%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |  Breaking the laws of blogging, one entry at a time. |
|
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **
Wanted: For repeated blog faux pas, including, but not limited to: Obsessive ranting - guilty on 92 counts. Repeatedly beating a dead horse - guilty on 17 counts. Unnecessary use of curse words - guilty on 142 counts. Boring daily recounts - guilty on 45 counts. Pointless entries - guilty on 214 counts. Contradictory statements - guilty on 72 counts. Recounting toilet actions - guilty on 15 counts. Overdramatization of insignificant things - guilty on 152 counts. Overreacting to meaningless gestures - guilty on 22 counts. Unnecessary temper tantrums - guilty on 75 counts. Cruelty towards animals, superiors, peers, and inferiors - guilty on 146 counts. Repeated bad grammar, spelling, and opinionations - guilty on 214 counts. Suspect is considered armed and dangerous. Do not confront directly, instead call the authorities and slowly back away. Do not provoke suspect, as she is easy to agitate. The best action to take is to smile and nod. Any other response could lead suspect to rant and rave for days without ceasing. REWARD OFFERED FOR CAPTURE Dead or alive. Offending evidence: ![Merit Badge in Journaling
[Click For More Info]
Given for penning the favorite response entry in the Follow the Leader contest with "Come Again?"](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/type-Journaling-2180.gif) (Exhibit A) ![Merit Badge in Variety
[Click For More Info]
Because I never knew what to expect from your Follow the Leader entries, but I'm oh so glad you played!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Variety-2500.gif) (Exhibit B) (Exhibit C) ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| I'm so disappointed. My favorite scrapbooking magazine isn't going to be published anymore. It really was one of the better magazines that I'd read. I guess it's a good thing that I got Jodi the BH&G one, instead, otherwise she would have just been receiving the refund on the subscription. I'm ready for my interview already. Makeup and everything. Jason and I got up a little early this morning so we could have bad breath, early morning sex. I'll tell you what. Whatever those supplements are doing, they are making me feel better. Even if it's only in my head. |
| I don't normally do the Halloween thing, but this year I decided not to bah humbug it as much as previous years. Maybe it's the Mommy in me that doesn't want to disappoint Ethan and wants him to experience a Halloween that I can be comfortable with. So, in embracing this bit of Halloween I normally shun, I have decided to dress up. Sort of. Nothing huge. No mask. Maybe a little face paint. I've decided that I'm going to be a witch for Halloween. I'm going to wear my long, black skirt. I'm going to wear my black fishnets. I'm going to wear my long, black boots. And a black shirt. I might paint my face green, and I'm going to wear a pointy hat. I told Jason my plans of being a witch for Halloween, and he listened while I methodically told him what I planned to do. After I got done, which only took a few seconds, he got a big grin on his face. "What?" I asked him. "Well, you know," he said, the grin still on his face, "you don't have to dress up in a costume to be a witch. You're one every other day of the year, so Halloween really won't be any different." Then he ducked and ran for cover. Because he got it wrong. On Halloween, I will be a witch. The rest of the year, I'm a bitch. |
| I have another job interview tomorrow. This one is with my Mom's company. It's for a temp position, filling in for their IT person while that person goes on medical leave in January. But it starts immediately, so at least it would get us through Christmas. |
Leading entry: "Invalid Entry"  Jason had a zit on his shoulder last night that was really bothering him. He rarely gets them, but I didn't get around to changing the sheets in the bedroom until three days after I normally do, being too ill and fatigued while I was bleeding. When I don't change the sheets and pillow cases every 4 days, it makes him break out. In five years, I have never bandaged any of his wounds or popped any of his zits. I've always told him that I'm too squeamish. I can't stand the sight of blood. I might barf all over him, and then he'll not only be bloody, but he'll also be covered in barf. I've never told him the real reason that I won't do it. But, in five years, he has had to bandage my wounds. He's had to pop some of my zits. He's had to shave my legs when I was pregnant, among other embarassing things that I don't care to mention. Not because he likes to, but because I tell him I'm too squeamish to do it myself. And the leg-shaving is because I just plain couldn't reach. So last night, after five years of avoiding such a nasty chore, I couldn't honestly answer why I wouldn't be able to pop the zit on his shoulder. And I figured, hell, it's been forever and I deal with Ethan's diapers and vomit and gross things without freaking out. It was the wrong thing to think. I sat there, on the couch, squeezing the spot. As I squeezed, I felt the anxiety growing. What if I pop it, and it gets on me? I started freaking out and I hadn't even broken it yet. So, I got up and got a kleenex. That ought to take care of that problem. I squeeze again, and it pops. The kleenex absorbed all of the puss and blood and shielded it from my sight. But I knew it was there. I knew it had gone into the kleenex. I knew I was holding the kleenex. And the kleenex got contaminated, so by default, because I was holding the kleenex, I got contaminated. I got up in a panic and ran to the sink to wash my hands. I washed for five minutes straight before Jason came in and forced me to put my hands under the water and rinse. Then he got me a clean towel to dry with. Three minutes later, I was washing my hands again because I was sure I had missed a spot. And three minutes after that, for the same reason. After washing my hands several more times, he pretty much laid on top of me on the couch to get me to stop. My excema was irritated, and in some spots, broken open. He got another clean towel and put it around my hands, then he got my lotion and tried to put it on my hands as well. This sent me into another round of panic. I washed my hands twice more before they felt halfway right again. I told Jason he had to take a shower because he was contaminated. He laughed at me and told me he wasn't taking a shower at 10:30 at night. We went to bed at 11. I had begged and pleaded with him to take a shower. He refused outright. When we went to bed, I refused to go until the blankets, sheets, and pillow cases had been changed. They were contaminated, too, even though I had just changed them all that morning. I made Jason wash his hands before touching the clean sheets, and again after he finished changing everything. I tried to wash my hands twice more, but he kept pushing me back to the bedroom. After trying to get up another two or three times to wash my hands again, I finally went to sleep. My hands were balled in fists, wrapped around the blanket. They couldn't get any more contaminated if they couldn't touch anything else, and I couldn't contaminate anything if I didn't touch it. This morning, I still feel the contamination clinging to my fingers. I'm not as panicky as I was last night. I've only washed my hands once since waking up. But Ethan's starting to stir, and I have to change his diaper. Normally, it wouldn't be a problem, but I got contaminated last night, and that always makes me nervous for a few days. At least now he knows why I won't deal with body fluids of any kind. I don't pop zits. I don't bandage wounds. I don't do body fluids. Body fluids are contaminating. |
| Who in the hell tells a woman, just 2 days after giving birth via cesarean, that she has to come to her baby shower because if she doesn't, then people will be disappointed? Who in the hell would be unable to forgive said woman for not wanting to come because she was too tired and sore? Sometimes, family really pisses me off. Even if it's only family via marriage, I still love Jason's like my own, because they are mine. And I still want to smack the shit out of some of them sometimes, just like my own. So fucking what if a few people are disappointed by not being able to see the baby? They'll fucking get over it. I am one of the most selfish people that I know, and I would never, ever have let her walk into that baby shower if I had known that she had been pressured to come by anyone. And as selfish as I am, I would have never, ever pressured her in to coming. You never pressure someone that's just given birth. Her hormones are all out of whack. She's sleep deprived. The smallest things can make her cry. I'm just so pissed off right now. Words can't even begin to express just how upset I am that someone would have done that and thought it was the right thing to do. |
| Dawn's baby shower was today. She stopped by with Courtney. (That's the baby - she finally has a name!) She looked pale and tired, so she left. All I have to say is that I'm very glad that I married Jason, and that when I had Ethan, he understood that certain things are important, and was there for everything that he knew would matter to me, even if they were silly to him. I'm glad that he's involved with his son and that Ethan stops whatever he's doing when Jason gets home because he's so excited to see his Daddy. I'm glad that I have that. Otherwise, I wouldn't have made it as a Mommy. |
| Ugh. I have an incredible headache brewing behind my right eyeball. And I'm sitting on Writing.Com, trying to block it out. I fucking hate stress. I think I'm going to go to bed. |
| Leading prompt: "Harbinger harpings" I still have no tangible thoughts on this entry, but I'm trying to get caught up. We are all products of our families. Either we loved what they taught us, and continue to live to those standards, or we hated what they taught us, and do everything we can to go against that grain. I'm of the later school of thought. If I continued to live to my parents' standards of life, I would be a dead beat drug addict. I may be a dead beat in some ways, but at least I've said no to drugs. |
| Leading prompt: "Invalid Entry" We are all bad people, in one form or another. Me? I'm incredibly selfish, self centered, and I have a sense of entitlement that is warped. These are things I don't like about myself, so I work on them. It's kind of hard to be a Mom and be self centered. I only get to be that way about once a week, anymore. And really, when I'm being self centered, I'm doing things like catching up on laundry and making things for other people. But it's things I enjoy doing or need to do for myself. That's how I get away with it. I let everyone else think that I'm doing it for them, when I'm really doing it because I like to, or because I'm out of clean underwear. The fact that others benefit from it is circumstancial. |
| Leading prompt: "Invalid Entry" I'm too full of angst right now to be able to write good poetry, whether rain or shine. Although, I don't write good poetry, anyway. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
Whatever you do, hang in there, he'll be sleeping like a big boy in no time!