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!
Showing posts with label cheerleading. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cheerleading. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
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.
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, 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!
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Summertime
Well, summer has come and almost gone. I took a long hiatus from my blog because I just had to step back, get myself together and breathe. I was such a nervous wreck in the few weeks before and after my children left for the summer that it was all I could do to just get up and pretend I was fine. And now, I've blinked, and summer will be over before I know it. Okay, not actually over-over, but I consider summer to be over when they move back home with me for the school year. Which will occur in exactly 17 days. So I have exactly 17 days to get everything else done this summer that I have been planning to do.
Here's my list:
1. Get my kitchen painted, stuff hung up on the walls and a window treatment up. Check. It felt really good to get a lot of my artwork out of my closet and hung up in the kitchen. And voila! I love my kitchen even more than ever!
2. Get my bathroom painted, tile around the top of the shower stall, and install new hardware. Did not happen, and it's not going to until next summer.
3. Paint Guy #1's daughter's bedroom in his house, put up new window treatments and try to help her get organized. Not done to my satisfaction, but she seems to like it and I've decided I'm just not going to agonize over a bedroom that's not even in my house. So check mark on that one.
4. Buy a hood vent for my kitchen and get it installed. The fact that I have live wires protruding from the wall in the cabinet over the stove makes me feel something like a cross between an idiot and a daredevil every time I stick my hand up there. But no, the hood vent has not been purchased, namely because it costs more than $26.79 at Home Depot. Maybe a winter project.
5. Replace tile back splash in the kitchen behind the stove where some previous resident removed the microwave shelf over the stove (that probably wasn't to code anyway). Nope. Next summer.
6. Get my porch railing replaced and painted. Check mark on the replacement, half a check mark on the painting. The whole thing has one coat on it, and goddammit, I'm just not going to paint outside when it's 300 degrees. And I'm not going to pay someone to do it. So maybe a check mark minus.
7. Power wash deck and front porch and stain. Nope and nope, but I've got the name of a guy who does a buddy's cul-de-sac and I am going to give him a call. The fact that his business name is "Yellaboy's Powerwashing" makes me wonder how much jail time this cat has done, but whatever, I need my shit washed. If he's licensed and insured, he's in!
8. Go somewhere, like the beach. Nope and it's not going to happen. Guy #1 invited me to the beach in May, but it was my last week with my kids and sorry, but I just couldn't blow my last week off with them to go to the beach. I had hoped we could maybe sneak off for a few days here or there... but it didn't happen. I'm not even going to lie and say I'm not disappointed.
9. Lots of sleepovers with Guy #1 and going out, having fun, drinking a little wine... Yeah, no. This is what happens when you have kids living with you. I have 17 days to get this accomplished. Obviously, this is not going to happen. Maybe next year, maybe not.
So that's what I've gotten done this summer. A fair amount of shit around my house has gotten done, and I think I'm ready for my kids to come home. I'm tired of sitting around. Time for cheerleading and football.
Here's my list:
1. Get my kitchen painted, stuff hung up on the walls and a window treatment up. Check. It felt really good to get a lot of my artwork out of my closet and hung up in the kitchen. And voila! I love my kitchen even more than ever!
2. Get my bathroom painted, tile around the top of the shower stall, and install new hardware. Did not happen, and it's not going to until next summer.
3. Paint Guy #1's daughter's bedroom in his house, put up new window treatments and try to help her get organized. Not done to my satisfaction, but she seems to like it and I've decided I'm just not going to agonize over a bedroom that's not even in my house. So check mark on that one.
4. Buy a hood vent for my kitchen and get it installed. The fact that I have live wires protruding from the wall in the cabinet over the stove makes me feel something like a cross between an idiot and a daredevil every time I stick my hand up there. But no, the hood vent has not been purchased, namely because it costs more than $26.79 at Home Depot. Maybe a winter project.
5. Replace tile back splash in the kitchen behind the stove where some previous resident removed the microwave shelf over the stove (that probably wasn't to code anyway). Nope. Next summer.
6. Get my porch railing replaced and painted. Check mark on the replacement, half a check mark on the painting. The whole thing has one coat on it, and goddammit, I'm just not going to paint outside when it's 300 degrees. And I'm not going to pay someone to do it. So maybe a check mark minus.
7. Power wash deck and front porch and stain. Nope and nope, but I've got the name of a guy who does a buddy's cul-de-sac and I am going to give him a call. The fact that his business name is "Yellaboy's Powerwashing" makes me wonder how much jail time this cat has done, but whatever, I need my shit washed. If he's licensed and insured, he's in!
8. Go somewhere, like the beach. Nope and it's not going to happen. Guy #1 invited me to the beach in May, but it was my last week with my kids and sorry, but I just couldn't blow my last week off with them to go to the beach. I had hoped we could maybe sneak off for a few days here or there... but it didn't happen. I'm not even going to lie and say I'm not disappointed.
9. Lots of sleepovers with Guy #1 and going out, having fun, drinking a little wine... Yeah, no. This is what happens when you have kids living with you. I have 17 days to get this accomplished. Obviously, this is not going to happen. Maybe next year, maybe not.
So that's what I've gotten done this summer. A fair amount of shit around my house has gotten done, and I think I'm ready for my kids to come home. I'm tired of sitting around. Time for cheerleading and football.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Back On Track
Okay, so I am really trying to pull myself away from The Ex bashing track I was headed down last week. I took uber aunt's words to heart and am really trying to pull myself together.
But let me first offer an explanation. Last week was really hard for me. It was an impossible week that just wouldn't end, and... I had not seen enough of Guy #1. Vertically or horizontally, which can end up with me being a really hateful person. I got called out at work on Wednesday for something I neglected to do, and got myself all in a dither about that, but then when my boss (who did not do the calling out) left early on Wednesday afternoon for her vacation after reading the calling-out email without saying a word to me about it, I decided that that was probably indicative that she didn't really care and so I decided to be neglectful for a little bit longer. Sorry, I couldn't do that work because I was busy doing all the other work you've heaped upon me. Obviously, my mistake. I was so pissed off and burnt out by this past Friday morning, I just decided, fuck it, I need a mental health day. And by 9:18am, I was in Guy #1's bed. With him. Since he was off from work and all. By 11:49am, I was sitting in a restaurant eating the biggest omelet I think I've ever seen and my attitude had improved greatly. And then, back to bed for the afternoon. My attitude continued to improve. Friday evening and it was not my weekend with the children, thank God, so off to the softball field with Guy #1 and a good book. I was *sparkling* at this point. Friday night, back in the bed. This is the first sleepover we've had since his teenaged daughter moved in with him a month and a half ago, and I refuse to have him spend the night with me, or vice versa, unless she's spending the night with one of her friends. It seems she only wants to spend the night with her friends when I have my kids and am not available for sleepovers.
Have I ever mentioned that kids are cockblockers? And it doesn't even matter how old they are. They.are.just.cockblockers.
My other reason for being so shitty is that The Ex continues to annoy me, but I think my own lack of getting laid was the bigger culprit last week. And it really was the never-ending week. I was home alone all Saturday morning and all Saturday afternoon and I realized I haven't been alone in my house, alone-alone, for any period of time for a month or so. I've spent all of my alone time either running around doing shit for other people or... doing shit for other people. I need to learn how to say no. I need to come to a place of NO. No, I can't clean out your attic. No, I can't clean out your garage. No, I can't make yet another sign for the cheerleading and football sign ups, and no, I can't make signs for the carnival either. Nope, I can't take any children to a birthday party. No, I can't dogsit. No, I can't help you with a catering event. No, I can't switch nights because everything else is more important than your children. No, I can't do a goddamn thing because my ass will be planted in front of the TV for at least five hours. No, I can't even be bothered to clean my bathroom. And, um, no. Just because. This is the place I need to be at. I'm working on it.
But while I'm working on not being so angry, it doesn't help that the younger daughter came home from her weekend with her father and announced that she had to wear the same pair of underwear for the whole weekend because she forgot to pack them in her suitcase. Well, this was obviously my mistake for letting her pack her own suitcase, and then for not double checking the suitcase after I told her three times on Friday morning to put at least three pairs of underpants in her suitcase. I suppose that Mommy will be packing her up the next time she goes for the weekend. But come on. She tried to blame me and I just simply told her that Daddy should have gone and bought her some if he didn't have any extra. What a fucking douchebag, but I guess he figured he had bought her a new pair of Crocs so she was good to go and he had spent all the money he was going to spend. I want to blame this whole thing on him exclusively, because really, he's a man. And men are nasty and gross when it comes to underwear. I know this. I've worked with men for years. And I was married to his sorry ass for years, so I know how he is. I also tried to explain to the younger daughter that I've sent extra underwear in the past for him to keep for the children, and he just sends them right back at the end of the weekend. Whatever. Shitbag.
Wednesday night I got a summer school referral for the older daughter in her bookbag. I was standing in the middle of the kitchen, with the house in complete shambles because Mommy was just a few inches away from a nervous breakdown, comparing the summer school referral to the report cards for the year, and then I heard it. "The Wedding March" being hummed in the hallway of the house whilst the children practice walking up and down the aisle rehearsing their flower girl parts for The Ex's upcoming Bethrothal. Can anyone say surreal? All I could think was... this is not happening to me. These children are not practice for his third wedding in my hallway. Oh my god. And then, they asked for my dried flower petals from the roses that Guy #1 got me a few months ago to practice with. Nope. Sorry, but you are not playing with those. Then the children wanted to know if I would buy them flowers for the wedding. Nope, Daddy will buy those for you. Just like he'll buy you some really fancy dresses which I will immediately turn into paint smocks the weekend following the wedding. Actually, I wouldn't do that. Not the following weekend. Nah, I wouldn't even do that. I know that whatever the children have will be purchased by The Girlfriend, and she's been really good to my kids. So I won't mess with her. My knowledge of what her sex life is really like is satisfaction enough for me.
I'll write more about summer school later, but I will say that both children will be attending. Not to move on to the next grades, but because it'll be a good booster shot for them this summer. Four weeks left until I pack my little princesses off into the great summer sunset until the end of August. The countdown is on!
But let me first offer an explanation. Last week was really hard for me. It was an impossible week that just wouldn't end, and... I had not seen enough of Guy #1. Vertically or horizontally, which can end up with me being a really hateful person. I got called out at work on Wednesday for something I neglected to do, and got myself all in a dither about that, but then when my boss (who did not do the calling out) left early on Wednesday afternoon for her vacation after reading the calling-out email without saying a word to me about it, I decided that that was probably indicative that she didn't really care and so I decided to be neglectful for a little bit longer. Sorry, I couldn't do that work because I was busy doing all the other work you've heaped upon me. Obviously, my mistake. I was so pissed off and burnt out by this past Friday morning, I just decided, fuck it, I need a mental health day. And by 9:18am, I was in Guy #1's bed. With him. Since he was off from work and all. By 11:49am, I was sitting in a restaurant eating the biggest omelet I think I've ever seen and my attitude had improved greatly. And then, back to bed for the afternoon. My attitude continued to improve. Friday evening and it was not my weekend with the children, thank God, so off to the softball field with Guy #1 and a good book. I was *sparkling* at this point. Friday night, back in the bed. This is the first sleepover we've had since his teenaged daughter moved in with him a month and a half ago, and I refuse to have him spend the night with me, or vice versa, unless she's spending the night with one of her friends. It seems she only wants to spend the night with her friends when I have my kids and am not available for sleepovers.
Have I ever mentioned that kids are cockblockers? And it doesn't even matter how old they are. They.are.just.cockblockers.
My other reason for being so shitty is that The Ex continues to annoy me, but I think my own lack of getting laid was the bigger culprit last week. And it really was the never-ending week. I was home alone all Saturday morning and all Saturday afternoon and I realized I haven't been alone in my house, alone-alone, for any period of time for a month or so. I've spent all of my alone time either running around doing shit for other people or... doing shit for other people. I need to learn how to say no. I need to come to a place of NO. No, I can't clean out your attic. No, I can't clean out your garage. No, I can't make yet another sign for the cheerleading and football sign ups, and no, I can't make signs for the carnival either. Nope, I can't take any children to a birthday party. No, I can't dogsit. No, I can't help you with a catering event. No, I can't switch nights because everything else is more important than your children. No, I can't do a goddamn thing because my ass will be planted in front of the TV for at least five hours. No, I can't even be bothered to clean my bathroom. And, um, no. Just because. This is the place I need to be at. I'm working on it.
But while I'm working on not being so angry, it doesn't help that the younger daughter came home from her weekend with her father and announced that she had to wear the same pair of underwear for the whole weekend because she forgot to pack them in her suitcase. Well, this was obviously my mistake for letting her pack her own suitcase, and then for not double checking the suitcase after I told her three times on Friday morning to put at least three pairs of underpants in her suitcase. I suppose that Mommy will be packing her up the next time she goes for the weekend. But come on. She tried to blame me and I just simply told her that Daddy should have gone and bought her some if he didn't have any extra. What a fucking douchebag, but I guess he figured he had bought her a new pair of Crocs so she was good to go and he had spent all the money he was going to spend. I want to blame this whole thing on him exclusively, because really, he's a man. And men are nasty and gross when it comes to underwear. I know this. I've worked with men for years. And I was married to his sorry ass for years, so I know how he is. I also tried to explain to the younger daughter that I've sent extra underwear in the past for him to keep for the children, and he just sends them right back at the end of the weekend. Whatever. Shitbag.
Wednesday night I got a summer school referral for the older daughter in her bookbag. I was standing in the middle of the kitchen, with the house in complete shambles because Mommy was just a few inches away from a nervous breakdown, comparing the summer school referral to the report cards for the year, and then I heard it. "The Wedding March" being hummed in the hallway of the house whilst the children practice walking up and down the aisle rehearsing their flower girl parts for The Ex's upcoming Bethrothal. Can anyone say surreal? All I could think was... this is not happening to me. These children are not practice for his third wedding in my hallway. Oh my god. And then, they asked for my dried flower petals from the roses that Guy #1 got me a few months ago to practice with. Nope. Sorry, but you are not playing with those. Then the children wanted to know if I would buy them flowers for the wedding. Nope, Daddy will buy those for you. Just like he'll buy you some really fancy dresses which I will immediately turn into paint smocks the weekend following the wedding. Actually, I wouldn't do that. Not the following weekend. Nah, I wouldn't even do that. I know that whatever the children have will be purchased by The Girlfriend, and she's been really good to my kids. So I won't mess with her. My knowledge of what her sex life is really like is satisfaction enough for me.
I'll write more about summer school later, but I will say that both children will be attending. Not to move on to the next grades, but because it'll be a good booster shot for them this summer. Four weeks left until I pack my little princesses off into the great summer sunset until the end of August. The countdown is on!
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Where I Went
March Madness. I generally never pay attention to March Madness, even though I love basketball. I blame a lot of this on just my general apathy of life when I was married, because The Ex hated sports, generally, and talked shit about everyone else who did like sports. I kind of let the sports fanatic in me die, maybe not a full death, but it was a decade long coma for sure. Since the girls started cheerleading, I've gotten back into sports, maybe spurred on by the many days and nights spent at the football field and on the bleachers of the elementary schools around the county, and maybe spurred on by me realizing it's okay for me to start embracing those things I really enjoy again. Writing, reading, yard work, and sports. But not hockey. Hockey is stupid. Guy #1 is taking me to Wrigley Field in August to see my first ever baseball game, which we'll watch from the shade behind home plate, and I am hoping that this will jump start a new interest in baseball, which I've never really been interested in. My grandfather loved baseball, and I'm hoping this trip to Chicago will help me to reach a higher level of understanding with him, even though my grandfather isn't around anymore.
But back to March Madness. Because I like to give specific details of myself out rather slowly, I've never mentioned where I went to college before, because it never seemed relevant to anything that I've written. Longwood, to be followed by VCU. Community college preceded Longwood, and I'll say that I spent exactly one year at Longwood and I hated every minute of it. When I was growing up, my mother basically gave me two choices of colleges to attend. Longwood or VCU. Longwood was the easy option after I finished community college, because I was living in Farmville at the time and it was the lazy choice. It was the choice I wasn't proud of, because even as a kid growing up in high school, I always considered Longwood to be that safe choice for everyone else that I grew up with, the college of choice when you didn't want to leave Farmville. Longwood was where you went if you didn't want to get out. And by get out, I mean that you were satisfied with life in Farmville and Prince Edward, satisfied to make that your world. I'm pleased to say I got out. It took longer for me to get out of Farmville than some of my classmates, but like everyone else who has gone to college elsewhere and "gotten out", I've never returned and I never, ever will, other than to run down to visit a friend here or there and maybe eat lunch at Macado's. And what's strange is that I've discussed this with some of my classmates from high school, and we've talked about who got out and who didn't. I'm not dissing anyone who has chosen to stay in Farmville and make that their community, because there is a sense of quaintness in living in Farmville. But to me, there's a sense of decay and Southside Virginia hopelessness that no amount of jazzing up the town with fancy lights or a Big Box Bookstore can ever begin to fix.
And so I got out. Ran an hour east to Richmond, and I haven't looked back since. Finagled myself into VCU, where I savored every bit of every other person who wasn't like me, because for real, I was tired of being around people who were just like me. VCU was where I was going to be exposed to people I had never been exposed to before, and VCU was where I was going to learn to truly think and do for myself, because the school was so large you didn't have anyone to hold your hand at registration and exam time. VCU was where a lot of the professors wore jeans and T-shirts and didn't really give a rat's ass if you went to class or not. It was your education you were working on, not theirs. VCU is the strangest and oddest assortment, a mish-mash of people from every walk of life who just seem to come together and make it work. A working mother of three who worked overnights in a Waffle House sitting next next to a Daddy's little princess who was Embassy-educated sitting next to guy from the local projects who got his GED in a juvenile correctional facility sitting next to a girl who carved a three foot tree trunk as part of her Art School portfolio sitting next to the grandson of a local supermarket magnate because he didn't care enough about family tradition to apply to the University of Richmond. This is what you got at VCU.
No football team, and I don't even know if they had a baseball team when I was there. VCU was basketball, baby, all basketball. VCU has always been all basketball, from when they played in the Franklin Street Gym, to the Richmond Coliseum to the new and fancy Siegel Center, where there's still some crazy homeless guy sitting outside on game day banging on a couple of upside down zinc tubs, calling everyone forth to the game in an unspoken inner-city kind of communication. VCU made the Sweet Sixteen this year, first time ever (I think) and has been vaulted out of the local and state spotlight into the national limelight. I'm not going to pretend to be a sport analyst, because I don't know enough to do all of that, but I know it's pretty fucking exciting to anyone who went to VCU, especially to those of us who went there when VCU wasn't shit and hadn't been gussied up with fancy brick pavers and fancy rams painted on the streets around the campus.
I didn't expect VCU to win last night against Florida State University. I expect a close loss, and it almost was. VCU squeaked by with one point in overtime, and less than ten seconds on the clock. A win is a win is a win, and it was a win, but not a domination like in the previous games of the tourney. But it was a win against an ACC team, something I never really expected. ACC teams, by and large, to someone who doesn't even know a whole lot about sports... power houses. Well-oiled machines, running around recruiting the best of the best. I am tempted to turn this into a David and Goliath moment, but I'm not because even I'm cognizant of the fact that I tend to do that. I'm trying in my head not to compare this to George Mason's road to the Final Four a few years ago, and just enjoy that my scrappy-ass alma mater is out there in the world, black and gold, with it's crazy ass funky band where the musicians wear sloppy looking jeans and VCU t-shirts, and the dance team doesn't do so much dancing. This is my VCU, and the VCU that I love. This is the VCU that I talk to my kids about, and try to convince them, at ages five and eight, that this is their only logical choice for a college.
Elite Eight tomorrow for the Rams. Can't wait.
But back to March Madness. Because I like to give specific details of myself out rather slowly, I've never mentioned where I went to college before, because it never seemed relevant to anything that I've written. Longwood, to be followed by VCU. Community college preceded Longwood, and I'll say that I spent exactly one year at Longwood and I hated every minute of it. When I was growing up, my mother basically gave me two choices of colleges to attend. Longwood or VCU. Longwood was the easy option after I finished community college, because I was living in Farmville at the time and it was the lazy choice. It was the choice I wasn't proud of, because even as a kid growing up in high school, I always considered Longwood to be that safe choice for everyone else that I grew up with, the college of choice when you didn't want to leave Farmville. Longwood was where you went if you didn't want to get out. And by get out, I mean that you were satisfied with life in Farmville and Prince Edward, satisfied to make that your world. I'm pleased to say I got out. It took longer for me to get out of Farmville than some of my classmates, but like everyone else who has gone to college elsewhere and "gotten out", I've never returned and I never, ever will, other than to run down to visit a friend here or there and maybe eat lunch at Macado's. And what's strange is that I've discussed this with some of my classmates from high school, and we've talked about who got out and who didn't. I'm not dissing anyone who has chosen to stay in Farmville and make that their community, because there is a sense of quaintness in living in Farmville. But to me, there's a sense of decay and Southside Virginia hopelessness that no amount of jazzing up the town with fancy lights or a Big Box Bookstore can ever begin to fix.
And so I got out. Ran an hour east to Richmond, and I haven't looked back since. Finagled myself into VCU, where I savored every bit of every other person who wasn't like me, because for real, I was tired of being around people who were just like me. VCU was where I was going to be exposed to people I had never been exposed to before, and VCU was where I was going to learn to truly think and do for myself, because the school was so large you didn't have anyone to hold your hand at registration and exam time. VCU was where a lot of the professors wore jeans and T-shirts and didn't really give a rat's ass if you went to class or not. It was your education you were working on, not theirs. VCU is the strangest and oddest assortment, a mish-mash of people from every walk of life who just seem to come together and make it work. A working mother of three who worked overnights in a Waffle House sitting next next to a Daddy's little princess who was Embassy-educated sitting next to guy from the local projects who got his GED in a juvenile correctional facility sitting next to a girl who carved a three foot tree trunk as part of her Art School portfolio sitting next to the grandson of a local supermarket magnate because he didn't care enough about family tradition to apply to the University of Richmond. This is what you got at VCU.
No football team, and I don't even know if they had a baseball team when I was there. VCU was basketball, baby, all basketball. VCU has always been all basketball, from when they played in the Franklin Street Gym, to the Richmond Coliseum to the new and fancy Siegel Center, where there's still some crazy homeless guy sitting outside on game day banging on a couple of upside down zinc tubs, calling everyone forth to the game in an unspoken inner-city kind of communication. VCU made the Sweet Sixteen this year, first time ever (I think) and has been vaulted out of the local and state spotlight into the national limelight. I'm not going to pretend to be a sport analyst, because I don't know enough to do all of that, but I know it's pretty fucking exciting to anyone who went to VCU, especially to those of us who went there when VCU wasn't shit and hadn't been gussied up with fancy brick pavers and fancy rams painted on the streets around the campus.
I didn't expect VCU to win last night against Florida State University. I expect a close loss, and it almost was. VCU squeaked by with one point in overtime, and less than ten seconds on the clock. A win is a win is a win, and it was a win, but not a domination like in the previous games of the tourney. But it was a win against an ACC team, something I never really expected. ACC teams, by and large, to someone who doesn't even know a whole lot about sports... power houses. Well-oiled machines, running around recruiting the best of the best. I am tempted to turn this into a David and Goliath moment, but I'm not because even I'm cognizant of the fact that I tend to do that. I'm trying in my head not to compare this to George Mason's road to the Final Four a few years ago, and just enjoy that my scrappy-ass alma mater is out there in the world, black and gold, with it's crazy ass funky band where the musicians wear sloppy looking jeans and VCU t-shirts, and the dance team doesn't do so much dancing. This is my VCU, and the VCU that I love. This is the VCU that I talk to my kids about, and try to convince them, at ages five and eight, that this is their only logical choice for a college.
Elite Eight tomorrow for the Rams. Can't wait.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Taxes, Cheerleading (Again) and Some Bullshit With A Potato
Round #3 of taxes with my poor mother. Despite what I would classify as a lack of parenting skills while raising me, my mom can do some taxes. I was all ready to mail my taxes off last week, along with a check that I was trying to figure out how not to bounce, because really, how efficient can the guv be with checks coming in the mail? Will it be deposited the next day or next week? Of course, that's the mystery in paying for anything with a check. I've discovered that with my debit card, there's a function similar to a check payment (which means it won't come out instantaneously), and that is called credit. If I want the money to come out right away, I will use it as a debit card. If I want the money to come out in a few days, maybe four or five days, depending on the store, I will use my card as a credit card. This is all new to me because I never had a debit card when I was married - I used the checkbook of that ill-fated joint checking account. So anyway, taxes. After accidentally stumbling upon a finance article whilst Yahooing this week (hell, yes, I Yahoo), I worked up the numbers in my head of the Making It Work deduction and realized that I just might not have to pay the feds after all. Back to mom's house to actually work it up on paper again this weekend, since I don't have a printer anymore. I am pleased to report that I will now receive a refund from the feds in the exact amount of $15.18. You have probably never seen someone get so ecstatic over fifteen freaking dollars. But whatever, because I don't have to pay with money I don't have. Thank you, Yahoo, for having that article on your finance page flash before my eyes on Tuesday morning. I don't think I can thank you enough.
The end-of-season basketball and cheerleading banquet was this weekend. The Ex sent the kids with his girlfriend since he apparently had to do a karate test or something. There was a movie that I can't remember the name of and one of the main characters always pronounced karate funny, and that's what I always think of when he mentions he's going to test for a belt or something. What I want to tell him is that I could care less about the karate or taekwondo thing, and it doesn't impress me. What would impress me would be if he were to actually show up at a parent-teacher conference or do the potato project (that I will discuss later). So The Girlfriend shows up 25 minutes late with the daughters and being that she doesn't have children, she looks totally mortified at the craziness of this banquet. I was polite, invited her to get something to eat and drink and found her a place to sit. She explained that she was late bringing the girls because she didn't know it would take so much time to round them up from playing and get them ready, although it was obvious to me a hairbrush had not touched their hair in the "getting ready" process. I felt badly for her because it took me about three years to figure out if I want to be somewhere on time with the children I need to start about two hours in advance. I think she's been thrusted into the weekend stepmother role and she doesn't quite know the ropes yet, kind of like taking a kid in middle school and dropping them into a PhD program. I try to remember that it's not her fault she's been lulled by The Ex's bullshit. I was there, too, once. I can empathize. At some point The Ex showed up and I noticed that he's gained some weight, and I felt an immense gratitude that I will never feel his hairy belly rubbing on me again. I didn't have a chance to pull my older daughter aside to talk to her about Friday night, but I asked her tonight what the deal was. She was upset that my younger daughter clocked her in the forehead.
A potato project was sent home in my older daughter's book bag on Wednesday night, and it basically says that the students have to decorate a potato "friend" and then come up with ten descriptive words that they will use later in the week for a writing assignment. Well, this was her weekend with The Ex, so I gave him the project assignment when he dropped the children off on Thursday night. This was for several reasons: I wouldn't have the children this weekend to do the potato project and we won't have time on Monday or Tuesday nights before it's due on Wednesday; The Ex is always saying he wants to be involved in projects and school work (which I know is complete bullshit because he doesn't even open the book bags on the weekends he has the children); and I wanted to see if he could actually rise to the challenge and get the project done. So he knew about the project in advance, had the assignment sheet and would have the children this weekend.
He texted about five minutes before the children were due to be home this evening and said that they didn't have a chance to do the potato project. Can anyone define pissed? That was me upon receiving that text. The older daughter comes bounding up the front porch steps with the potato in a plastic sandwich bag. He explains they didn't have time to get it done because the older daughter needed to learn the words to our national anthem, which was the other assignment I sent home with him on Thursday night. I waited until both the girls were in the house, and basically implied that he's worthless and don't worry, this is yet another thing I will take care of. He didn't even bring the assignment sheet back, so I insisted he go home and get it and bring it back, because I will take care of making sure the project is done. Did I mention that I told him that I would take care of this?
What remained unspoken were all of the other areas he has failed in, too. No need to beat the man to death. With one little brown spud, he's proven yet again that he really doesn't give a flying fuck. So the potato decoration has started, and we'll get it finished in time to be turned in on Wednesday, and I will also get the children's hair cut for picture day on Thursday, since I had asked him to do that, too.
To review, here's what I asked him to do for HIS children this weekend:
* Get their hair cut for picture day on Thursday. NOT accomplished.
* Take them to the cheerleading banquet. BARELY accomplished and wouldn't have been if it weren't for The Girlfriend. He gave me the option of picking them up and taking them to the banquet, but goddamn, it was his weekend and I already had to be there early to help set up for the pie sale. How about you step up, motherfucker?
* Give me a co-pay check for the older daughter's psychologist appointment on Tuesday morning. NOT accomplished.
* Learn the words to the national anthem. We'll review this in the morning on the way to before and after school care to see if she learned the words or not.
* Potato project. NOT accomplished.
* I had also hoped he would feed the girls dinner before bringing them home tonight. Not a requirement, but just kind of, feed your children, dickface, because that's responsible thing to do. NOT accomplished for the younger daughter because she was too busy playing Wii. That's okay, Mommy handled that, too.
And so we will start another week tomorrow. A week where NOT accomplished is NOT an option, at least for me.
The end-of-season basketball and cheerleading banquet was this weekend. The Ex sent the kids with his girlfriend since he apparently had to do a karate test or something. There was a movie that I can't remember the name of and one of the main characters always pronounced karate funny, and that's what I always think of when he mentions he's going to test for a belt or something. What I want to tell him is that I could care less about the karate or taekwondo thing, and it doesn't impress me. What would impress me would be if he were to actually show up at a parent-teacher conference or do the potato project (that I will discuss later). So The Girlfriend shows up 25 minutes late with the daughters and being that she doesn't have children, she looks totally mortified at the craziness of this banquet. I was polite, invited her to get something to eat and drink and found her a place to sit. She explained that she was late bringing the girls because she didn't know it would take so much time to round them up from playing and get them ready, although it was obvious to me a hairbrush had not touched their hair in the "getting ready" process. I felt badly for her because it took me about three years to figure out if I want to be somewhere on time with the children I need to start about two hours in advance. I think she's been thrusted into the weekend stepmother role and she doesn't quite know the ropes yet, kind of like taking a kid in middle school and dropping them into a PhD program. I try to remember that it's not her fault she's been lulled by The Ex's bullshit. I was there, too, once. I can empathize. At some point The Ex showed up and I noticed that he's gained some weight, and I felt an immense gratitude that I will never feel his hairy belly rubbing on me again. I didn't have a chance to pull my older daughter aside to talk to her about Friday night, but I asked her tonight what the deal was. She was upset that my younger daughter clocked her in the forehead.
A potato project was sent home in my older daughter's book bag on Wednesday night, and it basically says that the students have to decorate a potato "friend" and then come up with ten descriptive words that they will use later in the week for a writing assignment. Well, this was her weekend with The Ex, so I gave him the project assignment when he dropped the children off on Thursday night. This was for several reasons: I wouldn't have the children this weekend to do the potato project and we won't have time on Monday or Tuesday nights before it's due on Wednesday; The Ex is always saying he wants to be involved in projects and school work (which I know is complete bullshit because he doesn't even open the book bags on the weekends he has the children); and I wanted to see if he could actually rise to the challenge and get the project done. So he knew about the project in advance, had the assignment sheet and would have the children this weekend.
He texted about five minutes before the children were due to be home this evening and said that they didn't have a chance to do the potato project. Can anyone define pissed? That was me upon receiving that text. The older daughter comes bounding up the front porch steps with the potato in a plastic sandwich bag. He explains they didn't have time to get it done because the older daughter needed to learn the words to our national anthem, which was the other assignment I sent home with him on Thursday night. I waited until both the girls were in the house, and basically implied that he's worthless and don't worry, this is yet another thing I will take care of. He didn't even bring the assignment sheet back, so I insisted he go home and get it and bring it back, because I will take care of making sure the project is done. Did I mention that I told him that I would take care of this?
What remained unspoken were all of the other areas he has failed in, too. No need to beat the man to death. With one little brown spud, he's proven yet again that he really doesn't give a flying fuck. So the potato decoration has started, and we'll get it finished in time to be turned in on Wednesday, and I will also get the children's hair cut for picture day on Thursday, since I had asked him to do that, too.
To review, here's what I asked him to do for HIS children this weekend:
* Get their hair cut for picture day on Thursday. NOT accomplished.
* Take them to the cheerleading banquet. BARELY accomplished and wouldn't have been if it weren't for The Girlfriend. He gave me the option of picking them up and taking them to the banquet, but goddamn, it was his weekend and I already had to be there early to help set up for the pie sale. How about you step up, motherfucker?
* Give me a co-pay check for the older daughter's psychologist appointment on Tuesday morning. NOT accomplished.
* Learn the words to the national anthem. We'll review this in the morning on the way to before and after school care to see if she learned the words or not.
* Potato project. NOT accomplished.
* I had also hoped he would feed the girls dinner before bringing them home tonight. Not a requirement, but just kind of, feed your children, dickface, because that's responsible thing to do. NOT accomplished for the younger daughter because she was too busy playing Wii. That's okay, Mommy handled that, too.
And so we will start another week tomorrow. A week where NOT accomplished is NOT an option, at least for me.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Not So Stupid Stuff in My Head
Yes, it's true. In addition to the stupid stuff in my head, I also have not so stupid stuff in my head. Here goes:
The Japanese Tsunami - I've had to call a moratorium on my news boycott for this one. I think this is because of our perverse desire to see horrific things happen to other people, ala rubbernecking. Really, that's all the news is, electronic rubbernecking, which is one reason why I don't watch the news. At this point in time, I probably won't donate any money, because I don't have any extra money to give, but if I change my mind it will be solely because I know the Japanese are pretty self-sufficient and won't immediately begin to demand foreign aid and then when the foreign aid is sent, they won't bitch about why didn't we send more. I think the ability to survive the first nuclear holocaust has proven them to be self-sufficient, and so, I'll wait to see what happens. For some reason this whole thing just kind of reinforces in my mind how dangerous cruise ships are what with rogue waves and such. I fully expect that the liberal media organizations in our country will find a way to blame the tsunami on our last President. Other than that, I'm annoyed that all of the major news channels on cable seem to have somehow managed to synchronize their commercials, because my plan of action last night was to watch a channel until a commercial came on, and then flip to the next channel and repeat. But they all had commercials on at the same time. Damnit! You are messing up my non-stop coverage. I'm also somewhat disappointed about how the news has been dumbed down, or maybe it's always been dumbed down for the masses and I'm just smarter than the average person. I mean, who doesn't know what the Ring of Fire is? Or maybe this is just a filler. Of course, I was always amazed when I would watch one of the late shows and they did "Man on the Street" kind of interviews where they would stop random people on the street and ask them the most basic of questions, like "Do you know what the Holocaust was or name the current Speaker of the House" And some of those people didn't know.
5.3 - This is the rating that was given to my blog by the editors of the blog site I recently signed my blog up on. You submit your blog for approval, and then professional editors review it for approval and also rate it. I'm a 5.3. I don't really have a problem being reviewed for content and appropriateness, but I'm a little annoyed with my end result. Specifically, I was rated on frequency of updates, relevance of content, site design, and writing style. Okay, I had a four month period of time when I didn't post. Sorry. Was working on the love life, not the write life. Relevance of content - probably the most subjective category, because people will blog about anything. I think the food blogs are the most annoying (and gay) to me. Who actually reads that tripe? Site design - sorry, I don't want to post a 350 word post about a finding a new restaurant in the city, and I don't want my blog to look like some fancy news magazine. I've come across a couple of good blogs to follow (that are highly rated) even though I wasn't really looking to begin with, but the writing is too short and leaves me with too many unanswered questions, and the sites look more like something a fancy ad agency has created. I just think that too much visual clutter takes away from the writing and is distracting, and if you're not going to write much, what's the point in having a blog anyway? Writing content - Yes, I know I'm not for everyone. But if someone can't get my writing and enjoy it, that's probably someone I wouldn't want to hang out with to begin with. Personally, I rate myself at precisely 8.798432. A suggestion on another site was to turn your blog posts into e-readers, which I may look into when I'm not feeling so internetically lazy. That might actually be more appropriate since I actually write versus blurt, which I think most blogs should be called. Blurts, because that's about all there is.
What is up with my daughter? - This is my weekend without my children. I feel like we've really settled into a great routine, all things considered. Summer is fast approaching and I really don't know how I will function without them being with me full time. I feel the anxiety creeping up on my slowly, but I know it will start to increase more and more the closer we get for them to go live with their father during the summer. My own personal tsunami of anxiety, to use a horrible analogy. I put them on the bus in our neighborhood yesterday and told them I would see them later today at the cheerleading banquet. My older daughter has started to pull away from me a little bit in public because she's getting to that age where it's not cool to hug and kiss your mom in public. We went to the school skate night earlier in the month and it was the best skate night ever for me, because she wanted to hold hands skating around the rink. But anyway, she won't let me give her hugs or kisses when we say goodbye in public and she generally acts relieved to be getting away from me. So imagine my surprise when she called last night. Generally, on a Friday night that she's with The Ex, I am the last thing on her mind so we don't talk on the phone. I know she needs her time with her father without me calling, especially when I just saw her that morning. But something was wrong last night. She was quiet and I could feel something wasn't right through the phone. When I asked what was wrong, she just said in the littlest voice ever, "I just miss you.", and then she started crying. Which immediately made me want to cry. This is not her norm. I don't know what happened, other than The Ex took the children over to the cheer coach's house to pack up pies for the sale at the cheerleading banquet, but I wondered if there was some bad-mouthing of Mommy going on, or if something else had happened. Of course she wouldn't be able to say because I could hear The Ex clearing his throat periodically through the phone so I know he was sitting right beside her. That motherfucker just cannot respect anyone's privacy. I told her we would find a quiet corner at the banquet to talk this afternoon and just have some Mommy-older daughter time for hugs and kisses. I absolutely hate that she has to go through this.
Best click ever - This is what Guy #1 told me last night, right before he gave me an awesome shadow puppet lip-synching show on the ceiling of my bedroom backlit by his cell phone. Keep in mind that we met on a dating site, and really, out of the eighty bazillion mouse clicks I've ever made, he might be my best click, too. I wish we could get paid a penny for every click because then I wouldn't have to worry about trying to find somewhere to get affordable tires and figure out how in the hell to pay for them. But that's neither here nor there. I think he's starting to get worried that I haven't introduced him to any of my friends or family, but I don't see them that often. My life is wrapped up in my children - I don't have time for much else, unless it's on facebook. I haven't seen one of my best girlfriends since the summer, the other one at Christmas, and I don't think I've seen any of my family other than my mother since Christmas. Holy bejesus, where does time go? But yeah, I like knowing that I'm the best click ever.
The Japanese Tsunami - I've had to call a moratorium on my news boycott for this one. I think this is because of our perverse desire to see horrific things happen to other people, ala rubbernecking. Really, that's all the news is, electronic rubbernecking, which is one reason why I don't watch the news. At this point in time, I probably won't donate any money, because I don't have any extra money to give, but if I change my mind it will be solely because I know the Japanese are pretty self-sufficient and won't immediately begin to demand foreign aid and then when the foreign aid is sent, they won't bitch about why didn't we send more. I think the ability to survive the first nuclear holocaust has proven them to be self-sufficient, and so, I'll wait to see what happens. For some reason this whole thing just kind of reinforces in my mind how dangerous cruise ships are what with rogue waves and such. I fully expect that the liberal media organizations in our country will find a way to blame the tsunami on our last President. Other than that, I'm annoyed that all of the major news channels on cable seem to have somehow managed to synchronize their commercials, because my plan of action last night was to watch a channel until a commercial came on, and then flip to the next channel and repeat. But they all had commercials on at the same time. Damnit! You are messing up my non-stop coverage. I'm also somewhat disappointed about how the news has been dumbed down, or maybe it's always been dumbed down for the masses and I'm just smarter than the average person. I mean, who doesn't know what the Ring of Fire is? Or maybe this is just a filler. Of course, I was always amazed when I would watch one of the late shows and they did "Man on the Street" kind of interviews where they would stop random people on the street and ask them the most basic of questions, like "Do you know what the Holocaust was or name the current Speaker of the House" And some of those people didn't know.
5.3 - This is the rating that was given to my blog by the editors of the blog site I recently signed my blog up on. You submit your blog for approval, and then professional editors review it for approval and also rate it. I'm a 5.3. I don't really have a problem being reviewed for content and appropriateness, but I'm a little annoyed with my end result. Specifically, I was rated on frequency of updates, relevance of content, site design, and writing style. Okay, I had a four month period of time when I didn't post. Sorry. Was working on the love life, not the write life. Relevance of content - probably the most subjective category, because people will blog about anything. I think the food blogs are the most annoying (and gay) to me. Who actually reads that tripe? Site design - sorry, I don't want to post a 350 word post about a finding a new restaurant in the city, and I don't want my blog to look like some fancy news magazine. I've come across a couple of good blogs to follow (that are highly rated) even though I wasn't really looking to begin with, but the writing is too short and leaves me with too many unanswered questions, and the sites look more like something a fancy ad agency has created. I just think that too much visual clutter takes away from the writing and is distracting, and if you're not going to write much, what's the point in having a blog anyway? Writing content - Yes, I know I'm not for everyone. But if someone can't get my writing and enjoy it, that's probably someone I wouldn't want to hang out with to begin with. Personally, I rate myself at precisely 8.798432. A suggestion on another site was to turn your blog posts into e-readers, which I may look into when I'm not feeling so internetically lazy. That might actually be more appropriate since I actually write versus blurt, which I think most blogs should be called. Blurts, because that's about all there is.
What is up with my daughter? - This is my weekend without my children. I feel like we've really settled into a great routine, all things considered. Summer is fast approaching and I really don't know how I will function without them being with me full time. I feel the anxiety creeping up on my slowly, but I know it will start to increase more and more the closer we get for them to go live with their father during the summer. My own personal tsunami of anxiety, to use a horrible analogy. I put them on the bus in our neighborhood yesterday and told them I would see them later today at the cheerleading banquet. My older daughter has started to pull away from me a little bit in public because she's getting to that age where it's not cool to hug and kiss your mom in public. We went to the school skate night earlier in the month and it was the best skate night ever for me, because she wanted to hold hands skating around the rink. But anyway, she won't let me give her hugs or kisses when we say goodbye in public and she generally acts relieved to be getting away from me. So imagine my surprise when she called last night. Generally, on a Friday night that she's with The Ex, I am the last thing on her mind so we don't talk on the phone. I know she needs her time with her father without me calling, especially when I just saw her that morning. But something was wrong last night. She was quiet and I could feel something wasn't right through the phone. When I asked what was wrong, she just said in the littlest voice ever, "I just miss you.", and then she started crying. Which immediately made me want to cry. This is not her norm. I don't know what happened, other than The Ex took the children over to the cheer coach's house to pack up pies for the sale at the cheerleading banquet, but I wondered if there was some bad-mouthing of Mommy going on, or if something else had happened. Of course she wouldn't be able to say because I could hear The Ex clearing his throat periodically through the phone so I know he was sitting right beside her. That motherfucker just cannot respect anyone's privacy. I told her we would find a quiet corner at the banquet to talk this afternoon and just have some Mommy-older daughter time for hugs and kisses. I absolutely hate that she has to go through this.
Best click ever - This is what Guy #1 told me last night, right before he gave me an awesome shadow puppet lip-synching show on the ceiling of my bedroom backlit by his cell phone. Keep in mind that we met on a dating site, and really, out of the eighty bazillion mouse clicks I've ever made, he might be my best click, too. I wish we could get paid a penny for every click because then I wouldn't have to worry about trying to find somewhere to get affordable tires and figure out how in the hell to pay for them. But that's neither here nor there. I think he's starting to get worried that I haven't introduced him to any of my friends or family, but I don't see them that often. My life is wrapped up in my children - I don't have time for much else, unless it's on facebook. I haven't seen one of my best girlfriends since the summer, the other one at Christmas, and I don't think I've seen any of my family other than my mother since Christmas. Holy bejesus, where does time go? But yeah, I like knowing that I'm the best click ever.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Accomplished!
Since I'm not quite as tired tonight as I was last night, I figured out the whole facebook thing. Actually, I think I am probably more exhausted tonight than I was last night, but I don't really care tonight because my plan of action for tomorrow does not include work. It does include Guy #1 and taking a nap. Maybe not even in that order.
My facebook page for my blog is up and running. So hit the little like button and you'll automatically like my blog on facebook. I think. I haven't tested it because I only have my account, and apparently you automatically like any page you create without an option for unliking, and my mother's account. I don't want to have my mother like it because then The Ex might see that on his news feed and get curious, especially since my mother is never on facebook. She has no idea how this stuff works and really doesn't want to know. I guess if I didn't bug the shit out of her on a weekly basis she might be inclined to learn, but why screw around with facebook when I'm calling her all the time? This reminds me my wedding reception when my mother had a few too many glasses of wine and tipsily told The Ex, "Well, she's your problem now!" I guess not, Mom. Ha ha! Joke's on you! I am pleased that I am continue to make her relieved she only had one child.
I've come to the conclusion that if you are trying to be somewhat surreptitious on facebook you really need a second account. And that would be the fake account that many of us have if we don't have a Mom who signed up and then forgot about it. As long as my mom doesn't develop an interest in facebook then I'm good, though I should probably tell her I friended her up with her cousin who then promptly sent her an email. Which I did not read. Love you, Mom. And my aunt can feel free to send another friend request, but my mom won't get it. I'll get it and then friend you up with her and she'll never know. To my aunt: You will get more conversation out of her at ballgames and such than you will on facebook. Because it's just me on my mom's facebook account.
Anyway, that's it for me tonight. I've got to get up early and pack the bag for the children to go to The Ex's this weekend. He's extra pissed that I reminded him about the cheerleading banquet this weekend, because he acted clueless about the whole thing when I mentioned it tonight. And this from the person that showed me the flyer and then said I needed to get my own flyer about it. His face got all squinched up in that I-forgot-to-do-something-and-now-I'm-pissed-and-am-going-to-try-to-guilt-and-manipulate-you-into-doing-it-for-me. I just stood there on the front porch and looked at him. And then he adjusted and said he would just have to drop the girls off because he wouldn't be there for the first hour of it. Nice, motherfucker. And I didn't offer to give him my flyer when he didn't know any of the details about the banquet, because he probably should have kept track of the flyer he already had. And yeah, that whole exchange felt really good.
My facebook page for my blog is up and running. So hit the little like button and you'll automatically like my blog on facebook. I think. I haven't tested it because I only have my account, and apparently you automatically like any page you create without an option for unliking, and my mother's account. I don't want to have my mother like it because then The Ex might see that on his news feed and get curious, especially since my mother is never on facebook. She has no idea how this stuff works and really doesn't want to know. I guess if I didn't bug the shit out of her on a weekly basis she might be inclined to learn, but why screw around with facebook when I'm calling her all the time? This reminds me my wedding reception when my mother had a few too many glasses of wine and tipsily told The Ex, "Well, she's your problem now!" I guess not, Mom. Ha ha! Joke's on you! I am pleased that I am continue to make her relieved she only had one child.
I've come to the conclusion that if you are trying to be somewhat surreptitious on facebook you really need a second account. And that would be the fake account that many of us have if we don't have a Mom who signed up and then forgot about it. As long as my mom doesn't develop an interest in facebook then I'm good, though I should probably tell her I friended her up with her cousin who then promptly sent her an email. Which I did not read. Love you, Mom. And my aunt can feel free to send another friend request, but my mom won't get it. I'll get it and then friend you up with her and she'll never know. To my aunt: You will get more conversation out of her at ballgames and such than you will on facebook. Because it's just me on my mom's facebook account.
Anyway, that's it for me tonight. I've got to get up early and pack the bag for the children to go to The Ex's this weekend. He's extra pissed that I reminded him about the cheerleading banquet this weekend, because he acted clueless about the whole thing when I mentioned it tonight. And this from the person that showed me the flyer and then said I needed to get my own flyer about it. His face got all squinched up in that I-forgot-to-do-something-and-now-I'm-pissed-and-am-going-to-try-to-guilt-and-manipulate-you-into-doing-it-for-me. I just stood there on the front porch and looked at him. And then he adjusted and said he would just have to drop the girls off because he wouldn't be there for the first hour of it. Nice, motherfucker. And I didn't offer to give him my flyer when he didn't know any of the details about the banquet, because he probably should have kept track of the flyer he already had. And yeah, that whole exchange felt really good.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
More Stupid Stuff In My Head
Procrastinating about going to sleep, because, well, if I don't go to sleep then I won't have to get up in the morning and then I won't have to do all that shit that I need to do tomorrow. Like pack a bag to go to a conference and send my children off to my mother's for the night. But I'm only staying one night because the thought of being away from my children on school nights is giving me anxiety. I feel like this routine I've worked so hard to perfect since late August will be totally blown out of the water with if they spend more than one night with my mother. Or anyone for that matter. I'm totally fine with them going anywhere on the weekends, but week nights? School nights? I think not. I also think the separation anxiety I am having from being away for one school night is exacerbated by thinking they will have separation anxiety from me, although, I know realistically that's not it. What's really going on in my head is that I feel like their father has already fallen down on so many promises that if I am not there, they might worry I'm crapping out on them, too.
Taxes. How the FUCK did I go from being married and getting THOUSANDS of dollars back each year at tax time to owing the feds? How did that happen? I have six months of mortgage interest to claim, one child, daycare expenses, medical expenses, sales tax, anything my mother could find to itemize and I STILL OWE????? I am so incredibly pissed at myself for agreeing to let The Ex claim our younger daughter that it's not even funny. Greedy bastard. I guess that's the big fuck you I get for agreeing to him not paying child support, though in his defense (why do I even bother to defend him?) he does pay the younger daughter's child care and some other lightweight kind of stuff. But I'm still mad at myself. I suppose that's what ten years of being mistreated, harassed, stalked and condescended to will do to a person's willpower. I hope he catches gonorrhea.
My mother finished up the taxes yesterday and I signed the paperwork and was getting ready to slide the form in the envelope, seal it up and mail that puppy off. My mother says, "Um, you need to put a check in with that." I was like, "What?" She said I need to mail a check in with what I owe in with the actual tax filings. Huh? That is not how that was working in my head. In my head, I was going to mail the filing in, the guv people were going to review it for accuracy and mail me a bill for what I owed. I was then going to call the 1-800 number on the bill and work out a payment plan with the guv. Kind of like my student loans. I mean, they certainly didn't expect me to pay in full upon my college graduation. Why would taxes be any different? But apparently it is. So fuck again. I just won't mail that one in right now. We're not to the deadline anyway. But I did change my withholdings today. I changed from six exemptions to five, because I've figured in order to have money to feed my children, I'll have to crawl it back each year by one. I don't even know how I ended up with six exemptions to begin with, because I got a copy of my withholding form last week at work that I filled out back in 2005 after the younger daughter was born, and all of the numbers were right. That's the guv for you. Funny math and all where none of it adds up right on one form and all of it adds up right on another form and the two forms don't match when it's time to make the forms match.
I put a profile pic on my blog. It always pisses me off to read a book and I flip to the back cover to see what the author looks like and there's no picture. Hello, I want to know what you look like. Don't be recluse. I guess I need to do that, too. So until I change my mind, freak out and take the picture off, which might be tomorrow, here's what I look like, for that one person who reads my blog who might not actually know me personally.
The suspected East Coast Rapist has been caught. I got a little panicky last week after I saw one of the giant electronic billboards on I-95 with the profile up and I came home and looked it up on the web. I'm still on my news boycott, so I don't know much of what's going on if someone doesn't tell me or I don't see it on facebook. But panicky... I came home and immediately checked all of my windows, because my bedroom windows are low enough that when my children locked me out of my bedroom this past weekend, I ran around the back of the house with a screwdriver, popped the screen off and hoisted my younger daughter through the window to run and open Mommy's bedroom door. Thank god the window itself was already open because that would have required some additional effort on my part. But dropping my child in through the window... I didn't even have to hoist her up on my shoulders, I just lifted her up and dropped her in because the window is that low to the ground. I could have climbed in myself, but the neighbors were in their yard and I didn't want anyone to see how that worked. Of course, if the morons who lived in this house before me hadn't put an actual exterior door knob and locking mechanism on the master bedroom door, this would not have been an issue. My children already know simple lock picking, but we haven't gotten to the exterior locks yet. I was waiting until middle school to teach them about the tumblers.
But after I read about this East Coast Rapist, and I knew that however many victims they know about can probably be multiplied by two or three for the real count, I got a little panicky and rushed around and checked all of my doors and locks. Even though the chances were slim he would select my house, I know that there's another one right around the corner. Maybe literally, but I hope not. Kind of like when people get all riled up about school safety and scanning ID's of people going into the schools and oh my god, it could be a sex offender. Yeah, it could be. Probably won't be, but it could be. I always tell people that they don't really need to worry about a registered sex offender trying to get into a school because there's probably already one with full access to the school WHO HASN'T BEEN CAUGHT YET. But the stay-at-home moms and administrators never really like to hear that and their faces get all tight and squinchy when I say that. That's okay. I know it's true. Jut like all of the parents like to say there are no gangs in Midlothian. Sure. Maybe not like what you see on Gangland, but if there are no gangs in Midlothian, then who put the Gangster Disciple graffiti on the big Electric Company substation box across the street from the fancy new hospital with the bell tower and the marble lobby? Oh, wait, I forgot. GD stands for Growth and Development. My mistake.
And now, I've managed to waste an hour. Time to go pack up for this shindig tomorrow and try to make it through til Friday, when Guy #1 will come over and help me paint the kitchen, which was my big weekend project, except I'm so tired of running around doing shit for cheerleading that I really just kind of want a weekend of nothingness, interrupted only by the cheerleading and basketball banquet on Saturday afternoon that I need to finish making the Pie Sale signs for and bake some desserts. But if I go the painting route, which I won't because I just made up my mind I won't, I'm thinking I can paint and he can sit and watch because I'm kind of anal retentive about painting. Or maybe we'll just hop in the sack at three in the afternoon and see what shakes out. Holla!
Taxes. How the FUCK did I go from being married and getting THOUSANDS of dollars back each year at tax time to owing the feds? How did that happen? I have six months of mortgage interest to claim, one child, daycare expenses, medical expenses, sales tax, anything my mother could find to itemize and I STILL OWE????? I am so incredibly pissed at myself for agreeing to let The Ex claim our younger daughter that it's not even funny. Greedy bastard. I guess that's the big fuck you I get for agreeing to him not paying child support, though in his defense (why do I even bother to defend him?) he does pay the younger daughter's child care and some other lightweight kind of stuff. But I'm still mad at myself. I suppose that's what ten years of being mistreated, harassed, stalked and condescended to will do to a person's willpower. I hope he catches gonorrhea.
My mother finished up the taxes yesterday and I signed the paperwork and was getting ready to slide the form in the envelope, seal it up and mail that puppy off. My mother says, "Um, you need to put a check in with that." I was like, "What?" She said I need to mail a check in with what I owe in with the actual tax filings. Huh? That is not how that was working in my head. In my head, I was going to mail the filing in, the guv people were going to review it for accuracy and mail me a bill for what I owed. I was then going to call the 1-800 number on the bill and work out a payment plan with the guv. Kind of like my student loans. I mean, they certainly didn't expect me to pay in full upon my college graduation. Why would taxes be any different? But apparently it is. So fuck again. I just won't mail that one in right now. We're not to the deadline anyway. But I did change my withholdings today. I changed from six exemptions to five, because I've figured in order to have money to feed my children, I'll have to crawl it back each year by one. I don't even know how I ended up with six exemptions to begin with, because I got a copy of my withholding form last week at work that I filled out back in 2005 after the younger daughter was born, and all of the numbers were right. That's the guv for you. Funny math and all where none of it adds up right on one form and all of it adds up right on another form and the two forms don't match when it's time to make the forms match.
I put a profile pic on my blog. It always pisses me off to read a book and I flip to the back cover to see what the author looks like and there's no picture. Hello, I want to know what you look like. Don't be recluse. I guess I need to do that, too. So until I change my mind, freak out and take the picture off, which might be tomorrow, here's what I look like, for that one person who reads my blog who might not actually know me personally.
The suspected East Coast Rapist has been caught. I got a little panicky last week after I saw one of the giant electronic billboards on I-95 with the profile up and I came home and looked it up on the web. I'm still on my news boycott, so I don't know much of what's going on if someone doesn't tell me or I don't see it on facebook. But panicky... I came home and immediately checked all of my windows, because my bedroom windows are low enough that when my children locked me out of my bedroom this past weekend, I ran around the back of the house with a screwdriver, popped the screen off and hoisted my younger daughter through the window to run and open Mommy's bedroom door. Thank god the window itself was already open because that would have required some additional effort on my part. But dropping my child in through the window... I didn't even have to hoist her up on my shoulders, I just lifted her up and dropped her in because the window is that low to the ground. I could have climbed in myself, but the neighbors were in their yard and I didn't want anyone to see how that worked. Of course, if the morons who lived in this house before me hadn't put an actual exterior door knob and locking mechanism on the master bedroom door, this would not have been an issue. My children already know simple lock picking, but we haven't gotten to the exterior locks yet. I was waiting until middle school to teach them about the tumblers.
But after I read about this East Coast Rapist, and I knew that however many victims they know about can probably be multiplied by two or three for the real count, I got a little panicky and rushed around and checked all of my doors and locks. Even though the chances were slim he would select my house, I know that there's another one right around the corner. Maybe literally, but I hope not. Kind of like when people get all riled up about school safety and scanning ID's of people going into the schools and oh my god, it could be a sex offender. Yeah, it could be. Probably won't be, but it could be. I always tell people that they don't really need to worry about a registered sex offender trying to get into a school because there's probably already one with full access to the school WHO HASN'T BEEN CAUGHT YET. But the stay-at-home moms and administrators never really like to hear that and their faces get all tight and squinchy when I say that. That's okay. I know it's true. Jut like all of the parents like to say there are no gangs in Midlothian. Sure. Maybe not like what you see on Gangland, but if there are no gangs in Midlothian, then who put the Gangster Disciple graffiti on the big Electric Company substation box across the street from the fancy new hospital with the bell tower and the marble lobby? Oh, wait, I forgot. GD stands for Growth and Development. My mistake.
And now, I've managed to waste an hour. Time to go pack up for this shindig tomorrow and try to make it through til Friday, when Guy #1 will come over and help me paint the kitchen, which was my big weekend project, except I'm so tired of running around doing shit for cheerleading that I really just kind of want a weekend of nothingness, interrupted only by the cheerleading and basketball banquet on Saturday afternoon that I need to finish making the Pie Sale signs for and bake some desserts. But if I go the painting route, which I won't because I just made up my mind I won't, I'm thinking I can paint and he can sit and watch because I'm kind of anal retentive about painting. Or maybe we'll just hop in the sack at three in the afternoon and see what shakes out. Holla!
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