Important Shiz, and I’m waxing gender issues, forgiveness, and friendships

So I bet you thought I was dead, or had been taken by sweaty cowboys for ransom, or maybe ran off with a dirty, tattooed musician….

Nah.

I’m happy, safe, and well. I’m sure you all were just worried sick.

The good news is I’m writing! Or editing. Or both, rather. Working on that novel like a MOFO. I needs to get ‘er done, you know what I’m saying? And now I have to, because I’m trying to enter a YA manuscript contenst by Oct. 1st. *nervous laughter*

I can do this, right??? RIGHT?

I’ve also done a little writing over on the Sisterwives blog. I’ve been introspective this week, specifically about the complexities of womanhood (which you can read here), the relationships between women, and the importance of forgiveness.

I also read a book. A GREAT one. You need to read it too. It validated everything I’ve ever felt after a friendship ended: the soul-sucking hurricane of loss, self-doubt, and confusion.

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I not only told my own breakup story HERE, but also talked more about the book, which I HIGHLY recommend. It’s brutiful, and brave, and heartfelt. This collection of essays was masterfully woven together by the genius women behind The Herstories Project.

To get your copy of this book go HERE

That is all. Now go buy the book and read the linked posts so I can get back to my manuscript.

GIT!

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In which I finally announce the winner. #chumslick

I’ve been back from Wyoming for over a week and have yet to write. I guess I needed more of a vacation than I thought. This past ten days I’ve spent a lot of time wading in the pools of other creative venues, like watching shark week painting and reading. But the itch to write……it’s back.

**Shark Week is the only time during the year I get to use the phrase chum slick and it’s relevant. In fact, it’s become the answer to everything, similar to the ole that’s-what-she-said-last-night. I kind of can’t stop.

help me.

CHUM SLICK. (last time)

On my last post I asked for you to guess what embarrassing or awkward thing might happen to me during my trip. I got predictions ranging from totally outlandish (fall over chin hair into a den of snakes and shart on a bear) to the fairly typical (trip, or grab some guy’s ass mistaking him for the hubs, or accidentally flash a boob).

None of those things happened. In fact, it was a relatively incident free week.

Relatively.

I did walk into a column so hard it left an enormous bruise on my upper arm that’s just now fading. This column was in our bedroom, which was a loft with a severely low, slanted ceiling. I brained myself on that ceiling no less than 87 times, but the worst was my complete inability to contain my laughter when my husband hit his head, also no less than 87 times.

I mean, that shit’s just funny, right?

More than anything, this trip was chock-full of learning experiences.

For instance, I learned that incontinence is worse at high altitudes, as evidenced in the following photo series. Here I am sandwiched between my real life wife (as opposed to my blog wife) and her husband, Jeff. You can clearly see I’m relaxed and smiling.

prepee

But after repeated attempts by Jeff to get his giant thumb to hit the take-this-effing-photo button, the giggles started. When the next photo finally took, my face is all oh-shit-I’m-peeing-right-now, and I’m lower in the photo due to an emergency thigh squinch (<that’s a word)

pee

*just as an aside, this photo of my wife is likened to a yeti sighting. She was very kind to let me use it on the blog. That and I got her wasted before asking permission. Also? She technically won most embarrassing incident before we even left Texas. Using some old, over-zealous hair removal wax, she essentially burned off the top layer of her chin skin. For about three days, she emanated a reddish aura-like glow. (she’s going to kick my ass when she reads this, but it’s totally worth it)

This high altitude explosion of giggles followed by rapid thigh squinch and inevitable urine release was not a single incident.

almost pee

Double thigh squinch in the town square.

And I learned I have a “tell”. Unless otherwise occupied, my hand always covers my mouth when I’m laughing so hard that other bodily functions are a free-for-all. Here I am trying to have a civilized dinner when all hell breaks loose.

dinner pee

please don’t ruin dinner, he pleads

And these are just the incidences caught on camera.

I also learned that my impulsiveness has limits. Out of no where, I decided I’d be tempted to paraglide. After all, I’d be jumping tandem with a professional…how dangerous could it be?

It was going to happen. Until I looked it up online.

It wasn’t the price that scared me off. I mean, I expected it to cost several hundred dollars and I’d come to terms with it.

It was the Go-Cam video from an actual jump.

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the view from the moon just before imminent death

Ya’ll. It looked like they were jumping from f#cking space. The town below…it was so tiny. And, as with most of these adventures, you had to book in advance, which gave me too much time to think about it.

Basically, my paragliding hard-on went flaccid.

What I need is an IWRT (immediate whim response team).

You want to paraglide? BOOM. You’re jumping off a mountain. Right. Now.

You want a tattoo? BOOM. The needle just pierced your skin.

You want to do naughty things to the river raft guide? NO. Access denied. Your IWRT has strict guidelines.

In summary (finally) it was an incredible trip. We were with our friends. Everyone had fun. We hiked. We kayaked. We laughed. We ate good. We saw wild animals. We drank. We laughed some more. The hubs and I got show our boys the exact spot where we were married, and we celebrated our 13th anniversary of that marriage while we were there.

Life is good. We are beyond grateful.

So who won the contest? It was a tough call, actually. But technically, there was only one person whose prediction was pure and simple loss of bladder control, and exactly no one guessed I’d slam into a column, or ram my head into a dropped ceiling 87 times. So……

The winner is……

drumroll….

DYANNE DILLON

To the rest of you who played along, thank you for making me laugh so hard! Your comments were GOLD.

I leave you with my favorite image from the trip.  An incredibly rare (for the blogoshere) family photo. Our bodies may be back in Texas, but our hearts remain in the Wyoming mountains.

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#chumslick (I lied. But this is the last time. Fah real)

okay, so tell me, have you ever peed-yer-pants this many times in one week? What was your most memorable vacation? Does your spontaneity have limits?

SNAKE APOCALYPSE AND A CONTEST!!! What’s not to love?

What am I supposed to be doing? Packing. What am I actually doing? You’re lookin’ at it. I can’t help it! I have so much shit to tell you again, and I can’t possibly leave the state before writing this post! Let’s begin, shall we? *clears throat*

Last Thursday, this happened in the downstairs bathroom:

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This is not “the” snake. I would never have a rifle in my bathroom. Probably.

A baby rat snake. Not too alarming. Snakes happen, and this one was a tiny baby. I scooped it into a box (while it continually struck at it) and let it go safely into the garden. And then, five hours later, it happened AGAIN in my kitchen. Could it be the same baby snake? If so, howthefuck did it figure out how to get back into my house? Why did it want in there so bad? OR. What if it’s not the same one? What if there’s a mom rat snake in my walls or cabinetry having babies?

We would have to sell the house.

 

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The following day, I’m pruning in the garden on the side of the house, when I find this:
snake

Ya’ll. I peed a little.

Approximately four milliseconds later, I realize it’s my son’s rubber snake. Soon thereafter,  a two-day-prank-fest ensued. There was a lot of screaming.

 

Only 24 hours after the SNAKE APOCALYPSE, this showed up in our backyard:

 

husky

The most beautiful, sweet, cuddly, well-behaved husky pup I’ve ever seen. She was about a year old probably, and unfortunately (for my neutered dog who was treated like a cheap whore on nickel night) in heat. We had her for about 18 hours before we located her *owners (who live on my friggin’ block!). In that 18 hours, we fell in love. Not just admiration. LOVE. Like, my kids cried when she was picked up. Like, I think about her everyday. Like, I searched Husky Rescue sights for 2 hours the next morning, hoping to find one just like her to adopt. Like, I walk my dog by her house and try to telepathically communicate to her, willing her to escape again and come “home”.

I mean, we’re not lunatics. It’s not like we named her or anything. HAHAHAHA *cough-River-cough*

*I have a rant public service announcement. NEUTER/SPAY YOUR PETS (I happen to know the owner is not planning to breed her). And for the love of all things holy, if you have any pet, much less a breed notorious for escaping, put a f#cking tag on its collar!!! Oh, and they have this brilliant thing now called microchips! DUH.

End Rant. *adjusts monocle*   (<<Maria from Behold The Infinite gave me exclusive rights to use that)

Random thoughts for no reason whatsoever:

1. F#CK OFF, chin hair! Leave me alone already!
2. I always spell acquaintance wrong and spellcheck has to yell at me. ALWAYS. (yes, even this time)
3. I guess I only had two random thoughts.

I mentioned at the start of this post that I’m supposed to be packing, which brings me to this:

I’M GOING ON A TRIP!

Where, you ask? Oh, only my favorite place in the whole-wide-world.

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Grand Teton National Park

You know what? I’m dying to share my excitement with you, and the only way I know how is to….

HAVE A CONTEST!!

The rules are as follows: In comments, make your best prediction of what awkward/embarrassing thing will undoubtedly occur on the trip. The predictions can be as mundane or outlandish as you wish. I will ship a special item purchased during my trip to the winner! And yes, it’s possible to have more than one winner.

Examples from my impressive track record include, but aren’t limited to: pee my pants, walk into glass doors, fall out of canoes/kayaks/rafts, get completely lost, have my drink exit my nose, and fall flat on my ass in public. Also, once I did something too humiliating to say here. But it starts with an SH and rhymes with bart.

The possibilities are endless, really, so play along and make a guess. It’ll be fun! And if you’re on Instagram, keep an eye out for real-time photos!

Have you ever had a snake in your house? Does it drive you bat-shit when people aren’t responsible pet owners? What embarrassing thing do you just know I’m gonna do?

WTF’S, Beards, BJ’s, and Anniversaries. Related, but not.

I feel very restricted by the internet today. What I really want to do is jump out from behind a door and yell, “HEY! I HAVE ALL KINDS OF SHIT TO TELL YOU!” I’d have a giant creepy grin on my face and it would scare you so bad you’d pee a little, and we’d laugh….and laugh….

(more…)

How much I love you

This blog-hurkey-orgy-thingy is an ode to our friend Mandi because

 IT’S HER BIRTHDAY!!!!!

A group of us are singing You Are My Sunshine, each taking one line from the song in our titles. At the end of this I’ll leave a link for the next in blog in line. Now onto the business at hand…

(more…)

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An Orphan’s Life

bethteliho:

I know it doesn’t look like it, but I AM writing! Today I shared a story very close to my heart over on the sisterwives blog. I’d be honored if you read it.

Originally posted on The SisterWives:

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He was found by his aunt in his home at the age of two, abandoned by his alcoholic mother. Just a baby. Scared. Hungry. Crying.

She took him in and cared for him for a while, but eventually she had to hand him off to another family member. Over the years, he was passed around to just about everyone. Some were incredibly kind; some merely tolerated him. For one short stint he stayed with a California aunt and uncle. The alchoholic uncle got drunk one night and attempted sexual abuse – a common occurrence – with the now seven year old. The orphan tried to protect himself and a shoved the man; he fell and smashed his head on the corner of a metal coffee table.

The head injury was fatal.

The orphan was then sent back to the East Coast to live with his grandparents, Ma and Pop, whom…

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I’m a Whore!

A word whore that is…I’ve been sharing them all over the place this week! Or does that make me a pimp? Not sure….

Last week I was at Laura’s talking about a negative thing that changed the trajectory of my life for the better. You can read The Dog Bite here.

TODAY I’m over at Michelle’s talking about another moment – this time good one – that completely turned my world on its head and shaped my life in more ways than I can count. Take a gander over there and read Mountain Mama.

Also debuting today over at the Sisterwives blog is a brave and candid post by Samara about domestic abuse. You do NOT want to miss this. Read it here.

*puts pimp hat on and struts away*