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Happy Birthday, Baby

I was rooting around in the little notes section of my Outlook files and I keep running across notes that I saved. Most of them are pitiful. Just dated little notes with reminders to myself about how I was feeling, what words hurt me… what actions another person took, things that were said that lead up to a fight. Many notes that I took to remind myself that, “No, hooker, you are NOT crazy. That was said. YES, that was said. It made you feel like shit because it was your husband saying such nonsense.”

The healthy part of my brain is all, “Girl, delete that bullshit.” And the crazy side (after I rein it in from riding an oil jack under a full moon) is all, “Keep it. You have a novel hiding in that mess. I can FEEL IT.”

Potato, po-tah-to. Whatever. It’s not hurting much.

I also ran across this..

“Dream 3/23/07 On the run with a man and a boy in a truck, a woman flags us down and says, "kill the boy now, spare his life!". I replied, "no, he's coming with us...". "Then give me his pajamas, I will give you a diagram for when the time comes.". She took the pajamas and drew a diagram where we could cut his femoral arteries if we needed to kill him quickly with little pain. I took the pajamas with their sketches of death back from her and ran back to the truck, Cully Wilson, at the wheel, gave me a tight smile and said, "let's find a place to rest for the night.". I got back into the cab and hugged the boy close to my side. He wasn't mine, nor was he Cully's. He was just another one of the lost that the (bad people - come up with name) were looking for. Souls of the youths. We stopped at an apartment complex where some of the (enlightened?) Were torturing a woman who had been uppity before the pulse hit. She was doing everything that the enlightened said, it was in her program now. Two or three of them would bark orders and she would race to finish the tasks delegated to her all at once, running a frantic pace, while the crowd roared. I the apartment, the boy was never far from my side... I knew we had a battle coming, and I didn't know how to fight but instinctually I knew I had the powers to defeat the ones calling themselves the fire-ies. (Bathroom scene with purse and contents spilled into the open bowl... On purpose, by Paul who I hit in the chest with the back of my right hand - ) (visitor, she is an elder and there to help us - I know better and safeguard the room before she enters, she wraps up then unveils to show her true form and I battle her) (Cully would never let me light my own smokes... Known him since I was 17). (Horses penned in an enormous - horizontally long- pen (enclosure) tiny ponies with wings... These are the fire-ies). (Director with gauze type shirt, very tan, hot pink bikini - very inappropriate - got her belly button pierced and had hot pink lip-gloss on the front hem of her shirt)”

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Um… whut.

Quick, someone make a movie of this shit, fast. I wanna see it. Damn that inappropriate director and her gauze shirt!

So, kittens, it has been a while since I posted last and many things happened in the interim.

We had the Kerr Krew weekend that was lovely. We spent hours outside at night huddled around a blazing fire pit because it was freaking cold. And then in the day we lounged around by the pool in our shorts and tank tops getting sunburned. Ah, Texas, I love you.

We also had a weird situation occur on Saturday. We all checked in via Facebook so people could ogle the gorgeous landscapes and ferment in their jealousy of our combined awesomeness. Kerry was the boss of my phone (hers died) as she was closing a deal that day and her charger had been left in Dallas. She alerted me to the fact that my phone was blowing up. I checked the phone and I had like 7 (not kidding) missed texts and three phone calls from a lady I know (gonna call her R). On FB she had messaged me and commented on all of the photos I was tagged in.

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The last text was along the lines of, “Girl! You are in my neck of the woods! You best holler back!” And then she… um, she just showed up.

A person, who was not invited, was in no way part of the group or the weekend showed up and crashed the FUCK out of our get together. R showed up before we went to the dock. We were at the dock for a good two hours before sunset and then she stayed after dark.

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I don’t know about y’all but my momma would have DIED. She raised me better. Sure it was nice to see R, but damn girl, where are your manners? Marly is so well bred that she made sure that R was fed dinner and had everything she needed while she was at the cabin.

Speaking of manners, I totally missed my blogs’ birthday… Happy Birthday old chum, you’re freaking ten.

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Ten, a whole decade of basically throwing words at the ether to see what sticks. Kind of cool, huh?

After the Kerr Krew weekend I had like two days to get my ass in gear and then head to Green Bay for Weetacon. American Airlines and it’s frivolity was jacking around in Chicago with their thumb up their respective ass and ended up dry fucking my travel plans in the most rude manner.

A phone call from them the night before I left was like, “um, yeah, we cancelled your shit… hold for an operator to find a connecting flight… um… PHYSCHE! *click*” So, I called back and was on hold for FIFTY EIGHT GODDAMN minutes. And had a lady say, “Oh you are a miles traveler.” with the same disdain a nun would intone, “Oh, you have syphilis.”

The best she could do was to drop me somewhere in a frozen tundra 2+ hours from my destination … eight hours after my scheduled arrival. My darling, fredlet, was like, “Darling, please, discontinue with that foolishness and just travel Southwest, you can ride with me from Milwaukee.” And so with a double finger salute to AA, I cancelled all of my previous plans (THAT I HAD FOR OVER A YEAR) and made some nice neat, quick ones with Southwest. Hi, Southwest Airlines, I love you. Call me?

Weetacon was lovely. I’m not ready to share. We’ll discuss it later.

Other things I would like to discuss later:

1) I* had to delete the comments section because, holy shit, I was deleting over 260 comments about three times a day.
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2) I want to put down in writing how I am mentally handling this … um, relationship I am in.
3) I want to show y’all what I look like when I experience an allergic reaction. (Spoiler Alert: Walter Matthau.)

* fredlet disabled the comments, y’all know I can’t drive this bus.

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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on April 4, 2013 3:40 PM.

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