Backwoods Gang Activity, Troubled Sleep Schedules, & Being a Poo Throwing Monkey

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any better, an announcement was made that I am kind of like a monkey throwing poo. 

Yeah, poo.

But, before I get into all of that poo stuff, I think it is important to inform you I’ve been told of a very serious gang related issue this morning.

This whole gang thing is directly related to the weekend napping schedule of my husband and I.

Seriously, if we nap one day we are always up at least two hours before our alarm clock the next.

You would think we would take advantage of being awake two hours early by getting a head start on our daily projects or using that time to do something we don’t normally have time for.

I assure you, no. 

No we do not.

While I was using the extra early morning hours to strategically accomplish a few goals wander aimlessly around the internet

• penning an enormously long email to one of Ben’s Aunts and two of his cousins that I’m going to have to read later today to discover what, exactly, I actually said

and

• looking up negative things about Sarah Palin just to agitate myself

Ben was laying in bed half-awake listening to some kind of documentary about gangs.

Thus, the whole ‘gang related issue’.

Eventually he wandered through the house in a state of half

• awake and
• naked

and on a quest for coffee.

On the way back from the kitchen he stopped to lean on the back of a chair and recount everything he had learned so far about gangs.

He did so while holding our little Chihuahua ‘Mable’ in his arms just the way someone would hold an infant.

And it all caused him to talk just like this,

I cannot believe they think know what they are talking about when they say there is gang affiliation of only 1% among members of the military.

Oooohhh, goochie, goochie little Mable.

When I was in the military I know there were guys affiliated with the KKK and Arian Nation…

Look.  Look at her little face.  Ooohhh.  My.  Good.  NESS! 

…and one time there was an out and out brawl in one of the recreation areas and it was all about…

Ahhhh!  Tickle that little tummy?  Ohhhh.  Little Mable!

…a bunch of gang bullshit and some guy told me he was going to cut my throat…

Look at those little tiny paws!

…and that little punk got a piece of me with that bullshit…

And then he kind of wandered off while still half

• awake and
• naked

holding a cup of coffee and cradling Mable like an infant.

You may remember I had some pretty serious concerns about going to a women’s conference that took place this past weekend.  This is a conference I had soundly put into the category of

DO NOT ATTEND

due to a belief it contained too many events I call

on the bad side of all that girlie foo-foo shit.

By ‘the bad side’ when talking about ‘girlie foo-foo shit’ I mean I heard something eight years ago about women at this exact conference decorating t-shirts with puff paint.

My response?

Barf on ye fuckin’ puff paint.  Barf I say!

Yes.  I am capable of avoiding a women’s conference for eight years due to having heard a rumor about puff paint.

You can be sure the second I received the printed schedule just after I arrived at the women’s conference last Friday that I ripped it open and thoroughly scanned for the words ‘puff’ and ‘paint’ being used in the same sentence.

Only after I found no such occurrences on the schedule did I feel comfortable removing my suitcase from my car and checking into my little room.

You might also recall I was asked to speak at this women’s conference.  My speaking engagement took place on the Saturday of the conference.  A member of the host committee asked me who would be providing my introduction.

I chose Ms. Morning, one of my oldest friends.

She proceeded to get up and say pretty much this:

She’s my sponsor.  My guide.  I’m so grateful for her.

Isn’t that nice.

She’s 90% wild Mustang.  Beautiful.  Smart.  Savvy.  Powerful.  Knows no bounds.

Bring that on!  Thanks!  Wow!

And I hope you enjoy her talk because the other 10% of her is kind of like a monkey throwing poo.

Wow!  Thanks!  Woah?  What the fuck?  A monkey throwing poo? 

Come on up here girl!  Can’t wait to here you share!  Come on up!

Everyone had turned around and was staring at me and I ended up saying,

Hey!  I’ve never thrown poo in my life!

before I had even risen from my seat.

And I thought sharing was a pretty great experience except for the part when I was talking about something really painful and cried

and then blew my nose from a place behind the podium that caused the microphone to pick up the sound of it with such accuracy that it practically rattled the tiles out of the ceiling.

I also thought the rest of the weekend was pretty great because I always think it’s nice to meet new people and be in places where pretty much everyone is on task with being authentic.

And I do mean authentic to the point of feeling like I’m getting blown around by a constant breath of fresh air.

I also thought it was pretty great because, by the end of the weekend, I had managed to do the following by way of serious gastrointestinal expression to my friend Ms. Morning:

1. Wake her up
2. Drive her from our little room at least one time

This, of course, only served to validate that thing about 10% of me being like a monkey throwing poo.

But it sure was funny.

It’s now noon and I need to let you know I really don’t think it’s right that I’ve already been awake for 8 hours. 

6 I could do.

8 is pushin’ it.

But I will survive and I know how it’s going to go for Ben and I for the rest of the day.

We will:

• Talk about how we must force ourselves to stay awake until at least 10pm tonight so we can get back on track with our sleep schedule

and

• Around 9:30 will be so fraught with exhaustion I will be wandering aimlessly around the internet and penning extensive emails to members of Ben’s family

and

• He will be wandering around the house half awake and half naked and cradling Mable in his arms like an infant as he tells me about gangs in the military

because

• he will not be capable of remembering he already told me all of that at something like 4:30 this morning

and

• I will not be capable of remembering he did either and will listen as intently as I did when I was so tired this morning that all I could think about was how he was cradling Mable in his arms like an infant.