Tuesday is House Day

This is the way I feel when someone else wins the lottery. I always buy a ticket, but somehow, I have not yet connected with the God of the Lottery. The God that Hates Sinners sees gambling as a sin, and even a worse sin to pray to win. Somebody's in control. There's an energy there someplace. Obviously that little boy needs that fish more than her! Like that one old eighty year old couple that won like a bazillion dollars. For the limited time they have to enjoy it, yay. Good for them. But I think I could put it to better use, I'm sorry I just do. But that is the paradox of life and the attempt to retain balance while you learn to manipulate the energy around you and stay in flow with the Divine Energy. Obviously this little boy caught this fish or believed he should have, or thought she should give it to him because he was littler and had something to prove to somebody or someone to make proud. She's all uncomfortable, pigeon toed, also trying to make someone (Daddy?) proud...she would have taken that fish if she had to knock that poor little guy in the dirt. It's what we do. As children we compete for the attention of our parents.....as adults we compete for the attention of our God. I joke a lot about God, and the different perceptions of Divine Energy, but that is really just to get people riled up and fired off. Right now, myself and many others seek a spiritual way, or path. We ask for guidance from comfortable sources. And, we are looking at whatever works for someone else and trying that too. The next time that little boy goes fishing, I bet he ends up with the fish.

Today is House Day. I clean house as much as possible, and then get to watch the most abrasive and hilarious doctor named House. On a show called house. You get the idea.

Monday Monday

So just why would a person do this? Granted, it is hilarious, and will get even funnier with age. But I think it has 'deeper' implications. It makes me wonder just what this person has tattoed around the other anatomically interesting parts of his/her body. I think it's a man, I mean, women generally aren't this interested in assholes unles they're are dating or married to one. Let's see how this person's thought process might have progressed: As a child, a random trip to the zoo taught the child not only about anal hygeine but also that monkeys do not care about gender. They will look at anyone's asshole, entranced as if something were about to fly out. Sometimes, even, they will try to pick at it, or put a finger right in. This got the child thinking about other anally implicated things, and possibly even lead to a breakthrough moment in which a gender related realization was come to. It could be a tribute. Or, due to the leather and still remaining price tag on the jeans(which a gay man would never leave there) possibly it is just a biker who has a thing for monkey ass. It just goes to show that crazy people do crazy things.

So since it is Monday I thought it would be appropriate to aknowledge the way I worshipped over the weekend, and where my tithe went. As we all know, I am having some trouble with the God Who Hates Sinners. I am dabbling a bit in Ganesh mantras, and as always, I believe that God is in everything, because everything is made of Divine Energy. Every time I ate another Margarita Jello shot, I imagined the God Energy as it rolled across my tongue. Then, for my tithe, I donated ten of my precious and divine Margarita jello shots to the King Elk to take to the 'Lodge'. That was more like 50% tithe, and since Baptists only require 10% I felt this was sufficient. Note to self: Do not make Margarita Jello Shots anymore on Sunday.

Sunday, the day to worship your Crazy God

I like this cat. It reminds me of my mom, when I was little and said the third smart ass thing in a row. Only, she was much bigger and generally armed with something like a shoe, or a serving spoon full of mashed potatoes. I like how the kitty's eyes go all boggely, like it really is listening to a different voice on each side of it's head. There are a lot of really funny pictures at www.funnyjunk.com - if you want to just sit and laugh, it is the place to go. Also, www.joecartoon.com is pretty hilarious as well. Try 'Nana Hooter' or one of the many gerbil cartoons where you get to let the pirhanas eat the gerbil a little at a time...or there's always the frog in the blender. I had a very interesting question yesterday, and either it was from one of my friends or relatives trying to get some hilarity out of me, or it is from someone who believes they are suffering from ADD when actually, it could very well be dyslexia. It's okay, though. We are all 'loved' here. Everyone is accepted, spelling skills or not. In fact, in my answer, I clearly meant to say 'mainly potatoes' when what I actually said was 'manly potatoes'. It can happen to anyone. Probably not on every word, but maybe there was somekind of drunkenness, or swollen fingers, or something so bizarre that not even I could figure it out. But, I did answer the question. I think. I didn't even know they could grow potatoes in India. I thought that was Idaho.

Since it's Sunday, let's talk about God. First let's talk about the God that hates sinners. That one is pretty much not on my side. I am, and have been, and probably will continue, to live in sin. If that reserves me a parking space in hell, then I am glad I went to bartending school. I will just bartend in hell! I've already been able to get on the good side of many Satans just by fixing a great drink. And remembering what drink they want every time they come back. I'm just thinking....I bet I could remember Satan's drink. How hard could it be? 'Flaming Sulfurita'?
Anyway, I think a better choice of Gods for me might be that cute little elephant-headed Hindu God, Ganesh. He loves everybody, good or bad, and moves obstacles out of their way. I'm gonna try my luck with him. Happy Sunday, Everyone!!!!!!

Crazy Friday

Hello, Folks. Of course, by folks, I mean the rest of my personalities since no one else seems to be showing up to this blog. I threatened to talk to myself, and I'll do it. And not just in the middle of the grodery store, either. Right here, in writing. Well, I found out today that I have a better chance of convincing a pack of angry wolves to dance the tango than keeping an abusive ass away from my child. Yay! I love the legal system! It's a piece of crap.

My housing voucher is a month old and I finally found one house that I could rent to own that was nice, and big enough, etc. It is in a very small town with an abnormally high number of registered sex offenders. Okay. No! I then found another prospect, a half a block from some train tracks with a semi drive and two grain bins in the back yard twenty feet from the house. Yeah, again, no. I just keep thinking that the right one will just magically appear, like in a movie. Actually, nothing could be a lot worse than the house we live in now. There are 1 inch spaces between the floor and walls because the house is basically falling in. The windows are rotten, the foundation is made up mainly of mice mummies, the sink is falling through, the bathtub is falling though the floor.The rest of the house is just termites holding hands painted together with second paint from home depot. And I found a brown recluse spider on the ceiling of the girl's bedroom this morning. I'll probably have to get an extension on the voucher.

My van may soon be fixed. I look at it like this...if it comes back and runs, some obscure car god has smiled on me and I should seek him out and start a church. Maybe I could start the church in the van. To the car god Raoul! and his sidekick, Bubba! Would that make me, like, tax exempt? Let me answer that question, since that is what I am here for. No, it would not be tax exempt, or legal, to start a church in a van. But it would be funny. I know where there's a bar in an old church. It's hilarious. They have an 8 ball on the top of the steeple. And you would think it would be named something great, like, 'Holy Smoke Barbecue and Bar' but no, it is called some stupid thing like Fugly's. Which could be a tribute to the owner, because she is pretty fugly. (for all those non southerner's out there who thought a Mint Julep was just a frosty porch drink, fugly stands for f#*@in' ugly.) And as far as the Mint Julep is concerned, don't let it fool you. Those old southern ladies that fainted all the time and had to take naps in the middle of the day? They were damn drunk, is what they were! A Mint Julep is pure bourbon, a little sugar water and a sprig of mint. It's the civil war version of a panty snatcher. Except, it tastes like shit. At least these days pantysnatcher drinks don't taste like liquor. They just are! Which reminds me. How in the hell can potatoes taste like fish? I don't understand this. They went into the skillet as potatoes, they got nice and brown, came out, and were fish. It seriously could not be eaten. It's one thing if you meant to cook fish, I mean it's nasty enough then but at least you know why it tastes like fish and you can just cover it up with tartar sauce. But, potatoes? There is something scary wrong with potatoes that magically turn into fish. Take that into consideration.

Talk about Crazy

As your local Crazy Person I would like to introduce you to a very nonsecret society that dwells deep within our community. It dwells deep because it has no money to go out. Obviously, I am talking here about the Cass County Society for Immoral Repeat Breeders. There are only a few qualifications for membership, those being that you must have three children or more, all with different fathers. Or if you're a manwhore, all with different mothers.
While I was pregnant with my fourth child, I quit going to the grocery store in my own town. I bought a ring, and married myself so complete strangers wouldn't look at me with disdain in the check out line and either ask, 'are you married?' or, 'Don't you know what causes this?' Of course my answer wasn't always polite, and consisted of some generally smart ass comment like 'yeah, Captain Morgan and Nyquil!' and then fuming all the way home because people think they have the right to judge you. Even though it was not true, several times I told rude people that I used to have a husband and he died in Iraq. That shut them up pretty quick. But then I bought the ring, married myself, and voila, no more questions. I have a few friends that are also charter members in the CCSIRB, and they will all tell you the same thing. Nobody did it on purpose. We're not Rosie o'freakin Donnell here. We didn't go spend a bunch of money on fertility treatments, we are not 'proud single mothers that planned and chose to have a baby'. We are broke ass poor women who once in a while, like maybe two times a year, get out of the house. We screw one time, and can be on birth control, use a rubber, spray the whole goddamn man down with spermicidal jelly, douche immediately like thirteen times, and take the morning after pill.....and three weeks later, we are puking looking at a pink stick going, 'you've got to be kidding me.' Actually, I was a little skeptical of the whole tubal ligation procedure....I'm pretty sure a determined sperm could find it's way there somehow. He said he was going to leave four inches of space between the ends of my tubes, but if I have no uterus, or ovaries, then there is no chance that I could be guilty yet again of immoral repeat breeding. But, since I started the society, I feel I should tend to it. I convinced the current and founding members that because they are also man lovin baby machines they should belong. It's nice to belong somewhere. Of course none of our children can ever date in Cass County, and maybe also the other surrounding counties because several of us are bastardly related and God only knows how many other children our children are bastardly related to. In fact, this is such a small town that one pudgy nonfavorite seed spreader has propgated at least five fields that we know of. That we KNOW of! There are many women that would never, ever admit to being in that club. So, you see, no longer is it mandatory, if you tell your children apart by their last names, to move to Alabama and begin calling yourself 'mammy'. You can just join us here, at the Cass County Society for Immoral Repeat Breeders.

Here's something crazy

Swell, folks. I have just found out that children have no rights. Neither do mothers. It doesn't matter that the asshead father of my daughter has never paid child support until the state made him,(and he is already behind on that), he has been both emotionally and physically abusive to me and my other children., has not seen her since she was a little baby, never sends birthday or christmas cards, nothing....yet...none of this matters. The judge is just going to hand over my three year old daughter to a monster that WILL hurt her. Not a question of will he, but just when? And because I was afraid to press charges on him when it happened...he has all the rights. The court doesn't care that he has been abusive. So far they haven't even let me speak as to why I don't believe he should be with her. That is insane. It makes me almost lose my mind. It's like telling me to put her in the middle of the highway and then, if she gets hurt, we'll discuss why it's a bad idea. There is no justice or fairness in this. There is no one but me trying to protect her...no one who is even after her best interest besides me. Yet he can just waltz in after being an absent, shitty, abusive asshole and get whatever he wants. How do you protect your children? How in God's name can I protect her when that court won't even hear me, just keeps on granting him temporary visitation? So far it is in a public place supervised by me so I know he won't be able to physically hurt her...it's when he gets her by himself that worries me. I hope that she realizes, as an adult, that I fought for her. And that when he does decide to hurt her, maybe he will only break her heart instead of one of her arms or her neck because he lost his temper. What a dangerous creep. I can't even get a child protective order for my older two children and a restraining order against him for myself because it has been over two years since the abuse happened. It is my gut instinct to protect my children whatever the cost may be to me......and I have never felt more desparate or hopeless or useless to her. She deserves so much better. She deserves to grow up in a life where she doesn't have to be afraid of her own father. I'm scared for her. I can't be crazy today, I can't save my daughter from sure physical, emotional and mental abuse at the age of three. All I can do is cry, because she is so precious and pure and little and fragile and I am just terrified for her. And I can't do anything about it.

The Day After 'V' day

Well, I haven't been here for a few days, because there was some (obviously) crazy thing going on with my modem. Anyway, that's fixed and here we go again. So no surgery for me Friday. I called my doctor's office and asked very politely that if he's going to be in there with a camera for the tubal ligation, could he possibly look and make sure there is no endometriosis and if not, maybe see why I have had horrible cramps since before Thanksgiving that never go away. The nurse called me back, and so there is a big change of plans. Now, he is going to do a hysterectomy instead. And, if I have endometriosis he will gut me like a fish and try to get it all out of there. But, that is serious surgery, not outpatient, and means a few days in the hospital. Here's the way I see it. There will be drugs, and people will bring me meals. It's the closest thing I will ever see to a vacation, probably! But, being as crazy as I am, I started thinking...I should make a will, etc...you know, the whole mortality issue. I wouldn't care except for all my sweet little kids. I worry what would happen to them if I wasn't around. Then, of course, on top of finding all this out....it's Valentines Day. It was fun. Not as fun, as say, dental work, but fun nonetheless. King God of the Elks actually made some effort, and brought flowers, candy for the girls and the baby, and a movie for them, and some movies for us. We watched those and then went to sleep. Wow! way to go boring self! Anyway, it was an effort. I can respect that.
So, no one, again, has asked a new question. I cannot believe that the entire world has access to my advice and yet, no questions. I am sure that I am not the ONLY know-it-all, but we need questions here. Serious questions. Give my some crap to work with, world wide web! Oh well.....last resort it is. I have a question.......

Monday the start of my crazy week

Well, This is the first day of the week from hell. I will have to have surgery Friday, nothing serious, just getting my baby making equipment shut down. Oh yeah. Anyway, that means that I have to get the house/food/laundry situation handleable before I am down for a couple days and Commander Elk is in charge of the baby. My mom is taking the girls for the entire weekend, something that is usually only saved for birth, but she felt surgery to eliminate the chances of any more births was just as important. How funny that the first rest I will really get in four years is after surgery. Damn. They should offer low rate medicaid tubal ligation surgery right on the beach in the Bahamas....then they could just leave me out there for a couple days, send an umbrella drink cart and a lady with Darvoset in a little cup.....
So since I have had no new questions, I will answer one of the questions frequently asked to President Bush.

"Mr. President, I understand that with the help of your wife, your dog Millie wrote a book. And that it has grossed $889,000 in sales. Mr President, does it make you feel just a little inferior that your dog has earned more than you this year, can write better than you, and has more public support for the next presidency than any of the incumbents so far? And, Mr. President, have you considered allowing Millie to tell you what to say in that earpiece you wear during all public appearances?"

"The answer to that question is simple. I like dogs. Does anyone have a burrito?"

IT is Sunday, The Craziest Day of All

Wow! So, to my previous posters.......
To Offspring #1: You are loved. Crazy loved. And thank you for being so watchful about those knives......now, being that you were my worst and most painful birth, I expect great things from you. Presidency, (of something other than the local psych ward) or doctor, (good drugs...I'm voting on this one) or something even better, like an artist. Chop chop, boy...get to it!

To Sally: Obviously, if you inherit a million dollars, you should give it to me.

To Shirley's first question.....If you are truly the baby's father, then you can not count on the court for diddley squat. What you do is, Go to where the baby is. Act really ditzy, then do some drugs. The baby will think you are it's father, and soon, it will follow you around because there is no one left to drug the baby's bottle. I mean, babies are difficult enough without withdrawal....if the baby wants to go with you, then I say, you're a gypsy...just take it. You probably aren't going to see any of that fortune though, unless you can start her hooking early.

To Shirley's second (impatient) question....I may be crazy but that gives me access to good medications which help me sleep sometimes. And, you do deserve special treatment. If you want to come over I will share my crazy drugs!!! Also, I had no idea that anyone would actually look at my blog....or really ask questions. Whew. I was having a hard time not just asking myself the same things over and over curled up in the fetal position in front of the computer screen.

To Ponymacaroniwannabee: no, unfortunately, my house does not look like this. There are way more scary children and the crap they drop and leave and walk over and smush.....wonder what would happen if i just glued the children down to something with liquid nails? that would help with the chasing, but then there would be the listening which would drive me crazier and then i would have to get out of the house...and they would be glued down........and I can't just leave them home by themselves that's against the law.......I can see this needs more planning.

And now, TwoFeathers.....I have no art posted there because I am probably the most disorganized, stagnant artist to date. I have done 1 and 1/2 new pieces in two years. I used to be able to sell art at shows...then babies kept dropping out of me and now all my arms and legs are falling off.....I might post there sometime, but not today because I have saved today for the most special things of all.....changing poopy diapers, fixing everything that makes a three year old whine, finding new and improved ways to ramrod my 7 year old, and that leaves hardly any time for me to think up some devious and wicked plan to thwart the evil plans of the Leader of the Elks. But I will go there and look, because I know that will make you happy. And someone in this mess should be happy.....today it gets to be you!

and about that site.....HEY WAIT!!!!! are you suggesting that I am mentally ill????

Any more questions will be answered fairly promptly....sometimes I fall asleep so I can't post in my sleep. but I will try. Anything for you guys. sniff...I love you, man....

Today is a crazy day

Today is a crazy day, folks. And by folks, I mean those of you who are not reading this, just me.
Obviously this is my first post here at Ask a Crazy Person. I have a question for myself....
"why do you stay in relationships that cause you pain and anger and feelings of futility and hopelessness?" Good question, self. The answer is, of course, that I am screwed up emotionally and I try to make things work long after they obviously aren't working. I try to please everyone, I put everyone else's needs in front of my own, blah blah blah. This, I feel, adds to my craziness. And my ability to understand other crazy people. Sometimes. So I have friends....who are also crazy people. maybe they will find me here and we can just talk crazy to each other. It might not solve anything, but hey.....you never know. Stranger things have happened!