June 7, 2009 by Marj Hatzell
I was sure I opened Pandora’s box when I asked y’all to ask me some questions but they actually didn’t send me running for the hills. Since it’s totally Filch-it Friday (and I always participate. As if. Meg, where are you?), I stole the Q&A from Jacki, A neato-keen gal in the DC area. Without further ado: Everything You Wanted to Know About DG, But Were Afraid To Ask (and She’s gonna answer as TRUTHFULLY AS POSSIBLE. HONEST. CROSS MY HEART AND HOPE TO DIE.)
There must be times when you feel quite angry with the world, yes? I know potatoes can only take one so far. Do you believe in God? Do you think there is some “test” you are supposed to be passing?
Actually, and I am being completely honest here, I never feel angry with the world. I don’t know how to explain it, I just don’t get that way. Sure, I have mental breakdowns from time to time. I have tantrums. There are days when I want to say, “F*ck it!” but I don’t. Those times are few and far between. Mostly, I just plug away at life like everyone else because it’s all I know. And I don’t say the F-word anyways, I say “Sh*t” a lot. And then Bugaboo repeats it. For two hours. Mommy has a potty mouth.
As for God? Good question. There are times I really struggle with that one. It is difficult to be religious, spiritual and devoted when you get little to know sleep. Nothing makes sense, really. As for some test? Well, let’s just say I think my life has a purpose. I am where I belong. I am doing what I am supposed to be doing. Someone up there either has a sense of humor or really knows their sh*t. But as for passing a test? No. I’d flunk anyway.
And potatoes solve EVERYTHING. Don’t ever forget that.
How do you not laugh about the socks? What about in the summer when it is too damn hot?
Then what? Does he at least sport the ankle lengths then?
You know, the socks really do not bother me. His feet get cold. They are soft and clean and perfect. It’s because he wears shoes. I, on the hand, have horribly dry and calloused feet, no doubt from walking around barefoot or in sandals (or from washing my feet compulsively, since I walk around barefoot or in sandals. ). In the summer he wears slip on sandals or flip flops.
Now the length of the socks: DH used to have what he considered knee-highs and quitters. Knee-highs were only to be worn under pants. Quitters were the ankle length ones that sometimes slid down (yes, I’m serious. I wish I were making this up). Then my husband discovered the sport socks that only come up to the heel. Then he died and went to heaven. Which is funny, since he’s an atheist. Anywho, he now wears those little teeny socks, and I don’t notice when he has them on. Honest. I’ve learned not to care about the socks. There are other body parts I’m concerned with at that point in time. Like my teeth. Because that’s what everyone thinks about in bed, right?
How do you keep your sense of humor with raising your two boys and all the daily struggles? Is there ever a time you just want to run up the street screaming like a banshee?
Why do you blog?
Let’s see. How do I keep my sense of humor? Well, for starters, I am a lover of comedy. I’d rather watch a pee-your-pants-funny movie than a serious one. I hate tearjerkers and despise horror films. I do like quirky films, and some cult classics (Star Trek, Star Wars, Musicals) but for the most part, I like to laugh. It’s in my blood. I love to read books where I laugh out loud (for some reason I did not laugh when I read The Color Purple or A Child Called It).
Do I want to run screaming like a Banshee? Hella yes. All the time. But see, even before my boys, I was what people politely refer to as bat-shit crazy a spaz spirited. I get Irish a lot. You know, slightly animated when I am frustrated? Just slightly. It isn’t necessarily THEM. Honestly? People think I’m nuts for saying it (I’m already nuts, saying it doesn’t change anything) but my life is my life. It’s all I know. It’s NORMAL FOR ME. Yes, it can be stressful. But only when I compare my life to “normal” people. It only seriously bothers me when I expect to much or forget how fortunate I really am. Let’s see…supportive husband? Check. Great kids? Check. A decent roof over our heads? Check. Nice neighborhood and neighbors? Check. Family support? Check. I’ve got everything I need.
Why do I blog? Creative outlet, really. A way to express myself. A way to get it out of my head. Six years ago I was suffering from crazy post-partum depression. I had no stay-at-home-mom friends. I had no friends. I was seeing a therapist, who recommended I joining a mom’s group of some sort (so I joined a group of militant breast feeding mothers. Met my best friend there!). She also recommended I write down things that anger or frustrate me and then put it away. It worked like magic. A year later, I found out a friend of mine was blogging. I tried it. I’ve been hooked for four years and going strong.
Also? I’m an attention whore. LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME! I WANT THE WHOLE WORLD TO KNOWW MY BIZZ NIZZ!!!!
Adorable Girlfriend says:
Could your hubbie get my BF a job? He’s a recent law school graduate and will be sitting the bar next month. Help a brotha out.
Um. Hubbie works in Big Pharma. You know that, right? Unless he’s into clinical drug studies, Web-data capture and teleconferencing…or building a meth lab in his basement, in which case, I have to warn you, they do random drug tests and they kinda frown on illegal drug trade when you work for a pharmaceutical company. Unless you make them oodles of money, in which case, you can pretty much do what ever you want.
Umm…How about a sex question? I’m so nosy when it comes to people’s sex lives. What’s your favorite position and why?
You aren’t nosy! Just curious! In all seriousness, our favorite position is IN THE SAME BED TOGETHER. See, our sleeping arrangements kinda suck big, hairy cajones right now. Big ones. Big hairy ones. He sleeps in another room because? Bugaboo. Bugaboo won’t sleep in his own room. He also won’t sleep alone. We are sleep deprived. Ever try to put a cat in bathwater? That’s what it is like putting Ian in bed. Fun for all. So, we don’t sleep in the same bed very often (although last week we had a record of two nights for four hours!). This translates to less sex. And less sleep means less sex. And more stress means less…you get the picture…
That oughta get me some good searches from teh Googles. Stay tuned for the next installment.