Category Archives: Incessant Whining

Dear Craigslist People

Dear Craigslist People,

I know you turn to Craigslist to find a bargain (unless you’re one of those jackasses that posts nekkid pix of yourself from your Grandma’s bathroom…the crocheted poodle toilet paper cover is a dead giveaway, just in case you were wondering how I knew you were at your Grandma’s house perving it up in her bathroom. Also, FYI, pictures taken in your nasty bedroom with the Whitesnake poster on the wall OR a Spongebob blanky anywhere in sight? NOT HOT )

Anyway, I know you folks want to save a few bucks so you look around on Craigslist but seriously, you need to KNOW a few things…

If I’m selling 60 pieces of name-brand girls clothing, all in excellent condition and I’m only asking $20, which, for the math-impaired, is 33¢ an item, I’m NOT taking pictures of every single item and I’m NOT going to answer stupid questions about every item and I’m NOT going to sell it to you for five freaking dollars—especially when I know your cheap, sorry ass is probably going to turn around and sell it on eBay anyway. Which is fine. I hate eBay so better you than me. But I’d give it to Goodwill before I’d let you have it for that—go buy it from them. I mean really…have you NO shame? I’d be embarrassed to ask people to give me a SEVENTY FIVE PERCENT price break…

The same goes for the Little Tikes Craftsmen Tool Bench. Dude…it’s in mint condition and I’m asking twenty dollars for it. Do NOT send me an email asking if I’ll take five for it.  Is there anything in my listing that says this is “Let’s Make a Really Bad (for me) Deal?” If you seriously can’t afford more than five bucks, maybe you should SELL YOUR COMPUTER (I’ll give you five bucks for it) and get rid of your internet service instead of lowballing people on Craigslist all day long.

And finally, for all you asswipes that bug the living crap out of me and beg me to not sell my stuff to someone else and then don’t show up… I wish you a scorching case of herpes with a nice sprinkling of genital warts. I mean you clearly have a phone, since you called me 17 times to make sure I hadn’t sold the item(s) you so desperately wanted. How about picking up said phone and letting me know you won’t be coming? I might even be nice and understanding and NOT wish you a lifetime of oozing blisters and weird bumpy things on your nether regions. But if you offer me five dollars? All bets are off.

As ever,
IzzyMom

Attitude is Everything!!!

When I woke up this morning with my head throbbing, husband grousing around and my children carrying on about one thing or another…I wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. I feel like that a lot lately, as noted in a previous post. I think my exact thought this morning was that every day lately my life feels like it’s imploding “to collapse inward as if from external pressure.” I don’t know if it’s me, like my perception is skewed and nothing is really as bad as it seems, or if it’s exactly as it seems and I’ve just reached my saturation point.

I actually said this morning, in a moment of extreme fed-upness, and in my husband’s general direction,  “I can’t stand you people anymore. One day I’m going to run away and never come back.” Nice. That mother-of-the-year award I was coveting is definitely a pipe dream now.

It’s not that every second of every day is awful. It’s not. In between the impatience and outbursts and complaints, there is love and laughter and fun. But if I had to sum it all up…it’s still pretty sucktastic. I’ve totally been phoning it in with the kids being back in school. PTA membership papers sit on my desk ignored. Girl Scout event emails calling for parent volunteers make me want to run and hide. It’s all I can do to get up and get the kids off to school. Everything that’s not mission critical just keeps getting backburnered. How long can you do that, exactly?

I just…don’t feel like I have both feet on the ground. I feel tethered by a very, very thin thread and I’m up there just blowing around in the wind…waiting for something to pull me back down. I’m not depressed, per se. But it’s something.

Every day is the saaaaaame. My husband is always in a bad mood and I’m overwhelmed. I never get enough done. I’m always ten steps behind everyone else and playing catch up…just trying to get through the day so I can lather, rinse and repeat the next day.

Again, I have to ask…is it just me? Am I seeing things through a warped lens? Could I shake this off if I really wanted to?

Whilst lamenting to my BFF this morning about my husband, who has been PMSing for about a year straight, she brought up something I haven’t thought about in a very long time—the law of attraction. Basically, you attract what you put out there. She was talking about how it can be difficult to get yourself out of a funk because you’re feeling so negative and thus, attracting more of it to you.

We were actually talking about my husband but in that moment, I started thinking of myself and wondering if I was the architect of my own misery. In my head I envisioned one of those photocopied flyers that an old boss had tacked up in her wood-paneled office. It said “Attitude is everything!” and proceeded to tell you all the ways in which a bad attitude will defeat you.

Shit. My attitude SUCKS, I thought. But then I countered that with “How can you have a good attitude when you’re surrounded by people who are perpetually dissatisfied? SOMEONE is always unhappy and we’re never all happy at the same time. We’re so…out of sync. And I don’t know how to fix that, even with the world’s bestest attitude.

Would You Like Some Cheese With My Whine?

I hate whining. I really do.

I don’t, however, hate it enough to NOT do it.

Really, the fact is…I just don’t want to hear anyone else whine. Not you. Not my kids. None of ya. But since this is my blog, I’m going to be a wee bit of a hypocrite and whine just a little. Think of it as venting (but with more patheticness…).

You  see, I’ve had a this atrocious headache for days, possibly weeks. After enough coffee, Aleve and Canadian aspirin (the good kind), I can sometimes make it go away but every morning, I wake up and it’s back again like a bad penny. Fricken headache…ruiner of all things good and fun.

I also woke up this morning with not only a headache but a wet desk chair. I’m all “Did someone pee on my chair???” but I got denials all the way around, which is good because if anyone actually DID pee in my chair, like my husband, for example, that would be messed up.

When nobody would cop to peeing in my chair or spilling anything on it, I, for some reason, looked upward and there it was…the wet spot. On the ceiling. Which means???? Our roof has a leak.

I always knew this day would come (we were told six years ago that our roof had about 4-5 years to live) but did I ever do anything about it? Did I ever even attempt to act like a responsible adult and be pro-active? Hell no. I just waited for this day and then got to spend a good hour trying to find a roofer that would call me back on a Saturday—a RAINY Saturday. And now? We will have to pull thousands of dollars out of our asses (because that’s where irresponsible adults keep their money) and put a new roof on this fricken shoebox—which leads me to my next gripe…

I told my husband this morning that if he doesn’t figure out a way to give me a damn bedroom, I’m divorcing him—we’ve been sleeping in our office since shortly after my son was born. His crib was in our room and he was such a light sleeper that co-sleeping never worked and when we would sleep in our bed with him in his crib, he would hear every noise and wake up all night long.

We eventually moved into our office, which IS a room, but it’s in the middle of everything—no door, no privacy, no quiet in the morning. It sucks. This morning, I tried to shoo my kids back to their rooms because my head was pounding so they went in what is now my son’s room and started rifling through my dresser drawers. The top drawer is just full of my junk, not clothes, and they dug all through it and came out with all kinds of stuff and it just pissed me off. I have NO space of my own at all and I’m completely over it.

I want to move but since our house lost FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS of value this past year, according to our illustrious county appraiser, we couldn’t sell it for what we owe on it and even if we could, we’d walk away with NOTHING. I haven’t even told my husband about this yet because I know he’ll freak.

Also? We’re getting new neighbors. The house next door has been a rental for the past two years and we’ve had a steady stream of shitty, douchey neighbors. I have NO reason to believe the new ones will be any different.

I don’t like this house, I don’t like that there are no kids in our neighborhood, I don’t like that we have to put a new roof on a house I don’t like, I don’t like that we’re getting new douchebag neighbors, I don’t like that our tree died, I don’t like that there is SO much to be done but it’s too damn hot to do anything outside and I don’t like having these headaches because I have to work thrice as hard to get anything done. I can’t even blog everyday for Nablopomo because I can’t think straight when my head is pounding. Oh, who am I kidding… I also have major writers block. I’ve had it for ages. I get inspiration when I don’t have time and then I forget it when I do have time. Or when I do have time, I’d rather sleep. Thisssssucks.

But please, for the love of all things good and decent, don’t tell me I need to exercise. I know I need to exercise but it’s impossible when you have headache that gets worse when you stand up. Or bend down. Or exert yourself in any way. Tension headaches and exercise are not friends. They despise each other. Also, don’t tell me to think positively. Or take more vitamins. Please.

And dear husband, if you’re reading this, please forgive me for saying this in such a public way…but your constant bad mood and Man PMS is really wearing on me. I TRY to understand but I’m over it. Life is hard. Life isn’t always fun. Life is challenging. I get all that. I’m not exactly thrilled either, as evidenced by my ranty whinefest, BUT I don’t make everyone else suffer for my unhappiness. Figure out what you want from life and go after it. Figure out what will make you happy and pursue it. I may be unhappy with certain things right now but I’m still an optimist. I still have hope that life will get better. I wish you would, too. I love you—now chin up!

I can feel the tension run from my head to my neck,  into my shoulders and down my back so I’m going to my chiropractor on Tuesday and then I’m going to beg my massage therapist to see me right after. If that doesn’t work, there’s always the gun method—it’s damn near impossible to have a headache when you don’t have a head. Heh.

Happy Birthday

My 24 hours of special treatment from my family is almost over…another birthday nearly behind me.

If I were a pessimist, I’d say “Ohhhh, another birthday, another year closer to death” but I make a point not to think of stuff like that. I cannot, however, lie and say I haven’t spent a few moments lamenting the fact that I’m officially middle-age.

The hardest part of all to face is the fact that while I AM young and vibrant in the grand scheme of things, my youth, per se, is gone forever. Equally painful? I didn’t appreciate it when I had it.

George Bernard Shaw once said “Youth is wasted on the young.”  I daresay he was on to something…

Happy 29th birthday to me…again ;)

(Edited to add:  I fear my joke about being 29 again has flopped. I’m not 29, folks. I just wish I was.)

Thanks for Nothing, Big Corporate Robber Barons

Okay, I finally got up the nerve to make the appointment for Asscam 09 (tomorrow & I’m terrified) only to find out that since it’s a diagnostic asscam instead of a screening asscam, it’s going to cost me a $300 copay because, inexplicably, it’s considered an outpatient SURGERY.

Seriously?

The woman from the insurance company says it’s because they invade your body. Well, if that’s the case, those transvaginal ultrasounds they give you when you’re pregnant should be considered surgery, too. I’m sorry but I consider having a big old phallic-shaped device poking me in my lady bits to also be pretty damned invasive (and not nearly as *fun* as it sounds).

My complaint in a nutshell? We have the VERY BEST plan offered by my husband’s employer and we pay a small fortune the equivalent of our mortgage payment for it every month and they won’t cover a freaking colonoscopy 100%?

Frankly, that alone is reason for me to reconsider having it done, although I’m sure that’s EXACTLY what my insurance company is hoping for because if I don’t get it done, then they won’t have to pay for ANYTHING. I guess it’s never occurred to them that an asscam is a hell of a lot cheaper than treatment for advanced colon cancer or some other horrid potential diagnosis down the road. To hell with all that fancy, highfalutin’ logical thinking…

Health care reform of some kind CANNOT come soon enough, IMO.

If you have kids and have ever posted a pic of them on your blog or on Flickr, you should really read this post because…well, because I said so. And because really, who wants pix of their kids labeled with porn tags by a search engine?

Got the Scary Asscam Baby Denial Blues

I got my period today. I guess that’s good. Last month, after a little mistake right around ovulation time, I was worried that I might be pregnant because I am nothing if not fertile. Like I always get knocked up on the first try fertile. How I didn’t become a teen pregnancy statistic is a complete mystery to me…

Anyway, I was all afraid I was pregnant, particularly because I had THE STOMACH ACHE. This is a particular kind of stomach pain that I only ever got when I was pregnant. It always feels like something is gnawing at me from the inside— 24 hours a days for the first 13 weeks.

Well, I had that and it only made me more afraid that I was pregnant. And the pooping. Or lack thereof. That’s always a hallmark of my pregnancies and I invariably end up eating like six boxes of raisin bran a month. And the belly. I LOOKED three months pregnant, which after you’ve had a couple kids, can happen in the first six weeks or so.

But then my period came and I was relieved. Sort of.  And I went on with my life. The stomach aches continued, as did the other anomalies that I would normally attribute to being with child and finally it became unbearable. I was wearing my drawstring buffet pants every damn day and eating Rolaids and Tums like they were candy and the other thing? Even bowls and bowls of raisin bran didn’t help. And yet, I was definitely NOT pregnant.

So I went to a gastroenterologist and after asking me a bunch of questions, he suggests I lay off the Rolaids and Tums and have a colonoscopy so they can see what’s going on. Did he just say he WANTS TO STICK A CAMERA UP MY ASS?

I’m like “Really?  Is that actually necessary?” which of course, he says yes. But don’t worry, he says, you’ll be asleep.

Translation: YOU’LL NEVER EVEN KNOW I PUT A CAMERA UP YOUR ASS

Except I would know.

And a ton of people will see my cellulite while I’m sleeping. With a camera up my ass. So undignified.

Did I mention I’m really vain?

So this was like three weeks ago. I put off Asscam 09 because BlogHer was coming up and frankly, if there was any bad news (that would be cancer, said Dr. Asscam), I would know right after the procedure and I didn’t want to go to Chicago with bad news on my mind. I’m selfish like that.

Also, I have to drink a WHOLE BOTTLE of Miralax the day before. Do I really need to elaborate on this?

Well, Blogher is now over and I still haven’t made the appointment. I’m scared. I know it’s selfish to keep putting it off because you know, I have kids and stuff but I just. Can’t. Do. It. I can’t make the call. I’ve tried.

Talk some sense into me.

I also got a mole biopsied a couple weeks ago. I never heard back from the dermatologist so I’m assuming there’s nothing to be concerned about. But really…two cancer things in one month? Can anyone blame me for being in total denial mode?

So the other night, we’re watching WEEDS. Don’t know if you watch it or not but Nancy had her baby, right? And it’s making all those newborn baby grimaces—and then it smiles. And I start tearing up.

A part of me really wants another baby. All the fear and hoping I wasn’t pregnant was a kneejerk reaction, I think. We have two kids already and no room or money for a third. It’s a bad idea. But my heart and hormones don’t care about that. They want what they want. And my husband doesn’t want what he doesn’t want. He has zero interest in having more children. And frankly, another child would probably take us to the brink of insanity. Neither of us handles stress very gracefully. And P, my youngest, still needs me even though he announced the other day that he “wants a bunch of babies.”  And N is growing up faster than I can even make sense of. Having another baby would take my attention away from them and that would kill me.

And yet, despite all of that,  I still can’t think about the fact that I will most likely never again hold another baby of my own—not without getting all sad. Because I just want what I want. And what I want is to be a mom one more time. Even if it’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever had. And inconvenient. And selfish.

I keep hoping this is all hormonally-driven. Or some kind of phase. I can’t imagine feeling this way for the rest of my life anymore than I can imagine starting all over with a newborn. Maybe if I leave post-it notes all over the place with phrases like “sleep deprivation!” “cracked nipples!” “colic!” and “episiotomy!” I’ll get over it faster…

And I still can’t imagine willingly attending Asscam 09.

*sigh*

Grandma Came. And Left.

Well…my baby is now officially four years old. He keeps saying he’s five (but I hope that never happens. I want him to stay just like he is forever *sniff*)

And wonder of wonders…I managed, somehow, to get my house clean and almost all the laundry washed and folded (but not all put away because apparently, when ALL our clothes are clean, we have too damn much to fit it our drawers. The solution? Don’t do laundry as often! Wait…no…I mean CLEAN OUT our drawers and put the stuff we no longer wear in the yard sale pile(s).

Anyway, my stepmother came, as promised, but didn’t even spend the night. Part of me was relieved because, honestly, I don’t enjoy house guests all that much, but the other part of me was kind of mad. We don’t see you for over two years and you can’t spend one damn night?

I was also irritated because I put a LOT of time and energy into cleaning the bedrooms since she would, presumably, be sleeping in one of them. Of course I’m happy that the rooms are now clean but if you only knew how much pressure I put on myself to get all this stuff done…only to find it was actually unnecessary. I even bought vodka (not the cheap stuff either) and organic orange juice for her. Hmmph.

The party was small and thankfully so because when you have two four year olds, two eight year olds and one very loud and curious (read: into effing EVERYTHING) two year old running around in a small house, all sugared up from cake, bickering over toys and balloons, hootin and hollerin’ and generally causing serious mayhem… Well, suffice it to say, any more kids might have made my head explode, as well as the heads of every adult in attendance (my husband, two other parents and two grandmothers).

The cake was awesome, if I do say so (homemade with some help from Bettty Crocker, with truly homemade chocolate icing), the food was okay (pasta, breadsticks and pizza from Pizza Hut because we are KLASSY) and the whole thing lasted about two and a half hours (just long enough).

When it was over and the kids went to bed, I promptly plopped my ass on the couch, with full intentions of watching True Blood but instead fell asleep for nine solid hours. Staying up til 4:30am the night before, cleaning (and writing for The Green Mom Review) just about killed me yesterday so I was totally okay with sleeping contentedly on the couch all night. I was, however, very grouchy this morning and pretty much snarled at everyone until I had coffee.

Shortly thereafter I had a little jungle adventure when I had to look for my cat. He’s a formerly feral kitten who kind of adopted my male cat, and thus our family, too. We got him fixed and now he’s this small, chubby, sweet little thing with a big old overbite.

Anyway, I noticed the night before last that I hadn’t seen him in over 24 hours. I had a feeling he was next door in this insane rainforest of a backyard. The girl is a renter and is never  EVER home so I put on jeans, sneakers and a long sleeved shirt (it’s like 90 degrees and 100% humidity, mind you) and climbed the wooden fence. As suspected, he was back there but he didn’t look right.

I climbed and scooted and crawled around and under all kinds of crazy stuff to get to him and he kept scuttling away. Spider webs of mammoth proportions were everywhere and about a thousand mosquitoes were swarming around my face (apparently they’re attracted to carbon dioxide) and the little bastard wouldn’t let me get closer than about 2 feet. I even tried to bribe him with food but he scuttled away and over the back fence. I KNOW he’s sick or something but I can’t help him if I can’t catch his wily ass.

The bright side? The house is wicked clean for the first time in ages and we won’t be here tomorrow to mess it up. WIN.