The Secret to Life

Ive been so busy the past couple of weeks that blogging has taken a back seat. That is unacceptable, I know. Im planning on making a shit ton of money off this blog and retiring. (This is my backup plan, of course. My porn career was not nearly as lucrative as Id have liked. Guess you make most of your money off SELLING the tapes, not so much making them and storing them in the basements of your ex-boyfriends moms house..but whatever).

So, im back for a minute and im gonna drop some heavy stuff on ya'll today. Yep, Im gonna tell you all what the Secret to Life is.

Ready for it? Got your pencil handy? You're gonna wanna write this down. It's your friends, folks.

It's not your spouse. They drive you bat shit crazy most of the time and you've sworn to God to stay with them, so you're hands are tied. It's not your kids, they are worse than the spouses ever thought about being. It's like having a house full of insane midgets running around at all times. F that!

It's your FRIENDS! They are the only people in the world who understand you 100% of the time. They don't judge you when you say you want to choke the life out of your husband or sell your children to gypsies. Then know you're mostly joking. My life has taught me that, IF you surround yourself with the right network of people, there is nothing you can't get through. Nothing. It's amazing.

Ive been so busy lately with school and kids and family that i'd stopped appreciating what a great thing I have going with my friends. For ever taking them for granted, I need to be kicked square in the cake hole.

I live in a rectangle, im broke all the time, my sons are underweight sociopaths, and at the end of the day, Im still sleeping soundly on cloud nine. How?, you ask...Because, I have friends who were there for me when I was 16 and got knocked up*. I have friends who supported my decision to quit my job and go back to school to do what I love. I have people who know that even when I gripe about my husband, I still love him and really dont mean that I wish he'd meet a nice girl at work and run away with her. They all understand that Im just blowing off steam and that I love my life. I have friends who understand that after a long week of taking care of kids and going to school, I need to let my hair down. They also understand that 'letting my hair down' means getting hammered, listening to music and not worrying about being the only ones dancing to a crappy band in a hole in the wall bar. They are always on the level with me... Always.

I have people. They have me. It is what makes the world go round. Thank you, Jesus, for Amber, Cory, Melisa, Sandi, Laura, Bonnie, Kristin, AJ, Vanessa, Ariane, and so many others.. I am blessed beyond belief.

*(It's technically not called 'pregnant' if you are under 18, live in AR and the father of the baby could be charged in a court of law. The proper term is, in fact, knocked up.)

Alone At Last

Chad has taken the boys to Missouri. I'm so busy with school functions this weekend that they would be sans mom anyway, so they've skipped town. As always, the first 20 minutes are filled with golden silence, excitement and just plain relief that I can pee alone for the next 2 days. It's the little things, folks. I have literally been on the phone with my friend Laura while trying to go to the bathroom and had to ask her to hold while I 'shoo' kids from my bathroom. The boys will interrupt my potty break, or shower or whatever else I might be doing to ask me a completely irrelevant question they could have asked their NON busy father. Any mother knows this to be God's honest truth.

So anyway, Im home alone now. And 25 mins after the van pulls out of the driveway, Im bored out of my mind. The house is a mess. (SURPRISE!) I clear a path and attempt to relax on the couch. But, I cant, because all I can see is the mess around me. We are not talking about 'commercial messes' either. There isn't a spilled glass of juice on an adorable toddler fingerprinted table. Oh no.. My kids are the American Gladiators of mess making. There is a laundry basket full of unmated socks turned upside down in my living room floor. Dishes in the sink. Leftover birthday cake covering the floor under my table. Shoes EVERYWHERE. (Most of which are mine, but let's not digress) I can't relax staring at this crap. I get up and start to clean. An hour later, the kitchen and living room are clean. Now Im alone and bored in a clean house. I realize I've erased the signs of my boys from the rooms around me and I get even more lonely. Poop.

Let the Facebook stalking commence. There is not a person I have met since the 3rd grade that I have not creeped on FB. Im just saying. I do not like to leave any stones unturned when it comes to the lives of others. It fascinates me. Very little holds my attention better than an awkward FB status update from a person I barely know. The only way it could be more appealing to me would be to cover it with bacon. Facebook photos are my Kryptonite. And please stop judging me, I hate it when you do that.

Ugh, and then I notice my stomach is hurting. Damn, Im hungry... Chad left before making dinner and Im probably gonna die. I dont want to go get anything, Im already in my pj's. I decide to eat an entire can of Wolf brand chili. (I know, I know.. this was not my brightest move). Now my guts are BROKEN. My large intestine is cramping up in a way that leads me to believe this isn't gonna be a restful night. The pain is so intense I cannot continue to stalk. I have to retire to the couch. This is where I pass out in Chad's hoodie and under Aydin's blanket. I need to smell them to get to sleep. Turns out, if there isnt a boy next to me with the last name Mills it just isn't a good night.

"Home is whenever I'm with you.." - Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zero's 'Home'

Oops! I Did It Again...

So, how long should you wait after going to someones house, getting hammered drunk and causing all sorts of mischief, before you send them a, "Hey! I had a great time last night, am I ever going to be invited back or was that vase as expensive as it looked?", text?

Of course, I'm only speaking hypothetically here, folks. I would never actually show up at a friends house with a 6pk of Mikes Hard Lemonade, (which I drank all by my lonesome), and do and say ridiculous things until the wee hours of the morning. With the most notable of those 'things' being the PG-13 verging on R rated Justin Timberlake style 'dance-off' and the deciding I was European for the night so that I could kiss everyone on the mouth. Yep, this is all purely hypothetical and purely for research...I'm just curious...

Besides, if those things did really happen, I'd be too crippled by the humiliation to be blogging. (Either that, or I'm just so used to this sort of outcome that I'm kinda over it already and have decided that I need to literally carry around a disclaimer in my pocket).

Someone needs to invent a , 'Shenanigan-B-Gone' pill that's over the counter. Of course I'd need the extra strength...Hell, who am I kidding? Prescription strength it is!

Jungle cats

I was reminded today of a 'funny as long as it's not happening to you' story and I thought Id share.

*Before I begin, I'd like to put it out there that I have continually apologized profusely to my children.*

About 2 years ago a co-worker mentioned a kitty her friend needed to find a home for. I figured it would be a super fantastic surprise for the boys so I called Chad and, of course, he agreed. I made arrangements to pick the kitten up on my way home from work that night.

My coworker was a liar! This was not a cute little kitty. This turned out to be TWO fully grown, long haired Puma's. (Ok, maybe not real Puma's but I swear they came up past my knees and weighed over 30 lbs each, And, I could have shaved one of them and made Jay Z a Persian car cover.) There was no freakin' way I was taking one, much less both of these Brontosaurus cats with me.

...so, they talked me into taking them both. *sigh* They really were pretty docile and beautiful once you got past the size. They took up the entire back seat of my Corolla. I had to stop by Wal Mart and get some food and beds and dishes,etc for them. They lounged calmly in the car while I was in the store. I couldn't believe how well they were taking this. It was like they were high or something.

...so you guessed it. The previous owners had given them meds to calm them down and ease them into this 'transition'. By the time I got them home, it was after 9pm and Chad and the boys were in bed. I was tired so I got the cats familiar with the litter box and crashed, too.

Here comes the part I didn't think through. During the night, the cats came down off the meds and decided to explore their new surroundings. I never even thought to put them in their cages to sleep. I woke up at 2am with Alexander in my face. Nose to nose, eyes as wide as moons, 'Mom! There's something in my room!'

Poor Alex had been woken up by the cats prowling around his room and was scared to death. I followed him back up to his room to get the cats. I assumed Andrew hadn't been bothered by them since he's a pretty heavy sleeper and he hadn't been downstairs. I decided to pop into his room to check on him anyway. (Every now and then I have a rational, motherly thought) I turned on the hall light and still to this day cannot believe what I saw. When I peeked into his room, he was laying frozen in his bed with his eyes wide open staring right into mine. There was a giant black cat curled up next to him in the bed.

Now, ladies and gents, try your best to imagine what you would do if you woke up in your animal free home with a giant jungle cat in your bed. The kid was terrified! I asked him how long he'd been laying there awake and he said almost 2 hours! Just laying there, wondering what the hell was next to him and if it was going to eat him or just claw his eyes out.

I was torn between horrible guilt that my poor sons had been scared out of their mind and fits of hysterical laughter. Now that I think about it, this story might explain why Andrew was so excited when the allergy doctor told us he was allergic to cats... Needless to say, i'm not expecting to be well cared for in my old age.

Mission Statement

I've never read a blog. Today a blog was forwarded to me and it was really serious business. The lady writing the blog was advising the world that breastfeeding is the only way and if you choose not to breast feed, you are, in fact, killing your baby. Now, I don't have a strong opinion on breastfeeding, but what I did take from it is that most blogs seem to be about something. Cooking blogs, parenting blogs, God blogs, 'I'm the perfect wife and mother that all you less fortunate souls should strive to emulate' blogs and I realized I don't fit into any of those categories.
Anyone who knows me knows that Chad cooks for me or I starve. (Assuming a holiday involving candy hasn't recently passed, because if that's the case, I will sustain myself on leftovers from my children's stashes until Chad makes it back.) I'm not in line to receive any Mother of the Year awards and me preaching to anyone about how to live their life is just plain comical. Which gave me an idea!

Maybe I just blog about my life...Maybe I just tell you what I did today, the decisions I made and how it all played out so that, A) You can feel better about yourself. and B.) So you have a WWMD (What Would Misty Do)reference to consult*.

*For best results, try doing the exact opposite of what I do, it seems to work out better that way for most*

Also note that I am not responsible for anyone who reads this blog getting fired or punched in the face. That's just the natural course of action when you conduct yourself as I do on a daily basis and as my good friend, Cory always says, 'The first rule of the Misty Club is never fall asleep first, the 2nd is do as she says, not as she does.'

Ok, so I totally made that 2nd rule up but in my defense, Ive fake-quoted Cory saying FAR worse things and he didn't get upset. And Im glad I mentioned that, too. Folks, be prepared to be fake-quoted. You might have once said to me that 'the weather outside was beautiful' but what I heard was, 'Misty, your outfit is friggin cute and your teeth look especially white today. Have you lost weight?'

That is all for now. Ive eaten approximately 2lbs of Easter candy while waiting for Chad to come home from dinner with his dumb co-workers and I'm not feeling well. I get a little rowdy when he's not here to police me. =/

I must now go 'bitch-text' him until he gives up and comes home.

Jibberish

Blogging is taxing. It's hard to come up with something to write about everyday. Not all days are filled with exciting and hilarious antics around here, even though it may seem that way at times.

Since nothing extraordinary happened today besides me managing to cut the same finger twice during a single haircut, I'm gonna dig through the my archive and tell you about a day from a couple weeks back. (All while pretending my husband isn't really watching womens basketball on tv. With the invention of super supportive sportsbra's I can't for the life of me imagine why anyone would want to watch a womens basketball game. Weird braided pigtails on man shoulders...*shudder*)

Anywho, as I was saying...

Nevermind what I was saying! Chad, (My husband/cook/ laundry guru/baby daddy/gentle lover), just walked by and read what I was typing. He immediately defended womens sporting events. Apparently they are all the rage. Men have found respect for these exhibitions and are openly watching them with friends. News to me.

Shortly after 'setting me straight' he begged me not to speak of him in this blog. All he accomplished with that request was to ascertain his inclusion in my blog ASAP. Please allow me to tell you about my husband.

He is 6'3"-ish, 170lbs. In laymans terms, he is a telephone pole, in womens terms, he's an ass bc he eats non stop, never gains a pound and always makes my 5'4" look 'thick' standing next to him. Once, (emphasis on ONCE), he thought it would be funny to try on a pair of my capri pants and surprise me with his hilarious high-water clown pants. The fatal flaw of his plan was that I had just popped out baby #2 a couple of weeks prior and was eagerly awaiting the day when I could squeeze back into my brand new Gap capris. He fit nicely into a size 4 pant that wouldnt even come close to zipping on me. Instead of the raucous laugh he was expecting upon entering the office, he was received with loud sobs and a painful jab to the gut.

Now, it is not my intention to make my husband look clueless or stupid. Normally he is quite intelligent and caring. Generally speaking, he's the responsible one and im the pain in the ass that forgets to give him my debit card receipts so he can balance the checkbook.. Im just saying that when he does slip, he manages to level the playing field in one fell, remarkably idiotic swoop.

Why I love but cant shop at In Style Accessories

**One thing you need to know about me and keep in mind while reading this is that I H-A-T-E awkward situations. I dont like awkward comedy, (I cant even watch The Office), it drives me insane. I wish awkward didn't exist.**

In Style Accessories. If you've ever been in this little store, you love it...cute jewelry and purses for really great prices. It just seems that every time I shop at the store in the NWA Mall, I feel like Im being punked. I have been in twice recently and the same exact scenario played out. It blew my mind.

First off, all 4 employee's of the store are roughly 16-18 year old girls. (I have no issue with this age group, Im just trying to paint a clear picture for you.) The music they play in this particular store is top 40 pop and pop-ish country. Again, I have no issue with this genre of music, it does not hinder my shopping ability in the least.

That being said, if when I am trying to shop, all four 16-18 year old girls are belting out Taylor Swifts' FIFTEEN at the top of their lungs, I am caught off guard, to say the least. It becomes especially awkward for me when I need to ask one of them a question regarding inventory. Do I interrupt the 'In-Style Karaoke Hour'? Do I wait until after the chorus, (because I notice that the chorus is all the tall blonde girl knows, so I maybe could sneak a question in then)? Do I wait until the song is completely over? Do I join in?! Please make it stop! I just want to know if you have any of the ruffle purses with green trim in the storeroom!

Eventually the song does end and by this time Ive already decided on what I want without help from the Singing Salesforce. (Picture a cuter version of the cast of Glee, without the singing ability)

I am standing at the cash register. I have my card in hand, I'm ready to checkout and run. The cashier asks if I found everything I needed and I just quickly nod, 'yes'. Im on a mission to get out of here ASAP. She takes my card and swipes it through the credit card machine. Of course it's the kind that takes a while. At this time, I hear Rascal Flatts' Here Comes Goodbye start streaming through the speakers... Sweet fancy Moses get me outta here! And then it happens... Not 2 feet away from me, while staring me right in the face as my debit card is processing, she beings to sing. NOT quietly to herself, not under her breath. Full-on singing as if I were Simon Cowell and she's singing for the Save... I want to end my life. In my head im shouting, 'STOP STARING AT ME WHILE YOU SING THIS! OMG! STOP! PLEASE STOP!

Just then my card receipt prints and she doesn't even stop singing to tell me to 'Come again' or to 'Have a nice day'... I run out of the store with flop sweat on my upper lip searching frantically for my husband and my youngest son who are leisurely enjoying a milkshake in the food court. My husband wants to know what took so long and why Im so sweaty...

Easter Sundae

**Just a heads up, this is my first blog and I have ADD like NOBODY'S business, so expect rapid course corrections and rambling. Oh and no names will be changed to protect anyone's identity.**

It was brought to my attention that I need to blog the adventures of the Mills clan due to the extreme nature and mostly graphic content of day to day living. I'm not convinced, but here goes!

Yesterday was Easter and this year it was quite a treat. The kiddos played outside for 5 + hours while I caught up with some pseudo-family members over great food. (I say 'pseudo' family because we aren't blood related, however we are certainly time, history and tears-shed related, so maybe pseudo isn't the correct word. Hmm..)

Anyway, the day couldn't have been better! The weather, the food, the inappropriate conversations...Everyone laughed heartily at least twice, which always means memories were made.

Now that I look back on it, I know with certainty that I am capable of 'taking a joke'.

All in all, I managed to laugh off being called 'fat' by my ex-boyfriend, a 'lazy cook' by his newest wife, 'manly' by his brother, and a 'child' by my current-soon-to-be-deceased-husband.

Last time I checked, a normal woman would have drown all of those people in the pond! I, however, was poised and graceful and took it all in stride. (Except for when I drew 'I LOVE BALLS' on his mothers lighter)

But yes, i chose to spend my day with those people because, after all, they are my pseudo family and Im sure they were mostly joking...