Yesterday was just as awesome as I would hope it would be. Hubby & I got a motorcycle ride in. It was shorter than normal but that was my fault. When I was 18 I was in a pretty bad car accident. Since then I go through patches where I get severe panic attacks. Yesterday was just another day of panic for me. It didn't help that after our ride we decided to go look at house since we will be moving soon. Well we went during Sacramento rush hour traffic, so that really added to the panic filled day.

I bet you're wondering how in the world could it have been an awesome day if I spent it scared to death? First off I'm still alive & that is always a good start toa day. Second I got to spend some good quality time with the hubby and got babied a little. We also found a house that I think will work for us. So yesterday was all in all a great day. Hopefully today will be the same.

WOOHOO I am so excited today! My hubby finally has a weekend off this week. He really hasn't had a day off since before christmas. What makes it even better is my mom has my son so its just us today. We plan on hoping on his motorcycle and going for a ride since the weather is supposed to be absolutely gorgeous today. Which also means no housework today! I love it when everything falls into place.



I know I complain about housework alot. But it can be a pain in the butt especially trying to squeeze in homeschooling my son. What really kills me is the lack of a dishwasher. For the past 7 years I have done dishes purely by hand so it takes me awhile to get through them. I spend more time doing dishes than I do dusting or any other chore.But the most dreaded chore is what I call "The bathroom of DOOM".

It just doesn't matter how often I clean my bathroom it's just always a wreck. My husband will come home to a spotless bathroom & some how figure out how to destroy in less than ten minutes. Then my son will go in just to make sure it gets really hammered. But that is why today is so special.I don't have to think about my day to day life. Today I am biker bitch extrodinaire, cruising the highway with the wind in my face, my arms around a total hottie and no six year old telling me what time I have to be home.

Prince of Darkness & Transformers

So you know those little flyers that come in new toys that tell you about their other products? Well my son's sixth birthday was in March & he recieved a few transformers. Inside each transformer was a little brochure of other transformers products. Tell me my son plays with those more than the actual toys? Everywhere he goes he carries all three brochures with him. They have been so ratted, tatted & torn apart from him that if I put any more tape on them they'll be too heavy for my son to carry.

And if it couldn't get any worse than my son begging me to tape up one of his prized possessions every five minutes, my mother is coming to pick him up today for a sleep over at her house. What's so bad about that? My son has an unseen, unspoken voo doo that entrances my mother to spend, spend, spend. I don't know how he does it but he manages to come home everytime with at least three new toys, two new outfits and a couple pairs of shoes.

So why is this bad? Oh maybe because I know in the bowels of my soul that my son will come home with at least one new addition to his already growing brochure collection. Which means while he's getting spoiled by Grandma, I need to go stock up on tape.

A beautiful day

Yesterday was an awesome day. I pre ordered my copy of Stephanie Meyers novella. I am really excited about it. Hopefully she'll change her mind soon and finish Midnight Sun. Man I was mad when I found out someone leaked it. I've read the few chapters she posted on her website and it seemed like it was going to be way better than Twilight. Oh well.

But that is not what made my day totally awesome, though it helped. What really made for a great day was that my husband and I were finally able to make peace with his brother & wife.

For almost a year now the two couples have been very tense around each other. What made it more difficult is that my husband & his brother work with each other on a daily basis. The tension was thick enough you could cut it with knife. But now all is well, not perfect but well none-the-less.

Yesterday was also a very productive day. Not only was I able to finish all of my housework, except the dreaded bathroom, I was able to do some editing to Vineyard House and managed to complete a chapter in The Demon Side. They both still have a long ways to go but I know if I keep at it that eventually it will all fall into place.

Unedited excerpt from Vineyard House: Introduction

Introduction




My name is Adesina Gower but everyone calls me Desi. Well except my mom. She calls me Dee even though she knows I absolutely hate it when she does. I live in a hellhole wrapped in a cesspool called Marysville, California. My mother Tabea Gower & I live with my Grandparents John & Katarine Needles who are in their sixties and just as crazy as my mother. Well maybe not as crazy but pretty close. They’re just crazy from old age. Grandma has Alzheimer’s and grandpa just mumbles to himself a lot. Who could blame him though; the poor man is trapped with a psycho daughter, a loony wife and a hormonal teenaged girl.



We moved in with my grandparents when I was 12 years old after my mother was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and started talking to animals in public. She also had a habit of thinking someone was watching or following us. We’d be walking down to the store since we didn’t have a car and all of sudden my mom would freak out, dive behind a car or building pulling me with her. I have suffered a lot of scrapes and bruises in my life from her freak out’s.



I never met my father, Fagan. Supposedly back in the day he was quite the warrior. I always laugh when my mom calls him a warrior. Don’t get me wrong. I totally respect the military and I am grateful for what they do but I wouldn’t call them warriors. It’s not like they go running around wielding swords and fighting off mythological creatures. She never talks about why they split up. She avoids that topic at all costs. Mom says Fagan lives somewhere in Africa now. I imagine he’s probably trying to save the world one hungry orphan at a time instead of taking care of his own kid. Life has been just fine without him. Who knows maybe he’s been eaten by a lion or something. Maybe I should have my mother ask her animal friends.



My family doesn’t have much money. The only income is my mom’s disability check and my grandparent’s retirement. I don’t wear designer clothes unless someone happens to donate them at the Salvation Army thrift store. I’m all about worn out blue jeans and t-shirts from my favorite rocks bands. They’re amazingly easy to find at second hand stores for some reason. I just don’t know how someone could get rid of a perfectly good Disturbed shirt. My T-shirt collection is gold to me. I think if people could get past the fact that I don’t wear Guess Jeans or Dolche and Gabbana shirts they would see that I’m just as pretty as most girls.



I’m not a completely hideous dirty 16 year old girl. It never made sense to me why people called Melissa and me ugly. Really compared to the next girl I don’t think I was that bad looking. I was no perky anorexic blonde cheerleader like Mazy Bishop, the most popular girl in at Marysville High but I like to think I have some nice curves, pretty brown almond eyes & long brown hair that gives off a slight red hue when the sun shines on it just right which is complimented by my olive almost tan looking skin and just a few spattered freckles on my nose. So what if my boobs weren’t freakishly huge or I didn’t wear mini skirts with tube tops on a daily basis like Mazy. Anyways, getting back to me now, I don’t know where the nick name Dirty Desi came from. Maybe it just sounded good in their heads.



I shower everyday and my house is cleaner than most. My house isn’t in the best part of town. The people aren’t so bad though. The only reason why I say cleaner than most is because we have four people living in a two bedroom house sharing one bathroom. With my mother being crazy, my grandma having dementia and my grand pa just being too old to do anything, the house work is pretty much left up to me. It’s pretty cramped but I don’t really mind it so much. I share a bedroom with my mom. Most people would be scared to share a room with a paranoid schizophrenic. Not me though. My mom is only a danger to her self. The part of the place that has space is our backyard. Due to lack of watering it’s not a nice grassy backyard but more of a dust bowl. The roof leaked in the winter and the swamp cooler never seemed to work in the summer. Ah, home sweet home.



I never was a popular girl even before my mom’s mental break from reality but life got worse once Mazy Bishop was kind enough to tell everyone at school about my mom being crazy. Mazy had a knack for running into my mom during her “crazy episodes”. It was like she had a “loony radar” on or something. And could she keep her fake collagen injected lips shut? Nope. Every time Mazy would run to school and let everyone know the latest scoop on my mom. It would only take a matter of minutes for the new story to circulate through the whole town of Marysville. You know it’s bad when the crack heads won’t walk on the same side of the street as you.



Melissa Cavanaugh is a great friend, my best friend. Melissa is drop dead gorgeous, I think, with her waist length curly blacker then black hair and smoky eyes to match. Her milky white skin definitely makes all of her piercings stand out. I swear there isn’t a piece of her body that hasn’t been pierced. Her really dark eyeliner helps out too. She always wears these really baggy black pants that have chains hanging every where and plain black t-shirts. The only thing she wears that has any color is a red flannel shirt but she only wears it when it cold outside. I guess looking at her you would think she’s a Goth or something like that.



Melissa is skinnier then me but there is nothing a girl can do about having child bearing hips. That’s what my Grandma Katarine or should I say Grandma Katy as I refer to her, calls thick hips, child bearing hips. She says I get them from her mother who came to the United States from Germany and that in those days women were built for making babies and carrying laundry not for seeing who can look most like a twig. Grandma’s a little old’ fashioned. Melissa is only 5’5” but there is a lot of power in her small frame. She wears these awful bulky black combat boots with three inch heels to make her look taller. I make fun of her for it. She hates it when I call her an emo oompa loompa more.



Melissa has a dry sense of humor which I love. Sometimes you can’t tell if she’s really being serious or just being a smart mouth. But through the few years I’ve known her I’ve been able to pick up on things she says here and there that let me know when she’s serious. She has the bad habit of saying “fer real” at the end of sentences if she’s being serious.



If there is one thing she always made clear, she didn’t care about anyone or anything, even me. When she says or acts like she doesn’t care I just shrug it off. I know she does care and it’s all an act. Melissa is really good at acting and hiding her real emotions. I guess spending most of her life in section 8 housing while her mom was in prison and her dad was slowly killing himself smoking meth, raising yourself can do that to a person, make them act like nothing bothered them. Melissa’s mom was busted for drug possession during a sting when she was fifteen. The courts gave custody of her to her father who had spent most of his life in and out of rehab and half way houses. He moved them around a lot from one place to another but never left Marysville. In just the short time I’ve known her she’s moved eight times. She really didn’t like to talk about it though and I could understand why.



We always hang out at my house or met up there if we’re going out. It never bothered me that we had to do that. I know what it’s like being embarrassed about something you have no control over. Melissa and I met our freshman year of high school and have been thick as thieves since. We have one important thing in common that I think bonds us together, we each know what it’s like to have to take care of a parent who isn’t really there even though physically they are.



Many times Melissa’s acting skills and ability to cry on command got us out of a lot of trouble. One time Mazy Bishop little miss “Perfect” herself with her 5’9 rail thin build, long curly extension, and an attitude that would make a nun want to kill herself, decided to tell everyone at school Melissa’s mom was a prostitute and that’s why she was in prison. Mazy had her minions Timothy Reed and Kelley Ashcroft throw pennies at Melissa asking how much she would charge for various sexual favors. Melissa just looked at Mazy, smiled, turned around, walked into the principal’s office, forcing out every tear should could and told Mr. Russell about how Mazy had verbally accosted her.



Yeah I was pretty impressed with the big word usage myself. But Melissa was good at that stuff. Me, on the other have the vocabulary of a fifth grade book. When I do talk I tend to get side tracked a lot. Moving form one story to the next without finishing the previous one. It’s a talent that usually confuses people. I don’t really talk much so I have no need for vocabulary. Half the time when Melissa and I would hangout in my room we would have the radio on or our favorite Linkin Park cd up so loud talking would be pointless. My grandparents never complained which was great. I was surprised Melissa could talk the way she did though. One minute everything would be “F” this or “F” that and the next minute she would be having a heated educated argument with our History teacher about the crusades like she was a professor. Oh and that one thing I don’t do. I don’t cuss. It’s not that I’m trying to be a good girl or anything like that. I just never saw the point. Melissa always gives me crap about it. She thinks I need to let go and go on a cussing spree. I figure she cusses enough for the both of us.



Oh yeah. D’uh so like I was saying about Melissa’s great acting skills. The day Mazy had her minions throw pennies at Melissa was great. After she sobbed on Mr. Russell shoulder for a good twenty minutes, Mr. Russell called Mazy’s mother, Mrs. Bishop, who everyone knew was an alcoholic and did not like being pulled away from happy hour. Mazy’s parents are a weird couple. Mrs. Bishop drinks all day while Mr. Bishop devotes all of his time to their church. They may not spend much time with their daughter but they sure do spoil her as long as she doesn’t get in their way. During Christmas break they gave Mazy a brand new candy red Bentley Continental GT. Mazy didn’t like the color so she refused to drive it until her parents shelled out the money to have it painted. Heck I was happy if I got a cheesy snowman and santa claus sweater for christmas. But, anyways, that’s a different story.



When Mrs. Bishop arrived Mr. Russell called Melissa back into the office to tell Mrs. Bishop about what Mazy had done her. It was great! I got to watch the whole thing through the giant window in Mr. Russell’s office. Melissa laid it on thick. She had tears just rolling down her face and I swear I saw a snot bubble pop out of her nose. As Melissa came out of the office she winked at me and slyly gave me cocky thumbs up. Mrs. Bishop came out right behind her yelling at Mazy like a drill instructor in boot camp. Mazy was suspended for three days since our school had a zero tolerance policy for violence. In today’s world of bullies and school shootings, throwing a penny is considered assault. Isn’t it great!? Melissa getting Mazy suspended was way better then what I wanted to do to her.



I just wanted to slam her head into a locker and laugh manically while I repeatedly smashed her head with the locker door and watched as blonde extension flew in the air. But as usual Melissa used her wit instead of my brawn. Not that I’m some street fighter or anything. I’ve honestly only been in a few fights but nothing serious. Mostly hair pulling. I think I could have taken Mazy with no problem. All I had to do was punch her in her fish lips and watch the collagen explode from her face. But I tell you what, if they gave out an Oscar for Best Victim, Melissa would have won it hands down that day.



So there you have it, my life in a nutshell. That’s pretty much all there is to know about my insignificant life. Well my life before today. In a matter of hours I went from trying to survive being a social pariah in high school to just trying to survive. Had I known what was in store for me I would have stayed in bed instead of rushing to school.

Day two

So I am on day two of my no smoking kick. Well I can't really call it day two since I got weak yesterday. It's so hard trying to quit when my husbands smokes more than I do.I know I know its just an excuse. But with all the things I have quit in my life why is this one so different? Quitting Meth & drinking were nothing compared to trying to quit smoking. UHG. Any advice?

Trying to quit smoking.

Well today was another fun filled day. I am attempting to quit smoking. UHG it is much more difficult than I thought it would be. It seems almost everything around me triggers a craving. Driving makes mewant to smoke. Eating makes me want to smoke. Even watching television. The worse is when the stop smoking ads come on. Nothing makes me want to smoke more than someone else telling me why I should quit. And they play those ads so much that it seems every commercial break sends me drooling for a cigarette. Oh and don't bother popping in a dvd to escape from the stop smoking ads cause they are there too. On most dvd's they are played before the FBI statement warning you not to copy the dvd or steal it.

They say quitting smoking is harder than quitting heroin. Smokers sufer from mood altering withdrawls and symptons just as any drug addict would do. Our addiction cause us to beg, lie, cheat & steal just like any other drug.  So I ask you this...why are there no rehabs for smokers? We're just suppose to give it a run on our own? I guess horrible tasting gums & itchy patches are supposed to be enough.

Anyone out there trying to quit too? What are you doing to escape from the urges?