I can't believe I'm actually middle aged. 38 to be exact, and I suppose that's middle aged. Or maybe not, what with how long people are living these days. Maybe middle age is really around 50. Wait, let me check Wikipedia. Eh, shit. The Census defines it as 35, Collins Dictionary as 40 and Oxford English Dictionary as 45. Erik Erikson says 40. So the average of that: 40. Okay, I'm not there yet. Close, but no cigar.
Things with Guy #1 are going really well. We survived Thanksgiving, to which his ex-wife did not show up, and I think next year maybe I just want to stay at home and eat country ham and broccoli casserole. I won't have my kids next Thanksgiving, so it won't matter if I do that. We'll see.
I took my children to see Santa this past weekend, and my mother went with us, since that's my normal routine. I had planned on The Ex NOT being there, since he bitched about Santa every year since my older daughter was born, but my older daughter insisted on calling him on the way to see Santa and then insisting to him that he come. To his credit, he did manage to extricate himself from World of Warcraft and get his ass in to see Santa, and didn't bitch about it much. Maybe his third marriage is agreeing with him.
My mother got to my house a little early and we were sitting pretty much hip-to-hip on the sofa, trying to figure out her fancy schmancy new iPhone, being that she upgraded from a tracfone to an iPhone with nothing in between (who the fuck does that?) when my phone buzzed. As a prequel to this whole story, Guy #1 and I had been indecently texting each other all day, well, because we can. It's my phone and if I want to text dirty, I can do just that.
Anyway, my phone rang.
I see it's Guy #1 calling.
I answered, "Hello?" even though I knew it was him, because my mother and children were in the room.
Keep in mind my mother and I were still sitting hip-to-hip at this point, thus causing the proximity of her head to my head to be about six to eight inches apart being that we were looking at her phone together.
Guy #1 says, with no greeting, "I wish you were bouncing up and down on my cock right now."
I was silent.
I did not move a muscle in my body as I cut my eyes over to my mother and wondered if she had heard that, since her ear was only a few inches away from my phone that I then desperately tried to press into my inner ear.
That five seconds of silence between the three of us, Guy #1, my mother and I was deafening.
And then my mother snorted, and I think just a teensy bit of soup that she had been eating right when Guy #1 made his proclamation shot out of her nose. She got up and stumbled into the kitchen and I heard a chair scrape back from the table.
Oh. My. God. She heard that.
I whispered to Guy #1, "My mother is HERE!"
He says, "So?"
I said, "She heard THAT!"
Of course Guy #1 didn't believe me, and the peals of laughter coming from my kitchen didn't convince him. I was somewhere between laughing and crying at this point, because that's pretty embarrassing. Mothers are not supposed to know that stuff. Although, I'm pretty sure she's come to the conclusion that after a year of dating, he and I have consummated the relationship. But still, that's not a point of discussion between my mother and I because I am 38 and don't need sex advice from her. That's what I have girlfriends for.
Guy #1 continued to insist that my mother did not hear him say that. I finally had to hold the phone out and yell at my mother in the kitchen, "Hey, did you hear that?" To which more laughter came. I put the phone back up to my ear and said, "SEE?!?!? She heard you!"
And then it got worse. My mother yelled back, "It brings back memories!"
Oh. My. God.
Who knew that in one split second one of my eardrums could burst and I could throw up in my mouth, all at the same time? It's amazing what the human body can do, that's for sure.
With that, Guy #1 was silent. He said, "Did she really hear me?"
I whispered, "Yeah, she heard you."
Guy #1 said, "Oh my god, why would you have your phone on speaker?"
I said, "It wasn't on SPEAKER, you damn fool. We were sitting right next to each other."
Guy #1 argued back, "I wasn't that loud!"
I said, "You know I've got bad ears and I have to keep the volume all the way up!"
He said, "What's wrong with your ears?"
Holy shit. And that's when it struck me. Bad ears, bad eyes, bad back. I'm getting old. Helloooooo, middle age. I didn't think the realization would hit me like this.
Some days are just like that, I suppose.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
The Write Stuff???? (Part Deux)
Still working on this recommendation in my head. I got halfway through it in my brain last night, but then the whole thing spiraled out of control into a Breakfast-Club-this-is-where-we-are-twenty-years-later schtick. Collectively, my classmates and I are a lot of things. I'm not going to name them all out, because that would just be too cliche, but we are good stuff, and here and there are bits of badness. Kind of like someone in the class behind me who got picked up for a messy felony offense and then deported to a country that they hadn't lived in since they were an infant because their dumbass adoptive Farmville parents never finalized the naturalization process. Boom! Hello, impoverished South American country where someone doesn't speak the language and has no relatives! But then on the other hand, there is my senior year prom date who very likely could end up as governor one day and I'll be his dirty little secret from high school. The total dichotomy of his father (who was the school superintendent) kind of leading the charge on almost expelling me from school and then, reversing course by allowing his son to take me to prom always made me wonder if dear old dad was just trying to make sure his son had a sure thing on prom night. Cause he didn't! That joke was on him! Anyway, this is exactly why I posted our prom picture on facebook. I.am.ahead.of.the.curve.here.
But back to homeslice and I. We ended up going to the same college, but he was lucky enough to live on campus and I was not-so-lucky enough to live with my father because he and my mother had basically determined they weren't going to pay for me to live on campus. My choices were Longwood or VCU. I was jealous of homeslice, because he got experience college as it's meant to be experienced, and that's with the view from a dorm window. I got to experience college with a view out of my commuter windshield. We ran into each once or twice that first semester, and I drove him to the bank once, but then headed right back to Farmville when living with my mother became an better option than living with my father. The lesser of two evils, I suppose.
The last time I saw homeslice was 1996-ish, when somehow a bunch of us from high school ended up in the trailer he and some other guys from high school had rented drinking beer and laughing about high school. I got the distinct impression that they were all looking at my T&A and found a reason to leave. Yes, the post-high school years were good for me, developmentally.
I suppose what amazes me about homeslice's writing (and I've tried to go back and read his whole blog, but it's damn near impossible because there's got to be at least a thousand entries on that thing, plus I still haven't read his stuff that's been published. My name is bad friend.) is that he manages to catch the sheer hopelessness, poverty,small-mindedness small-townish-ness and aimlessness that is where we grew up but he does with the acuity of being able to look from the outside in, and back out again. Mix that with varying degrees of socio-economic awareness (by the time I was in eighth grade I could break down all the different types of white people there were in our county, I'm ashamed to admit), a convoluted racial hyper-vigilance cultivated by our county's history, and hanging out in a junkyard every now and then. Some of the shit he writes about I don't get, that usually being music and MMA, but the rest of it, yeah, I'm there. Of course, I'm kind of biased, being that we've known each other for years upon years upon years, and I know of the people and places he writes about.
I'm definitely going to do the recommendation, but here's the rub. He didn't give me enough time to frantically read up on and research about ten other authors in my mind I'd like to compare him to in my head prior to writing this damn thing, and I can't count on Wikipedia to be reliable for this. Yes, it's reliable for me diagnosing all of my medical problems, but for something this serious - hell to the naw! This program only accepts ten students per year. I did at least get on the school website and do some reading on that. The other, and greater, concern that I have is that I'm going to be the person to dumb this whole process down. Obviously, homeslice is smarter than me. His slice of genius is slightly bigger than my slice of brilliance, which means he's way ahead of me. Seriously, though, I have some serious reservations about me being the retard who accidentally stumbled into the Mensa meeting or something. Something this big, I can't fuck this up. I mean, this is someone's life here, and what if these people look at my letter and they're like, 'That's the dumbest and most ignorant shit we've ever read. Admission denied.' What if I have too many commas? We,all,know,I, have a, thing,for,commas,,,,,. And I don't want to just pull something out of my ass. I'm honored to have even been asked, considering I consider homeslice to be not only smarter than me, but a better writer, too. You don't respect and honor something by just pulling some shit out of your ass. Even though I've had something floating around my head for the past couple of days, I can't let this shit percolate but too long, because the deadline is looming and shit that's over-percolated always taste like, well, shit.
But back to homeslice and I. We ended up going to the same college, but he was lucky enough to live on campus and I was not-so-lucky enough to live with my father because he and my mother had basically determined they weren't going to pay for me to live on campus. My choices were Longwood or VCU. I was jealous of homeslice, because he got experience college as it's meant to be experienced, and that's with the view from a dorm window. I got to experience college with a view out of my commuter windshield. We ran into each once or twice that first semester, and I drove him to the bank once, but then headed right back to Farmville when living with my mother became an better option than living with my father. The lesser of two evils, I suppose.
The last time I saw homeslice was 1996-ish, when somehow a bunch of us from high school ended up in the trailer he and some other guys from high school had rented drinking beer and laughing about high school. I got the distinct impression that they were all looking at my T&A and found a reason to leave. Yes, the post-high school years were good for me, developmentally.
I suppose what amazes me about homeslice's writing (and I've tried to go back and read his whole blog, but it's damn near impossible because there's got to be at least a thousand entries on that thing, plus I still haven't read his stuff that's been published. My name is bad friend.) is that he manages to catch the sheer hopelessness, poverty,
I'm definitely going to do the recommendation, but here's the rub. He didn't give me enough time to frantically read up on and research about ten other authors in my mind I'd like to compare him to in my head prior to writing this damn thing, and I can't count on Wikipedia to be reliable for this. Yes, it's reliable for me diagnosing all of my medical problems, but for something this serious - hell to the naw! This program only accepts ten students per year. I did at least get on the school website and do some reading on that. The other, and greater, concern that I have is that I'm going to be the person to dumb this whole process down. Obviously, homeslice is smarter than me. His slice of genius is slightly bigger than my slice of brilliance, which means he's way ahead of me. Seriously, though, I have some serious reservations about me being the retard who accidentally stumbled into the Mensa meeting or something. Something this big, I can't fuck this up. I mean, this is someone's life here, and what if these people look at my letter and they're like, 'That's the dumbest and most ignorant shit we've ever read. Admission denied.' What if I have too many commas? We,all,know,I, have a, thing,for,commas,,,,,. And I don't want to just pull something out of my ass. I'm honored to have even been asked, considering I consider homeslice to be not only smarter than me, but a better writer, too. You don't respect and honor something by just pulling some shit out of your ass. Even though I've had something floating around my head for the past couple of days, I can't let this shit percolate but too long, because the deadline is looming and shit that's over-percolated always taste like, well, shit.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
The Write Stuff??? (Part 1)
So I've been asked to write a recommendation for a friend of mine. Not a big deal, right, because I've written a few completely trumped up job references before, making the said candidate sound like they really should be working for the Supreme Court or something. But this isn't for a job. This is for a friend's MFA Creative Writing program admission. Huh, you say? Yeah, me too.
But not just any friend, well, because, I don't have that many friends. Ha! Just kidding! I'm super popular. Or not. Anyway, I've known this cat since fourth grade, and even in fourth grade, he wasn't a guy, or a boy, he was a cat. He was that kid who had hair that was too long, had a really cool name and his parents were rumored to be hippies. Yeah, I had a terrible crush on him. He ignored me completely and I think he told me I was stupid at some point on the bus ride home one afternoon. But that was fourth grade, and then a new boy transferred in to school starting in fifth grade and I had a new crush. Who also ignored me and told me I was stupid. My sixth grade crush turned into an actual boyfriend, you know, who actually asked me to 'go with him'. Seventh grade crush was the guy who I snitched out for giving me pot in tenth grade, eighth grade crush also thought I was stupid, ninth grade crush dumped me for one of my arch enemies, and so it goes on.
I got completely off track there. People keep texting me and I can't concentrate. See, I told you I was popular! Anyway, my fourth grade crush and I never had any classes together until high school. My school was small, and there were probably only about enough students for four or five separate classes (if I recall correctly) per grade, and I was always in the second smartest class. Those 80's standardized tests pretty much kept the same kids in the same class with each other all the way through middle school. I always realized that I was never in the smartest class, and watched other kids filter in and out of the second smartest class, but I never seemed to be able to work my way into the smartest class category. I blame this partially on my mother for not giving a fuck about my education other than to harass me endlessly about why I wasn't doing better (even though I think I recall her never making much of an effort to help me) and I blame this partially on myself for being pretty much satisfied with second smartest class. And maybe a little blame goes on a couple of teachers here and there for just sucking in general.
By the time I got to high school, I had determined that the only way that I was going to succeed in the high school social game was going to be by making smartest class. I buckled down in ninth grade and actually started applying myself and applied for the 'honors' type program, which really wasn't honors but probably more like what the good high schools were teaching, and voila! Social entree was mine! All of a sudden I was in the smartest class, minus math. I compensated for that by being in the retard math classes. And a whole new world of kids opened up to me, those kids who had always been in the smartest class and had been together since fourth grade (or before). I had a lot of catching up to do. Suddenly, I was in class with my fourth grade crush. Awkward high school friendships were formed, because these kids knew I didn't have the history with them that they had with each other. I stayed in smartest English and History classes for the rest of high school, and supplemented it with French (where I insisted on only speaking English, because really, I was just taking that shit for college, not to be able to actually speak it), and did a few other things, along with remaining in dumbest math class that was almost learning disabled (still with the guy who gave me the pot - there's a reason for this, I think) and working my way down from smartest biology to pretty damn stupid chemistry.
The friendship that fourth grade homeslice and I had was strange, because I thought he was a little weird in that hippie-commune kind of way, and he probably thought I was as self-absorbed and shallow as any teenage girl. Our friendship was also made even more awkward by the fact that my stepfather had, on occasion or two, arrested his father. And I think his uncle. And was gunning for him to make it a hat-trick. Homeslice knew this, I knew this, my stepfather knew this and his father knew this. So he and I would kid around in school and then go home and have to individually hear shit about how the other's person's dad or stepdad was a shithead, blah blah blah. For a lack of a better word, the friendship was precariously based upon whether or not my stepfather was going to be involved in arresting one of his relatives. That always seems to complicate shit, you know? I was desperate to be included in all of the cool parties that I always heard about AFTER THE FACT, and I've convinced myself that homeslice and our other classmates were probably torn between inviting me and living in fear of getting themselves locked up. I don't care what anyone says, growing up with a (step)parent who is the long arm of the law in a small town, and eager to be a complete dick, really, really, really sucks. Period. I think most of the trouble that I got into in high school was directly related to my desire to prove that I wasn't a goody two-shoes.
And that's it for tonight. More tomorrow, as I try to piece this recommendation together in my brain.
But not just any friend, well, because, I don't have that many friends. Ha! Just kidding! I'm super popular. Or not. Anyway, I've known this cat since fourth grade, and even in fourth grade, he wasn't a guy, or a boy, he was a cat. He was that kid who had hair that was too long, had a really cool name and his parents were rumored to be hippies. Yeah, I had a terrible crush on him. He ignored me completely and I think he told me I was stupid at some point on the bus ride home one afternoon. But that was fourth grade, and then a new boy transferred in to school starting in fifth grade and I had a new crush. Who also ignored me and told me I was stupid. My sixth grade crush turned into an actual boyfriend, you know, who actually asked me to 'go with him'. Seventh grade crush was the guy who I snitched out for giving me pot in tenth grade, eighth grade crush also thought I was stupid, ninth grade crush dumped me for one of my arch enemies, and so it goes on.
I got completely off track there. People keep texting me and I can't concentrate. See, I told you I was popular! Anyway, my fourth grade crush and I never had any classes together until high school. My school was small, and there were probably only about enough students for four or five separate classes (if I recall correctly) per grade, and I was always in the second smartest class. Those 80's standardized tests pretty much kept the same kids in the same class with each other all the way through middle school. I always realized that I was never in the smartest class, and watched other kids filter in and out of the second smartest class, but I never seemed to be able to work my way into the smartest class category. I blame this partially on my mother for not giving a fuck about my education other than to harass me endlessly about why I wasn't doing better (even though I think I recall her never making much of an effort to help me) and I blame this partially on myself for being pretty much satisfied with second smartest class. And maybe a little blame goes on a couple of teachers here and there for just sucking in general.
By the time I got to high school, I had determined that the only way that I was going to succeed in the high school social game was going to be by making smartest class. I buckled down in ninth grade and actually started applying myself and applied for the 'honors' type program, which really wasn't honors but probably more like what the good high schools were teaching, and voila! Social entree was mine! All of a sudden I was in the smartest class, minus math. I compensated for that by being in the retard math classes. And a whole new world of kids opened up to me, those kids who had always been in the smartest class and had been together since fourth grade (or before). I had a lot of catching up to do. Suddenly, I was in class with my fourth grade crush. Awkward high school friendships were formed, because these kids knew I didn't have the history with them that they had with each other. I stayed in smartest English and History classes for the rest of high school, and supplemented it with French (where I insisted on only speaking English, because really, I was just taking that shit for college, not to be able to actually speak it), and did a few other things, along with remaining in dumbest math class that was almost learning disabled (still with the guy who gave me the pot - there's a reason for this, I think) and working my way down from smartest biology to pretty damn stupid chemistry.
The friendship that fourth grade homeslice and I had was strange, because I thought he was a little weird in that hippie-commune kind of way, and he probably thought I was as self-absorbed and shallow as any teenage girl. Our friendship was also made even more awkward by the fact that my stepfather had, on occasion or two, arrested his father. And I think his uncle. And was gunning for him to make it a hat-trick. Homeslice knew this, I knew this, my stepfather knew this and his father knew this. So he and I would kid around in school and then go home and have to individually hear shit about how the other's person's dad or stepdad was a shithead, blah blah blah. For a lack of a better word, the friendship was precariously based upon whether or not my stepfather was going to be involved in arresting one of his relatives. That always seems to complicate shit, you know? I was desperate to be included in all of the cool parties that I always heard about AFTER THE FACT, and I've convinced myself that homeslice and our other classmates were probably torn between inviting me and living in fear of getting themselves locked up. I don't care what anyone says, growing up with a (step)parent who is the long arm of the law in a small town, and eager to be a complete dick, really, really, really sucks. Period. I think most of the trouble that I got into in high school was directly related to my desire to prove that I wasn't a goody two-shoes.
And that's it for tonight. More tomorrow, as I try to piece this recommendation together in my brain.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Much More Chill
As the title would suggest, I'm much more chill today. A long afternoon with Guy #1 tends to do that for me. So I am probably not going to drink my way through Thanksgiving, but I may have a couple of shots here and there. I'm not going to call them shots, though, I am simply going to call them fortifiers. I don't know if the ex-wife will show up, but if she does, then she does. I have no choice but to roll with it and be the princess that I am. I will simply nod my head at her and say, "What it do?" My stepfather, on the other hand, may get a few more curse words hissed at him randomly throughout the day. Or... I'll figure out which alcohol belongs to him and I will work on drinking that exclusively. As long as it's not moonshine, we'll be good to go.
I had to pick my mother up from work today and she never mentioned the whole thing and I didn't either. I had already decided I wasn't going to mention it, because I didn't want her to be in the predicament of hearing me bitch about her husband. I mean, really, she can't help what comes out of his mouth any more than I can. So it was a long and awkward ride, what with this whole topic hanging in the air and yet remaining unspoken. I decided halfway through the trip that this too would go on the "List of Shit My Mother And I Will Never Discuss". It's not a pretty list, trust me.
Oh, I forgot to mention that the football picks thing over at http://www.armchairlinebacker.com/ kind of fell apart, but hopefully we can get something going again in the next few weeks. I think we did it for a total of four weeks. Week 1 - I fucking rocked! Week 2 - not so great. Week 3 - I know a few retarded people who could make better picks than me. Week 4 - I lost so much pretend money that I was only allowed to bet on one game, and I picked right! Ha! I win, bitches! But this was also the week the whole thing fell apart. However, if you need a guest contributor to blather on endlessly about everything and nothing and maybe a little bit of the requested topic, I'm yo' girl! Hit a sista up!
We've wrapped up the whole fall athletic thing. My older daughter survived cheerleading and I've managed to extricate the cheer director from her life and from mine. Culling the herd is a good thing, you know? My younger daughter played football this year, yes - football - I can't remember if I mentioned that or not. Anyway, she played flag football, but that was because of her age, not because she can't play tackle. She did awesome, and I'm pretty damn proud to have been the mother of the one girl a team of 30 boys. Once she understood what she had to do, she did her best to go out there and make it happen. I was surprised that towards the end of the season she was telling her eye doctor that she played football and the doctor asked what position she played. I whispered to her, "Safety", because that's what I thought she played. My daughter looked at me quite scornfully and rolled her eyes, and said, "No, Mommy, I play outside linebacker!" Well, excuuuuuuse me, is what I thought. But fucking awesome that my daughter is playing linebacker! Hell yeah! And I was even more excited when she managed to hold the other teams players off, sometimes two at a time. Yep, that's my little princess out there. And even better was that she was one of the few kids on her team who didn't cry all season. The Ex and I had drilled into her over and over and then over again that THERE'S NO CRYING IN FOOTBALL!!! We figured that as soon as she started crying then it was over for her. The whole girl stereotype thing would just take over and her season would be done. Sidelined. But my girl hung in there tough and didn't shed a tear once. She made a point of telling the coach that she was the only one who didn't cry all year, and then, at the awards banquet, when her name was called, the coach made sure he repeated that she was the only one who didn't cry all year. I'd like to think this was because she had earned his respect, and not because he spent last football season and this football season trying to make 'eye contact' with me.
My older daughter surprised me the other day by informing that she had sold one of her cups of jello to a friend for a dollar. Several things were wrong with this picture. First of all, I just got screwed because I bought that jello for her, and I did not get reimbursed by that dollar. Second of all, her friend got screwed because I'm pretty sure that jello cup wasn't worth a dollar (or maybe it was to the friend, I don't know), and lastly, why the hell is she selling the jello instead of just giving it to her friend for the sake of being a good friend? Oh, that wasn't lastly, lastly-lastly, that jello was for her to eat since she's still recuperating from having her tonsils taken out two weeks ago, although I'm positive this little budding hypochondriac will make this recovery last for about 2.89 years. But on the other hand, I was still kind of pleased, because this does show some early entrepreneurial skills, and because she's learning the laws of supply and demand along with a touch of negotiating skills. I asked her why she sold the jello instead of giving it away, and she said because her friend offered to buy it. Well, okay, but why does an elementary school kid have cash on them? The school has a rule - no cash with kids, probably because of stuff like this, and because my younger daughter will be that other kind of kid strong arming everyone out of their lunch money. Oh, her friend had that cash on her because the friend stole it from her older sister. Lovely. Since my daughter doesn't like the friend's older sister, I know she took even greater joy in selling the jello, then. We had a little talk about how if you have an extra jello (which Mommy bought for your throat!) and you'd like to share, then just give her the jello for the sake of being a good friend. As a reward, I promised to set her up the candy bar business in middle school and she can run around and financially rape those kids if she so chooses. Middle school IS a dog-eat-dog world, you know. Everyone needs a niche in middle school and I'm glad we've already defined hers. My father, half-shyster and Indian-giver that he was, would be delighted by this.
And with that, Happy Thanksgiving!
I had to pick my mother up from work today and she never mentioned the whole thing and I didn't either. I had already decided I wasn't going to mention it, because I didn't want her to be in the predicament of hearing me bitch about her husband. I mean, really, she can't help what comes out of his mouth any more than I can. So it was a long and awkward ride, what with this whole topic hanging in the air and yet remaining unspoken. I decided halfway through the trip that this too would go on the "List of Shit My Mother And I Will Never Discuss". It's not a pretty list, trust me.
Oh, I forgot to mention that the football picks thing over at http://www.armchairlinebacker.com/ kind of fell apart, but hopefully we can get something going again in the next few weeks. I think we did it for a total of four weeks. Week 1 - I fucking rocked! Week 2 - not so great. Week 3 - I know a few retarded people who could make better picks than me. Week 4 - I lost so much pretend money that I was only allowed to bet on one game, and I picked right! Ha! I win, bitches! But this was also the week the whole thing fell apart. However, if you need a guest contributor to blather on endlessly about everything and nothing and maybe a little bit of the requested topic, I'm yo' girl! Hit a sista up!
We've wrapped up the whole fall athletic thing. My older daughter survived cheerleading and I've managed to extricate the cheer director from her life and from mine. Culling the herd is a good thing, you know? My younger daughter played football this year, yes - football - I can't remember if I mentioned that or not. Anyway, she played flag football, but that was because of her age, not because she can't play tackle. She did awesome, and I'm pretty damn proud to have been the mother of the one girl a team of 30 boys. Once she understood what she had to do, she did her best to go out there and make it happen. I was surprised that towards the end of the season she was telling her eye doctor that she played football and the doctor asked what position she played. I whispered to her, "Safety", because that's what I thought she played. My daughter looked at me quite scornfully and rolled her eyes, and said, "No, Mommy, I play outside linebacker!" Well, excuuuuuuse me, is what I thought. But fucking awesome that my daughter is playing linebacker! Hell yeah! And I was even more excited when she managed to hold the other teams players off, sometimes two at a time. Yep, that's my little princess out there. And even better was that she was one of the few kids on her team who didn't cry all season. The Ex and I had drilled into her over and over and then over again that THERE'S NO CRYING IN FOOTBALL!!! We figured that as soon as she started crying then it was over for her. The whole girl stereotype thing would just take over and her season would be done. Sidelined. But my girl hung in there tough and didn't shed a tear once. She made a point of telling the coach that she was the only one who didn't cry all year, and then, at the awards banquet, when her name was called, the coach made sure he repeated that she was the only one who didn't cry all year. I'd like to think this was because she had earned his respect, and not because he spent last football season and this football season trying to make 'eye contact' with me.
My older daughter surprised me the other day by informing that she had sold one of her cups of jello to a friend for a dollar. Several things were wrong with this picture. First of all, I just got screwed because I bought that jello for her, and I did not get reimbursed by that dollar. Second of all, her friend got screwed because I'm pretty sure that jello cup wasn't worth a dollar (or maybe it was to the friend, I don't know), and lastly, why the hell is she selling the jello instead of just giving it to her friend for the sake of being a good friend? Oh, that wasn't lastly, lastly-lastly, that jello was for her to eat since she's still recuperating from having her tonsils taken out two weeks ago, although I'm positive this little budding hypochondriac will make this recovery last for about 2.89 years. But on the other hand, I was still kind of pleased, because this does show some early entrepreneurial skills, and because she's learning the laws of supply and demand along with a touch of negotiating skills. I asked her why she sold the jello instead of giving it away, and she said because her friend offered to buy it. Well, okay, but why does an elementary school kid have cash on them? The school has a rule - no cash with kids, probably because of stuff like this, and because my younger daughter will be that other kind of kid strong arming everyone out of their lunch money. Oh, her friend had that cash on her because the friend stole it from her older sister. Lovely. Since my daughter doesn't like the friend's older sister, I know she took even greater joy in selling the jello, then. We had a little talk about how if you have an extra jello (which Mommy bought for your throat!) and you'd like to share, then just give her the jello for the sake of being a good friend. As a reward, I promised to set her up the candy bar business in middle school and she can run around and financially rape those kids if she so chooses. Middle school IS a dog-eat-dog world, you know. Everyone needs a niche in middle school and I'm glad we've already defined hers. My father, half-shyster and Indian-giver that he was, would be delighted by this.
And with that, Happy Thanksgiving!
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Oh.My.God.Thanksgiving.Is.Here.
So, Thanksgiving is almost upon us. And with the holidays comes the drama. Revenge is a dish best served cold, so they say, and I'll have to assume that drama is a dish that usually comes at you piping hot. For the record, I generally dislike drama and really try to remove myself from it. The fact that I work with a bunch of women makes this difficult, but on my personal time, I feel like I really work towards avoiding that shit. Having an anger management problem can complicate this, except for me trying to tell myself that my anger management problem really isn't a problem for me. Yeah, I'm not convinced either, because I'm usually the one that walks away looking like a jackass.
Anyway, today. I get a text from Guy #1 saying he's got something to tell me and please promise I won't be upset. Okay, note to Guy #1, if you have to precede the message with that, I will most likely be upset. But, I promised because I was sure the worst thing he could tell me was that he was working on Thanksgiving and wouldn't be able to join me for the day. Oh my god, I wish it were that simple.
Somehow and somewhere in the realm of a rural county, my mother's husband (my second stepfather) decided to invite Guy #1's ex-wife and her husband to Thanksgiving dinner. Huh? Actually, that's huh to the eighth power, because my stepfather is not even friends with Guy #1's ex-wife or her husband, at least not to my knowledge. Okay, wait, let's stop texting and let me call to verify that I've got this right, because I can't possibly be reading this correctly. I called Guy #1, and yep, I've got it right. His ex-wife is saying that she's been invited to Thanksgiving dinner. As I felt my anger rise up within me, I hung up the phone and called my stepfather.
"Did you invite so-and-so to Thanksgiving dinner?"
"Well, yeah, but we were just joking around and I didn't really mean it."
"WHAT THE FUCK did you do that for? I mean, GODDAMMIT, are you kidding me?"
"No, it's okay, we were just laughing and joking and I invited four or five other people to dinner to but none of them are actually going to come."
Famous last words.
"Don't worry about it, I'll tell them tomorrow that I was just joking and they won't come."
"At this point, I think you've done enough. But just in case, how about I invite your ex-wife to dinner? How would you FUCKING like that?"
"I swear, they aren't coming. We were just laughing and joking."
Click.
I have met Guy #1's ex-wife for the briefest of moments, and I was so pissed at myself for not looking like Miss America at that exact moment in time. It didn't matter that this was the most happenstance of all meetings, nor did it matter that they had already been divorced for more than 10 years. It mattered to me that my hair didn't look supa-fly and that I can't fit into any clothes that are in the one-digit range. Meaning 0-2-4-6-8. Not that I'd want to be a size 4, because I've been a size 4 before and I've gone back and looked at those pictures and I looked fucking anorexic, but still. I don't even know why this bothers me other than I'd like to think I'm the upgrade, not the downgrade. And I want the woman who got upgraded to know that she got upgraded, because that's how the mind of a woman works. Kind of like between me and The Ex, well, he knows I'm still the upgrade, even though he has a new wife. Of course, I'm still moderately sore about Guy #1 telling me in the spring that his ex-girlfriend thought I was fat and ugly, and I've kept it in my mind that that's probably what everyone thinks about me. The fact that all of this came out today in the same Thanksgiving phone call wasn't helpful, and I couldn't help but to feel sorry for him in the end (still not as sorry as I felt for myself, though), because I know he had no idea those words had been living and festering in my brain for months.
Yes, I am shallow like this. Just like I'm shallow about dating ugly men. Meaning, I won't date someone ugly. No, thank you. That's what God made ugly women for. Of course, I'll modify that completely horrid statement by saying that one woman's ugly is another woman's handsome. But still. It's out there.
But back to Thanksgiving. I'm stuck at this point, because Guy #1 says they won't come by because they have too much to do for their own dinner, but I'm of the opinion they will. I mean, why not stop by? They've been invited and are probably a little curious. So now I'm in a pickle of the highest order, because I can do several things:
1. Not go to Thanksgiving dinner. Yes, this is my favorite option, but it's also the option where I cut off my nose to spite myself. This is also the most passive-aggressive of all of my choices, even though I like to call it me making the decision to not get involved and just completely remove myself from situations I don't want to be a part of. Those of us out there who operate on the shady realm of passive-aggressiveness have a million excuses as to why this behavior is acceptable. If I didn't have my kids for Thanksgiving this year, this would most likely be what I would be doing. But I can't bring myself to effectively punish my children for what they don't have any understanding of. Fuck me! for being somewhat of a good mother.
2. Go to Thanksgiving dinner and then pray upon all great beings, including the StayPuff Marshmallow Man, that Guy #1's ex-wife doesn't show up. And when she does, I can hide. I really don't want to have any dealings with this woman, because I know how she has chosen to do certain things in her life and I don't like it and don't trust myself to keep my mouth shut. However, this option will never work because I.am.an.alpha.female. and we don't hide. Period and end of story. So the hiding option is out.
3. Go to Thanksgiving dinner and drink. This is looking like the only viable option, because when I drink I love everyone. And so, if the ex-wife shows up, I'll just make a new friend! Yay! We can take trips to the bathroom together like we're in a club and I'll accidentally drop her phone in the toilet. And then I'll drink too much and puke in her car. Okay, maybe it won't go that far, but I can try!
Guy #1 is of the opinion that I'm blowing this way out of proportion, but dammit, how has he been dating me for a year and not know that I'm just a teensy bit high maintenance? Just a teensy bit high strung? Okay, maybe a little more than a teensy bit. The fact that I'm about to have a panic attack because I've got that tingling feeling in the top of my head and down the back of my neck and tightening in my chest will just go unsaid. But more than anything, I'm pissed that I'm not going to be able to lose 30 pounds and get my hair done in the day and a half before Thanksgiving. I don't feel very upgrad-ish right now and that's what I'm really mad at.
Anyway, today. I get a text from Guy #1 saying he's got something to tell me and please promise I won't be upset. Okay, note to Guy #1, if you have to precede the message with that, I will most likely be upset. But, I promised because I was sure the worst thing he could tell me was that he was working on Thanksgiving and wouldn't be able to join me for the day. Oh my god, I wish it were that simple.
Somehow and somewhere in the realm of a rural county, my mother's husband (my second stepfather) decided to invite Guy #1's ex-wife and her husband to Thanksgiving dinner. Huh? Actually, that's huh to the eighth power, because my stepfather is not even friends with Guy #1's ex-wife or her husband, at least not to my knowledge. Okay, wait, let's stop texting and let me call to verify that I've got this right, because I can't possibly be reading this correctly. I called Guy #1, and yep, I've got it right. His ex-wife is saying that she's been invited to Thanksgiving dinner. As I felt my anger rise up within me, I hung up the phone and called my stepfather.
"Did you invite so-and-so to Thanksgiving dinner?"
"Well, yeah, but we were just joking around and I didn't really mean it."
"WHAT THE FUCK did you do that for? I mean, GODDAMMIT, are you kidding me?"
"No, it's okay, we were just laughing and joking and I invited four or five other people to dinner to but none of them are actually going to come."
Famous last words.
"Don't worry about it, I'll tell them tomorrow that I was just joking and they won't come."
"At this point, I think you've done enough. But just in case, how about I invite your ex-wife to dinner? How would you FUCKING like that?"
"I swear, they aren't coming. We were just laughing and joking."
Click.
I have met Guy #1's ex-wife for the briefest of moments, and I was so pissed at myself for not looking like Miss America at that exact moment in time. It didn't matter that this was the most happenstance of all meetings, nor did it matter that they had already been divorced for more than 10 years. It mattered to me that my hair didn't look supa-fly and that I can't fit into any clothes that are in the one-digit range. Meaning 0-2-4-6-8. Not that I'd want to be a size 4, because I've been a size 4 before and I've gone back and looked at those pictures and I looked fucking anorexic, but still. I don't even know why this bothers me other than I'd like to think I'm the upgrade, not the downgrade. And I want the woman who got upgraded to know that she got upgraded, because that's how the mind of a woman works. Kind of like between me and The Ex, well, he knows I'm still the upgrade, even though he has a new wife. Of course, I'm still moderately sore about Guy #1 telling me in the spring that his ex-girlfriend thought I was fat and ugly, and I've kept it in my mind that that's probably what everyone thinks about me. The fact that all of this came out today in the same Thanksgiving phone call wasn't helpful, and I couldn't help but to feel sorry for him in the end (still not as sorry as I felt for myself, though), because I know he had no idea those words had been living and festering in my brain for months.
Yes, I am shallow like this. Just like I'm shallow about dating ugly men. Meaning, I won't date someone ugly. No, thank you. That's what God made ugly women for. Of course, I'll modify that completely horrid statement by saying that one woman's ugly is another woman's handsome. But still. It's out there.
But back to Thanksgiving. I'm stuck at this point, because Guy #1 says they won't come by because they have too much to do for their own dinner, but I'm of the opinion they will. I mean, why not stop by? They've been invited and are probably a little curious. So now I'm in a pickle of the highest order, because I can do several things:
1. Not go to Thanksgiving dinner. Yes, this is my favorite option, but it's also the option where I cut off my nose to spite myself. This is also the most passive-aggressive of all of my choices, even though I like to call it me making the decision to not get involved and just completely remove myself from situations I don't want to be a part of. Those of us out there who operate on the shady realm of passive-aggressiveness have a million excuses as to why this behavior is acceptable. If I didn't have my kids for Thanksgiving this year, this would most likely be what I would be doing. But I can't bring myself to effectively punish my children for what they don't have any understanding of. Fuck me! for being somewhat of a good mother.
2. Go to Thanksgiving dinner and then pray upon all great beings, including the StayPuff Marshmallow Man, that Guy #1's ex-wife doesn't show up. And when she does, I can hide. I really don't want to have any dealings with this woman, because I know how she has chosen to do certain things in her life and I don't like it and don't trust myself to keep my mouth shut. However, this option will never work because I.am.an.alpha.female. and we don't hide. Period and end of story. So the hiding option is out.
3. Go to Thanksgiving dinner and drink. This is looking like the only viable option, because when I drink I love everyone. And so, if the ex-wife shows up, I'll just make a new friend! Yay! We can take trips to the bathroom together like we're in a club and I'll accidentally drop her phone in the toilet. And then I'll drink too much and puke in her car. Okay, maybe it won't go that far, but I can try!
Guy #1 is of the opinion that I'm blowing this way out of proportion, but dammit, how has he been dating me for a year and not know that I'm just a teensy bit high maintenance? Just a teensy bit high strung? Okay, maybe a little more than a teensy bit. The fact that I'm about to have a panic attack because I've got that tingling feeling in the top of my head and down the back of my neck and tightening in my chest will just go unsaid. But more than anything, I'm pissed that I'm not going to be able to lose 30 pounds and get my hair done in the day and a half before Thanksgiving. I don't feel very upgrad-ish right now and that's what I'm really mad at.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Stuff On My Mind (AKA Updates)
Here it is:
1. I saw a few little blurbs on facebook tonight about an impending global disaster, which will then bring forth a food shortage, the likes of which have never been seen before. People blabbing about how they've been stockpiling food for the past year, how much a 50 pound bag of rice costs, how much rice can sustain a person for x amount of time, so on and so forth. Huh? Okay, I'm still on my news moratorium, except it's starting to creep back in because I have found myself checking the local newspaper website a few times a day. I don't like that I'm creeping back over to obsessing about the news, because it only brings me anxiety, but I'm finding it hard to stop. So a food shortage? Holy shit, should I be stockpiling food too? What should I buy? Just a few cans here and there? Peaches or pears? I mean, it probably doesn't matter because you'll eat anything when you're starving. Where should I put the food I start to stockpile? Attic or crawl space? Although, it's not really a crawl space for me, because I'm short. So it's a stand space for me. I have shelving in my crawl space, but maybe I should move the shelving to the attic. Nah, the temperature extremes in the attic probably wouldn't do good. So maybe I'll start to buy three or four cans of shit on sale per week and stocking up. I'm not sure if this is just fearmongering to the extreme, so I've sent a message off to Uncle Finance (not Uncle Hippy!) through Uber Aunt and we'll see what he says. Should I stockpile water, too? I'm never sure about the water thing. I've only stockpiled water once, during a hurricane when the county water source was compromised. And that stockpiling consisted of me filling up the bathtub.
2. Made it through a year with Guy #1. We recently celebrated one year since we started dating, and guess what? Got engagement? Don't worry, I don't. Lots of discussion and chatter amongst our various friends about when that time will come, I suppose because for a lot of people, that one year mark is "it". Nope, not for me right now. We've settled into something right, something that is so right that I can't even find the words to describe it, other than it's righter than anything I've ever had before. We talk about when "the" time will come and he knows that I'm not ready. I *just* got divorced, and really, I'm enjoying having my own house where I'm in charge all of the time and no arguments about what I want to do in my house. Ten years of a shitty marriage, constant bickering and power struggles will really make you appreciate not arguing all of the time. The few times that Guy #1 and I have argued, it's been really nice that we can just go to our separate houses and not have to be together (in that moment in time, at least). And for real, this man is a k.e.e.p.e.r. of the first order. Any man who can stand twelve feet up in the air on a ladder and pull start a gas powered blower to clean my gutters out is the man for me. Or maybe that's just the firefighter in him, I don't know. But as I wake up every morning and go to sleep every night, I know that I am loved, and appreciated and cherished. That's some powerful shit. I've had a few men that I've encountered over the years tell me later that I was the one who slipped away. And guess what? Guy #1 will not be one of those men. If you've got something good, then don't let it slip away.
3. My older daughter got glasses this past week, and also had her tonsils taken out. So she gave a little and got a little. Two days after surgery, just when I knew that we had bid a fond farewell to strep throat, guess who go strep throat? My younger daughter. Are you kidding me? However, I've gotten so good at diagnosing that shit that we marched right off to the doctor's office, who promptly examined the child and pronounced that she did not have strep throat. Until the nurse poked her head in the examination room and whispered the strep test was positive. DO NOT QUESTION THE MOTHER!!!!! Dammit, we know what we're talking about! I wanted to tell the doctor if I was drug-seeking, and if I were to use my children to seek out drugs, it sure as hell wouldn't be an antibiotic. Just give me the damn prescription and let me be on my way. The older daughter likes her glasses, though. I secretly tried them out after she went to bed the other night and they seem more like magnifying glasses to me. It's just for reading, so maybe that's all they are is magnifying glasses wrapped up in a pretty Candie's frame with hearts on them. Being that she's still reading below grade level, I am slightly hopeful they will help, but I'm not holding my breath. I've diagnosed this as the most minor of all reading disabilities, because her fluency is below grade level, but her comprehension is on par. Plus, she's actually absorbing the reading because she reads a chapter out loud and then I ask her to tell me about what she read and ask her questions, and she's on the money every time, which means she's not just saying the words. She's actually reading and absorbing. I have pretty much stopped expecting the school to address it, because she's one of a thousand students in her school (holy fuck, that's a big elementary school!!!) and I'll just have to figure this out as we go along. And her grades are good (other than reading fluency). So go figure.
4. Not-so-nice things with The Ex. If you read my last shortest of all posts, you'll know that things are getting ugly on the visitation side of the custody thing. Instead of just heading right to the courthouse today to file for a hearing (as I threatened him with last night), I called my attorney today. I'm waiting on a call back, and maybe a strongly worded letter from her will set things right. In the meanwhile, though, I've printed up every email and begun transcribing all of our text messages and every other kind of communication. I think I've known for a while it was going to come to this, and that alone saddens me because I don't want to be in a place where I have to sit down every day and write everything down. I just don't. It's stupid and I hate it, and it makes me feel like I am still stuck in this strange, demilitarized zone of our divorce. I felt like for most of the marriage I was raising another child (and not doing it very well because it's hard to go back and correct 30-some years of fucked up parenting) and now I just feel like I'm his supervisor and I've ramped up the documentation in a last ditch effort of getting rid of him. But this is what I have to do right now. I look at my gorgeous, funny and most sweetest daughters, and I wonder how in the world the two best things that ever happened to me resulted from what is undoubtedly my biggest mistake. This paradox is not lost on me, believe me.
5. I called my stepsister tonight to let her know that my daughter's birthday gift arrived and she answered the phone sobbing. This would be the stepsister that I still speak to, if you hadn't figured that out. And for that one milli-second in time, I thought to myself, "Oh, shit, why did I call her tonight?" You know it's bad when that's the first thing you think upon hearing the other person. She went on to tell me, between sobs, that she's been diagnosed with a chronic, progressive pain disease thing that not a whole lot of people know about (that whole lot of people would actually be me). Ultimately (per my favorite medical source, Wikipedia) and in the extreme worse case scenario, it can lead to amputation of the affected limb. Except this shit is in her back. Yep, no such thing as a back amputation. Horrible, right? But here's the rub - this stepsister has been getting progressively fruitier over the years, much like her mother, Mothbrain, and I'm not sure how much of this is just maybe her need for drama. I feel badly for her, certainly, because she's states away and no family nearby to help her out, but at the same time, I'm like, "What?" It was after that phone conversation when I realized that my drama is really garden variety, and for real, I have no reason to complain about anything. And so, I won't. I've still got a leak in my roof (contract signed, repairs not for another two months due to hurricane backlog), I've still got bills I'm going to pay late, I still owe my younger daughter a bike for her birthday, I'm still going to get fucked on taxes this year because I can't go from six withholdings to zero in one year, I'm still not going to know if I should stockpile spaghetti sauce or just plain tomato sauce, I'm still not going to be able to figure out how to tell the world that saying "Holy Shart!" is way funnier than saying "Holy Shit!", but in the grand scheme of things.... Life is good. My children are healthy, my family is healthy, I am healthy, (knock on wood because I'm terribly superstitious about jinxing myself) and that's all that really matters.
1. I saw a few little blurbs on facebook tonight about an impending global disaster, which will then bring forth a food shortage, the likes of which have never been seen before. People blabbing about how they've been stockpiling food for the past year, how much a 50 pound bag of rice costs, how much rice can sustain a person for x amount of time, so on and so forth. Huh? Okay, I'm still on my news moratorium, except it's starting to creep back in because I have found myself checking the local newspaper website a few times a day. I don't like that I'm creeping back over to obsessing about the news, because it only brings me anxiety, but I'm finding it hard to stop. So a food shortage? Holy shit, should I be stockpiling food too? What should I buy? Just a few cans here and there? Peaches or pears? I mean, it probably doesn't matter because you'll eat anything when you're starving. Where should I put the food I start to stockpile? Attic or crawl space? Although, it's not really a crawl space for me, because I'm short. So it's a stand space for me. I have shelving in my crawl space, but maybe I should move the shelving to the attic. Nah, the temperature extremes in the attic probably wouldn't do good. So maybe I'll start to buy three or four cans of shit on sale per week and stocking up. I'm not sure if this is just fearmongering to the extreme, so I've sent a message off to Uncle Finance (not Uncle Hippy!) through Uber Aunt and we'll see what he says. Should I stockpile water, too? I'm never sure about the water thing. I've only stockpiled water once, during a hurricane when the county water source was compromised. And that stockpiling consisted of me filling up the bathtub.
2. Made it through a year with Guy #1. We recently celebrated one year since we started dating, and guess what? Got engagement? Don't worry, I don't. Lots of discussion and chatter amongst our various friends about when that time will come, I suppose because for a lot of people, that one year mark is "it". Nope, not for me right now. We've settled into something right, something that is so right that I can't even find the words to describe it, other than it's righter than anything I've ever had before. We talk about when "the" time will come and he knows that I'm not ready. I *just* got divorced, and really, I'm enjoying having my own house where I'm in charge all of the time and no arguments about what I want to do in my house. Ten years of a shitty marriage, constant bickering and power struggles will really make you appreciate not arguing all of the time. The few times that Guy #1 and I have argued, it's been really nice that we can just go to our separate houses and not have to be together (in that moment in time, at least). And for real, this man is a k.e.e.p.e.r. of the first order. Any man who can stand twelve feet up in the air on a ladder and pull start a gas powered blower to clean my gutters out is the man for me. Or maybe that's just the firefighter in him, I don't know. But as I wake up every morning and go to sleep every night, I know that I am loved, and appreciated and cherished. That's some powerful shit. I've had a few men that I've encountered over the years tell me later that I was the one who slipped away. And guess what? Guy #1 will not be one of those men. If you've got something good, then don't let it slip away.
3. My older daughter got glasses this past week, and also had her tonsils taken out. So she gave a little and got a little. Two days after surgery, just when I knew that we had bid a fond farewell to strep throat, guess who go strep throat? My younger daughter. Are you kidding me? However, I've gotten so good at diagnosing that shit that we marched right off to the doctor's office, who promptly examined the child and pronounced that she did not have strep throat. Until the nurse poked her head in the examination room and whispered the strep test was positive. DO NOT QUESTION THE MOTHER!!!!! Dammit, we know what we're talking about! I wanted to tell the doctor if I was drug-seeking, and if I were to use my children to seek out drugs, it sure as hell wouldn't be an antibiotic. Just give me the damn prescription and let me be on my way. The older daughter likes her glasses, though. I secretly tried them out after she went to bed the other night and they seem more like magnifying glasses to me. It's just for reading, so maybe that's all they are is magnifying glasses wrapped up in a pretty Candie's frame with hearts on them. Being that she's still reading below grade level, I am slightly hopeful they will help, but I'm not holding my breath. I've diagnosed this as the most minor of all reading disabilities, because her fluency is below grade level, but her comprehension is on par. Plus, she's actually absorbing the reading because she reads a chapter out loud and then I ask her to tell me about what she read and ask her questions, and she's on the money every time, which means she's not just saying the words. She's actually reading and absorbing. I have pretty much stopped expecting the school to address it, because she's one of a thousand students in her school (holy fuck, that's a big elementary school!!!) and I'll just have to figure this out as we go along. And her grades are good (other than reading fluency). So go figure.
4. Not-so-nice things with The Ex. If you read my last shortest of all posts, you'll know that things are getting ugly on the visitation side of the custody thing. Instead of just heading right to the courthouse today to file for a hearing (as I threatened him with last night), I called my attorney today. I'm waiting on a call back, and maybe a strongly worded letter from her will set things right. In the meanwhile, though, I've printed up every email and begun transcribing all of our text messages and every other kind of communication. I think I've known for a while it was going to come to this, and that alone saddens me because I don't want to be in a place where I have to sit down every day and write everything down. I just don't. It's stupid and I hate it, and it makes me feel like I am still stuck in this strange, demilitarized zone of our divorce. I felt like for most of the marriage I was raising another child (and not doing it very well because it's hard to go back and correct 30-some years of fucked up parenting) and now I just feel like I'm his supervisor and I've ramped up the documentation in a last ditch effort of getting rid of him. But this is what I have to do right now. I look at my gorgeous, funny and most sweetest daughters, and I wonder how in the world the two best things that ever happened to me resulted from what is undoubtedly my biggest mistake. This paradox is not lost on me, believe me.
5. I called my stepsister tonight to let her know that my daughter's birthday gift arrived and she answered the phone sobbing. This would be the stepsister that I still speak to, if you hadn't figured that out. And for that one milli-second in time, I thought to myself, "Oh, shit, why did I call her tonight?" You know it's bad when that's the first thing you think upon hearing the other person. She went on to tell me, between sobs, that she's been diagnosed with a chronic, progressive pain disease thing that not a whole lot of people know about (that whole lot of people would actually be me). Ultimately (per my favorite medical source, Wikipedia) and in the extreme worse case scenario, it can lead to amputation of the affected limb. Except this shit is in her back. Yep, no such thing as a back amputation. Horrible, right? But here's the rub - this stepsister has been getting progressively fruitier over the years, much like her mother, Mothbrain, and I'm not sure how much of this is just maybe her need for drama. I feel badly for her, certainly, because she's states away and no family nearby to help her out, but at the same time, I'm like, "What?" It was after that phone conversation when I realized that my drama is really garden variety, and for real, I have no reason to complain about anything. And so, I won't. I've still got a leak in my roof (contract signed, repairs not for another two months due to hurricane backlog), I've still got bills I'm going to pay late, I still owe my younger daughter a bike for her birthday, I'm still going to get fucked on taxes this year because I can't go from six withholdings to zero in one year, I'm still not going to know if I should stockpile spaghetti sauce or just plain tomato sauce, I'm still not going to be able to figure out how to tell the world that saying "Holy Shart!" is way funnier than saying "Holy Shit!", but in the grand scheme of things.... Life is good. My children are healthy, my family is healthy, I am healthy, (knock on wood because I'm terribly superstitious about jinxing myself) and that's all that really matters.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Custody
So, the battle heats up again. Note to anyone interested: if you tell me that if I don't like switching custody times around willy-nilly to suit your needs, and I should just go back to court, rest assured: I will. Consulting the attorney tomorrow morning.
I hate this shit.
I hate this shit.
Friday, October 28, 2011
An Open (Albeit Anonymous) Letter
Dear Mrs. PTA President,
I'd like to write this letter to address your numerous Facebook posts begging for assistance. With everything, probably to include wiping your big ass. Actually, I would hope that your husband would handle that for you. I am beginning my fourth year in elementary school (3rd grade daughter) and my second year in elementary school (1st grade daughter), plus the five years I spent myself in elementary school, which should have been six years, but the school system I transferred into was still 20 years later trying to put itself together after the MRI. That would be Massive Resistance Incident. Actually, that school system is about at the 50+ year mark and it's still not got it's act together, but that's a whole other issue.
I appreciate the time and effort that you and the other mothers put into the PTA. I especially appreciate your weekly newsletters and how many trees you must contribute to killing on a yearly basis. However, it's not even November and I've had just about enough your perkiness. Here's a list of all of the shit that the PTA has orchestrated thus far this year, along with what I've done.
* Back-to-school picnic. This should have just been called "Take your kid's supplies to school and get roped into picnic on the playground". Well, I wouldn't have even gone, but since the school requires about $150.00 worth of supplies at the beginning of the year, it was more shit than my kids could carry on the bus. I opted not to help, mainly because I don't like the PTA moms (more on that later), and because I just didn't fucking feel like it. We also didn't buy dinner at the picnic because I didn't want to eat cold pizza or the local chicken shack. And, I was crabby that day, too.
* September Chicken Shack night - nope, didn't do this, but we never do this one. Thank God, the older daughter doesn't like Chicken Shack, and besides, why would you do a monthly fundraiser for a school with an enrollment of 1000 at an establishment that can't possibly seat more than 78? Per the occupancy code the last time I was in there. Nooooo thank you.
* Back to School Teacher Breakfast - nope, I didn't volunteer to help with that, either. I have a j.o.b. and have to work on weekdays. Plus, I find teacher conversation to be quite boring unless it's related specifically to my children, and once teacher-type people find out what kind of job I do, they usually try to sidle off because it's not for the faint of heart. I tend to bring my career up to people I don't want to talk to, and then just let them remove themselves.
* PTA meeting and Back to School night for kindergarten and first grade - Yes, I went to this, but I wasn't quite so panicky about missing first grade information this year, especially since I've done first grade once on my behalf and once on my older daughter's behalf. And blissfully, the school has a new principal this year which meant that he didn't start out the PTA meeting by blathering on about the school rules and all of the accolades the county has or has not heaped upon him. The fact that he didn't even wear a tie was comforting, because I'm pretty sure the last principal thought she was a Neiman Marcus model, but that's what happens when your husband is a Hall of Famer. NFL, that is. And guess who didn't show up? That's right, baby daddy didn't show up. He's pissed me off so much and disappointed MY children so much in the past week he's getting ready to lose his capitalization.
* Back to School night for second and third grades - I did this one too, and even sat through another PTA meeting that was put on for the parents that missed the one held at kindergarten and first grade night. I withheld my vote that night, and you should have remembered to tell parents if they already voted that they should withhold their votes, too. Baby daddy was there for this one, sitting next to his next door neighbor whom I hate with a passion of all passions. May her hair fall out for her continuing to dye it all shades of brown, red and blond and then claiming that each is her natural color. Bitch, I'm not stupid. And, I know you didn't get your boobs done because no boob job sags like that eighteen months after the alleged surgery. You just got some fancy bras from Victoria's Secret and hiked those old worn out puppies up under your chin.
* Back to School night again, Bageezus Christ! But not for me because it was just fourth and fifth graders. If I'd been thinking ahead though, I would have gone and snuck into a fourth grade class and hung back and acted like someone's aunt so I would know what to expect for next year.
* County-wide donate denim stuff at the mall - didn't do this either because I didn't know what it was until you kindly took the time to explain on the Facebook page two days before the whole thing was over. And no, at that point I wasn't going to dig through my jeans to crucify myself about what doesn't fit so I could donate it. Dammit, those jeans will fit again! Sometime. I hope. But my boyfriend keeps telling me how much he likes my ass, so maybe I'll just stay the way I am.
* Boxtops - Yes, yes, yes, I do this, but if my kids and I make it through elementary school and neither of them wins the drawing for the big summer boxtop collection prize, I am going to be pissed. I spent months and months clipping boxtops, strongarming coworkers and family members, and guess who won the drawing this year? The older daughter's archnemesis. I shall spend this school year trying to figure out how to either fix the drawing so that one of my children wins, or just sabotage the whole damn thing.
* Join the PTA - Yep, I did this, too, although I don't know why because membership comes with no rewards and you're still going to kill trees and send all that shit home with my kids whether I'm a member or not.
* Kid's concert by some Wiggles-like singing group at the local mall - I actually thought about going to this, until I realized the tickets were $17.00 A PIECE. Wha?!?!?!?? Uh, I don't have that kind of money, and for that price, you need to have an open bar. So we didn't go and I elected to let the more affluent families of the school pick up that tab. And pick it up they did, because our school had the most number of tickets purchased and won a free concert at the school! Go rich families of my kid's school! You rock!
* Blurb on facebook about the PTA needing to borrow carnival games. I thought about being a complete asshole and purchasing a bunch of carnival games, and then having the athletic association reimburse me. And then, I was going to email you, Mrs. PTA President, and let you know that the athletic association has carnival games that you can rent for a small fee. Which would be half of the purchase price. I think that would have been completely fair, since you refused to loan the school mascot costume to the athletic association without a deposit check last school year. I must say, I giggled when I saw the athletic association represented at the Back to School picnic in their newly purchased mascot costume, just like a big, giant FUCK YOUUUUUUUUU!
* Fall after school program - Yes, I signed my kids up for this. They like it and I pretend like the cost doesn't hurt.
* Order pizza online from a certain pizza place and a percentage goes back to the school! - Wow! Except I don't like this pizza place and am pretty sure it's just baked throw-up. So, no, not doing that one.
* My Coke rewards - Holy fuck, whoever is chairing the fundraising committee needs to take a fucking break. I drink a lot of Coke and you shall get none of the codes. Nor shall I enter them for you.
* Fall fundraiser - I probably would have ordered something, except it all appeared to be complete crap. I don't need any wrapping paper, thanks though. The athletic association had a better fundraiser and that's where I spent my money. You should call the cheer director for tips, which I am sure she will give you but only after she makes a passive-aggressive comment about the mascot costume-deposit-issue from last year.
* Jogging Club - Okay, this is a good idea, especially because it's free, except I have a j.o.b. and can't get my children to school 15 minutes after I'm supposed to be at work to run around the bus loop for 25 minutes. The older daughter is still complaining about not being able to participate in this, but since I've found a neighboring athletic association that offers summer track and field, she might get her run in after all. If I can't convince her to go for swim team this year.
* Monthly jumpy house fundraiser - That's the baby daddy night with the kids and he's damn sure not going to spend any money on that, nor would he spent time jumping around in the jumpy houses with them. Two points to my super-fabulous boyfriend for jumping his heart out last time we went there.
* Skate night - I had to work late and my kids had homework. Maybe next month.
* Pizza joint night - Football and cheerleading practice, and we probably won't go next month because you've managed to find yet another TINY restaurant that we can all cram right into.
* Fall dinner and pumpkin night at school - Yes, I got your numerous emails pleading for volunteers to serve food and do other stuff. I'm not volunteering because I don't want my kids running around willy-nilly for an hour unsupervised, but mainly because I volunteered last year and most of you bitches wouldn't speak to me once you figured out I didn't live in your neighborhood. Mighty high falutin' considering I've run into Mrs. PTA Vice President in the nail salon a time or two completely bombed out of her mind and the last time she was so fucking drunk she couldn't hold her head up and had to prop it up on the nail drying station (a little problem there, Mrs. Vice President?), and Mrs. PTA Treasurer has an older son with absolutely no manners, breasts that hang down to her belly button, a deeper voice than my boyfriends AND a unibrow, and Mrs. Spirit Wear Committee chomps on bubble gum like she's getting her jaw ready for a home version of Deep Throat. The movie, not the Washington Post informant.
* Fall book fair at the local big-box bookstore - I volunteered for this a couple of years ago and really just wanted to spend the two hour time slot reorganizing and straightening up the entire store, not making small talk about what teacher wants what book. But I will go next month and buy a few books.
All in all, you do a great job. But please consider that some of us have a career that involves leaving our houses every Monday through Friday, and that some of us don't make the kind of money that I suspect your husband makes. And also consider that some of us are involved in the athletic association, and so we know what kind of little dirty games you play. Oh, yeah, and stop being so perky. Your ass is too big for that.
Best,
A Nearby Parent
I'd like to write this letter to address your numerous Facebook posts begging for assistance. With everything, probably to include wiping your big ass. Actually, I would hope that your husband would handle that for you. I am beginning my fourth year in elementary school (3rd grade daughter) and my second year in elementary school (1st grade daughter), plus the five years I spent myself in elementary school, which should have been six years, but the school system I transferred into was still 20 years later trying to put itself together after the MRI. That would be Massive Resistance Incident. Actually, that school system is about at the 50+ year mark and it's still not got it's act together, but that's a whole other issue.
I appreciate the time and effort that you and the other mothers put into the PTA. I especially appreciate your weekly newsletters and how many trees you must contribute to killing on a yearly basis. However, it's not even November and I've had just about enough your perkiness. Here's a list of all of the shit that the PTA has orchestrated thus far this year, along with what I've done.
* Back-to-school picnic. This should have just been called "Take your kid's supplies to school and get roped into picnic on the playground". Well, I wouldn't have even gone, but since the school requires about $150.00 worth of supplies at the beginning of the year, it was more shit than my kids could carry on the bus. I opted not to help, mainly because I don't like the PTA moms (more on that later), and because I just didn't fucking feel like it. We also didn't buy dinner at the picnic because I didn't want to eat cold pizza or the local chicken shack. And, I was crabby that day, too.
* September Chicken Shack night - nope, didn't do this, but we never do this one. Thank God, the older daughter doesn't like Chicken Shack, and besides, why would you do a monthly fundraiser for a school with an enrollment of 1000 at an establishment that can't possibly seat more than 78? Per the occupancy code the last time I was in there. Nooooo thank you.
* Back to School Teacher Breakfast - nope, I didn't volunteer to help with that, either. I have a j.o.b. and have to work on weekdays. Plus, I find teacher conversation to be quite boring unless it's related specifically to my children, and once teacher-type people find out what kind of job I do, they usually try to sidle off because it's not for the faint of heart. I tend to bring my career up to people I don't want to talk to, and then just let them remove themselves.
* PTA meeting and Back to School night for kindergarten and first grade - Yes, I went to this, but I wasn't quite so panicky about missing first grade information this year, especially since I've done first grade once on my behalf and once on my older daughter's behalf. And blissfully, the school has a new principal this year which meant that he didn't start out the PTA meeting by blathering on about the school rules and all of the accolades the county has or has not heaped upon him. The fact that he didn't even wear a tie was comforting, because I'm pretty sure the last principal thought she was a Neiman Marcus model, but that's what happens when your husband is a Hall of Famer. NFL, that is. And guess who didn't show up? That's right, baby daddy didn't show up. He's pissed me off so much and disappointed MY children so much in the past week he's getting ready to lose his capitalization.
* Back to School night for second and third grades - I did this one too, and even sat through another PTA meeting that was put on for the parents that missed the one held at kindergarten and first grade night. I withheld my vote that night, and you should have remembered to tell parents if they already voted that they should withhold their votes, too. Baby daddy was there for this one, sitting next to his next door neighbor whom I hate with a passion of all passions. May her hair fall out for her continuing to dye it all shades of brown, red and blond and then claiming that each is her natural color. Bitch, I'm not stupid. And, I know you didn't get your boobs done because no boob job sags like that eighteen months after the alleged surgery. You just got some fancy bras from Victoria's Secret and hiked those old worn out puppies up under your chin.
* Back to School night again, Bageezus Christ! But not for me because it was just fourth and fifth graders. If I'd been thinking ahead though, I would have gone and snuck into a fourth grade class and hung back and acted like someone's aunt so I would know what to expect for next year.
* County-wide donate denim stuff at the mall - didn't do this either because I didn't know what it was until you kindly took the time to explain on the Facebook page two days before the whole thing was over. And no, at that point I wasn't going to dig through my jeans to crucify myself about what doesn't fit so I could donate it. Dammit, those jeans will fit again! Sometime. I hope. But my boyfriend keeps telling me how much he likes my ass, so maybe I'll just stay the way I am.
* Boxtops - Yes, yes, yes, I do this, but if my kids and I make it through elementary school and neither of them wins the drawing for the big summer boxtop collection prize, I am going to be pissed. I spent months and months clipping boxtops, strongarming coworkers and family members, and guess who won the drawing this year? The older daughter's archnemesis. I shall spend this school year trying to figure out how to either fix the drawing so that one of my children wins, or just sabotage the whole damn thing.
* Join the PTA - Yep, I did this, too, although I don't know why because membership comes with no rewards and you're still going to kill trees and send all that shit home with my kids whether I'm a member or not.
* Kid's concert by some Wiggles-like singing group at the local mall - I actually thought about going to this, until I realized the tickets were $17.00 A PIECE. Wha?!?!?!?? Uh, I don't have that kind of money, and for that price, you need to have an open bar. So we didn't go and I elected to let the more affluent families of the school pick up that tab. And pick it up they did, because our school had the most number of tickets purchased and won a free concert at the school! Go rich families of my kid's school! You rock!
* Blurb on facebook about the PTA needing to borrow carnival games. I thought about being a complete asshole and purchasing a bunch of carnival games, and then having the athletic association reimburse me. And then, I was going to email you, Mrs. PTA President, and let you know that the athletic association has carnival games that you can rent for a small fee. Which would be half of the purchase price. I think that would have been completely fair, since you refused to loan the school mascot costume to the athletic association without a deposit check last school year. I must say, I giggled when I saw the athletic association represented at the Back to School picnic in their newly purchased mascot costume, just like a big, giant FUCK YOUUUUUUUUU!
* Fall after school program - Yes, I signed my kids up for this. They like it and I pretend like the cost doesn't hurt.
* Order pizza online from a certain pizza place and a percentage goes back to the school! - Wow! Except I don't like this pizza place and am pretty sure it's just baked throw-up. So, no, not doing that one.
* My Coke rewards - Holy fuck, whoever is chairing the fundraising committee needs to take a fucking break. I drink a lot of Coke and you shall get none of the codes. Nor shall I enter them for you.
* Fall fundraiser - I probably would have ordered something, except it all appeared to be complete crap. I don't need any wrapping paper, thanks though. The athletic association had a better fundraiser and that's where I spent my money. You should call the cheer director for tips, which I am sure she will give you but only after she makes a passive-aggressive comment about the mascot costume-deposit-issue from last year.
* Jogging Club - Okay, this is a good idea, especially because it's free, except I have a j.o.b. and can't get my children to school 15 minutes after I'm supposed to be at work to run around the bus loop for 25 minutes. The older daughter is still complaining about not being able to participate in this, but since I've found a neighboring athletic association that offers summer track and field, she might get her run in after all. If I can't convince her to go for swim team this year.
* Monthly jumpy house fundraiser - That's the baby daddy night with the kids and he's damn sure not going to spend any money on that, nor would he spent time jumping around in the jumpy houses with them. Two points to my super-fabulous boyfriend for jumping his heart out last time we went there.
* Skate night - I had to work late and my kids had homework. Maybe next month.
* Pizza joint night - Football and cheerleading practice, and we probably won't go next month because you've managed to find yet another TINY restaurant that we can all cram right into.
* Fall dinner and pumpkin night at school - Yes, I got your numerous emails pleading for volunteers to serve food and do other stuff. I'm not volunteering because I don't want my kids running around willy-nilly for an hour unsupervised, but mainly because I volunteered last year and most of you bitches wouldn't speak to me once you figured out I didn't live in your neighborhood. Mighty high falutin' considering I've run into Mrs. PTA Vice President in the nail salon a time or two completely bombed out of her mind and the last time she was so fucking drunk she couldn't hold her head up and had to prop it up on the nail drying station (a little problem there, Mrs. Vice President?), and Mrs. PTA Treasurer has an older son with absolutely no manners, breasts that hang down to her belly button, a deeper voice than my boyfriends AND a unibrow, and Mrs. Spirit Wear Committee chomps on bubble gum like she's getting her jaw ready for a home version of Deep Throat. The movie, not the Washington Post informant.
* Fall book fair at the local big-box bookstore - I volunteered for this a couple of years ago and really just wanted to spend the two hour time slot reorganizing and straightening up the entire store, not making small talk about what teacher wants what book. But I will go next month and buy a few books.
All in all, you do a great job. But please consider that some of us have a career that involves leaving our houses every Monday through Friday, and that some of us don't make the kind of money that I suspect your husband makes. And also consider that some of us are involved in the athletic association, and so we know what kind of little dirty games you play. Oh, yeah, and stop being so perky. Your ass is too big for that.
Best,
A Nearby Parent
Monday, October 24, 2011
Annoyance Management
This started out titled as "Anger Management" but I don't consider my anger management problem to really be my problem. It would be the problem of those around me, except I refuse to not be accountable at this stage in my life. And old age does things to anger, like whittle it down to just sheer annoyance that is oh so slightly flavored with a little anger. I actually think this is worse, because I can read books and get counseling and shit for anger management. But annoyance? I'm thinking there's not a fucking thing I can do for that.
This week's annoyances:
1. I am annoyed that The Ex got married on Saturday morning (his weekend) and promptly pushed the children off on the older daughter's cheer director on Saturday afternoon for the rest of the weekend because I told him I was not available to have the children. Blame that on Mommy, I suppose, is how that whole conversation went down right before he tossed them out of the moving vehicle in front of the cheer director's house so he could rush home to have his normal two-minute sex marathon with a woman who reminds me of my stepmother. Although, his new wife is probably way smarter and saner than my stepmother.
2. I am annoyed that the cheer director then dragged the children off to football games and made the older daughter cheer. I think being involved in a rehearsal dinner the night before, morning wedding and afternoon reception were enough for the child, especially when the younger daughter was given the option of not playing football for her team. Again, my fault for having plans.
3. I am annoyed that the cheer director then let the children stay up until ten o'clock on a Saturday night knowing full fucking well that they had to get up at six-ish to get ready for the cheer competition. Hellooooo, my children are NOT trainwrecks because I make them go to bed at 8:30 every night.
4. I am annoyed that the following morning, at the cheer competition, the cheer director was not able to run up and down the bleachers because her knees are bad and so I had to be the one to go to the coach's meeting and do the music check. If you can't run up and down bleachers, maybe you should reconsider coaching and directing anything athletic. I felt catty and pissy and thus sprinted up and down the bleachers with great aplomb, taking two steps at a time on my way up each time. Two steps at a time on the way down is a big no-no for me.
5. I am annoyed that my older daughter's dance routine was a complete bomb, and because one girl's parents announced two days before the competition they were going out of town, there was no time to do substitutes in the stunt portion. We only had eight girls to begin with, and trust me, teaching second and third graders how to do cheer stunts is actually much more complicated than one would think. I don't care what anyone says - cheerleading is much more dangerous than most people give it credit for being. If anyone should have helmets and padding on, it should be the cheerleaders. So anyway, the stunt portion went right out the window, and the girls didn't have enough time to learn the adjustments in the dance. And it showed.
6. I am annoyed that the cheer director then felt it necessary to tell my older daughter that her team got the lowest scores in the competition, amongst all the other same-age teams for that division. Um, are you kidding me? Why the fuck would you tell a child that? Just because you feel bad about yourself doesn't make it okay to make other people feel bad about themselves, too. That was the precise moment in time that I knew: we won't be returning to this athletic association next year, if this same cheer director is involved. We've got a whole county to pick from, and dammit, I can bully someone into signing the free agent waiver. I also knew at that precise moment this is when I begin to back away from this woman and limit my children's activities with her, and by limit I actually mean exclude. I already know which athletic association we're going to but my older daughter and I talked, and I told her we're obligated to finish out this season with our current association, and she's fine with that. One game left, bitches!
7. I am supremely annoyed (the highest level of all annoyances) that The Ex started talking to the children last spring about taking them to Disney World this summer. I was not surprised when he didn't do it, and instead took them to the beach. That's cool, because I know that Disney World is not cheap, and I know they enjoyed the beach. I also hope that his girlfriend slept in the same bed with him, because when he and I went to the beach the year before I said I wanted out, I refused to sleep in the same bed with him. It was a double bed and I didn't want to accidentally touch him while I was sleeping. Gee, and he wondered later why I thought the marriage was a failure. I am positive it was just him, because Guy #1 and I had to sleep in a double bed while we were on vacation and I didn't even notice it was a double bed for the first four days. I'd cram my big ass up in a twin sized bed with Guy #1, for real-for real. But anyway, if you talk to your kids about taking them to Disney World, and then don't do it, then don't FUCKING tell them that you're going there on your honeymoon! I mean, for God's sake, that is just a shithead narcissistic move. Period. That's about him trying to get attention from his kids and have them oooohhhh and ahhhhh over how great it is that Daddy went to Disney World. What a complete douchebag.
8. And lastly, I am minorly annoyed about the whole roof repair thing. Finally got someone to give me a quote - yay! But they can't guarantee any repairs will be actually done before the end of the year - boo! Fuck.
9. Oh, yeah, I forgot one. This will be the pettiest of all of my annoyances, but I can own that. The Ex changed his facebook status as he was walking back down the aisle (I'm sure of that, because it's.all.about.the.attention.here), and who leaves a congratulatory message on his wall but my damn uncle! No! Uncle Hippy, you do not leave congratulatory messages on your only niece's ex-husband's facebook wall when he gets remarried six motherfucking months after getting divorced! That is just one great big HELL NO! Are you freaking kidding me? I've overlooked his fruitcake politics for all of these years, but damn! I'm sorry, but I have to draw the line somewhere and decide what I'm willing to put up with and what I'm not. And this is not something I'm willing to take lying down. Effective tomorrow, I will be signing him up for every conservative and ultra-conservative website I can find. Payback's a bitch, you know?
This week's annoyances:
1. I am annoyed that The Ex got married on Saturday morning (his weekend) and promptly pushed the children off on the older daughter's cheer director on Saturday afternoon for the rest of the weekend because I told him I was not available to have the children. Blame that on Mommy, I suppose, is how that whole conversation went down right before he tossed them out of the moving vehicle in front of the cheer director's house so he could rush home to have his normal two-minute sex marathon with a woman who reminds me of my stepmother. Although, his new wife is probably way smarter and saner than my stepmother.
2. I am annoyed that the cheer director then dragged the children off to football games and made the older daughter cheer. I think being involved in a rehearsal dinner the night before, morning wedding and afternoon reception were enough for the child, especially when the younger daughter was given the option of not playing football for her team. Again, my fault for having plans.
3. I am annoyed that the cheer director then let the children stay up until ten o'clock on a Saturday night knowing full fucking well that they had to get up at six-ish to get ready for the cheer competition. Hellooooo, my children are NOT trainwrecks because I make them go to bed at 8:30 every night.
4. I am annoyed that the following morning, at the cheer competition, the cheer director was not able to run up and down the bleachers because her knees are bad and so I had to be the one to go to the coach's meeting and do the music check. If you can't run up and down bleachers, maybe you should reconsider coaching and directing anything athletic. I felt catty and pissy and thus sprinted up and down the bleachers with great aplomb, taking two steps at a time on my way up each time. Two steps at a time on the way down is a big no-no for me.
5. I am annoyed that my older daughter's dance routine was a complete bomb, and because one girl's parents announced two days before the competition they were going out of town, there was no time to do substitutes in the stunt portion. We only had eight girls to begin with, and trust me, teaching second and third graders how to do cheer stunts is actually much more complicated than one would think. I don't care what anyone says - cheerleading is much more dangerous than most people give it credit for being. If anyone should have helmets and padding on, it should be the cheerleaders. So anyway, the stunt portion went right out the window, and the girls didn't have enough time to learn the adjustments in the dance. And it showed.
6. I am annoyed that the cheer director then felt it necessary to tell my older daughter that her team got the lowest scores in the competition, amongst all the other same-age teams for that division. Um, are you kidding me? Why the fuck would you tell a child that? Just because you feel bad about yourself doesn't make it okay to make other people feel bad about themselves, too. That was the precise moment in time that I knew: we won't be returning to this athletic association next year, if this same cheer director is involved. We've got a whole county to pick from, and dammit, I can bully someone into signing the free agent waiver. I also knew at that precise moment this is when I begin to back away from this woman and limit my children's activities with her, and by limit I actually mean exclude. I already know which athletic association we're going to but my older daughter and I talked, and I told her we're obligated to finish out this season with our current association, and she's fine with that. One game left, bitches!
7. I am supremely annoyed (the highest level of all annoyances) that The Ex started talking to the children last spring about taking them to Disney World this summer. I was not surprised when he didn't do it, and instead took them to the beach. That's cool, because I know that Disney World is not cheap, and I know they enjoyed the beach. I also hope that his girlfriend slept in the same bed with him, because when he and I went to the beach the year before I said I wanted out, I refused to sleep in the same bed with him. It was a double bed and I didn't want to accidentally touch him while I was sleeping. Gee, and he wondered later why I thought the marriage was a failure. I am positive it was just him, because Guy #1 and I had to sleep in a double bed while we were on vacation and I didn't even notice it was a double bed for the first four days. I'd cram my big ass up in a twin sized bed with Guy #1, for real-for real. But anyway, if you talk to your kids about taking them to Disney World, and then don't do it, then don't FUCKING tell them that you're going there on your honeymoon! I mean, for God's sake, that is just a shithead narcissistic move. Period. That's about him trying to get attention from his kids and have them oooohhhh and ahhhhh over how great it is that Daddy went to Disney World. What a complete douchebag.
8. And lastly, I am minorly annoyed about the whole roof repair thing. Finally got someone to give me a quote - yay! But they can't guarantee any repairs will be actually done before the end of the year - boo! Fuck.
9. Oh, yeah, I forgot one. This will be the pettiest of all of my annoyances, but I can own that. The Ex changed his facebook status as he was walking back down the aisle (I'm sure of that, because it's.all.about.the.attention.here), and who leaves a congratulatory message on his wall but my damn uncle! No! Uncle Hippy, you do not leave congratulatory messages on your only niece's ex-husband's facebook wall when he gets remarried six motherfucking months after getting divorced! That is just one great big HELL NO! Are you freaking kidding me? I've overlooked his fruitcake politics for all of these years, but damn! I'm sorry, but I have to draw the line somewhere and decide what I'm willing to put up with and what I'm not. And this is not something I'm willing to take lying down. Effective tomorrow, I will be signing him up for every conservative and ultra-conservative website I can find. Payback's a bitch, you know?
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Cranky
I am feeling pret*ty goddamn cranky tonight. Perhaps it's because it's 10:51pm and I'd like to be reading a trashy book in bed but instead I'm waiting on the clothes to finish washing because I need to pack up football and cheerleading stuff for the weekend, perhaps it's because I haven't sorted through the shit on my desk in a week, maybe even it's because The Ex deemed himself an involved enough parent to sign off on parental shit from the school tonight. My football picks from last week sucked complete ass, my house is a mess, but I'm really trying to look at the bright side of things. Here goes:
* I've decided that I will start calling everything old 'throwback'. So when my girlfriends hook back up with old hook-ups, I'm just going to call that a throwback hook-up. Maybe when I get a bill for something that happened last year (like medical companies like to do), I'll call that a throwback bill, which is different than when you just don't pay the bill and they keep sending you notices. Which has never happened to me. American Express.
* Despite a major fuck-up at work in the spring and a couple of minor fuck-ups, along with several panic attacks, I still got a great yearly evaluation. I straight up told my boss she was being overly generous. But, since my evaluation doesn't get me any more money, it's just generous in the most verbal of all senses. She told me, correctly, that I am my worst critic. I guess cheers for being accountable and being willing to publicly blame myself for my screw ups.
* I am spanking several different asses on Words with Friends. Want some of this? What what!?! Hit me up on superfreak929. Yep, that's me.
* After this week, cheerleading will slow down. If either one of my kids don't want to do cheerleading next year, it's no skin off of my ass. I'm quite disillusioned after figuring out that the cheer director (I'm pretty sure, but not sure enough to straight make the allegation to anyone in authority) most likely falsified the ages of some of the girls on the cheerleading squads for the competition, and when I almost painted her into a corner about it, she then had to go back and do double cover-up lies to make things right. Except they aren't right with me, and you can't go back and fix that, as far as I'm concerned. But next week we only have football practice, thank god, and I'm hoping that might get rained out.
* I'm working on an open (and anonymous) letter to Mrs. PTA President in my head. Expect to see it in writing within about a week or two.
* I finally got my children scheduled to see the eye doctor. My insurance only covers every two years, so I am hoping my older daughter's placement YET AGAIN in remedial reading club is strictly related to the fact that she can't see the words, not my suspicion that there's a slight reading disability in there somewhere. But the good news about that is that she's been placed in reading club before the parent-teacher conferences this year, which means I can find out what in the hell is going on a little bit earlier in the school year. And, there's a new reading specialist this year, so I am going to pursue again trying to get her tested without me having to take her to a private tutoring company for the tests.
* She and I had a good talk last night, and what I thought was anxiety about her father's wedding is actually fear about her upcoming tonsillectomy. She's upset that she won't be able to talk for a week. I love my children with all of my heart, but I can actually do with half the chatter, and besides, that's one week she won't be able to argue with her sister. I hope. God only knows what will come out of that week.
* Lots o' quality time with Guy #1 this weekend. Definitely looking like a highlight of the week.
* I've decided that I will start calling everything old 'throwback'. So when my girlfriends hook back up with old hook-ups, I'm just going to call that a throwback hook-up. Maybe when I get a bill for something that happened last year (like medical companies like to do), I'll call that a throwback bill, which is different than when you just don't pay the bill and they keep sending you notices. Which has never happened to me. American Express.
* Despite a major fuck-up at work in the spring and a couple of minor fuck-ups, along with several panic attacks, I still got a great yearly evaluation. I straight up told my boss she was being overly generous. But, since my evaluation doesn't get me any more money, it's just generous in the most verbal of all senses. She told me, correctly, that I am my worst critic. I guess cheers for being accountable and being willing to publicly blame myself for my screw ups.
* I am spanking several different asses on Words with Friends. Want some of this? What what!?! Hit me up on superfreak929. Yep, that's me.
* After this week, cheerleading will slow down. If either one of my kids don't want to do cheerleading next year, it's no skin off of my ass. I'm quite disillusioned after figuring out that the cheer director (I'm pretty sure, but not sure enough to straight make the allegation to anyone in authority) most likely falsified the ages of some of the girls on the cheerleading squads for the competition, and when I almost painted her into a corner about it, she then had to go back and do double cover-up lies to make things right. Except they aren't right with me, and you can't go back and fix that, as far as I'm concerned. But next week we only have football practice, thank god, and I'm hoping that might get rained out.
* I'm working on an open (and anonymous) letter to Mrs. PTA President in my head. Expect to see it in writing within about a week or two.
* I finally got my children scheduled to see the eye doctor. My insurance only covers every two years, so I am hoping my older daughter's placement YET AGAIN in remedial reading club is strictly related to the fact that she can't see the words, not my suspicion that there's a slight reading disability in there somewhere. But the good news about that is that she's been placed in reading club before the parent-teacher conferences this year, which means I can find out what in the hell is going on a little bit earlier in the school year. And, there's a new reading specialist this year, so I am going to pursue again trying to get her tested without me having to take her to a private tutoring company for the tests.
* She and I had a good talk last night, and what I thought was anxiety about her father's wedding is actually fear about her upcoming tonsillectomy. She's upset that she won't be able to talk for a week. I love my children with all of my heart, but I can actually do with half the chatter, and besides, that's one week she won't be able to argue with her sister. I hope. God only knows what will come out of that week.
* Lots o' quality time with Guy #1 this weekend. Definitely looking like a highlight of the week.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Not Being Married
I guess I've mentioned The Betrothal. And the fact that it's this weekend, right?
Well, this storyline actually started last month. For real, it started early in 2010 when I said I wanted a divorce, but we shall only go back to last month.
Her Awesomeness: (That would be me) Are you taking the kids to their football games on your wedding weekend? I assumed they would not be participating in games that day.
The Ex: What time are the games? (Like he hadn't already gotten the emailed schedule).
Her Awesomeness: Evening games. First game starts at 5:00, so the younger daughter needs to be there at 4:00.
The Ex: Are you taking them?
Her Awesomeness: It's your weekend.
The Ex: That's the wedding.
Her Awesomeness: Okay, so, are they going?
The Ex: Are you taking them?
Her Awesomeness: I had assumed they would be doing wedding stuff.
The Ex: No, they can go. All of the wedding stuff should be done by then. Oh, and can you take them that Saturday night?
Her Awesomeness: For the night?
The Ex: Yeah, can you take them?
Her Awesomeness: No, I have plans that weekend. (Which was not a lie, by the way.)
The Ex: *Silence* Uh. Okay, well I'll just tell my folks they have to take them for the rest of the weekend.
It actually went on a little longer than that, just because I wanted to make him squirm in realizing that I was not going to babysit on his wedding night. Helloooo, douchebag, did you really think your ex-wife was going to babysit on your wedding night, especially when it's her weekend off? Um, that would be a great big fuck no. FUCK NO. I mean, really, did he honestly think that?
Apparently so.
So this past weekend I mentioned to the older daughter that I needed to call her grandparents to find out who would be bringing the children to the older daughter's cheer competition this Sunday morning. I'll make yet another assumption and figure that their father won't be the one to do it, being that he will be freshly married. Right after being freshly divorced earlier this year. Imagine my surprise when the older daughter corrected me and told me no, they weren't going to their grandparent's house, they are spending the night with her cheer coach.
Which I'm totally fine with, but I need to make sure all of the cheer stuff gets to the proper place by the appointed time, as I'm not really willing to trust her father to get it done correctly this weekend. So begins several texts back and forth about where the kids would be staying on his wedding night and who would be taking the children to the cheer competition and the birthday party later in the day. What a fucking circle jerk that was. Jesus H. Christ.
First of all, if you don't plan to spend any quality time with your children during your wedding weekend (because that would require actual parenting), then why in the hell would you schedule your wedding on the weekend that you are scheduled to have the children? I mean, this wedding has only been in the works for about a year or so, so he's had plenty of time to sit down with a calendar and figure out my weekends and his weekends. Why not just get married on my weekend and ask to have the children for a few hours on the night before and then for a few hours for the wedding and reception? I know this isn't going to be the fanciest wedding, being that between the two of them, it's the fifth wedding. Yes, my math is inflated, but with this being her second wedding (2) and (+) this being his third wedding (3), that comes up to (=) five (5). See? Makes sense to me.
Second of all, if you are going to pass your children off on someone because of the aforementioned wedding, at least have the decency to make all of the arrangements for cheer competition and birthday parties in advance. Don't open the birthday invitation, see that it's for your wedding weekend, and then hand it to me like it's my responsibility. At least acknowledge the invitation is for your weekend, and then ask if I will handle getting a gift. But again, this would involve The Ex in thinking about someone else. Besides himself.
But it's cool. I'll roll with it and enjoy knowing that whatever I screw up this weekend, it won't be in the form of a legal union. My plans for the weekend, you ask? Well, I get off work at 5:00pm, but might manage to slide out a few minutes early. By 5:45pm, I plan to be bare-ass nekkid in the bed with Guy #1, who will also be bare-assed nekkid, and we will do bare-assed nekkid things like play Words with Friends on his cell phone, and he might even treat me to a shadow puppet show later in the evening. Maybe I'll make a frozen pizza at some point in the night, but maybe not. Maybe it will just be Toaster Strudel - who knows? Saturday morning we will do more bare-assed nekkid things together, and then we will pretty much spend the entire day together at a wine festival. And then Saturday night, maybe more bare-assed nekkid stuff, but maybe stuff with clothes on. The weekend is my oyster, you know? Sunday - cheer competition with Guy #1 in tow (but he doesn't know that yet and I hope he doesn't have too much of a hangover because that music gets L.O.U.D. as F.U.C.K.) and Sunday afternoon, yet a little more bare-assed nekkid stuff and maybe he'll read the paper whilst I clip coupons.
Most of all, though, I'll enjoy *not* being married, because I'm just not there yet.
Well, this storyline actually started last month. For real, it started early in 2010 when I said I wanted a divorce, but we shall only go back to last month.
Her Awesomeness: (That would be me) Are you taking the kids to their football games on your wedding weekend? I assumed they would not be participating in games that day.
The Ex: What time are the games? (Like he hadn't already gotten the emailed schedule).
Her Awesomeness: Evening games. First game starts at 5:00, so the younger daughter needs to be there at 4:00.
The Ex: Are you taking them?
Her Awesomeness: It's your weekend.
The Ex: That's the wedding.
Her Awesomeness: Okay, so, are they going?
The Ex: Are you taking them?
Her Awesomeness: I had assumed they would be doing wedding stuff.
The Ex: No, they can go. All of the wedding stuff should be done by then. Oh, and can you take them that Saturday night?
Her Awesomeness: For the night?
The Ex: Yeah, can you take them?
Her Awesomeness: No, I have plans that weekend. (Which was not a lie, by the way.)
The Ex: *Silence* Uh. Okay, well I'll just tell my folks they have to take them for the rest of the weekend.
It actually went on a little longer than that, just because I wanted to make him squirm in realizing that I was not going to babysit on his wedding night. Helloooo, douchebag, did you really think your ex-wife was going to babysit on your wedding night, especially when it's her weekend off? Um, that would be a great big fuck no. FUCK NO. I mean, really, did he honestly think that?
Apparently so.
So this past weekend I mentioned to the older daughter that I needed to call her grandparents to find out who would be bringing the children to the older daughter's cheer competition this Sunday morning. I'll make yet another assumption and figure that their father won't be the one to do it, being that he will be freshly married. Right after being freshly divorced earlier this year. Imagine my surprise when the older daughter corrected me and told me no, they weren't going to their grandparent's house, they are spending the night with her cheer coach.
Which I'm totally fine with, but I need to make sure all of the cheer stuff gets to the proper place by the appointed time, as I'm not really willing to trust her father to get it done correctly this weekend. So begins several texts back and forth about where the kids would be staying on his wedding night and who would be taking the children to the cheer competition and the birthday party later in the day. What a fucking circle jerk that was. Jesus H. Christ.
First of all, if you don't plan to spend any quality time with your children during your wedding weekend (because that would require actual parenting), then why in the hell would you schedule your wedding on the weekend that you are scheduled to have the children? I mean, this wedding has only been in the works for about a year or so, so he's had plenty of time to sit down with a calendar and figure out my weekends and his weekends. Why not just get married on my weekend and ask to have the children for a few hours on the night before and then for a few hours for the wedding and reception? I know this isn't going to be the fanciest wedding, being that between the two of them, it's the fifth wedding. Yes, my math is inflated, but with this being her second wedding (2) and (+) this being his third wedding (3), that comes up to (=) five (5). See? Makes sense to me.
Second of all, if you are going to pass your children off on someone because of the aforementioned wedding, at least have the decency to make all of the arrangements for cheer competition and birthday parties in advance. Don't open the birthday invitation, see that it's for your wedding weekend, and then hand it to me like it's my responsibility. At least acknowledge the invitation is for your weekend, and then ask if I will handle getting a gift. But again, this would involve The Ex in thinking about someone else. Besides himself.
But it's cool. I'll roll with it and enjoy knowing that whatever I screw up this weekend, it won't be in the form of a legal union. My plans for the weekend, you ask? Well, I get off work at 5:00pm, but might manage to slide out a few minutes early. By 5:45pm, I plan to be bare-ass nekkid in the bed with Guy #1, who will also be bare-assed nekkid, and we will do bare-assed nekkid things like play Words with Friends on his cell phone, and he might even treat me to a shadow puppet show later in the evening. Maybe I'll make a frozen pizza at some point in the night, but maybe not. Maybe it will just be Toaster Strudel - who knows? Saturday morning we will do more bare-assed nekkid things together, and then we will pretty much spend the entire day together at a wine festival. And then Saturday night, maybe more bare-assed nekkid stuff, but maybe stuff with clothes on. The weekend is my oyster, you know? Sunday - cheer competition with Guy #1 in tow (but he doesn't know that yet and I hope he doesn't have too much of a hangover because that music gets L.O.U.D. as F.U.C.K.) and Sunday afternoon, yet a little more bare-assed nekkid stuff and maybe he'll read the paper whilst I clip coupons.
Most of all, though, I'll enjoy *not* being married, because I'm just not there yet.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Love Thy Ex
Okay, that's a total lie. I think we all know I DO NOT love that bastard. I would love for him to stop being a douchebag, is what I would love. I would love for him to just voluntarily pay child support a couple of times a year, as a show of good faith, since I voluntarily did not ask for child support. I would love for him to go to therapy. I mean, it wouldn't do any good, but again - good faith. I would love for him to pay the children's medical copays in advance, especially since the health insurance is paid in advance, and without making me have to ask for reimbursement. I would love, love, love for him to see his children when he is supposed to, and I would love for him to come to their football games, cheerleading events, doctor's visits, school activities and various practices. But I will stop now, because this could just go on and on. And on. And on some more.
He is getting married this weekend coming up. Because this is apparently the best way to celebrate getting a divorce. I had to chuckle tonight, because the older daughter called him on the way home after the football games, and he's out of town - bachelor's weekend, I suppose - and he made a point to tell my older daughter that The Fiancee is lonely at home. First of all, why would you tell your child that? Secondly, I thought to myself, this is just the beginning for this poor woman. She has no idea what she's in store for. I wonder if she knows that he's made an effort on more than one occasion to tell me where the spare key to his house is so I can just stop by when I need to and let myself into their house to get stuff that the children have left over there. Not that I would do that, because that would be the beginning of me being charged with Breaking and Entering, but I have given some thought to just cracking the door ever so slightly and setting a squirrel lose in there. I can only imagine the havoc that would be wreaked by the dog if that happened. I like to fantasize that their house would look kind of like the house in Home Alone, but at the end of the movie.
It's good to dream, I suppose.
The children are dealing with all of this pretty well, and seem to be very excited about the wedding. I, too, am excited. Because if I decide to ever ask for child support, the fact that he makes more money than me and will have a double income will certainly make it easier for me. But for real, I know I probably won't do that. Even though I can, being that his attorney forgot to put the "forever and ever" clause in that part of the divorce agreement and my attorney said we wouldn't mention that it was left out. My greatest concern is that this marriage of his will fall apart in about five years and this woman who my children have gotten so attached to will disappear from their lives. Really, I like her. I like her a hell of a lot more than I like him, and if I had my druthers, I would just deal with her exclusively. This is actually a much better situation than if I didn't like whomever was going to be my children's First Stepmother. Better that I like her than hate her. And that shall be her new blog name, come next week. First Stepmother. Kind of reminds me of my first stepmother, except my children's First Stepmother really is more like my second stepmother, also affectionately known as Mothbrain. I just went back and read that and it sounds a little West Virginny. We'll just wrap it up, then.
He is getting married this weekend coming up. Because this is apparently the best way to celebrate getting a divorce. I had to chuckle tonight, because the older daughter called him on the way home after the football games, and he's out of town - bachelor's weekend, I suppose - and he made a point to tell my older daughter that The Fiancee is lonely at home. First of all, why would you tell your child that? Secondly, I thought to myself, this is just the beginning for this poor woman. She has no idea what she's in store for. I wonder if she knows that he's made an effort on more than one occasion to tell me where the spare key to his house is so I can just stop by when I need to and let myself into their house to get stuff that the children have left over there. Not that I would do that, because that would be the beginning of me being charged with Breaking and Entering, but I have given some thought to just cracking the door ever so slightly and setting a squirrel lose in there. I can only imagine the havoc that would be wreaked by the dog if that happened. I like to fantasize that their house would look kind of like the house in Home Alone, but at the end of the movie.
It's good to dream, I suppose.
The children are dealing with all of this pretty well, and seem to be very excited about the wedding. I, too, am excited. Because if I decide to ever ask for child support, the fact that he makes more money than me and will have a double income will certainly make it easier for me. But for real, I know I probably won't do that. Even though I can, being that his attorney forgot to put the "forever and ever" clause in that part of the divorce agreement and my attorney said we wouldn't mention that it was left out. My greatest concern is that this marriage of his will fall apart in about five years and this woman who my children have gotten so attached to will disappear from their lives. Really, I like her. I like her a hell of a lot more than I like him, and if I had my druthers, I would just deal with her exclusively. This is actually a much better situation than if I didn't like whomever was going to be my children's First Stepmother. Better that I like her than hate her. And that shall be her new blog name, come next week. First Stepmother. Kind of reminds me of my first stepmother, except my children's First Stepmother really is more like my second stepmother, also affectionately known as Mothbrain. I just went back and read that and it sounds a little West Virginny. We'll just wrap it up, then.
Friday, October 14, 2011
What It Do, Part Deux
So... part two.
Cheerleading.
My older daughter is doing cheerleading again. Again. I actually encouraged it, because I thought this year would be more fun, since I volunteered to be the assistant coach of her squad, and because I thought it would be more fun working with older girls. Well, girls older than five and six, anyway.
It hasn't really turned out like that. My older daughter has enjoyed it greatly, and that's what really matters, but Mommy... not so much. Here's the deal. The head coach of my daughter's cheerleading squad is also the cheer director of the organization. And that's cool, because sometimes you have to do double duty in these organizations, especially when so many parents won't step up. As cheer director, this woman has done about 100 percent better than the brainless idiot last year. That is most certain, but as a cheer coach, again... not so much. I understand that it's difficult to do both, but holy fuck, I'm getting tired of doing pretty much all of the work. I think I had realized this by the second game, and got a little aggravated by it by the fourth game. At this point, I just want to get this shit over with. The head coach/cheer director doesn't know I won't be at next weekend's game, and I think I'll probably let her know late next week. I mean, if The Ex is getting married that day, and my daughter won't be cheering, I don't really feel obligated to be there. Next weekend will be my happy little break.
I really want to regret coaching, but I can't, because I've gotten to spend so much time with my older daughter, and I really am searching for a way to enjoy my way to the end of the season, which blissfully, will be here in about another three or four weeks, provided our football team doesn't make it to the playoffs. And this football team making it to the playoffs would be about the equivalent of ummmm, I don't know, Tampa Bay making it to the playoffs? I keep thinking, just make it through. Just make it through. The awkward part is that we got rather snappy with each other last weekend at the homecoming game, and I basically yelled at her for yelling at my daughter for something stupid. Helloooo, if you saw my daughter running around with football sun glare stuff on her cheeks an hour before the game and didn't say anything to her about taking it off then, don't get nasty with her ten minutes before the game. And then act like the victim. Nothing can set me off more than someone acting like the victim. If you're going to act like a jackass, or a bitch, or whatever, at least own it when someone confronts you on it. I mean, goddamn.
So practice this week was a little strained, and I was tempted to just not even show up at all. Hey, how about you do some of this work? But that's not going to set a good example for my daughter, and I know it. I can make it through this, because that's what I do. And tomorrow, I think I am going to hang back and let her do all the directing. Okay, maybe not, but I'm going to try. Not micromanaging stuff is pretty hard for me, especially if I see it's not being done to my level of micromanagement.
The best part to all of this is that we won't be participating in basketball cheerleading. My older daughter has decided she wants to do Tae-Kwon-Do (karate!) and my younger daughter wants to go back to gymnastics. If it entails me not dealing with this woman, I am good with it.
Cheerleading.
My older daughter is doing cheerleading again. Again. I actually encouraged it, because I thought this year would be more fun, since I volunteered to be the assistant coach of her squad, and because I thought it would be more fun working with older girls. Well, girls older than five and six, anyway.
It hasn't really turned out like that. My older daughter has enjoyed it greatly, and that's what really matters, but Mommy... not so much. Here's the deal. The head coach of my daughter's cheerleading squad is also the cheer director of the organization. And that's cool, because sometimes you have to do double duty in these organizations, especially when so many parents won't step up. As cheer director, this woman has done about 100 percent better than the brainless idiot last year. That is most certain, but as a cheer coach, again... not so much. I understand that it's difficult to do both, but holy fuck, I'm getting tired of doing pretty much all of the work. I think I had realized this by the second game, and got a little aggravated by it by the fourth game. At this point, I just want to get this shit over with. The head coach/cheer director doesn't know I won't be at next weekend's game, and I think I'll probably let her know late next week. I mean, if The Ex is getting married that day, and my daughter won't be cheering, I don't really feel obligated to be there. Next weekend will be my happy little break.
I really want to regret coaching, but I can't, because I've gotten to spend so much time with my older daughter, and I really am searching for a way to enjoy my way to the end of the season, which blissfully, will be here in about another three or four weeks, provided our football team doesn't make it to the playoffs. And this football team making it to the playoffs would be about the equivalent of ummmm, I don't know, Tampa Bay making it to the playoffs? I keep thinking, just make it through. Just make it through. The awkward part is that we got rather snappy with each other last weekend at the homecoming game, and I basically yelled at her for yelling at my daughter for something stupid. Helloooo, if you saw my daughter running around with football sun glare stuff on her cheeks an hour before the game and didn't say anything to her about taking it off then, don't get nasty with her ten minutes before the game. And then act like the victim. Nothing can set me off more than someone acting like the victim. If you're going to act like a jackass, or a bitch, or whatever, at least own it when someone confronts you on it. I mean, goddamn.
So practice this week was a little strained, and I was tempted to just not even show up at all. Hey, how about you do some of this work? But that's not going to set a good example for my daughter, and I know it. I can make it through this, because that's what I do. And tomorrow, I think I am going to hang back and let her do all the directing. Okay, maybe not, but I'm going to try. Not micromanaging stuff is pretty hard for me, especially if I see it's not being done to my level of micromanagement.
The best part to all of this is that we won't be participating in basketball cheerleading. My older daughter has decided she wants to do Tae-Kwon-Do (karate!) and my younger daughter wants to go back to gymnastics. If it entails me not dealing with this woman, I am good with it.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
What It Do, Part 1
This is very possibly a several part update of what's been going on with me. In no specific order...
1. First of all, if you like my stuff, and you're on facebook, go to your search bar and type in "Curls & Stuff" and my page will pop up. There's only one Curls & Stuff on there, which is, yes, you guess it - me! So help a sister out and give me a like or two. Feed my narcissism. Actually, not, but let's get me up over that 25 mark so I can have my own web address or whatever it's called. And send me to your friends! Pass me around! Uhhh, trust me, that really is the first time I've ever said that.
2. Also, even if you don't like football, still check me out on Armchair Linebacker, which is a blog I have been invited to contribute to weekly. Fridays, to be specific. A homeslice of mine from high school does it with some friends of his, and they've come up with this weekly pretend gambling and commentary thing. This was the first week of us doing this, and I have to admit, I've enjoyed it so far. Me contributing to a football blog is about the equivalent of my homeslice contributing to a blog about The Real Housewives, so my commentary and weekly picks have more to do with team colors and graphics and other girly kind of pick stuff, but it does break up the monotony of three football geeks blathering on about actual football stuff like players and stats. Four of my five picks won this week, but because of the point spread (which I still don't freaking understand) I only won pretend money on three of the games. So my buddy told me when I emailed him to ask about it. Goddamn Indianapolis. That was $600 pretend dollars I could have used to get a pretend Brazilian and a real life roof repair. I don't know what's going to happen if I gamble all of my pretend money away and the season's not over. I guess I start pretend hooking with the other three players to get some more? Anyway, it's www.armchairlinebacker.com
3. The trip to Indiana and Chicago was great this summer. I survived the ride there, survived meeting the family, and survived the plane trip back.
Special notes:
* Driving through Indiana on a stormy night and using the lightening to look for funnel clouds really is scary as shit. In fact, it was the same night the stage thing collapsed at the Indiana State Fair.
* There's a lot of damn corn up there.
* Guess who won $60 buckaroos playing bingo at the American Legion hall? That's right, yo' girl did!
* One of Guy #1's aunts cornered me the second night there and wanted to know when he and I are getting married. That was a little awkward and it was hard trying to explain I really want The Ex to get his third divorce before I have my second marriage, especially whilst pinned up against pool table.
* The biggest trainwreck on the trip wasn't me or the dog, it was most likely his teenage daughter. Whew! for me.
* I feel a swelling of pride that I successfully navigated O'Hare. I know I can do anything now.
* I didn't understand why the flight attends in Chicago kept talking about flotation devices, and so I didn't pay attention. Jesus, we weren't going over any water! And then, when we'd been up in the air for about fifteen minutes, I made the mistake of looking out of the window. Oh my god, what is that? Uhhh, we were supposed to fly AROUND Lake Michigan, not OVER it. The only pilots authorized to fly me over water are the guys who do their thing on Air Force One, and Capt. Sully. I was pretty pissed that US Airways did not clear this with me in advance. So needless to say, the window shade came down and I pretended like I had never seen that huge blue expanse.
* My layover on the way home was in Philadelphia, and I got off the plane at Terminal B. My connecting flight was a Terminal F. Logically and alphabetically, that should have been a fairly short walk. Instead, it was a long walk to a shuttle bus, a long ride to another airport (it seemed like), and then another long walk. Holy fuck, Philadelphia, can all the terminals be in the same fucking jurisdiction?
* And finally, the biggest freak show in the Philadelphia airport? Got on the Richmond flight. Shout out, VCU!
4. The school year is off to a great start for my little angels. My older daughter got a teacher that she didn't know much about, but Mrs. Third Grade Teacher seems awesome in my book. She seems professional and somewhat detached, and all about using her website for parents to get information they need every night. My daughter likes her and Mommy is happy. And for some reason, third grade seems easier than second. My younger daughter likes her teacher, though she didn't know a lot of kids in her class. But she's enjoying the year so far and it's good for her to step outside of the friend box and make some new ones.
Next up: What It Do, Part Deux. We shall cover cheerleading, football, The Ex and maybe Guy #1.
1. First of all, if you like my stuff, and you're on facebook, go to your search bar and type in "Curls & Stuff" and my page will pop up. There's only one Curls & Stuff on there, which is, yes, you guess it - me! So help a sister out and give me a like or two. Feed my narcissism. Actually, not, but let's get me up over that 25 mark so I can have my own web address or whatever it's called. And send me to your friends! Pass me around! Uhhh, trust me, that really is the first time I've ever said that.
2. Also, even if you don't like football, still check me out on Armchair Linebacker, which is a blog I have been invited to contribute to weekly. Fridays, to be specific. A homeslice of mine from high school does it with some friends of his, and they've come up with this weekly pretend gambling and commentary thing. This was the first week of us doing this, and I have to admit, I've enjoyed it so far. Me contributing to a football blog is about the equivalent of my homeslice contributing to a blog about The Real Housewives, so my commentary and weekly picks have more to do with team colors and graphics and other girly kind of pick stuff, but it does break up the monotony of three football geeks blathering on about actual football stuff like players and stats. Four of my five picks won this week, but because of the point spread (which I still don't freaking understand) I only won pretend money on three of the games. So my buddy told me when I emailed him to ask about it. Goddamn Indianapolis. That was $600 pretend dollars I could have used to get a pretend Brazilian and a real life roof repair. I don't know what's going to happen if I gamble all of my pretend money away and the season's not over. I guess I start pretend hooking with the other three players to get some more? Anyway, it's www.armchairlinebacker.com
3. The trip to Indiana and Chicago was great this summer. I survived the ride there, survived meeting the family, and survived the plane trip back.
Special notes:
* Driving through Indiana on a stormy night and using the lightening to look for funnel clouds really is scary as shit. In fact, it was the same night the stage thing collapsed at the Indiana State Fair.
* There's a lot of damn corn up there.
* Guess who won $60 buckaroos playing bingo at the American Legion hall? That's right, yo' girl did!
* One of Guy #1's aunts cornered me the second night there and wanted to know when he and I are getting married. That was a little awkward and it was hard trying to explain I really want The Ex to get his third divorce before I have my second marriage, especially whilst pinned up against pool table.
* The biggest trainwreck on the trip wasn't me or the dog, it was most likely his teenage daughter. Whew! for me.
* I feel a swelling of pride that I successfully navigated O'Hare. I know I can do anything now.
* I didn't understand why the flight attends in Chicago kept talking about flotation devices, and so I didn't pay attention. Jesus, we weren't going over any water! And then, when we'd been up in the air for about fifteen minutes, I made the mistake of looking out of the window. Oh my god, what is that? Uhhh, we were supposed to fly AROUND Lake Michigan, not OVER it. The only pilots authorized to fly me over water are the guys who do their thing on Air Force One, and Capt. Sully. I was pretty pissed that US Airways did not clear this with me in advance. So needless to say, the window shade came down and I pretended like I had never seen that huge blue expanse.
* My layover on the way home was in Philadelphia, and I got off the plane at Terminal B. My connecting flight was a Terminal F. Logically and alphabetically, that should have been a fairly short walk. Instead, it was a long walk to a shuttle bus, a long ride to another airport (it seemed like), and then another long walk. Holy fuck, Philadelphia, can all the terminals be in the same fucking jurisdiction?
* And finally, the biggest freak show in the Philadelphia airport? Got on the Richmond flight. Shout out, VCU!
4. The school year is off to a great start for my little angels. My older daughter got a teacher that she didn't know much about, but Mrs. Third Grade Teacher seems awesome in my book. She seems professional and somewhat detached, and all about using her website for parents to get information they need every night. My daughter likes her and Mommy is happy. And for some reason, third grade seems easier than second. My younger daughter likes her teacher, though she didn't know a lot of kids in her class. But she's enjoying the year so far and it's good for her to step outside of the friend box and make some new ones.
Next up: What It Do, Part Deux. We shall cover cheerleading, football, The Ex and maybe Guy #1.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Uhhhh
I can't even type in "Stay Tuned" one more time because that shit has gotten old. I'll update Monday.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Reposting
This will be my life in just a few more weeks....
Where Did My Day Go?
A few quick updates: the youth athletic association that I am coaching for is obviously run by morons. A big group of morons. The disorganization runs far beyond the cheerleading section. And that's all I can really say about that right now, mostly because I'm too annoyed to be able to write halfway intelligently about it. On another topic, I was trolling around on craigslist last night and came across a picture of a penis with a watch on it. I'll address the first part of the sentence -- I'm a troll, except not the live-under-the-bridge kind of troll. Hi, my name is Stephanie and I'm a craigslist troll. About the penis and the wristwatch, I was like, who does that? Who actually puts a watch on their dick and then takes a picture of it? I don't know if he was trying to demonstrate his girth, because a sewing tape measure would have done just fine, or if he was trying to say something else, like, "Heeeeeyyyyy, it's penis time!" Too weird. What a freak.
I've survived the first two days of the children being back to school and I feel like I'm going to die. This will be my first full year of being a single parent, although in previous school years I felt like a single parent but I was also really bitter and angry that another adult was living with me but didn't do much to contribute other than give me guilt trips about why I wasn't doing more. So this will be my first full year of being a single parent who isn't bitter and angry all the time. Although the schedule is killing me, I've enjoyed not being really pissed off about why I'm stuck with everything. Maybe it was me subtracting that other, grown child I was raising?
This has been my schedule for the last two days. I expect that it won't be this hectic on the days when we don't have cheerleading practice. Those will be the days I live for.
5:45 My alarm goes off. Hit the snooze.
5:54 My alarm goes off. Hit the snooze and lay in bed and pretend that some hot guy is laying next to me.
5:57 Get up. Stumble out on the deck and smoke a cigarette.
6:08 Shower.
6:19 Wake the children up.
6:23 Pour a healthy bowl of really sugary cereal for both of them. Go dry my hair.
6:31 Get the first child in the shower. Remind them to wash their hair and their ass with actual soap and shampoo, versus the imaginary soap and shampoo. Start on my makeup. Tell the other child to go make her bed. This isn't so bad, because the younger daughter has decided that making her bed is a pain in her ass, so she just sleeps on top of the covers every night. I'm down with that. As long as the bed is made in the morning, I don't care where you sleep, as long as it's not in my bed.
6:41 Ask if child in shower has washed hair and ass and am told no, they haven't. Think to myself, what the fuck are you doing, then? Get loud and irate with them, and yell hurry up! Your sister needs to take a shower!
6:42 Get myself dressed.
6:48 March into the children's bathroom and tell the child in the shower to get out now. I don't care what's washed, just get out. Get the other child in the shower and start blow drying the first child's hair. Feel pleased that they actually did manage to touch some kind of soap somewhere on their body when I find a few suds in their hair.
6:53 Still trying to get hair brushed out for drying, because of the drama of tangles. I don't know if she's shampooing her hair with a football cleat, but it sure does seem like it.
6:55 March into the bathroom and tell child in shower to hurry up! We need to go!
6:56 Blow dry hair halfway, because the child's hair is too long for me to want to do the whole job. Tell that child to go get dressed.
7:00 Make sandwiches for lunch. If I was smart, I pre-packed the lunch the night before and all I have to do is slap some PB&J together. Oops, the bread is frozen. Fuck.
7:07 Finish the lunches, tell the other child to get out of the shower. At this point, we've used more water trying to get hair and asses washed than an entire village in Africa will use in an whole week. I'm sure of it. I wonder what the next water bill will look like.
7:09 Dry the other child's hair, tell the child who just got dressed to brush their teeth and put on their shoes.
7:15 All hair is dry. I need a drink at this point. Tell the freshly dried child to go get dressed, and no, you can't wear just underwear to school.
7:16 Smoke another cigarette on the deck and get annoyed that some child is coming out on the deck to bug me. I need some quiet.
7:25 Make my bed, because having a freshly made bed keeps me from getting back in that bitch.
7:30 Brush my teeth, finish my hair and makeup, put on jewelry.
7:42 Throw backpacks, lunch sacks, water bottles off on children. Tell them to go outside and hurry up!
7:45 On the way to before and after school care. Realize my lunch is sitting on the kitchen counter. Oh, well, I can eat some air for lunch. It's cool.
7:56 Arrive at childcare, rush children in, sign in and then they don't even want to give me a kiss? What the fuck is up with that? All this drama and no kiss for Mommy? You should be grateful you have a Mommy as awesome as me.
8:01 Bolt out of childcare, hop in car and rush to work.
8:18 Traffic is backed up on 95. Fabulous.
8:35 Make it to work five minutes late. I don't really care.
8:35 - 5:05 Try to be productive. Realize around 11:00 I haven't paid my bills yet and still need to clean out my purse. Dump contents of my purse out on my desk and spend 45 minutes sorting through my bills and organizing my purse. Take 25 minutes to go eat lunch in a co-worker's office after I find a can of diet soup in my desk and then eat half of my co-worker's chicken salad. Did I mention I only hang around people who share? Besides, he's on a diet and I'm just doing him a favor by eating some of his food. 2:00 comes and I realize that we'll only have fifteen minutes to eat dinner, so I take another lunch break and run to the grocery store to buy some Lunchables. Because I have just made them Dinnerables.
5:05 Leave work, traffic is backed up on 95. Fabulous again.
5:35 Arrive at childcare, bolt in and rush the children. Hurry up! We've got to be at cheerleading practice in precisely 50 minutes!
5:50 Get home and feed my children a wonderful Dinnerable, tell them that if they want more food after cheerleading practice, they can have some goldfish. Try to negate this in my brain by telling myself that it's okay, you packed totally awesome lunches today.
6:00 Change clothes, check my blog. Get sucked into facebook.
6:20 Rush children out of house, back in the damn car.
6:35 Arrive at cheerleading practice five minutes late. I don't really care.
6:35 - 7: 30 Cheerleading practice. I want to throttle some of these children. My stomach is making funny gurgly noises and feels funny. We need to get the hell out of here and get home because Mommy does not want to use that nasty porta-potty.
7:40 Get kind of testy with older daughter's cheer coach because they've run 10 minutes over on the practice and we have homework to do! That wasn't it at all, Mommy's stomach feels really bad and we need to get the FUCK outta here.
7:42 Realize I won't be able to make it home. Make a mad dash for Food Lion.
7:49 Arrive at Food Lion and goose-step the children inside. I'm pissed at myself at this point for ingesting about two gallons of caffeine today because this is what happens when I drink this much caffeine.
8:05 Emerge from Food Lion, okay, let's hurry up because we need to review homework and Big Brother is on, dammit!
8:15 Arrive home. Review homework and praise older daughter effusively for having the foresight to have gotten it done at childcare.
8:25 Big Brother! Because my priorities are straight!
8:35 Realize I haven't watered the my newly seeded topsoil. Fuck. Run outside during commercial breaks and water the topsoil, though I'm pretty sure I missed a lot because it's dark outside and one of my flood lights is burned out.
8:58 Big Brother is over, I've watered all I'm going to do during commercial breaks, children in the bed.
9:10 Get up from a few minutes of just staring stupidly at the walls.
9:15 Pre-pack lunches.
9:30 Send a few emails. Troll around on craigslist and alternately stare at facebook.
10:00 Holy shit, where did the day go? Fart around on the internet and pack up book bags. Sort through the bill receipts.
11:10 In bed. Pretend some hot guy is laying next to me. Think about doing it all over again tomorrow and pass out.
At this rate, it'll be December in about a week. I can make it to the summer, I swear I can
I've survived the first two days of the children being back to school and I feel like I'm going to die. This will be my first full year of being a single parent, although in previous school years I felt like a single parent but I was also really bitter and angry that another adult was living with me but didn't do much to contribute other than give me guilt trips about why I wasn't doing more. So this will be my first full year of being a single parent who isn't bitter and angry all the time. Although the schedule is killing me, I've enjoyed not being really pissed off about why I'm stuck with everything. Maybe it was me subtracting that other, grown child I was raising?
This has been my schedule for the last two days. I expect that it won't be this hectic on the days when we don't have cheerleading practice. Those will be the days I live for.
5:45 My alarm goes off. Hit the snooze.
5:54 My alarm goes off. Hit the snooze and lay in bed and pretend that some hot guy is laying next to me.
5:57 Get up. Stumble out on the deck and smoke a cigarette.
6:08 Shower.
6:19 Wake the children up.
6:23 Pour a healthy bowl of really sugary cereal for both of them. Go dry my hair.
6:31 Get the first child in the shower. Remind them to wash their hair and their ass with actual soap and shampoo, versus the imaginary soap and shampoo. Start on my makeup. Tell the other child to go make her bed. This isn't so bad, because the younger daughter has decided that making her bed is a pain in her ass, so she just sleeps on top of the covers every night. I'm down with that. As long as the bed is made in the morning, I don't care where you sleep, as long as it's not in my bed.
6:41 Ask if child in shower has washed hair and ass and am told no, they haven't. Think to myself, what the fuck are you doing, then? Get loud and irate with them, and yell hurry up! Your sister needs to take a shower!
6:42 Get myself dressed.
6:48 March into the children's bathroom and tell the child in the shower to get out now. I don't care what's washed, just get out. Get the other child in the shower and start blow drying the first child's hair. Feel pleased that they actually did manage to touch some kind of soap somewhere on their body when I find a few suds in their hair.
6:53 Still trying to get hair brushed out for drying, because of the drama of tangles. I don't know if she's shampooing her hair with a football cleat, but it sure does seem like it.
6:55 March into the bathroom and tell child in shower to hurry up! We need to go!
6:56 Blow dry hair halfway, because the child's hair is too long for me to want to do the whole job. Tell that child to go get dressed.
7:00 Make sandwiches for lunch. If I was smart, I pre-packed the lunch the night before and all I have to do is slap some PB&J together. Oops, the bread is frozen. Fuck.
7:07 Finish the lunches, tell the other child to get out of the shower. At this point, we've used more water trying to get hair and asses washed than an entire village in Africa will use in an whole week. I'm sure of it. I wonder what the next water bill will look like.
7:09 Dry the other child's hair, tell the child who just got dressed to brush their teeth and put on their shoes.
7:15 All hair is dry. I need a drink at this point. Tell the freshly dried child to go get dressed, and no, you can't wear just underwear to school.
7:16 Smoke another cigarette on the deck and get annoyed that some child is coming out on the deck to bug me. I need some quiet.
7:25 Make my bed, because having a freshly made bed keeps me from getting back in that bitch.
7:30 Brush my teeth, finish my hair and makeup, put on jewelry.
7:42 Throw backpacks, lunch sacks, water bottles off on children. Tell them to go outside and hurry up!
7:45 On the way to before and after school care. Realize my lunch is sitting on the kitchen counter. Oh, well, I can eat some air for lunch. It's cool.
7:56 Arrive at childcare, rush children in, sign in and then they don't even want to give me a kiss? What the fuck is up with that? All this drama and no kiss for Mommy? You should be grateful you have a Mommy as awesome as me.
8:01 Bolt out of childcare, hop in car and rush to work.
8:18 Traffic is backed up on 95. Fabulous.
8:35 Make it to work five minutes late. I don't really care.
8:35 - 5:05 Try to be productive. Realize around 11:00 I haven't paid my bills yet and still need to clean out my purse. Dump contents of my purse out on my desk and spend 45 minutes sorting through my bills and organizing my purse. Take 25 minutes to go eat lunch in a co-worker's office after I find a can of diet soup in my desk and then eat half of my co-worker's chicken salad. Did I mention I only hang around people who share? Besides, he's on a diet and I'm just doing him a favor by eating some of his food. 2:00 comes and I realize that we'll only have fifteen minutes to eat dinner, so I take another lunch break and run to the grocery store to buy some Lunchables. Because I have just made them Dinnerables.
5:05 Leave work, traffic is backed up on 95. Fabulous again.
5:35 Arrive at childcare, bolt in and rush the children. Hurry up! We've got to be at cheerleading practice in precisely 50 minutes!
5:50 Get home and feed my children a wonderful Dinnerable, tell them that if they want more food after cheerleading practice, they can have some goldfish. Try to negate this in my brain by telling myself that it's okay, you packed totally awesome lunches today.
6:00 Change clothes, check my blog. Get sucked into facebook.
6:20 Rush children out of house, back in the damn car.
6:35 Arrive at cheerleading practice five minutes late. I don't really care.
6:35 - 7: 30 Cheerleading practice. I want to throttle some of these children. My stomach is making funny gurgly noises and feels funny. We need to get the hell out of here and get home because Mommy does not want to use that nasty porta-potty.
7:40 Get kind of testy with older daughter's cheer coach because they've run 10 minutes over on the practice and we have homework to do! That wasn't it at all, Mommy's stomach feels really bad and we need to get the FUCK outta here.
7:42 Realize I won't be able to make it home. Make a mad dash for Food Lion.
7:49 Arrive at Food Lion and goose-step the children inside. I'm pissed at myself at this point for ingesting about two gallons of caffeine today because this is what happens when I drink this much caffeine.
8:05 Emerge from Food Lion, okay, let's hurry up because we need to review homework and Big Brother is on, dammit!
8:15 Arrive home. Review homework and praise older daughter effusively for having the foresight to have gotten it done at childcare.
8:25 Big Brother! Because my priorities are straight!
8:35 Realize I haven't watered the my newly seeded topsoil. Fuck. Run outside during commercial breaks and water the topsoil, though I'm pretty sure I missed a lot because it's dark outside and one of my flood lights is burned out.
8:58 Big Brother is over, I've watered all I'm going to do during commercial breaks, children in the bed.
9:10 Get up from a few minutes of just staring stupidly at the walls.
9:15 Pre-pack lunches.
9:30 Send a few emails. Troll around on craigslist and alternately stare at facebook.
10:00 Holy shit, where did the day go? Fart around on the internet and pack up book bags. Sort through the bill receipts.
11:10 In bed. Pretend some hot guy is laying next to me. Think about doing it all over again tomorrow and pass out.
At this rate, it'll be December in about a week. I can make it to the summer, I swear I can
Monday, August 8, 2011
Vacation
My kids went on vacation today. I am so incredibly annoyed about the whole thing I can't even begin to put words to it. Of course, they went with douchebag and The Girlfriend. I'm pissed because for ten years of being married to that complete asshole, we went on exactly two vacations, both times to the beach, and he bitched and moaned the entire time, because he hates the beach. We went on vacation for our honeymoon, which was to the Outer Banks, because I refused to fly anywhere. He wanted to go back to the place he had his first honeymoon and then pouted for weeks when I refused. Maybe the honeymoon would have been more enjoyable if we had taken separate vacations. And then, fast forward to 2009, we took our first family vacation, and he bitched and moaned about that one, too, even though I had found a completely decent house to rent a block and a half off of a beach access during high season for $600 a week! Tightwads of the world, unite!
I'll assume he didn't hate the beach but just hated me. Well, dickface, it's mutual. I sent him a text today and told him that I needed the address where the children would be staying for the week, well, because I need to know where in the hell my children are. He texted the address back and I didn't bother to acknowledge it or to say "Have a great time" or any of that nice shit. Nope. Nothing from me. Simply because I know how much it pisses him off when I don't acknowledge his texts. So right after work I came home, hopped on Google Maps and googled that bitch. Yep, because that's what any self-respecting, sometimes bitter ex-wife would do. I'm pleased to report they are staying at a condo development about five miles from the beach. I can't find any real estate rental information about it, other than it's owned by some guy in New York, so I'll have to assume it's some sort of time share. I hope that my kids have a great time and I hope he has a miserable time and gets sunburned on his nasty furry chest that he refuses to manscape. See, I'm already feeling better.
My vacation starts on Saturday. Guy #1 asked me to go back to his hometown in Indiana and meet the family. I didn't realize what a big deal this was until all of my guy friends started weighing in with their opinions. Apparently, meeting a guy's family IS A BIG DEAL. How the hell would I know this? I've never had to travel to meet anyone's family before, so this is new. Dating is still kind of new. Dating someone with kids is still kind of new. Traveling with a kid to meet the family is new. Traveling with a kid and the dog to meet the family is new. I'm just a tiny bit antsy.
I don't travel well, and this is probably because I never do it. In my adult life, I've taken one honeymoon, one family vacation, one weekend trip with a girlfriend to the beach (for which The Ex gave me shit about for three months afterward) and one trip to Illinois to take my grandfather to his World War II reunion, so that didn't even count as a vacation. I've gone out of town a few times for a couple of conferences and I hated that and I'm already working on my excuse to get out of the next conference. But when I say I don't travel well, I mean, I don't travel well. I'm like that purebred Afghan hound that alternately howls and pukes the entire trip, all the while trembling and shaking. Seriously. This is why I've never moved far away from my family, and this is why I have an aunt who lives in Seattle who I haven't seen since 2003. And I have no intention of seeing her unless she comes back to Virginia. She's kind of a weird, left-wing, spinster aunt whom I've never really known beyond Christmas cards and I already told my mom when my aunt dies she's on her own to get my grandmother's stuff back to Virginia. I also have a stepsister in Alabama that I see exactly once or twice per year, when she comes back to Virginia. I'd like to think I'm that kind of person that doesn't come to you, but you come to me. Like the Godfather.
So Saturday morning, Guy #1, his teenage daughter, dog and I will be loading up in the car for a nice 15 hour drive or so to Indiana. Yeah, mapquest says 12 hours and some minutes, but with a dog (and me) it will be about 15 hours. I know this and have told him this, but he doesn't believe me. I am guessing that by the time we hit mid-Kentucky all four of us will want me to be riding in the trunk. Bound and gagged. And then, after we finally get there, I get to meet his ENTIRE family. Which will not be stressful to me *at all*. Not at all. I feel kind of like I did when the people at work gave me employee of the quarter and I guiltily felt like I had bamboozled them and then felt obligated to work about three times harder to make them think they hadn't made a bad decision after all. Which I am still sure that they did, because the quarter after they gave me employee of the quarter I got in trouble with one of the big wigs at work which resulted in me having to write a letter of apology and sitting in my office sobbing for hours at a time.
So given that experience, God only knows how this is going to go. I'll assume a few months after this trip I'll end up having to write someone a letter of apology. I've unfortunately heard all these great things that Guy #1 has told his family about me on the phone and I'm like, HOLY FUCK! I have got to go to another state and pretend to be fucking phenomenal now! OH MY GOD, the pressure is on! I can fake being phenomenal in the next county, but I've never had to do it in another state. I've got exactly one week to live up to all of this shit he's told his family about me! And so, arriving in Indiana sometime Saturday night will be the Stephanie version of Betty Crocker meets Carol Brady meets June Cleaver meets Claire Huxtable (except I'm not black) meets Cagney and Lacey (just because I thought they were tough as hell when I watched them on TV) meets Daisy Duke meets Wonder Woman. Which is a joke, because most people know me more of a Roseanne kind of person. Minus the factory job and polyester pants. And then, because I do have some semblance of manners, I'll feel obligated to be on my best behavior the whole time and be the best and most unobtrusive house guest there ever was. I won't sleep in the bed, I'll just sleep under it. I'll scrub the bathroom down every day and fold my clothes and zip my suitcase back up every morning, I'll go to bed at 7:30pm and stay in bed until 7:30am, and I won't eat more than an anorexic teenage girl. I'll set lots of other rules to follow (and I'll write them down and carry them in my wallet just to make sure I'm doing everything right). Because really, who the hell wants a sloppy house guest who just makes themselves at home? Not me, that's for damn sure. This is also why I don't allow people from out of town to stay with me, either. Get a room, for chrissakes. I am not going to be your fucking Courtyard at the Marriott.
And then, we will make our way to Chicago where we will stay with other family members and I get to pretend all over again, and blissfully, on Saturday morning, I get to face one of my greatest fears when I hop on a big, old jet airplane to fly back to Richmond (well, let's hope the jet airplane isn't old). My kids are moving back home that weekend and my work schedule isn't workable for me taking Monday off. I shall decompress at the Chicago O'Hare bar bright and early Saturday morning, and then I shall visit the Philadelphia airport bar as well, because the plane that's taking me from Philadelphia to Richmond is kind of small. At least this trip makes geographical sense and not like the time I flew to Atlanta from Richmond, because obviously the most direct route from Richmond to Atlanta is through New Jersey. The last time I flew I almost had a panic attack when we started backing away from the terminal, so I'm not sure how this one is going to go, being post-9/11 and all. I can only hope my TSA fondler is a good looking dyke.
I'm pretty sure Guy #1 still doesn't realize how high my level of maintenance can go. He probably will after this trip. If he's still speaking to me.
I'll assume he didn't hate the beach but just hated me. Well, dickface, it's mutual. I sent him a text today and told him that I needed the address where the children would be staying for the week, well, because I need to know where in the hell my children are. He texted the address back and I didn't bother to acknowledge it or to say "Have a great time" or any of that nice shit. Nope. Nothing from me. Simply because I know how much it pisses him off when I don't acknowledge his texts. So right after work I came home, hopped on Google Maps and googled that bitch. Yep, because that's what any self-respecting, sometimes bitter ex-wife would do. I'm pleased to report they are staying at a condo development about five miles from the beach. I can't find any real estate rental information about it, other than it's owned by some guy in New York, so I'll have to assume it's some sort of time share. I hope that my kids have a great time and I hope he has a miserable time and gets sunburned on his nasty furry chest that he refuses to manscape. See, I'm already feeling better.
My vacation starts on Saturday. Guy #1 asked me to go back to his hometown in Indiana and meet the family. I didn't realize what a big deal this was until all of my guy friends started weighing in with their opinions. Apparently, meeting a guy's family IS A BIG DEAL. How the hell would I know this? I've never had to travel to meet anyone's family before, so this is new. Dating is still kind of new. Dating someone with kids is still kind of new. Traveling with a kid to meet the family is new. Traveling with a kid and the dog to meet the family is new. I'm just a tiny bit antsy.
I don't travel well, and this is probably because I never do it. In my adult life, I've taken one honeymoon, one family vacation, one weekend trip with a girlfriend to the beach (for which The Ex gave me shit about for three months afterward) and one trip to Illinois to take my grandfather to his World War II reunion, so that didn't even count as a vacation. I've gone out of town a few times for a couple of conferences and I hated that and I'm already working on my excuse to get out of the next conference. But when I say I don't travel well, I mean, I don't travel well. I'm like that purebred Afghan hound that alternately howls and pukes the entire trip, all the while trembling and shaking. Seriously. This is why I've never moved far away from my family, and this is why I have an aunt who lives in Seattle who I haven't seen since 2003. And I have no intention of seeing her unless she comes back to Virginia. She's kind of a weird, left-wing, spinster aunt whom I've never really known beyond Christmas cards and I already told my mom when my aunt dies she's on her own to get my grandmother's stuff back to Virginia. I also have a stepsister in Alabama that I see exactly once or twice per year, when she comes back to Virginia. I'd like to think I'm that kind of person that doesn't come to you, but you come to me. Like the Godfather.
So Saturday morning, Guy #1, his teenage daughter, dog and I will be loading up in the car for a nice 15 hour drive or so to Indiana. Yeah, mapquest says 12 hours and some minutes, but with a dog (and me) it will be about 15 hours. I know this and have told him this, but he doesn't believe me. I am guessing that by the time we hit mid-Kentucky all four of us will want me to be riding in the trunk. Bound and gagged. And then, after we finally get there, I get to meet his ENTIRE family. Which will not be stressful to me *at all*. Not at all. I feel kind of like I did when the people at work gave me employee of the quarter and I guiltily felt like I had bamboozled them and then felt obligated to work about three times harder to make them think they hadn't made a bad decision after all. Which I am still sure that they did, because the quarter after they gave me employee of the quarter I got in trouble with one of the big wigs at work which resulted in me having to write a letter of apology and sitting in my office sobbing for hours at a time.
So given that experience, God only knows how this is going to go. I'll assume a few months after this trip I'll end up having to write someone a letter of apology. I've unfortunately heard all these great things that Guy #1 has told his family about me on the phone and I'm like, HOLY FUCK! I have got to go to another state and pretend to be fucking phenomenal now! OH MY GOD, the pressure is on! I can fake being phenomenal in the next county, but I've never had to do it in another state. I've got exactly one week to live up to all of this shit he's told his family about me! And so, arriving in Indiana sometime Saturday night will be the Stephanie version of Betty Crocker meets Carol Brady meets June Cleaver meets Claire Huxtable (except I'm not black) meets Cagney and Lacey (just because I thought they were tough as hell when I watched them on TV) meets Daisy Duke meets Wonder Woman. Which is a joke, because most people know me more of a Roseanne kind of person. Minus the factory job and polyester pants. And then, because I do have some semblance of manners, I'll feel obligated to be on my best behavior the whole time and be the best and most unobtrusive house guest there ever was. I won't sleep in the bed, I'll just sleep under it. I'll scrub the bathroom down every day and fold my clothes and zip my suitcase back up every morning, I'll go to bed at 7:30pm and stay in bed until 7:30am, and I won't eat more than an anorexic teenage girl. I'll set lots of other rules to follow (and I'll write them down and carry them in my wallet just to make sure I'm doing everything right). Because really, who the hell wants a sloppy house guest who just makes themselves at home? Not me, that's for damn sure. This is also why I don't allow people from out of town to stay with me, either. Get a room, for chrissakes. I am not going to be your fucking Courtyard at the Marriott.
And then, we will make our way to Chicago where we will stay with other family members and I get to pretend all over again, and blissfully, on Saturday morning, I get to face one of my greatest fears when I hop on a big, old jet airplane to fly back to Richmond (well, let's hope the jet airplane isn't old). My kids are moving back home that weekend and my work schedule isn't workable for me taking Monday off. I shall decompress at the Chicago O'Hare bar bright and early Saturday morning, and then I shall visit the Philadelphia airport bar as well, because the plane that's taking me from Philadelphia to Richmond is kind of small. At least this trip makes geographical sense and not like the time I flew to Atlanta from Richmond, because obviously the most direct route from Richmond to Atlanta is through New Jersey. The last time I flew I almost had a panic attack when we started backing away from the terminal, so I'm not sure how this one is going to go, being post-9/11 and all. I can only hope my TSA fondler is a good looking dyke.
I'm pretty sure Guy #1 still doesn't realize how high my level of maintenance can go. He probably will after this trip. If he's still speaking to me.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
High Kicks and Stuff
Did I mention that I'm coaching cheerleading again this year? Although, this time around, I'm not quite so "Helen-Keller-teaching-paint-by-numbers" ish, meaning I actually have a clue as to what's going on. And, I'm coaching my older daughter's team, and I'm not even in charge - I'm the assistant coach! Perfecto! This means I just have to show up and take direction from the real coach, and when I do pass on tips and instructions to the girls, they actually have the capacity to listen and follow directions, unlike the five and six year olds that I coached last year. This year is also easier because I know what to expect for the games, halftime, homecoming and the county-wide cheerleading dance competition. So I feel pretty damn good about volunteering again this year! I also love that my kids will remember that Mommy was right there in the thick of it, and was at every game, like I know The Ex won't be.
This past Thursday night, I was out at practice, wearing my non-work clothes, since I'd shown up the practice in work clothes on Tuesday, and yeah, I did a couple of high kicks. I mean, what kind of coach doesn't demonstrate this stuff? Apparently the smart ones, because when I woke up on Friday morning, I couldn't move. Literally, I couldn't move. I wiggled around in the bed for a few minutes, and then just barely managed to slide out of the bed onto my knees, and then finally managed to grab hold of the side of the bed and get myself in a somewhat upright position. Pain was radiating out of my right glute, straight down my right leg and ended somewhere in my calf. Oh my god, are you kidding me? I decided I could hobble into work to get my laptop and then hobble home, but then I realized I could barely make it in to the kitchen. Nope, work was not going to happen. I knew instantly I had done this with one of the high kicks I had demonstrated. Couldn't be anything but that.
Off to the doctor, who snickered inbetween writing me prescriptions. Guy #1 sympathetically laughed, as did the coach of the team, most of my friends and my mother. The only two people who didn't laugh at my were my children, little loyalists that they are. My mother had to come over and get them straight for dinner, and that was after my former mother-in-law had to bring them home. Saturday morning my mother had to come over and take care of them, because I sure as hell couldn't do it. Not only was I still in severe pain, but I couldn't really function because the meds were finally starting to work. Basically, I got no time with my kids this weekend because I couldn't function, and I'm really pissed off and disappointed at myself for that. I wasn't able to take them to the birthday party of a little friend (passed that off on a girlfriend), I wasn't able to go to cheer camp (which I really did want to do), and I did just barely manage to get school supplies purchased. I don't remember much of anything else, except I very strangley opted to watch the Season 2 marathon of Top Shot on History channel. Some of those guys were hottttt! And manhandling some heavy duty armament! But, I digress.... Everything I did do this weekend was with my mother, and that was painful enough by tonight. I love my mom, but jesus christ, she was getting on my last nerve to the point that I was just ready for her to LEAVE.
My back still hurts, but I am pretty much done with my medication. I can't be all foggy-minded and disoriented at work, because then I won't notice when someone else is like that either. So I'm just doing the Aleve thing right now, and it's working okay. I'm done with high kicks, though, and I'm not even going to try to bust out the splits for the girls to be impressed with.
And oh yeah, I discovered a leak in my roof tonight, just a mere week before I go on vacation. Not really what I needed. The stress of traveling is enough. I've thought up a million and one ways to get out of this trip, except I committed to it when I bought my plane ticket home. Because that one hundred dollars will not go to waste, and it's a non-refundable, non-transferable ticket. So regardless of anything else, I will have to get my ass to Chicago some kind of way to fly back home in about two weeks.
Lastly, Guy #1 and The Ex met today, somewhat awkwardly when we all decided to eat lunch at the same restaurant. I mean, really, in Chesterfield? What are the chances of that happening? I only wish I could have looked better, but damn, I could barely focus my eyes. It helped when The Ex and The Girlfriend walked off and Guy #1 made a snarky comment about the shoes The Ex was wearing. Again, why in the fuck would an almost 45 year old man wear checkerboard tennis shoes? I'm embarrased that I have to own up to having been married to his sorry ass.
Stay tuned for the roof saga!
This past Thursday night, I was out at practice, wearing my non-work clothes, since I'd shown up the practice in work clothes on Tuesday, and yeah, I did a couple of high kicks. I mean, what kind of coach doesn't demonstrate this stuff? Apparently the smart ones, because when I woke up on Friday morning, I couldn't move. Literally, I couldn't move. I wiggled around in the bed for a few minutes, and then just barely managed to slide out of the bed onto my knees, and then finally managed to grab hold of the side of the bed and get myself in a somewhat upright position. Pain was radiating out of my right glute, straight down my right leg and ended somewhere in my calf. Oh my god, are you kidding me? I decided I could hobble into work to get my laptop and then hobble home, but then I realized I could barely make it in to the kitchen. Nope, work was not going to happen. I knew instantly I had done this with one of the high kicks I had demonstrated. Couldn't be anything but that.
Off to the doctor, who snickered inbetween writing me prescriptions. Guy #1 sympathetically laughed, as did the coach of the team, most of my friends and my mother. The only two people who didn't laugh at my were my children, little loyalists that they are. My mother had to come over and get them straight for dinner, and that was after my former mother-in-law had to bring them home. Saturday morning my mother had to come over and take care of them, because I sure as hell couldn't do it. Not only was I still in severe pain, but I couldn't really function because the meds were finally starting to work. Basically, I got no time with my kids this weekend because I couldn't function, and I'm really pissed off and disappointed at myself for that. I wasn't able to take them to the birthday party of a little friend (passed that off on a girlfriend), I wasn't able to go to cheer camp (which I really did want to do), and I did just barely manage to get school supplies purchased. I don't remember much of anything else, except I very strangley opted to watch the Season 2 marathon of Top Shot on History channel. Some of those guys were hottttt! And manhandling some heavy duty armament! But, I digress.... Everything I did do this weekend was with my mother, and that was painful enough by tonight. I love my mom, but jesus christ, she was getting on my last nerve to the point that I was just ready for her to LEAVE.
My back still hurts, but I am pretty much done with my medication. I can't be all foggy-minded and disoriented at work, because then I won't notice when someone else is like that either. So I'm just doing the Aleve thing right now, and it's working okay. I'm done with high kicks, though, and I'm not even going to try to bust out the splits for the girls to be impressed with.
And oh yeah, I discovered a leak in my roof tonight, just a mere week before I go on vacation. Not really what I needed. The stress of traveling is enough. I've thought up a million and one ways to get out of this trip, except I committed to it when I bought my plane ticket home. Because that one hundred dollars will not go to waste, and it's a non-refundable, non-transferable ticket. So regardless of anything else, I will have to get my ass to Chicago some kind of way to fly back home in about two weeks.
Lastly, Guy #1 and The Ex met today, somewhat awkwardly when we all decided to eat lunch at the same restaurant. I mean, really, in Chesterfield? What are the chances of that happening? I only wish I could have looked better, but damn, I could barely focus my eyes. It helped when The Ex and The Girlfriend walked off and Guy #1 made a snarky comment about the shoes The Ex was wearing. Again, why in the fuck would an almost 45 year old man wear checkerboard tennis shoes? I'm embarrased that I have to own up to having been married to his sorry ass.
Stay tuned for the roof saga!
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