Weddings

I really made an honest effort not to get sucked into the whole royal wedding thing. Really, I did make an effort. But what woman can deny the real-life fairy tale that was unfolding on television? Not me, that's for sure. However, I did not get up at 4:00am to watch it, and my children didn't either. At that time of the morning, I will be roused for two things: crying children and sex. But not together. No, no, no. Oh, and a tornado. I would drag my tired ass out of the bed at 4:00am for a tornado. Crying children, tornadoes and sex. And they all better be legitimate. Bring your A game, because that's all I have the patience for at that time of the morning.

The royal wedding dress was gorgeous and as a woman who doesn't wear a lot of  any clothing that is revealing ,(although I did buy a super cute halter top the other day to surprise Guy #1 except... I need to lose ten pounds first) I was relieved to see the bride in a dress that was modern, classy, unfussy, unfrilly, and covered her up very nicely. Hopefully this will start a new trend of women not looking like strippers walking down the aisle. It reminded me of my own wedding, except she looked happy, relaxed and really thin. I, on the other hand, was none of those. I have got to get back on my diet. My ass is getting FAT. Guy #1 insists it's PHAT, but he's not the one having to lay down on the bed to zip up his jeans. But kudos to him for liking a fat ass! And yay for Prince William for marrying a brunette! I don't care what anyone says, there's nothing better than being a brunette. Because we can go out and get drunk and still remember it the next day. 

I found out last weekend that The Ex is getting married, and strangely, since the announcement was made public, the children have never said anything to me about it. I never asked, not even after the odd and stilted email he sent me on Monday to discuss "the changes that are occurring in this household". I didn't acknowledge his email, because I know how much it pisses him off if I don't acknowledge his emails and texts. I sent him an email on Tuesday about doctor's appointments and copays for the children in the next couple of weeks, and he never acknowledged that. Hello, dumbass, there's a big difference in me not acknowledging your impending nuptials and you not acknowledging that you have to cover these copays. But whatever, motherfucker, we can play that game. So when he dropped the children off tonight, I asked for the copay for the follow-up appointment for the older daughter's foot situation. He acted stupid. I stood on the front porch and looked at him and asked if he got the email I sent. He said he did and I said I needed the copay.

Then I asked if he had ended our gym membership, because this was the last joint membership that we had kept after the separation because it was cheaper for us to keep the family membership and me pay him monthly than for us to join separately. But since we've determined we won't be using that gym for our summer camp or summer pool membership, I said that I didn't want to continue to have a family membership with him. I asked him about this because since we had already discussed it two weeks ago, I decided in my head that effective May 1st, I wasn't going to give him another fucking dime towards it in the event he forgot to end the membership. He said that he hadn't ended the membership, but he would just take my name off of it and put another name on it in my place. Okay, I know what your girlfriend's name is. You can say it around me. I suppose that was his dig at me to let me know yet again I've been replaced. Whatever again, douchebag. I said fine and have a good weekend. What he doesn't realize is that he might have replaced me, but I've upgraded. So there, bitch. It works for me better because now the children still have that membership and I don't have to pay a dime towards it. I like it!

But when the children and I were watching a rerun of the royal wedding tonight, it was suddenly announced by the younger daughter that her father and his girlfriend are getting married. She asked if I knew and I said yes, The Ex had emailed me about it. If you remember, I posted sometime last year about our "card" games, and I thought to myself when he sent that email, he thought it was his ace in the hole. For what, I'm not sure, but it ended up actually being an 6 card. Can't beat much with that, dickface. My ace card was that I still haven't acknowledged the nuptials to him and I'm pretty sure I'm going to act oblivious and stupid through the whole thing to him. My passive-aggressive is way better than his passive-aggressive.

I did ask the children, though, when they were getting married. I was just curious since he didn't mention that in the email. October, they reported, because his girlfriend has lots of work stuff to do in September. Yes, everyone should get married six months after their divorce is finalized. I just checked the internet and her house isn't for sale yet. She better hurry up, because this housing market still stinks. Maybe I should just list it for rent on craigslist. Every woman should have a future husband with an ex-wife as nice and considerate as me to list their house for rent. That can be my wedding present to them. Maybe I'll list his house for rent, too, just to cover all of their bases. ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US!

The most annoying thing to me is that I finally feel like I'm getting to the place where I can actually start to call Guy #1 my boyfriend, and now, very irrationally, I feel like I can't because I'll always think it was in reaction to finding out The Ex is engaged. I am exceptionally bothered by the fact that he's rushing the children through so many stages so fast that I have to go extra slow. I mean, I've been dating Guy #1 for six months and he's finally met my children. Just as I'm getting over this hump... boom. I don't know if my children are ready for all of this. Life goes so fast for kids anyway that all of this must be happening in the blink of an eye. I just don't want to add to the fast-forward they've been put on. Getting over the whole boyfriend verbiage has been hard for me, and god knows, Guy #1 has been patient. He has been more patient with me than I think any man ever has been. I don't know what to do to get over this hump. I'm annoyed because I feel like I'm right there, at the top of the roller coaster, and now some dumbass a few cars back is having a panic attack and they have to stop the whole damn thing to get that one person off, and in the meanwhile, I'm just waiting. It's.... right.... there.... but I'm still here.

And so, that's where I am right now. Trying to get over the hump.

At Least It Wasn't...

The whole thing about The Ex posting pictures of MY children (they are only MY children when HE fucks up) shooting the bird kind of exploded today, except in a quiet kind of telephone discussion in my office with the door shut. My goal was to remain completely calm while still sounding slightly pissy, all the while alternately shaming and threatening him into understanding that this is not a laughing matter.

For real, it's not a laughing matter. This is a very clear picture that he posted on facebook of two beautiful little girls sitting in the backseat of his mid-life crisis car, very specifically shooting the bird, with smiles and glee abounding. Uh, are you kidding me? The conversation didn't go very well as it ended up with him claiming that he didn't know the girls were doing that while he was taking the picture (bullshit!), and then claiming that right after taking the picture, he immediately talked to the children about how inappropriate their behavior was (bullshit!), and when questioned by me as to why he even posted it up on facebook, he said that this was just a representation of how life really is (and more bullshit!).

I very nicely told him that I didn't believe him, and he very nicely told me that he didn't care what I believed. I then took it up a notch and told him that I would be reviewing the picture with the older daughter's psychologist, and that I would be following the psychologist's recommendations regarding the matter. He said that was fine. So, I took it up one more notch, and said if the psychologist recommended that I take him back to court to get full custody of the children, then I would be doing that. Silence on his end. And then, I took it up one more notch. Because silence wasn't acceptable. I wanted to feel his ass squirm through the phone. This is what I said. "Do you really think that a judge would believe that you didn't know what the children were doing? Do you *really* believe that? And do you really believe a judge would find it acceptable that you've posted this on facebook for the entire world to see?"  Best part is... this wasn't even my trump card. And no, I'm not telling what the trump card is because I have a sneaking suspicion that I will still have to play the trump card at some point in the future.

The end result? The picture has been removed from facebook. I was less than pleased when I talked to the psychologist today and he told me if the picture has been taken down from facebook, then just leave it alone. No, goddammit, that's not enough. I want this moron to be court ordered to take a parenting class, and then I want him to be court ordered to actually be a good parent. I want him to parent with some common sense, and to at least be big enough to man up when he screws something up. But it's not going to happen like that, and I know it.

I spent some time on Wikipedia tonight reading nothing but the truth, of course, and researching obscene gestures. In the grand scheme of things, I suppose this isn't the worst gesture the children could have used. Okay, flipping someone the bird is bad. It's rude, it's disrespectful and it's horrible to see children doing it.

But I suppose it could have been something along these lines...

The Shocker.

To be followed by The Spocker, The Rocker and the grandaddy of them all, The Show Stopper.

I will say... this is kind of funny since it's not my kid. Funny in that empathetic way of who is the dumbass who taught him THAT? Because that dumbass must be related to the dumbass I married who posted a picture on the internet of my children flipping someone off. It was probably me. Hey, Mom, fucking check us out! No rules! No reading! No bedtime! TV on ALL the time! No vegetables! No protein! No bathing! No hair brushing! Hey, fuck you and your rules, Mommy!

Whoever the mom is in this picture, hey, I feel you, girlfriend. I too hooked up with a dickface and then had children with him. I feel your pain. Parenting would be so much easier if we only had to parent the children.

What I'm Watching

There are some things in life I have never denied my love for. Men, sweet tea, my children, reading, shit talking, and TV. Actually, it's a much longer list, but this will have to suffice for right now. Since I've banned the TV in the house when the children are awake (okay, I did give just a teensy bit for spring break, but not much), I have determined I have to be much more judicious in what I choose to watch when they are asleep or not here. I have to be selective now. I can't just be running through the channels all willy-nilly watching anything.

So here's some of what I'm watching. Some of it I'm not even watching because I keep forgetting about the shows and they aren't on demand (should that be capitalized?), so I am a little aggravated with myself for missing out on some of them. And no, I don't have the good pay channels, so this is just the tripe I'm catching on regular cable.

In no particular order, and not even alphabetized, because I feel like that would get on my nerves tonight.

The Deadliest Catch - Testosterone wafts out of my TV electronically when this show comes on. I mean, really, how can it not? I am a little annoyed that some channels have taken the whole "men-in-danger" genre a little too far, because honestly, I don't really want to watch Swamp People. Or Swamp Truckers. Or Ice Road Truckers. The Deadliest Catch was one of the pioneers of this genre (in the last five years or so, I would estimate), and it's still the gold standard. I've decided that I could be a great cook on one of those boats, but not The Wizard because that captain is a DICK, but I would be a good cook mainly because those men are so beat down, tired and hungry they'd probably eat anything and still be happy. Oh, wait a minute, I got sea-sick on the Annabel Lee when it was floating down the James River on a sunny April afternoon. Who the hell am I kidding?

Survivor - I think I've watched almost every season of this show and it still rocks. Boston Rob is the J.R. Ewing of reality TV. He just gets better and better with each show he's on. I think more reality shows need Boston Rob, mostly because he'd bring more viewers and it would just be interesting to watch. I might actually watch American Idol if he were a judge. I could never be a contestant on Survivor though, because I am too much of a princess. But it's still fun to watch.

The Real Housewives - Of anywhere, except Atlanta and Miami. I even liked Washington, DC, although I didn't like the blond gatecrasher. That woman does NOT need more attention. I don't care for Atlanta because it's too ghetto and I didn't like Miami because those women were just too blah. Orange County, New York City and New Jersey, you bitches are the bomb. But they're all preschoolers compared to...

MobWives - Trust VH1 to bring this little reality jewel to TV. This is a rough group of women wearing Louis Vuitton and Prada if there ever was. Every other word... bleep. Bleep. Bleep. Bitch. Bleep. I wonder what the feds think of this one? Most of these women have husbands who are locked up, and I'm pretty sure if they were getting laid on the regular there would be a whole lot less drama going on. Getting laid on the regular, and correctly, would be key for these women.

Chopped - I don't watch cooking shows because I just think it's gay. I don't like most of the chefs who have their own shows because their egos are out of control, but this show is interesting. It's a competition of four chefs, going three rounds with mystery items in their baskets and a really severe time limit. I find it interesting that these people are able to make edible food out of Fruit Loops, fish heads, some strange piece of fruit not native to any damn where and something else no one has ever heard of. I mean, I wouldn't eat the food, but it seems to be pretty palatable to the judges.

Cake Challenges - Okay, this whole genre has gotten a little out of hand, but it's amazing what people can come up with and then attempt to execute in eight hours. How the fuck can they do that and I can't make an edible one layer cake in a whole afternoon? I suck. But not at pies. I rock out some pies.

Ghost Adventures - Interesting premise. Hot guys. I'm watching.

Paranormal State - Not as good as Ghost Adventures, and I'm a little annoyed that they only seem to travel to run-down blue collar towns where every day is cloudy and dreary. But still, something to watch if I can't find anything else.

So... this is what I'm watching. Or trying to.

Huh?????

So, I've enjoyed a really nice spring break. Spent some quality time with my children doing a whole lot of not much, got some yard work done, helped my Other Mother with some of her stuff, spent some quality time with Guy #1 and.... introduced the children to Guy #1. And it went really well! Of course, I had been agonizing for weeks and months over this moment, and had cleared it with our child psychologist, cleared it with my mom (not really but it kind of sounded good), cleared it with Guy #1, cleared it with the children, and it was a good trip to Token City Pizza Place with Big Rodent Mascot. And by tokens I mean actual game tokens, not a racial kind of token thing. 

I had some more quality time with Guy #1 tonight, and then came home to collapse in the bed before I get up in the morning to go help Other Mother with her moving and cleaning stuff, but then I got on facebook. I thought, well, what the hell, I might as well log in to my mother's account and see if dickface has posted any updates of what he's been doing with the children for his allotted two days of spring break. Love you, Mom, for giving up that password!

Oh my god, The Ex is engaged. Whaaaaaaaaat? Whaaaaaaaaat? Are you kidding me? Oh my god. Hold on just one damn minute here. Let me get out my divorce papers. Holy fuck. The damn judge just signed the papers on March 9th. That's March 9th of THIS YEAR. And he made this announcement on April 21st. Of THIS YEAR. Oh my god, that's one month and twelve days after he just got divorced! Oh my god, what a complete moron. Oh my god, this poor woman has no idea what she's getting into. But really, that's not my problem. But back to the topic at hand. The Betrothal. Interestingly, it's interesting how few letters separate the words betrothal and betrayal. And beware. I guess if I mix all of that together on a Soul Train Scramble Board, I could probably come up with Boris Yeltsin. Mad word skillz. I am telling you.

But anyway, OH MY GOD! Who gets engaged less than two months after the divorce is finalized? I mean, really, who does that? Well, other than my ex-husband, who does that? Jesus H. Christ. I'm not even Catholic and I want to say a couple of Hail Marys here. Or something like that. I smell Epic Failure Number Three on the horizon. For him, not me. I've only had one epic failure.

I think this is just really indicative of the psychopathic and yet still incredibly needy nature of the incredibly overgrown 13 year old that I married eleven years ago. Either that or he's realized how expensive it is to Cobra my health insurance and he's decided that he needs to get married for the health insurance and so he won't have to file single-head of household on taxes again. But I don't think he's smart enough to get married for tax or insurance purposes. I think that this is just his way of not being alone. I knew this was coming, but I thought later this summer or in the fall. I guess the actual wedding will be in the summer or the fall. Who knows, maybe next week. I mean, fuck, why wait at this point?

So I guess the next thing, besides actually getting married, is to figure out who is going to move in with who. Will The Girlfriend sell her house and move in with The Ex? Or will The Ex sell his house and move in with The Girlfriend? I don't really care either way, except The Girlfriend doesn't live in the area. Luckily, thanks to her unusual last name and my internetting skills, I know exactly where she lives, what her house looks like, how long she's lived there, how much she paid for it and how much it's worth right now. Can anyone say underwater? But to her credit, who isn't underwater in this economy?

What's really weird is that I talked to the children tonight and nothing was mentioned about the nuptials. So either they don't know, even though everyone on facebook knows, or... they don't want to upset Mommy. Which really wouldn't upset me, other than me trying to figure out how to continue to be the stable person. Since their father can't really do it.  I won't even mention the picture of the children he posted on facebook of the girls blazing their middle fingers. Yes, that picture has already been placed on the very top of the "I-think-I-need-to-have-custody-all-of-the-time-because-you-are-too-incompetent-of-a-parent" file that may end up in Juvenile and Domestic Relations Court.

The saga continues... Stay tuned because this will surely get more interesting.

Frustrated

I am behind at work. Behind in my work load to the nth power. Okay, not that much, but definitely cubed. And that little bit of algebraic expression has taxed my mathematically retarded brain, so no more math stuff. I'm incredibly frustrated with work because I'm so behind, and when I'm out, no one really helps out. The work just piles up. After missing most of March due to other work stuff off-site, me having the flu, my older daughter being sick and both of my children having appointments scheduled at their various places at least once per week, I didn't have the courage to listen to my voice mails. The little red light on my phone keeps blinking ugly, mean blinks at me, but I just couldn't bear to listen. Because I write every message down and then log it elsewhere, and I work with people who will call me three and four times a day if they don't get an answer. No, I don't work with salesmen, though I could certainly see that correlation occurring. And no, I'm still not telling where I work and what I do. I will continue to be vague about that, because this is the www.place and who knows who is out there?

So yesterday I finally got up the courage to listen to my voice mails. I hadn't checked my voicemail since March 4th, and I really only checked it yesterday because someone told me they tried to call and leave me a message and instead got an automated message that said my voicemail was full.

127 voice mails.

Are you fucking kidding me?

And that's what was there. Who knows how many other people got the voicemail full message. So in about 37 days, because I get calls every day of the fucking week, even though I'm only there Monday through Friday, I figure that that's exactly 3.4 voice mails per day. Except it's not working out like that, because I'm down to about 79 at this point, and I'm only to the 17th of March. So, 127 - 79 equals 48 voice mails in 13 days. That's 3.6 voice mails per day.  Actually, this math isn't working out like I thought it would in my head, which really happens a lot. There's real math, and then there's Stephanie math. Stephanie math is fraught with illogical and nonsensical fantastical mathematical formulas that make complete sense when I am explaining them but then don't hold up when it goes on paper. I was thinking that my math above would work out to be about 11.87 voice mails per day in that 13 day period because that's sure as hell what it feels like when I'm listening to that shit.

I've stopped apologizing to people for not calling back for a month. I've learned if I don't offer an apology, then that puts the burden on them to comment on why I took so long to call back. Being that this is the South, I know that that's kind of tacky, and so most people won't ask why in the hell it took me a month to call them back. And if they do, I will sometimes give them a half-ass apology and tell them I've been out and I'm still catching up. Other times I will ignore the question and just move on with my side of the conversation. Customer service is not my forte, as you can probably tell.

So anyway, I've been behind for quite a while at work. I was last caught up at work in January of 2010. Seriously. I'm not kidding. Here's what happened.

January 2010 - Caught up with monthly workload. But uh-oh, I dropped the divorce bomb in the very end of the month.
February 2010 - My-marriage-is-ending-and-it's-all-my-fault guilt and excessive anxiety.
March 2010 - I need to find a house to move into and this motherfucker needs to give me my money from this house that I've spent nine years of paying half the mortgage. Did I mention there was a domestic disturbance call in the latter part of that month? Yeah, that will certainly mess with your productivity.
April 2010 -  House closing stuff, house moving stuff, house settling stuff, need to get the carpets replaced, need to call a contractor, need to get a plumber over here, need to wait for the cable guy. All of those were days off. Plus I took spring break to pack up the rest of my stuff and see exactly how high my level of hate for someone could actually spike.
May 2010 - Yes! Done with all of that moving stuff and now I can catch up! Yay me! Until May 4th, when another co-worker was reassigned to another unit and I had to pick up half of her workload. And her workload was in even worse shape than my workload. A mandatory holiday and furlough day don't help my situation.
June 2010 - They are going to hire someone to take the reassigned co-workers workload. But this is the guv, that will take at least four months.
July 2010 - I spent this month trying to figure out how to squeeze 60 hours worth of work into 40 hours. Worked late and gave the guv some of my time.
August 2010 - Oops, cheerleading starts and I'm coaching. How did that happen? Sorry, can't work late every fucking day anymore.
September 2010 - Oh, thank god, they've finally hired someone to take on this extra fucking workload that.is.killing.me. Oh, shit, the new co-worker doesn't start until October and then won't be done with training until late December. Absolutely no more working late because the children are with me full time again.
October 2010 - This new and untrained co-worker has most of the work dumped on him, although thanks to me most of it is straight. I don't even care if he gets some messed up stuff. Just get it off of me. Oh, and other co-worker goes out on early maternity leave due to life threatening pregnancy situation. Are you kidding me? Get some of her work. I feel sorry for ME. Plus, I did spend a fair amount of time checking my email and in-box from the dating site I joined.
November 2010 - Still laboring under excessive workload. Older daughter gets sick and I miss time for that, plus missing time for mandatory holidays of Veteran's Day and Thanksgiving.
December 2010 - Both children get sick, although not at the same time. Fuck! Mandatory holidays of Christmas and New Years. The holiday season always gives me something to blame. "How can I get all this done I'm off for all of these freaking holidays?" Have to leave early at least once a week for cheerleading practice and a couple of weeknight games.
January 2011 - Pregnant co-worker returns and I'm glad that baby is healthy because I need to get some of this extra work off of me. But I'm so behind I'm not sure where to start. More holidays. I am named employee of the quarter for the last quarter in 2010, except I know how behind I am with my work and feel guilty that I've just managed to bamboozle everyone and not actually earn it.
February 2010 - Gearing up for work-related non-profit stuff that I do. That's non-work at work, sanctioned by work.
March 2010 - Biggest month of the year for the non-profit. Miss a week of work for that, and then immediately get the flu. God, can you blame me? Miss another week of work for that. Thanks for helping me out while I was out for two weeks, co-workers. Not. Additionally, it seems like one of my children has a doctor's-dentists-orthodontist-psychologist appointment per week.
April 2011 - Older daughter gets sick, and I'm trying to wind up the non-profit stuff which is just really holding me up from doing real work for the people who actually pay me. My desk has a two and a half foot tall stack of shit on it, there are papers scattered on the floor and my office smells like ass and I don't know why. Maybe that's the scent of stale anxiety. I'm overrun by work and another co-worker tells me that my boss wants to take some of my easy work away from me (yay!) but I get more complex work in it's place (huh?) so they can give the easy work to someone who could probably do the complex work but she played the cutesy card. I hate myself for being overly competent and having standards for myself far above those outlined on my yearly evaluation.

Plus the work I've brought home on countless nights and weekends only to have it sit on the kitchen table untouched because I can't bear to actually do the work at home, and the fact that I'm on 24-hour call in one week increments every six weeks. Oh, and I've snuck in and worked on some weekends that I don't have the children and work late twice per month, maybe more if I can get my mom to babysit.

Did I mention I'm taking three and half days off next week for spring break next week?

And a quick list of words I am fucking sick and tired of hearing at work:

Training - I will sit for four to six hours in a classroom setting and learn absolutely nothing from someone who is not qualified to do my job. But they know everything.
Meeting - I will sit for one to three hours and discuss shit that will never change.
Task force - A higher level of a meeting, except you get a fancy report at the end of it.
Strategic planning -  I will sit around for two to three days and discuss shit that we'd like to change, but we know it won't.
Reception -  I will stand around for a period of time and eat niblets of food and discuss how we can really work hard to change things.
Evidence based - Some overly educated asshole has found research and statistics on the internet to prove their point. I bet the end result is that I won't do a goddamn thing differently, but I'll pretend to.
Organizational goals - Ummm, how about not sticking it to your really dedicated people so much?
Stakeholders - People who have a vested interest in whatever the project is, but couldn't do my job.
Human capital - Okay, this one is on the way out but it always pissed me off. I am not human money, so don't treat me like I am.
Merit raise - This hasn't happened since 1994, which I missed out on due to a 'little incident' at the place where I was working at the time.
Cost of living raise - Haven't had one of these since 2005-ish, and won't get one any time soon.
Reimbursement - What's that?
Management - Talking heads.

Oh my god, it's only Wednesday. I need to get laid and get some alcohol in me. And soon.

Reading and Softball

The TV moratorium continues. For the children. Not for Mommy. I got home this past Friday night and turned the TV on and sat blindly in front of it just trying to soak up as much mindless stupidity as possible, went over to Guy #1's house on Saturday and sat in front of his TV, and then came home and did it all over again at my house on Saturday night and most of Sunday, except for when I finally dragged my ass outside to cut the grass. I really don't mind cutting the grass, but that first cut in the spring is the hardest cut to make, because now I know it's on, at least until mid-September.  And last night? After the children went to bed? The TV was ON.

But the ban is working. I am seeing my children go back to normal childhood activities like playing outside in the yard, playing with Barbies, coloring and drawing, and reading. My younger daughter has suddenly developed a strong desire to be read to, and to try to read along with Mommy. My older daughter has started to make picking up a book an option now, and before the ban, it wasn't an option to her. And she's actually reading the book and not just staring at it like I suspected last week when this whole thing got started. I know this because she'll periodically read a sentence out loud and ask me if I think it's funny, or she'll have me come over to tell her what a word is. So the reading train is finally back on the right track.

I've told a lot of people about my decision for the family to say goodbye to television, and most of them have looked at me like I'm crazy, and The Ex asked if that was a little extreme, and for real, while it sounds extreme, it isn't. I've tried scaling back on television before, and it never worked. Because slowly, or sometimes quickly, the TV became a priority again and everything else fell by the wayside. Right back to square one. The other bonus is that they've stopped asking me for every dumb toy they see on all the commercials, which is awesome, especially for them because the answer was always a resounding NO.

I went to a softball game this evening, because Guy #1 officiates as his part-time summer job, and well, I figured I could sit on my ass and watch. I haven't been to a softball game since 1990 as a very best guess. I dated a guy while I was in high school who played for the fire department leagues and whatever kind of leagues they put together out in the country, but after we broke up, that was the end of me going to watch softball games. I never went to any of the softball games in high school because none of my friends played, and I didn't even remotely hang out with those girls. The girls who played softball were always the same girls who played volleyball, and we were not in same social strata. I never had any desire to play softball myself, because I might get dirt on me and I'm sorry, but softball uniforms are just ugly. There is no amount of hair spray, makeup and jewelry that can make a softball uniform cute. That, and I've always felt like softball was the seperate-but-not-equal counterpart of baseball. I'm sure it's not, and that softball and baseball have some differences, but I've always thought softball was just another term for bitchball. Needless to say, I've never been a big fan of softball, and when all of my previous workplaces put together teams to go and play other workplaces, I've been the first to pass. A big fat no-thank-you-and-don't-ask-me-again.

But this is one of those weeks that because of my work schedule, Guy #1's work schedule, and our respective schedules with our respective children, we will only get to see each other once or twice, for a few hours here or there. So I'll snag a couple of hours to go and watch a softball game if that's what it takes to end up in a cute little Mexican restaurant after it's all said and done. The game today was at a private Christian school, and my god, those girls need to do some praying. Because they sucked. I wanted to ask the coach of one of the teams if they had even practiced at all this season, what with their pitcher foul-walking (or whatever it's called) every girl who went up to bat. Holy fuck. I wanted to stand up, call a quick little time out and run over to The Ex's to get my younger daughter because she could play better than some of those kids. And she's never played softball before. Seriously, it was that painful to watch. The mind-numbing slowness of the game simply served to remind me that I hate softball and that Nascar is more of a sport than softball is. The team that was batting would line up behind the fence, waiting their turn to bat, and would sing these little cheer-chants together, I guess because they don't have cheerleaders. Nah, it was to psych the other team out, but really, I thought it was just rude. And with my one season of cheer coaching behind me, thus making me an *expert* on cheer chants, the little chants the girls were calling were really bad. Pray about that, too, girls. You all need skillz. Badly.

Next time I do this, probably within the next month or so, I'll be taking my folding chair and a book. Bleachers suck and there's no TV. But there is Guy #1, and that's why I'll go again.

Friday Night In My Head

A long week is done. The TV is on. Loudly. I am up late, sucking down Diet Pepsi and enjoying the weekend. As usual, lots of stupid thoughts in my head. And so, I shall share.

I had a great dinner tonight with Guy #1 at his workplace, except I didn't eat. I sat around with Guy #1 and his co-workers and marveled at the amount of food seven grown men can put away. I've promised to make them dinner sometime in the near future (read that as the next month or so) and I'm thinking I'll need to start saving up now. I didn't eat because I was still full from my late lunch, which was from my favoritist new upscale Mexican fast food joint, where you have many more choices than old run down Mexican fast food joint has ever provided. In fact, I don't ever go to the old place anymore unless I am dirt fucking broke and have no food at home. But anyway, I always get the three taco meal, and I SWEAR, no one (other than Guy #1) has ever really appreciated the humor of me telling the person fixing the tacos that I want two soft and one hard. Hard one in the middle, please. I really do this, every time I go to this place, and no one ever cracks a smile. Either I'm not the only almost middle aged woman rolling up in the place asking for two soft with one hard in the middle, or they just don't get it. I'm going to assume they just don't get it, but I'm going to keep at it, because that's my favorite meal and I am bound and fucking determined to get someone to crack a smile when I do that.

I have decided that life is so much more fun being sterilized. To all of you out there who have all the kids you need, or want, and haven't gotten sterilized yet, for god's sake, get it done. To hell with ongoing birth control. Just make it permanent and don't look back. Yet another post-separation decision that was THE BEST EVER.

I realized tonight that I haven't gotten shitfaced in quite a while. I got a nasty little buzz on New Year's Eve that had me feeling like I was in sugar shock for about fifteen minutes (and I had to go lay down for a few minutes), but I think that might have been the three or so jello shots I did right behind a half a bottle of wine. Maybe I should make sure the jello shots are sugar free next time, or maybe I should spend the day hydrating with lots of water and not diet soda before I drink. I haven't gotten throw-up drunk in years, 2008 or 2009-ish, and that was in my own car. Watch out if I've got your cell number, because I'm a drunk dialer. My eyes are so bad that I can barely see when I'm sober that I won't be texting you. I will be calling you and it will be just like my blog has come to life and is babbling about nothing at all. If I can't manage to tie one on before summer time, I am there the week (or day) after the children move back to The Ex's house in early June.

It looks like there might not be a government shut down after all. Has anyone else ever noticed this only happens when there is a Democratic President in office? Just like state guv lay offs only happen when there is a Democratic governor in office? Whatever. Either way, furloughs and layoffs suck. A lot of us work for the government because we can't do our professions in the private sector and we're pretty damn good at what we do, and we like what we do. We also sacrifice making good money because we want a stable retirement plan and affordable health insurance, especially those of us who want to get sterilized for a $100 copay. I haven't gotten a raise in five years and I won't get one anytime in the future. I will get a five percent raise this year that will immediately be taken from me to off-set the increase in retirement that the General Assembly decided I need to start chipping in on. I was furloughed for one day last last year, and my grand plan of laying in the bed all day long reading and sleeping was cockblocked by my older daughter getting sick at school. Since I pretty much live paycheck to paycheck (being that I work for the guv), I was grateful it was just one day. Now if we could just tap into our national reserves of oil and get the damn gas prices down, things might start to return to normal. Personally, I am not that concerned about the permafrost or the caribou, because I am too far removed, and I'm pretty sure the next time I pull up to the gas station there's not going to be a caribou there to insert his credit card in the slot for me. Nor will Father Permafrost be there to lend a hand.

I'm watching Three Kings right now, which I think is a great movie. I absolutely love military and war movies, mostly because I've decided that they just reek of testosterone. In fact, the testosterone just kind of wafts right out of the TV into my brain, and that makes me love men even more. I was trying to explain to Guy #1 a couple of days ago what an incredible bitch I used to be, and he asked me what had changed. I couldn't really answer then because I didn't know. I've thought about it and I've realized that it's because I'm not living with a complete dick, and I'm getting a regular dosage of testosterone in my life that's apparently just the right combination for my personality. Which might just be the first time in my adult life, and that's certainly a new experience for me. A good experience. Big shout out to Guy #1 for having that perfect hormonal-chemical combination. Note to Guy #1, ff you will just pop a war movie into the DVD instead of a romantic comedy (which I hate), you will see what can happen to me when testosterone wafts out of the TV and enters my hormonal receptors. It's like what porn does to guys.

A totally relaxing weekend, or it better fucking be. I need the courage to make it through to the first weekend of June, when I will send my children off to live with their father for the summer. It was giving me mad anxiety last month, and now I'm ready for my summer of not so much responsibility. I know the anxiety will come back, but at this moment tonight, I'm ready for my summer.

Blah Blah Blah

That's me tonight. Blah blah blah, because writing in my blog will help me to procrastinate better when it comes to paying my bills. This is more fun, anyway. Day two of the TV ban, and I'm not jonesing quite as bad as I was yesterday. Not quite, but almost. Fuck. I am glad my children will be at their father's house this weekend, because I need some mindless Cake Boss in my head. Since I haven't been able to either make it work at all for part of the month (thanks conference, flu, and strep throat) or make it to work on time or work an entire day (thanks orthodontist, dentist, child psychologist, and after school arts program), I had planned on working late tomorrow night to try to make up for some of that time, and besides, Guy #1 has to work tomorrow night, so I might as well be productive at work, too. But now... I'm thinking I am going to come home and lay my ass right on the sofa with remote in hand. Even if I haven't read that much this week, I've written some, and that counts, right?

Mrs. Second Grade Teacher sent extra homework home with the older daughter today, and gave us the whole weekend to get it done. Yay! So now I can send that homework over to her father's house where it won't get done. And we will get to do tons of homework on Sunday night. Really, I need to figure out where this woman lives and go shit on her front porch. Seriously. With copious amounts of liquor this can happen. Actually, I'm such a lightweight these days it would only take a couple of shots. And I would do it naked, too, because liquor makes me take off my clothes. This would go back to why I'm a lightweight, which is because I've learned that I can't just be randomly getting drunk and undressing. And the whole stretch mark thing.

I am also now annoyed with Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher, because I paid money to get a class photo of the younger daughter's class. Pictures came home this week and the older daughter got her class photo, but nothing for the younger daughter. I very nicely wrote a note to Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher and asked her to send the class photo home this evening in the bookbag. I get home, open the bookbag and nothing. No class photo and no return note. Unorganized bitch. As I was writing the note this morning, I wondered if Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher and Mrs. Second Grade Teacher are friends, but decided they can't be lunch buddies because they go to lunch at different times, unless Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher goes down to the Teacher's Lounge to eat lunch during kindergarten resource time, which is probably pretty close to second grade lunch period. The intricacies of being a bitch to one teacher without it rubbing off on her teacher friends is working out to be somewhat complicated. At any rate, if I don't get a class photo after tomorrow, then I will be moving Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher up on my shit list.

My shit list, you might ask? Ahhhh, the ever-evolving shit list. Currently, here are the standings. If I were a math geek and could keep track of all of my shittiest interactions, I would attach some statistics to this, but I took remedial math all the way through college, so there won't be any statistics. Here goes:

1. Mrs. Second Grade Teacher - have you read my blog?
2. The Ex - just general principle on this one.
3. My former neighbors, but not my Other Mother - imagine me singing the word assholes, because that's how I like to describe them. The Ex and the next door husband had hooked up routers and connected to each other's Limewires a few years ago, and so we could see what each other was downloading. The Ex and I were downloading music and concert videos (U2 at Red Rock is THE BEST!) but the husband next door? Porn, porn and more porn. What a freak show. I came to the conclusion that he.does.not.get.any.ass. which I thought was awesome, because if I were that guy's wife, I wouldn't give him any either. I am NONE TOO HAPPY that The Ex has arranged for the children to have a slumber party as their house tomorrow night because he's got some stupid band thing. Way to arrange your life around your children, dickface. I am confident the band thing will end up being gay and at the end of the night, after a successful set list and a bunch of half-drunk forty-something women panting all over The Ex, he and I will both know his dick is still small and he won't take his cholesterol medication. Okay, that even made me laugh.
4. A couple of people at work I don't like who won't quit sending me emails about shit I haven't taken care of. Really, the more you bug me the longer it's going to take me.
5. The elementary school room mothers for both of my daughters - Would you please stop being so fucking chipper. It's grating.
6. YMCA summer camp people - I am still pissed off from last summer. It's a slow burn.
7. Estranged family members - I suppose they wouldn't be on my shit list if they weren't estranged, now would they?
8. Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher - Either I need a class photo pronto or my eleven dollars back. That eleven dollars can buy me 2.3 gallons of gas, dammit. She might still be mad that I pretty much ran her off the road a couple of months ago, but jesus, lady, learn how to merge. It didn't help that my younger daughter was in the backseat frantically waving at her as I saw her out of the corner of my eye white knuckling her steering wheel as she was forced onto the side of the road.

And there we have it. Today's shit list. I wish I could figure out how to do the little up and down arrows beside each one, like they do on the music charts in magazines and such. Maybe I'll make this a weekly thing. Or maybe not. I'll probably forget in a week, or maybe next week I'll do the Not Shit List.

What Did I Do?

Oh my god. My brain is aching. I need some TV sounds in my head. A mere 24 hours since I imposed The Moratorium and I'm freaking dying here. This no TV thing might just be harder on me than it is on the children, but dammit, if I am going to force them to go cold turkey I guess I have to do it too.

We came home this evening and the girls elected to play outside while I got dinner ready. Awesome. They weren't all up under my feet arguing who's turn it was to stir. I enjoyed the sounds of childish laughter floating in through the front door, and I was glad that they were outside doing something halfway creative like creating an obstacle course in the driveway. I looked out at them at one point and the older daughter was teaching the younger daughter how to hold a bat. And they were getting along, which was even more amazing. I'll assume they decided to become one in their loss of the box that fills their head with complete shit.

I explained over dinner that this isn't a punishment, but this is us making a decision to live a better life. They both looked at me doubtfully, and I thought to myself, fuck, I don't even believe that drivel. And then I said that when the reading improves, then I'll look at maybe watching a very little bit of TV. The younger daughter pointed out that she can't read yet. I told her that she'll be learning soon and that's more important than watching TV. The older daughter asked if I was still going to watch TV. I told them, no, I'm not going to watch TV in front of them. And I'm not. But I am sure as hell going to watch it when they aren't here and when they're sleeping. Then they asked about Survivor, which we usually watch on demand on Friday nights. I said that if I thought the reading and school work had improved, maybe, just maybe, we could watch it next Friday night on demand. What I didn't tell them is that I plan to watch it this Friday night on demand because I can't wait until next Friday night. Then they asked if they could still watch TV at The Ex's house, and smiled sneaky little smiles at each other when I explained that was up to their father. Whatever. The children are with me for the majority of the time, until the summer, and we're not going to watch TV. Even if it kills me. And I am thinking tonight it's going to kill me.

As the evening wore on and we did homework and read, I felt the urge to hear the electronic voices drifting out of the TV, now shuttered in the entertainment center. I could feel the magnetic pull of the TV, calling me, Steph... Steph... turn me on. Did I mention I've got a headache now, probably from resisting the call of HGTV, the Food Network, Bravo, Style, Tru, Discovery, even Anderson Cooper? I'm fucking dying here. But I can do this. One day at a time. I have to be the one to be firm on this, dammit, since I imposed The Moratorium. The Ban.

The book the children selected to read tonight, before we got started with homework? Of all the books in the house, they wanted to read the Bible. Oh my god. Are you kidding me? Their father would be so proud and I could hear his passive-aggressive comment about maybe Mommy could learn something by reading the Bible. I could hear this because I actually have heard this before. But I sucked it up, because reading is reading at this point. I'm not going to be choosy about what they read. My younger daughter had to stop in the middle and say a prayer about Noah and the rain. I opened one eye and watched her during the prayer and didn't even know what to think, other than the church stuff The Ex is doing with the children on his weekends must really be sticking.

Reading is reading. This what I'm trying to remember.

Mommy Is Not Happy

Sooooo.... Mommy is not a happy camper tonight. After yet another painful bout of reading with the older daughter, the top of Mommy's head blew off and Mommy took TV away forever. Well, probably not forever, but for the long and forseeable future. That's it! I'm done! There is no more TV in this house, girls! If you get bored and don't have anything to do, READ A FREAKING BOOK!

I should have done this months ago, if not years ago. But I was being lazy, and I blame myself for that. I should have set the priorities a long time ago, and I failed on that. Well, as of tonight, my children can consider their extracurricular activities re-prioritized by me. I've been getting sick of the sound of the TV always being on, other than when we're doing homework and eating, and I'm most certainly sick of the bullshit advertising and the stupid programming. The programming that never says, "Hey, kids, how about you turn the fucking TV off and read a book?" I am sick of at least one child asking every thirty minutes, "Hey, Mommy, can you buy us... Hey, Mommy, can we have.... Mommy, will you get us..." Sick of it, just simply sick and tired of it.

I know that if I don't get this whole reading thing under control now, it's not going to get better next year. In fact, it will get worse, because next year the work will be harder and the reading more complicated, and I'm sorry, but either of my children failing a grade is not an option. Simply, just not an option. Not for me and not for them. If they fail, it's not going to be because TV was the priority. It's going to be for some legitimate reason. Like some kind of learning disability the school system has failed to properly diagnose. But that's a whole other topic.

As my older daughter was laboring through her word list tonight, I was sitting there beside her, halfway tuned out, looking at my bookshelves with all of my favorite books that have been toted around Prospect, Farmville, the southside of Richmond, Glen Allen and two seperate places in Midlothian. Reading isn't my escape, necessarily, but it's certainly my first love. I was reading Stephen King in seventh grade, sitting up late on school nights in my closet with a flashlight, and by tenth grade I was reading James Clavell and I even gave The Gulag Archipelago a go. Didn't finish it, but I thought it was pretty commendable that I gave it an honest effort at the age of 15. I never shied away from literature classes in college, and even went so far as to take an African Literature class at VCU so I would get to read some stuff that wasn't even near my radar. On the weekends when the children are with their father, and I'm not getting laid, I will sometimes go over to Barnes and Noble and wander for hours, and read little blurbs here and there. When I go to someone's house, I always look at their bookshelves to see what we have in common, and to see if they've got any good recommendations. Right now, I'm reading books on love languages (a relationship book, not a book about THE love languages), the effects of social media and marketing on children (hmmmm), a fictionalized book about Mary, Queen of Scots, and the same damn Clive Cussler book I've been working on for about six months. And a whole bunch of articles on the internet, and a few magazines I've stolen from the various doctor's waiting rooms I've been in (National Geographic, Richmond Family, Garden & Gun, Virginia Living), plus a book on motivational interviewing I'm working on sometimes at work when I eat my lunch, AND Wikipedia.

Not loving to read and not having an appreciation for the written word is not an option for my children. Simply, just not an option. And so, until I've determined that we've moved our reading skills along to the next level, or a point where I am satisfied, there's no more TV. Hell, maybe the TV will just stay off forever. For them. When they're awake. I still need to watch The Real Housewives and Survivor. But for my children, the TV is OFF. Closed up in the entertainment center so they won't be tempted. I am looking forward to the silence, and the sounds of puzzles being constructed on the kitchen table, the sounds of Barbies being played with in bedrooms, and the sounds of pages of books being turned. I should have done this months ago, but it's done now. Let the reading begin.

Somethin' Is A Brewin'

Home with my older daughter today, who has strep throat. Again. This is the third time since November, and quite frankly, I'm over it. I've had enough of this shit, and I'm pretty damn sure my boss has had enough of it, too. Not only have I been out with my older daughter who has been sick at least four times (three with strep, once with the flu and once with some other mystery shit), but I've been out with my younger daughter and with me. Can I please just go to work and work a whole month without having to take time off for a doctor's appointment, dentist appointment, therapist's appointment, parent-teacher conference or to pick up from an after school program? Apparently not. This is what I get for being so smugly satisfied with myself the last couple of years for my kids not being sick all the time and for feeling superior in that Appalachian Aryan kind of way always bragging about how my kids just don't get sick that often.

After I got the kids to bed last night, I realized there were two episode of The Real Housewives of Orange County coming on, and even though I'd seen one of them before, I watched it again just to make sure I hadn't missed anything. I am addicted to the whole Real Housewives franchise, with the exception of Atlanta because they are just too damn ghetto, and Miami. I don't get the whole Little Havana thing. I'm still waiting for The Real Housewives of West Virginia. Attention Andy Cohen! America wants to see hillbilly gone upscale. If there is a man for this, I know you are. Come on, man! Give us something!

But that's not going to happen and I know it, you know it and Andy himself knows it. I don't even know why I like these shows, other than it's a glimpse into how a tiny sliver of America's bell curve lives, which is nothing at all like my life. I can't fathom Botox and boob jobs, and haven't driven a new car since 2003. When the car was new. I could use a little Botox and a boob lift, but that's not really a good way to spend the money I don't have. I'm also not a size -3 and I don't have blond hair. These women have more drama in their otherwise largely useless lives, and their careers either involve nothing or designing handbags. I suppose I watch these shows to be grateful for the relatively simple life that I have. Even when The Ex calls the insurance company to report that a bill arrived at his house for me and I don't live there any more, like he did with my almost estranged aunt (but then didn't bother to call me to tell me), I just have to roll with it. No agonizing over it with three of my best frenemies and some Cristal. I simply just made up for it when the dentist's office called my house for him this morning and I very politely told the receptionist that he didn't need their services anymore because all of his teeth had fallen out of his head. I've actually decided the next time someone calls me for him and then wants his contact information, I am very kindly going to tell them that he's listed on the Douchebag Network and let them figure it out from there

This whole Real Housewives, thing, though. This is not a slice of real America, and this is not a slice of what a real, honest-to-God American housewife looks like. This is America on Xanax, expensive hair coloring solutions, rejuvenation therapies or whatever that shit is, America with one nanny because they had to cut back from three nannies, America in an McMansion and a Bentley. Sorry, but a vast majority of us don't live like that, and honestly, I don't think I'd want to. There is an argument for living a more simplistic life when you just don't have any fucking money. I realized today that I need to buying my gas at Sheetz and my cigarettes at WaWa, not the other way around, and now that gas has gotten so high, I have an excuse for not buying anything for my children, other than the shit they need. And really, why the fuck aren't we tapping into the national reserves? I don't give a rat's ass about the caribou, because the caribou aren't going to put any gas in my car. I also don't really care about the permafrost. Let's just get the gas prices back down, please.

I mentioned months before that like everyone else, The Great American Novel is living in my head, but I can't do anything with it yet because I haven't lived enough of my life. But I'm toying with a serialized fiction kind of thing, maybe just put it on the blog once a week or something. I never fancied myself a fiction writer, but I suppose I can make up lies and put it on paper. Not to diss anyone who is a fiction writer, but that's kind of what it is. Creatively, of course. But this would be a huge departure from what I've got now, which is just autobiographical bitching and generalized snark. I mean, let's just call it what it is. But anyway, I'm thinking about the format, the content, how I would split it up, how I would title it on the blog, if it would be first person, second person, eighth person, whatever. I'm thinking about my favorite authors and what I don't like about their writing and what I do like. I'm thinking is this just for me to do for me or is this me to do for other people? Personally, I don't think writing to an audience works well, because you end up trying too hard for people who will just criticize.... So, maybe I'll come up with something and maybe I won't. Maybe this is the beginnings of something interesting or maybe this is me just being at home yet again, bored out of my mind with a sick child. Stay tuned.

Technology Is A Bitch

When I was little, there was no cable TV. There were three channels in the Richmond area on VHF, and then a couple of channels on UHF. If you wanted to change the channel, you got up from the sofa and walked to the TV and turned the dial to whichever of the ten numbers that was on the dial, and then you sat back down and watched the TV show. Most everyone had an antennae attached to the roof of their house so that they could catch the VHF waves floating through the air, and maybe if the weather was just right, you could get a UHF channel on a good day. ABC, CBS and NBC were VHF channels and FOX (before it was FOX) and PBS were the UHF channels, which meant they didn't get much viewing.

Cable came to the Richmond area when I was in third grade, and I remember the girl next door got cable. There was a box about the size of a small shoe box attached to a cord that ran to the box on top of the TV, and there were buttons on the box. This was how you changed the channels, and as long as you didn't trip over the cable running from the box on the TV to the channel changer, you were good. Even then, if I recall, there were only about thirty channels to chose from, and some of those were New York or Chicago stations, so if you got tired of watching the Richmond news, you could quickly switch over to a Chicago channel and watch the news. Then you would just be grateful you didn't live in Chicago.

There were no cell phones. I remember watching Charlie's Angels and such when I was little and they had car phones. There was a box between the front bucket seats, or built into the lower console under the dash, and the phone was corded and ran into the box. Logically, this didn't make sense to me, because there was no cord running out of the car into a phone outlet anywhere, but that's Hollywood for you. The Six Million Dollar Man was never logical, either, but that's a whole other topic. And when I was in high school, Miami Vice burst upon the television, and we all learned that car phones looked like long narrow shoe boxes that didn't need cords. The beginning of the cordless phone, at least in my consciousness.

We all had record players and tape players, and if you were really, really cool, you had a boom box with a double tape deck where you could copy tapes that you borrow from your friends, or *even* make a mix tape for the guy you were "going with". Which makes me wonder if kids even call it that anymore? What's it called now? I remember those little notes that would get passed over in between classes, or would travel from one pubescent hand to the next until it made it to your hand, that would say, "Will you go with me?" And the excitement in the girls bathroom between classes when you would tell anyone who was there to listen and sneak a cigarette, "So-and-so asked me to go with him!!!" Because the only thing left to do was nurture that relationship through hand-holding in the school auditorium, necking in the corner at school dances and make that budding relationship last long enough to get The Class Ring. The Class Ring, to be immediately wrapped with tape so it would fit snugly on your forefinger and sported about. Every girl was sure The Class Ring would immediately be followed by The Engagement Ring, and a few were. None of mine were, and that's fine. I'm where I am because those incredibly intense teenage relationships weren't meant to be, though some have worked out to be incredibly endearing and comforting friendships.

Anyway... technology. I got started on this whole thing because I'm trying to link my damn blog up with my damn page on facebook. I've got the little like button on the side bar of the blog, and I thought that if you clicked the like button it would immediately transfer over to my facebook page, and it would just all be linked together in some mysterious and awesome technological way. Um, it has not worked out like that. For real, when it comes to technology, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I have no idea, and I'm frustrated by that. It should work on the computer like I have it worked out in my head. Because how I have it worked out is really so much easier than the computer is making it. Fucking technology. So if you like my stuff, and really, who doesn't?, then check out my page on facebook and HELP ME GET MORE THAN EIGHT FREAKING FANS.

More Sick

Holy god, can I go for just one month without someone getting sick? Literally. Just one freaking month. I sent the children over to my mother's house last night so I could get up and go to work this morning for several hours. I got delayed by Guy #1 this morning and finally rolled downtown around noon-ish. And guess the fuck what? I didn't have my keys to get in the goddamn building. Can you say annoyed? Guy #1 said this was my sign that I wasn't supposed to be at work today anyway, and that I was supposed to be with him.

Made it happen. And then my mother called. The older daughter is complaining about pain in her leg, running a fever and has been sleeping for the last three hours. Huh? She just had the flu three freaking weeks ago. How is this happening again? The pain in the leg made me suspicious, and what with me having just a little tiny bit of hypochondria running through my veins, I have already determined that she needs a full body MRI to rule out... cancer. Because everything is cancer or the beginnings of it when your father dies from Stage IV cancer three and a half weeks after receiving the initial diagnosis. The only trick here is figuring out how to manipulate the pediatrician into ordering this without them first trying to have me committed for Munchhausen's. I really think the medical system should work for me, and that would mean that the doctors just write out the orders for the tests I want done. There's a way to make this happen, but it takes a lot of time and research. I know this because my younger daughter started laser surgeries with a pediatric plastic surgeon specializing in cranio-facial abnormalities when she was two and a half months old. ME making the medical system work for ME. And yeah, the younger daughter did actually need the surgeries.

So I guess I'll be out of work AGAIN tomorrow, which really pisses me off especially since I was at work today and couldn't get into the freaking building. I'm going to have to get a doctor's note for this one because there is no way my boss is going to believe me when I call in in the morning and tell her that I need to be out yet again. I suppose that I need to get the children to actually start taking those vitamins, though I'm a larger proponent of just letting their little immune systems try to fight most of this stuff off, because it's my largely ignorant opinion that that's how we will ultimately live stronger. And hopefully living stronger will lead to longer and better. Who knows? I just want to go a month without having to worry about a sick child and worry about having to call in again. Or at least save the sickness for when they are with their father so he can figure this shit out. Truly, though, I don't want them to get sick when they are with him because he's such a child he always calls me to tell him what to do. I just hope that whatever she's got I don't get again. I can't be that sick again for at least another decade.

More Updates

The overgrown mutant gerbil I've been dog sitting has gone home. Can I get a hallelujah? It's been a trying week of dog sitting, what with the dog coming over here for the week right after I had the flu and was still trying to put myself back together. No more accidents in the house, and she didn't even use the little potty pads in her pen when she was cooped up during the day, thus proving to the dog's owner that the dog is house broken, but apparently only at my house. What I think I have discovered about that, though, is that yay! The dog didn't shit in the house. Boo! Now I have dog shit in my yard. The disgusting thought that came out of this realization is that if the dog shits in the house, which I obviously did not encourage, is that the shit would get cleaned up and go right into the toilet, thus saving my yard from having dog shit in it. I figured I'm screwed either way, because somewhere on my property there would be dog shit. I swear cats are so much easier. The other benefit to the dog being gone is that when I'm trying to get my swerve on with Guy #1, the dog won't be trying to jump up onto the bed to see what's going on. Animals are horrible about that stuff. Anyone who has ever been goosed on the ass by a cold dog nose whilst doing s.t.u.f.f. can feel me on this.

My older daughter got another year long pass from the orthodontist the other day. I'm relieved, because I sure as hell don't have the money to pay for orthodontics right now. The x-rays were clearer than last years, and we can see that she has all of her top permanent teeth in place, though still in her jaw, as they haven't erupted yet. The bad news is that she is most definitely missing four bottom adult molars, two on each side. This means that she will need to keep her baby molars for her entire life. I don't know of anyone who has kept any of their baby teeth their whole life. The orthodontist says that since there are no teeth under them pushing them out of the way, it shouldn't be a problem. But what if those teeth loosen up somehow and she loses them? Not a prob, says the orthodontist. We can do implants! Holy $$$$$$! I'm thinking when this whole orthodontic thing is over with, however many years down the road that might be, I might see if they can just put caps on those baby molars in some kind of an attempt to save her from implants. That and she'll really have to steer clear of bulimia. The diet that will FUCK YOUR TEETH UP. I've heard that anorexics hold themselves to be above bulimics because they have more self control about dysfunctional eating and diets, and thus have better teeth. That they don't use. Because they don't eat. Whew. Enough of that sidebar. Other than I could probably use a week or two of anorexia myself.

We've got somewhat of a busy weekend coming up. The younger daughter is starting gymnastics class tomorrow. The Famed Richmond Gymnastics Place we were going to couldn't honor their own schedule and I demanded that The Ex get his money back so we could go to the New Upstart Gymnastics Place that is slowing taking away talent and business from the Famed Richmond Gymnastics Place.

When The Ex and I had our older daughter, like all first children, she was magical. Truly the most magnificent baby that ever walked the face of the earth. She was just the best baby ever, other than those long crying jags because I didn't know what in the fuck I was doing with her, but other than that, just the best baby ever. And yeah, I know everyone thinks that, but it was true for me. The best baby ever. When I got pregnant with the younger daughter, I have conflicting visions of the younger daughter being just like the older daughter, but just a smaller version with a different name, and then I worried that my younger daughter would never measure up to this most perfect child I already had. Good grief, was I wrong. I continue to be amazed at my younger daughter, even though I don't mention her as much as the older daughter. She has the magical ability to watch something once or twice and then make it happen. She is one of those strange children who seems to excel at most of what she does with minimal effort. She can out argue me, and her logical skills are that of an adult. I'm no slacker in the logic department, but there have been times when we've had a discussion about something and I'm left, mouth agape, trying to figure out how a five year old just out-thought me. This is going to be the child that gives me HELL when she reaches the teenage years.

So gymnastics for the younger daughter tomorrow. She's never taken gymnastics, but considering that she taught herself how to do cartwheels when she was three gives me comfort that she'll adapt just fine. The older daughter has her Tumbling for Cheer class tomorrow immediately after the younger daughter's class. This is my child who isn't so coordinated, and I am beginning to wonder if I shouldn't just scrap the whole sports thing and just put her in art, because while she doesn't seem to be athletically inclined, she is most certainly artistically inclined. Part of our weekend activities include going over to one of the county high schools to see one of her pieces of artwork that was selected for an art show. Of course, of course, of course that meant that I emailed everyone in the family to come out and see it. I thought I was doing an absolute awesome job of making a big stink out of it, and come to find out, my older daughter is not so impressed with me doing that. She's almost kind of embarrassed, and I'm not sure if it's because she's got some semblance of humility or because she's just getting to that age of girlhood where I am not cool anymore. Whatever. I told her to just suck it up and be the center of attention. I'm pretty sure it won't kill her.

Mrs. Second Grade Teacher did not make me happy yesterday when we spoke on the phone. I am sick of this woman blaming everything that my daughter does wrong on my daughter, and when she told me that my older daughter can't write in complete sentences, I said (and this is no joke) in a rather nasty tone of voice, "Well, then, I guess the real question is if she can't write in complete sentences, what have you been doing all year? Here it is the end of March, and if you're telling me she can't write in complete sentences, then what have you been doing?" So, yeah, that conversation did not go well for either of us. After a highly unproductive phone call, I then placed a call to the Assistant Principal to schedule a meeting with her. It's not like anyone is going to do anything, but at least I can levy my complaints to someone. Haven't heard back yet from the message I left. I came to the conclusion today that my real issue with Mrs. Second Grade Teacher is that with every issue surrounding my daughter, and with every problem I've had with this teacher, what I can't stomach is the fact that I hardly ever hear this woman say anything positive about my child. I hear a whole lot of "She can't... She won't... She doesn't... She is not...." Okay, I am sick and fucking tired of this uninspirational woman. I am sick of her blaming my daughter for what my daughter can't do or doesn't do or won't do and for what I am clearly marking as Mrs. Second Grade Teacher's failures. Quite frankly, I don't know anyone who is going to give their absolute best effort to an asshole. My marriage would be an excellent example of this. And, no, I wasn't the asshole in the marriage. I've come to the conclusion that the problem is not my daughter, and it's not that I've had to push her through second grade, because she knows the material. And she can write in complete sentences, you fat, old bitch. The problem is Mrs. Second Grade Teacher, and I feel sorry for all of the other students she will most likely blame. Nine more weeks and the hell of second grade will be over. I guess I can chalk this year up as a learning experience of how to deal with a really shitty uninspirational teacher. Who won't get a present at the end of the year.

Saturday night the children and I will go to my mother's for them to spend the night. I had planned on watching the VCU game at my mother's with the children, because we've talked about all week and I, for one, am excited. But then my older daughter said she'd rather watch the Kid's Choice Awards, which come on an hour after the VCU game. So... I might just be coming home. Sunday morning - Guy #1. Nuff said. Late Sunday morning into Sunday afternoon, work. At work. I'm still trying to catch up after one wasted week at a conference and the next week out sick with the flu. I haven't gotten permission to actually go to work on Sunday, but fuck it. It'll only make my boss look good that she has such dedicated employees who work on Sundays. I won the office popularity contest, I mean employee of the quarter, in January and now I've got this overwhelming obsession to work my ass off to prove that it wasn't a popularity contest after all.

And after that, Monday. Back to the routine. I'm tired and getting burnt out on school shit. Even though I feel just the teensy bit panicky at the thought of my kids going back to The Ex in early June, I'm also ready for a break. I love my kids with all I've got, but I'm ready to just listen to silence for a few months.