A Little Bit Country, A Little Bit Crazy

*Originally posted on Starrtrippin in 2015, but applicable because my dogs have a vet appointment tomorrow :)*

Recently, I had an appointment in a quaint little town called Edgefield, in South Carolina.  The only way to get there from my house was through a series of two-lane county back roads, which made for a scenic drive, despite being a bit longer than I had hoped since I had to spend half my time dodging tractors and riding behind pickup trucks with no license plates going fifteen miles an hour.  However, it was a pretty day, and I was in no real hurry, so I cranked up Missy Elliott and rolled to SC.  I was feeling pretty zen, and all was well.

Until I got lost.

This is the part where I need to make something clear-- I am GREAT with maps.  I grew up watching my Dad map out a careful course for every drive we ever took, and when I turned sixteen and got my first car, Daddy gave me my own, beautiful, brand-new Rand McNally so I would NEVER BE LOST.  And you know what?  I never was.  Until GPS came along.  I can't use a GPS to save my life.  It's always on my phone, and I've been through numerous phones since they started having GPS on them and I've never found one I was remotely able to use.  I just can't follow the directions.  Or I accidentally zoom in somewhere on the screen that is completely unrelated to where I'm going and I can't figure out how to zoom back out.  Or a call or text comes in and I lose the whole thing completely while I'm driving and freak out.  I've been known to pull over and call B and curse him up one side and down the other for texting me when I'm trying to drive somewhere while using my GPS.  And I don't want it to talk to me because I'M NOT AN AUDITORY LEARNER and I get all anxious and stressed and distracted by the robot voice.  It sucks, but that's how it is.  I'M TECHNOLOGICALLY STUNTED, PEOPLE.  I'VE DISCUSSED THIS WITH YOU BEFORE.  Gmail baffles me (I lose conversations ALL THE TIME because of how it groups them), I have no idea how to photo edit anything, and I only recently learned what the hell a hashtag was, at which point I promptly invented two of my own, used them three or four times, got bored, and forgot about them.  What can I say?  I was born in the wrong century.  I blame God.  But, anyway.

Pulling into a parking spot in the lovely little town square, I looked at my GPS (why, oh, why did I bother?), realized I had no idea what the hell it was trying to tell me, and called the vet's office where I had the appointment.  I was already a couple of minutes late, but everything moves slower in the South, so I figured it was fine (even though I despise lateness and usually pride myself on being, if anything, early).  A very, very sweet young lady answered the phone, and reassured me that I was close by.  The following is our conversation, nearly word for word.

ME:  Hi!  This is Haley McPhail, I was supposed to drop my dog off at 8:30, but look, I've gotten a little lost.....

VETERINARY ASSISTANT (to be referred to, from here on out, as VA):  Oh!  No problem.  Where are you at now?

ME:  I think I'm in the town square or something?  It's a giant roundabout with a garden in the middle.  Really pretty.

VA:  Okay.  You are SO CLOSE.  This is what you need to do.  What are you looking at RIGHT NOW?

ME:  (looking up)  A brick building that says "Whiskey" on the front.

VA:  OKAY.  Now, you need to go around and look for the turkey wearing overalls.  Make sure it's not the turkey with the moustache, but the one in overalls.  If you turn at the turkey with the moustache you're gonna go the wrong way.  Then you're going to look for the ice cream sign and turn by some men at some black tables.  You'll go on down the road a ways and you'll know you're going the right way when you pass the church don't nobody go to no more.  Then you'll see a yellow house and we're right past there!  We'll see you soon!

CLICK.  (She hangs up.)

Um.  WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?

As I mentioned earlier, I was feeling fairly zen that day, which was a good thing since THOSE WERE THE CRAZIEST DAMN DIRECTIONS I HAD EVER HEARD IN MY LIFE.  I wasn't all that concerned about the turkeys because I figured if I saw a turkey in overalls or a moustache, surely I would notice it.  SURELY.  But the church?  How was I supposed to know what church "don't nobody go to no more"?  Was this ice cream sign a billboard?  THERE ARE LOTS OF YELLOW HOUSES IN THE WORLD.  Holy hell.  But I didn't have any other options since I'm GPS handicapped, so I got back into my car and started following directions.

1.  My start point.  At the time, I was parked right in front of the white columns, so I had not gotten far enough down the street to see the turkey in overalls that  is in the right corner of the photo.  Yes.  THE TURKEY IN OVERALLS.

2.  THIS turkey in overalls.

Not to be confused with the turkey with the moustache that was on the OPPOSITE street corner.

3.  Also opposite the ice cream sign, although when I took the photos, the men were no longer at the black tables.  By the way, you can see ANOTHER turkey back there.  This one is called "the barbecue turkey."  I know this, because I went inside and asked.

4.  Then you have the "church don't nobody go to no more" or, as we non-Edgefield folks call it, Edgefield Presbyterian Church.  I only figured out that this was the abandoned church because I found a man walking down the sidewalk, rolled down my window, pointed to it and asked.  I do not know why no one goes there anymore (I did NOT ask THAT).  I suspect it could be because in the South, we are Baptists, damn it, and we all know everybody who is NOT a Baptist is going to burn in hell, so we might as well run all those sinning Presbyterians out of town.  I mean, GOD ONLY KNOWS WHAT THOSE PRESBYTERIANS ARE UP TO.

5.  Then there was the yellow house, that really had more white than yellow on it and was mostly obscured by trees.  I actually went back AFTER I found the vet, looking for the yellow house.

Needless to say, I found the vet.  Eventually.  And they were super nice about me being late, and all was well.  And it was a nice reminder of where I came from, as directions in my hometown (and most country towns, I suspect) were given similarly when I was young (although it was more along the lines of "turn at the red light by the Bi-Lo" rather than "turn by the turkey in the overalls").  In Suffolk, or Richmond, or RDU, people don't give directions that way.  They use street names (like freakin' normal people), which is how I give directions now too, after being out of "the south" for the past sixteen years.  But now things are different.  Maybe some deep South will rub off on me.  Let's hope so, or I may never be able to get where I'm trying so hard to go.

Jagged Little Pills

Those close to me (all, like, five of them, one of which is my dog) know that, depending on the kind of person you are, you should either NEVER accept medication from me, or ALWAYS come to me when you have a medical problem.

If you are a focused soul, who values his or her time and clearheaded-ness, I would steer clear of me should we ever be out together and you find yourself with a headache.  If you don't have anything better to do and want to play medication Russian Roulette with your afternoon, I'm your girl.  The reason for this is simple-- I carry small handbags.  I have a variety of ailments (not all at the same time, generally).  I don't have room to carry lots of bottles.  So I dump everything in together and hope for the best.  I'm just speaking my truth, you guys.

Recently, I was at the mall with Bells who complained that she wasn't feeling well and asked me if I had any Advil.  This is how that went:

Me:  (Digging around in my purse and unearthing a white bottle marked "Chewable Aspirin."  Expiration date 2007.)  YEP.  Found it. (Hands it to Bells.)

Bells:  Um, Mom?  That says "Chewable Aspirin."  I need Advil. 

Me:  Oh, it's not aspirin.  I think that bottle was leftover from when the dog was sick and I gave it baby aspirin, then dumped it all out later when I needed the bottle.  There's Advil in there.  That's just the bottle I threw everything in.

Bells:  Everything?  What is everything?  WHAT IS IN HERE, MOM?

Me:  (Popping off the lid and pouring it out in my hand.)  Hmmm....hard to say, but it looks like Xanax, a different strength of Xanax, Excedrin Migraine, Allegra, a prenatal Vitamin....

Bells:  Why do you have a prenatal vitamin?  AND WHERE IS THE ADVIL?

Me:  Because it makes my hair grow faster.  Ativan, more different Ativan that's peach instead of white, Dramamine, Pepto Bismol, a button....

Bells:  A BUTTON?  Like, a drug called that, or like, a button?

Me:  No, it's a button.  I think it fell off my sweater a long time ago and I put it here for safekeeping.  This one COULD be Ambien or it COULD be Adderall-- guess I won't know until I can't sleep and try taking it.

Bells:  What if it's not Ambien?

Me:  Eh, whatever.  Sleep or alphabetize all my bookshelves, either way is a win.

Bells:  MOTHER.

Me:  Oh, yeah.  Here's some Advil.  (Blowing them off because they are covered in random medication dust.)

Bells:  (Disgusted.)  That's okay.  I'd rather not.

Me:  Really?  What's the problem?  It clearly says Advil on them.  Look.

Bells:  (Still disgusted and now glaring.)  Who knows what else got on them in your creepy old bottle, Mother?  WHY CAN'T YOU BE NORMAL?

*For the record, I would never give my child a random pill, for all you fools who are judging me right now.  I did, in fact, have clearly marked Advil.*

I've never been afraid to take a pill.  Well, at least a pill that was my own.  I know that there are a lot of people out there who don't like to take medicine even when they need it (I married one of those people) but I am just not that person.  If I overdo it at the gym and root around in the medicine cabinet and find a crumpled baggie with what might be a muscle relaxer or might be a rogue Ecstasy tablet leftover from an ill-fated rave in 1996, I'M GOING TO TAKE IT JUST TO SEE.  So what if we have Scouts tonight and my grades are due and I have a meeting with the guidance counselor tomorrow morning?  I also have a backache.  YOLO, bitches.  It's not on purpose--I'm just not medicinally organized.

Before any of you medical professionals out there start lecturing me on taking random meds, I'd like to note that anything I have has--probably--been prescribed to me by a real, live doctor even if I told him "I'M A WARRIOR, DAMNIT!  WARRIORS HAVE SURGERY WITHOUT PERCOCET!" or "HELL NO I'M NOT ADD.  I'M JUST KIND OF SPAZZY AND I THINK A LOT."  Or even, "WHY DO I NEED SLEEP?  THAT'S WHEN I DO MY BEST INTENSIVE CLEANING!" I feel like if I make it clear to someone that he is giving me something I don't feel I need, then in return I get to fill said prescription, then hoard it and use it at my own discretion.  Which is actually pretty random because I'm kind of a health nut.  I mean, I won't drink soda or eat fast food, and I work out every single day, but I've been known to take Oxycontin just to get through a Wal-Mart shopping trip during the holidays.  And it's not like I run around drugged most of the time (because I know you're thinking that).  I'm actually a total med hoarder.  I still have pain pills from my appendectomy two years ago that I'm saving for hard times (which means when my Mom comes to visit).   Thirty pain pills will last me approximately three to four years unless we have a ton of family gatherings coming up--what else are you supposed to do with painkillers?  My threshold for emotional pain is far lower than it is for physical pain.  Again, just speaking my truth.

Slightly unrelated side story:  one time in undergrad my blood sugar was high so I had a yucky taste in my mouth and I thought I had found a piece of one of those breath strips-- you know, the ones that come in fragile little sheets that dissolve on your tongue--in my purse, but it was actually acid.  Nothing like accidentally dropping acid  before Geology Lecture and then wondering WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON while somebody talks to you about rocks for three hours, then continuing to live with the consequences for the rest of the day.  Those notes were not helpful for the final exam.  That was super weird and I wouldn't recommend it, but on the other hand, Geology was super boring and pretty much my least favorite class ever, so, again YOLO.  And you don't have to worry about accidentally tripping if you're with me now because those days were over twenty years ago.

But just keep in mind that if you ever ask to borrow some Advil, you might want to proceed with caution. 

 

A Thought About Mother's Day

A friend once told me that he didn't think birthdays were very important because it seemed silly to celebrate yourself just being born.  While I don't entirely agree with that, I do agree with his thought that Mother's Day and Father's Day are extremely important because Moms and Dads sacrifice a lot for their children and deserve to be celebrated to the max. 

I know that my sweet, funny, kind children have no idea about some of the tough choices I've had to make, and the important things that I've given up, in order to put their lives and their happiness first.  Just as I'm sure that I don't know a great many of the things my parents gave up for me.  Those times when you want something so badly for yourself but you know that it doesn't matter anymore what you want.  You aren't a priority.  And until those kids are grown, you won't be again.  Maybe not even then. 

It's important to my that my kids always know that they come first, but I'd rather they not have to know the whys are hows.  It doesn't matter anyway, because I can still look at those beautiful faces and think, without a single doubt, "You were worth it.  You are worth it.  You will always be worth it." 

They will always be worth it.  

Because My Mom Didn't Teach Me To Make Good Choices

In honor of Mother's Day, since I've already helped you with your shopping, I thought I would tell you a story about my own Mother, Sandra Kaye.  Or, more accurately, a story about an adventure that she and I had one balmy Tennessee evening.

You first must understand that Sandra Kaye was not your typical Mom, and I was not your typical teenager.  We were kind of like a Hot Mess Duo, and did most everything together.  Only I was the responsible, rational one, and Mom was the spazzy, fun one.  For example, when we traveled together, I was in charge of reading the map and navigation.  Mom was in charge of snacks.

The year was sometime in the early to mid-nineties.  I don't know exactly when, because thankfully I've blocked out much of my childhood as a result of the PTSD I developed from being raised on a farm by the nutjobs who were my parents.  But it was probably around 1994, if I was guessing, because I was a couple of years into high school.  My hometown has a huge cemetery on the edge of town--acres and acres of big, old, moldy, crumbling monuments, dating all the way back to before the Civil War.  Before the War, the area was called Cemetery Hill, but because it was the highest spot with the best views in town, it was used as a fort during the War, and hence was renamed Fort Hill Cemetery after.  It has about twelve thousand graves in it, and I can tell you first hand that it is creepy as fuck, especially at night.  I drove through the cemetery twice most weekdays because it was the most direct route from my house to my high school, and passed by it most other days because it was on the way to my Dad's work (he worked seven days a week).  However, I'd never really spent much time in there because, as I said, CREEPY.  AS.  FUCK.

So one afternoon, my Mom and I were bored and trying to figure out something to do.  She and I being bored together never ended well, but we hadn't killed anybody yet, so all was okay.  I mentioned that my on-off  boyfriend (who from here on out we shall refer to as "Asshat") had gotten arrested again and that I thought he was spending the weekend doing his Community Service hours by weed-eating the cemetery.  (Yeah, I really dated some winners in my day.  You know you're headed in the right direction in life if your high school boyfriend already has a rap sheet.  I'd also like to ad that, at least at this point in time, my parents liked this guy.  I mean, he had only stolen a car.  It wasn't like he had murdered somebody.  And they liked his parents, so I guess that made it okay for me to date a drug-dealing car thief, because you do not want your only daughter dating a guy with asshole parents!)  Anyway, because we lived in Cleveland, Tennessee, and there was absolutely nothing to do, Mom suggested we cruise on up to the cemetery and see if we saw Asshat.  Then we could laugh at him for being stupid enough to get arrested.  I said sure, and we rolled out in my Mom's super sexy green Ford Aerostar minivan and headed for the cemetery.

(I told you-- SEXY.  Only ours had running boards.  This is just a random Internet photo, not our van.)


When we got to the cemetery, we started driving through its winding gravel roads.  As I said, the cemetery is huge, and the size of the monuments isn't regulated, so there are statues and mausoleums and all sorts of crazy shit in there.  We figured we'd drive around, find Asshat (likely propped up against a tree, getting high), say, "Way to go on the community service, dicksmack," then be on our way.  Which is probably what would have happened if we'd ever found him.  Or if Mom hadn't turned a corner too sharp in the minivan and gotten the van's running board hung on a tombstone.

Now Mom was usually a fairly decent driver, but this was jacked.  We couldn't go backward.  We couldn't go forward.  The stone was somehow shoved up kind of between where the running board was attached to the van.  Mom and I didn't know shit about cars, and had no idea what we needed to do to get unstuck (Dad covered all the basics with me-- how to change your oil, fix a flat-- but he never taught me how to remove the van from a rogue grave marker.  He probably should have thought of that because he knew the kind of luck I have. )

Now keep in mind that this was before the majority of the population had cell phones, ourselves included.  And we hadn't seen a single person the whole time we had been in the cemetery, and where we were stuck couldn't be seen from any of the main roads.  Under normal circumstances, Mom and I were badasses, so at first we were fine, just stumped about what we were going to do to get home.

And then it started to get dark.  Quickly.  So much for the badassery. 

I will tell you-- most of the time, I think cemeteries are pretty cool.  When we travel, I love to stop at old cemeteries and wander around, reading the names and dates on the stones and imagining what the people buried there must have been like.  It's kind of peaceful and bittersweet.  Unfortunately, it feels completely different when you are trapped against your will in a cemetery at nightfall and (due to your slightly overactive imagination not helped by your insane mother and her likewise slightly overactive imagination) convinced yourself that OBVIOUSLY THE DEAD GUY BURIED BENEATH THAT MARKER IS OUT TO GET YOU AND WHAT IF IT ISN'T HIS HEADSTONE YOU ARE HUNG ON AT ALL BUT WHAT IF HE REACHED UP FROM BEYOND THE  GRAVE AND IS LITERALLY CLENCHING THE AXLE OF THE FUCKING VAN?  Somebody was about to crawl out from under that van and drag us back to hell.  You could just feel it.  Chaos ensued.

This is where I would tell the end of the story, but I swear I do not remember it.  I do not have the slightest memory of what we did, or how we got out of that cemetery.  I do not know if we were assaulted by a spirit.  I do not know if somebody came by and helped us get unstuck.  I do not know if my Dad organized a search party once he got home and found us missing (probably not-- he probably would have been like "THANK GOD IT'LL BE QUIET FOR A CHANGE AND I CAN WORK ON MY AIRPLANE IN PEACE.  Hells bells and damn skippy!")  Maybe something so horrible happened to us there that my memory locked it away just so I could survive my life.  Or maybe we just managed to get unstuck and then went and got frozen yogurt and watched a movie.  I really don't know.  I could freaked out, slipped and hit my head on another gravestone, and lost an entire chunk of my past.  I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE.  But if I did, at least the getting stuck in the cemetery with Mom part is still there.  And what a story that will be for my grand kids someday.

Happy Mother's Day, Special K.

Mothers Dream

Mother's Day is this Sunday, and because we all live very busy lives, I'd be willing to bet that quite a few of you (especially the men) have not yet found time to shop for that *perfect* gift for the Mom or Moms in your life.  That's why, when I found myself wide awake before dawn this morning still all hopped up on cocaine and Red Bull from a hard night of clubbing (--seriously, you guys?  I'm a 40- year-old mother in AUGUSTA.  I just drank coffee too late because I had a migraine and so sleep was a no-go), I decided to do the leg work for you.  Because unlike you, I have my shit together.  YOU'RE WELCOME.

Gift Idea #1 --Baby Teeth Jewelry Holders

This is for the sentimental Mom who held onto all the important items from your formative years.  You know--the hospital bracelet from your birth, old report cards, your foreskin, perhaps....you get the idea.  Now those baby teeth that have spent the last forty years in a jar on her dresser can finally be put to good use.  Think of the one-of-a-kind pieces you could create.  And all Moms love jewelry!

Gift Idea #2-- A Good Book

This is for the crafty Mom who likes to stay (and get) busy.   Honestly, this book is a multitude of gifts in one-- it's something to read, it's a fun activity you and Mom can do together....the list goes on and on.  Picture this--It's raining on Mother's Day and you can't take that picnic you planned?  WELL, HELL, break out the glue gun, it's time for Plan B!

Gift Idea #3--Bread Slippers

I assume you can toast them and they will keep your feet warm for a while?  Then when they cool you can pull them off and arrange them with your charcuterie?  The description wasn't really all that clear, but shipping appeared to be free, so that's a win.

Gift Idea #4--A Priceless Collectible

I'd just like to start off by saying that sometimes we find things on the Internet that we are so horrified by that we can't even look away.  And that once we peel our tired, over-caffeinated eyes from it, we go down a rabbit hole of trying to Google Translate the foreign writing on the box.  And then the next thing we know, three hours have gone by and we realize that we are now three hours closer to our own inevitable demise, but WE DON'T EVEN CARE BECAUSE THIS IS SO FUCKING WEIRD IT WAS WORTH IT.  YOLO, bitches.

Gift Idea #5--A Face Exerciser

You guys, I swear that's what this was advertised as being.  It's supposed to help tighten your lower face as you get older to help keep you from getting those "jowls" that old people get.  Jesus can just go ahead and strike me down now if I'm lying.  So.....get it for the beauty conscious Mom?  Or wait and send it to her as a Father's Day gift for Dad?

, 

Gift Idea #6-- Personal Training

I know I already listed one book, but I love books and I feel like this one has great gift-giving potential.  Obviously, this is for the fitness-savvy Mom who also loves her some pussy.  (Sorry, I couldn't help it.)  Seriously, though, it appears that this one tome covers every fitness need you could possibly have, all while incorporating quality time with your beloved pet.  Think of the multi-tasking potential!  AND DID YOU SEE THE STICKER?  Can you BELIEVE this shit is available for less than $5????

Gift Idea #--A Decal of An Asian Man I Found On Amazon

I don't know who this guy is or why anybody would want him, but his decal is life-sized and only $28.  So there you go.  I saved him for last because I guess this is for the Mom who has everything.  Or almost everything.  What I really want to know is if this guy is the seller, selling decals of himself.  And if not, who IS the guy and does the seller even know him?  Does this guy know he's being sold on Amazon?  Should I start selling decals of myself on Amazon?  

I should probably try to go back to bed.  Happy Mother's Day shopping, y'all!

Welcome to the Jungle

Hi, Everybody.  Some of you may have read my other blog, Starrtrippin, that I've been writing since 2005, which contains a conglomeration of parental woes, emotional outbursts, and random crazy.  Because I haven't done a great job of keeping up with it the past few years, and because it's basically an unorganized explosion of my brain, I decided I wanted a fresh slate where I could attempt to write regularly because writing makes me happy and because some of you seem to enjoy laughing at my life (don't worry, it's cool, I'd laugh too if this shit was happening to someone else).  

To answer a few questions I have been asked about this blog:

Yes, I will still say "fuck" a lot, because it's probably my favorite word.

Yes, I will likely still drunk blog sometimes (it just happens).

Yes, I will still include the asinine conversations with my family because THAT'S MY LIFE AND MY LIFE IS WHAT THIS IS ALL ABOUT.  Obviously.

No, I still don't give a fuck what you think about what I say, but I'm more than happy to hear it if you want to tell me anyway.  Don't be surprised if I give you shit back though because messing with people is pretty much my reason for living (just ask my kids).

Changes:

I'm going to attempt to include more pictures for those of you who need a visual of the situation (aka:  anyone with the XY chromosome) or just want something interesting to look at because pictures are fun, damnit.

I'm going to attempt to organize my tags, post at least a few times a week, and share more of my life because I'm incredibly self-absorbed and I know you want to read it, plus I suspect that reading about the ridiculous fuckery that happens to me probably makes everyone else feel better about their own lives.

With that said, I encourage you to follow my blog.  Tell your friends about it (only the ones who won't report me to CPS or burn a cross in my yard, please).  Hell, stalk me if you want (email me and I'll give you my address).  

And kick back and enjoy the ride.