What a Load of Crap

I don't know when my issues with poo started.  I never had a scary experience as a child or any such thing.  But I do have this strange issue with poo particles.

Let me explain first by saying that poo particles are the tiny pieces of poop either left places by people's hands, feet, butts, or by flushing.  I could continue to go on, but then you all might think I am crazy for how many ways I can come up with poo being spread about.

I have a strict rule that the seat is always down when you flush, that hands are ALWAYS washed.  And I will call you out on that (pardon my pun) shit if we are in a restroom together and you do not wash your hands.  I don't care if you are a stranger or not, that is just wrong.

I already have a huge issue trying to figure out in what order to do things in a public bathroom, because I don't want to exit the stall with my pants undone, but I don't want to touch the button on my pants until I wash my hands either.  Or the waistband.  Have any of you ever thought about how gross those two things must be?

I think I have already posted about this.  Because I remember having to say that I know that poop is everywhere.  I do.  I just like to minimize it's existence in any way I can.

With all of that said, I now have another issue at work.  They have now closed our bathrooms to the public.  I know what you are thinking, "but, Sara, isn't that a good thing?  Doesn't that mean less stranger poop?"  You wouldn't be entirely wrong, even though it is an office building and there are a good number of employees, but the number of poopers hitting those seats every day will be less.  The issue is that now they are locked, now we have a key.

A poop key.

Let me say that again, a POOP KEY.

I am a freak.  I will always make sure that this key does not go into the stall with me.  But I don't think the average Joe or Joann will really think about it.  They will bring it into the stall, use the bathroom, then pick the key back up BEFORE washing their hands.

Oh my God, my heart is beating so fast just thinking about it.  As a matter of fact, I got sick with a stomach thing I have not had an issue with in MONTHS last week, and now I'm starting to wonder if someone's poop is to blame.

Son of a bitch.

I would say that I could just try to not use the bathrooms at work, but I do work two ten hour shifts a week, so that might be a little hard on my bladder.  I am so screwed.

Hug those babies, wash those hands, and for Christ's sake, limit the poo!

I'm Doing the Roxbury Guys Head Bob Right Now

I have been seriously missing from the Internet for a little while.  Not even checking facebook or even playing Bejeweled.  I don't know why I do this, usually it has to do with an overwhelming feeling of needing to be social.  Or more accurately not being able to be that social.  Responding to comments and facebook messages, emails and IMs starts to get really exhausting to me and so I pretend I am in high school and the Internet does not exist in my house.  Remember those days?  Those relaxing yet seriously lacking in information days?

Anyway, the reason I am saying that is to say that I may over post today.  I have had a few things in my head and thought, well, why the heck not?  I can sit here on my porch and type away!  No need to waste the sunshine or the urge to write!

While reading some of the posts I have missed while away, I read this little post by Red, and it got me to thinking.

What is love?

I had already been thinking about love because of this couple that came into my work a couple of weeks ago.  They are regular customers (as in they renew their tabs at our office once a year) and I remember meeting them for the first time last March.  He is ill.  I am not sure what is wrong.  But he is wheelchair bound, has difficulty speaking and cannot write.

He seemed much worse this year than last.

His wife cares for him.  She is so delicate and loving, attentive and sensitive to his needs.  You may be thinking, this is the saddest thing EVER, Sara, just stop writing.  But the thing is, as sad as it is that she will lose him soon, the humor in which they deal with their situation is SO DAMN BEAUTIFUL!  


He informed me that he doesn't expect to be around after the end of the summer, and then he asked me what she would need to do in order to change their car into just her name.  I laid out their options.  Explaining that whichever way they went, the process should be fairly simple for her, but that in any case we would need a copy of his death certificate.  We then moved on to other subjects.  One of which being that the voting commission did not approve the X he used as a signature.

Wife:  They didn't like your X?

Husband:  Nope, said I needed to have it witnessed.

Wife:  That was a damn good X.

Husband:  I know.

Wife:  Did they want it bigger?

Husband:  (laughter)  We better go.  So, when I am gone, you'll have to (more laughter) bring in my headstone for her to see.

Wife:  How about your ashes?

Husband:  You should accidentally spill them on her desk.

Me:  Yes, you should try and make it as uncomfortable for your title clerk as possible.

Wife:  Should I spill it in an X?  Then we can give him...no I shouldn't say it.  (she leans in and whispers) A blow job?

We all three bust up laughing.  I can feel the heat rising to my forehead.

Husband:  That is a good color on you, sweetheart!

Me:  Oh.  My.  God.  My face hurts from laughing.


As they leave, I start to cry.  It was just the most beautiful showing of true love I have ever seen.  It got me to thinking, would Jero and I hold on to our inappropriate senses of humor in the same situation?

I got to thinking then about something someone once said to me about love.  He told me that I didn't know what love was.  That I was just constantly searching for a father figure.  I remember being really upset by his words, and carrying them through years of my life wondering if he was right.

You see, this man was an old friend and an old boyfriend.  We met in grade school and dated on and off for years.  When I was about 20 I told him that I loved him.  We were not dating at the time, just really close friends.  He responded with the above words.

I realized, years later, that he was lashing out because he was worried about hurting me by not loving me in return.  Thing is, I think I would have handled that better than going years thinking I had love all wrong.  I kept thinking that there was something wrong with me because I often developed those types of feelings for my friends.  Male or female.  Gay or straight.  I often found myself wondering about what a romantic relationship might be like with the people I had built a close bond with.

I dated a few women in my late teens, and had one boyfriend the first year out of school who I knew to be gay.  He had just broken up with his long time boyfriend and I think the time spent together and the familiarity became very comfortable for us both.  I have never been one to discriminate based on sex or sexual preference.

I know being physical is a big part of grown up relationships.  We are all driven by our instincts, after all.  But I also believe, like in the case of this couple in my office whose physical relationship has obviously drastically changed, that a romantic bond can be built and later maintained without sex in a conventional sense.

I find it so soothing to think that when Jero and I get old we will have the ability to surprise each other in different ways that do not necessarily have to do with the bedroom.  I love the idea that we will always be able to make each other laugh.  That we will continuously be able to find new topics to discuss.



Without Jero, life would be so BORING.  Who wants that?  And were he different than he is in any way, I don't know if I would be able to call him my best friend.  That type of connection takes the perfect storm of traits.  To be able to find a physical attraction, I must first find an emotional one.

I guess that makes me one giant girl.

The whole point of this was to say, what do you think is YOUR most important foundation for a soul mate?  We are all different, and I am not nearly naive enough to think that everyone out there will agree with this.  Maybe that ex of mine had it right.  Maybe I didn't know what love was.  For him.


Hug those babies, find laughter through tears, and enjoy every damn moment you can.  

Who Have I Become?

I started this post a couple of weeks ago. It is not going to be funny, and I wasn't going to post it at all. Then I read a post by my awesome reader Red, and found that I need to stop being afraid of what the truth may do to others, or myself. My family reads my blog, well, my big sister and her daughter, and I always worry that if I share how I am feeling about any of this I may hurt our relationship. Thing is, this has nothing to do with her or anyone else. I chose to do what I am doing and it is on nobody but me. So, with that said, on to what I need to say.

Today started out horribly. This post is going to be extremely personal. I completely understand if you stop reading now, or feel so uncomfortable later you decide to avoid my blog like the plague. I have decided, however, that I need to have a place to say these things or else things like this morning happen and I find myself so disgusted by my actions that I no longer want to know me.

Can I unfriend myself on facebook?

I woke up this morning, took my shower, got dressed and tested my blood sugar. I then realized that the reason it took me nearly forty minutes to do those things was because I had a blood sugar of 30. For those of you who don't know, I should be running between 80 and 180. For those of you who do know, I'm sure you're thinking, "good grief, girl, how did you not know you were that low?"

Thing is, when you have juvenile Diabetes and were diagnosed at such a young age, you tend to lose the ability to gauge your own sugar levels. I often feel great when I'm running 70, and horrible at 130. My body just doesn't understand that running 70 may feel good, but it doesn't leave me much time before I'm so low I can't function.

Normally, a sugar level that low would keep an average Diabetic from doing anything. They'd be on their face, babbling like an idiot, needing someone to help them feed themselves. But because I can't tell when I'm low, I just felt slightly low. Except for the fact that my temper was out of control.

I have always said really mean things when I'm low. I can hear myself, and in my head I am screaming, "shut up, you stupid ho!" But my mouth just keeps going.

I have been having serious issues with my current living situation. I feel extremely resentful of having to take care of my mother. I understand this makes me sound like a horrible person. I feel like a horrible person. But I do think there are some circumstances that make my feelings somewhat valid.

I raised myself. A lot of the time I raised myself while taking care of my mom. My dad died when I was ten. My brothers and sisters were out of the house and it went from a family of eight to a family of two.

My mom then had to work a lot to support me, and later, when she was dating, she often wasn't home for nights on end. I either took care of myself or stayed with a string of friends who basically saved my life.

She would leave cash or blank checks for bills. I'd ride my bike to the grocery store and buy what I could carry. My sister stayed at the house for a short time, and it was the first time in years that I felt like I was surrounded by my own family. Not that my friends's families didn't make me feel loved and accepted. They absolutely did, but it's different when it's not your home. It's not the same when you're sleeping on a couch or a floor or sharing a bed with your friend.

I would even take family vacations with my friends and their families. Anything so I wouldn't have to be alone.

Sometimes, my mom would plan a party for her friends and then not show up. I'd be left with a bunch of middle aged women, playing bunko in my living room while I played hostess instead of my mom. None of them ever offered to help me, none of them ever asked if I was okay.

I'm not saying my mom didn't love me. She did. I know that. I just think she had no clue how to be a single parent.

Often I am told that I was spoiled, never having a curfew, never being grounded, getting a car before I graduated. The thing is, there was nobody there to enforce a curfew or grounding, and I had to be able to get myself from one place to another. I wasn't spoiled. I was abandoned.

These things are not exaggerations. I even had my own rooms at some of my friends' houses. That is how often I was there. One family built me a room, bought me a bed and dresser, clothes and shoes. School supplies. I was like a foster child without being a part of the system.

I love my mom. I do. But I feel so angry that I am being expected to give up my privacy and the time a couple has when they are young to bond and connect because she has nowhere else to go. I get so angry that she can't get her shit figured out and be an adult. I had to grow up so young. I want and deserve to spend my thirties focused on my family and my future.

You all might be thinking, "but why can't you do that? Why can't you focus on yourself?"

Sometimes I can, sometimes the drama is not so extreme. But most of the time, it's like raising a teenager.

Most of the time she sulks around the house if we haven't bought her diet pepsi. Most of the time she spends days on end without taking a shower. Most of the time she can be so mean towards me and about my life I spend hours in my bathroom crying.

Well, this morning, she came downstairs in the middle of me getting ready and said something snarky about my home. I lost it.

She went upstairs and I started screaming at the ceiling. I was so angry. I was crying and yelling. Telling the kitchen ceiling to just get the fuck out.

I give a friend a ride to work everyday. I am still so ashamed that this happened in front of her. I am so sorry, Em, for you having to be a witness to my stress on numerous occasions.

So, this is where I stopped writing the post. I decided I wasn't going to publish it and thought it best to just pretend it didn't exist.

I was so worried that day at work. Terrified to come home and face my mom. I was sure she heard everything and that there would be WWIII waiting for me. To my surprise she didn't hear a thing. I suppose it's possible she pretended not to hear a thing, but she isn't really that type of person.

I know she has nowhere to go. I know she cannot take care of herself even if she should be able to.

I know she loves me.

I know that I will only get my own life once she is no longer alive.

That feels disgusting to say. I have lost a parent. I know what that loss feels like. The hole it leaves inside a person. Thing is, I think that a part of me might be relieved when it happens.

Her depression is so bad. She has said that she has nothing to live for. She does not see her children or her grandchildren as anything special. Maybe she can't. Maybe the depression is just too deep to see through. I have experienced that before. It is so sneaky, and then so persistent.

I don't want to judge her. But I do. I really do. I know how that sounds, because I judge me for judging her. Ha! What a cycle. I want her to TRY and get better. I want her to WANT to get better. But she has been this way for nearly 22 years and I know that she won't.

She is so good at hiding it for short periods of time. She goes to see her other kids and she cooks and does dishes. She gets up at decent hours and takes showers every day. She doesn't sneak cigarettes in their houses or tell them they look dumpy in their clothes. That their hair is flat and dull. She smiles and laughs. She acts like a grandma.

I wish I got to see that person for myself or my son. I wish she would pretend with me for a month, a week, a day. But I haven't seen that mom in over two decades.

Because of this I find myself so angry. I want my life to be mine again, but I feel so guilty wanting that because I know what that means for her.

Every family has it's own unique dynamic. In my family, I have always been the fixer. I took on that role myself. I embraced it. It is nobody's fault but my own that I am now stuck with it. The problem is that it leaves little time to fix me.

I have worked so hard to come back from the last nine years. The loss of my son, the death of my marriage, the depression and anger that took over my life. I finally found happiness. I found a life and a way to build a family (strange and blended as it may be) and a career that I am good at. I found myself beneath all of that darkness and I pulled her out into the light.

Did you ever watch Joss Whedon's series Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Well there's this point where Buffy has come back from the dead (no spoiler alert necessary when it's been over five years right?) and she has a hard time dealing with the harshness of life after the beauty of heaven. I feel a little like that now.

I found this peace and then a grenade went off. But then I found that there are multiple grenades set to explode at random intervals and I just don't know how to predict them. I'm not smart enough to figure out what to say or what not to do. I am living in a mine field.

It's exhausting.

That's it. I am just exhausted. I say everyday that I just can't do it anymore. I can't keep taking the abuse. I don't deserve it and my fiance most certainly doesn't. But what else do I do? If left on her own she would have been dead two years ago. She would have killed herself with fast food, cigarettes and sweets. What kind of person would I be if I just left her like that?

What kind of person am I that I sort of want to?

Wow. I said it. I really said it. I am crying as I type. Sitting on my back porch so my dogs can run free in the yard, the sun shining down on me. My fingers typing away and my eyes are clouded with tears.

I am a terrible human being. Where is my compassion? Where has my empathy gone? I know a lost person when I see one. It takes one to know one. I have been that lost in my life. I understand now how I lost my dear friend back then. This is no good to be around every damn day.

I don't know how to end this post. I guess I just needed to say it out loud so I could stop feeling like such a fraud. When I had to take her to the hospital after falling down my stairs, the nurse kept telling me what a good daughter I am. Thing is, I am not that good. I do it because I feel I should, not because I want to.

I really wish I wanted to.

Hug those babies, show them love, give them a true feeling of home but don't you judge those old enough to want something of their own. It's only natural. At least it makes me feel better to think it is.

Idiocracy Coming True Would Scare Me Less

So, I don't normally post about television shows. Unless you are one of my Facebook friends, then you'll see that my status updates have a lot to do with Dr. Who (which I will never find annoying or wrong in any way). But I have to talk about this week's episode of Survivor.


Oh yeah, ahem, spoiler alert.

Last night, Jero and I went to bed completely livid about what happened this week. I am normally not a person who really cares what happens on reality television, I watch it mainly for the joy of seeing how being in front of a camera changes the personalities of people. My favorite for the last few years has been Rachel from Big Brother. I find her fascinating. But, I could not find any way to redeem the actions of Colton on this season of Survivor.

One of the other contestants tried to say he was being painted in a bad light. Basically accusing Jeff of making this guy look like the complete douche I truly believe he is. Tarzan (no joke) got really emotional about it being a race issue. But what I wish someone would have said so that little creep would have been voted off was that he was not ragging on Bill because he's black, he was picking on him because he's poor.

Colton sat there and told Bill to "get a real job", referring to Bill being a struggling stand up comedian. I am so confused. Are actors not "really" employed? And how many actors have to write their own scripts? Comedy is hard work! Bill tried to say that it was a difference of upbringings (basically defending the jerk who doesn't like him which I found very classy) that made Colton not like him, which began a discussion about race because Bill is black and Colton is white. Colton then said that he may have gone to an all white private school, but he has many black people in his life. When Jeff asked him who, Colton GIGGLED and said, "my housekeeper".

Wow. I mean, just wow.

He then continued to chastise Bill for what he does for a living. Saying he should not depend on the kindness of others. I am not sure how being a comedian is depending on the kindness of others. I guess Colton can be mad that he depends on the humor of others, which is possible since the little creep has little of it himself. In a previous episode, Colton said, "I am a republican, I do not believe in handouts."

Really?

I know I am being totally judgemental here. But, Colton is gay, how can you believe in a party that does not believe you should have the same rights as everyone else? I just don't understand how you can get your mind to work that way. Just because you are rich and gay doesn't make a damn bit of difference to those who think you don't deserve the same happiness as heterosexuals.

ALSO (wow this soap box has gotten tall) he's a college student! What does he know about a "real job". Not that college isn't legitimate. Because it is. But for those of us who were unable to pay for a higher education, it is also a luxury. In this day and age, paying the bills and supporting yourself and/or your family needs to be the top priority.

I think this hit me especially hard because I had already been having a hard time with this new generation of kids who think they are entitled to everything without giving anything. They believe it is their right to go to college, to have a good paying job because they have a degree, to retire in their sixties and have social security waiting for them in their golden years. They come into my office and bitch about $15 for emissions, or $24 for new license plates. $60 dollar tabs, sales tax, the state parks asking for $5 donations. They look at me and say, "this is all about you getting more money". Well, not really, because I don't see any of that money, but actually YES IT IS.

A government doesn't run itself. It costs money to run a state, and when 40% of the population is going to lie about where they live to avoid emissions or pay lower sales tax, well, somebody has to pay that difference.

Shit ain't free but it does roll down hill.

I have never lived above the poverty line. My dad died young and I pretty much raised myself and my mother since the age of 11. I had a brief period of time when I was on welfare. I did depend on the kindness of others. My son and I would have starved to death if it weren't for the food bank. But I didn't expect any of that. I did not believe that kindness was owed to me. I was just grateful is was there for my family when we needed it.

I worked hard to educate myself enough to feel as if I can keep up with most of the smarty pants people in my life. I had my first job in junior high. I do not expect to retire. But that's okay.

I just don't understand this generation of people who think they are owed something just because they were born. I really don't understand why a parent would want to raise their child to believe that they are entitled to whatever they want. Why not teach your children that dreams are attainable through hard work and determination, but they are not a right? Some people will work hard their whole lives and still not reach their dreams. But I find those people far more inspirational than those who barely work at all and have everything handed to them.

Ugh. Anyway. I know, I have completely rambled on about some whiny little punk I could actually care a flying frak about. But it's not just him. I mean, he is a total dill weed, don't get me wrong, but there are so many out there just like him that I am honestly worried about the future of our nation. These are the future leaders of America, folks.

Don't you wish their parents had taught them to work hard and pay it forward? I do.


Hug those babies, teach them to appreciate what they have without becoming complacent about it, out wit, out play, and out last.

If You Could See My Face, You'd Think I Love Meth

But I don't. No really, I don't even really know what meth is, but from what I see on crime dramas, the totally scared and elated look on my face right now probably sums up meth. Minus the thinking there are bugs beneath my skin.

Great, now I feel like there are bugs beneath my skin.

So, basically, I am so happy to have a new reader who does not know me in "real" life. But, it is SO MUCH PRESSURE! I find myself purposefully going to Wal-Mart or the bus plaza just so I may experience something funny to write about.

Obviously, this has not worked since I haven't written anything in forever. But I logged on today to see that I had missed a crap ton of Red's blogs on Doesn't Speak Klingon and in one of these I was sweetly nominated for a Liebster Blog Award. Now, Red then goes on to explain the foundation of the the German word, but let's face it, I took three years of Spanish and think that if I tried to order dinner in Mexico I'd end up getting sold into white slavery*. Red explained that these are the blogs you love to love. But they need to have less than 200 followers.

I have linked to Doesn't Speak Klingon, which is one of the requirements of my award. I enjoy Red's blog because it often makes me laugh, has a wit which I find lacking in today's society, and is also quite intelligent. Seriously, why Red reads my blog which contains words like "meth" and "VD" in the titles, I don't know, but I am too grateful and touched to look that gift horse in the mouth.

Sadly, I do not follow a whole lot of small blogs. I know, I'm a stupid bitch who doesn't deserve this award. I want to follow more blogs, but I'm just too damn lazy! What with nearly going blind, taking in my mother, working, and trying desperately to finish George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire Series, (which I believe my kindle adds to while I sleep because I still have half of the most recent book to go and it still isn't winter) there just isn't enough time.

I need a Tardis.

So, here's what I suggest. Go to Red's blog, read a bunch, and then go to the blogs recommended there, because I am just not educated enough to nominate or recommend any other small blogs out there right now. But, I plan to take my own advice, so I will be slightly more qualified here very soon.

I just want to thank Red, again, for reading. And thank all of you. I know I can ramble, and I know I can get on a soap box from time to time. But I really do try to share the things that I find profound (and profoundly hilarious) with ya'll whenever I can.

Hug those babies, support the blogs you love, and for God's sake, ask Mr. Martin to get on with it already!

*But I guess, according to my friend, Emily, who believes that there is A LOT of white slavery out there, that I would need to be at the zoo. The zoo is a dangerous place folks. Beware. **

**I don't actually know the statistics about getting kidnapped and sold into white slavery while at the zoo compared to being anywhere else. I am just going on word of mouth here. Please don't sue me, zoos of the world.