Monday, December 31, 2012

Bri's Second Annual New Year's Anti-Resolution List

Here I am again, another December 31st; however, tonight I have no particular plan to run around comparing breast sizes with my neighbors or mixing grape soda with Vodka.  In a way, this gives me comfort.  It seems that I've been overexposing myself far too much in 2012.  It's time to become a bit more mysterious.  No more skinny dipping, no more asking anonymous cowboys for kisses, it's time to take back some of my complex, cryptic nature.  This is the year I need to remember what makes me tick, pulls me forward, and gives me strength.  I'm a walking contradiction.  It's time to figure out what I'll do with myself this year.  I haven't given my Anti-Resolution List much consideration; however, I do work well under pressure and will most likely come up with a few interesting ideas as I go along.
  1. I will never, ever underestimate the amount of caffeine my body can consume within a 24 hour time period again.  I thought I was impervious.  Not so.  I thought my alter ego was StarbucksSuperSkinnyVentiMochaGirl (+ an extra shot of espresso).  The day I discovered my weakness, the afternoon I ordered my fifth Venti too many (+ an extra shot of espresso), I was done for.  I couldn't speak without drooling.  I couldn't sign my name.  Everything I picked up, I dropped repeatedly.  Thank goodness, I was home and not driving.  No dinner for Breezy that night.  I was an open-eyed zombie until my husband left for work the next morning.
  2. Shih Tzu (Be frightened of the itty dogs)
    My dog, Tank never barfs just once.  I now know to hold him over the tile and never assume he's finished especially when he's standing over my expensive dining room rug.
  3. 14 year old Apsergian boys have no social skills.  This is one of the traits of their autism.  I should never be surprised when Austynn mentions to guests how loud his dad and I are when our bedroom doors are closed.
  4. I've been reminded once again why I don't like crawling up stairs partly nude with small animals behind me.
  5. When I fell off my crutches, I was more embarrassed by my husband's 4-letter expletives than the ridiculous appearance of my going down like a spaz.
  6. I should not be allowed to drive the courtesy mechanical carts in stores, EVER!
  7. Shih Tzus are tougher than Police Dogs.  There's really no comparison.
  8. Never hand the Karaoke microphone to my husband again particularly when the song, "I Like Big Butts", starts playing. 
  9. When marijuana becomes legal in your state, Skype us - it will be a heck of a fun phone call.
  10. Hide your axes.
Have a wonderful start to the new year everyone! God Bless...


Monday, December 24, 2012

Give a little light..spread a little magic.

Tonight, my family, what's left of it (our eldest son is still in a Children's Home in downtown Denver for probationary purposes), will bundle up and with some neighborhood friends, place luminaries down our street and around the next block.  It seems like a quaint thing to do.  We've already heard some concerns about fire dangers and possible gusty winds which may pick up tonight ahead of a possible snow storm.  I think it will  be fine.  This is an old tradition.  The candles are in glass votives and will be weighted down in bags by sand and rocks.  If, for whatever reason, they get blown over - the candles will be blown out as well.

Eric and I have been blessed by such a loving and generous neighborhood that we wanted to give back a portion of the joy they've given us.  When we're done lighting the candles, the neighborhood will look as though a little piece of magic was sprinkled down over Homestead Hills in Thornton, Colorado.  You see, my friends and blog readers, this magic has always been alive and well here but the difference now will be that passersby will see it.

I have the keys to Kathy's house to occasionally take out Max, her beloved Schnauzer .  Suzanne, my ultra-right-wing-conservative-Republican-friend-from-Austin (grinning) gave me her house keys to ensure her toaster is unplugged from time to time and tell furniture guys NOT to unplug her stereo system.  I know the Troy's garage access code in case I need extra refrigerator space to place party food in.  I've taken Ms. Jean to the ER in Boulder and she - in turn - has helped Eric teach our 1st graders while my ankle was on the mend.  Jay and Jean Troy are the boys' surrogate grandparents and have attended every birthday party and special celebration.  I've held another neighbor in my arms while she screamed and called me a bitch for forcing her to go to detox.  Only love does this.  I've talked about life, and death, and eveything in between with others.  I've driven friends in 6 foot snow drifts to the airport and walked another friend who had too much wine back to her front door across the street from my own.

My dear friends and blog readers ask, there are actually neighborhoods like this?  Yes - mine in particular - the one I live in and call home.  Eric and I will not be without relatives this holiday season.  We are blessed to be surrounded by family on all sides.      

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Sometimes my breath is incentive enough to get out of bed.

I have a confession to make - I'm a bit of a manic clean freak; HOWEVER, there are days when I can even gross myself out.  Friends and family reading this blog will probably laugh as they consider "these" days to mean a few shoes scattered about the floor or piles of laundry waiting for me on the washing machine.  Giggle as you may dear ones, this is not how I see it at all.  I tend to stare deeply into corners on "these" days and notice greasy dirt clinging to baseboards which haven't seen a cleaning rag since August 11, 2006 (the day the Potts' family moved into our home).  These are the moments I head directly for my antibacterial spray, cotton swabs, and ignore phone calls until the crime scene has been obliterated. 

Unfortunately, for bi-polar gals such as myself, while I'm focused on destroying the first offender, my eyes will dart to the right and catch sight of a cobweb on my silk tree in the corner.  No, NO, NOOOO!  I must hose off the tree immediately.  Down go the cotton swabs, out goes the silk tree into the backyard.  Does it matter that it's 30 degrees?  Absolutely not.  The tree is filthy, it must be washed down.  As I pull out the hose, I'll step in dog poop and then see far too many dog poops laying about.  They must be picked up!  DISGUSTING!  Oh, and my outside coffee table is dirty and must be wiped down.  Who cares if it's going to snow the next afternoon?  This is exactly how my days go.  By the time Eric gets home from work, everything I've started is half completed and I find myself overwhelmed and exhausted.

This is when the other side of my bi-polar - depression - kicks in.  My projects remain scattered all over the house and I'll feel like a complete failure. I don't want to cook dinner (seriously, what's the point?  I'll burn it anyway) and then I'll retreat into my bed for three or more days.  Bi-polar is a bitch.  This is my story.  I know I'm making a joke out of it but it's not a funny situation.

There was a reason I started this long and tedious explanation of my mood disorder.  Patience, my friends, patience... 

My manic cleanliness also extends to my personal hygiene.  I'm a bath girl.  I must take a bath every day; however, when the "deep dark" creeps over me and I'm hiding from the world beneath layers of blankets, I forget all about my "need for clean" (so to speak).  I want the world to go away and if this means someone shoves a bed pan under my ass and clamps an intravenous protein line into my vein, terrific.  When I'm at this point, it's best to just spray a bottle of air freshener overhead and pray my breath induces me out of my own personal nightmare.

Today - right now - I'm good; in other words, I'm not suffering from a manic mood shift.  I'm straight down the middle.  My current conundrum is that my "need for clean" is being impeded by my broken ankle.  The dust bunnies in the hallway are scoffing at me from my crutches.  It's also difficult to take baths.  I have to take...GOD FORBID...showers and even then, I need assistance.  If this continues much longer I fear I'll spiral into an unimaginable manic cleaning frenzy once I'm off these damn things which will - in turn - develop into a depression far worse than I've ever experienced.  I wonder if Febreze sells air deodorizer in bulk?

Friday, December 21, 2012

If the world is going to end, let's get on with it!

So if the word is supposed to end today, December 21, 2012, as per the Mayan's prediction, let's get it over with already.  I'm personally quite done with this business.  I had to allow my youngest, autistic son to wear my treasured Puka shell necklace this morning.  This was a bribe to get him to walk to the bus stop.  His head has been filled with so much doom and gloom nonsense lately that he's concerned that he'll "meet his end" at school and not at home.  The idea behind my necklace was that I wouldn't dream of letting him wear it if I didn't expect to see it at the end of the day.  Good grief, the mind games we play with our kids.

Some of my loyal post followers may have noticed that I've been absent as of late.  Writing is a funny thing for me.  I have to feel it.  It's joyful.  It's also somewhat cathartic.  These past 4-5 weeks I've buried myself.  In addition to breaking my ankle, there's been some annual holiday blues that - try as I will - I can't seem to dodge.  Also, there's been more than the usual turmoil here with my two sons.  I realize that many of you, my friends and blog readers, are parents of Aspergers' kids and would be interested to know what's been happening.  For now, I ask that you be patient.  I'm not prepared to write about it.  Quite frankly, I'd rather clean up the dog's vomit next to the bed than re-visit that awful day.

My friends and family believe me to be strong.  I'm not.  I'm actually weak.  I can put on a pretty tough or silly mask when necessary but normally I'm falling apart inside.  Lately I've been feeling overwhelmed.  When Eric asks me to describe it, I break down and cry.  What I can manage to get out is if I could take enough sleeping pills to knock me out but not kill me - that's the ticket - I don't want to die.  I want to sleep through the worst of the madness.  I'm tired of Austynn's rages, money, my ankle hurting, the housework, legal issues with William, concerns with Eric's stress...the list goes on.  For one week, I don't want the kids near me, I don't want pain, and I don't want to worry about money.  What I'd like is some quiet, sunshine, and the beach.  It's been too long since Eric and I have had time to ourselves.

Perhaps I'm asking too much?  Yes.  I'm greedy.  Ok, I take back all of my requests.  How about instead of sleeping pills or that beautiful week in paradise, I get one day of no yelling, screaming, incessant chattering, or disrespect?  Yes.  I'll take that.  Is this too much to ask?  I'll even be willing to put up with a little ankle pain in exchange.


Saturday, December 1, 2012

A December Ramble

December 1st, 2012.  I don't have any one thing in mind to write about today so I'll resort to a good old fashioned ramble, the Lunatic Housewife style. 

This is a slightly awkward observation, I have toast crumbs between my cleavage.  Why, my dear friends and blog readers ask, is this even worthy of discussion?  It's not.  Why would it need to be if today's blog is a simple ramble?  My mention of it is merely a way of stating how my morning started out nicely with coffee and toast being brought lovingly to me in bed by my husband, Eric.  I must admit, I hate crumbs of any sort between my 40DDDs; however, since the love of my life always makes comments as to how lovely I smell there, I can only assume he appreciates buttered toast as much as I do.

My tri-broken ankle is throbbing like a mother trucker today.  The prescription pain medicine is sitting next to me but I must remain strong.  I won't take it until Eric tells me to.  This is the promise I made him after my last ER visit and the attending physician was startled by my 65/42 blood pressure reading.  You see, I have a tendency to be a "pain baby" and at the time decided that my Valium might assist in relieving some of the discomfort.  Well, it did - but I got myself into a wee bit o' trouble over it.  Now I must show the world and myself that I can survive a paper cut without running towards the medicine cabinet.  I can do it!  Yes, I am VOOMAN!  (OUCH!  Tank get off my foot before I call 911!)

I attended a "Nasty Lady" party last night.  For those of you who may not be familiar with what these parties are, I'll explain.  They're private parties whereas a salesperson is invited into someone's home to show off and sell "products" to friends and neighbors.  In this case, the "product" was sexual in nature; vibrators, lingerie, massage oil, etc.  I'm not big on attending "product" parties because I can't usually afford what they're selling - or, truth be told - I'm not honestly interested; however, "Nasty Lady" parties are always fun.

I suppose if one is sexually inhibited or painfully shy, these types of gatherings - especially if you attended as I did last night and knew no one other than my friend - it can be - well, a little cringe worthy.  A few shots of Tequila can always cure this. 

I must have laughed until I cried watching a trio of young girls mesmerized by a new "high-tech" vibrator.  I couldn't drink because of my pain medication but these young ladies had lost all sense of propriety due to several jello shots.  They determined, after a long and well thought out discussion, that they were "done" sexually with men forever.  That the vibrator they were considering - though expensive - was well worth the investment.  They also concluded that men's penis' in no way - and I must concur with this - could ever perform the amazing tricks that the "Quiver Tickler" was engineered to accomplish.  So, after calculating the cost of feeding and spoiling their men as well as the emotional let downs of not climaxing on a regular basis, they all realized the value the vibe.

Now, I'm sure many of you are wondering if I brought home a little black bag of goodies last night.  I'll simply say this, why do you think Eric brought me coffee and toast in bed this morning?  Women who often have toast crumbs between their cleavage must have extremely happy husbands for a reason (and yes, I guess having 40DDDs helps a little too).