Much Love to My Kitty...

This is Cheyanne, she is my angel, but totally her Daddies kitty. She is a doll, with silky calico fur and a purr to warm your heart. So I have to give props to my sweety... but, they still isn't a dog.














Here she is looking pissy.













Dylan with His Kitty, Hobbes. Like in Calvin and Hobbes.









She Thinks She is the Baby

I want a dog...

I have been without my own dog for, what... since 1999. A long time. I am a huge animal person. I have had cats since moving out of my parents house. Cats are awesome, great to cuddle and nice because they can basically take care of themselves.

But Dogs... man they are wonderful. Mans best friend is not just a saying. I long for doggie kisses, having my pup lay by my feet as I blog, taking him on walks, his head on my lap when we are on the couch, following me around the house, playing ball, you name it. To me, the perfect dog is a bigger dog, the little yippers like Chihuahua's and Maltese are not dogs, those are just glorified cats who bark. I mean you look at a Chihuahua wrong and they shake. No, no this is not a dog. A real dog is one you can wrestle with, throw a ball or frisbee around, take them to the lake and have them swim after sticks. The pure joy that radiates of out a dog when they play, or when you get their special spot when you pet them is priceless.

I want a Golden, or a German Sheppard, or well any bigger dog. So, Jess, you say, you have a house now, get a dog!

Alas, I can't. We are renting and the landlords forbid dogs, we even had to finagle them letting us keep our cat. With a 300 dollar pet deposit later, we got to keep Cheyanne, and that was a challenge. Apparently the last few renters they had here, their dogs tore up the house, the yard, got loose and chased cars down the street, you name it. SO I understand why they a leary about them.

But we are good tenants. They have already been by to fix a few minor things, and have complimented us on the house, and how the yard is beautimus. So MAYBE we can sweettalk them later on into letting us have a pooch. The yard we have has a 8 foot privacy fence, and the actual pack yard is gigantic. Perfect for fetching and playing around.

The actual main reason is selfish, I want a puppy that loves me the most. All of our animals have always gravitated to The Man. They have all been female as well. So I want a boy dog to be MY buddy.

But another reason is for Dylan. I have read and even seen how well he responds to animals. Our cats make a wide orbit from him, but a big ol silly doggy for him to chase and play with would be wonderful. There is a lot of talk about Autism Therapy Dogs, and this got me to thinking. What if I got a dog, and trained to to be Dylan's companion?

Reguardless of my motif, I want a dog... sooo bad.

Home Remedies Can Kiss My...

OK so, the pain is getting retardedly unbearable. The cortizone cream, and the calamine lotion are only doing so much. At my wits end, I google Fire Ant Bites. I read pages and pages of interesting articles about what can help with the pain. Stuff you can do at home! Huzzah!

Picture this... frustrated me on the floor with three seperate containers filled with various items. I lay a towel on the floor and gingerly place my tootsies on the towel.

Experiment #1- Salt and Water in a thick paste.
I search the house for the Mortens salt container. I mix up the concoction, but to my dismay I have to use Light Salt, because that is the only kind I use. So anyhow, I mix up the salt and warm water with a spoon and make a thick slurry.

Experiment #2-Half an Onion... you read right, Half an onion.
For the second time I run to the kitchen and grab a huge Vidalia out from the fridge. Huzzah everything I need. I cut it in half and run back to the bedroom.

Experiment #3- Baking Soda and Water Paste
I search high and low for the baking soda. Dammit, I got rid of it before the move.

Experiment #4- Dishwasher Liquid.
Again, I race to the kitchen and look for the detergent. I have the powdered kind. Great. So I get the idea of mixing that up with water, basically the same right? I mix that up with warm water and make a paste.



Outcome #1- The Salt Slurry
Reaction- Screaming. I totally forgot about the open blisters, and I just placed salt in the wounds. I run to the bathroom and wash it off as quickly as possible. Not discouraged, I go back into the room.
Verdict- Suck my Ass, you f-ers.

Outcome #2- The Vidalia Method
Reaction- Horror. The blisters have had time to seal shut after the salt invasion, and now the onion juice dissolves the scab! GODDAMMIT! Screaming in even more pain, I race to the bathroom and thoroughly scrub my stanky, stingy, onion feet.
Verdict- Acid in Onion Juice Eats Skin.. Tonight on CNN.

Outcome #3- The Baking Soda Paste
Reaction- Dissapointment.
Verdict- No F-ing Clue.

Outcome #4- The Dishwasher "Liquid"
Reaction- Huh... I put the slimy paste on the toes and feet and wait. Something cool happens. My feet start tingling. This worries me at first, then I get sidetracked by the lovely lemon smell emminating from my toesies. Nice. I have great taste in Dishwashing Detergent. Then the water I mixed in with the stuff evaporates and/or soaks into my skin to dry into a crusty shell that I flake off. Hmm, even more interesting. I wash off my lemony tootsies and wait for the inevitable scream/sting effect. Not so much.
Verdict- Not bad, not bad at all.

It worked I have to say. The last experiment not only made the sting/itchiness go away, but my feet smell fabulous and got rid of the oniony disgusting-ness. That and the swelling went down and I have a pleasant tingly feeling.

The only bad thing, is I have no idea how many chemicals I just put on my skin. So I will continue with the experimentation tomorrow, or be FOUND DEAD IN MY BED DUE TO SKIN POISONING!

Hopefully I will live to blog another day. Pray for me.

An Addendum on the Last Post... *Warning Ugly Feet Alert*

Warning... Warning... Warning... Ugly Feet Alert.


Ants, I hate them all. This is a photo journal about how I was a retard.

I was sweeping the sidewalks off from the grass we mowed yesterday, and I was barefoot. . I never wear shoes, because hey, I like bare feet.


Anywho, I was sweeping along, and all the sudden I felt something crawl up on my feet. I look down, and start to scream, I had stepped in a fire ant mound. The little buggers were everywhere, so I am running around, speaking in tongues and smacking my feet with the broom.

I run out back, grab the ant killer and proceed to exterminate them. Only then, after the adrenaline wore off, did I realize, HOLY SHIT my FEET HURT! They are burning and itching.

So Remember kids, always wear shoes... or else.

And then Murder Flashed in my Eyes....

I AM A GODDESS! Ok seriously though. I just spent the better part of the lunch hour killing tiny innocent creatures. ANTS! Innocent my ass-hole. They bite, they steal the cats food and they are icky icky icky. Yesterday The Man took Dylan and I shopping for household stuff. I got a lawn mower, a patio set, lots of food, a hanging plant and some decorative lawn lights. This Man knows how to please his woman, yes, yes he does.

So yesterday, armed from head to toe with bug spray, I traverse the football field that is my backyard to mow. I am the Garden Goddess, the venerable Martha fucking Stewart of Lawn care. In the five days it had been since we mowed last, the grass in the back grew, I swear to you, a foot. So I am out there mowing, happy as a clam.

Wait, wait, I am getting back to the horrible creatures. I run over 6 ant mounds in my back yard. As the whirling blades of death crash into their little cities, ant bodies and egg sacks fly everywhere. Fire blazes in my eyes. Gleefully I run to the garage after I finish the lawn, and grab the Spectre-cide and killer. Armed with a measuring cup and the hose, I proceed to commit Ant-i-cide.

The feeling of power is intense. Here I am the Lawn-Care Goddess, wrecking needless havoc on her tiny minions. MUAHAHAHAHHAA. I am an angry diety!

In other buggy news, the mosquitos are getting atrocious. The little fuckers are everywhere. Today when I was walking through the living room, Dylan seems to have a spot on his forehead, walking to him to get a closer look, I see that it is a huge ass, Mothra sized mosquito. I instantly smash it, and blood oozed from the crushed body. Now my son's little forehead is smeared with his own blood.

Before it was war, now it is Armegeddon. Beware you nasty ass, disease ridden pests. Your days are numbered. It was not that bad when it was just the Man and I covered in bites. No you had to go and attack my son. Your days are f-ing numbered.

Life with a Special Boy.

When Dylan was born, he was 'normal'. I use that in parentheses because there really is no such thing as normal. He was a fussy, colic-y, lovable little squirt. He met all of his milestones early, right up until about 5 months of age. Things started to get a little odd at that time. Before where he was starting to mimic noises we were doing, he stopped. He was very rigid, and could be left alone for long periods of time without doing much of anything. Not that we did, but The Man and I would be in the room and Dylan would be on the floor. He would just chill and look at an object like he was writing a thesis on it.

His head had always been large. This being the main factor in why I had to have a c-section after 24 hours of labor. He wouldn't go through. But later on in his baby-hood, we were starting to be confused about why he was so behind. He would do this military like crawl instead of being up on all fours..ect. He took him to a neurologist and they did a Cat-scan on him to see if there was any abnormalities. Nothing. We went on and on trying to see what the problems were, until we finally got him to see a early childhood psychiatrist.

He was pronounced as Autistic at 14 months of age. Both The Man and I were floored, yet we both saw this coming. He doesn't talk, but he makes a lot of noises. He used to rarely look us in the eye, but he is getting better. He has no way of communicating what he wants and needs to us at all. No pointing, nothing. He started to get lessons of a sort from the Early Childhood Prevention School in Bellevue, Nebraska. This was helping, but not really enough to make significant progress like we hoped.

Hopefully here in Texas, it will be a better program. It is hard taking D out to places. If he gets frustrated, he kind of fusses loudly and screams. People look at The Man and I like we are horrible parents. Shaking their heads and whispers are usually what we get. I just want to yell at them, and say, " He is Autistic, and still learning, give him a break." I am glad he is clueless to this behavior. But The Man and I aren't.

The worst is the Grandparents. Ecspecially on my side. My parents call all the time, have you tried this, is he doing this yet? On and on. And we say, no. The Man's parents are awesome about him and his quirk. I hate calling is a disorder, a disease.. whatever. He has quirks. I am hoping he will progress enough to be a normal adult.

My son is NOT RAINMAN. This frustrates the hell out of me when people bring that up. Dustin Hoffman did a great job in that movie, but that is not EVERY case of autism. His was a portrayal of a major major case.

My son is special. Yes he has special needs, but he is just plain special. He is cheerful, funny, sweet and cuddly. He tries so hard, so super very very awesomely hard. I love this the most about him. His constant persistance. His eyes are so expressive. His smile radiates such pure joy, that it makes everyone else smile around him. He is an amazing little man. He loves to run, to climb on the couch , and to eat. Juicy juice is his drug of choice, but milk is his friend. He loves bread, and anything with starch. Tater Tots and French fries are his favorites, with a hot dog chaser.

When he sleeps, he is an angel who snores like a chainsaw and drools like a leaky faucet. I love my son, my special boy. He may be special needs, but I have a special need for him in my life.

Real Ronery...

On the movie, Team America, World Police, there is a song sung by the bad guy, I'm So Ronery. I feel that way now. We moved to a new state, got a house, meeting new people, yet our life seems to be going back to the way it was. I am at home all day, watching my son. The Man comes home for lunch, then leaves again, Dylan and I chill, then I lay him down for a nap. The man comes home, I wake up the boy, then make dinner and we all veg til it's time to give Dylan his bath and get ready for bed.

I know it doesn't help us being extremely broke at the moment. The move really killed our savings and credit card. This being said, we can't go out and do things. The Man's job as a military instructor is tiring. He doesn't want to do anything but have dinner and watch football or play his video game. Sometimes he doesn't even play with his son. Don't get me wrong he is a great Dad! He is amazing with Dylan. It's just that I am expected to do EVERYTHING with Dylan. From getting him juice to changing his diaper.

I need some friends, stat. I thought things were going well with Sean's supervisor, Kate. But, apparently she doesn't want to hang out or anything. Never gives me a call. She has a one year old, also named Dylan, whom she spends her time with and her husband.

Ok so this has turned out to be a boo-hoo whiney post about how miserable I am. I am sorry! Please don't go! I promise it'll get better. Wait, where are you going? Stop! Ok there you are.

OK I am done.. hehe.

Alas, Saturday...

Dylan and I are home alone today. My hubby had to pull dorm duty, which he is none to happy about. Dylan is watching Elmo and Misty and I are chilling in the computer room. I don't ever worry about leaving him 'alone'. There is nothing for him to get into, and he loves his movie. I sit here wide eyed in front of the computer, slowly scratching the skin off of my legs to keep them from itching. It works for a minute, but then feels worse. I think I am going to go take a bath in calamine lotion. I hate all of this itching. I dream of the first cold snap to kill all of those damned mosquitoes. It's just the ants I have to worry about then.

I guess I'll play City of Heroes for a bit.

Die all of you mother-humping bugs!

So, I have been slowly eaten alive by mosquitoes and ants lately. Texas is the breeding ground for biting, annoying, poisonous, gin-normous bugs. My legs and arms look like the beaches of Normandy after d-day. I am serious! My yard is covered in antish fox holes. This is WAR! As soon as we can afford it, or before I go crazy, I am going to buy some ant killer and kill the fuckers. Right now I am almost to the point of drowning them in gasoline and toasting them to hell. HAHA take that you monster ants! The reason I don't is because my yard is pretty and I don't want scorch marks. But a chick can only take so much. I will be keeping everyone in the loop of the Ant War. Stay tuned. Until then, always carry bug spray, those fuckers are everywhere.

I Hate it When the Man Decides to Quit Smoking...

So yea, the husband and I smoke, often. Every once in a while he gets a wild hair up his rectum to quit. So when Dylan and I are in the house, and he has a few days off in a row, he goes cold turkey. Not only do I have to do everything in the house, and take care of him, he is extremely cranky. He wants attention, but I am busy. If something needs to be done, guess who has to go do it. He lays in bed all day and grumbles and bitches.

We have a whole months worth of Chantix, which is a stop smoking medication. Does he take it? Nope. I think he likes to torture himself. I dunno. This rant is over.

Random Thoughts From My Past

When I was in high school, I had a very hard time. I was depressed, angry, lonely, and confused. I wish I could go back, and be the person I am now. Would life have turned out differently? If I was the happy-go-lucky, strong, funny, intelligent woman I am now back then, how would life had changed.

Things happen for a reason I believe. If I would have been different then, my life would not be the same now. I have dreams about High School all the time, scary and sad dreams. I am usually watching my old self in different situations and yelling at myself to react differently. My old self cannot hear the things I am trying to say.

Does this happen to others? I am sure it does. The Hindsight Complex maybe, to give it a name. I had few friends, and fewer enemies. I kind of drifted, and was never accepted the way I wanted to be. I was in love a few times, or so I thought. My teen-aged brain felt in love, but now that I know what real love is, I realize it was just infatuation.

I am so happy now. My life has gone in a good direction. I was in College, where I lost my identity. The Air Force, where I found myself. A civilian, dating a military man. A wife. A mother to a special needs child.

I am not the person I was, I am greatful for that. But, I wish I could return to that time, and show everyone who I really am.

I want to tell them, " See me, really look at me. Can you love me now? Can you accept me now? Can you give this lonely child a friend and confidante? Can you look beyond the hurt eyes and see the soul underneath?"

Maybe... maybe it is a good thing that I am so far away. If I were there now, as the person I am now, I would feel the same. Maybe distance has made me grow.

We will never know, I will never know. But it is always nice to dream, then wake up and face reality and smile.

God works in Mysterious Ways...

About 6 months ago, we had to put my cat, Brooklynn to sleep. She was suffering from feline lukemia. She was my baby, my sweetheart, my little love. She was silver grey, with orange markings. My favorite feature about her was an orange toe she had. Just one toe on her right foot. My husband and I called it her Lord of the Rings Toe. The descision to put her down was the hardest one I have ever had to do. Her and my other cat, Cheyanne were sisters of a sort, we both got them at the same time. Chey was Sean's cat, and Brookie was mine.

Flash forward to 6 months later. We move into our new house in Wichita Falls, Texas. Life is going wonderfully! My husband and I are sitting on the front porch when a kitty runs across the road. We both call to her and she meows back, pitifully. It takes about 5 minutes when she finally comes up to us. It was very dark and kind of foggy outside. So I run inside, grab some cat food and bring it to her. She immediately starts chowing down like she hasn't eaten in weeks.

Sean goes back into the house, and I stay outside watching her, meowing to her and she meows back to me. I finally feel that she will let me pet her and so I do. She instantly starts loving it! From the light of the garage, I can kind of see her coloring. It seemed to be dark grey with some lighter patches. This kind of perplexes me. I do an evaluation on her condition. Very skinny, and I could tell she was about 5 or six months old. I go to get Sean and he comes back outside to pet her as well.

He turns on the porch light and we both were floored. She was a silver grey with orange markings. The kicker was on her right foot, one toe was completely orange. Just like Brooklynn. We both couldn't believe it! It seems that my sweet baby girl was back, but in a new, healthy kitty body. This was 4 days ago and she has been around ever since. She takes off for a few hours but usually comes back.

We named her Misty, because of the fog that night. I almost wanted to call her Brooklynn 2. I know she isn't the same cat, but it seemed that God gave my family a second chance with my little darling. Thank you God, this means more to me than you know.

Well Hello There...

So you have found me. This is my little slice of the net, get comfy, you might be here a while. This is my adventures in boredom. So who am I, you are asking myself. Well wouldn't you like to know. I am a Mom, a wife, a sister, a daughter, a cousin, niece and other titles I forget, or refuse to acknowledge. Oh yea, I am a friend. That's important. So stay tuned for my life on net, my Adventures in life... love and of course Boredom.