A virus, I think

My throat has swollen so much I can hardly swallow my own saliva.
Man that hurts. I had to call in sick today, first day in so many. I really hate to do that. I will just sit around and worry about if everything is going ok. At one point I am sure to shower and think to myself, I will go in. I will then become so exhausted from the effort to wash my hair I will take a nap. When I wake up a couple hours later, I will realize I can not make it to work and I must get better so that I can go back tomorrow.
Whenever I am sick my cats always flock to me. They lay with me and show me more love than normal. I think they sense it.
I am such a baby. All I want is my mommy to come take care of me and make me feel better.
But I have Alan. Who is secretly praying I will not call him in the middle of the day and complain and cry for something. He still doesn't know how to deal with me when I am sick.

Not the right time

I thought I was gonna have a baby.
And I really wanted it.
Alan seems thrilled that we won't be preparing for a little one.
But I am not.

What does that mean?

Cleaning out my closet

So sometimes, when I am in a bad mood or a friend has recently pissed me off in some odd way that they probably don't know they have anyway, I think about how my friends are like the clothes in my closet.
And wouldn't it be weird if you could clean out your relationships. Kinda like your closet when you realize not much suits your style anymore and your really never gonna fit into the jeans you have been saving for "one day when [your] smaller", tie dye has been out for years, and maybe holes aren't the way to go for t-shirts these days.
You would keep the one friend that is your good pair of athletic shoes, the one that you might not talk to every day or even every week but is always there and you know you are gonna need her at some point.
Then there is the comfy sweat pants. The friend that gets you through the daily grind. Constant contact, knows everything (or enough anyway) about you, and could make any decision for you.
Of course you would keep a couple pair of dress shoes that are fun and sassy. Those would be the friends you cut loose with, act crazy and wild, and laugh with all the time.
You wouldn't throw out your "good shirt" either. The one you wear no matter what size you are and looks good with everything. That is the friend that can be any type of friend you may need at that moment. She will bitch with you, cry with you, listen, talk, drink, be sober, eat, laugh, tell crazy stories, share memories, be reserved, meet your family, get along with all your other friends, and you won't have to put a lot of time in, you both know that you are there, just call or come over.
I really love all my friends. As I get older, I find it harder to be such a good friend to everyone. And it saddens me that I may hurt someone's feelings because of my thoughtlessness. I apologize ahead of time for those I have hurt. And I hope those friends I have lost will remember that I am so grateful to have had time with them at all.

Today will be the day

Today will be the day that I drive three hours in order to spend Christmas with my family.
Today will be the day that I wear festive holiday pajamas to work and it is ok, mostly because I am the manager.
Today will be the day that starts my two pound holiday gain. First there will be one or two pieces of holiday chocolate, then maybe someone will bring spinach dip and ruffles, and there is always that one person who makes cookies!
Today will be the day I tell Alan for the fourteenth time that I did not marry him expecting to do all the dishes all the time, and just because Paige does them for him, does not get him off the hook. And he had better have everything picked up and ready to go since he got off today and I have to work seven hours on a day that should be God's day!
Today will be the day I say goodbye to my cats for three days. I'm gonna miss them.
Today will be the day I wait on customers who have just begun shopping. Which means I will be handling a lot of money through out the day. Those last minute husbands are the best.
And finally, Today will be the day I am happiest and friendliest to strangers because I love Christmas eve even more than Christmas day.

His many wives

My real dad has had many wives. Not at the same time of course, he's not Mormon. His first was of course my beautiful mother. That lasted a while. The best out of all I would think, but then again I am biased.
Then there was the 20 year old he was engaged to. At least I think she was really young. It's what I picture when I think of her and the only memory I had of the time cause I was like four.
After her, he married Teresa. From the rumors he was drunk the entire time with her, and when he stopped they divorced. But I did learn to pop a wheelie in her front yard. I also drank spit up chaw from a Dr. Pepper can one morning because she was to lazy to clean shit up.
Next was Randi. This one was little longer and I gained some stepsisters that I liked. Of course Randi used to tell me that I needed to eat more salad and less of everything else. Stupid bitch.
She started my complex. I am sure of it.
The last wife was Patti. This is the one that actually cheated on my dad instead of the other way around. She taught me to drive. I guess I am grateful for that.
When he was done with being married he moved on to live-in/semi serious girlfriends.
There was Mickey, Billie (my favorite, I really liked her out of everyone he has ever been with, but she was to good I guess), someone I can't remember because I never met, and now Sheryl, who I have never met but will be seeing on Christmas day.
I try to think what kind of emotions I have about this information. And surprising enough, none. I'm not sad, mad, glad, you get the picture.
This is just my dad. And thankfully I have gotten used to it.

Tenth Grade History

I had this teacher in high school who scared the poop out of me. Her room had this huge map of the world painted on the back wall. Every week she would pick students to go to the map and point out certain countries,cities,oceans, etc. Then we would have to know the exact spelling of whatever it was she told us to point out. When someone got something wrong, she was not nice about it. She would embarrass us for not knowing. I tried so hard to be nonexistent in that classroom. But at one time, I could label everything on the world.
Of all the countries and their capitals, the one that I can remember the most now is Portugal. The girl that was called up to find Portugal's capital had a very unique way of studying and being able to remember what she had studied.
Her answer to Portugal's capital: "Lesbian". After the entire classroom stopped laughing, including the teacher, and her face went back to normal from the shock of just saying that out loud, she stammered, "Lisbon".
I will forever remember the capital of Portugal because of that incident.
I think about that girl now, and I wonder if she ever reminisces about that day. And if she does, is she still embarrassed?
Well if so, I tell her thank you. I am smarter because of your mistake.

Hobby Lobby

Paige went to Hobby Lobby and bought a whole bunch of stuff to paint with and make some really cool gifts. I thought to myself, I can paint and make really cool gifts! So, I then made the journey to the Hobby Lobby. I could lose myself in there. But Paige is with me, keeping me focused.
The whole time I am looking at different stuff and thinking, I could be creative. I could buy that unfinished mirror over there and decorate it so cute with some green and ivory paint. And oh!, look at those little shelves. They would go perfect in the bathroom. I saw some stencil stuff that would be adorable. Maybe I could make everyone's gift next year.
I choose a few things and head to the front register. All the way doing the rubber neck thing and almost breaking some vases because I wasn't walking in a straight line.
I pay for my selected items. And head home. When I get home I unload my goodies with just a little bit of excitement. This is gonna be so cool. My nephews are gonna love this.
I get about half way through the first present, painting ever so carefully, and I start to think, damn, I should have bought them a gift certificate to Toys r Us. I hate this painting crap. What made me think this would be fun?
And then Paige says, "Isn't this fun?" (She is also painting)
It was at first, really. But I think I choose something with to much work. I am getting a little bored. But I have two presents left to finish.
So I woke up early this morning and started on another. And next year, I will remember why I don't make presents. The feeling of creativity is heightened inside Hobby Lobby. It is not a true feeling. I must remember.

My Friend Misty

She is one of the funniest people I know. At first she can be intimidating. You see, she has this quality that is not always received well. She speaks her mind . . about EVERYTHING.
Now, I love this. It makes me laugh. But when you are the Jack in the Box worker who is working the night shift, and you have forgotten a slightly buzzed Misty's cheese cake. It does not look good for you.
The best part of being her friend is that I know where I stand with her. Cause she is fo' sure (I stole that from Lisa) gonna tell me what she is thinking.
Misty also has one of the best souls. I am horrid at calling people, and knowing that, she doesn't bitch at me if we haven't talked in three or four weeks. She just calls me and forgives me for my inability to be good at long distance friendships.
And I know she would do just about anything for me if I asked it of her.
I am really lucky to have her friendship after 11 years. Of course, if I ever really piss her off she has more dirt on me than a fat kid has chocolate cravings.
I love you girl!

Poo

Ever since my sophomore year in college, I have been obsessed with poo. It was because a friend was constipated for like three months, and we were all trying to give her tips that would help. Most people are quite uncomfortable talking about it, I am not. Really, it something everybody does!
My husband, after four years of being with me, has learned that I will speak of poo from day to day in a very natural way. He still will not.
But he is not embarrassed anymore. Unless we are in front of new people. There is always that moment of hesitation to see if they are receptive to poo talk or disgusted.
I had a teacher in journalism that used to write the word poo on my papers. He meant it in much the same way as everyone else, unfortunately. But at least he wasn't embarrassed by it.
My question to you, and think about this one, why are you uncomfortable talking about poo?
You would then be able to talk about releasing gas, which we all know is usually an embarrassing subject. But if you embrace these topics, they are no longer embarrassing, just facts and sometimes funny.

They forgot the essence!!!!!!

So Paige's grandma sent her a big tin of cookies for some reason. They are the kind of cookies that aren't that great, but I can't not eat them because they come in a festive tin. I love to eat foods that are decorated or packaged cool.
My favorite meal in the whole world right now is a chicken caesar salad in a parmesan cheese bowl. Now, if there is no bowl, then it is really just a salad. Still good, but not my fav.
I have to have the bowl. I get this meal from Blue Baker. Just a local sandwich shop. I look forward to the times when I get to eat this though. My whole week is sometimes planned around it. I mean, really, what can you not love about getting to eat what the salad came in. Plus, it is made of cheese!!!
Need I say more really?
But I will. You see, I have explained my love of this salad in a cheese bowl and now I must tell you the horror that happened. Paige and I ordered dinner from Blue Baker. She got a sandwich and I, of course, ordered the chicken caesar salad in a parmesan cheese bowl, with onions please. They told us what the total was and said it would be about 30 minutes to deliver.
In that thirty minutes I got completely excited about getting to eat this salad in a bowl. I set out the napkins, fork, tv trays and lit some candles. I was going to enjoy this salad to the fullest.
There is a knock at the door. I am in the kitchen getting water, so Paige hands the guy the money and sets the food on our tv trays. I rush to my seat. Get comfortable. Set my napkin in my lap. Place my water to the left. Pull the tv tray close so I won't spill. Open the to-go container. Pick up the to-go cup of caesar to pour on the lettuce. As I start pouring and mixing I notice something is different. That's right. NO CHEESE BOWL!
How can they do this to me. I call them. They say, "Oh yeah, we ran out."
How in the name of all that is good and holy do you run out of the essence of the meal?
But they did. And I ended up eating a stupid chicken salad.

Derrell Wayne

When I was five, my mom started dating Derrell. I couldn't pronounce his name, so I called him DJ. About a week after my seventh birthday my mom married him outside on his deck in the back yard.
They have a video of the ceremony. And the best part is little Aaron, that's my bro (step), having a serious case of boredom. He kept opening and closing the ring box and when the pastor called for us to bow our head to pray for the last time, he dropped his head in this dramatic gesture that made his entire body jerk. Priceless.
Until I was fourteen, I never warmed up to the idea of having a second dad around. I always kinda thought Derrell was mean and didn't like me. Why give him a chance?
My real dad has never been there for me. Which, in his own way, was actually the perfect gift.
You see, one weekend a couple weeks before Christmas, my mom was out of town and I had some band thing to go to. So I couldn't go to my dad's for the weekend, but he was suppose to be picking me up that Sunday and we were gonna have father/daughter time together.
For the countless time in my life, he broke a promise. And of course being the emotional basket case I am, even then, I cried and shut my self up in my room.
Derrell took it upon him self to help me out. He asked me if I wanted to help decorate before mom got home. You see, decorating for Christmas is something my mom wants done, but no one usually helps so it stresses her out.
Anyhoo, I decide sure, I'd love to. The whole time we are talking, laughing, and finally after seven years of living together, we are bonding. Since that afternoon, I've had a father and not just a dad.
You know the difference. The one that is there because he helped make you, and then the one that provides for you and gives you the resources to be who you are.
I love Derrell more than I could ever express.
And even though he isn't the type of person to show much affection, he does for me. He knows me, and he knows I need it.
That's just him. He has such good inside him. No matter what someone needs, he always tries to provide that for them. He is fair when so many people are not. He is reasonable when everything seems chaotic. Derrell is my father, when even though he probably didn't want to be, because he knew I needed him. Whatever I do in my life, I hope I am making you proud, Derrell.

Imelda Ann

That's my momma. She is the most wonderful, beautiful, smart, fun, and downright perfect momma. At least to me. Cause I understand the importance of everyone feeling this way about their own momma.
Let me tell you what this woman has done. When she was 19 she got pregnant with my sister Stephanie. Unmarried you say, egads! But not for long. She married Gerald. A mistake perhaps. But a good one because she was able to provide her unborn with a future. She then had Stephanie and two years later, Jennifer. A nice family you may think. But seven years later I was born. Some would say an accident. I say, "You still love me the same right?" Of course she does. Because she is the most wonderful, beautiful, smart, fun, and downright perfect momma.
So after thirteen years of my dad's abuse and drunkenness, mom finally gets out.
This highlights the smartness I spoke of. She then meets Derrell who is the most wonderful, handsome, smart, fun and downright perfect daddy three kids could ask for. Good job momma!
They marry. They are happy.
My mother's strength awes me. No matter what I have done or said to this woman, she is there for me. She is one of the two people in my world that has never broken a promise to me. She stands by to let me make my mistakes. She then picks up the pieces and puts them exactly where they need to go for me to move forward. How does she do this? For my entirety, she has had the answers, the strength, the wisdom, and the love to see me through.
This is a woman to be reckoned with, for she will seek justice if you harm one of hers. And she is a woman to believe in, because she will not let you down. And most of all, and I can not stress this enough, she is a woman to be respected and honored because she has sacrificed so much of herself for her children and family. And she damn well deserves every thing that we have to give.

What's in your frezzer?

We have two packages of spinach, bag of ice, stick of butter, seagrams 7, skol vodka, and a boca burger. The boca burger may actually have frostbite it has been in there so long. I am not going to eat it. Alan is not going to eat it. Paige is definitely not going to eat it.
Why is it still there you ask? Not sure. But now I feel an attachment.
Our fridge is in a sad state as well. Not much there. Some cheese, bread, low calorie lemonade, a moldy onion, brita filter half full, and pickles. Plus some various fast food packets of ketchup and hot sauce, ranch dressing.
The point, you may be wondering, behind the refrigerator inventory is this: I'm hungry. I have lost two pounds and not because I was trying. We have nothing to make a suitable meal. And I have been working over 50 hours so of course, I have not made it to the store.
Tonight I will probably pour some butter over the spinach and stick it between bread and cheese. A makeshift sandwhich. Probably not good, but the seagrams 7 should help me not to notice.

Just a few memories

Living in the dorms on campus was the best time of my life. I know the room was freakishly small, we had one bathroom for four girls (and any friends that would come over), we had to eat at Sibsa because we were limited to what would fit in our tiny fridge and what we could heat by microwave, and it was almost impossible to do laundry on the weekends.
But it was great.
I lived with Lisa those two years. She was the best dorm mate a girl could ask for. So quiet during the day if I was napping. Always had the best advice. Gave me my nickname, I had secretly wanted a nickname for as long as I can remember, but you can't just ask for one.
To make the dorm pretty I had brought along some pictures. One really cute Kim Anderson print. It was framed and all. We had some trouble getting it to stay where we thought it looked best. I come home from class one day, and on my bed is the above picture, along with a clue from Lisa-"Guess what fell, again!"
I imagine that she was at the sink brushing her teeth when the picture fell and it made a loud noise and she jumped and let out a little scream. Of course, this is what I imagine, so whether or not this happened, I have not a clue. But I laughed anyway.
We also had some great adventures living in the dorms.
Like the night I gave a random guy $5 to get dinner with and he left a note on our door to call him and he would repay the favor. We ended up drinking cheap beer and playing chicken foot with his weird roommate. He had left, something about spiked egg nog was all I can remember.
Then there was bonfire night. We rode around in the back of a truck looking for a party. When we find one, our friend Courtney ends up breaking a table and leaving the party with questionable stains on the knees of her jeans.
Of course the nights at The Chicken, when we walked back to dorm just a little drunk and ate jalapeno bagels and hint of lime tostitos. That I will always look upon fondly.
Moving out of the dorm should have been a lot more depressing then it was. Of course after taking the stairs for the 27th time to load the last freakin box, who would be in the mood to be nostalgic?

The reason behind lysol

For a while in my life I believed that one day, I, Kimberly Garrison(now Shearer) would be a CEO of a major corporation. I would outsmart attempted takeovers. I would double profits. People would look at me with admiration and fear wrapped up into one. When I arrived in the morning, my coffee would still be hot and sitting on my desk in a #1 boss mug my secretary Shirley gave me the year before for Christmas. I would of course make millions and give my family their reward for being so supportive. And I would do all this in one of those really expensive and chic pin-striped suits from Chanel.
What happened to the dream you ask?
Not sure. Best I can tell, I somehow was not blessed with the brain power to run a corporation.
Instead, don't cry for me now, I get to explain to a gentlemen who smells of cigarettes and body odor that the particular gift he is hoping to obtain for his wife can in no way possible be found for the amount of money he is wishing to spend. "What?" the smelling gentlemen asks in his raspy voice, while showing a mouth full of decayed and yellow teeth. I look over his dirty comb-overed hair to gain my strength so that when I have to breath I won't pass out from the smell. How do I tell him he is being cheap and $50 is not going to get him a three stone anniversary ring without sounding snotty?! He finally pronounces,"I better save some more pennies so I get the old girl what she wants".
"Yes sir, thank you for coming in sir."
I then return to my desk and as I watch this man get into his beat up car I think to myself, Is this what my life is going to be life forever? Talking to dirty, smelly men?

Alan is his name

I am so lazy on Sundays. Sometimes, I'll be honest, I don't even shower till right before bed, or not at all. It is the one day I can sleep in, not go anywhere, spend time with my husband and basically veg out for twelve hours.
The phone just rang. I hear my husband making plans. He says we are home right now and can do something. What?!!!!
He knows I'm not clean, dressed, in the mood for company, etc. But really I should expect this from him today.
You see, after our coffee this morning I said, "I'm hungry, I feel like ordering pizza" He says, "You can if you want, I don't really want pizza" Well of course you can't order pizza and eat it by yourself. Plus, I don't have any checks or cash and needed him to buy. So I eat some leftovers.
Paige comes home from church about and hour later, with a Digorino pizza. We are so in tune with each others needs.
Anyhow, I have already eaten, but my dear hubby partakes in this pizza. Now how is that fair? That is what I wanted!
He then looks at me innocently and asks if I want some. Damn you, dear husband of mine. Damn you.
Every now and then he goes through this thoughtlessness stage.
I swear men have periods.

It is Saturday

I love everything there is about Christmas. Except drunk family members. But of course my favorite part is presents. Not necessarily receiving them, but I really love to give them. The search for the perfect gift is half the fun.
Recently, I have come across a problem. You see I have two sisters. There is Stephanie, who I have already found the perfect gift, and then there is Jennifer, who I may not even see at Christmas time. Do I get her a gift? I mean I just found out that she assumed my identity when she went to the hospital in October. And she stole Stephanie's debit card number and charged $26 worth of sonic food, yes I know their cheese tators are fab. What the hell costs $26 at Sonic? Was she buying for the damn neighborhood?
You see my dilemma.


There are currently thirteen presents under the tree, all for Paige's family.

And the tree is up . . .

Before I tell you the story of my household's Christmas tree, I would like to say to my dearest friend Lisa-Everyone is waiting, some are just more comfortable with the feeling than others. And I can't wait for you to come "home home".

So both my roommates wanted to put up a Christmas tree this year. I tried to talk them out of it seeing how our cats are from hell and all. The one year I did put my tree up, Rosie broke like twelve of my ornaments. Not only is that expensive, but one gets tired of the cleaning.
But I relented, and decided a tree would be fun.
So last night we drive over to my hubby's parent's house to get the tree and decorations. It is not in the attic, not in his old room, not in the garage and basically not anywhere at his parent's house. Did we already store it at our apartment? I don't remember having it in the move?
So hubby says, "Did we throw it out?" Now why on earth would we throw it out? Then I remember, very vaguely, that there was lots of tinsel stuck in the tree, and I was never going to put one up again anyway because of the cats, so maaaaybe, just maybe, we threw it out.
We get home, no tree. Consensus is we threw out the tree. After whining, what I do best, we go to walmart to get another tree. I want the short one that is only $15.99, they want the one that is more full because you can't have a barren looking tree (its cost-$39.99). Who's paying for this?! That's right, me.
After paying for the tree and other such items we had to have because the tree is bigger and we don't have enough to make it look right, we get home.
Well, of course I want to put the tree up. We are two days into December people, and I just spent $100, I want my money's worth of decorations! Dear hubby decides to retreat into computer room. When I do convince him to join in, he complains that he wants colored lights on the tree. Normally that would be fun, but the whole elegant look I have going just would not support colored lights. He is actually passionate about these damn colored lights. What the foo?! He isn't passionate about anything!
In the end, there are no colored lights. We survived the first night without broken ornaments or having tree fallen over/slept in by cats. And we currently have three presents under the tree.

Rosiline and Katara

My extremely witty friend Lisa, says cats are minions of the anti-christ. And while I don't altogether disagree with her, I still love the little animals.
As kittens they are so cute and playful. And then as adult cats you see they have their own personality. Some like to lay in your lap, some still like to play, others just want to be left alone, but they are pretty tame and easy to live with.
NOT MINE. The two cats I have came straight from the pits of hell. They hate me. I can actually see the disgust on their face when I come home. The little one has thrown up numerous times over the past two months. She knows how that grosses me out. And the big one, well she will rub on my legs as soon as I get out of the shower and her hair sticks to me. It is very difficult to remove wet cat hair from the skin. Plus, that can't be clean. Which makes me think I should get back in the shower, but I am already running behind and if I don't precede getting ready I will be late. And I really, really hate to be late. (It is one of those good attributes I use when ever I am interviewing)
So what should I do about these cats. Right now the little one is sitting in the chair behind me, plotting my death no doubt. While the big one circles around my husband's feet. They hate him as well. They are trying to trip him, not be loving like he thinks!

"We'll just take off a little bit"

I don't remember much about my childhood before the age of seven.
Except one thing. Every summer from the time I was two till I was thirteen, my mom would send me to my grandpa and grandma's house for the entire summer. At the time I thought that was just really cool, come to find out my mom just needed a break from me. I guess I can see her point.
Anyhow, one summer when I was five my grandmother did the unthinkable.
Now, try to remember that at the tender age of five you are just realizing that boys and girls are different, and you may like that boy from down the street cause he actually lets you play with his toys.
Well, when I was five and left for my grandmothers I was a somewhat cute little girl. Shoulder length hair, liked to wear the dresses, and was excited to turn seven so I could get my ears peirced. My grandmother changed that. She took me to her butcher (NO I WILL NOT CALL HER A HAIRDRESSER) and told her to cut my hair off so I wouldn't be so hot in the summer. I came out of that hell hole looking like her grandson instead of granddaughter. But, being on the farm all summer with the short hair wasn't so bad. I wasn't as hot, and my cousin Ryan didn't pull my hair anymore.
When I got home, to the city, everything was just as bad as you can imagine. All the boys in school treated me as a boy, cause they thought I was one. Plus, I have two older sisters and they are mean. For the entire year it took me to grow my hair out they would call me Gregory (my name if I was a boy, thanks for telling them that secret mom!) And Stephanie, she's the oldest, dressed me in jeans and a flannel shirt for my school picture. Just like a boy. If I show that picture to people now, they can not find me in the group.
Never will I be able to forget that year. So traumatizing. My sisters thought they were funny. We will see who has the last laugh.