Finding Sadie Wilson

It’s a never-ending struggle for me.

2013 sucked balls.

I won’t bore you with the details. The details were small and ordinary. I didn’t write. I did what I had to do, instead of what I wanted to do. When the “I wanted to” stuff came up, I felt obligated to the “I have to” stuff. Welcome to being a grownup – where they sue you. If you wanna know the back story, schedule a lunch date; just like BFF Calico Shurtz has to do.

I pushed all the adult children out of my house under the guise of… you are an adult. Go do your thing. Go live. I totally understand their disdain and resistance. If I had the choice, I would be living in my parent’s basement, blowing bong hits on a lime green bean bag chair myself. Apparently, I AM A GROWN UP and I can’t do that. Dammit.

Though, there is NO GUILT that the adult children do not live here… I will say I eat more sugar. Coincidence, I am sure.
So, with two adult children out of the house, it left two open rooms in our home. Raynard and I divvied the rooms up. It has taken two weeks to get a semblance of what I had in my head for the room, with a lot of hard work, we are getting closer.

I texted Skudro Bodine:

Me: Dad and I worked on my writing room all weekend.

Skud: How pink is it?

Me: It looks like it was hosed down with Pepto-Bismol.

Skud: That’s pretty pink.

Me: I thought so too. And yes, it IS pretty!

Here is hoping 2014 presents more opportunities to laugh, and less grown up stuff to do.

Am I really moving forward?

I work for a forward thinking company.

I work in a place where I fire a lot of people, actually, almost daily.  I always say, “Moving forward, you should… not drink before work, show up, wear a bra in public, or take out the nose ring that connects to your anal probe.”  I’m just saying, moving forward is part of what I do.

2014 is here, and I am not in favor of moving forward.

There is so much change and work for me in this coming year, I’m not quite sure I am up to the challenge.  And I love change, or at least used to.

And on that note, I leave this musical homage to doing nothing.

The Lazy Song, Bruno Mars

Failure to launch, without Matthew McConnaughey

I have been in love with Matthew since I first saw him.

Sorta like I was with College Boy.  ‘Cept I loved him before I first knew him.

That is why THIS story is so hard to tell.  And people, well-meaning people, all want to tell me their opinion, of how I should deal with my son that has not moved out.

I have asked on forums, of other bloggers I know, have you had to kick your son out?

No one ever responds.

Here are the facts:  I wrote a blog about how I had a family photo taken… and we all looked like we were carved out of cream cheese.  I hardly recognized us, my family.  We looked perfect.  We looked like your facebook posts.

Like 67 times if you love your husband.

Share if you think you daughter is the greatest.

Send the color of your bra in your status if you think you are the ONE PARENT ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET that is impervious to what lies ahead, and that YOUR child will not fall into the ills of the future.

Black

My bra is black!

I am NOT impervious.

I may just be a fraud and a failure.

My kid did not launch.

He lives in my basement. *SIGH*

He makes real good puppets though.

And…  in an unusual twist…. (there is no font for it, so it is up to you to sense the snark.)

HE BLAMES ME.  For everything.

You’re welcome.

You didn’t pay your cell phone bill?  Good news, it’s probably my fault.

You don’t have a job? Well, I’m in HR.  I probably did not call your references, again, totally my fault.

You are not happy?

Did I not hire the right clown at your 8th birthday?  Yep, that is on me, as well.

Does your butt itch?

Well, I probably bought the wrong toilet paper for you dear.

That is all you can expect of me…  Mommy is here to help protect you from the world.  In my 40’s that is what I know.  Ask me again next decade.  Mommy will know new tricks.

But at 40+, here is what mommy DOES KNOW.

  1. It is not ALL my fault.  I will admit to 50%.
    1. You decide which 50% is yours to take ownership of.
    2. Are you a willing participant in your own life?
      1. Participate.
      2. People try to be supportive of my decision to ask you to leave, but I see their eyes. I see their judgment and yours.
        1. That is fine.  Choose better than I did.  Show me where I was wrong.
        2. Do better.
        3. Succeed more.
        4. Trust me, I am okay with you being more than mommy is.
        5. THE BEST thing mommy ever did was YOU and YOUR BROTHERS.
        6. A very close second; was my husband.  I chose well there too.

 

 

 

 

 

Locking the Doors

Umm, when I started this blog, I was in a state of change.  I went from the Chamber of Commerce to HR and New Boss. Well, New Boss got promoted in January, and ever since my life is different.  I am responsible for everything in the office.  At first, it was great.  Oh, The Places You(I)ll Go.

Then business got real tense.  I live in what you call a Boom or Bust town.

Where I live, business grows or recedes on energy prices.  I live in the “Energy Capital of the Nation”.   Good for me.  ‘Cept, in the last year, energy prices sucked.

Political affiliations aside, it really hurt to live where I live.

I was worried.  Would I have a job?  Would you?  How will this play out on a national scale?  I don’t know much, but I know that people nationally, dislike coal.  I live in a: coal, methane, gas, and uranium rich state. What does that mean?  It means schools, detention centers, law makers, and people like me are all supported by energy.

Then June hit, and shit hit the fan.

People who hadn’t wouldn’t hired were behind.  They needed me. I went into overdrive. 

I worked 80 hours weeks.  I tried to please everyone.  Yes, if YOU HADN’T noticed, I am totally codependent.  Just email me your needs.  I will totally respond with how great you are, and how you need to keep on doing what you are doing. 

That is the back story.

The fore story is when shit went down I got a new New Boss.  He doesn’t know me.  He doesn’t know what I do here in Nowhere, WY.

I had to fly to meet him.  You know how I feel about flying.

He liked me anyway.

And I cried when I met him.  In my toughest, most Sadie voice, I looked him right in the eye and said, “I can’t do this.  I need help.  You need to know that.”

So tonight, when I called him and said, “You don’t have to fix anything, you just need to listen.” He shut up and listened.  “You said I could call you and vent.”

“Vent, that’s why I am here.”

“Well, I think I need to lock the doors and walk out and never come back.  I won’t, but I can’t do this anymore.”

He said, “Lock the door.  There is nothing on your desk that won’t be there tomorrow.  Go home.  Have Raynard put you in the car.  I will buy you guy’s dinner… I won’t buy your wine (he KNOWS me.).  But I will buy you dinner, come back tomorrow.”

And that’s where I left.

Locked the door and left.

I will go back tomorrow, like always.

But just like Raynard, no matter how fragile, how silly, how out of control I am, he always says just the right thing.

I will go back tomorrow, and do my best.

I haven’t written in a long time, because I have been so worried about the future.  Fuck the future. Right now is what is important.

We can only do the best we can do RIGHT NOW. 

With what we know RIGHT NOW.

With what we can control RIGHT NOW.

Do the best YOUR SADIE can do RIGHT NOW, after that:  Lock the fucking doors.

You won’t believe it’s true.

Those of you who have been here since the beginning may remember the Crest-a-Pult story.

Raynard’s genes were verified in Stinky Pete, as he keeps complaining about his eyes hurting when he brushes his teeth.  Dude, less pressure.  It’s a toothbrush, not a sling-shot.  For a kid that is at top of his class in almost every subject, I really think he is on his own to figure this out.

Well, that is at least how I felt; absolutely no sympathy.

Until… (if we are friends on FB, you already know the punch line.)

I got chicken blood in my eye.

Those aren't bags... that's the eye salmonella

Those aren’t bags… that’s the eye salmonella

Yes, you heard me.

Chicken. Blood. In. My. EYE!

You know how they say couples that have been together for a long time start to act and look alike?  I don’t think I look like Raynard—but I pay a gorgeous gay man to wax my moustache.  Raynard does not, without the intervention, we may look more alike than I know.

The overwhelming response was “How?”

“For the love of all that is good, Sadie, HOW did you get chicken blood in your eye?”

There were “one bullet” theories of voo-doo rituals.  But anyone who KNOWS me, knows I only do voo-doo rituals naked.  And on this night I was cooking dinner.  Naked would have made the act of cooking unsanitary, awkward for the adult children that live in my home, and downright disrespectful of the chicken that gave its life for our nightly nourishment.

Come on people, I’m a dork, not a heathen.

The How:
You know when you are taking the plastic wrap off the “feet” part of the chicken?  Well, in this instance there was substantial tension covering the “feet.”  I should have figured.  And no, I wasn’t drinking, at the time.  Afterwards, YES, of course I was drinking.  As I googled salmonella poising in the eye, anyone would need a drink for that.

I think the outlook may be grim, but a ray of hope came to me via text message:  Bedazzled Eye Patch.

I will live, and live stylishly.

The new play

So, I have been cast in a new play.

I have also been recognized for being a lesbian for the last year.

Tell me if you see this as a coincidence? I am often seen as manly.  I get hit on by girls a lot.  This year I hit on a girl (that part is new to me).

BUT, I was cast as three boys.  Three boy gods, just saying. I am Zues, Hades and Hercules.

Should I worry?

Boston Bombing… No photo, on purpose.

Here is what I know.

The images I see from Boston are meant to terrorize me.  That is not to say some terrorist group planned or carried out these attacks.

I have a really vivid imagination.  I have a 9 year old child.

I don’t want visions in my head of the 8 year old that tragically lost his life.

I want the world to be a decent place. I want to see change.

I do not want to *think* that people * believe* they are accepting EQUAL rights.  I want to *know* they are accepting of rights for all people.

I know that I am a dreamer. I’m not the only one.  (To quote John Lennon)

So, because the images of Boston terrorize me, I will not watch. Not because there is no message.  I cannot contribute to the power of terrorists. I cannot make this attack more powerful than Pearl Harbor, 9/11, the Atlanta Bombings, OK City, Columbine, Newtown, or the next thing terrorists plan to haunt me.

I cannot stop believing in people because of what plays on the news.

I will pray for families.

I will remember.

That is all I can promise.

I always try to post a photo (since it is worth a thousand words) but I won’t.  I watched GMA this morning and I wanted to go back to bed.  The images terrorized me, just like they wanted.  Guess what?  No matter who did this, be it a lone sociopath, or a group, they meant to terrorize us.  They meant to have us look at photos, over and over and over.  I refuse to give them that power.

Please, don’t give the terrorist that power.

Please don’t watch.  Please give these families the time they need to grieve. I guarantee, your children don’t need to see it, any more than you do.

My Boyfriend’s back…

RAY-NARD RAY-NARD my boyfriend's back!

RAY-NARD RAY-NARD my boyfriend’s back!

He’s gonna ruin my reputation.

Melancholy Squeak!

And really, at this point I don’t have much of a reputation to salvage.  Ruin away!

My Surrogate Gay Husband (SGH) is back in town, just for the moment.  He won’t be staying.  So, while I have him, I must make my memories now.

My SGH is bad for me.  He makes me get out of my Raynard’s comfort zone.  I do things I normally would judge other people for doing.

Oh, silly old woman, what are you thinking?  Someone could be posting this to ‘the YouTube’ right now.  Your next parent teacher conference, you might be #trending, right as you walk up to the table, Stinky Pete’s younger, hipper teachers could be passing around a filmography of your latest outing.

I can see it in my head.

My SGH is good for me.  He makes me get into my Sadie zone.  I do things I normally wouldn’t do.  I leave the house.  I sing in public. I DO STUFF, is the real point.  SGH is so hard to resist, being out in public with a man this beautiful can be overwhelming.  There is power in it.  I swear… unicorns follow us down the street when we walk together; you can always tell if you are walking into a party after us… there is a trail of glitter.  Just saying.

I received an ominous text from the SGH saying, “Dibs! Saturday night you’re mine. Tell your real husband to suck it up.”  Just those words should have been foreboding enough, I should have known.  I should have gotten a fake ID… and I am 40+.  I should have put my attorney on retainer.

SGH and I *LOVE* to karaoke.  He is great at karaoke, and beautiful.  I provide the much needed social commentary on why we institutionalize the elderly in America.  Inevitably, when we are out in public together, someone will come to me, and try to excuse THEIR behavior to ME; give me quick reassurance that they are not trying to steal my man.

As many times as I have been through this, I never know how to react.

SGH and I have been assumed to be:

  1. Boyfriend/girlfriend
  2. Husband/wife
  3. Mother/Son
  4. Sisters
  5. Brothers
  6. Lesbian Couple

I ended up in the ER for big Anniversary weekend. part IIIPeople usually know we aren’t two dudes, because he is so pretty.

Just saying.

So when the very inebriated woman came to me to say, “I swear, I am not trying to pick up your boyfriend” I laughed.  And she said, “No really.”  Wanting to reassure me, her intentions were pure.

I just looked at her and said, “Good luck, he is gay.”

“No he is not.”

I find it both amusing and offensive that everyone comes at me from the politically correct perspective that assumes he is straight… until he proves otherwise. “Why do you assume he is straight?”

“He is not gay! You are together!”

SGH: “Nope, big ole gay.  Right here.” He said, pointing to himself.

And then she sat down and had a conversation with my SGH, I went to pee.  The details matter very little.   We have this conversation a lot, where people act surprised, that my very beautiful friend is gay.  Frankly, it bores me.  What happened next, well, that is a new story for me.

I came back from the ladies room, may or may not have danced by myself, but sat back down and our new friend sat square in my lap and stated, “I want you to make me a lesbian tonight.”

OK, I am gay friendly.  I fly the rainbow flag.  I am okay with your orientation.

I have told you, I get recognized for being a lesbian, a lot.  I have even signed autographs as Rachel Maddow. I wear comfortable shoes.  Guess what?  The underwear matches the shoes.  It is always comfortable.

But make you a lesbian?  I honestly didn’t know I had that power.  I perked up a bit. (with great power comes great responsibility  –Uncle Ben).

“There is a form you need to fill out, so I can get a new toaster for the conversion.  Plus, I didn’t bring my wand tonight.” I said, with a very straight face.

I am not sure where the conversation ended, I am sorry to say, I don’t know if you know this… but I had been drinking.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw our friend, Hannah almost in Montana in a very intense conversation with a man.  I meant to help.  So I crossed a room, and kissed her. It was my first girl on girl kiss, and may I say… *sigh* she had the sweetest, softest lips ever.

When we got back to the table she looked at me and said, “Why did you save me from the gay guy?”

“I didn’t know he was gay, but I was trying to help.”

That was about the time our new friend put her tongue down my throat and asked the room if they would like to see her shaved taco.

SGH took me home for Raynard to deal with.  Life went on.  We are still all of same orientation we left the house in that night.    But know two things:

  • I kissed a girl and I liked it. Yeah, thanks Katie Perry.
  • The Taco Lady has been stalking my SGH at work, she always asks where his lesbian friend is. She doesn’t even flinch when he says, “at home, with her husband.”

It was an honor just to be nominated… isn’t that what they all say?

isn’t that what they all say?

It really was an honor to be nominated... and I am not just saying that, because I am an incredible actor.  I mean it.

It really was an honor to be nominated… and I am not just saying that, because I am an incredible actor. I mean it.

I was nominated for a Liebster Award.  When I first learned of the nomination I was real skeered.  My first award nomination ended badly, with Guru Annie and myself agreeing on the TIE for 6th funniest blogger on the planet.  When I put on my big girl panties, to read what a Liebster was, I was less concerned.  It is more like a chain letter from bloggers, keep in mind if YOU DON’T DO what I tell you, all hellfire and brimstone could come to your doorstep and ask you to adopt a cat.  #justsaying

1. Each blogger should post 11 random facts about themselves.

2. Answer the questions the tagger has set for you, and then create 11 new questions for the bloggers you pass the award to.

3. Choose 11 new bloggers (with less than 200 followers) to pass the award to and link them in your post.

4. Go back to their page and tell them about the award.

5. No tag backs.

 Random Facts about Sadie Wilson:

  1. I have had 3 children I carried to term, and never one labor pain.
  2. I married the love of my life, the 3rd time he asked me.
  3. I am the most selfish person I have ever met.
  4. In the last 5 years my shoe size has changed from an 11 to an 8.5
  5. I worry constantly. I worry that I worry too much.
  6. 5 years ago I never drank alcohol.
  7. I want to go someplace new, but I am afraid to travel.
  8. I know about the oxford comma, but rarely use it.
  9. I used to want to marry Rick Astley.
  10. I find beauty in people’s flaws; it is my favorite thing to hear about someone.  I also equate people owning their flaws and sharing it with me as I sign of trust.
  11. Usually when I get this far into writing a blog, I have to pee.

1. Where do you do your writing?

I love writing in my kitchen, but I took over a spare bedroom in my house to “write” in.  It keeps the grown children from getting too comfortable in my home as they now have to share a bedroom. Two birds, one stone spare bedroom and all.

2. Do you have aspirations for a book, or just dicking around?

I used to have aspirations of a book, but turns out, I am just dicking around.  I am pretty sure I have self-diagnosed ADHD, and books can be l-o-n-g man.  I don’t know that I could hold my own interest that long.  How could I expect someone else to read that drivel.
3. What do you think non-bloggers, family members and friends think about blogging?

My parents and siblings think I am crazy, and teetering on the verge on lesbianism.  My mother also fears my emails/blog posts will be infiltrated by the Taliban and someone will kidnap me and take me away and hold me ransom.

My BFF used to think I was kinda cool, 6th funniest blogger on the planet and all.  She mostly finds me lame now, since I haven’t written in so long.
4. Do you think Facebook can also hinder blogging, as well as help spread your name
around?

YES!  When someone you “know” likes your blog, but then you realize they are super churchy, and you’re all “I went out with my surrogate gay husband, and we gave impromptu oral sex presentation to a hobbit at the local bar.” Well, you reconsider actually putting that information out into the WWW; because the churchy people and the Taliban are tracking that information, just like my mom.
5. Do you like sandwiches?

Actually, yes; I enjoy sandwiches very much.  I cannot admit to that, because one night during family dinner my young children were telling me the origin of the name sandwich, and I thought it sounded too stupid to be true.  So I chose not to believe, even when I was proven wrong by the internet, and children, and spouse with Master’s degree.  But because I chose not to believe them every time we have soup and sandwich night, I make a calzone. A calzone is really is just a sandwich, without the ongoing family discussion where mom is always wrong.
6. How are you different from those in your peer group?

I don’t have peers, just the pressure.  People want me to either: start smoking/or stop smoking, go drinking/stop drinking, join abstinence club/start my own brothel…. OY VEY!

You can stop at anytime Sadie.

You can stop at anytime Sadie.

The people I hang with for fun are wonderful spirits, arty, free thinkers (and way too young for me to be hanging out with).  I am pretty well connected with weird thinkers now, people that make me stand on my desk and shout, “Oh Captain, My Captain” just like Dead Poets Society, constantly encouraging me to challenge my own thinking.
7. Are you on Twitter and actually using it?

Yes.  No.
8. Do you read a lot of other blogs, or just use yours as a means for your own thoughts?

I try so very hard to read other blogs, but there are so many of them. Then I see the shiny objects in their writing and forget to write my own, or vice versa.  When I write, I can’t concentrate on the others, so I don’t accidentally steal their ideas.  I plagiarized Guru Annie my first year, and I totally thought it was my own original thought and LOL’d as I typed it.  SHEER BRILLIANCE I thought.  Totally stolen.

9. If you could be a fruit, which one would you choose and why?

Fruit Fly, because I do adore my surrogate gay husband.
10. Do you think these awards are sometimes too long and time-consuming?

Yes, and they make me feel too much pressure.  My first year I was nominated in a real contest where people had to go vote for you and such, it crippled me I couldn’t write, I didn’t win, and it totally undermined my confidence.  I have never paid attention again.
11. How do you think these arbitrary numbers, like 11 are chosen?

I think someone had too much time, and not enough wine.
12. Did you know I was a rebel?

Onion Girl, everyone knows you are a rebel.

11 random questions for you, my fellow bloggers:

  1. How many times have you asked some to look at a lump on an appendage of yours and asked them to help diagnose you? Was the lump what you thought it was?
  2. Are you more Willy Wonka or more Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?
  3. Where does your OCD shine most?
  4. Tell me one great success story you overcame, right before you were about to give up.  You know, like Rudy.
  5. Boxers, briefs or pantaloons?
  6. What is the nugget of truth, you can give me, to help me on a journey to success?
  7. Are you a writer or a story teller?
  8. What was your greatest success in changing your environment?
  9. Do you see a doctor within 48 hours of getting sick?
  10. How do you deal with pee on the seat?
  11. Name one character you would like to portray on screen/stage?

My picks for the award

1. Anyone with less than 200 followes who is ACTUALLY READING THIS. (YES!! That means you, you just won!! HUZAH, sit down and write something will ya?)

2. The Real Yetisaurus, my first true semi-lesbian entcounter, #fail.

3. Brigitte’s Banter, she talks to me, and she is truly paid to write.

3. The Musings of Munch, he posts pics of shoes and real pretty boys. #justsaying.

4.  Audra at Unfettered, not only because she loves me, encourages me, and talks to me, but she writes haiku, almost everyday.

5. Annieology, the girl that got me started towards this new me.

6. The Cubicle Views, because he cracks me up.

7. Confessions of a Tumbleweed, she is from WYOMING you know.

8. My Cyber House Rules, is the bravest woman I never met.

9. Eldon Sarte, Braintropolis… he liked me write away  (see what I did there?)

10. Eric at Sinistral Scribblings, ’cause he used to be part of my group and needs our encouragement man.

11. Kelly @ Naked Girl in a Dress… mostly, she is dressed.  But works real hard to get writers out there.

12. Kimberly, @ Rubber Chicken Madness, because she is always real… and was the first person to accept me on Studio 30

13. Jester Queen, who still talks to me, and is wiling to collaborate.

…’cause really, it IS STILL all about me.

Aging GRAYsfully

So, I missed an appointment with my fabulous gay hairdresser.  I never do that, but in this instance it seemed more important to have life changing surgery for Stinky Pete, than for a touch up color and cut for me.

Tympanoplasty

I know, it doesn’t look like a bit deal; but keep in mind, I have done the same surgery with Skudro Bodine 5 times.

Don’t let people ply you in with; “children, they’re a lot of work but they ARE worth it.”  You give up a lot to be a parent, and I promise they will curse you for the sacrifice.

I have noticed more gray hair on my head in the last week than I have in the last decade.  Is it because of one missed appointment?  Or because I am truly getting old? I don’t know that we will ever have an answer to this question.

What I can officially share, I tore my rotator cuff. And, I got trapped in my own pajamas this week.

OH HOLY HANNA! The pain, the friggin' pain.

OH HOLY HANNA! The pain, the friggin’ pain.

I must really be getting old, because I hurt myself sleeping.  Let me say that again just so I know you heard me correcty; I hurt myself… to the point I needed to seek medical attention, sleeping.  I wasn’t gonna go to see anyone, I always tell people I am too mean to really get sick but… earlier this week, I got stuck in my pajamas.  I couldn’t get out. I called to my Loving Husband Raynard, “Hey! Please?  Could you come help me?”

He said, “Yeah, come out here, I am watching Amish Gold Miners tracking across America looking for Antiques.”

I yelled back, “I am stuck in my pajamas, and my boobs are hanging out!  I can’t go into the living room, in front of the full length windows.”  That statement neither encouraged him to run to me  for a little action, or push pause on the TV to help.  I went to bed. At least the tangle in my PJ’s will keep my arm in one place all night.