If you're here, you probably already know what I'm talking about.

Wednesday, December 23, 2015

Merry Happy Freaking Holidays

   So, Christmas, right?  The struggle is real, yo.  Not only have the cats pulled ornaments off the tree, they've torn open wrapping paper and destroyed bows.  Ok, so no bows and double-wrap ALL the presents.  Crap.  

  Also, my dad's daytime caregiver picked the 12 days of Christmas to go off the rails; or at least, this is when the truth came to light.  Lying about her mileage, leaving during her shift to run a personal errand, during which time he fell, taking him with her on another personal errand, and being an hour late without letting me know.  So, she's getting fired for Christmas.

Then, my 12-year-old son decided he is not coming home for Christmas due to his father's Jehovah's Witness cult bullshit.  I totally lost my shit for a minute or ten - with his dad, not him.  I understand he is torn.  At first, I thought, "well, this ruins Christmas".  But guess what?  I get to spend it with my daughter - just the two of us like before my son was born.  Well, the three of us, since my Dad lives here, too.  :)

Oh, yeah, and Dad; well, only one of his other children has made plans to see him for Christmas.  Seriously?  Merry freaking Noel.  So, Happy Holidays, Dad, and thanks for always supporting us, but eff you, we're too busy having fun to show you any love and respect.  About what I expected, but still disappointing, to say the least.  This will be his first Christmas as a widow, too.

So, Christmas, right?  The struggle is too real.

Whackadoodle-doo, y'all.


Tuesday, July 7, 2015

Flingers of Poo

Ever get a truly nasty communication from someone you condsidered (and who claimed to be) your best friend?  I mean, an email that started off with, "First of all, Fuck you."  Followed by pages and pages of putrid verbal vilification,

Obviously, this kind of attack is nothing less than incendiary and solves absolutely nothing.  However, I consider it a gift from the Universe.  Totally.  Because no matter how angry I am at a friend, I would never say the big FU to them unless I was ready for that relationship to be O.V.E.R.  Not saying I have never been guilty of letting my anger direct a communication.  But I rarely go for the jugular and sling all kinds of character assassinations at people.

In this particular instance, a true friend told me that this person seems to be speaking from a perspective of guilt and is projecting a bunch of their own psychoses onto me.  Whatever.  Guess what?  I do not have to allow it.

Still wading through the Whackadoodles, y'all.


Monday, June 15, 2015

Half Lit

Ok, when you think of a senior citizen, you probably picture something like this:

Sure you do.  Who wouldn't?  But, what if you had THIS instead:

Imagine taking your dad to the drugstore because he wants sex lube.

That is all.

Sunday, May 31, 2015

Congratulations, Graduate!

So, tomorrow, my daughter graduates from high school.  Everyone asks me if  I will cry...HELLZ, YEAH, tears of JOY and RELIEF, cause I never thought we'd make it!  My daughter is very smart, but she doesn't give a rat's fat hairy ass what anyone else thinks of her (GOOD FOR HER!), including people who want to grade her on something.  I understand this because I was outraged in junior high that you could actually fail art class.  I was infuriated when my teacher gave me a less-than-satisfactory grade on something I created. And, I kind of had the same melt-down in Lit class when a teacher said someone's interpretation of a poem we were studying was incorrect.  HELLO, people, art is subjective.  All art.  Including music, thank you very much to my mother critic who constantly told me I was playing something wrong on the piano.  If I am in the moment and feeling something a bit differently than it is written, that is my interpretation.

I have done my best to foster her sense of individuality; I don't want her to be like the majority of society. That said, I have also tried to impress upon her the importance of following some of the rules.  You know, the ones that will only cause you incredible difficulty if you don't obey them.  Legal things aside, I mean how to appear to conform without actually conforming.  Unfortunately, I think DNA from her father negates her ability to understand.  One of my greatest heartaches.

I know I have to let her follow her own path.  Watching it all unfold is the heartache.  My friend Sadie said it best when she called this Mommyaches.  Here's a link to her story:


Whackadoodle-doo, y'all!

Monday, May 25, 2015

Domestic Bliss

So, today, on a whim much-needed break from things I do for everyone else, I did something for me.  I cleaned out kitchen cabinets and re-organized everything.  Sounds like a chore, but order from chaos is something I need crave.  Daily.  Especially since Pops came to live with us.  It all happened so fast that my entire household was upside-down.

He asked if I was cleaning out cabinets and I said, "Yes, am I bothering you?"  He said, "It's a lot of noise." Now, that was my perfect opportunity to remind him that he has a tv and a recliner in his room.  But, I followed my "raising" and stuffed those emotions right back down where they belong.  And promptly put my earbuds back in, turned up my music, and started intentionally making a lot more noise.  Childish, I know, but it FELT GOOD.  :)

My creative outlet has been cooking for a very long time, but there IS no time for that now.  So, I have adopted the "store-bought" approach to nearly everything.  I feel a twinge that I am not giving my loved ones the best possible nutrition.  But at this point, it is their health versus my sanity. Sanity wins.  In a very big way.

Gotta run.  Lots more noise to make.

Whackadoodle-doo, y'all!


Sunday, May 24, 2015

Family Matters

So, family drama.  It's the best, ain't it?  Family will be the first to fuck you over, emotionally, in my experience.  The Mother Demon raised a totally dysfunctional family; only two of us seem to have learned what love really means.  Good for us.

The other two: full of empty promises and non-communication.  That's fine.  Just stop lying about caring about each other.  And pretending we all love each other.  If you don't return a text, email, Facebook message, or voice mail, the fact of the matter is, you just don't fucking care.  "I'm so busy" is just an excuse.  People make time for what is important to them.

So, when I call you out on your fake, empty crap, you turn on me??  I'm the bad guy?  So, you're not going to speak to me any more?  THANK GOD, FINALLY, I HAVE A CONCRETE ANSWER ON YOUR POSITION.  Which I have known all along, anyway.  Just wanted you to state it for the record.

See, y'all, I have been studying Whackadoodles my whole entire life, and it started with my family.

Whackadoodle-doo, y'all!


Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Real Life

Boy, oh boy, if I could figure this out, I'd make a bajillion dollars. There are SO MANY PEOPLE on my list of  BLOCK YOU FOR REALZ.

Of course, ex-husbands top the list.  Cause no matter how much time has passed, it seems like at least once a week something happens that reminds me I want to punch each of them right smack dab in the kisser.  Even if it broke my hand.  >:p

Next, bad bosses.  I don't have any grudges against past bad bosses, cause they are history.  Current bad boss:  OH YEAH.  Super duper BLOCK YOU FOR REALZ.

Here's part of the rest of my list:
     The Entitled
     Drama Queens/Kings
     Catfuckers (click this link to find out more)

I am sure I can add more.

Who's on YOUR list?

Whackadoodle-doo, y'all!


Wednesday, May 13, 2015


I thought boyfriends/ex-husbands were whackadoodles. They got nothing on your live-in aging parent.  Having my dad around all the time is causing some serious flashbacks to the glory days of EH1 and EH2 (ExHusband 1 & 2).

The phrase, "get it your damned self" keeps running through my brain.  And also "a little please and thank you never hurt anybody."  Is my Pops just old-school misogynistic, or is it the Parkinson's?  I think a little of both.  If I ask (TELL) him to do something, he is happy to do it.  It just rarely occurs to him to take the initiative on ANY thing, except chasing the big P (WOMEN).

Now, I do consider myself a great caretaker.  I have been taking care of other folks since I can remember. And it brings me a certain amount of joy to do all those little things.  Except that those little things are always taken for granted and then expected.  And then you get resentful.  And the sneaky hate spiral (click that link for some more fun) begins.  Which usually ends with me drinking some vodka and crying myself to sleep.

Trying to see this as a blessing.  If I didn't have y'all to talk to, I don't know what I'd do!

Whackadoodle-doo to the max, y'all!


Sunday, May 10, 2015

Mother's Day Can Eat My Shorts

Yep, I said it.  Mother's Day can eat my shorts.  Not one person in this family, which now includes my elderly father, offered to do one GD thing for me today.  Not one.  The Father insisted I take him for a mani-pedi, but didn't even offer me one.  Seriously?  I do everything but wipe his ass.  Never mind that I had a bajillion chores to do (since I worked at my JOB all day on Saturday), and a few things I wanted to do for myself, since I knew NO ONE WOULD FUCKING OFFER TO DO ANYTHING FOR ME.

Of course, the day started off foul because the prior evening, as we were watching the news (kill me now), The Father commented to me about his now-deceased wife's vagina.  Straw that broke the camel's back, y'all.  Is it the Parkinson's?  Who knows.  He is quite inappropriate and apparently obsessed with his weiner and wants to share all kinds of juicy tidbits about his past with me.  Ummm, hello?  I am your DAUGHTER and a WOMAN.  Misogynistic pig.  And I am now his sole caretaker.  Joy, oh joy.

And, also, since MY mother was a fire-breathing dragon with narcissistic personality disorder, the very last thing I want to do is give her glowing reviews on Facebook.  Difficult enough to see everyone else posting about how their mother was their best friend, blah-blah-blah.  Mine was my mortal enemy until I was in my 30's and had a granddaugher-on-the-way to hold over her head and make her behave.  It was all I could muster to send her a card, which was not ooey-gooey, by any stretch of the imagination.  She is shallow and self-absorbed and now pretends to have Alzheimer's to get attention.  Sorry, lady, I am busy.

Next year, I am going away some place for the Mother's Day weekend BY MYSELF.

Whackadoodle-doo, y'all.