i need my love ...

... your sunday sillies ...

OK.

So, if it's not bad enough that those of us with O.C.D. check our alarm clocks non-stop, what happens when that damn thing doesn't work?!?!?!

Well, then, we with O.C.D. are going to be EVEN MORE frantic about checking the time throughout the night.

I had mine set.  All ready to go.

My new Samsung Galaxy actually tells you, every time you save or make a change, that the time is set for 'X' amount of hours and minutes from now.

Great for someone with O.C.D.  Unless that fucking thing doesn't go off.

OR!

It's possible the alarm isn't loud enough to wake me up.  That may be the case as well.  I might download something REALLY obnoxious to wake me up.

Never-the-less, as per my usual checking of the time all night long, I looked at my clock, only to realize I was supposed to be out for The Garage Band kids 5 MINUTES PREVIOUS!!!!!!

Seriously.  I woke up 5 minutes after 8.  I was supposed to be up at 7 to prepare for the niños!

I limped out as fast as I could, because when I woke up in the morning, my damn ankle had ballooned again.

I suppose I did something to it the night before when I went to the birthday party in the village for the Housemaid.

You see, I brought the birthday girl some red wine, and of course, I indulged, as it seemed myself and the birthday girl were the only ones they were pouring it for, and everyone else drank beer.

I wasn't out to get snapped, as I had to get up to teach the next day, and besides, the object of the game isn't about getting corked anymore.

It's just for pleasure of some relaxation.

No pain.  As in, no fucking hangovers!

Surely, I wouldn't want to have a Buffalo Breath while singing for the kids.

Nor would I like to have a llama shitting in my mouth the night before teaching, as I wouldn't have the time to shave my tongue before class.

Alas, the wine I brought ran out.

People just kept sending children off to buy more beer, and I just stuck to sipping my wee glass of red wine, giggling at the drunken antics of others.

Then someone showed up with a bottle I'd never seen before: Dominican wine.

"Try some!" they said.  So I did.  I thought they tricked me into drinking some kind of whiskey.

I had to ask them a few times, "True?  This is wine?"  They explained that it is made from apples.  Who knew apples could be so evil!

I just kept saying, "This is strong!" as they laughed at the lightweight gringa.  I didn't need to tell them who I used to be in a former drinking stage of my life.

I only needed the one glass, even though Mr. Gummy kept prodding me to drink more to match his own level of alcoholism.

They kept asking, "But who will drink all this?!?!"

I'm sure you did fine without me, folks.

Off I went to my house, and as the wine wore off, with the help of time and a lot of water, that damn ankle began its wailing of disdain of my treatment toward it.

I guess I walked around too much, not realizing it, because I had that magic elixir that took away all pain, allowing me to walk MORE!

I thought little sleep would take care of that!  I'm in the land of healing, no?!?!

I guess it doesn't count when you've done something 'new' to yourself.

So, I lied in bed all day yesterday, trying to get the swelling down with my legs up, doing my best to ignore my throbbing toes.  It is bloody angry.

I listened to dogs fart and snore all day, and I suppose that's my lot again as I rest it today.

I have the feeling I did something a little ominous to my dear wee ankle.  Oh, how I wish I had pain meds.

Come home Papi!!

9 sleeps left.

Oh, how I need you, but how I miss you even more than that.

i believe i can be kinder to myself

I want a fart machine.

Of course I'm going to offend someone with this post, but I have to be true to myself and say it, because dammit!  I haven't met my piss off quota lately.

I want someone to invent a fart machine.

Not to make the sounds, because we have whoopie cushions and armpits for that.

What I want, is a gizmo that I can press a button and out will come ass stench at will.

I'd use my very own Buffalo Breath if I could gauge when I get the rank, horrid, practically seen breath emerges.

Well, that's not entirely true.  I know I'll get it if I stress out enough, or most mornings.

Oh, another way, is I can get it from too much sugar in my diet (aka: Candida), or from the gads of raw garlic I like to put in foods (to fight the Candida).

Then again, I also get it from taking those hideous pain pills, but then I'd be stuck with that breath all day and what happens if I see someone I like!?!?!

I hate it when that happens!  They don't deserve to give me a hug and smell shit breath!

I'm very self conscious about it with people I like.

I know that really, my Buffalo Breath was a direct result from my eating disorder.  I damaged my stomach with laxatives when I didn't care about the consequences, and thought it was more important to find that 'thin' girl, that to this day, I would never see in the mirror.

Anyway, this really wasn't supposed to be about my Buffalo Breath, nor anorexia.

It's supposed to be about a fart machine.

I want a fart machine that I can turn on at any time, so that the next time I'm stuck near the scum of cigarette stink, I can turn it on.

I understand people have their addiction, but man!  Why am I subject to smelling your malodour?

I don't go around intentionally farting and waving my stinky armpit smells around you!!!

But hey, if I had a fart machine, then I could prove a point.

When they said, "Fuck man!  That thing stinks!  Turn that shit off!"

I'd be able to say, "I will when you butt that rank skank out.  If I have to smell your crud, then you have to smell this.  I'm addicted to making this smell.  I just can't help myself.  It's a sickness."

So.

If there are any scientists out there who would like to indulge, I'm pretty sure it would 'smell' on the market.

... hehehe ... i know, that was really cheesy ...

I know I would buy one!

It would have to be small though.  Maybe a container like my mace that I carry around in my purse.

Wait!

Is it illegal to mace people who occupy my air space with their wafting addiction?

Probably.

Anyway, someone out there, please, make me a fart machine.

I'm sick of being passive aggressive and having to close my fucking house and car windows to escape it.

Fuck!  It sucks old man sweaty balls when I'm relaxing in a comfy, sunny spot, and along comes a smoker who sits right near me.

Then I have to move away for 7 minutes, while they enjoy my seat in their funk, as I wait impatiently for them to finish.

I can only resume my nice spot once they've complete pissing me off with their fetor.

That is of course, unless they're a chain smoker.  Then I'm subject to another bout of mephitis within moments of one of those bitches being put out.

For the love of god, make me a fart machine.

i behave in ways that promote my health more every day

Hell of Halitosis!

It's such a beautiful day.

Not just the weather, but because I get to see my love for the afternoon.

Our date has no schedule or timed itinerary, and I don't care.  I just want to be with Papi no matter what.

Our day will involve a visit with the G'ma, who is still giving us the guilt trip for 'abandoning and neglecting her, and forcing her into a home while we take over her house'.

... you know the drill ...

Anyway, Papi now has 7 days of healing.  I'm 7 days happier.

Yet still, I just want to go home NOW.  I want to renege on my 'rule' of not being there for 2 weeks until his socks are fully pulled up.

Yet, I won't, because I'm too afraid of what that will bring.

I miss my Fuzzy Family so much.  It's nice to have Java the Mutt here for a distraction, but he's not my babies.

The last time I went to the house, The Mrs. gave me the cold shoulder.

There is nothing more heartbreaking than an Fuzzy Family member snubbing you.

It adds to the sadness.

To know that this whole thing is affecting each and every one of us just sucks.

Such is the life of us addicts.  We really do affect everyone around us.

It's made me realize that a lot of my pain around Papi using is really not about my love having a weak time, it's my own P.T.S.D.

When I had to leave the home with the heroin addict I was in love with, it was torture.

I grieved for 2 years over the fact that I couldn't help her, couldn't change her, and couldn't suffer watching her disintegrate to dust.

She didn't really wither, however, she just cleaned up her act a bit so that I looked like I was lying about her addiction.

That created a whack-load of Hen Peckers who to this day believe that I was only trying to cause trouble and make her look bad.

When I had to leave mi esposo on his night of the big ending, it was like reliving that hell all over again, and there I was.  In agony once more.

I had to leave the addict again.  I believed that Papi would spiral down and that would be it for our marriage.

I believed the worst.

It's hard not to when you're living in my brain with my life experiences.

I've lived the worst and come out the other end every time, but knowing the pain I had to endure to get out of the Pit of Doom was so deep, I was terrified.

I'm grateful I have medication for my chemical imbalance, and I'm able to get out of the hell a little faster than I used to, but it's still not comfortable.

Nor is it good for my breath.

Yeah.

I get a nice heaping load of halitosis when I get stressed.  My stomach can't handle the acid and out it comes, wafting through my mouth like great wads of green stench you'd only imagine from the Grinch.

Or the Malboro.

Last night someone told me how bad my breath was and I felt like crying, dying, and crawling under a rock, but I couldn't.

I was there to sell tickets to the public for the Queer Arts Festival.

Person after person would come up and I'd be speaking with my mouth covered, or I tried to talk as loud as I could from as far away from them as possible.

I felt embarrassment like you could never imagine.

However, I know that this is the deal and I carry my toothbrush around with me everywhere anyway for my brace face, so I just brush a whole lot and try my best to keep my distance.

Good thing I have dogs in my life.  They don't care about my Buffalo Breath.

Apparently, neither does Papi.

i heal all issues affecting my self-confidence