In Need of a Filter

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

All Hail Queen Freaks Out A Lot

I have stumbled across an unexpected bump in the road and it has made me realize something that everyone around me has always known and I have always known, but only admitted to probably less than half of it.

I excessively freak out. I am the undisputed queen of it. Sometimes I even preemptively freak out before there is a reason for a full- blown-sound-the-alarm-life-has-gone-off-the-rails moment. No matter how desperately I try to deny the severity of my spaz outs, I can no longer do that.

As much as I want to portray myself as a total badass, it is simply not true. I am not the person you want on your team during a zombie apocalypse. My loud and dramatic freak outs will attract walkers and I will have to do the noble thing and become zombie chow so you can save yourselves. In a horror movie I would be one of the first to die because instead of running away from the killer, my dumbass will be in such a state of panic I would probably run right into his arms as if he was going to give me a reassuring hug and not murder me.

I do not find comfort in being told "things could be worse", "it's not the end of the world" or the one phrase that can make me snap faster than taking the last cold Diet Coke out of the fridge, "don't worry."

I'm slowly coming around to the fact that freaking out due to things that I cannot control is useless, wastes time, is super unattractive(I am not a "pretty" crier) and drives my family and friends bat shit crazy. Going forward I will try to be more level headed and not assume the worst case scenario right out of the gate.

In the meantime just keep my anti-anxiety meds flowing and you won't have to dramatically slap me across the face to make me snap out of it. Seriously, don't slap me. It's rude and will piss me off and that's a whole other blog post.

Saturday, March 29, 2014

It's Nice To Be Taken Care Of

I don't remember having strep throat a lot when I was a child, so why is it kicking my ass now as an adult? It seems that since I hit my 30's I get strep at least once a year and that once a year always seems to be in March. Hell, last March I had it twice. That's two times the fuckery if you ask me. So last week when Ryan was sick as hell with the flu and strep I knew my time was coming.

When I didn't catch it right away I started to get a little cocky thinking I had dodged it this time. I was giving strep my best Jesse Pinkman imitation thinking that I wasn't going to catch it.

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But just like every time you get cocky about something it turns around to bite you in the ass. I woke up Wednesday morning so sick I thought I was dying. And that's not just me being dramatic! I couldn't sit up without getting dizzy, my throat burned so bad it felt like the devil himself was dancing on my tonsils, and my body ached. I imagine I looked a bit like this.

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I was so ill I had to call my mom to drive me to the doctor, if that tells you anything. What it should tell you is that it doesn't matter how old you are, when you're sick as hell you just want your mommy to take care of you! I am not embarrassed to admit that all I wanted was to be taken care of. And I was. My mom made homemade chicken noodle soup,my dad delivered it, and Ryan made sure I took my medicine (because I am the world's worst about that)and bless his heart, he woke up in the middle of the night when I had the chills so bad I was shaking the bed and helped me get bundled up in fleece pants, a jacket, and two blankets. My kiddos made sure I always had a popsicle in my hand and my in-laws took over the school drop off and pick ups for me. In short, I felt like total shit, but I felt incredibly loved. I didn't even mind that no one sang "Soft Kitty" to me.

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And yes, I just now figured out how to insert GIFs into my posts and I love it!! I can do it because this is my blog and

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And now I'm done. :)

Friday, March 14, 2014

99.99%

99.99% of the time I wonder if I am doing enough to help Joshua. The whole medication issue has been a giant pain in the ass and I hate that in order to find what works he has to first be subjected to all the things that don't. The last few days have been kind of rough and as I watched my boy struggle I have felt more helpless than ever.

Today, however, he was in an amazing mood. Smiling, joking, laughing, full of affection. I loved every minute of it and could not have thought of a way to have made it more perfect.

We went to Olive Garden for Natalie's birthday dinner, (I have no idea why that was her pick being that the last two times we've been there she ordered chicken fingers and fries, but anyhoo. Her birthday, her choice) and Joshua was still cutting up and being a goober. And when I say he was being a goober I mean that in the best way possible. That kid has a sense of humor like no other.

Now, I don't remember how we got on the subject, who brought it up or any other insignificant details, but the words that my baby boy said are not just etched in my memory, they're burned into my heart.

Joshua: Mom, did you and Dad buy me at the awesome store? Because I am AWESOME!

Me: yes, you are awesome.

Joshua: and I was an awesome deal because I came with Aspergers!

Of course I couldn't see my own expression when he said this, but I saw Ryan's and I'm sure it looked the same as mine. Shock. Pride. The funny look you get when you're trying really hard not to cry and instead look like you're constipated. Not a pretty picture to give but you know what I mean.

Joshua said that with such confidence that I felt like my heart was going to burst. He OWNED it. For the first time ever it felt like he wasn't going to let his diagnosis get him down. He was strong, and tough, and ready to kick Aspergers in the ass because it was not going to kick his first.

And for the first time, I felt 100% certain that we had done something right.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

Go To Hell Old Man Winter

I'm going to keep this short and sweet. (like me)

Old Man Winter can go to straight to hell.

He has ruined snow for me. I used to love waking up to see a beautiful, quiet morning, the ground covered in the sparkly, powdered perfection. But after a winter full of below zero temperatures, bitterly cold wind and more snow than I've seen in 20 years, I'm ready to join the dark side, aka, the summer lovers.

Your icy roads and sidewalks have defeated me not once, not twice, but THREE FUCKING TIMES IN ONE WEEK!! One week!! Despite my careful driving I still slid off the road, slammed into the curb and now my car likes to veer to the left. Far left at that.

Then just a few days later my careful tiptoeing through the parking lot at work was pointless. My sensible, rubber soled boots did nothing to keep me from falling rather ungracefully. Twice. My knee took a beating like I was Nancy Kerrigan and the sidewalk was Tonya Harding, and my back was so knotted up I was walking like Quasimodo.

Thanks a lot, asshole.

So with all of that I am letting you go. I no longer identify as a jeans, hoodies and boots kind of gal. I'm now all about tank tops and flip flops!! The only white I want to see is a sandy beach, and the only ice that I want near me needs to be floating in my drink.

I hope it's warm enough for ya down there.

Monday, January 27, 2014

Sit Back and Enjoy the Ride...Yeah Right!!

A wonderful thing has happened. Thanks to my dear friend Megan (Megan, if you're reading this, MUAH!! Thanks again! Love ya!) I am now a paid writer. Yep, I am finally getting a chance to do what I've always dreamed of and I am a contributing writer to the lifestyle section of a website. I'm not going to name names here because I want to keep this and my lack of filter separate from certain things. But I have to tell you.

I am absolutely scared shitless.

I know I can write. It is one thing I'm certain of. But there is something really scary about getting what you've always wanted. What if you're not as good as you think you are? What if you're not cut out to do what you've believed has been your calling since you were old enough to put your thoughts down on paper? What if *GASP* I'm not as funny as I think I am?? That would fuck with my whole existence!

The good thing is for this particular job I'm writing news pieces so my weirdo sense of humor doesn't come into play. But that's also the bad thing. I'm outside of my comfort zone and for a girl who still has her beloved security blanket that is as old as she is, this can be terrifying.

I hope that once I find my groove I'll relax a little and release the "oh shit" handle that I've been white knuckling since I was hired. Until then you can find me in the corner hiding under my blankie.

Monday, January 20, 2014

Say Something, I Dare You

There have been very few times in my life when I felt the urge to go off on someone. I'm fairly calm and can keep my cool. Depending on who you ask this may not be true, but I know I keep my temper in check a lot better than my husband. However I almost went full crazy bitch off-her-meds redneck on a stranger yesterday.

We decided to take the kids downtown to see the Titanic exhibit. Surprisingly they both were really excited about this (even after I explained it was artifacts from the actual ship, not the movie) so off we went. It was much more crowded than I expected it to be and there was a slow moving line to make your way through to see everything. Joshua doesn't always do well in crowds so I kept a close eye on him. There was an older man in line in front of us, not elderly, but what I call "old enough to know better". The first indication that Joshua might have trouble there was when you enter they give you a card with the name of an actual passenger. When you get to the end of the exhibit you can check a list to see if your card was one of the survivors. Joshua began to panic a little.

"Mom, what if I die?"
"It's not really you, it's just the name of someone who was really on the ship."

Death is a subject that is very touchy for Joshua so I was scared where this could go. He let that go and started with this one.

"Mom, I feel like we're sinking"
"Joshua, we're on dry land and not even on a boat."

We had a few more of these exchanges and the man in front of us would turn and give me an odd look when Joshua would start voicing his worries. I could feel my blood start to boil with the anticipation that he would be dumb enough to say something to us. When Joshua began to complain about how hot it was, the man turned to Ryan and said

"Is he the baby?"

I looked at this guy and thought to myself " Yes, asshole. He IS the baby. He's my baby. He might not be the youngest in the family but I swear to God if you say anything negative or demeaning about what you might consider to be odd behavior I will come at you with the anger of a thousand killer bees whose nest you just disturbed." He didn't deserve an explanation of why my baby does the things he does and I wasn't in the mood to give a speech about autism acceptance. All I wanted to do was punch this man in the throat.

Ryan noticed the look on my face and instantly read my mind. He stepped in between me and the jackass and said "No, actually he's our oldest" and pointed me in a different direction. I'm pretty sure he read my mind too because not once did he look our way again as we made our way through the exhibit.

I'm not an intimidating or mean person, but say something about my kids. I dare you.

Monday, January 13, 2014

Time Has Bitchslapped Me Across The Face

Normally I don't feel anywhere close to my age. I have the sense of humor of a 13 year old boy, the more inappropriate something is the funnier I find it. I don't look my age either. A co worker told me the other day when she first met me a year ago she thought I couldn't be more than 24 or 25. That's a decent compliment considering my youngest sister is 22. But just like always I start thinking and all that happens is I mind fuck myself. This past weekend I started over thinking and I felt as old as the crypt keeper.

In March I will be 36 years old. I met Ryan when I was 18 so this means we have been together exactly half my life. In 2 years I will have been out of high school for 20 years. 20 freaking years?!?!?! No, I flat refuse to believe it and to prove it to myself I am going to do a round off back handspring like I used to do when I was a cheerleader. Please be ready to call 911 because I have much more ass now than I did back then and it won't be as easy to make it flip over my head. The sad thing is if I even tried to do a cartwheel I would be sore for days. And it would probably make me pee a little. That's another story. Then the doozy hit me.

When my mom was the age I am now, I was 20 years old. Holy fucking shit I could have a 20 year old!!! It's as if I never realized just how young my mom is until I broke it down like that. And it made me feel ancient. Let's add to it that I took a 2 hour nap on Sunday and was ready to go to bed for the night at 6:30 and you might as well make me a reservation at the old folks home and pack me some Depends.

As time continues to bitch slap me I will continue to slather on the Oil of Olay along with my acne cream. ( Those two things shouldn't be in the same sentence.) My mind might try to tell me I'm old, but I'm damn sure not going to look it!