Monday, April 29, 2013

The Tooth Fairy? How about the Menstral Fairy

I was just sitting here thinking about all those fairy tales full of rainbows and glitter. You know?  Like the Easter Bunny who brings you a whole basket full of chocolate only to have your parents dole it out sparingly as they see fit.  Leave it to my mom to take all the joy out of a good ole traditional egg hunt to celebrate the risen Christ (insert confused raised eyebrow here) with rules about not eating Snickers for breakfast.

Or  how about the wonderful jolly fat man who brings presents every year under the illusion that you must behave.



[Give me a break! I KNEW I didn't have to worry about being good because Santa ALWAYS visited my cousin Craig and if he could get something out of the stingy, judgmental old fart I knew I was golden!]

In remembering my favorite myths and fables let's not neglect the tooth fairy.
Who in God's name came up with this whole concept?  Money exchanged for body parts?  Oh geeeeez!  Do we wonder where this whole "cash for kidney" black market thing originated?  And let's talk about the guy living down at the bus station.  If he got money for every tooth he'd lost I'm sure he'd have at least enough for a nice appliance box and a tarp by now.

What makes much more sense to me is a Menstrual Fairy.  Ask any woman (and especially any teenage girl) and she'll tell you that waking up to a ten dollar bill or maybe a little present once a month would do wonders in keeping us all from wanting to kill Eve.
Those dreaded cramps and back ache could be nicely pacified with a bottle of wine from the Menstrual Fairy.  Bloating could almost be alleviated with a wonderful box of Godiva chocolate.
Irritability would most likely disappear with a hot stone massage from the local spa.
So many wrongs could be righted.
Countless "unfairs" would be a little less so.
Who do I need to contact?  Is there a council for new and improved folklore?  An annual meeting or something?  An address in which to send our suggestions because I have a few.  I mean we could totally replace that Sandman dude.  No one even neeeeeds him anymore with Lunesta on the market!
Who's with me on this?
Let's hear it for the Menstrual Fairy!

Well, until I get my day in court until I appear before the Great Council for Determining Childhood Falsehoods  we must suffer these transgressions silently hoping for justice...and by we I mean you because I've had a hysterectomy.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

My mom was the Slug-Bug master!

Grown ups are liars.
And they lie about the stupidest things.

Playing with fire will make you wet the bed.  Not true.  If this were true my brother Joey and my cousin Russell would've drown before they were 8.

Masturbating will make you go blind.  Ok, again, if this were true there'd be no boy over the age of 14 with any sight left at all.

You must wait 30 minutes after you eat before going back in the water or you'll get cramps.
If you cross your eyes they'll get stuck like that.
Don't swallow your gum because it takes 7 years for it to digest.
That's crap.
Going out in the cold with wet hair will make you sick.

Ok, I can get that sometimes ignorance is just passed down from one generation to the next (you should see my Uncle Carl), and that maybe old wives tales are just repeated for entertainment purposes.

But food lies are my biggest pet peeve!  

So I'm going to clear some things up.  
I knew, even as a kid that these were lies.  I thought once I got my membership card to Adultland all these things would suddenly become clear to me.  Nope.  Instead it made me realize that grown ups are just bored and have a twisted sense of humor.  It's kinda like a game of Slug-Bug except instead of punching each other they see who can get more kids to eat stuff they don't like...and here is the magic phrase they use to do it:

"That's the best part!" 

THIS is the best part.
So you're sitting there, minding your own business, eating all the middles out of the Oreos and throwing away the nasty, crumbly, overly chocolate outsides when you hear, "What are you doing?  The cookie is the best part!"
Ummmm, no.
It is NOT the best part.  
If it were the best part then the genius over at Oreo who came up with Double Stuff would be washing cars for a living. 


Or how about the fact that we all KNOW the icing is the best part of the cupcake. Try leaving any part of that cake on your plate after you've licked all the goodness off and you'll hear it, the biggest grown-up lie of them all.
"Why didn't you eat the cake?  That's the best part!"
No it is NOT.
If the cake is the best part then the idiom The icing on the cake would make no sense at all.
Which one of these would you rather have?

Let's not forget pizza.  Mmmmmmm.  I love pizza!  I can eat at least 49 slices a day and probably more.  But I only like the good part.  The yummy, cheesy middle part.  Not the crust on the outside.
This is what a pizza looks like when I'm done.

Let an adult catch a glimpse of that plate and Oh Boy!  You can mouth the words as they say it, "The crust is the best part!"
Oh good!  Then you can have all mine.
As a matter of fact, I'll eat all the yummy part and you just wait til the end and have yourself your own little Pizza Crust Fest!

LIES!  These are all lies.  Lies told to kids for reasons I still do not understand.
Lies I DO NOT tell my children!

The ignorance in this family STOPS at my generation!
................uh, I may need to rethink the previous statement.........................

Anyway, for all you under 10's out there, ANYTIME you hear the phrase, "What are you doing?  That's the best part!" ignore it and continue eating.  You're only a pawn in a sick, twisted, adult version of Slug-Bug.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Try not to poop on yourself today and have a cupcake

Life is what you make it.  I believe this.  I know very negative people who live the most miserable lives and I know people with very little who could not be happier.  It's all in your perspective.  I really try to choose joy always.
Do I?  
Hell no, but to help me remember I had this verse tattooed on my ass I got this tattoo:

Psalm 188:24- I will rejoice and be glad in it.

It helps me to remember to choose joy.
Every day.
In all situations.

Because really?  When your 18 year old son decides it's time to teach your 13 year old daughter how to drive and they put a Pontiac through the the front of your house what else can you do but laugh?  (true story) Well, actually the first thing you do is get a glass of wine but then you laugh. 

To help me remember some things I'm thankful for I have my "It's a good day when..." art journal.  On each page I try to paint something I'm grateful for.  Here are a few:

Ok, this never happens.

It's always a good day when you're not dead yet.

He has a LOT to say to me.  A LOT!
Messy hands=great day
I love rain!

This is pretty self explanatory, right?

Talking on the phone is NOT my fave.
I'd rather stay home.

I'm addicted to sugar.
Ok, this never happens either.
That's NOT gray hair.

Ahhhh, the Frio River.

So basically, if I wake up, it's raining, I eat a cupcake for breakfast, paint something, God is calling me an idiot and 
I have not shat myself it's the 

Sunday, April 21, 2013

Jesus saved my soul but roller derby was a close second.

I live with fibromyalgia.  It's awesome!  For those of you who still believe this is a made-up condition that doesn't really exist, I totally agree...until I wake up.
A lot of people ask me what it feels like (including doctors) and I have found myself trying to come up with an explanation.  Here's what I've got so far:

I am a retired roller girl

Retired so that I have more time for Art, my lover (see previous post).

Roller derby is a sport that digs itself into your soul...
...and it hurts.
(Just like Fibromyalgia)
Basically, the goal is to kill each other:

You can see here that Gwen wants to kill me...
...and I want to kill her.

Now, imagine how that feels the next morning.  Like someone took a bat and beat you with it. I don't mean the cute beady-eyed kind from the cave but the pine-tar kind that can knock the skin right off a baseball.  Ya see?  Fibromyalgia hurts   just like roller derby hurts.  Derby just gave me a reason for waking up every morning in pain, almost like I earned it or deserved it.  It didn't make me hurt less, it just made it easier for my brain to understand.

Last night I went to my first bout since retiring.  It was great!  It was great to see my derby sisters out there killing each other and it was great to sit behind the bench not on it.  I didn't miss it.  I was so glad.  Don't get me wrong, I LOVE the sport but last night I realized that chapter in my life is closed.

So, for all those girls who woke up this morning 
feeling like they'd been hit by a Mac truck 
all I can say is:
Thank you Hurricane Alley Roller Derby

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

All you can really ask for is a friend who calls you stupid

I have friends.  I don't like most of them but I've got some.  I mean, you gotta have them, right?  It's a rule or something?

See how miserable I am when I'm with them?
(this is me with Flint and Mari and Pearl.  I like them)

 Ok, so I like some of them.  I do have a very small "friend" circle though. Very small.  And while you're thinking right now of your friends and what they mean to you, you can be sure that it's not at all what a friend means to me.  

See?  I don't do high maintenance.  I can't handle it (can't means won't in almost every single situation in life unless you're trying to fly).  In the past I've had friends who need to talk to me every single day and hang out with me at LEAST once a week and blah, blah, blah. Ugh!  NO!  Yuck!  I have Gordito for that.  I like him WAY better than anyone else so if I have free time I want to spend it with him.  I've REALLY tried to weed those needy people out of my life simply because they need more from me than I'm willing to give.  It's only fair to them and to me (mostly me) to let them fly away to find other freaks with a weird sense of need for female companionship...some of them are still hanging on but for the most part I'm in a good "friend" place.
If you're wondering right now if you're one of the freaks hanging are.
I struggle a little with introvertism. Oh...according to Spell Checker that's not a word. 
So, I have a condition known as reclusivitis.  Well, again, Spell Checker disagrees but it's only because Spell Checker has never experienced what I experience on a daily basis. I do LIKE to go out and do stuff occasionally (not really) but I mostly just like the IDEA of it. So to give you an example of what goes on in my head here's what happened today:

 I saw this on Facebook

And my I-like-having-friends part of my brain said, "Oh, that might be fun.  I like some of those girls and I DO need to get out of the house.  I'll text it to Gwen and see what she thinks."
So I texted Gwen.
A million times in 15 seconds:

By the time Gwen got to her phone from the 56 or 70 texts in a row of the crazy conversation going on in my head I'd already talked myself out of it.  Fortunately for me, Gwen knows me and she basically said, "You're stupid.  We're going." and that's why she's in the circle.  

Of course, we may not go.  It depends on if the stars line up or Jesus comes back before then or her kid pukes on her shoes or whatever but I know she understands me and that's all I can really ask for.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

If Art were a man Gordito would have to live in the garage.

Now lets get to the good stuff!
I love art.
I am addicted to art.
I am obsessed with art.
I can NOT get enough art.

I'm late for work every single day because I'm on Instagram looking at art.  I never get dinner done in a timely manner because I'm blog-hopping on the computer from one artist to the next.  I never get my laundry caught up because I'm upstairs in my studio making art.
It's a problem.  I realize it's a problem but please DO NOT schedule an intervention because I LIKE it.  A LOT.  Too much?  Yes, but I don't care. There's no baby awaiting a diaper change anymore and who cares if Gordito has to match up his own socks because I didn't get to it?
A few of you will understand and some of you will think it's ridiculous...because it is.
 A ridiculous life to live and I'm right in the middle of it smiling from ear to ear!

Who the heck is Candy?

A little about little ole me...
I'm a mom.  A GREAT one I might add.  How do I KNOW I'm a great mom?  I have 2 perfect kids that's how!

Brock my son is 24.  He is the cutest thing EVER!  He's a Senior Airman in the US Air Force [insert proud mom face here].  He is married to a beautiful girl named Lauren and they promise not to give me grandkids for a while.  They live in Abilene, TX where he is stationed.
Beighly is my High School Senior.  She is amazing.  She has had countless obstacles in her 18 years and each of them has grown and shaped her into something I can not yet put into words.  She lives with purpose.  She works hard, stands up for what she believes in, and has the most wonderful sense of humor.  The amount of self-confidence she possesses is uncanny for a girl of her age.  God has great things for her and I'm so glad to be along for the ride.
John (my Gordito) is my best friend.  This blog is not long enough and I don't have the time to list all of his amazing qualities or the perfect life that we share every day.  Just trust me when I say, "Life is good."