The Big Wicked Online Pageant

Beckeye was nice enough to ask me to join this, even though I haven't blogged in a really long time. Thanks, Beck, for remembering me.

The Big Wicked Online Pageant Rules: • Scan a photo from your Halloween past. (Ideally, the photos should be from your childhood but we'll take what you've got.) • Post it to your blog on Friday, October 29. • Once you post your photo, email me the URL to that specific post. • I'll post a link to every participant's blog by Saturday afternoon. I've also added a new wrinkle this year. Although the main goal of this pageant is to have some fun and get to know other bloggers, every pageant has to have a winner, right? At least that's what all the stage moms I know say. So, once you've seen all the participants' photos, come back and vote for your favorite. You can either cast your vote in the comments section or send it via email. Please don't be a monster and vote for yourself.

I don't have any pictures from when I was a kid, but here are some from late teen and early 20's. I used the same outfit a few times. My high school sweetheart and I had a couple of killer costume parties. This first pic is he and I and another friend. I was the devil, he was the nun.


I used to make this punch in a plastic witch's cauldron with sherbet and grain alcohol and dry ice. The dry ice wouldn't hurt you, but the grain alcohol might. Seriously, it was cool as hell because it smoked and bubbled. (btw, that was one of my best friends behind me - girl had BALLS dressing as a belly dancer while pregnant!)


This one the tail is between MY legs.


This one between someone else's. Good times!


Just for giggles, I'm also putting up a picture of my high school sweetie's best costume EVER!

Of carrot cheesecake and disappointments

Last weekend I posted on seeing the outside of a really cool building called Wild Bill's. We went today and the inside was horribly disappointing in comparison. It was basically a dark and dirty collector's paradise, and I've stopped collecting things. I expected many more strange and unusual things, but they were few and far between all the old posters and lunch boxes and bumper stickers. I was also kind of disgusted that a self-proclaimed old hippie had so many real fox and raccoon tails for sale. This was the best thing inside, and it was pretty dismal, although I give credit for anyone that can make a robot out of old bear traps.



The bright side of this is that I got some great pictures of my son groping the statue of Marilyn Monroe outside. Those I can't show you, but I can show you a picture of the world's largest Jack-in-a-box. See if this clown head doesn't give you nightmares.



After we got home, I proceeded to not follow a recipe for carrot cheesecake very well. Actually, I followed it fine, but my spring-form pan was dented so I put it in a small rectangular pan. Big mistake, I didn't know it was going to rise and I should have used the much bigger pan. This is how it turned out.



My son came downstairs and asked, "what is THAT?". When I told him it was dessert for Easter, he asked, innocently, "do you think the frosting will cover your shame?". Hmmm, I don't know about that but I do know two things that might make me feel better.

1. Eating all the candy I bought for his Easter basket

2. Posting his Marilyn Monroe groping pictures on Facebook

He may no longer be friends with me on Facebook, but some of his friends still are. Mwahahahaha.

Bathroom issues

Do you know people with severe, debilitating bathroom issues? I don't mean IBS or Crohn's disease, I'm talking the kind of people who's psychological issues create physical ones. I'll admit that I'm not happy if I have to drop the kids off at the pool when I'm in a public stall, especially if there are other people in the bathroom. However, if I have to go, I will.

There is only one designated bathroom for the ladies in our building at work, which happens to be right across from where I sit. There are 3 other bathrooms that can be used in an emergency. Each of the 4 bathrooms in the building are single bathrooms with locks on the doors, it's just that 3 of them have the addition of a urinal in them.

Working in a small office, one can become uncomfortably familiar with a coworker's bathroom habits. As I have found out, the worse a person's bathroom issues are, the more they want to talk about them. One particular lady who used to work here, Colleen, was the kind of person who would wait until the last possible minute to go. She would then sprint across the building and down the stairs to get to the designated woman's room. If it was occupied, she would stand there with her legs crossed doing the potty dance until it became free. If she had to do more than go potty, she would sit bent over in one of the chairs in the lobby holding her belly and groaning. It was like dealing with a child. To make matters worse, if she could hear people talking either outside the bathroom door or in the room next to the bathroom, she couldn't let go and go no matter how badly she had to go.

As Colleen was a sales person, and one who lived 45 minutes away, she didn't always come to the office every day. So I was very surprised that she showed up the day we were scheduled to have the toilet replaced in the designated woman's room. Apparently no one thought to tell her in advance, because really, no one else thought it was that big of a deal. The first time she came down to go potty, she found out there was literally no toilet in the woman's room and she flipped. We all were using the men's room with no problem, but when we suggested it to her she insisted, "I could NEVER sit down next to a urinal!".

As it turned out, they had trouble installing the toilet and the parts wouldn't come in until the next day. That meant no bathroom in the woman's room until the next day, either. Colleen started moaning and groaning about how much her belly hurt because she had to poop, but she still wouldn't use the men's room. I proposed she take a short drive to McDonald's but you may have guessed by now that she couldn't possibly poop in a public place, either. At that point I gave up. If you want to hold it and be in pain, have at it.

I found out the next day that she held it all day long and then the 45 minute ride home also. I had no sympathy for her silliness. As a matter of fact, I dubbed her "sphincter of steel" from that point on. And I thought I had issues...

Wild Bill's and the importance of asking for good directions

Last night my son had a semi formal and asked if I could take him to another kid's house for some group photos. My response, of course, was "only if I can stay and take pictures, too". Which, apparently, not all the parents did. At least 50 kids showed up, and only about 20 parents were around at the end to drive them back to the school for the dance. Which is how I ended up with a car full of boys. Again. This is one of the real reasons I quit drinking. I WANT to be the parent driving my son around. I want to be able to be there for him when he needs me, when ever he may need me. But that's another story.

So, after the pictures were over, the lady that hosted told us there was a major accident on the major highway back to the school. I don't have a GPS, but I had directions to get there from the highway through the labyrinth of side roads, and figured I would be okay to get back to the highway by reversing those directions. The lady said, "just follow Route 3 past the highway, then get on Routes 5/15 to go over the river". Okay, I knew I could get to Route 3, and I knew how where to go once I was on 5/15. No problems. Except I am apparently turning into my mother more and more every day. You know, the lady who couldn't remember which was her left hand after she got divorced and took off her wedding rings.

On our long journey down Route 3, which I'd never been on before, we spotted this really cool building with stuff all over it and a big sign outside that promised strange and unusual things inside. The boys were having a field day trying to figure out what they hell this place could be, and what could be inside, but alas they were closed and we were in a hurry. When Route 3 finally ended, I realized I had been going in the wrong direction for 20 miles. 20 MILES. So when we turned around I decided to give the boys something to be 45 minutes late for. I pulled into the parking lot of the strange and unusual emporium and ordered them out of the car to take pictures in front of the building. It turns out the name of the place is Wild Bill's and I can't wait to go back when they open. Check these pictures out.

Easing back in

Some thoughts from recent small occurrences in my life:

1. Have you ever noticed that the bigger the truck a person drives, the less likely the driver is to be courteous? It's like they have the mindset that because they could probably drive over your puny little car, they don't have to be nice to you. Like the guy taking a left at a light that is pulled way past the white line you're supposed to stop at. He can't possibly take a left until that light changes to green, but he's going to make certain you can't see around his big ass to take a right on red. These are the people that take a turn from the middle lane without a turn signal, cause they know you will yield for them rather than risk totally YOUR car. Then there's the guy at work that insists on parking his truck in the compact spaces in the front row. He will make sure that he is completely blocking the sidewalk so he can fit inside the space just to save himself from having to walk an extra 20 feet parking in the spaces on the other side of the lot. Do you know what I think? The bigger the truck the smaller the penis of the driver.
2. We are installing a new system at work that requires a lot of extra equipment in our server room. Because of this, we also had to upgrade to a much bigger air conditioning unit in that room. We hired outside electricians to wire a new outlet, then have had at least 3 of our technicians trying to install this new unit for days. Each one is worse than the next, including the assistant manager of the Service Department. They can't seem to figure it out. Did I mention that I work for an HVAC company? This is what these people do for living! My favorite line I over heard today: "We're going to have to call the manufacturer. The circuit board looks like you could launch a rocket ship from it!". And they wonder why the rest of the company thinks they are idiots.
3. One of my nieces texted me a couple of weeks ago to ask me what kind of meat corned beef is. Okay, I have to admit that I recently had to look up where pastrami comes from. But corned beef? Beef is in the title of it. It's not even as confusing as Chicken of the Sea tuna. If I start calling her Jessica Simpson she might kick my ass, lol.
4. I recently celebrated 5 months sober. I've never done anything harder, and I've never been more proud of myself. The misery for the most part has lifted and I'm starting to get back to being myself, or maybe finding out who I really am without the cloud of alcohol hanging over me all the time. I'm learning that I don't like certain things about myself, but I can slowly start to change them. Baby steps, of course; but for the first time in a long time I feel like the best of me is yet to come. The main thing that has been holding me back is me.
   

1440 minutes

Morning... I've never been a big fan. Not like this. Not while it's still dark and having to face the day exhausted, waking already weary. I thought I was going to feel better once I gave up the daily drinking habit. Almost 100 days in and I still feel like crap.

I feed the soda machine a dollar to appease the caffeine gods. To stay awake during the day light. Just filling the hours of boredom and collecting a paycheck. There is no joy in this, just mechanical existence. I barely tolerate the irritations of other people, barely tolerate myself. I am more socially awkward than ever.

Feeling alternately more angry, resentful and depressed by the day. Struggling with the need to blame someone. Everything can be blamed on someone from a lousy childhood to a dirty kitchen floor. Assigning blame doesn't make me feel better. The black void is opening ever wider and I don't know how to fill it. I'm sick of pretending to be someone or something I am not, but I'm no longer sure of who I am. Was alcohol my identity all this time?

Early evening... The sun starts to set outside the kitchen window while I do dishes. I stare out as the skyline deepens to golds and pinks. The soft colors prick at my loneliness. My loneliness is not always something that can be alleviated by the comfort of other people. Often the presence of others makes me feel more lonely. Like there is a wall between us that I'm not capable of breaching. My loneliness is a deeper need, the black void, this hole in my guts.

I've been feeding the hole with everything I can think of, except alcohol. I've been stuffing it with food and sweets, computer games and mindless sitcoms. I've tried numbing it's gaping maw with the marijuana maintenance plan. It all works for a while, but it only slows the hunger. Nothing I've found so far makes it go away. I chant self help mantras and light scented candles against the darkness.

"I will not drink, I do not drink anymore, I will never drink again" I repeat to myself as the beastly cravings crash over me. Some days are much easier than others, some days I just have to white knuckle it. I've lasted longer this time than any other, I know it's permanent. But that doesn't stop the beast inside of me from trying. It tries to trick me into finding myself drunk again and wondering how I got there. It tries to convince me it would be easier to give up and give in. To feed the wound inside with alcohol and make it go away. I resist, I fight it.

I figuratively gnash my teeth and dig my heels in. "You will not win!" I say to it. "I will beat you this time!" I scream. "I will do something right!" I cry. The tears I cannot shed threaten to drown me in self-doubt, frustration and self-pity. I seek the solace of my dreams and pray that tomorrow I will find relief. Only 1440 minutes until I can go to sleep again.