37

I had my training thing today. I drove right up into the depths of Northern Virginia (okay, the outer depths) and made it in about two hours. I take back all the bad stuff I said about the traffic, because it wasn't that bad. Traffic in Short Dump is way worse. I was late, but only by a few minutes. I figure that I'm egotistical enough to feel like the party wasn't going to start til I got there, anyway. I knew a few people in the training thing, but I didn't like any of them enough to sit and socialize, basically because I'm pretty sure that none of them are as cool as me.

So in between the training thing and me feeling like I'm going to skip bronchitis and head right into pneumonia, I was calling my mom and my older daughter's cheer coach to find out if the football game was going to be cancelled tonight. At first, when they announced continuous downpours and flash-flooding, the information came down from the football coach that it didn't matter, because unless it was thundering and lightening, the game would go on. Geez. What a nutjob. These are children, not NFL players. Come on. So the cheer coach was out buying rain slickers, and the girls had permission to wear sweatpants under their uniforms. Finally, some common sense prevailed and some jackass cancelled the game, which actually would have been three games, but we were leaving after the first one. Why have kids running around on a football field at 8:00 at night on a school night? That's just stupid. The cancellation call came, and yay! Now my mom can just skip the football game, go straight to the grocery store formerly known as Ukrops and buy me a cake by the bakery currently known as Ukrops. My children shall eat cake and goldfish for dinner! Life is good! For them!

And then, after the sugar high had hit and the children had crashed back down, time for homework. My older daughter got a progress note sent home, which is apparently what they call bad behavior reports now?!? So we discussed that, and of course it's everyone else's fault. She just can't help what she blurts out of her mouth at any time, because she just can't. We discuss personal responsibility, and that she has to control herself and her mouth, and she decides that if another note is sent home, then no TV or computer for a week for her. Wow! That was way harsher than I was thinking, but we can go with that. It'll be easier for me since she picked the punishment. In the middle of all of this, The Ex calls for his nightly phone call (on the nights he remembers or isn't busy with the girlfriend), and god only knows what he told her. Probably that it's all Mommy's fault. I got on the phone to discuss the situation with him, and he says he's on a break from his part-time "gig" and he doesn't really have any time. Too bad, motherfucker. I guess you'd better make some time. Then he goes into what his part-time "gig" is, and I really don't care. I don't care about you and your stupid music. I'm not impressed and I never will be. I'm just sorry that he can't get paid for jerking off, because then he'd be rich and he could pay for both daughters' yearbooks.

37. I don't feel 37. I just decided a few months ago that I was okay with being 36. 37 feels old. 37 feels like I'm too old to be writing some blog about freakshows and stuff. I'll keep on with the blog, but this just feels weird. However, this is what I do every birthday when I decide that I don't feel my new age. I'll just keep telling people I'm 36 until 37 feels right, which will probably be next June. And then I'll be 37 from next June until the June or so after that. I had convinced people a couple of years ago that I was only 28. I mean, I still felt 28, and from their reactions when the truth slipped out and they discovered I was actually 34, I guess I still looked it. So I think I can still pass for 36. Maybe I'll go back to 34. I think I can still pass for 34, too. Thus far in life, I have resisted botox, plastic surgery, teeth whitening, ionic hair straightening, hair coloring, vajazzling, a minivan and tattoo eyeliner, but have succumbed to a couple of dumb tattoos, a piercing, Brazilian waxing, stretch marks and one divorce. I can definitely still pass for 35.