How to keep a kitten alive


Don’t ask me.

My dog, who was raised around and lived around cats and kittens his entire existence, has managed to severely attack two in the past month that resulted in tragic circumstances.

Two tiny funerals and two tiny collars later and I can’t decide if I want to kill him.

I told Facebook they could have him if they wanted him. No one is taking the bait.

I wouldn’t get rid of him anyways. I love him. But I am furious with him.

I suppose it wasn’t meant for us to have a baby kitten. I feel so incredibly heartbroken.

$1 M a month for internet service and the shit still runs like dial-up

I was about to blog from my phone because I’m attempting to really commit to this thing. The fact that I was in the process of this, shows some real dedication.
To blog from my phone is the simplest way for me to keep my posts short because it takes me longer to constantly backtrack and correct my “you”s to “your”s. Why? Because my phone’s keyboard is fully aware of how much I despise it.
Me: “what is this fuckery, keyboard?!”
Keyboard: *maniacal laughter* “Were you trying to say fakery?”
Me: “No! Did I TYPE fakery?”
Keyboard: “Here’s the deal, “sugar mama”, I’ll stop being a cunt when it stops annoying you.”
Me: “I see you* point”

I managed to unplug our wireless router during my very brief moment of housewifery today. We took our husky to the groomer and I vacuumed when we got home as a sort of clean slate for more fur.
We usually try to do an annual visit to the groomer because the transition from winter to spring for a husky’s coat is almost as bad as Tom Cruise’s commitment to scientology.

Hold on a sec, there’s some scientologists knocking on the door.

Has anyone watched that HBO documentary, by the way? “Going Clear”? It truly convinced me that Tom Cruise is the fucking antichrist. I purged Tom Cruise from my life after I watched that documentary. Goodbye, Top Gun. Au revoir, Cocktails. Auf Weidersen, Vanilla Sky (you sucked anyways). I’m keeping Tropic Thunder because he pretty much portrays the fatter version of his actual self.

I somehow managed to convince my husband to buy a Furminator brush and a Thunder Shirt. I’m at the end of my rope with our husky’s anxiety. I bought a pheromone collar a while back. It’s supposed to last for 30 days but I think it only really lasted for 30 hours. I have 45 days to find out if the thunder shirt works. The directions tell you to present your dog with a treat placed upon the thunder shirt so that they associate it with something positive and then fit it on them snuggly.
Well, I can’t even tell if it fits our dog properly. It’s snug and also ridiculous on him because of his giant husky mane.

He literally looks like a lion had sex with a wolf.

This is my final attempt at suppressing his anxiety. I have tried everything else.

Any success or failure stories about your thunder shirt?

The only person in the world to confuse Billy Joel for Bob Dylan, and the world is ending

I’m a little peeved today.

I got less than 4 hours of sleep last night. Every time I closed my eyes I kept seeing a baby kitten flailing around, bleeding everywhere. I also thought, at 7:30 last night, that some more coffee would be a great fucking idea.

I had to get up at 7 this morning to go with my husband to Charlotte, NC., a 3 hour and 25 minute drive, to meet a guy at Hendrick Motorsports to buy fancy seats for my husband’s semi.
Of course, we get there and my husband’s so excited to see these not-open-to-the-public areas, where they work on all of these projects for the Hendrick sponsored drivers in Nascar.
And being that we were at the main headquarters, he gets it stuck in his brain that he’ll maybe meet Dale Jr., who is his favorite. Duh, it didn’t happen. So his day was pretty underwhelming.

3 and a half hours, to drive to fucking Charlotte, for some truck seats (that he doesn’t need, I might add), then we turn back for the house.
It genuinely pissed me off. I have yet to figure out if it pissed me off because I’m selfish.
I just couldn’t help but feel like, “why exactly did I sit in a truck that hurts my entire body, because my legs can barely reach the floor board, for over three hours for this?!” It’s fucking CHARLOTTE. There is so much to do there and all we managed to do was walk around a machine shop for 15 minutes and hear about all of the ridiculous shit that Rick Hendrick spends his fortune on (a completely remodeled, antique firetruck for some kid’s birthday).

Call me ungrateful, but I would have rather stayed home and watched Netflix, and cuddled with Drogon -Tiny Satan- all day.

When did the planets align to decide my fate?

It seems like every time I get baby fever, I have to adopt another cat.
Baby cats fill the baby-less void within me.

Every event and choice in my life has seemingly led me to be right where I am.
Where am I?

Jobless. Abandoned education. Married. Step-parenting. Baby-less.

My tiny house is filling up with all of these animals that serve to temporarily make me whole. Spoken like the asshole that abandons the kitten once it becomes a young adult, which is not the person I am. I love all of my animals…but I love our kitten the most.


This guy is named Drogon. I told one of my cat lover friends about him and she said his name was “cute”.
Then I reminded her of who she was talking to and told her that he’s named after a child-killing dragon in The Game of Thrones.

You’re welcome.

Just Keep Blogging…

I went to an interview the other day and, somehow, we got onto the subject of blogging. I explained that my blog wasn’t anything special or unique, it was essentially just a place for me to get anything that might be bothering me off of my chest.
I told her about how I really haven’t been writing on it a lot because I shut my previous site down when it was discovered by one of the step-kids. I didn’t have to shut it down, but I knew that some of my rant sessions were hurtful to the person they were pertaining to and what’s the point of having a place to vent if you can’t actually vent?
I am not a censorer. I will not sugar-coat my feelings in a space that I’ve created just for myself. My interviewer said, “keep blogging!” because it takes a stronger person to put a big part of yourself in such a public place.
You get on here and you put questionable things on these blank pages and you worry if someone’s going to think that you’re the worst person on earth after Hitler.
But she’s right. I should keep blogging because it’s such a tension relief for me. It doesn’t make me feel important and I often worry about my punctuation, but it helps me to work through the dizzying and abundant feelings that web through my brain.

It was nicer to have people who responded to my posts and confirmed that I wasn’t crazy or terrible. That’s why I don’t ever write anymore. It almost feels pointless. Part of the catharsis was having someone say, “look, I go through this too. You aren’t alone in feeling like this and you aren’t a total bitch for it either.” After all, no one likes to feel alone in anything.

Here’s something that bothers me:

My step-son is entering the dreaded teen years. He has one chore that is asked of him. Just one. It’s to dip the cat boxes. It is literally a shitty job, but it’s his only job. He has a smart phone, a dirt bike, satellite television, a very expensive r/c car, very expensive shoes, his grades aren’t all that great, and he frequently stays with one of his friends.
He got pissed the other day because the father of his friend didn’t want him to come back over because he “doesn’t help pick up the house when he’s over there and never lets his son eat when they’re over here” and a few other complaints. He couldn’t process why it’s expected of him to have those responsibilities when he’s staying at this boy’s house. He said, “why should I have to clean a house that isn’t mine?”
It really made me feel like we were failing him in this ‘bigger picture’ sort of way. Like, shouldn’t he realize that when you stay with someone so often that it sort of is your home? That, if you make a mess, you need to clean it up?
He then went on to complain that he’s bored here, at his actual house. He complained about having a bedtime of 9 o’clock, and not being able to watch certain things (shows rated TvMA). He’s mad that he has to surrender his phone at bedtime.
All I did was just sit here in silence and think to myself, “you have a phone and you’re 12. I didn’t get a phone until I had a job and paid for it myself and even then it was so limited that all I could use it for was phone calls after 9pm or emergencies. I had cable television that I wasn’t allowed to watch when it was my bedtime, and that’s 300 channels less than what you have. I certainly didn’t have anything cool like a dirt bike and I sure as hell wasn’t getting $100 Jordans until I was able to buy them myself.” It taught me a work ethic that I appreciated. My chores consisted of dusting, vacuuming, doing the dishes, and cleaning the cat boxes. If I didn’t do any of those things, I didn’t get to go anywhere.
As I sat there in silence, and thought about how ungrateful this child was being, it came to my full attention that his father wasn’t saying anything about it either. That, to me, is a bigger problem than the complaints coming out of this child’s mouth.
He likely wouldn’t be complaining if he was having a certain work ethic instilled in him. When he’s here, I make him do the necessary things before he’s allowed to have his phone or leave the house. That’s as far as my reach can go. I know that there’s probably a lot more that I could do but I get so tired of being this rule-enforcing nazi while his dad comes home and keeps himself off the hook by disregarding all of it.
I think that part of what I say makes a slight difference to him, but it is so slight that it isn’t causing any sort of impact.
And I’ll just be honest to a really disgusting level here- I like it when he’s at his friend’s all the time. I don’t have the patience in me to deal with his attitude. I like having a clean and quiet house and not hearing video games all afternoon. I like being able to go somewhere if I need to, without worrying what’s being destroyed in the house while I’m gone. I really like not having to nag about stupid shit all of the time “did you dip the boxes? did you sweep? did you put the toilet seat down? if you aren’t watching your tv, you need to turn it off.” And realistically, maybe I don’t need to nag about that stupid shit, but it’s shit that bothers me to the point of crawling skin and twitching eyelids. It’s stupid shit because it’s all the stuff that he already knows he needs to do, but doesn’t do them because everything is half-assed with him.

With that being said, it makes a lot of his self-perceived entitlement my fault. Because I would rather him stay away, then to grit my teeth and bare the annoyances. What’s so terrifying about this is that it makes me no better than his biological mother.
I would love to try to justify myself by mentioning that he’s older now then he was when he was in her constant care. That this means he needs less guidance than before. But I know that’s a lie. It also occurs to me to say something about how I feel like I’m going at it alone because his father doesn’t want to put his foot down as often as before. But I know that’s just an excuse.
I don’t encourage his father to enforce a rule-setting mentality anymore, because I don’t feel like it.

I worry about this person we’re raising for public consumption. Is he really better off in our care? Is he less-likely now, to wind up in jail or something? Is he capable of being a better person than his mother or sister?

What in the fuck are we even doing?

I commend you..

I commend all of you that take the time and write a blog almost everyday. When I first opened a WordPress account I thought, “this will be awesome. An online journal…like what xanga used to be” and then I got the thrill of followers and readers and winning fake online blog awards that gave me a false sense of awesomeness.
Then that blog was “discovered” by one of the people I was always needing to vent about so I had to shut it down and wave goodbye to all of my followers and faux awards. It was a sad day. I attempted to invite them to this blog but couldn’t really do it publicly as that link would follow to here and would defeat the purpose of creating a new blog entirely.
A few people (one, actually) followed me over…she, who no longer blogs.
And I quote: “WordPress can suck a D”
It’s nice to know it’s here when I need it. Its even nicer to know that it’s probably not really getting read by anyone except for me.

Here’s something that’s recently bothered me…
I can’t stand it when a parent coddles their kid directly after disciplining them. Are they crying? Want to know why? Because they got caught. They did the crime and you’re making them do the time. Everyone cries on their first night in prison…even Andy Dufresne. Do you think anyone patted his back and told him it’d be okay?
This child is realizing that he can’t go on a youtube marathon for a week or call people faggots while he’s playing xbox live (no matter my protests, this word is never eradicated from his vocabulary and it pisses me off). It doesn’t help when said child has just returned from super mom’s house.
But tell me truly- what should be done when you give a child 2 chances to be honest with no consequences, except maybe a stern talking to, and they still decide to lie to you anyways? Because I thought grounding them was pretty sufficient. And by grounding them I mean stripping them of television, video games, and phone privileges.
I was told this morning, after already discussing the crime and agreeing on a punishment, that it was enough to take away his phone, video games, and hanging out with friends. That it’s okay to allow this child to sit in front of a television all day.
Is that the correct message? “You lied after having two get out of jail free cards, acted deceitfully anyways, and then lied again when you were confronted BUT that’s all okay because you can still watch as much tv as you want.”

My mind is blown. It has literally exploded. I took some ibuprofen but it won’t do any good because my brain has already left the building.
The whole point of grounding a kid is to make them miserable enough to realize that the consequences are not worth certain actions. So that at the end of everything you can ask, “so was the lie worth it?” and they’re supposed to say “no! It was stupid!” not, “umm…I guess?” while they’re thinking, “I mean, I got to sit on my ass and watch a spongebob marathon, so……”
I would love to think that this child got coddled because his father didn’t want him to pull the “I want to live with mom” card because, the child may not realize it, but that can be a hurtful statement when you consider who his mother is in comparison to who we are and the life that’s provided to him.
I have had this said to me in the midst of a tantrum over spaghetti-os and things have never been the same since then. It fucking pissed me off. That this child thinks eating spaghetti-os for dinner because I didn’t have time to fix something was so much worse than dealing with a drunk at 4am on a school night who’s walking through the house screaming and breaking shit.
Yeah, it can be a hurtful statement.

I think what this father hasn’t figured out is that all this statement means is- “I want to get my way and I know this will guilt you into it”. He’s using living with his mother as a threat, just as it used to be a threat to him “would you like to go live with your mom again?”
I miss the days when this child was fully aware of what living with his mom entailed and he was happy and grateful to be here. There was no back-talk or attitude over being asked to do something simple, and home-cooked meals were appreciated. It’s easy to get comfortable and to forget how bad things used to be when you only see a person once every 5-6 months and they act like they love you to death and you were never told by them that they can’t stand you.

Back on the subject…I get it. I understand feeling like total shit when a child says the one thing that could push you over the edge. But the minute you show them what it does to you is the minute you relinquish all authority.
YES, I do maintain a very me vs. them mentality. I know I shouldn’t and yet I do it anyways. I honestly feel like I don’t have a choice when I know how manipulative this child can be and I’m always aware of his hyper-awareness towards the effects of the things he does and says.

I’m just going to sit here and bathe in my evil ways while dodging the eat shit and die glares I receive for “ratting” him out to his dad.

If There’s One Thing I Know….

It’s this:


There are people in here trying to be warm and cozy on their day off.
The snow is melting all over the floor and could potentially soak my fuzzy socks.
I don’t plan on wearing my winter jacket inside of my house. OR gloves.

If there’s one thing I request, it’s this:


There should be special programming for snowy days where they play back-to-back movies and series marathons of awesomeness. I realize that there might be a difference of opinion about what these movies and shows might be, and for that I have no real solution.
But I think we could all agree that To Wong Fu, Thanks For Everything, is a universally loved film.

Here in Tennessee, we’re pretty used to snow alerts and never seeing anything happen. “TEN INCHES! BEWARE!” and the next day it’s like, “well…ok?”
But you still have your over-prepared who raid the grocery stores like they’re re-stocking their bomb shelters. Today is the one time that I feel like the fucking asshole for judging those people. As I sit here and think about all of the groceries that I DON’T have stocked in the cabinets and how, by 5 o’clock tonight, it will be too dangerous to try to get out anywhere to get anything.
Yet I still can’t make myself put on warm clothes and go to the grocery store now, while I still have a safe chance to go and get back without being killed by idiot drivers who have no clue how to drive in the snow.

Now…I know that whichever state you live in, you think that all of the drivers in your state have no idea how to drive in the snow compared to you. It’s probably accurate. However, I think that the worst of them live here, in Tennessee. It’s not like this state never sees snow, but it’s a very random occurrence. If you factor in all of the bull-headed, testosterone driven dudes who drive oversized diesel trucks and add to that the fact that this state doesn’t require behind the wheel classes in order to obtain a license, TIMES that by the non-existent state inspections on vehicles you have yourself, ladies and gentlemen, a mother-fucking shitpocalypse.
In Virginia, we were required to take an allotted amount of hours in a behind the wheel class. This is a class where you drive a car around with a certified instructor and they teach you how to properly merge, parallel park, weather-safe driving skills and tips etc. We were also required to take a lecture-style class in high school. These classes were pivotal in learning how to deal with hydro-planing, driving in foggy, snowy, rainy, and icy conditions.
When I was growing up, snow was more common where I lived and most of our parents were even more used to snowy conditions which was beneficial in terms of learning the ways of snowy driving.
So, I do feel a bit more equipped to drive in these conditions than most. I know to go slow and never slam on your brakes or shove on the gas.
4-wheel drive is great and ideal, but front-wheel drive can still get you home if you know how to balance your gas and brake pedal.
Everyone else seems to think that you should blast full speed ahead. Fuck stopping at stop lights. Fuck a bunch of yielding. It’s a “move bitch, get out the way” mentality.

So, even though I’m comfortable driving in snow, I am not comfortable with everyone else driving in snow.

This is what husbands are for. You love them, you couldn’t live without them. But you’d rather they risk their lives getting to the grocery store than risk your own.

“Here’s my list babe. Thanks. Be careful. Love you.”

Why in the fuck does HBO insist on CONSTANTLY playing the movie Veronica Mars?

I DEMAND VARIETY! Even if I DO love Kristen Bell.

Window Washers, UNITE!

So here I am again. Bored, lonely, and slightly irritable with life in general.

I started a new job. It’s essentially the same job but with a different company. As usual, the grass is always greener on the other side.

I’m off today. I’m off a lot, actually. Because unlike the other company I was at, this one is more corporate and so the staff list is a lot longer. The hours are far more regulated and even though it’s a very busy place, and the business determines the hours, there’s still a lot of free time for everyone.

This free time, though appreciated so I can sleep in, is actually getting on my nerves. At my past job, I made a lot of “friends” that I thought I would be able to continue being friends with after I left. This hasn’t turned out to be the case though.

One girl keeps in touch with me only to get advice that she refuses to take. Another one only ever looks at my snapchat feed. One girl, who is the nicest girl I’ve met in a long time, we talk on occasion but it’s not a regular thing. She’s the girl who has 800 followers on instagram and every picture she posts gets well over 30 “likes”. I guess my point is this, she has enough friends and they’re all high-end “let’s go have cocktails” kind of friends. The friends who wear the gorgeous outfits you see on mannequins in store fronts with the highest of heels and perfect Urban Decay makeup. These are the girls I always wished I could be but can’t’s just NOT me.

And I guess you could say I’m a Debbie Downer. I can have fun and laugh about stuff, but if I’m not in the mood then I’m not. And I can’t fake my way out of a paper bag. So, you know, you read all of these self-help tips about how to trick yourself into being happy. The trick is to smile your way through it, have the happy exterior, and then you’ll feel that way inside as well. And when I try that, it just makes my inside want to explode because all it feels is fraud.

People characterize me as being the honest one, no matter whether it’s tough love honesty or not. I suppose that’s why a lot of people I know come to me asking for advice on situations, knowing that I won’t sugar coat something just to satisfy them. Sometimes this is a weakness. Actually, it’s just a general weakness. I feel personally responsible for anyone who presents a personal problem to me. I get overwhelmed with an idea that if I’m not completely honest with them about the entire situation, then they’ll go back out into the world without the proper tools to handle their issue.
Even though I’m fully aware that it’s not my responsibility and I’m not saving them from their problems whether I tell them everything I think they need to hear.

So because I am how I am, I make it hard for people to feel comfortable around me. I’m not approachable. I’m not a warm person. Was I not hugged enough as a child? Is that what instilled in me this semi-cool, distant personality?

I’m having yet another lunch date with my television today because I’m too stone-walled to spend my time with another warm-bodied human. My television doesn’t give me an awkward silence. It doesn’t give me a look as if I don’t belong. My bed and blankets hug me without feeling obligated to do so.
I ned to stop feeling sorry for myself. I need to accept that this is the bed I’ve made, and I should be damn grateful that it’s tempurpedic.

Holy shit I haven’t written anything since June

You thought I died, didn’t you.

But I didn’t, and now you’re mildly disappointed about that.

Me too, me too.

Here’s what’s been going on lately…

We kicked M out for the 2nd and, as far as I’m concerned, last time. I told J1 that I utterly refuse to share a roof with the world’s largest monster/demon/asshole.
So that’s been going pretty good because I half expected her to show up every few weeks to collect more of her worthless shit. It was a pretty difficult process to actually kick her out though. I know J1 didn’t want to do it because, who wants to kick their kid out of the house? I couldn’t really blame him, but I also wasn’t going to back down from my decision. Some rules can bend, and some have zero-tolerance attached to them. Not only was it difficult because J1 didn’t want to do it, but it was also difficult because she made it difficult. She’s always had an amazing ability to pull at J1’s heart strings and did exactly that for a week.
Finally she went and it might have had something to do with the very loud threats about burning her junk in the road.

I’m not really sure what good it did. She ended up moving in with the world’s second-largest bad behavior enabler, J1’s aunt. But you know what? I don’t really care.
Except for the fact that I do care because I can’t stop myself from sneaking onto J1’s iPad and stalking through her Facebook page.
And then I roll my eyes into the back of my head.
And then my hands start twitching because all I want is to write insanely rude comments on all of her “i love him, I love him not” and “I’m so pathetic. Everyone hates me, so please Facebook community, feel sorry for me and tell me how beautiful I am” posts. There was one about hating being around people who smoke that I found particularly hilarious because when J1 and I packed up her room, I find cigarette butts tucked carefully into random pockets of her clothing.
I honestly think my head might’ve exploded if I saw a post about hating being around drunks.
Then I would be forced to write something like, “yeah, that’s why you got kicked out of our house”.

J2 is going to middle school now. He seems to be doing okay considering it’s middle school. Boys have an easier time in middle school though, don’t they? Meanwhile, girls are over in the corner like, “I don’t actually fit in a bra but I need something also…I’m bleeding all over everything. Puberty! Huzzah!”
He’s started doing all kinds of school sports. We’re currently tying up the football season. It started out with a lot of discouragement on his end because he never got to actually play. All work. No play. But we tried to explain to him that it’s seniority, that the older boys play first because they’ve been practicing longer and know the game better. All J1 had to say was something related to Peyton Manning and UTenn football and we stopped hearing the “I never get to play” complaints. Which is a relief.
He did get to be a part of a few plays in the last quarter of a few games and it was enough to keep him satisfied, or sufficiently freaked out enough to realize having dudes twice your size storming at you is probably not something he’s ready for.
Now he’s talking about doing basketball. I’m all for it with the exception of him needing a ride home everyday and me always working.
He needs something to exert his energy on. He also needs a program that’s going to help him learn about trust and respect and discipline. Football has improved large chunks of his attitude greatly, and I hope he keeps at it for the sake of everyone’s sanity.

I’m still working full time at the dinky tanning salon. The girl who helped me get the job ended up going totally batshit on me one day and quit. She also warned me that I’d probably get raped when I got hired. I haven’t gotten raped yet but I have noticed a sudden influx in girls getting sexually harassed, going batshit, and quitting. I don’t even see my boss anymore because I suspect he’s scared of me.
I know all of his dirty secrets, no matter how hard he tries to get everyone to cover it up for him.
I love the smell of lawsuits in the fall.

I just finished reading Jenny Lawson’s book. She’s hilarious and adorable and is pretty insightful…considering.
The only reason why I even remembered having a blog is because I went to hers to catch-up on her life. Then I was like, “oh yeah, I have a life too.”

Don’t feel like writing anymore because, adulthood.

Bye for now.

When hell freezes over

As much as I’d love to write all about this past episode of GOT, which seems to be my happy place as of late, I have bigger things on my mind. 
Things that I’ve vented out into text before, and no doubt, will again.

I scrawled out something at work…but it’s only the base of my irritation pyramid.
With my heating pad blasting away on my crinkled spine, I will begin.


I don’t know if there’s anything quite so heart breaking as being married to a man that you adore and love, but who never stands up for you.  In life, surely there are; but in marriage?  I’m not so sure.
It would be nice if just once I could hear him say, “2 years she gave you nothing but what you wanted and she tried her damnedest to make you happy and comfortable and safe; and the only thing you’ve been capable of was ingratitude, insolence, and deceit.  What did you expect to happen after 2 years of little-to-no appreciation?  Life without courtesy isn’t something anyone should have to endure.”  It would be nice for him to even confront the issues in regards to not following rules that were laid before her when she, regrettably, came back into this household.  Rules that she had a choice not to agree to, but did.  There was no time limit on them.  Not once did anyone say, “once you’re 18, you can do whatever the fuck you want”.
None of these happen.  Not for me and not for anyone else, including him.  
He never stands up for himself.  Even when he listens, with his own ears, to her calling him stupid or making fun of something he said to her.  I hate that more than I hate it for myself.  Now I can see how he managed to be in a 16-year marriage with one of the worst people who could ever exist.  He spent 16 years waiting for any issues to resolve themselves instead of being an adult and standing up for himself.  I watch his interactions with his daughter and I see exactly how it was during his first marriage.  He’d make a statement, she’d shoot him down, and he would let it go and wait for the proverbial skin to push the splinter out on it’s own.
His daughter IS his ex-wife.  His problems with communication are the same, the interactions are alike.
And all the good it did.
It taught his kids how to manipulate him and shit on him while still getting whatever it is that they wanted.

I hate that he’s such a coward.  I hate that the only person who can’t bully him into doing something is me even when I’m trying to get him to be a stronger person.  I wonder if I’ll ever win this war?  I’ve lost most of the battles and I’m not sure I want to be around for the white flag.  I don’t know how I can continue living a life without a voice of my own or on my behalf.

You know what would beat it all?  If he could just stand up and say, “I’m the parent.  I’m the adult.  I will have your respect or I will see you leave.  This is the final warning and I have no obligation to house you any longer.  On the next occurrence, you will find your things in the yard.  I will have what I want for once.  I am not your child, you are mine and as long as that’s still true, you will do what I say the first time or I will see you gone”.

…Like any of that will happen, right?


But here’s what I was thinking about on my drive home from work.

Many talks have been had between the two of them about how sorry she is for everything she’s said and done to me…to him.  Not once have I heard a whisper of regret or apology.  I don’t ever expect to but it’s still infuriating when you have someone sitting there telling you all about how sorry someone else is and how they really want to apologize to you but they’re too afraid.

I have spent 3 years apologizing.  Apologizing for this blog, apologizing for having feelings or taking those feelings too far.  I’ve spent 3 years saying I was sorry for things that I said that were truthful, but I knew that overall they weren’t appropriate.  
Yes, I’m supposed to be the adult and take the higher road and set an example.  But what if it’s not an example that anyone’s paying attention to?  And what if you don’t have the willpower or patience to keep on the high road, no matter how hard you try?
I’m the adult, the high road should always be mine.  However, I’m not the person that is going to sit back and let the monkeys at the zoo throw their shit at me.  I’m going to move out of the fucking way because I will not be accountable for someone else who wants to play the big girl role too.  

In all of these apologies, I’ve not received a single one.  Not for anything.  And if someone wants to play big girl games, then they should be able to apologize when the game goes too far.  If they can’t, then they need to go back to the benches and sit it out.  Saying you’re sorry to someone is as grown up as it gets.  Accepting defeat and realizing that you were wrong is a big part of growing up.  If you aren’t ready to do that, then you aren’t ready to sling your shit at other people.  
Saying you’re sorry to someone is what separates us from the monkeys in the zoo.  It’s what separates the boys from the men.
Well…among other things.