Ugly Crying on the Beach

If I ever write a book, I think I’m going to title it, “Ugly Crying on the Beach”.

Catchy, right?

I know. I’m so stinkin’ creative.

Anyway, you know that awesome vacation I was so super excited about?

Well, much of it was spent ugly crying on the beach. Not entirely unlike this:

ugly crying

I mean… Ew.

Why, you ask?

WHY?! Why would I spend most of my vacation if not actually ugly crying, then trying not to ugly cry on the beach?



Well, for starters…

I mean…

It was all…

Okay, looking back, none of these things probably actually warranted ugly crying on the beach… in front of everyone…

But at the time…

I was all discombobulated and overwhelmed and overwrought.

There was the allergic reaction over half my body had to the sun.


The big, burning globe up in the sky? Yeah. Apparently, that side note that the doctor mentioned three years ago about me having a slight allergy to the sun? Yeah… apparently, that’s an actual THING. Which is why over half my body broke out into these hideous boil-like swollen hives… that had to be iced and aloed and calmed the frick down with lots and lots of Benedryl.

I mean… it was ridiculous. I put on a bathing suit for the first time in a decade and my entire body decided to revolt. So, of course, I had to spend the rest of the trip covered up underneath umbrellas, popping Benedryl and keeping any sun exposure down to a minimal.

Meanwhile, in other parts of the beach condo, Jack’s chillens were all spazzing because apparently he was spending more time on the vacation with me than he was with them, and so they brain-stormed these crazy elaborate plans to manipulate every possible situation so as to keep me at arm’s length and make it known that just because it was okay for me to hang out with them at home… vacations were a completely different beast and I just needed to…



Even though… in my defense… I barely saw the guy all vacation. And every time he would even venture to sit near me, there were dislocated shoulders and projectile vomiting and pandemonium and chaos of near apocalyptic proportions… all in an attempt to keep him away from me. And if we did manage to sneak in a moment here or there, there ensued a great wailing and gnashing of teeth about how he never spent time with them and they’d barely seen them all week and this was the worst vacation ever. And I was all trying to figure out what happened to the previously wonderful kiddos I had grown to know and love. Apparently, they had decided to take a vacation too… while the cyborgs filling in for them plotted my demise.

And then of course there was the food poisoning from a local waffle place, trying to be on my best behavior because I was on vacation not only with my guy’s kids, but also his parents, and the constant bickering, complaining and drama coming from the pre-teens. Oh, and apparently, while I was away, every work e-mail that has ever existed in the history of work e-mails needed to be answered that week… and also, there was the homeless meth head wandering the halls of my apartment building in my absence…

So… YAY!!!

So, by the time my sister called to see how things were going, I was all…


Can I go home now?

Suffice to say, it was wonderful coming home to more screaming kids to nanny and even more confused kids to tutor.

Apparently, I needed a vacation from my vacation.

And now that everything is back to normal (Jack’s chillens no longer hate me, and my skin is no longer breaking out… although it is still in the process of healing from that horrible, ugly sun) I want to go back and try it all over again.


Geeze, Annie… you’re just never happy, are you?




Nowhere to sit

Remember that time in junior high when you were looking for a place to sit in the lunch room, and the people you normally sat with were all away at band camp or on a field trip or home sick or you just didn’t have any friends and you genuinely couldn’t find any place to sit because you just didn’t belong?

That actually happened to me at my Mom’s funeral.

I had just gotten my cake and coffee… (Which is truly weird that the local grocery store provided complimentary “refreshments” in the form of cake at a funeral. What is that? Cakes are usually congratulatory things. What is the take away from a cake at a funeral?

Congratulations on your achievement!

Way to go!

Best wishes!

You did it!

Weird, right?)

ANYWAY, I digress. I had just gotten my cake and coffee and I looked out over the church social hall and…

I had nowhere to sit.

I couldn’t sit with those people. They had their group.

I couldn’t sit with these people. They had a group too.

Those people… sure… but… that would just be uncomfortable.

In a sea of family members, friends and acquaintances, I genuinely had nowhere to sit.

Typically, I would have sat with my husband or my mom.

And one had taken off with a married mother of three and the other was lying in a casket upstairs so…

What now?

I remember I froze. And I almost dropped my cake and my coffee and took off running.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I awkwardly wandered over to where my eldest sister and her family were sitting. I awkwardly sat down. And I awkwardly said, “Can I sit with you guys? I don’t actually have any family here to sit with.”

And my sister grabbed my hand and said, “We’re your family and we will always be there for you.”

And as I tried to choke back the tears I remember thinking… “Sure. Until I you head back to California and I only see you once every three years.” But instead, I just said, “Thanks.”

But that cynical thought? Not so cynical anymore.

Since that funeral, I’ve seen my siblings maybe once if I’ve been lucky. Two live on opposite ends of the country. One wants to move to South America. And numbers five and six are so busy with their own families they hardly have time to feed their own children, let alone set up time to see their youngest sister.

It’s a miserable existence.

I saw no one for Easter.

I saw no one for my birthday.

Thanksgiving was a forced issue that turned into an awkward obligatory occasion that only happened because Mom had passed a mere matter of weeks prior.

A couple of people gave some half-hearted invitations for Christmas… except for the one good sister who I actually went to visit.

And now, another holiday rears its ugly head and I’m forced to answer questions from well-meaning friends and coworkers who ask, “What are you doing for the Fourth? Is your family getting together?”

And instead of being honest and telling them, “No. We don’t see each other anymore.” I just nod and smile and say, “Yep!” Because admitting the truth is just too pathetic.

How did I become the person with nowhere to sit? No one to visit? No one who cares?

I don’t mean to have a pity party, but I’m embarrassed to admit that I was thrilled when a coworker noticed a creepy stalker guy sniffing around and had a few words with him on my behalf. Seriously? I’m that overjoyed about someone caring enough about me to tell a guy to buggar off?

I need my family back. And if they’re not interested, I need a make-shift family. I need some people who actually care. I need more than my cat.

Because I genuinely have nowhere to sit.




S’up, Blogosphere?

S’up, blogosphere? First of all, let me apologize for my extended absence. I mean… seriously, Annie? You never write anymore. Everyone hates you. No one even cares anymore… loser.

Which I’m sure is partially true, but I have missed writing, so I think it’s best if I get back to it, you know?

So, let’s get caught up, shall we?

  • I returned yesterday from a visit with my Sister Who Lives Far Away. It was the first time I had flown since high school and pre 9/11. It was the first time I had flown all by myself. And even though I was a bit nervous, I discovered I LOVE flying. I get to sit there and READ and THINK and STARE OFF INTO SPACE and COLLECT MY THOUGHTS while someone else does all the work of getting me to my destination. It’s BRILLIANT. I never got to fly when I was married to the ass-hat. He was always, “But flying is so boring, you don’t get to see anything…” Which I found totally absurd because who wants to drive 15 to 20 hours to a destination and have to endure the torture of seeing nothing but farm fields through most of the central U.S.? That’s not fun. That’s mind-numbingly boring. So, it turns out, I love to fly. Especially with Delta. They give complimentary snacks… which is awesome. And even getting through security wasn’t that bad. The TSA agents were quite lovely, I have to say.
  • My dyed-in-the-wool protestant family are horrified to discover that I am curious about Catholicism and considering joining the Catholic church. Except, I haven’t admitted that to most of them… you know… because of the “horrified” part. Turns out, I love what I’ve seen about the Catholic church. I don’t know if I’ll actually join or not… but it’s on the agenda of things that need addressing.
  • Father McCutie is still as adorable as ever. The crush has not subsided. However, just so we’re clear, that is NOT why I’m considering joining the Catholic Church. It truly has nothing to do with him… or anyone else. He’s just cute, that’s all.  *sigh*
  • I still have not fully mourned my mother’s passing. I have zero feeling when it comes to that topic… and I don’t know why. It’s not like we had a bad relationship. In fact, it was just the opposite. That woman was my best friend and we were ridiculously close. And yet… nothing. No tears. No sobbing. No depression. It’s weird. My family is falling apart around me and I’m all… fine. I hate myself for that. I know people grieve in different ways, but it’s like after the funeral, I was all done. Who does that? I think I’m broken.
  • I’m still hopelessly in love with this job that pays me diddly-squat. I seriously have never been so happy in a job. It’s actually kind of gross and nauseating. I’m pretty sure people are sick of me talking about my kiddos and my school and my church… but honestly, if I wasn’t talking about that, I’d be talking about Winston and nobody wants to hear about my cat. Who is quite well, by the way. Thank you for asking.

ANNNNDDDD… I think that about covers it. For now. I’ll have more to write once school starts back up. Which I know you’re hopelessly excited about.

Holy crappers this was a boring post. What? It takes a while to get back into the swing of things. Give me a break, blogosphere. Give. Me. A break.


Happy Birthday, ‘Merica!

Today is your birthday, America.

You are now officially 239 years old, which isn’t really saying much. You’re still pretty young. In the grand scheme of things, you’re barely even an adolescent. But youth and vigor are valued in our society, and you’re about as youthful and vigorous as they get. In fact, you’re just a bad-ass, America.

You’re kind of like Columbo. You may not look like much but…

You get $#*% done. And you always get the bad guys.

I mean, you defeated the flippin’ British for crying out loud. With nothing more than a rag-tag team of bad-ass farmers. If that’s not an accomplishment, I don’t know what is.

And then you went on to become the leader of the free world. While all the other nations were busy snickering behind your back, waiting for you to fail, you went ahead and built up one bad-ass military, established a land of the free and home of the brave, welcomed all the bad-ass peeps from other nations to help build an even badder-ass society where anyone could thrive despite their economic background, thumbed your nose at cultural norms and caste systems and said, “This is how we do it in ‘Merica.”

And everyone was like…

And then with your rag-tag country of bad-ass immigrants you built up a society of over-achievers, inventors, social justice fighters, innovators, schemers and dreamers. You dared anyone who crossed you or your allies to go ahead and poke the bear… see what happens. And the idiots dumb enough to step out of line got smacked right back into line. Because we’re ‘Merica. We don’t take $#&%. That’s just how we roll.

So, in honor of all that… HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA. I’m glad to live in such a bad-ass country. You’re awesome. You did good. And I heart you.





We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you the following announcement…

Things That Made Me Go, “Hmm…” – Week 33 will be postponed until further notice due to Penis Appreciation Day (aka Father’s Day).

Due to the extreme amount of Father’s Day posts, pictures, tweets and headlines celebrating the magnificence that is fatherhood, there are very few “Hmm…” inducing moments on which to comment. Furthermore, this blogger has no desire to post on a holiday that serves as a nagging reminder of what she no longer has and as of yet, has been unable to bestow upon any upstanding, virile man.

Instead we bring you the following gifs:


Thank You

Yesterday, I took a trip to the cemetery.  I wanted to see the flag that was supposed to have been set out at my father’s graveside.

Seeing the flag at my father’s grave filled me an unexpected sense of pride. While he had only served a few years in the Air Force, and had never seen active duty, it was nice to see that flag waving in the wind as a reminder of his service to our country.


As I drove away from the grave and out of the cemetery, my attention was drawn to the field where those veterans who had seen active duty were buried. It was hard to miss as row upon row of American flags stood at attention, each one carefully placed there in memory of our service men and women.

It may sound cheesy, but it was beautiful. As I glanced over the other fields, American flags popped up here and there, dotting an otherwise flowery landscape with a symbol of our freedoms, our liberties, our way of life.

This Memorial Day, keep in mind the reason for the celebration: To honor and remember those who have bravely served our country, who have fallen in the line of duty, who have risked everything so we could maintain our freedoms.

Thank you to our service men and women. Without you, there would be no Memorial Day to celebrate.


Things That Made Me Go “Hmm…” – Week 27

Alright, bloggity peeps. Here we go. I promise this particular post will not only be thrilling, but awe-inspiring as well. And then afterwards, everyone gets to take home a magical, cotton candy unicorn.

  • First off, let’s just get this out of the way: Happy Mother’s Day to all the wonderful mothers out there who have successfully produced progeny and lovingly nurtured, guided and raised the fruit of their loins. I will be purposefully avoiding Facebook and Twitter today in an effort to shield myself from the reminders that I am relatively worthless because I have not yet been fruitful and multiplied. But that’s just me. (Seriously, though. Happy Mother’s Day. Mothers are wonderful. None of us would be here without them.)
  • This is not only fun, but hilarious as well: 25 Better Names for the New Royal Baby.  My top 3 picks? Mary Moonpuncher, Champ Number-One Queen Baby, and… wait for it… Charles Grodin??? YESSSSS… Seriously fantastic.
  • And lastly… OH. MY. WORD. Pixar has a new movie coming out this November… and it looks… amazible. (Why, yes, yes I did just invent a new word. Thank you for noticing. I’m glad you like it.)

Alright, peeps. That’s all I have this week. Sorry if this particular post seemed half-assed. It’s probably because it was. (What? Everyone else is half-assing it lately, why can’t I?)

Over n’ out, good buddies. Have a great week.