Archive | March 2014

Does Anxiety Season Ever End?

So, yeah. The Anxiety Monster seems to have set up permanent residence in my brain. Bastard. Will not shut up! Still worried about all my usual stuff — flying (Where is that plane? I am NOT buying the “Oh we ran some very sophisticated algorithms and have concluded…” SHOW ME THE PLANE!), bridges, death, all normal things. My latest worry though? Driving. Specifically, SARCASMO DRIVING. I know, he was just born, how can he be old enough to drive???

Sarcasmo. Is. Driving.

Well, not really. He has his learner’s permit which means he needs an adult in the car at all times. “Teaching” and mentoring him. This is not as fun as it sounds 😉 My darling firstborn does not take criticism well. Nor does he enjoy the sight of his mother cowering in the passenger seat yelling, “JESUS CHRIST! YOU ARE TOO CLOSE TO THE PARKED CARS!”  He appears to be very nonchalant about learning to drive. Like it’s no big deal. IT’S A BIG DEAL. He’s like:


Luckily, the Frug has really stepped up and is taking him out for long drives on the weekends. The Frug is very calm about driving and teaching so this is better. I still need to help out though and hopefully scar him for life in the process. I can still hear my parents’ admonitions about “black ice” and “tractor trailers jackknifing” and “proper following distance” etc.  I’m hoping to instill enough fear that he will be cautious…you know, not like a TEENAGE BOY. Sigh.


So, even though he is at least 9 months away from driving solo, my brain has all kinds of scenarios cooked up to entertain me with while I’m trying to go to sleep. You know, the police showing up at the door with the “we regret to inform you…” speech, etc. The child hasn’t even been “driving” for a month and my subconscious has him in a heap of twisted metal. UGH UGH UGH. Other variations include fun “what if” scenarios involving Sarcasmo driving 12 to school and then… Or, what if we let Sarcasmo drive us across the dreaded Bridge from Hell on the way to the beach and then



Yeah, I see that ^^^ and think “most” don’t happen…but SOME DO. lol

#(@$&%_  Anxiety.


Am Seeking Asylum

As in, old school asylum…1864-1889.  Hey, maybe being committed was like rehab back then?! Go away for a while, get the “good meds” and chill out. Hmm. Guess they don’t have Nurse Ratchet or electroshock therapy at Promises Malibu though. Pity. lol

Anyway, have blatantly stolen this list from a foolish mortal I know. Check it out. There were so many reasons for being committed to the Trans-Allegany Lunatic Asylum.  I suffer from at least 25 of these maladies. Dissolute Habits. Laziness. Greediness. Vicious Vices. Immoral Life. Rumor of Husband Murder. Wait. Um…

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Detailing and SHAME

Blogging today from the front seat of a sparkling clean Fail Wagon. Yesterday, the Frug arranged for a man to come detail my car. This was one of “my” Christmas presents. Hmm, a gift more for the Frug since I generally don’t actually GAF about the cleanliness of my car! (obviously) The man reminded me of a cleaner, like mafia type cleaner who comes in and fix the crime scene. When you really think about it, my car is a crime scene. Lots of DNA evidence can be found in there. No, not that kind of DNA! Heads out of the gutter please!  I’m talking about hairs, human and canine. Saliva, probably only canine but one can ever be too sure.

Lots of evidence about my habits and travels and shenangians. Yeah, probably a very good thing that this was all being erased. O.o.

I had to pre-clean a bit. Disposed of the most incriminating evidence of sloth and poor eating habits. Then I took everything out of my console (you know, the thing between the front seats) and stuck it in a bag.

Here’s what I’ve hoarded over the last few years











In case the photo isn’t clear, here’s what you’re looking at:

  • Old receipts
  • Ear buds (belonging to?)
  • Jewelry
  • Moisturizer
  • Hand lotion
  • 9 lip glosses
  • 4 eye liners (and one still in the package!)
  • 2 RX bottles
  • Buffalo Wing flavored pretzels (eeuuww)
  • iphone charger
  • 1 small remote control (to??)
  • 2 packages of mysterious shark energy chews
  • 2 nail files
  • 1 change purse that says “Frugal is Such An Ugly Word” (WORD!)
  • 1 dog poop bag (unused)
  • Tums
  • Old dog tag
  • Old gift cards (hmm, maybe there’s still $$ on them!)
  • 1 Laters Baby button
  • Approximately 700 pennies

Impressive, right!??!!

Imagine my surprise when the Frug presented me with the random crap the Cleaner found under the seats and in the terrifying nooks and crannies of the Fail Wagon:

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Hmm. Interesting array.

  • 1 remote control (to??)
  • Sarcasmo’s missing school ID
  • Generic cold meds
  • Hammer tool (to break glass and cut seatbelts in case of plummeting off a bridge into the water below)
  • Disposable Toothbrush
  • 23 pens/pencils
  • Old sunglasses
  • 1 container Crystal Light
  • Wet Ones
  • Tums
  • Hand Lotion
  • Unopened box of mechanical pencils (WHO USES THESE??)
  • Old membership cards (20+ with rubber band)
  • Eyelash curler
  • 2 nail files
  • 1 box of whole wheat pasta
  • 1 Chanel lipstick
  • 1 Lip Smacker
  • 1 plastic rosary
  • 28 pennies crusted over with God-knows-what

Needless to say, I spent most of yesterday hiding from the Cleaner. Truly, MOST of yesterday. He spent over 4 hours just on the interior! The Frug asked me to come out and “inspect” the Fail Wagon with the Cleaner. I declined. Couldn’t look him in the eye. He knows way too much about me. #shame

Okay, Where Is It??

My fear of flying is well known, right?? So I’m naturally obsessed with this story. Been waiting for pix of fire balls in the sky, wreckage bobbing in the sea, desperate calls to loved ones. NOTHING.

Where is that plane?? It’s getting close to a WEEK and NADA.

777s do NOT just disappear. They are massive, hulking beasts, filled with jet fuel. They don’t just quietly go poof. I realize the ocean is vast but COME ON. We have satellites and secret spy cams and every plane and ship in the area looking for this one plane.


Has the plane landed somewhere and the hijacker/kidnappers are biding their time?

Why were the transponders turned OFF? And WHO DID THAT?

Why are people’s cell phones still ringing?

Is this a Lost episode come to life??

Is it the Rapture????




Ohai Irish Goodbye

I think we’ve discussed the Irish Goodbye here, right??  I don’t think I’d heard of this until a few years ago. Hadn’t even heard the term until my friend Dawn accused me of bailing on her and doing an “Irish Goodbye.

Basically, an Irish Goodbye is no goodbye at all. You just LEAVE. Frankly it’s beautiful. I hate the process of saying goodbye. We’ve had a really good night, why would we want to ruin it by “saying goodbye?” I believe in just ghosting. “Where’s Kelly?” “In the bathroom?” “Nope, she’s GONE.”

Just found out today that it’s an actual IRISH THING! Check this article.  I am uber-Irish!

I’m sure it’s all tied in with my other social issues. I’m not a huge fan of “hello” either. lol The thought of having to go to someone and do all the social nicety good-bye crap  *shudders*“Oh, we had such a good time!”  “We’re gonna go now”  “Oh really? You’re leaving?  Why?” “Oh, it was so nice catching up” “We should do it again!” As I stand there breaking out in hives staring at the Exit sign.

blah blah blah.

Shoot me.

The Frug, the well-raised gentleman that he is, revels in this crap. More talking! Maybe get another beer!  Plan another night! Kill. Me. Now. So, generally, what we do now is – I sneak off to the bathroom and I let the Frug do the goodbyes. My overactive bladder fits in well with my Irish goodbye. I flit off to the bathroom and then head to the cab/car. Meanwhile, he’s done all the niceties and probably had another beer. It’s a win-win.

The article from has lovely examples of why the Irish Goodbye is necessary. Here’s an excerpt from the article (please read with lilting Irish accent):

Are you leaving us? Ah, you’re leaving us. Would you like a cup of tea? Would you like a biscuit? There’s leftovers. I have Tupperware and tinfoil, sure we’ll put it in that. It’s no trouble. And a custard cream. We’ll put it in the bag, sure. No, we’ll put it in your pocket. Say nothing. And take this and this and this and this and this and this and this. And let me hold your coat. Is this your coat? Is this – or this – or this – or this – or this – or this your coat? Lookit, it’s raining. Stay until it stops raining. I am not letting you go and it’s raining. 

It reminds me of trying to escape from Aunt Sage’s house, God rest her soul. “Oh, you’re leaving? Here, some goodies. *hands over 3 shopping bags filled with cookies and snacks from the Nabisco Company Store* Wait. I have some quarters for the boys for the video game machines. Do they still play them? Hold on, I have some cookies from Perkins in the freezer, I’ll go put them in a freezer bag for you. Do you need gas money? Here, take some gas money. Here’s a $20. Take it. TAKE IT.”

And so on.


This problem isn’t just for leaving places. When we’re home watching a movie, I’ll say “Oh, I’m going to the bathroom” and then I slither up the stairs. Next thing you know it’s the next day. What could be wrong with this?? Nothing, my friends. Nothing. Other than, “Cow!  You didn’t say goodnight!” Is this an Irish Goodnight then??? This could be a new “thing!”