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.

lazy ass bitch

-3 names I go by:
Laura
Lolly
Mama

-3 screen names I have:
lollylb
momolade
beerandcarnations

-3 physical things I like about myself:
My legs
My boobs
My eyes

-3 physical things I dislike about myself:
My stretchmarks
My ass
My high-waistedness

-3 parts of my heritage:
Cajun
French (yes, there is a difference)
German

-3 of my everyday essentials:
Coffee
Chapstick
talking to my kiddo

-3 of my favorite musicians:
Red Hot Chili Peppers (I know - it's a group - shaddup)
Joni Mitchell
Dave Grohl (Ok, that's mostly because he's smokin' hot - but I do like The Foo Fighters and his style, so again? shaddup)

-3 of my favorite songs:
The "Family Guy" theme song
"Twisted" by Joni Mitchell
"Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend" the Marilyn Monroe version

-3 things that scare me:
giant bugs (roaches obviously, but moths?? freak me right the fuck out)
my dad dying before I get to visit him "one last time"
losing my kiddo

-3 things I want in a relationship:
the ability to argue about stuff without it turning into argument
individuality on both parts without resentment
hot smokin' sex wouldn't suck

-3 lies I tell:
"Oh, I'm fine"
"I'll get up early and do that in the morning."
"I don't get *that* many headaches"

-3 physical things about the opposite sex that appeal to me:
shoulders
fuzzy chests
Uh, well - cocks. HELLO

-3 of my hobbies:
knitting
I want to say reading, because I love it, but I haven't read anything other than a BLOG in so long that it feels dishonest, but fuck it - reading
Food

-3 things I really want to do right now with a special someone:
take a wandering road trip
snuggle up and watch movies all day (again)
go meandering down South Congress and Guadalupe and poke around in all the shops

-3 careers I've considered:
nurse
teacher
self-employed artisan-type

-3 places I'd like to go on vacation:
Italy
New York City
some wonderfully deserted (yet still staffed with cheap alcohol and thoughtful bartenders) beach

-3 kids names I like:
Tallulah
Maisey
Sophie
(I like odd names for girls and traditonal names (Mark, Paul, William) for boys. hm)

-3 things I'd like to do before I die:
Have another baby (I'm sick, I know)
Go to Europe
make a will - heh

-3 ways I'm a stereotypical guy:
I girl-watch
I love sports, especially football
I can make dinner out of a six pack, a block of cheese and some corn chips

-3 ways I'm a stereotypical girl:
I have a purse addiction
I like arts and crafts and all the supply shopping that it entails
See above in re:baby fever

OOOh, you better watch out!

Because I'm 12 and a complete brat, I have a really long Christmas list. I mean, there's obvious stuff like this and this, stuff from here or here and ooh! that in an XXL and these that I'd love to find under the tree. Do I really expect anybody to spring $150 for some DVD's and/or $70 for a sweater for me? Uh, NO. But that's what internet window shopping is for, right? Anyway - there are also all the totally unattainable things like world peace, a cure for cancer*, better time management skills and more self-confidence that are on list, but we all know how that works.

Santa: Sorry kiddo - the elves still haven't figured out how to make self-esteem out of pine. Maybe next year.

Then there's all the in-between stuff. I'd love it, but it's not the normal sort of thing one expects to find wrapped up under the tree. Or that one expects to be asked for. In fact, some of it's also intangible, so that would be awfully difficult to wrap. heh. Here goes.

1)New bras. Actually, I'm perfectly capable of getting my own damn bras, thank you - so what I'd really like is for someone to show up at my front door with a handful of comfy,cute, perfectly fitted bras without me having to so much as shift in position on my couch. I LOATHE bra shopping. I will wear bras until they disintegrate off of my body. Right now, all of my bras have the pokey exposed underwire thing going on (all on the right side. Is my right breast more powerful? Is it going to secede? What's up with that?) and they all provide the same support that a set of Band-Aids over the nipples would. So yeah - a Bra Fairy would just rock.

2)Car maintenance. I'm OK with the oil changes and I just got a brand new set of tires (forgot to tell you that part of the Louisiana trip, didn't I? Don't worry - nothing traumatic, just every male relative in my family looking at the state of my tires and tsk'ing at me. Heh.) and I don't run out of gas or any of that. But - I need somebody to install the new wiper blades I bought, and my car IS at 60,000 miles, which means it probably needs fluids filled or changed or drained or the gerbils in the engine need fresh cedar shavings, fuck I don't know. Plus, I sort of backed into a car a few months ago (SHUT.UP.) AND some little fuckwit decided to draw a chinese symbol or something on my car, so it could use some buffing. And we won't EEEVUN talk about the inside. So - I don't know - somebody to take my car in and say "60,000 mile checkup, wash it wax it, buff that crap out of the rear bumper and dude - run a vacuum over the inside, wouldja?" Oh...and it would be nice if he/she picked up the tab too. heh.

3)Kitty litter. No, seriously - I'm always out of this stuff, and let's just say that "hiding" the catbox in the little hallway hamper is a great idea - until it gets to a Certain Point. Ugh.

4)Laundry baskets. Good lord. What am I, 18 and living in a dorm that I have to ask for laundry baskets for Christmas? Oy.

5)On the same note - a Swiffer. I have approximately 20 square feet of tile in my apartment, but it's all in the kitchen, bathrooms and right by the front door. I have 2 cats, I have a kid and I? drop things. Lots of things. My hard-surface floors need help. I look at the Swiffers, then go "nnaaaaah" because of the price. But do I turn around and buy a regular (read: cheap) mop. No. No I do not, because I am a lazy git. Sue me. But first, buy me a Swiffer.

6)A work mommy. See - I'm perfecly capable of stocking my pantry at home, but when it comes to work? I'm the one who has to go beg for a Kleenex or hand lotion and always eats out because she never remembers to bring lunch or snacks. So - could someone just come to my office with a bag of food and some basic supplies once a month and set me up? Hell - I'd even pay for that service. Hm....business idea??

7)A reprieve from stupid drivers. I...it..GAH!! It gets worse around the holidays, I know, but lately the driving antics have been making me crazy. OK, now - I'm not the world's greatest driver (see above in re: backing into a parked car) BUT!!! If I'm driving through a parking lot, I do NOT vulture for spots. I drive until I find an empty one - not a close one, an empty one. I put my car in the empty spot and I carry on. I do not follow people to their spots. I do not sit and wait for folks to put groceries in the trunk, get in, start the car and go so I can get a spot 6 feet closer to the door. I do, however, sit behind these people and fume while they do this. I do stop for someone who is already in their car and in the process of backing up, because THAT'S POLITE. I also try to stop for pedestrians in grocery store crosswalks and not block intersections and let folks out of driveways when traffic is backed up and just generally try to be a nice person**. I know how to enter a highway and put on my turn signal and not follow too closely (sometimes I mess up on that..heh) and just try not to be an asshole. It would be nice if others would do the same thing.

8)A haircut. Again - I'll pay for this, I just want somebody else to take the time to schedule it, then come pick me up and take me to it, and to maybe help me figure out what I need to get done. This is why my hair always looks like shit. Not because I'm too lazy to do anything with it (well, I am actually) but more because the whole booking an appointment thing is just overwhelming. Good lord - I'm crazy as hell, aren't I??

9)A Band-aid, because I just cut my thumb. Ow. Sad thing is? I own 42 quafrillion travel first-aid kits. I know exactly where they all are too! Under my bathroom sink. *cough*

10)My damn hair to grow already. I know - #8 is a haircut - that's purely so that my hair doesn't look like complete ASS while I grow it out. But part of the reason why it looks like ass?? Because it's decided to stop growing at this awful, just-hits-the-shoulders frump length. Bah. While I'm sure this length looks lovely on YOU, on me?? Assety Ass McAss Ass. Bah.

So - there it is. Upon review, I find that I'm not terribly selfish - I mean - I said I didn't really expect (or want, c'mon) anybody to shell out $150 so I can watch Carrie and her friends drink Cosmos for hours on end. But, I do think that maybe? I'm just a little crazy.

Max, Jane, and the entire internet: "Well, DU-UH!!"

*Actually - I'm still wishing for this one.
**Except when I drive on campus, because if you're a Nice Person on campus, you will never, ever get anywhere. UT students are apparently told that the cars on campus are made of granola or Peeps or something, because they just blithely walk in front of cars without even looking. The trick on campus is to wait for a little tiny break and then start edging into it - if you go too fast, you WILL take somebody out, but if you start slow, they'll look up from their reverie and stop for you. Usually with this surprised look on their face, like "dude..did you see that? That giant Peep almost hit me!!"

Hot air doubloons

I said I'd finish the travelogue of my adventures in Louisiana, but I lied! Bwahahhahhahhaa!!!

I will tell you this much - as of Sunday 11/27/05 I am inheriting 18 binders full of doubloons when my dad dies. See, now, somehow my father ended up with The Doubloon Collection*. It's Fuck-only-knows how many years and parades worth of doubloons, all catalogued and organized into coin-collection type binders. Eighteen binders. Did I mention there are 18 (eighteen) of the things? Yeah - there are. Anyway, the current joke is that whichever (it's a word, fuck you) child annoys my dad the most gets The Doubloons when he dies.**

"Laura! You bitch! You live 500 miles way and yet managed to annoy your ailing father enough to inherit The Doubloons?? Jeezus!!"

Don't blame me - blame my mom. See, according to my dad, while he and my mom were married (30 damn years ago) she would assert that the HerLastNames came over on the Mayflower, thus she was of pure pilgrim stock or some such shit.

Now, as we all know, Thanksgiving is a celebration of the pilgrims landing on Plymouth Rock, dying off in droves during that first winter and then planning a large dinner between the survivors and the Indians, from whom they had managed to swindle a bunch of food, thus creating a meal that bears pretty much NO resemblance to what we eat now. But, I, as usual, digress in fabulous run-on, over comma'ed fashion.

My dad, for the past (at least) 5 years has said, "next year, I'm going to a damn restaurant." This is all due to my dad not really wanting a house full of people, the fact that my grandmother insists on baking a turkey,*** despite the fact that none of us really like it, and the fact that as he's gotten older my dad has turned into a cranky old man. A cranky old man with one wicked sense of humor who wil totally kick your ass at Scrabble,**** but a cranky old man nonetheless.

Ok, now - work with me here. Dad is annoyed by Thanksgiving, but we celebrate it anyway because of those stupid pilgrims, my mom's family came over on the Mayflower, thus Thanksgiving is my fault and TADA!! I get The Doubloons*5&6.

I tried to convince him to send them directly to my mom and just leave me the hell out of it, but he was not to be swayed. Fucker*7.

On re-reading this, I'm not sure the writing of the Doubloon Incident is as funny as it was while we were kidding around about it. Very few private jokes are. But that's OK. I got to spend almost 4 full days with my dad, a lot of it just hanging out and watching the tube. It was fucking great, man. He's got a rather dark sense of humor and makes a lot of jokes about his death and his illness and if you didn't know him better, you'd think he was taking the whole Cancer Thing awfully lightly. He's not - that's just how he (and I) deal with the difficult - through thoroughly inappropriate jokes. I didn't get to spend a lot of time with my dad as a kid, so now I cherish*8 the time I do get to spend with him. I'm jealous of the relationship my little brothers have with him, but I'll take what I have now - an interesting sort of friendship. I know that he has regrets about things that happened during my childhood and so do I and well...y'know - water under the bridge, etc etc. I'll take what I have now and savor it.


*Yes, these fucking things get the capital treatment.
**Lest you think my family thrives on the macabre - first off, we kind of do and we all have sort of twisted senses of humor. Second, a few months ago (it was when I called him for Father's Day, to be exact) my dad let me know that he was writing up his will and hey - did I want anything in particular?? So the subject of his death is something that we've all sort of learned to deal with and view as inevitable in our own way. My dad's way is to threaten his children with the looming inheritance of albatross-like possessions. Hey man - whatever keeps him laughing, right??
***My dad has been frying his Thanksgiving and Christmas turkeys (and other miscellaneous objects) for about 20 years now - waaaay before it got trendy and they sold special kits for it and all that hooha. So HA! Cajuns are trendsetters!! Kiss my (coon) ass!!!! But yeah, due to the presence of the fried turkey and my grandmother's stubbornness in all matters poultry, we end up with 2 turkeys for,like, 6 people. It's madness. And?? She makes stewed corn, which, I...just..I ..aug!!
****I only have the reports of other people who've played him and my own knowledge that my dad is one of the absolute smartest people I've ever met. I have never actually played Scrabble with my dad and I live with the fear that I will never get the chance. Dammit - next trip down there, we're playing Scrabble instead of cards. Y'all remind me please.
*5 I actually have no idea who wil end up with The Doubloons. There's a really good chance that when my dad dies, Stepmom will gesture to the bookcase where they sit and say "so, uh - y'all want those??" But to tell the truth? If I end up with them? I will laugh and laugh and laugh at the reading of his will, and then take them home and put them on a recently cleared shelf.
*6 I totally stole the multiple footnote format and the *5, etc thing from flea, who rocks.
*7 Yes, I just called my dad a fucker. I probably wouldn't call him a fucker to his face, because while my family curses like truck drivers in training, the F-bomb happens really, REALLY rarely. I still remember the first time my dad told me a (pretty lame) joke involving the F-word. It was then that I knew I was officially an adult. But - I would (and have) call him a jerk, an asshole and "0h, you big dork!!" Heh.
*8 I typed "cher" and stopped myself, wondering if that word was too precious, too cloying. But then I realized that I'd been sort of just typing for a while by then, not really thinking about what was coming out on the screen and "cherish" had just jumped out there with the rest of the text. So - it stayed.

Travelogue, part one

Ok, before I write anything else, I have to give you this. It is the funniest birth story ever. Seriously. Funny funny funny. Go read it, laugh your ass off, then come back here and read my (by comparison) obituary column of a blog.

Ok, so...Louisiana - wheee. Kiddo, Max, Uncle and I headed out Wednesday A.M. about an hour behind schedule*. The trip was fairly uneventful - we dropped Max off in Houston, went to Bennigan's for lunch (without Max - now I owe him a Monte Cristo), and then Uncle took the wheel. gah.

See, Uncle used to be an excellent driver. Uncle has driven everything from Corvairs to Semis. Uncle is a great guy. However. Uncle has a habit of surging - y'know - hitting the accelarator really hard, then letting go of it suddenly, then hitting it hard, then letting it go. Ad nauseum - literally. As if the roads of East Texas and Louisiana (yes, the whole state) aren't bad enough, we got seasick on top of it.

We dropped Uncle off at his girlfriend's house on the western edge of New Orleans - and here is where I tell you that I'm so so so glad that it was night, and I could only see the big damage. Like, the high-rise Motel 6 (yes, there is such a beast) on the side of I-10 that had plastic covering a huge section of missing wall all the way from top floor to ground. Or like the buildings on the sides of I-10 that had been completely demolished. Or like the fact that there was not one single intact sign anywhere to be seen. I could only see the big stuff. I was spared from seeing the brown water line on every building, and seeing how here it was at the 3 foot mark, and here the 8, but it was still here, there, everywhere. I was happy for the dark.

Kiddo and I headed back to my dad's - which means we had to backtrack some, but this time I was driving, so I didn't have time to look again.

I did have time to discover why you should not re-use a Starbuck's cup. See - Uncle brewed me a pot of coffee and packaged some up for me in a venti cup he found in my car. Other than the hygeine concerns (how long have the holiday red cups been out?? Yeah - this was a white cup - aug) there's also the fact that the glue? It does not like such treatment. In fact, it resents it deeply and will just fucking dissolve about a block away from your kind coffee-brewer's house.

"I have a leak here, hand me a nap - OH SHIT, IT'S A BIG LEAK, WINDOW! WINDOW! ROLL DOWN YOUR WINDOW! AAAAUGH"

Newly christened with Community In-Between, we continued our journey.

We got to my dad's about 45 minutes later.**

Sport, my dad's youngest (yet my middle brother - I'll draw a chart later) was there. I hate to admit it, but Sport is my favorite brother. He's six foot two of Cajun good ol' boy and just cute as a fuckin' bug. He claims that 30 and 40 year old women hit on him all the time, and I believe it. I warned him to be careful with that shit, because a 35 year old woman with a 19 year old baseball player?? She will HURT him. I fully expect to hear a story about him getting chased by a jealous husband one day -- "She didn't tell me she was married!!!!"

Anyhoo - I just click with Sport in a fun sister-brother way that I just don't seem to have with McBrother (the oldest) or Spud (my mom's son). So does kiddo. They're 5 years apart, and due to the kind of strange dynamics in my family, they function more like sister and brother than uncle and niece. Good LORD, they pick on each other and give each other a ration of shit. But last time she and I went down there, kiddo's "boyfriend"*** called and Sport got on the phone and apparently intimidated the crap out of the kid. I know that if anybody messed with kiddo?? Sport would rip 'em a new orifice. And what's cool is that it goes the other way too - you do NOT mess with Uncle Sport, lest you face the wrath of kiddo.

So yeah, I got to hang with him and my stepmom and my dad for a bit before Thanksgiving actually started.

OK, I'm gonna have to divide this shit up, because I am so fuckin' wordy. I'm also hungry and the tamales**** are heated up and the chili's about done. So after I finish the footnotes (goddamn wordy bitch) I'll post this and ..blah blah BOOM!!! my head exploded.

Let's see

*OK, if we ever travel together, I'll tell you that I plan on leaving a X o'clock, fully knowing that I'm a lameass who never leaves on time and that I won't really leave until Y o'clock. Well, on Wednesday we left at Z o'clock. To the untrained eye, that looks like 2 hours behind, but nonono!! With Laura Math, it's only an hour! Whoo!
**Dad lives on the east side of Baton Rouge, Uncle's on the west side of New Orleans, and I drive like a bat out of hell.
***A 13 year-old's boyfriend?? Consists of programming each other's names in their phones and talking until a parent opens the door and says "For the love of God, GO TO BED."
****Aug. I checked my bank account this A.M., and the Ex popped up in AIM, thinking I was the kid. After I clarified that, he said he had some homemade tamales for us. OK, dude....I am NOT going to turn down homemade tamales. It's entirely possible I'd have lunch with Hitler for homemade tamales. Ok, maybe not, but really - tamales = love.

no coherency aqui

Hey - I have a journal, perhaps I should update it!

My kiddo is currently watching one of her favorite movies - "Some Like It Hot".

Q: How, much do I love my kid, and how cool is she? A:Lots and very.

Max's birthday went well. Wednesday night he came up to the house and we ordered a pizza and split a six-pack of Shiner and watched "The Blues Brothers." ("It's my birthday, and we'll watch what I want to watch - step AWAY FROM THE REMOTE.") Saturday night, we had a little party at a friend's house and then on Sunday, we went to see the latest Harry Potter.

I liked Goblet of Fire. There, I said it. Hmph.

I also brought my knitting and sat there working on a scarf the whole time, but I've gotten to the point where I can do a straight knit stitch w/o looking, so all it really did is satisfy the fidget urge. I have problems just...sitting there. I'm the reason they sell munchies at theaters. I mean - we saw the movie at The Drafthouse and ordered hamburgers and I STILL had to break out the scarf. Sad, just sad.

(Jane: "See, I told you you're twitchy.")

Speaking of scarves. That's what the Super Secret Knitting Project was - a scarf. I made a green, purple and blue diagonally striped scarf. It's about 7 feet long and was actually pretty fun to make. Max said all kinds of nice things about it and two of his friends complimented it, thus my ego is appeased. Heh.

I also got him that controversial Bob Dylan CD that's only available at Starbuck's and a book (He's reading the whole series, that's the next one.) And, like I said, there was a party at a friend's house and the friend mad some BAD ASS chili and there was beer (oh my GOD, the beer) and other presents (lots of music, as I remember - did I mention all the beer??) and cupcakes. He says he had a good time, so again? My ego, she is appeased. Because you know - The birthday is all about me. Heh.

(Max: "I knew it!!")

Did you know that if you have a horrifying headache and someone offers you a Vicodin, because they have it from - - somewhere?? And you take it with a couple of heavy duty German beers,not only will knitting get really REALLY difficult, you will also pass the fuck out, and then you will also have some very very strange dreams during your passed-outness???

NO? Well, um, yeah - you will. So I've heard.

I'm not going to bore you with the dreams, because I know the Blog Rules On Dreams and Periods, HOWEVER!! There was Max's ex-girlfriend, (about whom I seem to have some issues, despite never meeting her and only seeing ONE picture of her and SWEET JESUS, I'm crazy) an in/outdoor bathroom that happened to HAVE NO WALLS, a creepy guy with a boat (who actually exists - remind me to tell you) and lots of other strange Parade of Sub-Consciousness type hoo-ha.

I just can't decide if I liked it or not. Hmm

Any-hooooo

On Wednesday, we leave for Louisiana. (Stalkers beware - my mom is checking on my place and even when she's not around, it's guarded by some FIERCE tabbies, who shed. A lot. So - yeah. Take that.) Usually, We = Me + Kiddo. This time, things are different. My uncle (mom's big bro) has been doing all the heavy lifting in New Orleans for the past couple of months. He's been in charge of cleaning out Spotty's (my maternal grandmother) house, his own house*, trying to get his business back up and running and dealing with insurance and FEMA and such. Fun, huh?

He's bringing Spotty's van up to Austin, along with a load of stuff, and will need a ride back to New Orleans. Tada.

Max is going to Houston for Thanksgiving and carpooling is good for the environment. Plus, it's an extra 3 hours with mememe!!! Plus, I get to listen to him and the kid argue about who plays DJ. (Just kidding baby - DJ Duties fall to whoever rides shotgun unless a)the driver vetoes or b)everybody's asleep. Except the driver, that is.)

So - for the first 3 hours, I have 3 passengers. Then for the next 6 - 7 hours, I have two passengers, then for an hour I just have ONE passenger. (Anybody else flashing back to Algebra I? Just me?) Then I get to spend 3 days eating and watching football and being very sad because I'm visiting my grandparents in an apartment in Baton Rouge, instead of in the house they worked for for 40 years. Then I go home.

Oh - yeah - we'll be picking Max up in Houston. Heh.

(Max: "Note to self - call crazy-ass girlfriend Sunday morning and make sure she remembers to pick me up")

All right gang, I'm tired, my glass is empty and I'm running out of material. When you work with a margin this thin?? It happens quickly.

(Internet: Material?? Did you see any material??)

AHEM, my POINT would BE, I'm sitting on the edge of the couch over here, and since I still can't seem to sleep in my own bed right now, I'm gonna post this piece of shit thing, turn off the light and lay on the couch until I pass out in front of the TV.

Whoo!! I love adulthood!! (grumblegrumblerassenfrassensunufabitch)

*Ack!! I put a footnote in here and now I don't remeber what - OH yeah. Uncle lived right next door to Spotty, in the Lakeview area of New Orleans. If you were following any of the Katrina coverage, you know that Lakeview got hit really hard. In fact, their houses are (were?) about a mile away from one of the levee breaches. They had nine feet of water in their houses. Spotty's house was a two-story, so everything on the second floor (including the cat - have I told y'all that part??) survived. Uncle, on the other hand, lived in a very cute litte one-story. Nine feet of water in a one story house, sitting for almost two weeks? He lost everything. I (only partially) jokingly called him our war correspondent one day. I think it's way more truthful than any of us really want to admit. I also think I may need to buy that man a drink.

Happy Birthday Max!!

I promise, there will be an entry of substance - or what passes for substance around here - later. But first! This bulletin!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAX!!!!!

Fuckin' Wife Swap

I will take a moment to apologize for any spelling/syntax/grammar errors. Oh, and timeline errors in the show. Red, red wii-iiine!!!

OK, it's not actually "Wife Swap", it's "Trading Spuses". Which I guess could explain why it's on a different channel. Heh.

So, for some reason I started recapping this show and I was trying to weave it into my entry, but I realized that it sucked for so so so so many reasons, the most important one being that I started watching 10 minutes in and?? The recap was poorly written. HEH. But seriously, it's hard to watch and write at the same time. Remind me to get TiVo or start taping stuff before I try to get a job with TWOP. (BWA!!) The point is, we have Heathen Hippie Mom (HHM), who has switched with Crazy Christian Mom (CCM). (Heathen Hippie Dad was wearing a thumb ring and there was a wall full of mandalas and they believed in astrology, so - Heathen Hippies, right?? Right.) Recap below - I've polished off a bottle of red, so...caveat emptorum (readorum? blogorum?? whateverum.)

Ok, now we're seeing Heathen Hippie Mom (HHM), and she's driving one of the swap daughters to the dance studio just so she can see her dance, and that's pretty damn cool. Wow - this little girl is good. Of course, they're doing the thing that drives me C-R-A-Z-Y in shooting, which is to not really SHOW the dancing, but rather cut back and forth and make it impossible to see what's going on.

Oh goody - Crazy Christian Mom. She has gone to each child to "talk...nothing heavy..so - what do you think about God??" The kids all return the Teenage Stare of Blankness and Indignation (TM), which just makes her even crazier, so Heathen Hippie Family (HHF) takes her to a church to appease her. So now, let's recount. CCM is preaching to the kids about Jesus and God and they take her to a church so she can chill out. HHM goes to the other kid's dance lessons.

Again - I hope they pay these folks to act like jackholes, because CCM?? Acting like a total crazy bitch. Seriously.

OOOOh - CCM thinks that Astrology is "the dark side" LOVE! LOVELOVELOVELOVE!!!!

Hee - Heathen Hippie Dad (HHD) has declared that Jesus invented everything (which, y'know - Jesus is Lord, the Lord created the world, blah blah blah, ergo he invented Astrology), so why does CCM have a problem with Astrology?? Way to poke the rattlesnake, HHD.

ooH - commercial for that "Walk the Line" movie. Who do I have the KILL so I can look like Reese Witherspoon? HUH? HUH? WhO? Because I'm a good shot - I can make it quick.

I feel I should tell you that this entry has been brought to you by the 2003 Parducci Petite Sirah. Good sub $10 bottle. It tastes a little weird tonight, but my nose has been running all day (SHUT UP) and I taste-tested the kid's Zicam and so I think that's it. The other two bottles I had of this (at different times!!) were tasty.

AW, HHM is leaving the CC Household (they called her Ma Jeanne!!) and everybody's all sad. But now they're showing CCM leaving Hippie House, and the kids are all "what the fuck ever, get out bitch." LOVE!

CCM: "It got to a point where I couldn't get out of there fast enough." Um..well - maybe if you weren't such a proselytizing TWAT, it wouldn't be so difficult.

HHM is complimenting CCM on her wonderful family and how fabulous things are and how much fun they had. AAAAAnd, CCM is asking about Astrology. "I'm really concerned that if you aren't a Christian that you were in my household", "Put God in your heart", and she's all wiggy.

And on the cab ride home, she refers to herself as "fun-loving" and easy going". Um..OK.

"Spiritual warfare". Oh boy. I guess HHD was just way too pushy, but...y'know? I'm thinking some woman comes in and starts talking to *MY* kids about religion?? Um...I'm gonna be pushy too - pushing yo ass out da do', beeyotch. (There will be a personal anecdote about this shit tomorrow..or next week..um..later.)

So now, HHM is on the way home, talking about how she needs to talk to her husband and find out what happened and the general tone is very much "dude...I know my husband's a pain, what did he do to that woman??" MMMMMMK? Just bear that in mind.

Oooh - the letter opening and reunion at Casa de Hippie, hang on. I would love to totally recap this scene, but I?? am drunk. So deal. But - I will say that it sounds like HHM was all ready to take CCM's side, defending her against her family, until she found out how rigid CCM was. I can't believe how involved in this crap I am....FEH!! WHY AM I WATCHING THIS SHIT???? Oh yeah - the upcoming crazy.

Ok, CCM is bitching and crying that she was sooo uneasy and how she can't trust anyone (OH BOY) and how "you have to watch who you bring into your house" and "I brought an unGodly person into my house."

GODDAMN COMMERCIAL BREAK,I WANT TO SEE THE CRAZY LADY SCREAM, I'VE BEEN WAITING A WEEK, AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

(Laura takes a deep sip of her wine and breeeeathes.)

OK, Chez CC, kids are playing, waiting for mom to get home, all is good - hapy to see mom, aaand mom comes in, all, "Worst time of my life" this and "It was so dark=sided" that.

This woman is insane. "THEY'RE NOT CHRISTIANS!!" "She's tampered in dark-sided stuff!!" "She is dark-sided too!!"

Oldest Daughter - "wait , are you mad at us too???" Good question, kid.

Ok, now she has ripped up the money letter, declaring it tainted and has ordered the camera crew out "in Jesus's name." And, the dancing girl is totally confused, because of course HHM was really nice and accepting and cool, and now Mom has come home and is wigging out because?? Astrology, Hypnotism* and Tarot readings. Yep. And the oldest has taken responsibility because she didn't pray enough - ooh, she just grabbed a pillow and put it between her and her mom, HELLO body language.

"I am a spiritual warrior" Oh good lord.
The oldest girl is seriously freaked out.
"I am the warrior." Anybody else hearing Patty Smythe??
"If you believe in Jesus, you can stay here."

Wow...real tolerant woman here. Ok why is the oldest daughter taking care of this?? Why isn't the husband saying anything?? What a ball-less motherfucker.
"I'm always the one that asks, why don't you ask??" Um maybe because you're a complete nutjob who needs to get a grip??

So the swappees (swappers?) get some money to donate to the other family as they see fit. CCM ripped up the letter and screamed that she didn't need somebody unGodly to decide how to spend the money (I should have gotten the quote, DAMMIT.) Anyway - here's how HHM allocated the dough: numbers may be wrong, see above in re:WINE

$5000 for the dancer for some certification
$1000 to help ashley and abigail to move into their own place (must have missed that one)
$15000 to the dad for general family stuff

$20,000 for gastric bypass for CCM, that CCM wanted

CCM later accepted the money on "further consideration."

Sooooo, yeah. I, uh...yeah....I'd like to defend this by saying that it's all some Anti-Christian, Left-Wing, Homosexual-Agenda, Pot-Smoking, Feminazi plot, but dude?? CCM SCREECHED at her family and the camera crew. Um...hard to edit that shit, OK??

Tomorrow, when I'm sober, I'll write about how I don't really hate Christian, I just hate intolerant hypocrites. K? So save the shitty comments for later.

I'm gonna go lay down now, because all this back-tracking over typos is making me crazy.

IIIIII loooooove yeeew guuuuuuuyz!!!!

*shit, I just noticed a footnote. Hang on - what? OOOh- the hypnotism. OK, so - I'm not a CCM, but I might get a bit upset if I came home and found out that somebody hypnotized my kid, 'cause control, vulnerable state, blah blah blee. So - this is not a religious thing, it's more of a "Hey, you did something weird to my kid" thing. Footnotes bite the bag when you're drunk.

'night

Monday Night Dumbass

I just spent an hour avoiding the train wreck of "Wife Swap", which is easy for a normal person, but I kept switching the channel over to it, growling in frustration, then going back to my CSI rerun. Dude, seriously? That show? So wrong. Tell me that the folks on it are paid to act like total jackholes, or I'm just gonna go eat some roach bait right now. Feh. Anyway - Behold!! an entry!!!

Where did we last find our heroine?? Ah yes, Halloween. Halloween was fun. Max did a better job as Silent Bob than I did as Jay, but then I think part of that was the general shock surrounding the idea of Max taking on any task that involved the word "silent". One man spent a lot of time hugging me and thanking me for getting Max to be *Silent* Bob. And as he drank more, he thanked and...hugged more. Ok, dude, I get it. My boyfriend talks. A lot. DROP IT NOW BEFORE I HURT YOU BECAUSE YOU'RE TALKING SHIT ABOUT MY BOY. And you're starting to make me a leeetle uncomfortable with all the "maaaaaan, I LOVE you!!" hugginess. We just met. Go.Away.

Little lesson, boys and girls. Never get really really drunk on your balcony and then decide to show your boyfriend a basketball drill, because if you were to do something that moronic, one of your feet just might slip and snag an exposed nail, thus taking out a huge chunk of skin and embedding a half-inch long splinter in the ball of your foot, necessitating drunken tweezer weilding, conversations about tetanus shots and infection, and insuring that your foot will hurt just enough to annoy the crap out of you, but not enough to justify an actual limp.

Porch 1, My foot 0

fuck

So there's that, and there's the phone call I got today from the nurse at The School, telling me that kiddo needs a tetanus booster THIS WEEK, which...um..why didn't the other school nurse ever let me know? Oh, that's right because SHE SUCKS.

History - a couple of years ago, I got a call from The Sucky Nurse, telling me that "hey, kiddo doesn't have anything in here about either receiving a chicken pox vaccine or having the chicken pox, and we kind of need that in there." Ok. I tell her that when Kiddo was about 5, she had the Mildest Case of Chicken Pox Ever. (Seriously, two pocks (pox? pos? poxxi??)) No problem, she says, fax me a note with the general date and I'll put it in her file.

Note written and faxed, hands brushed together with a sense of accomplishment.

A week later, my kiddo starts running a fever. And breaking out in spots. Chicken-like spots. I take her to the doctor, who tells us that, well if she already had Le Pox Poulet, this can't be it (even though I stressed the whole MC of CPE angle several times, because I know you can have them more than once if the first case isn't "enough" to make your body produce the immunities or pox fighting robots or whatever it does) and he (mis)diagnosed it as a word I can't spell, but basically hand and mouth disease from not washing your hands properly. (EEW and OK)

Sooo....we institute some more rigorous hand-washing protocols. (No, we are not nasty motherfuckers, but sometimes it happens, we're human.) The kid is spotted for awhile, and when there are no more new spots and the fever's gone, she goes back to school - healing spots and all. (Yep, we're mean mean parents.)

A week later, the Ex (who was the Current at the time, keep up) gets sick. And starts running a fever. Aaaaaand starts breaking out in spots. Did I mention he hadn't had chicken pox as a child? Or that he was 42 at the time?? Yep.

Fast forward through an Emergency Room Ordeal (Which included chest pains and a 104 fever), a week in the hospital and lots of oatmeal baths, including a really fun middle of the night one, where the poor man literally SOAKED HIS HEAD in Aveeno because he was in so much itchy misery.

"What does this have to do with the school nurse??" I hear you cry in frustration.

Well - when the kiddo first starting getting spots, I called her and said "Hey, so you asked about my kid's vaccination record last week and now she's come down with spots and a fever and I'm just curious - were you going through records because y'all were seeing kids with chicken pox?? 'Cause if that's what's going on, I need to know because my husband's never had them.

Her answer? "Oh, no...nonono - we'd send notes home in that case. I was just going through records and noticed it was missing."

Now, I believe in coincidence, but....um...I call Bullshit.

So yeah, The Sucky Nurse can bite my left one.

Where the fuck was I, when I started that? Oh - the weekend, in all of its drunken, rusty, bacteria-inducing, midnight Neosporin searching, too much fast food eating glory.

There was much alcohol this weekend. I had one of Those Parenting Nights, and I chose the most constructive, healthy way to deal with it. I drank my way through it. Heh. So Sunday found me a bit...wan and pale. And headachey and tired. We all know that the best way to deal with a hangover and an open wound is fast food and naps. So that's what I did all day Sunday. Well - I didn't nap as much as I would have liked to, but I spent the day in as sloth-like a fashion as possible. Just without the tree climbing, or the algae growing on my back, because EW.

There was knitting and football, along with the slothiness. I'm working on a scarf (of course it's a scarf, that's all I know how to make. Duh.) in this pattern. It's coming along nicely, and is very soothing, what with the "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, switch, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5" repetitive thing going on. I have 4 feet of it done so far, and I'm going to do another 4 feet (YES!!) because I'm weird like that. But now...I don't know what to do with the scarf once I'm done with the actual KNITTING of it.
I mean - right now, at 8PM, it's 75 degrees outside. It was 85 during the day. November 7th. 85 degrees. Not scarf weather.

Hey - guess what else happened today. The Ex called!! The kid is on his cell phone plan and racked up $53 in text messaging! Whoo!!

So, Halloween was fun, Laura's an idiot when she drinks, send Band-Aids, I'll be wearing shorts and a tank to Thanksgiving and teenagers suck. This will all be on the test.

Silence of the Max

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.

Um...

Your Hair Should Be Orange

Expressive, deep, and one of a kind. You pull off "weird" well - hardly anyone notices.

What's Your Funky Inner Hair Color?

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.

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

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.

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.

What Advanced Degree Should You Get?

Great googly moogly. Why do people have to keep offices so flarpin' cold? More to the point, why are people in the SOUTH such fucking wimps about the HEAT? Huh? HUH?? I don't get it.

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 our arguments 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.

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.

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!!

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.