Bullshit Rantings

Radiation therapy that is. This is me letting loose with pent-up frustration, for my own benefit. In other words this is the warning that if you don’t want to read negative, neurotic ranting, this is where you should X out in the upper right hand corner!

We went to the oncologist, and then Paul saw the radiation oncologist today. Unfortunately, even with a clean bone scan and abdominal MRI that showed no signs of cancer; due to the high spikes in his PSA, it is being strongly recommended that he start radiation therapy immediately. Long story short, a spike in PSA readings out of no where is a strong indication that the cancer cells are somewhere in his body. Both (new) doctors feel that most likely it is in the area where the prostate sat prior to removal. And the sense of urgency is to nail them NOW, there; before they have a chance to spread.

After all that my husband’s body has been through with this cancer; I’m angry! Pissed off and frustrated. I understand there are those who are far less fortunate than he is, as far as cancer goes. It doesn’t stop the frustration, fear and total sense of childish “this isn’t fair” mentality that is gripping my emotions. And yes I know life isn’t fair. So please pleaseplease no comments of philosophical wisdom. This is my diary to rant, rave and stomp my feet like a spoiled child! It is also how I get things out of me, so that what needs to be done, can be done, minus all the emotional bullsh*t! If I could take this on myself, and have it spare him, I would. Besides, I make a far better martyr than he does. (Bad attempt at a morbid joke)

So this is middle-age. One medical problem after another. I’m sorry, I don’t know how many times I’ve heard that middle-age are our best years. So far I’m not finding this party to be all “they” said it would be! And who the Hell is “they?” I’d truly like to kick the sh*t out of them at the moment!

I know I’ll get myself together, break out the spinach and the rest of the immune system booster foods, and do what I can for his discomfort. But right now, I just feel like curling up and hiding from the world. And reality. Oh, and cry like a baby for a few hours.

I know that we are blessed in many ways. I just don’t feel like counting them. Maybe tomorrow.

Where you want to shoot your X-husband, execution style, point-blank, in the head? No? Just me? Oh well, I have no problem admitting it. (If you do, keep it to yourself. Seriously.)

What is it about the Holiday Season that makes every thing and every emotion about extremes? There’s no in-betweens. Just extremes. Am I alone in this? Again, if I am, keep it to yourself.

I usually pride myself on rising above the petty issues, for my kids. We celebrate a few Holidays and the kids’ Birthdays together. My X, his mother, my husband and me. Now add my grown son and his once-again-fiance, and Riley and Tayler. The two precious reasons we all work to rise above the past.

Last night, my precious baby Riley, age 12, who now stands 5’9” and has to shave a mustache off every couple of months; graduated from the 6th grade DARE class. For those not familiar, it is a “course” usually taught by the local police department on drugs and their many devastating effects on the lives of those who choose to partake of them.

Graduation night is considered big. With parents attending and certificates handed out, as well as a DARE t-shirt that the kids wear with pride. A program where there has been some controversy on its effectiveness and value, since tax dollars go to pay for it. (Again, if you have a problem with this program, keep it to yourself. Or write about it on your own blog)

For my baby, it was extra special. A definite “must attend.” Riley to date, has not had many opportunities to shine. As he doesn’t or hasn’t expressed an interest in just about anything extra-curricular. So as this is one of those rare occasions where he is the center of attention with his family, all of us recognized the importance of being there for him.

Unfortunately, my husband had a prior work commitment he could not get out of; as much as he would have liked to. So there we were, all gathered in the audience. My X, Riley’s sister Tayler, their grandmother (the X’s Mom) and me. I brought my camera to take as many photos of Riley as I could.  For the memories and for the fact that I knew it would make Riley feel good to know he was the center of attention for the evening.

My camera is a Sony SLR, and fairly new. I’m not comfortable (that’s putting it mildly) with manual settings, and do not mess with the many and varied menus as of yet. Mainly since I haven’t figured out which work best, for which type of photo, and I don’t know how to reset them.

As Tayler was between myself and the X, and the X was dying to play know-it-all with MY camera, he kept grabbing at it. To the point where Tayler got up and moved, leaving no buffer between the X and my camera and me.

Having spent 16 years with this man, I’m well aware of his penchant for grandstanding and desire to be the imparter of all knowledge. One tiny problem with this is 7 out of 10 times he doesn’t know jackshit, and tries to bullshit his way as he goes. Usually screwing things up.

As was the case last night with my camera. The camera that I still stand in awe of. The camera that holds so much more mystery for me, as I slowly go about learning its many functions. Lets put it this way, if my house caught on fire, once the kids, hubby and cat were out safely, the item I’d grab would be this camera!

Now you don’t spend 16 years with someone without learning at least a little about that person. Although in the X’s case, I’d say he came close to learning as little as is possible about his wife as any husband could. But he knew enough to know, this was/IS my prized possession.

As he went about trying to impart some of his all-knowing knowledge on his stupid X-wife, and I went about trying to be polite, even though his antics were making me nervous and also taking the focus off of what we were there for, Riley; the inevitable happened. He managed to f*ck up the settings; which ended anymore photos of Riley with my camera.

Call me crazy and paranoid, but I can’t help but feel this was a passive-aggressive move on his part. Of course as my blood pressure rose, he kept wanting to try and “fix things.” Finally, meekly suggesting that if I gave him my camera manual, he’d read it until he figured out how to fix it. Let’s just say at this point, all I could picture was shooting this dumbf*ck in the head.

BUT, we were there for Riley. A point the X didn’t seem to get at all. This is a man who likes to pride himself on being such a wonderful Dad. (ie; he can write out bigger checks to his kids than I can) Yes, that may just be the opinion of a disgruntled X-wife; as I know his kids all love him dearly. And no, I haven’t figured out WHY I procreated with this doofus. But I did, it’s a done deal, and now we all live with that fact. Surely I could have found a more suitable sperm donor...although I cannot imagine having any other kids than the ones God graced me with.

There was one moment when Riley was standing up there and we made eye-contact as I snapped a photo. His face lit up! Riley is one that for some reason, he doesn’t like to show emotion. So seeing him try to conceal his delight and failing miserably, managed to warm my heart and make me want to cry all at once.

I think even though his own Dad did his best to upstage him, we accomplished having Riley feel as special as he is. And my husband and I continued to do so, until he was in bed and asleep for the night. The hubby went and picked out a new game for Riley to play on his X-box. And although he couldn’t be there, congratulated him, hugged him, and then shook his hand for the first time ever. And although this to warmed my heart, by the time the kids were alseep; the evening’s events caught up with me.

No man was spared from my extreme emotions last night. And the hubby received a full account of the evenings awkwardness and my tears as I proceeded to have a complete and full meltdown.

As spouse’s are wont to do when emotions are running high; miscommunications commenced.  I couldn’t explain my extreme reactions, and he kept taking it as a personal attack, since he wasn’t able to make it to Riley’s graduation. Eventually it became a personal attack as I realized just how much I had come to rely on him as my “cover” and “buffer” as far as dealing with the X was concerned.

Of course the irony of this situation has not escaped me. Life is full of ironies when you’re looking for them. I realize that my husband is the rock the puts stability to the awkward gatherings of X’s. The X’s mother likes Paul, I’m sure far more than she likes her son’s X-wife. (And as a mother, I can completely understand that. Moreso taking into account some of the things I pulled while married to her son)

Everyone handles the situation, and behaves appropriately when my husband is there. The X would have never played “grab-ass” with my camera if the hubby was there. And I do believe all the negative feelings I have towards being married to the X would not have flooded me so completely, had my present and future (my husband) been there.  It was like a flashback to a nightmare that took me years to extricate myself from. And by nightmare, I mean the lonliness being married to the X had represented. The lack of any real sense of intimacy or being heard. The X spent 16 years being a one-man show in a game of “look at me, arn’t I the saint.” I didn’t even have a walk-on part in that marriage. I was a prop, plain and simple.

Maybe I’ll never figure out completely why there is always the proverbial meltdown during the Holiday season. Is it the constant desire to provide the Norman Rockwell Holiday for myself and my family? Is it the many Holidays that were always tinged with a sense of sadness and deceit? Who knows. I could psycho-babble analyze it until Hell froze over, and I don’t think I would ever completely understand it.

My only hope at this point, this Holiday season, is that the hubby does not have to work an evening when we yet again must gather to support, encourage and clap for one of my children’s special moments.

sidenote: I would never physically harm or try to harm anyone or anything. This is my diary, where I can vomit up my thoughts and feelings. I am disgusted with violence in all its forms. But this doesn’t stop me from releasing my own emotions and frustrations in the form of the written word.

Man was not meant to live in 110-plus degree weather! Add high humidity, and you have a recipe for grouchy, irritable everyone! It’s time for Mother Nature to shit or get off the pot! In other words, bring on the storms! They’re entertaining anyway. The kids are bored and they have been home exactly two days. That didn’t take long.

We have a case of cabin fever. And probably a bit of a letdown for Riley and Tay, since they just got back from a two-week, busy vacation in Washington. Well the countdown begins. Two weeks and we’re headed for the San Diego beaches for relief.

Until then, the monsoons would be a nice diversion. And maybe bring the heat down to a more bearable 102?

Tomorrow I’ll drag the rugrats to the Mall with me, and start a little school clothes shopping. Yes, more shorts and t-shirts. I’m whining, I know. This is the time of year when it even gets to me. I love Arizona’s mild winters, and warm sun. But right before monsoons, when the humidity is up, even I start to wonder if we’ve moved into Hell.

Love,

3T

Could you pick it up for me please? I think I might need at least one nerve for the next PMS/ everyone’s out to destroy Teri” weeks. I mean I am so depleted of emotion, energy or even the will to fight back. Fighting back meaning just trying to put order from chaos, and feel some sense of control over my world.

Nononono...we can’t have that. When did I allow so many different people to stomp all over and muddy up my world? My head is still spinning from yesterday. A day planned and constructed I’m sure at the very center of the pit of Hell. If EVER I wanted a cigarette, or 20, it was yesterday!

And never, ever, ever is it strangers that have that kind of power over us. Nononono, it is those we profess to love, or those we might have thought we loved at one time or another, or then again maybe a tad karmic retribution. Who the Hell knows. I know I don’t. 

What I do know damn it; is do not try and take over my home with your chaos, do not call me on the phone to play games that have nothing to do with me. You need props for your fucking marriage, find a new one! I will not be the dupe in the middle, having my emotions and heart ripped apart because your playing “who’s in control of this marriage. Or is it, I’ll get you bitch, for some past perceived hurt, that I’m sure I committed;(but come ON how long are you going
to hold a grudge from when I was three) but isn’t that called revenge? And didn’t YOUR God state, “Revenge is mine, sayeth the Lord?” Or was that only in my Bible?? Eh. either/or doesn’t really matter at this point. Suffice it to say, my already loathing of the telephone has grown leaps and bounds as of yesterday.

And as for the chaotic control I’ve allowed you X-man, those days are done! I have done anything possible to keep the peace, for the sake of the children, to the point that would raise most anyone’s eyebrows. You can no longer change plans half hour before you’re supposed to pick them up or drop them off. I have bent as far back as my herniated back will allow for; IT WILL NOT SNAP. Instead, YOU WILL.

I have allowed you visitation during MY WEEK with the kids because well, in your own words, I LOVE MY KIDS! I’m wondering where that self-sacrificing love was when you wanted to skip out on Tayler’s violin concert last night, so you could go coach a basket-ball team. Never mind it is your week with the kids, I took them overnight your week, because I didn’t want your fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants decisions to affect their sleep; when you drag them out of bed at 4:00 AM to just drop them back at my house so you could go-to-work the early shift. A shift you volunteered for, so you could coach basketball earlier. WAIT, what you said to me on the phone 15 minutes before you were supposed to BE HERE was for her violin concert. Tell me my petite X-man, was that a lie, or just a convenient oversight on your part? And then half hour before you pick them up the next day, you call to say, you’ll pick them up AFTER the concert. ALL of this could have been avoided. It’s called planning ahead, you know that thing I have always done for you.

Changes in scheduling, I give you literally months and months advance notice. WHY? Because WE PLAN OUR LIVES. We do not fly by the seat of our pants inconveniencing absolutely EVERYONE around us, and then giggle about it, like it’s cute! That may have flown when you were 18-19, but your 50 now little man. It’s time to grow the Hell up!

You spent 16 years of marriage obsessed with basketball. Our home literally turned upside-down at all times if you could get our son on a team to play out your fantasies of stardom. You infected our/MY first born with that obsession so much so, that he still has his eyes on playing basketball, and not what is important, his college education. Your daughter plays because she is intuitive and very aware of your obsession. And every little girl wants the adoration of Daddy. Even such a childish, moronic one as yourself. By the way, she’ll never be NBA either, dipshit.

This is my way of saying someone pass me a pill of Fuckitoll, cuz my world, home, plans and emotions are being reclaimed. IF, (and you know who you are) you think you will fuck with my plans, life, emotions, or anything else that is under my supervision, I suggest you think twice and pull back. This WILL BE your ONLY and LAST warning. My home is now my fortress. Fuck with it, and there will be consequences. Not a threat, no more warnings, just actions, that I guarantee will affect YOUR world.

With All my love,

3T

PS. Damn that felt good! 

I slept well last night. Went to bed early, and got up early. Took a nap this afternoon; I’m assuming this was my mistake. I cannot wake up, I’m sleepy and dragging. I want to go back to bed. And the busiest part of the day is just getting started.

Five hours and I’m going to bed! This had better let up tomorrow.

Hope y’all are having an OK Monday! 

Love,

3T

Kevin & Smokey with Kevin’s new toy/BBQ Grill

Riddle Me This :

What do you get, when you add the following?

February Curse + Mercury in Retrograde + Mean case of PMS = ???


The answer is this post :

Tuesday Morning ranting/typing
It was not even 11:00 AM, and I was stressed, disgusted, and worn out. The day started quickly, since the X was dropping Riley off, so I could take him to see the therapist he is seeing in regards to his ADD. Of course the hubby scheduled a drop-off for his new Bar-b-quer at the same time I needed to take Riley to his appointment.

The phone started ringing at 7:10 AM with the delivery guys calling to say they were on their way. After a little sweet talking and hinting that if they did it my way, there would be a tip involved, I convinced them to come after 9:15 AM, when I should be back from dropping Riley off at school. I did get the X to stick around the house, just in case they made it there before I made it home.

When I stepped on the front patio, there were several work trucks from the city of Mesa, digging something up on our little cul-de-sac, that had just about every driveway blocked off, including any area for backing out of your driveway.  Fortunately, mine had not been blocked off yet. Although now the X was parked behind me, and needed to try and maneuver out of the driveway for Riley and I to head to his appointment.

By the time we walked back in the front door, both phones were ringing, and since the area code was Tucson I didn’t bother to pick them up. I needed to give Riley some medicine for his cold, and write out a check for school lunches, since he let me know 30 seconds earlier he was out of lunch tickets.

I got both the X and Riley out of the door, for the cell to ring again, (same Tucson number) this time I picked it up. It was the delivery guys who were two minutes away, and wanted to make sure I was home.

Kevin had gone to purchase a new BBQer alone while I was busy this week. So I had no idea he had picked up one the size of a cadillac, and I now needed to find a spot for them to drop it, all neatly wrapped in cellophane plastic. Where it fit was a rocked area, so if we are to keep this in decent shape, now it really needs to be poured with concrete as well. I tipped the guys $12 and told them they didn’t need to “unwrap it,” that I’d let the husband play with his new toy when he got home from work. And since we here in the desert also received some of that wet stuff you Pacific Northwester’s call rain, the plastic would protect it from rusting before the hubby even has a chance to use it. He did pick up one that is all stainless steel though. Frankly, I don’t see the need for a cadillac of BBQer’s for a family of four, who at most may BBQ once a week. But then my veins are not coursing with testosterone that most likely inhibits my ability to understand the important purchases in life. Like a BBQer the size of a cadillac, for a family of four who at most BBQues once a week.

Now that everyone was gone, I could relax and load the dishwasher. I opened it up to stick a few cups in it, knowing it was full from when I loaded it last night, re-rinsing all the dishes stuck in there by others who didn’t bother to rinse food particles from said dishes. Yes, this is a pet peeve! Dishwashers are for STERILIZATION. They are not housewives, who with a dishcloth rinses off the food particles. This must be done by hand. I realize there are some cadillac of dishwashers that claim to take care of food particles. Ours is not one of those. The hubby was helpful last night by pouring soap into its container, to the point of overflowing and running down the side of the dishwasher. (I’m definitely digressing here and need help with far too many verbose banalities. Tough shit.)

Anyway, where was I? Right, loading the cups to turn it on and run it. But, to my amazement, the dishwasher was empty. Assuming the hubby ran it last night when we went to bed, brought a warm smile to my heart. That is until I saw the container still closed, and overflowing with dishwasher soap. Did it not open when he ran it? (Which makes sense since this IS February; I would expect another broken appliance) I did glance into the cup cabinet to see the loaded cups, some with dripping dried coffee on the sides.  At this point, all I can deduce is the dishes WERE put away, WITHOUT running the dishwasher. Dirty dishes, mixed in helter skelter with the clean. The magnitude of what now lay ahead, slowly sinking in.

Yes, to a degree, admittedly, I am a germ freak. The thought of dirty silverware and dishes being used can bring vomit to the top of my throat. Which means I now need to reload a dishwasher, and run it, at least twice to insure no one ends up using germ and bacteria laden utensils and dishes. This was not on the agenda…

Eight days and counting.....

And this horrid month will be gone. I apologize if I worried any readers with my lack of a post, but going through February is an all-consuming activity. Usually if there are no traumas, like say, cancer, or operations, or pain, or death, there is usually an onslaught of minor but many bad luck occurences and/or broken appliances to deal with. This February, has been one of those.

I have a man digging up my cool decking in the back yard next to the pool. WHY, you may ask? Due to a main waterline that broke, that feeds the pool. This was discovered after a month, with a note and a $500.00bill for water usage. The note, of course, said we were using a gallon per minute, which is three times the amount we usually use.

We have been busy watching TV in our bedroom, since our equivalent of Tivo(known as the Cox DVR) just quit working, for no reason, and, of course, we had to wait until this morning to get a technician out to “fix it.”

Last night was a fun-filled evening of trying to rid our computer system of a Trojan that had been attached to our computer.  I have no idea who this was compliments of, but gee-golly, Thanks! (ad sarcasm) We were looking for an extra way to spend $30.00 for the MacAfee technician from India to scan the system and remove the trojan. As it was a fairly benign trojan as far as trojans go, I guess I should consider us lucky, huh?

This morning, while having my first cup of coffee, I clicked over to my flickr site, as I’m wont to do, when looking to download some photos. To discover that it had been hacked, or bugged, or there was a glitch, whatever-the-fuck you want to call it. In the place of my G-rated family-photos was a photo of a naked woman, one of a scary castle, and many, many, many other weird photos in the place of my family ones. Of course, there can be many explanations for this, and as soon as you think of one, let me know.

I’m well aware that there are a few of my friends who have my password, and if this was any of their idea of a prank, during this month, I’d have to say I don’t find it the least bit funny. (Although I don’t believe any of them would pull stunts like this)

A good portion of my February-Curse is nothing more than an over-emotional superstition. Granted, backed up by consistent and several occurrences during the month of February. But the driving factor is and always has been my emotional problems with more than a couple of these traumatic events.

Things like the wonderful gift my first husband gave me on Valentines Day. Oh, I didn’t mention it? Two black eyes and bruises from head to toes. Or worrying myself sick as my mother went under the knife to have a double mastectomy for her breast cancer. Or when we got the news that Paul had prostate cancer. How bout that lovely February when I writhed in pain with a bulged disc while my doctor tried to decide whether there was anything seriously wrong with me. Or the Valentines Day when husband number two was hit head on by a drunk driver while he went in search of last-minute flowers to give to me at work. There were no flowers, but Valentines Day that year was a bit expensive. Especially since the drunk-driver didn’t see the necessity of carrying auto insurance.

I KNOW this February curse in nothing but irrational over-emotional superstition. Does it make it any easier to deal with knowing this? I’m afraid not. If it’s going to break, it will be in February. Unfortunately that includes the humans in and around my life as well.

The flickr account fiasco cost me about a dozen photos that I felt compelled to remove, due to the rating and oddness of the ones that were put into my site. Last night’s Trojan? Just cost us $30.00 and and an evening of trying to remove it ourselves, before getting hold of said technician.

In closing, I apologize to those who may feel slighted by my lack of posts or communication. But even if we try and put a light humor to my battle with the February curse, for me it exists, all too real and full of emotional nuance.

I have done my best to take each day of this month as it comes. Regarding broken appliances and such as just part of life. Thanking God, none of my loved ones are sick right now.

And to the author/authors of the computer Trojan and the “Flickr-prank”: I hope it gave you all the fun-filled laughter and enjoyment I’m sure you were looking for. Who would have thunk that a Trojan and a cheap hack job to my photo album could occur within 24 hours of each other. Actually 12 hours. It’s almost enough to make a skeptic superstitious.