The Therapy Journals of the Fat-Headed Klingon Woman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

All the Reasons I’m Thrilled With Life. Or Not. June 24, 2011

Functioning of the rack and pinion.

Image via Wikipedia

Hello all.  I regret to say that my plans for the next couple of entries have been somewhat derailed.  I had planned to share a day-by-day account of the Disney trip, straight out of my journal, some of which was actually written on the plane.  (all together now- Wooooww!)  Unfortunately, I haven’t had time.  I have a life, you know.  It’s a busy, busy little life.  I exercise.  I go to work.  I kill my car.  I serve cake at the weddings of young people who are goo-ily disgustingly yackingly in love.  I stay the night at my parents’ house when they’re not there because my house is being bug-bombed. 


So yeah, those are definitely the things I have going on in my life at the moment.  Let’s start at the top.  I have continued going to TurboKick classes at TFP.  I have progressed to a tolerable level of uncoordination and I’m working on perfecting new moves.  I’m occasionally brave enough to do something called a triple-step, and also a burpee.  Or is it a Burpy?  Some exercise move where your hands go down, your butt goes down, and you jump your legs out behind you and back, and then jump up in the air when the music says “POWER!”  Except I don’t jump, because I can’t really get this body off the ground yet.  Or I’m scared to even try.  Or something. 


The work thing is nothing new.  I am working at the same place.  The new opportunity I mentioned a few entries back, I haven’t heard anything new about yet.  I do know that I dread the next week or so of work, because we’ll be short-handed. 


Which leads me to the next thing- serving cake.  A sweet girl I work with is getting married tomorrow.  We’re closing work early so we can all go.  I am the cake person.  I have to really watch my attitude, and as my beautiful baby sister advised, “Don’t barf on people’s happiness.”  I’m happy for the kid.  Everyone deserves to be happy.  The groom was a friend of my sister’s when they were in school.  In fact they went to prom together, as friends.  If my enthusiasm seems lukewarm, that’s because it is.  I’m a jealous old harpy.  People who are all lovey-dovey schloopy goopy make me want to yack. 


I skipped one, didn’t I.  My car.  The story of how I killed it.  Well, I was just trying to have fun with my kids.  Trying to do something together as a family besides sit on our butts in front of the tv and count our dying brain cells.  So I took them to the nearest beach, which is at a lake just outside of town.  I was trying to pick a place to park, and I drove off the edge of the paved area, and I didn’t notice, when making the choice to park there, that the drop-off was significantly deep.  I bottomed out and apparently I damaged my steering rack.  I didn’t know for sure I had done anything serious at first.  The car drove just fine.  I wasn’t having any problems with it until a few days ago (AFTER I had driven it all the way from Ardmore to Norman and back!) when I noticed it was way out of alignment, and then the steering suddenly started seizing up when I tried to make a left turn.  So I managed to get it to a shop today, and they said it was a bad steering rack, and that they’d have to order a part for it, and the part and labor and all would be over $500 to fix.  Now I’m trying to figure out what to do about it.  I can’t afford to fix it without help.  My mother might be able to help me, but I don’t know if she’ll be able to or not. 


Anyway, I’m mostly mad at myself for doing something so stupid.  I’m worried that we might have to cancel our cruise next year.  I’m wondering if God is telling me I’m not supposed to be going on the cruise.  The cost of repairs on the car is almost exactly the same amount it would have cost to get our passports.  I had been trying to decide whether to go ahead and get them or cruise without them.  The current rule is that they are not required for U.S. citizens taking a close-looped cruise (one that begins and ends in the same US port.)  But they are strongly recommended because if something happens that requires flying home from a foreign port, they ARE required for that.  Otherwise you’ll be delayed waiting for an emergency passport and permission to leave the country and enter the U.S.  by air. 


ANYWAY!  We’re staying the night at my mother’s house, despite the fact that she’s out of town, because The Dictators (our cats, Hitler and Mussolini) have brought fleas into our house and I am being forced to get rid of them by bug-bombing.  So while we’re refugeeing from the Hot Shot Foggers, I’m also carless, and I have to work at 8am, and someone will have to pick me up and take me everywhere, and I am serving wedding cake at approximately 2:45 tomorrow, and I may be forced to stab my next year’s vacation plans in the heart with a sharpened rusty spoon.


Why shouldn’t I be totally thrilled with life?


Until next time,



The Great Catbox War, or Why Mommy’s Favorite Drink is Now Vodka November 4, 2010

Hello all!  The Thankfulness posts continue on Facebook.  Today I put that I was thankful that my children have to go to school and annoy someone else most of the day.  Of course I didn’t really mean it.  Well, I did at the time.  The little crumb crunchers had been driving me insane!  They get up in the morning primed for arguing and fighting as if they’d been listening to subliminal messages in their ears all night:  “Wake up and fiiiiiiight.  Argue with mooooother.  Sass and baaaaacktalk.  Piddle and daaaawdle.  Be late for schooooool because you take too long in the shooooower.” 


One of the biggest arguments this morning was over The Dictators.  Our cats, Hitler and Mussolini.  Here they are.  Aren’t they just cuter than you ever thought evil dictators could be?

The Dictators, Hitler (b/w) and Mussolini (b/w/o)

I am ready for them to become permanent outside cats because they are stinky and obnoxious.  They make me completely crazy.  The bathroom that used to be the kids’ bathroom, the cats now have all to themselves because that is where the catbox is, and it does not get cleaned out regularly enough, so it stinks in there, so the kids don’t want to use it.  On top of this, nothing can be put on the counters because the cats climb up there and knock it off.  Furthermore, the Dictators seem to think that they have not completed their catbox business until they have done the rhumba, samba and cha-cha through the litter and kicked it all over the floor, so the floor is disgusting to walk on, covered in litter as it is. 


Yes, I’m sure that makes my home sound like a wonderful and pleasant place to be.  (Obama moment) Let me be clear.  It is Daughter J.’s job to clean out the catbox, because she is the one who argues and sasses and says no every time I talk about wanting the cats to either go find new homes or just become outside cats.  They’re plenty old enough.  I really think they can defend themselves adequately against other animals in the neighborhood, and if not, there are plenty of trees to climb and escape. 


So this morning, I opened the bathroom door to let the little nasties out of their nighttime home and the stench eminating from the room was barf-making.  We’re talking hit you like a brick wall and momentarily steal your ability to think straight!  So I gently remind Daughter J. that the catbox has reached its capacity for containing feline feces and is long overdue for maintenance!  But unfortunately, my wonderful children have taken much too long to roll their butts off the bed and get ready for school, so I tell her that despite the fact that the catbox smell is about to kill us all, she does not have time to fix it now, and because of her negligence, I will be taking care of the situation when I get home from taking them to school, and the cats will be outside.  Whereupon, she feels compelled to begin whining and begging and pleading and swearing upon her very life that she will clean it out when she gets home from school, and I tell her to forget it, that I am reclaiming my house, and to go get her butt in the car because it’s TIME. TO. GO!!!!


In the meantime, The Boy is griping and nagging about something, and the longsuffering, but not often helpful Daughter S. is getting her stuff collected, and finally we get in the car, but stubborn mule Daughter J. decides to try to scrape the catbox after I go out to the car.  So I have to come back in and make her get out there, but by that time, The Boy has claimed his spot in the car and it’s always the side of the car that J. comes to first, and then there’s a whole fight over “scoot over v. make the other person go around” which has totally been argued to death a million times. 


Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?  So you can easily see why I’m thankful for school.  And why vodka is eventually going to be my favorite drink.  And why I don’t care WHAT anybody says, being a parent of only one child is missing vital elements of parenting!  Oh, the joy!


Until next time,



Living With Dictators: Hitler and Mussolini’s Morning Antics May 25, 2010

Filed under: Four-Legged Love — DDKlingonGirl @ 9:22 pm
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Hello all.  Welcome to the ‘Living With Dictators series.  The Dictators, in case you missed it, are our new kittens.  Hitler is the male, who eats like every meal is his last, and acts like he left his brain in his pants pocket.  Mussolini is the female, a bit smaller, daintier, and apparently smarter than her brother.  This is episode 1- We follow The Dictators through their morning routine.  It begins at approximately 6:30 a.m.

(Hitler) “Hey.  Hey, Moose… You awake?”

(Mussolini) “Of course I’m awake, you’re lying on me, get off!  Did you hear something? Is someone up?  Did I hear an alarm?  I think someone’s up!  Helloooo!?  Helloooooo?!  I’m HUNGRY!”

H- “Hey, me too!  Helloooooo!?  Hello? Hello?  Hello?  Hungry!  Hungry!  Hungry!”

M- “Hello?  Hello?  Hello?  I’m Hungry!  I’m Hungry!  Hello?”


M- “Hey, I think the door’s gonna open!  Run for it!”

H- “It is!  I see feet.  Hey, wait for me!”

M- “If you wind around under their feet, they feed you faster. ‘Hurry up! I’m HUNGRY!’  Come on, tell her to hurry up!  If I don’t get something to eat right this second, I’m going to go into a kitty coma!”

H- “You’re such a weiner!  Hey, where’s mine?  I’m hungry!  Hungry!  Please?  Now?”

M- “Oh, yeah, that’s more like it.  Mmm, turkey giblets, my favorite.  There’s more gravy this morning, did you notice?  Oh, yum, that just hits the spot. Would you stop growling while you eat? I’m not gonna take it away from you!”

H- “foodfoodfoodfoodfoodfoodfoodfood!” 

7:00 a.m.

M- “That was so good.  And the water was nice and fresh too, didn’t you think?  I need to wash my face- I get so messy when I eat.  Hitler?  Are you STILL eating?  That better not be my leftovers, you greedy pig!”

H- “foodfoodfoodfoodfoodfood”

M- “You’re pathetic.  (This is the way we wash our face, wash our face, wash our face, This is the way we wash our face, after we eat breakfast!)”

H- “Ugh.  Oh boy.  I’m a little full.  Wow, take a look at my stomach!  I can hardly walk- I think I might explode.  Hey, watch me waddle!”

M- “You sir, are completely uncouth.  I bet I can beat you to that shoe over there!”

H- “Not a chance, big mouth!  Hey, you cheated!  I’mma tackle you!”

M- “You are not! HA!  I’ve got you in a headlock!  Hey, what’s that under that chair- COOL!  It’s a gum wrapper!  Watch what I can make it do.”

H- “That’s nothing, watch what The Mama does when I climb up here on this hangy-down thing by the window! Ouch, easy Mom! Wheee!” 

M- “Hey, where’d you go?  Oh well.  What’s up here on this big blue cloth mountain they sit on?   I’M KING OF THE WORLD!  Oh, hey Hitler, there you are!”

H- “I knew I could climb up here.  I just had to get a running start.  It felt like my claws were gonna fall out!  Maybe I shouldn’t have had so much breakfast!” 

M- “Of course not, especially since it was MY leftovers, Greedy! Get off my mountain!”

H- “Make me, Shrimpo!”

M- “All right, that’s it.  I’m gonna bite your tail off!”

H- “Not if I bite yours first!  Come back here.  You can’t get away from me, you know I’ll find you!”

M- “You gotta catch me first, Pudgy!”

H- “Hey, wait!  Help!  They caught me!  I think they’re gonna put us back in prison!  Moose!  HELP!  Nooooo, I was just starting to have fun!  Oh, whew, there you are.  So we’re back in here again.  Great.” 

M- “She got me.  I tried to go under that big walky-thing that makes noise, but she chased me out, and then I went under the chair and around behind that thing that holds the big loud talking picture, and then she caught me.  I don’t like it in here, this is boring!  Mom!  Mom!  Mom!  I want out!  Let me OUT!  Mom!”

H- “Quit whining, you baby, I’m tryin’ to poop over here!”

M- “Oh, gross, now I really want out!  You better be using the box, Nasty!  Mom, Mom, Mom!  Do you hear them?  It’s too late, they’re gone.  I guess we’re stuck.  Where’d you put that white stick with the fuzzy stuff on the ends?  Oh, there it is!  I bet I can bat it farther than you!  Hitler?  Hitler?  Hey, good idea, I think I’ll take a nap too.  I’m pretty… slee…py…. hmmmmm.”


Until next time,



Living With Dictators (Part 1) May 12, 2010

Hello all.  So I mentioned last night that we brought two kittens into our home, and that I suggested the kids call one of them ‘Hitler’ because of the little black smudge under its nose?  Well, it appears they’ve settled on that, because I kept referring to it that way, and then I said they should call the other one Mussolini, and I think we’re going to keep those!  Never mind that they’re both girls, I think.  That doesn’t matter.  Haven’t you ever heard of The Boy Named Sue?  Ok then!

So anyway.  I went to the dollar store last night after supper and bought a cat box and some litter and food.  Then when I got home I realized the entrance to the litter box was way too high for them to even get in, because they’re still so little!  (Duh, me!) So I had to substitute one of those aluminum foil roasting pans from the kitchen, since it was old and floppy and I never use it. 

We situated the little furry dictators in the bathroom for the night, and they proceeded to yowl and whine for a while, but finally settled down.  The Boy was in the same boat!  He couldn’t get to sleep and kept getting out of bed and coming in the living room, but finally got to sleep probably between 11:30 and 12.  Poor kid.  I just knew waking him up was going to be hard today, but it really wasn’t.  He rolled out about 7:30 and got dressed and ready to go more quickly and easily than usual.

I rescued Hitler and Mussolini from the bathroom after I woke up the kids, and The Dictators wandered all over the living and dining rooms meowing like… I’m not sure what, exactly.  I’m not a Cat Whisperer, so I don’t know if they were scared or hungry or just had a lot on their minds.  It was so funny though, when I went to get them out of the bathroom, they were hiding in the corner between the tub and toilet, and Mussolini hissed at me like “Don’t mess with me.  I’m not kidding, I mean it!  I’ll hurt you!”  Then when I picked her up, she just looked like, “Awww, man!”

Anyway, my plan is to make their adventures, growth, and development a regular series in this blog.  I’m also getting ready to add a creative writing page where I will publish my most recent short story in installments, as well as any poetry I might write.  Speaking of which, one of my poems was accepted for inclusion in Southeastern’s student literary journal, Green Eggs and Hamlet!  The advisor, Dr. Prus, said he would send me a copy or copies as soon as they’re out.  I’ve been published in GEH before, but it may be a bigger deal now because I’m not still a student there.  They probably choose alumni works less often.  So yay me!

Stay tuned for the future adventures of The Dictators, sometimes in their own words! 

Until next time,



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One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

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