sweet 16 and preggers

Today is the awesome day of the "16 and Pregnant" marathon on MTV. Some of the episodes I have seen but I watching them again to just remind me that I should never have kids even though I'm almost twice as old as some of these... um, girls. I have a pretty good recollection of what I was like when I was sixteen, and even on a bad day I wasn't as clueless and hopeless as these people.

Cue the strange baby dream. I never blogged about the crazy ass dream I had actually being pregnant and then doing the birthings. Yeah, that was enough to fuck me up 4 life and even actually made me think about what it would be like to even WANT a baby. Yeah, that lasted for, like, five minutes and then I had to get on the phone to call my mom and tell her to NEVER let me have damn kids.

I don't know what universe these teenagers on this show are living in, but once that baby comes they are all on the same rocket back to the reality on earth. Three a.m. diaper changes, money for formula, giving up friends and social lives... How could these simple things not figure into a bitch's mind? Ahhh, the joys of judging people without being in their shoes. However, having common sense has always been my downfall. An important point being, I could never betray my parents like that. There is no way I could ever let my mother down especially after watching her struggle to raise me and my brother all by herself for the first 12 years of my life.

Now, the most critical part. How could these girls ever expect to provide for their babies? It pisses me off hardcore that they think they could ever give a newborn all of the love, affection, and attention that it takes to raise a successful child in this day and age. Hello,baby. Goodbye, mommy's wants and needs. Now get home and take care of that kid, before he rob me in 15 years.

on this st. patrick's day

I was visited by a Jehovah's Witness. Ed had his life threatened. I saw a dear, old friend. Met a interesting bagpiper at an Italian restaurant. Watched Ed tear up at the sound of live pipes.

Most importantly, Ed. I received a somber phone call from Ed saying that some freak at work who we thought was our friend ended up saying something about "a bullet with his name on it." Talk about way outta left field. The saddest thing was that Ed was more concerned with what he had done to illicit such a response from someone who he had always treated with kindness rather than actually being scared for his life. The man never ceases to amaze me. And on St. Patrick's Day of all days. My poor Irishman couldn't have handled it better and I know that the Lord was with him; I can only hope that he draws strength from His constant presence.

A perfect segway. Enter Jehovah's Witness. There is also nothing more callous than having your faith challenged in the door to your own home. While I am always eager to hear about other religions, the discussion should never trivialize what another denomination believes. Especially during a special time such as Lent. Of course, Catholicism and Christianity has its faults, the good far outweighs the bad and I'll be damned if someone tries to claim that their faith is good and pure and all others are false and untrue.

Bagpipes remind Ed of his father.

super happy lucky time

Today, I was coming home from walking Banjo Eyes and as I was opening my front door I couldn't help but think how lucky I am. And on so many levels. Sometimes I feel like I'm not worthy of everything of have and then there are those other times when I feel like I don't have all that I deserve. Isn't that every woman though? I'm sure there's a bumper sticker to that effect...

I'm lucky that I have a roof over my head. A very nice one, at that. I have two bedrooms, a huge living room, a dining room for those nights that I never entertain and the sweetest of modern bathrooms with timer switches. I can tell that its too much room for me because I have trouble keeping it clean. Plus I'm fucking lazy most days so that can't be helping much. Banjo Eyes has grass and I have three rooms in which to surf the interwebs and watch televsion. Life is good.

I'm lucky that I fucking live in America and not some shithole country where I would most surely have contributed to the infant mortality rate long ago. I'm super grateful that there is always plenty to eat, I don't have polio or have to wake up every morning and worry about kicking Nazi ass. This is a great time and place in which I live no matter how much I wish I had been born eighty years ago.

I am most humble when I thank God for the people in my life. I certainly don't know what I ever did to deserve Ed in my life, but it must have been awesome because he is the best thing that the Lord has ever blessed me with. I do love him so... And I don't want to think about what's going to happen to me without him.

Tomorrow Banjo Eyes goes for a haircut and a bath and we've come a long way from the $15 dollars that we paid back in Butte for such doggy services. By some dumb luck and another smile from Jesus I have money from Sherry to pay for it which is surely going to cost an arm and a leg for his Eastside hipster puppy pampering.

Since God is the only reader I have for my blog, this is my thank you letter for Him.

chocolate boy

I now own the most expensive weenie dog in Glendale. $1500 bucks later and two sleepless days, Banjo Eyes is chocolate Balance Bar free. Not to mention, free of the wrappers that at one point in time contained said Balance Bars. The lesson to be learned is that I can't trust my dog any further than I can throw him. He's one shady little fucker. I should have known this back in Montana when I adopted him in a room full of felines and then when I got him home, he made sure that my poor cat spent her last days cornered in the laundry room, her little paws to never touch the floor again.

With that being said, nothing is ever to be stored on the kitchen or dining room tables again. He's also opened my backpack on more than one occasion to eat what I had taken to school as a snack, neglected to consume and only to be reminded of it when I walk in and see him eating more chocolate. So yes, it is my own fault and if it weren't for Ed and Sherry, I wouldn't have had the means to have him treated. Thank the Lord for them. Amen.

His little legs are shaved where they had administered the IV and attached the electrode to monitor his heart rate. His butt was also clipped to prevent his poop from sticking to his fur as he battled it out with the chocolate toxins and the charcoal made to make him puke and crap.

I'm pretty sure I should never have children.

started to read

After months of waiting for the right time to start "The Heroin Diaries" by Nikki Sixx, I just jumped in. I figured there wasn't ever going to be a good time and since it is put together in way that you can read one page or one entry, its easy to pick up and put down. If you can do it, that is. I've already read about 50 pages since I started yesterday and its the most amazing book I've just about seen. I've never seen a memoir like it. Filled with pages as black as the heroin that held Nikki hostage for so long, and saturated with red spatter like oxygenated blood.

Addiction sucks. Its something I know too much of all too well. Hurt by my own excesses but hurt more by those in my family. Growing up with one addict was unbearable. Living with two full-blown addicts was my hell on earth. Not one day went by that I didn't hide in my room from alcohol, yelling, disappointment, the thud of drunks falling down the stairs in the middle of the night and not having a normal life where I could have the company of friends in my own house. The worst part about addiction is that when its over, it never is really over. Its an hourly, daily, weekly struggle to keep going in the face of one's demons, past, inadequacies or whatever weakness. Even when you're clean and sober, the past is still the past and sometimes, that's the most difficult part to recover from. Not the drugs, not the alcohol. Healing the wounds caused by actions, words, non-actions, words not spoken... That's the trick.

Nikki says that his book is meant to help anyone brave enough to pick it up and walk through his hell, even if its just one person. I can't imagine having that much courage to stand naked with my entire soul bared for the whole world to see. But isn't that the strangest? Its okay for someone in their addiction to shoot drugs with dirty needles, get so drunk that you puke in front of strangers, get beligerent and disrespect others after too much whiskey, but being honest and speaking of one's shortfalls with respect to drugs and alcohol, well, that's just too much. Its all backwards in this society.

Telling people to fuck off, this is me, take it or leave it. You don't have to be fucked up to party and have fun. What could be more rock and roll than that?