chubi

Last night I rode my boke. What’s a boke you ask? It’s what comes out of frozen fingers on text messaging, while riding said “boke” after midnight. Yeah, I hit the “o” instead of “i”. Ooops. It happens pretty frequently when texting. I used to have a Motorola Razr & I got used to reading text messages where one letter was a key tap or two off. Now I have a BlackBerry with a qwerty keyboard & my text message mishaps are a little different. Before, my “boke” would’ve been a “bhke” or “bjke”. Personally, I’m kind of fond of my boke.

I often get “covld haue” or such mishaps. It’s easy to do; u & v are so similar looking and only one tap away from each other on most phones. Back to the boke story, I happened to text that to Kurt, who’s always harassing me about my texting skills. I text to frequently, short hand too many words, or throw in a simple misplaced letter. He teased my all night about the boke. Then he later texted me that I would get a “percenatge” of the millions he’s going to make from turning my life into a screen play (why not??). My come back? “What’s a percenatge? Is that something like a percentage? U can borrow my boke if u’d like 2, sometime.” Ha!

One time I texted him asking if he’d bring his phn chrgr cuz my battery was almost dead (we have the same phone). He called me & left a voicemail babbling about bringing a portable charger or did I just want him to bring me a new battery. WHAT? I was a lil confused. Then he called again so I stepped outside to answer my phone. He asked me if my battery was dead or just low. I’m thinking, “well, I’m on my phone, so it’s OBVIOUSLY NOT DEAD” (what the hell has he been smoking??). But he keeps firing off questions that I can barely slip an answer into before he goes on asking the next one.

Short version: Kurt: “Will your car start?”
“Yes, but it’s not here.” (??? I’m still confused where he’s going w/this)
“Oh. Is it at your house?”
“Yes… I rode over here w/April. I was just going to plug it into her van while we’re inside.”
“So, you want me to stop by your house to plug it into the battery charger?” At which point, completely lost & confused (how in the hell is he going to plug my phone, which is in my hand, into my car, which is at my house, where I am NOT. Men make things so damn complicated.) I stammered: “Kurt, I just need a phone charger so it doesn’t die before I get home. What’s that have to do with my car?”
“OH! You just want a phone charger. Ok. I’ve got that. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Did I miss something here? Apparently “phn chrgr” was misleading. He read that as “my car battery is dead” and he was going to bring me a new battery or a portable battery charger for my car. ???? I have to spell things out for him. He’s not one of the millions of Americans that can read w/o the vowels. He says my text messages never make sense to him. So tell me, people that I text, are my text messages that difficult & misleading??

My ALL time favorite though …. “chubi”

During a conversation my lil sis & I have one late night, about our dear mother, Casey says, “she get 600 a mo n foot (not exactly sure how she got “foot” here, my best guess is that’s supposed to be “food” – but that’s not the best part) …

… n chubi bout bein broke all day.”

I stared for a minute. Racking my brain, staring at the letters on my phone, imaging the letters on her phone to see where the mis-stroke could be. It’s like solving a riddle. I love riddles & challenges. I changed a letter here & there trying to make a coherent word when suddenly I realized she was exactly one stroke off on each letter, some forward and some backward.

“c” was one stroke too many for “b” – “h” was one stroke short for “i” – “u” one stroke too many for “t” – “b” one stroke short of “c” – & last but not least, “i” one stroke too many for “h”

Everybody together now, “What’s that spell?” B I T C H

I nearly fell out of my bed laughing. She meant to say “bitch bout bein broke” and instead “chubi”??? Tears, laughter, gasping for air. I texted her mistake back to her & told her I was “pussing myself” when I had meant “pissing myself”. Seriously, the “u” & “i” are right next to each other on my keyboard! This caused her to crack up.

Chubi is my new word. Hola chubi! (No one will ever know!)

almond joy ...

… has nuts; mounds don’t.

Laaa-st Ni-iight … (that part sounds better with music, and well, with someone better singing it).

Enough with the preliminaries. It’s nearly Halloween. Tomorrow in fact. Yesterday there was an event at the North Side High School for elementary students to dress up, play a variety of games, and collect a small sack full of tootsie roll-ish candies. The last game they played was a spin-off of musical chairs and the winner of each round got to choose a sack of cookies or small candy bars off the prize table. Tyler picked snicker doodle cookies & Bri grabbed a sandwich bag stuffed with snack sized Butterfinger, Almond Joy, Hershey bar & mini Reese cup. At home each counted their candy pieces & miraculously found both had exactly 64 pieces.

It was their dad’s night & he doesn’t want to deal with a sugar rush, so he asked them to leave the candy here. They each left their bags on the table. I took off to run some errands & returned home to find tootsie rolls scattered all over the floor. I thought the cats had jumped onto the table and found something to bat around. They’re about six months old & full of “fun” – in kitty terms, everything is investigated and smacked around for possible fun.

I noticed they had shredded the wal-mart baggy the candy had previously been contained in. As I start picking up tootsie rolls & “tootsies” (a generic, fruit-flavored version of tootsie rolls?), I observe an Almond Joy wrapper. Odd that the wrapper is shredded but the candy bar is nowhere to be seen. Great, I think to myself, I’m going to step on or possibly sleep on an open Almond Joy. Wait; is that also a Butterfinger wrapper? Was there an actual person in my house stealing the kids’ candy & leaving the torn wrappers behind as gloating evidence? I studied the wrappers for a minute. A person would have pulled the wrapper open by the corners; this was definitely torn (tattered) in the middle of where the candy bar would’ve been like it had been gnawed open by a giant rat. Rats???

Cat’s don’t eat chocolate. Surely they would’ve gone for even the snicker doodles before the Butterfinger or Almond Joy. Sure enough, there are tiny little chunks of Butterfinger spread through out my carpet – but no sign of that awful Almond Joy. Coconut?? Seriously? And what in the hell did they do with the almond? Eat it too?

My life is strange.

“Today’s morning news: the hamster survived the carnage, but only a few parts of the Butterfinger were recovered from the scene. Sadly, the Almond Joy is still MIA. We’ll keep you posted on further discoveries on this tragic day. Now a moment of silence for the mourners.”
Good thing the kids don’t do a candy re-count. They would also believe the cats ate around 20 tootsie rolls.

Now that part, I’ll take credit for.

mystic

In the face of adversity, I sit here.
Staring.
Unchanging.
You will not change me, for I have already changed.

shame

dear mother…

Can I write this?

dear mother: please do not call again.

Is this too harsh? My soul is bare.

dear mother: please do not call again. all your apologies are flushed away. you are still the same. them over us. the boyfriends vs your children. you would let your children drown (you would send them away). Oh! how this man is different! you say. i have quit listening. please do not call again.

forgotten

tidbits of humor 10-25-08

Dear World: I’m pleased to meet you.

The other night I was helping my son do a crossword puzzle. As smart as people tend to think I am, I struggle with crossword puzzles. But just for the “fun” of it, I decided to give the incredulous world of crossword puzzles yet another try. Obviously, I’m not one to learn from failure. My son, 8 years old, isn't getting very many of the answers. In fact, he has four filled in on the whole page. As I glance through the clues, looking for easy ones I find this: Marathon (four letters). So I ask the kids, what’s a marathon? Tyler’s face light’s up as he says, “Oh, I know this! A GAS STATION!”

Wow.

A couple of weeks ago I was shopping with my mother for the afternoon. In the checkout I spotted a watermelon flavored laffy taffy. Yummy! I haven’t had one of those since I was a kid, so I bought it. While walking across the parking lot to her vehicle I snagged a few bites & then threw it onto the front seat before walking into the next store. Fast forward about 45 minutes where mom & I are sitting out front of the kids’ school when the doors open & children start escaping. I open the car door & step out to wrestle my kids away from their friends so we can head home. However, I feel something a little odd when I try to get out of the car; my clothes don’t feel quite right. Kind of like when you step out of the bathroom & you just KNOW your skirt is tucked into your undies or something foolish. Mom says, “Uh, Triana…” and as I turn to look I catch a glimpse of something moving behind me. Or wait, not quite moving behind me, but more like behind me moving when I move. EEEKK! I grab the rug that used to be a seat cover but is now my ass flag. As I pull in confusion on the rug, I see a sticky string of ….. duh ta da! TAFFY! Stuck to my bum & the rug in a nice pink trail. YUMMY. Can’t wait to sink my teeth into that taffy again.

Also, this is how my life goes: October 7th I had a pretty important birthday party to attend for Bree Olsen. The day before I’m trying to pull together last minute errands for the party while still getting my normal daily duties done. So, I’m breaking in my new high heel sandals (at the bargain price of ONE whole dollar! Fucking GO ME!) while doing the laundry. I also need to tan so I go to the laundry mat that has the $2 tan special while your doing laundry. As I’m leaving the laundry mat w/my big clothes tub piled HIGH, my feet greasy & sweaty from tanning, and me just plain CLUMSY – the combination leads to … oh yeah, that would be me tripping in the parking lot, dropping my entire clothes basket on it’s side, and stumbling into two guys that are staring at me. I twisted my ankle but that’s nothing to having my clean laundry scattered amidst the gravel parking lot & my bra & assortment of odd barely there undies at these two grown men’s feet. N-I-C-E. Luckily, my face was already beat red from the tanning bed so there really wasn’t much blushing for either of them to notice. But I did get a quick lecture on being more careful – from two complete strangers! Aye!

I was chastised for not mentioning this in my last “funny” post – so here it is April! My junior year of high school I wore a fake nose ring to school for many months. I played basketball & we were not allowed to wear jewelry during a game, so before games I would do a quick “jewelry check” that resembled either a catholic prayer or crazy baseball signals, as I checked fingers, belly button, ears, neck line, & lastly, my nose. Coach always got a good chuckle out of watching me do this just before leaving the locker room.

My best friend, also my locker partner, my basketball teammate, and often my ride home from practice, would not talk to me for nearly two months during my nose ring phase. I thought she would just get over it & I truly could not understand WHY she would throw such a big deal over it. I was always pulling crazy, loopy stunts, so what’s the big deal? It’s not like I actually put an extra hole in my nose! We had almost all of the same classes, ate lunch at the same table, spent nearly every minute of the day in close vicinity of each other, yet she would not utter a word to me, nor hardly glance in my direction. Finally, it came out. Not my nose ring, but the reason she stopped talking to me. Her reason: I was being FAKE. According to her, it would’ve been acceptable if it were REAL. Ummm, wow. I have had my hair seventy billion colors, wore up to nine necklaces at one time, had seven piercings in my ears alone, can’t even count how many rings I’d pack onto my fingers & toes, and there is no end to the other atrocious moves I’ve pulled, but she’s peeved at me for faking a nose piercing. Where does that come from?

About five years after high school, I happen to be digging thru some of my old belongings & found the above mentioned offensive nose ring. I was going on a date with my boyfriend & his mom was going to watch the kids for the evening. Just for giggles I pulled out that old nose ring & put it on while getting dressed to go. My boyfriend crinkled his nose & rolled his eyes at me, but didn’t say a word. I had showed it to him earlier in the day & retold the high school story, which is never nearly as funny as when it really happened. We had to stop & get gas on the way out of town so as I’m sitting in his truck staring around I hear a honk from the vehicle next to us. It happens to be his mom w/my kids (3 & 4yrs old)! My daughter’s look was hilarious as she asked, “Mom, what happened to you? What’s on your face?” My boyfriend’s mom rolled her eyes and dryly stated, “Don’t worry kids, she’s just trying to relive her youth. When she comes back, she’ll still be your mom.”

Will I though?

touching 10-10-08

My oldest son reminds me of Forest Gump. He is soooo in his own lil world, I really don’t know what to do with him most of the time. He twitches his fingers. He walks on his toes. He makes odd noises & mumbles 24/7. He grinds his teeth when he sleeps. He’s a mess. So am I. I threaten to duck tape him constantly. You know the saying, “Silence is golden, Duct Tape is silver”??? I want that painted on the walls of my house. Maybe one day he’ll get the point.

He loves to play board games & card games. He sets his power ranger action figures up as other players, deals them in, and plays by himself for hours on end. He’s gone through nearly a whole pack of Yahtzee scorecards & Clue notepads from playing like this in just the last month. He sings along to nearly every word of any Blue October cd I pop in. His handwriting is amazing for any boy his age. He can spell nearly any word without thinking too much about it. He knows all 50 states & capitals & is fascinated by odd facts – like who was the shortest President. He’s eight.

My four-year-old son loves his cartoons (at his dad’s house, of course). He tells me about fixing the combine when the wheel falls off (I enjoy picturing this one, let me tell you!). His chipper, “Hello momma, love you, bye!” as he runs off to the next adventure brings a smile to my face even though nothing can erase the miles between us. He can stick his tongue inside his nose & even lick his own elbow. Yes, it is possible. I have pictures. It’s his duty as the bully of the family to disagree with every word anyone else mutters & to have first claim to any toy that someone else might find interesting. He doesn’t cry when I leave, but he always asks if I’ll stay.

My darling two-year-old picks flowers (dandelions mostly) and brings them to me, his arm out stretched & his head bowed like he’s prince charming. His chubby cheeks bounce when he runs & he rarely keeps his clothes on. He begs to be pushed in the swing & he follows his bubby & sissy at every chance. He sneaks candy from the kitchen drawer & hides his arm behind his back with the most innocent face.

My daughter draws pictures of cartoon characters. She’s really good. She likes to sing & dance with me in the evenings. She hugs me and says, “I love you momma” & then slaps me on the rump & runs off giggling. She is starving 24/7 & will put on Oscar worthy acts to try to sway me into believing her. She would eat my cupboards bare within a week if I didn’t keep a sharp eye out.

She never unrolls her sock, when she actually manages to get them into the laundry tub. Her jeans are always inside out as well. She picks up every penny or coin she sees on the ground. She passes out my cell phone number to her 4th grade friends so that I have lil girls calling me every few days. She makes up random cheers, choreographs dances to whatever I’m listening to for the evening, and smiles just as often as she bursts into tears.

I happened to have Sarah McLaughlin’s Mirrorball cd in tonight as I was cleaning up the kitchen from our dinner mess. I love to sing away the stress and worries from my heart & soul in the evenings. I know I cannot carry a tune. My singing is horrendous; but I’ll belt it out like I’m Bette Midler or Mariah Carey. As I sat down to write tonight, she wraps her arms around me and whispers in my ear, “I love your singing momma. Your voice is beautiful.”

My kids may not have good hearing … but they have my heart.

summer's end 10-09-08

Summer’s over. As I sit here, I’m shivering & my toes are cold as ice, even with socks on. I despise wearing socks but I’ll deal with it rather than be cold.

I had a fun experiment this summer: No couch & no t.v. In fact, I just acquired a kitchen table & chairs last weekend. Before that I had an open, empty house. Only beds & dressers.

No, I’m not crazy. Ok so that might be debatable… but here’s why I came to this decision.

I’ve been living in Fort Wayne since October of 2006. Before that I was in KY for 5 years. I have many family members & high school friends in the Northern IN region. During the 5 years that I lived out of state I saw more of my friends and family up here than I have for year & half since I moved back up.

It seems like the less distance between us, the more we take for granted the ability to spend time together. The excuse is ALWAYS “I’m (We’re) too busy.” Busy doing what? Oh, sitting on the couch, watching t.v. “Relaxing.”

I ditched my couch. And every t.v. in the house. I have a 7” portable DVD player on hand for emergency use.

So, yeah, maybe I missed out on a few good t.v. shows, or watching the news in the mornings. And there were a few nights where I simply craved curling up and watching a movie before bed. But the rewards have been far better than those few losses.

My oldest two kids are 8 & 9. They have learned that they don’t HAVE to have t.v. to keep entertained; that families can still go on bike rides together, play card games & board games together, or play basketball together. We’ve had two on two soccer games, days of Frisbee & disc golf, long nights of Clue & Yatzee, Phase 10 & Uno! We’ve made regular visits to family & friends – and made it more interesting by bike riding there. Some nights we spend the last 30 minutes before bed each curled up with a book.

We have taken the time to ride our bikes to the grocery store & library, among other places. We have walked to & from school just for the fresh air & exercise. The kids pick out at least one fiction & at least one non-fiction book every time we go to the library, which is nearly every other day. We’ve attended many live concerts (free!) at Jefferson Pointe & the downtown library and danced until we laughed too hard to carry on.

Most importantly, they’ve learned that life is NOT too busy to make time for the significant people in our lives. You can’t get time back. Spend it wisely.

We still bundle up & enjoy outdoor activities, and we still play games together or spend some time reading, but I am going to bring a t.v. back in. The reason: because my mom’s staying w/us & she’s constantly complaining about NOT having one. I’ve made her “suffer” for over a month thinking that she’d see how much more fun it is to not have the damn thing in the house. I lost that battle.

She says her eyes hurt too much to read. Games just aren’t interesting enough for her (when she’s here by herself). Her body hurts too much to go bike riding or playing any sports. She doesn’t want to visit my friends as much as I like to & doesn’t always like to visit the rest of our family without me (family politics – aren’t they wonderful).

I gave in. I can keep my kids quiet without a t.v. … but not my mother …

message in a bottle 10-08-08

I HAVE things to talk about. And better things to do with my time.

But for the Bitch that thinks I don’t, I know where she’ll be in a month’s time: in the same boat as the rest of the worthless tramps. The same place she is right now.

Laugh it up NY. You’re blind, clueless, and playing the part of the fool.

beautiful 10-06-08

I love old houses. Old scenery. Walking downtown, or basically anywhere for that matter. Staring into windows yellowed with age. Some broken & boarded up. The stories these houses could tell. The lives lived & the footsteps passed thru. My mind wanders to when the house was built, the plans drawn up. What was the inspiration, the dreams meant for this house? Did it bring joy? Was there happiness or sadness in this house? What would my life have been like in a house that grand, that intricate? What’s going on in it now?

Even the not-so-grand, simple but falling apart. What stories do they hold?

I am fascinated by other people’s houses, by other people’s lives.

Because I hate my own.

i don't want to shrink 10-05-08

What is the deal with old people having their tongues hanging out of their mouths? Sure, I understand that with age, muscles start to loose their strength, but surely to goodness, I’m saying keep the damn thing in your mouth!

Flicking it like a lizard to taste the air or what? Sometimes just hanging, like a dog trying to cool it’s body

Seriously, the other day I saw this women, she was maybe somewhere between 50 & 60 years old. She didn’t have a tooth in her mouth to smoosh a pea with. Does your mouth shrink when all your teeth are gone, simply leaving no room for your tongue? How does this happen? I was in the same store w/her for over an hour. Her tongue never stayed in her mouth. It just kind of hung there, like a red fleshy blob with nowhere else to go. I couldn’t help but stare. I wanted answers.

She carried a black purse bag thing that she had lined with a walmart-type bag. What is that? I was worried. What if she started pulling chicken eyes or frog guts from that plastic bag lined purse?? Stranger things have happened.

I turned to my own over-50-year-old mother who was with me & told her if she acted like that in 10-15 years, I would commit her to a mental hospital without consulting any other family member. No questions asked.

She responded that she was glad I’d give her 10-15 years. And that she would prefer to be shot.

Can someone put that in her will?

if only 10-02-08

I am angry.
Wanting to let it go.
But then it gets worse.
Wishing to hold onto it.

Why?

Why is it always about being the ONE?
The rescue. The story line. The tragedy.
Tragic.

Darkness. You are not alone. So many others like you. Duped. Tricked. Played. Used. Same stories. Same lines. Same plays. No one wants to believe it. Everyone is special.

I’ll show you. You’re wrong.

He is not who you see him as. Look again.

ooops, politics 9-28-08

who? what? when?

My own little careless rant on politics:

In case you haven’t noticed, I’m anti-social on all political talks. I could give a rats ass about what the current hot topic political discussion is.

I’m all for Capital Punishment, sterilization as a punishment & pro-choice on abortions.

I despise seat belt laws for anyone over age 18. You can send me to stand in front of a bullet in a foreign country to line your own pockets, but I have to strap myself into my own car?? Helmets are just as useless in my opinion & no one should be able to tell me that I have to wear it.

If you smoke pot, oh well. You can kill yourself with cigarettes, why not live a doped up life? I don’t do it, but it’s your choice. Personally, I’d rather waste my money on food. I love my taste buds.

I think welfare moms & dads should have to pass drug tests before getting government (MY) money. I have no issues helping them in time of need. But fuck you if your time of need is because you drink too much, smoke too much, or have some other worthless addiction. Like I said, as long as it doesn’t affect me, I don’t care what you do w/your life. But when hard working Americans are buying you & your children food because you want to spend your itty bitty paycheck on beer, cigs, & vicodins – fuck that.

I also can’t stand government subsidized households where the women have acrylic nails, a perfect golden tan, and order pizza three times a week cuz the lazy bitch just got her nails done & doesn’t want to cook. Or has to drive three blocks to buy cigarettes. WALK. And quite fucking smoking if you can’t pay your bills!! What is that?

Past those few items, I could give a shit less what the government talks about or does. To be that big of a fish, you have to swallow some nasty hooks & live thru it. That hardens a person. Stiffens their souls. Builds calluses. No one is perfect. Large amounts of Americans vote these people into office, so somewhere along the way that individual did SOMETHING right or good. Sure, there will be fuck ups. That’s what happens. It’s the system WE built. Sit back & bitch about it because that will surely change the present events. Hot damn people, get a grip.

I don’t vote. I don’t bitch about who’s in office, whine about what a horrible shape the economy is in, or jump on a soap box and confess that the answer to every political failing is so very easy to see … blah blah blah.

Don’t ask me to register to vote. I’m not dodging jury duty. Or drafts. Or what-the-fuck-ever. I don’t register because I realize & accept myself as a non-informed individual. I trust the educated to choose the closest fitting individual for whatever office is open.

My oldest brother asked me today if I was going to vote and, more importantly in his view, WHO I’m voting for. I told him I’m not registered & haven’t ever voted. IT’S MY RIGHT TO MAKE THAT DECISION – NOT TO VOTE. He said he votes Republican. I had to ask him which candidate is Republican. Seriously.

Hello, My name is Triana & I live in America, where we have the CHOICE to vote. Or not to vote, for that matter.

I loathe the campaigns that stuff their views down my throat. Like me humbly saying, “no thanks, I’m not interested” is really a desperate cry for “I’m ignorant & retard; please save me by talking to me like I just crawled out of a box & don’t know how to wipe my own ass & I will surely succumb to sipping peas through a straw for the rest of my life if you don’t convince me that the other person running in this race is really the DEVIL.”

Whatever. I’d rather choke on something else please. Or just plain breathe for that matter. Shove your crap down someone else’s throat. It’s all bullshit anyway & I’ve kind of had my fill of the taste of shit in my mouth.

Caustic.

disasterless 9-26-08

A fucking disaster.
I’m peeking out.
Finding nothing.
Beaten & torn.

Disasterless.