.... I feel crazy... I don't know why I am doing this.... I want to get some coke, do drugs and get a hooker...". He says other gross things like " You and Betsy (his girlfriend) can eat each other and I will...." It gets worse. Really bad.

Oh yea, and in the background, is that rap music I hear Pat? You are so diverse.

It's all relative

2005-04-08T13:58:00.000-04:00

Uncle Vincenzo (my mother's brother) likes to call me on Friday mornings. We have a nice Friday morning chat, and he tells me about his health and how his legs and his shoulder are coming along.

He was in an accident last summer, where he fell down a cellar in his home. He fell so badly, he was in the hospital for two weeks and had to have his heel and shoulder blade replaced.

He wasn't able to move for months. Incapacitated. He was lucky he lived. The doctors told him it could have been fatal.

Over the winter he would call and would sound so depressed that it often scared me. As he was getting therapy for his limbs and able to move more and more, he would sound more like himself as time moved on.

Now he walks with a cain, and is able to drive. He said it's liberating to do the things that he once took for granted.

So, he called and we chatted. He talked about estranged members of my family that no longer want to have shit to do with me. I tried to sound like I had interest in them. I know he does the same to them, about me. They most likely say things meaner than what I say. He tells me about my other uncle who looks like a Puerto Rican George Costanza and acts just like him. About my grandmother who we all know thinks of me as "dead to her".

Then he told me he went to visit my biological father at his home. This always leaves a sting on my heart. My soul. "I went to see your Dad. He wasn't home. Your sister answered the door, and she had a baby girl about three months old in her arms. The cutest thing! She looks like you both when you were little . . . "
Stinging more than ever before.

I don't call my biological father my "dad." I call my Daddy my Dad. The man who raised me is my Dad. Not the man that donated his sperm.

I have never spoken of my other brother and sister before on here. Because there really isn't anything to speak of, not much of a history. The brother I speak of on here is my little brother with whom was raised with me since birth. My brother from my mother's side. We share the same mother. The other brother and sister I have are from my paternal side. Sperm donor's other donations.

The life I had with my biological father as a child was scarring. He beat my mother. Would lock us up so he could disappear for days at a time on drug and sex binges. He abused my mother mentally, psychologically, verbally.

I remember times being as small as three years old, and him beating the living crap out of her. I remember those times and they make me want to hide and cry.

We left when I was almost four. He disappeared and began another life. He had tried to kill himself in front of me when I was about four and half. He threw a fit in my grandmother's kitchen because he wasn't allowed to take me with him, somewhere. He grabbed a butcher knife and he held it to his chest as he lay on the kitchen floor. My uncles were fighting to get the knife out of his hands. I stood there motionless as he did this and looked into my eyes.

I felt nothing for him. I felt scared for myself.

I want to sob when I think about that day. I was so little. But felt so strong and so old. To be four and a half years old and to feel nothing for a man who is laying there with a knife to his heart. Maybe I learned and grew my strength from days like that.

He soon disappeared out of our lives. I heard things from people that knew him and our family, but my life was taking a better form. My mother met my real Daddy and they married when I was six. Our life from there on out was much better than the one I would have had, had I stayed being raised by Mr. Dramatics.

Now comes the stranger than fiction part. A part that even had my therapist raise her eyebrows.

When I was in 12th grade, I started at a new school. I was actually pretty much thrown out of my Catholic High School for being a trouble maker and because my parents were sick of paying money for a crappy education. So I went on to a public high school to complete the rest of my credits so I could graduate.

I entered my English 12 class and there sat this boy. I never knew him, but for some reason he looked at me as if he knew me. As class went on and on, we had to get into groups. As we all said our names, he said his . . . Michael S*******. I almost shit. I had the same last name. Now I already know what you're thinking... so do most people. But my last name was a Hispanic last name that is not very common. Extremely uncommon. So I looked at him, but just kind of kept doing what I was doing.

As my turn came to say my name, he turned and looked at me intensely. It bothered me.

Class let out and he came running after me to my locker. "Your name is Mari, isn't it?" I was weirded out, because my first name is not Mari, it's a nickname to my first name of Maritza. And in school, my name was always Maritza, not Mari. Only family and friends new me as Mari back then.

He then went on, to tell me he was my long lost brother. A brother I never knew about.

And to cut this insane story in half and keep from blabbing so much, he was my brother that was six months younger than I am.

How is that? You ask? Because when my mother was three months pregnant with me, my father fucked around on his pregnant wife and made another baby with someone else. A woman he would go on to marry after their divorce and have another child with, my sister Nena.

So when I found this all out, I went into a sort of denial. I bitched this kid out, and told him to fuck off. The next day, he came back to school with baby pictures of me. Me and my sperm donor dad.

Sting. My heart was stinging. My eyes were watering.

I learned that day, what it felt like to have your heart reamed through a ringer and sting and hurt in ways that I never thought possible. I had moved on from this man, who was my birth father and yet he still found ways to hurt me, even after he was out of my life.

My brother and I eventually grew close our twelfth grade year. We lied to people in school and we told everyone we were twins. I helped him pass Government class so he could graduate, and he beat up the boy that took my virginity for blabbing it in the boys locker room.

I was in his wedding two years later and let by gones be by gones, and finally embraced my biological father. Even though it still hurt to look at him, and to think of the things he had done to scar me.

Years went on, my sister grew up and she and I would try to stay in touch. When she called me back in 2000 to tell me she was going to have a baby (at the young age of 16) I was there for her. I went to my nephew's birthday parties and she came to see Keifer when he was born. She would bring Mya presents for her birthdays and come sit with me when I was down and upset. We began a relationship, a sisterly relationship.

We were trying to grow close. And then one day, it all stopped. I guess I stopped calling and she stopped calling and we don't know why, or maybe we do, but it stopped. My brother moved away to Florida and I never hear from him anymore. I have nephews that don't even know me. I have a new niece and they have a new nephew named Ryan Joseph. My son and her daugher most likely, will ever know how close in age they are to each other, and will most likely never know ofeach other.

I am still stinging from this morning's conversation. Not only because my uncle non-chalantly tells me of these things, and I know he has good intentions, but I just have no intentions of trying so hard anymore. They knew of my transfusion and my complications from Ryan's birth and they never called when my uncle gave them the hospital number.

I on the other hand have not kept up in trying to call either. I know I am to fault as much as them.

I tell you this though, it's so much harder on my end. They grew up knowing of me as their lost sister. I knew nothing of them. Until one fateful day, and that day is when the stinging began.

I still hurt from the betrayal my father did to my mother and me. I can never let that go.

So, I wish to my sister, happiness into the springtime wind. I wish my new niece a lifetime of prosperity and health and love. I kiss her tiny cheeks from my end of the world, and I hope one day she will hear about me.

I have a brother who does stay in touch, my younger maternal brother you see and hear of on my blog. He has always been in my life and will never be out of it. I am grateful for him, and one day he will make me an aunty. Even though he claims it won't be until he is 50 years old, so be it.

Also, my friend's children see me and know of me more like an aunt than my own nieces and nephews ever will.

As strange as life is, I guess it's all relative.

The face of a tantrum

2005-04-05T00:35:00.000-04:00

You my friends are staring into the face of a tantrum.

"But how? How can that be? He looks so sweet!" You ask?

That's what I thought. Up until moments before this picture was snapped and he threw an actual temper tantrum, complete with leg throwing, arm flailing, and head banging. Thank God the Boppy pillow you see him ever so sweetly laying on here, was under his head as he was banging it.

"About what?" you ask?

About a spoon. Because Mommy wouldn't let him hold the spoon I was trying to feed him with.

I thought I had more time to savor his sweetness, people. I forgot how early the bitter parts begin.

See his eyebrows all sweaty and red? His eyes all teary? His cheeks all flushed? Yup... those are the signs.

Stinker. No other words could describe this kid. Stinker McGee.

I took this picture because I was in sheer disbelief that my almost 6 month old son could do the damage he had just done. And so when he is 21 years old I can go "Look! Look at how young you were when you began driving me crazy!"

Poop, Pizza, & Snow

2005-04-03T00:15:00.000-05:00

I am really tired.

My little brother stayed over this weekend. We watched gory movies and had pizza and beer, and then he witnessed "Friday fun nights at Mari's house"... as my middle son woke and I had to help him birth a constipated turd at 3 A.M.

Potty training has him holding his shit in. Which means he holds it in because he has no desire in sitting on a potty. He stopped shitting on my floor but now he is not shitting at all. So he gets kinda backed up. Especially with eating lots o' Easter chocolates.

Last night he had to birth it. I had to help him. I had to tell him to ease it out and to put his legs way back. My brother sat motionless in my recliner. Eyes wide open. Scared.

When I got my bouncing five pound turdish grandson out... my baby got up. At 4 A.M. And he wanted to PLAY! YAY! WEEE!

It went something like this:
Me: go night night bubba
Baby: Buuu-bahhhh (I think he said either bubba or baba or just baby jibberish, you be the judge)
Me: Here is baba, you want baba?
Baby: ::::blows raspberries at bottle then pitches it::::
Me: Pleeeease go night night
Baby: Buuuu-baaahhhh. Ahhh la la la ::::smiles::::
My Brother: :::sitting motionless in my recliner::::

This went on until almost 5 A.M.

I woke up this morning and my kids had helped themselves to hot dogs, chips, chocolate and a botched attempt at making Kool Aid. And they were playing an acoustic version of the Sesame Street Theme song, with my daughter's guitar- in my brother's ear as he tried to sleep on my couch.

I whisked him quickly to the boy's room, so he could get some sleep and so he wouldn't go into shock.

"Mommy, look! SNOW!" They said.

It's still snowing. Spring is fucking with me.

And I think my poor little brother may never have the desire to procreate. Ever.

Save A Library... please

2005-04-01T19:58:00.000-05:00

Save a library from closing.
Click the link below and see what you can do to help save Salinas Libraries.

No community should have to go through this...
http://www.savesalinaslibraries.org/

Easter Pics

2005-04-01T14:49:00.000-05:00

My Daddy and my baby.

Do you know that it is merely impossible to get a family of five to take a decent picture? After we visited my Dad's house we went to my Mom's house, she attempted to get a "family picture" of all five of us. I should have known it wasn't gonna go. Look at my face. I am in lala land trying to numb all the pain.

My little brother (he is going to be 21... my GOD how did that happen?) and my baby.

My kids actually believed that the Easter Bunny took pictures with Mami's digital camera. All day long "Wuelita! The Easter Bunny took pictures with Mami's digital camera... Grampa! The Easter Bunny took pictures with Mami's digital camera!" It was so cute. God I love their ages and how the world is so new and fresh and full of things like the Easter Bunny taking pics with a digital camera.

Easter at my Dad's house.... From left to right... my daughter Mya, My Stepmother holding her Grandson, My Dad holding my youngest son Ryan, My brother Elliott holding my oldest son Keifer.

This was taken the night before as the sun was setting. I love how my daughter's hair is glowing in the sunlight that was beaming through the window. And I love how Ryan looks like he smells a turd, LMAO! Actually, it was a tender moment, she was showing her baby brother how to play with his very hungry caterpillar.

Here is Mr. Troublemaker terrorizing my stepmother's bird, Petey. Petey doesn't like my kids, lmao! He puffs his chest out and hides in the corner when they come over and he bites at the cage. Of course, Keifer has Spiderman on his t-shirt, what do you think he would wear on a special occasion?

There was my special Easter. It went well but it was exhausting at the end of the day.

Soak up the sun

2005-03-30T15:31:00.000-05:00

It is 70 degrees here in my little town in Ohio.

My kids and I sat outside for 4 hours. The baby took a nap with his favorite blanket and his bottle, and his Dorothy the dinosaur, his little socked feet hanging out of the stroller.

My daughter kept singing some song about "I don't know what the blue birds sing..."
some concotion she made up, but it was cute. Her chubby little cheeks were pink and fresh and her saucer eyes of brown were sparkly. Not sick and dark circled.

My oldest son kept running back and forth. Out of breath and laughing at nothing. He would stop to take a drink of his bottled water and then run off again chasing a squirrel or a chipmunk. He wasn't crying and fighting me because of his own confusion or frustration.

They played, without eating each other's flesh. They laughed, with each other and not at each other. And the most important thing is, I actually sat there and read some books on creative writing and creating character emotions. Something I have been trying to achieve for over 3 weeks.

The air smelled like grass and flowers and warm sun.

Yes siree... Spring has come.

Note to self

2005-03-29T00:33:00.000-05:00

Note to self:
Don't ever eat your BBQed Carolina shredded pork while watching movies such as Saw, again.

You Moron. Didn't you figure that tons of blood and gore would be involved? Next time make chicken pot pies or something that doesn't have red blood-like substance floating around in your plate.

Change my name, please.

2005-03-28T17:43:00.000-05:00

I just lost a whole fucking post that I wrote out because my fucking household is insane and running all over god's creation like banshee's on crack and someone disconnected my fucking COMPUTER CONNECTION!

MOTHER FUCKERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

I am not writing it over again. Except to say that:

I hate my HMO because I only have 5 visits left with my therapist whom I haven't seen in over a month and I owe her a deductible I didn't know about that I can't afford, because my fucking mental meds cost $30 a month and isn't that enough???

I hate that I feel like I can't stand my own fucking skin. I hate that I am on edge and am snapping at everyone again. I think my depression is coming back.

I hate that I am dealing with a three year old who is stubborn as all hell and am trying to potty train him and he keeps shitting all over my house. He will piss in the pot, but God forbid he actually pinch a loaf in it.

the baby is cutting teeth. Cranky. Enough said.

My daughter has a nasty ass attitude and has been embarassing me in front of people by acting like she is an adult. When I punish her to her room for groundings or time out she screams as if I am Mommy Dearest "BUT I LOOOOVE YOU MOMMMMMYYYYYY! WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME!????"

My husband wants to come home and just sit and vegetate after working in a factory all day and I just want him to take over so I can breathe

I have no time to do anything by myself. I can't write, I can't take a shit, I can't go anywhere without a child whining or clinging to me. I have not been anywhere without a child in sometime. And I don't mean with my husband and me alone, I mean by MYSELF ALONE. No husband or kids. Just me.

If I do something alone it's when they are all asleep and I am risking me losing sleep just so I can enjoy myself.

I feel like I don't want to be here anymore. And I don't mean slashing my wrists, I mean running away and changing my name so I can start a new life. To Arizona. Where I can live in a trailor park and work in a brothel. Alone.

Stupid crap

2005-03-25T16:01:00.000-05:00

I don't know what is up with Enetation.Com and their comments, but it looks like this mariposa is gonna do some research and tutorials and just add the regular Blogger comments to my shit.

This is the second time in a week that this has happened. Fucking morons.

I should add the code for blogger commenting anyway, because it's easier for fellow bloggers to go back and forth between my page and theirs. And also, because it has bigger font size, whereas enetation's you need to wear GLASSES to read the print.

In other news.... my fucking ear is blocked again, because I had another sinus cold. When will these viruses leave me the fuck alone? I am sick of being sick, sick of having sick kids, and sick of hearing everyone hack.

So, yea, my nose blockage went to my middle ear. I am waiting for another infection, being that is what happened last time.

I had good sex today. My husband came home early from work, and the kids napped, and we actually had a moment to ourselves. It felt good to melt into him. Then I slept for a couple hours.

Now there are kids screaming "MOMMMMYYYYY!" and I want to run and hide. The Easter bunny needs to bring me a honeymoon in a basket. I never had one. I was 8 months pregnant when I got married. I never went anywhere alone with my husband.

I want one now.

wah.

Yummy Cheeks McGee

2005-03-24T18:55:00.000-05:00

Tell me this face, those toes and those cheeks are not yummy... and I will call you crazy.

Fatback rides again

2005-03-23T00:00:00.001-05:00

My friend sent me a picture today, from a couple years ago.

What I saw, threw me into some sort of freak out.

Is this me?

What the fuck!?

I noticed I was pretty large. Real large.

So the questioning started. "Do I still look like this? Am I possibly that big to the opposite eye? What the fuck!?"

What I did next, was take as much of a full shot as I could, so I could compare them together.

Know what I see? I don't know what I see. It's all distorted to me. (rhyme unintentional).

I can't fucking tell. That's what. I know I have huge boobs, big whoop. Lemme see a woman over 190 that ain't got big boobs. It's fat, my dear.

The woman in the picture is an ex-friend. Someone who shall remain nameless and sucks ass hair in my opinion. I superimposed a picture of Nosferatu, because that is what she reminds me of, a bloodsucking vampire. Except she doesn't suck blood. She likes to suck down martini's nightly after her kids are in bed. And I don't mean just one or two. I mean a whole bottle.
The baby is not hers, he is the baby of another ex-friend (yes, I have lots of those) who shall also remain nameless. I put a cute little censoring dot over his face because I am not showing someone else's baby on the internet. So I covered his face. Because I am nice. But I am not so nice to that vampire holding him.

She pretty much resembles Nosferatu, except that her teeth are green. And her eyes are a bit beadier:

That was 2 years ago. BEFORE baby #3. I was 220 pounds.

This is today.

I don't know how much I weigh currently. But last I knew of before Christmas I was around 194. I weighed 235 during pregnancy. My diet of blood hemmoraging and transfusions, and also pneumonia got me down to 194. I ain't on that diet anymore. So, I know I am not that weight exactly.

But I like donuts. So, yea. Probably a few more pounds than that.

All I know, is I was a 20-22 in that pic before and I am in my prepregnancy jeans as we speak. PP jeans are a size 18. I can make myself squeeze into a 16 if I try. I mean TIGHT squeeze.

I also know, that my before pic shows the trouble I was having while on certain medications. Lemme tell ya, I am PETRIFIED of that happening again.

Where am I going with this entry? Jesus, who knows. I guess I am just scared I look worse than I originally thought I did.

Wasn't I just talking about fat on meat the other day? "That will clog your arteries..." my husband said. Maybe he wants to say "You're gonna be wearing MuMu's and I will have to walk around with your fat ass and smile".

My cat has cancer

2005-03-21T14:47:00.000-05:00

I think my cat has cancer.

She has vaginal cancer.

She is dying, I think.

She has had problems the past few months. I don't know why I just thought it was her being "in heat" sypmtoms. What is wrong with me? This poor creature depends on me for her care. I kept putting off certain symptoms and now she has a possible tumor that can be cancerous.

My cat is probably on the road to death.

I am so sorry Daisy. I am so sorry that I ignored your suffering signs as just something of the norm.

I have had this cat since Keith and I were dating. My previous cat had died and he bought her for me, because he knew how much I missed Kit Kat. We took her home and we ate Chinese takeout as she explored my apartment. She fell off the couch and shook her tiny little black furry head and we laughed "She seems so dazed and confused!" Then I realized that was her name "Daisy! She is Dazed, so I will call her Daisy!" I knew that Dazed was different than Daisy, but Daisy's are my favorite flower and it just went along with the moment.

She was there when we got engaged, she was there when we got married, she was there when I was 8 months pregnant and I fell asleep in the bathtub and she climbed onto my belly like an island and patted my nose to wake me. Yes, she did that. Believe it or not, my cat did that. She was there when I brought home every single one of my babies. And was there when I lost one of my babies in my womb. As I cried in excruciating pain, she stayed next to me on the bed and licked my hand.

I taught her to fetch like a dog. With a can of tuna and a water bottle cap. She makes chirping sounds at birds and can imitate a squirrel when she sees them in the window sill.

I love seeing her when I wake up as she curls around my feet. I love when the baby sees her and his eyes get huge and wide and he motions to go after her. He wants her so bad and it's hilarious. We keep saying she will be the reason he crawls early.

She is a part of my family. I know she will have to go sometime, at some moment, but I am not prepared for that. I don't take to death of family members well. And she is a family member.

She has been there for 8 years. And now she might be dying.

"lots of blood please"

2005-03-19T22:08:00.000-05:00

My husband and I went out to eat tonight.

Alone.

Let me say that again.

Alone.

I didn't have to cut up any meat or pretend I had octopus tentacles and feed everyone at the same time.

My food was hot.

I was able to eat appetizer, salad, bread and steak and take my time.

I drank 5 cokes. I didn't even feel like having alchohol. I just wanted lots of sugar. Lots and lots of coke please. Lots of ice please. And my steak? Medium rare.

Waitress: Medium rare is warm and bloody. Now are you sure?
Me: Yes, please. Lots of blood please. I like my meat bleeding. Warm blood.
Waitress: ohhh kayy!!! (giggling)

She laughed because she thought I was funny. She wasn't laughing at me. Later we joked about how the fat on meat is the best part.

Keith: "Please leave the fat off" (while asking for her to leave his shredded pieces of fat out of his box he was taking home.)
Waitress: "Oh, see I love fat, I am Southern and love love fat on my meat"
Me: "You're Southern? See, I love fat too, fried fat please. I am Puerto Rican and I love me some fried up seasoned fat!"
Waitress: "YESSS!!! Mama made the best fried fat back ever!"

We just nodded at each other. Mmmmm. Lots of blood. Lots of fat. That's it baby, nice and slow. Nice fat and bloody.

I am such a pig.

When we left, it was drizzling. I took in the night air and I felt so good. Fat and good.

We got home and my mother had put all three kids to bed. No one screaming. No one running. Everyone asleep and beautiful.

Later, I plan on getting me some more beef. If you get my drift.

I am such a pig.

Coming soon, to a season near you.

2005-03-18T10:48:00.000-05:00

When I got up this morning, I could barely walk or open my eyes.

Even thought I had gone to bed when the kids did last night, I felt like I was pulling an all nighter at a disco.

My oldest, Keifer, woke up- quite a few times. His fever would come back after the meds had worn off and then he would want me to lay with him. Then, once he would go to sleep, I would go to bed only to be summoned by the baby coughing or crying.

This morning, at around 6, I got the baby situated in his crib. He shares a room with Keifer and so Keifer saw me, and wanted to go to my bed with me. So I let him. He started kicking me in his sleep, so I went to his bed.

Then, my daughter woke up. She wanted to lay in my bed with my son, until she saw me in his bed, so she came in there with me. Keifer has a twin bed. Mya and I were obviously too small to cramp into his small bed.

After she fell asleep, I found myself playing musical beds. Going to her bed, and then to mine and back to Keifer's. As everyone would find me, I would wait for them to fall asleep again and then I would drift off into another room. If I could fit my large ass into the crib, I am sure I would have gone in there, too.

I woke up on the floor.

I sat in the kitchen talking to Sis, she had called to make sure I didn't think she was bringing over her boys (whom I watch for her a couple times a week). I told her thanks for calling and listened to her as she ordered breakfast on a fast food speaker. Man, that sounded delicious. I wanted to beg her to take me to work with her. To let me stow away in her trunk. I could teach art like her. I could eat fast food breakfast with a coke and feel free.

When I hung up with her, I decided to dress myself. I felt hung over. Again, like I had spent the night dancing or something. I only wish.

I asked God, to please send me something to make my day brighter. "What hath I doth done to deserve such tortureth?" I said out loud.

The kids were hungry when they woke up, and that made me feel better. Neither had eaten more than a few spoonfuls of soup the passed few days. They ate breakfast and soon the baby fell asleep on the floor with a blanket under him.

He is a lot like me.

I escaped somehow. The kids were preoccupied with Nick Jr.

I saw the sun shining outside.

I went outside on my steps.

I smoked a cigarette on my steps, barefoot. Hair going all over. Sunshining on my face.

Yes, I smoke again. I haven't shared that with you all... because I didn't want to hear it. Please, don't let me hear it. I have already called myself a million names for doing this dirty habit again. I like it. Leave me alone.

I love the taste of my menthol Capri's in morning sunshine. So sue me.

I smelled wet grass. Warm air. The snow was melting in the field, and when I closed my eyes as I inhaled, I saw neon orange. The kind of neon orange you see when you close your eyes and you're at the beach sunbathing.

I saw buds on trees. I heard birds singing.

It was only ten minutes, but those ten minutes were what I had asked God for when I woke up this morning.

Spring. It's coming. Sooner than I thought.

And when I came back in, the baby rolled over on his own on his blanket. All by himself.

Yup, Spring is almost here.

Winter is a man in gold chains Update

2005-03-16T13:40:00.000-05:00

I loathe you winter.

Your cold and heartless weather. Your senseless acts of blizzards and below zero weather. The way you kill people with your sicknesses that harbor indoors because windows can't be left open.

I was born in the middle of your disgusting season. I never had birthday barbecues, or festival celebrations outdoors with the sun shining on my face. But my kids do. At least the first two. And my youngest, he beat your nasty ass by a month. So HA! You fucker.

I hate you winter and all that you are. You think you can blind people with your pretty snowflakes and your bling bling ice? The way you make the snow glisten in the morning sunshine, only to swipe that sunshine away within seconds and cover it with your ugly grey skies?

You don't fool me.

You are as predictable as a man covered in gold chains, wearing a shirt with disco glitter and sporting a goatee and a sneering smile. Just like Mr. Goatee, you are no good. Rotten. You try to hypnotize with your pretty baubles and then you throw a storm cloud our way and you laugh your evil laugh.

My daughter is sick again. She has an infection. Of what kind I don't know, but her tempatures keep coming back higher and higher. Nurse Hatchett just sent her home again. Giving me a look of disgust like I sent my kid to school with the plague. I am sorry you bitch! She was ok this morning! Now my poor kid has to endure a funky assed doctor's visit so he can determine what Mr. Goatee Winter has given to her. My poor mama. My poor baby girl. Her big eyes are glossed over and sickly. Her smile is weak.

I also keep getting sick. I have sores in my nostrils and an alien that flies out of my chest each morning. My baby has boogers as green as pastures. What the fuck is going on? Why has my poor family endured such a horrible sick season? We usually get hit once and that's it. This bullshit keeps circulating over and over and over! My mother's boyfriend's grandfather just died last week. This man was 100 years old. You know what killed him? Pneumonia. Had he lived in Florida or California, he probably wouldn't have died this winter. But no, he lives in nasty ass, cold as hell Ohio. So, his 100 years were cut short, he probably had a bit of life still left inside of him. But Mr. Winter took care of that.

I hate winter.

*Update*

My oldest son is now sick.

His poor little three year old body was as hot as the sun. My God, it scared me.

Soaking him in and out of baths, fighting with him to take his children's motrin. Laying with him until he fell asleep.

Then when I was finally able to sneak out of his room, my daughter would wake and moan and call me.

I layed down with her, too. As I stroked her hair, and we laughed about Walter Mercado the "scary guy with a cape". She saw him on tv last week and couldn't stop giggling. When I saw who it was I screamed. I told her I used to be creeped out by him in high school. I guess she thinks it's hilarious.

Anyhow, way off subject here. I am freaking tired and drinking a beer before I go off to lalaland.

And when I go there, I hope it helps me sleep well and deep. And I hope I wake to healthy children.

PLease?

A potato and his demise

2005-03-15T23:05:00.000-05:00

I just made a movie about a tater tot and his demise.

Yes. I am a geek.

I tried to upload it to a server, but being that it was made on Microsoft Movie Maker, I had to upload it the easy way to a 3 day trial only site. If any of you know an easier way for me to upload to a site small movies, please email me and give me a clue.
If you can't see this work of art, then please email me if you want me to send it to you.

http://mariposa74.neptune.com

The site should pop up instantly and you click on the link provided.

Every little thing

2005-03-15T13:55:00.000-05:00

Everything has me on edge today.

My daughter is home sick after the school nurse called me 4 times yesterday afternoon. Each time my daughter more and more sickly. Finally I gave in, even though she had a normal temp and all she had was an annoying cough. She could have stuck it out until 3 p.m. But no. I had to pick her up at 2 p.m. Wow, what a huge difference.

Then last night my husband was on my nerves. I love him, I love him dearly, but when he gets into his trances and ignores the goings on in this insane house, it drives me nuts. HELLO? ANYBODY HOME? YES, HELLO THERE. CAN YOU SAY SOMETHING? DISCIPLINE SOMEONE? HELP ME OUT HERE A BIT?

My daughter stayed home. I wanted to avoid another early release and a million calls from Nurse Hatchett. So, now she is home. With a cough and hacking, yet she can still beat her brother up and take things from him to make him whine more than ever.

Also, the baby is sick again. He just got over a cold two weeks ago where the Pediatrician thought he was developing pnuemonia. He recovered quickly, then got 4 immunizations. That was 10 days ago. Mother's know the math. 7-10 days after immunizations, babies can get sick. Develope fevers, and also be crankier than shit. He eats and then is so cranky I can't put him down. I can't keep sticking a bottle in his mouth. He will weigh 500 pounds by the time he is 1 year old. He will end up on Maury Povich wearing a baby wife beater tank top that rides up on his belly and a diaper that's two sizes to small to accentuate his humungosity. People in the audience will go "Booooooooo BAD MOM!" and I will dab at tears with a hanky while Maury tells the story about the baby who's mama didn't know how to handle him so she made him eat every time he cried.

Help me out here God. Give me something to look forward to.

Pope of Scummy Village?

2005-03-14T10:33:00.000-05:00

I just sat through some videos on VH1.

I saw the new video by Mariah Carey from her new album "The Emancipation of Mimi". I have no idea what the fuck all that means, but anyway on to my point.

I am watching this video and almost turn the channel, because not only is Jermaine "scary little demon midget" Dupri in it, but because me and Mariah have an imaginary battle going on for my husband. He loves her. I think she is a living and breathing Monchi Chi.

So like I was saying... I watch it anyway, because I notice that Eric Roberts is in it. Remember Eric Roberts? Brother of Julia, the one who had a career before she became america's scariest big tooth? Well, I notice he is in Monchichi's video watching her from some office as she gets ready for a party. And there he is, smiling and watching her. I then remember, he did the EXACT same thing in the Killer's video Mr. Brightside. He plays a bordello pimp in the Brightside video and watches as a dolllike girl romps around being a bordello whore. While the dollwhore kisses the lead singer boy who wears eyeliner and makes me weak in my knees, Eric smiles with glitter on his face and eats an apple.

So my point? I dunno if I have one. But I do have a question. Why is Eric Roberts playing a voyueristic bordello pimp in two very different videos. One is hip hop pop and the other is rock? The two are not connected. It makes me feel weird. And dirty. And kind of scared.

Wanna know what scared me even more? VH1 puts the Mr. Brightside video on after the Monchichi video. I ran out of the room screaming NOOOOOOOO! NOT THE BORDELLO PIMP AGAIN!

As I peered from around the corner, I saw Mr. Roberts taking a bite out of an apple and smile and wink at me from the TV screen.

New dress

2005-03-12T19:08:00.000-05:00

Listening to: Yellow card
My Only One

No, I won't word all my entries with songs and whatnot. I just felt like it.

I got a new blog dress. You like it? I did all my own graphics. My own background. I just used the CSS and HTML stuff from the peeps at Not [that]ugly.

The baby is me. The bride is me. The high school geek photo... yep, me. And then there's just a pic of the now me. The weird 31 year old me. Oh, but the guy in the pic of me as a bride is not me... it's my husband. Ha ha.

I like the way it came out. I still have some odds and ends that are bothering me about it and I plan on adding more links for Sucia blogs and for art by Sis Art. But this will have to do until I tweak it up.

I spent most of my day on it because I am a geek.

Now that my site is clean, my house isn't. It looks like a fucking hurricane ran through. I am also bitchy towards everyone in my house. I want to be alone. LEAVE ME ALONE. YOU HEATHENS! YOU DAMNED BLOOD SUCKERS! YOU SUCK MY SOUL!

There. I feel better.

Not really.

Oh well.

Nothing a new dress can't cure.

What the hell?

2005-03-11T17:08:00.000-05:00

WTF is up with blogger and comments?

I swear, I really need to get my own domain. But being the poor ass that I be, well, that ain't gonna be for sometime. So I guess I have to deal with the problems it has from time to time.

I tried to leave my Sucia Desiree a comment, and I couldn't! Napoleana! If you are reading this, YO I TRIED TO LEAVE YOU A COMMENT. SOMETHING SILLY AND ABOUT CHICKEN TALONS. But, I guess I will try later. "Isa a sledgehammer."

My daughter is having her first overnight friend stayover. Does that make sense?

Anyhow, her friend, my best friend's daughter, is staying over. Lot's of WEEEEEEEEEEE! GIGGGGLEEEE!!!! TEEE HEEEE! Laughing and giggling. It's adorable. It's like they are teenagers already. That is scary. It was yesterday when they were three years old barely out of diapers. Why does time fly?

This night reminded me of my first stay over. I was six, too. I also remember it was a big slumber party. And I remember I also cussed everyone out. Everyone was giggling and talking when we were supposed to be asleep, and I used my first big word... "serious".

Me: "Shut the hell up! I am serious! GO TO SLEEP!"
Everyone "SHUT UP MARI!"
A girl: "She said she is cereal! HEE HEE!"
Me: "I said SERIOUS IDIOT, not cereal! Bunch of assholes."

Yea. I was kind of a control freak. I was bossy.

I am so glad I changed.

(giggle tee hee....)

2005-03-10T12:45:00.000-05:00

Silly Thought of the day

I am sitting here, thinking about how much baby bottle liners
resemble condoms.

Talk amongst ya selves.

Silly action of the day

Is it bad that I had my mother in law sneak me over 6 homemade chocolate chip cookies this morning? And that I am eating them with my hand over my mouth around the corner from my son? And also, that by the time Mya comes home, there will be none to share?

They ate almost half a batch yesterday. I deserve goodies too, godamnit.

Talk amongst ya selves.

eh.

2005-03-09T22:32:00.000-05:00

eh.

Nothing much going on.

It's really cold here. Like 10 degrees or lower. I hate winter.
I am sick of winter. I am really really ready for it to be warm.

My friend and I were discussing seasons here in Ohio. We realized, that with winter and all the cold months, that we literally only have about 3 months of actual warm, good enough to go outside days. 90 fucking days. That's about it. I am just realizing this after living here for 31 years.

I wonder how high the depression rate is in Ohio, and how much of that depression rate is attributed to the seasons being so fucking shitty.

I like Ohio and all. But man alive, I want some sunshine. I got about ten minutes worth yesterday morning and felt like a new person. WTF is that all about?

Other stuff...

I went to Chuck E. Cheese yesterday with my oldest son. Just me and him. I had so much fun, watching my son have fun. He is so sweet. He is so happy. His big brown eyes and his long eyelashes. He was running around so much he was out of breath and his cheeks were apple red.

I realized as a mother of three, that I have to try and do this with all three of them as much as possible. To take them out alone with just me or their dad so that they can enjoy us alone.

I can't wait to see him run around this summer and be all apple cheeked and red and dirty and sweaty and having fun chasing fire flies with his sister. While the baby sits on a blanket and giggles.

Where is the sunshine Mother Nature?

Venturing out

2005-03-05T12:30:00.000-05:00

Venturing out

I am about to venture out into the cold air of Ohio and take my chilren's to the library.

I promised them three nights ago, if they took their medicine and went to bed, we would and I quote "Mommy will take you both to the library! Won't that be fun!?" they responded "YAY!!! LIBRARY!!!!".

To my surprise, they both took it and went straight to sleep.

So of course, they marked today on their tiny little mental calendars, and when I woke up this early morn, they were both in my face.

Mya: "MOM!!!!!!!! TODAY! Today we go to the library!"
Keifer: "LI-BRA-REEEEEEEEEEEE"
Both of them in unison: "YAAYYYYYY?"
Me: "ooga. huh?" rubs eyes. wakes. gets coffee.

I am still in my pajamas. They, including the baby, are all naked. with diapers and underwear. They look like village babies.

They keep screaming "LIBRAREEEEEEEEEEEE!" as if it's the secret word of the day, like on the Pee Wee Herman show.

"Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!". Then the baby screams because he has to chime in as well. "AHHHH AHHHHH MUM!"

I need to get motivated. I promised them. But I can't move. I am still drinking coffee. I have to get them all dressed, not sure if I am going to walk there in the brisk winter air, or if my husband will drop us off, which would require me dressing another individual. He said he didn't mind. But I might, I don't wanna dress 4 people including myself. I think the stroller and the feet will have to do. I can't dress one more person.

Once we get there, I will juggle the two older ones as my husband gets to sit at home with the baby and relax in quiet. Lucky man. I owe it to him after he has been home all week, trying to relax during his much awaited vacation. He hasn't had a full week off in the 6 years he has worked his fingers off. And instead of relaxation, the man has helped me juggle the three chilrens, taking the baby to the doctor twice this week, helping out with laundry, cooking, cleaning, letting me sleep in until 1 o'clock on my birthday. I know he deserves this day with the baby and nothing else.

It won't be so bad. My kids love books, they love to read, they need to get out of the house and get air, and maybe when we get back they won't be eating each other's flesh and actually be tamed for a little while.

Then we can all have a nice dinner, which is simmering in the crock pot as I speak. My homemade BBQ shredded pork. I make my own sauce and everything. We put it on buns and eat it with slaw or with mac salad. I love my crock pot. It's from heaven.

So, as I venture forth into this cold world, with two kids in tow, going to the library (YAY!), keep me in mind. Send me good vibes, that we all make it back alive.
hee hee.

Library! Yay!

Killing me softly

2005-03-05T01:34:00.000-05:00

Killing me softly

Remember that song? I am not talking about the Fugee's version. That one made me have hemmoroids. I'm talking about the one way back when, like when I wore pigtails. Like in early 1990's. Remember Al B. Sure? Yea, that version.

Anyhow, as nice as it would be to hear that I did a google search on Ol' Al.. who is probably all fat and hairy these days, this entry is not about Al.

I found a new group that is up and coming. I saw the video and was drawn in. Not just because I am a visual person, but because I liked how it sounded. Almost 80's like, and very haunting. Their name is The Killers. And if they are not very new to you, they are to me, ok? I am an old fart bag. Remember?

The fact that I heard them again on Regis and Kelly, whom I watch in the mornings because there isn't anything else on and I like Regis' funky lil sweet ass, had been a reminder to myself to check out their site and get their CD.

When my sister in law came over to play with the kids tonight, I asked her "DO you know about some new group called the Killers?" She looked at me sideways and goes "How did you know about them? I love them." As if I knew about some secret society. I felt like a dork. A big dork. She looked at me sideways.

I go "I like them. I like their song Mr. Brightside. Do you have anything by them?" she goes "yea, I can burn you some, want me to?" Of course I do, young whipper snapper. She seemed like she would be doing me some huge favor by helping out the dork in me.

Then I said "they have a distinct 80's sound." She goes "yes, that they do, I love it
!" Let me tell you, She was born in 1988. She acts as if she can remember the year and the decade. I love it. I love her. She is going to help me stay undorky even at 31.

Check out the Killers... they be Killing me, man. They are hot young lads as well. Little young hot, whipper snappers.
the Killers

Do it.

2005-03-03T00:27:00.000-05:00

Do it.

I am angry right now.

Someone I love and hold very dear to me was hurt tonight. Made to feel as if they weren't good enough. Was made to question their ability as an artist.

I want to throw things and make people vanish.

What makes me the most angry is, that this person has enormous talent. This person has more talent than they realizes. Their form of craft is unique. It has promise. And they were made to question that. To question their own ability to create.

They were made to feel as if they were not good enough.

As artists, no matter what your craft, be it writing a book, painting, acting, etc., you feel pressured to measure up. Measured up in your own mind. Even if your talent is enormous, you bare your soul, and you put yourself out there, and baring yourself can be brutal. Almost violating. No, not almost, it can be.

I might be talking out of my ass because I am angry. And when I am angry I don't make sense. All I know is that my friend has enormous talent at what they do. I don't want my friend to give up. This person inspires me. I believe tremendously in this person's ability to perform as a great artist.

I believe in you. So do it.

Dirty One

2005-03-01T01:16:00.000-05:00

Dirty One

I am thirty one. Or, as I like to say it, Dirty One.

At the stroke of midnight I thought I would glow all glittery and look radiant and feel that "happy birthdayness" we all used to feel as kids.
But I ain't a kid no more.

Thirty was cool. Novelty age. Thirty one feels like something different. Why?

Man, where did time go? I remember just turning 21 and getting so drunk I passed out. And I remember clubbing in my early twenties and being a complete moron and in a total self destructive mode in all areas of my life. "Weeeeeeeeee! I have no responsibilities!!!! I can self destruct! WEeeeee!"

And then I remember one day, I was a MOM. A mom. Now I am a mom, with three kids. How did that happen?

Don't answer that, smart ass.

I feel old. Washed up. Saggy. I use Olay cream to banish off the evil crows feet that are hanging out in the rafters, waiting to attack me. Even though my husband says I look young ( yea, he hasn't even turned 30 yet!) And my little girl says "Mommy you are young! Not old! You will be 41 in ten years! I will be 16!" Gee thanks baby girl. I can hardly wait for THAT.

People, nice people, have said I look 10 years younger than I am. Thanks nice people. I appreciate your kind words. They make me feel better.

But I still feel old. It's not about how I look. I feel old.

This entry makes no sense.

See!? I am already not making sense.

Again, I wanted to write a meaningful entry about something sentimental, and I can't. It's not happenin'.

I need sleep.

The baby has a COLD. The pediatrician told me to do what I am already doing. Because it's just a COLD.

I feel old and my baby has a cold. La dee da dee dee. My vagina is saggy and my eyes are big and baggy. La dee dee dee dee.

I want cake.

Mama didn't say

2005-02-28T15:34:00.000-05:00

Mama didn't say

... there'd be days like this. Where your baby is screaming and you don't know what is wrong.

Where you have been up all night with a total of 2 hours sleep, and your hair is bigger than texas because you have been sitting in a steam bath to help your baby breathe better.

That your husband's week off vacation to celebrate your 31st birthday, would be filled with a baby that has a spiking fever and won't eat because it hurts him.

That you would be running to the pediatrician's office, with sick baby in tow and big nasty matted hair and bags that look like luggage under your eyes, in a practical walking coma, hoping PRAYING that your baby will maybe sleep tonight.

My baby is sick. And when my babies are sick, I feel ten times worse than they do. Because I wish I had a magical potion to make them smiley and shiney again.

Off to the Ped. Hopefully they can diagnose Ryan, so he and I can both get sleep. Before I turn 31 tomorrow and find grey hairs on my head.

St. Shaggy of Scooby

2005-02-26T00:25:00.001-05:00

St. Shaggy of Scooby

My children have a bad habit of peeling paint.
It's something that irritates me beyond belief.

While cleaning the other day, I realized that they had peeled the paint off of the area on my bedroom door, that once was a small little nick.
As I stared at it, it looked familiar.
What was that?
Better yet, WHO was that?

I saw this...

And my God, it was the image of Shaggy from Scooby Doo.
St. Shaggy of Scooby I call him.

I even made up a prayer I say to him at night, after laying flowers in front of him and blessed Santo candles:

Oh, St. Shaggy of Scooby
Bring to me the holiest of mysteries.
Help me to understand your hair on
your chin.
And bring the lord baby Jesus, within.
Amen.

Should I let people come and see the St. Shag? Should I call the local networks and tell them I have the holiest of mysteries on my bedroom door? Should I remove the door and put it on Ebay?

I'm going to hell, ain't I?

Uh huh.

2005-02-24T19:24:00.000-05:00

Uh huh

WHO: Bird flu is imminent.

And we all thought I was in need of stronger mental drugs.

Start building those crystal bubbles people.

::Mariposa runs off screaming::

More interesting entry to come later. When I have time, and when I can gather me thoughts together in me head.

No mushy

2005-02-22T22:16:00.000-05:00

No mushy

I met my husband eight years ago today.

During a blind date I almost didn't go to. But my hair was acting good that night. So, I went.

Lots of love, blah blah blah. Good sex, blah blah blah. I love you, blah blah blah. Will you marry me? Blah blah blah, pretty baby girl, blah blah blah. Gorgeous baby boy, blah blah blah. Sad stuff, blah blah blah. Gorgeous second baby boy again blah blah blah. Eight years later.

The rest is history.

I was going to write a big assed mushy post, worthy of mush awards. But I had a bad night. Filled with children chaos, hair, baby chaos, baby poop, hair, and a fried chicken gut that is bloated. And more random hair. I attempted to give The Girl's hair some layers. It looks good now, but I dunno what will happen by morning. Or better yet, when it grows out.

I don't feel good. I ate too much chicken.

And also, my brother called to tell me my mother has taken a turn for the worst. She's not dying, but I keep thinking she is. She has had the flu since friday and now is vomiting madly. So, now my brother who never freaks about anything, because he is cooooool- is freaking. Now, I am freaking. And wondering if she has something worse. She is also working while being sick, because she just started a job so she can't call off kinda thing- and so she comes home heaving and hysterical. And a few minutes ago, I heard half of a newscast that said something about a possible epidemic of the bird flu, so now of course, I think my mother has the bird flu. And also my kids are going back into crystal bubbles. Because the newscast said something about plague like proportions possible and a 72% mortality rate, and that my county has had plans since 9-11 to set up vaccination areas in schools and to vaccinate 20,000 people at a time. And then the last shot they showed on the newscast was a snowy cemetary with violins and organs playing. So, now, I got terrorists in our backyards in my mind that planted the bird flu and we are all gonna die. And also, since we all ate chicken for dinner, we are gonna be one of the firsts. Why don't they give out the vaccinations before it gets to epidemic proportions? And then I start to freak, and my husband reminds me that I only saw half of the newscast and that, in particular, that station likes to run news stories as if they are soap operas.

How is that for a bad run on sentence/paragraph/freak out?

So, yea. That's why I don't feel romantic tonight.

Paris has yo numbah

2005-02-21T17:41:00.000-05:00

Paris has yo numbah

Did you hear about Paris Hilton's cell getting hacked into over this weekend?

Not that you would care, neither did I. But, my husband was reading one of his Sports boards and they had a link to the site that had the numbers and email addresses. Interesting. I was giggling.

Eminem? Giggle! Vin Diesle? Giggle snort! Ashlee and Jessica Simpson? Giggle snort guffaw!!

Many more actors and actresses, Benny Medina, Mr. Iovene. Some interesting people. I wish I coulda jotted those down. Because today when I came back on they were gone. DAMNIT! DAAAAYAAAM!

Not that I would call Eminem. What would I say to him? You are washed up? I heard your peter was small from some chick in the Enquirer? Or what about Jessica Simpson? "YOU SUCK ASS HAIR!"? What would you say to these people? And then there is the fact that you are invading someone's privacy.

I mean, they are people, too. That must have sucked. I heard they all got about 300 to 400 calls in one day. Eminem and Vin changed their numbers. And one unamed actress screamed "Why would she put my phone number in her cell phone!?? I mean come ON!??" I dunno, unnamed actress. All I know is, if anyone meets Paris "spoiled brat" Hilton, don't give her your phone number. Or email address. She is careless.

I wonder... in there, there was a code name for someone. Who the fuck is Eggplant Dike? I guess we will never know.

Sister Sledge

2005-02-19T14:22:00.000-05:00

Sister Sledge

Hi everyone.

I don't know if I ever told you about my very talented, and very wonderful friend Sis. I know I have mentioned her in our "adventures in beer and wings". But I don't ever think I told you about her amazing talent.

She is doing some art that is going to be featured in an art exhibition during mother's day. I can't tell you how friggin proud I am of her!

She is not only by best and only friend, but she is a real inspiration to me. She has really come out of her little shell and decided that it's time to show the world how much talent and creativity she has.

It's not easy for us mom's to come out and show the world what we are made of. We spend so much time and dedication into creating little pieces of wonder that we call our children. But, when it comes to showing our own talent we sort of clam up, and feel like children ourselves and can't really let it all out.

Well, Sis is BUSTING OUT!

Please check her artwork out.

Love you Sis Trini!

La Sucias

2005-02-18T23:27:00.000-05:00

La Sucias

I have to tell you about what happened to me.

Last week, I wrote a fan letter of sorts, to Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez. She is an author that I have recently discovered.

I truly love her writing. So, I decided to write her a letter.

I did not, expect her to write back. I didn't even expect her to read it.

She did both. And then some.

She wrote me back a letter, that I now put in my current book, (a book written by her of course) as a bookmark. And also, because I could not believe that she was so nice, and so encouraging.

She then invited me to meet other women in an online group. A group that includes incredibly talented, artistic, creative and inspiring women of all backgrounds.

I feel so freaking lucky I can't explain.

I am surrounded by all these awe-inspiring women. And here is little ol' me with my blog.

And they are READING MY WORDS. My silly little, yet insanely loud self. My bad wording, grammar, and my freaking (I said freaking!)dirty mouthed words.

I made a promise to myself, just the day before I wrote Alisa. And that was to be honest to myself and to just show people what I am made of. To let them see the good and the bad, and just, to be myself.

And so you see, when I did just that, and I wrote her that letter, I opened up a whole new world of new places and people that I had yet to see. Not only because I was inspired by her, but because she saw something in me to invite me to get to know her and them.

I know I am just a mom. That sits here daily and writes about the goings on in my little family.

But an author, who writes novels, and is on the New York Times Bestseller list, said nice things about my writing. And linked people to my writing. Even if it does just talk about diapers and baby food, and my silly little life.

It must be something about the way I write, that makes people read me. And that is enough to give me that push and give myself credit, and maybe do something I always wanted to do.

Thank You.

The Myth

2005-02-16T13:11:00.000-05:00

If you are a mother... whether working mother, stay at home mother, work at home mother. Read this article. I found it very interesting.

Sometimes we feel so alone. Until others come out and confess, or as this articles author, has realized.

We can't do it all. No matter how much we want to. And sometimes we need someone to write something in order for us to get into our thick skulls.

I'm Blessed

2005-02-15T14:16:00.000-05:00

I'm Blessed

This is why I am smiling today:

How could I not be?

Demon Seeds

2005-02-15T10:31:00.000-05:00

Demon Seeds

Remember Potty McPothead my neighbor?

They live above us? Yea, them.

Last night, I was having a good night. The boy went to sleep on the dot at 8 p.m. The girl was being good, so I let her watch Aladdin on Disney in her bed and she went to sleep on the dot after it was done. She turned off her T.V on her own, gave me kisses and went to sleep.

By 9:30 I was reading my book, relaxing with the hubs. Babies asleep. All was good.

Then there's Potty McPothead and his woman Alchoholic Bitch Whore's kids. Their son threatens Potty supposedly by saying "When I grow up I am going to blow your head off." At least that's what Potty tells me and the hubby when we happen to run into him in the basement doing laundry. I always make it quick when I run into Potty. He gives me more TMI than I can handle.

Anyhow, lately, he and his wife/woman/baby mama or whatever you wanna call her, are not getting along. Lemme rephrase that, not getting along for 2 weeks UNTIL the night before Valentine's, when I heard them humping.

So, we have Potty and ABW and their kids. They have a little girl who is 3 and she has a room above my boy's room. She used to go to bed on time, until they started fighting at night. Now she wont sleep.

She was running. And making dinosaur noises. Until midnight. She woke up both of my boys. THREE TIMES.

She is demon.

I am patient. I like to think I am a nice neighbor. I let the drunken fight nights they have, go- by not calling the police.

I even let ABW use my dryer once or twice when hers was broken. She and I also trade clothes for the kids. I give her The Girl's older stuff for her demon seed, and she gives me her boy demon seeds clothes for my boy. I even got a bargain of shit from her before the Baby was born at her baby yard sale.

But this shit has to stop. I feel like I got NO SLEEP WHATSOEVER.

I like my sleep.

I hope they like theirs. Because today I am being extra loud.

Them heathen assed vampires. If this doesn't give me a kick in my ass to buy a house in the country I don't know what will.

Do heathen assed vampires live in the country?

He [hearts] me

2005-02-14T12:38:00.002-05:00

He [hearts] me

My husband hearts me.

I have to show you and tell you what he got me, because it was so sweet the way he did it. So funny, so him.

I was going to get him an Xbox last week. I was going to be sneaky about it. But decided one day to tell him to go buy it. Which he did. Now I wished I could have surprised him the way he did me.

He comes into the kitchen yesterday after a long trip to the grocery store. Hands me only a CVS bag and goes " Everywhere you go, Valentine's Day this and Valentine's Day that... blahh blahhhh blahhhh...." with a scowl on his face.

Yea, I was like, "what's crawled up his bum?".

I opened the CVS bag to get whatever is in it. I was expecting donuts from the grocery store bakery, damnit. Why didn't he go to the bakery? And where are the groceries?

In the CVS bag, along with cough drops and other toiletries... is a jewelry box.

"What's this?" I go.

"Huh? Open it. I dunno..." he says with that shit eating grin of his that is famous.

My daughter went with him and is standing there with her tongue on the side of her mouth. "Open it MOOOOOM!!!!"

I open it and there is the most gorgeous diamond heart pendant ever. With a necklace. "IS THIS REAL? ARE THESE DIAMONDS? OH MY GOD!" I started to cry. I hugged him so tight. "It's not from CVS baby!" he laughs. And my daughter is standing there giggling and clapping her hands.

I keep crying. I can't see. My eyes are flooded.

You see, we never really get to do things for each other. We never have extra money to get things when holidays come. And they usually go with the children being spoiled rotten and us sitting there being happy we could provide them with their dreams. But lately, we have been blessed. Blessed enough to buy each other things, and you forget how special it feels when you can buy someone you love something.

"I wanted to do something nice for you. I wanted to show you how much I love you. I love you, Mari." Said the handsome man.

He doesn't have to show me anything. He has done that by being by my side for 8 years as of the 22nd of this month. For helping me bring three beautiful babies into this world. And for working so hard to provide us with things.

I love him. I love him more than ever. And not because he bought me diamonds. Because he gave me a heart. He gave me his heart 8 years ago, in another shape other than baguette shaped.

I love you Keith.

And yea, be bought me donuts, too.

LOOK HOW IT GLITTERS, SO! Ok... I animated it...