Gorillabuns

one down and another one to go

The results are in. We went with trashy or should I say, I went with trashy. I am pre-TrimSpa Anna Nicole Smith with her husband, J. Howard Marshall. Well, I think his name was this. Screw googling it to see if I'm correct.

And NO! I'm not drunk here. I was stone cold sober in this picture.

Quite scary indeed.

Let's take a closer look shall we? The boobs are au natural and the make-up - a major hatchet job.

Actually, I think I look more like Cruella d'Ville and Dolly Parton but whatever. I dressed up and let's just, we were quite original in our concept. ahem..

I'm not too sure if Anna's husband needed a voice box in real life but this one had one blaring all evening. Too bad you can't see the fake blood hanging on the I.V. pole that dripped all over my friend's carpet. Yea, one could say we committed a major party faux-pas. Destroying the host's carpet in 1.5 minutes upon arrival but since we are fun peoples, she let us stay anyway.

Personally, I would like to kill the person who took this picture or more likely, kill myself. Because what the hell? I'm not sure if I was posing or actually acting like a blank slate of hot messness. I guess we should consult the babysitter since she kept exclaiming, "Dude, it's 4:30 in the morning!" when we arrived home.

Me: "I know, let's not discuss the time."

"But really! It's 4:30 IN THE MORNING!"

Me: "I thought we weren't going to discuss the time."

Then I went to sleep for three hours and woke up to face the jury.

Good times, good times.

 

 
 
 
 

sexy, slutty or just plain ugly

It's that time of year again. The time of year of hounding/hoarding costumes, goblins and ghouls. and no, I'm not trying to figure out what the children will be for Halloween but what WE are going to be for Halloween because seriously, what's more important? Okay, okay, the kids are more important but their outfits were purchased over a month ago. Go ahead and give me a high five or raise your evening/morning cocktail in my honor of preparedness. I know, I sometimes even scare myself.

Again, this is another year of "adult" parties in which we try to decide to be sexy devils or naughty wenches. Who am I fooling? We've never been these characters as we are NOT able to pull off these persons. Every year, we try to out do the year prior leaving the next year full of performance anxiety waiting in the wings.

As seen in a most auspicious pictorial viewing for your visual pleasure:

Raging postman and believe it or not, I was a very skinny some kind of fairy slut nymph (the only time of my life).

Also on a side note: We weren't dating at the time and let me tell you his angry postal mail carrier act made me swoon (of course not outwardly because I couldn't/WOULDN'T! let him know I was in lust with him at the time because WE WERE ON A BREAK!) because I have always liked a man in uniform. 

1999:Blair Witch Project. We were back together and engaged. The idea came to Rich in 1.5 hours before a wild basement party. Man, I so missed this couple's parties of yore. Odd doesn't even seem to begin to describe their parties. In a good way of course.

"White Trash Couple" This inception/conception occurred during our first year of marriage. You know, the time in which we were both discussing what wedding gifts we were going to take with us after our divorce..... 

Side note: believe it or not: I had bubble wrap around my ass and legs to achieve a "full-figured" look. Who knew I shouldn't have tempted fate in the near future.

2004: 8 months pregnant with Moira - Sharon (pre-liposuction) and Ozzy Osbourne. Yes, I'm VERY sober here but I DID win a new DVD player due to my sober trivia prowess.

 
2005: "Dodge Ball". I think the use of the Baby Bjorn for Rich's outfit was a killer move. Oh, my, God! Did I say "KILLER?" Hello, 1990's, pleased to reintroduce myself to you... also let me add, Rich spent 4 hours on our "Purple Cobra" logos to make sure the were "just right." You know, for the sake of artistic integrity and all.

2006: "Dog the Bounty Hunter. And no! That is NOT my actual rack. It just happened to be two drawers full of socks for your viewing delight.

2007: "Rock of Love" The Original Season. Notice the homemade camera and the intricately place pink glued hairs. and yes, the Poison t-shirt was chosen from my vast assortment of actually owned t-shirts.

2008: I was pregnant with Thalon and we happened to afflicted with the vomit bug. Nothing to report.

2009:? Octomom? Anna Nicole Smith (pre-TrimSpa days?) Really, anyone? Bueller? Ideas? before Saturday?

Thank you very much for your participation!
 

  

   

the seventh day

In the bible, the seventh day is supposed to represent a day of rest. In my case, the Sabbath or otherwise in numerical order of events, represents my inability to follow through to wishes, wants,expectations and desires. Going to church, staying off my meds, staying sane....

It seems on the seventh day of "forgetting" to take, refill or by all means ignoring the need of my antidepressant meds, I fall. Hard. This isn't the first time. Surely not the last.

Here, I think I can beat it all and forget about this shit medicine because I don't feel like it's doing any good then, BAM!!! I'm forcefully slung to the ground and pummeled to death with emotions in which I can't control.

Well, I seem to do 'okay' in public until I can go into my closet and wither. Otherwise? I try. I then realize, SHIT! This crap-assed medicine must be doing more for me than I thought, other than making me fatter. Needless to say, I refilled my Prozac today and popped the capsule in the pharmaceutical line of illusion. Praying that I don't have to wait seven more days to feel in control.

Silly girl....control is just that - an unattainable word.

My husband is visiting a friend in Rhode Island. Hiking, laughing, getting away from everything. While I'm happy for him, I'm both sad and lonely. My personal counselor/confidant/partner-in-this-muck is gone. The warm body who may love or hate me in the middle of the night is away and I'm left to be the end-all-be-all for the girls right now. This discovery makes me feel foolish and horrible that I left him a month after Thalon died to visit friends - to get away. To feel real when everything is and was so unreal.

I'm such a selfish bitch because now? six months later? I'm sad he's gone to escape and I'm left to deal with reality. Remnants of thoughts, spirits and emotions haunting our house for me to deal with alone. Children bereft with emotion, sadness, and sleep walking episodes. Yes, I guess, it's all about me. me.mememememememme! How annoying.

Though, many a friend has kept me and the girls QUITE occupied - no one can keep the thoughts from roaming, while my eyes and mind wonder to pictures and stare at the phone as it rings. Both wanting to answer it and not. Because I'm so tired. So tired of pleasing everyone.

Tired of arguing with my youngest that her name is fucking Moira, not Lily. Tired of my oldest wanting her body glued to mine when I go to the motherfucking bathroom because she can't stand me being out of her sight for a minute. Only a GD minute! Tired of dealing with being frustrated and angry at EVERYONE; including God, Buddha, and idols alike. Tired of being jealous that everyone else has a stroller to push but me. (Well, I do have a stroller but I sure would look like a stupid fool if I pushed an empty stroller around with everyone else's complete ones.) Tired of wondering.... wondering what everything would be like....if. only if. Tired of staring at dead flowers and wanting to burn pictures to erase images and memories out of my mind.

From the very quotable words of my mother, "I (meaning her) totally need to take a tranq right now." More like an elephant tranq (tranquillizer) to calm the fuck down. 

Otherwise, I'll haphazardly jump out of my skin, house and ship.

wheels

 

This new song from my favorite band - EVER!- pretty much sums up my state of mind these days and well as the state of my left rear tire in which I have to refill the mother-of-pearl thing every other day.

Damn those wheels of life and uncooperative vehicles.

six months but who is counting?

Today would mark six months, 8 hours and 4 minutes since Thalon was found dead. To never really return to my loving grasp. Oh, yes, I squeezed him tight two days later when we removed his ventilator but nothing was ever the same when I found him that fateful day, April 10th at 2:23pm.

As stated in the post before, I'm having dreams galore about him and his presence to only awaken from the midst of my dreams to not find him in my longing grasp. So much for will, wishing and hoping while conjuring up the spirits surrounding me to grant me my one true wish. I've clicked my heels three times and chanted "there's no place like home, there's no place like my old home" to no avail.

I would like to say I handled this day with grace, patience and love but alas, I did not. Feeling like I was the ONLYone who was understanding or feeling the magnitude of this day. Everything a constant reminder of what bullshit this time of my life is. Though I do have to say, a friend sent me a beautiful card. A simple card telling me she was thinking about me/us this weekend. Then I realized, there IS someone out there remembering something so profound to me that even my husband didn't remember. Or he didn't share his thoughts with me if he did. Instead, our family is on complete edge. More like on the edge of a sharp cliff. Each daring one another to jump. Figuratively speaking.

In other news, Rich is leaving a for a week long trip to visit a best friend this week. I'm both happy and sad for him to leave. Mainly because the crazy and neurotic persona is coming out in the most fierce way. Scared that something is going to happen to him and well, hell! He's leaving me alone with the girls. Doesn't he know I'm not capable of such a thing? My track record sure as hell shows it to be somewhat lackluster in the caretaker department. Luckily, I have friends who have planned moments with me to make sure I'm not sucking my thumb in the corner with overwhelming panic attacks. Panic attacks I can't seem to get under control. A small, semi-panic attack I exhibited for my doctor - both ugly, and well, ugly for her to diagnose and ask if I needed more Xanax.

Thanks but you refilled my script last week but thanks!

I saw this OB on Friday in which we discussed why this fertile Myrtle who gets pregnant when someone/anyone breathes on this person's nether regions is not pregnant like both she and I thought I would be at this time. Hell! If you think about it, I was pregnant at this time last year but now? I can't get pregnant even if an alien being came down from the heavens to inseminate me with every experimental procedure known to man or super-being. I kinda have to think it's a semi-good thing since every person I've come into contact with as of late has been stricken with the plague. All I need is a mermaid spawn to complete my life's story.

Screw you TLC showing the life and times of "Mermaid Girl...."

To end this yet, another crazy rambling, I should address why I closed comments on my last post. I didn't close them because someone said something shitty or demoralized me.  I closed them so you and yours didn't feel the need to have to say, "Geez, Shana, I'm so sorry you are sad. I'm so sorry you going through this bullshit." Not to say, I don't appreciate all the kind words extended my way because I truly do.

I just don't want you to feel like you have to say something that has already been said. Because really, it's all been said before, right? Just like this duplicate post in which it has been posted in many different forms from months past.