Beach Day Three's Cookie Revelation

Cyclothymic Disorder doesn't take a vacation, nor does Oppositional Defiant Disorder, nor really does any other issue, even those as seemingly innocuous as the massive insecurity and rare bouts of sadness.  There may be moments of clarity and even jubilation, but the underlying issues are always hovering, fixing to explode without any warning.

I grew very weary yesterday of way too many behavior redirections and corrections, but caught myself from giving in to exasperation, just being very relieved instead that all these negative behaviors are only annoying and not at all dangerous, nor violent.

The texts I receive from home are hilarious in their lack of urgency, or in the fact that there's nothing I can do about an adult son needing me to drive him somewhere at the spur of the moment.  There are other grown children in the vicinity that can be called. 

"Ooooh," he said, "You used the D word in your blog the other day."

This from a grown son who cusses every other word routinely.  If I remember correctly it was me quoting Big Joe regarding this one who was then surprised at the use of the word.

My niece, Lauren, now a youth pastor, or leader as she prefers to be called, had all of my Bubbas in a rousing game of something until four o'clock this morning, running through the house with pretend guns, it's apparently similar to the Shoot Out game they play at home, hiding in the meadow and running through the woods.

My phone has the 3G connection, allowing me to look online, but I'm typing on my laptop in Text Editor, I'd tried yesterday to pick up wi-fi to publish at a cafe, but to no avail.  I didn't feel like sitting there, I didn't even go inside, I was attempting from the parking lot. Maybe I'll make more of a genuine effort today, maybe not.

I've settled on three one gallon needle palms to take home to plant, from the same lady as last year, and I just can't wait, but duh, don't wanna go home yet, even to plant anything.

I do miss my silly dogs though, Marcela's tending to them today.

I'd picked up the most hilarious book at a yard sale, The Sweet Potato Queen's Big Ass Cookbook and Financial Planner that had me guffawing out loud all afternoon as I lolled about reading - reading the good parts aloud.  My mom has always made what she called Top Of The Stove Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies.  She's been uncovered though.  In this very funny Sweet Potato Queen Cookbook I learned their real name that my own mom had tried to hide from me for almost 58 years, knowing full well an immature farty brat like me needed no other amount of ammo.

Wait for it.

The real name is Catshit Cookies.

I've found it to be unbelievably amusing...and oh so descriptive.  Have you ever seen these little buggers?  A most apt description.

Lauren made brownies last night in a transparent attempt to dissuade me from hollering for Catshit Cookies, as I'd been the one to eat the last of the batch.  The Sweet Potato Queens make shockingly sweet concoctions saying "serves one."  Or eat until you are full...or sick, but the best line was in regards to Krispy Kreme doughnuts where they described a serving as "however many as are in the box."  Yeah boy!  My kind of ladies.

But now I've accidentally used three different cuss words in a week, as quotes certainly, but still visibly evident.

Yolie's caught the only fish so far, such a tiny one that they cut it up and used it for bait.  Allen caught a sting ray. Chuck is now claiming they're gonna fish all day and all night until they catch something worth keeping.

And seriously?  Who finds snakes at the beach?  Bodies do.  There's a king snake with yellow bands, a very large one in the sea grasses, palms and palmettos between the house and the beach.  Three of my teenagers have seen it three times each.  This small island teems with wildlife, Martin quietly watched a raccoon last night.

I love it here, just love it.