Ch-ch-ch-changes

Life has been kicking my ass lately.

Work has been a continuous revolving door of employee issues consisting of hirings, firings and reprimands. I have hired three newbies in the past month and so far they have logged in a total of four sick days. One only made it a week, before getting all germy and pukey and greenish.

Home has been somewhat calmer, but with the normal amount of teen angst and girl-drama. With several snow days under their belts, they are as sick of me as I am of keeping them entertained.

The man was transferred to a different department at work and is showing the signs of stress related to such a move. He's well liked at work and respected among his peers. Yet there are employees that do not deal well with change. There is backlash folks.

In other news, there is a new puppy. After mourning the loss of Ralphie the Wonder Weiner, I slowly began to prepare myself for another dog. I researched different breeds, small ones and large ones, active and no-so-much. I considered the possibility of getting a dog that could accompany me to work each day. As I have mentioned before, I work in a chain of liquor stores. This made the option of a large dog unlikely. Large, furry tails clearing large amounts of bottles from bottom shelves would be a bad thing. From this aspect, a small dog is preferable.

So this narrowed my search. I watched dog shows. I checked breeders. I talked to everyone that had the unfortunate luck to cross my path. Long story sort-of-shortish, I kept going back to the dachshunds. Maybe its the familiarity. They are not the easiest breed, but I knew what I was getting into.

After batting my eyes and promising sexual favors to the Man, on Valentine's Day he purchased for me this:



Let me introduce to you Prince Dashing Romeo. Dash for short. He makes my heart swell.

Puppy breath

It's been several weeks since my dear doggie passed away. He was my companion, my friend and occasionally the biggest pain in my ass. I loved him dearly. I've spent the last few days trolling the internet in search of puppies and breeders and rescue homes and such. But each picture has caused conflicted feelings. Can you replace a beloved pet so quickly? Is it really replacing, or just moving on? Can another dog fill the space left by Ralphie? I just dunno. But seriously, this face is killing me. Squee! Smoosh! Fuzzy! Soft! Heart!

Wordless Wednesday

John Madden Is After My Man

The man and his PS3 are making a very serious attempt to drive me over the edge of reason. Since I work days and he works nights, we rarely see each other through the week. He will come dragging in anywhere between 3:00AM and oh-my-freaking-Gawd-do-you-know-what-time-it-is. A sane person would toddle off to bed after working 14 hours and then driving another hour and a half to get home, but not the man. No. Huh-uh.

After being punched in the nuts about fifteen gazillion times for waking me up with a "Hey Baby, ya wanna?" at No-Fucking-Way-O'thirty, he has learned to find other ways to amuse himself. I think he's now having an affair with John Madden 2010 NFL Football.

It's a tad bit disturbing to be woken by commentary by John Madden. I can be blissfully asleep, dreaming of having some sexy time with movie stars and college cuties, when out of the blue I hear:

"He's back real deep, waiting to return this one."

"Looks like he's going to re-enter."

"He's got a hot hand now and it looks like the other team is definitely gonna have to put some hands on him."

"He's got a valuable weapon there."

"He's feeling some pressure now and looking for a tight end to step up and help him out."

"They need to gather the troops now, because that's just poor execution."

See? John Madden wants to have orgies in my house! I can hear it in his creepy old man voice and to tell you the truth, it's scary. It's a good thing The Man likes bendy girls and boobs.

Looks like it's time to shave my legs and set the alarm clock a few hours earlier, 'cause there's no way I'm letting John Madden horn in on my game.

Wordless Wednesday

Meet my new friend, Trigger

I wish I knew how to describe it. I have heard it described beautifully, and I have heard it belittled, simplified, defined for the amusement of others. There are no flowery words, no hard lines of definition. It is vagueness personified. It is murky, foggy, shadowy nothingness with a healthy dose of hell mixed through. It borrows you, piece by piece, for its own. Depression is not always dark. Sometimes it is blinding white terror with the volume turned down for the sensitive. Drowning isolation occurs simply within your skull. Or your psyche… whatever. Depression finds what ever is the quintessential you and taints it, causing it to slowly rot away.


I don’t understand how some people don’t get it. But then again, most don’t grow up watching it. Seeing it personified in your parents, your surroundings, your life. For me, depression is as natural as breathing. It is the constant companion from my childhood. It is the make-believe friend that I never outgrew. It is the cause of my self-deprecating humor and the roots of my neurosis. I do quite literally picture this thing as a shadow, following everywhere, almost comforting in its reliability. Parents, friends, lovers, even husbands have left…depression never. Ironic that it is my longest relationship.


We make a good team, depression and I. We are on the same-wavelength. Soul-sisters. Damn. Talk about your fucked-up relationships. I wish depression and I could just take a break.


How do you break up with a disease? (Insert joke about ex-husband here) I know this relationship is unhealthy. I know I need to end this and move on. I see how it affects the real people in my life. I get it. Really. But I don’t know how. It’s like facing an abusive partner, one that is bigger, badder, meaner and stronger than me. Every time I try to leave depression, it makes me pay for my insolence. In spades. A dose of torture will be meted out and measured.


I find that I resent the good times, because I know that a crash is coming. The crash is around the corner at all times. I try, to see the beauty and good. I stop and look at the simple things that bring me joy. Not in a “Stop and smell the roses” kinda way, but in a “hang onto this moment, ‘cause you’re gonna need it soon to keep from doing something stupid” way. I am not suicidal. Would never act in this selfish way. My love for my children is too great. My fear of what would be said about me after I’m gone keeps me from ever acting. But have I played it out in my head? Yes. Does everyone? I don’t know. Maybe. For years I assumed everyone thought this way. And not in a trivial way, not in a “Here’s how I would do it if I absolutely, positively HAD to with no other alternative”.



So what now. Depression and I have fought again and I lost. Now it wants to wrap its arms around me comfort me with the familiarity that I recognize. Depression wants to hold my hand and my head and walk through my everyday with me. We can share some self-loathing with our dinner and discuss our denial. I don’t have the strength to tell it no again. So here we go. I’ll take care of my kids, give The Man and my job all I can, but right now, I am Depression’s bitch.

Picture Day!

Here's a little taste of what I stare at all day at work.






And to the kind, portly gentleman who chatted me up today: No sir, I do not want to see your "Stimulus Package". And now my brain needs a some electricity jolted thru it to remove the image. Thanks for that.