Yes, Dear

My husband has asked me no less than ten times when I'm going to post something, so I figure I should do that before I have to throw him in the wood chipper.

Here's what's going on:

I am in the Dallas airport waiting for my connecting flight to San Francisco. I am in sweats, flip flops and a shirt that's sign language for, "WTF". I forgot the charger for my laptop and some pushy woman tried to sell me one at a kiosk for $140 before I laughed and then realized that bitch was serious. I can't find a food place that sells Dr Pepper and I'M IN TEXAS, HOME OF DR PEPPER, YOU COMMIE PINKO BASTARDS.

Thank you for the compliments on the new design but it was all the work of the incredible Christy over at Ruby & Roja Design/ and she only charged me a gift certificate to Taco Bell and a ceramic frog. Don't ask. The point is, she is super-human and incredibly affordable.

Oh, and Jenn won the contest for the translation of Susan Johnson because she was dead on. There was actually a transcript on the news stations web site because, well, that shit was necessary. But the commentary and attempts kept me in tears for hours and I thank you all for participating.

Now, my battery is flashing at me and I have to go find someone with a Dr Pepper because, although this is my home state, I've been in Memphis long enough to go all POW! Susan Johnson on them because I ain't scurred.

I'll buy a charger in San Francisco. Right after I buy a bottle of Belvedere vodka.

Contest

This is too good to pass up. I'm giving away a prize to the first person who can decipher Witness #2's (the female) testimony in comments. I'm so proud to live here.

For men: A brand spankin' new Hard cover copy of the book, Sex: How To Do Everything By Em & Lo. It's a wonderfully detailed book and literally has everything in it. It's so good, in fact, that my husband begged to keep it. Sorry, babe. (I said, "spanking" and "hard". Heh)

For women: A Prize Pack with stuff from people who want us to look 28 when we're 50. How can you argue with that?

Ready, set, GO!

Guest Post

Danny Evans took a break from blogging so he and Hot Wife could fulfill a lifelong dream of going to a nudist colony, so I got to Guest Blog with some other incredible people. It's here.

Disclaimer: I'm totally full of shit about the nudist thing. Wink, wink.

This Is My Holiday Weekend

This is Harmony.

She is the quintessential toddler. Everything is the most fascinating thing she's ever seen, everything must be man-handled while inspecting it and she drinks four Red Bulls and 2 double mocha lattes before we get up every morning. Harmony has discovered Sponge Bob and while I'm not one to encourage my children to sit in front of the tv (at least not until they're teenagers and, then, DUDE. I DON'T CARE IF YOU WATCH A 24 HOUR MARATHON OF GIRLS GONE WILD, JUST QUIT BUGGING THE SHIT OUT OF ME), can I just say that if it were possible, I'd give Sponge Bob a Sponge Job. If you know what I mean.

This is Virginia.

There is a hole in our yard that has been there ever since we moved in. It's where the city, in their infinite wisdom, put in the water thing-a-ma-bob. I imagine that some guy with too much ass crack and a toothpick in his mouth said, "Meh. Whatever. Put it right there." Virginia ran full-tilt-boogie through the yard, landed in the hole and somehow catapulted herself across the sidewalk and into the street. I've never seen anything like it. It was like a Mary Lou Retton routine if Mary Lou was spastic and completely uncoordinated. If Virginia's knees hadn't looked like raw hamburger meat, I would have pissed my pants laughing. As it is, it broke my heart to see how hard she tried to be brave while the blood poured down her legs. Ice cream and Neosporin fixed it.

This is Cooper.

We are dog-sitting for my friend, Erica. Cooper has 3 expressions: confused, nervous and, "Holy shit-olee, where'd ya get that biscuit?" He could be the soundtrack for, "Chris Farley has Sex", but he has been an absolute angel for the 3 1/2 days we've had him. He was initially nervous around Virginia because she insisted he wear a tiara, but after a couple of hours, he was her constant shadow. When she went outside to take the trash out, he sat in the window and whimpered pathetically until she came back. And then he was like most dogs and attacked her with face licks like she'd been gone for weeks.

And while everyone was setting the neighborhood on fire in honor of our country's birthday, I scrapped my proposal and then devoured the five books I purchased on the subject. After the hysterics were over, I started again. And, can I just say, this shit is hard. Harder than writing the book because you have to justify to people why your book is so much better than everyone else's of the same general subject. I'm not that strong in the area of self-confidence, so if my book ever does get published, I will have to give a special thanks to Ben & Jerry's for making Imagine Whirled Peace because, seriously? Only thing I've eaten for the past THREE days. I'll be the lady at BlogHer being transported around on a flat bed trailer and bellowing whale song.

Wishing

Dear God,

I want these things, in no particular order:

1. I want to take a shower one time without the water running cold. I can get up at 4 a.m., when everyone is asleep with dried spit on their chin, and one of them will inevitably get up and flush the toilet while I'm leaning over, shaving my legs. Ice cold water in your ass crack will dispel any sleepiness, trust me on that.

2. I want people to move the right-hand lane. It's like they have a meeting every morning and make the decision to drive in front of me, blocking both lanes at ten miles under the speed limit. I have 3 kids, a day job and a part-time job. My life is measured in milliseconds and I cherish every one of them. If you continue to torment me, I will stop taking my meds, hunt you down and kill you and then plead temporary insanity and get away with it and do you know why? Because the Judge was late for my hearing due to some jackass driving slow in the left-hand lane. Jackass.

3. I want someone to explain to me why my 8-year-old daughter is channeling a fifteen-year-old asshole. We can't go more than half an hour in our house without having a meltdown of epic proportions.

"Virginia, come eat dinner." Meltdown.
"Virginia, you look nice." Meltdown.
"V, can you get me that book?" Meltdown.

I blame you, Oscar Meyer. Quit pumping all those hormones into your hot dogs (the only thing she will eat these days) because this child is one tear away from landing in boarding school with explicit instructions not to send her back until she's married. Furthermore, it will affect her breast development and, DUDE. NO HELP NECESSARY IN THAT ARENA.

4. Please make strangers stop asking me why I have a band aid on my thumb. I appreciate your need to fill silences with small talk, but, does it really matter what happened? I got hungry, a rabid opossum attacked me in my sleep, prostates have teeth, WHO CARES? Back off my boo-boo, stranger.

____________

As an aside, there are slutty women in my sidebar doing things like sucking seductively on lollipops and giggling. The one I'm captivated by right now swears that her interests are Mediterranean food and poetry. I call bullshit. Methinks her interests are more along the lines of sparkly things and bank accounts.

____________

"Virginia, I have to go to San Francisco. This is kind of a big deal."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Four days."

"Four? Four? Can't you just tell them no? I don't like it when you're gone."

"I don't like to be away from you, either." This is a blatant lie. I love my children immensely but I'm so excited at the idea of four days away that I could just shit.

"Why do you have to be there?"

"Because I'm speaking on what's called a panel. And, you never know. I could run into someone who knows someone who wants to publish my stuff and pay me three billion dollars. And then that pink pony will be mine."

She was not impressed. "Can't you just text message them?"

1-800-SUICIDE

I saw this on Postsecret the other day and couldn't post it to my blog from work (can't see the video at work or the link for some reason). Alanna reminded me (thanks, Alanna) and I'm posting it now.

Please go here and watch the video and help save 1-800-SUICIDE from government interference. I've personally called this line and without the understanding, compassion and non-judgmental love of the person who listened to me cry, I don't know what might have happened.

Miss you, B.

The Crazy Chronicles, Part 30: Three Steps Forward

"And the good news is I'm better for the time we spent together
and the bad news is you're gone" - Diamond Rio, "You're Gone"



I pushed Chris away with a ferocity that surprised even me. What had he done, really? He had been supportive, helpful, attentive and my kids loved him. There were small voices arguing inside me: too young, he'll leave, he's the one, give him a chance.

During all of this, my friend, B, counseled me against forging a relationship with Chris. "He's not right for you." I loved B and I valued and respected his opinion immensely, so I listened. Chris and I sporadically talked via messenger every now and then, but for the most part, we were finished. B was blissful. As a matter of fact, his joy made me suspicious.

"Why are you so happy that I'm so miserable?" I snapped one day.

"Because now I have you for myself," he cheerfully answered.

"B, not funny." I didn't have romantic notions toward B, not then, and it bothered me a great deal when he would say things like that. Then he would laugh and make me laugh and we were okay, again.

My days were busy. I worked and when I came home, I had a family to cook for. I spent as much time with Devon as possible, talking, laughing, sharing music or games, but I still felt something was missing. I would lay in bed at night, watching Virginia sleep (I only had a 2 bedroom, so she slept with me) and wonder what this nagging feeling was.

Chris would call from time to time just to see how we were doing. He was often depressed or sick. I tried to be sympathetic, but I was fighting my own battles with B.

"B, you're married. I'm not getting involved with a married man who lives in another state. I'm not that stupid," I said for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"So, you don't love me?" He was pouting.

"Of course I love you, you're my best friend. Just not like that."

"Bullshit. I'm perfect for you."

"You're drunk. Why aren't you going to your AA meetings?"

"Because those people bore me."

Other times B would call, despondent. After hours of talking to him, life called. If I tried to gently break from the conversation, he would threaten to kill himself. In a lot of ways, he held me captive.

One night, I had a conversation with God. I asked him to please help me find what it was that was missing from my life, to please guide me. That night, I dreamt of Chris. When I woke the next morning, I knew what I had to do. I had to tread carefully, though. I had hurt him and discarded him and I knew it would take time to gain his trust, again. I called him and invited him to a movie and we began the fragile process of starting over with each other. I knew in my heart that the decision I had made was the right one. B was furious.

"He's all wrong for you!" he ranted. "You're brilliant! You need someone who can keep up with you!"

"B, he's one of the most intelligent people I've ever known."

"What's the last book he read?"

"Your library and what's in it is not a measure of intelligence," I softly said. I knew he was hurt.

"You'll see. It won't work."

Every day he reminded me that I was making a mistake. Chris tried to ignore the insanely frequent phone calls and the effect they had on me, but it began to wear on him.

"Crystal, why does he call you so much?"

"He's lonely and he's my best friend. He just needs a lot of support right now."

"How can he be your best friend? You've never even met him."

"And? I've never understood that mentality. Have you and Jesus Christ hung out lately? Does that change the way you feel about him?"

The arguments escalated as the months went by. I felt like I was being torn apart. B wanted me away from Chris and Chris wanted me away from B. It was affecting everything around me.

My frustration boiled over one day while B was spitting venom at me, again. "He's from Arkansas, for Christ's sake. His evolution from ape was just a few years ago."

"B, shut up. I won't listen to you tear him down like that. He's the kindest, most generous man alive and he loves me. And I love him. You're drunk, again. I know you don't mean the shit you say."

"I am not drunk."

"So, you're going to lie to me? Is that how we are, now?" My anger was evident. "I'll tell you what. Don't call me again until you're sober and lucid. I'm sick of you making me feel bad and I'm tired of you lying to me."

"I should just kill myself."

"Stop it, B. Stop with that crap. You can't keep doing this to me." And with that, I hung up.

Hours later, I started to feel bad, so I called him back. He wouldn't answer. I tried for days, sending text messages and leaving one frantic voice message after another. "B, please, please answer. Call me back. I love you and you're scaring me."

A few days later, while I was at work, I sent another text message. I'm going to call your wife if you don't call me and let me know you're okay. My phone rang a few minutes later. I recognized the area code as B's, but not the number. I assumed he was just calling from another phone. "Hey!"

"Hello?" I didn't know this voice. A chill went up my spine. "Is this Crystal?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"My name is Alan. I'm B's brother-in-law. Um, listen. B killed himself a couple of days ago. I'm so sorry."

I fell to my knees and wailed. A thousand thoughts went through my head. He's lying, this is another one of his tricks. He's just setting me free. Oh, God, oh God, no. Not B. No.

I had never had someone close to me die. The grief and guilt swallowed me up and I surrendered to the overwhelming confusion and disbelief that followed me in. B was gone.

Progress

It's been an odd week. First, I received this email from Devon's father:

"Ok I havent had time to read your blog in the last two months and I just now caught up on the Crazy Chronicles,,,, Well I wish I could get on my pedestal and argue, scream and say you lied about me and painted me in a unkind picture but you didnt...you were honest,,,and thats the part that hurts the most, sometimes it is what it is,,,, and I was an asshole,,, but all things happen for a reason."

I spoke with him on the phone about Devon spending a week there this summer and he was gracious, humble and incredibly understanding about the Chronicles. I'm very proud of the effort he's making to change his life and I wish him nothing but happiness.

But I still want to run Vangie over with a forklift.

AND I Know Where Jimmy Hoffa's Body Is

The other night, we had dinner with some friends from church. My friend,Erica, and I were wandering around their house and going through their underwear drawers (as women are wont to do) (yes. Your underwear has been handled by every female who's ever innocently asked you to use your bathroom. Just accept it and move on) when Erica noticed that the younger daughter's goldfish was swimming upside down. "Look at this crazy fish!" she exclaimed.

"He's constipated," I said. She looked at me like I was insane. "Seriously."

We went back to the living room and I mentioned to the girl's mom that the fish was in trouble. "Really?" she asked. "Constipated?"

"Yeah. You just mush up some green beans - not the shell, just the bean part - and sprinkle a little in the water and, voila! Goldfish laxative."

She looked shocked. "Wow. We just thought he was weird."

Later on that evening, Chris was looking at me speculatively. "Why do you even know stuff like that?"

I knew exactly what he was referring to, so I went with my old standby. "Because my mom didn't breast feed me."

I would rather him think that than know that I was actually an honorary member of the American Goldfish Association. Nothing says, "you're a complete tool", more than that.