This is me feeling sorry for myself. It’s not an unusual routine, it’s just that I don’t write about it often.

And do you know WHY I don’t write about it often? Because I hate those bloggers who write sticky sweet posts with fabulous pictures and happy, happy, joy, joy posts about the greatest things on the planet (things like sweet potato fries or really comfortable shoes that also look incredibly fashionable) and then they pour out their hearts about the horrible, terrible, no good, very bad thing that happened to them and everyone comes rushing to their aid in the form of a thousand comments of “Hang in there, kid!” and “You don’t deserve this!” It all makes me wonder about the whole karma thing. I don’t think about it all that often, but recently a friend of mine asked if I could do something with her and I couldn’t because there were things pressing on me. There were other responsibilities. And then I mentioned to my friend, named Susan, that I also had to take care of my mother. “You know, you’re going to get some really good karma from doing that.”

Later, that same week, I had the Orkin folks come out and take a look at my new house because we must have brought every bug known to man into this place when we moved it including, dare I say it, las cucarachas, which are just about the most disgusting form of insect ever especially when you step on them barefoot in your living room and then you have to cut off your foot because cleaning it with acid just won’t do the trick and hey, this one footed look is all the rage in France, isn’t it?

The other reason I don’t write about the woe-is-me blog post is that there are really strange people reading my blog. Not YOU, but there are others. Weird in the way that I either work with them or they know me from my previous church or they are just nosy but not at all invested in my life. When I moved to this house it seemed like the entire neighborhood knew I was coming. “Oh, I heard you bought that house!” someone said to me. It made me remember that this is a small town and that people talk. Truly, this is a wonderful area, don’t get me wrong. But I’ve already seen a neighbor fall over drunk in front of me and smack her head on the pavement in front of my house. Twice. No lie. In fact, my favorite person who lives near me is a darling Indian woman who gasped when I told her what I did for a living and said, “Oh, my goodness! I cannot believe I am talking to an assistant principal! This is so very wonderful!” It’s not that she’s impressed with my position, but she instantly was warm and welcoming and asked if I liked to eat samosas and didn’t strike me as the gossipy kind. Plus, she always says “Hello, Kell-y!” to me in a sing-song voice with her perfect English sprinkled with her adorable and quite likable Indian accent.

Oh, and another thing for people-who-know-me-and-read-me-but-don’t-really-talk-to-me: if I use an alias on the blog here and then you bring up a story to me in person and use the alias and not the real name but then you tell me that you don’t really care about my blog and that’s why you don’t read it then I’m going to have to call bullshit on you. I will also think you’re a creeper. Stop doing that. It’s silly.

Oh, and one more thing about that since I’m in the mood to address it. Maybe you should stop talking about how you’d like to invite me to things because of my online Internet presence and about all the good I can do for you or your organization because stuff like that does get back to me and it makes me feel used. And don’t pray for me to use my blog for Jesus. Yeah. I heard about that one, too.

Back to karma, shall we? So, the Orkin guys points out that I have some mold and rotten drywall in the basement and see here? This thing? It’s a hole that’s starting to form and it’s getting bigger, you might want to have that checked out. This leads to a panicky Who do I call for such a thing? Is this a cosmic joke? Buy a new house and have to fix this already! but then I calmed down after snorting a line of crayon dust (the color was cerulean, I knew you might ask me that question) and realized that this is probably because of the air conditioner which I am running at all times and the previous owner didn’t really run at all so this is where the condensation is building up. (Much as I would love to proofread this post and take out all the run-on sentences I will certainly NOT do that right now.) Let me just shorten this next part:

1. Contractor/fixer-upper guy comes in. It’s condensation. Buy a dehumidifier and empty that sucker daily.

2. Pull down drywall. Oh, look! The rubber hose around the pipe has little teeth marks! You have mice!

3. Fix, re-rubber piping, put up new drywall, sand, paint, voila!

Karma also got me for teasing my son about the vaginal itch cream because the very next day I got bitten by a buffalo gnat right next to my eye which then created a cellulitis and I had to go to the doctor to get put on an antibiotic just in case and the whole left side of my face looked about 20 years older than the right side.

Karma: Take THAT!

Me: Okay. You win.

Besides the fact that I’m singing “La Cucaracha” around the house now and trying to squeeze in all sorts of fun things for my super short summer month, I am regrettably unable to attend BlogHer in New York. I already have the ticket to get into the conference, but no easy way to get there and pay for an expensive hotel. There’s no point in expressing how sad this makes me because I badly want to see people and get/give hugs to people who have become such good friends. My only excuses are las cucarachas y ratones and caring for a sick parent and paying for an expensive divorce that still isn’t settled yet and a new house payment. I’m thinking of how funny (just not Ha! Ha! funny) it is that I wrote this nearly a year ago about saving money and not begging for sponsorship to attend blogging conferences and here I am making the responsible decision. I will go ahead and quote myself from that post: I simply cannot go.

Karma just isn’t all that funny.

My great niece who kept trying to take a nap in a roomful of people. She was folding back the rug and taking a couch pillow to get comfortable. Mallory was highly amused by this and Mason was just trying to get goofy in my photos.

My laptop, the one issued to me by the district for which I work, has finally decided to kick the bucket and ascend to that place in the sky landfill where computers go when they retire. While it’s a total inconvenience and the 15,000 pictuers I had on there are safely located on the external hard drive I bought last year, I am super sad about it. First, because I love MacBooks and cannot afford to purchase one for my own personal use and second, because I have to borrow the only other laptop in the house which belong to my sons. If there is a third it is this: the laptop on which I am currently writing is decidedly NOT an Apple product and Apple long ago lured with their sexy talk into their Den of Awesome and made me a believer. It was probably when Apple told me that I had a nice booty, a decent frontal load, and that, for a woman my age, my skin still looked fabulous and shiny and taut. Thanks a lot, Apple, for hitting me where it hurts.

Now you’re wondering why it took so long to get my stuff transferred onto my external hard drive but the most
simple explanation is that there is no good time to drop off my computer at the district computer services because I need it every single day. When they offered to set aside a whole day to get this done after school got out I took advantage of the opportunity.

You know what? Stop wondering about how and why I do things. It’s none of your business.

I’m doing that thing again where I’m talking to blog readers like they’re sitting right next to me and also like we’re really familiar. My apologies. It’s just that I haven’t even had 30 minutes to myself lately to bother committing to writing a full post. Often, lately, I’ve been having the same thought over and over: Is it too much to ask that I set aside some time to just write?

It has a lot to do with all the happenings going on in my life. There are so many new changes and events that a friend asked me when I was going to check into the mental hospital because people don’t take easily to this many stressful events. Coyly, I asked, “Oh? Like what? What big things do I have going on?” It was just an excuse to push her buttons. “So you don’t think negotiating a divorce, buying a house, changing jobs, having two sick parents, and having a child graduate high school are big things? I’ll be visiting you in the hospital, lady.” It has occurred to me in writing that sentence uttered by my friend that I haven’t bothered to explore, in writing, what’s going on with my current job and now really isn’t the time to delve into it but, at some point, I will.

For the time being, I will just share some pictures of events that have taken place in my life this month.

My dad, Mason, and Mallory on the first night in the new house. Dad, recovering from his heart attack, did the cooking and none of the moving of boxes. I’m so glad he’s got that good New Orleans cooking gene.

Just before Mallory came to sit on the couch with the two of them. They were having Man Talk Time and I was eavesdropping and using my phone to take some pictures. Does anyone else find it humorous that these two are blood related?

My mom and I found it rather comical and diverting that, while she took a trip to the ER, the number of this particular machine was “42″. Apparently, it is the answer to life, the universe, and everything. Thanks Douglas Adams. I have not, however, found it comical that both of my parents have had heart issues lately. No. Not comical at all.

And finally, this is a picture of my great niece again. She has some amazing curls in her hair and when it comes out of the ponytail on top of her head this is what it does. I think we should all take a moment of silence for the magic and wonder of this hair.

There is no way I could make this up and I swear that I only did this ONE TIME, but I have finally closed comments on the Gain Review contest I had going on in conjunction with BlogHer and did the Random Generator to pick a number. You can probably guess what it was, can’t you? Of course you can.

It’s 42. So congratulations commenter number forty-two! I’ll be contacting you shortly and someday, when I truly am admitted to the Crazy Shack, you can probably find me in room 42 reading The Restaurant at the End of the Universe.

1. I spend an inordinate amount of time in our two art classrooms or talking with art students because they are, without a doubt, some of the hippest cats out there. I was speaking to one of them, let’s call her Chloe, and she was talking about a substitute teacher who walked past us in the hallway. “He is bizarre, that guy. I think he has ties to a mafia-type related family but in a gay way. Like a rainbow-clad grifter.” I know that when she said that to me my face contorted into a mix of awe and confusion that she would describe him like that. But then she added, “Yeah, I know this because my dad is gay and they’re friends. But my dad isn’t in the mafia. He’s just gay. Those are two totally different things.” Never let it be said that students won’t tell you EVERYTHING. My whole face must read, “Tell me all your secrets. ALL OF THEM.”

2. In the event that I could sneak this next thing right in here and not have you think that it is an emergency situation (which is why I purposely didn’t put this one as number one) I will just quickly say that my dad had a heart attack on Friday and he is just fine. We have spoken every day since then on the phone and he insisted and demanded and pulled out the BECAUSE I’M YOUR FATHER card and told me that I was to continue packing up my house to move tomorrow and Saturday (hey, friends, just show up to help – you know where to go) and not go up to Chicago to see him in the hospital. He said I couldn’t do anything anyway (he must have forgotten about my magical, healing powers to fetch ice chips and fluff pillows) and that I was, in no uncertain terms, supposed to get off my course to moving to my new house. He is so damn stubborn and I am grateful he hasn’t passed any of that on to his children. Bless him for that.

3. The school year is coming to a close and it’s very interesting to me how things just come out of nowhere when you think you won’t be seeing your co-workers and friends for the summer. For instance, several people told me recently that they thought that all year long I was having an affair with a married co-worker and before I could even get offended and all crazy on them I decided to laugh it off. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a friendship with a male that other people were uncomfortable with and I can’t help it if I’m that interesting to gossip about! You know it’s hard being this fascinating and spectacular all the time. In fact, it’s downright exhausting. Why, just last night while living my fabulous lifestyle I heated up an Apple Blossom dessert and covered it in caramel sauce and called that dinner. Then I watched “Transformers” on television with my 15-year old son and we watched the rain cover the backyard and basement. RIVETING, I TELL YOU. All the while, I was dialing up phone numbers of people with whom I’m supposedly having affairs and we told fart jokes and had belching contests. Really, people.

4. So, the person I’m supposedly having an affair with (honestly, I can barely type that without laughing at the thought) (not because he’s not a lovely person, he is! but no, just no, absolutely no) (when he reads this he is going to kick my ass) was asking me how my dad was doing and I admitted that on Saturday afternoon I started to kind of lose my shit and had to call some friends for help. I sent this mass text to my tribe and told them what was happening and asked if anyone could come over and help me pack because the keys to my car were in my hand and I wanted desperately to drive to the hospital to see my dad. One of the things I’m horrible at is asking friends for help. Usually, I just take it all in, turn it into a stressball, try desperately to score some feel-good drugs like Xanax from my friends, and then weep from the fatigue of trying to solve all my problems myself.

Me: I called my tribe this weekend for some help. I’m proud of myself for sucking it up, putting my pride to the side, and asking friends to come rescue me.

Mr. Not Having An Affair: You’re tribe? You didn’t call me. Why am I not in your tribe?

Me: Because you’ve never even been to my house.

Mr. Not Having An Affair: So I have to be in your house to be in your tribe?

Me: Well, yeah. That’s how this works. We befriend one another, we get close and share stuff, and then you become a part of my tribe.

Mr. Not Having An Affair: That’s stupid.

Me: You are welcome to get in my tribe. First, we see a chick flick. Then, you bring a bottle of my favorite wine over to my house. There’s some burning of candles in there and some dancing around in your underwear in my backyard, too, but we can get to that after the wine.

Mr. Not Having An Affair: This is good information to know.

I think that when he said that last thing he was probably wondering if I mixed medicines in a lethal combination that would make me try to tear off his face and wear it as a mask while wandering around in a misty existence carrying enormous knitting needles. Or something like that. If you’re a part of my tribe, you’d understand that to be the most coherent and normal sentence I’ve ever written. If you’re in my tribe, that didn’t scare you.

5. This morning, my friend Chad and I were conversing via the wicked, evil, privacy-invading Facebook. We were having way too much fun, but it was this thing that he wrote that made me start convulsing with laughter: “I just learned about the diva cup I’ll have you know. I thought it was like the Stanley cup for drag queen hockey.” Chad needs his own radio show.

6. And finally, these are the top 5 texts I’ve received just this week. Some of them are so funny I consider making that a weekly blog post because I am a lazy blogger they crack me up:

Penis-enhancing drug emails never get old. It’s like they can see my small penis all the way from there.

I’m pretty big in the Congo, which sounds like a good thing but if you put a map in front of me I would have a hard time finding it. I mean, sure, Africa and all.

I am not getting enough cinnamon rolls in my diet.

Whatever it is, I’m pretty sure I get to call Yahtzee and win the entire game of life. Well, Life is another game, but you know what I mean. Heh. I want to play Yahtzee now.

Reality is a little too real right now. Eat your heart out, reality tv whores.

7. I’m not going to do a number eight because it’s time to get up and get dressed for work and then I have that appointment to close on my house. I hope my new neighbors are in some weird, grifter-type gay mafia and that there is at least one cat lady.

8. I wrote a number 8 to say that I have not scored any Xanax to make me write like this.

Last week I was given some interview questions to be featured on a site focusing on women’s health. It’s a government run site and one of the people who works there asked about my own health and how to stay healthy amidst the depression and anxiety in my life, whether it’s mine or my family’s. I remember thinking, “Hmm. They must have been reading very carefully to pick up on that since I don’t make it the focus of what I write about.” and then, “God, I just want to scream from the rooftops about how hard it is to handle it all.”

Right now the biggest thing I’m grappling with is how to purchase a house without the benefit of the equity in the home I still own. It’s tied up legally and there’s no getting at it to help with the down payment so I’m scraping (no, literally, scraping, it together and holding onto every extra dime I can find) it up and doing it unconventionally. That doesn’t even factor in how to get moved with all the stuff my mom has accumulated over the years. Most of the stuff in this house I live in right now doesn’t belong to me because I left it all behind in the home I shared with my husband. And holy shitballs, I have so much stuff to replace. No working vaccuum, no lawn mower, not enough towels or garbage cans or storage boxes. The suckage of this predicament is wearing me down. Every day it’s something new. “Can you get us this paperwork?” or “You know you have to pay a full year of homeowner’s insurance before we can give you this home loan, right?”

There are a few good things, though. A few things that happened to make this process smoother. For instance, the day I needed to give the owner a check for earnest money I actually had it. A panel I’ve been on for over a year that promised $1,000 to me for services showed up in the mail just the day before. “How much do I have to give you for earnest money?” I naively asked. “It’s usually $1,000.” she replied. It made my heart leap that for once, FOR ONCE, I had just what I needed in that moment.

The bad things are outweighing it, though. My mother is very sick and we spent the better part of Mother’s Day in the ER. She was scared and I had to make a decision to take her. In that early afternoon moment, she could not make it herself.

But the good! The good is that I found a house where she can have her own bedroom and her own bathroom. That’s a comfort. Knowing I can work hard, scraping together what I need to be able to give her some solace and peace and a home. It’s that very thing I have to hold onto right now as opposed to screaming that IT’S MY TURN FOR SOMETHING GOOD. That’s a selfish thought. I hate it about myself.

Big stuff. It’s all weighing on me. I have to have some peace about it soon and make it through. I really really want it to be my turn.

Skip That: There is a parent who gets upset with me every year and threatens to have her mother, that would be the student’s grandmother, come up to school to kick my ass. Every. Year. Today, I told that story to some teachers when we were sitting in a meeting and then I ran into her at CVS. She told me she couldn’t stand me again. I’m pretty sure she’s on the special sauce side, so I just ignore it.

Read This: My daughter just bought her first house. I couldn’t be prouder or more excited for her. All the cool things she’s doing to get ready for her house are incredibly creative. Like, for instance, taking an old door with 15 glass panels, sanding it down, painting it, and creating a totally amazing headboard out of it. IF I PUT THAT RIGHT ON MY BLOG THEN SHE’S FORCED TO GIVE ME PICTURES. (Surely, someone will ask to see pictures of that and we can guilt her into it.)

Skip That: I went on a road trip after dropping off my nephew to his mom, my sister, when he spent his Spring Break with my family. On the trip home we took back roads and refused to stop for directions. Luckily, I had my camera with me but this gem I snapped with my Hipstamatic camera.

Old, abandoned gas pump.

Read This: Incidentally, Stacey, of Stacey Says won the BlogHer/Lincoln Crossover gift card in the amount of $500. Congratulations, Stacey! My apologies for taking so long to get that written up. You’ve probably spent the gift card by now.

Skip That: There are other contests coming up soon. Skip this sentence since it’s not a contest of any sort.

Read This: Racialicious blog.

Skip That: The incredibly insensitive blog personal narrative written by two hipsters on which that article is based.

Read This: If I just throw in an apology here without any sort of warning and just hope that readers forgive me (OMG, Janie, shut UP already, I will blog when I can blog) (Janie Bird? You know I love you more than my scooter. Don’t be mad.)

Skip That: My throat is all itchy and my eyes are watery. This is the worst pollen season ever. That should make you want to forgive me for being a bad blogger lately. It’s not that I can’t really see through these swollen, hay fever eyes. It’s that I’m on Imitrex as well as Claritin and Zyrtec and the fake Sudafed which, I think, is called Wal-phed since I bought it from Walgreens so my brain is a little bit scary right now. I live dangerously on my polka-dotted unicorn.

Read This: Happy Earth Day? (The jokes will write themselves sometimes.)

Skip That: Sometimes, when I come back from an online writing hiatus, I catch up and read about all the crap that’s happened online and I’m at once ashamed and sad that the blogging community can be so ugly. But, then I count my blessings in bloggy friends and remember that the company you keep says a lot about you.