Serious Changes Afoot

Well, Mrs. Thumbscre.ws finally got some time to work on my page layout. She still has to do some more tweaking, but she came up with the cute lil' pinecones up at the top and some neato text colors. I don't understand a single thing she did--I looked at the HTML and went crosseyed.

I don't know why the font size on the previous postings is so small; Mrs. Thumbscre.ws will fix this when she comes up with more time, which will be roughly when she's visiting Casa Pseudonym again and J.Q. takes another 3-hour nap. Hmmmm...maybe it's time to visit the eye doctor again.

During this "under construction" phase, we would appreciate the patience and forbearance of friends and family who visit regularly. We will be showing essential links, wildlife graphics (squirrels, in particular) and twiddling our fonts and colors until viewing this blog page may cause gentlewomen to swoon. Just watch.

12 Steps & 12 Paparazzi

Counselor: So glad to see you back, Br*tney.

Br*tney: [sneers] Yeah, well, it's not like I had any f**kin' choice in the matter.

Counselor: No, but what now looks like the worst possible turn of events may ultimately turn out to be a pivotal point in your journey toward recovery.

Br*tney: [yawns, slouches in seat, scratches under left breast with ball-point pen]

Counselor: So, can you tell the group what happened to you after you left us the other day?

Br*tney: Why? So you can, like, climb up my a** the way you did before? No THANKS!

Counselor: Br*tney, you DO remember agreeing to participate in the therapeutic process upon re-admission to this facility, correct? You signed a contract stating you would take an active part in both individual and group therapy while an inpatient here and would attend at least three meetings a week after...

Br*tney: OK! OK! OK! Jesus-Chugged-The-Manischewitz! Look, I'm, like, TIRED, OK? And my scalp is FREEZING! Do you people have, like, a heat lamp or anything around here?

Counselor: Br*tney, you are wearing a coonskin cap, a thick wool neck scarf and long johns under your regular clothing. Let's get back to discussing the events of the past 24 hours or so, shall we?

Br*tney: [softly, with chin quivering] They took my f**kin' umbrella away! I'm, like, DEFENSELESS!

Counselor: Defenseless, not really. Powerless, yes! And we begin to heal at the point we admit our powerlessness.

Cindy [group member]: Yeah, it took me, like, FOREVER to admit I couldn't control my...

Br*tney: I had those popparozzies crawlin' over me like flies on a rib roast, and they took MY umbrella away!

Counselor: Cindy? You were saying?

Cindy: Well, I'm not a celebrity or anything, but my addiction is the same as anyone else's addiction, right?

Br*tney: [stands up, throws notebook and pen into center of circled chairs] WRONG! WRONG! WRONG! You people have NO IDEA what's it's like to be in my shoes, so don't, like, pretend you do! They NEVER leave me alone! EVER! First it's my clothes! Then it's my voice! Then it's who I f**ckin' marry!

Counselor: Br*tney, sit down. Now.

Br*tney: [flops down, sliding chair backward with a harsh metallic scraping...holds face in hands while weeping piteously]

Counselor: Br*tney? Will you please look at me?

Br*tney: What? WHAT? I'm supposed to, like, IGNORE it when they call me a bad mother? They were chasing me again! And the f**kin' kid was in my LAP, with a big f**kin' steering wheel around him! He wasn't goin' NOWHERE! And I'm, like, this HORRIBLE mother for trying to get my kid away from those bastards! I didn't know what they were going to to do him! Kev*n isn't as strong as me! He couldn't take it after awhile, always worrying about when some bastard with a camera is, like, going to RIP the baby's diaper off and take a picture of his POO for the Nation*l Enqu*rer!

You wanna know why I shaved my f**kin' head? I was AFRAID of them ripping my f**kin' hair out! THAT'S why! Ripping my f**kin' hair out and selling it on E-Bay! What the F**K!!!

Counselor: Br*tney? Let's keep the focus on the alcohol and substances, shall we? You are powerless, and your life has become unmanageable. That's the real issue, isn't it? The unmanageability of your addiction?

Br*tney: Yeah, like WHOA! The "UNMANAGEABLENESS" of, like, MY...BIG...F**KIN'...ADDIK...SHUN! What about those crazy bastards being, like, addicted to their stupid cameras and to selling other people's f**kin' hair on f**kin' E-Bay? Who rips THEIR umbrellas away from them so they can't even defend themselves? Huh? Huh? Answer me THAT, Mr. Counselor-to-the-Celebrities!

Excuse me, but I have to get a Diet C*ke from the machine before I choke to death from the fur on this hat. I'll be right back, OK? Or is getting a drink, uh, "against the rules" of this place?

Counselor: [stares at Br*tney for a full 15 seconds] OK. Thanks for sharing, Br*tney. Now, Cindy? You were telling us on Tuesday about your mother marrying a Rastafarian in 1997? I think you mentioned being a "Flower & Herb Girl" at the wedding. Can you elaborate on this?

The (Empty) Arms of Morpheus

I don't remember when my sleep problems started. Mr. Pseudonym says they've been there always, and he should know since he's also been there always. (I feel Mr. P and I have had interwoven lives in previous forms, such as when we were mushrooms or grasshoppers.)

But the sleep problems are continually present and continually distressing to me. I can set myself a bed time and try to stick to it, but things never seem to work out. I'm always staying up way past the time normal people hit their pillows and slide into peaceful intermission. Mr. P has only to plunk himself in bed at a decent hour and he's out like a light within five minutes--literally, five minutes.

I've got to follow a complicated winding-down pattern each evening, and this exercise stretches into the wee hours of the following morning. After all of the good, hardworking, gainfully employed family members have yawned "g'night!!" and shuffled off in their jammies, I pop in a DVD for my reward of the day. Having been up and active for 12-15 hours, I deserve my evening movie. But there are always "urgent matters" popping up that interrupt the movie and have me walking in circles around the house:

• Have to restart the washing machine. Forgot the load of whites that has been soaking in chlorine bleach for several hours. Mr. P's undershirts will look like swiss cheese if the wash cycle is not completed this evening.
  
  
• Krimpet the Rat hasn't been exercised yet--she can come out and watch the movie with Mom. It's a mystery, and there's usually a rat or two in mystery movies, so Krimpet will enjoy the film. She may even have a Hollywood cousin or two who work as extras in the movies, and I'm sure she would love to see her kinfolk squeaking and chewing on people!
  
  
• Need to hit the loo. A big mug of tea is an integral part of my evening reward, but drinking tea results in "addressing the porcelain" several times over the course of a movie. (Note to Self: business plan: research "peeless tea" for people who want to watch movies start-to-finish, without interruption.)
  
  
• There's crab dip in the fridge and crackers in the cabinet. Crab dip must be eaten within two or three days of purchase, for safety reasons. As official Safety Officer of the house, I have my duties.
  
  
• Onyx The Senile Cat is yowling again. She's 16 years old, and she often forgets she's already had supper. She sleeps all day and then stumbles around the house all night, presumably looking for misplaced cat toys from years gone by. If she sees me, she immediately remembers her 9Lives canned tuna and demands to be let into the utility room and given another can of food. She licks the gravy off and then remembers she's not really hungry.
  
  
• Need box of tissues. The movie is sad or my allergies are acting up. Since I rarely watch sad movies (too sensitive), it's most likely the allergies. In a house with four cats, two rats, a dog and nomadic tribes of dust bunnies, we go through a lot of tissues.
  
  
• Daisy the Terrier wants out--again. She hears the neighbor's dog barking, and she doesn't want to be left out of any barking initiative going on outside. After all, the neighbor's dog is guarding her own yard, and Daisy's patch is no less important.
  
  --"Oh...wait...it was just the wind blowing some leaves! IN, MOM! OK...all's well...back to the sofa." (jumps up on sofa, turns in circle three times, flops into crescent-shaped dog pattern) "..sigh..yawn...zzzzz-zzz-ZZZ-zzzzz..."
  
  --(five minutes later) "WAIT! What's THAT??? MOM! C'mere! Lemmee OUT! Something's going on in my YARD! It's a BEAR! And he's stealing STICKS and TENNIS BALLS and FRISBEES from my YARD! Grrrrr-ROWL-ROWL-ROWL-ROWL-ROWL! Grrrrrr-ROWL-ROWL-ROWL-ROWL! ROWL-ROWL-ROWL! Oh...wait...it was just some more leaves. Nevermind! In now! ROWL! In! NOW!"
  


• Trash needs to be taken out. We generate more garbage in this house than any other family on the East Coast. Even with recycling, we put out four or five bags a week. I've tried waiting for others in the house to notice the overflowing kitchen receptacle, but everyone here seems to suffer from selective garblindness. So I pull the trash bag out, tie it up and fling it out the back door, into the recycling can. Mr. P gets upset when I do this, since the squirrels throw a luau out there when they find uncovered bags of trash. But I do enough around here without having to run out to the covered cans at the side of the house in the middle of the night, so FLINNNNNNNG!
  
  
• Oooops! Kitty litter needs scooped before trash bag is flung out the back door! (Ewwwwww.)
  
  
• Krimpet needs to go night-night. I've fallen asleep while watching the movie (again) and awakened with my hand on a rat. She's sitting there, staring at me with wide eyes, wondering why I've stopped petting her. Time to go back to her condo for the evening.
  
  
• The fish need to be fed. Each time I walk past their tank, they all swim up to the top, in anticipation of their fish flakes. Sha, Na, Na, Bob, Flippy and Flapjack can't make any noise at all, but they still manage to look pitiful until I make with the flakes.
  
  
• There's ice cream in the freezer, and it will get freezer burn if it isn't eaten immediately.
  
  
• Onyx is "hungry" again.

It is now 2:00am. The movie was supposed to have finished in time for me to hit the hay by midnight. The 11:00pm news broadcast re-runs at 2:00am, so I might as well stay up and catch the weather report I missed earlier. Never know when a hurricane was supposed to have blown by the Garden State at 1:00am, which would account for those strange growling noises from the back yard during the movie. Or maybe there were possums fighting over the trash bags out there. News ends at 2:30am. I'm still sitting there, staring at the television, wondering if it's worth getting into jammies at this hour. And I forgot to watch the special features on the DVD.

Wait a minute, Onyx...Daisy hears another bear. *yawn*