Dew On The Vine

Stumbled across this song the other day. I am shocked it isn’t well known.


It made us think of you.

We miss you still.


Dew On The Vine


I’ve changed. A glorious change.

I decided to go back and read some social media posts from a few years ago.

I have changed, a lot. I don’t know who that person is, much like someone who hasn’t seen me in a few years is saying of me now.

They don’t know who I am. I am not the same.

In some ways this is good. I am a much tougher lady than I was two years ago, but in that, I care a lot less. In fact, unless it happens to somebody I know, I tend to not care. Back then, I had hope. I believed in love.

Ask me that now, and I will laugh at you. Love is nothing. Its tolerating a person you have known for a while. Its someone you don’t mind tolerating. That’s all love is.

I used to think it was so much more.

How naive I was!

Although, I am glad I have changed. I no longer blindly trust. I no longer let people take advantage of me. I stand up for myself. If I don’t want to speak to someone–I don’t. I used to speak just to be nice. I don’t care if I am nice now. People have come and gone since then, but those who have stuck around, despite my drastic change, I know truly care about me, unconditionally, and they get the same from me. All the “love” and support I can muster without looking like I used to.

My political stances have changed. Everything about me is different.

And I can pinpoint when all this happened. Late March of 2016.

He destroyed the person I used to be. I am so much better off. I didn’t see it that day. I was broken. But if I could travel back to that day and speak to the girl that once was, I would tell her, “just you wait and see who you will be in two years.”

She probably wouldn’t recognize me and I barely would her.

And I thank you so much for that, Gorenov.


The sky is a hazy shade of Winter

Oh boy.

It’s the first day of my least favorite season. I hate Winter. I hate the cold. I hate the snow. I also fully believe that anybody who likes these things cannot be trusted. So now, my countdown is on to the first day of Spring.

Where I live, we seem to get the worst Winter weather in late January into February. Rarely do we get snow in March, so I have about two months to go until the weather starts getting better, however, come Christmas day, the temperature is supposed to be in the sixties. That’s wonderful, and that makes me happy.

I know, dry your eyes, you who wanted a White Christmas. You’ll survive.

Secondly, the best thing has happened to be this year. I got Christmas over with. Yes, I am done with it. I handed out all presents, including my children’s, early! This means Christmas will be “just another day” for me, unless some of my friends choose to bring me shit on that day, despite my saying I don’t want anything.

My children received most of what they wanted and they cannot complain. Especially my youngest. I sent some packages off back in February (international) and one of them was returned. It was the one with a Thresh jacket from League of Legends, which my son enjoyed for a while, but has since moved on to more adult games.The jacket, however, was pretty bad ass, and he wanted it. The recipient truly doesn’t deserve it, but I being the “nice” girl I am, sent it anyways because it was purchased for them. With it back in my hands, I gave it to my son.

Finally, before I go– to the person who sent me a message that said, “Hey… Rebecca how are you.” Your profile needs to be verified. I don’t know who sent this, but I have a pretty good idea, and your answer is, I am just fine. I couldn’t be better. Most likely, we have nothing to speak about. So, don’t waste your time. You’re blocked for a reason. 🙂

And finally, I leave you with this. Did you know that I just recently found out that this song was originally done by Simon and Garfunkel?  I didn’t know. I thought it was a Bangles song.

Enjoy the first day of Winter, people, because God knows I won’t.

Hazy Shade of Winter

The Final Stage of Grief: Acceptance

I have been through these five stages several times this year. In fact, I think I spent the entire year in these stages.

My grandfather passed away in February, but you know what? With him, we knew it was coming. The denial, bargaining, anger– that all happened while he was still alive.

“No, he’s pretty healthy for 85! Maybe you should get a second opinion!”

“Well, yeah, but if this doctor does this, then it should be fine.”

“Why am I demanding you take him to a doctor? I get he’s ready, but SEE A DIFFERENT DOCTOR! Why am I being selfish? Because I don’t want to lose the last living grandparent I have, THAT’S WHY I AM BEING FUCKING SELFISH!”

Once he passed, the depression set in, and to be honest, I still have my days where I see or hear something that reminds me of him, and I tend to tear up.

Then there was Jackass Whorinova and what he did, including the stealing from me bit (I know I seem like I am not over this, but I promise you, I am. I don’t care about what happens to him. If I passed him on the street, I’d not even look up. What I do care about is my money. Everybody cares about money, and if it’s stolen, you want it back. And if there is an easy way to get it that requires filing police reports and sending his name off to an embassy, then you’ll do it, and not feel remotely bad about it because it’s money. It is the root of all evil, clearly. He used a person for money, and I may very well ruin a couple of lives to get that money back. I should care more, but I don’t. I am dead inside. 🙂 )

Then the worst death of somebody who “we” were all very close to. Our “Mohican.” It destroyed me just as much as her. I still wish to not speak much of it, because it is not wise to speak of the dead. It’s an old “tradition” where you cannot speak much of them, or say their name too much because they won’t “pass on” to “the other side.”

Just know we miss him terribly. She misses him the most. I find it odd that wedding bells are ringing, yet nobody seems too thrilled about it. In a way, it’s like watching a brother and sister become roommates. There is a love there, but it is not that type of love. It is merely fulfilling a promise, and she is doing it because that’s what he would have wanted, and this man is her last connection to the man she had.

When it comes to him, I’m not sure we will ever move past the depression stage. Perhaps this marriage counts as acceptance. I fear it will be a long time before any of us could possibly know the answer to that.

This year has left visible, permanent “scars” on all of us.

Myself? From all the crying I have done, I have large bags under my eyes that will not go away, even when I sleep well. (Are there any make-up pros, or beauty bloggers out there that could tell me how to conceal them, or perhaps give me some insight on the absolute best product to help minimize them? Please? Please?) They make me look much older and tired. I look weary, and it has affected my confidence. (I haven’t taken a selfie IN MONTHS. I’m a girl! We love selfies!) And not to be rude to “her” but she doesn’t look much better. We all have the bags under our eyes. The light in our eyes– it’s dimmed quite a bit. Sometimes I look at us and feel that we are stuck, just going through the motions of day to day life, and none of us really knowing what for. It’s like we are waiting for something to spark that life back inside of us. We want to live. We just need help getting excited about it.

Don’t take this as we are depressed. Truly, we aren’t. It’s just a rut. Everybody has ruts. Only this rut has been the length of an entire year. I hope, I pray that next year is better. I believe, if you ask me, that the gods have toyed with us long enough. We have suffered enough and I am about ready to slaughter the neighbor’s cow and toss it onto a burning pyre to get some good luck for next year.

However, ruts are a part of life, and we really should try to be more prepared for them, but sometimes, there’s not much you can do to prepare.

To make matters worse, my least favorite holiday, Christmas is coming up. Oh let me tell you how much I hate Christmas.


I hate it because people have lost sight of what’s important about it. Used to, it was all about getting to see your family that you don’t get to see much, but here lately, it’s about nothing but who gets the best presents, who spent the most money, etc.

I know some people who will spend their bill money to purchase gifts and they always ask me to borrow come January.

Christmas is the same time every year. Plan accordingly OR buy cheaper shit. I don’t understand the mentality of “Oh, we have to buy expensive things for every single person we know!” I never will.

Because this January, don’t you dare ask me to loan you money. You can just sit there in the dark, clutching your eviction notice. I have tried explaining repeatedly why you should set a price limit, and a who gets what limit. You never listen! Just don’t buy people shit if you can’t afford it. If they get mad, fuck them. You don’t need that in your life! You don’t need a person who cares ONLY about the gift as opposed to you showed up to see them.

So don’t do it. The bank of J. Theberge is closed this January.

Remember, I’m dead inside.

I do have a kerosene heater you could borrow if it gets too cold in your dark house.


Modern Scalpers

Today I was on facebook, scrolling through my feed and I saw an interesting post from a community swap page.

This person had FIVE Hatchimals for sale for $100 or best offer. When asked where they got them, they claimed,”bought them for the kids and they didn’t want them.”

Let’s back up a bit.

If you aren’t aware, Hatchimals are this strange Tamogatchi/Furby hybrid toy that hatches from an egg over a period of time. You can watch it hatch right in front of you, and you have to clean up the “eggshells” once it comes out. (It’s not a huge mess like you think. They’re just small plastic bits.) These toys are like the modern day Cabbage Patch Kids, or Power Rangers action figures.

They are hot and in serious demand, so much so that stores have run out and aren’t certain when they’ll get a new shipment in.

One reason they have run out is because of people, like the seller I mentioned above, knowing full and well that it’s in serious demand, buying up all that the store had, and proceeded to sell them on BSOT (buy, sell or trade) facebook pages for an inflated price (Retail price is around $45), all to make a profit. They know parents these days aren’t going to tell their children, “No, I can’t get you that because X.”

I know not having this toy may upset your little angel, but for the love of God, do not buy these toys from the scalpers. I can handle ticket scalping (You’re still a jackass). I can handle other types of scalping, but this is doing it at the expense of CHILDREN. Instead, find out when the store will get a new stock, or keep an eye on the website (I will include the link at the end of my bitching) and be ready to buy it then. Explain to your child that people suck, and explain to them what the person has done, and why they did it, making certain to include the phrase, “because they’re a greedy asshole who is out to make a quick buck off the backs of parents just trying to make their kids happy, as opposed to getting a job.” Promise your child that as soon as one becomes available, you will get it. Kids, for the most part, are understanding and will be alright with waiting. Unless you have given everything to your child on a silver plate, and have never told them no, therefore you raised a spoiled brat.

That kid won’t understand. They’ll piss and moan like an impotent jerk and you’ll be tempted to hand $200 to a scalper just to shut them up.

Also be certain to tell them that the great philosopher Jagger once said, “You can’t always get what you want.”

The Great Philosopher Jagger

Because if you buy from these scalpers, you are essentially rewarding them for their behavior. You are telling them, “being morally bankrupt and greedy is just fine! It’s the year 2016 after all. You be what makes you happy.” Then this person will turn around, and the next time something like this happens, they’ll do it again, and you’ll spend money with them again, and they will turn another profit, and not learn a lesson.

Basically, I think these people need to be left with a dozen of these toys that people refuse to buy “second hand.” Let them be out all that money and have those stupid toys laying around. Then just maybe, if there’s ever another hot Christmas toy, they won’t buy them all up like the jackass they are.

Just maybe.

Hatchimals Official Site


I am now the proud mother of a teenager/ My rainbows and cupcakes delivery

Thirteen years ago today (truly, it doesn’t sound right when I say it. Thirteen years? Bloody hell.) I was in the hospital, after having been induced, feeling a little like a celebrity. So many people were there including: My grandpa (god rest his soul), my father, my mother, my sister, my now ex-husband, my cousin (who had never seen a vaginal delivery, despite having three children. Hers were all c-section, and she had asked me if she could sit in. I told her yes, because, why not?) and my cousin’s cousin!

Long about 8:00 in the evening, I came out of a Stadol induced haze. My labor pains earlier had gotten quite bad, enough that I asked for drugs, and drugs I got! By this time my grandfather and uncle had gone home, but most everyone else was still there. I sat up and looked at my mother and said, “I think I have to take a shit.”

My mother leans down and says, “What?”

I repeat, with a little more gusto than a whisper from being on drugs all day, “I HAVE TO SHIT!”

My mother pauses for a nanosecond, and then her eyes widen and she tells me, “No! Don’t shit! [J.Theberge’s father] Get the doctor!”

My dad, who had been mulling around most of the day, getting the food and drink for people looked up and said, “huh? Why?”

Then my mother said those words to him, “SHE HAS TO SHIT!” (mind you, my mother is currently a near 40 year RN, so she knows exactly what she’s doing, and talking about. She was merely repeating what I had said.)

My father and now ex-husband rush from the room, barking as they rushed down the hallway, saying that we needed the doctor nowt because the baby was coming.

Finally, he gets in there, and I remember complaining that the man had huge, “sausage fingers.” It was quite exhausting, and at one point I had my sister and ex-husband holding onto a leg while I pushed.

At 8:25 a little bundle of child came flying into the world (The doctor stood on the other side of the room with a catcher’s mitt. Don’t believe me? 😉 ) and they threw him onto my lap (bloody and gross) whilst I delivered the afterbirth, which I did NOT eat, and I did NOT take home with me (you gross people). It was promptly put into a biohazard bag and disposed of.

I also clamped the cord. Oh the horror, eh?

I also had more stitches than Buford Pusser (Thank you Jeff Foxworthy. I did not understand that joke when I was a wee one. As an adult who has popped out other humans, I totally get it.)

This has been the labor and delivery story of my firstborn. I’ve noticed those are quite popular online anymore, because people think (for some strange reason) that they are magical, rainbows and cupcakes moments, that somehow make me a primordial earth goddess of womanhood (only if I do it the *RIGHT* way. In a hospital? WITH DRUGS? NOT EATING THE PLACENTA? CLAMPING THE CORD?! NO SKIN TO SKIN IMMEDIATELY? OMG, I should have just tossed the kid into the orphanage because that was not the *RIGHT* way.)

I also didn’t breastfeed. 🙂 (Oh yeah, jump all down my throat about how every bit of what I did was wrong, and if I had only done it the *RIGHT* way, I would be deserving of a medal, and it would have been a magical moment.)

Natural birthers, lactivists… some of the worst bunch to ever grace the internet.

Anyways, a wonderful, happy birthday to my TEENAGER. I have a TEENAGER. Jesus, where did the time go? The next time I blink, he will be an adult. I don’t like this. I don’t like aging, and I don’t enjoy my children growing so fast, however, tis a part of life.

God, I just realized, I grow closer to being a grandparent every day.

Remind me to have their father explain why condoms are great. I refuse to be a grandmother before I hit 40.

But then I could be a GILF, so it’s a win-win either way.

I dedicate this song to you, my teenaged son that acts just like me. I’m sure my mother is still trying to figure out how to be a fly on the wall.

Happy Birthday, son!


Quick Day One Update

If you aren’t aware, a lot of authors like to drop little Easter Eggs into their books, kind of like some game companies do with their games, and I am no exception.

“Subject Alpha” has a couple as does “The Second Fate,” however, they aren’t that easy to spot. While I think the few in my second book are easier, I do love hearing from people who have spotted them.

Here’s a hint: In “The Second Fate” there is a reference to one of my favorite musicians, but that reference is also a reference to somebody I used to know. Now, unless you know me, you won’t get the second half of that reference, but you should get the first, and who it is I am talking about. 🙂

People get surprised when they find out that he’s one of my favorite musicians.

Enjoy the hunt, and look for that with other authors you read. You’ll spot some when you weren’t even looking, now that you are aware that they are there!