The Chaos

When I was younger I used to call it my "nervous condition." I think I got it from a book, and I thought it was a clever way to describe my response to everything. Now that this internet thing has taken off, I've been able to research my "nervous condition" and, while the internet is not a doctor, I have half the symptoms of, like, every anxiety disorder ever.

My Thanksgiving was wonderful. I went to my brother's apt and spent it with him, Liz, Hector*, Maya*, Zoe*, and Ally*. It was so peaceful! We watched movies (Role Models, Music Within,) ate all the fuds we could stand, and just relaxed and enjoyed the company. That night, I stayed up late, as usual, crocheting, listening to Christmas music, and cuddling with Ally. I woke up early (when they got up to take the girls out) and wasn't even bothered by it! Jason and I watched another movie, Manic, while we had breakfast (leftovers, haha), and then we all went to see New Moon.

There was no fighting, nothing broke, there was no mess. It was the best Thanksgiving ever.

Then I had to come home. I wasn't on the HIGHWAY before my nervous condition flared up. I got mild chest pains, the shakes, and just generally didn't feel well. By the time I got to the house, an hour and a half later, I was in a rage. I had already been informed that Zeb had punched my parents $3K 46in  LCD flat screen television, breaking it, natch. And he wasn't in trouble. I WOULD HAVE GOTTEN THE SHIT BEAT OUT OF ME, AND HE DIDN'T EVEN GET HIS FRIEND TAKEN HOME!!!!!! The injustice and double standards infuriate me. And I know it is selfish, but these are the things that trigger my nerves!

I came in and all three kids were in the house, running amok, as per usual, and I immediately started crowd control. I don't understand why my mom let's them come over. She doesn't like having them around. Don't get me wrong, she loves them, and she loves being needed, but she doesn't want to fucking watch them. Which is why whenever I am there I am the one who does all the damn watching of them. And the putting in timeouts. And the "WHY ARE YOU DOING THATs?!"

CC is currently being potty-trained. Which means she is wearing panties and peeing in them because she won't say if she has to go to the bathroom or not, even if you ask her. This resulted in her sitting on my bed, and then peeing on my comforter that will not fit in our backup washer that we have been using since the main washer broke. We don't use the heat in our house, so now I am stuck using two thin blankets and hoping I don't freeze to death because god only knows how long it will be before I can get my comforter washed.

This was just today. Is it ANY wonder I freak out all the time?

*cat, cat, dog, dog

Microwave Pudding

A lot of what I have been doing to occupy my time lately has been cooking and trying new recipes. Recently, I discovered a recipe for chocolate pudding made from scratch in the MICROWAVE! I know, I can't believe it either.

So anyway, this is my blog, and I am gonna do whatever I want with it, and right now I want to share this recipe.

Microwave Pudding
3/4 cup sugar
2 TBS cornstarch
1/4 tsp salt
2 cups milk
2 oz unsweetened chocolate
1 well beaten egg
2 TBS butter
1 tsp vanilla

1. Mix sugar, cornstarch and salt in one quart microwave safe bowl. Slowly add 2 cups of milk, whisking to prevent lumping.
2. Microwave on high power for 6 minutes, stirring every 3 minutes. Pay close attention, because if you are not paying attention it will boil over.
3. Add 2 oz chocolate, stirring vigorously to blend.
4. Temper egg by adding a small amount of pudding to the egg. I usually add about 3 big spoonfuls. Add egg&pudding mixture to pudding. Whisk together well.
5. Microwave an additional 6 minutes on Power 7, stirring every two minutes, or until desired thickness is reached.
6. Add butter and vanilla, mixing well.
7. Serve hot or cold. ENJOY!!!!

If you decide to give it a try, let me know how it goes for you!

Sometimes dreams do come true....

Remember that time I wrote about that one recurring dream that I have? The one about my teeth crumbling and falling out of my mouth? I went to ye olde Wal-Mart the other day because we were in desperate need of cat litter (hello, we have five cats). While standing in the self-checkout, chewing gum as I am often wont to do, I suddenly noticed there was something VERY hard in my mouth.

Let me tell you. My. Heart. Stopped. I was completely still for a moment, and then discreetly spat out the foreign object. My terror confirmed, I realize it was part of one of my molars. A HUGE part of one of my molars. I ran my tongue around my teeth, tears welling in my eyes, and found the now jagged molar on the bottom right side of my jaw. I retained composure until I got home, but as soon as I got to my room I started bawling. All I could think about was my dream and how it always started JUST like that.

Judging from the look of the piece that broke off, I had a cavity on the back of that molar, up against my wisdom tooth. It frustrates me because I am a maniac about dental hygiene, but I am the one with teeth falling out of my stupid face. It probably doesn't help that our water is not fluoridated and that I didn't floss most of the time I was at camp (but that was because I broke my tooth-flosser thing...but I STILL BRUSHED MY DAMN TEETH!!!!).

And you know, I still don't have a job, I certainly don't have insurance, and who the hell can afford to go to the dentist? Now, I have this ticking time bomb in my head and it just eats at me. CAN I CATCH A BREAK, PLEASE?!

On Seeking Employment

I have been job hunting for the better part of the last year. It's important to note that I lost the job that I had for two weeks shy of one year in October of 2008. I won't go into details, or even list the company, but it was abundantly clear to me, and everyone who worked there or had worked there that I was terminated because I was coming up on my one year of employment and due a dollar an hour raise (putting me at a whopping $10.00 an hour).

At the end of November 2008, a friend of mine who had also received the Ole VME Special (as we like to call it) called to let me know that the hotel she was working at was hiring. I immediately drove 30 MINUTES across town to put in my application. I was hired for training purposes and washed windows for three days, after which I was informed not only that I was "not the right fit" for the team, but also that I would not be paid for my training.

Late in December, around Christmas I believe, I managed to secure a position at a call center. Training began in January, so I had a few more weeks to stress about where I was going to find money to pay my bills. By this point, I had borrowed god only KNOWS how much money from my parents, and written what ended up being a bad check (of course, I wouldn't know until they tried to cash the check for Dec's rent in APRIL).

Training at that job came and went. The week I transitioned onto the floor was the same week that my dad kicked my brother out for some really bad choices (that's the subject of a WHOLE 'nother blog, y'all) resulting in my brother moving in with me. So, in addition to the stress of being set free onto an escalations team and being flat ass broke, I had a recovering pillhead and confirmed thief living with me. He and I made it. The job and I did not.

In April I accepted a position offered to me by my friend Bekah. It was a summer camp in Maryland. This, blog...THIS job would change my life. But not before I would be shafted by yet another job, this one at a very popular and famous regional frozen custard chain, robbed by a man my brother was trying to help, and evicted from the apartment that I had lived in for nearly two years.

Camp came and went, and it was a summer that I could spend days and weeks detailing for the world and still never come close to describing the essence, the very life of what it was like to be there. That, too, is an attempted blog for another day.

When I came home from camp in August, I immediately began putting applications in for jobs all over. I submitted applications for jobs in town, I submitted applications for jobs on post (at one point, I had SEVEN open applications with AAFES), I submitted applications in Springfield. Nothing. No calls. No interviews. No biters.

And so, I did round two. Applying for many of the jobs that hadn't called me in September again in October. To no avail. And now. Now I discover that the root of my problem is something so very small: I am apparently over-qualified. With a two-year Associate's Degree in GENERAL STUDIES (that=nothing, people), I am too well-educated to sell cigarettes and gas, to stock shelves or check people out of the PX, to stock and sell liquor, to deliver pizzas.

I spoke with my grandma on the phone Sunday. She suggested that I might have more luck if I stop putting my AA on my resume. I considered the suggestion, especially since she was not the first person, ultimately, to give me that advice, and I decided that I would NOT stop putting my AA down. For one thing, I do not lie. I hate lying, it makes me feel like this horrible, terrible person. But more than that, there is no reason for me to lie. I mean, come on, it is not a master's degree, it is not a doctorate. I know you are thinking "if it is not that important, then why make the big deal about not listing it?" BECAUSE I WORKED MY ASS OFF FOR IT, THAT'S WHY!!!! What is the POINT of going to school, of getting an education and trying to better yourself, if you are not going to put it out there for people to know? I realize that if I am applying to be a delivery driver that I am not going to be making $15.00/hr. I UNDERSTAND THIS! I don't CARE because right now I am making $0.00/hr and that just IS NOT CUTTING IT! I don't want to make $7.50/hr forever, but by god, I am not too good to START there!

Today Samantha and I went to get some paperwork signed for my insurance settlement and picked up a couple of applications that I am going to submit tomorrow. I listed my AA on both applications. I am not ashamed of my hard work but I don't expect to be paid any more than a fair wage. I deserve that much.

Happy Day After Your Birthday

Yesterday was my sister's 22nd birthday. Samantha is my best friend. She is the smartest, stubbornest, most badassest person I know. I love you, sister. I hope your day was moderately tolerable!!!!!

Oh, Children.

Today while CC and I were hanging out in my room, watching "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving" on my computer, she told my stuffed animals to go to sleep. I, deciding to mess with her, pretended to fall asleep. The following exchange occurred:

CC: Kasheeer, I didn't tell you to go to sleep. KASHEER WAKE UP!
me: zzzzzz
CC: quiet fart (pause) whispers: I farted.

The Road

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began,
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many path and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
-J.R.R. Tolkien

On being raised by children.

We babysit these two little girls pretty regularly. To save time and explanation, let's call them my nieces. This story is specifically about the youngest one, CC, and how sassy and hilarious and smart she is. CC is two and a half. Before I left for camp at the end of May, she barely spoke. We are talking "mommy," "daddy," "cup," "Sam," and "Shelby" barely spoke. Apparently, halfway through the summer, she decided to USE HER WORDS to get her point across, and now...and now we have a little sassy talking monster on our hands!

Now, for background it is important that you know I have taken to giving the kids (Zeb, Shelby, and CC) time outs in the corner when they misbehave (usually in the form of running through the house, jumping on the furniture, screaming at each other, and sitting on the end table that can barely hold a cup and remote, much less a child). At the first offense, I ask if the offender would like a time out. The answer, invariably, is "NO!" to which I explain that he or she will receive a time out if they keep up the behavior. When it is done the second time, I simply point at the corner in the living room and say "GO!" With feet dragging, the victim of my horrible and cruel punishment slowly complies. It is always the same. I say "GO!" and point my arm straight out, index finger extended, and the culprit's face always falls as they make their way to the torture chamber. Once in position, I announce the length of the time out (2, 5, or 10 minutes) and he or she is to stand there quietly and use the time to discover what could've been done differently to avoid such an outcome.

Sunday, the day after Halloween, the kids were all at the house. The sugar highs were in full force and they were all bouncing off the walls. I ended up putting all the candy out of reach, including the container of orange slices that was on the kitchen table. I was sitting at the kitchen table with CC when she told me that if I did not put the orange slices back on the table, she was going to put me in a time out. "Do you need a time out?" she asked me. I could not help but be amused by this sudden turn of the tables, but managed to keep a straight face while I explained that not only was I not giving her the candy, since she was going to make herself sick on it, but that also she was not in the position to put me in the corner.

It was at this point, blog, that she looked me straight in the eye, extended her arm straight out with her index finger pointed directly at the corner, and she said to me in all seriousness, "GO!"