Category Archives: True Life Adventures

Karma: Best Served Chilled With Testosterone

 

 

Karma is Great

 

 

***No humans were irrevocably damaged (much) by this bout of karma***

Karma is always best when it’s not directed at…
you know, me?

It’s been crazy. No, really. Cray-zee this month. What with a funer-ah…I mean, a birthday and the holiday hustle-bustle, smack a Skylander game from another woman’s hand (not me) and my anatomy and car lessons via Murphy it’s-yep.

Off the chain. I was due my turn to giggle. Past due. Wayy past due and today? Ah…that mistake was corrected. Order has been restored to my ADHD mind. hehe

Come sit, I’ll explain.

1st some overdue karma, then some budding testosterone.
Stir vigourously and….grin

A bumper to bumper traffic situation with CeeLee at the wheel. Grim faced and hair standing on end from the static cling, muttering about the idiocy of other people’s techniques for merging onto a highway ramp.

Duck is warm and secure in his backseat, carefully holding the equivalent of wake up or else, vitamin fortified juicebox in one hand and his breakfast in the other.

Duck is freshly defunkified and ready to meet the oncoming school day.

Cue karma!

The car is a manual, to which Duck is all too aware, don’t let him fool you.

The car bucks just a little and…voila! Duck has the entire contents of the juicebox on his crotch. The kind of juice that stains jeans with a dark splotch that napkins and liberal useage of  wet wipes cannot erase and with no spare pair of jeans to change into.

Can you hear what the Duck is yelling?

No? Sorry, I’ll bet my laughing is drowning him out. He’s yelling that it’s a bit frosty down where the spillage happened and he’s quering me as to what is he to do when he has to take off his coat at school? Because they’ll make him do that at some point during the day.

Anyone with a suggestion? No? hehe

Add a dash of redneck male pride to
the karma and testosterone, mix  well then…run!

Last night, after Duck is finally asleep, dreaming of sweet little Duck dreams and snoring loudly in the next room with the dog keeping time with him. The Redneck finally wandered into our bedroom. The Redneck warily plugs his new cell up to charge for the night right as it rings. Loudly.

At a broadcast to the world level, (this cell is supposed to have great sound quality, I can attest to the veracity of that claim) and it began braying a gravelly male voice that informs everyone in the general 50 mile radius to…”Blow it out yer ass!” over and over again.

The ring tone. The Redneck scrambles, he misses, he fumbles, and yes! He scores! By turning the volume up to reach the 100 mile radius instead.

He looks at his cell and says…and…he says….

Sorry. I’m still cracking up. Ahem. He says in complete puzzlement that it’s a family member of his calling him. If you only knew how fitting that ringer was, for the person it was magically attached to.

The Redneck does know how fitting it is, which is why he isn’t speaking to me and gets indignant all over again when he hears me tapping away, safe in my office behind a locked door, and cackling.

Oh and I am. It was karma. I swear it. That’s why this is so funny.

Moral of the story?

I did not, whatsoever, manipulate and/or manhandle that cell in any shape or form…which is why it’s so perfect. For me. And for Duck (sorry Ms -, he was instructed not to say this charming phrase at school, let me know if he does) until his turn came round this morning.

Don’t laugh at someone experiencing their round of karma because you’ll be next. Oh man. I’m doomed.

  • Karma. (thebluebirdwords.wordpress.com)
  • Karma (invsiblyme.wordpress.com)

 

 

A Mom’s Open Letter To Murphy’s Law

 
Dear Murphy’s Law,

You’re the master when it comes to teaching me what my shins are really for, mostly they’re for when the breaker pops at 0500.

And I have to trump outside to the breaker box (a sadist built our house) in the bracing, freeze your nose hairs into pointy little spikes chill, clad only in my non-thermal pj’s and armed with my cell as a flashlight.

I would’ve used the real flashlight, but then I’d have needed to see to find it. Thank you so much for clearing up the shin part though.

Seems like I had it all wrong.

Motivation with Shins

And the thing you did, you know, with the unexpected guests arriving at bedtime the night before? Awesome work, I never saw it coming. Having them bear loads of laundry for the washer to rumba all night, gotta give you credit-that was a nice touch.

Oh and getting Duck riled up on sugar so he could chatter to his cousin?

Yeah that rocked.

The lack of sleep I got sure came in handy for pounding the anatomy lesson deep into my brain, I promise it’ll remain there.

Forever.

Murphy's law made Me a Motivated Slinky

But you had only warmed up, hadn’t you? Because today was nothing short of amazing.

I can imagine the picture I must’ve made, clad once more in my other pj’s that aren’t thermal either (because that lesson hadn’t been reinforced), sitting inside my less than year old car, key in the ignition and clutch engaged but no engine turning over.

Oh and staring at the dashboard. The non-lighting dashboard, I might add.

That was-wow!

You really outdid yourself there. Because I’d have never even entertained the thought that you could cause the anti-theft system link to break (for no discernible reason the tech could find) locking the car into safety (non-drive mode).

One fell swoop and you effectively rendered us stuck without transportation on a school day, an important school day no less, you are a genius! How ever did you come up with that one?

You owe me for the tow and a finger by the way.

I’ll let you guess which finger.

My Mind is fried Thank You Murphy

Look Murph, I know it’s fun-for you-and I know that you and I will never see eye to eye on…well…everything, but could you lay off?

Maybe teach someone else some valuable life lessons? All that trauma in 2 days is enough to break anyone and I’m not anyone.

NaNoWriMo is on it’s last week and I’m whupped. I hope you understand.

In short, I hate your stinkin’ guts!

There, I said it.

Seriously, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. It’s not nice to play mind games with the head of an almost 40 year old chick with ADHD who can’t remember to tie her shoes on a normal day.

But I think I might be able to help. Here’s this list of people…

And Murphy's Law Motivation Hates Me

Pic Sources: http://FUNNY-FUN-FUN.COM

 

 

My Zen Moments Came From Driving Fast And I Loved It

Driving Fast was my relaxation
My “Om” came like this

My word on this, what I’m about to tell you is true.  My parents will likely be blowing up my cell after reading this post, but that’s neither here nor there.

My problem is I can’t let things go, can’t relax and just go with the flow, can’t achieve the art of just being. When I was younger and my frustration level had grown too intolerable for me to bear a second longer, I was able to seek escape from my as of then, un-diagnosed ADHD brain through driving.

This was well before a Duck arrived on the scene and way before I met a certain Doubting Thomas, so I was able to drive as fast and as hard I dared go and not have to answer to a single person.

The wild exhilaration I swiftly grew to crave came as soon as I pushed both the car and myself to the absolute edge of our collective capabilities.

I raced to beat my dragons and I raced to win. I managed to do both quite well. And it never failed to give my mind the rest it so desperately needed.

Having learned early on in my driving education, first from my father and a couple of very unlucky sisters in the backseat I decided I’d keep it as a solitary pursuit.

Mostly because I found that screaming passengers were a distraction I didn’t care for. No peace to be found in dragon slaying as it were, if I were constantly being bombarded with the babbling pleas for mercy from others.

It also tended to be a confidence eater. And it wasn’t like I didn’t have plenty of those already.

I raced hard and I raced often. And it helped.

I would race to escape when I had been made to feel small, had missed something obvious to everyone else, usually within the context of the social scene.

I raced when I felt lost in the idiosyncrasies of life and how it seemed to change the rules randomly and on whim.

I raced to feel as though I had some sort of control over my environment. One that I was at ease with because it was I, who made the rules and they never changed unless I wanted them to.

I raced often.

There was nothing finer to me than to push the gas pedal flat to the floor panel, feel my body pulled backwards into the seat, hear that engine snarl as it topped out, and see the tachometer stretch every so slightly closer towards the caution zone while the speedometer would rocket on up past the hundred mile an hour mark and then creep even further.

As the scenery blurred, I was calm once more. I knew peace. It was as if I’d been curled up into a tiny ball and was at long last, finally able to stretch my aching body out and allowing all of those cramped muscles to breathe once more.

The faster I drove, the calmer I became.

Racing other people was never planned but always welcomed. And word got around about the crazy girl who could outmaneuver most ordinary everyday wannabe’s who pretended to be good, but weren’t.

Neither was I, not that much. What I had though, was different. I had car cojones and I wouldn’t back down. Hence the crazy adjective.

The radio was always blaring but it wasn’t a distraction.

The choice of having the radio on was just that. It was more like a condiment. Like having mustard on a hot dog and a choice I could make without worrying about whether it was the right choice.

Blissful white noise would fill my mind and I would luxuriate in the relief of being released from the current issues at hand and from not having to hear my inner voice.

The one that has always whispered in a completely rational tone about how I will never quite measure up no matter how hard I try. How I should be content with what I can do, because after all, I have trophy cases full of epic fails and fantastic flops and a mere shelf of scant victories.

I despised that voice then, I hate that voice now.

I have since resigned myself to always being a bit on the socially inept side. I fear I will always uncomfortable within my skin, and I’m (mostly) cool with that.

But I really could use that escape hatch now. Nothing is right in my world just now.

I’m lost and I’m searching for what seems to elude me on a daily basis and makes me cry tears of pure frustration. I’m off-balance and only part of it is dealing with the incessant noise that comes from a hardworking man who comes home everyday and faithfully works until night shuts him down.

The rest of it is my having to deal with life as I know it and trying to make sense of what doesn’t make sense to me.

I can’t use the escape I’ve been dreaming of today, but I sure wish that I could.

There’s no way I can even contemplate using the car that is taunting me from the driveway. I can almost hear it telling me how much fun it would be, to take it out on some of these flat and mostly untraveled country roads.

How peaceful it would be to wind out all six of those gears, hear that engine growl and do some serious zen time. I wouldn’t even max it out. It has enough under the hood for me to take it to up one hundred twenty easily and back it down without even straining.

I’d be gentle. I want to so badly I ache. But then I remember that the damn car will tell on me. Somehow. And that I am accountable now. And older and all that.

Life is hard sometimes, I know.

I just want something, anything to break up that inner voice broadcasting inside my brain and it be something other than the poor table I’ve been abusing with my head.

I wish I could race again
I need a new way to relax

Before I See And Take Out Forty: Bucket List

http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=17385&picture=bucket  Bucket by George Hodan
Here it is…
My Before I Hit 40 Bucket List

Before I meet 40 face to face…

This past weekend showed me a great many things. Good, bad, funny and downright…not right, or just plain fugly. Sadly, none of them were things I could mark off my Oh Dear Gawd CeeLee’s gonna be forty and forty=ancient (so says Duck) Bucket List. I have exactly 4 1/2 months left and umpteen million things to do. And it’s not like productivity and I have been besties lately.

CeeLee’s  Bucket List

  • Get on an actual working airplane (the plane going anywhere is for an entirely different list-like the 80 age bracket)
  • Take Duck (per Duck’s request and with his evil grin, he knows my hate for heights) on the mega zipline
  • Take Duck caving (Duck also is well acquainted with my claustrophobia-the kid is evil) in an admittedly cool cave
  • My other half suggested naked skydiving (he’s weird and I have this thing against getting arrested (nekkid) and suffering abject humiliation) so…yeah um…no.
  • Try my hand at belly dancing and kickboxing.  Just not simultaneously. And most definitely not nekkid.
  • Learn how to be a better friend to my friends, ie; listen more.
  • Learn to remember that real love isn’t what the fairy tales say it is. It’s better and it suh-huh-hucks. Sometimes at the same time.
  • ***Get published*** I’ve got tons of “Thank you buts”…now I want a “We’re pleased to accept.”
  • Start the tedious process of buying a house-one we can call our own.

The bucket list clock is ticking

I think I’ll start the countdown for getting these things crossed through…tomorrow. I may be ADHD, but I’m damn near a master in procrastination. Still, if I manage to cross off five things before my carriage turns back into a pumpkin, I’ll be happy. Fifty percent ain’t bad. Not when you’re me. Besides, one of the items doesn’t count. Repeat after me. Just say “No to nekkid!” I knew you could.