I toyed with the idea of calling this particularly delightful story, "reason #427,00 why I should not be allowed out unchaperoned", but that was simply too long of a title.  Now, before I see something shiny, let me get down to business.  Yesterday, the offspring and I were out and about doing what it is that we do whilst in the car together; listen to music, sing along even if we have to make up our own lyrics and dance like flaming idiots (which is different from run of the mill idiots).  Engaged in accomplishing these essential steps to ensure vehicular bliss, I rolled up in front of the big fire station near us, stopping at the line where it says, "Do Not Block Intersection".  Every fire station has this, it's not some newfangled plot to thwart the voyage of the V.I.P.s, no, it's just to prevent Joe Citizen from having his automobile blammed (this is the scientific term for being struck by an exiting fire truck) and pushed across two lanes of traffic.

     Apparently, my memo boy had been too busy playing hide the sausage with my pool boy and the memo stating that over-compensating men driving gas guzzling yet not disguising the fact that they most likely cry after sex lifted trucks are exempt from following this universal rule of the road.  Either that or the fucker driving his monument to manliness was illiterate?  In the midst of executing a world class seated running man dance maneuver (degree of difficulty 5.2), I heard a very loud honking sound behind me.  I glanced in my rear view mirror and qu'elle suprise!  The grill of a lifted monster truck.  Thinking to myself, "tiny man, honking at me because your penis is a teeny weenie isn't going to solve anything", I very quickly showed him, with a delightful flourish, that I thought he was number 1.  He really left me no choice, you see across the intersection was a breeder mobile.  What's a breeder mobile you ask?  It's the vehicle of choice for those over-populating homeschooling scrapbooking types that pop out so many children they can't fit their 12 and counting deficient offspring in a mini-van or even an S.U.V.  The breeder mobile is also knows as a short bus, or oftentimes an airport shuttle van. 

    Knowing that my young and impressionable children were riding in the backseat of my fuel efficient and space saving vehicle, I stopped with the fastest one fingered victory salute in three counties and rejoined the dance party.  Apparently, the needle dicked bug fucker behind me had his little noodle in a knot over my middle digital heckling.  Since the Marmoset sized man couldn't fling poo at me as a good monkey would, he decided to vroom vroom his big trucky wucky alongside me, which gave me the prime opportunity to lean over and show him the instant reply, in case he didn't get it the first time.   Not enjoying the mocking I was giving him, he did as all good knuckle draggers do, he spit on my car as he rolled past.  I smiled broadly as he burned up 14 gallons of gas passing me and thought, that really is a nice ass hat he's wearing.  Too bad he shit in it before he crammed it on his head.  I try to be a kind and understanding person while I'm driving, keeping in mind that most people really must be THAT important, but it's really not safe to drive when I'm that drunk. 

    This lesson in courteous driving brought to you by the letters: F.U.

 Dear Self,

     It is with your best interest in mind that I impose the following rule: Please remember that you have caller I.D. and stop answering the phone when you see your mother's number on the little screen.  No good ever comes of talking to her and all it serves to do is leave you with the festering urge to run headfirst into a brick wall with the hopes of sustaining a head injury serious enough to cause selective amnesia. This, along with the fantastical concoctions of violent and messy ways in which you can put her out of your and your family's misery once and for all, is not going to change the fact that your mother is a nucking futball.

    Your co-operation, which we realize is not a word  you frequently use, will save you a lot of money in therapy and/or alcohol in the future. 

     Fondly,

                      Raven

Warning: the follow story contains graphic images.  The management is not responsible for any emotional scars or nightmares resulting from reading this disturbing because it's painfully true tale.  That said, Enjoy!

     Don't worry if that makes no sense to you, it's not supposed to.  My sisters, however, are now wrestling with two equally fierce urges; read on or violently kick their computer chairs back in a flamboyant Jerry Lee Lewis fashion and run screaming from the room.   Ah yes, my parental units with the youngest sis in tow came a visiting.   The visit did have a purpose, my dad needed a hair cut, and since I am a highly trained professional, I am well qualified for the job.  As with most visits, my youngest sister calls from her cell phone (since Mom has not yet found the entrance to the super secret cell phone store) to let me know they are on the way, a pre-warning system if you will.  This call also serves as a heads up on everyone's mood du jour.  Today's mood: generally positive. 

     Armed with the knowledge that they will be stopping for lunch first, and knowing how my parents truly enjoy eating out, I figure I have at least an hour left of peace.  It rained most of the night and off and on all day, naturally giving me the perfect excuse to doll up, don a flirty apron, turn on some ass shaking music,  and masterbake.  At the time of the phone call, I had a pan of brownies in the oven and a scrumptious Filipino dessert of sticky rice and coconut milk on the stove.  Butter for cookies was softening on the counter and I had just filled my silver colander with ingredients for fresh "make your taste buds scream in pain" salsa.  It was a good day all around, so far.

    2 hours after the warning siren had sounded, the family jewels arrived with Dad leading the pack up my front walkway followed by the sis.  Mom, of course, 50 paces behind.  I guess, in her defense, the walk from the driveway to the door is over 15 feet long and traverses a perilous 2 steps!  I know!! Two!  Huffing and puffing, she finally lumped in the front door, but it was touch and go for a while.  The search party could relax for another day.  Greetings were exchanged and then the team went their separate ways. Dad joined me on the couch to watch some college football, sis made a beeline for the playroom couch and mom...I'll spare you the details of where she went.  Suffices to say that the football announcer repeatedly saying, "and it's Smelley on the field", was giggle inducing.  Dad and I were like Beavis and Butthead for a few minutes.

     After I finished my mug of hot tea -ironically it was detox tea, which maybe I should drink after they leave instead-I set up shop to cut dad's hair.  Mi Madre mas loco waddled into the kitchen to get brownies and a coke and when I peeked into the playroom, my sister was curled up asleep.  I knew she only slept 2 hours before she had to get up for work, so being a good big sister, I turned off the light and let her rest. As I have been cutting my dad's hair since I was 12, we can dispense with the "so, what are we going to do with your hair today?" bullshit and just get to cutting.  After McMayor of Crazyville finished partaking of my masterfully baked brownies, she galumphed over to the couch where I thought she was going to have a seat.  I COULD NOT HAVE BEEN MORE WRONG!!

     What happened next was bone chilling, like a scene in a horror movie.  Peering over my dad's head, my razor sharp scissors poised threateningly in mid air I saw the atrocity unfolding before me.  In my brain I could hear the theme from Jaws as my "alleged" mother (I think I might need a maternity test after this afternoon) left the vertical position most people maintain whilst visiting someone else's home and she "assumed the position".  This is an inside joke. As teenagers when we'd get home from school and find mom asleep on the couch where she had most likely been all day, we'd just say, "the condor has landed".  As if it was not emotionally scarring enough to see my mother's fat face all scrunched up like an ass with eyes against one of my pillows, what happened next will drive Luna to scrape out her own eyes with a serrated grapefruit spoon and V will need a healthy splash of vanilla vodka in her Pepsi with dinner.  Time came screeching to a halt as I saw the woman who stole me from my real mother reach up, take the other pillow I had draped over the back of the couch, open her knees and stick the pillow in between her thighs!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!  The inside of my skull filled with blood, my chest began to tighten, my lips turned blue from holding back the blood curdling scream that was hovering at the back of my throat.  No longer in control of my own facial distortion as it twisted in sheer disgust and mortification at the swift and unyielding decision that I will have to glove up and throw that pillow away before my parent's truck can even pull away from the curb after they leave.  Hoping that it was all a nightmare that will require years of heavy drinking to remedy, I blinked my eyes so hard I'm surprised they didn't bruise.  Just seconds after committing a heinous crime against one of my pillows, the condor was gurgling and snoring. 

   I finished Dad's haircut although I'm fairly certain I was comatose.  When Dad turned around and saw the condor, the look of disgust on his face mirrored the look I must have had earlier.  The rest of the visit is locked in a self preserving blackout and I didn't even have the luxury of knocking back a Mike's hard limeade or 12 before they came. 

    What I'm trying to figure out now is how the woman who claims to be our mother managed to steal all of us from our real mother?  I'm not ruling out the idea that she ate her.  Oh don't make that face...if you feel so sorry for my mother you are welcome to have her.  Please.  Take my mother....anyone....anyone?  I have to go wipe my couch off with orange oil...then I'll sandblast my eyeballs and try out that Home electro-shock therapy kit I picked up on E-bay.  If I'm not back later, check the hall closet,  I might be in the throes of a flashback and I'm sitting on the floor in the dark rocking and murmuring. 

     With the spouse at work and the boy spending the night at his friend's house, my daughter and I set out for "girl's night" and went out for dinner.  As we sat down in the booth of her choosing and waited for our food I noticed an elderly woman with a walker and a woman probably 30 years younger taking their seats in the booth adjacent to ours.  Not one to assume, the younger woman could have been anyone or  no one to the older woman, I wasn't really thinking about it.  Just as our food was arriving I heard the younger woman say, "What would you like to drink Mom?", my unasked question answered. 

    I looked across the table at my beautiful daughter's beaming smile, the sun kissed white blonde streaks framing her pretty face, and I thought, "that could be us in 40 years."  The mother/daughter pair behind us made idle chit chat about what they ordered and how their beverages were.  My daughter talked to me about everything and anything in her running commentary on life style of narration.  There have been days that my brain just screams in silence for a reprieve from her endless chattering.  Today is not one of those days. 

    While marveling at my 7 year old's extensive vocabulary I heard the daughter behind us begin scolding her mother as if she were a misbehaving child.  Unexpectedly, her tone chilled me.  How many times have we, as parents, scolded our children for something they did, or did not do?  Wondering if this was karma or perhaps a preview of what could easily be my future I reached across the table and wrapped my fingers around my daughter's tiny hand, "I am having a great girl's night out baby" I told her.  Her answer resonated through my head, "I love you my sweet mama".  At that we continued to share a meal together, content in each other's company. 

     I can't guarantee that I won't ever scold my children for something in the future, but I can guarantee that I will try my best to always treat them the way I want them to treat me when I am in their care.  Just some food for thought.

TONIGHT I FINALLY GOT IT!!

NO...NOT A SOCIAL DISEASE

MY GREEN BELT!!

YAY FOR ME!

I GUESS GOOD THINGS REALLY DO COME TO THOSE WHO WAIT IMPATIENTLY FOR A MONTH CURSING THE VERY EXISTENCE OF THOSE WITH THE POWER TO BREAK UP THE MONOCHROMATIC LINE OF MY ALL WHITE KARATE GI  WHILE I TORTURED THOSE WHO LOVE ME WITH MY ENDLESS TIRADES ABOUT THE MAIN DOJO'S EMPHASIS ON RESPECT FOR OUR ETIQUETTE AND TRADITIONS DESPITE THEIR UTTER AND COMPLETE LACK OF RESPECT FOR THE TIME AND EFFORT WE PUT INTO TRAINING HARD ENOUGH TO BE INVITED TO TEST.....

WHEW!! THAT WAS A MOUTHFUL, AND THEN SOME

IT'S GOOD TO HAVE THAT ALL OFF MY BOUNTIFUL BOSOMS, AND YES, I AM FULLY AWARE THAT I AM TYPING IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS!!

GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT?

ARE YOU FEELING LUCKY, PUNK?

WELL...ARE YOU?

I AM!!

I AM THE HAPPIEST LADY (stop laughing, sometimes I'm a lady) IN THE WORLD AT THIS MOMENT!

Ok, now I'm going to stop shouting gleefully and take a shower, any one want to join me? 

Thank you all for your support and well wishes, that will save you from the inevitable ass kicking I would have given you had you wished me otherwise.

(feel free to watch my ass as I skip down the hallway)

Love love love,

Raven the Green Belt

   I'm not sure to whom I should address this issue for it is my issue alone, not caused by or as a direct result of anyone or anything.  Nothing happened to bring this on, so please don't ask why or if there is anything that can be done. My head is heavy from wearing too many hats and for awhile, just a little while, I would like to feel the wind twisting through my curls.  For just a little while I don't want to be a wife, mother, daughter, volunteer, chauffeur, maid, washer woman, teacher or short-order cook.  I want to remember what it was like to be what I was before I made the decision to be so much to so many, and yes, I am fully aware that these were decisions I made based on what I wanted not out of necessity or need.

    For a little while, I don't want to think about whether my decisions or indecisions will effect anyone other than myself.  I want to make plans on my own schedule and not worry about school functions or work hours.  Hell I would love to make no plans at all.  I want to stay up as late as I'd like and sleep until I awaken naturally.  No alarms or voices summoning me to meet yet another need that isn't my own.  I would love it if I could blast my music as loud as I can stand it and dance all over my house with no worries that the language, content, or my attire (or complete lack thereof)  is not fit for impressionable young minds.  

    I don't want my words interpreted incorrectly by anyone who thinks for one second that they know anything at all about me.  I don't want to be asked what I did today, instead being allowed the chance to express myself or simply sit in silence without feeling interrogated.  I don't want to feel guilty if, for some reason, I wasn't inclined to do anything.  I want to loll about and do jack shit if the mood strikes me.  I don't want to be cheered up if I'm feeling down or calmed down if I'm riled up.  I don't want anyone to assume, well, anything. 

    To whom it may concern:  I want to be...that is all.

     Ironic that a fighting art in which you are taught to execute each move as if you only have one chance to disable your opponent, you are also taught respect and patience.  Yin and Yang, masculine and feminine constantly at odds with each other.  Our Shihan tells us that the traditions and etiquette  that stem back all the way to the 14th century are what sets us apart from the PRIDE type fighters.  Personally, after waiting nearly a month for the main dojo to finish deciding the results of our tests, I'm about READY TO RUMMMMMMMMBLE!!! 

    Still no results tonight.  Still I wait.  Maybe Friday? Maybe next Tuesday...I have stopped hoping that we'll finally have our results and instead, I'm taking it all out on my sparring partners.  Lucky for me, all my sparring partners tonight were young strong men.  They seem to like it when I hit them.  Freaks!  Ok, I'm off to pour myself a big glass of something.   Carry on.

   About 30 minutes ago we had a 4.7 earthquake centered at Lake Elsinore, or about 30 miles from here. That's 30 miles "as the crow flies".  Growing up in California, earthquakes are just a fact of life.  This one was actually strong enough to roust the sleeping giant from his slumber, now that's a strong earthquake!  The earthquake we just had was a boom and shake side to side quake.  We've had back and forth quakes and my all time favorites, the rollers,  where I swear you can feel the ground physically rise and fall under you like ocean waves, but the ones that are preceded by a thunderous BOOM make you hold your breath for a minute waiting to see what's in store.  The boom was followed by the obligatory rattling of all the window and then me, instinct and a lifetime of earthquake preparedness drills in school kicking in and sending me into the playroom to check the kids and make sure they were not near any shelving that might topple.  By the time I moved from one room to another, it was over and I found my offspring sitting, little mouths agape and eyes wide open staring at me.  "Mama, what was that!" my daughter asked and my son fessing up, "that one scared me".  "It's over now", I assured them, not wanting to get into a lengthy seismological discussion about after shocks and the like.  Me, with a grin still on my face, hugged them both and said, "That's just the Earth's way of letting us know she's still in charge." 

     Do you have Earthquakes where you live?  What natural phenomenon scares, intrigues, or shakes you up? 

ps-Today the hubby and I have been married for 5000 days, so it seems the Earth still shakes for us after 5000 days of marriage!!