Many times a day, I find myself forgetting things. Mostly I forget stupid shit.

I forget to grab the laundry that is upstairs and I will have to make an extra trip. I may forget to take out meat to thaw for dinner. I have even been known to forget to eat breakfast or lunch.

I’m starting to think it’s not my fault. Hubs must ask me a million questions when he gets home.

Did you check the mail? Of course I did. It’s raining and I don’t want it to get wet. Did I get anything? All of it is right there. If you don’t see it, it didn’t come. Are you sure? No, I am hiding it all so I can gift wrap it for Christmas! Did you mail out the bills? No, I want to give all the clients a free ride so we can live on the street someday. Did you pay our bills? No, Let me remind you that I want to live on the street.

When it comes to the business, I don’t fuck around. The billing gets done in a timely manner. Many of our assholes clients only pay their bills one day out of the month. I don’t want to be told that our billing has to wait an extra month before it gets paid. To top it all off, I don’t want to see the clutter of paperwork, so I try to get rid of as much of it as I can.

Lately, I find myself trying to remember if I did these things. Of course I did. I know I did. But if he keeps doubting me or reminding me ten times after they are done, it makes me doubt myself.  Why doesn’t he trust me? I’ve never given him a reason to believe otherwise!

He is on my last nerve tonight. The questions started as he came in the door. They continued after dinner. He’s been on my back all night!

All of the checks were written out. All of the bills are labeled. They are all sealed, stamped and ready to go to the post office.

FUCK!

I forgot to pick up the stamps!

I got a new vacuum.

It’s about freaking time too. About 15 years ago, a friend gave me his old one when he….um…was ‘going away’ for an extended ‘vacation’. Since he wouldn’t need an apartment, he gave away alot of his belongings. Since my own vacuum was a piece of shit, I was hella happy to get his!

After many years of use and abuse, the vacuum was shot. The bag no longer zipped shut. The bristles of the beater bar were damn near non-existent. The creamy beige color? Uh, was that beige at some time? You’d never know it now.

Last summer, Hubs the Benevolent got me a new one. Actually, we got it at a liquidators. (This translates into refurbished and reboxed) I loved it. It had attachments that the old vac lacked. I could reach the top of draperies –not that I did, but I could if I wanted to. I never knew how much suction the old one had lost. Now, I only vacuumed half of my downstairs before the dirt canister needed to be emptied! Not only that, but the beater bar needed cleaning right away.

You see, Metalmom and Babygirl both have long hair. Babygirl’s friends and Son1’s girlfriend all have long hair. This means that it ends up EVERYWHERE no matter how dilligently we try to keep it in the bathroom or the bedrooms.

The first month was the honeymoon. I faithfully took the bar out to untangle the hair that could burn a rotator belt in no time. And then one day…….

I was in a hurry.

I was careless with the bar. While it was off, I managed to lose the ball bearings that help it roll. It no longer worked.     Since it was refurbished, there was no warranty. Since it had been a discontinued model, there were no replacement parts readily available…even from the manufacturers!

So there it sat, in the corner of my room, waiting for ‘Big Trash Day’ when it could be carted away. And that day came and went. But I forgot to put it out. There it sat, mocking me with its glorious attachments. It taunted me with it’s unused power. It reminded me daily of my carelessness.

But I had kept the old vac. I don’t know why, but I did. And it was recalled into service. Only Old Faithful now lacked a certain vitality. Things just weren’t the same between us. He could no longer get the job done. We drifted further and further apart.

Wednesday night, Hubs surprised me and we bought a new one. He’s a handsome devil, I’ll give him that. (The vacuum…..well, Hubs is too, but I’m talking about the vac here!) It is every bit as strong as the other. It’s lines are sleek and younger looking. It came with a warranty! I can get replacement parts easily by calling a toll-free number!

Somehow, I can’t seem to bring myself to put Old Faithful out to the curb. I think I will tuck him into a corner of the basement. Soon, it won’t hurt so much to see him wasting space.

Soon, I’ll be ready to say a permanent goodbye.

It was a hot day in August. Just like most of those days, it was sweltering and extremely humid. But oh, the sun was shining.

I woke up at 6am because it was something I had done for the preceding 4 years. Once I got into the habit, my internal clock didn’t want to be reset. I showered. I ate a bowl of cereal and threw a few things into a bag. I’d be needing them later, because I wasn’t coming back once I left. I putzed around some more, walked our Great Dane, and then got down to business.

After planning for little over a month, I was getting married at noon.

I did my own hair. I put on my own make-up. Mom knocked on my bedroom to ask if I needed any help getting ready. My answer was No. If I had been a more girly-girl, I might have known that it was something moms did with their daughters on the day of their wedding. If I could go back to that day, I’d have said Yes.

The photographer (the brother of my future BIL) showed up and began taking pictures of my family, including my Mom-Mom and Great Mom-Mom. I got annoyed as the humidity began to muss my hair. (What’s hairspray?) Finally we headed for the church.

The first thing I saw when I got out of Dad’s car was an ex-boyfriend. He wanted to see if I’d go through with it. “I can drive you away if you want…” , he said. I declined the offer. The next person I saw was a guy I had known since third grade. He was also a friend of Hubs. “Who’da thunk I’d be watching you marry one of my best friends?”, he said. Two years later, I’d be saying “Who’da thunk you would be my BIL?” He is still my BIL.

Finally the moment came. The organ started and I watched my sister, who was also my maid-of-honor, walk down the aisle. At that second, Dad whispered to me that the car was gassed and outside of the church doors. “You don’t have to do this.” I wasn’t great at taking advice and I didn’t do it then either.

Then the clock struck twelve. The bells of the church began to ring the familiar “Angelus” of prayer. It rang every day at noon and that Saturday was no different. I didn’t care. It was a sign. I felt that they were chiming for me. I walked down the aisle with my father to attend my meeting with destiny.

Hubs isn’t from a Catholic family. We decided to get married in my Church but with an abbreviated ceremony. (Blessings, readings and vows.) My brothers were the altar servers. As they made faces behind  the priest’s back, I tried my hardest not to laugh. A girl I had known since the age of six sang “Morning Has Broken”. We vowed to ’love and honor’ each other. (I made sure there was no ‘obey’!) The entire service lasted twenty minutes.

Hub’s godfather catered our reception. It was held in a local firehall.  Our mothers decorated with streamers and bells and paper table cloths. Only our family and very few of our friends were there. The kid I played stickball with was there and my best friend from high school was there. Another friend, who said “she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to be invited to her friend’s wedding” crashed the party. Aunt Helen took off her slip and waved it above her head as she danced. The best man passed out while dancing with one of our cousins. One of the waiters got drunk on the free booze and threw up all over the rest room. It was one hell of a party. It is still remembered fondly by everyone who was in  attendance that day.

We left early with the intention of changing our clothes and going back to our families houses. Instead, we sat down on the couch in our little apartment and promptly fell asleep. We let everyone make their own assumptions as to what we were doing. Eventually, we made our stops and said goodbyes. We spent the night in a hotel near the airport and left for the Chesapeake Bay the next morning.

Every detail of that day is etched in my mind like it was yesterday. Hubs can recall the guest list, what people talked about and what music was played. Friends often recall the fact that once the music started, the dance floor was never empty.

Our wedding cost our parents almost $2000. Seriously. My gown and my sister’s gown were $20 each. They were simple prom gowns-the same style-mine white, hers blue. Someone had ordered them, had them tailored and never picked them up. I wore a wreath of baby’s breath in my hair and that was only because my godmother insisted. (You can’t get married in the house of the Lord without your head covered!) I carried daisies. I wore Great Mom-Mom’s pearl earrings. Mom-Mom made the cake.

I remember that I never got nervous. I remember that I never had a doubt.

I remember it all because it was the best day of my life.

Once upon a time, Hubs did a job that required him to get up in the middle of the night to go to work. He worked in businesses that had to be closed in order for him to work, or in areas where motor traffic would be a danger to him. The point is, he’d leave me alone in the wee hours.

Babygirl had just been born, but she was a very good newborn, who slept through the night. In fact, she slept through the night until she was two. This meant that even though I was awake at two, three or four am , I had nothing to do.

Why did I need something to do? Because I find it hard to sleep alone.

I can sleep in the bed alone when I am sick or when I am exhausted. I know that Hubs is in the next room and it’s comforting. I can go to sleep when I know that he is getting up to go to work. He will leave at five or six and I can definitely go right back to sleep. But those late night jobs were sometimes in areas that left him vulnerable to crime or where he was working alone with no backup in case of injury and that thought kept me awake.

He left a short time ago. He left to work in another state and he will stay overnight and come home Friday. It is raining, so I will sit here typing this while I worry about him driving on the highway. I will most likely fall asleep again around 8am. That is when I expect him to call and let me know that he made it to his destination.

After all this time being married, I certainly enjoy being able to stretch out on the bed. I like the comfort of the “middle”. I can fall asleep with the TV on if I feel like doing so.  But  I miss the certainty that come with knowing exactly where he is. Not in a “hovering wife” kind of way, but differently. I find it hard to explain.

Tonght (or more precisely this morning), I have finished doing laundry and will now fold it. I am just about finished packing for vacation. My house is pretty much clean and the dishes are done. What is left?

What’s left is to snuggle with my puppy and wait for the phone call that will finally put me back to sleep.

Hubs and I took a ride on Saturday. This was our annual “Ride to the shore to find a place for our vacation” This is something that just the two of us do.  We never share this with our kids. We have always gotten babysitters for them. Now that they are older, we just leave. Maybe we will stay overnight, or maybe we’ll come back that  evening.

We drive along in companionable silence. We’ve been together for almost 28 years, so we don’t always need to talk. We can still look at roadkill and suddenly crack up laughing because we thought the  same thing. “That’s a strange place for a raccoon to take a nap.”

We are trapped. If there is something major that needs discussion, this is the time to do it. No one can walk away. No one can slam a door. No one will walk into the room to disturb us.

We are trapped. After only 20 minutes of driving, we lose the major radio stations. It is either silence or CDs. Sometimes we choose CDs. Normally there is a heated debate about which CDs will join us for the ride. It is something that we both need to agree on or else we don’t  bring it.  Saturday, we left quickly, so there was no debate. I grabbed the CD case, added a few Hub’s newer CDs and we ran.

We were trapped. I listened to the oldies. We drove along with Roy Orbison, Del Shannon, and Percy Faith. We were serenaded by Little Eva, Martha and the Vandellas, and the Supremes. I didn’t get annoyed or want to tear out my hair.

We were trapped. Hubs listened to Rammstein, Megadeth and Violent Femmes. He didn’t complain. He didn’t tell me to turn it down. I noticed that his fingers tapped the steering wheel in time to the music.

It is interesting the things that you can learn about another person when you are trapped together. Even after nearly 28 years, we are learning about each other. It took this long for us to actually enjoy the other’s taste in music. We talked about what he enjoys about running the business. We talked about what I like about blogging. Yes, we talked about you. He asked what draws me to your writing. He was interested.

We were trapped, yet not trying to escape.

Today was full of follow-ups. Not all of them were as bad as I thought they would be.

I called the school about the summer school situation. Babygirl can take it again next year and bring the grade up. *Whew!* I feel like we dodged a huge bullet there. She may be inconvenienced but so be it. AND!! We may be able to squeeze a vacation at the shore, even if it’s only one weekend.

I called the orthodontist. There is a very good one that was recommended by three other dentists that I called. He is not far down the road from me and he offers a free consultation, interest-free payment plan and costs that we will be able to afford. (It will still be expensive but it won’t kill us)

The plumber came. Everyone was coming home from work dirty. I was making dinner(without using the sink -not an easy task) We NEEDED to use the water now. He snaked out the line and found that it was full of root and backup from the sewerline repair going on on my street. The charge was minimal. It could have been ten times worse.

Hubs says I borrowed trouble by worrying about it. I recently gave that advice to a friend but I can’t seem to follow it myself. He also said we’d get through it because we had no choice. This is also true. But I simply can’t seem to imagine myself going without ice cream during the summer!

Thanks for the crossed fingers and well wishes. I wish all of life’s problems could be solved so easily.

Trukindog wants to know more about me.  Why? Don’t I give enough of myself? All I ever do for people is give, give, give! It used to be just family and very close friends, but now even my bloggin’ buddies are infringing on my generosity. Well, Tdog, you are so lucky that I am still medicated and can’t think of anything better to post!

So here you have a half dozen factoids (not to be confused with hemorrhoids.)

1.  From April through October, I have incredibly healthy fingernails. They grow long and are so strong that even when I press on them, they do not bend. However, after October-without fail-they will break, split and peel. I have used gelatin, extra coats of nail polish and lots of other things to keep them long but it never works.

2.  I have never met a vampire, werewolf, troll, ogre or banshee. I have actually met a witch.

 3.  I love ‘different’ ice cream flavors. While chocolate and vanilla are always nice,I much prefer Moose Tracks, Chunky Monkey, Cherry Garcia, Rocky Road, and brownie chunk ice creams.

4.  When I met my husband, he had his arms around another girl. The first thing I noticed was his ass.

5.  The second thing I noticed was his forearms. I love a man with muscular forearms like Popeye. Not arms bulging with muscles like a body builder—just ‘working man’ rugged.

6.  All of my siblings and cousins are named after someone else in the family. I am not. My dad liked my first name and my mom liked my middle name. No one else has either name. However, I married into a family in which I am one of three others with the same first name.

Now for the bizniz part of this deal:

1. Link to the person who tagged you. THANK YOU, TRUKINDOG!!

2. Mention the rules on your blog.  Okay, here they are.

3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours. Did you read them?

4. Tag 6 bloggers and link them. Tug, Cissa, Winter, Nobody, Fantastagirl, and Shiny. Come on guys—admit it…you need blog fodder!

5. Notify taggees by leaving a comment on their blog. I’m going, I’m going!

I don’t know about you, but my mama always told me that when you say you’re sorry, you should mean it. In order to mean it, you should fully intend not to do or say the offending thing again.

Am I right? Did I miss something? Was my mom lying? Does she now owe me an apology?

I won’t name any names, but this is getting on my last motherfucking nerve. Someone tells me that they will clean their room and it only gets halfway done. When I confront the offender, I get “I’m sorry.”

Someone will move a garbage bag in front of the kitchen door, in order to leave the house. Why wasn’t it taken out? “I’m sorry.”

Someone spills sugar on the countertop in their mad rush to leave the house in the morning. Do they clean it up? “I’m sorry”

Wet towels lay on the floor. Dishes sit next to the sink. We’re late for something again. The door is not pulled shut all the way. One cookie is left in a bag on the table. The potato chips are not clipped closed.

The list goes on and on.

This isn’t every day. This isn’t all at one time. But even one thing a day, tends to snowball. I become “the Nag” yet again.

I don’t want to be THAT mom. I don’t want to be THAT wife.

Why am I put into this situation time after time? If I say nothing, doesn’t that imply that I’m okay with being treated this way? If I say nothing, doesn’t that imply that it is okay to live like animals?

ARRRGGGHH!!!!

Frustration seems an inadequate word to use about how I feel on this subject.

I’d say I’m sorry for venting all of this here, but then I’d be lying to you. You know I’ll bitch and moan again.

I’m sorry - I don’t live in paradise.

Recently, Hubs got new phones  for Babygirl and me and had them added to his business account. This was considered the best thing since …..well, since ever. Babygirl would get unlimited texting (which she really needed-or so she said) I on the other hand, would get unlimited use on the weekend (Now I can call Mr Fabulous and Turnbaby on Sunday nights!)

He picked out new phones and surprised us with them. “Surprised” isn’t quite the word I would use. They were “functional”. (Code for UGLY!) Now, I personally didn’t complain. I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Babygirl, on the other  hand, stated flatly that she would not be seen even holding this monstrosity. Daddy took them back and got us pretty phones. These new ones needed a plan different from the plan he had gotten. So he got another plan too.

My new number is a different area code so we waited to see if there would be roaming charges. However, Babygirl got right into the groove of using her mad texting skillz. Even when her dominant hand was in a splint, she never missed a beat. The texting goes on before school, after school, during break at work, and interspersed through homework time.

The bill came yesterday. Of course our provider fucked it up. (I won’t use the name but it begins with ’spr’ and ends with ‘int’ ) They billed us for the original plan (Just Hubs-for business). And they billed us for a plan compatable with the ‘ugly phones’.  And they billed us for the current plan for the pretty phones. (Following me?) Over a THOUSAND DOLLARS!!!

After we cleaned up the shit in our pants, hubs jumped on the phone to have a civilized conversation with customer service. (I would have made merchant marines blush) Now listen to this!  They were expecting the call! NO SHIT! Our account was red-flagged “expect these folks to rip us a new one!” Anyway….it was fixed. No harm-no foul. We spoke to a rep that spoke English clearly and who dealt with us efficiently. What are the odds of that?

Now here’s an interesting tidbit. Babygirl sent almost 8,000 text messages. EIGHT THOUSAND!!!  Are we bad parents? We didn’t tell her that the bill was straightened out. We showed her the bill for a grand and let her shit herself too.  Did she? NO.

“Daddy, you’re just gonna have to call them up. I distinctly asked for unlimited texting and it should be in the package. Fix it.”

And she proceded to text her girlfriend. Did Hubs flinch? Of course not! We’re talking about Daddy’s girl here!

I’ve got some things floating around so I’m getting right to it!

What is freewriting? Freewriting is writing whatever comes to mind, usually writing for a predetermined amount of time without regard to spelling, grammar, structure, etc. and no editing is done. We have chosen five minutes for right now, we will add or subtract from that in the weeks to come as we see fit.

 Shown damn near actual size.

Tonight I bought some Easter marshmallows. They were so fresh and soft! I love them. Anyway, I ate oneright away in the car. It made me so happy that I shoved three into my mouth at one time. Then Hubs asked me a questuon and I couln’t talk because my mouth was so full. He laughed and said “I wish some one you knew was walkijng by so they could see you.” Well, no one I knew would be surprised to see me thusly. so he dared me to put eight into my mouth. He didn’t think I could do it.  I did. And almost died a horrible death by choking on a wad of marshmallow. Asshole. Never dare me. Other than that it  has been a week from hell. I have the pictures and bruises to prove it. They will;be posted. someday….. As soon as the kids go home today, I will be drinking  to celebrate the end of another Spring Break. I survived!

I’m linking Shiny, Finn, Randi, Absurdist and Robin. Who else wants to be included?  Let me know…..Hmmm…I should get an autolink thingamajigger. Happy Friday!