July
31, 2004...1:00am Here's
something else:
Tots are in bed and
I'm awake. Looks like hubby is putting in a DVD or
something?
Dunno.
I
really need some time to not be mommy right now, so I guess
that's why I'm here. Too tired to read, too fat to eat, too
broke to buy paints and canvas and paint a painting, too tired to paint
anything other than a big messy circle with my eyes closed if I
had paints and canvas, too bored of TV to watch TV.
We
have satellite television, ya know, and I never watch it. 'Cept
for the convention this week, and for The Daily Show. I
mean, I never sit down and watch anything like from beginning to
end. I can't, therefore I don't.
Television
is overrated, anyhow.
He's
playing a video game. Bet he wishes I were in bed so he could
watch pay per view tits.
Too
bad.
I
have tits.
See?
Just
kidding. I almost posted a picture of my tits. I have them, you
know. Pictures. And tits. And I know there is a picture of
my tits on this page already, but I was meaning a picture with
my nipples included. My nipples are still rather large...from
pregnancy and nursing and such. I don't think they are ever
going to get small again to where they no longer need their own
area code.
What's
wrong with showing a nipple?
I
should enjoy them more, the nipples. Before they
get droopy and long like string beans. That's what happens,
isn't it? That's what I heard. String bean nipples that you have
to curl around your finger and tuck into your bra so they don't
get caught on anything when you're walking around with your
string bean nipples wagging to and fro.
Might
get caught in the door. Or in the mailbox.
Maybe
I should have sex now.
Nah.
Too tired. Too string bean nipply.
I'll
just think about sex.
*20
seconds later*
Well
that was nice.
July
30, 2004...9:10pm Here's
something funny:
I'm feeling like a
bad mother and a bad wife right now.
Sorry.
Can't be funny in a strange way all the time. Go read something
else.
ANYHOW
-
Bad
mother? The Toddler does not want to go to bed, but she's been
in there since 8:30pm because I was tired of her whining.
"Go to sleep," said I, then I dumped all her
"guys" (Pooh, Elmo, doggie, etc) into her crib with
her. Also, That Baby is on the sofa with The Eldest and he's
gonna get fussy pretty soon and I really don't wanna rock him. I
wanna be left alone right now.
Bad
wife? Because I am so tired - I've been tired, tired meaning
that I haven't gotten a restful nights sleep where you sleep and
then you wake up naturally because your body is rested, since
before my almost 18-month-old daughter was born. And before she
was born I was pregnant with her. Then I was pregnant with That
Baby beginning when she was what? 7 months old? Something like
that.
Actually...I
lie...I remember waking up one morning (maybe two) thinking "wow, I'm
not tired."
It
was nice. I'd like that to happen again.
OH
WAIT - those mornings happened when I was in the hospital after
the babies were born. Forget it. I'd rather be tired if going to
the hospital is what it takes to get rested.
ANYHOW
- I think it's turning into exhaustion. I think it's affecting me
mentally and emotionally and physically. And it's affecting the
way I treat Hubby.
Bleh.
But
I think I have bitching rights because Hubby got to sleep in
almost every day when I was on maternity leave for 9 weeks, plus
I usually let him sleep on the weekend mornings because I know he works
nights and then takes care of the babies all day and he needs to
rest, too.
I'm
not the only tired one. I know this.
So
I'm not that bad of a wife, I suppose. Except for the ungrateful
bitch part. I just wish I could be exhausted
like I am and still be horny and lovey dovey. I should try
harder. Especially since he's making the bed and doing the
laundry and straightening up the house during the day when I'm
at work.
I'm
going out tomorrow night. I'm going out to have a drink and some
food with a friend I haven't seen in 7 years. And we're going to
a place where the drinks are very expensive and where I have to
pay for parking.
See
today's earlier posts to figure THAT one out.
I'm
being selfish. Being selfish makes me feel guilty. Feeling
guilty makes me feel like crying. Feeling like crying makes me
feel like drinking too much wine. Drinking too much wine makes
me feel like shit.
Therefore,
I will stop being selfish tonight. That will solve EVERYTHING!
Woot!
Have
a nice weekend.
Your
KerZAZY Hostess - Mommy
OH -
and I splurged a part of my pittance (5 bucks with coupon I
found) and put L'Oreal Chunking Hightlights in my hair. Problem
is, I still think my hair is light brown so I didn't
leave it in long enough so you can hardly tell...'cept for the
one blonde chunk of hair in my bangs.
That's
a nice look.
July
30, 2004...lunch? P.U.
Ran to
Wal-Mart. I have a love/hate relationship with that place. I get
a 10% discount on top of their already low low prices, but I can
never go there without something annoying happening to me, or
something gross happening to me.
I
hit the jackpot today.
First,
annoying: I made the mistake of getting into the short line. WHY
do I always get in the shortest line? Whenever you get in the
shortest checkout line, you always think to yourself
"Hey...I'm in the shortest checkout line. Who's cooler than
me?" and that means that something bad is going to happen
to you. ALWAYS get in the longest fucking line you can
find...you're safer that way.
Anyhow,
so I'm in the shortest checkout line and the woman ahead of me
says to the cashier after all her stuff was rung up,
"Can we count those coupons again?"
Cashier,
of course, turns on her flashing light and the wait begins. HOLY
HELL, what a bitch, that fucking Coupon Bitch, I hate her. So
I'm standing there looking around thinking "why do they
have to turn on the flashing light and wait for God to descend
from heaven to count Coupon Bitch's coupons?"
Then
I see it. How could I have possibly missed it?
Coupon
Bitch had a giant stack of coupons for diapers. Coupon Bitch was
buying a handlift full of giant boxes of Pampers, sizes 3 and 4.
A handlift, which is like a forklift only different and
it was sitting right there holding Coupon Bitch's super load of
Pampers.
"Is
the end of the world coming? What I miss?" this is what I'm
thinking when my eyes settle upon Coupon Bitch's little
toddler-type kid sitting in the shopping cart. Little dude looks
at me. Little dude sticks his tongue out at me.
I
see many people's lives flash before my eyes. Lotsa blood, lotsa
brains.
OK...the
gross part - Wal-Mart draws the grossest people to it's doors
the way that shit draws flies. Why is that? And does that make me
a gross person, or am I a nice clean person who just took a
wrong turn?
Whatever.
So before I noticed the nuclear holocaust supply of diapers, I
noticed Mr. Hairy Back and his wife, Mrs. I Look Like a Short
Round Man. They were in the checkout lane across from me and
they were just finishing up and were about to leave even though
they had been waiting in their line before I started
waiting in my line.
Mr.
Hairy Back was e-n-o-r-m-o-u-s and was wearing a wife-beater
t-shirt that had yellow stains on it, and his navy blue cotton
shorts were giving him an extreme wedgie.
*barf*
His
wife, Mrs. I Look Like a Short Round Man, was the most...she
looked like a cross between Danny DeVito and a chimpanzee.
And
their children? I think they exist on Little Debbie Snack Cakes
and Hi-C, and they were both in dire need of a comb and a brush.
Mother was busy whisper-yelling at them "hafta wait unteel
we go ho ta eat them tater chips!"
They
had two toilet seats in their shopping cart. Huh. I wonder why
that might have been...
Something
nightmares are made of, I'm sure.
July
30, 2004...that's it It's
official
We're poor.
Maternity leave has put us in the shitter for a while...2 weeks
to a month, maybe.
After
we pay bills this weekend, we have less than 150 to get us by
for the next 2 weeks to a month.
We'll
feed the kids, buy diapers, gas up one car, and buy beer to get
me through the weekends. It's the 3 Bs - bread, bananas, and
beer. That can sustain you.
Hubby
and I can afford to lose a few pounds, anyways, so food isn't an issue
for us.
I'll
use the baby shampoo to wash my hair since I'm almost out of my
shampoo, and when the dishwashing detergent runs out we'll wash
dishes in the sink like they did in the old days, and I can
shave my legs with an Xacto knife.
And
the gecko will be going on a diet, too.
These
be lean times. And you know what? I don't give a flying fuck. I
really don't. Bring it on. I can take it. I can take anything.
*roar*
This is gonna do wonders for my weight loss program, really give
it a boost.
Welp!
Time to go pee. And
if I find a pube on the toilet seat in my favorite stall again
today, someone's shady thicket is gonna get a surprise visit
from Mr. Hedge Trimmer and the Pruning Primpers of Powah.
July
30, 2004...burn a hole in my stomach break Check
it out...
Bunches of new
links
to sites I like or things I'm interested in.
Check
out the Mail Order Husband site and the JibJab This Land site
because that movie is funnier than hell.
"You
can't say nuclear, that really scares me."
July
30, 2004 ”I’m
John Kerry, and I’m reporting for duty” How
cornball was that?
He and John Edwards touch each
other way too much. It makes me feel uncomfortable. What's with
all the touching? Stop
that.
More
on the convention and politics and idiot balloon guys Did you
watch CNN? After Kerry's speech, did you hear that dude...the
producer or balloon foreman or whoever the hell he was...did you
hear him drop the F-bomb?
The
balloons weren't falling down from the ceiling, and he was
getting all bent out of shape about it. And everything he was
saying was being broadcast on CNN.
That
Baby and I were having a good ol' time listening to that guy
spaz out, "Go balloons, go balloons, go
balloons. What the fuck are you guys doing?"
And
That Baby said that he doesn't want me to vote for John Kerry
because he says that John Kerry would have thought it ok if I
had aborted him.
And
if I had aborted him then he wouldn't be able to lay on the bed
with me and watch The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and
make goo goo sounds and giggly faces at me. That's what my baby
said.
July
29, 2004....lunch
Say
"please" or I'll kill ya. I think
I'll begin my little pontification with an admission:
sometimes I can be a horse's ass.
That
said, I do try real hard to be considerate in my real life, and
to my credit I think I succeed at that most times. For instance,
I'm very conscious of my physical position in the aisles at the grocery
store or Wal-Mart in relation to the other shoppers. I don't want my fat ass and my shopping
cart's fat ass and my kid's fat asses to be blocking the aisle
so people can't get pass. Mkay?
But
sometimes I goof. Sometimes my fat ass or a fat ass
belonging to someone I'm responsible for gets in the way of
other's hustling and bustling. But I always say with an
apologetic smile, "sorry 'bout that."
Unless
they scowl at me and make some rude comment, in which case I
don't apologize or smile, I just silently curse their existence.
Now
my soap box - people are not very polite these days. Have you noticed that?
From men not being gentlemenly to ladies anymore, to ladies with
fat asses blocking the aisles, people's manners are
really lacking.
I'm
gonna work real hard with my two youngest to make sure they have
proper manners. I worked hard with The Eldest, and he's still
pretty damn polite, but he's 12 and he's shy and self-conscious and I don't know if he's
slipping up more often than usual because he's 12, or if because
I did something wrong or because someone in his life (like me) is not demonstrating
the proper manners consistently enough so mimicking their
behavior...I dunno, but he's more impolite these days it seems,
even though he's still a nice kid.
BUT I do intend to keep on him about the right way to
behave, and I do intend to make sure my daughter and my
baby boy are polite, respectful kids.
For
instance - when you are at a parade and The Color Guard goes by,
stand up and take off your hat, fool!
And
you should always let ladies go first, you always help a lady with her
packages if she's struggling with those and her little kids, you yield to
the elderly and help them if they look like they need assistance
with something and you always address the elderly as ma'am or
sir.
Unless
you're in your car and they're in their car and they can't
hear you when you yell "Get off the fucking road,
Grandpa!"
At
times like that, when it's secret, the titles of
"grandpa" or "senile old toad" or
"goddamn civil war remnant" will suffice.
AND
- you always shake the hands of the people you meet and you always
look them in the eye and smile and when they tell you their name
you say "Nice to meet you, Joe" or Mike or Mary or
whatever their name happens to be.
And
you always say please and thank you and "no no, after you"
and "what would you like to eat?" and
"can I take your jacket?" and "please, you
first" and "can I help?"
And
always send thank you notes, and always clean up after
yourself, and always replace what you've broken, and always say you're sorry without following that
apology with an excuse.
And
stand up straight, don't slouch, pull up your pants, don't
shuffle your feet, and don't spit. For the love of God, don't
spit in public.
Ya
gonna take a crap on the sidewalk? Ok then. Enough with the
spitting already.
Do
you have any idea how much more pleasant this world would be if
people found value in being polite to one another?
And
don't misunderstand me, I'm no angel...I want to kill a 1/3 of
the people I come into contact with, but it's the not killing
that makes me more polite than many people.
Have
a good day, pigs. Tut tut.
July
29, 2004....my coffee is angry
You know what
I'd like? A castle.
Wouldn't that be cool?
July
29, 2004
Spooky dream.
Spooky people with whom I dwell. So I'm
having this dream last night that was very strange. I remember
thinking how strange this dream was as I was having it.
My
husband, who was short like The Eldest and morphed between
looking like The Eldest and looking like himself, was walking
with me through a concrete jungle void of life where we were the enemy and we
were trying to find shelter or get out of town because soldiers
would shoot us if they caught us.
We
ducked behind a concrete wall next to an empty parking ramp
when I heard soldiers coming. Some walked right passed us but
didn't stop even though they saw us. They looked like skinny
Somalians in guerrilla warfare outfits, some of them looked like
charred skeletons with bright white and blue eyeballs.
After
they passed I looked across the deserted street and saw a blonde
woman in the window of a building typing at a computer and wearing a red
dress. "She's a secretary" I thought, and even though
a person like that would normally be benign, she seemed
threatening sitting in that window at her desk typing in her red
dress and blonde hair. It reminded me of WWII holocaust movies
where the blonde secretary always rats out the Jews hiding under
the floor boards.
I
looked away.
When
I turned my attention back to the parking ramp, another
soldier...this one a white American...stepped out and confronted
us. As he did this, a woman and small child in robes and Muslim
head gear scurried out of the parking ramp and disappeared around
the corner.
"Do
you have any children?" the soldier demanded of us.
"Yes,"
I said and motioned for Hubby (The Eldest?) take out some pictures to prove
this. It was then that I sensed that this soldier was a fruit
loop.
He
was fiddling with a long, skinny black doll that was dirty and
had no clothes, and he was fiddling with it like it was his most
prized possession, and he was looking at me like he was gonna
shoot me with his big gun.
I
tried to get my big gun, but it was closed in the big backpack
strapped to my back. Hubby's (The Eldest's?) backpack didn't
have a gun in it, it just had dozens of striped boxer shorts and
crinkly old photographs falling out of it.
Since I
couldn't get to my gun and since I didn't want to be killed, I
said to fruit loop soldier "Do you have any
children?" thinking we could just chit chat our way out of
this.
"Yes,"
he
nodded in the direction of where the robed and hooded woman and child had hustled by, "They're dead."
"No.
They're not dead. We just saw them walk by," I said,
nervous as I watched him fiddle with that doll, fiddle with his
big gun, and nervous as I watched my Hubby (The Eldest?)
rummaging through his backpack looking for
pictures to prove we have kids (and therefore shouldn't be shot
and killed?).
The
soldier then said this - "They are dead. He shot them full
of his stuff (semen, my mind thought) and it expanded and
exploded in their guts, killing them. And now he feels so much
better."
He
looked at me with a crazy ass smirk and adjusted his crotch.
Then
I heard The Toddler screaming and I woke up.
I
looked at the clock and it was the witching hour - the time
between 3am and 3:30am when she normally wakes up screaming, if
she's gonna wake up screaming at all.
I
spent 30 minutes to 45 minutes trying to convince my husband
that The Toddler was NOT laying in bed next to us, that the
sleeping form laying there was That Baby, NOT The Toddler, and
that The Toddler was down in her room screaming at us over the baby monitor.
"Please
wake up," I kept begging my husband who is freaky strange
when he's not awake yet not asleep.
"I
want one more hour of sleep before I have to get ready for work.
Please," I kept saying to him.
"She's
not crying," he kept saying to me, "She is not crying."
He'd
sit up and look right at me when he said this, showing me with
outstretched hands that this child...this child right
here...this child sleeping in bed between us was The Toddler and
as you should be able to see she is NOT screaming.
Finally
I snapped my fingers at him the way that hypnotists snap their
fingers to wake up their subjects.
And
it worked. He woke up.
Boy
was he pissed about that. I forgot that he hates being snapped
at by customers at work, so he was really pissed.
But
he was really awake at that point too, and not at all pleased
with having to go down and fetch our screaming daughter. It
sucks, I should know. I have empathy for the man, believe me I
do.
But let me tell you...I am never EVER waking him up to help
with the wee ones in the middle of the night again.
Neh-ver.
Nope.
No more forcing him to join the Aren't We All
Tired As Hell club because it was just to freaky strange of an
experience for me. Let sleeping...ummmm...sleeping people
sleep.
Screw.
It.
Anyhows
- he did get up and he did what I thought he'd do...take
The Toddler and fall back asleep with her on the sofa. So he was
up with her for a grand total of maybe 10 minutes, I was
listening and I checked so I know this.
Now
if f I had gotten up and tended to her, she never would have
fallen back to sleep that easily, she would have been up until
about 6am because that's how it works.
Hubby's got the magic touch. I've got the "let's
watch Winnie the Pooh over and over until 6am" touch.
What
a spooky strange night. Spooky dream. Spooky daughter. Spooky husband.
Yuck.
(uh
oh...I've been mentioning my husband this week. i'm not supposed
to be doing that. Just, ummmm...replace the word
"hubby" or "husband" with "guy I sleep
next too". that could be anyone, really.)
Michael Moore I've just
about had enough of that guy. People who take news items, lace
them together with their
own opinion, and then present that tapestry as
fact...they are so obnoxious.
You've
got an agenda. We've heard it.
And
I do not necessarily disagree with his agenda, even...I'm just
tired of hearing about it. We get it, Michael, now shut your pie
hole. Christ.
He's
getting over-exposed like Jennifer Lopez. Take a vacation,
already.
Ease
off the throttle, big fella, before you crash your chubby little
plane.
July
28, 2004...6:15pm
- gotta type fast before That Baby wakes up or before The
Toddler notices I'm on the computer and wants to go to
sesamestreet.com to play with Mr. Noodle and the doggies.
Hi. I'm a
bitch. This is
what happened:
Driving
home with The Eldest in tow. We get to the house and I park in
front. I turn off the car and I start to cry.
Of
course The Eldest is looking at me like "what? what I
do?"
He
didn't do anything. The problem was that I didn't want to get
out of the car and go inside. I didn't want to be mommy tonight.
But
I did go inside with an arm full of groceries and Hubby is in
the kitchen and he says (much to my surprise) "I cooked the
rice a roni, and I defrosted the chicken but I didn't know how
you wanted to cook it."
What
do I do? I throw the groceries in the sink and yell, "Are
you kidding? I'm not cooking dinner! I'm tired!"
Listen
- I make a dinner menu each Sunday for the entire week so I
don't have to think about dinner on, say, Wednesday evening when
I get home.
I
also make a lunch menu for Hubby to follow for The Toddler so
that he doesn't have to think. (The Eldest fends for himself if
Hubby doesn't cook a lunch he likes, like chopped up turkey
lunchmeat and orange slices. What 12 year old would like that?)
Anyhoot,
Hubby never starts dinner for me. I do NOT expect him to, never
asked him to. Yet today he was an officer and a gentleman and
he started dinner for me and how do I
respond?
Like
a bitch.
He
still kissed me goodbye before he left for work, right after he
prepared tomorrow's dinner to be tossed in the oven when I get
home Thursday evening...which he'll probably toss in the oven before
I get home so that it's ready when I arrive.
gah.
I suck.
July
28, 2004...burning furniture for warmth break
It's cold in
here again. I'm
having fun.
My
most recent day dream. Not 15
minutes ago, as I was walking through an industrial machine
section of this building, I had a momentary day dream about some
large pipe-like piece of machinery shooting off of one of the
machines and impaling me in the head like my head was a red bell
pepper and the piece of machinery was a shish kabob spear.
Then
I died.
It
was all very bloody.
Foiled
again. I had
this image of coming home tonight where the mess that The Eldest
and Jimmy the Masturbator perpetrated upon my family
room yesterday would be cleaned up, but I just received a call from
Grandpa...The Buy Messy Ice Cream for
Toddler and then Run Away Guy...and The Eldest, who slept
over at Grandpa and Worse Case Scenario Woman's house last
night, will be meeting me at work for a ride home instead.
That
means that The Eldest won't get home before me so he won't be
cleaning up his goddamn mess before I have to look at it
again.
This
is distracting the hell out of me.
Hubby's
fatigue. I think
Hubby is going to start getting irreparably dead dog tired like
me...well, during the week it will be irreparable until the
weekend comes and I allow him to sleep in but ANYWAYS - I think
this because last night when he got home and we went up to bed,
I thought for a minute that I might be getting laid, but all of
the sudden he started snoring.
That
was kinda annoying.
July
28, 2004
Politics and
me When I
was in high school and college, I was politically active in the
respect that I was very interested in politics, very interested
in the issues, had very firm opinions, got into political
debates, protested shit I was against, yadda, and watching the
returns come in on the television on election night was like the
goddamn Super Bowl for me "Is my team gonna win?!"
And
I used to want to be elected as a delegate to represent my state
at the Democratic National Convention someday.
Well,
wouldn't ya know I got older and I got pregnanter and I got
single-working-mothererer and even though I still paid
attention, my ambitions began to focus primarily on toilet
training and what's for dinner.
And
I'm awfully glad about that. I am awfully glad I relinquished
any dreams I had of participating in our political process
beyond reading the newspaper and voting at my local polling
place and here's why -
On
Monday evening, I was watching the Democratic National
Convention and this woman was giving an eloquent speech. This
woman had lost her daughter, son-in-law, and unborn grandchild
on 9/11. The cameras panned out to the audience/delegates in the
convention center several times during this speech which was
bringing me to tears, and at one point the cameras focused on a
delegate wearing a giant, shiny, gaudy, I'm a yankee doodle
dandy type hat and I thought to myself "Take off your damn
hat. Show some respect, stupid."
If I
had been there that night, I would loved to have waited until
that woman completed her speech before I ran over to that turd
with no manners and ripped that stupid hat of his all to
hell.
What
is the matter with people? Often
times, I hate people I don't even know.
Be
careful out there, ladies. Our men will never understand the
depth of a woman's soul. We're special. Remember that.
Thank
you righteous god of fire It's
finally warming up in this joint. I was shivering this
morning, S-H-I-V-E-R-I-N-G, so I filed a complaint.
Now
if I worked at a dairy loading pallets of milk and cottage
cheese onto a refrigerated tractor trailer, I wouldn't have
cause to complain.
BUT
I'M NOT A TEAMSTER!
I'm
a fucking desk jockey. Jesus.
And
thanks... Grandpa
bought The Toddler a giant brightly-colored rainbow ice cream push pop from
The Ice Cream Man yesterday, and then left me alone with her.
Brought her inside, and left. He left me. With her. And with it.
He abandoned
me with a 17-month-old holding a giant fluorescent melty thing,
melting all over the shittin' place.
Thanks,
Pops. *thumbs up*
July
27, 2004...noon
Betty Ford
Clinic, here I come If I'm
not careful.
Coffee
is not doing the job. I need something stronger to keep me awake
from about 7am until 7pm when I'm my bestest most exhausted
falling-asleep-at-my-desk-and-behind-the-wheel self and before I
get my second wind.
When
that extra energy hits me after supper, and when all the coffee
drinking from the previous 12 hours has burned a hole in my
stomach causing me discomfort, I'm so tempted to pop one of
those fairies friendslovers
Oxycodone pills into my mouth to make me mellow and calm and
free of stomach pain.
When
I'm mellow and calm, I'm happy to sit lazily on the living room
floor and read books to The Toddler and watch Winnie the Pooh
(again) and bounce That Baby on my knee, and I don't at all fret
over the kitchen cabinets that need polishing or the bathroom
floor that needs sanitizing.
I
couldn't give a flying fuck about those silly little
housecleaning duties...when I'm mellow and calm. Recently, I've
even allowed The Eldest to take over the porch...my lovely
flowery porch...and cover the damn thing with my beds sheets and
pillows and blankets, making a holy Bed Bath and Beyond mess out
of the frucking area so that he and Jimmy the Masturbator can
play tent like a coupla 5 year olds.
I
could care less. And the fact that I could care less about the
condition of my most prized possession - my porch - makes me
think that perhaps I'm becoming too mellow and too
calm and should lay off of Mother's Little Helpers a little bit.
So...following
me?
When
the proper amount of sleep is not an option, and coffee is
ruining my once happy and content stomach lining, and when I'm a
bundle of nerves in the evening when I should be relaxing and
not fretting...
Mommy
has to find some happy herbal supplements to assist me. Hello?
Happy herbal supplements, where are you?
GOD
I'M SO DAMN TIRED!
Exercise
should help, more vitamins should help, less junk food and meat
and more veggies and fruit should
help, and I need to watch Requiem for a Dream again.
That'll straighten me up.
July
27, 2004...
Toot. Sometimes
I wonder if I'm the only person who isn't clueless. I can't be.
Is it the press that just thinks we're all stupid?
When
I read this
about the terrorist mastermind of 9/11, I though
"duh?" Of course he was full of himself. They are all
full of themselves and I'll tell you one more thing that the
press will inform you of sooner or later - this terrorism stuff and the
all terrorists from all walks of life- folks, it has less to do with religion
and politics than
it has to do with ego and the desire to be recognized and
remembered for doing something big.
Allah
is the greatest? No...you're the greatest. Isn't
that right?
There
are millions upon millions of people in this world who feel
strongly about their religion. There are millions who are pious,
whose behavior is dictated by their religious beliefs, millions
and millions whose religion is central to their lives....whether
they be Christian, Buddhist, Muslim, whatever.
But
only a handful of people want to kill themselves and others in
the name of their religion.
We
call some of these people Muslim Extremists. Why are they extreme?
Because they are fuckered up in the head. What is wrong with
them can be categorized by a professional. The
"extreme" leaders are like cult leaders with some of
their followers being just as god-awfully awful as themselves,
but many of their followers come from a situation that is hopeless, poor, with
nothing to live for - perfect candidates for believing in this shit. It's
like suddenly belonging to something important, something
bigger than themselves where people are going to watch out for
them.
The
leaders are predators.
And
you can't fight a religion, a belief. You can fight a disease,
though, by attacking the reasons why it's spreading so quickly -
poverty, ignorance, mental illness.
Mkay?
Schools
out.
AND
- don't read horoscopes. I rarely read mine and now I remember
why...I was feeling perfectly fine until I read today's:
TAURUS (April 20-May 20).
What seemed just fine yesterday now feels deficient, including
your small apartment or older-model car. Do whatever you can to
bolster your self-esteem in non-materialistic ways, as dwelling
on what you don't have wears you out.
Thanks
for reminding me. Bitch.
July
27, 2004...coffee break
They'll never
be accused of having class, Part 2. Why don't
we all just start choppin'
off heads. Apparently it's become the latest craze.
I
got 10 bucks on American teenagers eventually adopting this
behavior by chopping off their own heads and then stitching them
back on as a cooler more stupider form of body
modification/political commentary, kinda like how white American
kids started mimicking all that body modification done by the
people in National Geographic Magazine.
Know
what I mean.
Nipply My boobs
are going to be so sore by the time I get home tonight. It's so
freaking cold in here, I've been suffering a nipple erection
since about 7:30am.
And
my nose is cold and my little fingers and my ears are cold.
Wanna
know what I'm wearing? A skirt, slip-on pumps, a t-shirt, a
fleece jacket, a fleece blanket around my legs, and a scarf.
No
shit. A SCARF.
I
think I'll hang myself with it.
Seriously
though, I don't know if the ventilation system in this building
was designed poorly by accident and that's the reason why it's
250 babillion degrees below zero where I'm sitting, but not even
10 feet away you need a desk fan and a positive body image so
you aren't ashamed to sit naked at your desk it's so fricking
hot over there...OR if the ventilation system was designed this
way on purpose as some sort of office experiment on
productivity...who's more productive, those freezing to death or
those feeling like they're only 1 level above the pits of hell.
July
27, 2004
They'll never
be accused of having class. If you
were against abortion, to the point where you saw it as
murder, and you were at the mall looking for some new jeans at
Old Navy and you saw someone walking around with a t-shirt that
said "I had an abortion", wouldn't you be annoyed and
wouldn't that bring you closer to really really REALLY hating pro-choice
folks and what they stand for?
And
if you (or your wife if you're a man) had terminated a pregnancy
at some point because of complications, meaning that you lost
your baby a few months earlier than you would have lost your
baby naturally and this more than likely made you extremely sad, wouldn't
you want to kick the ass of anyone wearing a t-shirt that said
"I had an abortion"?
And
if you had an abortion because of rape or incest , or if you
took your 13-year-old daughter in for an abortion because of
rape or incest, and you saw someone walking around wearing a
t-shirt that said "I had an abortion", wouldn't it ruin your whole fucking day?
And
if you had an abortion yourself for whatever reason at one point in your
life, and you were at the mall looking for some new jeans at Old
Navy and you saw someone walking around with a t-shirt that said
"I had an abortion", wouldn't you be insulted?
Wouldn't
you want to slam that person up against the wall and educate him
on the seriousness of having an abortion and how dare you
trivialize such a thing?
And
if you had had an abortion at one point in your life, would you
announce this by walking around wearing a t-shirt that says
"I had an abortion"?
And if you did, wouldn't you
think that be a little strange?
I
don't know for sure because I know that there are some very
strange women out there, but I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that people
who would walk around wearing a t-shirt that said "I had an
abortion" probably never had an abortion themselves. Just
guessing.
You'd
think that an organization like that would know better than to
trivialize abortion.
This
is the most amazing thing I've seen since the time when I first
noticed Wal-Mart selling chocolate crucifixes during Easter
season.
Get
some class. Jeez.
Anyhow... This
morning was the first morning in over a month when I didn't feel
sad and hopeless when I woke up, when I didn't just want to bury
myself in the pillows, suck my thumb, and cry all day.
That's
something, isn't it?
July
26, 2004....1:45pm
BLECK! Bleh
bleh bleh BLECK!
I learned that from my daughter.
Anyways,
my husband rented two two TWO shitty movies today - a Tigger
movie and The Last Unicorn.
I
think we're gonna keep Tigger for a while, but tomorrow
Hubby says he's gonna return The Last Unicorn and rent Hellboy.
Please
kill me.
And
because it's oh so not interesting, I'm gonna explain the above
movie story thing by telling you that we just got a membership
thingy at Blockcrapster for $14.99 where now we can rent as many
movies as we want, 2 at a time, until Aug 23 and well there will
be no additional rental fees and blah blah blah. Before buying
this membership, I asked the retard at Blockcrapster if there
was a catch?
"What's
the catch?" I said "If I pay you $14.99 now and
then I can take out as many movies as I want for the next month,
there has got to be a catch."
Retard
says reluctantly, "Wellllll....I guess the
catch is that if you don't cancel the membership by or on August
23rd, you'll be billed $24.99 each month from that point
on."
Is
that all?
Dude
was not going to inform me of this catch, or rather this very
important piece of information unless I asked. He had every
intention of letting me leave that store with my nifty
$14.99 membership without knowing that I'll be paying 25
bucks a month if I don't cancel it.
Jerk.
Wiener.
ANYWAYS
- I'm feeling better than I did this morning. Kinda. I'm not
feeling emotionally fucked up anymore. Not really.
Still
wish I had some help tonight, though. I think a mad scientist
crept into my room last night and while I slept removed my lower
intestine and replaced it with barbed wire.
And
two creepy things to keep you warm at night: 1. Saddam
gardens, eats muffins, and writes poetry in jail. I didn't need to know
this as it's strangely nightmarish.
2. Have a nice flight.
Enjoy.
July
26, 2004
No to rabe.
I mean rape.
Good
grief, ladies.
Now...my
day in a nutshell.
I'm an emotional wreck for reasons that will not be shared with
you. That's how big a deal it is.
Suffice
to say, I'm having a bad day.
And
I'm physically ill. It's like 1 gabillion degrees below zero in
this building, my innards are twisting and untwisting, and my
hair looks like dooky again.
And
tonight is Hubby's long night at work, on a night when I really
don't want to be left to my own devices.
Wah
wah.
July
25, 2004...2:00pm
And to think
we could have gone to the beach...Potato Chips, Indians, and
Gundams. We'd be
coming home from the beach right about now, smelling like fish
water with sand in our butt cracks and tangles in our hair, but
instead we are home with there are no beach stories to tell.
Why?
You
wouldn't believe me if I told you, but I'm gonna tell you, so here
goes the "why we didn't go to the beach story".
Potato
chips are made from potatoes and potatoes are vegetables.Technically. Or scientifically. Whatever. Mkay?
But
in terms of a mother's nutritional standard, potatoes are just giant starch turds from the ground meaning
that you cannot fairly compare, for instance, a sprig of broccoli
to a potato. It's an unfair comparison even though they belong
to the same food group because potatoes make you fat and broccoli
does not.
And
chips are made from potatoes but they are a snack food
and not a vegetable, just like McDonald's chicken nuggets are
made from meat (supposedly), but aren't really meat...not the
way a broiled chicken breast without all the processing is meat.
And
bacon isn't meat. It's heart attack strips. Following me?
So
Hubby and The Eldest get into this stupid argument over whether
or not potato chips are vegetables. Hubby said they were, The
Eldest said no. And if I didn't have all those shelves
blocking my way in the linen closet, I would have hung myself
with a bed sheet. A pretty one - not one with period stains on it,
or Pokemon on it because who wants to die that way. Not me. Damn
my linen.
ANYHOW
- This
was at 9:30 this morning. We didn't go to Denny's (Diarhea on a
Platter) for breakfast, so I ate potato chips and salsa instead
and I don't know this for sure, I'm just guessing, but perhaps
The Eldest said something to Hubby about me eating chips for
breakfast and Hubby replied by saying that they are vegetables.
I
don't know, I only suspect. 'Cause I wasn't in the room.
AND
THEN - an hour later (I didn't witness this) The Eldest thought
that Hubby had feinted so he hit Hubby in the head with his
hand. When Hubby rolled off the couch and onto the floor, The
Eldest hit him in the head with the lid from a box.
"I
thought he had feinted," said The Eldest. Then,
"I thought he had a smile on his face and was playing"
therefore he hit hit again.
They had just been wrestling a short time
before, but the lines between "I'm laying on the sofa
trying to rest" and "I wanna wrestle with ya" had
not been clearly drawn. The Eldest, not being a mean person, misinterpreted
the lying down thing that Hubby was doing.
People...we must learn to make these
distinctions, we must learn to announce our intentions or at the
very least say "stop" when someone is hitting you in
the head with a cardboard box lid.
On
another note, I must confess that whenever I think someone has feinted, I always hit them in
the head with things. Don't you?
Anywho...I
came into the room just as this stupid shit had ended, and I
asked what happened. Hubby explained to me that The Eldest had
hit him in the head with his shoe, repeatedly, like The Eldest had the shoe
in his hand and hit Hubby in the head with it with the intention
of killing him. That's the way it was made out to me.
Knowing
better, I looked at my son. When
I saw that his shoes were firmly
planted on his feet, and that this beating took place only
moments before...well, I didn't say anything about it. I did one
of those wife/mother internal eye rolls that is implemented in
the brain and only shows itself on the face by the set of a
mother's lips.
Yeah...my
arms were crossed, too, and my foot was positioned in the
foot-tapping mode. And yeah there was yelling by me later on
because it breaks my heart when those two guys can't seem to get
along. You got the button-pusher (The Eldest) and the
Over-Reactor (Hubby).
They
are both lovable, both very nice people, but I want to give them
away to the Pilgrims half the time.
Give
you away to the Pilgrims - that's how my father used to threaten
us kids. Sometimes he would say "indians"
instead of "pilgrims".
I
never quite understood any of that. "There are no Pilgrims
anymore" I'd think to myself, and then I'd think "Maybe
there are...." and scary music would play in my head and then I'd think "Does he mean
the indians downtown?"
(feathers
not dots)
That
thought made me be I'd be a good girl. The "indians"
downtown always had liquor in bottles wrapped in brown paper
bags (yes, they really do that, look for my subnote after this
post) and always looked scary. Those were the only Native
Americans of which I knew.
And THAT,
my friends, was proper English grammar...that last sentence there. *thrusts fist into the air*
SO -
what we ended up doing...instead of going to the
beach...was that Hubby sat at home with That Baby while I took the other two kids
to the store for mealworms and a Gundam.
Do
you know what Gundams are? They are overpriced Japanese pieces
of plastic SHIT that come in a trillion tiny little pieces that
you have to cut away from the Trillion Tiny Little Pieces Holder
so that you can build this stupid robot thing.
I
hate them.
Whenever
The Eldest gets one, the day spirals down into a HELL that is
filled with cries of "I give up!", turned over chairs,
chest beatings, forehead poundings, and major acrobatics by
mother to get the goddamn fucking cap off of the goddamn fucking
bottle of super glue.
And
once these little cocksucking plastic robots from hell are
made, The Eldest eventually dismantles them in order to use
their parts to build things cooler than any masturbating
dickweed from Japan could ever think up, manufacture, package,
and sell to sucker American mothers over and over and over and
over.
My
son should design Gundams, not torture the household with
the piecing together of them.
Silver
lining stuff - The
hobby store had a buy-one-get-one-free deal on the Beanie
Babies, though, so that was cool. The Toddler got herself some
new doggies - Yapper the Unidentifiable Ugly Bastard Dog and
Spunky the Blonde Cocker Spaniel...Spunky's cute and not all all
ugly like Yapper.
Mommy
likes 2-fers. Mommy likes 2-fers almost more than she likes sex.
Mommy had to change
her underwear when she got home.
Subnote
- Quite a few years back, the sister of a friend of mine worked
at Walgreen's...it's like Wal-Mart only a lot smaller. It's a
drug store/dime store type of joint, they got them all over the
country so I'm just saying for my readers overseas and isn't
Wal-Mart like everywhere these days?
Any
fucking how - My friend was telling me about how when Walgreen's
was having a sale on Listerine that the store manager of the
store that her sister worked at...a store in a neighborhood that
had a high population of Native American folks...had told her to
make sure that signs were made up and hung in the windows that
announced this sale.
You
know...because theindians will buy all their
stock...since Listerine was on sale and it's cheaper than booze,
ya know.
And
they did buy it. And drank it. Out behind the store.
That's
such a lovely story. When I first heard it I was so happy to
have heard it and said to myself "what a lovely
story."
See
how the white man has shat upon the native culture in this land,
and still continues to do so? And see how often times white people only see
the bad side of not-white-people because it's the side that is
SHOVED IN YOUR FACEand is so much louder than the good side either while you're walking down the street
or talking to a friend or watching the evening news?
Everybody
needs to put their best foot forward so we can stop all this
crazy shit. (she types as she says words like "cock"
and "fuck")
And this
is why my son points out the differences between people of
different cultures and different races, and when he points them
out it's in a negative light. He does this because it's the most
obvious thing, the bad things. He NEVER points out a kid's race
when talking about someone he knows if the kid is nice and
doesn't act like a jerk. Get it?
We
all must be nice, for cripe's sake. My kid, your kid, me, you,
yadda.
I must remind him that white kids
are mean to him too, and that kids who aren't white are nice to
him...and friends...too.
We
must remind our kids of the good things. All the fucking time.
Remind your kids of the GOOD in life and in people. It's harder
for kids these days than it was for us. Maybe. Depends where you
were raised.
Which
leads me to this - Go to Moody
Mama and see her post about child safety. She's right...you
have to be prepared because you CANNOT lose one frigging minute
looking for pictures and writing down facts about your child
when your child goes missing.
And
now - time to go and sit on the porch and enjoy my lovely family...before
they go missing...in which case I'd die.
July
25, 2004...8:00am
Who are you,
and what have you done with my husband? He's
awake. We're both awake. We've both been awake since 7:00am.
This is very odd.
I
feel like I should make a giant Denny's (Diarrhea on a Platter)
style breakfast.
I
love bacon.
About
my husband... Did I
ever tell you that he checks to see if I've had The Big O before
he finishes up? I think that's very polite of him. Don't you?
And
he gave me a full-body massage last night again, too.
About fishing... So Hubby
has never been fishing in this state in an area where you can
catch big game fish that you can eat. You could eat the fish you
catch around the city, but then you'd die.
Unless
your Hmong. They can catch big junk fish while fishing off of a
freeway overpass, eat it, and not die. They have iron
constitutions.
Did
I ever tell you that I can't go down into the cafeteria at work
before 11:30am because until then the early-shift folks are
heating up their fish heads and fish guts in the microwaves and
the smell is horrifying.
But
ANYHOW - I told Hubby yesterday that he can go Up Nord fishing
anytime...with his friend....without me. He can leave me for the
weekend with the kids and go fishing.
I
remember reading something on Sarah's
blog where she told her husband to go to a ballgame or
something without her and he called her the "bodiggity"
or "shebangity" or something like that.
Well
Hubby didn't call me a cool name like that, but he did hug me in
the hallway outside the bathroom after I had just gone poop, so
I suppose that's something.
You
know, I really think married folks should go on mini-vacations
without each other every now and then because, well, I have a
friend who goes Up Nord with her girlfriends once a year and I'd
like to get in on that action someday. So I'm being purely
selfish.
I
really want a big breakfast now The
works. Omelet, pancakes, bacon.
With
what we have in the fridge, I could probably do the pancakes and
omelet thing, but we have no bacon.
I
wonder if I were to fry up some Oscar Mayer bologna that it
would kinda be like bacon. I wonder if the smell of fried
bologna would be horrifying to a Hmong person.
July
24, 2004...12:30pm
Before you
ask... No, I
didn't sleep in. That Baby got up to eat around 6am and went
back to sleep. Soon after The Toddler woke so I got up and took
a shower and put on a pot of coffee and made waffles for
breakfast. I figured allowing Hubby to sleep in again would be
the least I could do since I roared at him at 2:30 in the
morning when he woke me up with the intention of doing unseemly
things to my body.
I'm
kinda regretting that now. Unseemly would have been kind of
fun...in retrospect.
SO...like
I said I made waffles for breakfast and I handed The Toddler one
and
she looked at it and said "BLECK! Bleh bleh bleh BLECK!"
then
did raspberries all over the kitchen cabinets.
I
don't think she cares for waffles.
And... Something
is wrong in The Toddler's bedroom. As you can read in my last
post of the evening last night, it sounded like a freaking
monster was making monster noises in her room...over the baby
monitor.
I
went in there and as I suspected, no monster.
But
this worries me because she was asleep so she wasn't making any
of those noises that could have been distorted by the baby
monitor, and a couple nights ago The Eldest came downstairs
after The Toddler had fallen asleep in her room and said,
"Mom! It sounds like there's a monster in her
bedroom!"
When
I went up there...no monster.
Is
there a ghost in my daughter's room? I ask this because I don't
believe in such things but I have no explanation for these
noises that are, well, rent a horror movie sometime. It's like
that.
The
baby monitor could possibly be picking something up from
somewhere else, but how does that explain my son hearing noises
from her room when he was outside her door?
Wooooooooooo.....scary.
Do
ghosts eat toddlers?
Furthermore... The Only
Girl I Ever Kissed and I finally spoke on the phone and we are
gonna go out next Saturday. Girls night out.
You
cannot possibly imagine my excitement. I never go out. I'm
thrilled beyond belief.
Yay.
Yay for me.
:)
Still
worried about the monsters, though.
July
23, 2004...9:00pm
Dammit. Did I
just introduce a virus to my lovely computer?
Here's
the deal. I checked my email and there was one from someone
called Leanne Lianne and in the subject line it said
"arrived floor".
I
was like "what?" And I sat here and looked at it for a
bit and since it didn't have an attachment I opened it. The only
text was "mountain view".
What
in holy hell. I'm stupid. I'm running a virus scan now. Yankee
Doodle Fuck a Noodle.
And
I put The Toddler to bed "early" - that's 8:30pm for
those people who don't understand the finer points of having a
Hubby who works late night and needs to sleep in, usually she's
not in bed until 10ish.
And
That Baby is in his swing and I wish he'd sleep because I'm
tired of being mommy right now. Is that ok?
And
That Baby floats. I know this because he was stink pot so I
decided to bathe him with The Toddler tonight. If you hold his
head and his neck with one hand, his body floats. It's pretty
damn cool.
He
enjoyed himself. Cried when I took him out of the tub. Yay. I
love bath time. The Eldest, though? I have to take him out in
the yard and hose him down, mostly.
He
don't like to shower. I caught him rubbing deodorant/antipersperant
all over his body one day. I said "That's what showers are
for, ya silly little peanut."
Actually
I just lied. What I really said was "Take a shower!
Ker-RICED!"
Oh...and
I reposted that post I deleted earlier today because HOLY SHIT!
What the hell was that?! Sounds like there's a freaking monster
in The Toddler's room! Gotta go investigate. Damnation.
July
23, 2004...lunch
No lunch for
lunch. Gonna go
for a walk outside instead. Have to burn off some of the
breakfast, lunch, and dinner I ate for breakfast this morning.
I
also have to wake the hell up. I was working away and my eyes
kept wanting to close. You know that heavy eyelid thing. Kept
wanting to close on the way into work, too, and I have to make
myself all bug-eyed in order to focus on anything.
Right
now, as I type this, I'm sure I've got a really surprised look
on my face.
I'm
so fricking tired. I'll tell you what the deal is - I know you
are supposed to be tired when you have a new baby in the house,
and I know that is only compounded by having a toddler in the
house as well, and I know that's even more compounded by you
working days and the Hubby working nights.
I
know this stuff.
But
I really have not gotten proper rest since....since before my
17-month-old daughter was born. And my rest became even more
limited when I got pregnant with That Baby.
So I kinda think it's all
starting to catch up to me.
Someone better take care of this soon before I start doing crazy
ass shit like digging holes in the yard to bury all of my dishes
or wearing my pants on my head
or putting all my bedroom furniture up on the roof.
Actually,
that kinda sounds like fun.
July
23, 2004...quick
update
Hubby was
right. I just
got back from the toilet...the 3 cups of coffee and the 20oz
bottle of Diet Coke were beginning to make me feel
uncomfortable.
ANYWAYS
- I looked at myself in the giant bathroom mirror which normally
makes me slink away defeated, rejected by my own image, and
Hubby was right...these new jeans do look good on me.
My
ass is BREATHTAKING.
Hair
still looks like shit, though.
July
23, 2004...something something break
Pringles are
the devil. Oh my
fucking god, could I please stop eating?
It's
9:15am and I've already eaten my sandwich which I brought for
lunch, 1/2 a banana, 3 cups of coffee, one 20oz. bottle of Diet
Coke, a snack-sized Kit Kat Bar from The Candy Dish Lady's candy
dish, and a 1/4 a can of Pringles.
I'll
start my diet on Monday. I promise.
Heh.
You think I'm cranky now.
Actually,
ya know what? I generally don't eat anything after about 1pm.
It's like I fuel up in the morning, or something. I sometimes
make 3 different dinners, and I not one of them is for myself.
Not a dinner person.
Oh...and
in my swiftiest swiftiness, I managed to delete my last post
from last night. I have it at home, I'll re-post it later.
Welp...since
my stomach can't possibly handle me putting anymore in it, I might as well
cut this break short and return to work where I can continue
fucking up and delete a bunch of stuff there.
GOD!
It's only 9:20am?!
If
I'm totally exhausted now, what am I gonna be like at 10pm this
evening?
I
need a baby watcher. A works-for-food baby watcher. Don't got no
money, but we gots ourselves lotsa food.
July
23, 2004
Best foot
forward. I just
got done having a conversation with a guy here, and when I got
back to my desk I decided to put my hair up because I hate my
hair and putting my hair up is preferable to shaving myself
bald, so I took out my compact mirror and it would appear that I
had lipstick on my teeth the entire time I was talking to this
man.
That's
a good look.
I'm
also wearing a black pirate shirt with poofy sleeves today, and
I'm just noticing the missing button in the belly area. Squishy postpartum
tummy is always fun to look at, especially when only a small
white section is peeking through a gap in your big black poofy
pirate shirt.
I
think management should send me home to change. Gee...I wonder
what I'd choose to change into. My black clam digger pants made
out of parachute material with the threads dangling off of the
fly? Or maybe my army fatigue shorts with the bleach stain or
that tight little t-shirt that says "troublemaker" on
it with silver sparkles and my 3 inch platform flip flops that
cause static shock every time I wear them grocery shopping.
Just
ask Hubby...one day at the grocery store I couldn't take
anything off of the shelves without being electrocuted - I call
them my Diet Shoes.
Well
anyways...someone take me shopping. I need grown-up clothes from
this century.
Speaking
of clothing from other eras...
3
weeks until the Renaissance Festival begins! My
husband and I go every year and we're those freaks who dress up
in Renaissance clothing.
The
Eldest like the faire, too, so he always comes along but he
walks 10 feet behind us so as not to be associated.
ANYHOW
- I had a daydream in the kitchen last night about those giant
turkey drumsticks they sell at the faire for like a billion
dollars a piece. I dreamed about buying one of those and driving
home with it. Once at home, I hid alone in the closet with it
and ate it. I had a flashlight.
And
guess what? It's
Friday, dude. This week went by fast. I didn't expect it to fly
by this way. AND...it's supposed to be simply gorgeous this
weekend. Not too hot, not too humid, not rainy.
Yay.
So
let's see...should I buy hair dye with the remainder of my
pittance, or should I buy a case of beer?
I
wish I could buy both, but that would be a recipe for an
interesting Saturday evening followed by a remorseful Sunday morning,
wouldn't it.
July
22, 2004...5:00pm Meet my son,
Barney Fife I'm home
and it looks
like grandpa is here and is gonna stay through bath time
tonight. Yay.
He's
here because he came over earlier to picked up The Eldest and
take him
on the train to downtown...from Mayberry to The Big City.
The
Eldest didn't want to go. He's an admitted house hermit, he
stays here at home and waits for his friends to visit. If he
leaves, a friend might cover over and he'll miss playing video
games with him.
PS2
= no fricking social life. I told him recently that he's old
enough to go up to the big park with his friends, or to go to a
movie with his friends. He looked at me like I was nuts.
BUT
ANYWAYS -
I forced him (over the phone from work) to "Go. Good God
Almighty, GO!"
So
he went with his grandpa to The Big City and this is what he told me afterwards - "There was
a lot of black people there."
Oh
please, who
are you? Imperial Grand Dragon of the Klu Klux Klan? Get over yourself,
honky, I've raised you better than that.
His
problem is that despite all the racial tolerance they teach in
the lower grades at our public schools here (and everywhere),
kids grow up and their differences become more evident.
He
got beat up by a couple Mexican kids 2 summers ago, so now all
Mexican guys are scary (you have no idea how laughable that is
and on my former blog I did tell this and how we went to the
cops and the copper said "Well, you know those
Mexicans...they have that el macho thing going on." Yeah.
Thanks, Officer Asswipe. Major damage control I undertook
after that meeting.)
And
The Eldest doesn't understand why "all" the black kids
in his school are mean to him and his white friends. He is
noticing how the white girls are more shy and quiet in
comparison to the black girls who want to "kick your ass,
you mother fucker" as one girl threatened him in gym class
last year.
He's
noticing differences in how kids are raised, and when those kids
are a different ethnicity...that's what he sees.
Get
it? I think it's normal?
It's
a never-ending battle for me, though. I tell him "Well you
are good friends with so-and-so and he's Hispanic and
doesn't want to beat you up" and his response is "He's
from Venezuela, mom."
Oh.
My fault. GAH!
He's
got lotsa friends that are not white. Maybe I shouldn't worry
about these little things he says. Maybe he is just noticing the
diversity in our world, a diversity I think is rather cool...as
long as English is spoken and I don't get the girl at McDonald's
all upset with me because I'm pronouncing the word
"salt" correctly and she still can't understand what
I'm saying.
ANYHOW
- he had a good time. They went out for pizza at this joint
that's been around since the mafia used to frequent The Big
City. It's probably the only authentic Italian restaurant in the
area.
Little
Editorial on race issues here - Have you heard recently how Bill
Cosby is getting into a world of trouble because he's
criticizing hip hop and the messages it sends and criticizing
how it's influencing the way black kids talk in a way that is so
far from proper English that's he's embarrassed by it?
Well...I
agree. Some of that stuff...when you are told by people you
idolize that your life is hard and the world is against you and
you have to fight fight fight to get what you want...it's
dangerous. It's
dividing us, breaking down all the work that the civil rights
leaders did decades ago.
The
Eldest - his one big sticking point with the kids he goes to
school with is hip hop. "Why do they have to talk like
that? Why do they have to walk around like they are better than
me because they got that stupid hooded sweatshirt? And why do
some white kids have to act like they're black? I like black
kids when they don't want to beat me up, but why can't I act
white and still be liked? The wiggers don't get threatened. They
just get laughed at."
I
paraphrased, but I did receive that speech one night recently
and it saddened me. He sees so much more deep separation between
different races and cultures than I did as a kid. What the hell
has happened to us?
And
don't get all loony on me and accuse me of wanting all people to
act like white people because I'm not. All I'm saying is...I
don't know what I'm saying except that things just really seem
bad at times, like we are so divided and that there is much more
hate in schools then there used to be.
Then
again, I went to Catholic school and there was only one black
kid and my last name started with M and his last name started
with L so I sat next to him for 12 years.
And
he was gay. Probably still is. A gay, catholic, black kid.
So I
don't think I ever got a real life perception of how African
Americans live when I was a kid so maybe kids of different races
have always annoyed the hell out of each other. I wouldn't
know, I suppose.
Know
what? This kid, his father would drop him off at school during
the 4th grade in a Mercedes Benz and he'd always have Kentucky
Fried Chicken for lunch. And during our sophomore year,
because of our last names I was teamed up with him for the frog dissection. That kid squealed in disgust and flapped his arms
around and hopped and pranced and made me do the entire dissection
by myself, pinning
all the little frog pieces to that piece of cardboard.
I'll
never forgive him for that...even though it was funnier than
hell.
BUT -
toodles. Time to go give That Baby some Tylenol. Maybe I should
visit the May 2004 Expecting Club and ask one of
those ladies how to administer it.
Oh
wait...I don't have to. Forgot I told Hubby to get a Tylenol
sheet from the doctor that outlines proper dosages and
such.
Am I
dizzier than all get out, or what? I have a 17-month-old, too.
You'd think I'd remember some of this stuff.
OH -
and do I blog too much? Do you have a hard time keeping up with
it because I don't want to write stuff that you'll miss, ya
know? Let me know and I'll tone it down a bit.
As
one of my brother's once said after receiving an email from me
"Wow, you're wordy."
Try
being my husband. If I have an issue I need to discuss with him,
it's a one-sided conversation that can go on for days.
July
22, 2004...days
end
Almost time
to go home And sure
as shit I'm starting to nod off. I'm falling asleep, nodding
off, just in time to drive home.
Wish
me luck so I don't crash and burn on my perilous journey. God
knows I'd probably cheat death and end up with 90% of my body
toasted and with no use of my body from the neck down.
I'd
just be a talking head. A really ornery talking head. A
rated NC17 head. A head that bites.
"Change
my piss bag, stupid! Wipe my ass! Where's my Oxycodone?!"
I
need a day at the spa. I need a new hairdo, hair color, fake
nails, pedicure, massage, facial, deep penetration...
No...you
know what I need? I need new fricking shampoo. I hate the shit
I'm using.
I
wonder what would happen if I put red streaks in my hair.
I
hate evenings. I wonder what would happen if I just didn't go
home.
July
22, 2004...lunch
Waiting to
hear about That Baby's visit to the doctor. Grapes
make a good lunch. Nutritious, no fat. Filling? If you eat like a
gazillion of 'em.
That Baby is at the doctor
at this very moment for his 2-month well-child
appointment and 1st series of shots.
I'm
not feeling too bad about
being at work today.
Yes,
I'm nervous. I always get nervous when Hubby takes the
little critters to the doctor and I'm unable to go along because
I'm verking.
Not
nervous enough to spend my lunch hour cowering in the corner of
the doctor's office as my baby receives 3 frickin' shots,
though.
:(
*looks
at the phone*
Call
me. Call me dammit. CALL ME!
I
know Hubby has his cell phone with him.
At
moments like this, a
strawberry Pop Tart starts to sound more and more like a
healthy food choice as opposed to a 'I'm going straight to your
buttocks' food choice.
Have
you ever read the Nutrition Facts on a package of Pop Tarts?
They aren't food...they're heart attack supplements. They're the
leading cause for brain tumors and liposuction and divorce.
Pop
Tarts are evil.
I
think I'll just sit here and wait for a phone call. The doctor
appointment started 25 minutes ago.
*waits*
*thinks
of Pop Tart*
*covets
Pop Tart*
*looks
at coin purse*
*looks
at phone*
I
wonder if I could make it to the vending machine and back
without Hubby calling. Probably not.
*eats
a grape*
- 10
minutes later -
I'm
calling. *calls*
No
one is answering. I'm hanging up.
Hubby's
calling.
*answers
phone*
23
inches long, 13 lbs 14 oz., 16 inch head, 75th percentile on
everything. He's smaller than his big sister and big brother
were at this age.
Got
4 shots, not 3. He didn't like the shots. At all. :(
And
he's developing normally as far as baby milestones are
concerned.
And
no one got peed on.
And
Hubby just told me that last night I was smiling in my sleep.
Apparently he was rubbing my face and my arms without my
knowledge, and I was enjoying it.
Damn.
I have no memory of that.
And
now he just told me he loves me. Sounded like he meant it,
too.
Life
ain't so bad.
I
really like it when he remembers to be a gentleman, though.
Makes me feel like humping him.
July
22, 2004...moments
later
Bye Bye
Women's Lib Call me
old fashioned, but I think a woman should be treated with the
utmost care and pampering and that she should be taken care of.
I like the differences between men and women, I like how men are
supposed to be hard and women soft.
Women,
by default because we're built to be caregivers and caretakers
and nurturers, will always do nice and caring things for their
men. We can't help but take care of them, watch out for them.
In
return, men must worship their women who bear their children and
who make countless sacrifices on behalf of the family. Bend over
backwards to pamper her.
Yeah.
So that's the way it should be.
If a
man can't do this because he refuses to see the value in doing
this, he should at least open the door for his
woman and allow her to go first and allow her to sit down first
and show some gentlemanly manners.
I'm
old. SUE ME.
And did you notice that neither "money" nor
"diamonds" were mentioned in the above
statement?
I'm
all about the important stuff, people. Stuff you can't fill your
wallet with or buy in a store. The stuff that's most important
to me is the stuff that is free.
Gimme
the free stuff, and I love you long time. That's how it works.
AND
- rent the movie Phenomenon. Towards the end of the movie
John Travolta confronts this loser guy whose wife just left him.
Travolta asks the guy if he had ever "bought her
chairs".
You
gotta see the whole movie to understand what that means, but I
think it's the most romantic and most true and most important
thing. Buy her chairs.
And
that seems to fly in the face of the free stuff thing, but really it
doesn't. Travolta actually bought his chick's chairs, literally,
but buying a girl's chairs doesn't mean actually buying
anything. It means doing what will make her happy and make her
successful and make her feel loved.
It's
poetry for the non-poetic. Like me.
Ok.
Bye.
July
22, 2004
Driving Under
the Influence of Mother-Fatigue
That's me, Marty Feldman, when I'm driving my car.
That's
what my eyes feel like they are doing. Last night on the way
home, and this morning on the way in, I was falling asleep. It
starts with my eyes feeling like they are going in opposite
directions and ends with my head bobbing down then snapping back
up and my heart racing.
I
had a panic attack on the freeway. These panic attacks are going
to get real boring pretty soon, time for them to go away, buh
bye now, buh bye.
If
I'm not allowed to sleep in this weekend, <bitch> after
being unable to sleep in during my entire pregnancy and during
my entire maternity leave... <end bitch> if I can't sleep
in the first Saturday after returning to work...ass whoopin'.
Actually,
I'll just get up like I always do and go about life in my usual
passive-aggressive manner, taking care of the kiddies and the
house and the yard and I'll say nothing as usual.
I'll
just let the dog lick the butter knife before I make their
sandwiches for lunch.
Today's
self-evaluation I look
like shit. I look old. I look worn. My eyes look tired,
they have no light and no depth. The skin around my eyes is
ashen and streaked with lines. LINES. My skin is dull. My lips are
pale. My hair looks tired and limp and lifeless.
I
feel like a black and white photograph. Not a glossy one, more
like one that you'd find in an old shoebox.
Actually...I
feel like an old shoebox. Cracked and dusty and faded, my lid
dented and crushed.
Wasn't
that long ago...last summer, maybe...when I felt like a
16-year-old pop star, all perky and blonde and annoying and
wealthy beyond belief. What the heck happened? Hello? HELLO?!
I am
so falling asleep at my desk right now. Coffee is NOT
helping. GAH my googly eyes! I must look insane, kooky,
wacko bag lady.
My
legs look nice in this short skirt, though. That's a blessing
Welp...later.
This pointless coffee break is over.
July
21, 2004........
Good times. I checked
out the Postpartum Depression discussion forum/message
board.
That's
a fun place.
You
got men posting there going "My wife is nuts. Help!"
You
got men saying that their wives are making announcements such as
"today is the day I'm gonna kill myself."
That
sounds familiar.
Anyhow
- I was looking at all kinds of sites regarding PPD (postpartum
depression) and they give the husbands of these women advice
like "take her seriously" and "do NOT tell her
that she's over-reacting or blowing things out of
proportion" and "help out with the chores, even doing
3 things like sweeping the kitchen floor, putting away the
dishes, and walking the dog can be very helpful to her."
Yeah.
Very helpful. Thanks for sweeping the floor.
Nothing
like putting in a little extra effort for the woman whose mouth
you'd like to stick your penis in, eh fellas?
Just
a lit-tle inequity present here, dontcha think?
July
21, 2004...lunch?
*stab* *stab
stab stab stab stab*
Am I dead
yet?
What
is with these women? Yes I've been looking at the old May 2004
Pregnancy Expecting Club/Torture Chamber again.
A
couple months ago it was all "I can't wait to have this
baby!"
Now
it's "Why won't she sleep during the day?!" These
ladies want their 2 month old babies to sleep all day AND all
night. It's not a fucking doll, hun, it's alive. Can't just put
it up on the shelf when you're tired of playing with it, can ya?
And
it's tiring, yes? Yes. I should know, I have a Baby Alive dolly,
too. But what's even more tiring is this:
You're
kid is sleeping from 9pm until 4am and then eating and
going back to sleep until 7am?
What
are you complaining about, toots? You are one fucking lucky
ducky, lady.
And
by the by...sleeping all night long is whatYOUWANT!
And
you aren't going to get that if your Baby Alive sleeps all damn
day.
Good
God Almighty.
July
21, 2004...Peppermint Patty break
A kinder,
gentler meh. I've made
an executive decision: we, meaning me and the people I live
with, are returning to the preferred way of life known as Mom Does
90% of Everything.
I'm easing up on my bellicose dictation and giving
only simple instructions that are easy to follow. Like "turn off
the lamp".
I
figure this way, people will be more inclined to speak highly of
me when I'm dead.
July
21, 2004...Diet Coke break
Meet my
friend This,
boys and girls, is a house centipede. We have lots of them in
our house which means that there is an underlying water problem
somewhere.
ANYWAYS,
I usually find one in the kitchen sink in the morning, as I did
today. That little feller was about 1 inch long.
I
killed it.
I
also killed who I believe to be his mother...the 2 1/2 inch
really really REALLY thick and big and beefy house centipede
that attacked me as I was throwing in a load of laundry before
leaving for work today. That lady had to have been about as big
as a Sharpie pen cap. No shit.
*does
the icky icky bug dance*
GOD
I hate these fucking things. Do you have them? They are so fast
and furry and YUCK. Gives me the squirmies.
Well.
My appetite is ruined.
Little
Peckers
The Toddler would not go to sleep last night until about
11:00pm. And boy howdy was she pissy. She didn't like it that I
stole her blankie and threw it in the wash. She didn't like that
at all.
That
blankie is a biohazard, dude...gotta wash out all the little
amebas congregating on it before they rise up and take over the
world.
Also,
That Baby was CRABBY too, and he didn't wanna nap no how no
neither.
Fine.
FINE I just wish it hadn't been 200 million degrees outside
because it would have been nicer to sit on the porch and listen
to the list of complaints being filed by my offspring.
I
tried sitting on the porch for about 10 minutes, but a pool was
forming between my boobs and that's just nasty.
The
Eldest...well I asked him once to watch That Baby while I ran
and fetched some more laundry out of the drier and he said
"I'm not the father!"
Jeez.
Just watch him for one goddamn minute so that The Toddler
doesn't eat him.
He
felt bad afterwards, though. He always feels bad after acting
like a turd. He's a good boy.
SO
ANYWAYS - I'm really liking this working all day thing only to
come home to a house full of chores, centipedes and hot, cranky
kids. Yes
ma'am.
July
21, 2004
Iron Curtain
I've been censured.
As a
result I edited my previous post and will not be poking fun at
my betrothed anymore. It's usually done when I'm feeling
playful, but something
gets lost in translation. Go figure.
That's
fine. It's a little overdue, I suppose. I'll oblige. I'm gonna be real short on material, though.
Things are gonna get boring around here.
I
mean, I'd love to tell you about something that happened with
Hubby this morning when I informed him that I was leaving for
work, but I can't. I can't because I don't know if it would
bother him or not. I don't think it's a bad story, it's just
kinda funny. Now I don't know what I can report on. Bleh.
He
smells good? I think that sort of thing is acceptable to write
about. Hubby smells nice.
But
the question is...do you care?
And
I poke fun at myself all the flipping time. The name of this
blog is Momster, for crying out loud, not the most
complimentary term that could be used to describe myself. Fuck
it.
Well.
Let's just pretend I'm not married, shall we? That will make it
easier for me.
I'll
need a boyfriend, though. I mean, I gotta be able to talk about some
kinda man, yes?
And
about men Jeez.
Sorry if all you guys act like tards half the time. Us ladies
didn't make you that way, you know, we just report on it.
And
that statement was about men in general. Christ.
July
20, 2004...2:00pm
Just when I
was about to lick my finger and help myself to a second serving
of salt...
Girlfriend of mine came over and said she wanted to take me out
to lunch...as a welcome back thing.
We
went out to lunch and talked about how (edit) perfect our husbands
are and how damn lucky we are to have them in our lives and how
we are remiss to not provide oral sex for them more often. (end
edit)
On
another note...
I've decided that I'm going on vacation next summer. A real
vacation, like one where you pack a suitcase and put the dog in
the kennel and leave the house for at least a week and go to a
place that's far enough away so that it will cost you money if
you call home.
If
you call home.
And
if anyone stands in the way of me being able to do this, I will
run them over with my car. A couple of times, even.
July
20, 2004...lunch
I have no
lunch and I'm bad at math.
I ate my sandwich for breakfast.
Now
I'm hungry and poor.
Hungry
is explained. Poor, though?
Here
- I fuckered up my short term disability. I get 8 weeks
STD...actually it's stupid because I get 7 weeks of STD pay but
the first week of maternity leave I have to use sick or vacation
time, but they still call it being on "short term
disability" even though oh nevermind. It's a mindfuck.
ANYHOW,
fine. We have a good policy regardless and I'm lucky to have
gotten anything because many women receive diddly squat when
they are on maternity leave. I'm lucky.
Now...I
knew my 9th week of leave was going to be without pay supplemented
with whatever is left of my vacation time. I thought that would
business would begin on July 14th.
WRONG.
It
began on July 7th so I'm looking at 8 days of leave without pay
and supplemented with a measly amount of vacation time which
will leave me with no vacation time left for emergencies and
such...whatsoever.
It
pays to pay attention in math class, kids, when the nun is
desperately trying to teach you how to get along in life, like
for instance 20 years down the road when you have to figure out how to finance your
maternity leave.
SO -
next week's pay check? Ummmm...let's see here...food or car
payment? eenie meenie minie MO.
We're
all getting too fat anyways. Saltines for everybody!
Speaking
of salt, I think that's what I'll have for lunch.
The
Dreaded Pregnancy Discussion Forums
Paid a visit to the May 2004 Expecting Club today. Why oh why do
I do that to myself. I'm not even pregnant anymore.
Well,
people are still posting there. At first I wondered why they
would be doing that, but then I discovered why...lotsa first
time mothers with silly little questions and topics for
discussion.
I'm not picking, I was there once too, ya know, and
even with 3 kids in the bag I still find myself on the phone
with the doctors office at least once a week asking stupid
questions.
Ok.
I'm picking.
But
at least I'm asking my kid's doctor and not a cyber room
full of 20-year-old army wives who want to know if it would hurt
if they got "mommy" tattooed on their middle fingers.
If I had the inclination to post
in these forums today and receive a
barrage of emails telling me how badly I suck, now would be a
good time for me to be a pain in the ass:
Topic:
(my baby) Alex laughed! Me: No. He didn't. Topic: Friends who are childless are funny. Me: I read your post. From what you said and from the
tone of it, I think what you meant to say was "Friends who
are childless are idiots compared to me now that I am a member
of The Mommy League of Self-Tooters Who Think They Are Somehow
More Smart and Wise Than Non-mothers and That You're Totally the Shiznit" Topic: ANY BABIES IN #3 DIAPERS YET? Me: Your baby's fat. Topic: anyone else who still can't wear rings? Me: You're fat. Topic: Ear piercing. Me: Child abuse. Topic: Reincarnation? Me: Stop watching The Montel Show?
Mmmmm...salt.
July
20, 2004 Poor Man's
Heroin
Really? No wonder I enjoyed my Oxycodone last night:
The growing abuse of
OxyContin®, commonly known as Oxy’s, OC’s, Killers, Poor
Man’s Heroin, and Hillbilly Heroin, is leading to an
increase in burglaries, thefts, and robberies of residences
and pharmacies.
OxyContin® is a
tradename for the narcotic oxycodone hydrochloride (HCl), an
opiate agonist. Oxycodone, a semisynthetic opioid derived from
the opioid alkaloid thebaine, is similar to codeine,
methadone, and morphine in producing opiate-like effects.
Oxycodone is a Schedule II drug under the Controlled
Substances Act because of its high propensity to cause
dependence and abuse.
So I
get my second gallstone attack last night, the night when Hubby
works super late. That was fun.
What
made it even more fun were the "opiate-like effects"
of my new drug of choice, oxycodone. And what made that
even MORE fun was how I thunk the following thought when I work
up from my drug-induced stupor this morning: "Gee. Maybe
I'll take another one of those pills tonight after the kiddies
are in bed."
Holy
Hannah. Becoming a drug addict is not something I aspire to
be.
And
about my gallstones...the last attack was on June 14th.
Yesterday was July 19th. Let's see what happens in August
because gallstone pain doesn't operate on a calendar, it comes
and goes as it pleases, often times aggravated by food.
I'm
never eating chow mien again, though. Just in case. And if you
knew me well enough, you'd know that this is a major dietary sacrifice
for me. That is how bad gallstone pain can be.
Just
glad I hadn't eaten any chocolate last night. I could never give
up chocolate. NEVAHHHHHHHH!
Speaking
of chocolate, I shall go visit my candy dish co-worker, now.
Just to say "good morning", ya know.
July
19, 2004....12:45pm
I did it, and
I survived. Barely.
I finally got up and went to the bathroom. It wasn't easy, but I
made my way to the pisser.
I
found the restroom vacant (yay), and my favorite stall was still
there and in my preferred condition - thoroughly flushed and
pube-free.
And
I only had two moments of terror: The first came when someone
else entered the bathroom. I stayed in my stall until I was
certain they had finished their business and left. I even peeked
out from under my stall walls to check for feet. There were no
feet, so I left my stall.
The
second moment was when I looked at myself in the bathroom
mirror. Might I say that I'm looking pretty shitty today.
Looking a little haggard and not at all like I've had a restful
"time off".
My
hair - I cannot describe my hair today. It...it just shouldn't
be on my head, not looking the way that it does. It should on
the head of a kook, a lunatic, a mad woman with 40 cats and
stacks of TV Guides piled up in the living room that date back
to 1975.
This
hair...it is not my hair.
THEN...I
did it: I went down to the cafeteria.
It's
been awhile since I've spoke of the cafeteria. I think I'll take
a moment to describe to my newer readers what we're dealing with
here.
The
cafeteria has salad bar, a grill with hamburgers
and fries, a desert section with brownies that are 1 quarter
brownie and 3 quarters chocolate frosting, and a home cooking section that serves a
regular supper, a square meal, a meal more akin to dinner than
to lunch.
Any
food leftover from this square meal supper section ends up in
the next day's soup.
Ever
have meatloaf, peas, carrot, and tater tot soup? No? How about
chowder prepared with fish sticks?
Yeah.
That's right.
And
the salad bar is no better. When the lettuce starts to yellow,
they just cover the top of the lettuce bin with red cabbage and
carrot shavings.
Welp,
looks like turkey soup tomorrow. Today I bought myself part of
the supper. I'm currently choking down turkey with carrots, broccoli,
and green beans on the side. I skipped the mashed potatoes and
stuffing. Bleh...I think they use what's left of the stuffing to
make pie crust for their cream of raisin pies, and those mashed
potatoes have always tasted like water that you chew.
I'm
safely back and my desk now. I still haven't walked over and
picked up the stuff I printed out earlier today...the printer is
two cubicles down from mine. Scary. But if I can work up the
nerve to go down to the printer, I'll be passing by that woman's
cube with the candy dish. I could fetch myself a peppermint
patty. Those are so refreshing.
July
19, 2004....11:30am
Oh god, I'm
gonna whimper.
I have to go pee. I don't want to go pee because it's lunch hour
and I know I'll see bunches of people on the way to, and in, the
bathroom. And they'll talk to me and I'll have to talk back to
them saying "hi" and stuff.
What
the hell is happening to me?
I am
not a shy person. Why am I feeling this way? Why am I
hiding? Why am I afraid to see people?
WHAT
THE HELL IS GOING ON?!
July
19, 2004....11:15am
Damn my
appetite which exists in it's own made-up world now.
I knew I shouldn't have eaten my lunch at 10:00am. Why the hell
did I do that?
I
think I need to get off of that "I've been home for 9 weeks
and therefore within grazing distance from the kitchen at all
times" eating routine I'm on, and get back to eating meals
at appropriate meal-eating times.
Now
I'm gonna have to either eat a measly banana for lunch, or go
down the cafeteria and find something not delicious to
eat.
Which
would be bad because then people would see me and I'd have to
talk to them.
And
that would be way too scary for me.
Mmmmm...banana.
July
19, 2004....11:00am
Surreal
This doesn't feel right. This place, it feels lonely and quiet
and I really feel out of sorts, out of touch, out of it.
And
I'm not liking people finding that I'm here and coming in to
talk to me. I'm tiring of having to tell the same little antidotes
and laughing and smiling and nodding in agreement at the same
damn comments everyone seems to be making.
The
last person who came in to ask what appears to be the standard
question today, "did you have a nice time off" got
this response "Not really."
Yeah...I've
definitely decided that I
much prefer people saying "welcome back" via email.
I'm much more comfy with that. Right now I'm feeling that fight
or flight reaction animals experience when under attack.
And
oh...grrrrrr....at one point when I was telling someone else
here (a friend of mine, actually) about how things have been
crazy and hectic and such and that's why I didn't pop into work
for a visit during my leave, this person had the nerve to heckle
me - "BAH! You want to see crazy, come on over to my
house! Bah!"
That
was such a bad idea.
Never
ever EVER diminish another person's situation in association with
your own. That is such a shitty thing to do.
Bah!
Ya suck.
July
19, 2004
Locked out of
my work email.
Well...guess I can go home, now.
Dammit!
They fixed this situation too quickly, now I have to work.
2
hours later - finally made it through all of my emails that
piled up over the last 9 weeks. That was fun.
I'm
hiding in my cubicle. I want to go to the vending machine and
get me something to make me feel better, but someone might see
me.
I
told the woman who sits near me in another cubical that That
Baby was all sickly with impetigo and thrush and an eye
infection, and then when I switched him from breast milk to
formula he got all better and hasn't been sickly since.
She
was SHOCKED. Simply shocked. I think this information flies
in the face of everything she's ever believed about how breast
is best and formula is for retards only.
That's
been the most entertaining part of my day thus far.
She's
a nice lady, though. I like her. She keeps a steady supply of
chocolates in her candy bowl. I wonder if they're made with
human milk instead of cow's milk.
Ew.
I
suppose I should do some work now. Break's over.
July
18, 2004...7:00pm
I
think this blog should be helpful from time to time. So here
goes...
I feel the way I feel because that's the way I feel. Not
because I like feeling this way. I like being
happy.
Was
a time when people would come to me for advice when they were
feeling sad or lost and I would always tell them to "find
something to look forward to."
That's
good advice.
When
things get you down, when it all piles up to be just too damn
high to overcome, find something in the near future to look
forward too. Something obtainable like the leaves turning colors
and falling to the ground...go and make a big pile out of them and
jump into that pile.
Look forward to doing that in your
softest, baggiest, most favorite sweater and the cool
air on your breath and your hair done up badly and tussled...and get all leafy.
Be sure to make some hot
cocoa and coffee and cookies and brownies and put them on the
front steps of your house beforehand so you can go and grab 'em
and enjoy 'em while laying in that big
pile of oh so good smelling leaves with your kids and watch how
they smile. They don't even have to laugh...they just have to
smile, even if only slightly.
And
you will love that moment.
And
maybe you can break the law just an iddy biddy bit and make a
small fire of leaves and twigs in a couple old coffee cans in
your backyard to roast some marshmallows. When the marshmallows
are all toasted and eaten, go back to that big pile of leaves again
and really watch those leaves stick to you.
It's
simple. And
oh how you will laugh and play. You and those you are with.
It's
simple. Find something tangible and far enough in the distance,
but close enough to now, to look forward to.
That
can get you by.
Case
in point - the following two pictures were taken in late
October/early November 2000 as The Eldest and I played in the
fall leaves. It was a few weeks after I had gotten back from New
Hampshire where I had met a man who was only an
internet fascination and a totally unladylike obsession of mine,
and who is now my husband.
When these
photos were taken, I had no idea that on July 18, 2004 I would
be married to that man and have 2 more kids with him, and be
dreading my necessary return to work the next day when I'd
rather stay home and toast Pop Tarts, wipe poopy butts, and kiss
away tears.
I was so
happy back then when these pictures were captured, just The Eldest and me
and how we would be. So happy and so full of
hope and dreams, so full
of unknowing, so full of looking forward to stuff.
Here's
something
to look forward too again:
Me...once upon a time.
The Eldest and
me...once upon a time.
God,
I love that boy. And you know what? You love all of your
children. You love them all equally, the same amount of love,
it's not a matter of math. What you are never prepared for,
though, is how you love each of your children differently.
The
Eldest will always be special to me. He and I were alone for so
long. Just him and me. I dedicated my life to him for years. And
it was so simple.
I
like simple. I need to find simple again.
And
about returning to work tomorrow... I hope
when I'm away for 9 1/2 hours during the day that
taking care of the laundry and making the bed
isn't asking too much.
That
is my hope and I believe that it will remain my hope until I'm
dead.
July
18, 2004
The day of
dread is upon us.
Didn't blog yesterday. I was too busy sitting on the porch or in
the yard, drinking wine coolers and trying to enjoy them. When
all they did was make me feel sick in the head, I grabbed a bag
of potato chips and a glass of milk and took it upon myself to
be the sole caregiver for That Baby, allowing Hubby to mind The
Toddler while I laid on the sofa with all my poofy pillows and
blankets to watch Cold Mountain and The Butterfly
Effect and cuddle with my iddy biddy babby.
Thought
I might have sex last night, too, because I was feeling kinda
strange....I think I was horny, but it's been so long that I
might have just had to pee, was hard to tell. BUT...That Baby
was still awake at 1:00am and when he decided to sleep (on his
tummy next to me) I went to sleep as well.
At
that time, Hubby went downstairs to make himself a peanut butter
and pickle sandwich. HA! I know this because I woke after a
little bit and he wasn't in bed so I snuck downstairs to see if he
was up watching porn on pay per view
By
the way, sneaking downstairs means that you have to avoid the
creaks in the stairs by walking down them like you just got
pounded hard by the entire varsity football team, stepping
wide-legged with your feet on the edges of the stairs. Picture
that.
Now
it's 7:30am and I've been up since 6:00am. I'm a little annoyed
that YET AGAIN I was unable to wake Sleeping Beauty (Hubby) so
that maybe, MAYBE, I could finally sleep in after months and
months and months of requesting that pleasure.
No
such luck for me, our tragic lady.
I
didn't fucking yell at him this time around, though. I just
kinda got up, and as I carried That Baby downstairs I said to the
wee one, "The Toddler is a daddy's girl, The Eldest is
growing up and won't need me much longer and is annoyed by my
presence most of the time as it is, and maybe you...my smiley
little troll who is not showing signs of being my sickly
kid after all, but is signs of being my very intelligent
kid, instead...maybe you were born on my birthday for a reason.
Maybe it means that you and I should leave and go be intelligent
together, alone, you and me."
Then
I took a shower and put on a pot of coffee and cleaned up dog
vomit on the porch and threw in a load of laundry and stood at
the dishwasher for a good minute or two debating whether or not
I should run the dishwasher or save the dirty dishes until after
lunch.
I'm
saving them until after lunch.
And
I hope that's going to remain my biggest decision of the day.
My
stuff.
One more thing...I'd like The Eldest and his friend,
you-know-who, to stop messing with my stuff. I already told you
about the 20-year-old painting that now dons a blue crayola
mustache, well yesterday when I came down to my desk someone
had punched holes with a screwdriver into some photographs that
were lying here.
Have
I ever told you that someone also painted my keyboard and
my monitor with purple fingernail polish?
There's
more. Someone broke an Elmo doll, someone punched
out the eyes of another dolly, and there's more and more and
more.
Yeah.
So yesterday when I found another one of my daughter's dolls and it had red
paint all over it's ugly little bald head because, so I'm told, someone
threw it against the red painted door down here....well I
went ballistic. I started yelling and yelling and "He's not
welcomed here anymore if he doesn't stop ruining all of my
stuff!"
Guess
who was standing outside the kitchen door at the time?
Yeah.
Someone was standing outside the kitchen door at the time
so I may have scared off my son's best friend.
Good
going, mom.
Bleh.
Loud is not allowed. I keep forgetting that.
Welp...have
a nice day. I'm gonna try drinking out on the porch again today.
Something tells me that it's gonna taste like liquid death again
and give me a
headache and drive me onto the living room sofa,
though.
This
day better feel like it's lasting a million years. And I will
not cry. Nope. I won't. I forbid it.
How
about Chinese for dinner tonight? Sounds good to me.
July
16, 2004
She kissed a
goat.
The Toddler loves animals. She has an affinity for them. And
it's not a casual love...it's LOVE as in screaming like she's 13
and at a Backstreet Boy's concert.
She
does that when around other people's doggies and around goats.
We
went to the zoo today, and she kissed a goat. Several goats,
really.
Yucky.
He
likes to sleep on his tummy.
That Baby likes to do this. I know it's a no no so I only let
him do this when I can keep an eye on him.
I've
been at my computer for only 10 minutes and I've already made 3
trips to look at him.
And
about baby safety and how we all know so much more than our
parents did when they were raising kids and how it's a MIRACLE
that we all survived...does this mean that we, being more knowledgeable
about dangers, now have to behave like retards without any
logic? Does knowledge come hand in hand with ridiculousness?
NEVER
allow your baby to sleep on his tummy. What if I'm sitting right
there looking at him? Is that ok? Or, what if I run and check on
him every couple of minutes? Is that ok?
A
pediatric nurse would say "no" and look at me like I
was the spawn of Satan.
Why
do people act stupid when they get smarter? Ever wonder that?
It
annoys me.
He
likes to cause trouble.
The Eldest is 12. That says a lot, but what it doesn't say is
that he will open up his cute little yapper and say the
darnedest things. Like this afternoon on the porch with Hubby
and my mother, Worse Case Scenario Woman...
A
little background is in order: Today at the zoo when Hubby, The
Eldest, The Toddler and I were making our merry way to the farm
animal portion, we passed by a guy and his girlfriend, Big
Jiggly Tits. This girl's tits were standing at attention, pushed
up and out and just oh so jiggly. She also had an ugly tattoo on
them, some graffiti-looking lack of good judgment.
After
we passed Big Jiggly Tits I said to Hubby with a smirk "You
gonna be ok?"
I
wanted to make sure he hadn't grown wood faint
in the presence of such magnificent tatas.
The
Eldest overheard this and said, "What you say to dad?"
then he chuckled. He obviously had noticed Big Jiggly Tits as
well.
SO -
at home on the porch with Hubby and Worse Case Scenario Woman,
The Eldest apparently brought this subject up, as if Hubby
wanted to sit next to his mother-in-law and talk about boobs
with my son...boobs that didn't belong to me.
The
Eldest got into a bit of trouble after that. What a flappy
yapper, jeezmo.
Guess
what else I did today?
I made a triple batch of chocolate chip cookie dough. Then I did
as Martha had instructed me on the tele a few years back...I
made my little teaspoon-sized cookie dough balls, laid them separated
from one another on a plate (Martha used a cookie sheet), and
froze them. Once frozen, I removed them from the plate and put
them all together in an empty ice cream bucket and popped them
back into the fridge.
This
way, I will have perfectly portioned cookie dough balls to pull
out of the freezer whenever I want to make a batch off cookies,
and the perfectly portioned cookie dough balls won't be all
stuck together because I first froze them separately before
dumping them all together in the bucket.
I'm
making my case for being a stay-at-home mother and housewife.
How am I doing?
July
15, 2004...later
My naked
baby.
I deleted some earlier stuff because it contained, like, my
grocery list. Hard up for material, are we?
ANYHOW
- Grandpa, referred to as Gah Gah by The Toddler, was holding
That Baby outside on the porch, naked. Meaning, That Baby was
naked, not grandpa. And grandpa was fanning That Baby with a
newspaper. Twas hot and That Baby was hot.
I
just stepped away from my 'puter to change The Toddler's
diapers, and a small round piece of poop hopped out of the
diaper and went rolling across the floor, stopping on a blanket
that has Elmo pictured all over it. It stopped in a picture of
Elmo's mouth.
I
picked it up with my fingers and dropped it in the toilet.
This
is my life.
Oh...don't
worry, I washed my hands.
Now
I think I'll go wash my eyeballs because if I don't I might see
Elmo with a turd in his mouth whenever we pop in a video to
watch Elmo's
World, and maybe he'll look right at me and say "Elmo
wants to know more about poop! Don't you?"
The
Toddler is now walking around with an empty ice cream bucket over her
head, bumping into things.
I
think I'll let her do this for awhile. It amuses me.
July
15, 2004
House of Wart
First The Eldest had a wart on his toe. Half a year later, I
developed that large wart on my finger during my final
pregnancy. Then Hubby got a wart on the bottom of his foot. Now
The Toddler has a wart on her hand.
We're
the Oogy Family.
I'm
having a reoccurring daydream/daymare...they're interchangeable:
I get to work on Monday. I'm called into a conference room with
my boss and the HR girl. I'm informed that my job has been
eliminated, I am given a parting interview, I am asked for my
badge and for all of my computer passwords, I am given a severance
check (that's the daydream part), I am escorted back to my desk
where I collect my things, then I am escorted to the door.
I
drive home and quietly enter the house. I grab myself a beer
from the fridge and go to sit out on the porch. My husband finds
me out there a while later and asks why I'm home and why I'm
drinking a beer at 9:00 in the morning. I tell him that I've
been fired and that I have 9 weeks severance. I point to the
check.
I
then ask him if it'd be ok if I get a job in a flower shop where
I'd earn half of what I earn now, then I ask him if there are
any openings at Wal-Mart, instead. Then I stand up, laugh like a
pirate, face the edge of the porch then run and leap off of it.
But
it's only 2 feet off of the ground and I walk back up onto the
porch with a sprained my ankle, feeling like I did the time when
I attempted to make a melodramatic, flourishing exit out the
door of our house during a marital fight, only to have to open
up the door again after it slammed shut because my purse strap
was caught on the interior doorknob.
July
14, 2004...2:20pm
heck Someone has drawn a blue crayon mustache on a 20-year-old
painting I did of Debbie Harry. And I am
not pleased. It's the only remnant I have left of the days when
I used to be interesting and talented.
And
The Toddler doesn't seem to be enjoying her nap. I must be
strong and not go in there, though. It's difficult because I sit
here wondering if she's dropped her blankie or her binkie or a
ding dong thingamabob or boo boo bear or a flippity flappity
floppy fuckernut over the railing of her crib where she
can't reach it, and that this may be causing her great distress.
BUT...if
I go in there to rescue whatever she may or may not have
dropped, she'd see my beautiful face and never go down for her
nap and that would mean that this evening I'd have to stick at
least a dozen of those miniature flags from around the world up
my ass and dance the rumba across the living room floor in order
to keep her from falling asleep too early.
And
I've already gotten my exercise today - I lifted my daughter up
and let her fall slide down the slide. Then I
pushed her on the swing, which she rides like a trucker, by the
way, swinging with a sippy cup of juice tucked between her legs.
All she's missing to complete that picture is a cigarette, one
of those stupid redneck polyester trucker caps which are so
unfortunately popular these days, 4 days worth of stubble,
and an
ample catalog of disparaging terms used for women.
And
a truck, of course.
July
14, 2004...8:00am
SHUT UP SHUT
UP SHUT UP! I've been
driven indoors by a noisy crow.
Take
that, cocksucker.
July
14, 2004
7:00am That Baby
got up for a bottle at 5:30am, then went back to sleep. The
Toddler is still asleep.
Me?
I've already done a load of laundry, ran to the store for donuts
because The Eldest has been begging for me to do that all week,
and now I sit here.
I
can't sleep. God I hate mornings. So depressing. I think of
everything in the mornings, about going back to work, about how
I'm supposed to go in there today for some shindig, about how I misread
an invitation to an associated shindig that happened yesterday
so I missed that, too, about medical bills about the spider
haven that once used to be my basement bathroom where I just had
to spend far too much time on the pot staring at mama spiders
and baby spiders while knowing that they were probably staring
at me too.
What
is with this morning depression? It sucks. It's sucks so badly
that it's something that I would relate to hell and wish upon my
worst enemies.
It's
beautiful outside. Simply gorgeous. Has been all week. And this
coffee I picked up at the store is really really bad. I make
better coffee than this...and I make bad coffee.
Guess
what? Tonight's dinner is hamburger hot dish with noodles and
tomatoes and mushrooms. I made it last night so I don't have to
make it today.
I'm
weird.
July
13, 2004
I think I
know what panty liners are for. I've
always wondered about panty liners, why you would put a skinny
little napkin in your underwear each day.
What's
dripping out of there? I mean, panty liners are different than
sanitary napkins, right, so there's got to be a leaky faucet of
some type going on.
My
period ended on July 9th. It's the 13th and I woke up and the
army fatigue shorts I fell asleep in last night were soaked in
blood.
How
pleasant.
And
yes, they were soaked. I'm not exaggerating. I wouldn't blog
about a drop of blood on my cool army shorts.
Well...if
this is what I'm gonna have deal with for the next 10 years as a
result of my tubal...I'm inclined to stick a tampon in there
each morning just in case but if I did that things might
get rotten. A cooter's got to breathe, am I right?
Sucks
to be a woman at times. I believe we all have the right to
bitch. The Non-Bleeders (men) will just have to put up with
it.
Shut
UP! Jesus
Flippin' Burgers I offered The Eldest and Jimmy the Masturbator
each a buck and a quarter so they can ride their bikes up to the
store and get some gum or a candy bar or a bag of chips or a
slurpy or SOMETHING and what kind of kids would turn that down?!
Retarded
ones who'd rather stay indoors throwing shit around and
hollering than go outside to play.
I
just IMed my hubby this:
autumn512: well, I'm ready to vacate this area because the boys are being loud and obnoxious and I'm ready to kill them.
Know
what I found when I first came down here 20 minutes ago? Jimmy
the Masturbator with a teeny tiny toad in a pair of tweezers.
More
current IM stuff with Hubby...he sent me a link to view a box
for a computer he wants to start collecting parts for so as to
build himself a faster machine:
autumn512: send me the link again? Hubby:
http://www.cmicomputer.com/cgi-bin/quikstore.cgi?product=cspw7650ps0&detail=yes autumn512: ok. I know nothing about these things. it's pretty? Hubby: ok that's what I wanted to hear, that it was pretty Hubby: it has lights and a window its so cool autumn512: it would look nice in the bedroom...cause
it's blue.
I'm
the Better Homes and Gardens representative on computer
hardware.
And
more...be patient, there's a punchline. You wouldn't expect
anything less from me, would you?
Hubby: I want to get pc parts piece by piece Hubby: so one week I get a case Hubby: maybe another I get a motherboard and processor Hubby: another I get memory Hubby: until I get everything I need for a computer system autumn512: that sounds like a good idea hunny Hubby: ok Hubby: I have a networkcard and cdrom and a burner already,
as well as a floppy autumn512: no, i think you have a stiffy...most of the time, anyways
July
12, 2004...10:00pm
Current
status. 1. The
Toddler is in her crib making primordial sounds again.
2.
I'm sitting here watching That Baby swing in his swing, wide
awake after a day of sleeping. Yay for him, he's such a good
sleeper! *groans*
3.
Hubby gets home at 3:30am tomorrow morning and the satellite is
out in the family room and the living room. We only got tv
reception in The Eldest's room and our bedroom...where people
sleep for Pete's sake. That's nice.
4. I
moved the rocking chair up to our attic bedroom and installed a
window air conditioner up there since we don't get the central air
in the attic and it's 1 million degrees outside oh lord why
can't it just be nice and neither too hot nor too cold.
ANYHOW...I
can't rock That Baby at 1:00am without some stupid shit like
VH1's "The Best Week Ever" on the tube...I'd fall
asleep and That Baby would slip to the floor and die crushed
under the gliding glider of the gliding rocking chair.
So I
set up camp in our hot fucking humid fucking attic bedroom....a
room that's actually very pretty and cozy but still Christ
Almighty fricking Jesus it's so far away from the toilet and the
fridge.
5. I called the satellite television's tech support
line...twice. The first time informing them of our
"switching box problem" and "what is a switching
box" and "you have us on a maintenance agreement
right?" They said it was probably a
problem with the dish itself and that they would get someone out
to fix it on Thursday between 8 and 12 and that it was probably
due to a problem with the installation (read "crappy
installation" read "crappy installer").
The second time I called back in hysterics
telling them as follows:
"I'm
on my last week of maternity leave and I have a little baby I
have to rock in front of the television at 1 in the morning and
a 12-year-old boy who doesn't play sports and because I'm on my
last week of maternity leave are you going to pay for my
Blockbuster DVD and video game rentals because we're retarded
and none of our bikes have air in the tires and you can't ride a
bike at 10:00 in the evening anyways when you have a toddler and
an infant at home and and and and and and and you have to get
out here before Thursday because that's like 3 days away and and
and and and...this week was supposed to be perfect and stress
free and and and I only got to start watching channel 4 last
week after years of not being able to see it because watching
the evening news was like watching scrambled porn and and and
..."
Dish
Network Telephone Support Specialist Robert, "I have a 3
week old, I know what you're talking about."
Me
"I hate you. Don't try to minimize my pain by associating
yourself with it."
Actually
I
didn't say that, but I thought it. Instead I told him to
write up in his Oracle or Peoplesoft software program he was
probably using to say that caller was very happy with my service
and to give the previous phone tech support person the same
kudos from me because I know what it's like, blah blah blah I'm
too damn nice.
SO -
Dish Network will be out between 8 and 12 on Thursday to fix
their crap shit installation job, but they will call us if they
get an opening before then.
I think I'll dig out of the
vacuum cleaner all the wood shavings and insulation I had to
vacuum up after the Dish Net installation guy came...because he was a pig
and didn't clean up the poisonous chokables he created and left
on my little kid's playroom floor.
Bastard.
Today's
Lesson? Whining and hysterics don't work unless you're married
to the guy.
And... Wanna
see a cute baby? She's breathtaking, but not in a Seinfeld
way (don't ask questions, watch the show on reruns).
Some
babies are better looking than others. Just like grown-ups.
The
Eldest was a beautiful baby like Ellie. I'd like to give her mom
and dad my condolences in advance...when Ellie is about 9 months
and going through the "stranger fright" stage, they
won't be able to leave home without Ellie pitching a fit because
people will be coming up to them at the grocery and stuff to goo
goo gah gah at their baby because she's so damn cute, making her
scream in terror.
Congratulations.
She's simply a doll.
July
12, 2004
Oh my
fricking christ... The
Eldest...he mowed the lawn. First time.
Amazing.
Did
a good job, too. Too bad he turned down the 3 bucks I was gonna
give him because I apparently didn't stick it back into my
pocket so when he changed his mind later saying, "Oh
ok...I'll take the 3 bucks", it was nowhere to be found.
I
was folding and putting away the laundry when I made the initial
offer of pittance, so those crumbly ol' one dollar bills are
either folded in a towel in the linen closet, in The Toddler's
sock drawer, or in my underwear drawer.
And
I don't feel like searching for it. Too bad, haha.
I'll
find that cash in a month, having forgotten all about it, and
then I'll do that little !Holy Cow I Just Found Money! dance.
Don't
remind me. And Stuff. That this
is my last week of maternity leave. I got up bright and early
this morning and kept myself busy until 11:00am...the time when
my morning depression usually wears off.
I
took the weed wacker to the edges of the lawn and gardens, I
picked up dog crap, I transferred meat for the week from the
basement freezer into the fridge, I made breakfasts and made up
a dinner menu for the whole week, I went grocery shopping and
actually stuck to my list, I folded and put away 3 loads of
laundry which seems to multiply exponentially you put some in
and more appears and maybe if I stopped doing laundry it might
just all disappear.
And
I made lunches...3 of them, for Hubby, The Eldest, and The
Toddler.
Oh...and
I drilled holes in the wall to finally run some cables for the
satelite television so I don't have to keep the door to the
creepy basement closet open all the time.
God
I'm boring.
July
11, 2004
Kids. I was at a
family birthday party today when I reached into the bowl of
pretzel sticks and helped myself to a few.
When
I finished, The Eldest and his cousin told me that the resident
dog had also reached into the bowl of pretzel sticks and helped himself
to a few.
After
something like that I always feel as if I'll turn into a
werewolf when the moon if full...seeing as how I've ingested dog
drool.
That
sort of thing could be interesting.
July
10, 2004...10:41pm
Bah! Just
kidding!
Sea
Lab 2021 is on. Too funny to keep me in my depression.
I
think I'll get the DVD and watch Sea Lab 24/7.
And
if you don't know what Sea Lab 2021 is, then you need Adult
Swim, weekends, on the Cartoon Network. You need that very very
badly.
July
10, 2004...10:07pm
You know
what's funny? Waking up
every morning with a lump in your throat because you have to get
up.
That's
funny.
That,
I think, is really really funny.
On
another note... My kids
are cute. Really, really cute. Cute like if you were to say
otherwise...right now at this very moment....I'd probably rip
you limb from limb and feed your shitty bowels to my dog,
Kramer.
Then
I'd watch as he puked them up and re-ate them.
July
10, 2004...9:20pm
Party! It's
Saturday night!
I
really wish I didn't have to return to work in a week. Maybe I
won't. Maybe I'll tell my Hubby that. I wonder what he'd say.
Call
P.E.T.A. My lovely Saturday was as I predicted it would be at 6:30am this
morning. Hubby slept from 7:30am until 1:30pm. I stopped trying
to get him up from "his nap" at 11:00am.
SO
The Toddler and The Eldest and I went and caught more teeny tiny
toads down at the pond while Hubby and That Baby slept in the
living room.
These
toads are about the size of your thumbnail. The Eldest has been
trying to feed them to his gecko. The other day he had some
of these same toads (now deceased) and he had tied a piece of thread
around one of their legs to use as a leash.
It
was really cute...in a sick sort of way.
Oh,
the joy of using smaller-brained animals for pleasure. You can
relate...after all,
I'm sure all your poodles feel real stupid in their little knit
sweaters, so fuck off.
July
10, 2004
There goes my
lovely Saturday. Bye bye. As I said
in my previous post, we got DSL. (We're protected so drop dead
before you even think of it because we'll capture your IP and
when we do we'll be going on a nice little trip down to the
swampy river on a moonless night...you, me, and some rat
poison...and no witnesses.)
ANYHOW
- Hubby, true to form, is like a boy with a new toy. It's 6:40am
and he hasn't been to bed yet.
Yes,
That Baby woke up a couple times for a feeding, but pretty much
went to bed. I believe Hubby was playing on the internet. Or
something.
"I
wasn't tired," said he.
"Well
have a nice time falling asleep later this morning or this
afternoon or this evening for 4, 5, 6 hours leaving me alone to
care for all the little kiddies when we should be enjoying our
scant time together when it's gonna be 85 and beautiful.
85
and humid, but beautiful none the less because all of us
mothers know how it SUCKS when it's 85 and rainy on Saturday. Am
I right? Yes I am.
My
plan was to simply plant the garden hose and sprinkler in the
yard. When The Toddler wakes up and eats her breakfast, I was
going to slather her little body in sunscreen before dressing
her so that at any given time today I can strip her down and
send her through the sprinkler.
Summertime
is the best time of the year for children. When I have my
babies, I always look at them and think things like "You
have so much to look forward to...ice cream, pony rides at the
fair, fireworks, riding a bike, running through the sprinkler
when it's 85 and humid."
*sigh*
To
be a child again. OH - check this out:
Angelina
Jolie humped me I've
mentioned before that I've given my Hubby the gift of a fantasy
- me and Angelina Jolie. I know men like that sort of thing and
because Angelina Jolie is the only woman who could ever cause me
to go lesbian, I'm ok with obliging him with this school boy
fantasy. Even though it's gross.
Well
last night I had a dream. Here it is:
I
was in the kitchen fully dressed and wearing a bathrobe on top
of that. I slipped on the kitchen floor and dropped to my hands
and knees and Angelina Jolie, fully dressed as well, humped me
like a dog. Barking.
Not
exactly what Hubby would have imagined, I supposed, but that's
the best my sleeping heterosexual mind could conjure up.
Welp...sounds
like the baby is awake. I'll let Hubby tend to him. He's awake,
afterall.
Today
is gonna be very lonely. Just like every other day.
*sigh*
July
9, 2004...10:50pm
Yay...kinda. What a
frigging night. I'm plum tuckered out but I don't dare lay down
because I'll just have to get up again right when sleep starts
making it's cozy little way into my brain.
I
hate to be disturbed when that's happening. It's best to just
stay awake because then I'm a pleasant sleepy mother as opposed
to an unpleasant sleepy mother.
The
Toddler is in bed doing this screechy thing she does. She's not
crying...it's hard to describe. I don't think any other creature
on this planet still makes this sound. I think it may be a
prehistoric holdover seeping through. I hope she evolves soon.
That
Baby is in his swing, napping. He's actually been less whiney
this evening. And he's starting to coo. Working his mouth like
he wants to say "Hello Mommy. I'm going to poop now, and
when I'm finished I'd like you to clean me up so I am comfortable.
After that bit of business, I'd like you to hold me and rock me until I fall asleep. Do we have an
agreement?"
But
it just comes out as "ehhhhhh ewwww?"
He's
starting this cooing business sooner than my other two did. God
I hope that means he's smart.
I'm
gonna pray real hard on that.
The
Toddler and I ate all my Pringles. We're going to cut that shit
out. I'm also putting her on 2% milk because, well, I know she's
still pretty much a baby but that girl has developed a spare
tire. Not a cute one, but a jiggly "I'm gonna be a porker and
get picked on in school" one.
Hubby
hates it when I say things like that, but it's true. She's
genetically predisposed to being fat, and I'm allowing her too
large of portions even though the food is healthy (except for
the Pringles), and I'm 86ing the Goldfish, too, and returning to
orange slices or half a banana or a "let's share mommy's
yogurt" for snacks.
Mother's
intuition. Good eating habits start now and I've gotten lazy
with her about it. Time to correct my sloppiness before it ruins
her health and when she's old enough...her self-esteem.
2
points for this mommy.
GOD
I hate it when little flying bugs fly at your face! One just
flew right at my face, towards my eyeball. How rude.
Last
night, while outside on the porch, some kinda tiny bug actually
completed his kamikaze flight into my eyeball so I had to do
that icky "don't mind me, I'm just picking a bug out of my
eye" dance.
And
why won't my fucking ISP let me online?! Fricking Netzero. I
can't wait until Hubby installs all the DSL stuff that arrived
today.
Wow...satellite
television and DSL all in one week. Hello 21st century.
July
9, 2004
Yay...finally. We have
godparents for That Baby. Now we can get him baptized so he
doesn't burn in hell.
Phew!
(And
no, hunny, you're not gonna burn in hell because you're not
baptized...you're too patient and loving and honest of a man.
*kiss* That Baby on the other hand? Who knows, he might turn out
to be corrupted by me. His baptism is his Eternity Insurance.)
And...what
the hell? Yesterday
I was bleeding to death, but this morning the tampon was so dry
I just about had to get the pliers to pull it out.
Furthermore I kinda
stalled out on my diet. I think it's been my period. I find
potato chips of all flavors very comforting during this time of
the month. I'd eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if they
didn't give me Salty Tongue. When that happens, I can't taste
any other food for a day or so.
But...I
gotta get back on track because it's almost Renaissance Festival
time and I want to look ravishing in my outfit.
Plus...I'll
be 40 in 3 years and I've heard that's the turning point for
easy weight loss...like, if you are heavy at 40 it'll be a
bigger job to get rid of it.
If
that's true then I've got 3 years to diet. Now...where did I
hide those Pringles?
Sidebar
Comment Occasionally,
on my past blogs, I have felt compelled to write the following
type of disclaimer...for the morons of the world:
What
I write here is the truth. I have enough material where I don't
need to make stuff up. But I also chose wording like the f-bomb
or poop or whatever to make it more interesting to read.
It's
a comedy. It's real, yet it's not.
And
I don't share everything with you, I just pick the most absurd
thoughts or events.
You
know what I do in the evenings? I fold and put away the laundry.
I make dinner. I dust and vacuum. I sing the rubber ducky song
to my daughter while I give her a bath and I sit on the floor
and play kitchen with my daughter or read books with her while I
hold my baby and talk to my older son.
During
the school year, I do all that while helping my older son with
his homework.
I
wipe butts and noses and wipe away tears. I reassure people that
they are loved and that they are beautiful.
And
my big trips out during the day are to the grocery, Pet Co, and
Wal-Mart.
I'm
not drinking whiskey and swinging naked from the ceiling fan.
Although, I'd like to do that if I had the time and didn't have
extra stuff on my thighs from being pregnant for two years.
So
do I have issues? Yeah, I do. And if you don't...well then
you're not alive.
My condolences
to your soulless shell of a body.
July
8, 2004...10:30pm
Acouplethings 1. I'm no
longer afraid of back-fat in light of the fact that I'm fricking
STARVING and there is still some fried chicken from the deli
left in the fridge and all I've eaten today is a bowl of Frosted
Flakes because they're great, and some Shitty Microwaved Hot Dog
skins.
2. The Toddler is asleep, and I don't know why.
3. Diddo on That Baby.
4. But I know they'll both wake soon. Because God hates me.
5. Worse Case Scenario
Woman's hair looks gorgeous. She stopped by tonight because
she couldn't find her house keys. She also told her hairdresser
that That Baby is whiney. Which is true. I think I'll wrap That
Baby in a bow and give him to my mother for....Thanksgiving. Any
holiday would be suitable for givings away of children. Don't
you agree?
6. I sent a naughty email to a family member, telling them that
they suck. But I also told them that I love them and that I'm an
ass, too. Does that make sense? No. It does not. ANYHOW...I'm
currently waiting for myself to feel remorse and regret over
that email. I haven't felt that yet. It will probably come with
the 4am feeding and BOY I can't wait! bleh.
7. Also as my Father sat on my sofa feeding
That Baby this evening I told him the following things:
Number
1 - "I'm losing my fricking mind."
Number 2 - "Tell mom her hair looks nice."
Number 3 - "If you had ever wished for your daughter to
have a kind, loving, caring, and patient husband...well your
wish came true."
Hi.
I have issues and I'm really comfy with that. I'm also hoping
that you all get to a point where you're really comfy with your
issues too because guess what? We all have them.
My
kids are cute. <- gratuitous bragging
July
8, 2004
plft. My period
is really starting to get on my nerves. Day 5, I woke up this
morning and the bed looked like someone had been murdered in it.
And
when soaking in bleach won't get blood out of a white cotton
sheet...then that's a lot of blood.
Bye
bye nice 250 count white cotton sheet that retails for $30.
Hello crappy ass sheet from Wal-Mart that retails for $6.87.
Or
mayhaps a 250 count white sheet with brown splotches that now
retails for a buck and a quarter could be the next big thing in
home decor. Mayhaps it might.
Mayhaps
it might not.
On
another note... We took
That Baby and The Toddler to the park today...the big park, not
the small park behind the school that had a pile of adult human
shit and a soiled t-shirt under the jungle gym when I went there
on Monday.
I
hate people.
Anyhow...went
to the big park and That Baby slept the entire time, even when I
was dropping him down the tunnel slide. And The Toddler had a
good time, except when we wouldn't let her go into the swamp
where a zillion bird foods baby toads were
hopping all over the place.
And...being
the super mom that I am...I forgot to bring a sandwich and a
drink for The Toddler even though we visited the big park during
lunch time. Ended up buying a microwaved hot dog and a bottle of
lemonade for $4.50 at the Gimme All Your Money For a Shitty
Microwaved Hot Dog Stand, and I ended up burning my fingers
ripping that shitty hot dog into bits small enough for The
Toddler to swallow.
And
I saw an Uber Mom there. Two little children nipping at her
heels as she paced around (that means she was standing up)
while breastfeeding her little tit-nibbler who appeared to be
only a couple weeks old.
When
That Baby was only a couple weeks old, I was still spending most
of my time in bed. Because I'm weak. And pathetic.
Well...at
least I don't have all that back-fat that Uber Mom and her
friend, The Not So Uber Mom, had.
So
there.
And
this is why I also threw my uneaten fried deli chicken and a
glass of 2% milk into the kitchen sink later on, in frustration,
when The Toddler didn't seem to want to take a nap. I don't want
back-fat. I fear back-fat.
That
was 30 minutes ago. I wonder if she's asleep now.
Maybe
I should go check. Maybe I should just continue to hide down
here in the cellar.
Boy...I
wish this was a wine cellar.
July
7, 2004...and
latererererer
I know
that page views are more important than hits when
analyzing web site activity. I'm not stupid. That
said...this new blog, Momster, has received almost 2500 hits
since it's beginning on June 10th.
And
53 page views on The Fourth of July? What the hell's the matter
with you people? You should have been swimming or picnicking. Or
something. 122 page views on July 5th is understandable, seeing
as a lot of folks had the day off, but well...yay for me.
Too
bad for my family and others I yap about, though. Neener.
Which
reminds me...I haven't spoke of Husband's penis, lately.
My
Husband's Penis I've
noticed that it's very clean. I'm just noticing this.
Allow me to explain -
During
sex I don't look at it much, but as I've said before in My
Bitchy Pregnancy he likes to whip it out when sex isn't even
an option and shake it in my
face saying "Woo Hoo!"
Usually,
I turn my head away. It's just so unexpected and
exasperating...like when I'm sitting on the sofa eating chips
and salsa and watching Home and Garden TV and pining away for a
pretty home as opposed to an ugly home, I don't necessarily
appreciate a penis in my face.
Well...he's
expressed displeasure in my reaction of late, so I've started
looking at it. Really really looking at his penis when it's wagged in
my face.
And
it's very clean. Not shiny, just clean. Like...lint-free. And
stuff.
July
7, 2004...and
laterer
Say "ahhhhhhhhh"
Maybe
I will eat That Baby afterall.
July
7, 2004...later
They're both
asleep And it's
chilly outside so blog-reading I go.
But
first...noodles. My very long time readers from my two previous
blogs may remember that I never refer to pasta as
"pasta". It's always "noodles" because I'm
from the midwest. Mkay? Midwesterners who refuse to call noodles
"noodles"are the same types of people who brag about
how they don't own a television and who drink bottled water
exclusively because the stuff that comes out of the tap is bad
for them...as opposed to the stuff that comes out of taps in a
Pepsi Cola factory.
Mountain
spring water, my ass. Ever taste mountain spring water? It's not
tasty. Let it get warm and you can smell the bird crap in it.
ANYHOW
- I'm preparing The Eldest some Rugrats Macaroni and
Cheese...it's the only macaroni and cheese he'll eat. I was
pondering this and I thought it must be the texture of those
funkily shaped noodles. Even though they are noodles like any
other noodle, they feel
different when you chew them...feel different then plain ol' macaroni.
Therefore, they are better tasting? But they're still just
noodles. I'm thinking way too much about this.
So I
made up this song:
Every
noodle is different
Every noodle is fine fine fine
Every noodle is different
And they're all kinda icky unless you put something on them like
cheese or alfredo sauce
And
now...I must go upstairs and check on the noodles cooking. I
hesitate to do this because I might hear That Baby, who might be
awake.
Ever
dread a baby? It's an odd sensation.
July
6, 2004
I'm glad I'm
not pregnant, but... I'm
bleeding to death.
And
if one more person reminds me that I have less than 2 weeks left
to my maternity leave, AND that I need to go into work next week
to help put on a party for someone which I began planning before
my maternity leave...I will kill them. With pain.
AND...party's
over. The weather is turning shit shit shitty again and I've run
out of vacation time and next week is leave without pay so the
next couple pay checks are gonna be tine tine tiny. Don't ask me
for any money. Or I'll kill you. With pain, even.
July
6, 2004
Satellite
Television Got it
installed today.
What
kind of installation person drills holes in your floors and
walls, ripping out insulation and dropping wood shavings all
over a corner of an area obviously set up for small children to
play in...and then doesn't clean up after himself?
Dink.
So
far so good on the satellite tv. With cable...we got maybe a
handful of channels that came in kinda clearly. The rest were
crap. The cable company was no help so we are dumping them. And
it's gonna be cheaper each month.
Now...to
find those porn channels and lock them from all the televisions
except for the one in Hubby's and my bedroom. AND...lock out pay
per view channels, too. I'm so wiley.
First
Big Boo Boo The
Eldest's friend, Jimmy the Masturbator, is sleeping over here again.
My son decides to get a wet diaper out of the trash and throw it
at Jimmy's head. After that, the diaper managed to end up in a
corner and that old diaper gel stuff gets all the hell all over
the place.
I
vacuum it up because The Eldest said, "It's not coming
up!" when he tried to do it.
"Put
some elbow grease into it, " I said right before I took
over the job.
SO -
I'm putting the vacuum away and when I'm closing the door to the
room where it's kept I think to myself "Fuckaroo, why isn't
this damn door shutting."
Well,
mother, it's not shutting because The Toddler's hand is in the
way!
Oh.
My. God. Smashed little booger pickers. And the SCREAMING.
She's
on her second Popsicle now...she got tired of my hugs and kisses
and wanted to play in her kitchen instead. Banana Popsicles
don't stain. I'm hoping.
And
furthermore... Hubby
thought the following was blog-worthy:
I
was sitting out on the porch earlier and I said these two things
consecutively - "I'm gonna go in and look at the baby. I'm
hungry."
Two separate
statements, not meant to be connected in anyway.
I would never eat my baby.
July
6, 2004...smack dab 1:00am
That Baby. I've
changed the name of The Baby to That Baby...as in That Baby."
Child...please
sleep unencumbered by my arms.
That
Baby has developed the jumpies over the last couple days. Anyone
who's had an iddy biddy baby knows what the jumpies are. That's
when the babe will be resting comfortably on his soft blanket or
in his swing or in his car seat when out of the fucking blue his
body will jerk and his arms will go flailing. It's an uncomfy
sleep. It's the brand spanking new nervous system getting tweaked.
And
it's ruining my life.
Not
really. Just at the moment because I'm feeling selfish. That
Baby is soooooooo lucky he's sooooooo cute.
*kisses
baby forehead*
But
unless bundled up and held, That Baby is unhappy.
Well.
I hope my arm pit smells nice because that's where his head is
currently nestled. And typing with one hand is a really cool
talent I hope not to master.
And
why aren't I cuddling with him in bed? Because...oddly
enough...I'm not sleepy and until we get our Dish Network
tomorrow, the reception on the tv in the bedroom is CRAP.
I
should go chat with strangers. Piss them off. That's always fun.
Thing is...it'd take me 10 fucking minutes to type "Hello
room, my name is Autumn and I think you all deserve my finger up
your ass."
*clown hat curly hair smiley face"
- That's from South Park, for those of you who still hate and
refuse to watch that stupid infantile show the way I once did
and now I look forward to seeing it because I'm a dirty American
who...as 54% of Iraqis polled believe...act just like those
American prison guards who posed with naked Iraqi prisoners.
Which
was damn funny, imho.
If I
was in charge of feeding and housing folks who wanted to kill
me when the ultimate goal of my folk's presence is to get their shitass country
to a state where someday they can do things like
vaccinate their own children at medical clinics that are medical
clinics and not military arsenals, and if chopping their
heads off and posting those pictures on the internet wasn't an
option, well....I
might even wrap a ribbon around a penis, photograph it,
and send it to the penis's grandmother in the form of a postcard.
<@:)
July
5, 2004...10:30pm?
God Dangity
Bangity Always on
the lookout for new ways to cuss.
The
Toddler is finally asleep. I've discovered, after many weeks of
worrying lately that she'll kill herself if I allow her to cry
herself to sleep on rough nights, that she will NOT kill
herself.
Have
fun crying yourself to sleep when you're overly tired and don't
want to stop watching Pooh, sweety. Sorry, but you're safe in
your crib. Until, of course, the time comes when I hear a thump
and find you on the floor. Don't worry...girl's got LOTSA
natural padding. I suspect she'll bounce.
Now...if
The Baby would just sleep for one solid hour so I can finish
typing this sentence, all will be joyful and good. Little boy is
sleeping solid hours in the middle of the night, and I'm
complaining.
*waves
bye bye to the days when he'd take long daytime naps so mommy
could sit on her ass when the sun's still shining*
Let's
see...why is he crying now. He's fed. He's cuddled. Maybe he
didn't finish pooping. I shall go check.
10
mins later - yup, more shit. He's the only one of my children
who has fussed because of wet or turdy pants. The older two
never did, or still don't, complain about it...they'd both be
walking around with crap glued to their asses if I wasn't a consummate
piss and poop detector.
And
why do boys piss out of their diapers, making clothing changes
something more akin to Nascar pit maintenance? The other day,
Hubby and I had to change The Baby's clothes 3 times in less than an
hour.
It's
the penis. You know it's the penis. Silly little pecker
is already causing trouble.
Just
so you know - I just put him in his swing and told him that he's
"happy happy happy". I don't think he's buying that proclamation.
The
Ice Cream Man If you
don't get, or have never gotten, any Ice Cream Men driving
through your neighborhood in brightly colored trucks playing Ice
Cream Man Music (tinny, music box, carnival-like tunes) in order
to draw out the small children in droves so that they can sell
over-priced ice cream and other assorted frozen treats...then
skip this because you will not appreciate it.
On
Saturday, Hubby and I had an early evening tryst up in our attic
bedroom. Hubby was overwhelmed by my breasts while I was folding
clothes in the laundry room, so he hustled me up to our love
nest and molested me.
So
we are up there and the windows were open and it was raining.
I'm on my back (gotta paint you a picture, mkay?) and the top of
my head was facing these windows that have a bird's eye view of
the street.
Suddenly
I hear it...that tinny Ice Cream Man music, and it's getting
closer. Hubby's pumping away and I tilt my head back so I can
get a look out the window and I say "Here comes the Ice
Cream Man."
I
continued to watch as Hubby took care of his business, and I was
suddenly struck by how once-in-a-lifetime this was. There goes
the Ice Cream Man in his little truck, toodling down the street
in the rain while Hubby pumps pumps pumps away, and the Ice
Cream Man is playing an instrumental version of the following
song:
Do
your ears hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?
Can you tie them in a knot?
Can you tie them in a bow?
Can you throw them over your shoulder
Like a Continental Soldier?
Do your ears hang low?
I
could not stop laughing. Pump pump pump, and I'm laughing.
Hubby
later commented that it was the "strangest sex I've ever
had."
Would
have been stranger had I interrupted his work by asking him if
he had 2 bucks for a orange creamsicle.
Update
on The Baby - right now it would appear that he's finally bought into the "happy happy happy"
in your swing sales pitch I was trying to sell him a couple
minutes ago. Kinda. He's got that scrunch-up
"I'm not that happy" face thing going on about
him and his hands are in a frozen karate chop position, but he's
quiet and resting. Perhaps I'll slow the swing down a bit...he
may have that "I'm flying! I'm flying! No wait...I'm
falling!" thing going on about him, too.
AND
- newsworthy stuff here....gross, but newsworthy I got my
period yesterday. It's slow, it's mucusy, but it's bright red
bloody and definitely a period.
Yay
for me. And for the world.
July
2, 2004
Fourth of
July Weekend Hamburger
- check
Chicken - check
Hot Dogs - check
Famous Dave's Barbeque Sauce - check
Watermelon - check
Corn on the Cob - check
Fireworks - check
Sparklers - check
Sunscreen, Bug Spray, and Beer - check
Rain - check
GODDAMMIT!
So
they say that it's supposed to rain tonight and "off and
on" all day tomorrow. That doesn't help me. Off and on
means that #1 it's gonna be cloudy all day and #2 when it's not
raining it's gonna be wet.
They
better be right about it NOT raining on Sunday. Asswipes.
And
happy birthday to The Only Girl I Ever Kissed.
And
if anyone bombs us or blows something up over this holiday
weekend, forget The Marines, I'll smack the shit out of them
myself. I'm tired of their shit. Grow the hell up ya stone-age
motards.
And
somebody better put a bullet in Saddam's head because I don't
think I can take 2, 3, 4 years of a fucking trial. He's guilty,
mkay?
My
heart couldn't take it...especially in light of how were getting
satellite tv next Tuesday. 120 channels of shit including a gazillion
circle jerk news channels.
Have
a good one. I'm alone tonight with the kids so this means 9
hours of...christ...I think we'll just eat Popsicles all night
and wait for that Indian to cut it out with his fucking rain
dance that's about to ruin my weekend.
Wanna
beersicle? I do.
July
1, 2004
Thanks, kid.
Took The Eldest to the doctor for his 12 year well child
physical.
The
doctor goes through a whole series of questions about
his health, school, family, lifestyle, you name it. It's like the goddamn
Spanish Inquisition.
Doctor
gets to this question, "In the last year, have you be
subject to...at school or at home or anywhere else...harassment, bullying, abuse..."
What
does my kid do? He turns and LOOKS at me.
I'm
looking back at him thinking "why are you looking at me?
Stop looking at me."
He
just keeps looking at me, and then back at the doctor, then back
at me again and the doctor is seeing this.
Doctor
says, "If I were really concerned, I'd have mom leave the
room before asking you these questions..."
FINALLY,
The Eldest said that everything was fine. Thank you. Thank
you so much.
Afterwards,
I had to explain to my boy that just because I get mad at
him when he dismantles and renders into a thousand tiny pieces any
electronic appliance in our home that hasn't been turned on in more than a
week and then buries the evidence in the garden...well
that doesn't constitute abuse.
Christ
almighty.
Anyone
else have a child who threatens to sue you or call the police if
you touch their arm and block their way to keep them from walking away from you
while you're in the middle of reading them the riot act?
That,
my friends, is parent abuse. Not the other way around. Holy
fiddlyfuck, let me do my job, son.
July
2004 Archives
How
cornball was that?
This,
boys and girls, is a house centipede. We have lots of them in
our house which means that there is an underlying water problem
somewhere.
