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.