I’m afraid to go into the bathroom. Ass Burger Boy emerged from it, no longer resembling Jesus. Oh, he still has the Jesus hair, but the beard, it is gone, and I suspect is mostly decorating the bathroom sink. Holy facial hair, Batman! The sink, it is clean! I guess it’s safe to hose myself down now, after digging in the garden.

I’ve been rather cranky of late, not feeling perky, and having childhood issues emerging. I decided when I started this blogging thing that I was going to be very careful what I said about my family, because there is a member or two who have the URL. I have no desire to hurt feelings or make anyone feel defensive. Not my style anyway. It’s frustrating because that is where I want to go right now when I sit in front of the keyboard. It’s making me more bitchypoo than witchypoo.

One thing that has been re-emerging has me a tad baffled. It’s the issue of fire. I’m smelling fire a lot lately, and images of fire I encounter are bringing up strong emotions. And of course, there are the strangely clad men who barged into my home.

When I was about ten years old, our house burnt to the ground in the middle of the night. I don’t believe we had pajamas unless it was Christmas, because this happened in November, and will never forget the gray t-shirt and white undies I wore to bed, and which I wore outside to escape the flames and smoke.

We sat in the car and cried because we were scared. I’m pretty certain I didn’t have any idea of the enormity of the loss of possessions the fire caused, but it pounded the final nail in my parent’s marriage, which was never a peaceful one in the first place.

We were in the process of building a house at the time, and we moved into it while it was only roughly finished. My father built bunks and dressers into the bedrooms, and other furniture as well. He was pretty handy that way.

Then he disappeared. He was posted about two hours away, and seldom came home. My mother took to her bed a lot. There were a lot more suppertimes than there were suppers. We should have had enough to eat. My father was military, and the pay was decent enough to live on.

When I look back to all that happened, and link it to the fire as a catalyst for the disease that was choking my parents marriage, I can’t help now but compare it to the Tower in the tarot deck.

The Tower signifies an event which causes all the smoke and mirrors to fall away, all the pretense to be exposed, and the opportunity for a new beginning. It is dreaded, but is the card of transformation. Sometimes, we believe that we cannot learn through joy.

The events after the fire seared my innocence in many ways. I think I am only now really mourning that. So excuse me if I’m a tad cranky. I was fixing to be all over Ass Burger Boy now that he no longer is a ringer for Jesus.

If you are not reading this sentence in an aggregrate feed reader, then the content has been stolen from Psychicgeek. Bad Karma.

Am I Nicer When He Looks Like Jesus?

I changed yesterday’s hair appointment to this morning so they could block out enough time to give me streaks along with my cut. I rolled out of bed exactly 10 minutes before I was supposed to be there, so it reverted back to cut only, since I was late.

Oh the excitement! A former classmate of Ass Burger Boy’s is now in the Academy of Cosmetology, and she is a sweetie, one who was always very kind to him. She is also the most innovative and creative of the students. I can spot the talent every time, and when I get one to cut my hair, I tell them to have as much fun and be as creative as they wish.

She was so excited that I gave her free rein and she did not disappoint. Her supervisor suggested taking pictures for her portfolio, and brought the owner over to see the results.

I gave her my card, as it turns out she needs a reading, and went home and wasted my new do by promptly getting into my jammies. But I love it, really. I just love free-boobing more.

If you are not reading this sentence in an aggregrate feed reader, then the content has been stolen from Psychicgeek. Bad Karma.

Gone Yesterday, Hair Today

Today I have no stories. Late last night the smoke detector kept shreiking and the fire department sent a truck. Firefighters entered my flat and surprised the heck out of me, but the whole structure was searched and we didn’t find any real reason it went off.

See? If you cannot craft a story about three strangely-clad men barging into your house you might as well take the day off.

I’m gonna. My brain hurts.

If you are not reading this sentence in an aggregrate feed reader, then the content has been stolen from Psychicgeek. Bad Karma.

The White Screen of Nothingness

“What did you find, Ass Burger Boy?”

“This.”

“I can’t see it, it’s dark. NAME the object you are

holding in your hand.”

(frustrated) “THIS!” I can imagine him pointing to

the object in the dark.

This scenario also repeats itself when I’m driving, or doing something else

that needs full visual attention.

And my eyesight ain’t as sharp as it used to be.

When I can’t discern the object, he will edge closer

and closer to show me, rather than name the thing.

It drives me cah-ray-zee.

Not a long drive these days, I might add.

This is just one quirk I figure is attributable to Asperger’s Syndrome.

Did any of you watch Dawson’s Creek?

The boy is a dead ringer for Dawson.

Out of his mouth come the most bizarre and inappropriate things. He likes to shock people.

The other day, he asked me (a la boxers or briefs)

“Zucchini or cucumber?”

See, your mom isn’t someone you’re supposed to feel

comfortable asking that to.

He doesn’t hear my explanation of this concept (for what?…the zillionth time?)

He is doubled over with laughter.

Smartarse. Thinks he’s Tom Green.

If you are not reading this sentence in an aggregrate feed reader, then the content has been stolen from Psychicgeek. Bad Karma.

The Drive to Crazy? Not a Long One

Nowadays, when he is frustrated or angry, he repeats the N word like a person with Tourette’s Syndrome. I have explained how loaded with hatred and bad juju this word is.

Then, in a rare moment of clarity, *ding, ding* it dawned on me.

Me: You use that word because it offends me so much, don’t you?

ABB: Yeah, kinda.

Me: Well, aren’t you just the effing rebel?

ABB: smirk.

Awarding of the Bling

From the lovely and fragrant Teeni, who wishes to acknowledge a few of her must read daily posts comes the Daily Dose Award. Be quiet. It wasn’t what you were thinking, now, was it?

I have to pick only three blogs who fill me with happiness when I see they have updated. Tough call. You should subscribe to these three, and become addicted your ownself. Drum roll, please…

1. Zoe

2. Veronica

3. Well Done Fillet

From my much loved bloggy buddy, Zoe, comes the I Less than three your blog, which I take it to mean that she hearts my blog.

There are many blogs that I heart as well. I just feel all warm and fuzzy when I visit them. Here are three:

1. Teenie, Vaguetarian Tea Room I was going to also award this to I am the Diva, but I figure Teeni will get it to her.

2. Texas Poppet

3. Loralee’s Looney Tunes

And? I really hate having to narrow it down to three. There are so many great blogs out there.

If you are not reading this sentence in an aggregrate feed reader, then the content has been stolen from Psychicgeek. Bad Karma.

Semantics and Awards