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)



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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)

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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!

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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

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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.


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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?)

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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 :)

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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?

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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.

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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?

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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.

Knock Knock...Paranoia here...(again)

Okay...so for some reason I posted this Monday but it didn't 'show' up in anyone's reader and as I need gratification from you all I 'reposted' a repost...I'm pathetic...I know.

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I originally posted this a year ago....when only family members read this blog. (tear, now I can barely get them to remember my blog title....oh, the horror)

And as I don't have any creativity to breathe new life into a post...I thought I'd pull one from the back of the blog bookcase.

Bloggy people...Meet Me, Me meet bloggy people.

Enjoy.
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"The Scream" artwork by Hugh MacLeod

One of my most UN-favorite character flaws is that I am secretly (I guess not so secret now) paranoid of everything.

Some see it as being over protective.

Some say it's not being educated properly about the subject.

Others tell me I'm an OVER worrier.

And some tell me to pull my big girl panties on and snap out of it.

No, I'm serious. I'm a closet Paranoidee...is that a word?

I think since I've become a mother, my Paranoid spidey senses have picked it up a notch to a higher level of insaneness.

I can't stand it sometimes but the feeling sneaks up and I can't shake it until I get to my final destination/or completion of what I'm doing.

My kid was born and I realized for the first time in my life it's not just about me. In fact, it's mostly all about her. And it freaked me out.

My greatest fear is not being around for her because of a mistake of either my doing or someone moron who's being ridiculously reckless. Not the dying part, the part of her not having a mother does a number on my insides. (OK, well a little about the dying part).

I dive into that fear pretty deep and it's hard to swim out sometimes.

When we left the hospital with her, I remember annoying the bee-jeezus out of my husband. First her car seat straps were on too tight, than too loose, I don't think the seat is secure enough, than the car that was on the level below us was coming too fast (like, faster than the snail too fast!), than why don't we just take the long, NON highway home route?, OK OK, I'll shut up. Or more like we both just stopped answering each other.

That's when it began. I was a little too literal when my pediatrician told me to be careful the first month in taking baby out. I mean I walked with her and the dog around our townhouse complex.......until I slipped one day and convinced myself I made her lose some brain cells, despite the doctors stamp of approval (???) that she was fine along with the nurse and the other nurse and the other doctors partner.

I'm a very slow driver.

I think cars drive to fast, I think my husband drives too fast, everyone on the freeway feels like they are first time drivers that just got out of NASCAR. Don't they all realize I carry precious cargo? Does it not phase them?

I'm the paranoid delusional that thinks the red car in the far left lane 10 cars behind is driving 4 miles OVER the speed limit and will cause a 15 car pile up involving myself.

IT NEVER STOPS!!!

This is my life inside. I don't share it with others because they'll think I need to put on a jacket or something with mental restraints. I constantly have arguments with myself. There's the laid back me and the freaked out version of me trying to rationalize why each other is right.

Like the time I told myself I could do the ocean.

I can't, maybe my toes are okay, maybe if it's a good day I'll go to my waist, wait...was that a shadow in the water...do sharks come this close to shore? I start to go through the Rolodex of clippings in my memory newspaper and pull out random shark sightings and convince myself it's from that morning I'm suuuurrreee they are still here. I will be that stupid lady swimming alone in the water not hearing the lifeguard scream to get out.

I mean, did you watch Shark Week on Discovery Channel??? Duh!

Whew, this has been somewhat therapeutic for me....a little flake has been chipped off this statue of fear. Maybe I'll stop now before some that know me start dialing the 1-800-Help-my-friend line.

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

Sigh...it's rough being a paranoid me.

***I ran across this mans blog with his artwork and really enjoyed it. I liked that he said he was cool with allowing others to download his work as it was a great way for others to see what he does. Some will like it, some will say WHAT?, but if you do, hope you check out his site. www.gapingvoid.com.***

knock, knock. Who's there....Paranoia here! (Yes, this is a repeat...don't hate)

I originally posted this a year ago....when only family members read this blog. (tear, now I can barely get them to remember my blog title....oh, the horror)

And as I don't have any creativity to breathe new life into a post...I thought I'd pull one from the back of the blog bookcase.

Bloggy people...Meet Me, Me meet bloggy people.

Enjoy.
**********************

"The Scream" artwork by Hugh MacLeod

One of my most UN-favorite character flaws is that I am secretly (I guess not so secret now) paranoid of everything.

Some see it as being over protective.

Some say it's not being educated properly about the subject.

Others tell me I'm an OVER worrier.

And some tell me to pull my big girl panties on and snap out of it.

No, I'm serious. I'm a closet Paranoidee...is that a word?

I think since I've become a mother, my Paranoid spidey senses have picked it up a notch to a higher level of insaneness.

I can't stand it sometimes but the feeling sneaks up and I can't shake it until I get to my final destination/or completion of what I'm doing.

My kid was born and I realized for the first time in my life it's not just about me. In fact, it's mostly all about her. And it freaked me out.

My greatest fear is not being around for her because of a mistake of either my doing or someone moron who's being ridiculously reckless. Not the dying part, the part of her not having a mother does a number on my insides. (OK, well a little about the dying part).

I dive into that fear pretty deep and it's hard to swim out sometimes.

When we left the hospital with her, I remember annoying the bee-jeezus out of my husband. First her car seat straps were on too tight, than too loose, I don't think the seat is secure enough, than the car that was on the level below us was coming too fast (like, faster than the snail too fast!), than why don't we just take the long, NON highway home route?, OK OK, I'll shut up. Or more like we both just stopped answering each other.

That's when it began. I was a little too literal when my pediatrician told me to be careful the first month in taking baby out. I mean I walked with her and the dog around our townhouse complex.......until I slipped one day and convinced myself I made her lose some brain cells, despite the doctors stamp of approval (???) that she was fine along with the nurse and the other nurse and the other doctors partner.

I'm a very slow driver.

I think cars drive to fast, I think my husband drives too fast, everyone on the freeway feels like they are first time drivers that just got out of NASCAR. Don't they all realize I carry precious cargo? Does it not phase them?

I'm the paranoid delusional that thinks the red car in the far left lane 10 cars behind is driving 4 miles OVER the speed limit and will cause a 15 car pile up involving myself.

IT NEVER STOPS!!!

This is my life inside. I don't share it with others because they'll think I need to put on a jacket or something with mental restraints. I constantly have arguments with myself. There's the laid back me and the freaked out version of me trying to rationalize why each other is right.

Like the time I told myself I could do the ocean.

I can't, maybe my toes are okay, maybe if it's a good day I'll go to my waist, wait...was that a shadow in the water...do sharks come this close to shore? I start to go through the Rolodex of clippings in my memory newspaper and pull out random shark sightings and convince myself it's from that morning I'm suuuurrreee they are still here. I will be that stupid lady swimming alone in the water not hearing the lifeguard scream to get out.

I mean, did you watch Shark Week on Discovery Channel??? Duh!

Whew, this has been somewhat therapeutic for me....a little flake has been chipped off this statue of fear. Maybe I'll stop now before some that know me start dialing the 1-800-Help-my-friend line.

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

Sigh...it's rough being a paranoid me.

***I ran across this mans blog with his artwork and really enjoyed it. I liked that he said he was cool with allowing others to download his work as it was a great way for others to see what he does. Some will like it, some will say WHAT?, but if you do, hope you check out his site. www.gapingvoid.com.***

I swear I don't make this stuff up...

Some of you know I run a restaurant in Waikiki.

Sometimes, this brings forth interesting tales that make it to this blog.

This is one of them.

I cannot tell you how many times I've had to pick up the work phone to listen to some person who I think is a potential guest turn into crazy #1234 of the year that I get to encounter.

One particular lady has been dialing our number and insisting she was a Sargent for the police (of loony land), and that the FBI raided our restaurant the night before but she had been interviewed in a dark room with a spotlight and told them that all was right with the world...with our place. She was insanely and crazily believable...if you were not the owner of a sound mind in tact.

WHATEVER.

Well, tonight...I had the PLEASURE of meeting her. While talking with my host staff outside, she decided to grace us with her presence. She looked normal....until she opened her mouth.

This is exactly how our conversation went.

Crazy lady: Did the FBI show up last night? I'm Sargent Whocares and you probably know who I am...I'm very important...I know all the right people.

Me (brain clicking...thinking NO WAY it's Crazy FBI lady in the flesh): I didn't work last night.

Crazy lady: They told me I could get my free meal.

Me: Oh, well that was yesterday.

Crazy lady: Yesterday? You sure? Didn't they tell you about me?

Me: Maybe you missed the memo?

Crazy lady: But you know about the FBI right? They still inside?

Me: Nope. They left, top secret stuff, I guess.

Crazy lady sighs, nods her head at me like she knows what kind of top secret mission is going on without her and takes off with another crazy person who also looks really normal.

~~~~~~~

Sigh.

It's fun pretending to be crazy with real crazy people.

When I mean fun, I don't mean MEAN fun...just playing along with the fantasy that they believe.

No harm, no foul.

Just another night at the Ramblers place of work.

Love Life....

IPhone App picture from my Boyphone...

I will love life in the following ways this week...

1. I will enjoy my new found little moments of 'alone' time as my child is in preschool.

2. I will sit on my couch and watch an entire show without being interrupted in the DAYTIME.

3. I will take a shower for a really long time and maybe shampoo my hair twice? Maybe three times...who knows...but it can be as many times as I want.

4. My long lost flatiron that turns my hair from crazy curly to sleeky straight will find my hands its company as we make magic.....to my hair. Just in case, cause that almost didn't sound right.

5. I will take a nap! When I feel like it. Or until I have to get ready for work. Whichever comes first.

6. Sigh. I will...love life.

How will you LOVE LIFE this week bloggy pals?

Do tell.


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

Alright, alright....so did I? Or didn't I freak out like a crazy emotional wreck of a train on my kid's first day of preschool?

So yeah, here's the deal....I was a tad roller coaster-y of feelings when we pulled into the school parking lot.

And maybe I stopped talking in the middle of my sentence to the teacher when I thought my tear ducts where going to spew forward completely ridiculous tears in front of 9 other children who were excited to welcome my daughter into their new gang of little people.

And maybe I just smiled and waved and walked out quickly to the car....with my shades on.

And maybe I sniffled at Starbucks right next door to the school (BONUS).

But...I let em wail once I hit the open road for a good 10 minutes. Like a complete lunatic.

I'm not sure what other drivers on the freeway were thinking as they passed/sped along.

I really couldn't see through the tears.

Joke.

I....Will keep my Sh*t together....I will

When I open my eyes Thursday morning and wake a grumpy little girl earlier than she's used to, dress her, put cute little piggy tails in her hair...I...Will keep my sh*t together...I will.

When I cut the crusts off her tiny little turkey sandwich, sneak a Smore's Granola bar, veggies, and a Juice Box....I...Will keep my sh*t together...I will.

When I start the car, pull out...stop the car, strap the kid IN her seat...I will keep my sh*t together...I will.

When we walk through her PRESCHOOL doors for the first time (actually second if you count the tour), with her hand in mine, and make our way to her classroom...I will keep my sh*t together...I will.

When I kiss her goodbye, and get cut off in my plea for love and adoration that I am the most wonderful mom ever when she excitedly sees her Teachers Aunty Awesome & Aunty Amazing...I will keep my sh*t together...I will.

When I walk back into the hallway and see the other parents...I will smile...do the parent nod...and pretend...my lip may quiver...BUT I will keep my sh*t together...I will.

When the owner sees me at the entrance doors and says everything will be ok....I will keep my sh*t together...I will.

I may for a moment actually think I will stay in the parking lot until she is done 8 hours later...I will keep my sh*t together...I will.

When sanity takes over, I will drive home, wave to the neighbors, walk proudly up the stairs without her tagging along, I will unlock the door, plop on the couch, look around to the quiet and empty house...

....Wait, did I just write QUIET & EMPTY?

:Cricket Noise & Tumbleweeds:

My baby is in preschool...and her mommy has the whole house to herself!

17856837489 reasons to Ramble....from the Rambler

Oh dear God, I just downloaded Miley Cyrus's Party in the USA...What is wrong with me?

Alright...First of all, I liked the song first for it's oh so head nodding/hip moving way. And then I looked up the song and said...For shame Rambler!

Miley Effing Cyrus. (Sorry, she's normally not my cup of tea)


Miley Cyrus - Party in the USA

MySpace Today | MySpace Video

Shoulder Shrug. Oh Well.

Moving my head like Yeah...moving my hips like Yeah....


*********
You know those stories you hear of fathers trying to fix their daughters hairs?

So...my husband thought he would 'trim' our three year olds bangs. When I say trim...he thinks...

I'd like to say he somehow fused a bit of Dumb #1 and Dumber #2 's hair cause all that came to mind while staring at Lil Rambler's bangs and listening to her father go on and on about it happened to fast and before he knew it...(*sigh*...Daddy's...this one is for the books)

God Bless them both for trying.

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

"Perk" of being the boss lady for my restaurant.

A drunk young couple come hooting and hollering into my outside cafe demanding to be served more booze and the waitstaff cuts them off...said crazy drunk guests don't want to leave but try to convince the management staff they they are 'perfectly (hiccup) FIIIIINNNNEEE (hiccup)'

Enter boss lady Rambler. The professional that I am says the following:

"Yeah...Sorry, but were gonna have to ask you to leave."

"Um, NO...if another table buys your drinks...YOU still can't drink HERE. What part of that is hard to understand?"

"Yeah... you flipping me off in my face is not helping YOU get alcoholic beverages from ME."

"YOU don't like this place? I just told you to leave? Problem solved. Have a good night!"

"Say F**k me to my face one more time and I'm about to take my earrings off and really show you what you can cry about. You will beg and scream for your mama! "

I'm kidding...I CAN'T say that.... (sigh...in a manager's dreams)

Yes...they really said F**k me to my face about 30 times. And no, this would not be the first time this was every uttered to me by a customer.

*************
My new favorite TV addiction is this show.

Modern Family. I snort and laugh out loud in the dark sneaking it in when I come home after midnight. It is just too damn funny.



My favorite is the Big Gay Guy Cam and Phil the "cool dad".

I snorted again just watching this preview to find for you guys.

***********

The Universe's way of laughing at my expense was this....

While pushing my cart toward Target...I realized I was close to the pissed off Target worker kid having to bring a zillion of the carts back to the main area (been there dude, you got it better...seriously)

...all of a sudden he was in front of me and I somehow became locked in the middle of the Target Road while I stood there thinking I must have not eaten all my Wheaties.

wondering and lifting the cart,
trying to push it on two wheels,
trying to push it sideways,
trying to push it backwards,
trying to push it while Lil Rambler looked at me with a look of concern that only a 3 year old could give,
sweating as I felt like I chose the time to shop with half the island and endured for 45 whole seconds their looks of how a normal human being couldn't push a shopping cart.

Until...I heard this.

"Maam...(shudder...I hate that word when directed at me)...It's locked...hold on...I have to Deactivate it..."

FOR.THE.LOVE.

Really?

***********

And that folks is all she wrote...for now!

It's OFFICIAL...the earth has shifted and I have become MY mother

That's right folks.

You heard it here first. I am MY mother.

Dear Planet Earth help us. (I kid Mom.)

I've suspected for about a year that I was slowly transforming into someone else. Someone that many doors become slammed on, fingers pointed at for reasons of frustrated tears, eye rolling over mundane things said by me. How could I evoke eye rolling because of the awesomeness of the words that come out of my mouth??? HOW?

And then it hit me.

While on a little excursion with my mother, my many jabs at how she was turning into her mother triggered some little reality inside my noggin that said...."Ding, dong...guess who YOU are?"

I argued with Reality for a bit.

I.Am.Not.

Eekk....that's just what my mother said about her not being her mother.

Eekkk again.

I started going through some mental list of possible offenses.

1. When we are driving I talk to my mother like her license should be taken away.

Just like she does about Grandma Rambler...(well in my mothers defense...G.Rambler is effing scary to drive with..but back to my point)

2. My level of patience?

Is ALL her. With a little bit of my laid back father poking through. But he never had a chance against her. Anxiety and paranoia always kick calm cool & collected to the side on occasion. She has absolutely NO patience with my grandmother. Zilch. It's thin already when she knows they will be in each others presence.

3. I started carrying a purse....the mommy purse....loaded with work things, me things, receipts of stores from 2 weeks ago, Lil Rambler stuff....

Envision my eyes rolling at my mother while she digs for something for someone to give them anything they might need.

Just like she does with her mother.

4. I started napping when I had a moment to read a magazine on the couch.

5. The kitchen became a place to be excited about rather than afraid.

6-1000.Doing laundry, picking up toys, going grocery shopping, planning doctor and dentist visits, teaching a little one to pick up after themselves, being a hairstylist.

All of this....is/was everything my mother does/did.

And now, it's my turn.

So, I told my mother in mock desperation with how I had been pushed off the edge by my old self into the depths of this new person who so closely resembled her. (Do you hear the drama here people?)

She listened patiently (as all mothers do, to ranting lunatic 30 something daughters), and let me hem and haw. I ended my speech of pain and torture and told her this was way too soon. She told me to accept it...as she enjoyed this new version of a mini-her.

So all I could do to 'fight' back with was....

if I was her....then she was her mother.

(Insert evil laughter)

But seriously folks, everyday I feel myself changing, moving forward in this journey of my life, becoming a better version of the person I was yesterday. And if it means I am similar to the woman who birthed me. Life will be good.

(Just don't tell my mother I said I enjoy being like her....because I will deny deny deny.)

Mermaid out of water.

Spending the day with my daughter at one of the most beautiful places to be 'beached' at.

Lanikai Beach.

If you haven't seen what my genius has been up to please visit here. I promise you'll thank me. At least, I think you will.