Saturday Dookerific Ramblings

Some days it amazes me how great I feel, but most days are like today. Nothing to work towards. No direction. No momentum. No give a shit.

I don't like being bitter. I don't like the cynicism. I don't like who I am or how I feel about it all.

But nonetheless I'm pretty much stuck with me.

I've tried not to keep it all so bottled up or hold it in or fuel the fire of a grudge, but I can't let any of it go as of late.

I love Jef being home, but some days I wonder if he still sees the girl he married.

I enjoy the freedom to gain an education, but I wonder if all my hard work, sleepless nights, and effort will amount to any kind of decent pay check or feeling of self worth.

I love my friends, but I wonder how easy it is for them to "take their ball and go home" in my life- so to speak.

I love the fact that I have decent people reading skills, but I dread the paranoia that brings my way when I'm feeling low.

I love my blog, but I wonder some days if anyone out there loves what I do here.

Don't worry, loyal readers (if there are any). You can't shut me up. I'll be here babbling on and on until someone pulls the plug.

--The Milk Maid listens to the sound of silence.

anyone for Mac memory ?

Q&A, One-Liners, And More

Since no one will allow me to roll around and whine for too long, here is the REAL post for the day:

Let's start with a question or two:

Q. Why does Metamuc*l taste like horse food pellets?
A. ?? Anyone, anyone?

Q2. How do you know what horse food tastes like?
A. It was a DARE!
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A Note from Milk Maid:

I hate Valentine's day. It sucks. Even if you are married or partnered or otherwise in lovie-dovie doodoo with someone, it's crappy. I'm sure it stems back from many moons of being an outcast child who had to be the smelly kid's girlfriend for the day JUST SO I could get a card. Sigh.
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If I had to write a news letter for Phlebotomists, it would be called "Blood Culture". Of course it would be published in red ink.
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I miss Weebles Wobble. I understand why you teeter-tottered into the sunset for a while, but just know that when you/if you open up version 2.0 I wanna be there for the tape-cutting and the grand unveil. (Signed) Waiting patiently, Your adoring fan, A.
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We are off on a weekend trip to Tennessee (did I get all the S's and E's in there?) on Saturday morning. Don't worry- I'll take plenty of photos and make you sick with delight. It'll be like having a big honkin' steak dinner THEN eating a whole chocolate cake. With sprinkles. And chocolate sauce.
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My mother is obsessed with whether I am wearing socks or not. It's 22 degress today, and if I wanna wear clogs without socks, then dammit- it's MY feet woman.

--The Milk Maid says it would be a lot more fun to be down and out in Beverly Hills.

Glutton for more than punishment apparantly...

Did everyone know I that I am (per the BMI scale) OBESE, Class 1.

Not overweight. Obese.

I'm going to eat a cow to celebrate.

I Was Totally Gonna Say Something Else---

---But then one of Jef's co-workers (who is not my fave person because she... SHE... shares an office with him, all day... SHE- get that part?) decides to help herself to his food. After he'd already made a huge-ass deal earlier in the week about random guy #1 eating random guy #2's food off his plate and how that was his pet peeve.

She took an effin chomp out of his FOOD people. With her mouth.

Jef promptly tossed the food in her garbage can to make his point. Thus leaving him with NO lunch.
Once Jef told me this story, I was like this :

It's bad enough this girl is uber-thin and decently attractive and in the office with MY husband all day long (did I mention that?) and tries to be all friendly and pleasant and nice... Doggone it I have tried- really tried- to be nice to her and not choke her fucking brains out of her skull because I am a hugely possessive, super jealous bitch get all bent out of shape about the whole situation. But this was the last straw.

Luckily, Jef works an hour and a half away and I don't have the spare time on my hands to drive all the way to where he works, beat the shit out of this girl, hide the body, and get back home and take a shower before it's time to play Holly Homemaker again.

--The Milk Maid is slightly curdled today.

Daily Footwear

I awoke to yet another sticky-headed barf-baby this morning. Nothing says Good Morning like stomach bile and crackers, yo!

After taking Faith to school I called the pediatrician's office and spoke to the nurse on call. Apparently, a week long cold followed by 5 days of the shits and then 36 hours of vomit do not constitute an emergency. Or an office visit. Nor would they even recommend anything besides "clear liquids and Pedi*Lite". The nurse was like, "Well stuff is going around. If it gets worse then we might can see her, but it's probably just a little bug and you shouldn't worry."

Did she just give me snark?....

Now I know that mother's tend to get all feisty and worked up over small things when their children are "sick". You know the mom's that as soon as Junior sneezes they rush him to the ER and have a billions tests run, never mind the fact that he's been playing in black pepper for cripes sakes. Yeah, those mom's are my Nemesis. My Achilles heel. They are the moms that cause people with real problems to get the old ho-hum answer of give it a few more days.

...Needless to say, I dusted off my Bitch Shoes and walked all over nurse so-and-so's smart ass with them. I still didn't get an appointment (probably because I hung up on her), but I sure felt a hell of a lot better about the whole deal. I will give the puke-a-thon a few more hours (so far, so good since breakfast) and take her to another doctor or the Quick Care if need be.

And while I'm wearing my favorite footwear...

Do any of you read the Because I Said So blog? You know, the e-bay mom with 6 kids who is now an overnight sensation because of a pack of Pokemon cards and a funny story that sold said pack of cards for some insane amount like $200. She has a book deal now. Which is great and all but (if you like her please stop reading now)...

She really isn't that funny.

There, I said it. Now keep in mind that I do read her every few days and I understand that she is keeping all her "good" material for the books she is writing. And I know I should not be the one throwing stones since half the stuff I write either is a) not all that funny or b) about sex. But I just keep thinking to myself, "Self- see what that semi-funny woman did. You can do that too, Self. Plus you have Bitch Shoes, snark, and you are in a gang!"

If someone finds a Muse out there, I seem to be missing one.

--The Milk Maid says mecka-lecka-hi-mecka-hiney-ho!

(PS- home gym equipment)

Friday Extra Addition- The Deep Stuff

I just returned from about 3 hours of pure HELL! at my parent's house.

Let me give a brief synopsis of my visit:

I get yelled at for not receiving a rebate check in the mail and for paying my bills online.

I have no control over Large Phone Company, father. And I will pay my bills any damn way I choose, thank you. I pay my bills, all of them on time, so take a flying leap. Do not make me write you another letter, daddy dear.

My mother asked me, for the remaining 2 and a half hours, "What is wrooong with yoooou?". Apparently, she does not remember what it is like to have ovaries and hormones and PMS or a period in her post-menopausal little world! So, after 150 minutes of the Same!Freakin!Question! every 5 minutes I blew my top, told her everything in the world was wrong and that I was running away and never coming back. Very 7th grade, I know, but very effective on my mother.

Ya know, the moment I walk into their house I feel the need to cram junk food down my gullet and my whole mood changes to something similar to what Ed Gein must have felt at home. So when I leave, just short of making people into human suits, and I get that first breath of fresh air walking across the yard, I wonder what the hell is so wrong inside that house?

Is it just 40+ years of The Parental Units strife and anger all built up and permeating the home? Is it me? Am I electro-sensitive and there some sort of faulty wiring that I need an EMF detector to find and a great electrician to fix? Are there hidden lay-lines under the house? Indian burial grounds? Haints, spooks, spirits? America's version of Stone Hinge (I've had a lot of time to think, ok)!

And the kicker is (:::laughter, bordering on hysterical snorting:::) I built a HOUSE next to these crazies! On purpose!

I really have been thinking about therapy a lot as of late. I really don't think I am the only person who needs it (ahem, Parental Units), but I am certainly the only one who would benefit from it. I also think that a therapist would have a !FieLd DaY! with me. I'm like Shrek- an onion with lots and lots of layers.

For the fun of it all: skin care products!

--The Milk Maid says normal-schmormal

Monday, Monday

My aunt saved my life today. Ok, not really my life- but what a catchy first sentence huh? She actually just fed me really well (deviled egg sandwich) and baked a chocolate pie just for ME... and happened to have some kickass antibiotics that she wasn't using. I don't normally borrow meds from people, but the crap my doc called in (all 3 days worth) was as useful as a bicycling fish. I have been in constant pain and bladder-spasm all weekend. I took one borrowed pill this morning, and I am almost symptom free. Hurrah!

Now that we're all current on the strategic maneuvers of my plumbing, let's talk about skinny people who have liposuction. I was watching Dr. 90210 and this SIZE ZERO beeyotch was having lipo. Because she was "SoooOOOoo fat". I wanted to write her a letter and inform her that a manners class would have been a better investment, long with a grammar lesson. Then I wanted to smack the crap out of beeyotch and yell, "Eat some solid food you whore!".

But I digress!

--The Milk Maid is not lactivist intolerant

Letters From The Editor

Dearest Father,

I know that I keep a messy house on the best of days. In case you have forgotten, I have a husband, a 9 year old daughter, a 10 month old daughter, and a cat. Sometimes the clutter goes unnoticed and the fallout of a day's adventures goes without being picked up. You do not need to barge in, unannounced, and voice this to me when I am already having one hell of a day.

Let me remind you that you do not live here, nor do you pay the mortgage or any other bills at this residence. May I also remind you that since I am your only child I will be the only say-so in choosing what nursing home you will live out the rest of your days in. Furthermore, and this should go without saying, you do occasionally use my home as a hideout from my mother. I will tell her were you are. I will tell her you come here to hide from her, drink alcohol whilst on my premises, and that you say "dammit" when she calls you on your cell phone to make you come home.

With all this said, I do love you dearly father. You have been a marvelous person and caregiver 98% of the time that I have known you. You've never failed to give me your all and bend over backwards for me. Ask anyone, they know I am truly a "daddy's girl"!

But your "my way or the highway" attitude sucks. And you seem to piss me off on a more and more frequent basis these days. I no longer live under your roof. I am bigger than you, stronger than you, younger than you, and I am trained in martial arts. I am an independent woman. I'm in a GANG for cripes sakes. Do not make me shank you.

Please heed this warning to be on your best behavior when on my property. Jef is looking for an excuse to move us to the Yukon Territory or a deserted island or some other location that even the best, most sensitive navigation system will never find if you continue to cause me strive. When I'm pissed at you, he must face my wrath. Snarky does not cut it with Jef. If he blows his top you will be labeled by news media everywhere as collateral damage.

This letter constitutes as your fair warning.

With love,

Your Daughter

Catching Up-

If you love overpaying for food, being shoved around, no air conditioning, and a bunch of rude-ass people stepping on you, your 9 year old, and your baby... then the GA Aquarium is for you.

I will never go back. There is not enough money or anti-social meds in this world. That is the suckiest suck-hole on the face of the planet. Don't waste your dollars!

Ava liked the fish when she wasn't being trampled. Faith had fun when she wasn't getting pushed out of the way by adults. I didn't have to kill anyone. Dad always has fun.

May I add that perhaps my day didn't start so well... We refinanced the house today (hello wiggle room!) and the loan officer called this morning saying that instead of the $46 we needed to bring to closing, we now needed $1744.28. That was freakout #1. And, of course, no trip would be complete without the start of our pal- Aunt Flo. In my rush to ensure Faith's camera was packed, Ava had diapers and wipes, and everything else was taken care of I forgot to pack any tampons- hence freakout #2. Luckily, I used a super-ultra-maximum-extra-cottonie "tampoon" (Jef's word) this morning in anticipation of my friend's arrival. I had a quarter in my wallet and used that to buy an additional tampon from the feminine hygiene vending machine. Or, well I thought I was buying a tampon. A life raft sized pad tumbled out instead. Whatever works I suppose.

After our adventure at the aquarium we decided to go to the World of Coke Museum. Which by "we" I mean dad. It has air conditioning- lots of it! Plus, all the free soda you could drink awaited us at the end of our tour. They have tons of different Coke products from around the world. If you ever have the opportunity to try Beverly soda from Italy, don't. It tasted like a cross between walnut shells soaked in urine and black pepper. I did like the sour lemon soda from England. Faith's favorite was "the Coke from South America". I told her I'd heard that was some pretty good stuff, but I'd never tried it- it wasn't my thing. Puzzled, she pointed to the machine, rather helpfully and in almost a Vanna White fashion. I was glad she didn't get my alternate meaning.

--The Milk Maid says where be the fishin' poles?