DRY Ink » Bitching

Under the Table and Dreaming

Erika — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 18:31:06 +0000

I don’t want to talk to you right now. I don’t want to talk to you because I don’t have anything nice to say, and I was taught to keep my mouth shut at times like these. I honestly believe that things will work themselves out, so why whine about something that we will put to bed shortly? Well, because I promised to. I promise to blog every damn day this month, so you are going to get the truth.

And the truth is that I just want to crawl under my kitchen table right now. I fear for the decisions my son is making, but underneath that is my mother. At the bottom of every drama is my mother. It is always my mother. I’m just gonna be honest here: my mother is bat shit crazy. I don’t care who knows it anymore. I’ve told her before, drama follows, and then she forgets it, ignores it, or what ever it is that bat shit crazy people do with information that they don’t want. I’m pretty used to it.

But there’s another part of it. I’m mad at you. Yes, everyone one of you who has a mother. A mother that you didn’t have to spend your entire life taking care of. That your earliest memories aren’t of holding her while she cried. A mother that doesn’t suck the very emotional substance from your body and then demand every last bit of your soul, only to tell you that it is not enough. A mother that doesn’t cause drama and then look at you AGAIN and ask ‘how did this happen?’ A mother that you can to turn to. No, not every second, but that you know, when the shit is hitting the fan, will stand by you, instead of you having to take care of the situation and HER. Yeah, a mother like that.

And I think everyone of you that have that suck.

Day 9 and I’m Feeling Dangerous

Erika — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 17:10:35 +0000

I’m taking an mental health day. I’m obviously in need, as I just about went postal in two separate places of business this morning.

But I leave you with the little bastard that wakes me up every morning by scampering through the attic and chucking things at my window.

Hopefully this is the photo we will use at his/her eulogy.

After I fire bomb him/her.

All About the Pictures

Erika — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 16:49:37 +0000

So I had this anniversary recently.

Maybe you’ve heard?

And it was incredible.

Driving down to New Orleans in this

Shooting a trash the dress session ending with this

Wandering around Magazine street, shopping and snapping some of the best pictures of my life.
Like this one

Yeah, I have no idea who he is, but he had an accent.

And this one

But just when I think I have this whole photography thing down, I get the proofs from Becky and I’m blown away by real talent.

Seriously, she is incredible. Go check them all out, and oogle what I have to live up to if I ever am going to be a ‘real’ photographer.

I can’t wait to wall paper my house with them all.

Dear October,

Erika — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 21:19:19 +0000

I’ve tried to be patient with you. Really I have, but we are currently 8 days into your reign and I have yet to see any sign of you. I mean are you really trying to tell me five consecutive days of 90 plus degree weather is acceptable to you? I should hope not. I know your mother taught you better than this.

October, slacking is never a way to get ahead in life. Hiding from your duty is only pissing us all off and making it harder and harder to like you. Sure you have Halloween, but other than that, what do you have going for you? Can you really afford to be behaving in this manor? Honestly I don’t think it is in anyone’s best interest for you to continue to hide. The longer you do, the uglier this all going to get.

So with all that in mind, I am respectfully calling you out. I am demanding you present yourself and bring your lovely mild weather and balmy 60 degree temperatures. If these demands are not met with in the next 48 hours, I can not be held responsible for my actions, but I can almost guarantee it will involve a talk with your mother.

Sincerely,
Erika

Sneak Preview

Erika — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 18:20:41 +0000

So here are a few pix from the wedding I shot this weekend.

I had a ball, but it was exhausting. So, no, I won’t shoot your wedding. You couldn’t afford me anyway.

What to Do?

Erika — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 14:36:07 +0000

Because all my plans consistently go awry, I’ve decided to stop planning. But that leaves serious holes in my week. I obviously haven’t got all the details worked out here yet.
But the bottom line is I have a free day today. Thanks in part to the annual ‘everybody is late day’ that we schedule for the first Monday after day light savings, I didn’t even have to get dressed today to take the cherubs to school. Jeff was late enough to do it.
And thanks to Jeff’s big Open House yesterday, I don’t even have ‘avoid thinking about dinner all day, then rush to throw something together at 6 pm’ on tap for today. We have left over jambalaya.
Sure I will be ignoring the files I haven’t uploaded for 2 weeks, but really, that only takes about 7.4 minutes.
Nope, the rest of the day is free.
I could take myself to the movies, but I tried a movie on Monday of last week, instead of the usual Wednesday, and that just threw everything off. Besides, nothing is playing. What is up with that? People, release some good action flicks already.
Of course I’ve tried the internet, but nothing is out there. Yep, I’ve read the entire internet. Don’t look so shocked, this happens to me a lot.
So I have nothing to do today but sit in my pj’s with my no planning policy. Are you beginning to feel my pain? It’s obvious I’m am sentenced to a lost boring day. Maybe the neighbors will do something exciting and gets the cops called on them.
Apparently, this is what my life has become. Aren’t you glad I’m back?

But No, Jeff Won’t Hear It

Erika — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 17:50:48 +0000

Despite all my desperate attempts to have Murphey, the dumb ass wonder dogg, put to sleep he is instead having minor surgery in the morning to relieve a hematoma in his right ear. Obviously, Jeff has engaged his rarely used, but once stated then omnipotent, veto power to arrange this little operation, which will leave Murph looking like he needs a ride on the short bus complete with a cone around his head. Now I ask you, who’s the the more humane person? My plan would save him from all this humiliation.
(He’s shy)
Jeff’s argument for all this is that the surgery will only cost about $200, around the same price as putting him asleep, but he is refusing to take into account the ole little something slipped into his food dish and then he goes nighty nighty, method. He never thinks these things through properly. And he calls me irrational?! Doesn’t he know what I can do around here with $200? Of course he does, but noooo, I’m cruel.
(Note the right floppy ear, (his right), ouch)
I know it’s hard to believe I actually live with all this. I mean who among us doesn’t believe that Murph has lead a long good life? Obviously his health is beginning to fail and it is time. This is his second trip to the vet this year alone. Come on people, how long am I expected to sit by and allow this nonsense to continue?
(What chew talkin bout woman?)
But Jeff will just not listen to reason no matter how valid my arguments. He just keeps asking, If it was me or one of the cherubs what would you do? and that’s just silly because we all know the right answer to that question: Nighty Nighty.

Now For the Whens?

Erika — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 14:03:44 +0000

When:
is Jeff’s hand going to stop hurting and heal?
are hurricanes going to stop blowing through here?
am I gonna get licensed?
life gonna return to normal?
gas prices gonna go down?
am I gonna get a boob job?
will we be able to ride bikes to school again?
are the cherubs gonna clean their rooms?
are the laundry fairies gonna visit?
is this house gonna stop smelling so damn musty?
am I going to find the time to color my hair pink again?
will I stop feeling guilty and anxious?
are children going to stop suffering?
am I going to be able to work a normal day again, without cherubs out of school, hurricanes, etc.
am I gonna stop whining?

Whys?

Erika — Tue, 09 Sep 2008 14:12:34 +0000

Why:
are boys so damn violent?
is there NEVER enough Diet Dr. Pepper?
does the power and therefore the DVR have to be out on the one day “my shows” are on?
is this damn city still under curfew?
does it take Jeff over an hour to get home from work now?
do the cherubs not go back to school until Thursday?
do I have to survive til Thursday, can’t I just curl up and die?
is it so hard to loose weight?
is there never enough time to do everything?
am I living with this sense of fear and dread?
does my mother have to be so damned needy?
does a hurricane have to blow through and triple the DRY Ink remodeling projects?
can’t I take a nap til Thursday?
do I have to be sick?
doesn’t the world have, laundry fairies, floor laying fairies, fence rebuilding fairies, dish washing fairies, roofing fairies and the like?
is life so unfair?
am I whining so damn much?

I bet you really wish I’d figure that last one out.

Right Now

Erika — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 19:39:49 +0000

Right now my heart is shredding in my chest. In time, I will understand that this too shall pass and then some other shit will start up. But right now I can’t focus on that, the pain is too intense. It is becoming clearer and clearer that it is no longer a question of if things will be too much, but only when. This saddens me. I had hoped to hang on until I was licensed and then take an extended break. But right now that seems damn near impossible. I hate letting people down.

I went to the store in search of comfort food, only to find the pop tart aisle empty. Hell, all the aisles are bare in preparation for Gustav, but did they really have to clear out the brown sugar and cinnamon pop tarts? I cried in the cereal aisle of Wal-Mart, clutching my diet Dr. Pepper.

It wasn’t pretty.

So I have no idea when the breaking point will come, just that it will. Right now I am forced to sit and concentrating on holding my heart together in my chest. Tomorrow I will figure out that this is all going to be okay. Right now I just want a damn pop tart.