I've moved...

It's been some time...enough time, that I forgot my damn sign in and password to get in here to tell everyone who's left where I am. After hunting for/through some old email accounts I haven't opened in 5 years, I finally located it, so I could get in here and do my thang.
Please Please Please come see me over at www.myramblingthoughts.org.

Hope to see you over at my new digs.   She's the new me. =)

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Running. An addiction I hate to love.

Running.

I don't understand, but I just know I do it. I hate it. I don't like doing it. But I love that I hate it and I can't stop.

I ran my first half marathon a couple weeks ago. That was a two year in the making process to get me mentally able to do it. That is 13.1 miles. Who in God's name enjoys that. And at the ass crack of morning. No one likes ass crack. So you get my point when I say how early you get up.

As I got into my 5th mile, I remembered this same run the year before. I had opted for the 15k part of it and scoffed at my friend, but stared hard at her like a Goddess in Adidas, and said you are mother flipping cray cray. I whined, I cried internally and externally. I walked A LOT.

Not this time. I was in my zen zone. I wanted this and I didn't want to be a quitter. Don't get me wrong...I still cried internally when the road inclined slightly. (Silently praying for some button to make the incline disapper). Mile 6. Mile 7. Mile 8...you get it...Mile 10. Hell to the yeah. Ms. Encouragement Award should have been thrown my way.

3 more to go. You are an animal.

Mile 10.2. A hot meltdown of epic Rambler porportions started to erupt within every cell in my body and I started shutting down. I pulled my sweaty phone out of my arm band and I placed a batman distress call to my CCBFF. We talked. She listened to me and maintained the positivity for my sanity. We talked about not farting...we listened to me choke on a bug...and then decided I needed to resume.

That was the hardest 3 miles of my running life.  I knew I was close.  And it was a pure mental battle with myself to not quit and beg people all my credit cards, monopoly money, bottles of liquor to save my life.  I'm dramatic.  I know.  But the struggle was real.

BUT...I did it.  I frigging did it.  When I crossed that finish line, I wanted to hug anyone that would let a strange person who's body was laced head to toe with dirty smelly sweat.  I wanted to scream out loud that I did it.  The humble don't draw attention to herself girl I am just bit my lip, to hold the emotionally almost out of control liquid on the corner of my eyes in.

Running.   The thing I hate to love and love to hate.

Life Changes--The Rambler Way

So...life changes.

My life changed.  And that change taught me I can definitely survive.  I won't go into details, but I do know why I got so immersed into this blog world.  Why I held onto every single comment from anyone I didn't know existed until they hit publish comment in my post.

Divorce.  That ugly goddamn word.  I swore up and down when my parents split, that hurtful word would NEVER end up as describing a part of my adult life.  I would work harder, I would love harder, I would do what it takes.  The reality, well MY reality,... was realizing, no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, hard you love, some people just don't belong together.  Forever.

I won't talk about the ugly part of my separation cause who the hell cares about that...but yet the bitterly funny part of rejoining this world as a single person.

My first cynical single person moment was working my first holiday as a single person....Valentines Day and if you don't recall, I work in a restaurant.  I took phone call for reservations from men who just:

"loved the one they were with" (good for you),
"help me cause I think I might propose" (oh no..no no no no no...don't flipping do it),
"my lady means the world to me" (yeah, well, did I mention I don't care).

All this while oozing out of my mouth.

"How sweet, of course I want to help you dote genuinely sappy love adoration upon the woman who rocks your boat."

I wore all black that day and told my staff it represented my ninja like abilities to steer clear emotionally from the sickening displays of affection about to enter our doors for a full 14 hours of work.

I'm pretty sure I puked inside my own mouth when I had to help with the proposal.  Then I sorta internally freaked out and thought I shouldn't really touch anything they eat, drink or put on a finger.

What if my divorce vibes rubs off on them?

What if I lose the damn ring he begs me to help hide in something to bring out?
What if she blasts him with a fat NO, points at my face and screams " I don't want to end up like her" while I hold her whip cream dessert hiding the ring this man worked all year for with a stupid smile on my face that says...I get it...I don't want you to end up like me either.

Screeching back to THEIR reality...I smiled through that whole thing as his woman screamed yes, thanked me for being a part of it, and everyone nearby cheered for them.

That day sucked my soul dry.  Being around a lot of love between man and woman, man and man, woman and woman...was too much for this newly single gal.  BUT...I survived.  Of course I did.

This year, I wasn't so cynical.  In fact, I wore a red shirt to celebrate the day.

I allowed myself to be more tolerable.  To swim with my head above the water.  (Albeit, screaming for a lifeline from the two romantically rowing a boat oblivious to the dramatic person drowning in ankle deep water.)  

More things have changed for me this year also....I'm smiling more.  But that's for another post.

Hello...anyone out there?

Dear Blog World,

Man...(or woman, whatever floats your boat)...it has been TOO long.  Like, you-old-now x infinity long.  Secretly feeling like I'm in a blog world nursing home about to find senile friends who may remember my name or might think I'm just the nurse making them eat cold cereal.

I don't know what to do about this.  3 years since my last post.   I think I'm ready.  To try this again.  

Life is so different.  Many changes, growths, stumbles (always stumbles), a trillion Rambler style stories to write and share.

So, I say hello...again...old friend.  It's me...(it's RAHHH-MMMblerrrr)  

Wiping my dusty screen off and spray canning the keyboard with that crazy cold air stuff ....

The last two weeks, I've been toying back and forth with starting, restart, re-restarting blogging again.  (Really Rambler, we are going HERE again?)   The keyboard and screen are beckoning me in an intense way.  And annoying.... like your little sister saying...."I'm not touching you, but I'm touching you with my mind"...OK, maybe blogging isn't that annoying.  And I say annoying because until I post something, I keep nagging myself.

My answer to all of that is simple.

I love writing.

I love telling stories in my Rambler way.

And I miss it. 

Sadly, sometimes we all don't have the time to pursue the things we love.  To cultivate it and maintain it.  We just put it in the back corner of our mind and retrieve it when we can reach our virtual hands back there.

I thought to myself, what should be a first post after months of nothing? I'm a funny gal, and you that have read me know I"m good for a laugh.

And then I thought, eh, I'll be a little patriotic and make this a "PROUD TO BE AMERICAN" post.  And I will quickly share with you a moment I had at work.

I work a lot.  Like a lot that my family or friends wonder if I moved out of the country.  The restaurant I work for is one of the busiest on the island.  So having said this, the people at my job have become my pseudo family.

Our BIG BOSS was in town to check on his Hawaiian location.  He's been running restaurants in the US for about 15 years, while making visits back home to England to visit his mum (giggle, imagine Rambler with an English accent).

He finally took his US Citizenship test and became an official bonafide United States of America citizen.   So to honor that we surprised him with a cake and about 25 employees on a back loading dock, we celebrated and impromptu-ly (is that even a word??) did the Pledge of Allegiance.

I hadn't done that since being a young kid in Elementary school.

I'm not gonna lie.

It was the coolest most American thing I'd done, with my staff of varying ages, that moment, reciting OUR Pledge of Allegiance to the United States of America. 

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty, and justice for all.

So with that Bloggy land....Happy Fourth of July.

Let's see how we can scare the crap out of Rambler.

Oh, the tale I will tell you....A tale about a tail.

Maybe a week ago, while having dinner with the 4 year old Lil Rambler, our fearless 17 pound Tibetan Spaniel Mr. Bow Wow (name changed to protect his innocence) growled ferociously at our air conditioner located in our dining room area.

As I took a leisurely gander I caught a sight of a tail that made my armpits immediately sweat and Nascar Speed'ed it to the "Holy Sheesh balls....WHAT?THE?HELL?" Lane.

First....Daddy Rambler was NOT home.

Second....Did I mention Daddy Rambler was NOT home?

Third...How in the world did the Lizards that live in the bushes down below make it's way upstairs and inside?  (Boy wishful thinking)

Daddy Rambler makes it home at some point, and the two female folk of the Rambler household tell him in excited elevated tones from the safety of the bedroom (because of course we moved to another area of the house...for Lil Ramblers protection) something with a long tail was seen.

After some consideration Daddy Rambler stated with manly confidence it HAS to be a lizard.  And maybe it was going OUT.  Not coming IN.

He seemed fine with his answer until putting away our pots and pans under the oven and heard a rattle and saw a tail.  Now our seemingly not so worried about lizard turned into a bigger lizard with issues.  So I pretty much imagined a wild iguana roaming in between our walls.  (MASSIVE SHUDDER) because I don't know how to remain calm when it comes to animals.  They are my kryptonite.

Again, only the tail was seen and we convinced ourselves it was the mother of all lizards from downstairs and how do we get rid of it.  So while not entering my kitchen for several days due to the fact I was sure it would jump on my face and eat it, we contemplated.  

Yeah....well flash forward to yester-friggin-day.  My husband opened the dishwasher and saw a tail (AGAIN) disappear and water from the dishwasher starting to spill all over the place.

A hole through the wall behind the dishwasher and into the piping of the dishwasher confirmed our 'lizard' was no lizard.  It was hairy-er than a lizard.  It was maybe a rat/mouse.    (pray it's a mouse, pray it's a mouse, pray it's a mouse.  Sign of the cross....pray it's a mouse, pray it's a mouse).

Good Daddy Rambler did all the moving and cleaning and gagging of what was found when he pulled the dish machine out from it's place.  All he asked from me, when I got home late from work, was to place the traps because...well because it was better to lay them later than sooner??  (REALLY?  when we put the traps down earlier it might ruin the effect of the trap?)

So, I get home.

I tell myself if there was no Daddy Rambler in my life I would have to do all of this by myself.  So I pep talked myself, I laid the trap and waited for something like this to jump out.

 Cause if you know me....you know how active my imagination is. It would never be cute and talk or cook like this one...

So friends.  We lay the trap.  We repair our dishwasher.  We wait.

"Um, honey....could you pleasssseeee get me a drink of water...yeah, in my pink cup....yeah, with a straw...I'll be right here in the bedroom at YOUR computer."

Erm, I'm a big fat liar

Argh. I can't help it.

I keep saying I'm "coming back" and then months go by and all you find in my bloggy space is cobwebs and rickety cupboards.

May. That is the LAST time I was here.

And it's now friggin October.

Le Sigh.

Any that are left....how are you people? (Mammatalk...you totally prompted me to come on. One of the first blogs I really really got into.)

Me?

The new job has taken over any quality of life I had a grasp on and stomped and spit on it.

Le Sigh Deux. (Is that even french...deux, does that even mean 2...Eh, whatever)

I may have been gone, but MAN did I experience SO MANY blog moments that I wanted to share. It's fitting I share something that is truly Rambler style.

I embarrass MYSELF for other peoples pleasure. So those who will gasp in disbelief when they see my name in their recent blog posts lists....here is what I'll leave for you.

(God help me for sharing this story today)

So it's time for my annual you know what? (said in a hushed whisper....the woman thing...the pap smear thing...yeah, THAT.)

It's a new Doctor. I've never met her and I want to make a good impression.

We go through everything I may have concerns about. I talk like I've never had a friend before, and spill my 4 hour movie long life story.

And then it's time to do the thing. I scoot my tosh to the edge. She says relax, I snicker inside and say "Sure, Aren't I?"

I start up the sequel to my first movie and don't hear her correctly when she says..

"Are you ready, I'm going to.......(halfway through some fantasy about being rich and never having to work again apparently is what was on my mind)....Ok?"

"Yah, Yah, Yah...I'm good"

WHOAAAAAA......

Apparently the missing part I agreed to was just her warning that she needed to check (with her finger, mind you) the number 2 area. The poop shoot. The exit only zone for husband.

What the what?

I clenched so hard because I almost....

(wait for it)

(promise...it's so Rambler)

FARTED.

from surprise.

When she said relax I just shook my head. For fear that if I spoke....I'd be 'too relaxed' if you know what I mean.

And then screamed at myself "Oh lord, even though she's scraped the inside of your whoo-ha, please don't embarrass yourself by farting in front of this nice woman doctor. Not on your first date visit."

And no!

Like a woman I held it in.

....Until I got to my car half an hour later.

Geesus, what kind of lady do you think I am?

True friggin story.

Le Sigh...Trois. (I looked it up that time...that's THREE in french )

Awesome right? (said so sarcastically)

To blog or not to blog...that is MY question.

Yes...I'm here.

And life has changed. In a positive way.

About 2 posts ago, I went to work and my boss told me that we would be closing our restaurant down and had to prepare to tell our staff.

For about a week after, I digested the fact that I would be part of the unemployed world. My mind replayed so many blogs I had read over the years and reading the frustration, and some heartache. I wasn't sure what or where I was going to go. I'd been working since I was 16 years old.

But the opportunities that lay ahead without guilt of having 'jumped ship' wouldn't be sitting hard on my shoulders. BFF and family members that were aware of my near jobless future sent me links to this or that, and I didn't feel so heavy.

And then...an old friend/co-worker/boss person said he wanted me over at his place. We discussed when I would be done with my current job and his approval for a couple of weeks before I started with him (and more money) sealed the deal.

Whew, I had found a job before I lost my job. I was blessed.

So I've been 'jobless' the last 3 weeks. I found myself staring at this blog saying...LOOK at all the time you have Rambler....you could blog EVERYDAY if you wanted.

But I didn't.

I don't want to joke about losing my mojo...but I feel like I've lost my passion for my good ol blog.

Do I discontinue my blog?

Do I dare type the words "It's been great"....?

I don't know.

But I like everything about this blog. That it allowed me to be more confident in myself. To get a small readership of fantastic people. That was beyond anything I thought when starting this blog to share with my family what originally was just about what coffee I got at Starbucks that day, or how crappy my work day was.

So maybe....maybe....I'll just stay. Not because I'm obligated. (Cause, come on, it's MY blog and I can whine if I want to.)

But maybe because I just need to find the passion again to write. And maybe that passion will be reignited with the new job.

Thanks for hanging in there friends.

I'm sneaking in for a second

Oh you guys....I have so much to say, and no time to sit and let it all out.

I promise in a week or two I will be back.

Life has changed.

In a good way.

But it's changed, and time is such a valuable commodity for me right now.

Just wanted to let you know I'll be back.

Soon.

D'oh.

I'm horrible sometimes.

I remember faces like nobodies business.

But ask me their name...and my eyes glaze over. I smile and and have a standing rule with friends and husband that if I do NOT introduce someone it means I forgot their name.

Usually my BFF gets it and runs interference and does the whole..."She's so rude, I'm BFF, you are...".

I pray they answer faster than me having to do that "Oh...BFF this is......(draw blank)....(Oh crap...awkward pause)....haha, no silly I totally remember your name....(holy farking crap)

Wavy fingers to bring you to Lil Ramblers preschool.

There are way too many kids. With a lot of names to try to place. By the time a name is said the face has left because the big people are totally boring.

The first week, I called one of her friends by anothers name. NEVER corrected me.

A month later, the teacher corrected me. (embarrassing)

I later called the right little girl the right little name. (Right?)

Oh no. That's not how I apparently roll.

Morning ritual is to wash hands before they go into class. Me and Lil Rambler pair up with her little friend and her mommy and I say with utter confidence and energy

"Good Morning Lil Wrong Name!!"

Mother of Wrong Name girl says..."Oh...haha, um her name is (totally something you've never said since Lil Rambler started school but has seen since day one)"

HELLLOOOOOO Rambler. For the love. This mother has said Lil Ramblers name since Day two. I'm on like Day 150 and I suck.

That's right. D'OH.

Anyone else?

I know...where the hell have I been?

Or did you even notice? (smirk)

One thing leads to another and before you know it, I get a text from my BFF that said..."OMG, you haven't blogged for a month...you must be really busy"

Mmmmm....yeah. Alright, I've been really busy? (scratching head...deciding on this for my answer).

It really started with my father in law visiting and practically took my laptop as if it was his Hawaiian mistress.

If we all were at home, he and my laptop were inseparable. Plus, I was the entertainer/arranger of things to do/the buffer for all to get along....so trying to step away in to private mode was out of the question. And by the time my father in law was wiped out by my daughter in law-ee ways, I could barely wipe my own butt.

Flash forward a month later...

And...I have to tell you...having this blog has paid off in more ways than I could have ever thought. I really made some 'friends' that get another side of me. Have given advice, pumped me up, told me my writing skills are actually worth coming back for...you get it.

Well, fate stepped in one day when I had to choose between getting my contact lenses or eyeglasses. Well, my old self said...duh, get the contacts, maybe you can upgrade your grandma glasses later on in the year.

Later that same day, someone actually emailed ME, The Rambler, to review THEM (GlassesUSA.com). You say what? Me? No friggin way.

So...I said what the hell...I'll get some prescription eyeglasses and see what happens. I poked around the site which yes, was user friendly and since it had been a while, was surprised to see the prices were extremely more affordable than my own doctors office. (shhhh...I heart him so...our little secret). Sigh...but the true test is when I get them in my hands and onto my face.

I gotta tell you...I didn't expect what happened. I've had them for almost 2 months and barely take them off. The eyeglass frames I chose apparently really 'complimented' my face. Because I looked 'smarter', 'intelligent-er', 'sassy sexy school teacherish' , 'beautifulrific' from strangers, female friends and my younger male staff (eh, my 34 year old self felt a little cougarish with my 21 something year old making comments...wait what makes you a cougar? How old do I have to be?). I believe I even inspired a girl to buy fake glasses to see if it made her more tips at her tables. (It does, surprisingly)

So go over there...if you need glasses but don't want to break the bank. Glassesusa.com. I might have a 5% coupon code for you if you like...(Mommy5).

Okay so to recap my return after a long long time away...cause you all know 1 day equals 1 week. So 29 days is almost a half a year right?...(get back on point Rambler)...you learned that my father in law took my laptop mistress hostage and I look farking sexy in my new eyes. (Smirk, but sexy...)

Homeless Man with a crappy bowel = Not a good day for The Rambler

Hells yah...It's iLove Tuesday Tunes over at Hotpants place.

So to start off this post I give you MY song for the week....

"Hey Soul Sister" by Train....(I heard this song and just fell in love...listen while I tell you the gory details of my horrendous first hour of work)



**********
Okay...so while you listen (or not...whichever)...on to my most sh%&y of all work days. And when I say that word. I really mean shit.

Within a half an hour into us opening (some of you newbies around here, I run a restaurant)....an older man in his late 50's, who didn't 'appear' homeless, emerged out of my guests bathrooms. He quickly exited down the escalators and out the front doors.

In every space he occupied I could SMELL him. GAG.

Yes...I did say SMELL. GAG

Down the escalators to my outside cafe I went and realized his smell seemed to be human feces were slowly grasping hold of my nose hairs.

The kind of smell when your baby makes THAT poop whose smell sticks around long after the trash has been taken out.

Where snorting Clorox would be the only way to eliminate the crap smell holding on for dear life at the entrance of my nostrils.

Now being the boss, you have to do things YOU don't like...especially when the ones who clean the nasty stuff don't come until much later...(like when we close and I had JUST OPENED).

Not wanting to die alone in a men's restroom while looking for poo, I had to drag in my male accountant to inspect the bathroom. He went in first.

HE walked out with a hankie over his mouth, tears in his eyes and a cologne sample bottle.

All we could think of was this Poltergeist lady...

"May the power of Christ compel you, may the power of Christ compel you".


and cracked up in hysterics thinking of him waving holy cologne water at the poo left in places OTHER than the toilet bowl...

When I say OTHER...I mean everywhere OTHER than the toilet. It was like a scene in those horror movies where the local sheriff comes upon a murder scene and everywhere he looks that music plays and heightens as he sees more and more carnage...you get it...well that was this bathroom. Only I was gagging at heightened levels.

Boys and girls, I had reached 'Lost My Cookies From Last Year' threat level.

A huge mop, GAG burning hot water, a full bottle of bleach, GAG sanitizer,2 managers who haven't gagged that hard in a long time GAG, 1 brave employee (of course I commandeered someone ), 6 pairs of gloves, and a crap GAG ton of paper towels that bathroom was sparkling clean.

And that people was how my week started...GAG.

Pearl Jam and some Iphone stuff

Music....I wasn't always a person who enjoyed the rock genre...but as I got older, my bubble gum lollipop school girl crushes on pop stars made room for a bit darker types of music.

Okay, actually I missed the day we were all supposed to attend the "This is Music and what you need to know about it" class. I have no clue about what harmonies are really supposed to sound like, or melodies, or tenors, or...you get it right.

I can't even sing the right words...EVER. I drive my baby sister kooky when I sing, cause she's like an expert (eye roll via me). Cause she had a couple singing lessons. And me? Well, I got hit by the "don't let her sing" stick on my way out of my mothers whoo-ha.

I just like music but can't tell you why I really like it. Usually music always brings me back to specific places in my past. Doesn't it always?

This week I bring you Pearl Jam...The End. (It's a beautiful and haunting type of song.)



I just heard this song for a first time last week on a show I watch "Castle" brought to you via a awesome app on my IPhone "Shazaam".



You hear a song, you quickly dive and hunt for your IPhone and push the Shazaam button and pray there is enough song left for this bad boy app to pick up, analyze and send back to you the name of the song.

Thank God for this app...cause I'm the person who's asking someone to "name that tune" and trying to hum it. I suck at humming it. My kid tells me to shush when I hum. So my can you tell me the song "Fix It" by Coldplay might sound like "Mary had a little lamb"

Speaking of Castle...I have a mad crush on this man. Nathan Fillion.


Don't tell my husband.

I'm done here. Peace Out!

Who wants to hear some music?

First and foremost, thank you ALL for your very supportive and kind comments in regards to my last post.

I can't explain in enough words of this new place I've allowed myself to be at. I'm not skydiving out of a plane, but for the first time thinking of it. (who am I kidding, I'll just ride the plane and watch the crazy ones actually step out the door at x=(completely ridiculous)amount of feet in the air.

And Mammaducky....you deserve the best piece too!

So on to my regular meme post (which I haven't done in Foorrreeeeevvvveerrrr)

************************

It's been a while since I participated in anything. And since I heart this lady right here I thought I would join in on her fun. She has the best celeb gossip around bloggytown. And I've been reading her a long time. AND she takes great pics....along with Mighty M. (They don't take photos together, just that I love Mighty M as well.)

I've been nostalgic recently. Like the 1986 kind. And the song that makes me go back the most is this one....



Does ANYONE remember this band? Anyone?

The Jets. (God I loved them.)

This puts me back to 6,7, 8th grade living on the Big Island.

Me and the friends dancing like we were popstars (you know, Tiffany and Debbie Gibson...who now goes by Deborah?) in our cafeteria turned dance arena.

One photo even made it into my 8th grade yearbook of said popstar dancing.

And absolutely NO. To showing you! That book is hiding somewhere.

For now.

This song even inspired me to 'stalk/peer' through some old old friends through my facebook account and found a really close friend who I hadn't heard from in over 18 years.

And reconnected by clicking Add Friend. (ahhh, the joys' of social media)

(Psstt, the old me never 'friended' anyone on facebook for absolute fear of being rejected...wait, but that can't just be the old me, right? That crap reminds me of making friends in school, will she or will she not let me eat lunch with her?)

Not my usual post...but a really honest one.

Found this beautiful picture on the internet a LONG LONG time ago. I wish I could remember so I could give due credit. But it best exemplifies my post. Her nakedness translates to me that there is nothing to hide. This is her. Take it or leave it. She is a peace with herself.

I'm not sure how this post will go, but I've had an enlightenment in my life that I feel I really need to spill on the pages of my blog.

For me to come back to and remember this feeling and this moment in my life.

This won't be my usual funny haha type of post. It is a heavy post. Maybe it might include humor. Because humor is what helps me defeat the depression that I feel I have lived and buried myself in for quite a while.

I'll start quickly with that it probably started the day my parents divorced. I was 11, maybe 10. And my kid brain tried hard to process that a big change was going to take place. And the life that I lived so care-free of hurt and disappointment (other than NOT getting ice cream for dinner...insert humor to break tension here), wasn't going to be my norm.

My mother took my baby sister with her to California to heal from my father leaving her for another woman. A woman that my middle sister, Antibloggedy, and I had to live with for some years. A woman that hadn't expected to be living with 2 children.

It wasn't so bad for my sister, but I think now, I know, I was always my mothers daughter. I would fight little battles that children fight to honor their fallen mother's name. To remind my father and his new girlfriend that I was once a part of a family unit that I thought was strong and could withstand anything.

Longer story made less longer is that my father's girlfriend and I did NOT like each other. Like Chocolate & Sardines. We did not belong together. (But hey, if some of you like that combo...who am I to judge?...more witty repertoire for you). I was generally a very happy go lucky type of girl. Found the silver in EVERY lining.

For whatever reason, she chiseled parts of my confidence and belief in life that I am worth something. When my father said my sister and I were going to move back to be with my mother....I packed fast and ran hard. And glimpsing, surprisingly, tears from a father that his girls were leaving him.

What? You WANT us to stay?

But....you've always picked HER. The one that hisses at my very presence. The one....that at 13 years old pulled me into the living room while you were at work and told me I was spoiled and couldn't believe my father threw me a birthday party. How I wasn't deserving of one, how ungrateful I was, and other insignificant words she continued to make me listen to.

That moment...I did feel like I didn't deserve...anything. I was a child, she was the adult. She was right. Right? I believe I cried the hardest I had ever cried as a child. Alone in my room. That moment defined me. It created who I was to become. I smiled less, and walked in every one's shadow.

Because it was safer.

I've felt 'unworthy' from that moment. I've pretended through life how wonderful things are when people make fusses over me. Because I'm waiting for them to roll their eyes and tell me how inconvenient it is for them. Parts of me really don't like parties thrown for me. Not because I don't love a party. But for me? Why?

They say the funny ones always have some sadness in them. For their comedy is their shield. Their comedy is for so no one else hurts. For me, I've had to find the funny in my life. The funny allowed me to surface for air.

Constantly as an adult and more so as a parent, I often wonder how can someone hurt a child emotionally? What purpose does it really serve? Can it really make them feel better?

My enlightenment came from my mother. She probably won't realize what that information was but a small tidbit of something she said released me of the chains I allowed my fathers girlfriend to bind to my spirit.

I have always been a person who will take the ugliest and last piece of bread so others can enjoy it. I never felt worthy enough to grab the first piece. The best piece. The piece I really want.

But I will now. Because I DO deserve it. I AM deserving of it.

The old me would never have written this for others to read. But she can rest now. She's fought hard to keep me afloat and now this new me wants to take the reins and let her breathe. Because this new me is worth it.

For those of you who made it through this post. Thank you!

Now excuse me while I inhale my Kleenex box. (ahem, more humor...to lighten the mood.)

Cough, sniffle, blow, cough, sniffle, blow

What do you do when both adults in the house are completely sick?

And the only able bodied person in the said home is a 3 year old?

Mr. Flu & Mrs. Eff You came knocking hard core at me and Mr. Rambler's body and soul yesterday. My husband called out sick from work and so rightfully "rock/paper/scissor" 'd it to see who would take the little one to school, feed her, cloth her, bath her.

Who am I kidding?

My husband acted like the world stopped until he could resume normal life as soon as he started his fever of not wanting to live. One night...I gave him one night of being an invalid. ONE NIGHT. The next two days? No sympathy from another sick person. None, zippo.

If I hear..."I'm sick...." one more time from his lips, my sanity will pack up and leave for good!

Therefore, Supermom, had to 'pretend' she wasn't as sick as 'dead to the world man' and continue to do all things that NEED to be done for a three year old. (Supermom=Me)

And I say God Bless her my little Rambler because...

If she could have made her school lunch for mommy...She would have.

If she could have started her own shower to wash off the days yucky's, dry off and dress herself in her PJ's...She would have.

If she could have made dinner for herself....she would have.

If she could have taken the car to preschool on her own....she would have.

If she says "You Otay Momma?" one more time....I'll cry. (from appreciation that she want's to make sure I'm okay...which drives me to make sure she's okay.)

So 2010...your looking REAL good here. REALLLL good.

Bah...humbug!

And a belated Happy Birthday to my sister Antibloggedy who hasn't been blogging much lately but hopefully will get back into the spirit of things.

Going out with a spare....

It's never a dull moment in my life.

The other day at the grocery store, I was rummaging through my purse for my wallet to pay. (Because I'm not an organized mother who has everything in it's place)

And out with a vengeance, came Lil Ramblers spare underwear. Like a Matrix slow motion out. Where everything else stopped in time EXCEPT her little Dora underwear.

She's newly potty trained. You parents know it's wise to carry a spare with you. Or your sweater, or pretty shirt becomes a wrap for accident prone little ones until you get home.

Well...that spare landed on the high school male cashiers, (who's seemed 17), conveyor belt. He looked at me, I looked at him. He was startled. By my kids Dora underwear! Silly non parental person.

He wasn't sure it if it was mine. And if it was mine, was it clean or dirty? And was this an 'older' ladies way of flirting with him. (I'm not sure...I threw that one in). I felt like I saw all that play out in his eyes as I slowly and painfully grabbed at her underwear.

So meekly...I said it was my kids, cause she was accident prone...I kept talking as he stared at me but through me and sprayed the area my?/lil rambler's panty touched with his disinfect spray they use for runny meats and spilt milk.

As I swiped my card to pay, I kept talking.

As he bagged my milk, ice cream, tabloid magazine, and other goods, I kept talking.

As he gave me my receipt, I kept talking.

I.just.kept.talking.

Nervous laughter and my embarrassed apology and reassurance it wasn't mine was the absolute last thing I gave him as I pulled away.

Oi Vey.

Later that week, I offered a ride to an employee so she wouldn't have to walk to her car. I have that touch pad thingie majig that I usually use instead of digging for my keys. You know, so that I'm not standing OUTSIDE my car taunting some crazy person to come up and get me (mmmmm, like your crazy guy HipHopHippie).

So we are sitting there in the car, talking, searching (insert reminder that I'm not organized) and I'm digging and again...it pops out.

In her lap.

And for a second I realize she thinks it might be mine. And the uncomfortableness of the cashier moment slowly made it's way into my mind.

But she's seen my kid. I'm sure my kid might have bossed her around.

"Lil Ramblers??"

"uh, yes...I wish I were that tiny" giggle, giggle, giggle.

Ask me if the spare is still in my purse?

Come on...ask me!

***********

Well blog...goodbye to 2009.

We are thankful for the many many blog pals we have met along our 2009 journey. And what a journey it's been.

Until next year people. Be safe. Hug the ones you love.

Dear Grumbly Letters...

Dear Malls Across America,

You know those kiosks that sit in the centers of aisles that you must walk past to get to other stores? The ones that have extremely pushy salespeople that jump in your space to rub lotion on your arm, or flatten your hair or tie a skirt into a dress into a who the eff knows what else? Those people!

Really?

The anxiety level that rose in my BFF as we tried to strategically dodge one today by both sipping our Starbucks quickly...and MOCK talking into our cell phones. (I'm not sure, but I think mine was upside down...we were rushing.) weaving left

Crap, weave right when we saw him zone in on us.

Lordie, left again. Dear Hell, he's coming right at us.

Yes. This is what you have led us to.

Signed,

For Petes Sakes...REALLY!

******

Dear Stale Coffee,

You effing SUCK.

Signed,

Pissed off and tired.

******

Dear Celebrity that has a dark secret not known to the world,

Please come out of hiding so I can STOP listening/reading/watching about Tiger Woods. PUH-LEASE!

Signed,

A tired Tiger non follower.

P.S. Remember the stale coffee.

******

Dear Neighbor,

Can you kindly talk INSIDE your house to whomever you call on your cell phone,late at night? I really don't want to hear you speak of your rash, or your 'conquest', or you fat boss, or your...you get it?

Right?

Signed,

Rather listen to Sex in the City talk about their rash, conquest, fat boss, etc...

******

Dear Christmas Tree Seekers,

I got the last one at Target....SUCKA'S

Signed,

I know, not nice.

******

Dear Post Office at Christmas time,

Sigh.

My tired best,

*Sigh again*

******

Dear Douchebag driving like it's a Nascar Race Track at the Mall,

Slow.the.eff.down.

Signed,

Former Hall Monitor

******

I must remember....I am 34 and he is...3. (and other tidbits)

It's been about a month since my three year old has been in preschool.

It's been great.

I decided to go on my three year old's first field trip to a Children's Discovery Center. (Awesomely Awesome by the way).

I was paired with my kid and her little boyfriend. BLESS his heart. If every little boy could be like him....I know she'll marry a good man. Oh and I only 'lost' him 3 times. Don't tell.

(I also praise any adult that actually WANTS to take 75 children OUT of the preschool. Between the ages 2-4. I seriously bow my head down.)

BUT, (and there is always a but), I met HIM.

The absolute complete opposite of my daughter's adorable future husband. The one that MY husband fears my daughter will choose cause he's the bad ass. The rebel. The one us girls can't stay away from.

The KID that just screams at your insides and scratches his nails on your inner chalkboard of a soul.

That is mean...just to be mean.

Your 3?

How in the hell can you be such a little sh&t?

I mean poopyhead?

I mean...not nice.

(as I recited to my little one when she complained why was he mean to her)

I sorta noticed this little hellion her second week but thought nothing of it.

But after spending two hours with Satan's spawn, I had to keep reminding myself....I am 34 and he is 3. They are children. They will 'work' it out.

It became my mantra that day at the Children's Discovery Center.

Kids were everywhere, learning, sharing, not sharing, listening, not listening....and I silently thanked the blessed teachers who were probably praying for a flask of alcohol to get them through the day.

I kid.

Only cause we love Teacher Amazing & Teacher Awesome.


**************

I kept swatting at my legs this morning while waiting for my husband to let me back into the house after uh, locking myself out while walking the dog.

I looked down cause the 'flies' kept annoying me.

Oh.

I need to shave my legs.

Whoa...I REALLY need to shave my legs.

And my eyebrows if my BFF has anything to add to that. (right BFF?)

*************

Saskia over at Saskia's Spot takes the most amazing photos and she is absoTUTELY fantastic.

Thanks for the little holiday cheer that came my way!!

Go check her out! Tell her hello!

Anyone so refined and lovely that enjoys my antics has to be awesome :)

*************

My job never gets boring.

While leaving work the other night, around nightclub time, a co-worker and I watched, (and giggle-smirked), a girl pull up to the elevator thinking someone was going to valet her car, then get back in when the security guard was walking by saying she needed to PARK her car herself.

And THEN watched her slooowwwwlllly pull into....

.....a parked car, and not the empty spot next to it.

The poor security guard told her to back up...but halt heart attacked while I shrieked and ran like a frantic not so graceful paranoid person realizing my car was in her back up path of destruction ..

"Whoa...let me move my car, before crazy drunk chic backs up real slooowwwlllly into it".

So the guard put/sacrificed his body by positioning himself between my car and hers to let me save my chariot from sure stupidity of drunk girl driving.

All while her semi drunk friends all slurred to her...

"BUMMERRRRRRRR"

Who lets these people drive?

****************

I'm sorry I haven't been around. I always get stressed out around this time.

I wrote about it last year so I'll just link you there. It's not my normal funny so don't go without tissue.

**************

Happy Holidays Bloggy Peeps.

Happy Holidays!

So a woman walks into a house.....

I will tell you a short story about a woman and her husband.

Its Thanksgiving Day, as this woman and her husband depart for festivities at a family friends home that she hadn't been to in a while. The woman loves to bake and has made sure to pack her customary Pumpkin Pie.

They park their car, they make their way into the home.

Hello here, Hello there....lots of people they didn't recognize....I'll just go into the kitchen and put my pie down and prepare it for serving later on thinks the woman....say hello to more people in the kitchen...say how she loves what they've done with the place....

The husband is in the living room making friends, introducing himself as Baker Woman's husband....he notices that his sister in law and their family is not in attendance yet. The husband mentions to someone that he is SISTER in Law's brother in Law (are you following me?).

Looks of confusion happen.

Them: "(Insert Sister In Laws Name)???"

Them again: "Whose house are you going to?"

The husband: "(Insert Thanksgiving Hosts' Name)?"

Them: (giggle.giggle) "They live NEXT DOOR!"

The husband calls to his wife in the kitchen: "Honey...we are at the wrong house!"

Baker's Wife realizes their mistake...packs up her pie, wishes them all a good Thanksgiving and leaves.

**************

This is a true story.

The people...are my parents.

Yes. My mother and Stepfather.

Sigh.

I would have given a zillion bucks to be at our family friends house when they walked in and heard the story then.

The neighbors were actually good friends of the house my parents were going to so they were very nice about them coming in and making themselves at home.

I cried hearing about it from my favorite family gossip (aka...my sister cousin from another mother) the next day...and again when repeating it to my husband...and again just typing this story.

And if my two REAL sisters would pick up the phone so I can continue our little coconut wireless gossip line I will probably pee my pants.

And how was YOUR Thanksgiving?

*************

Oh and a special shout out to my husband as he celebrates another year of life on this planet. 34 baby. Now I'm not the old lady anymore....well I'm YOUR old lady...you know what I mean.

Heart You.