So this weekend, I did absolutely nothing constructive. Ok, well I sort of did. I made a bunch of progress on a present for a Certain max Somebody max that reads this thing. I spent a bunch of money that I didn't really need to spend and I spent all day Sunday hanging out with my kid.
OH! Kiddo and I found the last bit of Max's Halloween costume. A gently used London Fog trenchcoat that doesn't smell like death or cat pee!! For only 20 bucks!! I love Top Drawer!! Now I just need a knit cap and the ability to say "fuck" every third word and our costumes are complete.
Yes, we're doing a "couples" costume. No, I will not be going to work in the costume (although I wish I could because it'll be the most comfortable costume EVER.) No, I'm not going trick-or-fucking-treating. Yes, we're going to a Halloween party. (Two, actually)
So...hmph. I'm completely justified in dressing up. Now be quiet.
Actually, I'm sort of excited/weirded out about it because my dear, wonderful, over-achieving boyfriend has decided that we're not just dressing as Jay & Silent Bob (oh, by the way - that's our costume, keep up people) we're going as Jay & Silent Bob.
"What's the difference??"
"Well, if we're dressing as them, we're just wearing the outfits, but we still act like ourselves. If we're GOING as them, then we have to act like Jay and Silent Bob all night."
"Going...definitely going. Otherwise, what's the point??"
"O..K. You realize this means I have to curse all night - "
"No problem"
" - yes, but - it also means you have to be SILENT all night."
"....I'll do my best."
So yeah - I get to wear sweats and a t-shirt and curse like a motherfucking sailor all night, whereas Max has to wear a trenchcoat and shut the hell up all night.
Now, let me tell you something about Max. He's, well....he's talkative. He could totally pull off Thoughtful Bob, Quiet Bob, Wow-He-Doesn't-Talk-Much-Does-He Bob...noooo problem. Silent Bob? Um. I think he'll do admirably for a while.
Of course, on my side, the whole Jay act? Oh boy. I'm not a shy flower when it comes to cursing, but a Jay-level of profanity? Um...hm...I'll see what I can do. Of course, the main reason why I'm Jay is because Max is the only one of us that can successfully grow a beard. Otherwise? I'd have no problems being the quiet guy in the overcoat. In fact, that may be next year's costume. I'll be a flasher. Just stalk around in an overcoat and look pervy. Heh.
Also, Max looks kind of like Kevin Smith. Which, I think we can all agree...is hot.
So yeah...Halloween. Fuck.
In that vein - Fucking Halloween - the God.DAMN. candy bowls are out in full force...motherfuckin' shit. Damn chocolate on every damn desk. arg. The Season of Eating is upon us.
Look, co-workers and such, do me a favor. Jolly Ranchers. OK? I can't stand 'em. I only eat them in a pinch. Stop with the chocolate and the mini Heath bars (quiet Jane) and the fun-sized Snickers and...
Motherfucker, now I'm hungry. Dammit.
Dude,I totally sprained something reaching for this entry. And can you believe that the blogger dictionary doesn't have "fuck" in it? What the hell...who put THAT word list together? Have they never READ a journal before?
There are cookies in the fridge calling my name. Y'all have a good night.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Um...
| Your Hair Should Be Orange |
 Expressive, deep, and one of a kind. You pull off "weird" well - hardly anyone notices. |
Found the link to the quiz on Ms. Laura-Flea's diary. (Hi!!)
And me? With orange hair? Um..no. I have so much yellow in my skin tones that I'd look like a reverse Oompa-Loompa.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Beware of Me
Dear co-workers,
Unless you are carrying a latte, or wearing a shirt cleverly fashioned of ibuprofen and chocolate, do not approach me. I'm not sure I'd even call me if I were you. (that sentence...OW) Send me your requests in e-mail. Just trust me on this one.
I have a headache that feels like an evil gnome is in my head, desperately trying to escape via my right eyeball. I am SO. VERY. SLEEPY. that during the NPR report on narcolepsy this morning, I totally got all hypochondriac on my ass. (For the record, no I am not now, nor have I ever been narcoleptic.) I am in the middle of switching meds and?? I am on the rag.
You people have been warned.
Pass the Tylenol,
Laura
Unless you are carrying a latte, or wearing a shirt cleverly fashioned of ibuprofen and chocolate, do not approach me. I'm not sure I'd even call me if I were you. (that sentence...OW) Send me your requests in e-mail. Just trust me on this one.
I have a headache that feels like an evil gnome is in my head, desperately trying to escape via my right eyeball. I am SO. VERY. SLEEPY. that during the NPR report on narcolepsy this morning, I totally got all hypochondriac on my ass. (For the record, no I am not now, nor have I ever been narcoleptic.) I am in the middle of switching meds and?? I am on the rag.
You people have been warned.
Pass the Tylenol,
Laura
Saturday, October 15, 2005
fuck it
BFF was in town for a little while yesterday, and we had lunch and got to do some talking and piddling around town. She asked if I'd been scrapbooking, and of course I answered NO, because I haven't done anything more creative than pair fish with red wine lately. Anyway....she suggested I do a "First Year of Independence" type scrapbook. Which is a grand idea and all, but the idea just depressed me, because I really don't feel as if I've done anything terribly independent and free this year. But I decided to do a little inventory.
Over the past year, I've..I've...cried and drunk a lot of wine. I've let my house get really really messy and then I've cleaned it and then I've let it get messy again. I've found my clutter threshold and I'm currently living way above it, courtesy of my child. I've figured out how to keep my bathrooms clean. I've found out how to get red wine stains out of apartment-beige carpet.
I picked up a guy by stealing a martini glass from a bar. I learned how to brush a guy off without being rude. I got told "the timing is just wrong". I got attached to somebody thoroughly unsuitable. I hooked up with Max.
I threw a housewarming party where I drank entirely too much wine and threw up in front of my mother. I planned a wedding shower. I watched my best friend get married in the most beautiful ceremony ever. I rode in the parade at the Luling Watermelon Thump. I drove to Nebraska and met Jane. I went to a whole lot of live music, including ACL. I fell asleep at a party and then got sung to by two of Max's friends, accompanied by guitar and didgiridoo*.
I stopped reading, and beading and knitting and scrapbooking. I bought my first pack of cigarettes. I drank too much, then didn't drink at all, now I drink a little. I'm working on starting any one of the other things.
I've learned things. I've learned that it can take $150/month to keep a 970 square foot apartment at 83 degrees if it's 102 outside and you have a west-facing window. I've learned that I've forgotten all of my Algebra and Geometry and just can NOT help my daughter with her homework. But that it's OK, because I'm learning that she's smarter than me anyway. I've learned that I really should own a drill. I learned to pay my bills on time and I've sort of learned to budget. Maybe in my second year of independence, I'll learn to save. heh.
I spent last night very unhappy. This post is the tail end of a rant, where I talked about how much pain I've been in lately and how I don't understand why I'm still feeling that way. I didn't post it last night, I'm still not entirely sure why. Instead I saved it and revisited it today, where I copied and pasted and refined what you see above. It's still hard over here and I still don't know why. Something that people don't understand about depression is that reminding yourself of all the good things in your life doesn't automatically make it better. In fact, the perverse nature of the disease means that at times, the reminders can make one feel worse. It's bizarre, but true. So - posting these things didn't automatically solve the problems but maybe I can remind myself that I've made progress over the year and that it's a slow deal. It's an evolution. One day I'll get it right. If I've come this far in one year, just think how far I'll have traveled in five!! Heh. Pour me another glass of Malbec please.
*I have no fucking clue how to spell that.
Over the past year, I've..I've...cried and drunk a lot of wine. I've let my house get really really messy and then I've cleaned it and then I've let it get messy again. I've found my clutter threshold and I'm currently living way above it, courtesy of my child. I've figured out how to keep my bathrooms clean. I've found out how to get red wine stains out of apartment-beige carpet.
I picked up a guy by stealing a martini glass from a bar. I learned how to brush a guy off without being rude. I got told "the timing is just wrong". I got attached to somebody thoroughly unsuitable. I hooked up with Max.
I threw a housewarming party where I drank entirely too much wine and threw up in front of my mother. I planned a wedding shower. I watched my best friend get married in the most beautiful ceremony ever. I rode in the parade at the Luling Watermelon Thump. I drove to Nebraska and met Jane. I went to a whole lot of live music, including ACL. I fell asleep at a party and then got sung to by two of Max's friends, accompanied by guitar and didgiridoo*.
I stopped reading, and beading and knitting and scrapbooking. I bought my first pack of cigarettes. I drank too much, then didn't drink at all, now I drink a little. I'm working on starting any one of the other things.
I've learned things. I've learned that it can take $150/month to keep a 970 square foot apartment at 83 degrees if it's 102 outside and you have a west-facing window. I've learned that I've forgotten all of my Algebra and Geometry and just can NOT help my daughter with her homework. But that it's OK, because I'm learning that she's smarter than me anyway. I've learned that I really should own a drill. I learned to pay my bills on time and I've sort of learned to budget. Maybe in my second year of independence, I'll learn to save. heh.
I spent last night very unhappy. This post is the tail end of a rant, where I talked about how much pain I've been in lately and how I don't understand why I'm still feeling that way. I didn't post it last night, I'm still not entirely sure why. Instead I saved it and revisited it today, where I copied and pasted and refined what you see above. It's still hard over here and I still don't know why. Something that people don't understand about depression is that reminding yourself of all the good things in your life doesn't automatically make it better. In fact, the perverse nature of the disease means that at times, the reminders can make one feel worse. It's bizarre, but true. So - posting these things didn't automatically solve the problems but maybe I can remind myself that I've made progress over the year and that it's a slow deal. It's an evolution. One day I'll get it right. If I've come this far in one year, just think how far I'll have traveled in five!! Heh. Pour me another glass of Malbec please.
*I have no fucking clue how to spell that.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
BWAHAHHAHHAAA
| You Should Get a MBA (Masters of Business Administration) |
 You're a self starter with a drive for success. You'd make a great entrepreneur. |
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
The Anger
How to sum up the past week...something articulate, intelligent, yet not too pretentious...y'know, like a good red wine? Hm...OH, I know! Like this:
GOD-DAMN, COCKSUCKING,MOTHERFUCKING, GOATBLOWING, BABY-CANDY-STEALING, LAST-BEER-DRINKING, BOYFRIEND-FUCKING, INCH-OF-MILK-LEAVING, OTHER-PEOPLE'TH-TACOTH-EATING*, BAD-PANTS-WEARING, STINKY-BREATH-BREATHING, NO-TIP-TIPPING, TAPE-NON-REWINDING, URBAN-LEGEND-FORWARDING, ALL-CAPS-EMAILING DICKWAD, ASSBAG, SHIT!!!!!!!!!!
Needless to say, it has not been a good week. I am filled with the angst and guilt of a thousand Jewish mothers**. I'm having teen issues over here. It may be karma, it may be due to the fact that I'm a giant divorced sinner who dares to have sex (!!!!), or it may be due to the fact that my kid's just a fucking delinquent. Who knows?
What are the stages of grief?? I may have sailed into anger over here, folks. I'm sensing anger...are you sensing anger?? I smell anger. Oddly, it smells like mac & cheese and cheap red wine.
Here's the deal...without going into the specifics over here, my daughter and some friends made a bad choice. They got ratted out and have been sent to the school district's "alternative center". Am I happy about this? No. I'm trying to figure out which part of it I'm least happy about though. Of course, the choice she made horrifies me. (Nobody was injured, lest you think the very worst, but still...arg!) But now I'm trying to figure out if I'm upset about her being sent off to The School because of...the stigma? The idea of her being with "those people"?? (Oh, fuck you, you'd feel the same way about your baby, so close your fucking email client, you fucking hypocrite (oooh....there's The Angry again...sorry)) Is it because I'm making it about me and I feel like I've failed?? ("You think??", Jane)
Of course, I just (like, just - hi REAL TIME BLOGGING) had a conversation with kiddo about it, and (of course today was the first day) she likes it so far - she can't bring anything in and out, which of course means she doesn't HAVE to bring anything in and out - which also means (say it with me folks) not much homework!!!! Uniform dress code means getting ready in the morning is a snap. She got in trouble with her 3 best friends, so gues who got sent to The School with her? That's ri-iiiight. I...I..when this is over with I think I may pack up the cats and move to Goddamn Borneo. Seriously. Is there someplace with child labor camps still??***
And through all of this, where's the Ex? The Ex is on vacation in Mexico. Which means I still get the joy of having The Discussion when he gets back. Who wants to bet a Starbuck's card that he blames me? Huh? HUH? (The Angry, she is lively tonight. I will appease Her with more wine.)
Ok, on Clean House just now, I swear these people had a statue of the Loch Ness Monster. I have some random shit in my house, but dude.....Nessie??
So, Sunday...maybe Monday, GAH!! Sometime in the next few days I get to be told what a horrible mother I am and how it's all my fault that she made a bad choice and the blah and the blah and the blee and you know what...maybe it's The Anger speaking, or maybe I'm at the point where I always got in ourarguments discussions - i.e. four days later, where I could think rationally and realize that I was a real person with real thoughts and emotions and could maybe be RIGHT from time to time....good LORD this is a long fucking sentence, will it ever end???
(pant, pant)
The point...I've come to realize in all of this that, duh, I make mistakes because I am human. It happens. I am not a perfect mother, therefore I do not have a perfect child. But beyond that, the behavior of a child is NOT necessarily a reflection of the quality of the adult in the house. My daugher made a bad choice. She knew this was a bad choice when she made it. How did she know it was a bad choice?? Because *I* taught her that. Sometimes, despite everybody else's best intentions, we make stupid choices, and we get nailed for them, and we pay the price, and we learn. I did it, now kiddo's doing it. Does it suck? Why Yes...yes it does. Verily, lo it doth suck. But like everything else that sucks, I expect, hope, believe that we will come out on the other side of this better and stronger.
And I will continue to hold on to this belief....aaaaaallll the way through till she moves out. Heh.
Hey...did I just hit acceptance?
*Hi Max. For the rest of you, it's a long story. But don't worry, it's nothing dirty.
**Don't even try to start with me. Seriously. I won't have it. Send all of your culturally sensitive hate mail to OHgetagrip@OHPLEASE.I'mkidding.com.
***I know there are, and I know they're horrible and yes I'm kidding and shut up. OY. Again, bad week, I'm kidding. Good lord.
Needless to say, it has not been a good week. I am filled with the angst and guilt of a thousand Jewish mothers**. I'm having teen issues over here. It may be karma, it may be due to the fact that I'm a giant divorced sinner who dares to have sex (!!!!), or it may be due to the fact that my kid's just a fucking delinquent. Who knows?
What are the stages of grief?? I may have sailed into anger over here, folks. I'm sensing anger...are you sensing anger?? I smell anger. Oddly, it smells like mac & cheese and cheap red wine.
Here's the deal...without going into the specifics over here, my daughter and some friends made a bad choice. They got ratted out and have been sent to the school district's "alternative center". Am I happy about this? No. I'm trying to figure out which part of it I'm least happy about though. Of course, the choice she made horrifies me. (Nobody was injured, lest you think the very worst, but still...arg!) But now I'm trying to figure out if I'm upset about her being sent off to The School because of...the stigma? The idea of her being with "those people"?? (Oh, fuck you, you'd feel the same way about your baby, so close your fucking email client, you fucking hypocrite (oooh....there's The Angry again...sorry)) Is it because I'm making it about me and I feel like I've failed?? ("You think??", Jane)
Of course, I just (like, just - hi REAL TIME BLOGGING) had a conversation with kiddo about it, and (of course today was the first day) she likes it so far - she can't bring anything in and out, which of course means she doesn't HAVE to bring anything in and out - which also means (say it with me folks) not much homework!!!! Uniform dress code means getting ready in the morning is a snap. She got in trouble with her 3 best friends, so gues who got sent to The School with her? That's ri-iiiight. I...I..when this is over with I think I may pack up the cats and move to Goddamn Borneo. Seriously. Is there someplace with child labor camps still??***
And through all of this, where's the Ex? The Ex is on vacation in Mexico. Which means I still get the joy of having The Discussion when he gets back. Who wants to bet a Starbuck's card that he blames me? Huh? HUH? (The Angry, she is lively tonight. I will appease Her with more wine.)
Ok, on Clean House just now, I swear these people had a statue of the Loch Ness Monster. I have some random shit in my house, but dude.....Nessie??
So, Sunday...maybe Monday, GAH!! Sometime in the next few days I get to be told what a horrible mother I am and how it's all my fault that she made a bad choice and the blah and the blah and the blee and you know what...maybe it's The Anger speaking, or maybe I'm at the point where I always got in our
(pant, pant)
The point...I've come to realize in all of this that, duh, I make mistakes because I am human. It happens. I am not a perfect mother, therefore I do not have a perfect child. But beyond that, the behavior of a child is NOT necessarily a reflection of the quality of the adult in the house. My daugher made a bad choice. She knew this was a bad choice when she made it. How did she know it was a bad choice?? Because *I* taught her that. Sometimes, despite everybody else's best intentions, we make stupid choices, and we get nailed for them, and we pay the price, and we learn. I did it, now kiddo's doing it. Does it suck? Why Yes...yes it does. Verily, lo it doth suck. But like everything else that sucks, I expect, hope, believe that we will come out on the other side of this better and stronger.
And I will continue to hold on to this belief....aaaaaallll the way through till she moves out. Heh.
Hey...did I just hit acceptance?
*Hi Max. For the rest of you, it's a long story. But don't worry, it's nothing dirty.
**Don't even try to start with me. Seriously. I won't have it. Send all of your culturally sensitive hate mail to OHgetagrip@OHPLEASE.I'mkidding.com.
***I know there are, and I know they're horrible and yes I'm kidding and shut up. OY. Again, bad week, I'm kidding. Good lord.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
On the ledge
How to spend Tuesday on a ledge:
Oversleep - a lot.
Get nothing accomplished at work - not due to to gross incompetence or laziness, but because every project you're working on is in a state of suck at the moment.
Get yet another email from a former fuck-buddy, despite the fact that you've tried to politely blow him off by saying "I have a boyfriend", but he hasn't quite gotten the message.
Have near-miss in parking lot of gym
Listen to your boyfriend describe what his ex-girlfriend did when she orgasmed
Pick up your daughter from the football game early because she was caught smoking by the school relations police dude - realize this means she's lied to you about the whole "only once" thing
Listen to your daughter talk about how she thinks The Ex and his girlfriend should get engaged because "they work really well together."
Find out your daughter failed Reading - READING - something she TAUGHT HERSELF TO DO DO, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.
How to sort of talk yourself off the ledge:
Stop for coffee any-Goddamn-way and enjoy it during the detour to office because they have all of downtown under construction, decide that Austin city planners are all on acid.
Use IM to talk to Jane and mom, pay cable bill, do what can be done and vow to do better tomorrow.
Blow it off, grumble, delete email.
Blow it off, have a really great fucking run once I get in the gym (endorphins rock.)
Blow it off, remember that he's with me now dammit. (DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT)
Talk to kid, find out that whole group was smoking and that she took the blame for the whole group. So yeah, she still lied to me about smoking and yes I'm hurt and yes I let her know and we're working on that, but...in a weird way I'm sort of proud of her for taking the fall for the whole group. Is that wrong??
I..I don't know why, but I can't talk myself off the ledge about this one. It has nothing to do with HIM, it has more to do with it just not being fair. Why does he get to move on before me? My vengeful two year-old says that it's because he needs the help more, and yes I can taste the bitterness in that sentence. Mmmm, red wine and gall, yum. Anyway - final verdict? *stomp* *pout* NOT FAIR NOT FAIR NOT FAIR.
Siiiiigh - she failed reading because she lost her ID and couldn't check out a book on the reading list. So - this was an Home Administration error - one that we talked about getting fixed and was just totally avoidable and correctable and, as I told her, partially my fault. So...bleh.
This whole adulthood thing? It can bite my sack.
Oversleep - a lot.
Get nothing accomplished at work - not due to to gross incompetence or laziness, but because every project you're working on is in a state of suck at the moment.
Get yet another email from a former fuck-buddy, despite the fact that you've tried to politely blow him off by saying "I have a boyfriend", but he hasn't quite gotten the message.
Have near-miss in parking lot of gym
Listen to your boyfriend describe what his ex-girlfriend did when she orgasmed
Pick up your daughter from the football game early because she was caught smoking by the school relations police dude - realize this means she's lied to you about the whole "only once" thing
Listen to your daughter talk about how she thinks The Ex and his girlfriend should get engaged because "they work really well together."
Find out your daughter failed Reading - READING - something she TAUGHT HERSELF TO DO DO, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.
How to sort of talk yourself off the ledge:
Stop for coffee any-Goddamn-way and enjoy it during the detour to office because they have all of downtown under construction, decide that Austin city planners are all on acid.
Use IM to talk to Jane and mom, pay cable bill, do what can be done and vow to do better tomorrow.
Blow it off, grumble, delete email.
Blow it off, have a really great fucking run once I get in the gym (endorphins rock.)
Blow it off, remember that he's with me now dammit. (DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT)
Talk to kid, find out that whole group was smoking and that she took the blame for the whole group. So yeah, she still lied to me about smoking and yes I'm hurt and yes I let her know and we're working on that, but...in a weird way I'm sort of proud of her for taking the fall for the whole group. Is that wrong??
I..I don't know why, but I can't talk myself off the ledge about this one. It has nothing to do with HIM, it has more to do with it just not being fair. Why does he get to move on before me? My vengeful two year-old says that it's because he needs the help more, and yes I can taste the bitterness in that sentence. Mmmm, red wine and gall, yum. Anyway - final verdict? *stomp* *pout* NOT FAIR NOT FAIR NOT FAIR.
Siiiiigh - she failed reading because she lost her ID and couldn't check out a book on the reading list. So - this was an Home Administration error - one that we talked about getting fixed and was just totally avoidable and correctable and, as I told her, partially my fault. So...bleh.
This whole adulthood thing? It can bite my sack.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Feh
Dear Amazon
What's with the suck?? First you fuck up my daughter's birthday order, only shipping part of it, and now you're not displaying properly. What's the deal?? I defend you, I order books from you even though I really should do more to support my local economy, I go to you first when shopping for just about anything from music to bath products to shoes, and this is how you repay me??
I just want to see when my kid's movies will ship, and when you'll, y'know - CHARGE MY CREDIT CARD. It's a little pecadillo of mine, knowing when somebody's going to take money of my checking account. A little foible. Quaint, I know. Sorry. Forgive me?
Plus, I did order those movies a couple of weeks before her birthday - ordinarily plenty of time. And I didn't order high demand titles here - I ordered "Empire Records" and "Angus" - a movie so obscure* that it's not even available on DVD. I'm not pre-ordering Harry Potter and the Hobbits go to Narnia over here. OK?? Sheesh.
C'mon Amazon - I'm on your side. Stop fucking with me. Fix the website weirdness (which has been going on for a while I've noticed) and ship my kid's movies. (Did I mention they were birthday presents. They were. Thanks Amazon - THANKS A LOT.)
Assholes.
hmph
Laura
*Oh but it should be, because it is so so so so so so so SO good. Go out, find this, rent it and watch it. NOW. NOW!!!! You will not be sorry. If for nothing else, the pure JOY of seeing George C. Scott in a frilly blue tux. Seriously - you! go now!!
What's with the suck?? First you fuck up my daughter's birthday order, only shipping part of it, and now you're not displaying properly. What's the deal?? I defend you, I order books from you even though I really should do more to support my local economy, I go to you first when shopping for just about anything from music to bath products to shoes, and this is how you repay me??
I just want to see when my kid's movies will ship, and when you'll, y'know - CHARGE MY CREDIT CARD. It's a little pecadillo of mine, knowing when somebody's going to take money of my checking account. A little foible. Quaint, I know. Sorry. Forgive me?
Plus, I did order those movies a couple of weeks before her birthday - ordinarily plenty of time. And I didn't order high demand titles here - I ordered "Empire Records" and "Angus" - a movie so obscure* that it's not even available on DVD. I'm not pre-ordering Harry Potter and the Hobbits go to Narnia over here. OK?? Sheesh.
C'mon Amazon - I'm on your side. Stop fucking with me. Fix the website weirdness (which has been going on for a while I've noticed) and ship my kid's movies. (Did I mention they were birthday presents. They were. Thanks Amazon - THANKS A LOT.)
Assholes.
hmph
Laura
*Oh but it should be, because it is so so so so so so so SO good. Go out, find this, rent it and watch it. NOW. NOW!!!! You will not be sorry. If for nothing else, the pure JOY of seeing George C. Scott in a frilly blue tux. Seriously - you! go now!!
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Birthday Girl
Happy Birthday Kiddo.
I had an entry in progress, full of neat little things you've said and done throughout your (so far very interesting) 14 years, but I was only on year 4 and it had already gotten pretty damn wordy. So...lemme sum up.
Kiddo is the toddler who started giving out Hallowe'en candy from her own bag when we ran out one year.
Kiddo is the kid who always finds some little gifty for me whenever I let her loose at a street fair/music festival/whatever.
Kiddo will argue any point into the ground.
Kiddo can cook. No, I mean - COOK. She pulled together a shrimp in champagne sauce that could have made the Baby Jesus weep one night.
Kiddo can out-swear you. No...really.
Kiddo mixes a mean vodka tonic.
Kiddo re-designs her t-shirts and sews them back together and gets compliments and where'd-you-get-that's all the time on them.
Kiddo is one of those rare people that understands both Algebra AND Geometry.
Kiddo has an amazing alto voice.
Kiddo is a slob.
Kiddo gives and gives and gives,but you have to be willing to take it all, even the swear words and the sarcasm and the little messes she leaves everywhere.
Kiddo has no interest in being like anybody else, she wants to be her. And somehow, she has managed to figure out this desire and expresses it at 14.
I want to be my daughter when I grow up.
Happy birthday baby. You are the best thing I've ever done.
I love you.
I had an entry in progress, full of neat little things you've said and done throughout your (so far very interesting) 14 years, but I was only on year 4 and it had already gotten pretty damn wordy. So...lemme sum up.
Kiddo is the toddler who started giving out Hallowe'en candy from her own bag when we ran out one year.
Kiddo is the kid who always finds some little gifty for me whenever I let her loose at a street fair/music festival/whatever.
Kiddo will argue any point into the ground.
Kiddo can cook. No, I mean - COOK. She pulled together a shrimp in champagne sauce that could have made the Baby Jesus weep one night.
Kiddo can out-swear you. No...really.
Kiddo mixes a mean vodka tonic.
Kiddo re-designs her t-shirts and sews them back together and gets compliments and where'd-you-get-that's all the time on them.
Kiddo is one of those rare people that understands both Algebra AND Geometry.
Kiddo has an amazing alto voice.
Kiddo is a slob.
Kiddo gives and gives and gives,but you have to be willing to take it all, even the swear words and the sarcasm and the little messes she leaves everywhere.
Kiddo has no interest in being like anybody else, she wants to be her. And somehow, she has managed to figure out this desire and expresses it at 14.
I want to be my daughter when I grow up.
Happy birthday baby. You are the best thing I've ever done.
I love you.
Friday, September 30, 2005
Clarification
Ok, let me clear something up now that I'm sober. While it may appear that I am sitting around, feeling sorry for myself, snacking on earthworms and wine and writing poems about how I am Laura, the Lone Friendless One, that is not true. MmmmK??
I go out. I go to happy hours (probably too many happy hours), I went to ACL last weekend (I owe you guys a recap, as a matter of fact. I can quickly sum it now with fun, loud, hot, dust, beer, tired.) I have a fabulous boyfriend and yes I do have something of a social life. In fact, I spend enough time out of the house that my house is currently a total sty. So there! Wait....
Moving on.....
My social life, at the moment, is completely dependent on Max. On what he is doing with his friends - and yes I will continue to use the phrase "his friends", because I have known most of these wonderful, fabulous people for LESS THAN SIX MONTHS and PRIMARILY THROUGH HIM - call me old-fashioned. I do not know any of his friends well enough to just call them up out of the blue and say "hey, so...wanna grab a slice and a beer?" without him around. Am I a freak? Probably so. Did I ever deny that? Nope. Veeeeeery realistic about that shit. Thing is, I need to go out and earn my own friends. Reason one? I'm 34...I should know how to do this shit. Really, this is just asinine. Honestly. Reason two? I should have somebody other than my boyfriend or my daughter to do stuff with. If you're happy with just that, great! More power to you! I'm not! I'd like a girl buddy! A shopping buddy, somebody! Of my own. MINE MINE MINE (hee) Why of my own??
When I got divorced, I lost my entire social circle. I got married at nineteen, and with one notable exception (BFF) all of my friends were the Ex's friends from high school. All perfectly lovely, wonderful people. Fabulous, loyal, helpful to a fault. Great folks - lovely people, really. But...as I said - they were the Ex's friends from high school. So...when the divorce happened, *whoosh*, they were gone. Was it because they weren't comfortable contacting me, or because I wasn't comfortable contacting them?? Eh - little bit of both, honestly. Either way you work it, I had lost the only society I had. Gone.
So now, we have Max and his wonderful, loyal, helpful to a fault friends who he defends jealously and who he tells me "baby, if anything ever happens, they would call me the asshole and rush to your side." Um...no. I have been to that circus, honey - it doesn't work that way. See, for a long time, the Ex told me that the only reason why his friends came around was because of me and nobody really liked him and if it weren't for me, we wouldn't get invited anywhere and and and. I trust Max implicitly and I believe he believes his words, but....I don't really believe that I have the power to change 20 year-old friendships. And really - I don't want that kind of power. I don't think I'd trust the kind of person that would give up a 20 year friendship.
I'm coming to realize that there are things in this world that I need in order to be whole and healthy. One of them is a relationship or two outside of my romantic one. It has taken me 34 years to get to this point. This is a ridiculously long time for someone to make this realization, and it's going to take me a ridiculous amount of angst to make it happen because somewhere in my brain lives this obnoxious person who tells me constantly that I am not good enough, pretty enough, smart enough, skinny enough, cool enough, whatever enough to be friends with....anybody. I'm tired of listening to this voice and I'm tired of beating myself up over here, folks.
So - I either join a damn reading group and take some damn knitting classes and meet some folks, or I run off and live in a cave. And all my shit won't fit in a cave, so.....I guess I'm stuck. If you live in Austin....wanna go get a cup of coffee??
I go out. I go to happy hours (probably too many happy hours), I went to ACL last weekend (I owe you guys a recap, as a matter of fact. I can quickly sum it now with fun, loud, hot, dust, beer, tired.) I have a fabulous boyfriend and yes I do have something of a social life. In fact, I spend enough time out of the house that my house is currently a total sty. So there! Wait....
Moving on.....
My social life, at the moment, is completely dependent on Max. On what he is doing with his friends - and yes I will continue to use the phrase "his friends", because I have known most of these wonderful, fabulous people for LESS THAN SIX MONTHS and PRIMARILY THROUGH HIM - call me old-fashioned. I do not know any of his friends well enough to just call them up out of the blue and say "hey, so...wanna grab a slice and a beer?" without him around. Am I a freak? Probably so. Did I ever deny that? Nope. Veeeeeery realistic about that shit. Thing is, I need to go out and earn my own friends. Reason one? I'm 34...I should know how to do this shit. Really, this is just asinine. Honestly. Reason two? I should have somebody other than my boyfriend or my daughter to do stuff with. If you're happy with just that, great! More power to you! I'm not! I'd like a girl buddy! A shopping buddy, somebody! Of my own. MINE MINE MINE (hee) Why of my own??
When I got divorced, I lost my entire social circle. I got married at nineteen, and with one notable exception (BFF) all of my friends were the Ex's friends from high school. All perfectly lovely, wonderful people. Fabulous, loyal, helpful to a fault. Great folks - lovely people, really. But...as I said - they were the Ex's friends from high school. So...when the divorce happened, *whoosh*, they were gone. Was it because they weren't comfortable contacting me, or because I wasn't comfortable contacting them?? Eh - little bit of both, honestly. Either way you work it, I had lost the only society I had. Gone.
So now, we have Max and his wonderful, loyal, helpful to a fault friends who he defends jealously and who he tells me "baby, if anything ever happens, they would call me the asshole and rush to your side." Um...no. I have been to that circus, honey - it doesn't work that way. See, for a long time, the Ex told me that the only reason why his friends came around was because of me and nobody really liked him and if it weren't for me, we wouldn't get invited anywhere and and and. I trust Max implicitly and I believe he believes his words, but....I don't really believe that I have the power to change 20 year-old friendships. And really - I don't want that kind of power. I don't think I'd trust the kind of person that would give up a 20 year friendship.
I'm coming to realize that there are things in this world that I need in order to be whole and healthy. One of them is a relationship or two outside of my romantic one. It has taken me 34 years to get to this point. This is a ridiculously long time for someone to make this realization, and it's going to take me a ridiculous amount of angst to make it happen because somewhere in my brain lives this obnoxious person who tells me constantly that I am not good enough, pretty enough, smart enough, skinny enough, cool enough, whatever enough to be friends with....anybody. I'm tired of listening to this voice and I'm tired of beating myself up over here, folks.
So - I either join a damn reading group and take some damn knitting classes and meet some folks, or I run off and live in a cave. And all my shit won't fit in a cave, so.....I guess I'm stuck. If you live in Austin....wanna go get a cup of coffee??
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
had to change the damn title
So, see now...here's the deal. I'm not anti-social.* But neither am I, in the words of my darling Max when describing himself, "virulently social". I'm just sort of..y'know...there. I'll talk to strangers sometimes, don't really like being talked to by waitfolks, will compliment strangers on their clothes, get chattier when I'm drinking, that sort of thing. At a party, I don't need to be worried about, Max can go wander off and do his thing and be assured that I won't feel neglected or ignored or pissed off when he returns. Provided I don't find out he's drunk all the beer while I'm not looking, that is.
But, I find myself in this weird kind of place. I ... have no friends. Ok, that's not entirely true. I have BFF, but she lives in Nebraska, so getting together for coffee talk or a movie is a leeeeetle cumbersome. I have Jane, but again - KANSAS! All of Max's friends were also in the BFF/happy hour circle, so I kinda-sorta knew them before, but in a weird way, I just..I...don't feel like I earned them on my own?? Does that make sense?
The bald-assed truth is, when I got divorced, I lost all of my friends. Ok, not all - I got to keep one. (I guess she needs a psuedonym. Um, we'll call her PT - long story.) I mean - it's not like I got drummed out of the corps or anything, but...I wasn't just divorced, I was alone. And the Ex can talk about how nobody "knows" him anymore all he wants, he still had folks around him. I didn't.
Maybe I suck at cultivating friendships. I fully accept that I am lazy and that I just don't know what to do. I ..call? and...um...ask? But it feels like I DO that stuff and ...I get turned down. So then what? This shit is hard enough when I have the possibility of free alcohol and sex involved, but when I don't? Good lord. OK, that's not fair - friendship is far more important and longer lasting and I KNOW THAT, OK??? If I didn't believe that or know that, I WOULDN'T BE WRITING ABOUT IT ON THE INTERNET, GET OFF MY BACK. heh.
feh. I'm just afraid of finding myself all alone again. Whether it was my choice or not, it fucking sucked. In so many ways, I am so happy with my life. I feel better about me, and the decisions I make and the way I function every single day. I love Max - but I need more people in my life than just him. Everybody needs more than just their boy/girl/gerbil-friend in their life in order to be healthy.
Soooo...the point...there is one, I swear. How do I make friends? Seriously, I uh...don't know how to like, y'know..um...meet people. Work contacts are out because they all know I'm insane and I'm sort of isolated from everybody there anyway. Folks at the gym?? Looking up book groups on the internet? Knitting classes? A sandwich board on the side of I-35? I..I um...seriously...don't know. How do folks just like, go out and...MEET people?? I'm not a complete social retard, but I'm apparently a little developmentally delayed. Help?
*I am however just a tad drunk while writing this, so yeah...bear that in mind.
But, I find myself in this weird kind of place. I ... have no friends. Ok, that's not entirely true. I have BFF, but she lives in Nebraska, so getting together for coffee talk or a movie is a leeeeetle cumbersome. I have Jane, but again - KANSAS! All of Max's friends were also in the BFF/happy hour circle, so I kinda-sorta knew them before, but in a weird way, I just..I...don't feel like I earned them on my own?? Does that make sense?
The bald-assed truth is, when I got divorced, I lost all of my friends. Ok, not all - I got to keep one. (I guess she needs a psuedonym. Um, we'll call her PT - long story.) I mean - it's not like I got drummed out of the corps or anything, but...I wasn't just divorced, I was alone. And the Ex can talk about how nobody "knows" him anymore all he wants, he still had folks around him. I didn't.
Maybe I suck at cultivating friendships. I fully accept that I am lazy and that I just don't know what to do. I ..call? and...um...ask? But it feels like I DO that stuff and ...I get turned down. So then what? This shit is hard enough when I have the possibility of free alcohol and sex involved, but when I don't? Good lord. OK, that's not fair - friendship is far more important and longer lasting and I KNOW THAT, OK??? If I didn't believe that or know that, I WOULDN'T BE WRITING ABOUT IT ON THE INTERNET, GET OFF MY BACK. heh.
feh. I'm just afraid of finding myself all alone again. Whether it was my choice or not, it fucking sucked. In so many ways, I am so happy with my life. I feel better about me, and the decisions I make and the way I function every single day. I love Max - but I need more people in my life than just him. Everybody needs more than just their boy/girl/gerbil-friend in their life in order to be healthy.
Soooo...the point...there is one, I swear. How do I make friends? Seriously, I uh...don't know how to like, y'know..um...meet people. Work contacts are out because they all know I'm insane and I'm sort of isolated from everybody there anyway. Folks at the gym?? Looking up book groups on the internet? Knitting classes? A sandwich board on the side of I-35? I..I um...seriously...don't know. How do folks just like, go out and...MEET people?? I'm not a complete social retard, but I'm apparently a little developmentally delayed. Help?
*I am however just a tad drunk while writing this, so yeah...bear that in mind.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Up Simba!!!!
So y'know - I was gonna write about how I haven't been doing very well, but a few things happened. One, I did some major retail therapy with the kid last night. She needed school clothes, I needed D-Con traps (fucking waterbugs), a vegetable peeler and apparently a cute gray skirt and some black ballet flats...huh, who knew? Target is still reeling. So's my checking account. Ahem.
Two, I had a brownie with lunch. Never understimate the power of chocolate, folks. NE - VER.
Three, I tried to write how I was feeling and besides being reeeeeally overblown and purple prose-y, it was so self-indulgent that I just wanted to scream. So I did. And then I hit the backspace key repeatedly.
Four, I was psycho-analyzed by the most insightful woman on the internet and we figured out that my current state of insanity just *might* have something to do with watching my hometown get destroyed. Huh? You think?? Maybe that might make a person feel a little insecure and weird? hm....
So yeah - I've been wallowing a bit over here and I'm working on NOT doing that.
Ignore the mud puddle, hand me a towel, let's move on.
Kiddo and I were watching some show on VH1 the other day and a commercial for some promotion involving Sidekicks came on and she sighed wistfully and said, "I wish I had a Sidekick."
I looked at her and kind of arched my eyebrow and gave the best "what-on-Earth-do-you-need-a-Sidekick-for-you-little-weirdo" look I could possibly muster. She looked at me and said, "Oh, no - not the phone" and her eyes lit up as she continued, "the person!!"
She still doesn't understand why I fell out of the chair laughing.
Two, I had a brownie with lunch. Never understimate the power of chocolate, folks. NE - VER.
Three, I tried to write how I was feeling and besides being reeeeeally overblown and purple prose-y, it was so self-indulgent that I just wanted to scream. So I did. And then I hit the backspace key repeatedly.
Four, I was psycho-analyzed by the most insightful woman on the internet and we figured out that my current state of insanity just *might* have something to do with watching my hometown get destroyed. Huh? You think?? Maybe that might make a person feel a little insecure and weird? hm....
So yeah - I've been wallowing a bit over here and I'm working on NOT doing that.
Ignore the mud puddle, hand me a towel, let's move on.
Kiddo and I were watching some show on VH1 the other day and a commercial for some promotion involving Sidekicks came on and she sighed wistfully and said, "I wish I had a Sidekick."
I looked at her and kind of arched my eyebrow and gave the best "what-on-Earth-do-you-need-a-Sidekick-for-you-little-weirdo" look I could possibly muster. She looked at me and said, "Oh, no - not the phone" and her eyes lit up as she continued, "the person!!"
She still doesn't understand why I fell out of the chair laughing.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
The levees broke
Here is a list of places to donate. Or just donate to the Red Cross. Please? The levees broke and I know that my uncle's house and my grandmother's houses are underwater right now. I don't know about my other grandparent's house, I haven't heard any significant reports about that side of the city, except that it's all flooded. My family will be OK. We all have each other and insurance and places and people we can depend on. Right now, they're all safe and dry. We'll all pull together and come back from this, but not everybody who lives in New Orleans is so lucky. Please - take a minute and donate. Thank you.
Laura
Laura
Monday, August 29, 2005
two houses, one city
I know the layouts so well, I could navigate them blindfolded, in my sleep, in my dreams, drugged, drunk, through somebody else's eyes, on an overhead layout. I'd recognize the floorplans anywhere. I know these houses better than the back of my hand. I've never stumbled through the back of my hand in the haze of a bad dream to find comfort.
One is a ranch style house, so American, so typical, so suburban. There is a formal living room and dining room that only get used at Christmas and Thanksgiving. There is a den with light wood paneling. There is a huge 50's style kitchen with an obscene lack of counter space. It's obvious that you are meant to entertain in this kitchen, not cook in it. There is a long hallway with three bedrooms. Blue, pink and red. The house has been redecorated a few times, but the colors are pretty much the same, tan for the hallway, red in the master's, blue in the guest, pink in the back bedroom. The back bedroom was my dad's (it probably wasn't pink then) then it was mine. The front bedroom is supposed to be the guest bedroom, but in my mind it is and will always be Grandma Lena's room, even though she died in 1995. I can still remember the first time I came to visit and slept in the blue bedroom - I might as well have been sleeping on the carport, it felt so alien to me.
This house is gumbo and red beans and rice and etouffee and Christmas and Thanksgiving and Mardi Gras and football and crawfish boils. Carrie across the street, standing on the neutral ground yelling, "Hey!! Can you spend the night???" Wednesday night dance lessons, spaghetti and meatballs. My first car. A divot in the corner of the lawn where my Grandma always runs over the grass when she pulls into the driveway in her giant Cadillac. African violets and wandering Jew on the front porch, Creole tomatoes and strawberry plants in the backyard. Saturday morning breakfasts at McDonald's with my Poppa. Slip and slide. Homemade ice cream. Two broken arms, one chipped tooth and countless skinned knees were earned on the sidewalks in front of that house. This house is home.
The other house is a dark green cement block duplex that is almost completely obscured by a giant holly tree. It has the most cramped staircase in the history of cramped staircases. The woman who lives there is one of the smartest, funniest, wordiest, most literate women I've ever met. She's the reason I read. She's the reason I write. She has a cheap cabinet, the kind you put next to your desk to keep your office supplies in, that's covered with bumper stickers from all over the place. She used to have an antique victrola, but got rid of it. I'm OK with that - but I think if anything happens to the bumper sticker cabinet, I'll be bummed. She has a collection of Pogo comic books.
This house is Beatles albums and jazz and books and talking till two AM and the big blue van that we drove everywhere and camping in the Ozarks and going to Nebraska to see my Uncle Mike and cats and crazy dog after crazy dog and horse people learning to live without horses and stories about my nutty relatives and the Depression and World War II and my grandfather who I never really got to know. My bus stop was across the street - cold mornings (cold to me!) that I spent rehearsing my tap dance numbers, a crazy 9-year old girl, tap dancing away in the New Orleans mist, trying to stay warm - a whole busload of kids and a mystified bus driver watching her, trying to figure out what the hell she was doing. Monty Python, Benny Hill, Dr. Who, Fawlty Towers. This house is my friend Blair and the cabinet covered with bumper stickers and the bottle collection and trips to San Antonio. This house is enchilada pie and Mexican meatloaf and snacking on olives out of my grandmother's martini while we waited on our food at a restaurant. This house is home.
The people are safe. One set is at my dad's, driving him insane, but doing it safely. The other is (last I heard) in Birmingham, driving each other crazy, traveling in a tan van with two full-sized dogs. The people, the important part, the good stuff, that is safe. I know this. I know that the houses are just that - houses. I know they are bricks and wood and nails and insulation. I know that the things within them are just things and in the grand scheme of it all, things are incredibly replaceable. It's just a house, it's just a house, it's just a house. I know this to be true. But these houses, these simple contraptions of wood and cement and nails and all the things within them are the things that my grandparents have spent their lives working towards. It's just a house, it's just a house, it's just a house. Please let them just be houses that are still standing when they go back to them.
One is a ranch style house, so American, so typical, so suburban. There is a formal living room and dining room that only get used at Christmas and Thanksgiving. There is a den with light wood paneling. There is a huge 50's style kitchen with an obscene lack of counter space. It's obvious that you are meant to entertain in this kitchen, not cook in it. There is a long hallway with three bedrooms. Blue, pink and red. The house has been redecorated a few times, but the colors are pretty much the same, tan for the hallway, red in the master's, blue in the guest, pink in the back bedroom. The back bedroom was my dad's (it probably wasn't pink then) then it was mine. The front bedroom is supposed to be the guest bedroom, but in my mind it is and will always be Grandma Lena's room, even though she died in 1995. I can still remember the first time I came to visit and slept in the blue bedroom - I might as well have been sleeping on the carport, it felt so alien to me.
This house is gumbo and red beans and rice and etouffee and Christmas and Thanksgiving and Mardi Gras and football and crawfish boils. Carrie across the street, standing on the neutral ground yelling, "Hey!! Can you spend the night???" Wednesday night dance lessons, spaghetti and meatballs. My first car. A divot in the corner of the lawn where my Grandma always runs over the grass when she pulls into the driveway in her giant Cadillac. African violets and wandering Jew on the front porch, Creole tomatoes and strawberry plants in the backyard. Saturday morning breakfasts at McDonald's with my Poppa. Slip and slide. Homemade ice cream. Two broken arms, one chipped tooth and countless skinned knees were earned on the sidewalks in front of that house. This house is home.
The other house is a dark green cement block duplex that is almost completely obscured by a giant holly tree. It has the most cramped staircase in the history of cramped staircases. The woman who lives there is one of the smartest, funniest, wordiest, most literate women I've ever met. She's the reason I read. She's the reason I write. She has a cheap cabinet, the kind you put next to your desk to keep your office supplies in, that's covered with bumper stickers from all over the place. She used to have an antique victrola, but got rid of it. I'm OK with that - but I think if anything happens to the bumper sticker cabinet, I'll be bummed. She has a collection of Pogo comic books.
This house is Beatles albums and jazz and books and talking till two AM and the big blue van that we drove everywhere and camping in the Ozarks and going to Nebraska to see my Uncle Mike and cats and crazy dog after crazy dog and horse people learning to live without horses and stories about my nutty relatives and the Depression and World War II and my grandfather who I never really got to know. My bus stop was across the street - cold mornings (cold to me!) that I spent rehearsing my tap dance numbers, a crazy 9-year old girl, tap dancing away in the New Orleans mist, trying to stay warm - a whole busload of kids and a mystified bus driver watching her, trying to figure out what the hell she was doing. Monty Python, Benny Hill, Dr. Who, Fawlty Towers. This house is my friend Blair and the cabinet covered with bumper stickers and the bottle collection and trips to San Antonio. This house is enchilada pie and Mexican meatloaf and snacking on olives out of my grandmother's martini while we waited on our food at a restaurant. This house is home.
The people are safe. One set is at my dad's, driving him insane, but doing it safely. The other is (last I heard) in Birmingham, driving each other crazy, traveling in a tan van with two full-sized dogs. The people, the important part, the good stuff, that is safe. I know this. I know that the houses are just that - houses. I know they are bricks and wood and nails and insulation. I know that the things within them are just things and in the grand scheme of it all, things are incredibly replaceable. It's just a house, it's just a house, it's just a house. I know this to be true. But these houses, these simple contraptions of wood and cement and nails and all the things within them are the things that my grandparents have spent their lives working towards. It's just a house, it's just a house, it's just a house. Please let them just be houses that are still standing when they go back to them.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Home front
So, the kiddo and I were sitting around talking. Ok, that's not really news in and of itself, but she's 13 very very soon to be 27 14 and that's an....interesting age, what with the urges to do awful things to your body and the being surrounded by stupid teenagers and all. A lot of her friends are smoking already, which briefly scandalized me, until I realized that a lot of MY friends smoked at that age and a lot of my parent's friend smoked at that age and my grandparents all started smoking at that age and and and and and....THANKS PHILIP MORRIS, YOU FUCKER. * Anyway....shit freaked, then calmed down by the realization that this was totally normal. So, we talked, she asked how I would feel if I found out that she was smoking. I told her the truth - I'd be upset because it's unhealthy, habit-forming, is a huge factor in what killed her paternal grandfather, paternal grandmother, her great-grandmother, is killing my father...do I need to go on??
"no.....I tried it a couple of times....."
"...OK...and?"
"I don't see what the big deal is."
"So - no smoking for Kiddo?"
"Oh no - I just wanted to see what big damn deal was - still don't get it...won't do it again. Don't tell dad, he'd freak."
"Don't do it again and I won't."
"I told my friends that I told you and they wigged out, all 'ohmygod!! Now she's gonna tell my mom' I said, 'no way man, I trust my mom.'"
"I trust my mom"
Wow. I'm not sure I've ever been paid a higher compliment in my life. She asked if I would tell the other moms and I said no - and I won't. I don't know - maybe that goes against some mom code or something but....my kid just told me that she trusted me, and y'know - I'm sorry if other moms don't have that going on, but..um...not my problem. Also? If it were a case where I suspected immediate bodily harm, then yes I'd be on the phone. As it is, this is little girls sneaking off to stage smoke once or twice a week. Trust me - they'll get busted soon - we all did. Again - normal, necessary. I'm not trying to set myself up as the Cool Mom by not ratting them out. I find them smoking on my back porch, I'll tell them they're not allowed to do that shit at my house ("but Max does!!" Hi, Max is a 35 year-old man...are you??) But neither am I going to set myself up as the bitch by getting on the phone w/ another mom, all "doyouknowwhatyourdaughterhasbeenUPTO???"
Right now, I'm way more interested in having these nice, neutral conversations that my daughter seems to thrive on. Reaction of any kind, positive or negative just makes her dig her heels in. Egads! I'm raising a teenager.
*I know, I know, I just grabbed a tobacco name out ofmy assa hat.
****BULLETIN****
Listen up...without getting terribly detailed and/or terribly political, I have a little bulletin for some men in the audience. Next time you make a sexist joke, and a woman gets offended, do not, I repeat DO NOT respond that she "just needs to get laid."
We are getting laid. Truuuuuuust me. I, for one, am gettin' laid jes' fine (thanks Max!) and I have a pretty healthy (or sick, depending on how you look at it) sense of humor and I can tell a blue joke with the best of them (see previous post in re: inappropriate remarks about Drew Barrymore.) This does not mean that I have to put up with sexism or misogyny or you being a jackhole. This also does not mean that when I do speak up in my own defense that it's because I need a cock in my life. I have a cock in my life. A very nice one, thanks. Cocks, or the lack thereof, have not a goddamn thing to with whether a woman finds you offensive. You being offensive has everything to do with it.
So dude - stop being an asshole, and maybe we'll all start getting along.
Thanks.
"no.....I tried it a couple of times....."
"...OK...and?"
"I don't see what the big deal is."
"So - no smoking for Kiddo?"
"Oh no - I just wanted to see what big damn deal was - still don't get it...won't do it again. Don't tell dad, he'd freak."
"Don't do it again and I won't."
"I told my friends that I told you and they wigged out, all 'ohmygod!! Now she's gonna tell my mom' I said, 'no way man, I trust my mom.'"
"I trust my mom"
Wow. I'm not sure I've ever been paid a higher compliment in my life. She asked if I would tell the other moms and I said no - and I won't. I don't know - maybe that goes against some mom code or something but....my kid just told me that she trusted me, and y'know - I'm sorry if other moms don't have that going on, but..um...not my problem. Also? If it were a case where I suspected immediate bodily harm, then yes I'd be on the phone. As it is, this is little girls sneaking off to stage smoke once or twice a week. Trust me - they'll get busted soon - we all did. Again - normal, necessary. I'm not trying to set myself up as the Cool Mom by not ratting them out. I find them smoking on my back porch, I'll tell them they're not allowed to do that shit at my house ("but Max does!!" Hi, Max is a 35 year-old man...are you??) But neither am I going to set myself up as the bitch by getting on the phone w/ another mom, all "doyouknowwhatyourdaughterhasbeenUPTO???"
Right now, I'm way more interested in having these nice, neutral conversations that my daughter seems to thrive on. Reaction of any kind, positive or negative just makes her dig her heels in. Egads! I'm raising a teenager.
*I know, I know, I just grabbed a tobacco name out of
****BULLETIN****
Listen up...without getting terribly detailed and/or terribly political, I have a little bulletin for some men in the audience. Next time you make a sexist joke, and a woman gets offended, do not, I repeat DO NOT respond that she "just needs to get laid."
We are getting laid. Truuuuuuust me. I, for one, am gettin' laid jes' fine (thanks Max!) and I have a pretty healthy (or sick, depending on how you look at it) sense of humor and I can tell a blue joke with the best of them (see previous post in re: inappropriate remarks about Drew Barrymore.) This does not mean that I have to put up with sexism or misogyny or you being a jackhole. This also does not mean that when I do speak up in my own defense that it's because I need a cock in my life. I have a cock in my life. A very nice one, thanks. Cocks, or the lack thereof, have not a goddamn thing to with whether a woman finds you offensive. You being offensive has everything to do with it.
So dude - stop being an asshole, and maybe we'll all start getting along.
Thanks.
Monday, August 22, 2005
Why Max's friends love me and fear me just a little bit.
Friend: What was that movie, that Drew Barrymore was so hot in.....what was the name of it...?
Me: E.T.??
Friend: I...I..think I love you.
He was KIDDING - this was the end of a fairly sick, drunken conversation we'd been having while my lovely boyfriend was off judging the seafood portion of a BBQ competition. Friend and I got the WILD GAME portion. YES! WILD GAME!!! Whooo. I'm not sure, but I think I may have gotten something that was killed with a Buick on the way to the competition. I know there was some alligator in there (dry, lemony! Dude, BBQ? is not lemony, just sayin')
It was all good though, because the judges are THOROUGHLY lubricated with free beer by the time the competition starts up - hence the really tacky conversation above. So yeah, um...all you folks in Williamson County this Saturday that were scandalized by the guy with the beard and the loud girl in the striped shirt and that other dude with them making really lewd jokes? That uh, that wasn't us. Those were some other rude motherfuckers.
Heh.
Me: E.T.??
Friend: I...I..think I love you.
He was KIDDING - this was the end of a fairly sick, drunken conversation we'd been having while my lovely boyfriend was off judging the seafood portion of a BBQ competition. Friend and I got the WILD GAME portion. YES! WILD GAME!!! Whooo. I'm not sure, but I think I may have gotten something that was killed with a Buick on the way to the competition. I know there was some alligator in there (dry, lemony! Dude, BBQ? is not lemony, just sayin')
It was all good though, because the judges are THOROUGHLY lubricated with free beer by the time the competition starts up - hence the really tacky conversation above. So yeah, um...all you folks in Williamson County this Saturday that were scandalized by the guy with the beard and the loud girl in the striped shirt and that other dude with them making really lewd jokes? That uh, that wasn't us. Those were some other rude motherfuckers.
Heh.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
getting on with your life????
I got this from Bitch Ph.D. and it just made me so angry, and I started to comment over there. It started out short and sweet, but as I started to write it, I got more and more angry. "Going on with my life"?? What the bloody fuck?
Mr. Bush....You do realize that you are the President of the United States of America, right?? Did you realize when you ran for office that this is a 24 hour a day, 7 day a week, 365 day a year job? That all of your "vacations" are WORKING vacations??? OK - I'm just an IT person, and I can't get lunch w/o running the risk of getting my lunch interrupted - you're running a country in the middle of a war - that you put us into, might I remind you (yes..you did...yeah - ya did) and you wants to "go on with your life"??? NO. nonono. I'm sorry. But no. This is not a job that comes with coffee breaks, or vacation time, or weekends or holidays. This is a job that requires you to work all the damn time, even on your cute little ranch in Crawford. It's a job that means you DON'T get weekends, you don't get time off, you DON'T get to get on with your life. If you don't like the fact that you don't get time off George, you shouldn't have run for office my friend. Plain and simple. Want weekends?? Sell furniture! Or shoes! I bet you'd make a GREAT shoe salesman!!! But dude - Presidents? Don't get weekends. They get ulcers and back problems and stress headaches and marital issues and all sorts of other bad shit, but they don't get weekends. Why do you think so few people REALLY want the job, and why do you think we look askance at the ones that truly want that kind of power?? Yeaaaah...that's why.
George - may I call you George? I will anyway, because it's my damn blog, and you'll never read this - there was a time when the American President could be held accountable to the individual voter. No, really. FDR would actually meet with individuals and talk to them about what was going on in their lives. I know you have different policies than FDR - I'm not going to get into that. But I am saying that now - the individual is declared a "threat to national security" or "dangerous" unless the President likes what they have to say. You have protesters moved out of your sight line. Um....'scuse me? You do realize you are going against one of the very basic rights upon which we built this country?? This, sir is bullshit. And it brings me to Ms. Sheehan. You have ignored, marginalized and shuffled this woman around, hoping that if you just avoid her long enough she'll go away. Wow - what a FABULOUS example as a leader you set. Really. You need to look Cindy Sheehan in the eye and give her some answers. Not some soundbite crap that you think she wants to hear, not some pap designed for the campaign trail, but some answers. This woman has stood out in the Texas heat for a month waiting on you to talk to her. She has handled watching her son go off to war, she has handled the death of her son, and she has handled hearing her son's Commander in Chief say he needs to "go on with [his] life." I think she can probably handle (and deserves) the truth from you. Not some pat apology. Sack up, be a man for once, make it good and real Mr. Bush, and give this woman some answers. All she's asking for is a conversation. Is that really so difficult?? Technically speaking, Mr. President - you do work for HER, not the other way around. This is one of your employers, coming to you, asking for some answers, and you are falling down on your job. If I ignored my boss the way you are currently ignoring yours, I'd be out on the street. Think about that while you get on with your life.
Mr. Bush....You do realize that you are the President of the United States of America, right?? Did you realize when you ran for office that this is a 24 hour a day, 7 day a week, 365 day a year job? That all of your "vacations" are WORKING vacations??? OK - I'm just an IT person, and I can't get lunch w/o running the risk of getting my lunch interrupted - you're running a country in the middle of a war - that you put us into, might I remind you (yes..you did...yeah - ya did) and you wants to "go on with your life"??? NO. nonono. I'm sorry. But no. This is not a job that comes with coffee breaks, or vacation time, or weekends or holidays. This is a job that requires you to work all the damn time, even on your cute little ranch in Crawford. It's a job that means you DON'T get weekends, you don't get time off, you DON'T get to get on with your life. If you don't like the fact that you don't get time off George, you shouldn't have run for office my friend. Plain and simple. Want weekends?? Sell furniture! Or shoes! I bet you'd make a GREAT shoe salesman!!! But dude - Presidents? Don't get weekends. They get ulcers and back problems and stress headaches and marital issues and all sorts of other bad shit, but they don't get weekends. Why do you think so few people REALLY want the job, and why do you think we look askance at the ones that truly want that kind of power?? Yeaaaah...that's why.
George - may I call you George? I will anyway, because it's my damn blog, and you'll never read this - there was a time when the American President could be held accountable to the individual voter. No, really. FDR would actually meet with individuals and talk to them about what was going on in their lives. I know you have different policies than FDR - I'm not going to get into that. But I am saying that now - the individual is declared a "threat to national security" or "dangerous" unless the President likes what they have to say. You have protesters moved out of your sight line. Um....'scuse me? You do realize you are going against one of the very basic rights upon which we built this country?? This, sir is bullshit. And it brings me to Ms. Sheehan. You have ignored, marginalized and shuffled this woman around, hoping that if you just avoid her long enough she'll go away. Wow - what a FABULOUS example as a leader you set. Really. You need to look Cindy Sheehan in the eye and give her some answers. Not some soundbite crap that you think she wants to hear, not some pap designed for the campaign trail, but some answers. This woman has stood out in the Texas heat for a month waiting on you to talk to her. She has handled watching her son go off to war, she has handled the death of her son, and she has handled hearing her son's Commander in Chief say he needs to "go on with [his] life." I think she can probably handle (and deserves) the truth from you. Not some pat apology. Sack up, be a man for once, make it good and real Mr. Bush, and give this woman some answers. All she's asking for is a conversation. Is that really so difficult?? Technically speaking, Mr. President - you do work for HER, not the other way around. This is one of your employers, coming to you, asking for some answers, and you are falling down on your job. If I ignored my boss the way you are currently ignoring yours, I'd be out on the street. Think about that while you get on with your life.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
don't call it a drive-by
Dear lady in the HEB -
Your son is adorable. You're pretty cool about the fact that he keeps getting called "she", which is good, since you keep his hair long enough to put up in that cute multi-pig tail look that so many African-American girls sport. And really, for a 2 year-old, he wasn't being especially bad. He was being a pretty typical two year-old boy. You weren't really paying any attention to him, and you let him get out of the cart, which...what's that about? And then you actually let him get out.of.your.sight. at an HEB during the busiest time of the day, right next to an exit door, and you seemed awfully chill about it....but ..um..OK.
I'm not trying to criticize your mothering style...I...well..Ok, fuck that, yes I suppose I am. Look lady, I've had a toddler. It's been a while, I'll admit it, but I've been there. I am not a Nazi about runny noses or socks or tied shoes or any of that - little kids are disgusting little creatures who will fuck with the best laid plans. But see, the basics, no matter what your parenting style, are pretty much the same. To wit: Pay basic attention to their whereabouts, keep them fed, keep them clothed, keep them breathing, keep them from bleeding or making other children bleed, keep them from setting themselves on fire, yelling inappropriate words, eating poop or glass and try not to let them grow up Republican, right?? As long as you keep the basics covered, all the fighting over attachment parenting, extended nursing, co-sleeping, crying it out, hemp slings, formula, organic baby food, immunizations, and any other thing that parents can come up with to criticize each other about is really immaterial. Really. It is. No....really...it is. We can go back and forth on all the other shit and the blah and the blah and the blee, but dude - the basics have to get covered FIRST, because if you don't make sure that your little darling isn't climbing up to the second level of the grocery store and then trying to climb over the rail when you say "come here!!!"???*....well, his emotional development won't really matter a whole lot after that swan dive is all I'm sayin'.
You seemed like a really nice lady, and like I said, your son is just adorable. Unlike the lady behind me, I really don't think you need to "spank that ass". He wasn't being bad - he was being normal. I think you just need to pay some damn attention to him. Maybe start with making him sit back down when he climbs out of the cart, instead of helping him out and letting him scamper off?? Or if you DO let him out, maybe keep your hands on him?? Or...like, watch him?? Because at first it was cute, when I thought he would just stay in the little rocket ship thingy....but then he just Houdini'ed and you didn't seem to mind and that seriously freaked my shit out, lady. Really. Watch your kid. Start now, or one day you'll turn around and he'll be gone permanently.
Sincerely,
Laura
*Yes, he did this. He also climbed to the top of one of the security gate dealies (the things that beep if you try to steal some frozen peas??) and I had to say "um..he might fall...?" before she even noticed that her child was AGAIN a)not anywhere close to her, b)right by the exit door and c)5 feet off the damn ground.
Your son is adorable. You're pretty cool about the fact that he keeps getting called "she", which is good, since you keep his hair long enough to put up in that cute multi-pig tail look that so many African-American girls sport. And really, for a 2 year-old, he wasn't being especially bad. He was being a pretty typical two year-old boy. You weren't really paying any attention to him, and you let him get out of the cart, which...what's that about? And then you actually let him get out.of.your.sight. at an HEB during the busiest time of the day, right next to an exit door, and you seemed awfully chill about it....but ..um..OK.
I'm not trying to criticize your mothering style...I...well..Ok, fuck that, yes I suppose I am. Look lady, I've had a toddler. It's been a while, I'll admit it, but I've been there. I am not a Nazi about runny noses or socks or tied shoes or any of that - little kids are disgusting little creatures who will fuck with the best laid plans. But see, the basics, no matter what your parenting style, are pretty much the same. To wit: Pay basic attention to their whereabouts, keep them fed, keep them clothed, keep them breathing, keep them from bleeding or making other children bleed, keep them from setting themselves on fire, yelling inappropriate words, eating poop or glass and try not to let them grow up Republican, right?? As long as you keep the basics covered, all the fighting over attachment parenting, extended nursing, co-sleeping, crying it out, hemp slings, formula, organic baby food, immunizations, and any other thing that parents can come up with to criticize each other about is really immaterial. Really. It is. No....really...it is. We can go back and forth on all the other shit and the blah and the blah and the blee, but dude - the basics have to get covered FIRST, because if you don't make sure that your little darling isn't climbing up to the second level of the grocery store and then trying to climb over the rail when you say "come here!!!"???*....well, his emotional development won't really matter a whole lot after that swan dive is all I'm sayin'.
You seemed like a really nice lady, and like I said, your son is just adorable. Unlike the lady behind me, I really don't think you need to "spank that ass". He wasn't being bad - he was being normal. I think you just need to pay some damn attention to him. Maybe start with making him sit back down when he climbs out of the cart, instead of helping him out and letting him scamper off?? Or if you DO let him out, maybe keep your hands on him?? Or...like, watch him?? Because at first it was cute, when I thought he would just stay in the little rocket ship thingy....but then he just Houdini'ed and you didn't seem to mind and that seriously freaked my shit out, lady. Really. Watch your kid. Start now, or one day you'll turn around and he'll be gone permanently.
Sincerely,
Laura
*Yes, he did this. He also climbed to the top of one of the security gate dealies (the things that beep if you try to steal some frozen peas??) and I had to say "um..he might fall...?" before she even noticed that her child was AGAIN a)not anywhere close to her, b)right by the exit door and c)5 feet off the damn ground.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
