The Bone Analogy

January 2014

Did you know that when a bone breaks and then heals it is actually stronger than it was before at the area of the break? I was having a hard time not that long ago with the idea of an affair making my marriage better. Early this morning, though, I thought of the bone analogy. Things have been broken but in *healing* we, our marriage, became stronger. Now THAT is something I can live with.

Editor’s Note:  Can I just tell everyone how incredibly sad and painful I find that entry to be?

Just a Fun Little Recipe

This is probably not good for you at all.  Oh what am I talking about?  It has cottage cheese in it.  That’s nutritious, right?  And it has fruit.  That’s good for you.  Cool Whip.  Eh.  Not very nutritious but also not the worst thing ever.  Jell-O.  Again, not the best but not the worst.

Ok, so this is one of the very first things I ever learned to make.  Originally I made it without the mandarin oranges.  I grew up and added a second helping of fruit to this delicious waste of calories.  I give you…

Orange Fluff


1 container of thawed Cool Whip

1 larger container of small curd cottage cheese

1 small package of orange Jell-O (you could use any flavor but seeing as how this is Orange Fluff we’re going to stick with orange)

1 small can of crushed pineapple, drained

1 can of mandarin oranges, drained


  1.  Gently mix all ingredients together and chill before serving.  That’s it.

I’m not proud of this but I can eat the entire bowl of this in one sitting.

Those Damn Sausage Balls

January 2014

I realize this is a perverse pleasure, and perhaps it shouldn’t be. But…. not long ago she posted a recipe for sausage balls on her page with a plea to her husband to please, please, please make these. Oh yes, these were the sausage balls my father-in-law was willing to come to her house for. I made them yesterday and my husband loves them. He ate them all day yesterday, and he’s been snacking on them tonight. As I said, maybe I shouldn’t take pleasure in that, but for some reason I do.

Editor’s Note:  I thought I might have a little fun with this.  Here are my newly christened Cousinfucking Sausage Balls, or 3-Cheese Sausage Balls… So good they make you wanna fuck your cousin.  Enjoy (they really are tasty)!


1 lb. roll of breakfast sausage, hot or mild

1 8 oz. package of cream cheese, softened

1 1/2 cup baking mix (like Bisquick)

2 cups shredded cheddar cheese

1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese

dash of garlic powder

1/4 tsp. Cajun seasoning (like Tony Cachere’s) optional

dash of Tabsasco sauce optional


1.  Mix uncooked sausage and cream cheese; then mix in all of the other ingredients until well blended.

2.  Roll into 1” balls about the size of a small walnut.

3.  Place on a cookie sheet sprayed with nonstick spray or use nonstick Reynolds Wrap.

4.  Place in a preheated oven at 375 degrees for 20-25 minutes.  Don’t overcook!

5.  Remove and serve.  They taste best fresh out of the oven; however, as told above CF liked them even cold.  You choose.

P.S.  You can just call them 3-Cheese Sausage Balls if someone asks you for the recipe.

The Effect Affairs Have On In-Law Relationships

January 2014

Yesterday was New Year’s Eve. Duh! I was reviewing old, old posts and notes. One of them, from 2009 was 25 random facts about me. One of the facts was that I really loved my in-laws. I felt so sad reading that. Sad that they don’t understand why it might not be best to befriend the whore. Sad that their stupid affair cost me my relationship with all of my in-laws unless I want to accept her in my life forever. Perhaps it’s all on me and if I could just accept them having a relationship with her, separate from me, it would be ok. But I can’t accept that. I don’t find it to be right.

My mother-in-law sent me a blank text this morning. I asked her if she had meant to send me something. She said no but wanted to wish me a happy new year and tell me she loved me. I wished her a happy new year and told her I hoped this one would be better than the last one. At least I didn’t say I hope your son doesn’t fuck around on me again this year. She told me she missed our talks and I simply said me too. Again, at least I didn’t say talk to Harley; you don’t seem to think she’s done anything wrong and seem to have a rather high opinion of your son’s whore. She replied, “Let’s do something about it,” and I told her I’d think about it and that was the best I could do for now. I did later send her a picture of her grandson. I’m not a complete bitch.

A Bit Of This & A Bit Of That

I will be off to see my family this weekend so you’ll be seeing a lot of Blasts From the Past.  I’m heading out to watch my nephew graduate from high school and will be hanging out with one of my very best friends from high school, at least for a few hours.  Rumor has it that I have a niece who will be following me back to my house for a week.  Hooray!  I love company!  Now I just need to get our pool up and running.  It’s been so rainy and cool here these last 3 weeks I wasn’t sure pool weather would ever come around again.

In the meantime my mom has informed me that she doesn’t like the fact that STBX SIL & MIL have what she considers to be cool names while I’ve only referred to her as Elderly P.I.  I pointed out that Jezebel and Tammy Faye are not exactly complimentary names but she didn’t care; she wants something better.  I would also like to point out that it was my brother who christened her with that name.  I gave her the option of picking her own name but she doesn’t know what she wants.  I was thinking “My Mom” is fine all by itself seeing as how I don’t refer to her as anything but “Mom”; I also considered The Rock but didn’t know if that was too similar to Rock Star.  If you get a chance feel free to throw out a suggestion.

I hope you all have a wonderful, relaxing weekend.  This year I will spend it celebrating my nephew’s graduation but in general Memorial Day weekend is not a time of picnics and potlucks, lakes and pools, and beers and BBQs for us.  This is the fourth Memorial Day weekend that we will spend honoring a family member.  He was KIA in June of 2012.  He had been in Afghanistan for 3 days when he volunteered for a mission and was killed by an IED. He left behind a 23 year old widow whom he had married only 6 months earlier, his two younger siblings, his father, and his mother, who I know struggles even four years later coming to terms with what happened to her oldest child.  Her grief is palpable and this weekend is going to be extremely tough for her. I didn’t know him very well because we lived hundreds of miles apart, but his mom is one of my favorite cousins.  We now live in the same state and she is the one I have gotten together with a few times since moving here.  I ache for the loss of such a promising young man.  I ache for his mom and his siblings.  I hurt because my beautiful, vivacious cousin hurts.

It would be easy to become self-righteous.  THIS is what Memorial Day weekend is all about.  It’s not about a long weekend that kicks off summer.  It’s not about opening your pool or taking your boat out or drinking all three days.  It’s about honoring our fallen.  But you know what?  I’m glad people are out there celebrating.  I’m glad more people think of Memorial Day weekend as a kickoff to the summer than as a heart-wrenching, painful reminder of what has been lost.

I think CF enjoyed the mourning aspect of this holiday.  It fed into his narrative of the poor put upon victim, the emotionally traumatized soldier.  Here’s the thing- he was proud of the fact that he brought all his men back home alive.  He never mentioned losing classmates.  As far as I know he never lost anyone close to him and yet he used this as an excuse to mope about and pretend that this was such an important weekend to him.

We planted flags the last two years.  The first Memorial Day after I found out about Harley we went to a Memorial Service- me, him, the kids.  It was very nice.  And very sobering.  We took the kids to the cemetery and planted flags at soldier’s graves.  Last year we planned on going to the cemetery where so many of my family is buried.  The kids and I went alone because he was too busy dealing with his “PTSD” and texting his whore of a cousin.  Wow- he’s telling his cousin how much he’d like to fuck her and I’m planting a flag at my cousin’s grave.  I guess we have a radically different approach to how we view family.

I don’t celebrate Memorial Day weekend like I used to think of celebrating.  I’ll be honest; seeing as how I lived with Captain Grumpy Pants we never did a lot for the holiday anyway.  Now I don’t have the heart to celebrate and make lavish plans when I know how difficult it is for my cousin.  I will, however, celebrate my nephew’s graduation.  He has a lot of exciting possibilities ahead for him and that deserves celebration.  I will remember and honor the fallen.  And unfortunately, on Monday, the actual observed holiday, I will be driving all day long.  For the rest of you though, have fun!  Enjoy your time off if you have time off.  Drink a beer or a margarita or a Pepsi, for crying out loud!  And yes, do pause to remember that there are many people out there that aren’t celebrating; they’re being presented with flags and other awards because they’ve lost someone.  Then go out and celebrate some more.  Enjoy this weekend.  Live!  You are alive; don’t take that for granted.  There are far too many who lost their lives far too soon.

Cheating Husband Has Anxiety

December 2013

The husband is upset, anxious, mad, defeated? I’m not completely sure. I left to go get food last night. Told him I was going. Asked him what he wanted. Even made him a drink before I left. The first place I went to was packed and the line wasn’t moving. So I went to another one. Stood in line for 30 minutes. He was a basket case when I got home. I’d been gone over an hour. Add in that I left my phone at home because it wasn’t charged. He tried texting and heard my phone. Saw that I have the whore’s picture for his mom’s contact picture and freaked out even more. I think he’s pissed more than anything. I also have the whore’s picture as the contact picture for his sister, his step-dad, and his nephew who was going to tattoo the whore. Why? To remind myself that they are not my family. They do not support me. They do not support my marriage. They give lip service to the husband but at that heart of it they fully support her. And if that makes him sad so be it. Maybe he should have thought about that before he started making wedding plans before I even knew we were dating other people!


Another New Recipe

This is one of my very favorite soups; I love it!  I wish my kids liked it more. I always make it for potlucks and rarely get to take any back home with me so it must be good.

I found this in a Taste of Home magazine.  The original recipe had a pound of hamburger instead of the black beans so if vegetarian is not your thing- I fixed it for ya!

Taco Twist Soup


1 medium onion, chopped

2 garlic cloves, minced

2 teaspoons olive oil

3 cups vegetable broth or reduced-sodium beef broth

1 can (15 ounces) black beans, rinsed and drained

1 can (14 1/2 ounces) diced tomatoes

1 can corn, drained

1 1/2 cups picante sauce (use whatever heat you’d prefer; I use mild because I’m a wuss)

1 cup uncooked spiral pasta

1 small green pepper, chopped

2 teaspoons chili powder

1 teaspoon ground cumin

Shredded cheddar cheese for topping

Sour cream for topping


  1.  In a large saucepan, saute onion and garlic in oil until tender.
  2. Add the remaining ingredients except for the cheese and sour cream.  Bring to a boil, stirring frequently.  Reduce heat; cover and simmer for 10-12 minutes or until pasta is tender, stirring occasionally.
  3. Serve with cheese and sour cream.

Chef’s Notes:  I usually add the entire jar of picante sauce and sometimes add more broth.  The original recipe from the magazine didn’t call for a can of corn and I think that thickens up the soup somewhat.  Another great topping would be tortilla strips and jalapeños if you like spice.  Also, for those of you who don’t like to chop and mince the frozen bagged onions are a life-saver and I always buy the minced garlic in jars.  One teaspoon equals 1 clove of garlic.

A Short One

I’ve got nothing much for you today so I’m going to give you another Blast From the Past and a recipe.

December 2013

My in-laws take the cake. The whore posts a recipe and begs her husband to make her some. One of them posts: Send some my way. Of course the whore, having no decency, says you’ll have to come visit. And motherfucker if they don’t turn around and say: I can do that. And they wonder why I don’t want to have anything to do with them.


Am I the Only One?

An article caught my eye the other day.  It was posted on a friend’s Facebook feed and it had to do with a mom of young kids touring the home of a relative whose own children were grown and out of the house.  It has gone viral  so maybe you have seen it already.  It’s about this idea of straight vacuum lines being lonely.  So I have to ask, am I the only one who is not crying about the craziness of life with infants and toddlers being over and done? Follow up question:  Am I the only one who doesn’t have straight lines when I vacuum?

Don’t get me wrong.  I love babies.  I love to hold them and rock them to sleep.  I love their sweet little smiles and how wonderful they smell.  And toddlers?  Oh, those cute little sprites, trying out their walking legs for the first time, talking, seeing the world through their eyes of wonder.  Preschoolers?  Delightful!  So curious and their little personalities are coming out full force.  All wonderful memories, just like looking back forlornly on this idea of a houseful of cherubic preschoolers, toddlers and infants.  It’s a nostalgic memory, one where you’re busy making pancakes for those delightful tykes and you spend mornings doing crafts and afternoons at the park.  Everyone gets along and it’s just busy, busy, busy but so fun, fun, fun.  No one ever screams.  You’re never exhausted.  No one dumps shampoo on the carpet or paint all over the sink.

Wrong!  Raising little kids is tough!  They’re exhausting.  And into everything.  Or maybe I just had really special kids.  😉  You have to watch them constantly and you never have a moment to yourself.  At least I didn’t.  I remember those days as one long nightmare.  Perhaps that is too harsh.  It definitely wasn’t fun.  My first child was extremely demanding.  I spent the first six months of her life crying everyday under the stress and pressure of trying to work full time from home with no childcare, plus take care of a house and pets while Zack traveled.  I got pretty much no help from him.  It got a little bit better after I quit that job and we moved but she was still a demanding baby.  She was a grabby little thing and would just as soon pull your nose right off your face as look at you.  Wearing jewelry was offering up your body as a battleground.  She hated traveling by car so she would scream bloody murder anytime she was in one.  She was an escape artist, too.  I remember chasing after her constantly once she was able to walk.  Then I got pregnant a second time.  He was wonderful until he became mobile.  Then he was his sister’s clone.  They both loved throwing stuff into the toilet- books, entire rolls of toilet paper.  I remember one day seeing those chunky little Tonka trunks in the toilet.  I began pulling them out of it and as I took two and then three and then four of them out they just kept coming, like little clowns climbing out of a clown car.  I think I ended up pulling about fourteen of those suckers out of the toilet.  And that paint story?  Yeah, that totally happened to me.  Paint all over the dining room chairs and running down the kitchen sink.

Anyway, my point is not to belabor how tiring those early years were.  I think it’s enough to say it was exhausting.  I loved waking up with my babies, both of them all smiles, Rock Star telling me, “Wake up, Mommy; the sun is on!”  I loved snuggling with them and napping with them.  But I don’t miss the times I was woken up in the middle of the night by a child that couldn’t be comforted, or the time when we were out of milk and Picasso was screaming for chocolate milk in the morning.


Me, hiding under the comforter, “We don’t have any!”

I loved being able to dress my babies in cute little outfits but that was over for me by the age of 3 for Rock Star.  She looked at the clothes I had laid out for her one day and she said, “I don’t think that’s something I would wear.”  She. Was. Three.  Picasso was probably two when I put a cute little sweater vest on him.  He pulled it off and threw it on the floor.  I picked it up and put it back on him.  He took it off again.  Threw it down again.  I picked it back up and put it back on again.  Picasso was not messing around the third time.  He took it off, walked it over to the trash can and threw that vest in it.  Problem solved.

I loved rocking them to sleep and taking them to see Santa and all that fun stuff.  But it was hard. I didn’t sleep through the night for four years! I definitely don’t miss the notorious Underwear Wars, or the lesser known but very vocal battle, Operation Bang My Head Against a Freaking Brick Wall, to get my daughter to wear anything that actually fit her instead of making her look like an orphan.  Lest you think I’m exaggerating I timed it one morning and she spent just over an hour screaming about getting dressed.  I don’t miss the times I wished I lived in a warmer climate because my daughter hated wearing shoes and it would have been a dream come true to let her wear sandals and flip flops all year long.  I could never understand that.  The kid hated having anything touching her heels but she would wear sandals and flip flops that had something between her toes.  Her kindergarten teacher pulled me aside one day to tell me the gym teacher was very concerned because Rock Star’s tennis shoes were about two sizes too big.  “Yes, I know, but they are the only ones she’ll wear.  If the gym teacher would like to give it a shot then she has my permission to go for it,” was my reply.  I don’t miss the time my son, who always wore underwear, didn’t wear underwear and got diarrhea in the Sears’ toy aisle.  And then proceeded to wander around said toy aisle despite my orders to stay put while I grabbed paper towels to try to clean it up.  Fun times, I tell ya.  Fun times.   CF was not a great help and I was mostly on my own.  I read a woman comment one time that going to the grocery store by herself was a vacation.  Another remarked that it was a good day when she got to shave both legs at the same time.  I thought that was so depressing and was determined to not let that be me but that pretty much summed up my life during the early years of parenthood.  There was a time in my life that I sincerely believed I would never again take a shower by myself. Like, seriously, I would have placed money on that bet. I thought I would see every single toilet in every single restaurant because my kids were like wild dogs that needed to mark their territory.  I thought I’d never have a free moment to myself.  I never wished any stage away.  I never spent time thinking, “Oh, I can hardly wait until…”  The only thing I ever said that about was hearing my kids say, “I love you.”  That was a moment I looked forward to.

I don’t, however, wax nostalgic about those days.  They were tough and I have come to enjoy my kids at every stage.  My kids as teens are so amazing.  There are still plenty of messes but now they sometimes clean up those messes.  There is still plenty to do- places to take them, sleepovers to oversee, competitions and meets to attend, breakfasts to make, lunches to pack, stories and ideas to listen to, friends to chauffeur.

I like the fact that I can clean the house and it will stay relatively clean for a while.  Sometimes I even come home and find Rock Star has cleaned it for me.  They’re still fighting; they’re just older and use bigger words.  I don’t miss the chaos or all the Polly Pockets. Or the damn Tonka trucks down the toilet.  Now I’ve got video games and iPhones and chargers to contend with and I get to listen to YouTube videos of “hauls”, makeup tutorials, and gamers playing video games.  Nothing stuck in the toilet, although that boy of mine sure can clog one up!  Fortunately, I taught him the art of plunging so that’s no longer my problem.

My unsolicited anonymous advice?  Enjoy it.  Enjoy every stage while realizing that some parts might really really suck.  And then move on. Don’t lament that which is gone or you might miss out on the wonderfulness that is the next stage.  Hey, I was that person that turned up my nose when people would talk about hating the baby stage.  I was the person who felt sorry for those people who had “big” kids because they no longer had those cute little babies and toddlers.  Now?  I LOVE having older kids.  Mine are amazing; they’re smart and funny.  Some days they even help me out.  I love talking to them and hearing their thoughts and ideas; I love that they are willing to share their interests and dreams with me.  There were lots of wonderful parts of having small children; there were also many stressful, exhausting moments and I’m sure that raising them without much help from their father likely played a huge part in that. That person that used to turn her nose up at the people who admitted they didn’t enjoy the infant stage and those poor unfortunate people with only “big” kids?  She grew up and realized what those parents undoubtedly already knew.  There’s nothing to miss about those days of old because I’m too busy enjoying today.

Money Is Money, Right?

This will be a brief little rant.  Even after a pleasant email from my attorney asking him if it would be possible to simply direct deposit the entire amount he owes me into my account by the 19th, Zack decides to play more games.  I’ll give him the fact that he was sick and in the hospital.  However, if he had done as my attorney asked and set up direct deposit it wouldn’t matter if he had been sick or not.  It would be an automatic thing that happens and he wouldn’t have to worry his bald little head about it.  No, instead not only is it late, AGAIN, but also I now get to contend with the fact that he owes me the entire amount instead of only half of it.  The cherry on top of the shit sundae this time around though?  Oh, he had the whore send it to me.  She addressed the envelope and she even wrote the fucking check.  She signed his name, for crying out loud!  And didn’t even do that correctly.  Instead of using his full name, Zachary, she signed it Zack.  Like, I said, I might be willing to forgive him the tardiness of the check since he was in the hospital.  But if he’s going to pass it off to the gold digging jailbird… get my fucking check to me on time, bitch!

Oh, believe me.  I intend to cash it regardless of who wrote the damn thing.  It still galls me.  It’s, what’s the word… devaluing me?  Degrading me?  Pushing my buttons? Pissing me off?  Throwing that whore in my face?  Ultimately, I think it comes down to him trying to hurt me and twist that knife in just a little bit deeper.  I hope she gets used to paying his bills for him.  I’m pretty sure she tossed aside her own stay at home husband in search of a high earner so I’m not quite sure how that’s going to work out for him.  If I had to guess I’d say badly, but that’s none of my concern.  He’s such a fuckhead!

Breathe deeply, Sam, and then go deposit that whore tainted check.  You don’t want him.  You don’t love him.  You’re better off without him.  It still spends even if it smells like skank ass whore, right?