Ain’t Kids No More

I could listen to this song all day, all night and then some.  Lord I love these girls; their harmonies are like a symphony to the ears, and their songs are so relatable, at least for me.  I’d love to see them in person, but the chances of that happening are between slim and nada.  I have been begging my husband to PLEASE take me to see Mumford and Sons-one of my very favorite bands.  The old excuse was he didn’t want to camp at a festival for three days, which I partially agreed with.  Apparently, they have arrived, but the new excuse is financial practicality.

The feelings of melancholy have had their way with my psyche.  Probably not the best time to cut my Zoloft dosage in half to save a few bucks.  Why, why do I do it and what was I thinking?  I saw a video the other day, a man called Nubreed was preaching about demonic spirits.  I usually love his stuff, he is a righteous dude, but the subject of depression/anxiety/mental health issues being demonic possession is a pretty, pretty, pretty loathsome one for me, for the obvious reasons.  These videos are about as joyful to watch as the ones about pagan holidays, and why we must ban Christmas, Easter and every other beloved tradition known to humanity.

I mean, haven’t these dark forces taken enough from us already?  Good grief!  I’ll be the first one to tell you that, as far as I know, you will not go to hell for going to Christmas Eve mass.  Pretty sure, just don’t quote me on that.  I am not a pastor and I have no intention of having people’s souls in my hands.  Just making an observation.

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Don’t even get me started.

I can tell you, I am 99.9% sure that I do not have a demon within.  Rid myself of them years ago, and I do my best to put on the full armor of God.  Am I a sinner?  Yes.  Does Jesus love me anyway?

Yes, Yes, Yes!!!

So, we had a lovely fall day together-me, my husband and the pooch.  I repotted a gimongous succulent, and we considered picking our pumpkins from our patch, but I wanted to watch them grow for a few more days.  I know, and yes, I am as ridiculous as I sound.

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My precious niece, Esme Elkins

And yes, she does take after her Aunt Michele, God bless her.

So, if you are new to my blog, I must preface this story by telling you that I have lived across the street from the monster in law for the past 30 years.  The first words she ever spoke to me were to say that Dwain was still in love with his ex wife.  Thins went downhill after that.  I don’t want to overuse the words, but if ever there was a narcissist?  It would be Miriam Hoffman.  I’m just beginning to believe that she may not, after all, be the anti-Christ-but God knows she’s something.  Something else, as in, eleventy hundred on a scale of 10.

For years and years I thought it was me.  Au contraire mon amies!  You see, I didn’t know what a narc was three years ago; and it was quite the nausea inducing surprise to find out that I was surrounded by them.  I own my crap when it comes to my codependency-a child of an alcoholic, and emotionally abused for a time by my mother.  Mom wasn’t a narc, not even close.  I now know that her empathy and love for us would have made that misnomer impossible.

My monster has ignored, belittled, aggravated and gossiped about me since the day I married her son.  How do I know?  My friends would tell me, my husband would tell me for crying out loud.  As the years went on, she knowingly and with malice put me through freaking hell to the point I thought I’d commit Hare Kari.

And then?  It happened.

I always knew that there would come a day when she slipped her mask, reaped what she had sown.  I just didn’t know how forcefully things would proceed-I had no way of knowing that God would take a church service to put it to her good, but that’s exactly what he did.

I must have been really stoned when I had the idea that, yes, why don’t we join Dwain’s parents at their church.  Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise, a loving gesture?  Unfortunately, we liked what we saw and began attending their church regularly.  One day I decided to wear my brand new, vintage Kentucky Derby hat-polka dots and all.  Dwain had just bought it for me, and I was tickled to find a dress that matched fashionably.

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I don’t wear hats to church to show off, nor do I want the attention of others.  While I can’t say that has been true my entire life-you know.  I wear them to honor my mother, who looked like Audrey Hepburn, even on a bad day.  As we entered the church, Dwain’s parents were greeting.  I told his mother of the gift I was wearing, don’t ask me why.  God forbid I have an enthusiastic moment, for crying out loud.

It wasn’t until a few moments later, when I mentioned my animosity towards Bud’s girlfriend, that she snapped.

That’s not something you say in church!  That’s not something you say in CHURCH!!!

Coming from a woman who openly mocked an autistic child during last year’s children’s choir Christmas pageant.  A woman who said,

I know where I’m going.

when approached by an out of her mind with grief daughter in law.

Nough said.  The next day I happened to be down at her coven.  She gets this snarky look on her face, but still, I don’t see it coming.

You looked nice yesterday.  I could have done without the hat.

Well, that was the icing on the cupcake.  I have never been spoken to by such a viper, and I’ve had some vipers, let me tell you, in my life.

And so it was, when Dwain informed his mother that I would not be attending tomorrow’s “birthday celebration.”

“What did she say,?” I wondered out loud.

She’ll just have to change, honey.  She has to change.

And my heart broke just a little bit, when I saw the sadness in his face.

I thought there would be joy on the day of reckoning.  No joy, it comes at the cost of my beloved~

 

 

The Bucket List…..

I want to be the girl in this video….travelling across the world, uninhibited, throwing caution to the wind.  Chances are, the likelihood of this happening is akin to a camel poking its head through a needle, and then realizing he still has to get his body through it.

I love, love, love to travel.  It’s just that we have no extra moolah, and what we do have goes to silly things like food, vet visits and electric bills.  I don’t have a bucket list in all actuality, but here is a sampling of things I would like to do before I leave this planet:

I would love to go to Ireland, in search of my ancestors.  If I do go to Ireland, I will be tempted to drink an ale with the kin folk-you know, raise up a glass to the country that turned us out-I hear they’re very folksy and welcoming, but let’s face the facts, I would want to live there, or perhaps petrify in one place, sitting at the pub, drinking Guiness, and singing the songs of my people.

Big Sur was a big draw, until I read about Bohemian Grove.  With our luck, we would find the wrong place at the wrong time, and I apologize, but becoming a blood sacrifice for the elite in this world?  Let’s just say I have no time for the big, wooden statue of Baphomet, and I don’t like people telling me what to do.

Hawaii was big on my “list” at one point, and now I see the error of my ways.  The fat faced dictator from HELL has threatened their peace, and I don’t want to spend my whole vacation in an underground bunker.

And lastly, there was Sea World.  Yes, I wanted to ride the dolphins with abandon, you know, be that girl: the one who never stops talking about her relationship with a fifty year old she met out in California, and then you come to find out it was a sea mammal.  No thanks.

So for now?  I’ll stay in this sleepy little town of horse and buggies, biting flies the size of Texas, and more cow manure than you can shake a stick at.

A Pack of Lies

When I was a little girl, not even five, I began reciting this prayer:

God, please allow my family to be happy, healthy, holy and safe.

Growing up in a dysfunctional household (my sister was in a high chair until the age of 11) where chaos reigned supreme-I had to pray.  Clinging to Jesus was how I coped, and nothing has changed in that department.  As a matter of fact?  I pray the blood of Jesus over my dog and myself before we hike in the morning, and today was no different.

To set the stage for this story, I have to make it known that Jess and I hike in very remote areas.  I am extraordinarily aware of my surroundings; I take no chances, carry a big stick and a pistol-not the one I want to carry, but a little red number that looks just like a Ruger.  Sadly, it contains mace and not bullets.  Or perhaps, like my husband says, it is best I not pack heat.  With my Irish temper it could get ugly, and fast.

So, as we exited the woods and moved towards the Wrangler-an older gentleman pulls up and rolls down his window. 

“Can you still fish in this pond or have they drained it?”

Feeling he was harmless, I began a conversation I will not soon forget.

This country is in big trouble.  Hey, I’m an atheist.  God has done nothing for me, and I’ll tell you another thing-that asshole needs to go!!!

My jaw clenched.  My body language changed.  I was put on the defensive immediately.

“Why would you say that sir?,” I gently asked.  I thought, now I can give my testimony of what God has done for me, and perhaps help the old geezer out.

Because of all the women he has raped!!!!!

What the holy fazuck?

How, and I mean HOW does this shit happen to me?  Of all the places in the world, this cranky old man has to piss on my parade?  I’m just minding my own business, I was trying to help…seriously???

“I believe we are done, sir.”  I waled away, but he ranted and raved until I was safely ensconced in my jeep.

Later this morning, while on the phone with my best friend, she casually blurts this out-

“You know who that was, don’t you?  That was a demon.”

Holy Mary, mother of God and all of the Latter Day Saints.

She is as right as rain.

The Bucket List…..

I want to be the girl in this video….travelling across the world, uninhibited, throwing caution to the wind.  Chances are, the likelihood of this happening is akin to a camel poking its head through a needle, and then realizing he still has to get his body through it.

I love, love, love to travel.  It’s just that we have no extra moolah, and what we do have goes to silly things like food, vet visits and electric bills.  I don’t have a bucket list in all actuality, but here is a sampling of things I would like to do before I leave this planet:

I would love to go to Ireland, in search of my ancestors.  If I do go to Ireland, I will be tempted to drink an ale with the kin folk-you know, raise up a glass to the country that turned us out-I hear they’re very folksy and welcoming, but let’s face the facts, I would want to live there, or perhaps petrify in one place, sitting at the pub, drinking Guiness, and singing the songs of my people.

Big Sur was a big draw, until I read about Bohemian Grove.  With our luck, we would find the wrong place at the wrong time, and I apologize, but becoming a blood sacrifice for the elite in this world?  Let’s just say I have no time for the big, wooden statue of Baphomet, and I don’t like people telling me what to do.

Hawaii was big on my “list” at one point, and now I see the error of my ways.  The fat faced dictator from HELL has threatened their peace, and I don’t want to spend my whole vacation in an underground bunker.

And lastly, there was Sea World.  Yes, I wanted to ride the dolphins with abandon, you know, be that girl: the one who never stops talking about her relationship with a fifty year old she met out in California, and then you come to find out it was a sea mammal.  No thanks.

So for now?  I’ll stay in this sleepy little town of horse and buggies, biting flies the size of Texas, and more cow manure than you can shake a stick at.

Instant Karma

I don’t know about you, but I am sick to death of gloom and doom, evil that cuts you off at your knees, leaves you shaken, breathless.  The enemy is losing, in leaps and bounds, but the news, the mainstream?  They want you frightened and feeling vulnerable, to be honest, at times I don’t know what to believe, but I do believe in QAnon, and let’s just say the concentration seems to be about the blood lines, the Illuminati and their puppets-satanic symbolism and transference runs RAMPANT in every mode of entertainment to be had, the news is enough to make me cry, and never, ever stop.  But I need to stop investigating and start living.  I know more than I should, and by that I mean I wish I knew nothing at all-but then I wouldn’t be me, and I have felt spiritually led through the entire process.

I had a good week, socially.  Lunch with a friend two days in a row!   I actually made my commitments over the last few days, and it feels so, so good.  I also, after 40 years, began eating a small meal at lunch.  I had a hard time pulling it off as of late, I was having dizzy spells and acid gut.  Please………….I deserve it.

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This cracked me up this morning. Enough so that I actually posted on social media! 🙂

Speaking of deserving……how in the harry do these people sleep at night?  Do they hang upside down from trees, waiting for some unsuspecting dope to come along?  Do they NOT KNOW where they are going at the end of the day?   Seriously, what is their thought pattern?  They are blatantly throwing it up in our faces, but know this: they are running scared.  President Trump, with the aid of the United States military, has put a few of their Cabal buddies in GITMO.  Do they not see a common thread?  What did they THINK would happen when Trump began to wage a war, drain the swamp, look at evil so bleak that a group of NYC policemen vomited and wept when looking at evidence.  I hear they are all still receiving therapy.

So, karma is real, man.  I wouldn’t want to be a thug/pedophile/Satanist right now, because the tables are turning.  I am heartbroken and angry, but life is for the living and I have a heavenly father who wants me to thrive, to be genuinely content and at times, euphoric.  I try to have a sense of humor about these happenings, and I find great fun to be had looking into the Q Memes.

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The only, yet most important thing we can do right now is pray.  Pray like your lives depend upon it, He is listening, this I know.  Instant Karma’s gonna get you Bitches, it’s going to knock you right. in. the. face.

A Pack of Lies

When I was a little girl, not even five, I began reciting this prayer:

God, please allow my family to be happy, healthy, holy and safe.

Growing up in a dysfunctional household (my sister was in a high chair until the age of 11) where chaos reigned supreme-I had to pray.  Clinging to Jesus was how I coped, and nothing has changed in that department.  As a matter of fact?  I pray the blood of Jesus over my dog and myself before we hike in the morning, and today was no different.

To set the stage for this story, I have to make it known that Jess and I hike in very remote areas.  I am extraordinarily aware of my surroundings; I take no chances, carry a big stick and a pistol-not the one I want to carry, but a little red number that looks just like a Ruger.  Sadly, it contains mace and not bullets.  Or perhaps, like my husband says, it is best I not pack heat.  With my Irish temper it could get ugly, and fast.

So, as we exited the woods and moved towards the Wrangler-an older gentleman pulls up and rolls down his window. 

“Can you still fish in this pond or have they drained it?”

Feeling he was harmless, I began a conversation I will not soon forget.

This country is in big trouble.  Hey, I’m an atheist.  God has done nothing for me, and I’ll tell you another thing-that asshole needs to go!!!

My jaw clenched.  My body language changed.  I was put on the defensive immediately.

“Why would you say that sir?,” I gently asked.  I thought, now I can give my testimony of what God has done for me, and perhaps help the old geezer out.

Because of all the women he has raped!!!!!

What the holy fazuck?

How, and I mean HOW does this shit happen to me?  Of all the places in the world, this cranky old man has to piss on my parade?  I’m just minding my own business, I was trying to help…seriously???

“I believe we are done, sir.”  I waled away, but he ranted and raved until I was safely ensconced in my jeep.

Later this morning, while on the phone with my best friend, she casually blurts this out-

“You know who that was, don’t you?  That was a demon.”

Holy Mary, mother of God and all of the Latter Day Saints.

She is as right as rain.

On This Solid Rock I Stand

All other ground is sinking sand.

I used to work as a food demonstrator for our local Dutchway Farmer’s Market.  This was three years ago, but I remember well the day I met her: dressed in piety, she waxed poetic on why HER church (Catholic) took the book of Enoch out of the bible.  She would run up to me, spouting her latest technique to get God’s attention.  She thought she knew it all.

“I have decided not to wear makeup, you know, to look pure in front of God.”

I had my good and bad days at this particular job, but this

was not the former and I wanted to bash her skull in.  There, I said it.  

“Cut the sanctimonious bullshit, sister.  Shut your effing mouth.  Do you want a piece of me?  Do you?????”

That was my thought cloud on that particular day.  I didn’t calm down until she pranced her pious ass to the deli counter.  Forget you.

I have always resented the self righteous.  I remember in sixth grade I got in trouble for spitting my gum out at the crosswalk.  Kim Fields, a more obnoxious child has not travelled the earth, and boy was I pissed.

“IT’S FUCKING BIODEGRADABLE KIMMY.”

Oh, if only I had that filter-but I don’t and I won’t.  And the God’s honest truth?  I believe He made me this way for a reason.  Later on, that same year, I was tormented on the playground because of my purple raincoat-wings included.  I was teased for being fat, and the weird thing was?  The ring leader was the largest kid in our class (being kind)  This did not bother me in the least (looking back, it amazes me) and I finally turned around one Fall day and let them have it.  And that was the exact moment I befriended Denise, who would later be in my wedding, and who came close to having me arrested whenever we cruised the mall.

“I dare you to take that man’s hat and run like your hair is afire.”

True story.

And at that time, I was so desperate to make her laugh?  I would have done anything.  Well, almost anything.

As the good Lord would have it, I am not a follower, a sheeple, an NPC or a spineless doormat.  I am Michele, Queen of the Absurd, the ridiculous, the this shit wouldn’t happen to anyone but me-Seriously???  But it’s AOK, because I made a covenant with God years ago.

“Dear God, I promise, I will endure the most absurd situations in exchange for the health and happiness of my family, my husband and my dog.  Amen.”

He hasn’t let me down yet.  Why just this morning?  I opened the frig (pre-joe) looking for my creamer.  A big box of batteries came hurling from above, the top of the frig is Dwain’s domain, and it looks like the Bermuda Triangle-complete with socks, important documents and said batteries that almost knocked my block off.  Yet I was nonplussed (part of the drill, I’m immune to flying objects-God’s got this) as the case missed my head by mere centimeters.  Hey, I’ll take it.  Of course, I promptly walked into the sharp edge of the kitchen cupboard with my face, but a girl can’t have everything!

The reason the Book of Enoch was taken from the Bible?  The powers that were, the elite, the Satanic bloodlines-they didn’t want us to have this powerful information.

And what do I say to them?