Holy Lame Updates Batman!!

Wow. A little over a month since my last update. Let's see.....

The "tools at hand" (new meds and therapy) are working quite well. I don't feel quite so much like I'm being swallowed by a giant angry black cloud. Which is nice, as I'm sure you can imagine.

The past month, what's happened??

In no particular order, I hung out a bunch with the ex, and as a result had several fights with the Ex. Despite the good qualities that kept me with him for 14 years, somehow the bullshit that we're both capable of creeps up and reminds me of why I left him after 14 years. So, yeah...I think that ship may have finally sailed, 'cause lord knows I can't do this shit anymore. I am officially too old.

I celebrated my 35th birthday. It was a tad bit anti-climactic, but it did involve some Mexican martinis and Jenna Jameson's autobiography and a $100 James Avery gift card.

I met a few boys, went out on a few dates, some good, some laaaaaaaame.

I met another boy who I like a great deal, but he lives in Dallas. Feh.

I found a new apartment and kiddo and I move on the 17th. Anybody in the central Texas area free that weekend?? I'll pay in breakfast goodies and pizza!! [winning smile inserted here]

So yeah - of all of that, I think you can all guess that The Boy From Dallas is what I really want to write about. I need a pseudonym for him. I know he'd have his own ideas, but this isn't his blog, is it? Ha!

Slick. I dub him Slick.

Ok, so. Slick and I met on Myspace. Yes, I am over the age of 17, kiss my ass. I've actually met more interesting people on Myspace than on Match. Kiddo's explanation for this is that Match is full of desperate white men. I gotta kind of agree with her there.

Laura, honey? Why are you only meeting people on the internet?? Well - because I'm a social retard and I like emailing a few times before I talk to you. Something about knowing that you can write in a complete sentence before I get drunk in your presence. Wait, you expect me to have an internet date without alcohol? BWAHAHHAHAHA! Seriously - what the hell sles is the internet good for, other than settling bets and giving strangers an excuse to drink together. May I continue?

Slick responded to my profile, which I noticed a lot of guys did when I had the cleavage pic up.

By the way, young men of Myspace? I don't have a single problem in the world with younger men. I figure age, much like clothes size, is just a number. However, if you can't be bothered to find the shift key or the comma when writing a sentence, I have to assume you can't be bothered to find the clitoris either, therefore no, I'm not interested. Thanks though.

Anyway - cleavage pic, big scary guy with scary stuff on his profile responded, I went ahead and wrote back because his message was actually reasonably intelligent. We started messaging and then chatting and then talking on the phone. And he's smart! And funny! And has a great phone voice! And three cats! OH MY GOD.

so I went to Beaumont on Saturday for one of Sport's games (they lost, very sad) and then on Sunday I took I45 up to Dallas. I didn't feel like going home, what??

We met, we clicked. And we clicked some more, and I ended up getting home sometime around midnight on Monday. Heh.

He's coming down this weekend for the ROTRally. Y'all know I'm just a bg ol' biker slut. I'm sort of stupidly excited about this guy coming to visit me. I hate getting all wound up about a boy, because it happens so easily because I'm a big ol' goob, but I just can't help it. It seems like he just might like me back. Whoo!

Anyway - yes, there's a boy and he's my typical broad-shouldered, blue-eyed eclectic weirdo. I think I should start a charm bracelet or something.

Sigh.

I really do like this one. Dallas. Damn.

I, Laura, do hereby promise to update more often. I think I just needed a break. I love you guys.

a sport short

I just got done chatting with Sport and MAN, I love that kid.

Here he is.

You stalk him or bad-mouth him??? I cutchoo man.

therapy, meds and kittens, oh my!!

I really want to tell you guys that I'm fine, everything's better, it's all good, tra-la. But I can't. I'm not fine. I want to be, and I've started "using the tools at my disposal", but I'm not fine and I won't be for a little while.

In the meantime, rather than posting more of the Depression Diaries, I'll show you pictures of my new cat.



More here.

Yes, this is number three, yes I'm aware that I'm walking on a ledge alongside Crazy Cat Lady Canyon, yes you can shut up now.

His name is Miles, he's cute but completely fucking bonkers.

I have to go now, I have to tend to the fresh scratches on my scalp. Seems someone likes to sleep on my head.

Standard disclaimers apply

After a while, you begin to question your sanity. You wonder if anyone has ever felt like this. Clearly, there is something deeply wrong with you. You wonder what the hell is wrong with you, why can't you just be happy dammit?? Why can't you just get out there and talk to people, without sounding like a boob, or shooting yourself in the foot? Why can't you get up off the couch to clean your house or go to the gym? What the hell is wrong with you?

You know these are the things that need to be done - things that "normal" people do every single day. What's wrong with you? What makes you so fucking special? Your problems are so great, so deep and wide that you can't come out of the funk (you refuse to refer to it any other way) and just do what needs to be done??

Pull yourself up by your bootstraps, for crying out loud!! What the hell is wrong with you??

You tell yourself that you're just lazy.

You tell yourself that you don't really like people anyway.

You tell yourself that you'll run tomorrow, or that your knees hurt, or that it won't do any good anyway.

You tell yourself that a bottle of wine every night is normal.

You eat too much and you drink too much and you don't sleep.

You spend too much money.

You cry at the most random times - walking through Barnes and Noble, watching "The Sopranos", sitting in traffic.

You wonder if this is what it feels like to lose your mind.

You try sometimes, to pick yourself up. You force a smile onto your face and you wear something pretty and you sleep in bed instead of on the couch with the TV on. You clean the catbox and the kitchen, and you pull out an old project and start kniting. Knit 5, purl 5, knit 5, checkerboard pattern.

But after a little while, an hour, a day, a week, it all just seems so stupid and pointless. The things that are pulling you down are still there - it doesn't matter how much knitting you do. The things you clean will just get messed up again. You can't get away from yourself, can't knit a big enough bag to pack yourself into and mail it off to Berundi.

Wouldn't that be nice? A nice long drive away from all your problems? Get in the car, drain your bank account and just drive, just go. But when you get there, then what?

Then what?

How long do you go, before you snap? Before you decide "ENOUGH!!!" How long? Six months? A year? Two years?

You imagine feeling like you're drowning for two years. You imagine this underwater feeling, this feeling of isolation, of watching the rest of world through a bizarre lens for another two years and you know the answer to "how long?"

You decide that something's gotta give.


This entry was inspired in part by recent events in my own life, and events in the Ex's life that I'm not really at liberty to discuss. But please don't read anything permanent-like into it. Like everything else on this site, it's just me glarging up words.

Mop, please!

I feel a bit like I came into the living room and vomited, and now we're all just sitting here, staring at the puddle, wondering what to do next.

HI! Welcome to beerandcarnations, home of the disgusting metaphor!!

Let's do a stupid survey that I ganked from Robyn and see if it acts like a little virtual sawdust.

1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought? “Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on with my forehead??" I have what's called a storkbite birthmark already, and a zit colony is setting up shop right between my damn eyes. Ugh.

2. When is the next time you will have sex? What a great question.

3. What’s a word that rhymes with “DOOR”? whore. Heh

4. Favorite planet? Earth. All my stuff is already there.

5. Who is the 4th person on your missed call list on your mobile? I don't have a missed call list right now because I got a new phone. Whoo.

6. What is your favorite ring on your phone? No idea - see above in re: new phone. Since my "new phone" is my daughter's old phone, there is no telling what the ring is. Guess I should find out before it rings and "Fuck Whitey" plays in the middle of my office.

7. What shirt are you wearing? An aqua? teal? blue-green? knit shirt w/ 3/4 sleeves, that I may go back to Foley's and stock up on every other color in this shirt because it is comfy and flattering.
Robyn? Whither number 8??

9. Name the brand of shoes you’re currently wearing? UM. Black? Fuck, I don't know - I'd have to take 'em off, and once I do that, they're staying off.

10. Bright or Dark Room? Bright.

11. What do you think about the person who took this survey before you? Robyn rocks in every possible way, except for the whole yellow thing. One day, I'm gonna drive to Alabama and steal Sugarbutt.

12. Hey Janet? Where’d #12 go? Heh - seems as if dropping questions is a trend.

13. What were you doing at midnight last night? Finishing up my last entry and drinking red wine.

14. What did your last text message you received on your mobile say? "Hey cutie."

15. Where is your letter box? With all the other ones right by the rental office. Aaah, apartment life.

16. What’s a word that you say a lot? Dude.

17.Who told you he/she loved you last? My kid.

18. Last furry thing you touched? Excuse me? Hee. One of the cats, I'm sure.

19. How many drugs have you done in the last three days? Advil and Excedrin Migraine.

20. How many rolls of film do you need to get developed? None. Digital camera + Snapfish = true luve 4ever

21. Favorite age you have been so far? This one's not too bad. Some shitty stuff has happened while I was this age, but I find that I like myself more and more. By 50 I should be completely insufferable.

22. Your worst enemy? Me, me,me.

23. What is your current desktop picture? A picture of kiddo getting loved on by Phantom - the dog that belongs to Stepmom's incredible neighbors. She's looking up and it looks like she's just laughing her ass off while this dog tries to give her kisses. It's VERY kiddo.

24. What was the last thing you said to someone? I have no idea.

25. If you had to choose between a million dollars, able to fly, which would you choose? Sadly, the million dollars. I'd be able to get rid of my credit card debt and buy a house. Plus, I can barely walk, and you people want me airborne?? Sadists.

26. Do you like someone? I like lots of people. Do you mean "do you want to fuck someone?" because the answer to that would be yes.

27. The last song you listened to? Some Sara McLachlan crap over streaming radio. ig. Her voice makes me want to poke out my ears.

28. If the last person you spoke to was getting shot at, would you jump in front of the bullet? Well, since it was a co-worker...probably not. (Sorry guys) But I would render shitloads of aid and/or go after the gunman.

29. If you could punch 1 person in the face who’s in your life right now, who would it be? Hm. Maybe one of kiddo's friends who constantly leaves half-eaten food all over my house and had PAINTED an ANARCHY SYMBOL on the FRONT PORCH OF MY APARTMENT the other day. killkillkill

30. What is the closest object to your left foot? The floor.

Loaded Questions

Hey Laura, how ya doin'??

Oh fine. Great. Wonderful.

Uh-huh. So - whatcha doin'?

Well, I'm sitting here, on my 3rd rather large glass of wine, watching the stupid last episode of stupid Sex & the City*, considering eating the leftover Chinese food that I'm supposed to take for lunch tomorrow and crying.

Um, is this a bad time?

Oh no, it's a great time. Really. Great. I'm fine. I'M FINE. FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE!!!!!!!!! {sluuuurp}

Dude.

Ok, look. Tomorrow will be a week and maybe I've spent the last 6 days squish-squish-squishing things down so I could function. OK? I admit it. I admit that last night I distracted myself by getting my nails done and my eyebrows waxed and letting kiddo color my hair. I admit it. Tonight I took the kid for some beautification of her own (not that I think she needs it, because my kid is beautiful, but anything I do, she has to get done, because she is woman, watch her wax) and getting Chinese food and well, you know the rest. At some point, it would be great if my brain chose to distract itself with housework, but whatever.

Fair enough. Anything else?

Yeah. I'm pissed off, and I'm pissed off that it took the worst episode of SATC, EVER, to make me cry and make me realize how pissed off I am. I'm pissed off because apparently I read too many infertility and adoption blogs to be able to deal with the whole insta-baby from China thing. I'm pissed off that Carrie's supposed to be this strong, independent poster-child for feminism, yet in the end, she needs a man to rescue her. And I'm pissed off about the whole cancer storyline.

And it's so stupid. Breast cancer vs. cancer of the lymph system.** Fictional vs. Real. Whole host of shit vs. Whole host of other shit. But dude....my dad never got to wear designer wigs, never got to whip his wig off heroically while giving a speech about cancer. He didn't get to prance around, all sexy and healthy-looking during chemo, and he certainly didn't get to fuck some hot actress while a flower bloomed symbolically on his nightstand.***

No, my dad went through years of painful, nauseating, exhausting chemo and was finally told that the medical community had no more cards in its hand. We're sorry Mr. Cajun, but there's nothing we can do. Instead of getting to die pretty, my dad died at home, in a rented hospital bed, incontinent, unable to control his muscles, unable to speak and gasping for breath. With the amount of drugs that they pumped into him to keep him calmed down, I'm sure (Good God I hope I'm right. Please God, let me be right.) he wasn't in pain. I know that after Tuesday evening, he wasn't really aware of what was going on. Or, if he was, he couldn't communicate it to us.

I found out at my dad's funeral that pretty much everybody who met him liked him. Which, yeah, I know - nobody's going to come to a funeral and say "GodDAMN, your dad was an asshole." Hee...I almost wish somebody had - dad would have appreciated their candor.

But see - the thing I heard most was how my dad was so great, had such a great sense of humor, was such a good employee and manager, was such a good dad, good example, great guy. He was such a great guy that the oncologist (Yadlapati, how's that for a last name?) had tears in his eyes when he told my dad it was just a matter of time. Such a great guy that the hospice nurse (Dawn, and I believe there is a special place in heaven for hospice workers) told us how great she thought he was - specific details here, not just general niceties. Such a great guy that an entire bench full of engineers for the state of Louisiana sat at his funeral and bawled. Such a great guy that Sport's and McBrother's friends showed up to the funeral - some of them it was just out of support, but some of them knew my dad and were visibly shaken by his passing, and were there to say their own goodbyes. His ex-wife (my mom) from 30 years ago, his former mother-in-law and former brother-in-law all came, and no - they didn't sit next to me. They were there with their own grief.

I'm not sure I can even talk about how they told me he waited for me to show up on Tuesday - how my flight took off TWO HOURS AFTER it was supposed to land in Baton Rouge, and I don't know how much I'd pay to get that time back - what if it was the difference between a few sentences and a conversation? Or the difference between him holding on and fighting until 11:30 vs. 9:30? What if, what if, what if? Or how I got to talk to him and hear him say he loved me and tell him I loved him on Tueday evening and then (with one tear-jerking exception) that was it, except for requests for water and morphine, until he finally just stopped talking at all.

"Hey pops, you awake??"
"Hey...yeah. Hey Sport - are you all here?"
"Yeah dad - we're all here."
"All three of you - hold my hand."
"Ok - we're here...whatcha got Dad??"
"Y'all...I love y'all. Y'all be nice to each other."
"Whitney, you haven't heard them in here, cutting up?? They get along great - you'd be proud."
"I'm always proud. Never not been proud. I love y'all."
"We love you too dad."
"Yep - love you."
"Love you daddy."

Breathe. You know...you don't have to actually make sense - just put it out there.

Yeah, yeah...I'm breathing. Did I tell you that on Wednesday afternoon, he threw up blood? And that when Stepmom woke up Wednesday night, he had thrown up again, and that one of the strongest people I have ever met welled up at the thought that she might have let her husband sit there, with vomit on his chin? This woman ground up Xanax and Lasix and made them into a paste and spread them on the inside of her husband's cheek so they'd absorb. She changed the pad under him. Jesus Christ. I can't even begin to imagine the spine that this woman has.

Sport helped load him into the hearse, because the stupid fucking funeral home only sent one employee. Read that again and let it sink in. My twenty year-old brother loaded our father into a hearse. I will go ahead and minimize other folks' pain here when I say that I doubt their late March 29th/early March 30th sucked as hard as Sport's.

When I was holding my dad's hand, I looked down and realized that I have his hands, almost down to the wrinkle. Long, thin, veiny, baggy-knuckled, yet surprisingly wide, with a weird bend in the middle finger. I compared the profiles of our thumbs and they matched exactly. He didn't bite his nails, so he had longer nail beds, but that's about it.

I also have my daddy's nose.

I have his watch. It's a silver Pulsar with a stretch band. I thought that maybe I should get some links taken out so it fits correctly, because I want to wear it all the time. Kiddo thinks I should leave it a little big, because that way it looks like what it is - my daddy's watch. Now I can't decide.

He also had the weird protruding bone on the outside of the wrist that makes wearing bangle and cuff bracelets impossible for me. I don't know if my dad ever wore bracelets. Heh.

I also have his class ring from when he earned his Master's degree from LSU. In case you thought I was exaggerating on the similarities of our hands?? The ring that fit him on his right ring finger fits me perfectly on either one of my index fingers. There's *maybe* one size difference between the two, and I wear a size....8? on that finger. My dad had artist's hands. Apparently so do I. Wish somebody would tell my brain, 'cause I can't draw my way out of a paper bag.

Hands, noses and leftover jewelry.

You sound a little calmer.

Eh. Not really. but it is funny how talking about stuff doesn't tend to do much for me. Rather, it just makes me cry and then I never feel like I can get it out accurately. There is no backspace key in speech. Dude, if there was?? How cool would that be?

.....???

Ok, look. It's going to be All Dad, All The Time around here for a little while. I haven't even gotten to the actual funeral yet (which, considering it was a funeral, was good), or the evening I spent getting blasted with Sport and his friends (dude, never play drinking games with 20 year-olds, OW) or the crawfish boil the next day and how we decided that on the last weekend of March, we should have the Whitney J. Cajun III Memorial Crawfish Boil, or how we put his "Cancer Sucks" shirt in the coffin as a sort of banner and now I have it and and and and and and.....

In other words, it'll take you time**** to work through all of this, just like it does with everyone else in the world??

Yeah. I suppose so. Guess it's time to face up to the fact that I'm human. Bah.

Before we get to the footnotes - thank y'all for the wonderful comments and the thoughts and prayers and IntarWeb Lurve. Believe it or not, it has helped so much. More than I think y'all will ever know. I vote for a beerandcarnationscon (wow..that's unwieldy) sometime soon.

*Heh. By the time I actually sat down to write this, SATC was over, and a re-run of CSI was on. The
rest of it is true.

**I know, colon cancer, but the colon cancer is not what killed him. Technically, kidney failure killed him, but that's because the cancer had spread into his lymph system and y'all know the story. I'm too tired/lazy/depressed/annoyed to link.

***Of course, Stepmom probably would have had some choice words if he HAD, but that is beside the point.

****I had to add the word "time" back into that sentence. Honest mistake or Freudian slip? Discuss.

He's gone

He's gone. 11:30PM, March 29th. The funeral's set for Friday. There's more, but trying to write those three sentences just took me 20 minutes of re-writing, so I think I'll just grab a Diet Coke and join everybody else in the kitchen.

The Watchers

I'm flying out to Baton Rouge tomorrow. The nurses have told Stepmom that she needs to call me and Sport and let us know that it's time to come home. He's still alive, but his kidneys have completely stopped working. So I have a one-way ticket and I'm leaving kiddo here - she'll stay with her dad while I'm gone. At some point, Ex and kiddo will drive my car down to Baton Rouge and then we'll all drive back up to Austin together.

I need to take a second to talk about how incredibly helpful and supportive Ex has been. His dad died of cancer before Ex and I ever met. When he was diagnosed, the cancer had spread through pretty much his entire body - the story is they diagnosed him with stomach cancer and sent him in for a surgery that usually takes a couple of hours. Forty minutes later, the surgeons walked out with the statement that the cancer was in his diaphragm and his lungs and his stomach and there was no way they could cut it out. They gave him six months. He lived for a little over two years, going through chemo and radiation and finally getting sent home to die, because there was"nothing else they could do." So when Ex says "I know how you feel", I know it's not just hollow bullshit - he really does. The only real variation here is the type of cancer.

There are two funny stories about Ex's dad - one is that when he was diagnosed, he asked the doctor, "Guess I should stop smoking, huh?" and the doctor looked at him and said, "Why? You've got six months - might as well have fun." A doctor after my own heart. The other story involves Ex and his dad shopping for suits - one for Ex to wear to the funeral and, well one for his dad to wear to the same event. Ex says he doesn't remember much about the trip, except for his dad saying, "Whatever you do, don't bury me in brown socks." I don't know why, but those stories make me laugh every time I think about them. They tell me a lot about a guy that I wish I'd gotten to meet - even now. And if anybody is sitting there thinking, "Hm...talking about Ex's dad - way to distract yourself from your own dad, Laura." I have two words for you: Fuckin' DUH.

Anyway, last week, I spent an evening at Ex's house, drinking red wine and laughing and crying and remembering how we used to be best friends, and taking full advantage of the fact that Ex knows me so well. The next morning I felt 5 pounds lighter. Ex paid for tomorrow's plane ticket and the driving thing was his idea. He's also made it very clear that I don't *have* to accept anything that makes me uncomfortable; he knows I'm not terribly good at accepting emotional generosities.

LIttle side note - depression and stress are fun - I'm watching "Point of no Return" and fucking CRYING at the part where Maggie asks "will you help me?" and gah! Somebody save me from myself.

Other than watching silly spy girl movies, I'm also drinking some beer, typing this and doing everything I can to avoid getting ready for tomorrow's trip - the catbox might even get cleaned. I want to be there, in the arms of my family and with my brothers and my step-mother (and Sweet Jesus, that woman is a fucking rock) and my grandparents and I want to hear that south Louisiana accent and sit in the recliner at my dad's house and I want to go. But I know that once I get there, my dad won't come out to greet me, won't come out in the living room, and with the way things are going, he may not even know I'm there. I won't see sick dad, I'll see dying dad. I'm going to Louisiana to watch my dad die. Getting up in a big ol' hurry and packing for that just doesn't seem all that pressing, especially not when there are two more cold Negra Modelos in the fridge, and Bridget Fonda and Gabriel Byrne are denying their sexual chemistry on my TV. Reality can wait another 45 minutes.

Sue says:
I have 2 teenagers and I also try to be loving when we all leave in the morning. However, sometimes I just have to tell them - you know, in nature, some mothers eat their babies when they are born. Not very nice, I know, but better than fuck you! Hang in there, there will be better days!

Which made me laugh out loud. I think next time kiddo gives me lip, I'll tell her "y'know, if we were tigers I totally would've eaten you by now" and see what happens.

Last night and this morning were much, much better. And the thing is, the good times are really the norm with us. Which is why it is just so hard when we have a problem. That, and she knows me really well and knows exactly what to say to hurt me. My Dirty Hippie Theory of Parenting says that this is normal, and my job is to tell her that that's wrong and set a better example of how to act by NOT responding in kind. Which, as we all know, is waaaaay easier said than done.

In other news, I have a headache that feels like somebody is pushing a spike through the back of my head and out my right eye. Whoo.

teenagers, bah

Ok, so.

While my daughter and I do, indeed, cuss like sailors most of the time*, I try really hard NOT to curse at her when I'm mad. It's difficult, because nobody can provoke like an intelligent teenaged girl - but I try. I also try, when leaving her for an extended period of time, like the workday, to not leave on a bad note. I like for the last thing that I sayto her before I go to work to be "I love you", not "Jesus, Kiddo - what the hell is wrong with you??" I do have a commute that goes from a suburb north of Austin all the way to just south of downtown. That's 22 miles of whoknowswhat. Maybe I'm a little more paranoid right now than before, but honestly - I've always tried to leave in the morning with "I love you!"

HOWEVER. When you spend an hour* trying to wake somebody up, and the first thing they say is "GO AWAY!!", and then when they ask you why you woke them up and hour later than they wanted and you explain that you'd spent that hour trying to wake them up and they respond with "God, whatever, just...don't talk to me right now!", you tend to get a little upset.

What I wanted to say?

"Jeezus Christ, you have an alarm clock and you're 14, you little bitch. Lay off."

What I actually said??

"OOooo.K. [deep breath]"

She did apologize for yelling at me, but with the disclaimer that "I just know I'll have a horrible day."

Then when I was dropping her off at her friend's house (it's on the way out of the complex and they walk to the bus stop together) I reminded her to PLEASE pick up a package from the rental office for me. See - that package contains my phone charger and my glasses; my stepmother had to mail them to me because I'd left them at my dad's house. I was so distracted when we left that I almost forgot my laptop, so I think glasses and phone charger are fairly minor.

However, this means my phone is totally useless. Little review for those in the back - I have a teenager and a terminally ill father. I'd sort of like to be able to make and receive phone calls. So getting my charger back is important to me. Anyway, I reminded kiddo again about it as she was getting out of the car this morning, and she said "I will, if you stop nagging me about it."**

*cough*

What I wanted to say?

"Fuck you. You bug the holy living shit out of me when I need to pick you up for something, frequently calling me waaaay before I'm supposed to be there, asking if I'm on my way yet, even though I've made you late for ONE THING in 14 years, and you're going to pull this manipulative, passive/aggressive bullshit on me about something that I NEED you to do because I don't get home in time to do it?? Kiss my ass, you spoiled brat."

What I actually said??

"Please try to remember. I love you. Have a good day."

Before you hit the comment button, I KNOW that it's my fault that she's spoiled. I know that the fact that it's easier for me to just do something myself instead of trying to get my kid to do it is why she doesn't have any chores, and that resenting that is futile and just a tad martyrish. OK? I know that she and I tend to relate to each other more like roommates than mother/daughter, and I can make all the excuses about only child, single mom, only model I know, blah blah blee, but the fact is, if I want her to talk to me like a mother rather than a peer, I need to hold up my end of that. OK?? I GET IT.

But "getting it" doesn't make this shit any easier and it doesn't make the answers just appear, like overnight graffiti, on a wall somewhere.

Ok, now? We're getting along fine and she's done her homework and apologized and is doing some cool artsy-craftsy thing involving a wooden wine box and some acrylic paints. Somebody look up "mercurial" and call me back.

*My child did invent the term whorebucket. C'mon, that's good.
**Ok, I just talked to her about that, and she said "that was a joo-ooke", which? Whatever dude. It didn't sound like a joke at the time and it still fucking pissed me off. And I told her that - without the f-word. REALLY.

Definitions

I'm finding that "raising a teenager" could also be defined as "learning how to stuff down the urge to yell 'why don't you go fuck yourself, you little shit'" at your offspring.

eat like Laura - a recipe

a small chunk of tasso, cut up (or a few slices of bacon, but tasso is better)
diced onion (amount is up to you)
tablespoon of minced garlic (what is that in fresh? 3 cloves?)
one fennel bulb, sliced, but not obnoxiously thin (just trust me)
chicken broth or white wine
one can diced tomatoes
whatever seasonings float your boat.

If you're using bacon, fry it down, then get rid of all but about 3 tbsp of the grease. If you're using tasso, heat some olive oil in a pan, then toss in the chunks of tasso. Throw in the garlic and onion and sautee/sweat* it all down. When the onions are nice and soft, add the fennel and swirl it around. Add some chicken broth or white wine (1/4 cup?), clamp a lid on it and let it cook for about 8 minutes - until the fennel has softened just a leeeetle bit. Add the tomatoes and whatever spices you like - I used some parsley, a little extra salt and some cayenne. Stir, turn the heat down and let it cook w/ no lid for...5? minutes, until it's nice and thick. Serve over pasta** with fresh grated parmesan and a big glass of red wine.***

Eat while lusting over Warrick and Nick on the re-run of CSI.

Seriously dude...if Warrick keeps saying stuff like "I can get a print off the air"?? I'm gonna have to take a cold shower. Yowza.

*Yes, I know that sauteeing and sweating are not actually the same thing. My point here is, use whatever method you like to get the onions sort of translucent and soft. Since I am a lazy motherfucker and there was red wine and pretty, pretty men on my TV? I turned the heat down and sweated the onions.

**I recommend penne. I used the last of the angel hair, and it wasn't right - you need something that picks up the sauce.

**I'm drinking Pillar Box Red, a nice sturdy red, available for like $10. It stood up quite nicely to the extra shake of cayenne I put in accidentally. I {{{heart}}} cheap wine.

conversations I can't get out of my head

"Anything you want to ask me? Want to know? Want to say? 'Cause I really feel like this is your last chance."
"Um...I don't know. Were you happy?"
"Yeah. I've had a good life."
"Good. I figured, but I still just wanted to know. Did I, uh....did I do OK?"
"Yeah - you were good. I was always proud of you. I just don't know if I disappointed you."
"No daddy...you didn't disappoint me."

"I really feel like this is it. About the time you get back to Texas, in fact."
"Ok, should I stay another day then??"
"Naah. Hell - if you do that, I might hang on for another three years."
"Shit, in that case, I'm stayin'! Lemme call my boss."

"Laura, I don't want to upset you, but he's in there crying because he thinks it's the last time he'll see you."
"I...I can go back in, or I can stay another day?? What do you think?"
"I don't know. I just don't know"
"Are you OK?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. I just can't stand to see him cry."

"Bye daddy. I love you."
"I love you too kiddo. You did good."
"You too."

Which sin is envy?*

I've been thinking about jealousy lately, because it seems like anytime one writer says something critical about another writer, third parties immediately start chirping "Jealous! Jealous! You're just jealous!!" as if the only reason one could ever disagree with, or dislike, another writer is jealousy.

Am I jealous of folks like Sarah Bunting and Pamie and Dooce and such? Yes. I absolutely am. They have managed to make a hobby into a money-making enterprise, which is something I have never ever figured out how to do. Am I jealous because I think they're better writers? Not necessarily. I'm not saying they are or are not better writers, just that's not what sparks any envy on my part. I know that I'm a decent writer in my own right - I'm not the next Atwood, semi-colons confuse me and let's not even get started on the whole lay/lie thing, but overall, I can get my point across in writing without making anyone's eyes bleed. (At least I sure hope so. If y'alls eyes are bleeding, dictate a little constructive criticism, OK?)

Here's how I think of it - am I jealous of runway models? Nope, not at all. Those women are genetically different than I am and there is no way on God's green Earth that I will EVER look like them. They are something I am not. However, if you asked me if I'm jealous of fitness models, I'd have to answer yes. Admittedly, those women are gifted genetically, but then again so am I. But they have something I do not - discipline. I am absolutely pea-green with envy of the drive and discipline that those women have in regards to their workout regimen and diet. Do I have a strong body that could do all the things they do? Yes, I do. Do I have the strong mind to go along with it? Nope. I'm jealous of that, because I feel like that's something I *could* change and haven't.

So see, I'm not jealous of writers on the internet, even if they are better than I am (which most of them are.) They are what they are. They can evoke, I can not - the world continues to spin. But I am not so horrible a writer that I couldn't do more with it - if I had a little more discipline and a little more drive and oh, let's not forget, knew that that's what I really wanted to do. See, I'm jealous of the ability to look at one's writing and say "this - THIS is what I want to do with my life", and to make it happen. I can't seem to do that, and it makes me a little green at times.


*I am not now, nor have I ever claimed to be just as good a writer as any of the people I mentioned, or anybody else you might think I'm hinting about. I am also not speaking for anybody except myself because I'm the only person that I really CAN speak for, thank you. I'm not talking to or about you. I'm not ripping anybody and I'm not saying I'm all that. Please just read the words. Thanks.

Q&A

Q: Hey Laura! Where ya been?
A: Well, kiddo and I drove to Louisiana last Sunday and came back late Thursday night. Yesterday I slept late, drank a pot of coffee, talked to a couple of people online and then hung out with my mom. Today I'm cleaning house and cooking red beans.

Q: Louisiana, huh? How is everybody?
A: Well, dad's still sick, which he's gonna be for a while - until he dies. Everybody else is about the same.

Q: Wow. You sound kind of, uh, flip about the whole dad thing.
A: Bite me. Or is that too flip?

Q: Dude!
A: Oh, Ok. Look, here's the deal. Dad is dying. We all know it, and we're all sort of just waiting at this point. I have a few choices here, all of which fall into two categories - wail and moan and fret until it happens, or live my life and deal with it the best I can until it happens. I choose Plan B. Unfortunately, my way of dealing with things is an uncomfortable bluntness and a black sense of humor.

Q: Ok, fair enough. How's the kid?
A: Oh, she's OK I guess - let's ask. She says "good...?" She's doing OK, I suppose. As well as any 14-year old kid can do when she's lost a grandmother, had her parents get divorced, watched a big chunk of her childhood get washed away and watched her grandfather deteriorate all in the course of 3 years. She's doing pretty fuckin' peachy, all things considered.

Q: What about you?
A: Hey - look! Weather!!

Q: AHEM.
A: Oh, fine. I'm doing OK. I'm probably drinking more than I should, but then again, when aren't I? And I start crying at some strange times, but I'm generally OK. There's not a damn thing I can do about my dad's illness, and leaving his house on Thursday was painful, because both of us are pretty sure it's the last time we'll see each other, but, I'm doing OK in a generally-speaking, holistic sort of way.

Q: What?
A: Look, if you're just going to be obtuse about this, I'm going to quit.

Q: Are you out of wine or something?
A: As a matter of fact, I am, not that that has anything to do with anything. Hmph. Look, the deal is, I'm walking that line between anger and depression and it really sort of sucks. That's all.

Q: Oh. Got it. Wanna change subjects?
A: Yes please.

Q: OOOOh, what are you wearing???
A: Freak.

This 3 Blind Moose stuff still sucks, but I had to finish it.

In my teeny little corner of the internet, I have the coolest readers in the whole world. Thank you very very very much for the sweet comments.

Miz S had some specific questions:

This is definitely not the time to give up booze. Your poor Dad. I hope they can get the pain under control. Is your step-mom checking into hospice care or is it not quite that time yet? What about your siblings? Are you guys close? Seems like a good time to stand together. I'm really sorry, Laura. How awful.

Yeah, the booze thing has been shot to hell. I haven't had any hamburgers though! Whoo! Go me!!

His pain seems to be under control - he has morphine patches and is taking liquid morphine right on schedule (about every three hours.) My stepmother said that they're keeping him on pain meds so that the pain doesn't get too bad, because like father like daughter, he tends to wait till the last minute before he takes anything, and then he has to wait for it to kick in and he's miserable for no reason. So, she has taken over the meds regimen as much as he'll let her and is making sure that he's not hurting too much. But it's still difficult and exhausting for him to move around, even something as simple as changing from laying in bed to sitting up. He also said that due to "[his] medical condition it feels like [he's] sitting on a grapefruit." Hence the wincing and the not sitting up too much.

He was set to start up with hospice over the weekend, but due to the Monday doctor's appointment and the possibility of being put in the hospital and the wrench that can throw in hospice care, they put off making any official hospice arrangements until Monday. I haven't heard anything from StepMom today (and no, I haven't called. I'm not sure what to say today - "anything changed?" "nope" I think - hell I don't know what I think. Eh - this ramble's getting to long for parentheses - moving on) so I'm assuming that he decided not to go with any other procedures and hospice has been called in.

The Bros and I are not super-close, but we're not really distant either. We get along fine when we're all together, but we tend to not get in touch with each other as much as we should. It seems to be genetic, this total inability to keep up any kind of correspondence. (My dad has (has! has! no past tense yet) it too.) Sport and McBrother are pretty torn up and at various points, I got to sit down with StepMom and each brother to talk about stuff. We couldn't quite manage all four of us at the same time, but it's OK. I think all of us are on the same page regarding funeral arrangements and such. I also told StepMom that when I say "do you need anything?" one of the things I specifically mean is "when/if you need me to get in somebody's face about arrangements, I'm there. Or if you need me to start shooing people out of the house? I'm there. Hell - if you need me to clean the kitchen because you just can't deal with it? I'm there."

The three of us (the bros and I) are all of the opinion that if dad wants to be cremated, we cremate him. If he wants to be buried upside-down in the backyard, we bury him upside-down in the backyard. Whatever. I'm of the belief that we get to control so little in this life, we should at least have control of our disposals, y'know? StepMom feels the same way, so the four of us can present sort of a united front. This is only an issue because dad has maintained for a long time that he wants to be cremated. Stepmom's not big on it, but she'll do what he wants. The Grand'rents (specifically Grandma) didn't seem to like that idea. Whatever. I have no problem getting up in my Grandmother's face. That sounds awful, like I'm going to throw down with a woman who just lost her only child. It's not like that, it's just that Grandma can be sort of, ooooh let's call it obstinate about things at time. She's a sweet, loving woman, but she tends to latch onto an idea and jeez. Anyway.

Another perc to being the oldest kid is that I think I'll get taken more seriously than the Bros will. I suppose RHIP after all. And no, I'm not looking for a fight. But I am prepared to deal with my Grandma's grousing. I think she's really only happy if she has something to bitch about, so I just have a sinking feeling that she'll bitch about the cremation around StepMom and...feh.

So here's where we sit - waiting for the other shoe to drop. I'm not crying as I type this, like I was last night. I wouldn't say I'm doing better necessarily, I'm just doing differently. And I promise that I'll write something light again. Really, I will.

Thank you guys for your patience and support. Huge internet hugs.

needless to say, that no booze for Lent thing has gone bye-by

Kiddo and I got back from Louisiana about 10:30 tonight. Kiddo is at a friend's house and I'm "enjoying" some fairly awful cab (3 Blind Moose, I don't care how cute your name is, your cab sucks) and an episode of Law & Order SVU. It's a weeknight and she's spending the night and I'm drinking because we both need a little decompression.

My dad was first diagnosed with colon cancer in November 1999. When they went in to check things out and do the re-section, they discovered that the cancer had spread to 3 of his lymph nodes. They removed a section of colon and the lymph nodes and he went through a round of chemo. He was clear for a long time.

In 2002, he went in for his 3-year checkup. I remember when we talked before that - he was flip about it, "Oh yeah, 3 years, it's just part of the deal." I also remember the tone of his voice when he called me after that appointment, when he called to tell me that the cancer was back. There was a mass in his lungs and in his stomach.

He went through chemo-therapy again. Because of the location, surgery and radiation weren't options, so he went through chemo again and again and again. He lost his hair, and he threw up. When his white blood-cell count was too low to go through chemo, he got $6000 shots that made him hurt almost as much as the chemo. The one treatment that actually seemed to have any effect on the cancer was the stuff that made him so sick he said, no...never again. Everything else just seemed to keep things in check.

A few weeks ago, he went into the hospital because he was having problems with his kidneys. I wrote about this - in the end, he wound up having stints put in so that things would work right. But the doctor said then, that with all the tumors, he wasn't sure how long the stints would work. That was when they told him he had a few months.

Last Friday, my step-mother called me. She said that his kidneys were giving him problems again, and the doctors told him there was nothing else they could do. They said "it's just a matter of time." They talked about checking for a blockage, but that got put off till today (Monday.)

My dad has spent 6 1/2 years with cancer. During this time, I've never seen him look or even sound sick. I've seen him bald and I've heard him tired and pissed off, but never ever sick.

The man I saw this weekend was not my dad. He was a man who needed help to get out of bed and had to walk with a cane. He was a man who lost track of what was going on with his checkbook and didn't joke his way through the uncomfortable stuff. He whistled when he breathed, and he winced when he sat down and the only thing he ate all day Sunday was an orange. This man was a sick man. This was a dying man.

He kept telling me that if I saw anything, or could think of, anything I wanted, to let him know, because he didn't know what to leave me. And I kept telling him, "Dad, I don't care" because I don't. I just want my daddy to get better, and if I can't have that, I don't know. I guess I want this over with. I don't want him to go through kidney failure - I don't care how "peaceful" it's supposed to be. It's a long, drawn-out death for a man that doesn't deserve it.

I suppose I should be grateful for the chance to give him one more hug, and tell him I love him one more time, and hear him talk like he used to during his all-too-infrequent moments of lucidity. I should be grateful. I suppose I am. But I think right now, I'm too angry to be truly grateful.

They went to the doctor today, and there's really nothing they can do. Well, they can put in tubes so that he drains the way you're supposed to drain, but they can't guarantee him how long that will work. He's supposed to let them know tomorrow if he wants to do it, but both my step-mom and I are pretty sure that he won't. Which is fine. I don't think I'd like to live with drains in my body either, so I can't blame him. If they could tell him definitely it would make things better for 6 months, he'd probably do it (these are his words via Stepmom) and again? I understand. But he's tired of living this way, and he's tired of no guarantees and, he's tired.

So they say that he'll get to a point where he just eats less and less and sleeps more and more until he just doesn't wake up. And it's so hard to think about a man who hunted and could fix just about anything and coached T-ball and took me fishing and fathered three children and knew everything about everything just fading away like that.

I'm just pissed right now. I'm pissed that I wasted time thinking my dad didn't care and I'm pissed that I waited so long between phone calls and I'm pissed off that this is how he has to go. I've spent a long time very serenely saying that there must be some higher power, there has to be something up there running the show, because if it's all just random, if good people die horrible deaths for no reason, then I'm just giving up now.

Higher power, if you have a reason for this, I'd like to see it right about now.

hittin' the road

I had a lovely time with Ms. Laura last night. We talked about kids and jobs and ex-husbands and everything except our uteruses. She even bought dinner. Hmm - sure hope she doesn't expect me to put out now.

Then I got up this morning to find the screen knocked out of my kitchen window and Charlie, the escape artist cat, missing.

And just now I got a phone call from my stepmother that they've changed my dad's status from "a few months" to "nothing we can do" and "it's a matter of time." The hospice folks are going to visit them later today to give them more info and do the, er, hospice thing.

I'm packing my crap in over here and heading home for the day. I'm going to pack some crap, hope my cat came back home (I locked Louie in my room and left the escape hatch open - that strategy worked last time Houdini, er, Charlie escaped) do some quick cleaning so my mom doesn't despair too badly that she raised a pig and then tomorrow morning I'm heading to Louisiana.

I'd already planned on going over Spring Break (3/11 - 3/18) but when I asked my stepmom if I needed to come down now, or if I could wait, she sounded pretty hesitant before she answered. And y'know what? Even if some miracle happens (Hi! Denial stage!) will I regret one extra visit with my dad? No.

last drunken post for 40 days

So.

I've decided to give up alcohol and hamburgers for Lent. Seeing as these are my two biggest tangible vices, I figure they're good candidates. My other vices - cursing, spewing invective at other drivers and glaring at fashion don'ts while walking around in stained capris and a baggy sweatshirt - I think I'll need even more if I can't fall comfortably into a Shiner and a patty melt at the end of the day.

And no, I don't intend to get around the whole hamburger thing by saying "It's a cheeeeeeseburger", or "It's a melt! Not a burger! NYEH!!" I will entertain the idea of cheating with chicken and turkey burgers, however, as they are lower in fat and healthier and less likely to be accompanied by fries and I have a really good recipe I want to try.

Look, I've given up my booze folks - I am NOT MADE OF STONE.

Speaking of food, I'm currently working on what I'll call Derivative Chicken. I got the fabulous recipe* for Clams a la Zilker from Twisty's site and I made it. Sort of - I made Clams a la Round Rock by making some substitutions and changes and yum. ANYWAY. Right now I'm making a chicken dish that follows the same general framework as the clams thing - tasso, fennel, garlic, onions, broth instead of wine, chicken breast, serve over pasta, eat greedily. I'm also being stared at by an orange cat - he's laying** on top of the monitor, doing the Snoopy gargoyle thing at me. Bastard cat.

My three readers already know that I'm meeting up with the fabulous Ms. Laura-Flea, that sexy, slutty piece of work, on Thursday for dinner. I, uh, have made an exception to the no booze thing for that night because a)it's barely into Lent! and b)internet stalker meetings require alcohol. Anybody who's ever read a JournalCon entry knows that. I'm looking forward to it. Heh - duh. NO, Laura - I'm really dreading it. HEE.

Anyway - I'm a little nervous, because part of me would like to swap about 30 pounds for IQ points before Thursday. But y'know, I can't.

On CSI, Grisham just let us know that jumpers will take their glasses off before they jump, therefore the dead guy on the ground was pushed, because his glasses were next to him. Of course, I can tell you that he was pushed because in the intro he won a bunch of money and then dumped the chick with him, saying "I'm a millionaire now, why would I want to waste anymore time with YOU?"

I love CSI. It's a sickness.

Back to the meeting folks in person thing - I think I'm pretty much the same in person as I am here. I speak in weird non-sequiturs, find bizarre things funny and sort of....wander..hey! Something shiny!!

The one thing you can't tell from here is that I blink a lot. It's a sensitive/dry eye thing. Jane says I'm fidgety. I dunno, I guess so. I promise not to sneeze/throw up/cough on you and I'll pick up my half of the check AND I'll wash my hands in the bathroom, OK? OK.

OH MY GOD, A NORMAN FELL JOKE. AUGH.

Dude - how old is this episode of CSI??

Ok, I just added spinach to this recipe and it is no longer Derivative Chicken. No - it is, shit, I don't know what to call it now, but I just spilled it on my keyboard. Actually, I spilled it on the kid's keyboard, heh. Keyboard Chicken, it is!! Regardless, it is delicious.

*Twisty doesn't really post recipes so much as she posts guidelines, which actually works really well with my style of cooking.

**I've seen the lying/laying thing explained over and over and OVER again, and I figure like Algebra II and subnet masking, one of these days I'll look at it and it will just click. Until then? Grammar Nazis can suck it.

suckage

So, I'm drunk...again?? Still? Man, I wish. Is it maybe a problem? When you wish you could be hip-deep in a bottle of wine/ book/ nap all the time??

See, here's the deal. I broke up with Max. He is an absolutely fabulous guy - sweet, considerate and, despite the stereotype, totally OK with commitment.*

The problem? Well.....me. Not entirely, if we're going to be honest - there are always things about the other person that, when magnified under the lens of discomfort and pressure, seem huge and insurmountable. But the fact is Max and I talked about a lot of Future and Forever and this and that and...I tried. I tried to jump, but the fact is, I am just not ready to take that kind of leap. I'm sorry.

What sucks about this is that in the process of not being ready, I have to hurt someone as incredbly sweet as Max.

Relationships, bah!!

I'm currently dipping into the wine that I bought for $6.99 yesterday at 7-11 ($6.99!!! 7-11!!), because I've already polished off the bottle of good stuff that I bought earlier - minus about 1/4 cup for the kid's tomato sauce.

So yeah - I'm typin' one-eyed and I'm, I dunno...upset? I dunno.

I think I just might be like Jennie Smash, and declare a booty ban.

Actually...that sounds really good right now. Men beware!! Bitter divorcee on board!!!

*Despite his stereotype-fighting, this is actaually The Thing that led to the end. He's ready to go and I'm just...not.


I take no responsibility for any typos. Don't like it? Bite me.

Dear Flea

In which I thank flea for her wonderful literary sense and general badassery and use an assload of footnotes. Also? Rambly and run-on?? Blame the red wine and David Foster Wallace.

Dear Flea -

Ok, so....I was wandering through your archives - but definitely not during work hours, oh NO! - and you mentioned Infinite Jest a couple of times. So I checked out the link and it looked interesting, and I put it on my mental wishlist. Later that night, I gave my 14YO her first driving lesson, and she did such a good job, I told her I'd take her anywhere she wanted for dinner. She chose Chuy's - a Mexican place - and since I NEVER get to eat Mexican food, I jumped on it. After cheese enchiladas and beer (Dr. Pepper for her, much to her chagrin), we went wandering around a couple of stores and then ended up at Barnes & Noble, where I asked the little book guy, "Hey - do you have Infinite Jest?"* He spouted off the author's name and told me to follow him, so I did and whoa! I BOUGHT THE DAMN BOOK.**

Anyway, later that nigt, I'm reading the book and kiddo's reading her book, (Virgin Suicides, which HOORAH, she found something to read, but YIKES, because of her problems with depression lately) and I'm thinking about my own book, "wow...this sure reads a lot like Broom of the System."*** A few minutes later, I get up to close the back door and turn off the living room light and make sure the front door is locked and all that jazz, and I flip the book over to check out the back (yes, I carry my book with me on breaks, what??) and I see that hey! this is the same guy who wrote Broom of the System. And now, I feel like I owe you a thank you note, for mentioning this book way back when, and inspiring me to check it out and reuniting me with someone who has turned out to be one of my favorite authors. I think of his writing like I think of going tubing - just relax, let it take you where it wants you to go.*****

Anyway - thanks for all the cool stuff you write.

Laura

*This actually sparked a whole conversation about books - good ones, bad ones, good writers (we both highly approve of Didion), writers we're not so sure about (Atwood's battin' about .500 with me - he hasn't read any Atwood, but has decided he must now), and books you shouldn't read right after a break-up (Play it as it Lays and anything that was your ex's favorite****)

**Crap...I had something funny here, but I will be fucked if I can remember it.

***I got this book when my mom was working at BookStop (which is now dead...sigh) and lovedlovedloved it. Loved the flow, loved the absurdity, loved it. So why in the hell did I give it away a couple of years ago?? I don't know. Am idiot.

****Fortunately, my ex hated reading fiction (14 YEARS, PEOPLE!!) so this was easy for me to avoid, as I have no interest in reading tech manuals or The Ultimate Sniper

*****My footnotes are all dicked up, aren't they? Anyway - this tubing analogy is sort of inaccurate for me, because tubing makes me anxious. Yes, The International Sport of Stoners makes me anxious and I end up with stone bruises and a rash on my upper arms from trying to control where the water takes me, convinced that I'll get left behind or something. However, when it comes to books, I have NO problem just letting the prose wash over me. Unless it's Hannibal, because dude?? that book sucked the root.

Profiles in Slobbery

On the wall in my shower is a single hair. I could wipe it off. I could hit it with the spray and wash it down my (rapidly clogging because good lord we are hairy beasts) drain. But I don't. See, the hair looks like a person's profile - one of those single line jobbies, almost like a Hirschfeld. And every day, the profile changes just a little bit. The first day I noticed it, it was a cute little button-nosed imp. The next day, a more sober, older woman. Today, the nose had shifted drastically down and straightened out - a Roman nose - an emperor in my shower.

All of this is to say, dude...I really need to clean my damn bathroom.

*twitch*

Oh my God y'all. You guys are the sweetest. I hesitated putting that stuff about my dad out there because a)it's painful and the way I typically deal with pain is to stuffstuffstuff it down and ignore it until my eye starts to twitch and the walls start to talk, and b) I didn't want it to look like I was trolling for sympathy. Which I'm not - but Laura mentioned free alcohol in her comment, and I am always trolling for that.

Heh

Anyway. For Christmas, my mom paid for belly dancing classes for me, kiddo and herself. Saturday was the second class, and my mom didn't feel well, so didn't show. Kiddo didn't feel well, but had to come with me because of some other stuff we had going on, so she ended up napping on a couch while I took my lesson. The instructor had brought hip scarves for us to dance in - scarves that (duh) go around your hips and have coins all over them so you make that nifty "shk shk shk shk" noise while you dance. So we're dancing, kid's snoozing and later she tells me that she had dreams about pepper grinders. Hee.

She had a therapist appointment later (yep, kid's in therapy - another thing I don't want to talk about until I get to the point of eye-twitching, but thanks) and then I dropped her off with her dad at a Chinese restaurant. I always feel weird dropping her off. Usually she sees him during the week, and he picks her up at the apartment and I'm not there. When I have to actually drop her off or pick her up, I'm unsure how to end a conversation with him. Like...I just say "Ok, bye" and tell the kid I love her and get in the car, but that feels weird - incomplete somehow. Feh. I guess a 14 year habit of ending every conversation with "I love you", even when you didn't necessarily feel it, is a little hard to break.

Saturday night, I...what the hell did I do? hm. OH! I took kiddo and a friend to Target and managed to spend a gazillion dollars and not buy a single GODDAMN thing on my list. I am the owner of a really cute shirt now, and the kid has some (much-needed) new clothes, but it doesn't matter because I can't see what I look like until I leave my house anyway, because I forgot to buy light bulbs.

On Sunday, we met up with Max and saw "King Kong" and I have to ask - was the protracted giant bug scene REALLY necessary? WAS IT?? Did I need to watch Adrian Brody fight off giant crickets? And the guy, with the toothy worm things and the ACK!! On his head? AUG!!! NOT NECESSARY. Mr. Jackson, please go back to shooting homoerotic hobbit movies and leave the guys in the creature shop alone. GAH!

Oh, and a little note here. If you have some sort of injury that requires you to erect a footrest out of booster seats and get all settled and stow your crutches and this routine takes you about 10 minutes and is NOT silent?? Do you think maybe you could make it to the movie AHEAD OF TIME, rather than come in ten minutes late and start all those shenanigans? Thanks ever so much. (Asshole)

Between that guy (conveniently located right behind us) and the family of four who came in EVEN LATER - who also started talking, and not in their movie voices, the very moment their asses made contact with the seat - I'm surprised I made it through the movie without hurting anybody.

Seriously - things happen, traffic gets weird, cars don't start, watches stop, whatever. So you made it to the movie late - come in, quietly, and shut.the.fuck.up. It's not difficult - see, there's a whole theater full of people already doing it. OH, and don't send the teenager with the mohawk and the clinkety-clanking baby punk pants on to get your popcorn. Good Christ.

Where was I? Oh yes - giant bugs [shudder]. When the lights came up, I told Max, "Jesus - between the bugs and the heights, I'm never gonna fuckin' sleep again." This has not been entirely true as I can still fall asleep just about anywhere, anytime, and waking up is quite an effort, but I can't even fathom watching that movie more than once and it's all the fault of those goddamn bugs.

I have been confused about what day it is all week - yesterday I kept thinking it was Wednesday, and even though today I had an appointment to drop off my car and should, theoretically, know what day it is, I keep trying to make it Thursday. This is fine, except when I get to the point where I'm thinking Thursday is Friday and then around 4:30 I realize I've been wrong all day I want to cry, because it feels like somebody cruelly slipped in an extra day. Being nutz is no fun.

Oh - last thing - Max made tuxedo chocolate-dipped strawberries for Valentine's Day. AW. I'd put a picture here, but I haven't figured out how to do that w/o using Hello and I don't like Hello, so...visualize. Let your mind run free. There's a Strawberry Fields joke in here somewhere, but I love you guys too much to do that to you.

Laura - San Marcos, baby - sounds great. Either that or we road trip up to Oklahoma City and meet up with Jane. Jesus, talk about feeling like a giant - going drinking with the two of you teeny people.

As I was posting this, an ant came crawling out of my laptop. AUG!

motherfucker

Fuck it.

My dad was in the hospital over the weekend. He'd been having a lot of problems with his kidneys, and I guess it got bad enough that he went in on Friday afternoon. For my dad to actually seek medical assistance, even now that he has cancer, is a fairly big deal. This is the man who poured an entire Fry Daddy of hot grease over his hand and said "hm....hon - could you get me a beer?" In the dictionary, next to the phrase "Typical Man" is a picture of my dad, smiling, splinting his own leg.

Anyway

He went in and after hours, literally, of waiting and starving the man and screwing up whether he needed and x-ray or a CT-scan, they took him into surgery and put stints in and let him go on Monday. (Yes, there was more, but that's the gist, wait wait wait, misinform, starve, wait wait, procedure, go home.)

He called me on Friday to let me know he was in the hospital and such. He sounded tired, but OK. We joked around a bit, and then we hung up.

Fifteen minutes later, my stepmother called me and told me that my dad had asked the doctor, point blank, how much time he has left and the doctor told him "a few more months."

So - there's that. And I've cried about it, and I'm starting to cry now that I see the words on the screen, and I'll cry again.

And I'd love to be a better writer, the type who could maybe find some sort of sense or nobility or peace or whatever in this. I'd love to be a poet. But I'm not. I'm just an annoying woman with a pain-in-the-ass kid and a talkative boyfriend and an obnoxious ex and two cats who shed all over her black clothing and a tenuous grasp on her job and a dad who's going to die, painfully, in a few months.

The Pollyanna in me tells me to find a bright side - at least this, and better off that. Fuck you, Pollyanna. Fuck you right in your stupid positive ass. I don't want to find a bright side. I want to cry and yell and stomp and pout and wail and gnash. I want to stand in the middle of Congress Avenue and scream at the top of my lungs, "FUCK YOU, GOD!" I want to drink until I'm numb. I want to run until my legs give out and my lungs burn and I pass out from exhaustion. I want to crawl under my bed and hide for 10 years. I want to wallow.

Bright side my ass.

Things suck right now. Period. Pass the wine.

Thanks. Not.

Dear Barton Creek Mall Coach counter lady -
Thanks for not telling me my fly was open. No, really, I mean it. The little blast of cold air on my crotch when I walked outside, as well as the little jolt of embarrassment and panic I felt when I realized I had not only fondled $350 handbags, but had also walked all the way through the mall and through Dillard's with my barn door open were really refreshing. I feel all alive and tingly now. So yeah - thanks.

Bitch.

Laura

So, um..HI!! I have this weird combination of all kinds of stuff to write about and yet nothing to write about at the moment. It's painful, really. Anyway - here's a list, in no particular order:

1 - BFF had her baby!!
2 - Some creepy old man felt the need to talk to me in Tuesday Morning, and can I ever go back to that one again, since it seems he's a regular?
3 - My grandmother's dog died, unexpectedly and in a pretty messy fashion in my mom's bathroom.
4 - I finally tried that Natural Glow crap that everybody else raved about and has since moved on from. I like it.
5 - I'm going to see "40 Year-Old Virgin" tonight. See #4 in re: me and my lack of timeliness.
6 - I got this wheat berry stuff in my salad today and while it tasted good, wheat berries are chewy little fucks and my face STILL hurts from all the chewing. When you pull muscles in your FACE while EATING???? You are out of shape, my friend.
7 - After a five-month hiatus, my period made a brief, painful return. (No, I was/am not pregnant - I changed birth control methods and no longer have to worry about a period. I do stil get cramps, PMS and fried food cravings, so um - Yeah?)

That's the gist of my life at the moment. And now, through a thoroughly scientific process, I'll pick one of these topics to write about. Drumroll please (I'm waiting for Jane to pick a number ) And! She came back with 5 - the movie. hm. 'Twould seem Jane wants me to be lame, which is actually kind of OK because a)that means I can blame it on her and b)I don't have to write about the dog, 'cause doing that right now will make me cry.

So, The Union shows movies on Thursday for free, and while they don't tend to do first-run stuff, it's usually decently popular, what-you-haven't-seen-that-oh-my-God-let's-go type stuff. Neither Max nor I have seen 40YOV yet, so hey! Free! And I think you can bring in food, which is good. I have a totebag that will totally fit a couple of tallboys and a can of Pringles. Heh. I'll let y'all know how that goes.

mmmmmmm, Pringles

Want to hear about something else? Comment - let me know that I haven't lost both of my readers due to never updating. Sigh.

mwah!

**snoorrrt**

I have a cold. Good LORD, do I have a cold. This is my second cold this year, and I'm getting a little tired of this bullshit. So far, 2006 is the Year of the Mucus.

**snerf**

If somebody could see it in their heart to send me Kleenex and a gallon of chicken soup, I'd be forever grateful.

**blaat**

I'm going back to bed. Ugh.

More crappy drunken recapping

So - I'm at home alone, with a bottle of wine and the remnants of a chest cold. What does this mean?? It means I'm watching the Miss America pageant.

Don't question it, just nod and smile.

So, we've just finished up the opening ceremonies, during which I misted up a little at all the shots of winners past and then cheered for Ms. Louisiana and Ms. Texas. Oh, I'll be happy for whatever girl wins and blah blah blah, but seriosly, I get a stupid little rush of pride when I find out that the lady from one of my home states has won. DON'T YOU JUDGE ME.

And before anybody gets started on me, I don't give a flying fuck about pageants for people of consenting age. Kid's pageants?? eeeeeh...well... ick. Eighteen and up?? YOu want to spend your spare time gluing your bathing suit to your ass?? Well, then - you go girl. Pageants take a huge amount of work, the kind of work that I have absolutely no interest in or aptitude for. If that's how these chickies wanna roll, then that's fine with me. I could use an ounce of the composure that these chicks have, because watching me speak in public is a lot like watching a chimp on crack. Complete with poo-flinging. Anyway.

The 10 finalists are: Miss District of Columbia, Miss South Carolina, Miss Oklahoma (looks kind of like Denise Fisher and talks about how she and her sister used to play Miss America and she'd make her sister be M.C. Heh), Miss Virginia (I don't quite understand what her platform is, but it involves visiting maximum security prisons), Miss Georgia (kid called me on the phone during this one, so I didn't catch it), Miss Texas, Miss Arkansas (something about "that's the essence - being yourself" ??) Miss Pennsylvania (Pennsylvania has had 5 Miss Americas. Did you know that?? I do. Now.) Miss Alabama, Miss Florida (she has a bunch of pets, including a pet pig named Daisy, who she trained to nod when she asks, "I'm I gonna be Miss America?" Ok, I think that's cute - I may like Miss Florida the best.)

MC dude seems all shocked that the majority of the contestants are from the south. Um...dude - is this your FIRST pageant?? Southern girls are taught how to accessorize and walk in heels somewhere around birth, so it shocks me not at all that the majority of finalists are from below the Mason-Dixon.

Ooooh - the former Miss Americas. I always think it's pretty cool to see the former winners, even if they did just show a crowd shot and then move on.

Swimsuit, ugh. All in matching bikinis and one of them (Miss Arkansas, I believe) has her top hiked up high enough,I think she got lipstick on her tits. Anyway - little nod to the controversy around swimsuits, little retrospective and little spin on how the swimsuit competition is all about physical fitness, a healthy lifestyle and the competitor's composure. Uh-huh.

OH GOOD GOD, A DANCE ROUTINE, SHOOT ME.

And it will surprise absolutely noone that Miss Texas is blonde. Oh, and it wasn't Miss Arkansas with the hiked up top, but damn, Miss Arkansas is BUILT. Wow. Hmmm, I guess the hiked up boobie chick was just one of the other contestants that had to put on the damn suit for that wretched dance number. Poor girl. Despite this whole "dedication to a healthy lifestyle" crap they're trying to feed us, I really hope there's alcohol backstage for everybody.

Man, how cool would it be if one of the categories was "Best at Holding Liquor"??? Seriously - these are college chicks!! That's an important skill!!

I may or may not have dumped over a plate of poached salmon and cous cous onto my keyboard. ahem

They're covering some Miss America party, which looks like an excuse for women to wear their old bridesmaids gowns and tiaras and sit around drinking wine, which is so totally...kickASS. Dude!! Where's my invitation?? Bitches.

Yes, yes,it's a scholarship program, whatever. Bring on the talent and evening wear.

OH MY GOD, could they pad the presentation anymore?? Now we have a plug for the Aladdin. If this is how the evening's going to go, I do NOT have enough wine to survive.

Evening wear - one of the points of judgment is "how they wear the gown", which totally made me think of some chick walking out naked with the gown wrapped around her head. HA! Ok, they're being escorted out by men? Why? Ok, OK, it's a big deal for the girls and so far the first two girls are escorted by their dad, which is pretty cool. But, despite my whole "y'know, it's their choce todo this, blah blah" feeling, when they're escorted out by a guy, it gives a very Here's A-Pretty-Girl-Being-Presented-By-A-Man vibe, rather than the I-Work-My-Ass-Off-At-College-And-The-Pageant-Thing-So-Hell-Yeah-I'm-Tough kind of vibe that I'd much rather see. Take a drink, tie some string to something behind you and jump back into that sentence, and it'll make sense. Wear a helmet.

Oh, the dresses? Heh - they're very pretty so far - almost blandly so. One girl had this white lace bare midriff thing that was a little Frederick's, but other than that, the silhouettes have all been exactly the same and the only real difference has been if the slit is in the front or on the side. Miss Texas's gown was all silver...duh.

Miss Arkansa has this flesh tone w/ sparkle thing,that just ...wow. Again - this girl is pretty hot. It's like they made a classy version of that Britney outfit. Again, take a drink, close your eyes and work with me here. Heh - Miss Pennsylvania is with her brother and dude, her gown is slit WAAAY the hell up to there - like, top of the thigh vs. mid-thigh. Yowza.

OK, MC guy is the sex repairman/plumber/Terri Hatcher's hookup from Desperate Housewives. I never watch that show, so I don't know his name, but y'know - the hot guy. Anyway, he looks cute in a tux, but he's got all the charisma of a rubber duck. And he looks less than thrilled to be there. Again - a reason for booze backstage - I'm just sayin'.

They brought back the Miss Congeniality competition. "These ladies really get along and have a lot of fun together...just like the ones on my show." OK, that was kind of funny. Anyhoo - lots of blah blah, comments from the other contestants, bleedy blah - and the winner is -

Miss Hawaii. Cool. She's not in the Ten Finalists, but it's still cool and I like that they're at least trying to hint that maybe a girl can be pretty and nice to OTHER WOMEN at the same time. Miss Hawaii has a very nice dress on, basic black with a shiny band at the top of the bodice, but wow - that's another awfully high slit. They're talking and she's very touched and, "I think this means the reunion's in Hawaii" That's cute. AW.

We're back in Maine with the crazy drunken tiara wearers who DIDN'T INVITE ME. I've got to say, I don't own any taffeta. Although, the idea of raiding Goodwill for old prom dresses and...hm...I have a party idea for next year - or wait!! When is the Miss USA contest??

Top 5 (in random order!) are: Miss Virgina, Miss Oklahoma, Miss District of Columbia, Miss Georgia, and Miss Alabama

Well, shoot. None of my favorites, Arkansas, Florida or Texas made it in. Damn - it's like this year's Superbowl - I don't care about any of the damn teams that are gonna make it, but I need to pick SOMEBODY to drunkenly cheer for.

There was some random chatter here that just...bleh.

OOh OOH - The Talent Competition! Whoo! BRING ON THE FLAMING BATONS!!!

Miss Virginia is singing something from a Broadway musical. She has a pretty alto voice. Ok, well duh. But she's not trying to be operatic with it - she's singing it, well, like a Broadway song, not an opera.

Miss Oklahoma is dancing en pointe. Um..yeah.

Oooh - Miss D.C. is tapping. Hoow stupid do you think these girls feel? And do you think any of them laughed as hard as we did at "Drop Dead Gorgeous??" I sure hope so - I hope that movie has become a cult favorite among pageant folks. Anyway - Miss D.C.'s music is so loud that you can't hear her tapping. Again, one of my weirdnesses, but isn't the whole point of tapping to hear the TAPS?? Whatever. Also - doesn't she realize that character shoes would have been way more flattering than flat tap shoes? Feh.

Now we have Miss Georgia on the piano. Yawn. Oh, she's good and her outfit is...interesting, but seriously - so far we've seen the typical stuff - a singer, two dancers and a piano player. Will anybody ever do anything original? Like - a body-piercing talent?? Or a drinking competition, a la "Raiders of the Lost Ark"?? Hm?? 'Cause that, I could totally get behind.

Ok, MC Guy is saying something about unpredicatable, blah blah - he's running through a list of unusual talents from the past (trampoline, clog dancing, packing a...suitcase??), only to tell us that we're getting more ballet. "Contemporary Ballet", but ballet nonetheless. Miss Alabama gives us more lame ballet.

Look, I fully admit that I can stand in point shoes for about a minute and then I'm off to cry and rub my feet for a while. I am in complete awe of ballet dancers. However. I grew up with a mom who took classes at, worked at and hung around with the principals of The Cleveland Ballet. The woman who taught the Trocadero guys to actually dance like women, rather than men in drag? She was one of my mom's teachers. I grew up in a household where the names Baryshnikov, Nuryev, and Fonteyn were all followed by a little reverential hush. I did a 6th grade report on Maria Tallchief. I can't dance en pointe to save my life (I might be able to bourre'e across the floor, but that's it) but I know good ballet and I know mediocre ballet. Miss USA is mediocre ballet. I know, I know - they're busy with the whole pageant part of things, if they took the time to be GOOD ballet dancers, they wouldn't have time to be in the pageant. I got that. But - I just wish that if they couldn't do it right, they'd find some other talent - or just not dance en pointe - what's wrong with jazz hands????

Now we're whittling the five down to three, and something about somebody getting additional scholarship money...missed it while I was typing my rant.

So, the final three are Miss Alabama, Miss oklahoma, and Miss Georgia.

Now they're doing the question asking thing, and I totally missed the first girl because I realized I'd referred to this pageant as both Miss USA and Miss America, so I had to go back and fix it. And Miss Oklahoma just rambled something about having glasses and accepting herself and...what? Now Miss Georgia is talking about her role models and overcoming the stigma of growing up Asian-American.

Poor Miss Oklahoma - she just wants to hold somebody's hand.

2nd runner-up is Miss Alabama - she gets an Extra $15,000 in scholarship money.
The zoomed in on the girls holding hands and totally got a side shot of Miss Oklahoma's boob.

And the winner is - MISS OKLAHOMA!!! WHOO!!

Aw - she's cute, and there's confetti going everywhere and the song is playing and there's crying and she's completely fogotten how to walk in heels, she's so excited. Heh. Her mom and dad came up to hug her, and then she went right back over to talk to all the other girls in the competition - which is pretty damn cool, if you think about it. There aren't any vocals, just a cheesy tape of that God-awful song, but you can read her lips ans she's aying, "Oh my GOD! I KNoW!! I can't believe it!!!" Again, aw.

Roll credits. Oh cool - the end of "The Replacements." Pass the wine.

The Dam Damn

I'm sort of drowning over here - every time I start to write something, it starts coming out awfully dark and dour and not just a little boring. So, in the name of assuring my two readers that I'm not dead, and maybe punching a tiny hole in The Writing Wall, so that all the goodness can flow forth after this, I present you with a horrifyingly labryinthine sentence and a meme. Enjoy.

Four jobs you have had:

1) Systems Administrator - Yep, I'm the IT Goddess. Whoo.
2) Waitress at Chuck E. Cheese. This mostly involved carrying large mediocre pizzas through a minefield of running toddlers and dressing up as a giant rat mafioso. Yep - I got to wear the rat costume. Actually, at the time this was a Showbiz pizza that had just been bought out/converted to a Chuck E. Cheese, so we had the animatronic redneck bear musical, a giant bear costume (yep, wore that too) as well as all the trappings of the rat place. Fun fun fun
3)Receptionist for a book company. The best part of this job was watching the folks come in with their wallets or purses all ready to go. They'd come in, get this really confused look on their faces when they'd spy me at the reception desk and then ask, "Ummm hi. Where are the books??" I'd helpfully point them out to one of our conveniently located stores. That chain (much) later got bought out by Barnes & Noble.
4)A non-waitress at a "gentlemen's club." That was an interesting year.

Four movies you would watch over and over:

1)The Ref
2)Gone with the Wind (oh shut up)
3)The Usual Suspects
4)The Replacements (again, shut up - I have a weakness for sports movies)

Four places you have lived:

1)New Orleans, Louisiana
2)Baton Rouge, Louisiana
3)Austin, Texas
4)Cleveland, Ohio (yep - right after my parents got divorced, so I was 4ish? 5? I remember going to school there, so I had to have hit 5 at some point. We only lived there for about a year - until my grandfather died, then we came back to New Orleans. I've also lived in Waco, Texas but ACK - who would admit that??)

Four TV shows you love to watch:

1)CSI (watching a re-run right now, as a matter of fact)
2)Good Eats
3)Project Runway (I admit it, I'm hooked. Santino sucks and Guadalupe wuz robbed!!)
4)Family Guy

Four places you have been on vacation:

1)Isla Mujeres, Mexico (I sooooo need to get my passport changed. ugh)
2)Key West, Florida (Actually, I've been all over Florida, but Key West was a grown-up vacation and didn't involve any hats with ears.)
3)Houston, Texas (I was a kid and we went to Astro-World, shut up. Also, when I was 8 months pregnant with kiddo, we went to Astro-World for the day and I lasted longer than anybody else. HA!)
4)Georgia (kid vacation, grandmother was on a cave kick, so we wandered all over Georgia, checking out caves. It was actually pretty damn cool.)

Four websites you visit daily:

1)IMDB I don't know why, but I seem to need to look something up on this every damn day.
2)My bank website - I love watching the bill monsters eat my money.
3)Go Fug Yourself, because God-DAMN
4)Amazon. I like to window shop, what can I say?

Four of your favorite foods:

1)Cheeseburger and fries
2)This weird variation on a carbonara that I make when I'm at home alone and feeling depressed
3)Shake 'n bake porkchops with white beans and rice. Just trust me - this is a meal my grandma made and it still makes me happy
4)My grandma's red beans and rice. Nobody makes 'em like this woman.

Four places you would rather be right now:

Well, I'm at home, in the comfiest pants I can still wear out in public, a big sweatshirt that hides the whole braless thing, and these wonderful socks that I got for Christmas. My only real problem is that I'm currently out of wine. Anyway - how about 4 places that I love to be?

1)On my back porch, with a bottle of red and a new (to me) book
2)On a warm beach
3)At my dad's house, hanging out with my family
4)Wandering through a bookstore with lots of money and time

2005

2005 was not great. It wasn't horrible, but it wasn't what I'd call a good year either. I have a strange division in my memory - pre-Katrina and post-Katrina. The whole section of 2005 before feels like a different year entirely. Let's see what we have here:

January - I had to have oral surgery because I had an eensy-teensy bit of bone left over from having my wisdom teeth pulled (years ago, but whatever) that caused an infection and my whole face to puff up. Fun. I also went to Houston by myself for a friend's birthday party and opened a Nordstrom account that I still haven't paid off. whoo.

February - Valentine's Day...uh. I have no recollection of February 2005. Seriously - I don't remember a damn thing about this month.

March - I had a happy hour on what would have been my wedding anniversary. This day was made even more, er....interesting?? when my ex decided to send me a dozen roses - in honor of the non-event. For the record, he was not a big flower sender when we WERE married - something that always annoyed me, because HI!!! I'm a girl!! SEND ME SOME FUCKING FLOWERS, NIMROD. And if you finally do?? Try to make it while we're still married instead of using it as an opportunity to make me aware of your regrets, OK??

April - I raided my IRA to pay a gigantic tax bill, threw a shower for my best friend, watched same best friend get married in one of the most perfect wedding ceremonies EVER and went off my meds - which means I sobbed through all of the above. Oh - and I fell for Max when he showed up at the rehearsal dinner all clean-shaven and yummy looking.

May - 34th birthday, first date with Max and one last visit to Louisiana before it sank. Of course, I didn't KNOW that, so I didn't grab all the pictures that I laughingly showed kiddo, or any of the keepsakes that I've secretly lusted over or take any Goddamned pictures. I need to stop thinking about May.

June - I, uh, I was here for June. I think the kiddo went to Mexico in June? I spent a LOT of time at Max's house. Heh.

July - I went to Kansas (Hi Jane!!) and Nebraska. I came home, and there was a whole other 3 weeks left and I don't remember what happened. Sigh.

August - It was hot. Katrina began the process of sinking my hometown.

September - My hometown sank. I got to consume all KINDS of live music. On the 14th, we saw Weezer and The Foo Fighters, and then on the 28th, 29th and 30th we went to the Austin City Limits Music Festival and OH MY GOD it was so fuckin' hot. And dusty. And hot. Did I mention hot?? We looked up at those hot dusty skies and wished for rain, not just because it was so damn hot, but also because it would have meant that Rita had turned West and spared New Orleans from yet more fucking water.

October - kiddo turned 14 and I officially became older than dirt. I also went to Louisiana to pick up my grandmother's cat (who managed to survive on the top floor of my grandmother's flooded house with no food for 5 weeks) and to pick up a variety of trinkets that had been rescued from my grandparent's house in New Orleans. Kiddo got herself into some major trouble at the beginning of this month.

November - Max's birthday and another trip to Louisiana for Thanksgiving. A visit to the first new place my grandparents have lived in over 40 years.

December - The first anniversary of the divorce. Christmas. I got to meet Max's family (this weekend!)

And here we are - I'm sitting here, at 10:00PM CST, with my boyfriend and my daughter and my cats. We're working on a table full of snacks (cheetos, ruffles, corn chips, dips, a cheese ball, some crackers, pizza rolls and bacon-wrapped scallops), we have a six-pack, a bottle of syrah, Diet Coke and a bottle of cheap champagne chilling in the fridge. My black-eyed peas are soaking.

Max is putting together his copy of Simpson's Operation (he got it for Christmas), so I guess we'll be playing that later.

I'm lucky - I'm spending my New Year's Eve with a couple of my favorite people and a bunch of junk food and some board games. Portions of this year have sucked. I cried a lot. All through January, I was in physical pain. I cried through the entire month of April. I started crying at the end of August and didn't stop until the end of September. Then kiddo got in trouble and the tears started again. I've uh, I've been OK for the past few weeks.

I've also laughed a lot this year. I laughed and danced at BFF's wedding. I laughed on my first date with Max, and I've laughed - a real laugh - at least once, every day that I've spent with him. I laugh to the point of tears and pain with kiddo on a regular basis. Hell, I've almost gotten into wrecks because I've laughed so hard with that child. I have a great boyfriend, a smartfunnyprettycool kid and two snuggly cats. I have a job and lots of pretty clothes and my health. I'm a lucky person.

Point? No point. Just that a year is not a way to measure a life. I think I've been more happy than sad this year. I don't have any more money than I did, I'm heavier and I've probably managed to piss off just as many people as any other year. But I've also made some discoveries about myself and I think I can build on them. It's all good.

The Lord bless you and keep you
The Lord lift his face to shine upon you
And give you peace
The Lord make his countenance to smile on you
And be gracious unto you

Good luck to you in 2006.

Parenthood

Dear Kiddo -
I love you, kiddo. I love you more than you will probably ever realize. And I know that I make the typical parent mistakes - I criticize easily, but don't praise enough, I project my fears and issues on to you, I'm inconsistent with my discipline.

I know, I know, I know, OK?? Believe it or not, these are things I work on every single day. I'm doing my best over here. I had a sort of odd relationship with my mother, and it was flawed and strange, but it's the only mother/daughter relationship I know and for better or worse, it's what we're re-creating (without some of the awkward boundary issues, I hope, because ACK.)

But look - could you cut me some slack over here? Could you stop with some of the more ridiculously stupid behavior? Could you maybe shock the shit out of me and clean up things when I ask you to? Could you recognize that you have life pretty damn easy with me and maybe appreciate that once in a while?

Tell you what - I'll try to appreciate what an amazing kid I have more often if you appreciate that I'm really trying over here and could use a break. OK??

Love you sweet potato,
Mom

What? Wine has no therapeutic uses?? Well, SHIT.

I may need to start being a bit more honest with myself about my medication needs. Over the past 3 days, I have:

Been on the verge of tears for a variety of reasons, including watching the Gingerbread Challenge on The Food Network, talking to my best friend and those GODDAMN KAY JEWELER COMMERCIALS.

Snapped at my boyfriend for using the wrong bathroom. (Just...don't ask)

Sat on my couch, completely befuddled by the vast array of housecleaning choices available to me - clean the catbox? or the kitchen? or take a shower? OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Gotten up, taken the shower and then in a burst of mania heretofore unrivaled (by myself, that is - I don't know about you crazy fuckers) convinced myself that in the space of an hour I could totally cleanthekitchenbathroomcatboxmyroomkiddo'sbathroomlivingroom (breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeath in) andthencooksomesoupandtheredbeansandfreezetheredbeansandthen
balancemycheckbookandmaybefinishmyonlineshopping (breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeath in) andthenohyeahIneedtodoallthelaundryokIcandothatandthenIwanttoknit ablanketforBFFandmaybegotothegymbecauseI'mgettingsofat

(thump)

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz


Yeah, I just MIGHT need to be a little more realistic about my medication needs and maybe OOOOOOH, START TAKING THE FUCKING THINGS AGAIN.

BAH.

D-U-R-N-K

Max is sick. Heh - no,I mean in the cold virus, running a fever, snotty, needs chicken soup and Thera-Flu STAT! type of sick.

I am durnk....the type of durnk that tries to type "durnk" to make it funny and then types "drunk" and has to fix it for comic effect. HEH.

I am watching Nip/Tuck (bolt cutters!!! skin grafts in the field!! tragically mistaken identities!!) and talking to my mom over IM (not so much w/ the gore, but still pretty interesting!!!!)

I balanced my checkbook and I think that I'll have $60 till my next paycheck (which is on the 15th, so...but still!) I have no food in my house, half a tank of gas and still have Christmas presents to buy!! Hey! News flash! BEING AN ADULT SUCKS!!!

I wrote what was intended to be a supportive email to a journaller I really really like and am afraid all I managed to do was piss her off!!

I need yarn!! No, really!!! I need it for my mom's Christmas present!!!

And?? The Ex has a new girlfriend.

OK, so..now...before you jump to any conclusions here - I don't really care if The Ex has a girlfriend, per se. If the man is happy, I'm well..I don't care, I don't wish ill on anybody blah, bad karma blee.
So, that being said, he does seem to be running through the women awfully quickly. I can't figure out how I feel about this. And before anybody starts talking?? Jealous? NOT ON THE MENU. OK? I'm...I'm pretty honest with myself here. I'm...amysed? Confused? Worried that he's running so fast that he's hitting any port he can? I. It.. I....bah.

The anniversary of our divorce was on Friday (December 2nd) and I started to write about it, started to make a big deal about it, but...eh. It was wordy and annoying and really easy to boil down.

I don't miss him, and I don't miss *our marriage*, but I do miss being married sometimes. I miss the security and comfort of having somebody there, here, with me. I miss the ease of a long-term relationship.

And I...worry? wonder? about him, because he seems to be running so hard, so fast to find somebody. It's just not healthy. But y'know - it's also not my life. He can fun as fast and as hard and as long as he wants and really, it sholdn't matter to me.....so why the fuck am I talking about it?

HM.

I was going to write some bullshit thing about how I can't ignore it, it's in my face because we're tied together by a child - BLLLEELELELELEEEECCHCHCH.

The truth??

See - for 14 years, I was made responsible for this man's emotional well-being and happiness. And not in the fun "make my baby happy" married way. I mean in the uncomfortable "this is your fault!" kind of way. So - y'know - a piddling year later, I feel the same sort of thing about Ex Gossip as I do about celebrity gossip. I KNOW I shouldn't care - really, I DO!!!! But I just can't help it. I don't go looking for it, but when a link comes on MSN about Brit and K-Fed?? I click it. When the kiddo comes home and announces that she and her dad had dinner with his new girlfriend and her son? I ask "new girlfriend?? Is she...nice??", hoping for more information. I would think that purely feeling curiosity, instead of a need to fix everything? Is a big fucking improvement.

I also think I need another beer.