The Bird

Ok. Clearly I'm doing something wrong.

 I've had two people give me the finger, one woman tell me to MOVE IT, and a stranger ask me if I was crazy all within the past couple of days. And while the last of those things is painfully obvious, I don't exactly need it pointed out to me by someone I don't know. Someone who until that very minute, I had never seen before in my life. I might just add that this took place at the gas station.
I was having trouble pumping my gas. The pump kept shutting down and I finally gave up, and upon removing the nozzle from the car I proceeded to douse myself with fuel. I was cussing,  I was pissed and I  was having a verbal battle with myself. And during my episode I could feel some seriously judging eyes from the other side of the pump. A rather large gentleman was filling up his redneck monster truck just glaring at me. I smiled in an effort to lighten the mood and said, "I wouldn't light a match if I were you."
I know, not funny and really stupid, but at least I tried.
He looked at me and said nothing. I mean this guy just kept staring at me. I stood there entranced by his basketball belly and lack of hygiene and just waited. Say something, you big dummy.
Still nothing.
So I shrugged my shoulders, said WHATEVER, started to get back in the car, and as I did I heard him say: "Ma'am, are you crazy?"
It was a serious question, too. It wasn't one of those, "Guuurl, you crazy?" followed by a good ol' LOL.
He really wanted to know.
But before I  could respond, he just walked away. Off he went into the mini-mart to buy his Turkey Jerky , shaking his disapproving head at me.

Umm, WHAT?
Am *I* crazy???
I don't know fella, what's YOUR definition of crazy? While I may have been talking to myself and spraying gas and desperately trying to be funny, I'm not running around in my birthday suit, washing windshields for a quick buck.
I'm not holding up the gas station with a BB gun while my kids sit in the car cheering me on.
I'm not even chanting to some higher power , handing out pamphlets, and asking you to join me.
Now, had I been wearing a Disney sweatshirt,  had my hair in a banana clip, and dumping change on the counter for a six pack of PBR, then  I would have been okay with his inquiry.
But I was just a chick pumping her gas having a moment of difficulty. Geesh.

Moving on to the next order of business.
Giving the finger. 
I am a firm believer that there is a time and place for such an action. Sometimes giving the finger can be funny. You know, you are out with the girls and you see a super hot guy, so you start digging through your purse for your lip gloss, fixing your hair, and laughing really loud at nothing. Eventually one of the other girls will notice and say something like "Awww shit, there she goes, getting ready for the kill," or some variation of that, so you give your friends the finger. Hahahahaha! Everybody laughs because it's the truth. You know it, they know it.. You're a slut.
Totally and completely justified.

Or maybe you're in line to exit the highway behind the other 389 cars and you've been sitting there for quite some time, already late for work, but you're ALMOST there. Along comes the douche mobile, going like 100mph and weasels his/her way in right in front of you. Now, you have pulled this bullshit act yourself in the past and you're willing to admit to that. In fact, when you did it, lots of people gave YOU the finger. So, you go right ahead and throw that bird, my friend. It's your time now and  I back you up 100%.

C'mon people, there's only so many times you can give the finger. I'm pretty sure there is some kind of limit. If you're Judd Nelson and Emilio Estevez is giving you shit, the go ahead and own the moment.
Hold that finger down, the slowly move your hand to the upright position.
SAY IT WITH ME MY 80's dweebs:
"Can you hear this? Want me to turn it UP for you?"
Now THAT is giving someone the finger.
And that was exactly what I was thinking when the little smart ass neighborhood punk that was driving entirely too fast down my street reacted to my dirty look. ( trust me, there is a back story to this occurrence..people drive like uncaged animals in my hood, and it's jam packed with small children on small motorized appliances.)
He just went right ahead and threw his arm out the window, speeding up as he did, and dropped the finger bomb. I will go ahead and give him props for the ballsy move. It's obvious this young chap has no idea who he is dealing with, so good for him. But, my question is...did I really deserve it? Hell to the NO, and if any of you are sitting there saying in your sappy voice, "well, i don't know, maybe this and that...".go away, you're drunk and ejected from this conversation with no refund.

Episode 2 of "Giving the Finger" happened today as I waited in line to pick up my kids at school.
That's right folks, this kind of thing happens even on sacred grounds.
There is this whole system to dropping off and picking up at the school, and it's beyond frustrating, but so is the sate of NC taxing me when I buy clothes, but I treat both situations the same way, I do what I'm supposed to do, and keep quiet.
There is always a huge line of cars waiting to get into the school parking lot, and this line extends out onto the main road. Every single day this is the drill, but it just so happens that there are  a bevy of residential developments along this road. Today, I was the car that was positioned at the entrance to one of those developments, but my car was not blocking anything or anyone in ANY WAY. A car pulls up to exit the development and has to pull out further than normal to get out, and is having a hard time seeing the traffic coming from either way. I realize that this is a sticky situation, but there are LOADS of cars behind me and its not like I can move. The dude in the car finally sees an opportunity to escape, and hits the gas, only to be followed by a very obscene hand gesture targeted solely for me.
Oh, I see. You're giving me the finger because it took you and extra 20 seconds to depart the neighborhood, as you had to pull out another extra few feet or so to see if anyone was coming. I can see how that would piss you off. I can see how that it something that has just COMPLETELY ruined your day. I understand your anger and resentment towards me. Screw me and my bastard car for being there in the first place. You go right ahead and flip me off, I DESERVE it.

So my question is this?
Why the hell is everybody so pissed off all the time? I mean, I am no stranger to having my moments of utter and total frustration. Just last night, it took me more than 20 minutes to figure out which one of the 8 friggin' remotes it was that got the television to do something besides say ERROR. I WANTED to throw the remote at the wall and give the tv the finger, but I didn't.
I mentioned before that some woman told me to "move it"  recently. Mind you, I was in the aisle at the god forsaken cesspool that is WalMart, and it was really crowded, and she appeared to be in a hurry..but really?
I could have easily told her to go get herself a haircut that didn't make her  look like a caveman, but I didn't.
I guess maybe I come from the frame of mind that believes if you're going to give me shit about something, it had better be valid.
If I cut you in line at the ladies room, when you've clearly been waiting forever, and it looks like you may have let a little slip out..go ahead and give me shit.
If I am drunk and disorderly and I bump into you and almost knock over you and your grandma while you're having dinner, TAKE ME DOWN.
If I steal your bike and you see me riding around downtown with a big smile on my face..kick my ass.
But, for the love of god...have a good reason for giving me some sassafrass.

As usual, I'm left feeling like I have not made any sort of valid point here, but so be it.
If anything, maybe it just made me feel better to make some kind of public service announcement as to how to handle your anger, and when it's appropriate to flip the bird.
I never claimed to be some great philosopher, or even someone who could tell a killer story.

Let's face it..I'm just a girl pumping my own gas, getting judged by beer bellies, and having young folks telling me through hand gestures where to shove it.

I'm living the dream people.LIVING. THE. DREAM.
Go forth and be mad, just don't target your anger at me for a day or two.

Thanks.
Love and unicorns-Jules

Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.

This is one of those rare moments in time that I have done nothing to prepare for this particular blog. Usually, I've got notebooks filled with scribbles, random papers everywhere, and all kinds of jibberish saved to Word before I begin an actual entry. Instead, today is going to be a first for many things, I believe.

I will begin by stating the obvious, which is that today is November 12th, 2013. 11/12/13. For lack of a better term, I think that it is just a really cool occurrence. It will never happen again, at least in that sequence, and according to sources except for TMZ, today is considered a day of extreme luck and blessings. In fact , millions of people all over the world are getting married today for just that reason.

Personally speaking,  today represents something quite extraordinary. Today my parents pack up their home in NJ and make their way to NC, to live all but a few blocks away from my family. I'm sure that this doesn't come as a surprise to many of you, but for those of you who do not know my parents all that well, there was just NO WAY IN HELL that they were going to live that far away from their only child and their precious grandchildren. All kidding aside, they just wouldn't be able to go on with their daily grind without seeing my twins. Can't say I blame them, they are pretty stinkin' rad.

While my father is in all of his retirement glory, my mother holds onto the same sentiments that I did when I first moved south. Shit, who am I kidding? I still hold on to ALL OF IT. New Jersey was my "home." I was born in Syracuse and lived there until I was in 6th grade and there are a lot of memories there, my whole family still lives there. But NJ is where I "grew up." It is where I went through all of things that made me the person that I am today. It is the place where I married my best friend, the place where I had a rather successful career, the place where my babies were born AND conceived. New Jersey is where I fell in love for the first time, it's also the same place that taught me what the true meaning of  loss was. I struggled, and I overcame. I made some of the best friends I will ever know. Almost all of my best memories exist there. Some of my worst memories do too.

So really, it only makes sense that I am feeling all sorts of emotion today. Soon my parents, who also happen to be my best friends, will be with me. We will create more memories here...together.

Today just also happens to be my brother's birthday. Joe would have been 44 today. 44! It just doesn't seem possible. My mother, Margaret, gave birth to him 44 years ago today in Germany. That baby boy came to be known amongst everyone that met him as the sweetest , most beautiful baby boy that they had ever seen. That same boy, many years later came to pass as one of the coolest guys anyone had ever met. And unfortunately, he also became known to thousands as Joe Lucido, the boy who took his last breath at 17 years old. That all happened in New Jersey too.

So, I propose this.

I propose that today be a day of remarkable happenings. Maybe there is something happening in your life that deserves a shout out. Or maybe you just got to leave work early. Who knows, maybe tonight as you sleep , something changes. Either way, it's a day that needs to be noticed.

For me, today is the day that my parents make their journey to join me, and we embark on a new adventure.
It also represents the day that my only sibling was brought into this world to change everything. For so many people. He changed me, and my life.

So I raise a toast, and feel free to join me...To this cool ass day..11/12/13
To new beginnings and to remembering
Joe.

Happy Birthday my brother.
I love you.

Last Week Sucked

Yes, I know. What kind of title is that? Go ahead and call me Ms. Miserable or Debbie Downer, but at least hear me out.

Before I go any further, for the purpose of clearing up any confusion or just for those of you who give a rat's ass, I must state that this blog has shifted a bit. While I pride myself on being that girl that does nothing but argue the questionable sex appeal of Dave Grohl, get Google alerts if something Foo related is happening, and thrive in the fact that I continue to get texts, emails, tweets and posts from pretty much everyone I know if a band member has an ingrown toenail, I've come to the conclusion that for the time being, there is just not enough material to infect the world with Foo.( Although, I do enjoy seeing a tweet from one of my old co-workers stating that he stayed in his car until a Foo Fighters song had ended. He said he felt that it was just the right thing to do. I love you Cooley.) I know that there are far more important things going on in this world to be concerned about. Personally, I'm not terribly interested in The Housewives, the teen moms, Angelina's boobs, or Kim and Kaye's baby, but that the majority of the world is. What  did they name him anyway, Equator? Regardless, as much as it pains me, there's more on my mind than the Foo Fighters these days. (See how I did that? "These Days?".....anybody?) On that note, I recommend that we all take a moment to reflect upon this tragedy. *sigh*

So onto my shitty week. Who doesn't have these occasionally? Everybody does and they vary in the size of sucking. A car wreck and you lost your job? That's about a 9 on the suck scale. Sunburn and your new tattoo is spelled wrong? That's up there too. But the garden variety would include the bad week at work, significant other is making you mental, can't afford to pay a bill or two, HBO cancelled True Blood, and/or you stubbed your toe. My week fell right in the middle somewhere.

It started out okay. My family hosted this pot luck/drink a lot/meet the neighbors gig at our new house on Sunday that went really well. Pot "luck" is a good name for those types of gatherings because you just never know what you're going to get. You could end up meeting your best friend or maybe the love of your life. You could make some new contacts and land a great job. You could play Yahtzee and do shots and dance to bad music. Or you could get food poisoning.

My parents were in town for the shindig and my brother-in-law and his partner stopped by too.
Even though I was super sad that my parents had to leave on Monday to head back to Jersey, I was in a pretty good mood. Things were starting to feel "comfortable" in my new North Carolina surroundings. That was until Tuesday. Tuesday was the day that vomit came to town. Not only was Adam (brother-in-law) sick, so was my mother, as was I.  And by sick I don't mean we had an upset stomach, I mean the three of us combined may have set a new world record for most vomiting (and other things) in a 24 hr time frame. At least Adam and I were at home. My mom was on the road. Seriously, can you imagine anything worse than being in a moving vehicle when you feel like you've swallowed an alien? And I can just see my father trying to do his best to be supportive. "What the hell do you want me to do Marge, we're on a highway??!! You'll be fine, just lay back." Yeah Dad, that sounds like a stellar idea. Have her lay back so that the tilt-a-whirl motion of the vehicle will induce flop sweat and more up chucking. I'm surprised she didn't spew all over the dashboard causing my father to veer of I-95 Dukes of Hazzard style. (Minus the Daisy Dukes cuz Mama don't play that game.)

But my mother came prepared. She had stolen some of those liners that you put in the ice buckets at hotels from their last stop. That's right, the belching and dry heaving were no match for Margie and her little clear plastic bags that are meant for lining an insulated container. They may have been small and worthless, but dammit if she didn't fill three of them up as my Dad marveled at the beautiful Maryland landscape. I'm proud of you Mom. (FYI: rumor has it that she has been banned from all rest stops along the eastern seaboard. I think I saw it on CNN.)

Adam gets a Medal of Honor too. Here's a guy who hasn't been "sick" since regurgitating his Frosted Flakes in the backseat of a Buick in the late 70's.  This guy has been known to eat some pretty questionable leftovers in the blink of an eye.  So it surprised me quite a bit when he said he was considering going to the emergency room, seeing as he was knocked unconscious while playing hockey some time ago and acted like he broke a nail. He was sick as hell but made jokes about it. Said he'd rather get shot than feel the way that he did. I love my brother-in-law. Anyway, moving on.

I had to agree with him. Whatever it is that we ingested was evil. Every move I made seemed to make every muscle ache. NOTHING, and I do mean nothing, gave me the least bit of comfort. It was horrendous. It wasn't just the ongoing trips to the bathroom, it was that feeling of doom that I couldn't handle. I cannot say for certain but I'm pretty sure I was hallucinating at one point. I did,  however,  fall asleep for about 1/2 hour and had a dream that I was tied to a tree in the deep forest. My husband walked by me on his way to collect berries or something and said  "I hope that the woodland creatures pick up your scent." Seriously???? I'm telling you, whatever entered/exited my body was purely demonic.

After 2 days of torturous beatings upon our digestive systems, we all started to feel a bit better. I decided to take a quick bike ride through the neighborhood to get some fresh air. Upon my travels I heard rumblings in the neighborhood of other people being sick. That's right, someone tainted the pot luck extravaganza. Maybe it was the egg salad sliders. Perhaps it was the homemade mac n cheese. Whatever it was, it had claimed at least 15 victims. The plumbing may never be the same in this neighborhood.

So that right there would make for a bad week, but in my world that's just a taste of what's to come. No pun intended. In no particular order the following also took place last week: I tried on an old pair of jeans and I couldn't button them. They are 2 sizes bigger than what I was wearing a few months ago. If you ask me, that right there was the icing on the cake, but NOOOOOOO.  I also lost a few years of my life on Wednesday evening when I opened the dishwasher to be surprised by a titanic sized water bug that was coming right for me.  My reaction prompted my husband to only assume that I had lost a limb in a tragic kitchen accident.  My favorite flip flops melted outside and ended up looking like shrinky dinks. I also scalded myself in the shower because I forgot which way that stupid friggin' handle was supposed to go. Right=off. Left=3rd degree burns on your buns. But the highlight would have to be the older gentleman who decided to take it upon himself to inform me that pregnant women shouldn't drink, as it reeks havoc on the fetus. Thanks for the tip Billy Bob, but I'm not with child, and now I  may just drink this 12 pack in one sitting. At that point I began to wonder if being tied up to that tree in the woods might just be the brighter side for me.

Ironically, I didn't give in, or give up. I sort of just went about my merry way, stumbling along the path of horror mixed with humor that is my life.

And then there was Friday. Friday marks the end of thework week which USUALLY means that there is a light at 

the "end" of the tunnel, or so they say. It was like any other day, all of us up

at 6:30, getting ready for our day. The week had already been a shit show, so my

hope was that this particular day would propel us into a good weekend, but it

was not to be.

The background story is this: As many of you already know, my family and  I have

recently relocated  to Wilmington, NC from New Jersey. We built a really nice

house that is a few miles from the beach. Wilmington is a really great place,

full of history and charm and plenty of opportunities.  My husband and I met

here back in the late 90's while working in the movie biz. The cost of living is

considerably less and a wonderful place for us to have a  fresh start and raise

our family. That's the GOOD PART.

The bad part would be leaving behind a life that my children and I had grown

very accustomed to.   Don't get me wrong, my husband did not force anything upon

us, it was a mutual decision, but that doesn't mean that it made the move any

easier.

Earlier in the week, around the same time that my insides were coming back up,

my son Cameron complained of a belly ache. I, of course, kept him home from

school based solely on how atrocious I was feeling. It turns out that his belly

wasn't infected with the same evil that I had, but it was all just nerves. He

admitted this to me in private, and my heart just broke for him. He missed his

friends, his old school, his old routine, and the life that he had known. I

reassured him that his secret was safe with me, that I could be a pretty cool

mom, and I had no intention of blowing his cover.

So Friday morning rolls around and his belly hurts again. This time he is

visibly upset and can't seem to pull it together. With everything I had, I gave

him my best Mom pep talk. I reminisced of my big move to NJ from upstate NY when

I was in 7th grade and how I cried every day before school. I told him how

scared  I was and how alone I felt, and how angry I was at my parents for making

me move. I then informed him that even though he did not feel well, he still had

to go to school.  That's when things took a turn for the worse.

The ride to school he quietly sobbed in the back seat, occasionally telling me

how bad his stomach hurt, and as much as it literally killed me inside, I pretty

much ignored him. I tried to make jokes, I tried to play our favorite music,   I

even  tried to muster up a good loud belch to get him to laugh. No dice.

As we pulled into the school, he said that he was going to be sick. Great. So I

pulled over right in the parking lot, for everyone to see, and told him to get out

of the car so he could puke. He wouldn't get out. frustration began to boil over. Not

only did I not want him to barf all over himself, but parents were starting to

stare at us.

After a few minutes of sheer hell, I got back in the car and I once again

explained to him that he was not making my job as a mom very easy. I told the story of the  "boy who cried wolf."  He wasn't sick on Tuesday, so chances were

he wasn't sick on this day, but he insisted. So he became even more upset with me and the 

bell was about to ring.

In a moment of utter desperation I parked the car and I told him to get out, and

that I was going to walk him to the door. (Which, at this school, you are not

supposed to do, they have this whole  drop off system with arrows and signs and

shit.)  He proceeded to plead with me. So I pulled out one of my last playing

cards and told him that I would bring him into the school nurse and we would take it from there. By some stroke of sheer luck, he agreed to this.

Once in the nurse's office, he settled down a bit. I explained our predicament

to the nurse and she willingly went ahead and took his temperature and asked him

questions. The hands on the clock kept on moving towards 8:00 and I just didn't

see any hope in sight.  I told the nurse that I was going to step outside to

call my husband and as I left the office I spotted Cameron's teacher. She was

headed to the nurse to see what was up with him. I rehashed our situation one

more time. We talked for a bit, and then she said the words.."just go, he will

be fine. I will take care of your boy, get him whatever he needs."  I knew she

was right and at that moment I felt like a complete failure and the tears

started flowing. She gave me a huge hug and  I started on my way out. As I left 

turned around and I saw Cameron standing in the doorway crying and asking where

I was going. 

There is just nothing worse than watching your child suffer. I realize that

things could have been ALOT worse, but in the eyes of my son, this WAS the worst.

I drove home, wiped the snot off of my face, stopped for a tub of coffee, and

went home to keep myself occupied. I actually made it through the day without

calling the school to check on him OR losing my mind.  All I could think about

was his sad face and him having to try and get through HIS day.

My husband picked the kids up at school and I waited impatiently at home. I was

sitting on the porch when they pulled into the driveway and my first sight was

Cameron in the backseat waving to me with a smile on his face. A smile.  He got

out of the car and came towards me and what happened next was completely

unexpected. He wrapped his arms around me, gave me a hug, and a big kiss on the

cheek. He looked right at me and didn't say anything, but I knew what he was

thinking. We were ok with each other.

And that right there was my week.  While it wasn't enough to have me committed ,

it was just enough to warrant a Xanax. Normally, I bounce back pretty quick from

these things like this, but it was much harder this time. I'm a stranger in a

strange land, and even though I have more than I could ask for, I miss the

comfort of what I "knew" in NJ.  I'm only human.

The silver lining is that I have been forced to find a way to express how I've

been feeling, and I express myself right here. Good or bad, funny or sad, it

helps.

It was a bad week, but I'm hopeful. I'm thinking the worst is  over for now.

Or at least until tomorrow.

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Who Doesn't Like a Quickie?

Wow. And I do mean WOW, it has been a really long time since I have been in here ranting and raving about my obsessions. Well, obsession...I mean let's face it, obsession is in the singular form. Who would have thought that I could go for almost an entire year without muttering SOMETHING about the Foos. So much has happened since my last post, that I'm not quite sure where to begin.

And this is why this particular entry shall be a quickie. I was just sitting out on the patio, pondering the occurrences of the past calendar year and realized that I had not documented ANY of it. Either it's my brain in a state of malfunction, or I just couldn't find the words.

Well, here's the short version. (I am going to leave out the craziness of my day to day life, and just focus on one thing. The live shows.)

Since the David Letterman experience, I have had the pleasure of seeing my boys twice. Once at the Meadowlands, (I don't really care what they call it now, it will always be the Meadowlands to me), and in Newark at the Prudential Center.

Both shows were brilliant, but very different from each other.
The show at the Izod Center was SICK. By a stroke of luck, mixed with a last minute contest, my nose bleed seats were upgraded to general admission. I attended the show with people who appreciated my over the top addiction, an will never forget it.
I shall put it into fragments.
Loud.
On the floor.
Soundtrack of your dreams pumping through your veins.
Dave Grohl all but 50ft away from you singing his heart out and cracking jokes about how NJ is the only state he's ever seen tailgating with grills and tents and beer pong as they pulled into the parking lot in their stretch limo.
Sweat.
Emotion.
Just pure unadulterated fun.
And he finished the 3hr show with a kick ass version of "Everlong."
Umm...hellllooooooo.
That's good stuff.

Second show..I went with my buddy, who we will affectionately call B.
Same scenario.
But this time, there are about 20 YouTube videos that you can easily spot me out worshiping at Dave Grohl's feet.
This time, it was a freak show...but in a good way.
Dads with their kids.
Dads with mullets.
Moms night out for a whole bunch of Milf's.
Teenagers at their first concert.
Drunk frat boys.
Drunk sorority girls.
Idiots like me, who spill their $10 beer all over the floor because they played an unexpected song .

All I can say is that I will NEVER EVER forget either off those nights.
Everything that I had ever imagined was right there in front of me.
It was intense.
Ridiculous.
Soooooo much fun.
Stupid, silly, crazy.

And that's just the QUICKIE version.
Can you imagine if I REALLY went into detail??

Broken-Hearted Foo

Hello 
I've waited here for you 
Everlong 

Tonight 
I throw myself into 
And out of the red, out of her head she sang 

Come down 
And waste away with me 
Down with me 

Slow how 
You wanted it to be 
I'm over my head, out of her head she sang 

And I wonder 
When I sing along with you 
If everything could ever feel this real forever 
If anything could ever be this good again 

The only thing I'll ever ask of you 
You've got to promise not to stop when I say when 
She sang 


Breathe out 
So I could breathe you in 
Hold you in 

And now 
I know you've always been 
Out of your head, out of my head I sang 


And I wonder 
When I sing along with you 
If everything could ever feel this real forever 
If anything could ever be this good again 

The only thing I'll ever ask of you 
You've got to promise not to stop when I say when 
She sang 

“Everlong” – Foo Fighters

(Sentimental Alert)

While most of what I write is meant to be humorous, embarrassing, and sometimes raunchy in nature, this particular entry is a bit on the mushy side. Sue me. I’m a chick.

It doesn’t matter HOW it’s been broken- a broken heart is a BROKEN HEART.

And wouldn’t it be nice if it were just a physical pain of the actual organ, the heart I mean, that hurt for a bit, but then started to heal on its own. Like a deep cut, or a sprained ankle, the nagging annoying pain would linger for days, maybe even weeks, but then eventually fade, and get better.  But not the heart.

Instead, I’ve come to the conclusion that the broken heart does not suffer alone. It attacks every fiber of your being.  Dramatic? Sure it is, but let’s break this down a bit.

You fall in love. You fall in love HARD. You basically FORGET about everything else that exists to concentrate on this feeling. You give this person the whole enchilada, both emotionally and physically. You do, say, and experience things that you never before imagined, and in turn, you cannot IMAGINE anyone EVER being able to replace him.

Yes, HIM.

I am, of course, speaking from experience.

For some people, you fall in love once, and that’s it. For others, falling in love is more of a habit. Some never find love. Still others, like myself, have been in love a handful of times, with each experience being DRASTICALLY different from the others.

I’ve been in love, better yet, have loved 3 times. Of course, the greatest love that I could have ever asked for, found me when I wasn’t looking, and I will be married to him for 10 years this September. His love is undeniably the most potent, most life changing, most unconditional and passionate love that I have ever known. He is, and will always be, the love of my life. And I thank god for him every day.  He is a strong and confidant man that knows that the best way for me to express my feelings is by writing about things that have happened to me. So there is NOTHING that is being said right now that he doesn’t already know about. He also knows that I never would have met him had I not had a BEAST OF A BROKEN HEART.

So.

Like I said, I’ve been in love 3 times. I’ve already spoke of one. There was another man, more of a child when I was with him, that I loved dearly. But he just wasn’t equipped for the intensity that came with my package. It was a short, tumultuous relationship, but important enough to make a difference in my life. We loved each other, but we were both in very bad places.  This led to bad behaviors.  This led to falling out of love quickly, and with anger. But LOVE is LOVE, and it makes you who you are.

But my first real experience with love was the one that changed everything.

As I said before, when you fall in love hard, it consumes you. It takes over most of what you know.

In the beginning, this being “consumed” thing is a positive vibe. In the end, it creates the worst pain that you, well...I, have ever known.

And as with most of what I write, I’m sure most of you are wondering where I’m going with all of this, maybe wondering why I chose to write about this particular topic. It started with the Foo Fighters.

SHOCKED?????? I didn’t think anybody would be. So let’s move on.

My very first blog was about my experience seeing the band for the first time at a David Letterman Show taping. I also mentioned that after the taping the band played a song for Letterman for his birthday, his favorite song, a song called “Everlong.”

This song has always been my favorite. Unfortunately, it’s a bit of a love/hate relationship, based solely on the fact that this song was at the height of its popularity during a time when all I wanted to do was crawl into a hole and hope that no one ever found me.

This song would come on, without fail, during my most vulnerable moments, and just send me sailing off into a sea of remorse and self-doubt. But DAMMIT if I didn’t love this song, and want to hear it over and over. What can I say? The vicious cycle is part of being a chick.  Torture yourself, feel like crap, get pissed that you feel like crap, promise not to do it anymore, and then do it all over again the next day. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

WHO KNOWS what the song is really about. (Although I did hear Dave Grohl talking to Howard Stern about it recently, and claims it has something to do with the end of a relationship). I’m sure it means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. To me, it marked the end of a 5 year relationship with someone who I thought would love me forever. Turns out, that after 5 years, he didn’t love me anymore. AT ALL.

And let’s face it, when you’ve convinced yourself that there is no possible way that the relationship you’ve built with this person would ever come to an end, REGARDLESS of all the turmoil and insanity that it created, it pretty much screws you up…ROYALLY.

So, YEAH. It was a strange and eerily significant moment when I heard the song live for the first time. The pang of that broken heart that I had so many years ago, showed up for a brief moment, and in that brief moment, a barrage of memories and feelings flooded my brain.

As I listened to the song, my heart pounded and my ears rang. It wasn’t just the sheer excitement that was pumping through my veins at the sight and sound of my moment with the Foos, it was that COMBINED with the fact that an entire timeline was chugging through my brain.

This timeline chirped around my brain in segments, starting from the moment that I knew that I was in love, all the way up to and including my absolute lowest point. And my lowest point was pretty freakin’ low. It consisted of me pulling my car over to the side of the road, in the middle of rush hour traffic, to throw up, and eventually ended up on my hands and knees, crying. A State Trooper eventually came to my rescue. Poor guy didn’t know what to do with me.

Next segment-me realizing that something had to change.

Next-packing my bags and moving to North Carolina with very little money and a sliver of hope for a new beginning.

Next-loving my new surroundings and friends.

Next-landing a job working on a movie set.

Next-meeting a cute guy who seems too good to be true.

Next-telling myself to steer clear of any new relationships.

Next- saying FUCK IT and giving this nice guy a chance.

It’s amazing what a song can do to you.  It can take you back to a time that you thought you had forgotten about. And it can also make you realize just how different things are now from the very first time you heard that song.

In the end, hearing EVERLONG in that studio reminded me that my broken heart, my worst pain, my defeated soul, led me to something that I didn’t even think, didn’t want to BELIEVE..existed.

This song is not my BREAK UP song, it’s my I can’t believe how lucky I am to have the love that I do in my life.

And now, like clockwork, whenever I am in the car with my husband, this song somehow manages to come on.  And because my husband knows me better than anybody, he always makes sure to reach over and turn it up as loud as it will go, and smile.

Feeling Foo.

Yesterday, I posted as my Facebook status that Monday was an Epic Fail.  And while nothing life threatening had happened, no one was harmed, no one lost their job or had an accident, it was just one of those mind numbing RIDICULOUS days.

One of those days that are typical for a person like myself.

The kind of day where I feel like someone is following me with a hidden camera..just WAITING for me to flip out, and then inform me that it was all just a prank.

Unfortunately, for me..none of what usually happens is a prank..it’s just seriously ridiculous, yet often funny shit that would make great reality TV.

BUT  BEFORE I GO ANY FURTHER , MAY I JUST MENTION, FOR THE SAKE OF KEEPING IT FOO FRIENDLY IN HERE…

THE FOO FIGHTERS HAPPENED TO ANNOUNCE THE DATES FOR THE 1^ST LEG OF THEIR NORTH AMERICAN TOUR YESTERDAY.  THEY ARE PLAYING DIRTY JERSEY. SO TO BE FAIR, MONDAY WAS NOT A COMPLETE FAIL.  I’VE ALREADY STARTED TO COMPILE A LIST OF THINGS THAT NEED TO BE DONE BEFORE I SEE THE SHOWS.  SCORING VALIUM WAS PRETTY HIGH UP THERE ON THE LIST.

So…Monday.  And well, continuing into Tuesday.

This  is how it goes..

THE VERY FIRST person I come in contact with Monday morning is this rude, hyperactive woman carrying a baby in a car seat (which mind you, she was swinging that car seat around like it was a baton..I was just waiting for the kid to puke all over.  Poor thing is going to end up with brain damage if she doesn’t pipe down.) Anyway, she was all up in my grill, giving me shit at 10am about how she REALLY needed these crop pants, and help her find them, she doesn’t have time, where is the bathroom…etc. And as much as I wanted to slap her silly, I tried helping her, I really did. But we didn’t have her size and she was CLEARLY mortified by this fact. And apparently, taking it out on me, as if I had just ran over her grandmother in my Range Rover, was going to make her feel better.   She proceeded to spew out insults, and then stormed out.  That was fun.

About an hour later,  a pair of Asian men come in to find some shorts. Not only did they not speak a lick of English, but didn’t understand the language I was throwing at them either. The three of us went around and around for what seemed like days. Me pointing at things and yelling as if they were deaf, in hopes that they would understand me better.

“THIS SIZE!!??? THIS COLOR????!!!  WHAT DO YOUUUUWANNNNNT!!??”

And they just stared at me.

And then spoke their language. I’m no translator, but it sounded like they were getting pissed.

REALLY people??? Go to Old Navy and leave me alone, will ya?

Anyway, so that started things off.  Throw in the fact that my leftovers had somehow turned to pure grease when I re-heated them in the microwave, I discovered there was a hole in the ass of my pants, and called some random old lady by mistake  while trying to make a dentist appointment. She was about as clueless as they came, too. I had the wrong number but  she was curious to know exactly what dentist I was trying to contact. Umm…yeah.

And then, well, there’s my husband and my kids.

Once home, I was feeling better, even though on the ride home I saw what, I can only assume was a large deer ,on the side of the road in about 4 billion pieces.   But I remained optimistic that it would be a quiet and peaceful evening.  BUT it just wouldn’t be a night in my house without some kind of Monty Python antics.

1^st-I walk into the living room to find crumbs scattered EVERYWHERE. And not just a few crumbs..It looked like confetti.  Turns out my daughter was practicing her goat imitation, and was showing my son how they ate.  Right. So, I go to get the vacuum.  I clean up the goat feed, and I try to empty the canister out in the garbage can, but it won’t open..The pedal thing is stuck.

2 minutes later my husband walks in the door and sees me fiddling with the dirt and garbage can.

“What did you do?” he asks me.

I give him the evil eye and he flexes his muscles and pushes me aside so that he can fix it.

An hour later and half a tube of Gorilla Glue gone, the garbage can is still busted.  Now the hub is frustrated and tossing around insults. Not at me, at the garbage can. At one point his finger gets caught, he hurls the garbage can across the kitchen and calls it a DIRTY SCRATCH BASKET.

Umm… a WHAT?

The kids come running in to see what all the ruckus is, and I’m laughing so hard that I can’t quite function. Instead of wondering why the garbage can is now laying in the dining room, my son wants to know what a scratch basket is. Go ahead honey..why don’t you tell him, because I’d also like to know.

Fast forward to this morning. I get a text from hub that states he forgot his check card at home and can I bring it to him at work. No problem.

Get the kids ready for school. Go to bring them to school, but I can’t find my keys. Where are my keys?? Has ANYONE seen my keys?? Blank stares. I panic. Kids are late and my keys are missing. I TEAR the house apart.  No keys. While doing this, neighbor calls and asks if I can drop her kids off too, her newborn is screaming. Sure I can…BUT I CANNOT FIND MY F*%$#$ keys. So the neighbor lets me take her car. Her brakes are a lot tighter than mine and the kids are hanging on for dear life.

Turns out my mother tossed my car keys in her bag yesterday when leaving my house. Not sure how she didn’t notice an extra set of keys in her bag when clearly hers were in the IGNITION of her vehicle, but well, she’s my mom..so I can’t really make fun of her.  Well, maybe I can. Senile old bat.

So I score my keys. I’m now off to give my husband his check card.

I greet him at work and he looks tired and annoyed. I ask him if he’s still upset about the garbage can debacle and he says no my arm hurts.

Really? Why does your arm hurt?

He proceeds to tell me that late last night he went outside to make sure that our new gazebo wasn’t getting destroyed by the wind and the rain. He was apparently trying to reinforce something but couldn’t see what he was doing. YOU SEE WHERE THIS IS GOING DON’T you??  Rain. Wind. Electricity.

He went to switch on the light outside in the gazebo and got zapped in his jammies.

The rest of the evening he didn’t sleep well because he says his arm was tingling and felt like a log attached to his body.

Now I am standing in the place my husband is employed laughing so hard that I nearly wet myself. People from a couple of aisles over peek around to see what the hell is going on.  

As I’m walking away, trying to wipe the mascara from my face..my wise-ass husband yells

“Why don’t you blog about that shit?”

And so I did.