Ramblings of the Sleep Deprived Part 45240

Dear Cat,

I really love you.  You are my almost 15 year old fur baby who came into our lives, tormented Garbonzo, and won my heart by tormenting Garbonzo.  But we really need to talk about your habit of capturing mice, bringing them into the house, then releasing them so you can play your own version of the hunger games without having to contend with the rain and cold.  While I have gotten used to tossing the corpses of your toys that have died from your games, it is the live ones that have escaped your notice that drives me nutty.

Last night, while laying in bed, we heard one of your escapees.  No, we did not hear the pitter patter of little feet scurrying around in the dark.  We heard something even better….the incessant squeaks of your mouse as it roamed around the room.  And that fucker is loud.  Each time deep sleep would start happening – the squeaking would start and get louder.  And you – and your friend Garbonzo (the cat) – and the dogs would pretend it wasn’t happening.

We set traps.  Traps that your prey simply licked clean without setting them off.  We contemplated poison, but with a puppy in the house, that is a dangerous option.  So instead, we shined a light on your friend as it scurried around.  and hopefully chased it into a room where you would be pestered instead of us.  And 1am turned into 3am as we tried to go back to sleep.  Then, because we were awake, the puppy woke up and decided to roam around 4:30am.  In the end, we got very little sleep.  All thanks to the problems your mouse caused.

So, in the future, I would like you to play the hunger games with your mice outside.  If you don’t, I’ll start tossing your ass out.


Your Humble Servant


Every once in a while, I snag DJ’s iPhone (my old one, in case someone has the wrong image that we bought her a new one) and check her text messages.  She knows this is part of the deal. She knows that I have the right to look at her phone anytime I deem necessary.  Do I trust her? Only as much as you can an 8th grade girl.  Probably a bit more than most, but still – I have to check to make sure she isn’t getting herself into trouble.  And I usually find nothing but meaningless banter.

However, sometimes I find something funny.  Like when she told her friend (a boy) that she was done talking about something, so instead, she wanted to talk about her dick.  “You want to talk about your dick??” was his response.  “Yeah, let’s talk about our dicks.”  Wow.

I guess I should be happy I’m not finding photos.

Though I did find some great videos.  None was explicit, but it should be noted the DJ had her arms wrapped around a boy.

Shhh….don’t tell G.


Yet another year where parent-teacher conferences were a study in contrast between the kids.  DJ is the kid who owns her shit, owns her grades (good and bad), and really does well overall.  All of the teachers are like “she is great to have in class, smart, conscientious, and a good performer.”  Indigo’s conferences are different.  “If she tried, she would do well on the tests.  We see how smart she is – but she doesn’t show it often on her work.  She is more worried about making her friends happy than she is taking care of herself.  We cannot figure out her motivation.”  With one kid, we talk about keeping her on track.  With the other kid, we are trying find the track.  One kid is getting straight A’s. The other kid is only being kept from getting straight F’s because she shows them she is fucking around with her tests.  It’s amazing.  I have often joked with Indigo that I wished people had not taught her to use her words – but instead she resorted to hitting and other ways of acting out.  That would be easier to deal with than dealing with a kid who is too smart for her own good and unmotivated.


My sister-in-law is off her rails.  I commented on FB the other day that I got accosted by a man – a random man – on the street demanding to know why I wasn’t wearing pants – it’s cold out, don’t ya know?  I replied I had on wool socks and went on.  He continued his crap, so I announced this isn’t cold when you grow up in Iowa.

Here is the deal – we all grew up in the flat part of Iowa.  The last several years, my hometown in Iowa has  had some of the worst windchills in the US.  Minus 100+ degrees below zeros was the norm.  So winter in Oregon have always seemed mild – like fall in Iowa.  I can get cold but rarely as cold as I used to get.

So I posted this to FB.  I ignored the fact that a random man on the street thought it was his place to force me – a poor woman who clearly didn’t know better – to answer why I was not wearing pants. I told a cute little tale about me and my smart ass response to the guy.  Completed it with calling him a rookie to the cold.

My SIL responded with “put your ego away, and put pants on.”

I responded as did another friend “what does ego have to do with not being cold??”

Everyone who read it was like “who the fuck is SHE?”

We wondered if she was drinking while on maternity leave.

But it gets better. Her smart ass, inappropriate online comments continued.  She went after my brother when his ex posted a smart ass remark to a picture of his step daughter’s makeover.  She went after my aunt when my aunt called their 2month old daughter a boy.  Even my brother (her husband) commented it is hard to tell at this age – trying to smooth feathers.  She went after her own sister who is leaving her husband due to issues. More online drama.  It is to the point where my friends want to reply with smart ass remarks like “you know, yoga may work but sex is also a great cure for insomnia” pointing out that yoga is clearly her response to her lack of sex at home.

It has gotten to the point where I have almost blocked her on FB.

Seriously though, I do worry about her. Her mom is crazy. Seriously crazy.  I do worry that it is genetic and caused by the hormones of pregnancy.


I’m trying to talk myself out of getting my hair cut and chopped off.

The ends must be trimmed, but we shall see if it ends up being more.


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