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Tex Commando

“I'm not angry, just outspoken”

Tag Archives: coffee

November 21, 2011 November is for Thanksgiving

  • for meaningful friendships that allow me to be myself without fear of rejection or judgement regardless of my religious beliefs
  • for red wine and fancy craft beer
  • for being the ‘godless and immoral’ one who is almost always the voice of reason
  • for guiltless, dirty, awesome sex
  • for the courage to leave the church
  • for being truly happy for the first time in my life (yeah. happiness is a real thing even for apostates)
  • for having an ENTIRE EXTRA DAY to do family fun stuff/shopping/work/relaxing
  • for being able to show off my awesome shoulders in sleeveless shirts and dresses
  • for shedding the baggage that makes me feel guilty/sinful for wearing a bikini this summer
  • for Bailey’s in my coffee
  • for being the Honorable Queen Bishop to my FMWAs

Anyone else out there who needs the support of friends when you feel like you have no where else you can go to be supported in your radical/immoral/apostate ideas? Hit me up. I have just the place for you.

 

 

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November 10, 2011 ADD ate my blog post

Aside from not thinking people want to read what I have to say, there’s another reason I don’t post more. My friends and their wacky conversations on facebook. I get started on a blog post, and inevitably someone starts chatting or commenting on something crazy. Well, OF COURSE I can’t let it go. I have to participate. Then I forget what I was blogging about in the first place, and scrap the half-written paragraph. I guess I could only have one window open at a time. I don’t have to be on facebook while I’m blogging. I could allocate my time between blogging, housework, errands, facebook, work, working out, and all of that crap. But what fun is that?

I sorta like living in chaos. I like bouncing from thing to thing to thing. I like being rushed. I feel like I’m my most creative when there’s a tiny element of chaos involved. I feel like I get nothing done if I have plenty of time on my hands. Take this morning, for example:

I get up early and make my coffee. Then I’m on the computer to finish the blog post I started almost 24 hours earlier. Then I rememer about the pattern I was going to find for my 10 year-old’s friend to knit on her trip to Orlando in a couple of weeks. Then it’s time to go upstairs for the coffee/make breakfast/nag my kids to get ready for school/drink coffee/talk to kids. Then back downstairs to work on the blog post/check facebook/make plans to see friends today/arrange schedule and to-do list/delete old blog post and start this one. Then I go back upstairs to check on the kids/start creating an easy pattern for Mimi’s friend because the others online were too hard/make half of the girls’ lunches. I still haven’t brushed my teeth or gotten dressed. Zoom kids to bus stop. Get back to computer to attempt yet AGAIN to finish blog post. Then decide to go in and talk to husband who is still in bed (don’t hate. he had a rough night’s sleep). Kids are all gone. Why, yes, I will have sex with you, Mr. T. Finally take a shower, but just put on robe/check livingsocial for daily deal/buy deal/check more deals/get in touch with photographer who has another deal on livingsocial/talk to Mr. T/get halfway dressed/kiss Mr. T goodbye. I’m still not all the way dressed. No brush teeth. No dinner started like I need to. Blog post STILL isn’t done. Did I mention I’m supposed to have plans with a friend/make hummus/grilled pizza crust for dinner/train client/take kid to doctor/and leave for the weekend today? It’s 10am.

The crazy thing is that on a day like to day I’ll actually get all of this shit done and more. I’m still  halfway dressed and haven’t brushed my teeth. I make fun of the teenager because she always runs out of the house with no shoes on. She can’t put her shoes on before she leaves the house because she’s the same way.

I like it. I hate it. It’s what makes me who I am. It’s the best part of me and the worst part all tied into one awesome package called Tex.

I’d like to keep patting myself on the back, but I need to get dressed/brush my teeth/make pizza dough/hummus. Oh yeah- and eat breakfast. I haven’t eaten yet. I’m hungry. Maybe I should do that first.

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October 26, 2011 But how many DON’T believe anymore? *revised-and by revised I mean reposted from an earlier time*

 

There’s this thing going around on the face book. It’s this thing called a ‘family reunion’. It’s a ward family reunion. See, my old ward was pretty transient. People would come for a couple of years then move to another state or even another country. It was a military ward. Every two years or so, it would be a whole ‘nother group of people in the ward. There were a few ‘old timers’, the people who had been there for 4 or more years, but for the most part, it turned over pretty regularly. People lose touch. They want to reconnect. A group is formed. Great idea. I often wondered about some of those people I knew way back when.

I loved this ward. Until I didn’t. Lots of people loved this ward. Until they didn’t. Lots of people loved the church. You get it. The funny thing is, I personally know a few (or more) people who were in this ward who no longer consider themselves Mormon.

So, I thought it would be silly brilliant appropriate to create a group that took into account the fact that there are family members that might not be represented. The apostates. I hate that word, BTW. Can we call it something different? Suggestions? I felt like the apostates were disenfranchised.

So, Tex, being the ever-inclusive, did something about it. (Yeah, 3rd person. My ego is that big)

I created a secret group for the apostates. Have you seen it? No? OF COURSE NOT! IT’S SECRET, REMEMBER?! No one but the members of the group know who’s in the group.You might be surprised who shares your feelings. No one will say anything to anyone. It’s a safe place to be yourself.

Safe. No one will threaten to divorce you. No one will yell at you. No one will shun you or discourage you from ‘having questions’.  We ask each other questions. Thought-provoking questions that don’t have easy answers.

You mofos know how to get in touch with me. If you don’t know how to specifically, you know someone who knows someone who can get in touch with me. Let me know if you want to be counted. You’ll be counted among the family of apostates, the small (but ever growing) group of people who no longer – well, blah blah blah. If you’re an apostate and you know it, clap your hands!

…in the name of Her Honorable Queen Bishop ‘Tex’ the Benevolent, drink wine.

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June 4, 2011 things you might want to know

  1. Five year olds are way too candid. In fact, they are embarrassingly candid sometimes. Mine pointed out in the dressing room of Kohl’s that my belly button looks weird, and all the lines on my stomach made it look like a zebra. Then she asked which ones she made. Ummmmm…you didn’t make any because my skin was ALREADY stretched way the fuck beyond natural capacity two kids ago. Thanks for noticing OUT LOUD IN PUBLIC.
  2. Morning coffee is much better with a shot of amaretto in it. I’m not a liquor person. I don’t usually have any liquor around except Bacardi Limon (you know, because diet coke tastes better with a lemon). But, we are going to a party tonight, and I am using up the remaining lady’s fingers I bought for Mr. T’s birthday cake to make tiramisu. I didn’t have any plain rum or Kahlua, so I used the amaretto that was hiding in the cabinet. As soon as I smelled it, I realized that I needed to have some in my coffee. If that stuff wasn’t so syrupy, I’d drink the stuff straight out of the bottle. So, here I sit at 10:22 am with a nice buzz both from all the caffeine and the amaretto. Nice.
  3. Don’t make the copycat Cheesecake Factory Limoncello Torte. You’ll be disappointed. I attempted to make it for Mr. T’s birthday yesterday, and it tasted OK, but looked like shit. NOTHING like the restaurant’s cake. Like I said, I must fix it. However, I don’t really need to have tons of cake, and cream, and mascarpone, and lemon around my house. I’ll eat all of that shit. I love lemon stuff, and I’d eat the shit out if it.
  4. Yesterday I finally blocked a person on Facebook that I’ve wanted to block for some time now. He always posts crazy and super-opinionated right-wing bullshit. Yesterday, he blew me away with his bullshit. I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner. Methinks it’s time for another friend-scrub.
  5. Speaking of Facebook, some of us mofos have been trying to one-up each other with dinners. I’m pretty sure it started with one of the mofos being passive aggressive, and another one being aggressive. Now, it’s turned into this nightly showoff thing complete with recipes and all. There’s talk about starting a new blog around this theme. I already have some ideas, but I’d love to hear your opinions about it.
  6. The buzz is wearing off now. I must go make the tiramisu now. The custard is sufficiently cooled and the mascarpone is sufficiently warmed. Talk to you mofos later!

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May 31, 2011 Caffeinated

I love the feeling when I have a couple of cups of coffee in the morning on an empty stomach.

Knowwhutimean, Vern?

My insides are all jittery and my mind is racing and I feel like I could go outside and run 10 miles. It’s pretty hard to blog on caffeine because my mind and fingers don’t match up. I usually try to type faster than I am actually able to, and I end up making mistakes that I have to go back and correct. If I just type without correcting my spelling, this damn thing would be more of a mess than it already is. Inequity.

What’s really fun is when I train clients on caffeine. By fun, I mean that it’s fun for me. Super torture for them, but whatever. That’s what they pay me for, right?

I’m hyper and spastic right now, and if I don’t get some food in my body soon, I’ll be totally bonkers within the next couple of hours. That’s the suck part of the caffeine high. The Crash.

When I crash, I feel super tired and dizzy. It’s a shitty feeling. I think that’s why I don’t OD on caffeine too often. I usually don’t have three cups on an empty stomach.

I think I’m going to go get some food before I go to the gym to torture train my client.

See you mofos later!

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November 24, 2010 You got a problem wit’ me?

I have had this mug since October 1993. I bought it while I was in the Army at language school. There was a military instructor there who was a jerk. He didn’t know spanish, and I did. He did’t like that the other students in class would ask me questions and not him. I might have behaved like a know-it-all 18 year old. Those details are somewhat fuzzy. But I do remember vividly that he told me that I had an attitude problem. See, in the military, one of the worst things they can say about you is that you have an attitude problem. As if that alone sets you up to do all the ‘bad’ things in the military like, get fat, fail the PT test, fail training, and get a courts martial.

So, I did what any self-respecting PFC would do. I bought a mug to embrace my attitude problem. From that day on, that mug sat on my desk facing the instructor. I’d drink my steaming hot coffee from the mug ever so slowly whenever he’d come into our class. I was a little shit back then.

Now, when I pour my coffee into that well-used mug, I look at the marks in the mug and I think about all I that has happened over the past 17 years. There are rings and marks in the mug like the rings in the trunk of an old tree. I like to think that each one represents events in my life that have helped shape who I am today. There are some silly little marks that represent the stupid men I have been with. There’s the big one where I found out I was pregnant with my first child, a little more than a year after I got the  mug. Right next to it is the mark that was made when I made the best decision of my whole life and chose my husband instead of the loser who impregnated me. I have tears, friendships, births, successes, failures, losses, happiness, hardships, mistakes, regret, and more written down in that mug. It’s almost half of a lifetime’s worth of experiences and knowledge. And even though some of it’s not pretty, I wouldn’t erase those marks even if I could.

It’s who I am. And I heart it!

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