Well, fuck you very much to the bastards at Verizon, all that crap finally took it's toll on my beloved dinosaur of a computer, and now the poor thing will not even load her desktop. I am currently typing this from my Dad's computer, which he generously brought with him for the Christmas weekend so I could check my email and all that.
I seriously wish I could sue Verizon. It was their software that caused the demise of my machine (with a ton of digital photos which I stupidly didn't save to disk). When I packed up the modem package to send back to them, after it took 2 fucking hours to get my service disconnected, I wrote on the box "Shove this up your server" in a red sharpie. The girl at UPS certainly didn't find it as amusing as I did.
Thank god with the holidays comes the gift of alcohol from co-workers of Rick who have no idea what to really get him. Don't you love the fact that a generic co-worker gift always seems to consist of liquor? I figure if I pace myself I could probably stay schnockered well into the new years.
There's more going on in the house of the Hoodlum, of course, but I don't care to go into it at the present time. It's not in the spirit of the holidays. Suffice to say that our move and the ensuing holiday season has been one hell of a rollercoaster here, with mainly more downs than ups. But we're getting better, and getting through it. Ho Ho Ho, everyone, hope your holiday season is going well, here's to a white christmas, and I'll see ya'll in the new year.
If anyone wants to reach me, you can email me through my profile. I am running to Kinko's to pay those jerkoffs 40 cents a minute once a week to check my email. I'm sorry, for $24 an hour, those assholes should include a lapdance with their net service. Okay, bye guys!
Friday, December 24, 2004
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Officially moved!
Well, I am back in the cyber saddle, after much hassle. The bastards at Verizon telephone and internet now top my shitlist of crappy companies I am forced to deal with (my trash company being a clsoe second, but we'll get to that later). *sigh* Why can't getting my little dinosaur of a computer onto the world wide web be an easy process? I was actually longing to deal with Qwest, which to any of you still dealing with them you should know is a pretty hellacious statement to make.
Scene one: I am at the old apartment, three weeks before our big move. Since Qwest took a total of two weeks to get my package to me and get set up (with surprisingly few complications), I figured the same would be true for my new phone company. Apparently, I was smoking crack that day. The oh-so-nice lady on the line told me it takes from three to four weeks to get there's set up, so I'd have to get my phone service running a week before moving day. Fine, so I'll pay for a phone line I don't use for one week. Whatever. I would get my package mailed to me at the new address approximately the week of the move, and have official srevice start date at the end of said week. Sounds like a plan...
Scene Two: New home! The curtains are hung, most boxes are unpacked, and I am hounding our postman like a beagle with a hypertension problem. UPS finally brings my itty bitty box o' joy, and I keep getting strange recorded messages from James Earl Jones saying my DSL service has already been activated. Mind you, I received like four of these freaky calls before I even got my package. Well, Rick and I wrangle a phone line into the den (there wasn't an outlet there to begin with). Then we unpack the schtuff, and get all plugged in. However...
Scene Three: Our low lit den, both of us pulling our hair out at the roots (which is quite an accomplishment for my balding hubby). The 'Easy to Install' disk of horror they sent with the modem keeps popping up all kinds of error messages, and has already installed God knows what on my fragile system. The Modem won't acknowledge through the USB port like our old one did, and it's refusing to see the network ethernet card I put on months ago (and tested positively). For some reason, It just keeps saying the drivers for this damn modem they sent us aren't anywhere to be found (and logically, they'd be on that stupid disk, right?). In frustration, Rick calls their tech support. After fifteen minutes of listening to a hold recording that tells us of teh convenience of online technical support (uh, if you can't get online, what purpose does that fucking serve?!) some Uber bitch proceeds to tell us that it's our computer. We must go buy some miraculous devices. Wait...I already have them INSTALLED! No...she snaps, you don't have the right stuff, and our drivers are always on our disks, your computer must not like the disk. Well,although my comp is tempermental, it's not that discriminating. Oh, and by the way, James Earl Jones was wrong, our service isn't even active until the 2nd of December. I delivered one of my delicious rants to Miss Computyrant on the phone, and then immediately call Comcast. So, for twice as much, they'll come out ina week and install it themselves.
hence, I now have internet service, and a headache, and a seriously bad taste in my mouth from the phone company I have no alternative but to use. That horrid little disk they sent me happily installed some nightmare spyware (I know it was them, because I didn't have any of this crap on my system before I used that damn disk). At least they aren't getting my $30 in shitty internet acces a month!
Other than that HELL, and an annoyance with our trash company, things have been okay. Oh, our home was uninhabbited for almost a year before we settled our butts in, and apparently the pipes became over-run with tree routes. God Bless Roto-rooter and their fast service! My landlord took care of everything.
The trash company didn't tell me there was a size limit on my trash can, and I bought the standard 50 gallon one (well, it was the same size as the recycling thingie they dropped off). Apparently, I was seriously wrong, as the trash guy chewed me out when he came to pick up. He felt bad when I explained they didn't tell me the rules, and suggested I ask for a can rental from the company. "We just got a whole shipment in, and it's only about a dollar a month"...hmmm...why wasn't I offered that in the first place? That would have saved me a headache (and the purchase of a now useless $30 piece of plastic). I called, but apparently the lady there was hording trash cans. She really didn't want to give me one! Why the hell not, I still don't know. Maybe they are planning for a can shortage of mass proportions...well, ya'll know I am a force to be reckoned with, so my rental can is being delivered next week. Ha!
Well, I better get off here, I have a lot of catching up to do. Stay tuned, readers, in the next few days Momma's putting back on her tree-hugging liberal suit. Our Commander in Jackass has already started fucking with the Northwest (take that for not voting for him, blue state!), and I am up in arms, you all should be too.
Scene one: I am at the old apartment, three weeks before our big move. Since Qwest took a total of two weeks to get my package to me and get set up (with surprisingly few complications), I figured the same would be true for my new phone company. Apparently, I was smoking crack that day. The oh-so-nice lady on the line told me it takes from three to four weeks to get there's set up, so I'd have to get my phone service running a week before moving day. Fine, so I'll pay for a phone line I don't use for one week. Whatever. I would get my package mailed to me at the new address approximately the week of the move, and have official srevice start date at the end of said week. Sounds like a plan...
Scene Two: New home! The curtains are hung, most boxes are unpacked, and I am hounding our postman like a beagle with a hypertension problem. UPS finally brings my itty bitty box o' joy, and I keep getting strange recorded messages from James Earl Jones saying my DSL service has already been activated. Mind you, I received like four of these freaky calls before I even got my package. Well, Rick and I wrangle a phone line into the den (there wasn't an outlet there to begin with). Then we unpack the schtuff, and get all plugged in. However...
Scene Three: Our low lit den, both of us pulling our hair out at the roots (which is quite an accomplishment for my balding hubby). The 'Easy to Install' disk of horror they sent with the modem keeps popping up all kinds of error messages, and has already installed God knows what on my fragile system. The Modem won't acknowledge through the USB port like our old one did, and it's refusing to see the network ethernet card I put on months ago (and tested positively). For some reason, It just keeps saying the drivers for this damn modem they sent us aren't anywhere to be found (and logically, they'd be on that stupid disk, right?). In frustration, Rick calls their tech support. After fifteen minutes of listening to a hold recording that tells us of teh convenience of online technical support (uh, if you can't get online, what purpose does that fucking serve?!) some Uber bitch proceeds to tell us that it's our computer. We must go buy some miraculous devices. Wait...I already have them INSTALLED! No...she snaps, you don't have the right stuff, and our drivers are always on our disks, your computer must not like the disk. Well,although my comp is tempermental, it's not that discriminating. Oh, and by the way, James Earl Jones was wrong, our service isn't even active until the 2nd of December. I delivered one of my delicious rants to Miss Computyrant on the phone, and then immediately call Comcast. So, for twice as much, they'll come out ina week and install it themselves.
hence, I now have internet service, and a headache, and a seriously bad taste in my mouth from the phone company I have no alternative but to use. That horrid little disk they sent me happily installed some nightmare spyware (I know it was them, because I didn't have any of this crap on my system before I used that damn disk). At least they aren't getting my $30 in shitty internet acces a month!
Other than that HELL, and an annoyance with our trash company, things have been okay. Oh, our home was uninhabbited for almost a year before we settled our butts in, and apparently the pipes became over-run with tree routes. God Bless Roto-rooter and their fast service! My landlord took care of everything.
The trash company didn't tell me there was a size limit on my trash can, and I bought the standard 50 gallon one (well, it was the same size as the recycling thingie they dropped off). Apparently, I was seriously wrong, as the trash guy chewed me out when he came to pick up. He felt bad when I explained they didn't tell me the rules, and suggested I ask for a can rental from the company. "We just got a whole shipment in, and it's only about a dollar a month"...hmmm...why wasn't I offered that in the first place? That would have saved me a headache (and the purchase of a now useless $30 piece of plastic). I called, but apparently the lady there was hording trash cans. She really didn't want to give me one! Why the hell not, I still don't know. Maybe they are planning for a can shortage of mass proportions...well, ya'll know I am a force to be reckoned with, so my rental can is being delivered next week. Ha!
Well, I better get off here, I have a lot of catching up to do. Stay tuned, readers, in the next few days Momma's putting back on her tree-hugging liberal suit. Our Commander in Jackass has already started fucking with the Northwest (take that for not voting for him, blue state!), and I am up in arms, you all should be too.
Sunday, November 21, 2004
Until we meet again...
Well, kiddies, this momma's about to be cut off from her internet world for a bit. The computer should've been packed yesterday, but I procrastinated and we now have to scramble to relabel all the wires and shove this atrocity into a box. The move officially begins tomorrow, and will stretch through probably all week. Thank goodness my family is coming up on Thanksgiving day, while I concentrate on the bird, Rick will have extra hands in wrestling the crib and our bed together.
We actually went up to the house today, and I was examining possible locations for the stinky-poo cat boxWe were originally going to put it in the garage, as there is a cat door leading out to it, but not inot the great wilderness where the two morons could get lost. I scrapped that idea today when I realized the fat lump of cat I own will more than likely not fit his girth through the door. For the images running through my head, please read the hysterical comment posted on my entry "Sumo-kitty". I about pissed my own pants reading it.
Verizon phone services, the bastards we've handed our communication needs to, has assured me they will have my service up and running on December 2nd (and not a day before). Here's hoping they keep to even that time frame, but I doubt it. This is, after all, a phone company we're talking about. So, that means, chil'un, I won't be posting on here for a while. You are certainly welcome to email me and receive my pithy autoresponse, and I'll attempt to find a nearby kinko's to empty my yahoo account whenever possible.
But for now, I must bid you all a fond adieu. Here's hoping to see you all again on Dec. 2nd, when I'll be writing out of my new swanky digs.
Tata!
We actually went up to the house today, and I was examining possible locations for the stinky-poo cat boxWe were originally going to put it in the garage, as there is a cat door leading out to it, but not inot the great wilderness where the two morons could get lost. I scrapped that idea today when I realized the fat lump of cat I own will more than likely not fit his girth through the door. For the images running through my head, please read the hysterical comment posted on my entry "Sumo-kitty". I about pissed my own pants reading it.
Verizon phone services, the bastards we've handed our communication needs to, has assured me they will have my service up and running on December 2nd (and not a day before). Here's hoping they keep to even that time frame, but I doubt it. This is, after all, a phone company we're talking about. So, that means, chil'un, I won't be posting on here for a while. You are certainly welcome to email me and receive my pithy autoresponse, and I'll attempt to find a nearby kinko's to empty my yahoo account whenever possible.
But for now, I must bid you all a fond adieu. Here's hoping to see you all again on Dec. 2nd, when I'll be writing out of my new swanky digs.
Tata!
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Sumo-kitty
My cat has a weight problem. now, everyone knows this because, after all, his the fat fuck's official name is CHUNK. But his desperately needing to shed some of the flub has recently come into a glaring light.
In our living room, there's two babygates, one from the hall and one to the kitchen. The kitchen one is higher, and I can't get over it if I am wearing a skirt. The cats usual method of hopping over is to get to leap to the top, teeter for a moment, and then hop down. A few times, under Chunk's weight mid-totter the gate has toppled. We found his expression of terror hysterical as he psuedo-surfed the gate to it's crash landing.
Well, recently, Chunk can't even get his lardass over the gate at all. The first few times it happened he'd attempt the jump to the top, not make it and hang by his front paws with a ridiculous look on his face in a mid-pullup type stance. This was, of course, only made funnier by the slow decent of sliding down the back, as if he wasn't quite admitting defeat. All of this event was announced loudly by a gigantic bang as he hit the back of the gate in the unsuccessful leap, and you could look over and see two orange paws, a pair of upset eyes, and two ears slowly reced back behind the gate where he started.
Well, apparently the embarrassment was too great, and he now refuses to even try jumping. He'll sit behind the gate meowing pathetically until someone goes over and lifts his enormous self over the gate, like a human forklift. I finally put two chairs on either side of the gate so that he could jump to them before trying to clear his ass over the top, and it seems to be working.
With the latest development in the saga of my cat's obesity problem, I'm seriously wondering if I should attempt putting him on one of those diet kibbles. I mean, if he's that friggin' heavy and it's causing loss of coordination, wouldn't it be wrecking havoc on his joints? Is he at risk for a kitty heart attack?
I swear, between the severe retardation of Devon, and Chunk's mammoth belly, I seriously wonder what the hell is wrong with me and pets.
In our living room, there's two babygates, one from the hall and one to the kitchen. The kitchen one is higher, and I can't get over it if I am wearing a skirt. The cats usual method of hopping over is to get to leap to the top, teeter for a moment, and then hop down. A few times, under Chunk's weight mid-totter the gate has toppled. We found his expression of terror hysterical as he psuedo-surfed the gate to it's crash landing.
Well, recently, Chunk can't even get his lardass over the gate at all. The first few times it happened he'd attempt the jump to the top, not make it and hang by his front paws with a ridiculous look on his face in a mid-pullup type stance. This was, of course, only made funnier by the slow decent of sliding down the back, as if he wasn't quite admitting defeat. All of this event was announced loudly by a gigantic bang as he hit the back of the gate in the unsuccessful leap, and you could look over and see two orange paws, a pair of upset eyes, and two ears slowly reced back behind the gate where he started.
Well, apparently the embarrassment was too great, and he now refuses to even try jumping. He'll sit behind the gate meowing pathetically until someone goes over and lifts his enormous self over the gate, like a human forklift. I finally put two chairs on either side of the gate so that he could jump to them before trying to clear his ass over the top, and it seems to be working.
With the latest development in the saga of my cat's obesity problem, I'm seriously wondering if I should attempt putting him on one of those diet kibbles. I mean, if he's that friggin' heavy and it's causing loss of coordination, wouldn't it be wrecking havoc on his joints? Is he at risk for a kitty heart attack?
I swear, between the severe retardation of Devon, and Chunk's mammoth belly, I seriously wonder what the hell is wrong with me and pets.
Friday, November 12, 2004
Cardboard Jungle!
Yup, that's pretty much what our apartment looks like. I swear Rick's going to come home to find me mummified in packing tape. Anthony has a new game, mommy puts something in the box, then he tips it over. I've begun limiting packing time to his nap schedule.
Sitting in this apartment over the last two weeks, I've discovered all the lovely things of compact living that I will never miss.
The construction crazy nutball who lives downstairs has taken to hammering away until the late hours of the night, only to restart at around 8AM. I am so close to taking a crowbar to her skull. She somehow knows to start right around the time I put Monky down for a nap.
My immediate neighbors (the party happy morons I complained about a while ago), leave their grungy mut of a dog outside in their tiny shithole of a yard, causing it to bark and whine endlessly. Not only is it fucking cold out, but their yard resembles a toxic waste dumping site (smells like one, too), so that poor thing is just basically being abused. Unfortunately, Animal control doesn't quite agree with that assessment, so I get to hear Fido crying out for mercy at 2AM.
The fat hipo of a bitch who lives diagonally above me has formed a grudge against her downstairs neighbor (who is a friend to me). She delights in spreading bread crumbs and crackers along the ground in front of Sandy's car, and claims she's feeding the birds. What she's really doing is setting a lovely minefeild for poor Sandy to walk through at night, and feeding the new racoon population in our area. I had one of the little critters jump out of our dumpster the other night at me, hissing like crazy and scaring urine into my pants. I've been tempted to leave a crumb trail right up to the hefer's door, all the way up her stairs, just to see how she likes it. Maybe the racoons will follow the trail, bite her ankles, and give her rabies. That would make me chuckle.
The dipshit who lives above me is quite a clutz, and is constantly dropping shit on the floor and slamming his doors around. I wonder what would happen if I hammered a few nails into my ceiling?
Getting ready for our new home has not been without trials, though. It took me five damn phone calls to figure out who I needed to set up a trash pickup account with. And our new phone company, the bastards over at Verizon, have let me know they will be taking for fucking ever to get my internet access hooked up. Nice that they warned me in advance. Helps me to prepare my vocal cords for the untold amount of screaming into a cell phone I may have to do. We're moving on the 22nd, and although I set the phones to start on the 15th, they won't have my access set for the very end of November (if I'm lucky). So if ya'll don't hear random updates from me between moving and December, you now know why.
Well, I have to go back to packing. it's scary when you realize you have more boxes labeled "Toy Collection" than virtually anything else in the house. Heeheee...
Sitting in this apartment over the last two weeks, I've discovered all the lovely things of compact living that I will never miss.
The construction crazy nutball who lives downstairs has taken to hammering away until the late hours of the night, only to restart at around 8AM. I am so close to taking a crowbar to her skull. She somehow knows to start right around the time I put Monky down for a nap.
My immediate neighbors (the party happy morons I complained about a while ago), leave their grungy mut of a dog outside in their tiny shithole of a yard, causing it to bark and whine endlessly. Not only is it fucking cold out, but their yard resembles a toxic waste dumping site (smells like one, too), so that poor thing is just basically being abused. Unfortunately, Animal control doesn't quite agree with that assessment, so I get to hear Fido crying out for mercy at 2AM.
The fat hipo of a bitch who lives diagonally above me has formed a grudge against her downstairs neighbor (who is a friend to me). She delights in spreading bread crumbs and crackers along the ground in front of Sandy's car, and claims she's feeding the birds. What she's really doing is setting a lovely minefeild for poor Sandy to walk through at night, and feeding the new racoon population in our area. I had one of the little critters jump out of our dumpster the other night at me, hissing like crazy and scaring urine into my pants. I've been tempted to leave a crumb trail right up to the hefer's door, all the way up her stairs, just to see how she likes it. Maybe the racoons will follow the trail, bite her ankles, and give her rabies. That would make me chuckle.
The dipshit who lives above me is quite a clutz, and is constantly dropping shit on the floor and slamming his doors around. I wonder what would happen if I hammered a few nails into my ceiling?
Getting ready for our new home has not been without trials, though. It took me five damn phone calls to figure out who I needed to set up a trash pickup account with. And our new phone company, the bastards over at Verizon, have let me know they will be taking for fucking ever to get my internet access hooked up. Nice that they warned me in advance. Helps me to prepare my vocal cords for the untold amount of screaming into a cell phone I may have to do. We're moving on the 22nd, and although I set the phones to start on the 15th, they won't have my access set for the very end of November (if I'm lucky). So if ya'll don't hear random updates from me between moving and December, you now know why.
Well, I have to go back to packing. it's scary when you realize you have more boxes labeled "Toy Collection" than virtually anything else in the house. Heeheee...
Friday, November 05, 2004
The Right is so Wrong
Well, politophiles like myself have been steadily watching the numbers fly across CNN tickers and websites, desperately trying to figure out why the Dems are such a friggin minority, despite our staunch belief that we are always right. The whole morality vote thing frankly had me scared. I mean, for 2 fucking centuries we've believed in seperation of church and state, how is it that suddenly the votes are asking to return religious righteousness to office? Marketing, my dear friends, marketing. The GOP asses are unfortunately really REALLY good at it, while apparently us "reasonable' folk suck at it. Church going folk, which are used to doing everything in 'follow the flock' fashion, obediently went to the polls as ordered on high, while us liberal namby pansies sorta 'forgot'. Despite the fact that 62% of Americans (numbers quoted from AP Reuters Polls) are NOT in the same mindset as our religious zealot brethren in the South, only 14% of us turned out! The majority of the non-voting populous was, of course, young people, despite all the ridiculous attempts to 'rock the vote'. Apparently MTV doesn't have much sway these days. So, Generation X, you apparently still feel apathetic to voting? Well, enjoy the fruits of your lack of labor, four more years, and a lot of potentially fucked up future situations due to Senor Dickweed's being able to reshape our Supreme Court in his Puritanical ideology. Abortion? See ya! Gay Marriage? Out the Window. Free Speech? Give him a few more years and a couple of Patriot Act rewrites, and we won't have to worry about that pesky civil liberty anymore either. *sigh*
The GOP and generic Religious Right has unfortunately taken our lack of voting as a sign that we in fact, don't exist. So apparently 'America calls for a return to core Values', and I'm sure the KKK is pretty happy about that, not to mention Jesse Helms is probably doing a jig of joy. So we (or since I friggin voted, should say YOU) who are not following the GOP mentality have chosen to silence yourselves, guess what? You've officially given up your own opinions voice. SO when you realize what happens and say "Hey, that's not fair! I didn't vote for him!"...no, you didn't...but by not speaking up before, you essentially DID.
So what now? With the entire government (Senate, House, President, and soont o be Supreme Court) being controled by the Right, expect big changes. But Democracy is what we live in, and now more than ever we need to excercise our minor freedoms. Write to your Senators and Reps, and I apologize if that now means you have to fucking pay attention instead of watching OC re-runs. I for one, will be watching new bills and measures coming up for grabs, and happily getting carpel tunel syndrome if that's what it takes. Thank God we still have Patty Murray in office up here, that chick rocks.
Will my blog get more politically minded than my past rantings? You betcha. Yes, you'll still get to read about me dessimating soccer moms left and right, that will never cease (until I have destroyed them all, mwahahahaa). But if I notice a bill of importance, you bet your patriotic buttons you'll hear me write about it, and definitely give ya'll a heads up on who to contact.
To all my Demmy friends, go buy "America the Book" by John Stewart. It's friggin hillarious. I'm off to finish packing my boxes.
The GOP and generic Religious Right has unfortunately taken our lack of voting as a sign that we in fact, don't exist. So apparently 'America calls for a return to core Values', and I'm sure the KKK is pretty happy about that, not to mention Jesse Helms is probably doing a jig of joy. So we (or since I friggin voted, should say YOU) who are not following the GOP mentality have chosen to silence yourselves, guess what? You've officially given up your own opinions voice. SO when you realize what happens and say "Hey, that's not fair! I didn't vote for him!"...no, you didn't...but by not speaking up before, you essentially DID.
So what now? With the entire government (Senate, House, President, and soont o be Supreme Court) being controled by the Right, expect big changes. But Democracy is what we live in, and now more than ever we need to excercise our minor freedoms. Write to your Senators and Reps, and I apologize if that now means you have to fucking pay attention instead of watching OC re-runs. I for one, will be watching new bills and measures coming up for grabs, and happily getting carpel tunel syndrome if that's what it takes. Thank God we still have Patty Murray in office up here, that chick rocks.
Will my blog get more politically minded than my past rantings? You betcha. Yes, you'll still get to read about me dessimating soccer moms left and right, that will never cease (until I have destroyed them all, mwahahahaa). But if I notice a bill of importance, you bet your patriotic buttons you'll hear me write about it, and definitely give ya'll a heads up on who to contact.
To all my Demmy friends, go buy "America the Book" by John Stewart. It's friggin hillarious. I'm off to finish packing my boxes.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Country full of Idiots
That's what we are. We're a country of people with their heads in the sand, babbling fucking morons. That's the only way I can fathom that Bush was able to pull off a win. It was a tight race, but not obviously enough. So what happened? Did real people not vote? Obviously not, if we have Captain Insanity as our Nation's leader for another goddamn four years. The news says that now the naiton can come together and heal after the elections, and that Bush will need to reunite our country from the strong divisions that the elections had brought. MY ASS. There won't be healing, and certainly not from him. He doesn't give a flying FUCK about the people who don't like him (48% of the populous). Us dems are going to find ourselves more alienated, and pushed to the point of a civil war being a good idea. We won't reunite and heal, we'll divide even more, and those who (gasp!) didn't vote Bush are now REALLY going to be the unpatriots, so I guess us and the large portion of the Northeastern states are all going to be outlaws. Say goodbye to freedom folks, your fearless leader hasn't quite seen eye to eye with that concept for quite some time.
The people who voted said that our safety was an important issue. Funny, the people who felt this most strongly (the ones who voted for Bush) live in the fucking midwest. Yeah, guys, Al Quaeda has had it's eye on Arkansas for a long time...get ovre your white trash rednecked completely stupid selves. The people who need the security and safety (coastal states like ourselves and oh...NEW YORK) voted for Kerry. Because we fucking know better.
What scares me is that now that he hsa his grasp on Washington for four more years, what he'll now inflict upon us. You can bet your ass there'll be more attacks, Bush is the best thing for terrorist group recruiting since Israel's declaration of nationality. Since he's already said he doesn't want to deal with North Korea, god only knows what they'll do with their nuclear programs, and I am not even going to talk about Iraq.]
Say goodbye to abortions, Bush has had his eye on dismantling Roe Vs. Wade since his first term. Say goodbye to the thought of civil unions and gay marriages. Social Security? Ha, I won't get to retire now, thanks to his ideals on privatizing the program. Health care? You've got to be joking.
I didn't vote for him, I fucking hate him, and yet I as a lower middle class, woman with a child living in a port city who would like to return to work will feel some of the hardest ramifications of his re-election. Thanks America, you are a bunch of goddamn idiots. I fucking hate this country.
The people who voted said that our safety was an important issue. Funny, the people who felt this most strongly (the ones who voted for Bush) live in the fucking midwest. Yeah, guys, Al Quaeda has had it's eye on Arkansas for a long time...get ovre your white trash rednecked completely stupid selves. The people who need the security and safety (coastal states like ourselves and oh...NEW YORK) voted for Kerry. Because we fucking know better.
What scares me is that now that he hsa his grasp on Washington for four more years, what he'll now inflict upon us. You can bet your ass there'll be more attacks, Bush is the best thing for terrorist group recruiting since Israel's declaration of nationality. Since he's already said he doesn't want to deal with North Korea, god only knows what they'll do with their nuclear programs, and I am not even going to talk about Iraq.]
Say goodbye to abortions, Bush has had his eye on dismantling Roe Vs. Wade since his first term. Say goodbye to the thought of civil unions and gay marriages. Social Security? Ha, I won't get to retire now, thanks to his ideals on privatizing the program. Health care? You've got to be joking.
I didn't vote for him, I fucking hate him, and yet I as a lower middle class, woman with a child living in a port city who would like to return to work will feel some of the hardest ramifications of his re-election. Thanks America, you are a bunch of goddamn idiots. I fucking hate this country.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
The Trick was the Parents
I took Anthony out on Saturday to the little trick-or-treating thing they were doing in Ballard. When Nico had told me about it, I figured it'd be a nice casual stroll through a few shops, randomly asking polite shopkeepers for candy and having a nice relaxed time of it. Isn't my fantasy world nice? Too bad it was all in my head.
The reality was a nightmare clogging of bratty kids and annoying parents, with no place to turn around and assholes at every turn. By the time we were done, I felt like I had just run the Gladiator's gauntlet. Ugh, dealing with the tykes wouldn't have been so bad, though, had they all been orhpans. I got to see the reality of why people get irritated by parents so easily. Damn, those people suck!
The first annoyance was the ShutterBug parents. Those twits who obviously have an investment in the Kodak company, and have to take 5,000 pictures of little Johnny and his pillowcase walking out of a doorway (and heaven forbid the other 7 dozen children trying to get in the doorway be anywhere near that photo). Get a grip, people, you can take some great pictures of your kid at HOME in his costume, like the rest of us parents do. Or better yet, take pictures when you drag Johnny out tomorrow, when he really is trick or treating in your local neighborhood.
The second irritation was the Socializing Hens. Apparently the four days a week they blather at daycare or the playgroup isn't enough, they had to clog the walkways in their little gaggles. They're like the popular kid cliques from highschool, taking up space and making sure everyone sees it. Huge swarms of parents in clusters, leaving no room for the actual trick or treaters to walk by, and their own kids running sugar high circles into the ground around them. I've got an SUV sized stroller, and I swear ramming people's ankles at whim never seemed so appealing than that moment. What's worse is when they stare at you like you should have the audacity to want to get through them. And if you are going to dress up while out with your kids, then dress up. Don't do the half-assed, throw on a stupid Witch hat and think you are sexy bullshit.
My third and final parental irritation was just ridiculous, though. See, I figured with Anthony only being 17 months old, he'd be one of the youngest there. All he can really eat are the lollipops. But boy was I shocked to see people out with infants. And I'm talking like younger than 3 months old infants. For some reason all of them were in cow costumes (I'm assuming it was a Woman's Day conspiracy that led to the bovine obsession). Oh the irony that almost every mother of an infant out there was still hanging on to the ol' baby weight. I saw one raise an eyebrow at me, as I sat there thinking "your fat ass does not need that funsized snickers bar, because it sure ain't your baby that'll be eating them". My mommy body is a size six because I DON'T leap at the opportunity to stuff my face with sugar at any ridiculous chance. Do your stretched out denim a favour, bitch, skip the trick or treating until you can safely keep your pudgy paws out of the candy bucket. And back when Anthony was too young for his new found Dum Dum obsession, I didn't feel the need to traipse him around in a stupid cow getup in front of strangers.
And I made DAMN sure that when I did take my toddler out, I was taking out a kid who was in the early stages of politeness training. Anthony didn't try to grab the entire candy bowl and run, thus prompting a major meltdown (someone else's kid did, though!). Anthony was actually trying to share his candy. Anytime someone put a goody in his bucket, he'd reach in and try to give them a different one. Yes, it was insanly cute, and yes, I love bragging on him.
Ugh. Were there brats aplenty? Of course, no child-filled holiday would be complete without these reasons for abortion running around like maniacs. But if their parents are so hellishly annoying, you can't blame the kids. Yes, it's rude when an eight year old literally pushes your best friend's uber polite five year old out of the way to get to the candy bucket like it's going to be empty. But it's skincrawlingly irritating when it's the eight year old's dad who ploughed through everyone else just to get him that far. I hope his ankles are still tender.
The reality was a nightmare clogging of bratty kids and annoying parents, with no place to turn around and assholes at every turn. By the time we were done, I felt like I had just run the Gladiator's gauntlet. Ugh, dealing with the tykes wouldn't have been so bad, though, had they all been orhpans. I got to see the reality of why people get irritated by parents so easily. Damn, those people suck!
The first annoyance was the ShutterBug parents. Those twits who obviously have an investment in the Kodak company, and have to take 5,000 pictures of little Johnny and his pillowcase walking out of a doorway (and heaven forbid the other 7 dozen children trying to get in the doorway be anywhere near that photo). Get a grip, people, you can take some great pictures of your kid at HOME in his costume, like the rest of us parents do. Or better yet, take pictures when you drag Johnny out tomorrow, when he really is trick or treating in your local neighborhood.
The second irritation was the Socializing Hens. Apparently the four days a week they blather at daycare or the playgroup isn't enough, they had to clog the walkways in their little gaggles. They're like the popular kid cliques from highschool, taking up space and making sure everyone sees it. Huge swarms of parents in clusters, leaving no room for the actual trick or treaters to walk by, and their own kids running sugar high circles into the ground around them. I've got an SUV sized stroller, and I swear ramming people's ankles at whim never seemed so appealing than that moment. What's worse is when they stare at you like you should have the audacity to want to get through them. And if you are going to dress up while out with your kids, then dress up. Don't do the half-assed, throw on a stupid Witch hat and think you are sexy bullshit.
My third and final parental irritation was just ridiculous, though. See, I figured with Anthony only being 17 months old, he'd be one of the youngest there. All he can really eat are the lollipops. But boy was I shocked to see people out with infants. And I'm talking like younger than 3 months old infants. For some reason all of them were in cow costumes (I'm assuming it was a Woman's Day conspiracy that led to the bovine obsession). Oh the irony that almost every mother of an infant out there was still hanging on to the ol' baby weight. I saw one raise an eyebrow at me, as I sat there thinking "your fat ass does not need that funsized snickers bar, because it sure ain't your baby that'll be eating them". My mommy body is a size six because I DON'T leap at the opportunity to stuff my face with sugar at any ridiculous chance. Do your stretched out denim a favour, bitch, skip the trick or treating until you can safely keep your pudgy paws out of the candy bucket. And back when Anthony was too young for his new found Dum Dum obsession, I didn't feel the need to traipse him around in a stupid cow getup in front of strangers.
And I made DAMN sure that when I did take my toddler out, I was taking out a kid who was in the early stages of politeness training. Anthony didn't try to grab the entire candy bowl and run, thus prompting a major meltdown (someone else's kid did, though!). Anthony was actually trying to share his candy. Anytime someone put a goody in his bucket, he'd reach in and try to give them a different one. Yes, it was insanly cute, and yes, I love bragging on him.
Ugh. Were there brats aplenty? Of course, no child-filled holiday would be complete without these reasons for abortion running around like maniacs. But if their parents are so hellishly annoying, you can't blame the kids. Yes, it's rude when an eight year old literally pushes your best friend's uber polite five year old out of the way to get to the candy bucket like it's going to be empty. But it's skincrawlingly irritating when it's the eight year old's dad who ploughed through everyone else just to get him that far. I hope his ankles are still tender.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Mother Hoodlum as Momma Bear
I know I can come across as one vicious bitch, but I swear, I have a soft side. It really comes out in the form of mother henning everyone in sight. Anyhoo, since I had some spare time, I thought I'd impart a story I'd been meaning to write in here a while back...
I needed cigarettes one night, right after I had put Anthony to bed, so I threw on some clothes and headed out to the nearboy 76 station. It was only around 8:45, so I had no qualms about walking down there. Besides, Rick and I were sqwabbling, so I needed to get out and breath before I picked up a conveniently located baseball bat and bludgeoned him to pieces. This was actually before I left for Cali. Since I've been back we've had smooth sailing!
When I walked into the store, I waved to the little gal who always sells my cigarettes, and noticed a small gaggle of teenage girls huddled in the corner. Now, normally I would go into an internal tirade of how Britney Spears is turning our youths' tender minds and morals into sludge, and that pop drivvle is nothing but worthless cash machines for corporations. But these three girls looked scared out of their little hairsprayed minds.
They walked out ahead of me, whispering between eachother and looking around, and it occured to me they might have been lost. I asked if they were alright, and one of them meakly told me that a stinky homeless man had followed them three blocks, screaming obscenities at them (apparently for their deep indescretion of not providing him some change to go buy hooch). They were needless to say quite shaken, and were actually worried he would hurt them. Apparently among the obscenities and slurs were a few threats. Well, the Momma Bear in me raised a brow, and I asked where the girls were headed, and that I'd walk them home to make sure they were safe. They only lived about 2 blocks down from me, so it's not like I was being inconvenienced. Besides, if some stinkified drunk asshole was going to harrass some defenseless teenagers, I wanted to be there to correct his behavior with a well placed foot up the ass. You can roll your eyes and question their musical tastes, but you do NOT fuck with young people like that, especially not on my watch. So I walk with the girls, who seemed to ease up a little when they realized there was a woman walking them home. Good thing I've got a pair of tits, if I was a man they probably would've thought I was just Dangerous Freak Number 2.
So, the girls got home safe, and I walked back to our apartment (and to a very apologetic hubby), and felt better about making my corner of the universe just a little bit nicer for three perfect strangers.
So, before you think Momma Hood is just one raging anti-social nutball of post-partum hormonal angst, remember the key word in my moniker is Mother. And you don't mess with the Momma's hood!
I needed cigarettes one night, right after I had put Anthony to bed, so I threw on some clothes and headed out to the nearboy 76 station. It was only around 8:45, so I had no qualms about walking down there. Besides, Rick and I were sqwabbling, so I needed to get out and breath before I picked up a conveniently located baseball bat and bludgeoned him to pieces. This was actually before I left for Cali. Since I've been back we've had smooth sailing!
When I walked into the store, I waved to the little gal who always sells my cigarettes, and noticed a small gaggle of teenage girls huddled in the corner. Now, normally I would go into an internal tirade of how Britney Spears is turning our youths' tender minds and morals into sludge, and that pop drivvle is nothing but worthless cash machines for corporations. But these three girls looked scared out of their little hairsprayed minds.
They walked out ahead of me, whispering between eachother and looking around, and it occured to me they might have been lost. I asked if they were alright, and one of them meakly told me that a stinky homeless man had followed them three blocks, screaming obscenities at them (apparently for their deep indescretion of not providing him some change to go buy hooch). They were needless to say quite shaken, and were actually worried he would hurt them. Apparently among the obscenities and slurs were a few threats. Well, the Momma Bear in me raised a brow, and I asked where the girls were headed, and that I'd walk them home to make sure they were safe. They only lived about 2 blocks down from me, so it's not like I was being inconvenienced. Besides, if some stinkified drunk asshole was going to harrass some defenseless teenagers, I wanted to be there to correct his behavior with a well placed foot up the ass. You can roll your eyes and question their musical tastes, but you do NOT fuck with young people like that, especially not on my watch. So I walk with the girls, who seemed to ease up a little when they realized there was a woman walking them home. Good thing I've got a pair of tits, if I was a man they probably would've thought I was just Dangerous Freak Number 2.
So, the girls got home safe, and I walked back to our apartment (and to a very apologetic hubby), and felt better about making my corner of the universe just a little bit nicer for three perfect strangers.
So, before you think Momma Hood is just one raging anti-social nutball of post-partum hormonal angst, remember the key word in my moniker is Mother. And you don't mess with the Momma's hood!
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Where'd Momma go?
Well, I've been busy! Between getting the move together, dealing with both Anthony and I being sick, and life in general, I've had little time to play around on the net. What time I do spend on here is usually looking up stuff on ebay and HGTV. Although the house is great,it's still a fixer-upper, so there's a lot we'll need to do to make it a really nice home. Plus, the moving days are actually right on Thanksgiving week, so we've been coordinating with the family on how to still have a mangeable holiday in the midst of our boxed hell. Turkey, stuffing, and packing tape, wohoo! I've got a lot of house projects in the making to get some really cool creative flair going.
Decoupage stuff: I've already got the funky shelf thing I was working on halfway done. It was originally a drawer to a cabinet, which I turned upright, painted, and added some nifty old school religious clippings onto (quasi-catholic coolness), the sides of the box have a covering of book pages from an old german printed book I had found. I'm going to hang it with some black satin ribbon, and add hooks to the bottom of it to display the rosary collection.
keeping with the renaisance religious theme, I've got that old bookshelf in Anthony's room that's really getting spruced up. I'm using the remaining book pages on the sides, and inside I'm using a 'bible images' calander. I'll post pics when I am done, the whole set should look sweet.
Both of these will go into the entry way.
Found object fun: The half bath near the den needs some SERIOUS help, it's hideous and small to boot. Since hand towels are all that's needed, I'm picking up some super cool old door knockers and using them as hand towel hangers. I also found a nifty old wrought iron heating grate at the salvage shop that I am turning into the front of a magazine rack for the bathroom as well. I have two celtic garden plaques that I'll probably stick in there for some visual interest.
I also need a coat rack for the entry way, so I'll probably go back to the salvage shop for a plank and some interesting coat hooks (or old doorknobs).
Granny get yer glue gun: That corner piece to our old sectional still has life in it, so I am going to slipcover the thing and place that in the entry way as a shair to take off our shoes. Since the whole house has that so easy to stain ligt tan carpeting, I'm probably going to do the no shoes in the house rule.
Other craft madness: I am making new light shades for the kitchen, because the current ones are godawful seventies throwbacks, and I'm refinishing my dressing chair for the bedroom. Since I'm not sure about what paint schemes I am going to use in certain areas, I may put fabric on the walls temporarily until I figure out what we're doing with everything. Since my Dad is giving us all his woodworking tools for the new workshop, we'll probably just make most of the new furniture we need, like bookshelfs and stuff.
Okay, so there's my update, and the excuse for not updating this blog as often as I probably should.
Decoupage stuff: I've already got the funky shelf thing I was working on halfway done. It was originally a drawer to a cabinet, which I turned upright, painted, and added some nifty old school religious clippings onto (quasi-catholic coolness), the sides of the box have a covering of book pages from an old german printed book I had found. I'm going to hang it with some black satin ribbon, and add hooks to the bottom of it to display the rosary collection.
keeping with the renaisance religious theme, I've got that old bookshelf in Anthony's room that's really getting spruced up. I'm using the remaining book pages on the sides, and inside I'm using a 'bible images' calander. I'll post pics when I am done, the whole set should look sweet.
Both of these will go into the entry way.
Found object fun: The half bath near the den needs some SERIOUS help, it's hideous and small to boot. Since hand towels are all that's needed, I'm picking up some super cool old door knockers and using them as hand towel hangers. I also found a nifty old wrought iron heating grate at the salvage shop that I am turning into the front of a magazine rack for the bathroom as well. I have two celtic garden plaques that I'll probably stick in there for some visual interest.
I also need a coat rack for the entry way, so I'll probably go back to the salvage shop for a plank and some interesting coat hooks (or old doorknobs).
Granny get yer glue gun: That corner piece to our old sectional still has life in it, so I am going to slipcover the thing and place that in the entry way as a shair to take off our shoes. Since the whole house has that so easy to stain ligt tan carpeting, I'm probably going to do the no shoes in the house rule.
Other craft madness: I am making new light shades for the kitchen, because the current ones are godawful seventies throwbacks, and I'm refinishing my dressing chair for the bedroom. Since I'm not sure about what paint schemes I am going to use in certain areas, I may put fabric on the walls temporarily until I figure out what we're doing with everything. Since my Dad is giving us all his woodworking tools for the new workshop, we'll probably just make most of the new furniture we need, like bookshelfs and stuff.
Okay, so there's my update, and the excuse for not updating this blog as often as I probably should.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Domesticated Dream Actualized
Well, apparently my good karma bank account finally reached fruition. Rick just called me from work, and we have a dream come true...a HOME. His coworker has rental property in Edmonds that finally became available, and she wanted to give Rick first crack at it. All we knew was that it was a three bedroom house, and that she was renting it previously for $1200 a month. Knowing that the most we could afford would be $1000, we nevertheless went to go check it out.
I instantly was swooning. The three bedrooms were a decent size (rare for places up here, usually they are itty bitty), and there was ample closet space. I had been loath to give up this apartment solely for it's huge closets. It had a full sized bathroom, plus a half bath over by the living areas. We knew the livingroom was supposed to have a woodburning stove, but we had no idea there was actually a seperate den with it's own fireplace. The kitchen had brand new appliances, as did the laundry room (which that in it's own floored me, laundry!). She had mentioned the garage was small, but it's only small because the other half of it had been converted to a workshop. But the best part was the yard. Huge trees, a rolling grass-scape, and a begging to be flowered planter wrapping around the back portion of the home.
When we left, I was thoroughly in love with the place, but disheartened to know we couldn't afford it. Rick offered up that he could at least tell her we'd only be able to pay $1,000, and just see what she said. I shrugged, and held my glimmer of hope, but didn't start packing or anything.
Well, I got the call today. WE'RE IN! She adores Rick, and was just happy to rent it out to a family that really needed it. I skipped around the apartment, calling and writing to everyone I knew. Joy doesn't BEGIN to cover it...but then I got one more phone call to send me flat on my back. This co-worker doesn't just want to rent it to us...she wants to SELL it. Instead of rent, it could very well be a house payment.
Okay, I was hoping I could sit still long enough to type out how ridiculously happy I sam, but I am too excited, and mu7st immediately run around my house about fifty times. See ya!
I instantly was swooning. The three bedrooms were a decent size (rare for places up here, usually they are itty bitty), and there was ample closet space. I had been loath to give up this apartment solely for it's huge closets. It had a full sized bathroom, plus a half bath over by the living areas. We knew the livingroom was supposed to have a woodburning stove, but we had no idea there was actually a seperate den with it's own fireplace. The kitchen had brand new appliances, as did the laundry room (which that in it's own floored me, laundry!). She had mentioned the garage was small, but it's only small because the other half of it had been converted to a workshop. But the best part was the yard. Huge trees, a rolling grass-scape, and a begging to be flowered planter wrapping around the back portion of the home.
When we left, I was thoroughly in love with the place, but disheartened to know we couldn't afford it. Rick offered up that he could at least tell her we'd only be able to pay $1,000, and just see what she said. I shrugged, and held my glimmer of hope, but didn't start packing or anything.
Well, I got the call today. WE'RE IN! She adores Rick, and was just happy to rent it out to a family that really needed it. I skipped around the apartment, calling and writing to everyone I knew. Joy doesn't BEGIN to cover it...but then I got one more phone call to send me flat on my back. This co-worker doesn't just want to rent it to us...she wants to SELL it. Instead of rent, it could very well be a house payment.
Okay, I was hoping I could sit still long enough to type out how ridiculously happy I sam, but I am too excited, and mu7st immediately run around my house about fifty times. See ya!
Saturday, October 16, 2004
Sickie-poo
Ugh, nothing better than vomiting up your insides while simultaneously sneezing up large globs of goo. Why is it that when a mommy gets sick from their kid, they get fifteen times more ill than the little one? Anthony caught a bug while at my mom's house (thanks, grandma!), and I consequently caught whatever he had. While he has a bad case of the sniffles, I am the goddamn walking dead.
ugh, I'll be in bed leaking my guts out until further notice.
ugh, I'll be in bed leaking my guts out until further notice.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Back in the Saddle
Alright, folks, I return from the fifth layer of hell...*ahem*...Southern California. Honestly, I don't think I can really talk about the family matters that happened. Everything is still swimming in my head, and my heart is still too full of grief. In a nutshell, it was not as bad as I thought, in fact the majority of the family embraced me like some prodigal daughter returned. I know Nathan watched over us that day, and would've been pleased to see the reuniting bonds that he created. He would've also chuckled at the fact that his funeral service looked like a damn mafia family reunion. His father's highly Southern Italian Side, our Northern Italian side, and the Spanish family that married in just for kicks. I swear to God I felt like a damn Gotti. Especially when one Uncle started offering that Aunt Nina's new husband needed to be 'taken care of', but no one would let him. *gulp* More Ziti, anyone?
Well, since that's all I will share about that, anyone want to hear my tirade? Aha, thought so. Here you are, kiddies, Sharona's bitch fest du jour....
BEST WESTERN FUCKING SUCKS!!!!
'Kay, my mother is never EVER allowed to make hotel reservations for me again. The first time, it was the fateful toothbreaking stay at the Hampton Inn of San Francisco. And even though this was only strike two, it's a big enough strike to say enough. Allow me to give you the dirty details:
Tuesday - I arrive in Orange County's reknowned John Wayne Airport (complete with a very creepy statue of The Duke in the Baggage Claim area...'better git yer bag thar, pilgrim') right on schedule at 4:45pm. Mom said that she reserved the hotel shuttle for me, so it would be waiting for me as soon as I exited. Yeah, right, good thing I called. It should've tipped me off when I had asked at the information booth about which courtesy phone to use and she said there wasn't one. And according to her snide chuckle (fucking Californians) and snippy response, my lovely accomodations, though called Best Western Airport North, were in fact, no where near the damn airport. Greeeeeeeeaaaat. So I call, and some twit answers and says he forgot me, and was sending a driver. "should be fifteen minutes". Whatever, three cigarettes, a strangled cellphone and half hour later Senor Dumbfuck pulls up in the van and dumps me in the backseat. We sit in traffic, because it wouldn't be a trip to the OC without smog filled lungs, and I redub my non-English speaking Latino friend Jose Smiley. I get to the hotel, and the check in girl (yes, girl, she was younger than me) chirps happily about the weather (shut UP) and asks for the $100 deposit my mother had pre-arranged. Now, since mom couldn't get them a credit card verification, she asked via phone if cash was acceptable. The management said it was fine as long as I paid at least $100 up front as a deposit. Since the whole hotel bill would've been $140, it was no biggie, and Mom promptly packed my wallet with a cool $220 so I could have some money for food. Why I'd need an entire $80 for food, I don't know, but that's Mom for ya. Okay, so I hand Blondie the $100, and wander up to my room. I go to put my soda in the minifridge, only to realize the pathetic contraption doesn't work. You can all see me starting to twitch at this point, eh? I go to the bedside table and flip on the light, but THAT doesn't work. Right as I'm about to curse, the phone rings. It's Blondie, and apparently there's been some 'confusion'. I was supposed to give a $100 deposit AND the $140 up front when I checked in. Now, that was NOT in the fucking plan, and I asked to speak to the manager. I proceeded to tear him a new asshole, explaining that I was not equipped with $240 to simply hand to him (well, I was, I had $25 spare in my wallet, but $5 for three days to eat and smoke, and buy the alcohol required to get through this trip just didn't work), and that this was completely and totally out of the question. Dickweed proceeds to hem and haw as to what to do (I was mentally daring him to evict me, since I was so not familiar with the area, which I assumed as a bario, it was quickly getting dark, I was seething on the point of Lawyer calling at this point), he finally decides he'll take a $50 deposit and have me pay nightly. So I need to traipse down with $24 for the night. I get on the horn as I slam my feet into my flipflops and call my Uncle to check in, and my buddy Chris who lived nearby to come get me (punky people rock!). I threw the money at Dickweed (no, he doesn't get a real name, nobody at this godforsaken pit of idiocy does), and inform him I will not be pleased about the two non-working appliances. He crows apologies, and says he'll send a maintenance person up immediately. Chris & his daughter hits the road to meet me up at the room, so I go change and stew some more. I call the other mamatropolis area contacts I have, but no one else can hang, which is a bummer. Chris and his ridiculously damn cute daughter appear at my door right as I finish talking to my other cousin. As they sit down and I search for my cigs, the maintenance person walks in the door. It's Jose! He's apparently the one man show there. As he proceeds to delight us all with a great view of the buttcrack, we decide it's now time to hightail it and find a Del Taco and a whole lot of booze. I finally return to an empty room, with a working refridgerator, although Jose forgot the bedside lamp. A few Schmirnoff Ice's later, and a perturbed call to Mom, I drift into oblivion.
The next day I wake to my crappy abode, and a call from the day manager (not Dickweed, so we'll call this one Captain Kissass). Apparently, Mom was busy this morning, and called to rip him a new one about yesterday's little deposit fiasco. He was giving me back $25 of it so I could graciously eat dinner, and felt
Well, since that's all I will share about that, anyone want to hear my tirade? Aha, thought so. Here you are, kiddies, Sharona's bitch fest du jour....
BEST WESTERN FUCKING SUCKS!!!!
'Kay, my mother is never EVER allowed to make hotel reservations for me again. The first time, it was the fateful toothbreaking stay at the Hampton Inn of San Francisco. And even though this was only strike two, it's a big enough strike to say enough. Allow me to give you the dirty details:
Tuesday - I arrive in Orange County's reknowned John Wayne Airport (complete with a very creepy statue of The Duke in the Baggage Claim area...'better git yer bag thar, pilgrim') right on schedule at 4:45pm. Mom said that she reserved the hotel shuttle for me, so it would be waiting for me as soon as I exited. Yeah, right, good thing I called. It should've tipped me off when I had asked at the information booth about which courtesy phone to use and she said there wasn't one. And according to her snide chuckle (fucking Californians) and snippy response, my lovely accomodations, though called Best Western Airport North, were in fact, no where near the damn airport. Greeeeeeeeaaaat. So I call, and some twit answers and says he forgot me, and was sending a driver. "should be fifteen minutes". Whatever, three cigarettes, a strangled cellphone and half hour later Senor Dumbfuck pulls up in the van and dumps me in the backseat. We sit in traffic, because it wouldn't be a trip to the OC without smog filled lungs, and I redub my non-English speaking Latino friend Jose Smiley. I get to the hotel, and the check in girl (yes, girl, she was younger than me) chirps happily about the weather (shut UP) and asks for the $100 deposit my mother had pre-arranged. Now, since mom couldn't get them a credit card verification, she asked via phone if cash was acceptable. The management said it was fine as long as I paid at least $100 up front as a deposit. Since the whole hotel bill would've been $140, it was no biggie, and Mom promptly packed my wallet with a cool $220 so I could have some money for food. Why I'd need an entire $80 for food, I don't know, but that's Mom for ya. Okay, so I hand Blondie the $100, and wander up to my room. I go to put my soda in the minifridge, only to realize the pathetic contraption doesn't work. You can all see me starting to twitch at this point, eh? I go to the bedside table and flip on the light, but THAT doesn't work. Right as I'm about to curse, the phone rings. It's Blondie, and apparently there's been some 'confusion'. I was supposed to give a $100 deposit AND the $140 up front when I checked in. Now, that was NOT in the fucking plan, and I asked to speak to the manager. I proceeded to tear him a new asshole, explaining that I was not equipped with $240 to simply hand to him (well, I was, I had $25 spare in my wallet, but $5 for three days to eat and smoke, and buy the alcohol required to get through this trip just didn't work), and that this was completely and totally out of the question. Dickweed proceeds to hem and haw as to what to do (I was mentally daring him to evict me, since I was so not familiar with the area, which I assumed as a bario, it was quickly getting dark, I was seething on the point of Lawyer calling at this point), he finally decides he'll take a $50 deposit and have me pay nightly. So I need to traipse down with $24 for the night. I get on the horn as I slam my feet into my flipflops and call my Uncle to check in, and my buddy Chris who lived nearby to come get me (punky people rock!). I threw the money at Dickweed (no, he doesn't get a real name, nobody at this godforsaken pit of idiocy does), and inform him I will not be pleased about the two non-working appliances. He crows apologies, and says he'll send a maintenance person up immediately. Chris & his daughter hits the road to meet me up at the room, so I go change and stew some more. I call the other mamatropolis area contacts I have, but no one else can hang, which is a bummer. Chris and his ridiculously damn cute daughter appear at my door right as I finish talking to my other cousin. As they sit down and I search for my cigs, the maintenance person walks in the door. It's Jose! He's apparently the one man show there. As he proceeds to delight us all with a great view of the buttcrack, we decide it's now time to hightail it and find a Del Taco and a whole lot of booze. I finally return to an empty room, with a working refridgerator, although Jose forgot the bedside lamp. A few Schmirnoff Ice's later, and a perturbed call to Mom, I drift into oblivion.
The next day I wake to my crappy abode, and a call from the day manager (not Dickweed, so we'll call this one Captain Kissass). Apparently, Mom was busy this morning, and called to rip him a new one about yesterday's little deposit fiasco. He was giving me back $25 of it so I could graciously eat dinner, and felt
Sunday, October 03, 2004
My absent note
Alright, so I don't come back to nasty little notes about slacking on the posts, I'm going to be gone all week, kids. My mom is going to watch Anthony for me, so I am going to take a train to her place in Oregon tomorrow. Pray that stupid pile of crap mountain doesn't burp again, the amtrak rolls right next to it. Tuesday morning I take a plain to the 3rd layer of hell, otherwise known as Orange County. I have layovers on both flights in Las Vegas, I'll bring some nickels for the slots (yes, they put slot machines in the airport). Wednesday I attend the service for my departed cousin, and proceed to avoid sensitive conversation with my dysfunctional nightmare of a family. Shouldn't be too hard, recent word through the grapevine is that they all consider me less than dead anyways. Then I'll wanderback and pray the hotel has a bar so I can drink away any memory of those people. In California, they can sell hard liquor in grocery and convenience stores, so I could always count pink elephants in the privacy of my little rented hovel. Thursday morning I'll drag my hungover ass onto a plane and meet Mom in Portland, where she'll just drive me and kiddo back up to Seattle.
I cherished the last time I was able to see Nathan, and his brother, Chris. All the bad history and lost time was water under the bridge, and we really did rekindle that closeness of our former years. If it wasn't for that care I resurrected for Nathan, and poor Chris who's been handling this whole thing, I would be writing this whole trip off. My third cousin, Nicky, will be seeing me for the first time in almost 15 years, as will his mom, my Aunt. Nina I know will be welcoming, but the rest of the family has apparently permanently shut the door on my end of the family. The conversation I had tonight with another cousin (remember, Italian families are fucking BIG. Nicky, Chris and Nathan were my only set of first cousins, but the number of seconds and thirds count to well over 40) was difficult to hear. Apparently I'm considered on the "forbidden list", usually only reserved for any criminal element of the family tree (again, we're fucking Italian, and yes we do fit that pathetic stereotype).
Well, fuck them. I'm still family, and I didn't do anything wrong. I'm walking in with my head held high. If they want to put me in the corner and pretend I don't exist, then Uncle Karl, Uncle Tony, and cousin Fred and I can sit in our corner together. At least I'll be in good company. Fuckin' A, someone better give me a drink now...
See you next week kiddies. I should be returning to the cyber world by Friday, so y'all can look forward to an oh-so festive update on the events of the week when I return. And please, folks, cross your fingers for me that our dimestore version of Krakatoa (aka Mount St. Helens) doesn't blow up too big during some crucial times. Flying into Portland could be seriously screwed by an ash cloud coming from ol' gassy over there.
I cherished the last time I was able to see Nathan, and his brother, Chris. All the bad history and lost time was water under the bridge, and we really did rekindle that closeness of our former years. If it wasn't for that care I resurrected for Nathan, and poor Chris who's been handling this whole thing, I would be writing this whole trip off. My third cousin, Nicky, will be seeing me for the first time in almost 15 years, as will his mom, my Aunt. Nina I know will be welcoming, but the rest of the family has apparently permanently shut the door on my end of the family. The conversation I had tonight with another cousin (remember, Italian families are fucking BIG. Nicky, Chris and Nathan were my only set of first cousins, but the number of seconds and thirds count to well over 40) was difficult to hear. Apparently I'm considered on the "forbidden list", usually only reserved for any criminal element of the family tree (again, we're fucking Italian, and yes we do fit that pathetic stereotype).
Well, fuck them. I'm still family, and I didn't do anything wrong. I'm walking in with my head held high. If they want to put me in the corner and pretend I don't exist, then Uncle Karl, Uncle Tony, and cousin Fred and I can sit in our corner together. At least I'll be in good company. Fuckin' A, someone better give me a drink now...
See you next week kiddies. I should be returning to the cyber world by Friday, so y'all can look forward to an oh-so festive update on the events of the week when I return. And please, folks, cross your fingers for me that our dimestore version of Krakatoa (aka Mount St. Helens) doesn't blow up too big during some crucial times. Flying into Portland could be seriously screwed by an ash cloud coming from ol' gassy over there.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Debatin' and Hatin'
Okay, if you all didn't watch the presidential debates tonight, you need to go stick your head in a toilet and give yourself a swirly, I'm serious.
That had to be one of the most delicious PUMMELINGS I've ever seen. Sorry, Pubs, but your man got friggin' trounced. I lost count of the amount of times he stammered absently, and at one point sat with his jaw agape staring into the camera searching the corneres of his little mind for a decent rebuttal. Kerry indecisive and wishywashy? Eat it, he came out with gloves on, aggressively hitting each point, and very clear with his message. There's no flipflopping in this guy, so the president trying to make that his main point (which he did over and over and OVER again) was just inane. I guess we knew who did their homework last night.
North Korea was an interesting point of obvious contention between the two, which was interesting to see. Bush ran to China to 'back us up', and those talks have deteriorated quickly. Since he's been twiddling his thumbs hoping the Chinese take care of the problem, the obviously shirked Kim Jong Ill resultingly bult up a nuclear system that we were trying to prevent. Kerry wants to get down to business, roll up the sleeves, and actually face him in Bilateral discussions. I say go for it. But Bush is once AGAIN stubbornly refusing to face the problem. Gee, what a shocker.
When Bush started in his usual (and quite tired) rant of "we were attacked, so we fought back..." blah blah blah schpeil, Kerry also addressed the hammering point of most of us libs out there. If Osama Bin Laden is the one who attacked us, why did the 'War on Terror' suddenly get thrown into Iraq? Yeah, yeah, we know Sadam needed to be unseated, we KNOW, get off it. But we should finished what we started in Afghanastan, then looked at Iraq, but with a full goddamn BACKUP with the world armies. Bush countered saying we did have a strong coalition with our allies. Great Britain and...Poland. Now, all knee slapping polish jokes aside, how the fuck are you counting them as a GRAND Coalition?! New York has more populaiton then the whole pissant country, and we're supposed to consider their mighty military (which was like, what, two guys, a dog, and a slingshot?) as a unconquerable allegience? Our troops over there are 90% of the casualties. We aren't a united front, we're us and a ragtag group that couldn't max the capacity of a 7-11.
And as for the Osama vs. Saddam issue, what was our fearless leader's response? "I know who attacked us!" Glad you were following along, Junior, now care to elaborate? *cricket chirps* didn't think so...
What scares me about him is his arrogance. When asked if he truley thought that if Kerry was elected, America would face more attacks (as his campaigns and coherts have been alleging), he said flat out "I don't think it will happen, I know I am going to win". Don't get too comfortable, Geedub, we're watching you. And we're coming for you...in November. Times up, asshole, you lost.
That had to be one of the most delicious PUMMELINGS I've ever seen. Sorry, Pubs, but your man got friggin' trounced. I lost count of the amount of times he stammered absently, and at one point sat with his jaw agape staring into the camera searching the corneres of his little mind for a decent rebuttal. Kerry indecisive and wishywashy? Eat it, he came out with gloves on, aggressively hitting each point, and very clear with his message. There's no flipflopping in this guy, so the president trying to make that his main point (which he did over and over and OVER again) was just inane. I guess we knew who did their homework last night.
North Korea was an interesting point of obvious contention between the two, which was interesting to see. Bush ran to China to 'back us up', and those talks have deteriorated quickly. Since he's been twiddling his thumbs hoping the Chinese take care of the problem, the obviously shirked Kim Jong Ill resultingly bult up a nuclear system that we were trying to prevent. Kerry wants to get down to business, roll up the sleeves, and actually face him in Bilateral discussions. I say go for it. But Bush is once AGAIN stubbornly refusing to face the problem. Gee, what a shocker.
When Bush started in his usual (and quite tired) rant of "we were attacked, so we fought back..." blah blah blah schpeil, Kerry also addressed the hammering point of most of us libs out there. If Osama Bin Laden is the one who attacked us, why did the 'War on Terror' suddenly get thrown into Iraq? Yeah, yeah, we know Sadam needed to be unseated, we KNOW, get off it. But we should finished what we started in Afghanastan, then looked at Iraq, but with a full goddamn BACKUP with the world armies. Bush countered saying we did have a strong coalition with our allies. Great Britain and...Poland. Now, all knee slapping polish jokes aside, how the fuck are you counting them as a GRAND Coalition?! New York has more populaiton then the whole pissant country, and we're supposed to consider their mighty military (which was like, what, two guys, a dog, and a slingshot?) as a unconquerable allegience? Our troops over there are 90% of the casualties. We aren't a united front, we're us and a ragtag group that couldn't max the capacity of a 7-11.
And as for the Osama vs. Saddam issue, what was our fearless leader's response? "I know who attacked us!" Glad you were following along, Junior, now care to elaborate? *cricket chirps* didn't think so...
What scares me about him is his arrogance. When asked if he truley thought that if Kerry was elected, America would face more attacks (as his campaigns and coherts have been alleging), he said flat out "I don't think it will happen, I know I am going to win". Don't get too comfortable, Geedub, we're watching you. And we're coming for you...in November. Times up, asshole, you lost.
A Word on Family
Well, I've known for years that I had a family that would make any talk show host drool. We take dysfunctional to a whole new level, an art form, really. But no matter how screwed up they can be, we still have the bonds of unity, although it takes horrible experiences to understand that sometimes.
I was a wee one, down in Southern California. My Dad had a sister, Nina, and boy were they tight. She had three children of her own, Chris (4 years older), Angie (two years older), and Nicky (1 year younger). Angie and I had our birthdays 1 day apart, so often the family celebrated them together. And in Southern California, we were one big DisneyLand luvin group. The families were different in a lot of ways, Nina's family was quite well off, while since a divorce rocked mine we struggled at times. It was weird, seeing them as kind of this 'perfect family', all three kids in private schools, and special camps, while I was a public school brat. But even after my clan moved upward into Sacramento, the families were close, and I saw my cousins and Aunt at least 2 times a year. Dad and I cherished the seven hour drive down there, it was our special time (and the beginning of our close bond).The bulk of our big ass Italian family also lived in SoCal, so there was always plenty of visits to other Aunts, Uncles, and cousins, and a reunion (which we had every year), busted the seams of my great Aunt Dolly's home. The entire family was close.
Dad's mother passed when I was 8 of cancer. Nina had been taking care of Grandma in her final moments, as she lived closer. By the time the extremely complicated estate was worked out, my Father had disowned my Aunt, and the rest of the family seemed to 'forget' about us up in the north. Time went by, and now it's been thirteen years since I've seen/spoken to the majority of those people. I tried to keep in contact, but no one seemed to care, now that grandma (who was the last blood tie to the rest of them) was long gone. Since the falling out between siblings, I was also estranged from the cousins I had grown up with.
Well, time heals wounds, and I managed to get in contact with the eldest, Chris. I popped down to Frisco, where he had moved, and had a wonderful time catching up. I found out he was Gay, and made sure he knew Dad and I would always be completely accepting. Just this March, we all went down to Frisco, Dad too, and got to see Chris again. I also discovered that Angie had gotten a sex change, and was now Nathan, also living in Frisco. Looking at the new young man in front of me, you couldn't see much of the former girl, except maybe in the eyes. He was so much happier in his new form, and Dad and I were overjoyed to reunite with the boys. Nicky still lived in Orange County with his mom, but after seeing Chris and Nathan, I started to have confidence that family ties may be restored. Chris and Nathan talked of hopefully coming up to Seattle to visit us. Nathan was enraptured with Anthony, and apparently really wanted to have his own children. (please don't ask me how that works, I have no idea, and assumed he would adopt). It's amazing how quickly I felt close to them both again. Nathan and I had so much in common it was scary. He was working in marketing, just as I had, and was now an active member in church and charities. He adopted his own little old lady, like my momma Ida, and we swapped granny stories.
I just got a call yesterday from Chris. Nathan was killed in a car accident Tuesday night. The services are going to be held sometime next week back in Orange County, and I will be flying down to attend. Dad's hoping to come as well, but work may not allow it if it's during the week.
Needless to say, I am upset. I feel like I was robbed, I just got back in touch with him, and now he's gone. I keep thinking over and over of his desires for a family, and how they won't be fulfilled. The rest of the family, some of whom weren't apparently too accepting of the change, will now never be able to make amends with a truely wonderful young man. I can't imagine what my Aunt is going through.
I also know I am about to experience one fucked up family reunion. We've been estranged from this family for so long. If dad can come, he will be face to face with the sister he's built up so much resentment for over these years. My head is spinning with this whole situation.
But this was my cousin. Man, woman, didn't care, we were tied. Angie was a nice girl to grow up with, and Nathan was an awesome guy to be related to and get to know all over again. So estrangements, disowning, bad memories, and bonds destroyed, I am going to California, returning to a home I swore I'd never return. I'm going because family is still family, and Nathan deserved me to be there.
Nathan, you were a great man. Rest in Peace, Cousin. I'll see you.
Nathan Cistone
1975-2004
I was a wee one, down in Southern California. My Dad had a sister, Nina, and boy were they tight. She had three children of her own, Chris (4 years older), Angie (two years older), and Nicky (1 year younger). Angie and I had our birthdays 1 day apart, so often the family celebrated them together. And in Southern California, we were one big DisneyLand luvin group. The families were different in a lot of ways, Nina's family was quite well off, while since a divorce rocked mine we struggled at times. It was weird, seeing them as kind of this 'perfect family', all three kids in private schools, and special camps, while I was a public school brat. But even after my clan moved upward into Sacramento, the families were close, and I saw my cousins and Aunt at least 2 times a year. Dad and I cherished the seven hour drive down there, it was our special time (and the beginning of our close bond).The bulk of our big ass Italian family also lived in SoCal, so there was always plenty of visits to other Aunts, Uncles, and cousins, and a reunion (which we had every year), busted the seams of my great Aunt Dolly's home. The entire family was close.
Dad's mother passed when I was 8 of cancer. Nina had been taking care of Grandma in her final moments, as she lived closer. By the time the extremely complicated estate was worked out, my Father had disowned my Aunt, and the rest of the family seemed to 'forget' about us up in the north. Time went by, and now it's been thirteen years since I've seen/spoken to the majority of those people. I tried to keep in contact, but no one seemed to care, now that grandma (who was the last blood tie to the rest of them) was long gone. Since the falling out between siblings, I was also estranged from the cousins I had grown up with.
Well, time heals wounds, and I managed to get in contact with the eldest, Chris. I popped down to Frisco, where he had moved, and had a wonderful time catching up. I found out he was Gay, and made sure he knew Dad and I would always be completely accepting. Just this March, we all went down to Frisco, Dad too, and got to see Chris again. I also discovered that Angie had gotten a sex change, and was now Nathan, also living in Frisco. Looking at the new young man in front of me, you couldn't see much of the former girl, except maybe in the eyes. He was so much happier in his new form, and Dad and I were overjoyed to reunite with the boys. Nicky still lived in Orange County with his mom, but after seeing Chris and Nathan, I started to have confidence that family ties may be restored. Chris and Nathan talked of hopefully coming up to Seattle to visit us. Nathan was enraptured with Anthony, and apparently really wanted to have his own children. (please don't ask me how that works, I have no idea, and assumed he would adopt). It's amazing how quickly I felt close to them both again. Nathan and I had so much in common it was scary. He was working in marketing, just as I had, and was now an active member in church and charities. He adopted his own little old lady, like my momma Ida, and we swapped granny stories.
I just got a call yesterday from Chris. Nathan was killed in a car accident Tuesday night. The services are going to be held sometime next week back in Orange County, and I will be flying down to attend. Dad's hoping to come as well, but work may not allow it if it's during the week.
Needless to say, I am upset. I feel like I was robbed, I just got back in touch with him, and now he's gone. I keep thinking over and over of his desires for a family, and how they won't be fulfilled. The rest of the family, some of whom weren't apparently too accepting of the change, will now never be able to make amends with a truely wonderful young man. I can't imagine what my Aunt is going through.
I also know I am about to experience one fucked up family reunion. We've been estranged from this family for so long. If dad can come, he will be face to face with the sister he's built up so much resentment for over these years. My head is spinning with this whole situation.
But this was my cousin. Man, woman, didn't care, we were tied. Angie was a nice girl to grow up with, and Nathan was an awesome guy to be related to and get to know all over again. So estrangements, disowning, bad memories, and bonds destroyed, I am going to California, returning to a home I swore I'd never return. I'm going because family is still family, and Nathan deserved me to be there.
Nathan, you were a great man. Rest in Peace, Cousin. I'll see you.
Nathan Cistone
1975-2004
Monday, September 27, 2004
Earth Quakes and Belly Aches
So, I'm watching the news yesterday, and they are showing lovely seismographs to scare the pee out of you in regards to our resident volcanoe here in the Northwest. Apparently, Miss Helen gets irritable once daily, but that's about par for the course, and they always stay below 1.0 on the Richter. Weeellll, our newscasters dropped the lovely news that over 850 fucking shakers hit below the crater yesterday. I'd say that's pretty goggamn significant. Then they parade out some dweeby seismologist who tells eeryone to stay calm and blathers on about heavy rains and expanding water beneath the surface. Hmmm...hey smartass, since we live in SEATTLE, which getrs a shitload of rain every year, why isn't this an annual occurance? Hmm? Didn't think you'd answer that one, four eyes, I'm going to go update my renters insurance and make sure I know where all my proper exits are (and quite possibly go find a large object to hide under until someone tells me otherwise).
NEWSFLASH FOR TODAY...okay, we weren't telling you the whole truth, Mr. Scientist says. Kinda figured that, pinhead, so what's up? Oh, we should expect an eruption or "Other major event"...MMmmm-hmmmm. God, I hate people with pocket protectors. *sigh* I have a feeling we'll get a nice little steam explosion to watch, possible ash outfall, and perhaps another earthquake. I will observe my cats and report my findings of any erratic behavior....wait, my cats are always erratic...shit.
In more personal news...who wants to hear about my reproductive organs? Well, then sit down kiddies, it's time for Momma Hood to do a little sharing. For those not in the know, way back in 1999 I got to have my first surgery, necessitated by a very large ovarian cyst on my right side. Dom actually met me two days before the slicing date, when I was hopped up on Vicadin due to the nausea inducing pain those little fuckers cause when they grow. Medical lesson: Your average female ovary is the size of a medium kalamata olive. When a cyst, like the ones I tend to cultivate, forms on the side, that olive can have a nice little siamese twin attached to it. My first present from hell was the size of a golfball when removed. Since I was so young at the time, a precious 20, I was told it was a freak occurance, rest assured they wouldn't return. Fast forward 5 years, and the collective lying sacks of shit we like to call doctors have had to remove two more, while missing two that ruptured in the most excruciating pair of experiences I've ever lived through. yes, children, it was worse than childbirth to have those puppies go pop down under. I've also had the lovely experience of adding to my health complications with a garden variety dysfunction called Cervical Dysplasia, which is nicey doc talk for precancerous cells. Back on the table I went, and all was once again "right" in my reproductive system (yeah, right, then we add childbirth to that fucked up mix).
The last rupture was in April, and it was a harrowing experience to say the least. I was home alone with Anthony, and suddenly flat on the floor gripping my side in blinding pain as I rationalized not calling 911 because no one would watch Anthony. I blathered about it much earlier in my blog, I think back in July.
So, why am I giving you this descriptive personal medical history lesson? Because I've had a slow building pain on my left side since yesterday. I've been through this enough times to rattle off the impending symptoms of an ovarian cyst like a medical referrence book. Fast blinding pain = cyst in the process of rupturing. Call 911, get shots of demoral and a bottle of percocet, they run lots of tests to make sure I didn't hemmorage. Slow building pain = Mega-cyst forming, get to the doc pronto, sit through painful prodding and ultrasounds, get slapped back on the operating table and no walking for a week, lots more pretty pills that make me see colours and drool in a corner.
Am I scared? Yes, but I've been through this before. Am I upset? Fuck yes, this shit gets old real fast, living in my own personal goddamn nightmare. I play beat the clock with the mind-numbing pain and possible internal damage of a rupture, only to get the joy of surgery, and walking like a shuffling little old lady for a week because they slice right through the muscle wall in your abdomen. Do they have an answer after all these years for why God chose me to be his personal voodoo doll of reproductive fun? Nope. Fucking doctors.
NEWSFLASH FOR TODAY...okay, we weren't telling you the whole truth, Mr. Scientist says. Kinda figured that, pinhead, so what's up? Oh, we should expect an eruption or "Other major event"...MMmmm-hmmmm. God, I hate people with pocket protectors. *sigh* I have a feeling we'll get a nice little steam explosion to watch, possible ash outfall, and perhaps another earthquake. I will observe my cats and report my findings of any erratic behavior....wait, my cats are always erratic...shit.
In more personal news...who wants to hear about my reproductive organs? Well, then sit down kiddies, it's time for Momma Hood to do a little sharing. For those not in the know, way back in 1999 I got to have my first surgery, necessitated by a very large ovarian cyst on my right side. Dom actually met me two days before the slicing date, when I was hopped up on Vicadin due to the nausea inducing pain those little fuckers cause when they grow. Medical lesson: Your average female ovary is the size of a medium kalamata olive. When a cyst, like the ones I tend to cultivate, forms on the side, that olive can have a nice little siamese twin attached to it. My first present from hell was the size of a golfball when removed. Since I was so young at the time, a precious 20, I was told it was a freak occurance, rest assured they wouldn't return. Fast forward 5 years, and the collective lying sacks of shit we like to call doctors have had to remove two more, while missing two that ruptured in the most excruciating pair of experiences I've ever lived through. yes, children, it was worse than childbirth to have those puppies go pop down under. I've also had the lovely experience of adding to my health complications with a garden variety dysfunction called Cervical Dysplasia, which is nicey doc talk for precancerous cells. Back on the table I went, and all was once again "right" in my reproductive system (yeah, right, then we add childbirth to that fucked up mix).
The last rupture was in April, and it was a harrowing experience to say the least. I was home alone with Anthony, and suddenly flat on the floor gripping my side in blinding pain as I rationalized not calling 911 because no one would watch Anthony. I blathered about it much earlier in my blog, I think back in July.
So, why am I giving you this descriptive personal medical history lesson? Because I've had a slow building pain on my left side since yesterday. I've been through this enough times to rattle off the impending symptoms of an ovarian cyst like a medical referrence book. Fast blinding pain = cyst in the process of rupturing. Call 911, get shots of demoral and a bottle of percocet, they run lots of tests to make sure I didn't hemmorage. Slow building pain = Mega-cyst forming, get to the doc pronto, sit through painful prodding and ultrasounds, get slapped back on the operating table and no walking for a week, lots more pretty pills that make me see colours and drool in a corner.
Am I scared? Yes, but I've been through this before. Am I upset? Fuck yes, this shit gets old real fast, living in my own personal goddamn nightmare. I play beat the clock with the mind-numbing pain and possible internal damage of a rupture, only to get the joy of surgery, and walking like a shuffling little old lady for a week because they slice right through the muscle wall in your abdomen. Do they have an answer after all these years for why God chose me to be his personal voodoo doll of reproductive fun? Nope. Fucking doctors.
Sunday, September 19, 2004
Raging Liberal Rant
Consider the title of this post before you continue reading...it's gonna get ugly...
I am a flaming liberal. Tree-hugging, educated, crybaby, damn the man, fuck the Bushes Liberal. I am young, I protest. I participate in letter writing campaigns and vote with a vengeance.
Now, I used to consider myself a tepid middle of the road type of gal, and in many respects I still am. I am all for the Death Penalty, I hate superflous taxation (like my goddamn cigarettes which now cost $5), and believe in harsher criminal punishment. I used to look at the presidential and local government candidates as individuals rather than party members. But suddenly our country became this psychotically polarized nation, where there was right, left, and no in between. Even our local voting here in Washington now refuses to allow you to vote outside your party. And the right became so damn right that well, most of us ran screaming to the left.
Bush is a fuckwad. He's a redneck, oildrilling, bomb the shit out of everything and take no responsibility fuckwad. Yes, 9-11 was a tragic, horrible day and I will "never forget", so get your flag out of my face. But this bullshit of parading around "national security" is such a goddamn farce it makes me sick. The reason our national security is at stake is BECAUSE of President Gomer Pile. The reason our troops are dropping like flies overseas is because no one likes us anymore, due to his bomb happy regime. Oh yeah, and despite how many of our armed forces he plunks down over there, he keeps conveniently forgetting that they need to be adequately paid, sufficiently armed and armoured, and have decent medical coverage for their familes back at home. We don't have any allies helping us out over there because the entire world forum thinks we're run by a trigger happy lunatic with poor grammer skills, and they ain't wrong.
And since Bush has forced us to currently live in fear (hello orange terror alert), we are gleefully allowing the government to strip us of our freedoms that we are so determined to "defend". What freedom and liberty are we defending when we allow the government to take it away "for our safety"? It's like taking away a kids crayons and then bragging about what a great artist he is.
Buuuuuuuuuuut, since I am protesting and calling him Captain Nitwit with an Aggresion Disorder, I am now "unpatriotic", "non-supportive of the troops", "a flag burning militant", and the best of them all..."uneducated". Allow me to address these falacies in their order...
Unpatriotic
I love my country, and all that it originally stood for. Freedom, independence, and a decent life for all. We'll make sure it's possible for all to thrive. Yeah, right. In reality, we have very few of those "freedoms" left, as noted by the "unpatriotic" statement. Our freedoms were based on the right to disagree, and loudly so, with our government in case it got out of hand. We've got rednecks freaking out about "them dern foreigners" (which by the way, unless you are a native american living on a reservation smoking your peace pipe, you ARE a fucking foreigner, too. So jump on that ship you are so diligently trying to push from your precious shores). I speak out because I want this country to return to it's glory, it's peaceful, thriving, non-judgemental, all for one and one for all glory. Tell me that ain't patriotic.
non-supportive of the troops
Aside from being a sucker for a man in uniform, I am anything but unsupportive of the gracious americans that are willing to risk their lives for a "real" threat to mine. My father wore that uniform, my close friends have worn that uniform, and some still do. I love those men to pieces, and think our government should reward their valiantefforts by providing them good pay and education, excellent training, the best defenses our taxes can buy them, and completely brilliant medical coverage. Considering how much we've put our national deficit into insane proportions, you'd think we could easily accomplish these tasks. Most importantly, I think the government should make DAMN sure they are sending these men over for a legitimate reason, not because someone looked at us sideways. Oh, and make sure our boys have backup and won't come back hated by every other free country in the western hemisphere.
Flag Burning Militant
I wouldn't have been a militant if the right didn't shove so much fucking doctrine down everyone's throat. I wouldn't be so righteous if I didn't watch the current administration trying to fuck with the constitution and make closeminded Bigotry nationally upheld. I wouldn't be so upset if the Mighty Moron didn't try and tell us that God chose him to lead our nation. I wouldn't want to burn that flag if I wasn't forced into being embarrassed of it.
uneducated
Well, if my degree doesn't stand for anything, maybe my education in the school of hard knocks with a thank-you note from a fucked up life will. There was a time when I needed government medical help, but was treated like shit for it. I watched as what I thought were my basic needs (medicine, a dentist) suddenly considered luxuries by some prick in Olympia who had two SUV in his garage. I couldn't afford my rent because the job market took a flaming nosedive, so I became a stripper, and watched "family advocates" parade in front of the club and prevent me from making any dough that night from my usual crop of three pieced suit business men who didn't want to be seen by their picketing neighbors. I worked with a gal who got raped, but couldn't find a place to get an abortion for the pregnancy the filth that nailed her left her suffering. Oh yeah, she was raped because the area she lived in normally had a decent police force patrolling it, but had recently watched all the cops go bye bye because the assholes making decisions had chosen to make cutbacks. I watched five local schools lose all their afterschool programs and sports teams due to some tightwad fucking up their budgets. I watched the music programs I had gotten so much from suddenly get considered "uneccessary". I watched my not-quite citizened family members suddenly treated like shit because they don't speak English as well as the suburbanite asshole who buys sanwiches from their deli.
So...I am a Liberal, and until our Conservatively run Country can pull it's collective head from it's derriere, I'm going to be one for quite some time.
I am a flaming liberal. Tree-hugging, educated, crybaby, damn the man, fuck the Bushes Liberal. I am young, I protest. I participate in letter writing campaigns and vote with a vengeance.
Now, I used to consider myself a tepid middle of the road type of gal, and in many respects I still am. I am all for the Death Penalty, I hate superflous taxation (like my goddamn cigarettes which now cost $5), and believe in harsher criminal punishment. I used to look at the presidential and local government candidates as individuals rather than party members. But suddenly our country became this psychotically polarized nation, where there was right, left, and no in between. Even our local voting here in Washington now refuses to allow you to vote outside your party. And the right became so damn right that well, most of us ran screaming to the left.
Bush is a fuckwad. He's a redneck, oildrilling, bomb the shit out of everything and take no responsibility fuckwad. Yes, 9-11 was a tragic, horrible day and I will "never forget", so get your flag out of my face. But this bullshit of parading around "national security" is such a goddamn farce it makes me sick. The reason our national security is at stake is BECAUSE of President Gomer Pile. The reason our troops are dropping like flies overseas is because no one likes us anymore, due to his bomb happy regime. Oh yeah, and despite how many of our armed forces he plunks down over there, he keeps conveniently forgetting that they need to be adequately paid, sufficiently armed and armoured, and have decent medical coverage for their familes back at home. We don't have any allies helping us out over there because the entire world forum thinks we're run by a trigger happy lunatic with poor grammer skills, and they ain't wrong.
And since Bush has forced us to currently live in fear (hello orange terror alert), we are gleefully allowing the government to strip us of our freedoms that we are so determined to "defend". What freedom and liberty are we defending when we allow the government to take it away "for our safety"? It's like taking away a kids crayons and then bragging about what a great artist he is.
Buuuuuuuuuuut, since I am protesting and calling him Captain Nitwit with an Aggresion Disorder, I am now "unpatriotic", "non-supportive of the troops", "a flag burning militant", and the best of them all..."uneducated". Allow me to address these falacies in their order...
Unpatriotic
I love my country, and all that it originally stood for. Freedom, independence, and a decent life for all. We'll make sure it's possible for all to thrive. Yeah, right. In reality, we have very few of those "freedoms" left, as noted by the "unpatriotic" statement. Our freedoms were based on the right to disagree, and loudly so, with our government in case it got out of hand. We've got rednecks freaking out about "them dern foreigners" (which by the way, unless you are a native american living on a reservation smoking your peace pipe, you ARE a fucking foreigner, too. So jump on that ship you are so diligently trying to push from your precious shores). I speak out because I want this country to return to it's glory, it's peaceful, thriving, non-judgemental, all for one and one for all glory. Tell me that ain't patriotic.
non-supportive of the troops
Aside from being a sucker for a man in uniform, I am anything but unsupportive of the gracious americans that are willing to risk their lives for a "real" threat to mine. My father wore that uniform, my close friends have worn that uniform, and some still do. I love those men to pieces, and think our government should reward their valiantefforts by providing them good pay and education, excellent training, the best defenses our taxes can buy them, and completely brilliant medical coverage. Considering how much we've put our national deficit into insane proportions, you'd think we could easily accomplish these tasks. Most importantly, I think the government should make DAMN sure they are sending these men over for a legitimate reason, not because someone looked at us sideways. Oh, and make sure our boys have backup and won't come back hated by every other free country in the western hemisphere.
Flag Burning Militant
I wouldn't have been a militant if the right didn't shove so much fucking doctrine down everyone's throat. I wouldn't be so righteous if I didn't watch the current administration trying to fuck with the constitution and make closeminded Bigotry nationally upheld. I wouldn't be so upset if the Mighty Moron didn't try and tell us that God chose him to lead our nation. I wouldn't want to burn that flag if I wasn't forced into being embarrassed of it.
uneducated
Well, if my degree doesn't stand for anything, maybe my education in the school of hard knocks with a thank-you note from a fucked up life will. There was a time when I needed government medical help, but was treated like shit for it. I watched as what I thought were my basic needs (medicine, a dentist) suddenly considered luxuries by some prick in Olympia who had two SUV in his garage. I couldn't afford my rent because the job market took a flaming nosedive, so I became a stripper, and watched "family advocates" parade in front of the club and prevent me from making any dough that night from my usual crop of three pieced suit business men who didn't want to be seen by their picketing neighbors. I worked with a gal who got raped, but couldn't find a place to get an abortion for the pregnancy the filth that nailed her left her suffering. Oh yeah, she was raped because the area she lived in normally had a decent police force patrolling it, but had recently watched all the cops go bye bye because the assholes making decisions had chosen to make cutbacks. I watched five local schools lose all their afterschool programs and sports teams due to some tightwad fucking up their budgets. I watched the music programs I had gotten so much from suddenly get considered "uneccessary". I watched my not-quite citizened family members suddenly treated like shit because they don't speak English as well as the suburbanite asshole who buys sanwiches from their deli.
So...I am a Liberal, and until our Conservatively run Country can pull it's collective head from it's derriere, I'm going to be one for quite some time.
Friday, September 17, 2004
Cultivated Hatred
Alright, kiddies, I promised a return to ranting, so that I shall do. Some time ago I posted a list of things that annoy me. Minor irritations in the grand scheme of things, really. Things like the sensation that immediately follows squishing a bug in the sink drain.
But here, dear readers, are the things that I have formed an all-consuming, blood-bloiling, deep seated passionate hatred for...enjoy!
1) Conservatives who feel that the only reason I am a liberal is because I am young, stupid, easily swayed by 'biased media', and 'don't know any better'. yes, I realize this was on the irritation list, but it's moved up a notch.
More on just how my political views fit into things later. For now, let's just say these closed minded twits are usually ninnies posting on message boards while sitting in their whitebread suburbanite asses and have never known poverty or misfortune in their pathetic former cheerleader PTA member lives. (No steph, you don't fall into this category).
this goes double for the pissants who say I am 'unpatriotic' for my displeasure with the current administration.
2) Liberals who refuse to get into an intelligent dialogue with conservatives about the issues at hand, and simply storm off screaming "PROPAGANDIST!" while haughtily eating their granola and feeling all 'intellectual'. Again, I kindly deliver a "Fuck Off".
3) The fact that too many people have decided the core issue of this election is "National Security". Go choke on a red, white, and blue corn muffin, you ignorant sods. The real issues that SHOULD be facing this election are the troops currently in harms way, our educational system, healthcare, and the FUCKING ECONOMY.
Taking a sidetrack from my political rantings...
4) People who make grossly inaccurate judgement calls on my parenting abilities due to either minor points (such as formula feeding), or inconsequential points (my former occupation, my political views). You get extra wrathful smiting points if you've formed these judgements based on something I wrote on a message board.
5) People who are intentionally meanspirited and make cruel comments while hiding under the guise of "just being humourous". No, it's not funny to make someone feel like shit, so stop it.
6) Newscasters exaggerating the details, particularly weather. We had two little thunder claps and all of the sudden it's "Stormwatch 2004" Dun Dun DUUUUUUUUNN!
7) People who live in tightly spaced apartment communities and are loud as fuck after a reasonable hour. I am not the only person in the neighborhood with children, or that might like a quiet night of sleep. SHUT UP!!!!!!!!
8) Burglars. I don't care why you need money, although 8 times out of 10 it's to support a drug addiction. I worked my ass off to buy my property, what gives you the right to take it? None. May the ground open and swallow you whole.
9) Pedophiles who play the pity-me-I'm-just-ill card. Die. If you feel the need to touch a child in an innapropriate way, for your pleasure, you seriously were an accident of creation and don't deserve to have reproductive organs, much less live.
Okay, that's all for now. I have to run, but stay tuned for an update in the next few days that will make crystal clear my own political motivations and views.
But here, dear readers, are the things that I have formed an all-consuming, blood-bloiling, deep seated passionate hatred for...enjoy!
1) Conservatives who feel that the only reason I am a liberal is because I am young, stupid, easily swayed by 'biased media', and 'don't know any better'. yes, I realize this was on the irritation list, but it's moved up a notch.
More on just how my political views fit into things later. For now, let's just say these closed minded twits are usually ninnies posting on message boards while sitting in their whitebread suburbanite asses and have never known poverty or misfortune in their pathetic former cheerleader PTA member lives. (No steph, you don't fall into this category).
this goes double for the pissants who say I am 'unpatriotic' for my displeasure with the current administration.
2) Liberals who refuse to get into an intelligent dialogue with conservatives about the issues at hand, and simply storm off screaming "PROPAGANDIST!" while haughtily eating their granola and feeling all 'intellectual'. Again, I kindly deliver a "Fuck Off".
3) The fact that too many people have decided the core issue of this election is "National Security". Go choke on a red, white, and blue corn muffin, you ignorant sods. The real issues that SHOULD be facing this election are the troops currently in harms way, our educational system, healthcare, and the FUCKING ECONOMY.
Taking a sidetrack from my political rantings...
4) People who make grossly inaccurate judgement calls on my parenting abilities due to either minor points (such as formula feeding), or inconsequential points (my former occupation, my political views). You get extra wrathful smiting points if you've formed these judgements based on something I wrote on a message board.
5) People who are intentionally meanspirited and make cruel comments while hiding under the guise of "just being humourous". No, it's not funny to make someone feel like shit, so stop it.
6) Newscasters exaggerating the details, particularly weather. We had two little thunder claps and all of the sudden it's "Stormwatch 2004" Dun Dun DUUUUUUUUNN!
7) People who live in tightly spaced apartment communities and are loud as fuck after a reasonable hour. I am not the only person in the neighborhood with children, or that might like a quiet night of sleep. SHUT UP!!!!!!!!
8) Burglars. I don't care why you need money, although 8 times out of 10 it's to support a drug addiction. I worked my ass off to buy my property, what gives you the right to take it? None. May the ground open and swallow you whole.
9) Pedophiles who play the pity-me-I'm-just-ill card. Die. If you feel the need to touch a child in an innapropriate way, for your pleasure, you seriously were an accident of creation and don't deserve to have reproductive organs, much less live.
Okay, that's all for now. I have to run, but stay tuned for an update in the next few days that will make crystal clear my own political motivations and views.
Thursday, September 16, 2004
Can I wear a neon sign?
Maybe I should start wearing a neon sign around my neck that says "HIRE ME!"...this job-hunting business is going nowhere. I'm either over-qualified or have the wrong qualifications. Blech. Everyone said with a degree you are garaunteed a job. They forgot to tell me "as long as it's not in ART". Jeesh, if you have an art degree, you might as well get used to saying "would you like fries with that?"
I'm not seeking serious employment or anything, just a little part time job to add to our income. I don't mind playing with my home-based businesses, but none of them are really cranking out a significant amount of cash.
*sigh* the search continues...I'll keep you updated, friends. But I'm not sure how much I'll have to say. Maybe I should just go back to ranting absently for now!
I'm not seeking serious employment or anything, just a little part time job to add to our income. I don't mind playing with my home-based businesses, but none of them are really cranking out a significant amount of cash.
*sigh* the search continues...I'll keep you updated, friends. But I'm not sure how much I'll have to say. Maybe I should just go back to ranting absently for now!
Monday, September 13, 2004
Consumer Whore
Well, my incesent rambling may actually lead to a few random dollars a month. I'm going to add a few ads to the blog to see if I can scrape up a few extra bucks. Supposedly I can customize these to my blog's content (ads for what, anti-depressants and pampers?). So if you see me all the sudden discussing a random product or service, you now know why. Feel free to click away, so I can have some cigarette money.
And don't hate me for adding these little puppies, you know I am strapped, peeps. See below post.
And don't hate me for adding these little puppies, you know I am strapped, peeps. See below post.
Defining Independence
Well, I've made the decision to attempt returning to the workplace, but it's not been a very popular decision in this house. In fact, it's caused a lot of unease between the husband and I.
But wait, we thought Rick wanted you to go back to work...
Well, the male mind is a fickle thing. He had wanted me to go back to work, and had often harped on my 'lack of contribution' to the household. He made it sound like I was some spoiled housewife that sat around eating bonbons and watching sopa opera all day. Never mind the fact that I spend my hours mainly running after our little boy, who each day learns yet another thing we don't want him to do (newest trick: pulling all the cables out from under the carpet and chewing on them). Also, I do my best to keep the hosue clean, laundry done, and food on the table in a timely fashion. I'm also the family secretary, making all the doctor appointments, birthday card mailing, gift buying, and ebay auction tracker (yup, we are 'power sellers', wohoo!). Yet he had constantly reminded me that it was his paycheck that paid our rent, and that he would decide how his money was spent. He had even tried showing my a job listing for a pizza maker once.
Well, apparently, he found some appreciation for all that I do and just neglected to inform me. But, more importantly, he's decided that this is all about him again. *sigh*
He came home to find me searching a few job sites and asked what was up. I told him I was looking for a part time job, probably in the evening. You see, I still refuse to put little guy in day care, and in reality, any job I return to won't be worth much if I have to include daycare costs. Returning to the workforce after two years (and even before that, 'Stripper' isn't the greatest thing to have on one's resume) isn't exactly going to yeild any executive positions. But, I can work evenings, from the time Rick gets home to whenever I can get home and get enough sleep to wake up refreshed and ready to take care of Anthony in the morning. Graveyard shift wouldn't really work, because I'd never have sleep time (sleeping from the time Rick gets home until I went to work is a good theory, except for that I'd still never sleep, what with Anthony's little outbursts. I also know Rick has the complete inability to allow me to rest peacefully for more than an hour or two).
But Rick has decided that my new quest for work is all about "not wanting to spend any time with him". Interesting theory, as he does have a tendency to drive me completely insane as of late. But that's not it. I want to work because...
A) There are things I need that he can't (or won't) provide for monitarily, like my teeth getting fixed, my bankruptcy declared, new contact/glasses perscription, and, oh yeah my freaking BIRTH CONTROL.
B) There are things I want that he can't/won't purchase, like a new computer, an Xbox (yup, I'm a geek), clothing, makeup, and hair dye, tattoos, piercings. Also, being an avid toy collector isn't exactly a cheap hobby.
C) Beyond my own wants and needs, we have things we need to purchase for the house that one income can't nail down, like new baby furniture, furnishings for the living room that aren't hand me downs and are childproof, childproofing equipment, shelving, crap like that. Oh yeah, and since we have a son, we need to have a college fund started. And that ain't happening on $34,000 a year in this ridiculously expensive town.
And last but not least, the Big One...
I want to work because I miss my independence. I want to go to the coffee shop up the street and buy my own goddamn mocha without feeling like I am giving myself an unwarrranted "treat", or worrying about how it will affect our budget. I want the freedom to pick up the groceries I feel like eating, and the baby stuff I want to get Anthony simply because it's on sale. I don't want to have to "ask nicely" for the ATM card, and then have a pre-planned presentation as to exactly what I am spending every penny of the twenty dollars I am looking for and why it needs to be purchased. I don't ever want to hear him utter that stupid phrase "It's my money..." ever again. And yes, I want the personal validation a paycheck provides.
This independence also extends to my uneasey feelings in our marriage as of late. Basically, I want to have a backup plan. If, God Forbid, the worst should happen and we split, I'm currently fucked. I would have to move in with Dad and quite possibly lose custody of my son due to the inability to provide for him. Then what? The ensuing panic would probably result into my falling back into habbit, which means back to the poles at Deja Vu and still not getting my child back because of my 'inappropriate' work choice. So, best to plan ahead, I always say. Get a job, get the bankruptcy so I can have a bank account, and sock some cash away for a rainy day. This 'preparing' isn't necessarily announcing I think this marriage is doomed, but it's being logically cautious. We're fighting a lot, and I can sense my own deepening depression that has so far already grown worrisome while remaining completely unchecked. The new friends I've made has helped aleviate it a bit, as now I have people I can vent to, but even still not everyone knows how far the rabbit hole has been dug. Well, Dad does, but he's supposed to, he's DAD. Dad knows all, even before I do.
So, despite Rick's newest bout of whining, my resumes are out there and the search for a new form of independence has begun. I'll keep y'all updated on the so far wuite fruitless foray into employment.
But wait, we thought Rick wanted you to go back to work...
Well, the male mind is a fickle thing. He had wanted me to go back to work, and had often harped on my 'lack of contribution' to the household. He made it sound like I was some spoiled housewife that sat around eating bonbons and watching sopa opera all day. Never mind the fact that I spend my hours mainly running after our little boy, who each day learns yet another thing we don't want him to do (newest trick: pulling all the cables out from under the carpet and chewing on them). Also, I do my best to keep the hosue clean, laundry done, and food on the table in a timely fashion. I'm also the family secretary, making all the doctor appointments, birthday card mailing, gift buying, and ebay auction tracker (yup, we are 'power sellers', wohoo!). Yet he had constantly reminded me that it was his paycheck that paid our rent, and that he would decide how his money was spent. He had even tried showing my a job listing for a pizza maker once.
Well, apparently, he found some appreciation for all that I do and just neglected to inform me. But, more importantly, he's decided that this is all about him again. *sigh*
He came home to find me searching a few job sites and asked what was up. I told him I was looking for a part time job, probably in the evening. You see, I still refuse to put little guy in day care, and in reality, any job I return to won't be worth much if I have to include daycare costs. Returning to the workforce after two years (and even before that, 'Stripper' isn't the greatest thing to have on one's resume) isn't exactly going to yeild any executive positions. But, I can work evenings, from the time Rick gets home to whenever I can get home and get enough sleep to wake up refreshed and ready to take care of Anthony in the morning. Graveyard shift wouldn't really work, because I'd never have sleep time (sleeping from the time Rick gets home until I went to work is a good theory, except for that I'd still never sleep, what with Anthony's little outbursts. I also know Rick has the complete inability to allow me to rest peacefully for more than an hour or two).
But Rick has decided that my new quest for work is all about "not wanting to spend any time with him". Interesting theory, as he does have a tendency to drive me completely insane as of late. But that's not it. I want to work because...
A) There are things I need that he can't (or won't) provide for monitarily, like my teeth getting fixed, my bankruptcy declared, new contact/glasses perscription, and, oh yeah my freaking BIRTH CONTROL.
B) There are things I want that he can't/won't purchase, like a new computer, an Xbox (yup, I'm a geek), clothing, makeup, and hair dye, tattoos, piercings. Also, being an avid toy collector isn't exactly a cheap hobby.
C) Beyond my own wants and needs, we have things we need to purchase for the house that one income can't nail down, like new baby furniture, furnishings for the living room that aren't hand me downs and are childproof, childproofing equipment, shelving, crap like that. Oh yeah, and since we have a son, we need to have a college fund started. And that ain't happening on $34,000 a year in this ridiculously expensive town.
And last but not least, the Big One...
I want to work because I miss my independence. I want to go to the coffee shop up the street and buy my own goddamn mocha without feeling like I am giving myself an unwarrranted "treat", or worrying about how it will affect our budget. I want the freedom to pick up the groceries I feel like eating, and the baby stuff I want to get Anthony simply because it's on sale. I don't want to have to "ask nicely" for the ATM card, and then have a pre-planned presentation as to exactly what I am spending every penny of the twenty dollars I am looking for and why it needs to be purchased. I don't ever want to hear him utter that stupid phrase "It's my money..." ever again. And yes, I want the personal validation a paycheck provides.
This independence also extends to my uneasey feelings in our marriage as of late. Basically, I want to have a backup plan. If, God Forbid, the worst should happen and we split, I'm currently fucked. I would have to move in with Dad and quite possibly lose custody of my son due to the inability to provide for him. Then what? The ensuing panic would probably result into my falling back into habbit, which means back to the poles at Deja Vu and still not getting my child back because of my 'inappropriate' work choice. So, best to plan ahead, I always say. Get a job, get the bankruptcy so I can have a bank account, and sock some cash away for a rainy day. This 'preparing' isn't necessarily announcing I think this marriage is doomed, but it's being logically cautious. We're fighting a lot, and I can sense my own deepening depression that has so far already grown worrisome while remaining completely unchecked. The new friends I've made has helped aleviate it a bit, as now I have people I can vent to, but even still not everyone knows how far the rabbit hole has been dug. Well, Dad does, but he's supposed to, he's DAD. Dad knows all, even before I do.
So, despite Rick's newest bout of whining, my resumes are out there and the search for a new form of independence has begun. I'll keep y'all updated on the so far wuite fruitless foray into employment.
Thursday, September 09, 2004
The Circle grows....
Bwahahaha....my social net managed to snag another victim....j/k. I had coffee with Miss Thea today, and all was nice. She's not allowed to ever let me babysit though. Her daughter is insanely cute, and I have a feeling I'd probably roll over like a puppy and hand her the rule to the house if she batted her eyes long enough. I'm a sucker for kids, I can't help it!
It's really weird, I went from knowing absolutely NO-ONE out here, or even anywhere really, and now I have an address book with entries in it! Feels good to be normal again. Luckily Rick's not being too threatened by my new socializing. It's football season, I don't think he really cares. He's happy that I am occupied enough to not bitch about the TV constantly flashing big men slamming into eachother over a ball. I may even plan a dinner party *dun dun DUN....*
Stay tuned for more nonsense...
It's really weird, I went from knowing absolutely NO-ONE out here, or even anywhere really, and now I have an address book with entries in it! Feels good to be normal again. Luckily Rick's not being too threatened by my new socializing. It's football season, I don't think he really cares. He's happy that I am occupied enough to not bitch about the TV constantly flashing big men slamming into eachother over a ball. I may even plan a dinner party *dun dun DUN....*
Stay tuned for more nonsense...
Wednesday, September 08, 2004
Get a Damn Vocabulary!
I went out for a walk with Anthony yesterday, nothing special, just a wander. It was kinda spur of the moment, so I just threw on a Tshirt, flip flops, and my denim cutoff skirt. Anyways, while walking by a group of "men" standing around the autobody shop around the corner, I got hit on...I think. What I technically got was "Booyah"'d. Yup, walked by, and some wannabe grease monkey freak yelled BOOYAH really loud while staring in the general vicinity of my ass. I don't even really have much of an ass, so I am assuming he had low standards.
Anyways, What the FUCK is "booyah"? That's not a pick up line, that's just a thing to say randomly when you are being silly. And screaming it at a woman walking with her infant child is not exactly silly.
Now, if he had shouted one of the more common idiotic "Things to Say When You Want a Woman to Slap You", I could have at least countered with a disgusting look and witty comeback. And since I was frankly in the mood to deal someone a little shit, I was dissapointed that all I could really respond with was a finger and speedier pace.
I know, I know, only a small percentage of men in the world are like this pathetic fucktard, but for some reason that little slice of society happens to always run into me. Luck, I guess. SO, for all you freaks and wishfully thinking perverted fornicators who have no chance in hell and the brain power of a sea turtle, let me impart a little wisdom:
Get a fucking thesaurus.
And if you still insist on yelling random footnotes from your stunted intellect, go hang out at a construction site for some really impressively offensive things to say.
And if you feel the need to shout those pithy remarks at a woman in a short skirt with a stroller, watch out, she could be me, and in that case, expect an efficiently planted foot up your ass.
Anyways, What the FUCK is "booyah"? That's not a pick up line, that's just a thing to say randomly when you are being silly. And screaming it at a woman walking with her infant child is not exactly silly.
Now, if he had shouted one of the more common idiotic "Things to Say When You Want a Woman to Slap You", I could have at least countered with a disgusting look and witty comeback. And since I was frankly in the mood to deal someone a little shit, I was dissapointed that all I could really respond with was a finger and speedier pace.
I know, I know, only a small percentage of men in the world are like this pathetic fucktard, but for some reason that little slice of society happens to always run into me. Luck, I guess. SO, for all you freaks and wishfully thinking perverted fornicators who have no chance in hell and the brain power of a sea turtle, let me impart a little wisdom:
Get a fucking thesaurus.
And if you still insist on yelling random footnotes from your stunted intellect, go hang out at a construction site for some really impressively offensive things to say.
And if you feel the need to shout those pithy remarks at a woman in a short skirt with a stroller, watch out, she could be me, and in that case, expect an efficiently planted foot up your ass.
Monday, September 06, 2004
Completely Random Update
Life has entered a weird holding pattern, kinda like a Southwest flight without an air traffic controller. That's all I'll really say about that, the ninja penguins may be watching....
Nico and I went on our thrift store frenzy this morning at Goodwill (yes, I know that place is a recurring theme, I'm a bored stay at home mom with time to kill).
List of purchases, because I know you are waiting with baited breath to hear...
Big fluffy pillow (which I will embroider a new case for and stick on the couch)
New Jeans (for me, cuz I'm rocking my new size)
hangers...hey, I ran out, so shoot me
2 dish towels
pretty silver picture frame (the birthday pic is going in there girls!)
Halloween window clings
A new denim-esque purse
All for the whopping total of $6.35, thanks to the uber sale they were having this fine sunny labour day. On the walk home we encountered a youngish couple with their little one, and sat and talked for a few. The dad stays at home (see, Darth, you aren't alone!), and seemed really keen on meeting other SAH parents who were "not normal", as he put it. I think our little club fits the bill on that end! I told him to do a lookup of the punkymom yahoo group, although I dunno if he'll be cool with the entirely female grouping there. We'll see, I'm sure I'll run into them again, they are right on 63rd.
Welp, that's about it for my corner of the world. I'm bound to post something more interesting soon.
Nico and I went on our thrift store frenzy this morning at Goodwill (yes, I know that place is a recurring theme, I'm a bored stay at home mom with time to kill).
List of purchases, because I know you are waiting with baited breath to hear...
Big fluffy pillow (which I will embroider a new case for and stick on the couch)
New Jeans (for me, cuz I'm rocking my new size)
hangers...hey, I ran out, so shoot me
2 dish towels
pretty silver picture frame (the birthday pic is going in there girls!)
Halloween window clings
A new denim-esque purse
All for the whopping total of $6.35, thanks to the uber sale they were having this fine sunny labour day. On the walk home we encountered a youngish couple with their little one, and sat and talked for a few. The dad stays at home (see, Darth, you aren't alone!), and seemed really keen on meeting other SAH parents who were "not normal", as he put it. I think our little club fits the bill on that end! I told him to do a lookup of the punkymom yahoo group, although I dunno if he'll be cool with the entirely female grouping there. We'll see, I'm sure I'll run into them again, they are right on 63rd.
Welp, that's about it for my corner of the world. I'm bound to post something more interesting soon.
Saturday, September 04, 2004
Surfin' the boards
With the exception of Dom, who started the crazy journey of knowing me as a friend in real life, most of my friends who are reading this know me from Message Boards. They're my new way of human interraction, saving me from insanity via constant exposure to children's television and my husband. Here's where I post, and why, just in case you are interested in whom I terrorize.
Food Network
particularly Paula's Home Cooking fanboard
I happen to be a bigtime foodie, and since I love me some Paula Deen, I post here. The group there is fun, compromised mainly of Southern folk who share her slightly off-kilter sense of humour. They have happily accepted me into their fold as "The silly little girl form the west coast". I get the coolest recipes from them, and get teased about my crush on Paula's son, Bobby, who frequents not only her shows, but the message board as well. But they are a sweet group of people. Little do they know I am a sarcastic little twit with a caustic sense of humour and a penchant for beating random people over the head with a nerf bat simply for not liking their toes. Mwahahahahahahaa.
The rest of the fanboards there are filled with jerks who have not only can't grasp the concept of changing the channel on a show they don't like, but feel so self-important in their pithy observations that they must fill up twenty threads describing their deep seated hatred of each show's host or topic. While I can hope that those people eventually take a leak on a conveniently located electrical device, I don't bother even going into the other boards.
Unfortunately, foodnetwork has recently found the whole board system to not be worth their trouble, so they are closing them. The refugees are heading to many other camps, I will post them when I've decided I've found my new posting home.
Mamatropolis
I love this message board because it's all about being a non-soccer-mom kinda parent. We're nationwide and proud, but there's a good number here in Seattle who've become my closer friends. There's a great comradery there, sharing tips, trials, and tribulations. They even share recipes!
It was originally just known as "Punkymoms", but the owner of said forum got all freaky and flipped out at the people who actually ran the forums themselves, and there was an ugly split which made all of us posters feel like kids trapped in a bitter divorce.
WAHM.com
I had stumbled upon this board ages ago, and was pretty disappointed. What was presented as a dynamic group of women from all walks of life sharing advice and opinions was in reality a gaglge of ultraconservative and quite meanly judgemental uber bitches that would start flame wars with anyone who dared disagree with their insanely close minded opinion of the way the world worked (ie, ME). I had posted a message stating I was leaving after being treated rather unfairly by many of the members, only to get a snippy little message from a moderator telling me to "Just leave quietly".
Well, I still had apparently managed to worm my way into a few hearts, mainly of people who enjoyed my often cynical and often sarcastic point of view. Those members privately asked me to return via emails, and finally I crept back over to see the latest turmoil. Since the moderator was apparently lambasted for her curt response to me, I was allowed to return posting, which I usually do just to stir the pot. There's a particular nutjob there that I thoroughly enjoy creeping under the skin of to no end.
ChemFreeKids...God, what a bitch. She's a breastfeeding, bible thumping, granola crunching, gay bashing, attachment-parenting propagandist with a chip on her shoulder and an intense dislike and mistrust for anything born with a penis. Complete psychopath doesn't even come close to covering this woman's repertoir. She's a very annoying poster, who often times uses all caps and accentuates her inane points by giving every
stupid
illconceived
notion
it's own
fucking
paragraph,
like we'll really give fuck and pay more attention to her pathetic drivvle if she does so. She's also one of those fucktards who really loves to use smileys and exclamation points!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So we know that what she's saying is GOSPEL. Fortunately, she also pisses off even the most conservative posters there, so I am not totally isolated in lambasting her on a regular basis. What I am alone on is being a democrat, stinking liberal who is apprently just "uneducated". Did you know that CNN is considered biased media? Funny, I always thought it was jsut the goddamn NEWS. ugh. A day where I can have everybody on that boards' hackles up and panties in a bunch is a good day for me now.
Food Network
particularly Paula's Home Cooking fanboard
I happen to be a bigtime foodie, and since I love me some Paula Deen, I post here. The group there is fun, compromised mainly of Southern folk who share her slightly off-kilter sense of humour. They have happily accepted me into their fold as "The silly little girl form the west coast". I get the coolest recipes from them, and get teased about my crush on Paula's son, Bobby, who frequents not only her shows, but the message board as well. But they are a sweet group of people. Little do they know I am a sarcastic little twit with a caustic sense of humour and a penchant for beating random people over the head with a nerf bat simply for not liking their toes. Mwahahahahahahaa.
The rest of the fanboards there are filled with jerks who have not only can't grasp the concept of changing the channel on a show they don't like, but feel so self-important in their pithy observations that they must fill up twenty threads describing their deep seated hatred of each show's host or topic. While I can hope that those people eventually take a leak on a conveniently located electrical device, I don't bother even going into the other boards.
Unfortunately, foodnetwork has recently found the whole board system to not be worth their trouble, so they are closing them. The refugees are heading to many other camps, I will post them when I've decided I've found my new posting home.
Mamatropolis
I love this message board because it's all about being a non-soccer-mom kinda parent. We're nationwide and proud, but there's a good number here in Seattle who've become my closer friends. There's a great comradery there, sharing tips, trials, and tribulations. They even share recipes!
It was originally just known as "Punkymoms", but the owner of said forum got all freaky and flipped out at the people who actually ran the forums themselves, and there was an ugly split which made all of us posters feel like kids trapped in a bitter divorce.
WAHM.com
I had stumbled upon this board ages ago, and was pretty disappointed. What was presented as a dynamic group of women from all walks of life sharing advice and opinions was in reality a gaglge of ultraconservative and quite meanly judgemental uber bitches that would start flame wars with anyone who dared disagree with their insanely close minded opinion of the way the world worked (ie, ME). I had posted a message stating I was leaving after being treated rather unfairly by many of the members, only to get a snippy little message from a moderator telling me to "Just leave quietly".
Well, I still had apparently managed to worm my way into a few hearts, mainly of people who enjoyed my often cynical and often sarcastic point of view. Those members privately asked me to return via emails, and finally I crept back over to see the latest turmoil. Since the moderator was apparently lambasted for her curt response to me, I was allowed to return posting, which I usually do just to stir the pot. There's a particular nutjob there that I thoroughly enjoy creeping under the skin of to no end.
ChemFreeKids...God, what a bitch. She's a breastfeeding, bible thumping, granola crunching, gay bashing, attachment-parenting propagandist with a chip on her shoulder and an intense dislike and mistrust for anything born with a penis. Complete psychopath doesn't even come close to covering this woman's repertoir. She's a very annoying poster, who often times uses all caps and accentuates her inane points by giving every
stupid
illconceived
notion
it's own
fucking
paragraph,
like we'll really give fuck and pay more attention to her pathetic drivvle if she does so. She's also one of those fucktards who really loves to use smileys and exclamation points!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So we know that what she's saying is GOSPEL. Fortunately, she also pisses off even the most conservative posters there, so I am not totally isolated in lambasting her on a regular basis. What I am alone on is being a democrat, stinking liberal who is apprently just "uneducated". Did you know that CNN is considered biased media? Funny, I always thought it was jsut the goddamn NEWS. ugh. A day where I can have everybody on that boards' hackles up and panties in a bunch is a good day for me now.
Friday, September 03, 2004
Birthday Curse Lifted
Well, my shitty birthday curse has been lifted as of last night. Aileen, Nico and I all went out for some mischeif, although we quickly ditched the Matador (they were snooty, not to mention way crowded). Probably the best decision we could've made! We wandered back over to the "Old P", a quasi-Irish pub here in Ballard. It was Bingo night, which basically set the pace for our little evening o' fun. The gals made sure I had at least 2 drinks, but on an empty stomach, those two had me stumbling blissfully. We played Bingo, and although I insisted all my cards had a 25 on them, none of us won a round. I kept one card for a souvenier, as I was one number spot of Bingo...and what was the square? "I-25"...oh, the irony...
Oh well! We still had a blast! Aileen would write "Poo" on her losing cards with her dauber, and I ended up giving myself "Bingo Stigmata" with mine by the end of the evening. Silly, silly drunkies...We topped off the evening with a trip to Taco Bell, where the ladies proudly bought me a birthday burrito.
Honestly, this was the first time any one who called themselves my friend really went to the trouble of ensuring me a good time. Anyone who approached the table at the bar was immediately informed of my day, and I got a lot of well wishes as we left. Nico, Aileen, you guys really did make my day. I'm gonna remember this one!
Even Rick was nice to me when I got home, and tumbled into bed. He had apparently felt ridiculously guilty for his crappy ass behavior, because he actually did go out and buy me a gift. Both of the Harry Potter movies on DVD, which I've been desiring for quite some time.
And apparently even the drinking Gods were letting me off the hook today, no hangover! Well, I better go wash off my blue wrist dots. Enjoy the pics!
The ladies of the evening
Bingo madness
Oh well! We still had a blast! Aileen would write "Poo" on her losing cards with her dauber, and I ended up giving myself "Bingo Stigmata" with mine by the end of the evening. Silly, silly drunkies...We topped off the evening with a trip to Taco Bell, where the ladies proudly bought me a birthday burrito.
Honestly, this was the first time any one who called themselves my friend really went to the trouble of ensuring me a good time. Anyone who approached the table at the bar was immediately informed of my day, and I got a lot of well wishes as we left. Nico, Aileen, you guys really did make my day. I'm gonna remember this one!
Even Rick was nice to me when I got home, and tumbled into bed. He had apparently felt ridiculously guilty for his crappy ass behavior, because he actually did go out and buy me a gift. Both of the Harry Potter movies on DVD, which I've been desiring for quite some time.
And apparently even the drinking Gods were letting me off the hook today, no hangover! Well, I better go wash off my blue wrist dots. Enjoy the pics!
The ladies of the evening
Bingo madness
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Well, that was a nice five seconds
READER WARNING:
Dom, don't read this, or the post before it for that matter. You just became twitterpated, and I'd hate for you to read my despairing ramblings on the woes of coupled life. And I know you have always tried to remain impartial about Rick and I, so just click outta here, and I'll email you when it's safe to read again.
Rick came home from work today and pretty much fell right back into asshole mode. After this, I now regret only spending a measely $1.40 on my coffee "treat" this afternoon. His mother had sent me a check for my birthday (checks, checks, everywhere!), so we had to go down to Moneytree to cash it. Then we went to Walgreen where he had me go in and buy him cigs and a carton of milk. So, with the $28 that was left of the original $40, I was happily planning a trip to Goodwill (can we tell I love this store?), and even wanted to run to Jack in the Box for dinner so I didn't have to cook tonight, cuz I was tired and really didn't feel like pork.
Oh, no, that would be a waste of the money. So we drive away from the road to JIB, much to my Jumbo Taco craving dismay. We pull into Holywood, because he keeps blathering on about how there's supposed to be some good flicks out. Even though I am mentally checking off the schedule of programs for the next few days that we already watch, I figure he's the boss so I'll just go with it *remember, folks, pick your battles*.
I mentioned to him I was concerned about the extensive late fees he has on the account for a video game he rented a while back. He just shrugged it off, and then said we were going to swing by the bank afterwards. Why?
"Because you are going to put that leftover cash into the account" (for those of you who aren't aware, "the account" is his account, only in his name, and completely unaccessable to me).
"Why? It was my birthday gift, and I had plans to spend it."
He began to launch into some bullshit about how we were in 'hard times', I'm being selfish, blah blah blah. Well, bullshit. I picked my battle.
"If we are in such hard times, why are we standing in front of Hollywood video, when we have satelllite television at home?" hear acid dripping off of my voice at this point
"Because I wanted to rent Passion of the Christ" Now mind you, he's been going on about wanting to see this flick due to morbid curiosity. I have absolutely no desire to watch gratuitous violence splattered across my screen in the name of religion. The way we usually solve this problem is called "compromising movie night". Since he's the only one who wants to see it, I get to rent a movie on the same night that he has no interest in either. We'll only do this on weekends, when we can force eachother to watch our horrid picks back to back. Well, apparently this is flying out the window. But, since he seems determined to build up fucktard points, I simply hold my tongue of reminding him of our usual deal. Plus, since I am sensing an argument pending regarding the money, this is another "pick our battles" momment.
So we go inside and meander around, and he picks up the disk, showing it to me. I shrug and remind him I had no desire of watching such a film, but if he was so intent on it, to go right ahead. I wandered over to the children's section to check out possible monkey movies. He joins me, sans DVD. When I ask why, he proceeds to go on about how he'll "never hear the end of it", and how I am being a bitch about the cash situation anyways. ?????????? I am now completely not understanding the point of this entire little excursion.
Well, we didn't go to the bank. Just home, where I crawled into bed to nap and stew for a bit. He grumbled, but apparently decided this was a "pick your battles" momment for him and didn't complain. When I woke up Antony was fed, and a while later I trotted him off to bed. I got kissy faced, which perked up my mood substantially.
NARRATIVE EXPLANATION:
"kissy faced" is an adorable manuever my son does when I'm holding him. If I lean over and kiss his cheek, he'll giggle and reach around my head in a tight hug, smooshing my face into his for more kissiness. It is the sweetest thing EVER.
I came back out and told Rick that he needed to help me pick out his dress attire for the next day. See, he had called me in the afternoon and told me to pull out a nice outfit for an interview he was having, and make sure it was ironed and de-cat-haired for him. He lacks the ability to perform this task on his own, apparently. Well, inevitably whatever I pick out he never likes, so I figured I'd wait til he got home and we'd play "match the shirt and tie" together. So, we go in and pick out a set, and hang it in the living room to prevent errant kitty fuzz. Conveniently, he picked a shirt that was not only one of the nifty "wrinkle-proof" kind, but I had just pulled it out fo the dryer yseterday so it was crisp, clean and neat. So, we settle in, eat our dinner, watch some TV. At 11:15, he gets up to go to bed, and I am about to follow. He stares at me.
"You are supposed to iron my clothes! And pick all the cat hair off! You can't go to bed!"
Which is why it's no 11:48 and I am furiously typing this shit out and contemplating the reality of quite possibly wanting to get a divorce. I know this seems a relatively stupid kind of day to get upset over, but I am a sensitive gal, and this crap is starting to really build up. We have some serious respect problems in our house, yet I can't address them with him, because of the whole anxiety problem thing going on. Until his meds actually get sussed out, he's like a walking time bomb. Anytime I try and talk about what's going on, he flips about 'having yet another thing to stress him out'. And I know it may seem like my ramblings here are me falling into some fucked up girly "I'm such a victim" pattern, but I just honestly have no other outlet for venting. So, I'm sorry if the last few posts have caused your collective shoulders to become a little too dampened for your expectations, but hey, I can't be the wise cracking, shoot from the hip kinda gal all the time. Sometimes even a big girl needs to cry.
Dom, don't read this, or the post before it for that matter. You just became twitterpated, and I'd hate for you to read my despairing ramblings on the woes of coupled life. And I know you have always tried to remain impartial about Rick and I, so just click outta here, and I'll email you when it's safe to read again.
Rick came home from work today and pretty much fell right back into asshole mode. After this, I now regret only spending a measely $1.40 on my coffee "treat" this afternoon. His mother had sent me a check for my birthday (checks, checks, everywhere!), so we had to go down to Moneytree to cash it. Then we went to Walgreen where he had me go in and buy him cigs and a carton of milk. So, with the $28 that was left of the original $40, I was happily planning a trip to Goodwill (can we tell I love this store?), and even wanted to run to Jack in the Box for dinner so I didn't have to cook tonight, cuz I was tired and really didn't feel like pork.
Oh, no, that would be a waste of the money. So we drive away from the road to JIB, much to my Jumbo Taco craving dismay. We pull into Holywood, because he keeps blathering on about how there's supposed to be some good flicks out. Even though I am mentally checking off the schedule of programs for the next few days that we already watch, I figure he's the boss so I'll just go with it *remember, folks, pick your battles*.
I mentioned to him I was concerned about the extensive late fees he has on the account for a video game he rented a while back. He just shrugged it off, and then said we were going to swing by the bank afterwards. Why?
"Because you are going to put that leftover cash into the account" (for those of you who aren't aware, "the account" is his account, only in his name, and completely unaccessable to me).
"Why? It was my birthday gift, and I had plans to spend it."
He began to launch into some bullshit about how we were in 'hard times', I'm being selfish, blah blah blah. Well, bullshit. I picked my battle.
"If we are in such hard times, why are we standing in front of Hollywood video, when we have satelllite television at home?" hear acid dripping off of my voice at this point
"Because I wanted to rent Passion of the Christ" Now mind you, he's been going on about wanting to see this flick due to morbid curiosity. I have absolutely no desire to watch gratuitous violence splattered across my screen in the name of religion. The way we usually solve this problem is called "compromising movie night". Since he's the only one who wants to see it, I get to rent a movie on the same night that he has no interest in either. We'll only do this on weekends, when we can force eachother to watch our horrid picks back to back. Well, apparently this is flying out the window. But, since he seems determined to build up fucktard points, I simply hold my tongue of reminding him of our usual deal. Plus, since I am sensing an argument pending regarding the money, this is another "pick our battles" momment.
So we go inside and meander around, and he picks up the disk, showing it to me. I shrug and remind him I had no desire of watching such a film, but if he was so intent on it, to go right ahead. I wandered over to the children's section to check out possible monkey movies. He joins me, sans DVD. When I ask why, he proceeds to go on about how he'll "never hear the end of it", and how I am being a bitch about the cash situation anyways. ?????????? I am now completely not understanding the point of this entire little excursion.
Well, we didn't go to the bank. Just home, where I crawled into bed to nap and stew for a bit. He grumbled, but apparently decided this was a "pick your battles" momment for him and didn't complain. When I woke up Antony was fed, and a while later I trotted him off to bed. I got kissy faced, which perked up my mood substantially.
NARRATIVE EXPLANATION:
"kissy faced" is an adorable manuever my son does when I'm holding him. If I lean over and kiss his cheek, he'll giggle and reach around my head in a tight hug, smooshing my face into his for more kissiness. It is the sweetest thing EVER.
I came back out and told Rick that he needed to help me pick out his dress attire for the next day. See, he had called me in the afternoon and told me to pull out a nice outfit for an interview he was having, and make sure it was ironed and de-cat-haired for him. He lacks the ability to perform this task on his own, apparently. Well, inevitably whatever I pick out he never likes, so I figured I'd wait til he got home and we'd play "match the shirt and tie" together. So, we go in and pick out a set, and hang it in the living room to prevent errant kitty fuzz. Conveniently, he picked a shirt that was not only one of the nifty "wrinkle-proof" kind, but I had just pulled it out fo the dryer yseterday so it was crisp, clean and neat. So, we settle in, eat our dinner, watch some TV. At 11:15, he gets up to go to bed, and I am about to follow. He stares at me.
"You are supposed to iron my clothes! And pick all the cat hair off! You can't go to bed!"
Which is why it's no 11:48 and I am furiously typing this shit out and contemplating the reality of quite possibly wanting to get a divorce. I know this seems a relatively stupid kind of day to get upset over, but I am a sensitive gal, and this crap is starting to really build up. We have some serious respect problems in our house, yet I can't address them with him, because of the whole anxiety problem thing going on. Until his meds actually get sussed out, he's like a walking time bomb. Anytime I try and talk about what's going on, he flips about 'having yet another thing to stress him out'. And I know it may seem like my ramblings here are me falling into some fucked up girly "I'm such a victim" pattern, but I just honestly have no other outlet for venting. So, I'm sorry if the last few posts have caused your collective shoulders to become a little too dampened for your expectations, but hey, I can't be the wise cracking, shoot from the hip kinda gal all the time. Sometimes even a big girl needs to cry.
The Guilty Mind is a Terrible Thing...
well, too damn bad. Obviously, Rick is realizing the error of his ways after his dumbass coment that rendered me as frigid as the Arctic for the past few days. All that free time of ignoring him gave me ample opportunity to catch up on the fun over at teh foodnetwork message boards. He knows that when I start printing out recipes for a plethora of cuisines I normally don't cook, he screwed up in a major fashion.
Of course, he won't come out and say "I'm sorry, I should have had my tongue ripped out for that assinine remark," but he will sulk around and act a little more nice. He let me decide what was for dinner last night (though I DID have to go out and actually purchase it after I had already been out most of the evening at a meeting). Also, since I had a package off of ebay to mail today, he said he would leave me the card, so I could "Go get a mocha or something as a treat". I think my jaw hit the floor on that comment. He never lets me go treat myelf anything, as we all know how iron-clad his grip is on the finances. I tried to take his temperature, thought he might be coming down with a case of consideration.
Now, let's remember something, though, living with him for the last four years has made me toughen up a bit. My confidence does take a walloping nose dive on occassion, but this whole incident has NOT made me crawl into a closet and hide my hideous self. On the contrary, I know I look good, and I know that knowing this makes him get all weird (happened when I was stripping, so I'm familiar with the routine). Anytime my self esteem gets into balance, he starts being a little meaner and nitpickier (I'm not a good cook, horrible housekeeper, don't understand basic electronics, have never read a parenting book...yadah yadah bullshitty yadah). So, I take the majority of his digs with a grain of salt. Do I actually stand up to him? Yes, although I pick my battles, and usually bring it up at a later time. If I confronted him on every occassion a thoughtless comment flew out of his mouth I'd have been divorced a long time ago.
People say compromise is the key to a good marriage, or understanding. Nope, it's the ability to count to three, hold your tongue, and have an available outlet to vent.
Of course, he won't come out and say "I'm sorry, I should have had my tongue ripped out for that assinine remark," but he will sulk around and act a little more nice. He let me decide what was for dinner last night (though I DID have to go out and actually purchase it after I had already been out most of the evening at a meeting). Also, since I had a package off of ebay to mail today, he said he would leave me the card, so I could "Go get a mocha or something as a treat". I think my jaw hit the floor on that comment. He never lets me go treat myelf anything, as we all know how iron-clad his grip is on the finances. I tried to take his temperature, thought he might be coming down with a case of consideration.
Now, let's remember something, though, living with him for the last four years has made me toughen up a bit. My confidence does take a walloping nose dive on occassion, but this whole incident has NOT made me crawl into a closet and hide my hideous self. On the contrary, I know I look good, and I know that knowing this makes him get all weird (happened when I was stripping, so I'm familiar with the routine). Anytime my self esteem gets into balance, he starts being a little meaner and nitpickier (I'm not a good cook, horrible housekeeper, don't understand basic electronics, have never read a parenting book...yadah yadah bullshitty yadah). So, I take the majority of his digs with a grain of salt. Do I actually stand up to him? Yes, although I pick my battles, and usually bring it up at a later time. If I confronted him on every occassion a thoughtless comment flew out of his mouth I'd have been divorced a long time ago.
People say compromise is the key to a good marriage, or understanding. Nope, it's the ability to count to three, hold your tongue, and have an available outlet to vent.
Sunday, August 29, 2004
Taking a Bitch Down a Notch
My husband's a master of this rare art form. Unfortunately, I'm usually the bitch in question. Confidence issues? Why, yes, I'll have some, thank you.
Like most mothers, beauty took a backseat once I had a baby. Well, more like it was riding a few cars behind, since I was also a newly christened housewife. Between taking care of him and the house, concentrating on my appearance was a long forgotten issue. I stopped dying my hair, wore frumpy clothing to cover up the child-birthed ravaged body I now possessed, and very rarely slapped on makeup. Although Rick was pretty rare to ever dole out a compliment (and was downright mean while I was "fat" and pregnant), I hadn't heard a kind word cross his lips in a long while, but there was no reason to, now was there?
Well, realizing that I had begun to shy away from any reflective surface, and I was wholeheartedly in apall of my physical appearance, I started little by little chipping away at it. Getting the teeth fixed was the biggest hurdle, everything else sort of came together after that huge boost. I dusted off my contact lense case and started wearing them again. And since I noticed I had wittled off the baby flab, I started buying clothes that once again showed off a few of the ol' assets (I've always had great legs, that I will happily admit). At garage sales and Goodwill, I managed to pick up a couple of tank tops, some cute capris, and a pair of short skirts. At this weekend's shopping spree, I even dared to buy a few form fitting tops that hugged the newly rediscovered curves. It was nice, I slowly started remembering that I am a young woman that can still shake her bon bon! After all, I was a stripper before I had Anthony, and now that I'm a size smaller than when I started, it can't be that bad, right? I even bought a box of hair dye, and today my hair is a lovely cherry red colour...God Bless whoever invented the not so smelly Garnier!
Well, last night, feeling pretty dern snazzy, I wiggled into the pair of jeans I had gotten, and a sexy little T that was cut to show off...everything else. Not slutty, but definitely workin' it! I sidled out into the front room, prepared to hopefully knock hubby off the couch. Or at least get him to hit pause on the Tivo.
"Well, now if someone ever asks what size that sexy ass wife of yours is, you can say size 6 Babay!" and did a little twirl.
He sat there with an eyebrow cocked, so I figured he was letting me feminine glory sink in. "Turn around again," he said.
I did, wiggling my hips even more, as I was now thoroughly anticipating a well earned compliment.
"Your ass isn't round anymore, and you still need bigger boobs"
I shit you not, readers, these are the very words that my thickskulled, inconsiderate, self-esteem demolishing husband uttered to me.
I would close out this entry with a witty little quip, but honestly, I can still hear the wizzing sound of my ego deflating.
Like most mothers, beauty took a backseat once I had a baby. Well, more like it was riding a few cars behind, since I was also a newly christened housewife. Between taking care of him and the house, concentrating on my appearance was a long forgotten issue. I stopped dying my hair, wore frumpy clothing to cover up the child-birthed ravaged body I now possessed, and very rarely slapped on makeup. Although Rick was pretty rare to ever dole out a compliment (and was downright mean while I was "fat" and pregnant), I hadn't heard a kind word cross his lips in a long while, but there was no reason to, now was there?
Well, realizing that I had begun to shy away from any reflective surface, and I was wholeheartedly in apall of my physical appearance, I started little by little chipping away at it. Getting the teeth fixed was the biggest hurdle, everything else sort of came together after that huge boost. I dusted off my contact lense case and started wearing them again. And since I noticed I had wittled off the baby flab, I started buying clothes that once again showed off a few of the ol' assets (I've always had great legs, that I will happily admit). At garage sales and Goodwill, I managed to pick up a couple of tank tops, some cute capris, and a pair of short skirts. At this weekend's shopping spree, I even dared to buy a few form fitting tops that hugged the newly rediscovered curves. It was nice, I slowly started remembering that I am a young woman that can still shake her bon bon! After all, I was a stripper before I had Anthony, and now that I'm a size smaller than when I started, it can't be that bad, right? I even bought a box of hair dye, and today my hair is a lovely cherry red colour...God Bless whoever invented the not so smelly Garnier!
Well, last night, feeling pretty dern snazzy, I wiggled into the pair of jeans I had gotten, and a sexy little T that was cut to show off...everything else. Not slutty, but definitely workin' it! I sidled out into the front room, prepared to hopefully knock hubby off the couch. Or at least get him to hit pause on the Tivo.
"Well, now if someone ever asks what size that sexy ass wife of yours is, you can say size 6 Babay!" and did a little twirl.
He sat there with an eyebrow cocked, so I figured he was letting me feminine glory sink in. "Turn around again," he said.
I did, wiggling my hips even more, as I was now thoroughly anticipating a well earned compliment.
"Your ass isn't round anymore, and you still need bigger boobs"
I shit you not, readers, these are the very words that my thickskulled, inconsiderate, self-esteem demolishing husband uttered to me.
I would close out this entry with a witty little quip, but honestly, I can still hear the wizzing sound of my ego deflating.
Saturday, August 28, 2004
Hey, Dude, where's my ASS...
Well, apparently Dad hadn't reached his 'budget' for my birthday shopping spending, so he decided he'd just take me out clothes shopping. Ever since I had Anthony, I've had no clu as to what size I am, and my wardrobe is quite ill-fitting. It was an appropriately needed gift, but it required my presence due to the size confusion. I knew I had lost a good amount of weight, but not quite how much.
Well, I grabbed my pre-preggo size, which was an 8, and figured I'd go from there. THUNK! dropped to the dressing room floor. Hmmm...7? Nope, I could fit an extra ass in the jeans. I grabbed the size 6, daring to think the impossible...I haven't been a size six since...dang, since I was 18. Well, whaddaya know, they fit. I felt like bursting out of the dressing room and screaming "VICTORY IS MINE!" But I figured the little twits at Old Navy might pee their capris hearing that, so I opted for just doing a little booty shake in the mirror.
I was so tickled, and realized that I was enjoying picking out stuff in a few stores Junior departments. Hey, 25's not too old to be wearing this stuff. And since I'm a size 6, well, now wouldn't it just be a shame to suddenly start wearing frumpy Lane Bryant attire?
We hit a few other stores, and I even bounced into Hot Topic. Damn, I suddenly felt my age. I was crinkling up my nose at a micro mini that would turn the whole world into my gynocologist, thinking "who would wear this thing?" Just as a sales clerk who WAS wearing one walked by. I used to think they had cool stuff, but now it all just looks...infantile. The little Black No. 1 clerk came up to me and with a voice that positively dripped acid, asked, "Can I help you ma'am?" I don't think my flip flops have ever moved so fast out of a mall!
*sigh*
Bonus points to whoever can correctly identify an extremely outdated referrence in this post.
Well, I grabbed my pre-preggo size, which was an 8, and figured I'd go from there. THUNK! dropped to the dressing room floor. Hmmm...7? Nope, I could fit an extra ass in the jeans. I grabbed the size 6, daring to think the impossible...I haven't been a size six since...dang, since I was 18. Well, whaddaya know, they fit. I felt like bursting out of the dressing room and screaming "VICTORY IS MINE!" But I figured the little twits at Old Navy might pee their capris hearing that, so I opted for just doing a little booty shake in the mirror.
I was so tickled, and realized that I was enjoying picking out stuff in a few stores Junior departments. Hey, 25's not too old to be wearing this stuff. And since I'm a size 6, well, now wouldn't it just be a shame to suddenly start wearing frumpy Lane Bryant attire?
We hit a few other stores, and I even bounced into Hot Topic. Damn, I suddenly felt my age. I was crinkling up my nose at a micro mini that would turn the whole world into my gynocologist, thinking "who would wear this thing?" Just as a sales clerk who WAS wearing one walked by. I used to think they had cool stuff, but now it all just looks...infantile. The little Black No. 1 clerk came up to me and with a voice that positively dripped acid, asked, "Can I help you ma'am?" I don't think my flip flops have ever moved so fast out of a mall!
*sigh*
Bonus points to whoever can correctly identify an extremely outdated referrence in this post.
Thursday, August 26, 2004
New tricks
Well, Anthony is now an expert at walking, and has moved on to running...usually very fast away from me around diaper changing time. What's absolutely adorable is his newest trick, though, clapping. He claps at everything now. I'm still sick as a dog, and now every time I sneeze I get an applause. He has also figured out the delicate art of pushing buttons (rather than mashing his hand down on everything), and has taken to turning the Tv on and off. Thank god we just got Tivo.
His newest silliness is making this weird face where he sucks his top lip in and just looks ridiculous.
His newest silliness is making this weird face where he sucks his top lip in and just looks ridiculous.
Sunday, August 22, 2004
Death Becomes Me
Ugh, a summer cold has come upon me and laid the smack down hard. I hate getting sick, especially since it always seems to come on overnight. Friday I had a little throat tickle, and by today I feel like a warmed up platter o' poo. I'm going to put Anthony down for his nap and have Rick take over on baby duties so I can ooze my sorry ass into bed and leak for a while.
Don't expect many posts til I get back to better. I highly doubt anyone needs to hear daily accounts of my mucus. And it's really hard to type while you are sneezing every five seconds.
Nyquil, here I come, baby.
Don't expect many posts til I get back to better. I highly doubt anyone needs to hear daily accounts of my mucus. And it's really hard to type while you are sneezing every five seconds.
Nyquil, here I come, baby.
Saturday, August 21, 2004
Garage Sale Bliss
Well, everyone knows I am one garage sale lovin' fool. I go hunting every weekend, and always bring something back even if I only left with a dollar in my pocket. usually it's books and toys for Anthony, or little rinky dink items for the house (half the picture frames on my walls are G-sale finds).
Since my grandparents sent me birthday money (yes, I still get b-day checks from my family, fuck off cash is nice!), I decided to have myself a little bonanza of Gsale hunting today. I promised myself I'd purchase things on my 'need to buy' list for the house, or actually spend a couple bucks on myself this time (a very rare occurance). Boy was today the day to hit the sales! I've decided I am the discount diva.
I only spent ten bucks, here's what I got with it:
shirt for Anthony
Shirt for Mommy
Halloween jumper for Anthony
Hat for Anthony
3 Saint Candles
Baby gate for kitchen
Shot glass rack
2 childrens books
Rug to cover the wires in the hall
Drawer to turn into a shelf
Kick ass, huh? Oooooooooooh, but it gets so much better! Ya know that crappy ass couch of ours I'm always complaining about? Well, we got it second hand, and immediately two of the springs broke. Then the cats clawed it to death. Then Devon felt the need to pee on it (little bastard). So we have a broken, torn up, stinky sectional in our living room (that wasn't exactly pretty to begin with). While wandering the sales, I saw a loveseat/couch matching set up for grabs. I inquired, and she said to make her an offer. Apparently, their moving across the state and have no desire to lug it with them. I told them I'd gladly pay $100, but I had no way of transporting it to my place, or getting my old couch to the dump. They said for $100, they'll bring it to us, and help Rick get the old one to the dump in Freemont! BLISS!!!
I've repeatedly done my Ren & Stimpy happy dance, and will be hitting the web to find couch slip covers for these bad boys (that way, if the little fuckers pee on the couch again, I can just pull off the covers to wash).
Since my grandparents sent me birthday money (yes, I still get b-day checks from my family, fuck off cash is nice!), I decided to have myself a little bonanza of Gsale hunting today. I promised myself I'd purchase things on my 'need to buy' list for the house, or actually spend a couple bucks on myself this time (a very rare occurance). Boy was today the day to hit the sales! I've decided I am the discount diva.
I only spent ten bucks, here's what I got with it:
shirt for Anthony
Shirt for Mommy
Halloween jumper for Anthony
Hat for Anthony
3 Saint Candles
Baby gate for kitchen
Shot glass rack
2 childrens books
Rug to cover the wires in the hall
Drawer to turn into a shelf
Kick ass, huh? Oooooooooooh, but it gets so much better! Ya know that crappy ass couch of ours I'm always complaining about? Well, we got it second hand, and immediately two of the springs broke. Then the cats clawed it to death. Then Devon felt the need to pee on it (little bastard). So we have a broken, torn up, stinky sectional in our living room (that wasn't exactly pretty to begin with). While wandering the sales, I saw a loveseat/couch matching set up for grabs. I inquired, and she said to make her an offer. Apparently, their moving across the state and have no desire to lug it with them. I told them I'd gladly pay $100, but I had no way of transporting it to my place, or getting my old couch to the dump. They said for $100, they'll bring it to us, and help Rick get the old one to the dump in Freemont! BLISS!!!
I've repeatedly done my Ren & Stimpy happy dance, and will be hitting the web to find couch slip covers for these bad boys (that way, if the little fuckers pee on the couch again, I can just pull off the covers to wash).
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