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.
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
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).
Friday, August 20, 2004
El Gatos
Chunk is so fat he couldn't make it onto the bed last night. How pathetic is that?!
Since three out of the five people reading this have never seen/heard of my two cats, allow me to provide a little backstory.
In 2000, when my husband came into my life, he decided to truely make us a domesticated couple and get some cats. I came home from work one day to see him laying on his side next to the couch cooing to some unknown entity underneith it. I thought he'd gone loco, but when I joined him down there I saw two little puffs of fur staring intently back at me. There was a little gangly black one, and a little grey tabby one. Since he was told simply that they were 'littermates' we assumed they were both boys and named them Devon and Buh-buh (after our favourite wrestling team, the Dudley boys). I soon realized that Buh-buh was either a very efeminate gay kitty, or he was a she. Her getting impregnated by her own brother was pretty much the clincher on that debate.
So, as we awaited our inbred, no chinned kitties, we discussed keeping one to make the family complete. We fixed Devon in the interim to prevent any future incest. Whenthe kittens finally came, there was a little black one (like dadda), a little grey one (like momma), and a fat little orange hampster looking one (like satan). We found homes for the parental dopplegangers, and kept the hampster, who was quickly named Chunk due to his copius amount of fur and pudgy paws. Buh-buh apparently couldn't handle her teenage pregnancy, and went ferrel. When we finally made the decision to take her to a shelter, I was devastated. Until, that is, she somehow got the cat carrier we put her into to practically levitate with all her fighting.
Now, we have Chunk and Devon.
Devon finally outgrew his awkward teenage phase and is now just a pretty sleek, black kitty with mental problems. Seriously, this cat is DUMB. He staes at walls for long periods of time, or the floor. He falls off the side of the couch all the time. He got lost inside the bathroom a few times. I've actually seen him trip over his own two front feet. He has an obsessive lust for plastic, and will lick, chew, and finally mummify himself within any lastic bag we leave on the floor, purring his stupid little head off blissfully. He also likes to climb into boxes, though he never figures out how to get back out. We'll see his back legs flailing on his way in, then an ear poking out while he meows miserably because he is stuck. You know how cats usually have that very prim posture as they sit, with both front legs tightly together in perfect poise? Not this retard. He sits with both legs splayed out like he's either drunk or afraid the ground will suddenly throw him off balance. Seriously, this cat needs a helmet and a littel bus kitty carrier.
Chunk, however, is a little asshole. Since Daddy was fixed before he was born, he quickly became the 'alpha male' of our house before we finally got him snipped. He wanders around, belly swinging, with this haughty "I am the shiznit" look on his face. Back before he got fixed, he would boss Devond around with gusto. He used to do this weird pissed off snippy meow at Devon any time we were cuddling, like he was chewing him out for associating with humans. The fuzzball quickly became a butterball, edspite the fact that we don't feed them treats or anything. He weighs 15 pounds, and if he lands on you jumping into bed, you'll be the recipient of the heimlich maneuver. He's a total spaz, too. We take great pleasure in watching him walk by, twitching a nearby foot, and watching him fly three feet in the air. Despite his ability to hover when scared, though, he has trouble jumping up on things due to his size. The recent addition of babygates in our appartment have become the bane of his overweight existence. And then there was last night's bed folly. I heard him approach the bed, leap, and somehow get shorted. He struggled madly on the edge of the comforter before landing with a resounding PLOMP on the floor. Dejected, he wandered off meowing in a very miffed tone.
So these are the bastards we live with. They'll always be our first kids. And they know it!
Since three out of the five people reading this have never seen/heard of my two cats, allow me to provide a little backstory.
In 2000, when my husband came into my life, he decided to truely make us a domesticated couple and get some cats. I came home from work one day to see him laying on his side next to the couch cooing to some unknown entity underneith it. I thought he'd gone loco, but when I joined him down there I saw two little puffs of fur staring intently back at me. There was a little gangly black one, and a little grey tabby one. Since he was told simply that they were 'littermates' we assumed they were both boys and named them Devon and Buh-buh (after our favourite wrestling team, the Dudley boys). I soon realized that Buh-buh was either a very efeminate gay kitty, or he was a she. Her getting impregnated by her own brother was pretty much the clincher on that debate.
So, as we awaited our inbred, no chinned kitties, we discussed keeping one to make the family complete. We fixed Devon in the interim to prevent any future incest. Whenthe kittens finally came, there was a little black one (like dadda), a little grey one (like momma), and a fat little orange hampster looking one (like satan). We found homes for the parental dopplegangers, and kept the hampster, who was quickly named Chunk due to his copius amount of fur and pudgy paws. Buh-buh apparently couldn't handle her teenage pregnancy, and went ferrel. When we finally made the decision to take her to a shelter, I was devastated. Until, that is, she somehow got the cat carrier we put her into to practically levitate with all her fighting.
Now, we have Chunk and Devon.
Devon finally outgrew his awkward teenage phase and is now just a pretty sleek, black kitty with mental problems. Seriously, this cat is DUMB. He staes at walls for long periods of time, or the floor. He falls off the side of the couch all the time. He got lost inside the bathroom a few times. I've actually seen him trip over his own two front feet. He has an obsessive lust for plastic, and will lick, chew, and finally mummify himself within any lastic bag we leave on the floor, purring his stupid little head off blissfully. He also likes to climb into boxes, though he never figures out how to get back out. We'll see his back legs flailing on his way in, then an ear poking out while he meows miserably because he is stuck. You know how cats usually have that very prim posture as they sit, with both front legs tightly together in perfect poise? Not this retard. He sits with both legs splayed out like he's either drunk or afraid the ground will suddenly throw him off balance. Seriously, this cat needs a helmet and a littel bus kitty carrier.
Chunk, however, is a little asshole. Since Daddy was fixed before he was born, he quickly became the 'alpha male' of our house before we finally got him snipped. He wanders around, belly swinging, with this haughty "I am the shiznit" look on his face. Back before he got fixed, he would boss Devond around with gusto. He used to do this weird pissed off snippy meow at Devon any time we were cuddling, like he was chewing him out for associating with humans. The fuzzball quickly became a butterball, edspite the fact that we don't feed them treats or anything. He weighs 15 pounds, and if he lands on you jumping into bed, you'll be the recipient of the heimlich maneuver. He's a total spaz, too. We take great pleasure in watching him walk by, twitching a nearby foot, and watching him fly three feet in the air. Despite his ability to hover when scared, though, he has trouble jumping up on things due to his size. The recent addition of babygates in our appartment have become the bane of his overweight existence. And then there was last night's bed folly. I heard him approach the bed, leap, and somehow get shorted. He struggled madly on the edge of the comforter before landing with a resounding PLOMP on the floor. Dejected, he wandered off meowing in a very miffed tone.
So these are the bastards we live with. They'll always be our first kids. And they know it!
Care to lose a finger?
I am irritated.
gee, Sharona, what's new?
No seriously, I am P.O.d. Like, uncontrollably scratching off my skin peeved.
I went to Goodwill so I could browse the housewares section for some nifty items (hey, Tuesdays are Manager's Special days, yo!), and I was meandering down the aisles with my stroller. I was minding my own business, humming along to the eighties station they were playing on the overhead (gotta love the Thompson twins, baby). Anyhoo, so as I peruse the goods, this blonde Bellevue Bitch approaches...
Narrative explanation: for those who aren't dwellers of our fair town, Bellevue is Seattle's bastard stepsister, just across Lake Washington on one of the two horrendously over trafficked bridges. This suburbian hell has become like the Emerald fucking City to Snobs and Soccer Moms. Put it this way, while a Seattle resident will order a coffee black and quietly nods to the latest punk band at the Graceland, the Bellevue pissant will order a "double nonfat Latte with soy milk and no foam, half caf, teehee!", while practicing their golf clap at the John Tesh concert at Green River Amphitheater. They drive insanely large SUVs to haul their five boys (all with names starting with the letter J, ain't it cute?) to the next soccer/softball practice so they can sit in their coffee clatch on the bleachers and bitch about the new girl with a nose ring working counter at Starbucks. God, I hate these people.
So anyways, Miss Prissypants saunters up to me and reaches over and toussles Anthony's hair (and I friggin hate people touching my kid without my permission like he's a damn dog). She looks up at me and is obviously giving me her five second judgement.
Narrative input again: It's ninety fucking degrees outside, so I am dressed comfortably. clingy and comfy white cotton tank top (which while showcasing my tats, covers everything else nicely), capri'd cargo pants in combat green with a heavily grommetted black belt, and my super comfy big black flip flops.
After her bound-to-be-incorrect-assessment of me, she chirps "Aw, did mommy play hookie today to play with you?"
Ugh...yeah lady, I'm so irresponsible that I'd shirk work duties to drag my kid out to thrift stores.
"Well, every day is hookie day for Mommy," I replied.
Uh-oh, here it comes...yup, the critical pursing of the lips...
"Ooooooooh, you don't work," she said.
I raised the ol' eyebrow (and those who know me know this is NOT a good thing), and corrected her. "I'm a full time mother."
Before this noisy twat could add any further inane comments, I pushed my stroller away and continued over to the children's section to let the steam leak out of my ears.
Why do these holier than thou bitches think that a 30 something woman staying at home is justifiable, but a 20 something is cause for disdain? I'm not on public assistance, no food stamps or welfare. My husband works, and I stay at home to take care of our son, rather than putting him in expensive as hell daycare where it's a crap shoot that he'll even get a decent caretaker. Plus, since he has an eating disorder, he needs a huge amount of help and attentiveness while he's munching, which I highly doubt any daycare worker could provide with five to seven other toddlers running around.
People annoy me. I stay at home and I am a damn good mother for it. Not anything against working moms, I applaud them to. It takes a lot to be able to work a full time job and come home and be a mom. There's no 'part-time' about being a parent. But this was my decision, and I am proud of making it. And if I have the ability to do so, who's to fucking judge me? Go suck an egg.
Hey, bitch, guess what? That little pierced girl at Starbucks you are nagging about? She's a single mom in my playgroup. And I'm teaching her how to place a huge loogie at the very top of your latte that will float right before your repugnantly upturned nose. And since more and more of us "Alternative People" are reaching appropriate breeding age, we're soon going to outnumber you on the PTA boards and playgrounds across this great city. Have a nice day!
gee, Sharona, what's new?
No seriously, I am P.O.d. Like, uncontrollably scratching off my skin peeved.
I went to Goodwill so I could browse the housewares section for some nifty items (hey, Tuesdays are Manager's Special days, yo!), and I was meandering down the aisles with my stroller. I was minding my own business, humming along to the eighties station they were playing on the overhead (gotta love the Thompson twins, baby). Anyhoo, so as I peruse the goods, this blonde Bellevue Bitch approaches...
Narrative explanation: for those who aren't dwellers of our fair town, Bellevue is Seattle's bastard stepsister, just across Lake Washington on one of the two horrendously over trafficked bridges. This suburbian hell has become like the Emerald fucking City to Snobs and Soccer Moms. Put it this way, while a Seattle resident will order a coffee black and quietly nods to the latest punk band at the Graceland, the Bellevue pissant will order a "double nonfat Latte with soy milk and no foam, half caf, teehee!", while practicing their golf clap at the John Tesh concert at Green River Amphitheater. They drive insanely large SUVs to haul their five boys (all with names starting with the letter J, ain't it cute?) to the next soccer/softball practice so they can sit in their coffee clatch on the bleachers and bitch about the new girl with a nose ring working counter at Starbucks. God, I hate these people.
So anyways, Miss Prissypants saunters up to me and reaches over and toussles Anthony's hair (and I friggin hate people touching my kid without my permission like he's a damn dog). She looks up at me and is obviously giving me her five second judgement.
Narrative input again: It's ninety fucking degrees outside, so I am dressed comfortably. clingy and comfy white cotton tank top (which while showcasing my tats, covers everything else nicely), capri'd cargo pants in combat green with a heavily grommetted black belt, and my super comfy big black flip flops.
After her bound-to-be-incorrect-assessment of me, she chirps "Aw, did mommy play hookie today to play with you?"
Ugh...yeah lady, I'm so irresponsible that I'd shirk work duties to drag my kid out to thrift stores.
"Well, every day is hookie day for Mommy," I replied.
Uh-oh, here it comes...yup, the critical pursing of the lips...
"Ooooooooh, you don't work," she said.
I raised the ol' eyebrow (and those who know me know this is NOT a good thing), and corrected her. "I'm a full time mother."
Before this noisy twat could add any further inane comments, I pushed my stroller away and continued over to the children's section to let the steam leak out of my ears.
Why do these holier than thou bitches think that a 30 something woman staying at home is justifiable, but a 20 something is cause for disdain? I'm not on public assistance, no food stamps or welfare. My husband works, and I stay at home to take care of our son, rather than putting him in expensive as hell daycare where it's a crap shoot that he'll even get a decent caretaker. Plus, since he has an eating disorder, he needs a huge amount of help and attentiveness while he's munching, which I highly doubt any daycare worker could provide with five to seven other toddlers running around.
People annoy me. I stay at home and I am a damn good mother for it. Not anything against working moms, I applaud them to. It takes a lot to be able to work a full time job and come home and be a mom. There's no 'part-time' about being a parent. But this was my decision, and I am proud of making it. And if I have the ability to do so, who's to fucking judge me? Go suck an egg.
Hey, bitch, guess what? That little pierced girl at Starbucks you are nagging about? She's a single mom in my playgroup. And I'm teaching her how to place a huge loogie at the very top of your latte that will float right before your repugnantly upturned nose. And since more and more of us "Alternative People" are reaching appropriate breeding age, we're soon going to outnumber you on the PTA boards and playgrounds across this great city. Have a nice day!
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Why my Birthdays Always Suck
WARNING: THIS POST IS NOTHING BUT A SELF-LOATHING, SELF-PITYING EXTRAVEGANZA. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
Okay, a little explanation on the post below. I have come to not enjoy my brtihdays over the past...let's see, 7 years now? It's not a whole 'getting older' thing, I could frankly care less about that yet. 25's not really that old, and since hubby will always be 6 years older, I get to claim baby status. It's how much this supposedly 'joyfilled' day always ends up being completely lame and depressing for me.
A lot of it is due to my severe antisocial nature. I have a hard time making friends, so my social circle is a barren place. Especially in more recent times, being a stay at home mom isn't exactly conducive to social interractions.
A look back at a history of crappy ass b-days...
18th birthday - was in the process of moving from a hated town, but no one that was there knew I still was (or they didn't give a shit). One friend showed up at my place that night and took me to go buy a lottery ticket and cigarettes. The next day I got b-day nookie in the middle of Folsom River from a guy I was on-off with all summer. Exhibitionist? Why, thank you.
19th birthday - I was still fairly new to the area, and too busy working corporate life to go out and have fun. Besides, what the hell does one do on their 19th friggin' birthday? I think I got a card from my boss.
20th birthday - would've been okay, although I found out my 'loving boyfriend' had to drag my close friend at the time out shopping because he had no clue what to get me. The awesome Angel statue he gave me and my favourite flowers totally lit up my life, until I found out he was taking credit for Dom's work. That was also the weekend that asshole (not Dom, but the now ex) moved in and proceeded to dessimate my life as I knew it.
21st birthday - oooooooooh, this one was a doozy. I had actually planned a fairly large party, due to all my work friends 'promising' to attend. At my table for 18, my 5 actual friends had plenty of room to spread out. Laurel (supposed best friend at the time) bitched the whole time because she couldn't go drinking with us, but was planning on leaving for Ireland the following day anyways so would only stay for the free meal. Poor Dom and Becca desperately tried to lighten my dwindling mood by bar hopping. By the time we got to the Mercury I was fairly intoxicated, but it was quickly brought down by my then recent ex's (see asshole noted above) best friend coming up and feeling the need to attempt a deep conversation about the recently vacated terd. Not exactly a choice topic for discussion to me. I went home, threw up, and grumbled myself into bed.
22nd - Thank god I was with Rick. No friends that year acknowledged it.
23rd - 5 stripper friends dragged me out on the Ballard bar crawl. 5 days later I found out I was pregnant. This birthday was actually okay.
24th - Again, thank god I'm married and have parents, or this day would've once again passed without a card.
25th and presently happening in two weeks - Dom's in Frisco, I don't talk to Laurel anymore, and severed ties with Crystal recently as well (she couldn't stop shit talking Rick, despite how well we're doing, so I finally gave up on associating with her). Stripper friends turned out to be fair weather friends, I only still talk to one, and she's insanely busy with her life. Tracy's never around, so that leaves...ding! My husband once again to carry my social life as I know it. I'm not totally alienated from the world, I do talk to a few gals I met on the net and we sometimes hook up with our kids. But these aren't people who know me well enough to go baking me a cake or anything. I may call Nico & Eileen to at least go have a drink somewhere so I don't feel like a complete dumb ass on 'the day'.
I've heard your 25th Birthday is supposed to be special because you are turning a 'quarter of a century old' or some crap like that. Well yippee fuckin skippee. I'll make sure to light an extra pretty candle for my own sorry ass.
Okay, a little explanation on the post below. I have come to not enjoy my brtihdays over the past...let's see, 7 years now? It's not a whole 'getting older' thing, I could frankly care less about that yet. 25's not really that old, and since hubby will always be 6 years older, I get to claim baby status. It's how much this supposedly 'joyfilled' day always ends up being completely lame and depressing for me.
A lot of it is due to my severe antisocial nature. I have a hard time making friends, so my social circle is a barren place. Especially in more recent times, being a stay at home mom isn't exactly conducive to social interractions.
A look back at a history of crappy ass b-days...
18th birthday - was in the process of moving from a hated town, but no one that was there knew I still was (or they didn't give a shit). One friend showed up at my place that night and took me to go buy a lottery ticket and cigarettes. The next day I got b-day nookie in the middle of Folsom River from a guy I was on-off with all summer. Exhibitionist? Why, thank you.
19th birthday - I was still fairly new to the area, and too busy working corporate life to go out and have fun. Besides, what the hell does one do on their 19th friggin' birthday? I think I got a card from my boss.
20th birthday - would've been okay, although I found out my 'loving boyfriend' had to drag my close friend at the time out shopping because he had no clue what to get me. The awesome Angel statue he gave me and my favourite flowers totally lit up my life, until I found out he was taking credit for Dom's work. That was also the weekend that asshole (not Dom, but the now ex) moved in and proceeded to dessimate my life as I knew it.
21st birthday - oooooooooh, this one was a doozy. I had actually planned a fairly large party, due to all my work friends 'promising' to attend. At my table for 18, my 5 actual friends had plenty of room to spread out. Laurel (supposed best friend at the time) bitched the whole time because she couldn't go drinking with us, but was planning on leaving for Ireland the following day anyways so would only stay for the free meal. Poor Dom and Becca desperately tried to lighten my dwindling mood by bar hopping. By the time we got to the Mercury I was fairly intoxicated, but it was quickly brought down by my then recent ex's (see asshole noted above) best friend coming up and feeling the need to attempt a deep conversation about the recently vacated terd. Not exactly a choice topic for discussion to me. I went home, threw up, and grumbled myself into bed.
22nd - Thank god I was with Rick. No friends that year acknowledged it.
23rd - 5 stripper friends dragged me out on the Ballard bar crawl. 5 days later I found out I was pregnant. This birthday was actually okay.
24th - Again, thank god I'm married and have parents, or this day would've once again passed without a card.
25th and presently happening in two weeks - Dom's in Frisco, I don't talk to Laurel anymore, and severed ties with Crystal recently as well (she couldn't stop shit talking Rick, despite how well we're doing, so I finally gave up on associating with her). Stripper friends turned out to be fair weather friends, I only still talk to one, and she's insanely busy with her life. Tracy's never around, so that leaves...ding! My husband once again to carry my social life as I know it. I'm not totally alienated from the world, I do talk to a few gals I met on the net and we sometimes hook up with our kids. But these aren't people who know me well enough to go baking me a cake or anything. I may call Nico & Eileen to at least go have a drink somewhere so I don't feel like a complete dumb ass on 'the day'.
I've heard your 25th Birthday is supposed to be special because you are turning a 'quarter of a century old' or some crap like that. Well yippee fuckin skippee. I'll make sure to light an extra pretty candle for my own sorry ass.
Random Goodness
I have a few moments of random goodness, which is always a blessed thing to experience when your mood's going potentially in the dumper.
1) My mom bought me a tank top (she got it for a dollar, I think) at some sale and sent it up, but I burried it at the bottom of a dresser drawer due to the colour. It was white, which is a hue that I am completely allergic to...
Anyways, clean laundry was dwindling, and since it was hot, I ripped off the tags and decided to put it on for kicks. Surprisingly, despite the colour it's one of the most flattering things I've slapped on recently. Makes me look stacked. Yippeee!
2) Wandered over to Goodwill with like $1.50 in quarters, not really expecting to buy anything but still it was something to do. I found a rad goblet that was .69 cents, but half off due to it's green tag today. *shopping bliss* It makes a very nice addition to the kitchen.
3) I finally found the two AWOL pacifiers behind Anthony's crib.
4) I got to see the new screen shots for Jak & Daxter Part 3. JOY!
5) The doll I stuck on ebay is already up in bids to a LOT more than I thought it would go for. Any step toward financial stability is a good thing!
Hey, life don't suck that bad after all...despite knowing I am going to turn 25 in less than 2 weeks and have a sucky ass birthday, as always.
1) My mom bought me a tank top (she got it for a dollar, I think) at some sale and sent it up, but I burried it at the bottom of a dresser drawer due to the colour. It was white, which is a hue that I am completely allergic to...
Anyways, clean laundry was dwindling, and since it was hot, I ripped off the tags and decided to put it on for kicks. Surprisingly, despite the colour it's one of the most flattering things I've slapped on recently. Makes me look stacked. Yippeee!
2) Wandered over to Goodwill with like $1.50 in quarters, not really expecting to buy anything but still it was something to do. I found a rad goblet that was .69 cents, but half off due to it's green tag today. *shopping bliss* It makes a very nice addition to the kitchen.
3) I finally found the two AWOL pacifiers behind Anthony's crib.
4) I got to see the new screen shots for Jak & Daxter Part 3. JOY!
5) The doll I stuck on ebay is already up in bids to a LOT more than I thought it would go for. Any step toward financial stability is a good thing!
Hey, life don't suck that bad after all...despite knowing I am going to turn 25 in less than 2 weeks and have a sucky ass birthday, as always.
Monday, August 16, 2004
Domestic Diva-tude & Dismay
I dance in my domestic glory...I made the world's best brownies yesterday. Okay, yes they were out of a box, but I added a little oompf, and now they are the moist, chewy, chocolatey little pieces of heaen that they are.
However, my tiara was quickly tarnished when I looked around the house and realized I hate it. Seriously, I hate my apartment. Not the shape of it or the size, it's what's in it. See, years ago in my college days, my living environment was so dang important to me that my entire income went to providing me with the coolest furnishings ever. My weekends were wiled away painting murals on the walls and coordinating the bathmats with the toilet paper.
Growing up and entering LIFE made all that go by the way side, and now my apartment is furnished...not decorated. In fact, the only room in it that I am happy with is the bathroom. But hey, $40 at bed Bath and Beyond and that's accomplished.
Admittedly, the compromises needed in marriage have led to mismatched furniture. I awnt to hurl our sectional out the window, but Rick can't bear to part with it. Oh yeah, and we're broke, so we can't afford new stuff even when we do agree on it. *sigh*
CraigsList, Freecycle, and Goodwill...thank God they exist! I'm off to eat some brownies and buy some blinders for myself.
However, my tiara was quickly tarnished when I looked around the house and realized I hate it. Seriously, I hate my apartment. Not the shape of it or the size, it's what's in it. See, years ago in my college days, my living environment was so dang important to me that my entire income went to providing me with the coolest furnishings ever. My weekends were wiled away painting murals on the walls and coordinating the bathmats with the toilet paper.
Growing up and entering LIFE made all that go by the way side, and now my apartment is furnished...not decorated. In fact, the only room in it that I am happy with is the bathroom. But hey, $40 at bed Bath and Beyond and that's accomplished.
Admittedly, the compromises needed in marriage have led to mismatched furniture. I awnt to hurl our sectional out the window, but Rick can't bear to part with it. Oh yeah, and we're broke, so we can't afford new stuff even when we do agree on it. *sigh*
CraigsList, Freecycle, and Goodwill...thank God they exist! I'm off to eat some brownies and buy some blinders for myself.
Friday, August 13, 2004
Good things come in...
Medium sized, homosexual packages. I went to the Gobb Shoppe to drop off my sketches for the new tattoo artist, and discovered an old friend working there as their new piercer. I had met Eric back when I worked at Deja Vu, he was the counter guy at night in the main store. He was awesome, and totally made the time fly back in the day. There was always something highly amusing about the peep show girls teasing our little flamer. He always joked that for the right price, he'd climb in a booth instead of us and "really give 'em a show". I still wish someone would've anti'd up on that dare. He made an awesome drag queen, so it would've been hysterical to have our own little crying game with some of the fucks we called customers.
While he was there he was doing piercing on the side, mainly for friends and the gals at the club. I was originally going to have him pierce my downstairs, but then I got pregnant so put a hold on that idea. In hindsight I should've hooked up with him after giving birth, as I was unable to have sex anyways and it would've been the perfect time to heal a new piercing. But, since I wasn't at the Vu, I had no idea how to reach him.
Anyways, he's piercing at the Gobb, so he is going to put my nipple rings back in for me. I had taken them out because I thought I'd be breastfeeding, but that didn't work out. The holes are still there (the actually leaked milk while I was attempting the ol' BF process, it was pretty weird). If there's anybody I'd trust to mess with my now less than perfect tatas, it's definitely Eric. Who better than a raging gay man who's already seen me naked? Even Rick can be comfortable with that. Plus, he ain't charging, even if he ends up having to stretch them. I think I'll be popping a percoset before I go just in case he does.
While he was there he was doing piercing on the side, mainly for friends and the gals at the club. I was originally going to have him pierce my downstairs, but then I got pregnant so put a hold on that idea. In hindsight I should've hooked up with him after giving birth, as I was unable to have sex anyways and it would've been the perfect time to heal a new piercing. But, since I wasn't at the Vu, I had no idea how to reach him.
Anyways, he's piercing at the Gobb, so he is going to put my nipple rings back in for me. I had taken them out because I thought I'd be breastfeeding, but that didn't work out. The holes are still there (the actually leaked milk while I was attempting the ol' BF process, it was pretty weird). If there's anybody I'd trust to mess with my now less than perfect tatas, it's definitely Eric. Who better than a raging gay man who's already seen me naked? Even Rick can be comfortable with that. Plus, he ain't charging, even if he ends up having to stretch them. I think I'll be popping a percoset before I go just in case he does.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
Curiosity killed the Cat...
Okay, out of curiosity, who the hell reads these things, anyways? I only know that my hit counter shows people wandering through...
I know three of my friends read this, one anonymous net mama, and one nutcase with a vulgar namesake and penchant for odd remarks who shares my enjoyment of Jim Norton comedy. Oh yeah, and the little retard who felt the need to directly email me a complaint on my choice of writing subject. If you are still reading twit, you can still kiss my ass.
I had to explain what a blog was to a friend today. I told her it'd a form of online diary that's publicly posted. Or your own personal editorial column for a nonexistant and highly self obsessed newspaper that has room for feedback from random readers.
I know who's blogs I read, and why (beyond the obvious answer of "i'm bored and my son's asleep"...
Dom's Blog -Super villian without a cape
a very close friend of mine who lives too damn far away, so I catch up on his latest ecapades via his blog. I've dubbed him my own personal superhero.
Jessi's Blog -DirTmama aka willows_girl
fellow Seattlite mommy who's poptart punky and nice as hell. Her blog is funny, and she has one of the more interesting jobs I've ever come across.
Thea's Blog -Thea's Soapbox
Another Seattle alterna-momma who makes the coolest purses EVER. Go...buy them now...
Her writing is amusing, and she's an all around sweet heart.
Nico's Bog -My Crazy World
keeping up with the theme, she's the third non-soccer mom type mamasita who is actually a nearby resident of Ballard. She has three kids, and they all completely rock.
Jim Norton's Blog -"I Stink"
Don't personally know him, but he's a damn funny comedian with a very twisted sense of humour...and a blog he made public. It's highly read, pretty sick and disturbing in parts, but makes for side hurting sillyness.
Alton Brown's blog - -Rants & Raves
Not really a blog in the typical sense persay, as it's really just a part of this famous chef's website. But he writes these very funny rants and raves every so often that are very thought provoking.
So, who the hell is reading this? Leave a comment, sign the guestbook, whatever. It's nice to know someone's listening.
I know three of my friends read this, one anonymous net mama, and one nutcase with a vulgar namesake and penchant for odd remarks who shares my enjoyment of Jim Norton comedy. Oh yeah, and the little retard who felt the need to directly email me a complaint on my choice of writing subject. If you are still reading twit, you can still kiss my ass.
I had to explain what a blog was to a friend today. I told her it'd a form of online diary that's publicly posted. Or your own personal editorial column for a nonexistant and highly self obsessed newspaper that has room for feedback from random readers.
I know who's blogs I read, and why (beyond the obvious answer of "i'm bored and my son's asleep"...
Dom's Blog -
a very close friend of mine who lives too damn far away, so I catch up on his latest ecapades via his blog. I've dubbed him my own personal superhero.
Jessi's Blog -
fellow Seattlite mommy who's poptart punky and nice as hell. Her blog is funny, and she has one of the more interesting jobs I've ever come across.
Thea's Blog -
Another Seattle alterna-momma who makes the coolest purses EVER. Go...buy them now...
Her writing is amusing, and she's an all around sweet heart.
Nico's Bog -
keeping up with the theme, she's the third non-soccer mom type mamasita who is actually a nearby resident of Ballard. She has three kids, and they all completely rock.
Jim Norton's Blog -
Don't personally know him, but he's a damn funny comedian with a very twisted sense of humour...and a blog he made public. It's highly read, pretty sick and disturbing in parts, but makes for side hurting sillyness.
Alton Brown's blog - -
Not really a blog in the typical sense persay, as it's really just a part of this famous chef's website. But he writes these very funny rants and raves every so often that are very thought provoking.
So, who the hell is reading this? Leave a comment, sign the guestbook, whatever. It's nice to know someone's listening.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Noise Nazi
When you are single/without child living in a crowded urban environment, random outside noise does not affect you. You probably don't even notice it half the time, even if it's a crew of frat boys next door on a three day bender.
But when you become a parent, suddenly this shit annoys you very fast. Mainly because the asshole who yammers loudly on his cell phone on the balcony at 3 AM repeatedly wakes your child, causing you in turn much strife. I live amongst a cluster of apartment buildings, all three story walkups with balconies facing eachother. If I walked out onto my balcony right now I could see/hear:
The morbidly obese lady in a mumu reading and smoking while she hacks up a lung on the top floor across from me.
The guy below her smoking (not hacking his lungs out yet) while he twirls his stringy 'intellectual' goatee.
The other top floor balcony with their 'we're so hip' red light in the porch, usually one or two youngish people braying on endlessly and loudly.
Bottom balcony where some idiot bitch likes to take her cordless and twirls her bleached hair and blather for hours about stupid ex-sorority sister sounding bullshit. Very Loudly.
The dump-style backyard of my fucked up white trash neighbors, who are actually doing yet another fucking band practice in their non-sound proofed living room. It's 11:45pm by the way. I hate those people.
In addition to these eye/ear sores, I can hear the person who moved in downstairs being her brandspanking new annoying self. This little fat girl (who wears belly shirts, ech) likes to play country music at top volume late at night, and work on home improvement projects during the day. I honestly wish she'd bash her own skull in with that hammer of hers. Currently, whatever country crooner she's into is turned off, but she's watching a movie and cackling mindlessly every five seconds. Since she has all her windows open, Anthony has enjoyed waking to her crow a total of three times.
There's also someone on our block having a party (it's friggin Tuesday, what the HELL are you celebrating?), someone working on their car, and someone having a 'domestic altercation'.
I fucking hate apartments, and I really hate the people who live in them.
But when you become a parent, suddenly this shit annoys you very fast. Mainly because the asshole who yammers loudly on his cell phone on the balcony at 3 AM repeatedly wakes your child, causing you in turn much strife. I live amongst a cluster of apartment buildings, all three story walkups with balconies facing eachother. If I walked out onto my balcony right now I could see/hear:
The morbidly obese lady in a mumu reading and smoking while she hacks up a lung on the top floor across from me.
The guy below her smoking (not hacking his lungs out yet) while he twirls his stringy 'intellectual' goatee.
The other top floor balcony with their 'we're so hip' red light in the porch, usually one or two youngish people braying on endlessly and loudly.
Bottom balcony where some idiot bitch likes to take her cordless and twirls her bleached hair and blather for hours about stupid ex-sorority sister sounding bullshit. Very Loudly.
The dump-style backyard of my fucked up white trash neighbors, who are actually doing yet another fucking band practice in their non-sound proofed living room. It's 11:45pm by the way. I hate those people.
In addition to these eye/ear sores, I can hear the person who moved in downstairs being her brandspanking new annoying self. This little fat girl (who wears belly shirts, ech) likes to play country music at top volume late at night, and work on home improvement projects during the day. I honestly wish she'd bash her own skull in with that hammer of hers. Currently, whatever country crooner she's into is turned off, but she's watching a movie and cackling mindlessly every five seconds. Since she has all her windows open, Anthony has enjoyed waking to her crow a total of three times.
There's also someone on our block having a party (it's friggin Tuesday, what the HELL are you celebrating?), someone working on their car, and someone having a 'domestic altercation'.
I fucking hate apartments, and I really hate the people who live in them.
thank you, thweet jethuth
As most in my immediate circle know, I was eagerly anticipating today's dentist appointment. I got my new front teeth today *insert applause here*. Last week they took this funky mold of my entire mouth, and some tooth obsessed 'sculpter' sat in a cave somewhere and crafted a retainer like device that contains two teeth where I am missing them. I gotta wonder how they figure out what those teeth should look like. It's magic, I tell ya.
Anyways, today, they pulled out the contration and deftly shoved it into my mouth (get your thoughts out of the gutters, please). With a little 'PING!' of the wire in back, they wrestled it around to a "comfortable" fit, and finally allowed me to see the results in a mirror. It's creepy, honestly, if you didn't know about the little thing, you would not know by looking at me that my smile now contains two imposters. It's so natural it's...well, not noticable. Kinda lackluster event really. She still has to fix my filling on the tooth between the two fakes, but other than that, I've got a complete, unscathed set of teeth in front.
It's so fucked when you realize how desperately you want to look normal, that when you do, you feel stupid for having that need, because normal is...well, normal.
Anyways, the downfall of my little plastic friend is that I have a heinous lisp right now, until I adjust to talking with it in. She said it's just like getting used to a toungue bar, so I should have the thillyneth under control in a day or two. Dad said I sounded a lot better after a few hours of babbling.
I asked Rick tonight if I was finally pretty now. He said I always was (good answer). I didn't feel like I was, but it's nice to know someone still did. Which is stupid when you realize how insignificant a tooth can be. A tooth on me that is less than the size of my pinky nail. But at least now I can smile and not be embarrassed. I plan on booking some portraits with Anthony next week. We'll both be grinning.
Anyways, today, they pulled out the contration and deftly shoved it into my mouth (get your thoughts out of the gutters, please). With a little 'PING!' of the wire in back, they wrestled it around to a "comfortable" fit, and finally allowed me to see the results in a mirror. It's creepy, honestly, if you didn't know about the little thing, you would not know by looking at me that my smile now contains two imposters. It's so natural it's...well, not noticable. Kinda lackluster event really. She still has to fix my filling on the tooth between the two fakes, but other than that, I've got a complete, unscathed set of teeth in front.
It's so fucked when you realize how desperately you want to look normal, that when you do, you feel stupid for having that need, because normal is...well, normal.
Anyways, the downfall of my little plastic friend is that I have a heinous lisp right now, until I adjust to talking with it in. She said it's just like getting used to a toungue bar, so I should have the thillyneth under control in a day or two. Dad said I sounded a lot better after a few hours of babbling.
I asked Rick tonight if I was finally pretty now. He said I always was (good answer). I didn't feel like I was, but it's nice to know someone still did. Which is stupid when you realize how insignificant a tooth can be. A tooth on me that is less than the size of my pinky nail. But at least now I can smile and not be embarrassed. I plan on booking some portraits with Anthony next week. We'll both be grinning.
Alterna-mommas uniting
This is in direct response to my newest comment...
HI! There's actually quite the collective of alterna-mommies in the area, and we do get together for hanging out/scaring normal people. Most of us connected through Mamatropolis and Punky Moms message boards (see links). There's a local group for both boards on yahoo if you are interested, and there's an upcoming event called Mamafest on Saturday, August 14th at Gasworks park from 12-3. Basically we're just getting together for a meeting face to face picnicy kinda thing. Anybody with a kid and an attitude is invited.
Most mommy groups are a waste of time for 'different' people, as we usually get shunned rather quickly. I friggin hate that. I remember the screwy looks I got when I was pregnant, like "oh my god, they're BREEDING..." yeah, well, bite my pale and tatooed derierre. I'll bet us freaks are going to make much better parents than the hyper conservative soccer moms and microsoft dads we see ploughing through bellevue mall every sunday. Heaven forbid we raise our children to be open minded.
Hmmm...that is probably going to turn into a rant, but I have to get going, so I'll save it for another day.
HI! There's actually quite the collective of alterna-mommies in the area, and we do get together for hanging out/scaring normal people. Most of us connected through Mamatropolis and Punky Moms message boards (see links). There's a local group for both boards on yahoo if you are interested, and there's an upcoming event called Mamafest on Saturday, August 14th at Gasworks park from 12-3. Basically we're just getting together for a meeting face to face picnicy kinda thing. Anybody with a kid and an attitude is invited.
Most mommy groups are a waste of time for 'different' people, as we usually get shunned rather quickly. I friggin hate that. I remember the screwy looks I got when I was pregnant, like "oh my god, they're BREEDING..." yeah, well, bite my pale and tatooed derierre. I'll bet us freaks are going to make much better parents than the hyper conservative soccer moms and microsoft dads we see ploughing through bellevue mall every sunday. Heaven forbid we raise our children to be open minded.
Hmmm...that is probably going to turn into a rant, but I have to get going, so I'll save it for another day.
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
Video killed the radio star
Men, don't introduce your wives to video games...or they'll end up like me. I'm currently hopping arund like a puppy on crack waiting for my two favourite game sequels to come out. Jak III, and Ratchet & Clank 3-Up your Arsenal...both come out in the same month, November. Since I'll be bouncing off the walls when they hit the shelves, poor hubby will probably have to move the PS2 into the bedroom if he wants to continue watching his precious football games. I consider my fanatic obsession with these to be his penance for the season. I'll be busy punching buttons and playing like a freak on both games until I have completed them. Similar to when we borrowed Shawntay's Xbox so I could get my freak on with Morrowind...I don't think I slept the entire 2 weeks we had it in the home.
*sigh* poor Rick, he was so innocent about wanting me to play with him. I was terrified of the controller...I only played a few random computer games, but nothing so alien as an actual console. So he tried renting games he thought would peak my interest, but to no avail...then along came Final Fantasy X. I would sit curled in the chair next to him watching his characters flit across the screen, asking questions about what did what. Since he was cooking dinner at the same time, he'd frequently pause the game and go stir the pots and pans on the stove. He'd toss the controller onto my lap each time so the cats wouldn't scamper across it and restart the game. He was taking a particularly long time in the kitchen, and heard from the living room the telltale song of the game's continuation. I had begun to play *cue ominous music here*...
Since it was a rental, we only had a limited time with it, despite the complex nature of a game like FF. I'd completely taken over the game and the console within 24 hours, as Rick stared on in shock and awe. He ended up returning the game a day early, which I swear to this day was in retaliation for me taking over. So, I promptly threw a fit, walked out the door, and bought a brand new copy of it and the guide book.
So, three and a half years later, I'm now an avid 'gamer'. I don't just play anything that comes out, much to Rick's despair. I hate the sports sim games he plays. Not fond of 1st person shooters, either. My favourites to date:
Whiplash - smash the bunny, smash the BUNNY!
Ratchet & Clank (1 & 2) - I want a sarcastic robot with a helipack...can I have one?
Jak & Daxter (1 & 2) - 1 was okay, 2 rocked. Still don't know what the hell Daxter IS though...
Pacman World 2 - yeah, I'm lame, who cares.
Final Fantasy X (& X part 2) - okay, so the whole Charlie's Angels thing was stupid, it was a neato storyline, though.
Beyond Good & Evil - Easy as pie, but fun.
Despite having a Nightmare Before Christmas level, I thought Kingdom Hearts was rather lame. Well, that's what you get for it being made by Disney...
*sigh* poor Rick, he was so innocent about wanting me to play with him. I was terrified of the controller...I only played a few random computer games, but nothing so alien as an actual console. So he tried renting games he thought would peak my interest, but to no avail...then along came Final Fantasy X. I would sit curled in the chair next to him watching his characters flit across the screen, asking questions about what did what. Since he was cooking dinner at the same time, he'd frequently pause the game and go stir the pots and pans on the stove. He'd toss the controller onto my lap each time so the cats wouldn't scamper across it and restart the game. He was taking a particularly long time in the kitchen, and heard from the living room the telltale song of the game's continuation. I had begun to play *cue ominous music here*...
Since it was a rental, we only had a limited time with it, despite the complex nature of a game like FF. I'd completely taken over the game and the console within 24 hours, as Rick stared on in shock and awe. He ended up returning the game a day early, which I swear to this day was in retaliation for me taking over. So, I promptly threw a fit, walked out the door, and bought a brand new copy of it and the guide book.
So, three and a half years later, I'm now an avid 'gamer'. I don't just play anything that comes out, much to Rick's despair. I hate the sports sim games he plays. Not fond of 1st person shooters, either. My favourites to date:
Whiplash - smash the bunny, smash the BUNNY!
Ratchet & Clank (1 & 2) - I want a sarcastic robot with a helipack...can I have one?
Jak & Daxter (1 & 2) - 1 was okay, 2 rocked. Still don't know what the hell Daxter IS though...
Pacman World 2 - yeah, I'm lame, who cares.
Final Fantasy X (& X part 2) - okay, so the whole Charlie's Angels thing was stupid, it was a neato storyline, though.
Beyond Good & Evil - Easy as pie, but fun.
Despite having a Nightmare Before Christmas level, I thought Kingdom Hearts was rather lame. Well, that's what you get for it being made by Disney...
Next Ink (yeah baby)
Well, I've scrapped the idea of putting baby names on the leaves on my back, just didn't like the way it would look. Besides, that whole piece, including the vines, is a seperate meaning....SO!
I came up with a new plan...will post sketches when I get off my ass and get them finished. It's going to be the outline of a roman cross filled with the leaves (think looking through a cross shaped window at the vines) with a banner wrapped around and Anthony's name in it. We're doing the lettering in the same style as Nightmare Before Christmas, because I am that much of a dork. I just figured it'd be more legible, and I hate that script-y shit everyone else has on their tattoos. We'll try and fill the background of the banner with white ink to give it a bit more depth, but I don't really know how my skin will take it. Some people just don't really show well with white ink.
I've given up on getting with Ben. As much as I loved his work, and am very proud of the vines he did, he's just too damn busy! He's off in different parts of the world every other week, and his schedule comnflicts with when I can grab a babysitter :(
Found a decent substitute, though, Kat over at The Gobb Shoppe. She's nice, very old school, and had an attitude I am very confortable with. She does very nice grey work. I didn't like the other artists I spoke to because they all acted like they were the shit and couldn't give a fuck less what they were permanently etching into my body. Well Fuck You very much, but I ain't down with that. I was fortunate to have had my work done by one of the best artists in the Northwest, I don't need to get attitude from some nitwit who just finished apprenticing a year ago.
I even had one twerp get all nasty about "I don't do name tattoos, because inevitably people don't want them on their bodies after a while"...dude, it's my SON...not exactly a relationship that will be breaking up anytime soon. Morons...
I came up with a new plan...will post sketches when I get off my ass and get them finished. It's going to be the outline of a roman cross filled with the leaves (think looking through a cross shaped window at the vines) with a banner wrapped around and Anthony's name in it. We're doing the lettering in the same style as Nightmare Before Christmas, because I am that much of a dork. I just figured it'd be more legible, and I hate that script-y shit everyone else has on their tattoos. We'll try and fill the background of the banner with white ink to give it a bit more depth, but I don't really know how my skin will take it. Some people just don't really show well with white ink.
I've given up on getting with Ben. As much as I loved his work, and am very proud of the vines he did, he's just too damn busy! He's off in different parts of the world every other week, and his schedule comnflicts with when I can grab a babysitter :(
Found a decent substitute, though, Kat over at The Gobb Shoppe. She's nice, very old school, and had an attitude I am very confortable with. She does very nice grey work. I didn't like the other artists I spoke to because they all acted like they were the shit and couldn't give a fuck less what they were permanently etching into my body. Well Fuck You very much, but I ain't down with that. I was fortunate to have had my work done by one of the best artists in the Northwest, I don't need to get attitude from some nitwit who just finished apprenticing a year ago.
I even had one twerp get all nasty about "I don't do name tattoos, because inevitably people don't want them on their bodies after a while"...dude, it's my SON...not exactly a relationship that will be breaking up anytime soon. Morons...
Deal with my Glory
I got a weird note from someone who had wandered on to my blog, how I have yet to deduce...
He/She/It was questioning why all I have discussed is either about being a Mother or being pissed off, or both simultaneously. Okay, the title of the damn bog is Mother Hoodlum, that should've given you a head's up on the first part, Genius. As for the pissed off part, well, I have no excuse, so deal with it.
I'm a 20 something woman living in America under the Bush Administration. Take any part of my consensus makeup, and for fun see how Dickweed in charge has fucked us over, I can be as pissy and outraged as I damn well wanna be! If you are a woman, or lower-middle class, or young, or well just about ANYTHING you can pretty much bet that Clueless George has completely screwed you in some way. Oh yeah, and my godamn car tabs are going to cost well over $200 because of that fucking monorail that we're still voting on. Fucking politicians.
Okay, so yeah, I write about being a mother, and I write a lot of rants. Would you rahter read a single person without a child writing "Oh happy day life is full of flowers and puppies" every day? Then do a search for LSD using Eunichs and quite writing stupid letters to people you don't know.
He/She/It was questioning why all I have discussed is either about being a Mother or being pissed off, or both simultaneously. Okay, the title of the damn bog is Mother Hoodlum, that should've given you a head's up on the first part, Genius. As for the pissed off part, well, I have no excuse, so deal with it.
I'm a 20 something woman living in America under the Bush Administration. Take any part of my consensus makeup, and for fun see how Dickweed in charge has fucked us over, I can be as pissy and outraged as I damn well wanna be! If you are a woman, or lower-middle class, or young, or well just about ANYTHING you can pretty much bet that Clueless George has completely screwed you in some way. Oh yeah, and my godamn car tabs are going to cost well over $200 because of that fucking monorail that we're still voting on. Fucking politicians.
Okay, so yeah, I write about being a mother, and I write a lot of rants. Would you rahter read a single person without a child writing "Oh happy day life is full of flowers and puppies" every day? Then do a search for LSD using Eunichs and quite writing stupid letters to people you don't know.
Mothers Against Stupid Ass Mothers
Went to the park yesterday with my new friend Nico and her brood. I swear, her kids are the coolest. Ages 5, 7, and 8, all cuter than a damn Rockwell painting. I'm thoroughly taken witht the girls, especially (nothing against Max, but I have girl envy). Anyhoo, we're at the park, and Anthony was completely confused by the whole wading pool concept. I'm taking the camera next time we go. Dang that place was packed, mommas everywhere...
Her kids were playing in the playset area, seemingly having a good time. The little one came up a few times complaining of a boy with a stick poking/hitting her, and for the life of me, I could not see which one she was talking about. So Nico and I are now watching the kids like friggin vultures. Suddenly, all three of her children come tearing out of the play-area at warp speed screaming bloody murder, and we see the litle terrorist. This pudgy little brat of probably 5-6 years age is flailing a huge stick after them, like a sword, with this insane look in his eyes (I'm not exaggerating, this kid looked seriously evil). Before we could intercept, the stick tags Morgan, Nico's eldest...HARD. Nico shows her super mom powers by calming all three kids in like 3 seconds. All the collected moms there suddenly perk up like prairy dogs, with chants of "Where's that kid's mother? Who's the mother?" As demon seed is wandering around looking for his next victim.
This fat white trash bitch waddles up with her cigarette dangling out of the hand with her 'diet soda', apparently to claim Son of Satan. She just looks at him and says "what're you doing?" like his answer could possibly be "oh, helping with Green Peace efforts, mother dear"...He didn't really answer, just mumbled something like 'getting them away from me' and continue swinging his Excalibur. So what does Mother of the Year do? Wander off! You could hear every jaw in that park hit the ground as her fat ass landed on her picnic blanket FAR away from Little Lucifer (in other words, she had no intention of actually watching her demon seed).
I swear to GOD if that little future convict had hit Anthony, I would've gone so punk rock on her ass they'd be pulling cellulite off the trees a week later. Morgan, the victim, was such a champ though, so we let it drop and just left. Grrrr.....people suck!!!!
Her kids were playing in the playset area, seemingly having a good time. The little one came up a few times complaining of a boy with a stick poking/hitting her, and for the life of me, I could not see which one she was talking about. So Nico and I are now watching the kids like friggin vultures. Suddenly, all three of her children come tearing out of the play-area at warp speed screaming bloody murder, and we see the litle terrorist. This pudgy little brat of probably 5-6 years age is flailing a huge stick after them, like a sword, with this insane look in his eyes (I'm not exaggerating, this kid looked seriously evil). Before we could intercept, the stick tags Morgan, Nico's eldest...HARD. Nico shows her super mom powers by calming all three kids in like 3 seconds. All the collected moms there suddenly perk up like prairy dogs, with chants of "Where's that kid's mother? Who's the mother?" As demon seed is wandering around looking for his next victim.
This fat white trash bitch waddles up with her cigarette dangling out of the hand with her 'diet soda', apparently to claim Son of Satan. She just looks at him and says "what're you doing?" like his answer could possibly be "oh, helping with Green Peace efforts, mother dear"...He didn't really answer, just mumbled something like 'getting them away from me' and continue swinging his Excalibur. So what does Mother of the Year do? Wander off! You could hear every jaw in that park hit the ground as her fat ass landed on her picnic blanket FAR away from Little Lucifer (in other words, she had no intention of actually watching her demon seed).
I swear to GOD if that little future convict had hit Anthony, I would've gone so punk rock on her ass they'd be pulling cellulite off the trees a week later. Morgan, the victim, was such a champ though, so we let it drop and just left. Grrrr.....people suck!!!!
Saturday, August 07, 2004
Little Boy Lost
Well, my little brother Saturday, after a four day visit. He's all of 15 now, a lot taller than me. Hard to call him little now. Hard to help him either.
He's taking the wrong path, and there's nothing I can really do about it now. I've tried, but he defies reality. His lying has almost become compulsory, which is frustrating for his parents, not just myself and Rick. You can never get the real story out of him. After realizing how much he's mislead you, it makes you seriously want to beat your head against a wall. And his. But mom is so damn lax with him, he gets away with so much. And she wonders what happened?! I would NEVER have gotten away with half the shit he does, hence I turned out okay, with a clear understanding of right and wrong, and respect for myself and the world around me. Adam's got this scary feeling of 'entitlement' that is just appalling. But if I ever say "hey mom, don't be so loose with him, you weren't with me" suddenly the guilt trips begin and I have to deal with her crying "oh, I was such a HORRIBLE PARENT to you....boohoo, you hate me, gahhhhhhhhhh". *I return to thumping head against the wall*
Some people refer to Adam as the Sharona Mini-me. Whatever, so yeah, he wears black clothes, listens to industrial music, reads Kafka, and became a vegetarian at a young age. That would be where the similarity ends. I was reading Kafka when I was 8, if that enlightens you at all as to how warped this little girl be. I was also borderline obsessive when it came to schooling (who graduated at 15? yuppers, lil' miss doogie howser, with nothing to show for it now). I don't even think Adam wants to go to college. He has grandious plans of going to live in Either Amsterdam or The Czech Republic. To do what, I have no clue, because work ethic is an alien concept to him. His school work is suffering, and he's wandering the lovely path of drug use. I've tried my schpiel, but I guess someone who's never done drugs just can't seem very convincing. And then he lied about it to my face, so I guess it doesn't matter much anyways.
But I can't hate the little shit. He lies, he disrespects the parents, he gets all lazy, but then I see him shine for breif moments and like a goddamn halmark card I have hope again. He's wonderful with my son. I can leave him with Anthony for a few hours (Wed I had a dentist appointment, Adam babysat), and have no worries. And in return, monkey squeals and giggles everytime he sees Adam. So he ate a path through our refridgerator, I say fuggit. At fifteen there is no need for a boy to worry about his weight. He has broad shoulders, and is average build. Anyone says he is chubby I'll put a foot in their ass. I got really upset with Rick while Adam was up, and had to leave the room so kiddo wouldn't see me fight tears. He came into the room and just gave me a hug and told me he wanted to take me to go rent some movies. He spent the last 8 bucks he had of spending money renting hollywood videos to cheer up his big sister.
He's taking the wrong path, and there's nothing I can really do about it now. I've tried, but he defies reality. His lying has almost become compulsory, which is frustrating for his parents, not just myself and Rick. You can never get the real story out of him. After realizing how much he's mislead you, it makes you seriously want to beat your head against a wall. And his. But mom is so damn lax with him, he gets away with so much. And she wonders what happened?! I would NEVER have gotten away with half the shit he does, hence I turned out okay, with a clear understanding of right and wrong, and respect for myself and the world around me. Adam's got this scary feeling of 'entitlement' that is just appalling. But if I ever say "hey mom, don't be so loose with him, you weren't with me" suddenly the guilt trips begin and I have to deal with her crying "oh, I was such a HORRIBLE PARENT to you....boohoo, you hate me, gahhhhhhhhhh". *I return to thumping head against the wall*
Some people refer to Adam as the Sharona Mini-me. Whatever, so yeah, he wears black clothes, listens to industrial music, reads Kafka, and became a vegetarian at a young age. That would be where the similarity ends. I was reading Kafka when I was 8, if that enlightens you at all as to how warped this little girl be. I was also borderline obsessive when it came to schooling (who graduated at 15? yuppers, lil' miss doogie howser, with nothing to show for it now). I don't even think Adam wants to go to college. He has grandious plans of going to live in Either Amsterdam or The Czech Republic. To do what, I have no clue, because work ethic is an alien concept to him. His school work is suffering, and he's wandering the lovely path of drug use. I've tried my schpiel, but I guess someone who's never done drugs just can't seem very convincing. And then he lied about it to my face, so I guess it doesn't matter much anyways.
But I can't hate the little shit. He lies, he disrespects the parents, he gets all lazy, but then I see him shine for breif moments and like a goddamn halmark card I have hope again. He's wonderful with my son. I can leave him with Anthony for a few hours (Wed I had a dentist appointment, Adam babysat), and have no worries. And in return, monkey squeals and giggles everytime he sees Adam. So he ate a path through our refridgerator, I say fuggit. At fifteen there is no need for a boy to worry about his weight. He has broad shoulders, and is average build. Anyone says he is chubby I'll put a foot in their ass. I got really upset with Rick while Adam was up, and had to leave the room so kiddo wouldn't see me fight tears. He came into the room and just gave me a hug and told me he wanted to take me to go rent some movies. He spent the last 8 bucks he had of spending money renting hollywood videos to cheer up his big sister.
Breastfeeding nazis
I post on several mother oriented message boards, and have been doing quite the battle AGAIN with a militant breastfeeding advocate. I hate these people. They keep on harping how horrible formula is, and how you are abusing your child/being neglectful to give them such 'malnutrition'. I'd like to give them a carefully placed foot up the ass. One of them actually started saying that formula kills infants! What a crock of SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIT.
Her latest steaming pile of festering excrement involved a post called Happy breastfeeding and nurse-out Day. And then she proceeded her usual cramming useless doctrine and rhetoric down everyones throats. So, I have my own response...
HAPPY 'MY CHILD SURVIVED FORMULA DAY
Gals, if you formula fed your child, and the kid has managed to somehow escape the harrowing death they were doomed to by this abuse, feel free to read and celebrate. If you breastfed, but have managed to keep your dinner down upon seeing someone else give their child a bottle, I suppose you can feel free from attack here too.
As a first time parent, especially just out of the gate, we are often times filled to the brim with self-doubts. But, it doesn't mean we're going to stubbornly march in with ignorance and blindly just do 'whatever'. If so, new and soon to be parents wouldn't be so easy to spot in a book store, obsessively pouring over 'What to Expect' tomes and 'Your Baby's First Years' like they were writing a new masters thesis.
As there are so many other issues facing our children in this day and age, we need to be focusing on giving terrified newbies positive affirmation and gentle education. We need to present ALL options available, and not screech anything as the ONLY way. We should encourage bonding and nurturing, above all else.
So, I'll stand up in my 'confession'. Hello, my name is Sharona Spangler, and I formula fed my child. For this terrible indescretion, I got an extremely active, beautiful, strong as an ox child who has only been sick once in his entire 14 months. He's a happy little smiler, extremely confident and outgoing, and gets lots of kisses, cuddles, and love. He likes to give mommy and daddy hugs.
I was formula fed myself, as was my husband. I'm happy to report we're both still alive and well.
Her latest steaming pile of festering excrement involved a post called Happy breastfeeding and nurse-out Day. And then she proceeded her usual cramming useless doctrine and rhetoric down everyones throats. So, I have my own response...
HAPPY 'MY CHILD SURVIVED FORMULA DAY
Gals, if you formula fed your child, and the kid has managed to somehow escape the harrowing death they were doomed to by this abuse, feel free to read and celebrate. If you breastfed, but have managed to keep your dinner down upon seeing someone else give their child a bottle, I suppose you can feel free from attack here too.
As a first time parent, especially just out of the gate, we are often times filled to the brim with self-doubts. But, it doesn't mean we're going to stubbornly march in with ignorance and blindly just do 'whatever'. If so, new and soon to be parents wouldn't be so easy to spot in a book store, obsessively pouring over 'What to Expect' tomes and 'Your Baby's First Years' like they were writing a new masters thesis.
As there are so many other issues facing our children in this day and age, we need to be focusing on giving terrified newbies positive affirmation and gentle education. We need to present ALL options available, and not screech anything as the ONLY way. We should encourage bonding and nurturing, above all else.
So, I'll stand up in my 'confession'. Hello, my name is Sharona Spangler, and I formula fed my child. For this terrible indescretion, I got an extremely active, beautiful, strong as an ox child who has only been sick once in his entire 14 months. He's a happy little smiler, extremely confident and outgoing, and gets lots of kisses, cuddles, and love. He likes to give mommy and daddy hugs.
I was formula fed myself, as was my husband. I'm happy to report we're both still alive and well.
Monday, August 02, 2004
THUD...a sound that terrifies moms
Anthony has impressed all with his new ability to walk, which he followed with the ability to climb (more irksome than impressive). Still, being quite short, the second new found gift didn't have us too worried. How foolish we mortals be...
Anthony wakes us every morning by going to the side of the crib that the monitor is on and saying "HI, hi hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii hi" over and over agian til someone wanders in and scoops him up. It's quite cute. However, yesterday, he decided to change his MO, honestly I think to make sure we could both have simultaneous heartattacks. We heard one "HI" on the monitor, followed by a loud THUD. This thud was followed by screaming, as we flew out of bed and into his bedroom. There was Anthony, next to his crib on the floor, looking quite shocked and scared at a trick he apparently didn't know he could do, or the ramifications.
He's got a small bruise on his forhead, but mainly a bruised ego. Scared the PISS out of us, though. Enter childproofing frenzy by mommy. Since he's sleep's so erratic, I don't trust him in a real bed yet, I put a 'landing pad' on the side of his crib (it's against the wall on the other side), made of a large fluffy comforter, and re-kid-proofed his room. Rick is adamant about not moving the shelf with his collectables that's in there (grrrrr), which is just ASKING for trouble. Well, I suppose he'll learn when Anthony gets out of his crib and uses his Peyton Manning figures as chew toys. I'm worried about the bookshelf though. We don't have it secured to the wall, and Anthony could pull it over. I'm going to have to put my foot down on that one.
Anthony wakes us every morning by going to the side of the crib that the monitor is on and saying "HI, hi hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii hi" over and over agian til someone wanders in and scoops him up. It's quite cute. However, yesterday, he decided to change his MO, honestly I think to make sure we could both have simultaneous heartattacks. We heard one "HI" on the monitor, followed by a loud THUD. This thud was followed by screaming, as we flew out of bed and into his bedroom. There was Anthony, next to his crib on the floor, looking quite shocked and scared at a trick he apparently didn't know he could do, or the ramifications.
He's got a small bruise on his forhead, but mainly a bruised ego. Scared the PISS out of us, though. Enter childproofing frenzy by mommy. Since he's sleep's so erratic, I don't trust him in a real bed yet, I put a 'landing pad' on the side of his crib (it's against the wall on the other side), made of a large fluffy comforter, and re-kid-proofed his room. Rick is adamant about not moving the shelf with his collectables that's in there (grrrrr), which is just ASKING for trouble. Well, I suppose he'll learn when Anthony gets out of his crib and uses his Peyton Manning figures as chew toys. I'm worried about the bookshelf though. We don't have it secured to the wall, and Anthony could pull it over. I'm going to have to put my foot down on that one.
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