I'm Pretty Sure I Have It Figured Out, Sort Of

I think I'm dying. There's no other explanation. Yes, I think I've convinced myself that I'm in my final days. I know, you're (see Gucci, I can do it!) thinking dramatic, Diva-like behavior. It's not, I swear!

I've had this pain for a few months now. First it was only when I wore stilettos......I know, I know....5'12" with 4" heels.....get over it. It's a statement after all. Of what I'm not sure, but I tell myself that because I LOVE stilettos.

Ok, I'm off track. Back to the pain. It's continual now and it's in the joint of my right big toe. I've, with my vast medical knowledge, narrowed the possibilities to arthritis, but you have to be old for that right? Gout, another old lady thing and SO NOT Diva-like, or cancer. Yes, I think I have cancer of the big toe.

So first thing tomorrow morning I'm making an appointment with my primary care doc to tell him my diagnosis.

Ouch, it hurts and I DON'T do pain well. I know somewhere in my pharmaceutical arsenal I'll be able to find some vicodin at the very least. If I'm lucky, oxycontin.

Yes people, that is my bedside gun safe. Not only do I keep my Walther .380 and a magazine filled with hollow points inside, I keep it filled with my meds. Now if I can only remember the damn code. I knew I should have gone for the biometric model.

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Until Next Year...

It was when I awoke Tuesday morning that I first heard the voice of a woman whose name I hadn't known until the week before, a woman that I've "known" online for over a year. While I slept she left me a voice mail saying that she'd missed her plane, the plane that was to bring her to Portland, to my house to stay with me for a few days.

Disappointment filled me and anxiety began to cast it's shadow. She doesn't carry a cell phone so the only way of contact was by email. A variety of circumstances prevented us making contact until late in the afternoon. It was so late that catching a flight that evening was going to be impossible. We got everything worked out through dozens of emails and were able to get her booked on a flight the following day.

The next evening, Wednesday, as I drove to the airport I knew I'd recognize the woman that I'd never seen, not even a picture. I knew I'd know her.

While driving through the maze of cars to the pick up point I carefully looked through the crowd. It was at the very end I saw her. I called her name. She turned and saw me. I jumped from the car to hug her, after all we were, are, friends. I'll never forget the look on her face as she looked into my eyes. She stared at me as if she was trying to discern if it was really me that was hugging her, or some random Oregonian.

On the way home we stopped at a restaurant so I could eat, she'd eaten in the airport. I wanted a quiet place we could talk before being assaulted by the herd of kids that call my house their home.

It was nice, it was quiet. We talked, and we talked more. We got to know each other in a way you can't really online. I could look in her eyes and see her depth.

Finally we finished and drove to my house. All the kids and dogs were there to greet her. I can't believe her bravery having to live through such a meeting. But hey she's from NYC, I'm sure she seen worse, or at the very least something close to it.

We got her settled in her room. She was exhausted from the flight and the days leading to it. We said goodnight and went to our various rooms for much needed sleep.

The next morning we were off and running. First we went for coffee and then I took her to a little area here in Portland called NW 23rd. We walked the quaint blocks, browsed in the shops and had lunch at one of my favorite places.

Suddenly the day of walking and talking had to end, it was time to go. After all the rest of the kids were coming over for hamburgers that evening. She had no idea what she was in for.

The night went pretty well. The kids were calm for the most part and we laughed and we talked and laughed some more.

Before we knew it bedtime was upon us. The next morning, yesterday, she had to leave. She had to be back in NYC. She's a singer and had a show to do tonight (Saturday).  Some of you may even read her blog, Classic NYC Story. If you don't you really should swing by and check her out. You might even decide to stay a while.

I'll treasure our time together and hopefully I'll get to see her again next year. Blogher is having their convention in NYC next August. It's one I just might have to make.

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Laugh? Cry? Priest?

You know those days, well in my case weeks, months....who in the hell am I kidding? Years, you know those years (you probably don't because you don't live my freak show of a life) if you don't laugh you'll cry?

Well I'm laughing my butt off right now. Hysterically, really, can you hear me? Ok, maybe not hysterically and maybe I do have a tear in my eye but I'd never admit it to anyone but you, the entire blogosphere.

You see I have this Landrover. It's a beautiful car and totally luxurious. It's fun to drive, awesome to look at and totally frustrating.

It's been dying when my daughter drives it. First we had the battery tested. Yep, battery was bad. Replaced the battery. All should be well, right? HA, remember this is MY life. I seem to exist in this drama filled bubble.

Car kept dying. Took the POS to the shop. It was there for two weeks and they couldn't get the problem to reproduce. Today I decided to have the kids pick up the Rover and bring it home. Maybe it was a fluke. HA again!

Nikki started the Rover right up and drove to the gas station. She turned off the car so it could be filled with overpriced fuel. Went to turn the car on....nothing. NOTHING! It was perfect at the mechanic's place, you know, kinda like when your kid's head is spinning 'round and 'round while they projectile vomit pea soup and when you take them to the pediatrician they're all like they came out of a Shirley Temple movie? Yeah, that's my Landrover. Possessed and Shirley Temple without the grenadine. 

Someone please pop this drama bubble I live in. Or better yet, any of you good with Landrovers? I surely could use your help. At the moment I'm thinking of using the thing for target practice!

I just had a thought. It only happens when Nikki drives it. Hmmmm.......I may need a priest after all.

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Cocaine And Alcohol. Let's Par-Tay!

It's tragic that some people choose to live that way, especially when they are carrying a life. That  life, that child, didn't choose to be born cocaine and alcohol addicted. That child didn't choose to be affected by Fetal Alcohol Effects. That child didn't choose the cards they were dealt. But they damn sure can choose how they play those cards.

A few of my kids were dealt those very cards. It's been interesting to see how they've played them. A couple have gone off the deep end and decided to return to the very life they came from before being placed as my children. It's a shame, but it was their choice.

One of my children, my daughter Nikki, was dealt a pretty shitty hand. On her hospital records the nurses noted "infant smells like a brewery." She was also filled to the brim with cocaine. She was three pounds of pure addiction. You can read more of her story here.

Turns out my little "Cupcake" can play a mean hand of cards. It took me three years after her high school graduation to talk her into taking one college class. I wanted her to get her feet wet. I wanted her to meet people. I wanted her to know she could succeed.

Today when I drove up to the mailboxes at the end of our cul-de-sac I heard, "MOM, I PASSED! I MADE IT INTO READING 115!" I could see each and every tooth in that sparkling smile. She was practically jumping up and down.

As soon as I got in the house she showed me her test results, her face beaming. Then she took the paper and put it on the refrigerator for everyone else to see. She was SO proud of herself, and she should be. 

She hit a milestone today, not really making it into Reading 115, but by gaining the confidence to know she can do it.  She didn't let her learning difficulty get in the way. She worked her ass off and she played a royal flush. She hit the jackpot. She knows her future is in her very capable hands. My baby girl won and she has a mom that's saying, "I knew you could do it!"

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I Think It Would Be Really Cool

I was riding my motorcycle the other day. While I was riding I was thinking of my Dad and my brothers. Dad rode a motorcycle for years before I did.

I got my bike a couple of years before he died and although he was a bit un-nerved by me riding I think he was proud too. When my bike got totaled he was pretty freaked out, but he was still proud.

When I was riding I was thinking how cool he would think it would be to ride with all of his kids at once. I think it would have been cool too, awesome as a matter of fact.

Now I need to make sure I at least ride with my brothers. I guess a trip to Texas is in order sometime soon. I'll rent a bike and we'll ride and ride. We'll ride for Dad.

Dad and Nikki. He had a Goldwing that he had converted to a trike when his knees went bad.

My brother Joel 

My brother Eric, AKA Moose, and my niece Sydney

Me!

Even my sister in law, Tina, rides now. 

Yes, it would have been cool for us all to ride with Dad. After we ride maybe we'll visit him at his resting place, toast him with some Tanqueray and Tonics and pour one for him too. Mom, I'll take her coffee.

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Want To See A Diva Come Unglued?

Beautiful summer morning. Starbucks. Perfect latte (why can't Jolene make my latte ALWAYS?) Laptop. Quiet. Makes sense to me. What can possibly be wrong with that picture? Well the clue can be found in the first three words of this post.

All you moms, and probably Cheeseboy, will get it right off the bat. Summer. That's right summer when all the kids are out of school. Unruly, noisy, screaming, chair pulling, brats are out and about with their beaten down parents.

When did parents stop being parents? When did the kids decide to take over the earth and rule by shrill screams and slaps to the face? I think it was about the time, duh duh duh.......don't shoot me here, but I have a sneaking suspicion it was when parents decided to be their kids' friends and not their parents.

Kids need boundaries folks, as a matter of fact they crave them. The way I see it walking through life with no boundaries is kind of like walking along a wooden bridge 300 feet over a canyon without handrails, not the canyon, the bridge.

We all have to live by limits. We all have to be respectful of others and that begins with little ones. It's really not the kids' fault that they're running around screaming like little stuck pigs, it's the fault of the parents.

It was all I could do today to bite my tongue while the wild bunch of kids ran, screamed, threw, and fought in Starbucks for what seemed like hours this morning. All the time the mom and dad were saying "Stop that," "you need to be quiet," "leave your sister alone," and my favorite of all time, said over and over, "if you do that one more time...." It's funny, the parents never said what was going to happen if the kid in question did that one more time. It's no wonder the kids kept at it until the frazzled parents grabbed a kid under each arm and left Starbucks crying themselves.

You could hear a collective sigh of relief when the family exited the store. If those kids act that way now, when they're 4-7, what in the hell are they going to be like when they're teenagers? What will they be when they're grown? Congressmen and Senators?

I'm by no means a perfect parent. My kids will tell you flat out that little fact. But something my kids did only once, maybe twice (except for the one with the disability) was to question what I said, at least in my presence. They knew I meant business. They knew their limits. They knew I had duct tape and I wasn't afraid to use it.

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Automobile Munchausen By Proxy Loon

Oh what to write when you have nothing to write about, nothing of inspiration, no get up and go. So I’m sitting here in Starbucks waiting to go to the gym at the right time so I can get out of the gym in time to make it to my dentist appointment. Poor dentist. Whatever. For the price dentists charge this one can put up with a sweaty Diva for an hour or so.

While I’m sitting here I glanced out and saw the key mark. Oh, I didn’t tell you about the key mark? I came out of a restaurant the other night and the first thing I saw on my Mercedes was a HUGE, DEEP, KEY MARK on the rear passenger side quarter panel.

My car WITHOUT the freaking keying!

My first thought was to grab the security tapes, track down the little shits and beat them to death with a tire iron. On second thought I decided death by keying would be more appropriate.

I’m pretty sure I know who did it. There’s this band of roving punk-ass kids that have been running all over our little town causing mischief of all sorts, including bullying my son. I’d love to get my hands around the necks of the little thugs, as I’m sure my neighbors would.

Anyway, back to the keying. I called my insurance company, got the car in for an estimate, it’s nearly $1000! I went to arrange for a rental. That was when my insurance agent informed me that I don’t have rental coverage in my policy. They thought since I have so many cars I didn’t need it.

I then go over the list of cars in my ownership. There’s the 67 Ford truck, uh, no way.

There’s the 93 Honda, the kid learning car...not gonna do it.

There’s the 2000 F350. Right, as if.

There’s the 04 Toyota Tundra that was my Dad’s. I’d drive that because it reminds me of time with my Dad but my son needs it for school and work.

Then there’s the Landrover. Yes, the Landrover will work.

It was then I remembered that the Landrover is in the Landrover Hospital, along with all the other Landrovers the country over. Here’s a little tip for any of you that may be planning on buying a Landrover...SELL IT BEFORE THE WARRANTY RUNS OUT!

The Landrover is my car and it’s what I drove before I got the Jaguar which I got rid of before the warranty was up. I learned my lesson on British cars. I drove the Jag for a year before trading it for the Mercedes.

I love the Landrover. It’s an awesome car, well, when it’s running.

I just called the car hospital and they can’t get it to malfunction and they’ve had it for over a week! It’s just like a freaking kid that’s all sick and pukey before you take them to the pediatrician. Then as soon as you walk through the doctor’s door the kid is suddenly better, running around singing and the pediatrician looks at you like you’re a Munchausen by proxy loon.

I’m sure the mechanic is thinking I’m an automobile Munchausen by proxy loon. This is the fourth time I’ve had the car in for the same thing and they can’t reproduce the problem. Then, get this, he actually suggested I get a jump box to carry in the back of the car in case it dies again!

Doesn’t he realize that Divas, especially this one isn’t going to be stuck at Nordstrom jumping a dead Landrover? Not happening. Who does he think I am? After all I’m a Happy Valley Mom damn it! And renting a car, an ordinary car, without the integrated car phone, the heated and A/C leather seats and the wood grain steering wheel is NOT happening!

So I’m stuck, looking at the freaking, huge key mark in my car while waiting for the Landrover to be diagnosed. I think I’ll be waiting a long time.

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