Why Give A Crap What I Say? It's JUST me.

Why should you give a crap about me? I have no idea... BUT....I want to thank you for joining me on my journey of a super shitty - averagely happy - drama filled - absolutely hilariously funny life.
I clearly feel the need to spill my guts about what is happening in my life to people I don't know. The funniest most off color TRUE stories you've ever heard - and when you least expect it, you'll cry like a baby.

The photo you are seeing is "my" yard in the summer. A home is not a place it is the inhabitants that make it a home.

With love, Alyce

November 22, 2012


Thanksgiving 2011

...I see myself in this picture but I don't remember it.

Thanksgiving 2012

The difference between Thanksgiving of 2011 and Thanksgiving of 2012 is so vast I’m not sure where to begin.

Last year was spent with family.   My divorced parents - my brother, his wife, and children - my husband and our three children - all together.   One of the last times we would gather like this.  What a horrible shame.    Almost forgot that we did gather at Eric’s funeral.  Of course we did.

We took “planned” pictures during our feast.  “On the count of three everybody appear to be elated”.  Gathering around “daddy, husband, uncle, brother-in-law” we posed.  Our hearts were breaking, through our smiles.

My husbands body was becoming more weak, but his mind and spirit were strong.  

I don’t remember last year’s festivities.  I know I was physically there because I see myself in pictures, however, there is not one flashback of that time.   Come to think of it I have very little memory of any time after a meeting I had a doctor in August.  “We’ll try to get him to his birthday,” I was told.  “His birthday????????  That’s in January!!!!!!”  The next vivid memory is of Eric’s last breath 4 days after his birthday, on January 21, 2012.

(As an aside - my mother is in the kitchen of my rented home frying onions.  I am in a paralyzed position on my couch, waiting to feel thankful.)   A new and fabulous friend is coming this morning to help cook.

I’m trying so hard to remember anything of Thanksgiving 2011.  It’s so crazy, that I can’t remember “a thing”.   While in the moment you swear you will never ever forget “a thing”.   You promise yourself that this moment in time will be embedded in my memory forever.  That is if forever, is only 24 hours long.   

Within 2 weeks of Thanksgiving my husband was paralyzed.  I wish we had danced.  I wish we had danced.  I wish we had danced.  HOLD ON A SECOND!!!  Maybe we did dance and I just don’t remember.  New memory....we did dance.  We slow danced.  We didn’t talk.  We just danced.   I didn’t cry in anticipation of his death.  I just let the moment just be.  

O.K....so I know this is all just a bunch of crap, but it could’ve happened.

This year my brother and his family will not be here.   Not sure where they’ll be, but they’re not here.

The cast that will be at my home for Thanks (names are being withheld to protect the innocent)

Bruce Willis: 25 year friend that is a life-line  (and “her” husband)
Elvis: 6 month friend that I’ve known for years
Vidal: 6 month friend who is a giving tree
Bela Karolyi: 3 month friend that slid in as if always there
Unknown Character:  Single mom and 3 children.  No place to go - sure come here.
Unknown Character: A friend of Bruce Willis that I “need” to know
My divorced parents: speaks for itself
Child 1: Brilliant
Child 2: Brilliant
Child 3: Brilliant

I’m sure there will be additional people coming to my new home.   Our old home was the same.  Everyone was welcome, and everyone came.   As swiftly, everyone left.  I mean everyone.  

Am I less fortunate this year than last?  I’m different fortunate I guess.  It totally sucks that my children are spending Thanksgiving without their father.  As the most horrible saying goes, it is what it is.  This fact I cannot change.  Eric will never spend another Thanksgiving with us again.   OK.  Next.

My family is healthy this year.  Sure, we’ve all got something or other...BUT nobody is dying.  Well, we are all dying...but you know what I mean.  I am grateful.

My home will be full of people who are choosing to be with us.  Whether friends or relatives, there will be people, and there will be love.  I am grateful.

My parents will be here together’ish,  I am grateful.

We have food, clothes, shelter, blah blah blah.  But there are those that don’t.  I am grateful

In summation, I wanna be done in the why me...I wanna be in the why not me.  I wanna be in the “I remember” and it was nice.

I need to remember....


November 12, 2012

No Picture Book - This is a Novel

I spend a lot, and I mean a lot of time trying to find a picture that conveys what I am writing.  It’s as if what I’m writing is not clear enough, there needs to be an accompanying photo with it.  A picture book for grown-ups.  

As usual I searched for a picture that would encompass the feelings I have today.  Solemn, sad, frustrated, disappointed, mad, disappointed (I said that twice), lonely.  There’s more to the list, but it’s dumb to write all the words that describe grieving.  

The “stages” of grief having been defined in 1,000,000,000 books does not apply to me, but rather to everyone else going through this process.  I am special and above such nonsense.  

When my husband died in January of this year, (yes still in this same YEAR), I was sad for a while.  Then, as I usually do, I snapped out of it.  I was intently focused on giving myself and my children a better life.   From March forward my life was dedicated to moving out of the grey and into the sunshine.  Out from the old and into the new.  Away from the disappointment and sadness and into the hope and joy.  Hello, Crock of Shit it’s nice to meet you, my name is Naive.

Sunny Palm Beach, FL brings 80 degree weather in November as opposed to the 40 degrees we came from.  Oddly enough even the sun can’t break through the grey in my home.   I would trade (not happily) 100000000 days of grey to have the father of my children back.  There will never ever be another father of my children to talk to, no matter what the weather.

How ridiculous of me to think that a weather change would change our broken hearts.  

I’ve talked many times about the imperfect relationship my husband and I had.   The betrayal I feel to him that I might have been relieved that I would be able to start my life over again.  What an idiotic thought that was and still is.   Starting a life over again only applies to those who believe in reincarnation and then at best you’ll probalby come back as a bird or a tree or something crazy like that.  This life I have just continues.  Continues regardless of what my zip-code... who my friends/enemies are... how those I trusted betrayed...or how I was the betrayer.  It all just goes forward whether you want it to or not.

No amount of crying or wishing can help me get back to the place where my husband isn’t dead, and I can say, “I am so sorry for making the last 3 months of your life shitty.”  I am so very sorry that I let my own ego interfere with allowing you the peace you needed before you took your last breath.  I can’t and won’t let myself be forgiven for being so evil!  It is just pure evil to deny a person the opportunity to breathe deeply and peacefully as they watch themselves deteriorate into the baby they once were.  

I was “the” caregiver to my husband.  I lifted him into the bathtub only to realize I was too weak to pull him out.  (With all the strength we both could muster, we did drag my naked and vulnerable husband out of the bathtub.)   One of the days I realized, holy shit, this ain’t no joke!!!  We are fucked in this battle against cancer AND we are going to lose.

Hoisting him above the hospital bed we had moved into our home so he could mingle with our friends.  Me, lying on the floor, pushing and pulling with both my arms and legs, just to then be able to lower him into the wheelchair that awaited him.  He was grateful.  Never failed to thank me.  I was pissed because I had to do EVERYTHING and ALL he had to do was die.

There was a day that using the bathroom wasn’t an option.  That was the day he realized that it was almost his time.  That is the day when I realized I couldn’t care for him forever.  It wasn’t that I minded doing all these duties - it was that the longer it went on the less “thank you’s” I was receiving.  How in the hell could I stand on ceremony waiting for a thank you from a man whose dignity was slipping away hour by hour.  Why wasn’t I grateful that he trusted me enough to allow me to take care of him?

I’m sitting at a car wash waiting for the car my husband told me to buy right before he died.  “Trade in the Lexus and the Dodge for the Honda Odyssey.  I don’t want to have to worry that you won’t have a safe car.”  He died January 21, 2012, I bought this car on January 27, 2012.

A “psychic” came to me recently and said, “Did someone close to you die recently.”  “Yes”, I answered.  “Well, I see him in your car.  Do you feel him in your car?”  Looking for the cameras thinking I was on a psychic medium show, I fixed my hair, and said, “His favorite country songs are on the radio ALL OF THE TIME!”

Perhaps I feel like I owe it to him to listen to the most awful music in the world in the car that he wanted me to have.  I was a radio DJ once, perhaps it’s my destiny to be a DJ on a country western radio station.   I an announce the music, even if I don’t like it.

Good morning folks, it’s AlyceIsCurious and next up is one of my husband’s favorite songs about gun shootin’, brawlin’ girl kissin’, and heart breakin’ and it amazingly enough sounds like every other C&W song you’ve ever heard.



November 7, 2012

...I wanna quit!!!

I've quit most things I've started.  My philosophy was, first is first, second is last.  True isn't it?  Look at last nights Presidential Election.  One guy one the chair and the other guy wound up with an empty chair.  (If you've watched any of the election you'll laugh at the irony of the empty chair).  If you can't be the best why even try?  My whole life has been a struggle in accepting my mediocrity.

Had a heart to heart chat with my personal trainer.  "Jill, I'm cutting down from 3 days a weeks to 2 days a week."  She said nothing.  "I'm not eating well all the time, and the only time I do anything is when I come here."  Again, nothing.  "I've decided I'm going to take the day I'm not here and sit in my bed, watch the news and eat onion dip with potato chips."  "Go ahead," she told me.  "I know you'll feel a hell of a lot better when your ass is bigger than it is today."   GRRRRRRR  "Fine," I told her.  "I'll come three days, but I'm not going to work hard!"

How else can I check out of life for a while?

That's the real issue.  I'm just done dealing with issues.  I'm just done.  It's hard, too hard.

There are peaks and valleys and valleys and valleys.  A valley then becomes a hole and then that hole becomes a bigger hole, but now it's made of mud.  I just keep trying to crawl up the sides only to “almost” get to the top and then, WALAH, you slide down to the bottom again.  Ugh

Isn’t that life though?  You try something you fail and you try again.  The fun of life experiencing new things - not whether you win or lose but how you play the game.  That’s the life lesson I’m teaching my 10 year old twins.  How the hell can I teach a lesson about “mastering the art of the fail” when it’s something I avoid at almost all costs.  If I got no skin in the game I can’t get burned, right?

Tony was an entrepreneur kinda.

If I tell my kids one more time about how many times Babe Ruth struck out or how many times Albert Einstein failed I'll scream.  C'mon you guys, it's o.k. if you don't get it right, just do your best.  I say this to my children with not an once of judgemental'ness.  I mean it.  Get a 76 on a test...if you tried and that's your best let's do dinner, I tell then.  What a hypocrite I am.  If I don't know with 110% certainty that something's a go, I don't move. 

Here's the issue.  Do I get into the game or stay on the sidelines????????????????????

I wrote a children’s book.  Took me 6 months to write it.  I think it’s quite good, and so does the external disc drive that it’s housed on.   Perhaps I should send it to some publisher’s.  Perhaps they’ll hate it.  (In all likelihood, they’ll hate it.)  It’ll get rejected, (I’ll be rejected.)  This just stinks.  I don’t have a “real” contact in the business.  “Hey_____________, it’s Alyce.  Yeah hi, how are you?  Great, great.  I wrote a children’s book and I know you’re in the business.......  What????  You’re looking for a children’s book to publish written by ME???  This is so great.  Oh, and you want me to sign a contract to write 7 more books, AND you’ll advance me the money.............”

Let's not get crazy...I'm not calling anyone today.  But I am going to try to figure out why I shouldn't.

I get that I sound like a moron...but if life were only this easy....I’d wanna play more of it.

I'll play but I gotta know I'm gonna win ahead of time!!

November 1, 2012

'til further notice ALL holidays are cancelled

 Halloween 2011 Family Photo
Halloween 2012 Family Photo
My late husband LOVED Halloween.   I think it’s an accepted form of begging for stuff that most can buy for themselves.  He and I fought year after year on the SIZE and QUANTITY of the give away.   Two years ago my husband bought mini-mini’s.  I believe 3 of these equaled one half of a whole bar, so that is what I gave.  We argued over how inappropriate a prize that was.  

Eric’s last Halloween he went hog wild and bought the giant 1 lb. bars AND the regular  bars.   The family walked the neighborhood as I gave out the candy.  Small bars first saving the big ones for, not sure what.  “Why did you save the big candy for last?”, he screamed.  “I always save my favorites for last,” was my retort.   No candy fight this year.

Took the kids to a street called “Dolphin Rd.”  A beautiful street on Palm Beach Island.  They close this street to traffic, (except those moms (me) who are dumb enough to drive down the street.).  

Free Italian ice from the local icery known as Rita’s Ice - free hot dawgs from a Sabrett cart.  Moms, dad, and kids wore beautiful costumes.  

“How’d it go?” I asked the kids.  They were both surprised that the size of a home does not correlate with the size of the candy given out.  I think they were hoping the top 1% would give more then those that are in the 99%.  That’s not how Halloween works I tried to explain to them.

My day was filled with sadness.  

I watched dads sit on the driveway of their multi-million dollar estates - wearing camouflage jackets - sitting on Adirondack chairs and shooting the shit.  This brought back a flood of memories of my husband sitting in the driveway of our home - wearing a fleece jacket - camouflage shorts - gnawing (literally) on a steak bone that he heated over a flame in a fire-pit on our driveway, drinking a scotch.

Not Halloween but could've been!!

My kids and I never discussed the obvious missing trick or treat'er, but we all knew it.  It was the, for lack of better phrasing, the ghost in the room.  I held each of my big kids for a little while longer and kissed them more deeply.  A kiss from two of us.

I must see if there’s a government agency I can call to ask them to ban all, and I mean all, holidays from being acknowledged for the next 12 months.