I know I can come across as one vicious bitch, but I swear, I have a soft side. It really comes out in the form of mother henning everyone in sight. Anyhoo, since I had some spare time, I thought I'd impart a story I'd been meaning to write in here a while back...
I needed cigarettes one night, right after I had put Anthony to bed, so I threw on some clothes and headed out to the nearboy 76 station. It was only around 8:45, so I had no qualms about walking down there. Besides, Rick and I were sqwabbling, so I needed to get out and breath before I picked up a conveniently located baseball bat and bludgeoned him to pieces. This was actually before I left for Cali. Since I've been back we've had smooth sailing!
When I walked into the store, I waved to the little gal who always sells my cigarettes, and noticed a small gaggle of teenage girls huddled in the corner. Now, normally I would go into an internal tirade of how Britney Spears is turning our youths' tender minds and morals into sludge, and that pop drivvle is nothing but worthless cash machines for corporations. But these three girls looked scared out of their little hairsprayed minds.
They walked out ahead of me, whispering between eachother and looking around, and it occured to me they might have been lost. I asked if they were alright, and one of them meakly told me that a stinky homeless man had followed them three blocks, screaming obscenities at them (apparently for their deep indescretion of not providing him some change to go buy hooch). They were needless to say quite shaken, and were actually worried he would hurt them. Apparently among the obscenities and slurs were a few threats. Well, the Momma Bear in me raised a brow, and I asked where the girls were headed, and that I'd walk them home to make sure they were safe. They only lived about 2 blocks down from me, so it's not like I was being inconvenienced. Besides, if some stinkified drunk asshole was going to harrass some defenseless teenagers, I wanted to be there to correct his behavior with a well placed foot up the ass. You can roll your eyes and question their musical tastes, but you do NOT fuck with young people like that, especially not on my watch. So I walk with the girls, who seemed to ease up a little when they realized there was a woman walking them home. Good thing I've got a pair of tits, if I was a man they probably would've thought I was just Dangerous Freak Number 2.
So, the girls got home safe, and I walked back to our apartment (and to a very apologetic hubby), and felt better about making my corner of the universe just a little bit nicer for three perfect strangers.
So, before you think Momma Hood is just one raging anti-social nutball of post-partum hormonal angst, remember the key word in my moniker is Mother. And you don't mess with the Momma's hood!
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Where'd Momma go?
Well, I've been busy! Between getting the move together, dealing with both Anthony and I being sick, and life in general, I've had little time to play around on the net. What time I do spend on here is usually looking up stuff on ebay and HGTV. Although the house is great,it's still a fixer-upper, so there's a lot we'll need to do to make it a really nice home. Plus, the moving days are actually right on Thanksgiving week, so we've been coordinating with the family on how to still have a mangeable holiday in the midst of our boxed hell. Turkey, stuffing, and packing tape, wohoo! I've got a lot of house projects in the making to get some really cool creative flair going.
Decoupage stuff: I've already got the funky shelf thing I was working on halfway done. It was originally a drawer to a cabinet, which I turned upright, painted, and added some nifty old school religious clippings onto (quasi-catholic coolness), the sides of the box have a covering of book pages from an old german printed book I had found. I'm going to hang it with some black satin ribbon, and add hooks to the bottom of it to display the rosary collection.
keeping with the renaisance religious theme, I've got that old bookshelf in Anthony's room that's really getting spruced up. I'm using the remaining book pages on the sides, and inside I'm using a 'bible images' calander. I'll post pics when I am done, the whole set should look sweet.
Both of these will go into the entry way.
Found object fun: The half bath near the den needs some SERIOUS help, it's hideous and small to boot. Since hand towels are all that's needed, I'm picking up some super cool old door knockers and using them as hand towel hangers. I also found a nifty old wrought iron heating grate at the salvage shop that I am turning into the front of a magazine rack for the bathroom as well. I have two celtic garden plaques that I'll probably stick in there for some visual interest.
I also need a coat rack for the entry way, so I'll probably go back to the salvage shop for a plank and some interesting coat hooks (or old doorknobs).
Granny get yer glue gun: That corner piece to our old sectional still has life in it, so I am going to slipcover the thing and place that in the entry way as a shair to take off our shoes. Since the whole house has that so easy to stain ligt tan carpeting, I'm probably going to do the no shoes in the house rule.
Other craft madness: I am making new light shades for the kitchen, because the current ones are godawful seventies throwbacks, and I'm refinishing my dressing chair for the bedroom. Since I'm not sure about what paint schemes I am going to use in certain areas, I may put fabric on the walls temporarily until I figure out what we're doing with everything. Since my Dad is giving us all his woodworking tools for the new workshop, we'll probably just make most of the new furniture we need, like bookshelfs and stuff.
Okay, so there's my update, and the excuse for not updating this blog as often as I probably should.
Decoupage stuff: I've already got the funky shelf thing I was working on halfway done. It was originally a drawer to a cabinet, which I turned upright, painted, and added some nifty old school religious clippings onto (quasi-catholic coolness), the sides of the box have a covering of book pages from an old german printed book I had found. I'm going to hang it with some black satin ribbon, and add hooks to the bottom of it to display the rosary collection.
keeping with the renaisance religious theme, I've got that old bookshelf in Anthony's room that's really getting spruced up. I'm using the remaining book pages on the sides, and inside I'm using a 'bible images' calander. I'll post pics when I am done, the whole set should look sweet.
Both of these will go into the entry way.
Found object fun: The half bath near the den needs some SERIOUS help, it's hideous and small to boot. Since hand towels are all that's needed, I'm picking up some super cool old door knockers and using them as hand towel hangers. I also found a nifty old wrought iron heating grate at the salvage shop that I am turning into the front of a magazine rack for the bathroom as well. I have two celtic garden plaques that I'll probably stick in there for some visual interest.
I also need a coat rack for the entry way, so I'll probably go back to the salvage shop for a plank and some interesting coat hooks (or old doorknobs).
Granny get yer glue gun: That corner piece to our old sectional still has life in it, so I am going to slipcover the thing and place that in the entry way as a shair to take off our shoes. Since the whole house has that so easy to stain ligt tan carpeting, I'm probably going to do the no shoes in the house rule.
Other craft madness: I am making new light shades for the kitchen, because the current ones are godawful seventies throwbacks, and I'm refinishing my dressing chair for the bedroom. Since I'm not sure about what paint schemes I am going to use in certain areas, I may put fabric on the walls temporarily until I figure out what we're doing with everything. Since my Dad is giving us all his woodworking tools for the new workshop, we'll probably just make most of the new furniture we need, like bookshelfs and stuff.
Okay, so there's my update, and the excuse for not updating this blog as often as I probably should.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Domesticated Dream Actualized
Well, apparently my good karma bank account finally reached fruition. Rick just called me from work, and we have a dream come true...a HOME. His coworker has rental property in Edmonds that finally became available, and she wanted to give Rick first crack at it. All we knew was that it was a three bedroom house, and that she was renting it previously for $1200 a month. Knowing that the most we could afford would be $1000, we nevertheless went to go check it out.
I instantly was swooning. The three bedrooms were a decent size (rare for places up here, usually they are itty bitty), and there was ample closet space. I had been loath to give up this apartment solely for it's huge closets. It had a full sized bathroom, plus a half bath over by the living areas. We knew the livingroom was supposed to have a woodburning stove, but we had no idea there was actually a seperate den with it's own fireplace. The kitchen had brand new appliances, as did the laundry room (which that in it's own floored me, laundry!). She had mentioned the garage was small, but it's only small because the other half of it had been converted to a workshop. But the best part was the yard. Huge trees, a rolling grass-scape, and a begging to be flowered planter wrapping around the back portion of the home.
When we left, I was thoroughly in love with the place, but disheartened to know we couldn't afford it. Rick offered up that he could at least tell her we'd only be able to pay $1,000, and just see what she said. I shrugged, and held my glimmer of hope, but didn't start packing or anything.
Well, I got the call today. WE'RE IN! She adores Rick, and was just happy to rent it out to a family that really needed it. I skipped around the apartment, calling and writing to everyone I knew. Joy doesn't BEGIN to cover it...but then I got one more phone call to send me flat on my back. This co-worker doesn't just want to rent it to us...she wants to SELL it. Instead of rent, it could very well be a house payment.
Okay, I was hoping I could sit still long enough to type out how ridiculously happy I sam, but I am too excited, and mu7st immediately run around my house about fifty times. See ya!
I instantly was swooning. The three bedrooms were a decent size (rare for places up here, usually they are itty bitty), and there was ample closet space. I had been loath to give up this apartment solely for it's huge closets. It had a full sized bathroom, plus a half bath over by the living areas. We knew the livingroom was supposed to have a woodburning stove, but we had no idea there was actually a seperate den with it's own fireplace. The kitchen had brand new appliances, as did the laundry room (which that in it's own floored me, laundry!). She had mentioned the garage was small, but it's only small because the other half of it had been converted to a workshop. But the best part was the yard. Huge trees, a rolling grass-scape, and a begging to be flowered planter wrapping around the back portion of the home.
When we left, I was thoroughly in love with the place, but disheartened to know we couldn't afford it. Rick offered up that he could at least tell her we'd only be able to pay $1,000, and just see what she said. I shrugged, and held my glimmer of hope, but didn't start packing or anything.
Well, I got the call today. WE'RE IN! She adores Rick, and was just happy to rent it out to a family that really needed it. I skipped around the apartment, calling and writing to everyone I knew. Joy doesn't BEGIN to cover it...but then I got one more phone call to send me flat on my back. This co-worker doesn't just want to rent it to us...she wants to SELL it. Instead of rent, it could very well be a house payment.
Okay, I was hoping I could sit still long enough to type out how ridiculously happy I sam, but I am too excited, and mu7st immediately run around my house about fifty times. See ya!
Saturday, October 16, 2004
Sickie-poo
Ugh, nothing better than vomiting up your insides while simultaneously sneezing up large globs of goo. Why is it that when a mommy gets sick from their kid, they get fifteen times more ill than the little one? Anthony caught a bug while at my mom's house (thanks, grandma!), and I consequently caught whatever he had. While he has a bad case of the sniffles, I am the goddamn walking dead.
ugh, I'll be in bed leaking my guts out until further notice.
ugh, I'll be in bed leaking my guts out until further notice.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Back in the Saddle
Alright, folks, I return from the fifth layer of hell...*ahem*...Southern California. Honestly, I don't think I can really talk about the family matters that happened. Everything is still swimming in my head, and my heart is still too full of grief. In a nutshell, it was not as bad as I thought, in fact the majority of the family embraced me like some prodigal daughter returned. I know Nathan watched over us that day, and would've been pleased to see the reuniting bonds that he created. He would've also chuckled at the fact that his funeral service looked like a damn mafia family reunion. His father's highly Southern Italian Side, our Northern Italian side, and the Spanish family that married in just for kicks. I swear to God I felt like a damn Gotti. Especially when one Uncle started offering that Aunt Nina's new husband needed to be 'taken care of', but no one would let him. *gulp* More Ziti, anyone?
Well, since that's all I will share about that, anyone want to hear my tirade? Aha, thought so. Here you are, kiddies, Sharona's bitch fest du jour....
BEST WESTERN FUCKING SUCKS!!!!
'Kay, my mother is never EVER allowed to make hotel reservations for me again. The first time, it was the fateful toothbreaking stay at the Hampton Inn of San Francisco. And even though this was only strike two, it's a big enough strike to say enough. Allow me to give you the dirty details:
Tuesday - I arrive in Orange County's reknowned John Wayne Airport (complete with a very creepy statue of The Duke in the Baggage Claim area...'better git yer bag thar, pilgrim') right on schedule at 4:45pm. Mom said that she reserved the hotel shuttle for me, so it would be waiting for me as soon as I exited. Yeah, right, good thing I called. It should've tipped me off when I had asked at the information booth about which courtesy phone to use and she said there wasn't one. And according to her snide chuckle (fucking Californians) and snippy response, my lovely accomodations, though called Best Western Airport North, were in fact, no where near the damn airport. Greeeeeeeeaaaat. So I call, and some twit answers and says he forgot me, and was sending a driver. "should be fifteen minutes". Whatever, three cigarettes, a strangled cellphone and half hour later Senor Dumbfuck pulls up in the van and dumps me in the backseat. We sit in traffic, because it wouldn't be a trip to the OC without smog filled lungs, and I redub my non-English speaking Latino friend Jose Smiley. I get to the hotel, and the check in girl (yes, girl, she was younger than me) chirps happily about the weather (shut UP) and asks for the $100 deposit my mother had pre-arranged. Now, since mom couldn't get them a credit card verification, she asked via phone if cash was acceptable. The management said it was fine as long as I paid at least $100 up front as a deposit. Since the whole hotel bill would've been $140, it was no biggie, and Mom promptly packed my wallet with a cool $220 so I could have some money for food. Why I'd need an entire $80 for food, I don't know, but that's Mom for ya. Okay, so I hand Blondie the $100, and wander up to my room. I go to put my soda in the minifridge, only to realize the pathetic contraption doesn't work. You can all see me starting to twitch at this point, eh? I go to the bedside table and flip on the light, but THAT doesn't work. Right as I'm about to curse, the phone rings. It's Blondie, and apparently there's been some 'confusion'. I was supposed to give a $100 deposit AND the $140 up front when I checked in. Now, that was NOT in the fucking plan, and I asked to speak to the manager. I proceeded to tear him a new asshole, explaining that I was not equipped with $240 to simply hand to him (well, I was, I had $25 spare in my wallet, but $5 for three days to eat and smoke, and buy the alcohol required to get through this trip just didn't work), and that this was completely and totally out of the question. Dickweed proceeds to hem and haw as to what to do (I was mentally daring him to evict me, since I was so not familiar with the area, which I assumed as a bario, it was quickly getting dark, I was seething on the point of Lawyer calling at this point), he finally decides he'll take a $50 deposit and have me pay nightly. So I need to traipse down with $24 for the night. I get on the horn as I slam my feet into my flipflops and call my Uncle to check in, and my buddy Chris who lived nearby to come get me (punky people rock!). I threw the money at Dickweed (no, he doesn't get a real name, nobody at this godforsaken pit of idiocy does), and inform him I will not be pleased about the two non-working appliances. He crows apologies, and says he'll send a maintenance person up immediately. Chris & his daughter hits the road to meet me up at the room, so I go change and stew some more. I call the other mamatropolis area contacts I have, but no one else can hang, which is a bummer. Chris and his ridiculously damn cute daughter appear at my door right as I finish talking to my other cousin. As they sit down and I search for my cigs, the maintenance person walks in the door. It's Jose! He's apparently the one man show there. As he proceeds to delight us all with a great view of the buttcrack, we decide it's now time to hightail it and find a Del Taco and a whole lot of booze. I finally return to an empty room, with a working refridgerator, although Jose forgot the bedside lamp. A few Schmirnoff Ice's later, and a perturbed call to Mom, I drift into oblivion.
The next day I wake to my crappy abode, and a call from the day manager (not Dickweed, so we'll call this one Captain Kissass). Apparently, Mom was busy this morning, and called to rip him a new one about yesterday's little deposit fiasco. He was giving me back $25 of it so I could graciously eat dinner, and felt
Well, since that's all I will share about that, anyone want to hear my tirade? Aha, thought so. Here you are, kiddies, Sharona's bitch fest du jour....
BEST WESTERN FUCKING SUCKS!!!!
'Kay, my mother is never EVER allowed to make hotel reservations for me again. The first time, it was the fateful toothbreaking stay at the Hampton Inn of San Francisco. And even though this was only strike two, it's a big enough strike to say enough. Allow me to give you the dirty details:
Tuesday - I arrive in Orange County's reknowned John Wayne Airport (complete with a very creepy statue of The Duke in the Baggage Claim area...'better git yer bag thar, pilgrim') right on schedule at 4:45pm. Mom said that she reserved the hotel shuttle for me, so it would be waiting for me as soon as I exited. Yeah, right, good thing I called. It should've tipped me off when I had asked at the information booth about which courtesy phone to use and she said there wasn't one. And according to her snide chuckle (fucking Californians) and snippy response, my lovely accomodations, though called Best Western Airport North, were in fact, no where near the damn airport. Greeeeeeeeaaaat. So I call, and some twit answers and says he forgot me, and was sending a driver. "should be fifteen minutes". Whatever, three cigarettes, a strangled cellphone and half hour later Senor Dumbfuck pulls up in the van and dumps me in the backseat. We sit in traffic, because it wouldn't be a trip to the OC without smog filled lungs, and I redub my non-English speaking Latino friend Jose Smiley. I get to the hotel, and the check in girl (yes, girl, she was younger than me) chirps happily about the weather (shut UP) and asks for the $100 deposit my mother had pre-arranged. Now, since mom couldn't get them a credit card verification, she asked via phone if cash was acceptable. The management said it was fine as long as I paid at least $100 up front as a deposit. Since the whole hotel bill would've been $140, it was no biggie, and Mom promptly packed my wallet with a cool $220 so I could have some money for food. Why I'd need an entire $80 for food, I don't know, but that's Mom for ya. Okay, so I hand Blondie the $100, and wander up to my room. I go to put my soda in the minifridge, only to realize the pathetic contraption doesn't work. You can all see me starting to twitch at this point, eh? I go to the bedside table and flip on the light, but THAT doesn't work. Right as I'm about to curse, the phone rings. It's Blondie, and apparently there's been some 'confusion'. I was supposed to give a $100 deposit AND the $140 up front when I checked in. Now, that was NOT in the fucking plan, and I asked to speak to the manager. I proceeded to tear him a new asshole, explaining that I was not equipped with $240 to simply hand to him (well, I was, I had $25 spare in my wallet, but $5 for three days to eat and smoke, and buy the alcohol required to get through this trip just didn't work), and that this was completely and totally out of the question. Dickweed proceeds to hem and haw as to what to do (I was mentally daring him to evict me, since I was so not familiar with the area, which I assumed as a bario, it was quickly getting dark, I was seething on the point of Lawyer calling at this point), he finally decides he'll take a $50 deposit and have me pay nightly. So I need to traipse down with $24 for the night. I get on the horn as I slam my feet into my flipflops and call my Uncle to check in, and my buddy Chris who lived nearby to come get me (punky people rock!). I threw the money at Dickweed (no, he doesn't get a real name, nobody at this godforsaken pit of idiocy does), and inform him I will not be pleased about the two non-working appliances. He crows apologies, and says he'll send a maintenance person up immediately. Chris & his daughter hits the road to meet me up at the room, so I go change and stew some more. I call the other mamatropolis area contacts I have, but no one else can hang, which is a bummer. Chris and his ridiculously damn cute daughter appear at my door right as I finish talking to my other cousin. As they sit down and I search for my cigs, the maintenance person walks in the door. It's Jose! He's apparently the one man show there. As he proceeds to delight us all with a great view of the buttcrack, we decide it's now time to hightail it and find a Del Taco and a whole lot of booze. I finally return to an empty room, with a working refridgerator, although Jose forgot the bedside lamp. A few Schmirnoff Ice's later, and a perturbed call to Mom, I drift into oblivion.
The next day I wake to my crappy abode, and a call from the day manager (not Dickweed, so we'll call this one Captain Kissass). Apparently, Mom was busy this morning, and called to rip him a new one about yesterday's little deposit fiasco. He was giving me back $25 of it so I could graciously eat dinner, and felt
Sunday, October 03, 2004
My absent note
Alright, so I don't come back to nasty little notes about slacking on the posts, I'm going to be gone all week, kids. My mom is going to watch Anthony for me, so I am going to take a train to her place in Oregon tomorrow. Pray that stupid pile of crap mountain doesn't burp again, the amtrak rolls right next to it. Tuesday morning I take a plain to the 3rd layer of hell, otherwise known as Orange County. I have layovers on both flights in Las Vegas, I'll bring some nickels for the slots (yes, they put slot machines in the airport). Wednesday I attend the service for my departed cousin, and proceed to avoid sensitive conversation with my dysfunctional nightmare of a family. Shouldn't be too hard, recent word through the grapevine is that they all consider me less than dead anyways. Then I'll wanderback and pray the hotel has a bar so I can drink away any memory of those people. In California, they can sell hard liquor in grocery and convenience stores, so I could always count pink elephants in the privacy of my little rented hovel. Thursday morning I'll drag my hungover ass onto a plane and meet Mom in Portland, where she'll just drive me and kiddo back up to Seattle.
I cherished the last time I was able to see Nathan, and his brother, Chris. All the bad history and lost time was water under the bridge, and we really did rekindle that closeness of our former years. If it wasn't for that care I resurrected for Nathan, and poor Chris who's been handling this whole thing, I would be writing this whole trip off. My third cousin, Nicky, will be seeing me for the first time in almost 15 years, as will his mom, my Aunt. Nina I know will be welcoming, but the rest of the family has apparently permanently shut the door on my end of the family. The conversation I had tonight with another cousin (remember, Italian families are fucking BIG. Nicky, Chris and Nathan were my only set of first cousins, but the number of seconds and thirds count to well over 40) was difficult to hear. Apparently I'm considered on the "forbidden list", usually only reserved for any criminal element of the family tree (again, we're fucking Italian, and yes we do fit that pathetic stereotype).
Well, fuck them. I'm still family, and I didn't do anything wrong. I'm walking in with my head held high. If they want to put me in the corner and pretend I don't exist, then Uncle Karl, Uncle Tony, and cousin Fred and I can sit in our corner together. At least I'll be in good company. Fuckin' A, someone better give me a drink now...
See you next week kiddies. I should be returning to the cyber world by Friday, so y'all can look forward to an oh-so festive update on the events of the week when I return. And please, folks, cross your fingers for me that our dimestore version of Krakatoa (aka Mount St. Helens) doesn't blow up too big during some crucial times. Flying into Portland could be seriously screwed by an ash cloud coming from ol' gassy over there.
I cherished the last time I was able to see Nathan, and his brother, Chris. All the bad history and lost time was water under the bridge, and we really did rekindle that closeness of our former years. If it wasn't for that care I resurrected for Nathan, and poor Chris who's been handling this whole thing, I would be writing this whole trip off. My third cousin, Nicky, will be seeing me for the first time in almost 15 years, as will his mom, my Aunt. Nina I know will be welcoming, but the rest of the family has apparently permanently shut the door on my end of the family. The conversation I had tonight with another cousin (remember, Italian families are fucking BIG. Nicky, Chris and Nathan were my only set of first cousins, but the number of seconds and thirds count to well over 40) was difficult to hear. Apparently I'm considered on the "forbidden list", usually only reserved for any criminal element of the family tree (again, we're fucking Italian, and yes we do fit that pathetic stereotype).
Well, fuck them. I'm still family, and I didn't do anything wrong. I'm walking in with my head held high. If they want to put me in the corner and pretend I don't exist, then Uncle Karl, Uncle Tony, and cousin Fred and I can sit in our corner together. At least I'll be in good company. Fuckin' A, someone better give me a drink now...
See you next week kiddies. I should be returning to the cyber world by Friday, so y'all can look forward to an oh-so festive update on the events of the week when I return. And please, folks, cross your fingers for me that our dimestore version of Krakatoa (aka Mount St. Helens) doesn't blow up too big during some crucial times. Flying into Portland could be seriously screwed by an ash cloud coming from ol' gassy over there.
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