Confessions of an Addict

I took my Tylenol P.M. again last night, but it didn't work as well the second time around. I tossed and turned until the wee hours, and by morning I was convinced that I had been kidnapped my aliens.

Nope, not kidding. That was my dawning thought. Aliens.

Tell me I'm not in need of a vacation?

Somebody pour me a drink, dammit.

In other news:
My job is stupid, and I think I will put a fork through my eye tomorrow.

This is Funky, and that is all.

New Day Dawning

I forced myself to sleep last night with the help of a hefty dose of Tylenol P.M. Had I not aided that sweet release, I may very well have been up all night. I have the kind of brain that is wired for solutions. It recalls every word, every action, and every nuance, then divides them into catagories and sorts through them for hidden agendas. After rearranging them like colored dots on a rubix cube, it seeks to find a solution wherein all dots meet up with their kind.

What I've never learned is that some things can't be solved by forcing them. I can't start my Mustang with my husband's Explorer key. Try as I might, a banana will not fit into a ziplock bag. And no matter what I do or say, I cannot make a teenager do what I want her to do.

I'm not sure what my brain did last night under the influece of that sleep aide, but I did wake up this morning with the realization that moving on and giving up mean pretty much just that. And I can't really do one without doing the other. So I listened to Wreck of the Day by Anna Nalick about thirty times while drinking my coffee, looked out the open garage door into the sunlight of a new day, and made a promise to myself that, "If this is giving up, then I'm giving up."

Loving these little people means accepting the fact that they MUST forge their independence from you in order to grow into big people. Nothing I say, nothing I do, nothing I conspire will change the fact that my little person wants to grow up, wants to seek out the next great adventure of life, wants to succeed on her own. And honestly, if she doesn't already know how much I love her, nothing I say or do now will have any consequence other than conflict.

This is my new day. I can sit here and seek out a solution, or I can stop trying to stuff a banana into a zip lock bag and just eat it. It's a lot like food porn, but not really.

In other news:
We leave for our 7-day cruise in just a few short days. Though the docking isn't until Saturday, we're spending the night near the port on Friday and taking the shuttle over to the boat the next day. I managed to shed almost 34 pounds since February 24th, so I'm looking forward to sassing around the boat with my new body and my new clothes. Honest to goodness, I bought just the cutest little outfits. I am SO ready for my close-up!

This is Funky, and that is all.

Today is Laundry Day (Plus Shopping Therapy Synopsis)

Today is laundry day. I know that sounds horrible, but it's really not.

When I assign a title to a day, that day becomes solely about that thing.

Because today is laundry day, I don't have to do another damned thing all day.
I don't have to drive anyone anywhere.
I don't have to run any errands.
I don't have to go to the gym (although I probably will.)
I don't have to catch up on this, or that, or the other thing.
I just have to do laundry.

The beauty of laundry day is that you work at folding or loading for maybe 15 minutes, then you sit patiently for about an hour.

As much as I (obviously, by the size of the pile of dirty clothing) hate doing laundry, I love laundry day.

In other news:

LoveBug took charge of the boys yesterday and gave me a day to myself. While he chauffered the kids to their various and assorteds, I spent the day alone. Well, "alone" if you don't count all the people at the mall. I took a debit card and some petty cash to the mall with no mention on LoveBug's part to keep any kind of budget, and I shopped. My GOD it was glorious. I didn't have to buy anything for anyone but me. Me, me, me. I got all my clothing for our cruise next weekend, and I even treated myself to a shiny bit from Gordon's Jewelers.
It was simply wonderful, shopping therapy. I guess the sad part was seeing all this stuff that I normally would have bought for my daughter had she been there. She used to be my shopping buddy.

I did shop until I dropped though. I was truly sick and tired of looking through racks of clothing and lugging around those heavy shopping bags. Yeah, sucks to be me, huh? LOL.
This is Funky, and that is all.

All, except for a brief mention of my weight loss. I have now lost 33.6 pounds.

"Oh, Wow"

I could watch this all night.
Go on, you know you want to!


Look, it's the little distractions that make my current situation tolerable.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm a Claymate. I'm a lusty, middle-aged, freak of nature, and I cannot get enough of his hot new look.



If the hand can't rock the cradle, it robs one.

This is Funky, and that is all.

My husband is sitting behind me singing, "Don't let your son go down on me." Bastard. Jealous bastard.

Momentary Cure for Empty Nest Syndrome

Hells YEAH, baby... that's what I'm talking about. Scotty, don't you think he totally looks like Stephen N.?

In other news, CadiBug arrived at her dad's today. Cue the *sniff*



This is Funky, and that is all.

A Letter for Cadi

The worst thing about being a teenager is knowing that your parents have no clue what it's like to be a teenager. Oh sure, they "remember" their own teen years JUST enough to foil all your well-devised schemes, but they don't remember what it FELT like to love and hate your parents all at the same time. If they did, they wouldn't be so bitchy all the time.

The worst thing about being a parent is KNOWING exactly what it felt like when you hated and loved your own parents, and suffering when you see the eyes roll back and the arms fold in defiance. As a parent, you remember your own mistakes and you pray that your kids will not the same ones, never mind the fact that they are YOUR kids, and they didn't get their hormones from themselves.

I guess what I'm trying to say, Cadi, is that I both remember and have forgotten what it was like when I was your age. And as much as I know you, I don't know what it's like to be you. And I'm sorry I kept assuming your were a much younger version of me.

The other sucky thing about being a teenager is that everyone thinks they have to pass along their "wisdom" and advice. Knowing that, please forgive me for the list that follows:

Never let anyone steal your thunder. You were born to shine, Love, and no one deserves to hog your glory.

Also, never lose your joy. The greatest gift you have to offer is your smile and your laughter.

Remember to take your makeup off before you go to bed.

You live in a small town now, Honey. Everyone knows everything about everybody else's business. Don't give them anything to talk about. Make them work for a good rumor. Watch them scurry like chickens after a good rain. There's not much else to do there, so create your stage carefully, and direct each scene.

Remember always that you CAN. There is absolutely nothing you cannot do. You are brilliant and full of charisma. Anyone who fails to see that is simply beneath you. Do not shed one tear over a stupid person. The saline your body produces has a higher IQ than half that town.

Drink organic milk so the growth hormones from cow tits don't find their way into your system.

No boy, no man, is worth losing your self-esteem over. In ten years you won't even remember his last name. Same goes for girls, in case your so inclined.

I promise I won't let Jack eat your guinea pig.

It's perfectly okay to question your faith. Part of communication is asking the right questions. Part of faith is waiting for an answer.

Read books that make you happy. Listen to music that makes you dance. Never stop singing, never stop creating, never ever leave the lens cap on the camera.

Dog's never forget their masters. Winnie will remember you.

Remember that I love you, and that you will always have a home here with me. Cadi's room will always be Cadi's room, and I will always be your Mom. Or your Mommy. Or whatever.

This is Funky, and that is all.

Count Down to Goodbye, Girl

I was still awake last night/this morning when the coffee pot timer kicked on and started grinding up those beans. I just can't seem to calm myself enough to drift off into sleepy land.

Tonight I will use a sleep aid, because I can't function on auto pilot forever.

Tonight was what you would call a good night. Cadibug and I took a trip to Target to buy her a larger suitcase. We did not ignore the elephant. She talked freely about her reservations and her excitement over this new experience. I remained calm. I realize that I am her foundation. If I get upset, it only makes it harder for her to do what she needs to do. I told her I love her to death, I'll miss her like crazy, and I'll send her ProActive and BareMinerals any time she runs low. She said she'll set up my iPod for me before she leaves on Wednesday. She kissed my cheek without being asked to.

And it dawned on me that her leaving is NOT a rejection of me as a parent. Fact of the matter is, she has two parents that she loves very much. She didn't chose to move to Florida four years ago. I didn't give her a choice, and now the greatest thing I can do -- the last thing I can do for her for awhile -- is to give her choice my blessing. Yes, dammit, it's really hard. Yes, dammit, she's my baby girl. Yes, dammit, I'll cry some more at a later time. But I love that kid with all my heart, and if this is what she needs, then who am I to load her down with my emotions?

Now, maybe tomorrow when I put her to bed for the last time (for maybe a very long time) I will cry. But first I will hug her, kiss her little forehead goodnight, and softly close her door. THEN I will take a glass of wine and my cigarettes to the gazebo, and THEN I will quietly cry.

And then...in time, I will rejoice in her victories. And then...in time, I will hold her very close and thank God for bringing her back to me.

This is Funky, and that is all.

And Then Come the Sleepless Nights

I used to never post twice in one day. If I had something I was dying to say, I'd go ahead and type it up, then save it for a day in the future when I had nothing at all to add to the blogosphere.

That was before I reclaimed my space (not My Space, though.)

So now I write when I want, and I write for no audience save the crowd of people running around in my brain.

And it's okay if you de-link me, or stop coming by.

Because I'm almost certifiable now, and the last thing I need is an audience.

Last night LoveBug took me out. Actually, he took me out Friday night too, while the kids were doing their various and assorteds. But last night CadiBug decided it was time to say good-bye to her friends. Having another free evening with nothing to do but mope, it seemed better to go blow off some steam. We had a wonderful dinner, then we played pool -- we play badly, but it's always so much fun to see which one of us sucks the least. For the record, I won two out of five games. Yeah... I suck more.

I had a couple beers, which may seem light, but since I don't drink much these days, one is just enough to get the buzz on. We came home after picking up the kids from their various and assorteds, and then participated in some extracurricular activities behind locked doors.

You'd think I would have been good and ready for some serious slumber, but for the third night in a row, I layed awake and stared at the ceiling.

So tonight I decided to beat the insomnia by NOT EVEN TRYING to sleep. So there. Hmpfh.

And I've got some things on my mind, flying through my fingers.

1. You think this is a safe place? You're wrong. Through no fault of your own, just by being YOU, you can be despised to the point of being harmed. Take every threat seriously. Never post too much information about who you are and where you live/work/play, etc... Playing nice does not mean that others will play fair. You think I'm kidding? Not even close. This Internet is a scary place, my friends. You might be going along, minding your own business, expressing your thoughts and releasing your creativity... and BAM, you're facing unemployment. Ask Dooce. Ask Scotty. Go Google your name and see where it leads. Check the links in your profile. How about the IM information for Yahoo, MSN, AOL, etc...? I was IMing with a bloggy friend a few months ago, and at my urging she started searching out information on me. Within ten minutes, using a database she had from an old job, she knew my social security number, the phone number and address for my husband's business, my home address and phone number... and she stopped once she told me what my husband's middle name is. Listen, I'm serious. We're not all friends here, kids. We're not all honest, or kind, or moral. You can't keep people from hating you. You can protect yourself from their wrath.

2. When your daughter does a Meme on her My Space and next to "Your Mother" she answers, "immature", what exactly does that MEAN? Because it sounds like an insult! It sounds like she's mocking me for crying, or for "over reacting" to her mishaps. Is it just a kid being a know it all? WTF does that mean?!?

3. If you pull into the driveway just in time to see your son sailing off the roof on his skateboard and landing on his ass, how exactly do you punish him while laughing your own ass off? Later, when he complains that his tailbone hurts, do you give him some sympathy, or some Tylenol? Do you then make a list of everything he's not supposed to do, just in case he doesn't reason like a normal human being?

4. If you are so stressed out that you can only force yourself to consume about 400 calories a day, while burning off approximately 300 calories per day at the gym, does it make any sense at all that in a week's time you would only lose 2/10 of a pound? Yeah, I didn't think so either, but what the hell!!!

5. If your stepdaughter suddenly grows boobs that rival those of any South Beach milf, is it stepping over the line to take her out and buy her a better bra than her mom buys her? Isn't it every woman's right to rest their puppies in something supportive and flattering? Why does Walmart even SELL bras? Is it a joke? A conspiracy? A mockery of middle America?

6. If your husband is lying in bed, warm and naked, and sleeping soundly, shouldn't that be enough incentive to make you rest your head beneath his collar bone and try to meet the sleepy side of reality?

Number six is the only one that makes sense right now. I'll let you know how that all works out.



This is Funky, and that is all.

No (Wo)Man is an Island

I thought maybe it would be good to check in and thank everyone for their words of peace and experience regarding my daughter's impending departure. I cannot find the words to express the comfort and hope you have administered. Hearing "I was her" or "I've been in your shoes" coupled with "It all turned out okay in the end" have given rest to my weary psychie.

I listened, I breathed, I exhaled, and I found solice in everything you've offered in the way of support.

And I know it's going to be okay.

Yesterday I took her to Winter Park and we walked our stupid dog for a few hours. We window shopped, enjoyed a lovely cafe lunch, and communicated about nothing in particular. We ignored the elephant in the room, and we focused on the beautiful weather, our stupid dog's phobia of bicycles, and the finer skills involved in manuevering Orlando traffic on I4. It was a very good day.

Today... not so much. Again, by simply requesting that she clean her room, another war was waged. But I was strong, issued my request as firmly as my fainting heart could do, and left for my Tai Chi class.

During the relaxation portion of my class, the instructor told me to relax the muscles around my heart. The voice inside me whispered "I can't. That's all that's holding the broken pieces together." I fought back tears, and another voice within me said, "Try." So I did. I relaxed the muscles in my heart, and guess what? It's not broken after all. It kept beating and the blood kept flowing. Breathing in, breathing out, I rested the muscles furrowing my brow, I put a slight smile on my face, and I let the weight of all my worries sink into the floor beneath me. And I did not die.

When I got home, her room was clean, her bags were packed, and her wrath was put away.

And yes, I do think everything is going to be okay. It's just that we both need some time apart so we can both of us grow up. We both need time to trust our broken hearts to keep us going. We both need space to sink so that we know hitting the floor is not the worst thing that can happen to a person.

So again, thank you.

This is Funky, and that is all.

If You Love Someone...

The rest of that phrase urges you to let go. If you love someone, let them go. If they come back to you, it was meant to be. If they don't... well, I don't even want to think about it.

Last night my beautiful daughter and I came to blows. This past year has strained our relationship to the point of breaking. Since she's been on "lock down" as she calls it, we have been the most bitter of enemies. Every conversation begins and ends with a fight. She gets in trouble, I ground her, all hell breaks loose. I'm literally losing weight because I don't have the energy to eat...because I "punish" myself by going to the gym and lifting weights until every muscle in my body is burning from the build up of lactic acid. I haven't lifted a finger around the house in over a month. She does nothing but sulk and devise ways to self destruct. Last night, enough was enough.

I gave her a choice. Yes, I did. I asked her if she wanted to continue to live with me, follow my rules, and maintain the necessary requirements for doing so: respect and responsibility.

She chose her dad.

In six days I will put her on a plane and let her go. In six days she will pack as much as she can into two suitcases and start a new life in her old hometown.

There is a part of me that feels like I should fight for her, beg her to stay, or tell her she doesn't have the choice.

There is also a part of me that is so fucking tired of battling my first born every single day.

In the end, I told her to go and go with my love and blessing. She says she needs a fresh start. She says she misses her dad. I know that both are true.

I just can't imagine losing her now -- now while she's starting high school and growing into the woman I know she will become.

But if I hold her here, I'll lose her forever.

So my heart is very heavy...broken in fact. But if you love something, you let it go. Even if it tears you apart.

I know without a doubt, from this day forward, I will never, ever be the same.


This is Funky, and that is all.

Idol Chatter

Three Disclaimers:

(1) I'm an American Idol Junkie
(2) I've been a Kat fan from day 1
(3) I think I know everything

Elliot Yamin

"Open Arms"
Clive picked a fabulous song for Elliot to sing. Elliot sang it beautifully, but for two problems. First, he seriously needs to contain that vibrato. There are places it works, and places it doesn't. "Open Arms" does NOT need vibrato. Two, how come Elliot can forget the words to the chorus and NOT get ripped the way Kat was ripped last week? Hmmm???

"What You Won't Do For Love"
Paula did right by choosing a Bobby Caldwell song, but mostly she did right by ME because Bobby Caldwell is a god in my book. Elliot relaxed and performed it really well, but due to the over-zealousness of the orchestra, he was overpowered and the performance came off a bit dull. Randy saying he was sharp most of the song proves that Randy Jackson is going deaf.

"I Believe"
At least I think that was the title. I got distracted. Actually, I was bored. BUT once again, the orchestra drowned him out. It's not the song he should have ended with.

My overall on Elliot: I was never a huge Elliot Yamin fan. In the beginning he seemed just another Stevie Wonder wannabe. Then he grew a bit and started impressing the HELL out of me. I pegged him for the top four, but assumed he would go before Chris. He has continued to surprise me throughout the competition. I think he needed a stronger performance tonight.

Taylor Hicks

"Dancing in the Dark"
I have loved Taylor from auditions -- I have. He was my favorite male from the get-go. Every week he has consistently brought it. "It" being the thing about him that his fans love and his foes loathe. Be that as it may, this performance was by far his worst. He looked awkward, almost frightened, and his energy was low. The dance with Paula made my skin crawl.

"You Are So Beautiful"
Randy does something right. This song is perfect for showcasing the flavor of Taylor's voice. I loved it, though the "to me" came out weird each time. It wasn't as strong as "In the Ghetto" but it was kick-ass.

"Try a Little Tenderness"
Unlike every other contestant, Taylor knows how to pick a song. He also knows how to deliver to his fans. Yes, he was vocally rough tonight, but he turned it out -- turned it up even.

My Overall on Taylor: Again, I've been a fan forever, and I always expected Taylor to make it to the top three, but not the top two. He's not the best vocalist, but he is the best entertainer. Like it or not, that's important.

Katharine McPhee

"I Believe I Can Fly"
Clive, what the fuck? Why would you have her sing an R.Kelly song? It makes everyone think of pedophiles. Seriously. I think she was set up. However, I thought she did okay with the song, though she could have used a WAY bigger ending. She looked awkward and uncomfortable with the song. She didn't deserve the ass-munching she got from Randy and Paula.

"Somewhere Over the Rainbow"
This song choice confirms that Simon loves Kat. He did her right! A cappella, sitting down no less, and still incredible. I usually scream at the top of my lungs anytime anyone sings sitting down. If you compress the diapragm, you can't support your breath. She did, and she still sang flawlessly... she lost her ear monitor, and she still kicked ass. Her performance was sublime.

"I Aint Got Nothin' But the Blues"
Anyone who says this girl can't sing is crazy. You may not like her, you may not like her style, but she's got pipes and she showed it. Don't fucking tell me she can't sing. As for Randy and his need to constantly mention she's not Whitney, or Mariah, or (as in tonight) Ella... that's getting on my fucking nerves. "Comparing yourself to Ella... I don't know..." he says. Dude, seriously... every song sung on AI was FIRST SUNG BY SOMEONE FAMOUS. I've never heard them say, "Golly Taylor, stop comparing yourself to Joe Cocker." Grrr.

My Overall on Kat:
Well, I just said it all. I've had her for the top two since day one, but after seeing Chris go last week, I fear the backlash against her will be her downfall. I think she should stay, but she'll probably go. That being said, I've been dialing non-stop for over an hour and have only gotten through twice.

My AI Conspiracy Theory:

Listen to the performances and then the judges. I've noticed more than not... if someone performs "so so" and gets a free pass, it means the judges want them to go home. If someone performs "pretty well" and gets their ass ripped out, it means the judges want them to stay and are INTENTIONALLY trying to stir up that performer's fan base. It's happened week after week. Who do I think got the free pass tonight? Taylor. They were very harsh with Kat, Simon told Elliot he didn't sing his way into the finals, but no one dissed Taylor. Look for a big upset tomorrow.



This is Funky, and that is all.

Holy Orgasm, Batman

Did you see it?

Did you see the way he LOOKED at her?

I'm speechless. I'm swooning. I need a doctor, stat.



Sweet dreams are made of these.



This is Funky, and that is all.

Sloths of the World, Unite!

Happy Mom-Can-Do-What-She-Wants Day!

Oh, that's not what it is?

That explains the look on the face of my husband when he reminds me of my Tai Chi class this afternoon. Dammit, man.

So I'll just finish my cup of coffee, have one (or four) more cigarettes, and blog about how much I do NOT want to go to the gym today. I do not want to do the Down Dog. I do not want to lengthen my neck. I do not want to visualize a spot on the wall to keep me from falling on my ass.

I do want to be a sloth and finish my new Chuck Palahniuk book.

So where was I? Oh yes, Mothers' Day. (Is that apostrophe in the right place, Jane?)

Honest as honest can be, I detest holidays... at the least the ones that are supposedly centered around me. I hate them through no fault of the industry. It's not Halmark's fault any more than it's 1-800-Flowers.com's fault. It's so much my fault, with my little princess complex.

As "my special day" approaches, I begin to visualize things like... breakfast in bed, smiling, rosey-cheeked children with flowers and homemade cards... doting husband with his shirt off, glistening still from a freshly-earned, housecleaning induced sweat, bringing me the perfectly prepared cup of steaming hot coffee.

And I wake up at 1:00 in the afternoon because one of my daughter's friends calls to wish me a Happy Mother's Day.

And now my husband is reminding me that I have 30 minutes to get to the gym. Grrrr.

I have that phone call to make as well... that phone call to my mother... that "Hi, Mom, happy you day, yes I know I haven't called or visited for awhile, I'm sorry, how are you, how are things, WHY THE FUCK DID YOU MOVE NEXT DOOR TO MY SISTER INSTEAD OF ME, did you like your flowers, what are you going to do with your special day, YOU TOLD ME YOU'D RATHER KILL YOURSELF THAN MOVE TO FLORIDA, how is your health, are you enjoying the sunshine, THEN YOU MOVED NEXT TO MY SISTER AFTER SHE MOVED TO FLORIDA THREE YEARS LATER, I love you too, yes we should really get together soon, I STILL HAVE REJECTION ISSUES AND YOU OWE ME FOR A SHITLOAD OF THERAPY, I'll talk to you soon."

Shouldn't holidays really be the days between the holidays?





This is Funky, and that is all.

Unless you want an update on my weight-loss. If so, it's exactly 30 lbs today.

It Is What It Is

Why don't I just give this thing up?

Why not just send you all a lovely farewell message and move along?

Why cling to something that I can't seem to do anymore?


I don't know.


Occassionally the thought comes to me, "Write, Funky. Write."
And when I sit down to do it, I feel overwhelmed... or I feel uninspired... or I feel disinterested.

I read a few blogs now and again, but when it comes time to comment on something I enjoyed, I just cannot find the energy to bring my fingers to the keys and let my words flow.

But I just can't let go, and I don't know why.


But I guess that as long as I need a place to say the stuff in my head, this blog will serve a purpose for me.

And while that is all I have to say about that, I do want to say a few more things.

Chris went home. Deal. Just because you like him, doesn't mean that the others suck. They are all good. Even goat-face.

I'm a liberal, left-leaning, tree-hugging Democrat. I don't care if you are, or if you aren't. But stop sending me conservative, right-leaning, Bible-twisting, Bush-loving, forwards. I mean it. I fucking mean it.

Raising kids is the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life. I know there are some rewards to reap and shit like that, but right now I just really want to take up the hobby of drinking again. The scariest thing is, if I fuck them up any more, I'll never get rid of them. They will live with me forever and ever and ever and ever.

I do not have time for all the things you want me to do. If you love me, you understand. If you have a problem with that, please take a number and stand in the "fuck off" line. I'll be with you momentarily.



This is Funky, and that is all.