panic ATTACK.

Over the weekend, I went antiquing and decided to stop off at an eatery close by once I got hungry. That was a bit of a mistake… the choice of eatery, not the hunger portion. You see, there’s this Vietnamese town I grew up spending almost EVERY FUCKING weekend at, to load the car with supplies for my mother’s catering business. Then I spent my free time slaving away in the basement producing these demanded delectables. I began working when I was 7. I guess it wasn’t as bad as a sweatshop, but it still kind of sucked.

Anyway, I tried parking the car and immediately, all the fucking Asian drivers couldn’t decide whether to park in that spot or not park in that spot, but HEY! There’s my friend and I’m going stop trying to park, text, change the playlist on my iPod at the same time and say hi. FUCKING ASSHOLES.

So, I noticed something odd. First, it was the hair pulling. Then, the fidgeting. Then, the nail biting. Every muscle in my body tensed up and suddenly, my sphincter was so tight, fisting was no longer an option. Luckily, I carried all my anti-anxiety meds with me and popped one when I noticed a few of my train wreck tendencies.

After I parked the car, I took a deep breath, stepped out and that’s when all hell broke loose. Every little memory, whether mind or muscle, washed over me and I was suddenly having trouble breathing, let alone walking a straight line. I have PTSD from 10 years of childhood abuse. I’ve worked through much of it, but after that incident, I’m finally realizing I’ve barely grazed the surface.

SQUEEEEEEEEEEE!

I’m off to attend the workshops of several people I admire, in addition to sharing a meal with them. Those included are Jeffrey Brown, Kevin Gonzalez, The Handsome Family, Tim Kazurinsky, Harold Ramis and Davy Rothbart.

I can barely contain my excitement and hope I don’t make a fool out of myself. I just wished they served alcohol at the high school, where this festival is held at.

head cure, circa 1865

I found this sitting on the floor of our closet among drawings my stepson had made at the early age of 9. I’m not sure if this was from an old medical journal of my father-in-law’s or something Clayton stole, but I found it quite amusing:

Behold, The Trepan – circa 1865

“A cylindrical saw used for the symptomatic treatment of mental disorders and severe headaches through removal of a section of bone from the patient’s unanesthetized skull.”

Currently, I just use a drill with the largest drill bit I can locate.

me no like you

It’s impossible for me to find a perfect pair of glasses. I’ve always worn contacts as a result of this. My lack of nose bridge and heavy prescription doesn’t allow me to wear glasses throughout the day comfortably. However, I scored a pair on the cheap and wore them all day yesterday, barely noticing them. I picked them up at Visionary’s last week and made the mistake of posting a photo of myself sportin’ them on FaceBook. Here were the responses:

“groove is in the heart, aye-aye-aye-aye.”

“hi, lisa loeb!”

“hee hee… Dee-Lite, that’s funny.”

“Did you get those from the male collection?”

And to cap it all off, my best friend arrived for carpool this morning, standing in the middle of street, singing and dancing, “groove is in the heart”.

the land of laminate

Like everyone, I have a love/hate relationship with Ikea. I get so excited at all the possibilities, but 45 minutes into the trip, my head starts to spin at everything that bombards me. Luckily, I went on their website in advance and was able to create a shopping list. It helped with keeping my eyes directed at what was needed, not what was, “Oh, this is so cute!!!”

Due to a strained bicep and tricep, I was unable to haul all the heavy furniture I planned on purchasing (twin bed frame, bookcase, desk, work table for the kids’ rooms) and as a result, I bribed my friend/web designer to join me on the little field trip.

Lemme tell you, D is probably the best person to have on hand on the journey to Ikea. That dude would whip out his iPhone, take photos of the tags of each piece of furniture so we could locate the aisle and bin. On top of that, D pushed the cart and lifted all the heavy boxes, loaded my car and unloaded everything into my house. The man is AWESOME.

Although we smoked an entire pack of cigarettes during the trip, therefore heaving and hacking up a lung while hauling boxes up the gazillion flights of stairs in my home, I did reward D with lunch at a Japanese restaurant where I promised him the best udon around town.

Of course, we had to round off the day with a very large Sapporo:

Ladies, if you’re looking for a man who can haul heavy shit from Ikea, design your website AND make you laugh, contact me. I’ll hook you up with D. No blondes, needy women or cougars with children, please.

Where upon I screwed Clayton over…

Years ago, Clayton and I purchased his and her VWs. It was damn adorable. Then, we decided to have more children and I had to upgrade my VW Passat to a mommy mobile. It was a good thing because VWs aren’t made to last. After about 5 years, they start to fall apart and you spend more time at the repair shop than the toilet.

As much as I hated the idea of a mommy mobile, it was practical and made my life easier. Automatic sliding doors when you’re carrying an infant in an infant carrier carseat and groceries? A breeze. Hauling a busload of rugrats? Easy.

After 7 years with Clayton’s VW Jetta, it had been breaking down every 6 months for the last 2 years and driving me nuts, but Clayton wouldn’t let his Jetta go. You see, Clayton LOVES his music and had a custom stereo system installed, with Sirius, input for the iPod in the glove compartment and all the magical jazz that I had no idea how to work. Finally, I begged him to look at new cars, something more on the reliable side.

We spent an evening looking at all the makers online and the only one that seemed to fancy my dearest husband was the Audi, with a customizable Bose sound system. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE Audis, I just didn’t want to deal with another car breaking down after 5 years. I was hoping to invest in something more reliable, like a Honda.

Over the weekend, I had to drop my mommy mobile off to have the oil changed at the Honda dealership. When Clayton and I went to pick it up, I suggested we stop in and test drive their sedans.

Let me tell you, one of my favorite things to do is to test drive vehicles at dealerships. Speeding, making u-turns and driving like a crazy motherfucker, well, more than usual, at least.

The Honda handled nicely and I kind of pushed Clayton into the car. I don’t think he realized what he was getting himself into and suddenly, I was signing papers and he was racing home to pick up the title to his VW.

And then the shit hit the fan.

The dealer originally told us the car had a fully loaded sound system, satellite radio, iPod input, the whole shebang. After all was said and done, as Clayton was driving the car home, he called me to let me know that there was no iPod input and the satellite radio was the dreaded XM, not his beloved Sirius and at that point, his blood pressure had hit the roof.

And I was responsible for the mess.

So, I got on the phone with Sirius, got in touch with the mac store and promised my husband a WHOLE LOT of sex. I hope his blood pressure drops soon.

retail therapy

I’m going to try and take my mind off of things by discussing all the materialistic objects I have my eye on.

Since Clayton and I purchased our home over 4 years ago, we originally had set on purchasing a king size bed. With me being pregnant and Noland climbing into bed with us, we needed the extra space. After searching high and low, nothing jumped out at me and I wasn’t going to purchase the same exact bed frame in a king size. So, we kind of let the whole thing go.

Now, between my thrashing and yelling, in addition to back problems, it’s not only time to invest in a new mattress, but a larger bed. Poor Clayton has been inched to the edge of the bed every night from my intense sleeping habits.

At first, I’d toyed with the idea of a custom bed for years. However, I didn’t want to spend the money. I’m cheap that way.

After a little search, I found a frame that both Clayton and I agreed on. Behold, the Hudson in walnut:

Now, we just have to decide on bedding. It’s quite difficult when Clayton and I have very distinct tastes. Luckily, I freelance for Unison and receive a discount, and I can’t possibly go wrong with anything in their collection.

The mess that is me.

I’ve been a bit of an emotional wreck over here and I’m sure it has to do with my mother-in-law passing away, in addition to Clayton’s brother-in-law passing just 3 weeks earlier. I can’t even begin to figure out how to comfort Clayton, let alone deal with my own emotions. As a result, I’m either on the verge of tears or sobbing uncontrollably.

When Clayton and I were trying to figure out travel arrangements for both services, it finally hit me that everyone on his side of the family who liked me has died. Clayton and I both realized as great as it would be for me to pay my respects to the MIL who welcomed me into her family and home with open arms, I would be entering a land mine at her service. So we nixed the idea of me going.

For now, I’m trying to sort things out, untangle the emotional mess and trying to get through the day.

This is for Clayton…

Clayton’s mother died peacefully today. After he received the news, Clayton contacted me to let me know and then pulled himself together to continue working. I cannot express how sorry I am for Clayton’s loss.

Clayton, you have a wife and family here, waiting for you with immense love and support at home.

Photo from Alana K Davis Photography.

mommy needs her special juice

Over the weekend, we threw Travis his 4th birthday party. This is how you know you’re the second child:

1. Your mother used to fret over every detail with your older sibling’s birthday party and with your’s, she barely rolled out of bed.

2. Your older sibling got to send out handmade (by your mother) invitations to several friends. For your birthday, your mother finally answered the phone and said, “What? Whatever. Show up whenever you can. I’ve got a box of cake mix here.”

3. When it was time to feed everyone, your sibling had food delivered on schedule. You, on the other hand, ended up with frozen pizza due to your mother’s poor planning skills, as she didn’t realize your favorite pizza place didn’t open until 2pm, leaving you and your friends hungry.

Yes, I threw a half-assed party for my now 4 year old son. And I did it drunk. And it was a Sunday morning.

CLAYTON: Are you drinking? It’s a little early isn’t it?

ME: Mommy’s a little stressed. I’ve got to whip up a cake, build a fort and deal with these kids. Cut me some slack.

To be honest, Travis could care less. He had an awesome time being showered with gifts and the amount of booty the kids raked in from the pirate themed party, it was pretty decent, even if mommy was drunk.

When I relayed this story to my therapist today, she gave me a time out and told me, “Drinking should only be done in social situations, without children and family.”

What’s the fun in that?