Please don't leave

You are laying here on my stomach now & I wish you could always be. I can feel you struggle for air and I feel your little heart beating. I can not believe you will die soon woobie. What happened? I don't understand. It all just seems to have happened so fast.
Tomorrow you will most likely be gone.
I wonder if you are scared. I wonder if you look at me and think why am I not helping you. Do you know that I would do absolutely anything to keep you with me?
You are not just another dog. I don't know what I'm going to do without you. My heart hurts so bad. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. This feeling of helplessness and total utter uselessness. I don't want to accept that it's your time. Your time is here with me.
I am being selfish. I don't want you to suffer and be in pain. I hope you know that daddy and I are trying to make you as comfortable as possible. I don't know how to make it easy for you to go. Maybe me crying like a baby isn't good for you to hear. I don't know.
I wish I knew what happens when you die. Is it the same for animals and people? Will your spirit be here?
Please open your eyes and be okay again Woobie. I have become this mushy ball of tears and snot in pajamas. You are sleeping now and making these little squeaking noises I keep checking to feel if your breathing. I hope that in your final breath you are at peace and you are not scared.
Mommy will always be with you.
I will love you until my dying day my woobie. Thank you for being in my life. Thank you for always listening to my problems. Thank you for always making us laugh. No other dog will ever have the place in my heart that you hold. You have watched Faith grow up. You have stood by my side through all the rough times. And you have been there to find happiness with me. I hope you have had a great life. And I hope that I have been a good mom for you. I love you Woobie. I always will till the day I die. I will miss you so much. I can barely breath now writing this. Goodbye my Woobie.
You're a good boy. I love you.

Release the hounds

I know that when my bra comes off that's the end of the day for me. I know it has a purpose but it bothers me. Its black and expensive and very supportive but fuck its annoying. So when it comes off no more venturing outside no more anything really. There is NO better feeling than walking through the door after a bad day and being home. In the place where I take makeup off and put on my fatty pants that hang off my hips if a breeze blows they fall. And my big oversized Death Bed Confessions Tshirt. Hair back, bra off, slippers on.
A hot cup of coffee made by my immortal beloved. And even if just for a few moments in time it is PEACE.

Then on to laundry cooking cleaning and of course tending to my woobie. Oh yea there is my 13 year old. But she is a teenager now so she just kind of takes up room as if she was a night stand or chair. On tumblr and her web comics. Occasionally she will participate in a joke at my expense. She has the same exact laugh that I have. And she looks like me too (I'm sorry pud) oh yea her nickname is Pud. She is super smart and damn funny she smells weird at times and eats everything. Her name is Faith and she was a little miracle. After being told I could not have children. Poof there she was. Even though my husband isn't her biological dad, he is her father since the moment she saw him. She has loved him ever since. They are both smartasses. And they are funny as hell together. Like Pinky and the Brain. We all dance around like idiots sometimes and it's not pretty but it's fun.

They are my cheerleaders yes even woobie. There to cheer me on no matter what. Even after a day of just wanting to run away or thinking my head might explode they are therapy. Faith on the love seat with all the food in the house infront of her. My immortal beloved on the right side of our couch woobie in the middle and me on the left watching some Big Bang Theory.
They are my peace, my comfy time, my home. Thanks guys.

Throw grandma from the train

I'm not sure how I really truly feel about my grandmother. I know you are supposed to love and respect your elders. And grandmas are cute and sweet and treat you so good. Right ?
Not this old bitch. If anyone is reading this you are thinking what kind of horrible bitch am I to write such things. I think if my grandma went to hell Satan himself would pack a bag and runaway. She's that bad.

My grandma Vicky was always a bitch even as a young girl. She was a drama queen and jealous of her 3 sisters and 2 brothers. Whenever something happened to them something HAD to happen to her. Most of them are dead now but the last remaining few can't stand her either. My grandfather died when my dad was 9 years old. We are told he had a heart attack and died in the middle of 67th street Brooklyn as they were talking to eachother from the window of our house. He was professing his love for her. WRONG!
The real story is they used to fight all the time. And my grandfather died in the arms of his mistress in her apartment. Yes that's messed up but to this day all I have ever heard were lies from Vicky so who knows.
My father met my mother and Vicky hated her from the start. She would tell my mother that he wasn't home he was with other women (sometimes they were right next to eachother just to see what she'd say). I was born then 4 years later my sister Janeen was born. My mom worked like 10 hour days and my dad was Italian in Brooklyn so he was an auto mechanic So Vicky said I will take care of the children if I live here and I won't pay rent. So my parents had no choice and they agreed. Vicky raised me.
She used to show me pictures of other women and tell me that they were my mother and the stupid Irish bitch that I call mother is not my real one. So being told that I can remember being terrified of my mom when she came home. Like who is this women? Did she kidnap me? I tried to run a way when I was 5 I put clothes in my poochie bag and ran to the only place I knew Angelo's pizza which was 2 blocks away. Of course they gave me food and let me hang out and eventually my dad got me and beat the ever loving shit out of me.
I went to a catholic school called Regina Pacis where I was stuck with my cousin Christine who was a little slow. I was her bodyguard. Vicky told me never let anything happen to Christine. And I didn't. I beat kids up for making fun of her and in return the nuns beat the shit out of me. This went on until high school. She was my blood. That's all the reason I needed.

So we move to staten island where Vicky lives in the side apartment of my mothers house. The same arrangement as Brooklyn. But by now I'm a little older and very fat. Vicky thinks the cure for anything cancer, arthritis , aids whatever is hot tea. I have been drinking fucking Lipton hot tea my entire fucking life. All we ever did was have food shoved in our faces. So my sister and I were the fattest kids ever. Vicky would rearrange my moms kitchen. When she came home she no idea where anything was lol. Vicky would curse the shit out of my mom while she was at work and cook all her food and invite everyone over to eat it. My cousins would come over and they were allowed to go play in my bedroom with my toys while I had to sit on the couch and not move. I was forced to watches Ryan's hope and all that crap when I wasn't in school. Half the time I didn't go cuz she didn't want to be lonely.

Where was my Dad in all this and why isn't he telling his mother off?
When he grew up she told him it was his Job to take care of her and that's what his father wouldve wanted.
Vicky was really big on brain washing. If my sister and I didn't do what she wanted she would run to the phone and pick it up and say "do you want me to call your father so he can get upset and die like his father did? Do you want him to die?" of course we did whatever she wanted.
Birthdays and Christmases came and My family would give her gifts and she would open them and if she didn't like it she would throw it at you and yell to take it back. She does that to this very day. She screams at people in stores she curses out all of us. When my sister and I became 13 my parents felt we no longer needed a babysitter so the shit hit the fan. Years and years past still the same mean woman that only pretends to like us when she needs something. Vicky won't call my husband by his name D'Artagnan instead she calls him "the husband" and my daughter Faith is "the kid" or the bitch bastard. Vicky is going deaf now so she really screams and she is so mean to everyone still. But now that I am 34 and I've taken some classes in home health aid and pca I know the stages of aging. And I apply them to her and it all makes sense. So I do feel bad for her at times cuz I think of those classes. But then she calls me a stupid bitch and yep they all go away.

Hoofa-Lu

Opposites really do attract. No thanks to Paula Abdul. Besides my mother-in- law whom I adore, my husband D'Artagnan is possibly the most intelligent man ever. He knows everything. Politics, religion, sports, world affairs, telecommunications and all that crap, math, history, he knows how to put stuff together, he can cook, and he never smells bad EVER !!
He used to be in the United States Marine Corps which just fascinates me so I ask a lot of questions. All the physical and mental training and discipline our Marines go through, it takes a certain kind of person to do that. I will always admire and respect him for it.

I try to hold intelligent conversation with him on occasion but it usually ends up with me not understanding what the hell he is talking about.
I think inside my head in place of my brain sits one of those cymbal clapping wind up monkeys. But mine is dressed all cute. And he knows when my brain is fizzing out and changes the subject or shows me something shiny.
My husband is the best thing to come along into my life. He means the absolute world to me. We have had ups and downs but who hasn't? For every argument we get over I think it brings us closer together. I don't know what I would do without him.
I can be myself around him and he thinks I'm silly. We still have not farted all willy nilly in front of each other. If I fart while I am asleep IT DOESN'T COUNT !!
If anyone watches Big Bang Theory then it's kinda like my husband is Leonard and I am Penny (we both wish I looked as good as Penny but I'm working on it). He becomes this cute little nerdy kid when it comes to comics and collectibles and star wars and all that kinda stuff. I am the most supportive wife ever. I jump on the nerd band wagon and order super hero shirts and crap.
He has had a very difficult journey in this life. He has come such a long way and he did it with dignity. I don't think I would've gotten through half of his life without giving up. So with that said I super wife MUST provide him the little happinesses that he may have missed. Like piñatas and stupid decorations. And all the cake and all the presents for all the holidays. I know he understands why I do the things I do. I love him plain and simple.
I don't talk all fancy and I have no vast knowledge of vocabulary or anything for that matter. I can do makeup like nobody's business. I can disinfect and clean and I can do a cardio workout for 2 hours and not die. But I have lived most of my life in my own world. I have had a very difficult time trusting people. I'm one of the lucky ones. I met and fell in love and married my best friend.

Electric man

So I am 34 years old (tear) and I still to this very day need to completely cover my body with the blanket when I go to bed. As long as my entire body is under the sheet and blanket up to my head, I am safe. Although on the occasion when I hear a noise I am known to completely protect myself with blanket even if it means to the point of suffocation. I'm sure I need mental help but hey I bet this rings true for the majority.
So it all started when I lived in Brooklyn I was about 5 or 6. I Remember waking up screaming because of a dream about this electric man. He is just a figure of a man that is made out of what I think looks like lightning. There is that crackling humming sound kinda like a bug zapper that got some bugs on it. In my dream he walks around my room and waits for the blanket to slip off or for any inch of my body to come out from under the blanket. Then he grabs me and I am just being fried and it's really painful but i usually jump up before I die. What makes it worse is that if I am completely protected by blanket he stands in the doorway and watches me the whole night until the blanket comes off so he can kill me.

I have no friggin clue what it means or represents. All I know is I have had this dream as recent ago as 4/10. I think I will have it for the rest of my life. That crazy bluish and white squiggly electric lines without a voice or body. Just a shape of a man and crackling noises.
It's been for over 30 years now. I still can't make a connection or can think of something that would trigger this nonsense. I know everyone in my family has heard about the electric man. They look at me like I'm nuts. My husband is tired of hearing about this dream Maybe I will get used to it but it is doubtful. I'm sure the whole blanket protection thing stems from my mom which most of my crap does.
But Damn you to hell electric man stay out of my dreams !!

Woobie Boobie

So I am NOT an author or a distinguished scholar truth be told I didn't even graduate high school (thank you GED). I'm just some chick with a head packed full of stupid ideas and funny thoughts. Thoughts that I only think are funny most of the time.
So I'm not here to impress or seek approval I'm just jotting some crap down.

I have a chihuahua that is about 10 years old now. I call him woobie. His real name is Pito. But I give him stupid names all the time. So he has about 40 by now. Words can not express my love for this stinky,chubby, bug eyed, cute ball of mush.

He was found by an idiot behind a tire of a moving truck in Brooklyn 10 years ago. Woobie was skinny with ribs sticking out and in no mood to be my friend. But he came around after some chicken and a bath. I have had him ever since. He is my diary my buddy and my baby. He has knee problems and he smells weird all the time. He barks at my husband when he tries to move off the couch. He snores loud and makes noises like a pig. He farts and burps and is just gross sometimes.

My husband has given him a voice. I think it's Antonio Banderas. So he makes woobie talk to me in that voice for a few years now. So even when he is not around to make the voice I know that whatever woobie is thinking its in the voice of Puss in boots and the nassonex bee. So that makes my dog even more human. I have danced around and sang horribly to him. He has seen me at my most lowest points and at the height of my happiness and all the in between points and he loves me unconditionally. ❤❤❤