Tuesday, June 28, 2011

AND NOW for something completely different...

Here is the award I have created... A blogger-medal:
I love stories. (duh--writer.) So to kick off the new blogger award thingy, I am going to tell you all the story of Mich.


Mich arrived on this earth on September the 21st, 1984.


Prepare yourselves, for you may actually DIE from the epic cuteness.


Yes, I know--I was the cutest baby of all time. 


And Mum was super stylin' back in the 80's.


Mich did not grow hair until she was three years old.


My childhood was largely uneventful. Most of the time I was left to my own devices.
Age 2 - attempting to drink alcohol
Age 4 - I don't even know
There were some fun birthdays.
5th birthday - pony rides in the yard!
7th birthday - the year everyone had their party at the roller rink
There were summers spent in Ireland.


And vacations to Disneyworld.


That trip scarred everyone for life. Literally, in my case--I fell in the airport when we were going back home and cracked my head open. I got a free giant stuffed Shamu and 3 extra days in Florida, as well as a 3-hour wait in the emergency room and 6 stitches. Before that, my friend and I (we were 5) spent the week alternately being bff's and trying to kill each other. We had a massive kicking-and-screaming fight in the Sea World parking lot because I had insisted we sit in the splash zone, and J had not wanted to get wet. 


But the best night was when we all went out to Jungle Jim's. J and I discovered that every time our mothers ordered a mai tai, they got a little plastic animal. 


By the end of the night, J and I had 9 plastic animals. Each. 


Good times.


I can't find any fun photos from the mid-childhood years. So let's jump ahead to the Awkward Stage.
Mich and Little Sis, circa 1996.
That photo has made the rounds on Facebook like 20 times.


Here I am the night of the 8th grade "Social," age 13:
Mum chose that dress. I hated it.
I can't find any photos at all from age 14. That was the year I officially ditched Grunge for Goth, and discovered the joys of hallucinogens. By age 15, I think my spasticity was fully developed.
Yes, that's a Sailor Moon wand.
Fifteen was a rough year. I was doing A LOT of drugs. And I was in my second year of an all-girls Catholic high school (after 9 years in the Catholic grade school hellhole). I tried EVERYTHING to get Mum to let me go to the public high school. I tried failing my classes, being a Rebel, being an Extremely Angry Teenager..... Nothing worked. And it's pretty much impossible to get expelled from a private school because your parents are paying a lot of money for you to go there. 


So when I was 15, I chopped all my hair off and told my mother I was a lesbian. And that I had become a lesbian because I was in school with all girls. Mum was raised strict Irish-Catholic, so she was horrified.


I got to go to public school the following year.


Sweet 16 - best birthday cake ever:
I lost count of how many people were sneaking me alcohol. You can tell from the redness that I am quite drunk.


Because I didn't want to give Mum a stroke, I had to slowly ease out of being a lesbian. Hence the choice of cake and jewelry. 


I kind of calmed down with the drugs by the end of high school. I found a new drug in hair dye and makeup. 


I went through a different hair colour and style like every 6 months, for the next several years. I wish I had photos from college, but alas--I spent most of college either drunk, stoned, or behind a camera. This is how my hair looked right before I went blonde:
The Bettie Page phase.
There's not much interesting after that. :D


SO for the award--I'm going to give it to the last 8 commenters from the last post, because I like the number 8 and I want to make it fair. 
- Dani
Suldog
- Moonlight Mistress
- Cinnamon Brown
- All.That.Wander.Are.Not.Lost
- Eloise18
- Amber
- Ayden


I'd really love to hand out to all of you, but it seems like it's a bit more fun if you guys can pass it on. So you eight lovelies go and taketh yonder medal, and tell us a story--a true story, your story, a fictitious story, a hybrid true-fiction story... whatever the heck you want. Just tell a story. <3

Monday, June 27, 2011

I've got to get away from these confounded relatives hanging on the bell all day, never giving me a moment's peace!

Just a quickie, before the post with the new blogger award...


The step-monsters are finally gone! HOORAH!!!!


I think I'm finally caught up on all my commenters. Now hopefully I can get a chance to go through all of the other blogs I'm following and leave all of you lovelies comments. I haven't had time to do that in aaaaages!


The dictionary seems to think that "commenters" is not a word. WELL GUESS WHAT BIOTCHES, IT IS NOW. 


Amber made me a picture!! She made it after the lady from that university was going around leaving many of us that message about participating in their "pro-ana blog" study. I agreed to participate, but I made quite a few things very clear beforehand. Mainly my own feelings on being labeled "pro-ana."
I love this, like a lot. 
But as difficult as it is, sometimes we just have to stop, take a breath, and remember that most people are woefully ignorant of what it is actually like to live with an eating disorder. 


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Weekend recap!


Yesterday (Sunday), my friends D and T and myself went to Luna Parc.


This guy only opens his house up to the public once a year. I wanted to steal pretty much everything. Or better yet, slaughter him and his roomies, bury them in the cement floor in the basement, and move in. 


It at least gave me hope that someday I might be able to put my hoarding to good use. 


Greatest bathroom of all time:


I couldn't fit the whole thing in one photo and there were too many people to take more decent pics, but aside from the super funness you can see there, they had a circle of loose rocks in the middle of the room with the shower faucet directly on top of it. Like I can't even form words to describe how much I want that house. I'll post more photos when T gets hers up on Facebook. 


I did take this pic, because it reminded me of a good episode of Millennium:


And I really wanted to steal this sign:


After that, we stopped at the Chatterbox Diner.


Totally awesome. And I managed to control myself and not binge! I had most of a hamburger with BBQ sauce, onions, and bacon, but left most of the bun and had a small side salad instead of fries. 
I tried stealing the car, but there were too many people watching. 
Then we took a 2 hour detour on the way home and went to the beach. Here I am in praying mantis sunglasses:
Stylin'!


And my supplies:


I was texting Cinnamon Brown while I was there. I think she was horrified at my choice in suntan lotion.


Despite my epic whiteness, I don't really get burned that easily. I don't tan either. Sunlight just bounces off my skin, which is why I often look like I'm radioactive in photographs. 


I sent Little Sis a pic of my legs, because we like to compare whiteness. I think I'm winning, because at the moment her legs are still fake-tanned.
I wish I had a proper gap when standing. 
So aside from some drama (not explaining it, as it would take too long; but I will admit to being kind of an a$*hole), we had a very nice time. 


Off to the gym now! I'm skipping my writing group tonight. I'm really just not feeling it. I need to run off some nervous energy.


Super awesome epic fun ridiculousness coming soon!


<3

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Is this a piece of your brain?

400 followers?? Crikey.

Hey y'all! 'Sup?


I just want to say a HUGE thank you to you angels for your support on that last post. If I didn't hate touching, I'd hug every single one of you. 

Uncle DOES NOT have cancer. 

::dances around the room::

After they got his gall bladder out, cleared some kind of bile blockage (ew?), the jaundice went away and they were able to properly do all the big tests; and they concluded that it was a false alarm. 

NOW WHY THE EFF THE DOCTORS WOULD TELL UNCLE AND COMPANY THAT HE HAS LIVER CANCER AND LESS THAN A MONTH TO LIVE WHEN THEY DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW FOR CERTAIN IS BEYOND ME. 
And therein lies the reason I do not trust doctors.

But none of us could be properly upset with the doctors because we were too thrilled that Uncle is ok. 

Here's some happy music.



Yesterday was bad. I haven't been sleeping much. That combined with Uncle's cancer scare, anxiety over seeing the father for Little Bro's graduation, and the impending arrival of the Ugly Stepsister today, I ended up bingeing on the office pretzels, and then purging them in the bathroom at work.

Apparently I can purge when I'm emotionally distraught. 

I was then double anxious because I couldn't work out after work, since I had to go see Little Bro#1 graduate high school. Boss ended up letting me go home early, so I managed to squeeze in half an hour on the treadmill. 

To me, that's like taking a quiet 5-minute stroll down the road. It does not qualify as Exercise.

So I was like ok, I can be Acceptable for the day as long as I don't eat anything else. At all. 

Did I mention that the Good Ship Recovery has officially sunk?

I will try again, I just need to regroup.

So yesterday, after the 30 minute workout, I drove up to Dad's to see Little Bro#1 graduate high school. Step-Mom's parents, her brother and 2 of her nephews (OMG CUTEST KIDS EVER!! Hadn't seen them in years, but one is totally going to be a mega ladies-man), and Step-Mom's aunt and uncle. I always feel like such an outsider at these things, so that wasn't helping my anxiety. 

And then Little Bro#1 played this on the piano, as part of the graduation ceremony:



I seriously almost cried. I introduced him to that song. It's from Amelie (one of the best films ever). 
But then again, this means he can't play that song at my funeral, which I had been planning for some time. I shall have to come up with something else. 

Then after the ceremony, Step-mom says I should come with all of them to a restaurant near their house, just to get coffee ('cause it was almost 10.00 by then). So I said ok, thinking I could allow myself a coffee.

Wrong. We get there, and everyone starts ordering actual food. I got an appetizer so I wouldn't look like a weirdo not eating with everyone else, and then (because I can't control myself when I'm anxious?!??!?) I got DESSERT. 
>:(

Most of it was purged in the bathroom of the restaurant. I wasn't going to try purging, but Step-mom and Dad kept making comments about my weight. Unlike Mum, who always says I'm too thin, they both love to tell me how great I look, and how skinny, and how wonderful it is that I'm taking such good care of myself (as opposed to the fat tub of lard that I was before?) and then Little Bros were playing with some app on their ipod that lets you take a photo of someone and make them look fat, and we were all having a good laugh at that until I took a really good look at the photo they did of me and thought, "I can't see much of a difference."

Overwhelming? I dunno. My nerves were frayed, I was running on very little sleep, and I tend to have trouble dealing with Dad's side of the fam in general. So I purged my dessert in the bathroom. Like an a$*hole. 

Ho hum. 

Then B/P'ed some oreos and an ice cream sandwich when I got home. 
>:O

I hate the drive home from Dad's. It takes almost an hour, and I really hate making that drive alone. Going from their Super-Happy-Perfect-Loving-Christian-Family to being completely alone in the car for an hour in the dark makes me feel incredibly cut off from them. That's why I generally take someone with me when I visit Dad. 

But what can you do but pick up the pieces and try and again? Like riding a horse--you fall off, you have to get back on. 
Which is kind of ironic, because taking that advice literally is what caused the head/back injury that left me with little to no balance, effed up motor skills, and random bouts of vertigo. 

Word. 

I'm going to the gym now. 

...before I go... I was thinking of making up another blogger award. Like a fun and sort of silly one. Would y'all take it, if I started handing it out? I promise it will be ridiculous. :D

Later dudes!
<3

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Many that live deserve death. Some that die deserve life. Do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment.

I suppose it's safe to presume that the bigger your family, the more chances there are of bad things happening to people in your family. Laws of probability and whatnot. 

My uncle was just diagnosed with liver cancer. 

(Not actual uncle--Anorexic Auntie's husband; but I've known him most of my life so he's my Uncle.)

So yeah, liver cancer. I looked it up immediately after Mum told me. I wish I hadn't. The survival rate is generally not that high. 

This is bullsh*t. 

Ano and fam were supposed to be in Spain, enjoying some time at Loud Auntie's house by the beach. They really needed that holiday. Ano Auntie took Granny's death the hardest of all the 8 kids, and she's been like ridiculously depressed for over a year. Plus she's having kidney issues and now has some condition that can't be fixed, so she's been put on a ton of meds and a special diet that restricts her from eating most of her favourite foods (which is not exactly helping the eating disorder). 

Her daughter, C. probably took Granny's death the hardest out of everyone in the entire family. C, who is 17, has Downs Syndrome and since Ano Auntie refused to send her to a special school where she might actually learn something she can retain and use later in life, she goes to a normal secondary school and has no friends. Granny was her only friend--they used to talk on the phone multiple times a day and discuss all their fav TV shows for hours. Now Granny is gone, C's father was just diagnosed with cancer, and her mother is teetering on the edge of a total nervous breakdown. 

Loud Auntie canceled her American holiday to go and stay with Ano Auntie for a while. We can't go be with our family because we live on the other side of the bloody ocean. I hate that my parents moved here. HATE IT. We're too far removed from our family and with each bad thing that happens, I feel like we're getting more and more removed. 

We were here when my cousin died of cancer (in 1994; she was 19), so we couldn't help out Bipolar Auntie. We were here when Granddad dropped dead of a heart attack with no warning whatsoever (1997). I was stuck in Philadelphia and couldn't get home fast enough to go to Ireland with Mum when Uncle Chris also dropped dead of a heart attack with no warning whatsoever (2003). We were stuck here when Granny got sick last March. 

And then last May, when I was away in the Dominican Republic, Granny died and no one told me. They didn't tell me until I got home to New Jersey, 2 days after the funeral. (Apparently there was a large graveside argument about this, between various cousins and my mother...)

This makes me want to claw my eyes out. I feel like a cast away--adrift in a big country full of people who are not my family. 

When I was little, I used to beg Mum to take us to live in Ireland. Like BEGGING with tears and fury and door slamming and throwing myself face-down on the floor. I hated it here. I hated school, hated my town, hated all the kids I played with and went to school with, hated living in a house with no father and a mother who was never home and no other family nearby. I wanted a Home. When I was sent to Ireland every summer, I would hide out in the bogs on my last day there, praying that Mum would just leave me behind when she couldn't find me. In Shannon airport, getting onto the plane that would take us back to New Jersey, I would turn into a shrieking, suicidal, blubbering mess. 

I started cutting the year Mum decided to stay in the U.S. for Christmas. I was 9.

Ugh. 

I mean I totally love this country now. But I still don't want to live here. And of course now that I'm over 18 and can technically make my own decisions about where I live, I don't have the means to go live in Ireland. I have no savings--it all went to college. I have too much debt. There are no jobs over there, especially in Achill, as it's about as "middle of nowhere" as you can get without dropping off into the sea. 

>:O

I'm sorry for the non-happy post. Today is a bad day. The weather outside matches my mood.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Do not take me for some conjurer of cheap tricks!


This past weekend, I did not binge. And I did not stave. I did something I haven't done in a looooooooooooooooooooooong time: ate like a normal person. I ate when I was hungry, did not count anything, didn't stuff my face until I could no longer breathe, and even ::gasp:: ate a couple snacks of junk food-type things WITHOUT going crazy or climbing the walls in anxiety. 

How do you retrain yourself to eat? It's not like it was something you were ever really taught in the first place. It should be something you do by instinct. In disordering our eating habits, we are essentially unraveling a piece of our brains that should not be capable of unraveling after tens of thousands of years of evolution. So how in the heck are we supposed to knit it back together?!?

People who have never had to deal with the reality of an eating disorder seem to think it's easy to "recover." Just start eating again--how hard can it be, right??

Totally. 'Cause if it was that easy, I would definitely still be disordered. 

Idiots.

....Where was I?
oh yeah.... Food scares me. Foods containing carbohydrates REALLY scare me. I'm quite happy walking around acting like bread, potatoes, rice, pasta, pastry, etc. are simply figments of my imagination. They can't see me if I can't see them, right? But in order to re-learn how to eat, I need to face my fear of bread-things. 

Bigger and scarier than that is simply learning how to eat in general. This is not simply a matter of "oh hey I was starving myself, but now I'm all better, so I'll just go eat something."

No. It doesn't work like that. My brain is now hard-wired to either eat nothing, or to eat everything. That in-between space of normal, healthy portions? It's light walking a tightrope.

Food--especially any kind of carby junk food--makes me feel like that shark from Finding Nemo.


JUST A BIIITE!!!

I try. I REALLY try to have just one cookie. Just one normal-sized bowl of ice cream. Just one serving of Frosties. 

But that one portion sets off the Armageddon Neurons. 

Scientific Fact--foods high in carbs cause an increase in serotonin, which basically causes a reduction in anxiety in the brain, thus making me associate carb-bingeing with decreased anxiety and increased feelings of comfort, which in turn ends in me inhaling every carbohydrate in the immediate vicinity. 

Since my brain is responding to the spike in serotonin levels rather than to whether or not I'm hungry or full, I can't stop eating until I actually physically cannot stuff any more food into my stomach. And yet it still feels like there's this empty, hollow space that needs to be filled. On the occasions I actually have managed to stop mid-binge, the moments following that self control are pure TORTURE. This feels like some kind of Ancient Greek punishment in the afterlife. 

This afternoon, for example, the office pretzels derailed me a bit. I brought several snacks for the day (Quaker Oats mini rice cake things, beef jerky, dry roasted edamame, fiber bar) and thought I could totally have a small handful of the pretzels around lunchtime, without going nuts. 

Wrong. 

I think I stopped myself at like 50. Ugh. 

Now I know that theoretically it's ok for a normal person to have the occasional junk food, or even occasional pig-out day. But bingeing--senseless, mindless, emotional over-eating--is just as unhealthy as starving. Both mentally and physically unhealthy. Since I can only seem to do one or the other, my disordered "logic" tells me to just give up on the whole idea of "recovery." I can't do it and that's that, and since I seem only capable of either bingeing or starving, starvation is clearly the better option. Since my only options are unhealthy ones, I should go with the one that will keep me thin, right?

It's a self-destructive cycle that makes me feel like a hamster running on a little wheel. 


But on to more positive things!

Saturday, Friend and I went on a nature adventure to Wawayanda State Park. We wanted to have a nautical picnic, so in preparation, I decided to experiment some more with that rice paper and make some delicious spring roll type things for our picnic lunch. 

I made two kinds. The first was broccoli, yellow summer squash, and zucchini stir fried in low-sodium teriyaki.
 

I cut everything up really small, to make it easier to roll up. 
Friend took this photo, 'cause I was running late (story of my life) and forgot to get a pic of those ones. 

I made a sauce to go with that one: 2 tbsp low fat mayonnaise, 1 tsp horseradish mustard, and 1 tsp wasabi powder made for a lovely dipping sauce that was spicy enough for me, but not too spicy for Friend. 

For the other set of spring rolls, I did a weird take on an Italian sausage, peppers, and onions sandwich recipe. I sauteed red peppers and onions (cut up as small as possible, for easier spring-rolling).

And I cooked three little veggie-sausage patties in the oven, 


then mashed them up and added them to the frying pan. 

For both spring rolls, I actually cut the pieces of rice paper in half before rolling, to make smaller rolls that were more bite size, and thus more canoe-picnic friendly. 


Then rolled them up and tried to make them look pretty.


They both turned out extremely delicious. Even Mum and Little Sis liked them.

We canoed for 2 hours, and then wandered in the woods for another two hours or so and took photos. Mine aren't developed yet, but I got some seriously awesome ones with the new zoom lens. Friend got some awesome photos, too. She took this one of me, which I thoroughly enjoyed:
Her photo are pretty awesome. The website is here

I think I look quite saint-like. 

After our adventure, we went and bought some steaks and cold salads, and I not only successfully operated the barbecue, I managed to NOT overcook out steaks. They were more or less raw and dripping blood. 

In other words, perfectly cooked. 

And the liquor store beside the A&P had my fav beer!

Maine turned me into a beer snob. I now rarely drink beer (which is a good thing, I guess?) because nothing tastes as good as Allagash or Shipyard. And you have to say Shipyard correctly, like a Mainer ("ship-yahhd"). I actually don't drink that much anymore at all in general, come to think of it. Sure I'll have a couple glasses of wine if I'm out to dinner, but I've gone off the drink like for going out to the pub. I used to go get smashed (or at least fairly drunk--never obnoxious or inappropriately drunk because I am a LADY) like every weekend. Idk... it just got old. And I think watching others getting too drunk to the point of inappropriate and embarrassing behavior out in public kind of turned me off liquor. 

Le sigh.

My butt still hurts from the two-hour canoe ride. And it's bruised where my butt-bones touched the metal seat.
-____-

Leg and arm muscles are starting to get sore as well, from working out. Does that mean I'm starting to burn off muscle now? 'Cause my body should be well used to vigorous exercise at this point. There's hardly any wobbly bits left--everything is solid muscle. It's awesome, but also scary at the same time. I don't really want to build a lot of muscle. I just want to be lean. But I feel like if I can't control myself with the exercising, I'm going to start building big muscles. 

Another thing the average normal person doesn't get about being eating disordered--there's usually more to it that just the food. My exercise addiction is still pretty much out of control, as is the usage of yumyums for exercising. I've almost run out of the hardcore vitamins*, so we'll see how I'm doing in a week or so...

Thursday, June 16, 2011

No don't kill it, darling! I'm a Buddhist, I could come back as one of those.

I'm sorry to my wonderful commenters--I'm behind on responding, but I'm getting there!!! 
How are y'all doing with your tarot cards? I almost forgot all about them until a few days ago...
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*



As one who values all forms of life, I do not kill bugs. In general. I figure they're not really bothering you (unless of course you're squeamish when it comes to bugs), and unless they sting, bite, or destroy your clothes or the foundations of your house, I see no reason to harm them. If I see a bug in my house, I usually just leave it alone and pretend I saw nothing. If a family member sees a bug and starts screaming, then I'll put the bug outside (or in winter, in the basement so they don't freeze to death). If a spider decides to move into a corner of my bedroom, I will leave it there. Especially in summer, because spiders are quite clever and all the ones I've ever had in my room tend to build their webs directly above my reading lamp, thus catching and destroying any other insect that happens to come into my bedroom at night. 'Tis an unspoken agreement between myself and the spider--I'll leave him alone if he kills mosquitoes. 

I do have exceptions to my non-violence beliefs when it comes to bugs. Mosquitoes die because they bite and make you itchy. Ticks die because they're a bother to the kitties, and they spread lyme disease. One ant may live, but more than one ant means your house has been invaded and so they must be annihilated. House centipedes are Evil, and so they too must be destroyed. I do have the epic worm-phobia, but I don't kill them or wish them harm--they just freak me out and make me vomit. 

Other than that, I don't have a problem with bugs.

One would think that Mother Nature might look kindly upon one such as myself, for not being an arsehole. 

No, instead Mother Nature decides to send her mutant offspring to try and kill me. 

So there I was, driving merrily along Old Route 17 on my way back from just driving around to clear my head (I do that a lot--I can navigate pretty much anywhere within a 200-mile radius of home and never get lost or need to stop for directions), when something landed on my windshield with a rather alarming THUD. 

You know how sometimes when you see or experience something that cannot possibly be real, your reaction time slows down to like a 26th of its normal speed?

It took a few seconds for me to fully register what I was seeing. Because no way could that be real. 


And then

WHAT      THE      FECK         IS            THAT

I almost crashed. No joke. 

Alien? Robot?? Demon???

No. 

It was a giant wasp. That fecker's stinger was like a foot long. The wasp's body was the about the size of my hand. 

After regaining control of my vehicle, I had to pull over. The giant bug with the foot-long stinger did not show any sign of wanting to remove itself from my windshield, and I sure as hell wasn't carrying that thing back to my house so it could reproduce all up in my yard. It had to go. But how do I get rid of it?

I pulled over near the Red Apple Rest.
Sketchiest rest stop of all time.
The bug was still on my windshield.

Now what?

I wasn't getting out of the car, that's for damn sure.

I tried revving the engine. 
Bug didn't move.

Banging on the window.
Bug didn't move.

Honking the horn. 
Nope.

Flailing around like a lunatic to make the car shake. 
Negative.

I couldn't use the windshield wipers because a) it might kill the giant bug-demon and it's not the poor bug's fault it's a mutant; and b) I really didn't want a bug that size smeared all over the windshield.

So I assessed the items at my disposal. I keep a lot of crap in my car:
- 2 brush things for removing snow and scraping off ice
- hiking boots
- hiking bag containing compass, emergency food (V8 and fiber bars), and hunting knife
- 7 rolls of unused 35mm film
- 4 rolls of used undeveloped 35mm film
- toothbrush
- toothpaste samples
- umbrella
- parasol
- reusable shopping bag
- 6 almost-empty soda and water bottles
- 2 full water bottles (for emergencies)
- 2 dead cigarette lighters
- my glasses
- bag of sugar free caramel candies
- napkins
- spare compass
- Off! bug repellent
- asthma inhaler (no idea--I do not have asthma)
- large pile of Equal packets
- 2 drinking straws, still in wrappers
- 1 drinking straw, cut into 3 smaller pieces (shut up)
- eye drops
- TomTom GPS thingy
- clean underwear
- spare t-shirt
- clean sweatshirt
- pedometer
- Wimpy
- 2 car chargers for my cell phone
- 2 giant bouncy balls



- 1 length of bungee cord
- Rosary beads
- 1 pair of old Kangaroo sneakers
- 1 box tissues

I figured I could use the longer of the two ice scrapers, open the window a crack, and try to poke and bother the giant wasp until it flew away. If that didn't work, I figured I could make bug repelling spit balls with the Off! and tissues and shoot them at the wasp with one of the straws. But thankfully the ice scraper did the trick. Giant wasp flew away.

I spent the next several minutes using the windshield washers until I could be absolutely certain that any eggs the bug might have laid were destroyed. 

In other news....
~~I have caused a rather large disturbance in my house. Step-Bro#1 was over yesterday with his son (really adorable pixie-faced 6-yr-old with anger management problems). I've talked about Step-Bro#1's status as a waste of space before. He hasn't changed--still jobless, still an alcoholic, and still a thief. Most recently, he took Step-Dad's AmEx card on holiday and maxed it out. 

Like for real? You're almost 40 years old, and you're maxing out your parent's credit card??

Yeah well he was over last night with Pixie-kid and I watched as he drank his way through SEVEN bottles of Budweiser. I told Mum on the way out to the gym that he'd had 7 beers, and if he tried to drive the kid home she should tell him he'd had too much to drink--let her or Step-Dad drive Pixie-kid home, or call me and I would have taken him home. Mum was like yeah totally.

But Mum is all talk. She let Step-Bro#1 drive Pixie-kid home. 

So when I got home, I told Step-Dad in no uncertain terms that if Step-Bro#1 ever did that again and refused to let one of us take the kid home (which he would refuse, because he's had many custody issues with kid and kid's mom), then I would call the police and Pixie-kid's mother. I don't want to be an as$hole, so I figured I'd give them fair warning in the hopes that maybe Step-Bro#1 could put the effing bottle down and NOT drive his kid while he's sh*tfaced. 

You'd think I'd just told Step-Dad I was going to shoot Step-Bro#1 myself. 

How dare I!! Who the heck do I think I am?!? He's not doing anything wrong, just having a couple beers with dinner!!

-___-

I was like yeah ok whatever dude. I'm not fighting. He tries to drive the child home again while drunk, I'm calling the cops. End of story. Because if something happens to that kid and we never did anything about it, it's on us. So Step-Dad and Step-Bro#1 can go do themselves up the butt. 

Step-Bro#1 and Pixie-kid come over a lot once we open the pool, so this should get fun pretty soon...


~~I haven't eaten anything in two days. 


~~It's weird how another person can elicit 2 completely contrary involuntary physical reactions in one's bowels. 

Paul #1 for example, makes me feel like I'm being stabbed in the abdomen with a blunt hunting knife while simultaneously having a flock of magical glittering hummingbirds floating around somewhere just to the left of my belly button. 

Someone needs to keep me away from computers when I'm drunk. Or at least away from Facebook. Upon waking my computer up yesterday morning to email myself some notes on the Fairy Queen (I'm typing and posting two new chapters just for you, Honor!), I found that I still had Chrome open on my desktop, open to my "sent" messages on Facebook. And guess what the second message down was, right underneath a message I apparently sent to Cousin Patrick informing him that I was about to mail him 50 lbs of heroin? 

I sent a message to Paul #1 at 1.28 AM. 

-___________________-

I didn't work up the balls to read it until I got to work. Thankfully it wasn't that bad--just a quick hey what's up it's been a while kind of message. 

But still--WHAT THE EFF?!?

P#1 never answered. But out of the blue, J (P1's friend who I had an affair with, and who eventually was responsible for patching things up between P1 and I) texts me this afternoon to see what I'm up to this weekend. 
(There were no blunt hunting knife reactions for J, just magical glittering hummingbirds somewhere in the vicinity of my G-spot.)

I refuse to believe that these events are unconnected. But I'll have to speak to J more to find out. 


Wow, that was kind of a long post. Sorry if you're now bored out of your tree! But I'm afraid I cannot refund your time. IT'S ALL MINE NOW. :D

Later, lovelies! Off to the gym, and then I shall spend the rest of my night doing laundry and catching up on your blogs. <3