joeyfullystated

Yankee Doodle Whore Goes to The Damn DMV

Posted on August 18, 2015 by joey

In Indiana, we have the BMV. I think it’s because they want you to remember the word bureau, as in bureaucracy, but this post isn’t about Indiana’s BMV, it’s about Georgia’s damn DMV.

I had to become a Georgia resident even though I didn’t want to. Military is allowed to keep their home of record, including driver’s licenses and voting precincts, and depending on the state, spouses can too, but not in Georgia!
So, I had to go get a Georgia driver’s license and become a Georgia resident, rather against my will.
I happen to be one of those people who has a birthday around Thanksgiving, so I had no choice but to go many days before my Indiana driver’s license expired. All that was well and good, except Moo and I had a terrible stomach flu at the time. We both had fevers and I had to carry a trash can when leaving the house. Moo sounds like she is dying when she vomits, so that’s great when you want to go unnoticed. In my driver’s license photo circa 2008, an almost five Moo is actually clinging to my leg and crying hysterically, because the lady said it was okay, and wouldn’t be visible. Moo wanted to be held, and I think the lady was doing her best to accommodate us.

Then, because life is cruel, my Georgia driver’s license was set to expire just as we were moving back home to Indiana. I went back to the damn DMV to get my Georgia driver’s license renewed, and stumbled upon a ridiculous bitch who was power-trippin like you would not believe.

She told me she needed to see my marriage license.

I said the rule posted I only need to present a marriage license if I didn’t have a military ID with my married name. (Which I do, which I presented.)

I made quite a fuss about it. In addition to the military ID with Jolene Mottern on it, I already had a Georgia driver’s license with my married name on it. Why would they issue me a license and then deny renewal? Did they think the first time I was at their damn DMV they did it without documentation? Did they think the United States government issued me an ID in my married name without checking all of the paperwork ever?
My military ID, all of my bills, all of my credit cards, insurance cards, my checkbook, my SS card, everything I had with me — all Jolene Mottern.

None of the other damn DMV people would help me and furthermore, THEY ALL IMPLIED THAT I WAS LYING ABOUT BEING MARRIED!
Other patrons of the damn DMV even got in on it.

“I’ve been married for 26 years and I have the paperwork to prove it.”

“Mhm.”

“My daddy spent a fortune on my wedding, so you can be sure he paid for my marriage license.”

“Mmmhm.”

“Too many women actin like they married and they’s just livin in sin, livin off the government.”

“Mmmmhmmm.”

Yes, that’s it. Obviously I am a Yankee Doodle Whore.

I had clearly wandered into some kinda Church Lady circle of Hell.

On another day, I went back to the damn DMV with my marriage license. In fact, I took my entire portable filing cabinet, just in case. I gave all my documents to the lady at the counter, and she slid my marriage license back over, saying, “I don’t need this, Honey. You have military ID right here.”

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged marriage | 38 Comments

The GRUMBLE GRUMBLE and OH YAY of August

Posted on August 17, 2015 by joey

It’s too hot. It was sixty-six degrees when I took Moo to her bus stop at seven o’clock, but the air is dense with humidity and my hair frizzed-out before I even left the porch.

In addition to all my other motherly duties, I now also serve as a sorta early hair warning system for Sassy. I opened her door and said, “Button, it’s morning time” and Sassy said, “Oh wow, so I guess I won’t bother straightening my hair today.”

We seldom have days over 90F/32C, but when we do, they’re mostly in August. August is the month I start sayin things like, “I need me some barn jacket weather!” and “I miss snow!”

But then, look what only happens in August…

At least the bumblebees aren’t afraid of my hair.

The Mister and I are both Sagittarius, so we have a lot of Leo friends, and I love the parade of August birthdays. I love all the Leos. (Shh, Leos are my favorite.)

But August is expensive. For us, August is more expensive than December. The crippling expenses of August are many and include both the OH YAY monies and the GRUMBLE GRUMBLE monies.
For instance, paying for license plates, GRUMBLE GRUMBLE. Back-to-school shopping, GRUMBLE GRUMBLE.

Then there’s the state fair, OH YAY!

I freakin love the state fair. If it were a holiday, it would be my favorite. I will totally walk around miserably hot for the state fair. And fuck yeah, I will pay a cover charge to eat overpriced, so-bad-for-me fair food. I’ll start with the cheese curds, then a pulled pork sammich, and do I want a basket of fries or should I get an ear of corn dripping with butter? Did you see the size of those onion rings? Fried okra? Fried mushrooms? Fried pickles? Maybe I should just have s’more cheese curds. Ooh, a caramel apple! Are those homemade cordial cherries?!? Oh, what I need is a funnel cake with powdered sugar! And maybe some more cheese curds? Yeah. And let’s find a place to sit down, because my $90 Coca-Cola is so heavy, y’all. It’s hot, we should get some ice cream.

It’s not just that I wanna be fair-food fat, either. I hate shopping, but I actually have trouble not shopping at the state fair. I love unique, handmade things. I mean, doesn’t it seem like I should already own an intricately burned-out leather satchel? How have I lived without that? Wouldn’t that look great with this wallet made entirely of recycled paper? Why don’t I have a tree house with a deck and a patio set for my squirrels? I know it’s August, but where else could I find hand-knitted giraffe gloves?!? I want a lamp made out of Fiesta ware, so let’s just be glad I don’t have any place to put it! I cry over wooden furniture, but if you offered to buy me a piece, I wouldn’t be able to decide on one.
“Omalord, that is an entire booth dedicated to vintage calicos! Do not look directly at the fabric! You do not need fabric!”
I don’t buy things at the state fair. I suffer in my self-control.

And I’m all about petting and feeding the farm animals, climbing into agricultural vehicles, talking to beekeepers and buying lotsa local honey, studying mind-blowing quilts, learning obscure things, gawking at the art, browsing the antiques, sticking my head into photo holes, people watching, and oohing and aahing at callas that loom over my head. Seriously, over my head.

photo from Dave’s Garden

The Mister and I married in August, so when we’re not bitchin about how hot it is or how expensive things are, we like to bask in our bliss this time of year. At the mere mention of August, we display some kinda conditioned response like automatic hand-holding and makin googly eyes. Yes, it is nauseating, and as such, you should amply prepare yourself for the ooey gooey love shit that gets blogged here when that special day arrives.
We try to get away or at least get alone for our anniversary, OH YAY! freeing us to do disgusting things to one another, because ~~lust~~ love, sweet love, dirty, dirty love.

What’s August like for you? Are you a Leo? Which month is your most costly? Do you love gettin fair-food fat?

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged food, marriage, money, Sassy, shopping, The Mister | 62 Comments

We Are Not a Morning People

Posted on August 15, 2015 by joey

Part One

Not unusually, The Mister gets up at 5, grooms, makes his travel coffee, picks up his lunch, dials our bedroom dimmer light to one, kisses me, and leaves.
I sleep lightly and dream heavily. I wake up in strange mental landscapes. I wake with emotions right on the surface. I spend my first brain activity trying to piece together fragmented images of dreams.
I say things when he wakes me. I might say “Love you” or “Have good day,” but mostly I moan. Sometimes I might startle or snort, or try to pull him back into bed by his tie. Now and again I don’t know I’m awake so I might warn him that the dog is on fire and needs new batteries. I think we can agree, he’s quite brave to serve as my first warning that morning has arrived.

Rarely, while The Mister’s shaving I get up and bag his lunch, pack him a breakfast, make his coffee. Even less often, I am writing when he wakes.
He does not talk in the morning. It is as important to not talk to The Mister in the morning as it is not to feed Gremlins after midnight. He also wakes up in strange mental landscapes, with emotions on the surface. Although he seldom remembers his dreams, it’s easy enough to determine they are violent. I think he wakes up on THREATCON BRAVO, and as such, I do not wake him like one wakes other people. I poke and retreat. Poke and retreat.

I know couples on television and in the movies wake up with witty banter and cutesy talk, but we wake up like oil and water. I could tell you many stories about how vulnerable I was, and how I spent an hour crying over how cruelly he spoke to me, and then how he called at 9am to tell me he was sorry, but it’s best I relate this to you in terms of our children, who are, it seems, just like us.

“Sissy, I’m makin toast. Would you like toast? Do you want some of this strawberry butter, too?”
“If I want some toast, I’ll make some damn toast! What I do is none of your business! Don’t you think I can make toast without you?!? And no, I don’t want your stupid strawberry butter!”
Bubba puts the strawberry butter back in the fridge, “I was just askin because I could leave the toaster and the bread out for you. Excuse me for being courteous!”
Sissy slams bread into the toaster and mumbles about how capable she is and how annoying her brother is.
Bubba’s eyes water. I pat his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Buddy, but we’ve told you not to talk to it in the morning, haven’t we?”
Bubba nods.

“Do you know where my orange jacket is?” Moo asks Sassy.
“Why would I know where your orange jacket is?”
“I dunno. Cause you have eyes. You might’ve seen it.”
“Your room is a pit. Why don’t you go in your room and look for it! Don’t blame me when you lose things! I can’t even fit in your orange jacket! What’m I gonna do, wear it on one arm?!? Jeez, Moo! Shut up about your stupid orange jacket!”

Yes. We are just like them. They are just like us. Recently this was evidenced by Bubba, Moo, and myself, sitting at the dining table, chatting pleasantly while sharing a watermelon breakfast, while the others sat in the living room in silence, probably secretly hating us and scowling at nothing.

Part Two

Some people you can sense coming. You can feel them before they arrive. They have a large presence. But, there are few people I cannot feel coming, even at close proximity. They’re just naturally deft and quiet, like ninjas. Those sneaky-ass people are dangerous to me, as I have anxiety disorder and they scare the daylights out of me.

My son likes to come upon me while I’m busy and simply stand beside me and stare at me until I notice him. Then I like to jump and scream. Then he likes to laugh. His eyes dance as he says he’s sorry. He’s not sorry.

I cannot tell you how many times I have stood in the shower, washing my hair, only to open my eyes and discover The Mister standing directly in front of me. Of course, I jump and scream like Norman Bates got in my shower, and The Mister laughs and laughs. I’d told him repeatedly that such a fright is bad for my anxiety, but he didn’t take me seriously. He takes too great a pleasure in scaring me.

Or rather, he DID.

Part Three

Once this last winter, I awoke to the sound of the door alarm beeping, only to realize I’d slept through my morning kiss.
I leapt out of bed and rushed out to the drive to kiss him. He was already pulling away, so I ran around to his door and smiled.
I scared him so badly, he practically jumped into the passenger seat.

Have I mentioned I’m white as a ghost? I am.
Did I mention I was wearing my white pajamas? I was.
Y’all know I had some wild bedhead goin on.
I was like his wife, but I stood out rather spectacularly, specter-ly even, in the cold, dark, loneliness that is 5:30am in our driveway.
Apparently, it’s not funny to scare someone who has PTSD. I guess that kinda fright can really do a number on their anxiety.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
I scared him!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

He hasn’t tried to scare me since.

This post was inspired by Aussa Lorens, do you even read her?

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged anxiety, Bubba, family, marriage, mental-health, Moo, Sassy, Sissy, The Mister | 33 Comments

#Thursday Doors — Local

Posted on August 13, 2015 by joey

I’d love to have a #ThursdayDoors post every week, but I just don’t see interesting doors around here.
I do look.
I said to The Mister, “Everywhere has the same doors. Oh sure, they’re different colors, or the panels are positioned differently, but they’re all variations of the same damn door.” I can’t complain too much, because we have the same damn doors on our own house.

It’s become obvious to me that I need to plan Door Excursions downtown.

That being said, I noticed this set of doors, on some old apartments nearby. I say old, because they’ve been here since I was a kid, but in terms of buildings, this one isn’t old, even for America.
I was tempted to call FIL, who grew up in this neighborhood, and ask him how old they are, but then I realized I don’t know the name of the street they’re on, and I didn’t want to have a 20 minute conversation about how I don’t know all the names of all the streets in the city and then spend another 10 minutes listening to him argue about it with MIL, who did not grow up here, but probably has a story about someone who knew someone who lived in these apartments.
The building is remarkably unchanged in my lifetime — let’s just leave it at that.

I wanted to go up to the doors and get a better look, but that NO TRESPASSING sign scared me off a bit, so I tried to be quick.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. If you like interesting doors, visit his site and check out what people are sharing today.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged FIL, MIL, The Mister, Thursday Doors | 48 Comments

One-Liner Wednesday — “Come Again?”

Posted on August 12, 2015 by joey

Me to The Mister, “You need glasses for your ears.”

One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged marriage, One-Liner Wednesday, The Mister | 12 Comments

Truthful Tuesday: Factoids You Never Wanted to Know About Me

Posted on August 11, 2015 by joey

If you’re one of the twelve people who know my life, this post will be BORING, but if we’re not well-acquainted, here are some true-life confessions:

I treat books badly. I scrawl in them, dog-ear their pages, and often spill food and drinks on them.
I am the parent of a child who once threw such a temper tantrum at Cracker Barrel, we did not go back for two years.
I do not understand the value of clean floor grout.
I’m one of those people who sneezes crazy loud and scares the shit out of people.
I seldom check personal email. My Yahoo mail has 1325 unread messages and I am a bad person for not forwarding those messages to everyone I know.
I don’t like pepperoni. I’ll eat pretty much anything, including liver and brains, but I give pepperoni to the dog. Smells like dog food to me.
I love brussel sprouts.
I’m one of those terrible breast-flaunting women who freely nursed in public and did so long after my babies could eat real food. I also used a disgusting breast pump for years. It’s as though I had no shame.
I used breast-feeding to get out of jury duty. Twice.
Sometimes I eat cheeseburgers from Mickey D’s.
I have been on food stamps. Taxpayers paid for Sassy’s birth and the removal of Bubba’s appendix. I think we were worth it.
I go way too long between cleaning my ceiling fans. How long? Long enough that I ask The Mister to clean them.
I am the kind of woman who sends naked selfies to her husband. And well, that one time to Shay, because I had a weird rash.
I drink white wine at room temperature.
I do not believe in censorship. I did not grow up with censorship, and I’m perfectly fucking fine.
I hoard fabric.
I squeeze the toothpaste in the middle. My husband and I do not share toothpaste.
I don’t hand-wash my bras.
I go to church fairly regularly but regard most church-goers much like one views lepers. A cross will keep me away like garlic keeps vampires away.
I’m infamous in my social circle for being a person who lets dishes soak overnight.
I am the kind of slut who not only went to Planned Parenthood for care, but who also did volunteer work there.
I never used covers on grocery carts to keep my kids free of germs. My kids gnawed on everything, including pacifiers, thumbs, furniture, each other, and the dog.
I only shampoo my hair every 2-3-4 days.
I let my cats have a bit of milk or cream, even though it’s probably bad for them.
I do not put my dog in a seat belt harness. I even let her hang her head out the window.
None of my cats wear collars.
I screen calls.
I’m one of those pathetic parents who medicated my child for ADD.
I don’t wear socks with my trainers.
I don’t like hot tubs.
I prefer to fly in small planes.
None of my wine glasses match. And they are all from thrift shops.
I vaccinate my children. We only ever get the MMR on a Friday because of reactions some of us have.
I have high-water drapes in the living room. The drywall in the house is positively worn-out where they should hang. One day I will pay someone to repair the drywall, or I will sew borders onto the ends of the panels so that people know I know how to hang drapes, or maybe I’ll have custom panels made. That will happen sometime between when I finish painting the trim in the back hallway and when pigs fly.

Do you ever notice how many people are offended by everything that isn’t the way they do it, the way they want it, or the way they think it should be? Has it ever occurred to you that we are all, every single one of us, THOSE PEOPLE to someone?

Now that you know all these wretched things about me, do you have any confessions of your own to make?

Posted in Personally, Random Musings | 22 Comments

Dirty, Naughty Produce

Posted on August 10, 2015 by joey

Cucumber was on the list, so The Mister picked up a coupla cucumbers and Sassy picked another one and told him he was doing it wrong.
He said we’d need more cucumber for all of us.

Sassy told him, “I don’t eat cucumber. Mama wrote, ‘cucumber,’ not ‘cucumbers.’ See? She’d put a two beside it if she wanted two. And Mama doesn’t like the long thin ones, she likes em short and fat.”

The Mister said it was all he could do not to burst out, “YEAH SHE DOES!” He turned his face away and bit his tongue to hold back his laughter.

These are the kind of things you do to protect your children. Then you can exploit their innocence as blog fodder.

But Sassy’s right, it’s true. I only buy one cucumber at a time and I hate when they only have the longer cucumbers, because inevitably, we don’t eat the whole thing and I hate wasting food.

Feel free to discuss your cucumber preference.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Sassy, The Mister | 37 Comments

Adulthood on a Saturday

Posted on August 8, 2015 by joey

Things I don’t wanna do:

Sit upright
Type things in this box
Plan a menu
Make a grocery list
Take off this chipping nail polish
Straighten my hair
Put on actual clothes and shoes
Grocery shop
Cook

totally jealous of my dog right now

Things I wanna do:

Lie down on my husband
Doze off
Read
Watch television
Drink cocktails
Pet my pets

I do what I’m supposed to do.

But I don’t wanna.

You, too?

Posted in Uncategorized | 27 Comments

As If Time Is Made of Stories

Posted on August 6, 2015 by joey

According to the stats on my last post, people don’t like it when I blog about Bubba. Heh, he probably doesn’t like it when I blog about him either.
I have a lot of happiness to share today, including that I am still excited for his return to Indy!

Second grandson has been born. Sissy and baby are both recovering well. New grandson doesn’t look Mottern-ly and isn’t anyone’s namesake, but I am forced to admit that I love him anyway. Unlike my husband, I do not long to hold him and change his pants, (Ewww, babies!) but I do look forward to when we can fingerpaint. I hope those boys will like animal crackers. I never get to eat animal crackers anymore.

The wee ones have returned to school. Long Live The Quiet Room! It is the suck for one reason. Paper. OMFG the paper. I am so sick of filling out paperwork. I am sick of flyers. I’m sure that four kids and years of military bureaucracy only heighten my hatred of paperwork, but I do so hate when my kids give me homework. How many times must I write my address and phone numbers?!? Now the health form asks if we’re homeless, how large our family is, our income, and for student and parent social security numbers. Um, no. For the love of puppies, just put microchips in their fingers and scan them! One day it will all be digital, and our grandkids will be like, “Paper? Made from trees?” Hopefully I’m done with the forms.
Yes, Sassy and I have already chased down and missed her bus, 12 minutes early! So glad I have Bonnie Blue and that I was able to drive her to school.
So…Long Live The Quiet Room!

The Mister is a rockstar at work. ROCK.STAR.

And — Drumroll —
HME came to visit!
We might, on our own, without husbands and children, revert to former versions of ourselves. I maybe went to the store to buy cat litter and soda and bought only soda. I maybe went to the Starbucks and forgot to buy a pound of coffee. It’s simply too hard to think when we never shut up. As would be natural for the younger version of myself, I did not forget to buy anything at the liquor store.

HME asked what we were eating, and I had to say, since it was a spur of the moment visit, we were havin a feast, but nothin fancy. No corn souffles, just some down home fare. I baked a chicken, some cornbread, a cake, mac n’ cheese, and sauteed some summer squash. I threw together a four bean salad. We picked at it and she said, “Add garlic.” I added garlic. We picked again. I asked, “How about some Cajun?” She said yes. I added Cajun seasoning and let it sit in the fridge for several hours. Nom. Oh, and The Mister cut us up some watermelon!

We stayed up into the wee hours. I keep sayin I’m too old for that shit, but I keep doin it. HME and I could totally win a talkathon. We tend to fall back to where we were, as if time is made of stories. I love the company of old friends. I miss her already.

It’s rainy today. We don’t need the rain, but I sure do like it. The high today will be 75, which for August, for me, is a lovely reprieve!

What kinda happiness is goin on in your world?

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Bubba, food, gratitude, happiness, HME, Sassy, Sissy, The Mister | 49 Comments

You’d Think We’d Know More

Posted on August 3, 2015 by joey

But we don’t.

In a few days, the boy one will be returning to Indy to begin an internship. He’s planning to stay at The Palace of Rules because they have a lot more space over there. I dunno how long that will last, but I think it’s kinda sweet, since MIL cared for him as a baby. Like a fledgling returning to the nest for a final shove. “Circle Game” and “Comin Around Again” — that sorta thing.

I’m mildly concerned about how long he can go without alcohol, screaming swears at video games, and being chided for not calling when he’s out late, or God forbid, if he forgets to set the alarm! I’m looking forward to MIL’s complaints that his scaredy-cat she’ll never see is up there not affecting her world in any way, but that’s not what this post is about.
Okay, so I totally want him to live in our dining room, or the coat closet, or whatever, but then I think about all the fucking cords, and I think, nah, palace of rules, much mo bettah, is best thing for you, maybe you come adult here on weekends…

His hope is to get a permanent position locally — we’ll all be so pleased.

As I mentioned in this post, my MIL has a knack for asking questions I cannot answer. Lately, she asks questions The Mister can’t answer either. In fact, many people do.

“Where’s the internship?”
“Oh I dunno, some place on the east side.”
“You don’t know?”
“I think it’s off Shadeland somewhere.”
“No, I mean, what company?”
“Oh, I dunno.”
“How did he find out about this job?”
“Some internet site.”
“What’s he going to do there?”
“Computer stuff. I dunno.”

I realize it sounds like we’re not interested, but in all honesty, we try not to pry too much into the lives of our children. If they want us to know things, they tell us. If they want to hide things from us, we allow them privacy. Until we see red flags, we just assume everything is kosher. We prefer not to micromanage and interrogate them, as we do not like to be micromanaged and interrogated. We want them to be independent and resourceful, and we want them to learn to set boundaries. We value freedom. We’re open.
We can only be who we are.

In turn, Bubba can only be who he is, which is a lovely contradiction — Is he open or closed? He’s an all-shut hermit who keeps things to himself, or a hilarious non-stop talker about things he’s passionate about. Translation: Introvert.

We want to enjoy the hell out of our kids, and we’ve learned to choose our battles wisely. We don’t ask a lot of questions of our adult children. The standard, “How are you?” “Whatcha been doin?” “How are your grades?” — that stuff is parent-y enough. I mean, he’s doing an internship, not getting bailed out of jail!

He was hard to raise, I mean really, really hard. I mean there were times I thought I couldn’t keep doing it. He was my squeaky wheel. My biggest challenge. Bright, sensitive children are so much harder. The highs are higher, the lows are lower. Oh, how I fretted over him.
He’s made it easier to raise Sassy. That’s a really big gift he’s given me. Most importantly, he’s made his way through so many circumstances, I’m compelled to trust his judgment.

I wouldn’t let him get on the bus without reciting his room number, his teacher’s name, our names, our address, our phone numbers…but now? Oh how things change.

So no, we dunno where he’s going to work, company or location, for how long, what he’s doing exactly, if it’s paid or unpaid, or if he needs new clothes. We know that if something comes up and he needs help, he’ll ask.

Probably at the last minute.
Because he’s an adult, not a grown-up.

Do you marvel over the process of parenting, too? Isn’t it amazing to watch people grow in every way?