What It Do, Part 1

This is very possibly a several part update of what's been going on with me. In no specific order...

1. First of all, if you like my stuff, and you're on facebook, go to your search bar and type in "Curls & Stuff" and my page will pop up. There's only one Curls & Stuff on there, which is, yes, you guess it - me! So help a sister out and give me a like or two. Feed my narcissism. Actually, not, but let's get me up over that 25 mark so I can have my own web address or whatever it's called. And send me to your friends! Pass me around! Uhhh, trust me, that really is the first time I've ever said that.

2. Also, even if you don't like football, still check me out on Armchair Linebacker, which is a blog I have been invited to contribute to weekly. Fridays, to be specific. A homeslice of mine from high school does it with some friends of his, and they've come up with this weekly pretend gambling and commentary thing. This was the first week of us doing this, and I have to admit, I've enjoyed it so far. Me contributing to a football blog is about the equivalent of my homeslice contributing to a blog about The Real Housewives, so my commentary and weekly picks have more to do with team colors and graphics and other girly kind of pick stuff, but it does break up the monotony of three football geeks blathering on about actual football stuff like players and stats. Four of my five picks won this week, but because of the point spread (which I still don't freaking understand) I only won pretend money on three of the games. So my buddy told me when I emailed him to ask about it. Goddamn Indianapolis. That was $600 pretend dollars I could have used to get a pretend Brazilian and a real life roof repair. I don't know what's going to happen if I gamble all of my pretend money away and the season's not over. I guess I start pretend hooking with the other three players to get some more?  Anyway, it's www.armchairlinebacker.com

3. The trip to Indiana and Chicago was great this summer. I survived the ride there, survived meeting the family, and survived the plane trip back.
Special notes:
* Driving through Indiana on a stormy night and using the lightening to look for funnel clouds really is scary as shit. In fact, it was the same night the stage thing collapsed at the Indiana State Fair.
* There's a lot of damn corn up there.
* Guess who won $60 buckaroos playing bingo at the American Legion hall? That's right, yo' girl did!
* One of Guy #1's aunts cornered me the second night there and wanted to know when he and I are getting married. That was a little awkward and it was hard trying to explain I really want The Ex to get his third divorce before I have my second marriage, especially whilst pinned up against pool table.
* The biggest trainwreck on the trip wasn't me or the dog, it was most likely his teenage daughter. Whew! for me.
* I feel a swelling of pride that I successfully navigated O'Hare. I know I can do anything now.
* I didn't understand why the flight attends in Chicago kept talking about flotation devices, and so I didn't pay attention. Jesus, we weren't going over any water! And then, when we'd been up in the air for about fifteen minutes, I made the mistake of looking out of the window. Oh my god, what is that? Uhhh, we were supposed to fly AROUND Lake Michigan, not OVER it. The only pilots authorized to fly me over water are the guys who do their thing on Air Force One, and Capt. Sully. I was pretty pissed that US Airways did not clear this with me in advance. So needless to say, the window shade came down and I pretended like I had never seen that huge blue expanse.
* My layover on the way home was in Philadelphia, and I got off the plane at Terminal B. My connecting flight was a Terminal F. Logically and alphabetically, that should have been a fairly short walk. Instead, it was a long walk to a shuttle bus, a long ride to another airport (it seemed like), and then another long walk. Holy fuck, Philadelphia, can all the terminals be in the same fucking jurisdiction?
* And finally, the biggest freak show in the Philadelphia airport? Got on the Richmond flight. Shout out, VCU!

4. The school year is off to a great start for my little angels. My older daughter got a teacher that she didn't know much about, but Mrs. Third Grade Teacher seems awesome in my book. She seems professional and somewhat detached, and all about using her website for parents to get information they need every night. My daughter likes her and Mommy is happy. And for some reason, third grade seems easier than second. My younger daughter likes her teacher, though she didn't know a lot of kids in her class. But she's enjoying the year so far and it's good for her to step outside of the friend box and make some new ones.

Next up: What It Do, Part Deux. We shall cover cheerleading, football, The Ex and maybe Guy #1.

Vacation

My kids went on vacation today. I am so incredibly annoyed about the whole thing I can't even begin to put words to it.  Of course, they went with douchebag and The Girlfriend. I'm pissed because for ten years of being married to that complete asshole, we went on exactly two vacations, both times to the beach, and he bitched and moaned the entire time, because he hates the beach. We went on vacation for our honeymoon, which was to the Outer Banks, because I refused to fly anywhere. He wanted to go back to the place he had his first honeymoon and then pouted for weeks when I refused. Maybe the honeymoon would have been more enjoyable if we had taken separate vacations.  And then, fast forward to 2009, we took our first family vacation, and he bitched and moaned about that one, too, even though I had found a completely decent house to rent a block and a half off of a beach access during high season for $600 a week! Tightwads of the world, unite!

I'll assume he didn't hate the beach but just hated me. Well, dickface, it's mutual. I sent him a text today and told him that I needed the address where the children would be staying for the week, well, because I need to know where in the hell my children are. He texted the address back and I didn't bother to acknowledge it or to say "Have a great time" or any of that nice shit. Nope. Nothing from me. Simply because I know how much it pisses him off when I don't acknowledge his texts. So right after work I came home, hopped on Google Maps and googled that bitch. Yep, because that's what any self-respecting, sometimes bitter ex-wife would do. I'm pleased to report they are staying at a condo development about five miles from the beach. I can't find any real estate rental information about it, other than it's owned by some guy in New York, so I'll have to assume it's some sort of time share. I hope that my kids have a great time and I hope he has a miserable time and gets sunburned on his nasty furry chest that he refuses to manscape. See, I'm already feeling better.

My vacation starts on Saturday. Guy #1 asked me to go back to his hometown in Indiana and meet the family. I didn't realize what a big deal this was until all of my guy friends started weighing in with their opinions. Apparently, meeting a guy's family IS A BIG DEAL. How the hell would I know this? I've never had to travel to meet anyone's family before, so this is new. Dating is still kind of new. Dating someone with kids is still kind of new. Traveling with a kid to meet the family is new. Traveling with a kid and the dog to meet the family is new. I'm just a tiny bit antsy.

I don't travel well, and this is probably because I never do it. In my adult life, I've taken one honeymoon, one family vacation, one weekend trip with a girlfriend to the beach (for which The Ex gave me shit about for three months afterward) and one trip to Illinois to take my grandfather to his World War II reunion, so that didn't even count as a vacation. I've gone out of town a few times for a couple of conferences and I hated that and I'm already working on my excuse to get out of the next conference. But when I say I don't travel well, I mean, I don't travel well. I'm like that purebred Afghan hound that alternately howls and pukes the entire trip, all the while trembling and shaking. Seriously. This is why I've never moved far away from my family, and this is why I have an aunt who lives in Seattle who I haven't seen since 2003. And I have no intention of seeing her unless she comes back to Virginia. She's kind of a weird, left-wing, spinster aunt whom I've never really known beyond Christmas cards and I already told my mom when my aunt dies she's on her own to get my grandmother's stuff back to Virginia. I also have a stepsister in Alabama that I see exactly once or twice per year, when she comes back to Virginia. I'd like to think I'm that kind of person that doesn't come to you, but you come to me. Like the Godfather.

So Saturday morning, Guy #1, his teenage daughter, dog and I will be loading up in the car for a nice 15 hour drive or so to Indiana. Yeah, mapquest says 12 hours and some minutes, but with a dog (and me) it will be about 15 hours. I know this and have told him this, but he doesn't believe me. I am guessing that by the time we hit mid-Kentucky all four of us will want me to be riding in the trunk. Bound and gagged. And then, after we finally get there, I get to meet his ENTIRE family. Which will not be stressful to me *at all*. Not at all. I feel kind of like I did when the people at work gave me employee of the quarter and I guiltily felt like I had bamboozled them and then felt obligated to work about three times harder to make them think they hadn't made a bad decision after all. Which I am still sure that they did, because the quarter after they gave me employee of the quarter I got in trouble with one of the big wigs at work which resulted in me having to write a letter of apology and sitting in my office sobbing for hours at a time.

So given that experience, God only knows how this is going to go. I'll assume a few months after this trip I'll end up having to write someone a letter of apology. I've unfortunately heard all these great things that Guy #1 has told his family about me on the phone and I'm like, HOLY FUCK! I have got to go to another state and pretend to be fucking phenomenal now! OH MY GOD, the pressure is on! I can fake being phenomenal in the next county, but I've never had to do it in another state. I've got exactly one week to live up to all of this shit he's told his family about me! And so, arriving in Indiana sometime Saturday night will be the Stephanie version of Betty Crocker meets Carol Brady meets June Cleaver meets Claire Huxtable (except I'm not black) meets Cagney and Lacey (just because I thought they were tough as hell when I watched them on TV) meets Daisy Duke meets Wonder Woman. Which is a joke, because most people know me more of a Roseanne kind of person. Minus the factory job and polyester pants. And then, because I do have some semblance of manners, I'll feel obligated to be on my best behavior the whole time and be the best and most unobtrusive house guest there ever was. I won't sleep in the bed, I'll just sleep under it. I'll scrub the bathroom down every day and fold my clothes and zip my suitcase back up every morning, I'll go to bed at 7:30pm and stay in bed until 7:30am, and I won't eat more than an anorexic teenage girl. I'll set lots of other rules to follow (and I'll write them down and carry them in my wallet just to make sure I'm doing everything right). Because really, who the hell wants a sloppy house guest who just makes themselves at home? Not me, that's for damn sure. This is also why I don't allow people from out of town to stay with me, either. Get a room, for chrissakes. I am not going to be your fucking Courtyard at the Marriott.

And then, we will make our way to Chicago where we will stay with other family members and I get to pretend all over again, and blissfully, on Saturday morning, I get to face one of my greatest fears when I hop on a big, old jet airplane to fly back to Richmond (well, let's hope the jet airplane isn't old). My kids are moving back home that weekend and my work schedule isn't workable for me taking Monday off. I shall decompress at the Chicago O'Hare bar bright and early Saturday morning, and then I shall visit the Philadelphia airport bar as well, because the plane that's taking me from Philadelphia to Richmond is kind of small. At least this trip makes geographical sense and not like the time I flew to Atlanta from Richmond, because obviously the most direct route from Richmond to Atlanta is through New Jersey. The last time I flew I almost had a panic attack when we started backing away from the terminal, so I'm not sure how this one is going to go, being post-9/11 and all. I can only hope my TSA fondler is a good looking dyke.

I'm pretty sure Guy #1 still doesn't realize how high my level of maintenance can go. He probably will after this trip. If he's still speaking to me.

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!

Bear With Me...

Bear with me while I rant just one more time about The Ex. Okay, "just one more time" really means "today" in Stephanie-speak. I realized tonight that I need to quit checking his facebook page on a daily basis. I didn't used to do that, until the whole middle-finger-picture thing, and now I feel compelled to check it regularly to make sure he doesn't have my children hanging off of a stripper pole or anything like that. But anyway, while he hasn't posted anything inappropriate, he has posted a few lies.

Here's my interpretation of a few of his facebook postings. This could be really funny, or it could be really catty in that ex-wife catty kind of way.

Woke up and the house was 48 degrees. After only a small fortune, a wink and a promise; a brand new motor resides in my attic to run the fan next to the furnace. This means either his girlfriend paid for the motor or his mother did. I'd vote for the girlfriend. Yet another reason I let him keep the house and then made sure I purchased a house with a 6 year old heating system.

What's on your mind?.......Shameless self promotion! An appropriate post for a narcissist. I'll get into that later.

Replaced the ______. Down-sized a bit ;) This was a post about him getting rid of the SUV and buying his mid-life crisis vehicle. The new smaller sports car goes fast and probably doesn't last too long, like his dick.

VCU!!! Ahhh, the eternal college student. I am so glad I won't have to worry about paying back those student loans. His girlfriend can take care of that, too.

‎3 for 3 for 3 I don't even know what this is. He had sex three times in three days and it lasted for three minutes?

Amusing what gets noticed and ignored... gotta' love honest feedback. This would be for the people who made not so complimentary comments on the picture of the children with their middle fingers up in the air, but then didn't comment on his engagement. I can only assume.

Happy Easter! Just finished one of the best sets I've ever played Okay, it was at church. Are you kidding me? Jesus said, let not your drum stick break, for I give you my rhythm.

enjoying an evening of dinner, homework, and games with my daughters. Life is good. Except he didn't do any fucking homework with either one of them. You lie!

What really concerns me here is that if I keep checking The Ex's facebook page he's eventually going to do one of those stalker apps and my mom is going to end up being his number one stalker. And then he might unfriend her, though I would have thought he would have already done it after I confronted him about The Picture. But it also makes sense that he didn't, because that's not someone with Narcissistic Personality Disorder would do.

And that's the real crux of this post. Yes, I've called the man a psychopath once or twice. To his face. Okay, okay, maybe it was a little bit more than that. And maybe I was screaming. But now that the proverbial dust has settled, I've come to the conclusion that this was a misdiagnosis on my part. Silly me, I got my Cluster B personality disorders all mixed up in the unfolding drama of a separation and divorce. Oops.

He's not a psychopath. I've come to this conclusion because I know he was never diagnosed with Conduct disorder as a youth. However, after spending some time with Holy Grail of All Shrinks, I know what I'm dealing with. 

Narcissistic Personality Disorder.  Defined by the Shrink Bible, "A pervasive pattern of grandiosity (in fantasy or behavior), need for admiration, and lack of empathy, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five (or more) of the following:"

Here we go. Follow along with me.

"1. Has a grandiose sense of self-importance (e.g., exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements)         YES

2. Is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love    NOT SO SURE ABOUT THIS ONE

3. Believes that he or she is "special" and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people (or institutions)     NOT SO SURE ABOUT THIS ONE

4. Requires excessive admiration            YEP

5. Has a sense of entitlement, i.e., unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with his or her expectations            AND THIS ONE

6. Is interpersonally exploitative, i.e., takes advantage of others to achieve his or her own ends     OH, YES

7. Lacks empathy: is unwilling to recognize or identify with the feelings and needs of others       STILL A YES

8. Is often envious of others or believes others are envious of him or her          AGAIN, YES

9. Shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes             HEY, ANOTHER YES!

10. Often mild to moderate paranoia, that others are out to do him in.      NOT SO SURE - COULD BE WELL HIDDEN

11. Predominant "name dropper" boasting or suggestion association with people or affiliations of importance."              AND UM, YES AGAIN

* See footnote below because I don't think I can properly footnote this thing.

So, our yeses are: 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 11. That's eight and the requirement is five. Buh-ingo.

I married a narcissist. And then I divorced a narcissist. It was all my fault, simply because nothing is ever his fault. It's cool. We will see how the next marriage shakes out. I give her five years, which would be exactly five years smarter than me.

And now, I've gone to Google. Can you believe that if you type in "how to mess with a narcissist" 234,000 hits come up? And this page could become my best friend: http://thebitchnextdoor.com/. Hey, they even have t-shirts and mugs! Holy shit, I need one of those!

Stay tuned. I've already got A game, but I might be getting ready to take it to the Ivy League level. 

* Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders-IV-TR

Reposting...

Head Lice and Skid Marks

Our outdoor day summer camp experience is complete. Head lice have determined that my older daughter's clean blond hair is a great place to ride the wave into elementary school. Ha! Caught your little asses before that could even happen, motherfuckers.

It started Thursday morning, though not with the hair, but with an ear. She woke up a little whiny and said her ear hurt. The child's almost eight, so I asked if she wanted to go to the doctor or not. I know that sounds a little too democratic-parenting bullshit to some, but for real, it's her ear. She'll let me know if it starts to get out of hand. She said no, let's just wait and see. I was down with that, because I had a dentist appointment scheduled for the younger daughter and I was already going to be late for work, but I didn't want to be dentist appointment AND doctor appointment late. Thursday night I asked about her ear, she says it's fine. But her head itches in this one spot. Hmmmm, I sure hope that's not lice. But it can't be. She washes her hair everyday, specifically so she won't get bugs in her hair.

Our daycare had a lice outbreak a few years ago, five years ago to be exact. I remember this because it was shortly after the younger daughter had been born and I had just returned to the SHITTIEST job in the whole entire world from my maternity leave. Seriously, it was a horrible job and I hated everyone there and I hated myself for having to go there every day. Anyway, our daycare owner, who could also be called the Daycare Nazi, like the Soup Nazi, declared that any child who got lice would not be admitted into her facility until the parent had a doctor's note that the lice had been treated and were eliminated. Obviously, you see where I got the Soup Nazi reference from. There were daycare workers stationed at the front door every day checking each child's hair before entree was granted. If your child had lice, well then, NO DAYCARE FOR YOU! I used to imagine her saying that with a Russian accent like the Soup Nazi.

I immediately spazzed out, because I had just taken three months off from work on vacation leave. I didn't want to burn up any more vacation time, because I would need that to call in sick to go on job interviews because did I mention this was the shittiest job ever? So I went old school on my older daughter. I used the old country ass/prison trick of rinsing her hair with vinegar every night in the bathtub, because this was what the prison system used when hosing down all of the convicts coming in from the local jails. Worked for them for decades before they switched to lye shampoo. Yes, the child was stinking horribly for about two weeks, but no lice. Mommy had prevailed. Take that, you dirty lice.

But back to the story at hand. She's scratching a little bit on Thursday night, but her ear feels all right. Okay, maybe this is just something that's psychosomatic about being back with me after spending a summer with her father whom I am pretty sure just let her do whatever in the hell she wanted. Friday morning, her ear hurts again and she agrees that we should probably go to the doctor. She's asymptomatic for an ear infection, but she always was. And her head still itches, same place. So MommyKemosabe has a little look-see, and honestly, I didn't know what in the hell I was looking for. I didn't see much, other than three or four white flakes that I assume is dry skin from all the scratching. We'll have the doctor look at that, too.

Off to the doctor's office. Swimmer's ear and a middle ear infection. Glad as fuck I caught that before the weekend, because The Ex would have been miserable had it gotten worse, since this is his weekend. I was actually more relieved for my daughter, because screw him. And yes, we have nits. Lovely. I guess nits are baby unhatched lice. I didn't ask because it was gross either way. According to the doctor, lice like clean, light colored hair the best. Who knew? I guess I can stop strong-arming her into washing her hair every day and just go for every two or three days like she really wants to do anyway. I will continue to insist that she at least rinse her ass off every day though, preferably with the soap that I have kindly placed in the shower for that purpose. Off to the pharmacy to get the prescriptions filled, because apparently lice have become resistant to the over-the-counter treatments. Ewwwwww. Or this is just part of a larger conspiracy of the drug companies to get us to buy their shit. Whatever, I don't care at this point. The good news is that it's not a full-blown infestation, it's localized to that one spot. Thank God. And the doctor gave me refills in case the younger daughter gets it. Or in case I get it. What??? Uhhh, what the fuck are you talking about, in case I get it? Oh, hell no. Hell no. Mommy will not get lice. That would totally mess up my chi. Sorry, but quiet time with my vibrator will just not feel the same if I have head lice. It would be like that time I broke my wrist and had a hard cast. I refused to have any kind of sexual relations for the entire duration of wearing said cast because who has sex with a cast on? Seriously, who does that?

My older daughter was quite excited by all of lice-n-nits drama. As I was running her over to summer camp, I cautioned her that this is really something we should just keep to ourselves. Let's not tell any of your friends at camp, because they might make fun. When she asked how they might make fun, I felt this immediate sense of relief, as this was my biggest clue yet that my daughter is not a mean girl. I had to explain what making fun of someone was, and how badly she would feel if someone made fun of her because of this. She asked about telling her camp counselor, and I was like, noooo, this is something we just want to keep in the family. But you can call Nannie and Popeye and tell them if you'd like. I felt absolutely no concern about taking her to summer camp with an active case of head lice. That's where she got them at, so let's just take them back one last day for a little visit. We'll have this knocked out before she returns to the Daycare Nazi for before and after school care, and I will know I narrowly slipped through the net and got one over.

As for skid marks, I don't have much to say about that, other than exactly how old does a child have to be before they actually begin to apply the toilet paper directly to their ass instead of just waving it around down there? Really, it just made for a better title

Huh?????

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blah Blah Blah

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

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

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

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

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

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

Somethin' Is A Brewin'

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

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

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

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

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

More Updates

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Updates

The Dog - The dog will be here until Saturday morning. No more crapping in the house (yet) and the children are still enjoying her. My older daughter and I were in our usual reading spot tonight on my bed and imagine my surprise when the dog came running into the room with one of the older daughter's stuffed animals and immediately began to hump it. I had to laugh, because I knew what the dog was doing, and my older daughter did not. Whew! That dog went.to.town on that stuffed animal, but it was cool because I understand that level of frustration. Not now (thank you, Guy #1) but I can feel where the dog is coming from. My older daughter asked why the dog kept bouncing around on her stuffed rabbit, and I could only say that she must just want to play (yep, that's what I call it, too). All was fine until the younger daughter started screaming about that was HER rabbit and she did NOT give permission for the older daughter to give the rabbit to the dog. And there we have it. Full blown bedtime drama. Shit. And even more screaming and crying when the younger daughter realized there was some dog spit on the rabbit. And then crying and sobbing from the older daughter claiming that she didn't know the rabbit belonged to the younger daughter and now the younger daughter is blaming her. Oooooohhhh, I have got to get these children in the bed.

Mrs. Second Grade Teacher - This woman has gotten on my last nerve, and then done it one more time. Wednesday = envelope day. Today's envelope was at least better than last weeks envelope grades. Two reading tests - one was scored at 100 (way to fucking go!) and one was scored at 56. Huh? How does that work? Does the teacher not see the freaking dichotomy here? Does the teacher even know what dichotomy means? What the hell is going on in that classroom anyway? And then some kind of rubric assignment on Ancient Egypt, which accompanied the Ancient Egypt test. The test score was 83, so that was good. The rubric score was a 70-something. Apparently the class worked on this booklet of information about ancient Egypt, and two of those days were when my older daughter was out sick. I asked my daughter about it and she said that the class worked on the booklet when she was out sick and she didn't get a chance to finish it because she wasn't given extra time. Mrs. Second Grade Teacher's name is about to become Mrs. Trick Ass Bitch Teacher. If that's true, if my older daughter was graded down because she was OUT SICK and wasn't given an opportunity to finish the work, then I have a huge fucking problem of the "I need to meet with this bitch's supervisor because that is just fucked up" sort. Honestly, the more notes I write this woman and the more phone calls I have with this cunt (yes, I know that's an extreme word to use here, but I have had it), the worse it gets. I'm beginning to think some of this grading is retaliatory in nature. I actually started to think that in January, but I didn't want to make that claim because I know that my perception of this woman is incredibly skewed. I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Again. Apparently that was my mistake. So another note will be sent to the teacher tomorrow requesting yet another phone call and if I don't like what comes out of the phone call (and I'm sure I won't) then I'm just going to call someone fucking else.

The Ex - I sent him an email last week letting him know that the older daughter has her follow up appointment with the orthodontist tomorrow. We went last March, and were given a one year pass of the wait and see variety. Well, a year has passed and the child has not lost one additional tooth. In fact, her teeth look like they've shifted into an even more uncomfortable position. The older daughter will need braces, because she got my teeth. By the time I was in fourth grade, I could have eaten corn through a tennis racket. Yes, it was really that bad. But my older daughter has it worse, because she has a cross bite and an over bite. Anyway, the email I got back from the The Ex asked where the orthodontist office was because he forgot. I mean, he was only there in person last year when the older daughter went. Of course he forgot. I emailed back and said it was at the dentist's office, adjoining. He emailed back and asked where that was. Holy fuck, are you kidding me? It's the same goddamn dentist he goes to. I guess that means he hasn't had his teeth cleaned since I moved out last April and stopped nagging him to take care of himself and make use of the dental insurance we had. I am so glad not to be in charge of his health anymore. He wouldn't go to the doctor for a checkup until I begged, and then wouldn't get the prescription for the high cholesterol medication filled until I begged, and then wouldn't take the medication unless I reminded him every day. Fine. Have a fucking heart attack. He wouldn't go to the dentist unless I begged, and blamed it on his childhood exposure to Navy dentists. Fine. Have all your teeth fall out. Ironically, he wanted to go to marital counseling about two years (or maybe it was three or four years, who knows?) before I dropped the bomb and I refused. I said it wasn't worth the co-pay and wasn't worth me taking time off of work for. He insisted again after I dropped the divorce bomb that we should go to counseling, and I said again it wasn't worth the co-pay or my effort, but he could feel free to go and see a therapist on his own. Enter The Girlfriend. Who is now dating someone with clogged arteries and not-so-clean teeth. Have at it, Girlfriend. Literally. But it will be interesting to see what the orthodontist has to say. I predict oral surgery to remove some teeth and then wait and see what happens.

This Started Out As...

A little post about stuff I like, since I waxed poetically yesterday about shit I don't like. I thought I should probably have a little list of stuff that makes me happy to offset the list of shit that makes me not-so-friendly. But then, of course there's always a "but then...", I stumbled across The Ex's facebook page for his dumbass band with his dumbass friends, and saw that he has his first 'gig' scheduled for a Friday night in April.

Well, given his propensity to schedule stuff when he is supposed to have the children, I immediately ran over to my calendar, where I've already figured out our weekend schedules through August, and checked out that day in April. Of course he has the children that weekend. Why in the fuck would he even begin to think about actually spending any time with his children? I suppose I'm the moron for even assuming he would want to spend any time with his children, considering he only sees them every other weekend and one night per week until 8:00. And he keeps asking to switch that one fucking night because he has other stuff going on. He called the other day and wanted to start switching the night in April because he has something else to do on the pre-arranged night. I asked him why couldn't he schedule the other stuff around the children? And he replied that that's exactly what he's doing. Incorrect answer, douchebag. In fact, the only correct answer would have been to say that he needed to jump in a goddamn time machine and take that question back out of the atmosphere of my brain.

I guess I can assume he's going to figure out the week before, maybe a couple of days before THE weekend that he's got this stupid-ass 'gig' that he's double-booked, and he's going to call me to make some kind of arrangement, because I doubt he's going to be able to take our younger daughter to her Friday night gymnastics class. I hope the people who succeeded in raising a complete douchebag are going to be available to help him (meaning his parents) because I'm not going to fucking do it. I am so tired of my children getting short changed from him I don't even know what to do. I am tired of him acting like the victim, I am tired of him acting confused about when his weekends are (every other weekend, motherfucker!) and I am tired of everything else taking priority over the children that he very willingly helped create.

And this is the shitbag I'm going to send my children to live with this summer. I keep waiting for the call from him saying that he doesn't think he'll be able to have the children this summer because he's got too much other stuff going on, and I keep wondering if the children will be at his house for three weeks or so and then he'll call, full of manipulation and douchebagginess, and claim that the children miss me so much that they'd rather be with me. I suppose we'll see. I've got about two months left until I pack the children up for summer and I'm not really looking forward to it.

In fact, I'm feeling so incredibly far into the realm of PMS (because this all ultimately connected to my menstrual cycle) and passive-aggressiveness that I might just make a WHOLE LOT of fake facebook accounts so I can post stupid shit on the wall of his band.  Stuff like: You SUCK! Man, you guys are ugly AND sound bad! Don't quit your day job! Those 102 people who like you must be relatives! Hey, can you please post more sexist comments because they are AWESOME! Tiny dicks rock out! I've heard better music at a Special Olympics recital! And, to go back to the old standby, You SUCK!

I think I missed my calling as a professional heckler. I'll let you know how it goes.

Trying To Get Unstuck

I have gone back and re-read some of my old posts, looking to perfect them, as usual, and I am struck by some of the negativity and bitterness that I seem to be emanating. I need to find my humor again, and not get so wound up in I-hate-my-ex-husband bullshit and all of that. I need to get unstuck from this blackness I seem to be toting around, which is hard, considering I'm laying out of work for the third day straight on sick leave and the guv people I work with don't seem to understand how my sick leave works (old school, baby, which is I call in sick, and then I use my sick leave in eight hour increments without needing to report to other guv people because I have 800-plus hours of sick leave, but whatever) and also considering I'm watching something on TV about the black plague (should that be capitalized?) because I just don't want to watch Beverly Hills, 90210 again. Holy god, I must be sick if I can't bring myself to watch that. I was sick enough on Tuesday that I let my older daughter watch two full hours of The Real Housewives of Orange County, but I justified that to myself by watching it with her and then explaining that's not a very nice way to act. I also justified that by saying to myself that at least it wasn't the Bad Girls Club, or whatever that show about Hustler-Beaver wannabes is.

I need to enjoy that spring is upon us, spring is sprung and my ornamental cherry tree is blooming, and my dogwoods will be blooming and I'll finally know what color the blossoms are, since they had already bloomed and dropped their blossoms when I moved in last year. I need to be grateful that I don't have to pay taxes after all, and that I have sick leave to begin with. I need to be grateful that I have food in cabinet and food in the refrigerator, and that I have health insurance. I should be grateful that after a pseudo-start to my diet, this stuff I have seems to have knocked some weight off of me. Of course, driving my children around with an empty plastic grocery bag on my lap in case I puke is not quite the way I pictured my diet going, but I decided I would just pretend I'm bulimic and that kind of made it all better. Except I didn't binge beforehand because the thought of food makes me want to puke in and of itself. Maybe I should pretend I'm anorexic, then. I know if I drink any more Gatorade I'm going to die. I didn't like Gatorade to begin with - I like it even less now.

I need to quit whining and bitching and just get my ass unstuck and find my funny again.

Sicker Than Dog Shit

I am officially sicker than dog shit. I don't really like dogs, other than a few here and there, and I definitely don't like dog shit, especially in my yard. I mean, there's other stuff sicker than dog shit, but I don't want to compare myself to some of the sick stuff out there, and I don't want to make fun of some of the seriously sick stuff, like radiation or rape-as-a-war-crime. So I'll just go with dog shit.

Bronchitis is what I've been diagnosed with, although Guy #1 has me questioning my doctor now because the doctor didn't take any blood to check any of my levels, only listened to me breathe twice, didn't take a urine sample, so on and so forth. This is the danger of dating an firefighter and EMT, I suppose. Yes, my doctor is Canadian, so there is some stuff that he will probably cut corners on, like my health, but I can get an appointment on the same day with no wait! Where else can you do that in the metro area? And no receptionist triaging on the phone when I call! But I am sure that as soon as Guy #1 reads this, he will point out that there is probably a correlation between the level of care received and the fact that I can always get an appointment right away. I actually feel like this might be pneumonia, which I've had before and thought was going to kill me, but I'm hoping this isn't it. The pneumonia was bad enough, but then I got extra panicky about drowning in myself every time I was drifting off to sleep and that certainly didn't help. I've taken two doses of my medication and don't feel much better. In fact, I feel worse. Chills, horrible body aches and pains, fever, developing the runs (which I think is from the Gatorade I've been drinking because Guy #1 squeezed my fingernails and told me I was a little dehydrated).

But I'm going to make it. Monday the school called and I had to pick up the older daughter because she was sick, and I was headed that way, myself. I was PISSED when we got home and she informed me that Mrs. Second Grade Teacher sent homework home to do that night. Okay, if you're too sick to be at school, wouldn't you think you'd be too sick to do homework? So, because I was feeling like dog shit, we didn't do the homework and I let her stay home on Tuesday. I am pretty sure she could have gone back to school with no problems, because she never ran a fever, but we didn't have the homework done. Uber aunt brought dinner over on Tuesday evening and did the homework, and she went back to school today. And Mrs. Second Grade Teacher sent home extra homework tonight. I was tempted to staple all the extra homework together with a picture of my ass right on top of it, and circle which dimple on my ass she can kiss. But I'm pretty sure that won't go over well. And the younger daughter had a note in her book bag saying that kindergartners will start having homework next week, too.

Simply fucking awesome. I'm lucky to get two and a half hours of time with my children every night (not counting the Mondays I have to work late and my mom babysits, and every Thursday night when the children are with their father until eight o'clock), and the quality of that is questionable because I'm trying to cook a halfway decent meal, clean up the kitchen, direct the homework without actually doing it myself, back up book bags and lunchboxes, and get everyone into bed by eight-thirty. I know this will get easier as they get older, but damn. Guy #1 is of the opinion that I need to call The Ex and explain to him how fucking sick I am and tell him in no uncertain terms that he needs to step up to the plate, and I absolutely refuse. When we were married and I got sick, I felt guilty that he had to handle everything. This was probably because I knew he wasn't doing the job as well as I would have, and probably because he made me feel guilty by asking shit like, "How much longer are you going to be sick?" or "I would have done such-and-such but I thought it would just be better to leave it for you because you do it so much better than me." So this is the first time I think I haven't actually felt guilty about being sick in years, and it feels good. I am not going to invite this man back into my life to make me feel guilty. I would rather crawl into the kitchen on my hands and knees to pack up lunches than ask for his help.

So maybe an update in the next few days. Love to everyone for their thoughts and offers to help out.

How Hard Can It Be?

Tonight's big project: trying to grow my blog. Sounds easy, right? NOPE.

Failure of the worst kind. I figured what I would do is get my blog its own page on facebook, which should be pretty easy considering the number of stupid pages out there that I see on an hourly basis. And then, I could just link my new posts directly onto my blog-affiliated facebook page and grow from there. Hey, like me? Send it to a friend, blah blah blah.

But here's the catch. I'm trying to keep myself relatively anonymous on the blog, which means I'm not linking up to my real facebook page. This is for several reasons: 1) I like to do shit in an incredibly complicated manner, meaning when I finally get it sorted out like I had planned in my head, I feel even smarter than I actually am because I know it's yet another occasion of me driving around my ass to get to my elbow, 2) I don't want any of my co-workers to know about my blog. This is for several reasons - I don't want to become the water cooler topic of the day, and even though I haven't mentioned my employer or my profession on my blog, I don't want to give anyone any ammunition, and lastly because I really don't want to hear the snarky comments from my co-workers about how often I'm getting laid. I figure if I wanted them to know all that, I would just send it out on an email to the whole office. 3) I have spent an inordinate amount of time on this blog bad-mouthing The Ex, most recently mentioning I hope he catches gonorrhea. Obviously, I would prefer that he not find out about my blog. I also don't want a cease and desist letter to come from his attorney, and I just prefer that my blog generally remain nameless. I think it might be more fun for the reader because then the reader isn't bogged down with remembering all of these names AND relationships, and no one gets bogged down with name-baggage, which everyone has to some degree or the other. I also think it makes it easier to pick up reading right on the current post because all I'm doing is naming the relationship, which hopefully means the reader will probably never wonder to themselves, "Who in the hell is The Ex? Mrs. Second Grade Teacher? What about Guy #1?"

This epic failure that I experienced tonight is almost similar to when I started my blog and then signed in using an email account that didn't even exist. To which I had to hurry up and create that account so it would exist and my blog name didn't end up being given away to some other unknowing person with the email account I had just signed up using but didn't actually own. If you can even own an email account, that is. Again, driving around my ass to get to my elbow from the brain. I'm smart and all, but making something super complicated in my head and then still managing to conquer it makes me feel even smarter. Like my taxes, of which the state tax filing was quickly pulled out of the mailbox the other morning when I realized I might have missed a deduction on the federal filing, thus maybe not making me as much in the hole to the feds. So I will be going over to my mother's again on Saturday morning for round #3 of tax preparation.

Back to facebook. I go to the pages section, pick out my category and create a page. I then immediately send the invite or whatever it is to the 31 friends I have (out of the 160-something) that already know about my blog. I realize I can toggle back and forth between my page for my blog and my personal page. Cool! And it doesn't show up as something I like on my personal page. Go to a different web browsing tab and log into my blog. View blog and hit the share button on the facebook icon under my most recent blog post about how I'm trying to get linked up on other sites. Uh-oh. A little error box pops up on facebook and says I must be using my page as me, personally, to be able to share that on facebook. What the fuck? Why? I don't want to do that, because I don't want my blog stuff on my personal facebook page. I want my blog stuff on the page I just fucking set up for my blog stuff. So then, I figure that I can just cut and paste a link to my blog right in the link section of facebook blog page. OH SHIT! It also cut and pasted the picture of me from my blog, which is very similar to the picture on my personal facebook. So either I can remove the pic of myself from my blog (which I'm not going to do because I'm kind of attached to it at this point) or I can figure out another way around this and still remain anonymous.

Jesus Christ, this is getting complicated. Okay, the problem here must be about all of these stupid permissions. So I toggle back and forth between my blog, my blog email, my personal facebook and my page facebook and try to change all of the permissions for both of the emails and the settings. I was feeling pretty slick by the time I got done, because I had just linked everything to everything else and so it was just a big, circular I-just-beat-the-system kind of moment. Go back to the blog page and hit the little facebook link and motherfucker, that same error box just popped up. Are you fucking kidding me? I just spent 30 minutes of my life changing everything and now it still won't work? Now I feel stupid because it just can't be this difficult and complicated. It can't be. Goddamnit, I'm just going to have to start all over. Deleted the facebook blog page and now I think that if I create a fake personal facebook profile with my blog email, and then create a facebook community page, then I can use that to link up to my blog site and it will be completely unaffiliated with me personally.

But I'm too tired for all this tonight. So shout out to the person who sent a facebook friend request to my anonymous blog email. As you can tell, I'm working on it. I suppose it would be easier to just come out of the blog closet, but then it wouldn't be as much fun and somewhere along the line The Ex would find out and that wouldn't be any fun, either. If growing my blog was as easy as growing my jeans size, I would be golden. But it's not, so I guess I'm just beige for right now.

Stay tuned.

Trying To Get Myself Linked Up...

Trying to get myself linked up on a couple of different sites and get a facebook page for my blog going. This won't be quite as easy as it would appear, being that I have elected not to share my blog with anyone I work with (I don't want to be the water cooler discussion of the day) or anyone affiliated with The Ex (because I've spoken poorly of his penis numerous times on here). So to the person that sent me a facebook friend request on my anonymous asshole email - shout out! - check my page out on facebook named.... wait for it... wait for it...  Curls & Stuff. I've checked The Ex's friend list and hopefully you are not one of his friends who created a fake profile to lure me into friending you. I also hope to get myself linked up on a couple of other sites (NOT craigslist) and stuff, but this whole technology bit is a little difficult for me.

Stay tuned!

Stupid Stuff In My Head

I had planned to sit down and write this awesome piece on the youth basketball league game I went to this afternoon, but it will have to wait until tomorrow night because I've got too much other stupid stuff in my head just dying to come out.

First of all, to pic or not to pic my blog out. I'm so undecided on this whole thing I just don't even know what to do. I want to have some pictures to break up the monotony of the writing, and because I think I'm the only person in the world without any pics on my shit. Not OF my shit, but ON my shit. Big difference there. But then I don't want to try too hard and have obvious and contrived pictures that go with the writing and so it ends up being ho-hum in the end. Or maybe I'll just randomly find some crazy ass picture and then I'll write around the picture. Which I can totally do.

And this is what I've ended up with.

Some crazy ass picture of a crazy ass cat with some crazy ass curly hair. This totally looks like a cat that could be living in my house, if it weren't for this Screaming Mimi Siamese cat that already lives here. The kind of cat that would very nonchalantly wander through the living room when I've got people over, and the conversation would stop short and heads would turn in unison to watch the cat walk by, flop down in the middle of the living room and then lick where it's testicles used to be, since pets only seem to lick their genitals when company is around. I mean, I would totally do that too if I could. Um, yeah, not. I don't play for that team. But the end result would be someone saying, "What the fuck happened to that cat's hair?" or "Oh my god, did you curl your cat's hair?" And then I would explain, no, I didn't curl the cat's hair because I don't have a curling iron that small, but I do put scrunchies on their tails every now and then to see what happens, kind of like when you put napkin-booties on a cat. Napkin-booties on a dog don't work quite as well because a dog will just lay down and eat the napkin off of it's paw. A cat will act highly insulted and pretend like nothing is happening here, and will limp off in the most offended manner.

Marital statuses on facebook. I think they might have added to the list. This is what it used to be:

Single - I think we all know what this means. Not taken. Or pretending to be not taken.
In a relationship - I think we all know what this means. Taken. Or pretending to be taken.
Engaged - Only one or two steps away from the wedding ring. Rethink! Rethink! Rethink!
Married - You failed to rethink, or you rethought and decided it was too late to get out of it because you've already put down a non-refundable deposit on the honeymoon.
It's complicated - Finally rethinking and deciding it's not all that it's cracked up to be.
In an open relationship - This says, "My other half and I have decided to just go ahead and sleep with other people. It's cool."
Widowed - This might happen if the other person didn't really agree to sleep with other people and doesn't really agree with you doing it, either.

This is where the list stopped, until sometime last year, late summer-ish, I think.

And then they added:

Separated - Revisiting the whole rethinking part.
Divorced - Rethinking has been completed. Who knew that filing fees through the Circuit Court were so fucking expensive? I bet there would be a lot less marriages (and consequently less divorces) if the goddamn marriage license cost $750 instead of a mere $25. Just saying.

And I think they've most recently added:

In a civil union - This one actually means I'm gay and had to choose this one because "In a Relationship" really doesn't define this level of commitment and I'm not legally allowed to marry in my state. And I want to make a socio-political statement to everyone who already knows me.
In a domestic partnership - And this one means we are SHACKING UP, baby. Why buy the cow when the milk is free? Hellllll yeahhhhhh!

Here's how the last twelve years of my life would be in facebook relationship statuses. I say twelve because I was with The Ex for twelve, married for ten. Yes, we had a very strained ten year anniversary two days before I moved out. I bought him a set of plates at Wal-Mart to make up for the ones I was taking with me. Just to define boundaries, I told him two days prior to the anniversary I would appreciate NOT getting a card. That I would then feel obligated to sneak off and throw away.

Single - The Army guy I just fell in like with went back to his regular stationing in Texas. I'm lonely and you're available.
In a relationship - I am still lonely and you're still available. Sure, we can call this a relationship.
Engaged - I've convinced myself that no one else will ever want to marry me and my biological clock has become a ticking time bomb. Yeah, we can give this thing a whirl.
Living together - This was about when I became The Housekeeper and Laundress.
Married - Everyone said that getting married on a rainy day is good luck. In my heart I knew it wasn't true.
Thinking I don't really like you that much but I can convince myself otherwise - This phase lasted until the birth of the older daughter.
Oh, God, now we're stuck because we have a child together - You are effectively stuck with me forever because I am not putting my child(ren) through a divorce. I don't really care if we don't get along and have nothing in common. We now have DNA in common so let's just suck it up.
Making it work - This was the phase of me really trying hard to fall in love and make it stick.
Second child on the way - This might just cement the previous relationship status.
In my head it's not working - Realizing that I have two children I gave birth to and one I married.
I wish he would just cheat on me because maybe then he would leave me alone - Does this really need a description?
I don't even remotely like this man - This might have come into fruition around year eight of the marriage.
I am miserable - Year nine of said marriage.
Separated - Oh, sweet light at the end of the tunnel. Oh, agonizing guilt for doing this to my children.
I will never date again - Because I am really scared this might happen again.
I need to get laid - Well and often. Because a girl can dream, right?
Dating website - Which worked out very nicely after I finally stopped changing my mind. Mad props to Guy #1.
Pending depositions and divorce - Again, why are these court fees so high? That's almost two months worth of before and after school care for the one child I am responsible for paying for.
Divorce - I anticipate it will be a sad and sobering relief. Life lessons do not always come cheap. Maybe that's what the court fees are trying to tell me, or it's the government's way of trying to restrict divorce without really restricting it.

There we have it. My marriage in facebook relationship statuses.

And I'm still looking for that ghetto necklace that says 'I heart midget porn'. I could totally rock that out in a suit with some spectator pumps, but not the platform spectator pumps, because then it would look like I was just missing my stripper pole. Nah, I'll stop talking shit. I would never, ever wear that to work, just because of what I do. Which is not stripping. But I would wear it to the mall to eat a quick dinner at the food court with Guy #1 before I slide up in my favorite big box bookstore to get a second grade science workbook for my older daughter.

Stay tuned for other good stuff about the the championship youth league basketball game I went to today, Mrs. Second Grade Teacher, and Lunchtime Musings and other stupid stuff in my head.

Stay Tuned

Since I am getting laid on the regular now (and correctly, too! Bonus!) I really have no desire to go trolling through craigslist looking for freakshows. I think I will be bringing in a new column to fill the gaps, and that column shall be called Lunchtime Trolling. I eat my lunch at my desk at work and just troll around on the internet. Well, to be honest, sometimes I'm not eating lunch because I've decided at 9:41am that the internet might be more interesting than my work, but that's another story. So I just spend 30 minutes or so farting around on the internet looking for random stuff to read. Except for adult content unless it's like that one time I clicked on random article on the Wikipedia website and ended up on anal bleaching. Oh my god, people do that? I guess instead of it being the chocolate starfish it's the bleachy starfish. Either way... N.A.S.T.Y.

So stay tuned... Lunchtime Trolling is coming your way.

I'm Baaaaackkkkkkk!!!! Well, Maybe

Okay, so my grand plan with this whole online dating thing was that it was going to be this big gigantic social-network-internet-dating-experiment kind of thing, and I would have a variety of different posts that would start out with "Date #1 with Guy #1" and "Date #2 with Guy #4" and "Date #4 with Guy #2" and such and such. In fact, my girlfriends and I even joked that I would end up needing a spreadsheet to keep track of the emails, chats and dates and such. Sort of a mathematized DFL, but without me screwing all of them because that would be kind of trashy.

Has not worked out quite like I planned. Had Date #1 with Guy #1, and he became Guy #1 because he was the first guy who asked me out. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not just going out willy-nilly with anyone, but after emailing and chatting with about five different (maybe more, I can't fucking remember because I had only visualized the spreadsheet at this point) men, none of them had asked me out. Huh???? Okay, why are we emailing and chatting endlessly then? Let's get to the point and go on a damn date. Geez. So Guy #1 asked me out, and well yeah, I said yes. I mean, that's what I'm on this dating site for, right? To meet men that I would not normally meet and to open avenues that I might not travel down in my normal day to day life.

Date #1 with Guy #1. I am intrigued by his personality. This man talks more than I do. Holy shit. But it's all good and like I said, I'm intrigued. So this led to Date #2 with Guy #1. My plan is that I am still going to date other guys, but still... no one is asking me. Okay, come on, fellas, I don't want to have to be the one asking. Chivalry is not dead in my book. Take the lead on this one. Date #2, even more intrigued. We have a lot in common and I'm pretty sure he likes me for me. Hmmmm, strange. He doesn't know me yet, because that's all this can be, is confusion on his part. This led to Date #3 with Guy #1, because I'm even more intrigued and attracted at this point.

The spreadsheet plan has fallen by the wayside because at this point, I'm thinking that I really like this guy, he's very nice to me, still talks as much as I do, and hasn't been scared off by my tales of woe and marital separation and panic attacks. Veeeeeeery interesting. He might get the essence that is Steph.

So this is where I stand right now, and this is why I've been neglecting my blog to death. It's hard to blog and troll around on the internet for freakshows when I'm gabbing on the phone late at night like a little high school girl, or holding hands in the movie theater. I've looked at my blog wistfully, and read a few snarky comments left by my loyal friends and family screaming about needing their blog fix... and I'm thinking, FUCK! Let a girl get laid!

I know I said stay tuned sometime last month, and by God, I meant it. While I've been running around with Guy #1 (and the only guy at this point), I've also been dealing with Mrs. Second Grade Teacher, cheerleading (oh my god will this shit ever end?), The Ex and life in general. My oldest daughter's birthday is coming up this weekend, and I've planned a family dinner with at our favorite Japanese steakhouse with the soon-to-be-ex-laws, my children and one of their little friends, The Ex and his girlfriend. I'm going to start calling her The Girlfriend. She deserves her own special capitalization at this point. So yeah, I'm doing that whole family dinner thing this weekend, because I need to prove to my children that Mommy is okay with all of this shit and whatever Daddy has told them is a bunch of shit. Cue the soundtrack to The Twilight Zone.
Stay tuned, bitches. I will be back.