“I am not young enough to know everything”

and it isn’t cool. I’m not built like the artist formerly known as Britney (now known as “ohh… what happened to her??”).

I don’t wear thongs. I don’t think the Ty Machott underwear out of the back of the pants thing is sexy. It is reserved for strippers and the like…

However… mine keep coming out, and I am ashamed. I roll them down… they creep back up. I pull my pants up… they fall back down…. I change pants… the other pair finds it just as amusing as the first pair did.

I can’t free-ball (as the other half calls it) because jeans chafe (and because of the cousin to underwear out: the well-known Plumber’s Crack). We all know that. I’ve even tried the low-rise underwear… my ass thinks low rise underwear is dinner, as it proceeds to eat them, giving me horrid pains and underwear up my ass.

Are there any solutions to this problem? Many females seem to have this issue, but we don’t talk about it. I need to know how to get rid of it for good. Suggestions?? Please??

I had my daughter take a picture of the problem. She laughed her little butt off at me, but the picture is downloading, and will be featured shortly. I just have to show you how bad the problem really is.

I’ve been pondering here lately the whole ~kids with ADD/ADHD~ issue.

When I did clinicals at an inpatient psych unit for children, there were kids that were 100%-no- contest-need-help-adhd. These children didn’t sleep at night. They would instead bang on the walls. They couldn’t sit still…literally could not. Learning didn’t take place with these kids. They were skittish, mean, and the epitome of hyperactive. They needed their meds.

Shane works with children that are like this, albeit not as bad. The inpatient psych unit is about as bad as it gets. He has come to realize when a child is legitimately ADHD (so he says).

When my sister was in third grade, her couselor diagnosed her with ADHD. My mother refused to put her on meds. My sister is now a high school drop out with something I like to call oppositional defiant disorder. She has serious problems with her life, and constantly blames these problems on others. She is where she is today because of what other people have done to her. None of it is ever her fault… and it never will be. She with either go to

A. The jail or

B. The grave

having fully believed that nothing has happened to her because of her, only because of misfortune and others bringing her down. Nevermind the meth, the drop-out, the abusive boyfriend, the trailer…. it’s all my fault, mom’s fault… etc. She’s been through literally every fast food job in the town she lives in. Every single one either fired her or she quit in a matter of weeks. Each time it is the manager’s fault. “They served bad food.” “He was an asshole.” So on and so forth…

Now I have a sinking fear. I’m worried that my daughter may have this problem. She talks non-stop. Even when she faces punishment for not shutting her mouth… she can’t quit. She can’t pay attention. I can only work with her on learning words for about two minutes at a time. When I read her a story at night, she can’t focus. She doesn’t sleep well (maybe about five hours a night). And, to top it off, I’ve been reading up and found a legitimate research study. Children with parents who have depression or a panic disorder are 24 times more likely to suffer from ADHD. I wonder how much of it is because she is five, and how much of it will persist. I guess we have to watch and wait.

Regardless of if she has it or not, I will not be putting her on any medication. I know that I should never say never, because there may be a time when she suffers so badly I have no other option. I understand this… however, I have to get pissed with those parents who take their kid to a general doc (no psych workup) and put him on Concerta… never trying behavior modification… sticking to a schedule… or discipline. They end up getting a drugged kid, and that’s OK with them. It’s easier. I understand that this is a vast minority… but it still happens, and it’s sad. I see kids walk around like zombies, and mom says “good.”

I only hope that this is five years old talking, and not ADHD. I worry because it wasn’t only five. It was four… three… and I thought it was because I didn’t pay her enough attention, or work with her enough. I’m learning now that this isn’t the case. Either way, I don’t want to put her on something. She’s so intelligent. She has the most charming personality… she’s friendly, outgoing, and sensitive… I couldn’t imagine her being anything different than what she is now.

Remember…. Einstein was well known for ADD-type behavior. Don’t these mothers and fathers every worry that they are stifling a creative mind? Who knows what adderall does to genious children. I read a story from a mother whose child was constantly called ADHD. She wouldn’t treat him. When he was seven, he took an IQ test… he wasn’t ADD, he was bored. He had a genious level IQ… I’ll bet she’s glad she didn’t treat him.

I know my mother regrets not using medication for my sister… catch-22 eh?

Driving around in my cowboy cadillac, I fight crime with a mullet, kicks, punches, and good ole’ Texas ass-whippin. Drug dealers stand no chance. I will punch them in the face. Thieves stand no chance. I will kick them in their jaws. Ladies love me, men fear me. I am Walker: Texas Ranger. I don’t need no stinkin handcuffs. My arms are like bazookas of fury. My legs are made of steel. My mullet is perfectly styled, and my truck is always clean. My unorthodox style of fighting will dumbfound you evil-doers. Justice has it’s hero. It is I, Walker.

Crime Avenger. Womanizer. Texan.

ps- the bag is updated yet again.

Now facing the possibility of moving thousands of miles away, I have began to reflect on my family… good times, bad times, etc.

Every time I think of my grandpas, I always think of their various grandpaisms. I’m sure you have some that you would just love to share. What did your grandpa call you?

I have two grandpas who are wonderful men. One is redneck-drink-beer-bar-brawl-go-fishallthetime grandpa. The other is grumpy-yet-loveable-bald-headed-working-hard-more-reserved grandpa. We will shorten these descriptions to grumpypa and redneckpa for the sake of time.

I used to say redneckpa was my favorite, mainly because we could go over to his house and steal beer from the back of his truck when we were thirsty. After growing up, I realized I love both of those grandpas just the same.

Redneckpa loved the hell out of me. I was his favorite, and I think I still am. He thought I could do no wrong, and when those damned kids stole his beer (again), he neeevver thought I was the least bit suspect. Rather than ask me if I wanted breakfast, he would ask if I wanted groceries. He hated my boyfriends all the same, and always wanted to pull out the gun. He cried at the drop of a hat- when I graduated, when I had his first great-granddaughter, when I looked at him, when he thought of me. He never once whipped any of his children, and was always kind. He still is, but he’s sick, so he’s more withdrawn.

 Then we had grumpypa. He didn’t like my mom, and I don’t really think he liked our whole family unit. As it turns out, he just didn’t like anyone. Grandma, me, dad… no one could escape his grumpy. He worked hard his whole life, and had been in various businesses such as farms, more farms, a ranch/farm, and then the cemetery business. He mowed that cemetery for many, many years. I didn’t stay with him much… he didn’t really seem to want me to stay too often. He called me sugar booger, talked about war stories, and told me about jumping out of airplanes. His bald head told fortunes. When you rubbed it, he would tell you what was to come.

Ohhh the days. Having a good set of grandpas was wonderful. I hope I can be that cool of a person when I’m a grandma. Other than my own relatives, I don’t like old people. But… they are someone’s grandpa… so we should be nice.

THE BAG

The following is a list of people to be added to the bag. List is ongoing. Please post if you have a bag suggestion. I will carefully consider all suggestions, and then notify you of that person’s fate.

For those that do not know the bag, this will serve you as an explanation. The bag is a bag of people who we despise, and wish were not present in our lives. The bag’s original founder was Shane, but he no longer has a bag, so I have started my own. We beat the bag with long sticks, poke the bag, and then tie it up and drop it into a river. For those of you who are dumber than a brick… we do not really do this. We only fantasize, and fill the bag. Only those who are the highest of the douchebag sorts go into the bag. Those in the bag should consider it an honor (in some twisted way). Let the bagging commence.

1. Britney Spears    Who gets married in a track suit to a greasy ass poor guy, and then thinks it’s cool to get knocked up? Really… who? Remember those days before Justin when she was a virgin. Yeah, I was too. Ha. See www.britneyfans.com.

2. Terrorists    Who in the hell thinks it’s cool to go around killing people because your milkshake is better than theirs? Did God REEALLLY tell you to do that? I highly doubt it. And yes, George Bush, you fit into this category. I realize going to Iraq probably wasn’t a bad idea, but he didn’t go for that reason. He went because he believes he is holy and better than them. While his country starves, 12 year olds are getting knocked up, and no one has health insurance…. he goes after some oil. He needs to hurry his ass up with it, because I’m tired of paying an arm and a leg for a tank of gas.

3. Fanatics   Get a life. Do not worship pop stars, do not kill people in the name of pro-life. Do not interfere with Terri Shiavos family. Do not think your opinion is 100% right. Those who are sure are wrong. Go get a job… and do something that really makes a difference. Hippy shits that sit in cages naked. WOW. Let me tell you how that REALLY helped. Where is my steak?

4. Anyone against abortion but for the death penalty.  So it is 100% wrong to kill a fetus, but it’s OK to kill a grown man? WHERE DO YOU GET YOUR REASONING YOU PRICK???? Either believe in killing them all, or don’t kill anyone. Murder is not negotiable, ever.

5. Katie Holmes  We liked her until the Tom Cruise Incident. Now she can go to the BAG.

6. My next door neighbors They glare at me for throwing my cigarette butts in the bushes, but they leave their stinky ass shoes and trash outside for the cats to dig in. Lazy holes must not know that the dumpster is less than 50 feet away. Lazy pricks. This isn’t an occasional problem either. There has been at least one bag of trash out there since they moved in several weeks ago. I am calling management today, and I hope they get a trash fine.

7. People who aren’t natural blondes, yet say they are. This is explanatory in itself. Do not lie about your hair color. We can tell. Your eyebrows are black… kind of gives it away. And no, blondes do not have more fun. I can guarantee it.

8. Penelope Cruz Pretty girl. STUPIDLY BAD ACTING. Should not get paid so much. Would you like a cookie?

9. Those old women that talk all the time during class, and their discussion isn’t pertinant to the subject at hand, or anything for that matter. So I can’t say names, because this is the world wide web. But I have a woman who is actually fun out of school-related stuff, but is the most obnoxious individual on the face of the planet when it comes to school. Turns out we got a form to nominate someone for all of our class awards. We smirked, while she nominated herself for every single one. Get this: She won them all. I have to clue you in on something: She is not a good leader, and does not have too much to do with community service, unless she is servicing rich men (now going on four husbands). I will be glad to rid myself of this obnoxious woman, and the entire class agrees. Most college classes are nice, because you only spend one semester with the people. I have spent two years with mine. Ohhhh the PAIN!

10. People who don’t laugh at “unsophisticated humor.” I told a joke today… let me tell it to you. If you do not think it is funny, you are in the bag.

Why are pirates pirates?

Because they AAAARRRRRR.

HAHAHA I like that one. If you do not, you are too stodgy and must learn to love jokes about pirates, farts, and yo mamma .

11. Those who ask me “are you married yet?” or “when are you getting married?” SHUT UP I WILL GET MARRIED WHEN I WANT TO. Go home and get in someone else’s business. I’ve been with the guy for over three damned years. Leave me alone, we are fine. If we are not, I wouldn’t tell you anyways. Have a nice day.

12. The entire workforce at Georgiou in Penn Square Mall. I have never met a ruder, stupider bunch of hagzillas. Three times I called. Three times they told me to come and return the dress. Three times they wouldn’t (or couldn’t) take it. When I went to exchange it, the manager SMELLED THE ARMPITS of the dress. Stupid hagnasty son of shit mother of bitch. I am filing a complaint with the head store people as well as the BBB. I hope the store burns down. I would picket the store and hand out defaming materials if I had the time. They will suffer some day.

13. That rich guy who violated the no fly zone over the white house, causing mass panic and evacuation, along with the terror color to shoot to (gasp) RED! This guy is probably almost as big of a dipshit as the Georgiou staff. Who does that? HoHum not going to answer repeated calls on my radio…. not going to turn around until a FIGHTER JET and a helicopter shoot flares at me…. This guy should be arrested, and his plane should be burned. Those who believe the rules are for everyone but themselves. Hmph. Sit and Spin.

14. Every single person at the I-240 Wal Mart on Friday, May 20, 2004 between the hours of 7:00 and 8:00 pm. It must have been one of those days. Sometimes when you must go into Wal-Mart, it ends up being not too bad. Sometimes. These people are a booger on my sofa. They are a turd on my shoe. They stole things and held me up. They glared at me because of my lack of mullet. They didn’t put my stuff in my basket, causing me to have to drive back and wait another hour for a can of paint and some nail hole patching stuff. They ran into me with their buggies, and they were a size 16 wearing a size 10. We just…. don’t….like…..them.

15. Case and Associates Leasing (specifically the Brookwood Village rental agents working yesterday).

Me and Shane: Hi! We need to put in a 30 day notice.

Son of Shit: I’m going to need that in writing.

Me and Shane: OK, could we get a piece of paper to write it down?

Son of Shit: No, I’ll need it in writing.

Shane: So there is no paperwork we need to fill out, we should just bring you some writing?

Son of shit: Yes.

Shane: When I came up here last week, they told me to bring her (referring to me) in so we could fill out paperwork.

Son of Shit: Oh. This is my first day here. Let me check. (Checks with manager, brings back paperwork)

(We fill out paperwork)

Shane and I: So the last month’s rent will be prorated? How much will it cost?

Son of Shit: Yes.

Me: How much will it be?

Son of Shit: $539.

Me: That’s how much we pay for a full month.

Son of Shit: Oh. It will be $360 something.

Shane and I: (Exit, murmuring to selves)

What is this lovely thing, and why is it gracing every room of my apartment?

Back when I was younger, I fell in love with a refridgerator box. It was wonderful. I believed it was a fortress… my own personal fortress to protect me from the evils of parents, room cleaning, school, and other things I just didn’t want to do. When mom couldn’t find me, she always knew I was in the box.

Now I have a five year old. I believe she has a stronger imagination than I did. Our boxes have become clubs, spaceships, houses, dog-homes, hats (big, big hats)… and no telling what else.

I think that boxes are a horrible brown color. Isn’t that just the worst color in the world? I would really enjoy having a pink box, and I believe I would pay extra for it. Possibly a lavender color.

Now I must go back to the boxes and get ready for the great journey known as “moving my ass.”

If you ever get time, find a box and get inside. You won’t regret it.

What is it about driving that clears one’s mind? When I need to work stuff out, get away, and think… the car is where I go. I’ve driven over 7 of the last 24 hours, and it wasn’t enough. I’m thinking about taking off again tomorrow. There is something about the country music, cigarettes, and 18 wheelers that can really soothe the soul… albeit temporarily.

I realized that after all that driving, I really still didn’t have anything figured out. I guess my purpose in it wasn’t to figure, it was to just be. And I was, if only for a moment.

My Car

Just as things get figured out…. just as you think you can chill out for a while, put your feet up…. just as you get a round of “shit to do” done, it hits.

Like a hurricane, a grade 5 twister, or a human finger in your chili…. LIFE (dun DUN dunnnnn)

People get sick,  people get retarded, and people start to do this thing called “mind changing.” Mind changing when done by myself is fine. When someone else changes their mind, it sets worlds on a collision course. Things are erased, destroyed, and swept from under you. Foundations of the future are quickly wiped out, and you are left in the dust (asbestos ridden dust at that).

And the answer to everything is…. so what? you can get a job anywhere! Jerks.

Apparently Senator McCain had a bad day yesterday. He began his speech with the mandatory congratulations, and ended it talking about genocide in Sudan. It wasn’t the most motivating thing to hear, and I’m a little angry with him.

Yes, genocide is a very important topic… but does he really have to go into the details while I’m trying to celebrate my college graduation? It’s like when you are at the dinner table having excellent food, and someone feels the need to inform you of the giant sloppy poo they just dropped. Not cool man. Not cool.

I’m in the hospital tonight, staying with no-legs-mother-in-law. Cecil was worried about her, so I thought that this would be best. I am sleeping here tonight, if the man across the hall would quit screaming “OHHHHH YEEEEEE…. OOOOHHHHH YEEEE.” It was hilarious the first four minutes, and now it’s getting in my head. And yes, it is pronounced with the long “E.” It rhymes with fee. It’s quite disturbing. Shane gets to sleep on the love seat in the smoke filled house. Poor guy, I would rather be here.

I hope you all have a good night (OHHHH) because I won’t. (YEEEEE). However, I do have the laptop and a hijacked wireless connection (God bless whoever hooked that up and didn’t secure it). That should keep me busy for most of the night.

Ohhh Yeeee… one more thing. My family came through with presents, and Shane got me more diamonds!!! Earrings.. they’re perfect. I love them. I cried again… (celebratory YEEEE)!!! If anyone else would like to donate to my diamond collection, just give me an ohhh yeee, and I’ll be glad to take them off your hands (or ears, neck, whatever).