I actually liked 2016

  Almost four years ago to the day, I started this blog. At the time, I was very despondent, having been dumped by the boyfriend that I was madly in love with. Of course, hindsight is 20/20. I'm glad he dumped me because it was a toxic relationship. He cheated on me and left me for that girl, all around the time of a breast cancer scare. If there were a douchebag measurement scale, that would be near the top. But, at that time, I didn't know what to do. I think my friends were beyond tired of hearing my sob story. So, I turned to my own words for some kind of comfort. Since then, I've found sadness, humor and some interesting stories in the dating world. Until recently, I've been very quiet because I didn't want to jinx things.
  Six months ago, I had just come back from a very bad second date. That date ended with an awkward hug and no follow up call. I finally declared that I was finished with dating. Many times before, I had made that statement, but this time it was for real. If  I couldn't get through a successful second date, there really wasn't any hope. I wasn't getting any younger. I had a failed on-again, off-again relationship with the Russian. After that, it was a smattering of bad dates. There were a few potentials in the middle. But, anyone I kind of liked ended up flaking out and the others weren't worth my time of day. This last day was the straw that broke the camel's back. I remember skipping a friends birthday party because I was so depressed after this disaster date. I had work and my kid to focus on.
  The next day after work, I got a text. It was from a guy on Tinder. We had tried to meet up a few times, but something always fell apart. He lived quite a distance away and it wasn't easy getting together.  Honestly, I'd given up on ever meeting or hearing from him again. But, here was a text asking if I was free that night. The kid was in WV and I was finishing work early. I figured, what the hell? I knew nothing would come of it. I told myself to just go out, see a different area, get a drink and enjoy the night. I had no expectations. Seriously, I had given up. Love was not out there. It didn't exist.
  We had agreed to meet in Greensburg, close to where he worked as a chef. He chose a bar, Mr. Toad's, that neither of us knew. I got there early and ordered a gin and tonic. It was cozy, little dive bar with a friendly atmosphere. After a few minutes, a man entered whom I recognized from his profile picture. Very tall, quite handsome. I was very happy with that outcome. We hugged and ordered more drinks. I was surprised to find that he was actually British, funny, and very intelligent. After an hour, I remember thinking that this was one of the best dates I'd ever been on and hoped it wouldn't end. We ended up leaving, going to his apartment, where I got to meet his dog. After that, my lips are sealed on any details. But, to my surprise, we had more dates. Each one was just as fun as the first. He became a daily fixture in my life and I in his. I had butterflies in my stomach when I thought of him.
  Six months later, as I write this, we're almost a month into living together. I love every minute of it. Sure, there have been fights and normal couple things. The first night in the house, we had a monstrous fight. We were beyond tired from moving the previous days. He was asleep in the very back room. I was taking a bath, drinking wine, eating cheese, and listening to music. Unbeknownst to me, it was all very loud. He trudged in and told me I was "obnoxious". I replied that he was a "dick". We can laugh about it now, even though, at the time, there was certainly no laughter.
  I don't know for sure how he feels about me, but I'm over-the-moon for him. I don't know if he'll ever fall in love with me, but I'm happy with him everyday. I get so excited thinking about coming home to him. He's so good with the kid, too. Like I said, I don't want to jinx it. Just know that my silence meant happiness for once in my life. A miracle happened- I believe in love again.

Bad Moon Rising

  My bad week almost culminated in choking on a piece of cheeseburger as I sang along to Oasis in the car. I suppose my son could've sued McDonald's or one of the Gallagher brothers had this happened. In my mind, it just proved how bad my week has been. 

  Now, it's not the serious kind of bad- there have been no deaths or serious maladies. It's been the stub your toe & it escalates kind of bad. There has been some good. I had one really fantastic date. Ok, that's the only good thing that happened. 

  The bad luck started with a bad second date (different guy from good date-good date was after bad, second date).  Second dates should go well, you'd think. I'll call him "Jimmyjohn". That's what my friend dubbed him because he actually has a name that is two first names together. Decide on a first name, right? I can't really talk, I had a stuffed gorilla when I was little named Harryjackblack. I liked all three names and couldn't decide on one . Anyway, we had a pretty decent first date. This time, we met up for a drink and then dinner. Things probably went south when I asked him if he would ever try eating human flesh. On my behalf, he had mentioned eating cow tongue. Naturally, this is a great segue into my question. Judging by the look on his face, I realized my mistake. I'd had a strong dirty martini, so I then yelled "Oh, c'mon, you know you'd be curious!" Apparently not. The date ended in a very awkward hug. My lips accidentally brushed against his in the release of the hug, so I'm sure he thought I was trying to kiss him. 

  A night or so later, I had my fabulous date. We're not going to speak of it-no jinxes. I woke up the next day happy  until I realized I couldn't find my debit card. My phone case has a card slot where I always keep it. It's been a little loose lately. The little voice in my head kept telling me to put it somewhere else or I'd lose it. That voice also kept telling me to eat large amounts of cheese, so I ignored it about both issues. Little voice was right (about the card, not the cheese). I figure it had to have been lost in the car, in my apartment, or at Sheetz. Not the end of the world. A quick call to the bank. My change purse had some cash in it for the toll road I hit driving to my good date. Then, I somehow lost my change purse. That involved spending my lunch getting money out of the bank. It was fine, I didn't have money to buy lunch. The bank told me they could've immediately issued me a new card had I come there instead of calling the customer service number. Great. I'll keep that in mind for next time. With my luck, there will be a next time. My dumb luck has taught me a lot. Prepare for car trouble- keep water, oil, blankets, etc with you at all times. Prepare for any issues at work by carrying in your purse-tampons,  pads, Excedrin, safety pins, Icy Hot. Prepare for heartbreak at all times- tissues, Florence & the Machine lyrics, wine, dead soul. 

  Money was an issue for the week. Big deal. Go to work and forget about your problems? Nope. Go to work and have an even worse week. I realized  it's a full moon and it's obviously  affecting customers in a very bad way.  

  On a happier note, I found my change purse, got my replacement card, and had a couple of days off. I pray my sanity makes it through the weekend. 

Happy birthday

  Twelve years ago, on July 4th, I thought I was having bladder trouble. I was eight months pregnant. During that last month, I had heard that this occurred. But, my issue was severe enough to warrant a pad to soak up the issue. "This last month is going to be rough" I thought. Little did I know, my water had been broken and was slowly leaking out. I was about to go into labor. 

  I spent the day at work at the bookstore, changing my pee pad regularly. Bob and I went out to dinner after work. Later that night, we stopped at the store to look at cribs. We had a month left to prepare for our little guy. Or so we thought. 

  Around midnight, we got home and I noticed a bit of blood in my urine. I told Bob that we should go to the hospital. 

  "Well, if you think it can't wait until morning", he replied. He was very nonchalant. I was scared. 

  "Yes, we have to go to make sure everything's ok." 

  Bob spent a lot of time with me at the doctor making sure things were ok. Needless to say, they always were. He and my doctor always got a good laugh at my expense. I tended to freak out a lot while pregnant. His hesitance to forgo sleep over this was evident. 

  When I walked into the emergency room, my "bladder issue" was in full force. I had to walk with my legs crossed to keep from soaking myself. We explained my bladder issue to the attendant. 

  "Yeah, you're in labor" he explained in a very bored manner. 

  I laughed.

  "No, that's impossible-we have a month left to go". 

  After being examined and having a second person tell me that labor was imminent, shock set in. We're we having this baby and we weren't ready. Bob and I stared into each other's eyes and burst into tears. Then, the labor pains started. All the pain I've ever felt could not even minutely compare to this pain. I gladly accepted any drugs they offered. I probably would've taken a crack pipe if it would've helped. Ladies, how do we do it? And, men, you have no idea. 

  After that it was the typical long wait. Bob's family traveled from WV. His dad watched my labor spikes on the monitor. I'm a badass with pain-I never show it. So, he was fascinated. 

  "Bob, look at that spike! She must be having a labor pain. Look at her, she's not even reacting!" 

  Finally, my body was ready to push this baby out. I was ready for that epidural. However, my epidural guy went to the wrong room. There were 14 other women delivering that same day. It was a shitshow. After much time and confusion, I got my epidural. Finally, the bliss. I couldn't feel a damn thing. They told me to push. I laughed the whole time because I was so numb & couldn't tell what I was doing. Next thing I knew, a baby was crying. His first action was to pee on the nurse. He's been making his mark on the world since. 

  I feel like this was yesterday. Now, his voice is deeper and he's almost a teenager. My only regret is that his dad isn't here. It was the three of us in the beginning. He's shed a lot of tears the past few nights over his dad. I hold him tight and tell him he's there, watching over him. 

  I've never loved anything as much as I love this boy. He's the best thing I've ever done with my life. This makes this the best day of the year, every year. Yes, I spoil him. But, he deserves it.  

Dead soul

  I haven't posted in forever. Basically, there's not much going on. Well, other than illness. I feel like I've been sick for the entirety of May. I got hand, foot and mouth disease. I blame children. It's a virus, so who knows why it's called a disease. V had it first and passed it onto me. You run a horrendous fever for two days. Fever is accompanied by the worst muscle pain you could ever feel, literally bringing tears. Then, your fingertips feel like you just touched a hot iron. That's because weird red dots are rising to the surface. Those also form in your nose and throat. Some on your face. Luckily, all this only lasts for a week. Once I finally shook that, I immediately got sick again. Some weird virus. Fever and confusion. Honestly, it could still be the same illness. No idea. The scariest thing is that it can affect your brain, which is what I feel like is happening. When I'm fevered, the confusion and disorientation is severe. I've dubbed it "fever haze". It's getting better day by day. I shouldn't complain- there's so much worse going on in the world. But, everything is relative and I hate this sickness. 

  In the midst of illness, I spent some time cruising the Russian's neighborhood, hoping to run into him. I blame the fever. We didn't have much in common and the relationship would never work. I think I was maybe missing him or missing having someone. 

  I've also concluded that love is dead. Me, the hopeless romantic. Sad really. I was watching The Town. Ben Affleck's character was trying to get his girlfriend to run away with him because he's a bank robber and Jon Hamm was hot on his trail. I watched this scene and thought, "Oh, that's such bullshit. Guys can't fall in love." I realize that I seriously believe men are incapable of being in love. Bizarre, because I've been in love and have been loved. But, now I feel it's dead. It's a different age. People used to ride trains all the time. Now, no one does. Men used to fall in love. Now, nothing. This is a sad commentary on my perspective. So, if you're a man and you know me and you're in love, give me a pep talk. I think I'm worthy of love. I just don't feel a man can or will give it. I think something inside me died. Is it better to have loved and lost and to become a dead soul? I can still fall for someone. I fight these feelings like a knight in battle. 

  I'm hoping my fever will subside and my soul will find what it's looking for. 

Yeti

  It was a show about Yetis that finally made me shave my legs. I was watching a show on the Science channel about the  mystery of the Dyatlov pass. These Russian students went on a camping trip in the Ural Mountains. Their dead bodies were found. No one knows how they died. Some had injuries similar to car crash victims. One was missing an eyeball, another a tongue. They referenced Yetis in a journal that was found. Fifty years later, a photo that one took was found showing a Yeti like figure in the background. Then, I thought, I need to shave. This is how my mind works. 

  I shaved part of one leg with cocoa butter. I have to be careful with soap. I have a sensitive lady area. It's prone to urinary tract and yeast infections. Just being in soapy water is problematic. I learned this at a very young age with Mr. Bubble bubble wash. I always envied scenes in movies where women were lounging in the tub, their private bits covered by bubbles, as they chatted with a friend in the room. If I did this, my vag would turn into something that looked like a clown trick at a kid's birthday party. You know how couples like to have hot, shower sex? Not here. Soap would give me an infection, I'm afraid of water getting into my eyes because I think of dragons, and I don't like to get my hair wet. I've tried it a few times. One time, with an ex, we tried. He accidentally poked my butt, thinking it was another place. I think I went into some kind of shock. I almost passed out and threw up at the same time. Shower sex is not for me. 

  When you become a parent, you never experience alone time in the bathroom. That's suddenly the time they HAVE to tell you something. Especially if you're pooping or in the shower. To be taking a bath and not have a kid or cat in my face is rare. 

 The cocoa butter gave a clean shave and the emollients left a soft residue. However, it was hard to get the hair out of the razor. That could also be because  my legs looked  like a middle eastern man's legs. It had been a while since I shaved. The cocoa butter and the hair formed these weird clumps that stuck to the sides of the tub. Gross. It was too much work, in the end. I would gladly go for some permanent hair removal on seventy-five percent of my body. One of the cruelest parts of being single is knowing you're only shaving because you're sick of your own hairiness. Or, hey when I wear these short sleeves I don't want to look like I'm hiding roadkill under my arms. No man to run his hands up and down these cactus legs. 

  

April 14

  One day can change a life. It may be a marriage or a birth. Ours was a death. Life as we knew it changed. After much time, it was possible to go days without tears. But, those moments find you when you least expect it. Holidays are the worst. Dreams haunt us every night. I know when I smile that some twinkle has been stolen. When I see my boy in contemplation, I curse this day. He was robbed. The world was robbed of this man. But, anyone who knew him would agree that he would hate our tears. He tried to lighten every situation with his jokes and that gorgeous, dimpled smile. Bob, we miss you. Your boy is happy, just know that. It's my number one priority. I like to think you can see. He misses you. Your sisters and your mom miss you. The world misses you. You were taken too soon. Forgive our tears. We'll equal them with laughs in your honor. You were such a good man. 

My Last 10 Internet Searches

  Some people fear what's in their internet browsing history for fear it will be discovered. Porn is the most likely cause. My searches aren't salacious, just weird and time-wasting. Out of curiosity, I decided to see what my last searches were. Here they are with any explanation I may have.
  1. The Black Dahlia crime scene photos- I was watching Unsolved Mysteries (Dennis Farina edition) when they discussed the Black Dahlia case. It's a fascinating, unsolved murder involving dissection and blood draining. Being my morbid self, I decided I wanted to see the real crime scene photos. Supposedly, she was cut from ear to ear and her torso was cut in half. Unfortunately, the first site I went to had a pop up photo of someone's butthole. What a non sequitur, I thought. I think I shrieked and instantly left the site. So, that's on my browser. In the end, I did find some gruesome photos sans butthole. 

  2. David Krumholtz weight gain- You know this guy. He's in a ton of things, most notably the hit TV series Numbers. I love this guy. He's a great actor. I saw him in something recently and he had a noticeable weight gain. Concerned for him, I googled this issue. I guess he had thyroid cancer, seems to have beaten it, is married and has a baby. But, this is what I do with my time. 

  3. Symptoms of love addiction- I watch the Netlix series Love entirely in one day. Loved it. Written by Judd Apatow and starring Gillian Jacobs. Great show, watch it. Gillian's character, Mickey goes to love addiction rehab, and, to be honest, that group talk made me wonder if I'm a love addict. So, I googled it. Turns out, love addicts may have been abandoned early in life and try to find a knight in shining armor in their adult life. Ok, guess that fits. But, I think only years of therapy will cure that. 

  3. Jim Florentine images- I was watching Louie, when I heard a very familiar voice. I used to listen to a lot of Opie & Anthony in the morning during an hour long drive I used to make everyday. Comedian Jim Florentine was a regular guest. But, I wasn't familiar with what he looked like. I wondered if this man on Louie was him. Indeed it was. His character ended up trying to shit in the top of a toilet tank as Louie was puking, slipped, hit his head and died. Good episode. Now, I'm familiar with what he looks like. 

  5. Apple Watch- I got my tax return, so I dream of getting an Apple Watch. Prices have dropped, but I can't justify spending that much money on myself. 

  6. Nick Groff Ghost adventures departure- A member of the Ghost Adventures team, he now has his own show. This lead me to question why he left. Kind of vague. Maybe a falling out with Zac Bagins. Maybe the most pathetic of my searches. 

7. Head lice- My kid somehow contracted lice at school. I found out when he was staying with relatives. I never had it as a child, so I had no idea what to look for. There's also some kind of "super lice" going around. Not sure if he had that or not. All I know is that it took three treatments and lots of combing with the nit comb. It felt very primal, except I didn't eat the nits. It was a rough week. I slept in a shower cap the first night. He was offended, but I wasn't getting it. His cousin also got it. You know, like the flu, only itchier and much creepier. 

8. X-Men Apocalypse- I don't even remember why exactly. I think it was settling an argument with V. He didn't believe that Oscar Isaac, or Poe Dameron, was playing the villain. I know my actors, man. Especially the good ones. 

9. Scabies- After head lice, anything can happen. When my left arm started itching incessantly, I immediately thought I had scabies. Turns out from the pictures that I don't. 

10. Can a mother transmit syphillis through breastfeeding- I read a totally demented book called The Kingdom of Little Wounds. It's basically a fairy tale with syphillis. I was wondering if a character that's breastfeeding to transmit her disease to a baby. Turns out you are safe as long as you don't have oozing sores on your breasts. Good to know. 

  I'd love to say I do productive things with my time, but that would be a complete lie.  

Ghost Adventures

  "Ghosting" can happen to anyone, but it's especially prevalent in the dating world. It's when someone you're communicating with, all of a sudden, stops communicating back. I've experienced a couple of cases of it very recently. 

  First, and the most perplexing, happened a couple of weeks ago. I was at work and noticed an attractive, dark haired guy in the store. He wasn't looking at anything in particular and always seemed to appear wherever I was. After work, I went to a going away get together for a friend from work. While there, I get a message on a dating site from the guy at the store. We strike up a good conversation and exchange phone numbers. We text the next day and he proceeded to ask me out for a drink that coming Monday. Normally, I wouldn't due to having my boy, but I worked early and figured I could fit in an hour to meet after work. Monday comes and suddenly he texts, cancelling, saying he's "coming down with an illness". Yeah, right. Whatever. I texted the next day, asking how his "illness" was. Nothing. I waited another day, then texted-"Must've been a fatal illness." Totally ghosted. Infuriating because he pursued me. In the end, I think he has a girlfriend. When you exchange phone numbers and you're phone is linked to Facebook, they show up in your suggested friends list. Naturally, I creeped on him. I happened to click on one of his female friends. Her profile declared she was in a relationship with him. Regardless of the true state of this relationship, I guess it's good I got ghosted. 

  I've had another ghosting which was more disappointing. I've been on quite a few dates with one guy over the past year. We get along really well. However, we only communicate via email due supposedly to his sleep habits. He works overnight. I'm skeptical, but not serious about the whole situation. We've kept up communication until recently. My emails have gone unanswered. Bummer because I lent him a book. 

  Guys seem so flaky. Is it so hard to be honest? Throw caution to the wind and send out a text saying you started seeing someone else. Or, hey, I'm not into this anymore. This is why, I think it would be great to start my own ghost hunting team. Just like the paranormal shows like Ghost Adventures, Ghost Hunters, and Paranormal State. But, I investigate ghosting phenomena of the dating world. I'm going to get a gelled up, muscular Axe body using guy to accompany me. We'll hunt down "ghosts", he'll get in their face and yell things like "Is there someone here?! Would you like to communicate with us?!" 

  We'll have all the special equipment like E.V.P. machines and Ouija boards. Maybe a couple of lockdown episodes. I want answers and my partner and I will get them. Wait until we bring in our medium. She'll have some insight. Her insight may be that I should devote my time to something more worthy like knitting or picking up garbage by the side of the road. The exorcism will surely work wonders. It involves a smudge stick, holy water, and the smashing of the ghost's cell phone. I'd watch the shit out of this show if I weren't the one coming up with it. 

Writing

  I'm horrible at accepting compliments, but I love the shit out of them. My self-esteem is usually at the bottom of the river beside some mafia hits wearing cement shoes. Last night, I had a former co-worker ask if I was still blogging and then she said I was a good writer. My heart swelled. Of course, I doubt my writing and intelligence. I went on a strange day drinking date earlier in the week. My date told me I was adorable and intelligent. What??!!!! On a consistent basis, I feel like a dope. This may be why I seem to date men of higher than above average intelligence. My husband was top of the list with a Mensa-like IQ of over 140. Pretty much every guy since him has been on the higher spectrum of the intelligence level ( maybe even one or two fall into the "spectrum" category.) I've never felt on their level. This is a girl with average intelligence. Luckily, I have common sense, which is a damn, fine thing to have. But, I'm horrible at geography, math, and many other subjects. I can name actors and authors with astonishing clarity, however. Abilities that get you nowhere in life. I can answer Final Jeopardy questions correctly 90% of the time. And, I swept the shit out of the Russian history and Scarlet Johansen categories. 

  My drunken date said I was more well read than he was. This guy was very well read. A total turn on. Reading is my jam. I have a lot of friends who read more, so this surprised me. I feel like I don't read enough. 

  As far as writing, I'd love to do more. I'm lackadaisical and doubt my abilities. I have half of a screenplay finished, I rarely blog and this blank journal that's supposed to become a novel is empty. It's not that I don't have ambition. The doubts just plague me. I remember when I was in third grade, wanting to write a sequel to Charlotte's Web. My mom, who was oddly supportive of creative ventures and nothing else in my life, bought me a blank journal in which to write it. All was well with my first draft until kids at school rudely told me I couldn't write the sequel. Way to dash dreams, dudes. I finished one screenplay that I entered into Project Greenlight. I think only Bob read it. The contestants who were supposed to obviously didn't. You were to answer a questionnaire to ensure you did. They said I didn't have any female characters. There were actually two. Regardless, it was crap and it doesn't matter that I didn't progress to the next level. My current one isn't bad, by my standards. The question is- will I EVER finish it? 

  I would love to write a novel, but I'm terrified. I wish I could just grow a set and do it. 

  Thank you anyone who has ever read this blog and encouraged me. It means a lot. The feedback seems genuine and I appreciate it. Even if it's the only thing I write, it feeds my soul. 

Wolverines!

  Because he was always in such a sickly state, the Russian had an idea of what I would do if he died. My mourning would include wearing his shoes and too huge clothes. It's funny because I'm wearing them now after our breakup. It may be the freezing temperature outside or it may be melancholy. I'm going with the former. 

  The break was a long time coming. We shouldn't have gotten back together the first time. Our issues still existed- we never saw each other, his family didn't know about me, he had no idea what he was doing with his life, which caused him frustration. It's not a shock. I can't say bad things about him. He was a good guy. He treated me so well. At every meeting, he'd have a greeting card ready telling me how much he loved me. After we saw each other, he'd send text after text telling me how beautiful I looked. I can't say he was a dick or an asshole. If my friend, Brandi, asks to make his life a living hell, I'll have to tell her "no". Like I said, it wasn't a bad relationship. Age difference, cultural and physical distance did us in. In the end, he was upset, for the millionth time, over something with his parents. He informed me that we would " suspend our usual sweet talk, compliments and gifts for a while". But, that we weren't breaking up. This enraged me. What did this all have to do with me? I bided my time and didn't hear from him for two weeks. Of course, that didn't sit well and the rest is history. It's only fitting that today is his birthday. For some time, I felt sad. A seething anger like a toothache fuels me now. It makes me want to watch Red Dawn ( the original, not the remake) and yell "Wolverines!". Instead, I ate homemade chili and watched War and Peace. I haven't shed a tear. That's not what Wolverines do. I have gotten irrationally angry at sour cream, his choice of topping for pancakes and mashed potatoes. Also, I've made another foray into the online dating world. As usual, getting messages from lots of gems. I guess if your name looks like it would be Bubba and we would have nothing in common, send me a message! If you're attractive and you message me, I'll stare at the phone in surprise for you are the unicorn. 

The Great Catnapping of 2016

  

  The other night was emotionally exhausting. I was in a possible breakup with the Russian (still not sure) and I thought V and I might have head lice (we don't). Both stories for another time. On top of it all, I had a long day at work. I pulled up to the apartment in the late evening and I see our indoor cat, Harrison, sitting on the sidewalk outside. Naturally, I freaked. After having our previous cat die, I can't let anything happen to this one. I can't put the boy through it. Immediately, I jump out of the car, leaving my purse and phone inside. It was a few days out from the big snow, so I was wearing these big, pink Hello Kitty rain boots. As soon as I get close to him, he takes off down the sidewalk. I had to run in these ridiculous boots. He ran about four houses down and up into a backyard. On my street, all the houses are up on a big hill. There I was, huffing and puffing, running after this cat. He wasn't going to evade me. Finally, I corner him in a backyard. Gradually, I get close and coax him into my arms. Judging by the growling, he wasn't thrilled with the situation. 

  He felt lighter, which gave me pause. What if it wasn't him? But, he was right outside the apartment. One sure way to tell was his tummy. When he walks, his tummy hangs down. I like to give it a jiggle when he walks by. So, there I was in a neighbor's backyard, feeling up a cat's stomach. It jiggled. It had to be Harrison. As fast as I could shuffle, I made it back to our apartment. 

  I had two doors to get through. Somehow, I made it through the front door. By the time I got to the door of our apartment, there was a lot of low growling and fidgeting. I yelled for Viggo and kicked the door with my foot. That's when I heard the meow from inside the apartment. 

  "V, is Harrison in there with you?" I yelled. 

  "Yeah, why?"

  "Oh, shit, don't open the door."

  That's when I got a good look at this cat's face. It was not Harrison. It looked absolutely terrified. As fast as I could, I opened the front door and let it go. Just in time because V came bounding out in the hallway. 

  "What's going on, Mom?"

  "I just accidentally stole someone's cat" I sheepishly answered. 

  I'm sure there's some kind of moral to this story, I'm at a loss for what it is. Maybe it's every cat has a doppelgänger or never assume a cat outside your residence is yours. Whatever it is, I felt like a supreme jackass. 

Kardashian blood money

  I'm ashamed to admit, I've contributed to the Kardashian empire. My love of fake lashes is to blame. Ulta sells their beauty products and I've been eyeing up their lashes for some time. But, I'm not a fan of the family. I think their rise to fame is without merit. Yes, they're beautiful women, but that fame stems from a sex tape. They have not garnered my respect, to say the least. I've been morally opposed to contributing to their dynasty of superficial indulgence. But, my morals are weird, much like Anton Chigurgh's in No Country For Old Men. Plus, it was a buy one get one half off sale. I'm no better simply because my quest was a vain one. This probably puts me on the same level. These lashes better look good.  

  It's kind of funny how deep-seated the hatred for the Kardashian family is. Kim Kardashian's book of selfies is constantly turned around in the bookstore so her face isn't showing. People normally do that to book of political figures. In their mind, it's an act of rebellion and erasure. I wish I had a dollar for everything I had to flip around Hilary Clinton or Donald Trump's books. It's not going to stop their book sales. Booksellers are as familiar with the back of the books by now as the fronts. 

  In the end, I guess I'm a little disappointed in myself. I wish I had strong, moral fortitude. Alas, I'm weak. 

New year

  Unlike most Americans, I'm going to refrain from too many New Years resolutions. Work has done me in, I'm on my period, and I think I caught a cold on top of my sinus infection. Energy and enthusiasm are almost non-existent. The most I've accomplished is attempting to cut down on dairy. I'll make it back to the gym when I don't feel like a George Romero character. I had an idea that I was going to be nicer to people. Then, I went to work and it was only an hour before I wished death upon someone. People that preach about love and kindness should work a day of retail. They would come to wish an asteroid would demolish the planet like I do after a day of work. People are so mean. It makes me give up on humanity. So, that attempt at a resolution failed. 

  I've considered trying to do 31 days of blogging this month. Laziness will probably nip that in the bud. Trying to quit swearing is a good idea that probably won't come to fruition. Give me one short drive and that'll be over. I caught myself yelling "cockdick" at someone while driving one day. I become like the bastard child of Travis Bickle and a Quentin Tartantino character in the car. 

    Meditation always comes to mind as something good to try, but I'm too lazy and impatient. Basically, I'm a lost cause. Oh, well. 

The chirp

    I never thought I'd have a new car. It never seemed like even a remote possibility. Being poor with bad credit cemented that in my mind. So, when I did get one, by some miracle, I was beyond thrilled. She's been named "Grease Monkey" by V, but she's far from it. This car is doted on. Its a far cry from my last car. Here's just a few things that were wrong with it when I traded it in- no heat/air conditioning, broken wiper blades, bald tires, my gearshift broke off and I had to push in an orange button, my back window was glued shut, and it was constantly overheating. There's  more, but I won't go on. I think one can get how pathethic this car was. A co-worker joked that I had a car PTSD from it breaking down too much. I do freak out in drive thrus. It tended to overheat in line. One time, it died at McDonald's and we had to coast out of line. That was a fine day. Almost as sweet as when it broke down near Greentree by the Fort Pitt tunnels. Apparently, a tow driver had been hit and  killed there the year before helping someone and no one wanted to help me. 

  Being rid of that car is the best thing ever. It was nicknamed "deathtrap". Pretty self explanatory. 

  The beauty of a new car is that you don't have to worry about breakdowns as much. But, its always at the back of your mind. Which is why, when I started hearing a strange noise, I freaked. 

  The child was staying with relatives in WV and I was on my way to get him. The day was sunny, I was in a good mood. Life was good. As I was cruising down the road, listening to a podcast, I notice a chirping noise. Panic set in. 

  "What the shit! Is that my breaks? No, no, it's constant. Shit! It must be a belt or something! Oh, God, why?" My internal monologue continued on like this for awhile. My usual car panic set in. I started looking at road signs so I could potentially tell a tow driver where I was located. The car seemed to be running fine, however. It was odd. Yet, the noise continued. I got very close to my destination when I was stopped at a red light. I decided to turn down the podcast to listen to the noise in more detail. Suddenly, no chirp. I turn it back on and the chirping commenced. I shut it off  and it was gone again. Here, I recall at the beginning of the podcast, Greg Fitzsimmons mentioning he was recording in Jay Mohr's basement. He made a joke about a cricket being there and that if the jokes didn't go over, you'd really hear the cricket. Duh! I didn't even think of the cricket. It was so loud. On my behalf, it didn't sound like a regular cricket. To be honest, I think I am scarred by my previous car. In the end, I was so relieved. I'd rather feel like a dumbass than be on the side of the road. I love this car so much, but I don't think I'll ever get over the imbedded fear of car breakdowns. 

Inside Edition

  After work every night, I like to come home and decompress. For me, that means sitting in front of the tv and watching Inside Edition. 

  If you've never seen the show, do yourself a favor and watch one episode. It's the bastard son of news, entertainment and weirdness. Thirty minutes of hilarity. It's been on since the late eighties. At one point, Bill O'Reilly hosted. This was before he was a political asshole and just a regular asshole. I think it's where the infamous "Play us out" clip came from. 

  Take tonight's episode- It started out with Donald Trump and his totally uncoraborated story that he saw people celebrating during 9/11. Jump to a story on how to spot possible terrorists (check for bad body odor, excessive fidgeting and face touching, similar outfits, etc. By their definition, most toddlers are terrorists.)

  The most interesting story was of a woman who had her nose bit off by her boyfriend. However, my child didn't want to watch it. Now, I have no idea what transpired between these two people to cause a nose loss. Usually, at this point, I turn to the child and make him promise not to do said thing to me. I recall a recent story about two siblings that beat and robbed their parents. They were seemingly good kids and gave no indication of trouble. 

  "Promise me you'll never beat me and rob me." I said to V. 

  "Why?"

  "Didn't you listen to that 911 call? They beat the shit out of their mother."

  That's usually how it goes. But, it goes both ways. I've promised to never leave him in a hot car in the summertime and to not drown him in the bathtub. Later, I'm sure I'll promise not to sleep with his teenage friends. 

  The cat, unbeknownst to him, has pledged to never start a fire in the apartment. Very possible scenario. There was a dog on video starting one with chemicals. I once had a dog accidentally rent porn by pawing the remote control, so anything is possible. 

  I've learned not to inject cooking oil into my face as a substitute for plastic surgery (although this fell into the realm of what I thought was common sense.) I also leaned that sucking on a bottle to try to get plump lips like Kylie Jenner is a big mistake. Most recently, I've become aware that the man who voiced Charlie Brown is batshit crazy and has threatened to kill people. Where else would I learn this vital information? 

  The world is a scary place. Thank goodness we have Inside Edition to keep us on the right track. Right? 

The Curious Incident of the Shit in the Urinal

  I rarely write about work. If I were self-employed, I'd be all about it. However, I'm not, so I try to keep professional and never mention it. But, a few weeks ago, something happened that has haunted me (and my appetite) since.
  First, if you're squeamish- STOP READING NOW! For real.
  It was a Saturday morning. A regular customer came up to inform me that the men's room urinal was overflowing and all over the floor. At this time, I was the manager on duty. The other manager was in a dog costume for storytime. So, I grab the only other male employee available and head to the men's room. I'm thinking it's no big deal. Most of the time, guys stuff paper towels into the urinal and it overflows. That was not the case. Someone has actually shit in the urinal. Anytime it flushed, water overflowed onto the floor. My idea was to glove up, grab the shit, toss it into the toilet and free the urinal. Easier said than done. I immediately started to retch when I got close. I've seen many a gross thing in my time. This one topped them all. Seeing my struggle, my fellow employee and friend in the trenches offered to do the deed. God bless. He got close, but began retching also.
  "I don't want to throw up in front of my boss" he said, apologetically.
  "I don't want that either. Neither one of us can do this."
  At that point, I decided to put an out of order sign on it and call it a day. The other manager finished with the story time and we agreed to let it go.
  Since then, anyone that hears the story feels the need to tell me their story that they think beats mine. Listen, this isn't a contest. And, believe me, I've seen some gross stuff. At my former work place, a woman emerged from the restroom informing me that I need to clean it up because she had "explosive diarrhea" and her sister came in to help and threw up in the sink. I cleaned up that mess. That sink didn't drain well.  So, I've seen gross. I've also pulled a cotton ball out of a dog's ass. Once, I accidentally ate dirt off the floor thinking it was a potato chip. That same summer, a fly flew directly into my mouth and I swallowed it. I'm a mother, too. I've seen some things go down. But, until you've seen shit floating in a urinal, shut the hell up.

Reading Challenge

   At the beginning of the year, I made a goal to read 52 books by the end of the year. I checked my status-I'm at 37. To reach my goal, I'd have to read 12 books each month for the remaining year (sadly, I had to do this math on a calculator). The irony is that I work in a bookstore. I'm physically around books more than I can read them. After an 8 hour day, feeding my child & doing homework, there's little time for reading. Well, I watch Inside Edition and peruse Buzzfeed immediately after getting inside the apartment. Then, comes the homework. After that, I barely have time for anything. Plus, I try to give my child my undivided attention. When he's telling me about his modifications to his latest Transformer he made with Sharpies, he gets my rapt gaze. Admittedly, I sometimes ask if we can talk about something other than Transformers and, if not, I definitely think about something else. Anyway, time is not on my side. I have to rush about and then it's time for bed. 

  I'd love to be one of these people that read on their lunch break. Again, I blame Buzzfeed. Instead, I take a quiz to find out what Hollywood hunk is my soulmate ( Its generally Tom Hardy or Ryan Gosling, in case you're wondering). I, also, have this horrible habit of falling asleep when I read. Many factors against me. 

  I did read one book that was well over 700 pages. That is like reading two or three. I could read a ton of very short books for the remaining duration. Would that be cheating? This is what happens when you try to set goals. 

Frauds

  I was shopping & noticed this really chubby kid wearing a t-shirt. It said some enthusiastic shit like "Do it! Burn it!", or something to the effect of a rallying cry to an avid exerciser. It's right on par with me wearing my Crunch fitness t-shirt to take V to school. Me & this kid could be considered frauds. We're not models of the fitness our shirts represent. We just slapped some shirts on our bodies, laughing in the face of their messages. I feel like a bad representative when I wear that shirt. Not only is it covered in cat hair, but I haven't stepped foot in that gym on two weeks. Who knows about the kid. He may grow up to be a Jerry O'Connell (chubby kid in Stand By Me). Regardless, we should both pick different attire.

  Some people think lots of things that you can do is like fraud. I remember texting with a guy from Tinder, who thought the only time you saw a "real" version of someone was when they first woke up in the morning. Bullshit. I may do many things, such as color my hair and wear makeup, but it's me. The real me. Waking up Erin is some nightmare bear hybrid that's close to mauling someone, only to be soothed by coffee. I was miffed that he insinuated that women were deceiving men by all the things they do for and to their looks. He was upset because I wouldn't send him a picture of myself. I said I had taken off my makeup and was ready for bed. He went into a rant about how women didn't show their "true" selves by all the steps they took throughout their daily ritual. If halitosis, crusty eye and insane hair are the real me, I'd rather be fake. I'm not a natural beauty like some girls. I can't roll out of bed & go to work. Everything I do in the morning is to get away from being who I am when I wake up. I love the makeup, Spanx, eyeliner, red lipstick, underwire bra, curlers, etc. I love doing the transformation. What is wrong with that? Just putting on clothes could be considered fraud. We're born naked. Granted, I wear as many layers as Marie Antoinette, but who gives a shit? I feel most like "myself" wearing a dress and makeup. If I wear pants and go with the natural look, then, I feel like a fake. But, to prove that I can, I've posted a picture sans makeup, with the ever-fabulous, Harrison. 

Uncle Jerry

  My Uncle Jerry died the week before last. I say died rather than passed away. Passed away indicates that you were sick or old. He was neither. A sudden stroke took his life, robbing the world of a great man.
  My uncle was many things, but the two that stick out are intelligent and funny. At his funeral, the pastor that gave his eulogy mentioned these two things. He knew my uncle and it came through in his words. It was a very good service. I normally hate weddings and funerals because the person speaking usually has no idea of the people they're speaking of. This time, it was done very well. My uncle was very smart. One of the smartest people I've had the pleasure of knowing. But, if you knew him, you knew about his sense of humor. It was dry and methodical. A joke was a story with meaning:not just a one liner. He had a way of telling a story. There was no rush. He had thoughtful pauses and a sense of cadence. When the end of the joke or story was revealed, it had more impact. This also made him a good preacher. People felt comfortable with him. He was a great listener as well as a great speaker. If he knew you were troubled, he always lent a shoulder and an ear.
  I always remember my mom talking about when my uncle first started dating my Aunt Sally. "He was so weird," she said. "He had these huge blowup pictures of rats on his wall." How funny is that? I thought that was the coolest. He walked his own beat. He was a great dad and husband. My heart is broken for my aunt. Watching her say goodbye to him at the funeral was one of the saddest things I've ever seen. They were married for well over forty years. They were always a model for me of what a good relationship is. The last time I saw him was at Bob's funeral. His presence was enough to comfort me. But, he went above and beyond by talking to me and trying to provide some solace. My aunt gave me an envelope with money. Money that kept me and V afloat and on our feet until we got things figured out. That's something I'll never forget. That's my aunt and uncle- huge hearts. They raised two tough kids. It's hard seeing them in pain. I know neither of them want to show it. They're very strong. I would give anything to take away the pain for them. My poor aunt. This is such a devastating blow. I worry so much about how they're all doing everyday. I'll never process my own grief because I'm too worried about them. However, when my cousin, Jeri, called and told me he died, I cried so hard. V comforted me. "Mom, you were there for me, I'm here for you." he said. It was so sweet. A child should never have any idea about grief, but he does.
  I can't put into words what a cool guy he was. He was a lifetime father figure to me. He was the rock to the McClure family. Their beautiful hearts are shattered without him. If you had the pleasure of knowing him, you are blessed. Miss you, Uncle Jerry.

Genie Hour Glass

  I'm normally not one to make rash purchases, but I purchased something before the commercial was even finished- the Genie Hour Glass waist training belt. It's basically a poor man's corset. Waist training corsets run from $200 and up, so this was a steal. As of now, I have very mixed feelings about the GHG. 

  Of course it's not comfortable, but it's not supposed to be. The beauty of it is that you can get it really tight, looking like you've lost ten pounds instantly. The downside is your decreased mobility. You can't bend over. If something falls onto the floor, you're picking it up like you're doing the teapot move in the I'm a Little Teapot song. I think the Tinman in Wizard of Oz had more flexibility. My main problem is my major fat isn't on my waist but closer to my stomach and hips. So, I had to crazily adjust my GHG. If not, I have this sleek hourglass with a bump at the bottom. The adjustment left me with severe red marks on my body and a crinkling noise when I moved. But, damn, my waist gets thin. 

  The first day I wore it, my child was in stitches. I sat down in the car and it sounded like I was opening a bag of chips. This is only due to my attempt to cover my belly fat. I've had better success in more recent attempts at wearing it. Today, I made no attempt to cover my little pouch and it wasn't bad at all.