fun with polyvore.com

Blue Christmas by Jamie 3 featuring French Connection

thanks for your thoughts, captain perfection!

You know, I get so tired of people being so judgmental about everything I say about having kids. Particularly people who (a) have no kids and (b) have not seen me in like a decade or ever met my kids.

Perhaps I am alone in the impression that having kids is not a 24-hour-a-day experience of magic and delight, a theme park life full of cotton candy and rainbows. My boys are awesome. They are hilarious and (I would be willing to bet cash) probably smarter than most kids their age that you know. They definitely make me laugh and they are affectionate and imaginative and cool. HOWEVER, I don't care how fantastic a kid is; you cannot be around any kid every moment of every day of your life and not have him or her get on your nerves occasionally.

I have tried to be non-judgmental about anyone's life with children. Want to move to a commune and co-sleep and eat only organically grown vegetables and use only clothing fabricated from alpaca fiber? Fantastic! Want to live in a 24^th floor apartment in the middle of New York City and send your kid to a gazillion-dollar-a-year preschool? Have fun! Stay-at-home mom? Congratulations! Working mom? Great! With that in mind, I have never quite understood why people are so flipping quick to judge me when I say something about having kids.

Perhaps I'm the only mother on the planet who enjoys time to herself, whose patience runs thin on a daily basis, who gets tired of planning meals and breaking up fights. I don't think that's the case, but perhaps I am. I guess unless you're perfect, in these people's minds, you shouldn't have kids. Well, thanks for your input, Dr. Laura. Did you spend all your time at home growing up with your parent, who smiled and giggled and spent all his/her time doing crafts and cooking nutritious meals and played creative games all the time? That's not true of my childhood, and I think it didn't destroy me. My mom stayed at home sometimes, worked sometimes, did equal amounts of laughing and yelling, and lost her patience with us on a regular basis. It's only natural. If you spend a great portion of your time with two or more children, it's going to happen.

I guess the main thing that annoys me is that I believe, I know, that everyone has the same feelings I do, maybe not as often, maybe in a different way, but every mom I know would love a vacation from her life (even if she spends the entire vacation missing the kids and calling home to see if they're okay). Every mom I know gets tired of her constant servitude to her offspring and wishes she could have a break for a while. Every mom I know, even the ones who stay at home and love doing it, really really enjoys a night out with friends, a break from the house, some alone time, some adult conversation, and the ability to get up, stay in pajamas, and watch TV all day with no demands from anyone but herself. We're not saints. And just because babies were produced in our bodies doesn't mean that we aren't allowed to complain or be honest about how difficult and annoying it is sometimes.

Do something mean to my kids. I'll kill you. Touch them, and if I can't get to you myself, I will hire someone who will. Talk to them inappropriately, and you'll be hearing from me. I love my boys. They're probably better people than you are, in my mind. However, I would be lying if I said that I am thrilled to have them around 24 hours a day, seven days a week, that it never drives me over the edge, that I never need to escape to keep my sanity. If you choose to lie, then go ahead. I prefer to be honest. And until you've lived in my house, with my kids, then keep your judgmental thoughts to yourself.

stuff you should buy for me

Thanks to Baye, I rediscovered a website I love today. And in between grading papers, I perused. Here are some things you should purchase for me and send to me. I will be happy to provide a mailing address. This will be an ongoing list.

Old School Stickies Set
http://www.knockknock.biz/catalog/categories/sticky-notes/stickies-sets/old-school-stickies-set/

Diagnose Your Neuroses Wheel
http://www.knockknock.biz/catalog/categories/books-other-words/wheels-o-wisdom/diagnose-your-neurosis-wheel-o-wisdom/

Corporate Flash Cards
http://www.knockknock.biz/catalog/categories/books-other-words/flashcards/corporate-flashcards/

Slang Flash Cards (part deux)
http://www.knockknock.biz/catalog/categories/books-other-words/flashcards/slang-2-flashcards/

Dial-an-Excuse
http://www.knockknock.biz/catalog/categories/books-other-words/wheels-o-wisdom/dial-an-excuse-wheel-o-wisdom/

The Complete Manual of Things That Might Kill You
http://www.knockknock.biz/catalog/categories/books-other-words/books/the-complete-manual-of-things-that-might-kill-you/

I'd Rather Be… Paper Mousepad
http://www.knockknock.biz/catalog/categories/pads/paper-mousepads/id-rather-be-paper-mousepad/

I Didn't Realize You Were Cool Until… Sticky Pad
http://www.knockknock.biz/catalog/categories/sticky-notes/cubicle-notes/i-didnt-realize-you-were-cool-until-sticky/

Crap File Folders
http://www.knockknock.biz/catalog/categories/accessories/file-folders/crap-file-folders/

Vouchers for Co-Workers
http://www.knockknock.biz/catalog/categories/books-other-words/vouchers/vouchers-for-co-workers/

Daily Mood Tracker Paper Mousepad
http://www.knockknock.biz/catalog/categories/pads/paper-mousepads/daily-mood-tracker-paper-mousepad/

Slang Flashcards (part une)
http://www.knockknock.biz/catalog/categories/books-other-words/flashcards/slang-flashcards/

The Savvy Convert's Guide to Choosing a Religion
http://www.knockknock.biz/catalog/categories/books-other-words/books/the-savvy-converts-guide-to-choosing-a-religion/

And one I might actually have to buy for myself, since it's on sale and I'm worried they're discontinuing it. The OMFG File Tote.
http://www.knockknock.biz/catalog/categories/accessories/file-totes/asapomfg-totable/

tolerance

You know, I have fairly mixed political beliefs. I am conservative in some ways, liberal in some ways, and I typically have shaky opinions about political issues because I can see both sides. There are a few things I feel strongly about, and those things are typically more liberal than conservative.

That said, just wondering… Has anyone EVER seen me argue, like REALLY argue, with someone over their politics being wrong? EVER? I have friends on both sides of the political fence. Family members too. As I said, I can see both sides in most issues. I am pretty mixed about it all. Like, I support same sex marriage, but I don't think we have to take "God" out of the pledge and stuff. I don't think nationalized healthcare is that bad of an idea, but I think the laissez-faire welfare system should be seriously restricted or cancelled. In the past elections, I've voted for McCain but Gore and Kerry, and for Governor Ritter (Dem.) but also for Bobby Jindal (Rep.).

When other people talk about their politics, the most I might do is admit that I don't necessarily agree, but I never get all adamant about it. I have had ONE conversation about a political topic in my memory that lasted more than a few seconds in which I really emphasized my thoughts on a topic, and that was with someone who was doing the same and it was totally non-confrontational.

That said, why is it that if I want to support a specific political stance, the opposers have to be so vocal as to be demeaning about it? I don't go up to people whose beliefs I disagree with and pound them over the head with my ideas. I might not agree with your beliefs about politics, religion, patriotism, but I don't go out of my way to state I disagree. This is why I rarely have strong beliefs about politics: I listen to all sides, and I can see benefits and disadvantages with most issues.

When it comes down to it, we're not changing each other's minds. So can we just accept that one of the great things about freedom is that we WILL disagree about some things? And can we be tolerant rather than accusatory? When someone I know is doing illegal and immoral activity and boasts about their religious convictions outwardly, do I go up to them and say, "Yeah, right, SINNER!" No. I let them be. So let's all try to do that.

Liam

Just in case you were wondering who the most hilarious kid in the world is, it's Liam.

Okay, it's impossible to explain in words what all this kid does. He is dancing or making noises or faces or walking like a zombie or something, and often when no one is looking, just for his own personal enjoyment. I'll have to get a video. Like of him saying, "WHASSUUUUUUUUP" beer commercial style. Or him dropping his water and saying, of his own accord, "Oh Lord." ("Oh, Loid.") Or when he can't reach a toy that rolled below the washing machine and stands up and says, frustrated, "This is ridiculous."

Oh, and if you were wondering, he'll be two in October.

So this morning he wanted me to carry him around and I wouldn't do it, so while I was upstairs in my closet getting my clothes to get dressed, he stood at the bottom of the stairs (just like six or seven stairs), yelling and crying and generally throwing a fit.

After a few minutes, he stopped crying, and proceeded to inform me, with a plain, straight voice, over and over, "I'M SAD. I'M SAD. I'M SAD."

Just in case you didn't know, there, mom.

he’s going to turn our children into muslim freedom-haters!

For people who were afraid of the "insidious" speech that Obama was going to give to our poor, vulnerable children, here's the transcript of the speech he gave from whitehouse.gov. And if you've taught high school in Pueblo, you'd know that if many parents gave a rat's ass about their kids' educations, then the President probably wouldn't have to take time out of his busy schedule to talk to our kids himself.

Prepared Remarks of President Barack Obama
Back to School Event

Arlington, Virginia, September 8, 2009

The President: Hello everyone – how's everybody doing today? I'm here with students at Wakefield High School in Arlington, Virginia. And we've got students tuning in from all across America, kindergarten through twelfth grade. I'm glad you all could join us today.

I know that for many of you, today is the first day of school. And for those of you in kindergarten, or starting middle or high school, it's your first day in a new school, so it's understandable if you're a little nervous. I imagine there are some seniors out there who are feeling pretty good right now, with just one more year to go. And no matter what grade you're in, some of you are probably wishing it were still summer, and you could've stayed in bed just a little longer this morning.

I know that feeling. When I was young, my family lived in Indonesia for a few years, and my mother didn't have the money to send me where all the American kids went to school. So she decided to teach me extra lessons herself, Monday through Friday – at 4:30 in the morning.

Now I wasn't too happy about getting up that early. A lot of times, I'd fall asleep right there at the kitchen table. But whenever I'd complain, my mother would just give me one of those looks and say, "This is no picnic for me either, buster."

So I know some of you are still adjusting to being back at school. But I'm here today because I have something important to discuss with you. I'm here because I want to talk with you about your education and what's expected of all of you in this new school year.

Now I've given a lot of speeches about education. And I've talked a lot about responsibility. I've talked about your teachers' responsibility for inspiring you, and pushing you to learn. I've talked about your parents' responsibility for making sure you stay on track, and get your homework done, and don't spend every waking hour in front of the TV or with that Xbox. I've talked a lot about your government's responsibility for setting high standards, supporting teachers and principals, and turning around schools that aren't working where students aren't getting the opportunities they deserve.

But at the end of the day, we can have the most dedicated teachers, the most supportive parents, and the best schools in the world – and none of it will matter unless all of you fulfill your responsibilities. Unless you show up to those schools; pay attention to those teachers; listen to your parents, grandparents and other adults; and put in the hard work it takes to succeed.

And that's what I want to focus on today: the responsibility each of you has for your education. I want to start with the responsibility you have to yourself.

Every single one of you has something you're good at. Every single one of you has something to offer. And you have a responsibility to yourself to discover what that is. That's the opportunity an education can provide.

Maybe you could be a good writer – maybe even good enough to write a book or articles in a newspaper – but you might not know it until you write a paper for your English class. Maybe you could be an innovator or an inventor – maybe even good enough to come up with the next iPhone or a new medicine or vaccine – but you might not know it until you do a project for your science class. Maybe you could be a mayor or a Senator or a Supreme Court Justice, but you might not know that until you join student government or the debate team.

And no matter what you want to do with your life – I guarantee that you'll need an education to do it. You want to be a doctor, or a teacher, or a police officer? You want to be a nurse or an architect, a lawyer or a member of our military? You're going to need a good education for every single one of those careers. You can't drop out of school and just drop into a good job. You've got to work for it and train for it and learn for it.

And this isn't just important for your own life and your own future. What you make of your education will decide nothing less than the future of this country. What you're learning in school today will determine whether we as a nation can meet our greatest challenges in the future.

You'll need the knowledge and problem-solving skills you learn in science and math to cure diseases like cancer and AIDS, and to develop new energy technologies and protect our environment. You'll need the insights and critical thinking skills you gain in history and social studies to fight poverty and homelessness, crime and discrimination, and make our nation more fair and more free. You'll need the creativity and ingenuity you develop in all your classes to build new companies that will create new jobs and boost our economy.

We need every single one of you to develop your talents, skills and intellect so you can help solve our most difficult problems. If you don't do that – if you quit on school – you're not just quitting on yourself, you're quitting on your country.

Now I know it's not always easy to do well in school. I know a lot of you have challenges in your lives right now that can make it hard to focus on your schoolwork.

I get it. I know what that's like. My father left my family when I was two years old, and I was raised by a single mother who struggled at times to pay the bills and wasn't always able to give us things the other kids had. There were times when I missed having a father in my life. There were times when I was lonely and felt like I didn't fit in.

So I wasn't always as focused as I should have been. I did some things I'm not proud of, and got in more trouble than I should have. And my life could have easily taken a turn for the worse.

But I was fortunate. I got a lot of second chances and had the opportunity to go to college, and law school, and follow my dreams. My wife, our First Lady Michelle Obama, has a similar story. Neither of her parents had gone to college, and they didn't have much. But they worked hard, and she worked hard, so that she could go to the best schools in this country.

Some of you might not have those advantages. Maybe you don't have adults in your life who give you the support that you need. Maybe someone in your family has lost their job, and there's not enough money to go around. Maybe you live in a neighborhood where you don't feel safe, or have friends who are pressuring you to do things you know aren't right.

But at the end of the day, the circumstances of your life – what you look like, where you come from, how much money you have, what you've got going on at home – that's no excuse for neglecting your homework or having a bad attitude. That's no excuse for talking back to your teacher, or cutting class, or dropping out of school. That's no excuse for not trying.

Where you are right now doesn't have to determine where you'll end up. No one's written your destiny for you. Here in America, you write your own destiny. You make your own future.

That's what young people like you are doing every day, all across America.

Young people like Jazmin Perez, from Roma, Texas. Jazmin didn't speak English when she first started school. Hardly anyone in her hometown went to college, and neither of her parents had gone either. But she worked hard, earned good grades, got a scholarship to Brown University, and is now in graduate school, studying public health, on her way to being Dr. Jazmin Perez.

I'm thinking about Andoni Schultz, from Los Altos, California, who's fought brain cancer since he was three. He's endured all sorts of treatments and surgeries, one of which affected his memory, so it took him much longer – hundreds of extra hours – to do his schoolwork. But he never fell behind, and he's headed to college this fall.

And then there's Shantell Steve, from my hometown of Chicago, Illinois. Even when bouncing from foster home to foster home in the toughest neighborhoods, she managed to get a job at a local health center; start a program to keep young people out of gangs; and she's on track to graduate high school with honors and go on to college.

Jazmin, Andoni and Shantell aren't any different from any of you. They faced challenges in their lives just like you do. But they refused to give up. They chose to take responsibility for their education and set goals for themselves. And I expect all of you to do the same.

That's why today, I'm calling on each of you to set your own goals for your education – and to do everything you can to meet them. Your goal can be something as simple as doing all your homework, paying attention in class, or spending time each day reading a book. Maybe you'll decide to get involved in an extracurricular activity, or volunteer in your community. Maybe you'll decide to stand up for kids who are being teased or bullied because of who they are or how they look, because you believe, like I do, that all kids deserve a safe environment to study and learn. Maybe you'll decide to take better care of yourself so you can be more ready to learn. And along those lines, I hope you'll all wash your hands a lot, and stay home from school when you don't feel well, so we can keep people from getting the flu this fall and winter.

Whatever you resolve to do, I want you to commit to it. I want you to really work at it.

I know that sometimes, you get the sense from TV that you can be rich and successful without any hard work -- that your ticket to success is through rapping or basketball or being a reality TV star, when chances are, you're not going to be any of those things.

But the truth is, being successful is hard. You won't love every subject you study. You won't click with every teacher. Not every homework assignment will seem completely relevant to your life right this minute. And you won't necessarily succeed at everything the first time you try.

That's OK. Some of the most successful people in the world are the ones who've had the most failures. JK Rowling's first Harry Potter book was rejected twelve times before it was finally published. Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team, and he lost hundreds of games and missed thousands of shots during his career. But he once said, "I have failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed."

These people succeeded because they understand that you can't let your failures define you – you have to let them teach you. You have to let them show you what to do differently next time. If you get in trouble, that doesn't mean you're a troublemaker, it means you need to try harder to behave. If you get a bad grade, that doesn't mean you're stupid, it just means you need to spend more time studying.

No one's born being good at things, you become good at things through hard work. You're not a varsity athlete the first time you play a new sport. You don't hit every note the first time you sing a song.

You've got to practice. It's the same with your schoolwork. You might have to do a math problem a few times before you get it right, or read something a few times before you understand it, or do a few drafts of a paper before it's good enough to hand in.

Don't be afraid to ask questions. Don't be afraid to ask for help when you need it. I do that every day. Asking for help isn't a sign of weakness, it's a sign of strength. It shows you have the courage to admit when you don't know something, and to learn something new. So find an adult you trust – a parent, grandparent or teacher; a coach or counselor – and ask them to help you stay on track to meet your goals.

And even when you're struggling, even when you're discouraged, and you feel like other people have given up on you – don't ever give up on yourself. Because when you give up on yourself, you give up on your country.

The story of America isn't about people who quit when things got tough. It's about people who kept going, who tried harder, who loved their country too much to do anything less than their best.

It's the story of students who sat where you sit 250 years ago, and went on to wage a revolution and found this nation. Students who sat where you sit 75 years ago who overcame a Depression and won a world war; who fought for civil rights and put a man on the moon. Students who sat where you sit 20 years ago who founded Google, Twitter and Facebook and changed the way we communicate with each other.

So today, I want to ask you, what's your contribution going to be? What problems are you going to solve? What discoveries will you make? What will a president who comes here in twenty or fifty or one hundred years say about what all of you did for this country?

Your families, your teachers, and I are doing everything we can to make sure you have the education you need to answer these questions. I'm working hard to fix up your classrooms and get you the books, equipment and computers you need to learn. But you've got to do your part too. So I expect you to get serious this year. I expect you to put your best effort into everything you do. I expect great things from each of you. So don't let us down – don't let your family or your country or yourself down. Make us all proud. I know you can do it.

Thank you, God bless you, and God bless America.

vent

Okay, I just have to vent about something for a minute.

Let's just say for the record that I am aware that the grass is always greener on the other side. This said, does that mean that no one is able to ever generally complain about anything? Like, I am married and I have the two boys. There are definitely times that I am envious of my single friends, of their freedom, of their ability to do things without having to think about so many other people, of their nice apartments that they got to decorate on their own, and their ability to just up and move or do things like that with less to deal with.

Does this mean that I can't allow them to complain about anything to do with being single? No. I know that many of my single friends are envious of others who are married and/or have kids, because they would like to experience that family life. I have no problem with their talking about their lives and venting about doing things alone, etc. In turn, I don't expect them to think I'm evil for occasionally saying that I wish I could have more freedom, etc.

You know, I have had the same types of life tragedies that everyone else has had. I've had the relationships, I've been divorced, I've had two miscarriages, I've been through some hardcore depression periods, I've moved across the country and had no one around… And frankly, I think I'm doing pretty effing well. I go through life on a daily basis in a pretty positive manner. I might make sarcastic comments about things, but if you know me at all, you know that that cynicism is just part of my sense of humor, that sarcastic comments is how I entertain myself.

And through all of the life tragedies, I've had the same responses that other people have. During the miserable relationships, I've been completely envious of friends with happy relationships. Does that mean they weren't able to vent about things about their boyfriends or husbands that annoyed them? Hell no. I always listened to them and laughed or bitched with them. After the miscarriages, I had the horrible envy of people who were able to have healthy babies with no problems at all, but did that mean that I felt the need to condemn them if they complained about not being able to sleep or having to lug a bunch of baby stuff around? No. In my mind, I might have been thinking, Be glad you have a baby! but I wasn't openly yelling at them. When I moved here away from my family, I definitely was envious of my sisters who had my parents around to babysit and help with their kids, but that certainly didn't mean that I didn't allow them to complain about family drama when it happened. You never know how it feels to be in a situation or how you'd react to a situation until you've been in it yourself.

The bottom line is, if you want to be friends with people, you have to be able to appreciate their situations and take the good and the bad and not constantly make them feel as though they aren't appreciative enough of their lives. I can't imagine being in the position of some of my friends, who have had serious tragedies with deaths of parents and children with serious illnesses, but I would hope that even as they are going through those things, that if they are friends with me, then perhaps I can complain a little about my job or something without constantly being harrassed.

Everyone that has kids knows that it is not always an effing walk in the park. Does this mean that we don't want our kids? No. Does this mean that we can't appreciate the feelings of people who don't have them but want them? No. But until you have kids of your own, you should keep your opinions to yourself when someone wants to vent a little about them. Like, I remember when Candace's boys were little, wondering about how she'd react to things and why she was always so stressed out with her kids and stuff like that, and I remember being judgmental at times. It wasn't until I had kids of my own that I could totally appreciate her situation and completely empathize with her reactions to certain situations.

When you aren't in a situation, it might seem all roses and lollipops from the outside. You might think, "Man, I would gladly go through sleepless nights if I could just have a baby" or "I would LOVE to deal with marital issues if I could just find a good husband," but until it happens to you, you can't know. Just like I can think, "Man, I'd love to live alone in my own apartment," but I don't know what it's like to go home to an empty place. After I had my first miscarriage, I felt that way, like I would do anything to have a baby, but still, once I had my own sleepless baby, I was just a regular person, wishing I could sleep.

So if you're a superhero who plans to live your life perfectly and never complain about anything, CONGRATULATIONS! As far as I know, however, there are no superheroes among us, and I think we should just be able to support each other without being so hatefully judgmental of everyone around us. Because frankly, it just reveals you to be the miserable, nasty person you are, the person who is unable to get past his/her own problems and experiences and put yourself out there to change them. If you can't accept that there are negatives in everything, then perhaps it's because you are so consumed with your own negativity that you don't understand that there can be a little bad in anything that's good.

a little hint

How do we know I never wear dresses? Because today, I put on this long sundress just to lounge around the house, and Aidan said, "Mommy, what is that long thing that you're wearing that looks like a dress?"

my bone to pick

Okay, this is not a new topic for me to discuss, but here goes anyway.

I went to this church this morning. I've been meaning to try out a few to see if I can find one I like around here, so I can bring the boys. I went to the first one today, an Assemblies of God one. Very small, very new. It was alright. The people were really friendly, and it was very casual. The preacher was okay, not particularly compelling or interesting, but not ultra boring or stupid. And as an Assemblies of God church, I know basically their beliefs, so I was prepared for any conservative politics, etc. And there wasn't anything that worried me much.

There was just one statement that grated on me a little, a very small side comment about Prozac.

As I'm sure you know, I take a few crazy meds. I know that there are people who think it's stupid and that medications aren't necessary, etc. I know that there are people who don't believe in them. And I know that the hardcore religious community often believes that medication would not be necessary if one was living the way that they believe is right.

I have issue with this. Let me just say something. I have had problems with this crap since I was in sixth or seventh grade, possibly before, but that's the earliest I specifically remember. I was raised in church, and everyone knows my parents. I didn't start any real rebellion against anything until high school, and I lived a clean life. But still, there I was, a 12 year old, wanting to kill myself. As I got older, I definitely had my backs and forths with religion and spiritual beliefs. But I NEVER was able to leave these issues behind. I had equal bouts of depression and suicidal thoughts regardless of what I was doing with my life. I had serious depression when I was going to church three or four times a week and hanging out with church friends and doing a 100% religious living. And I had serious bouts of depression when I was partying and drinking in college. It was equal ALL THE TIME. It always went back and forth, and I was typically pretty good at being highly functioning about it, so I guess people might not have known any of it. The only time I ever went any amount of time without serious issues was when Tony and I first were dating, and I'm guessing that was the new love endorphins. J There were times I took medication and times I didn't, but until I took Prozac after I had Liam, I didn't find any relief from any of it. After a while, it stopped working, and we had to try something else, and things are good again.

So why is it that people have to be so negative about something that helps others? It doesn't give me any sort of high. It's legal. It doesn't have any real side effects. By talking to me or being around me, you wouldn't even know I was on anything if I didn't mention it.

If we can believe that there are brain malfunctions that cause Alzheimer's, dementia, Parkinson's, Lou Gehrig's, then why can't we believe that there are much smaller malfunctions that can affect mood in a way that must be balanced out with medicine? I mean, I am not saying at all that these horrible diseases relate in any way to depression. My great grandma died after suffering from Alzheimer's for YEARS, and I've got friends and family members who've had their experience with relatives with these other diseases. I'm just saying, why does it have to be devastatingly life threatening for us to believe in it?

If you're happy on your own, if you never feel the overwhelming urge to drown yourself over a very minor problem, if you never feel as though you wish you were dead when there is literally nothing going wrong in your life and you can't figure out why, then good for you. But why knock those of us who aren't so lucky? And why make it so that someone who feels so much better on medication must feel guilty morally for wanting to feel better?

another reason for me to hate the post office

Okay, so I've stopped using the post office for shipping gifts to people after their gross loss of two full boxes of Christmas presents I sent to Louisiana last year. I've only been using them for simple mail and for shipping media mail books, etc., that I sell on Amazon.

So recently I had to send an envelope with a small small small gift in it that made the envelope a little heavier. I sealed it and put two stamps on it to make sure they'd take it.

Like two days later, I find a tattered envelope on the road near my mailbox. Apparently, our useless mail person (who I already had issue with because of her putting new mail in and stupidly leaving outgoing mail in the box) just negligently dropped a piece of my mail and left it there. Because the envelope was destroyed, I couldn't use it again, so I peeled the two stamps off to use again.

I addressed a new envelope and taped the two stamps on the top, because the glue wasn't sticky enough, and I didn't have any glue here. I put it back in the mailbox. That afternoon, after the mail idiot came, the envelope was still in the mailbox. Now it had a thing on it that said that the stamps were previously used.

So now I have to get two more stamps to mail the card. And two perfectly good stamps in the trash. Not to mention, I just bought a book of stamps and now I can't find them. So let's do a little math. That's almost ten bucks down the drain. Which wouldn't tick me off as much if the post office didn't suck and my mail jackass wasn't retarded.

my weekend

Figured I would write a little to tell how my RSA workshop went.

We flew out on Thursday and spent the evening traveling. Got to Harrisburg airport and then rented a car and drove to State College, PA. Got there about 1 am local time.

On Friday morning, we were able to sleep until we wanted to wake up (which was early, but still not an alarm clock) and then we went into the little town. We hit a local coffee shop and then walked around the town just looking before we headed to the workshop registration.

Finished registration and ate a lunch with all the participants present. Keynote speech much less boring than I anticipated. Basically it was this awesome linguistics scholar saying that rhetoric is applicable to a ton of fields, kind of almost like she was throwing a middle finger to those who say otherwise.

Immediately after the workshop, we were to report to our workshop classrooms, which we were told (just at the lunch, not any time before) was a "hike". I walked back to the parking garage to grab my laptop and then took off on a grand trek across Penn State. It was MISERABLE. I was dressed the way I dressed for work—jeans, heels, a regular top. I had to walk literally like a mile and a half in my heels, in the BLAZING HEAT. By the time I got to the building, I could smell myself. I was embarrassingly sweaty and also very angry and wanted to just say, screw it, and go back to the hotel and take a nap.

Thankfully, the workshop itself wasn't bad at all. The first day was basically some general introduction to the topic. I'm not going to go into a bunch of detail, but the point of the workshop was to study communication among members of a group doing a project to pinpoint problems and find solutions to streamline the communication or make it more efficient and less problematic. The professors who ran it were excellent… They were all young and dynamic and clearly passionate about the work, which always rubs off. By the time I left, I really could have immediately ran off to do a similar project. Too bad it's totally not feasible with my life. If anyone has a rich uncle who dies and wants to pay for me to do the PhD program online through Texas Tech, I'll take it!

Friday night we went to TGIF and had some margaritas and food, which was very relaxing and tons of fun.

We woke up Saturday and had workshops all day. For lunch we went to a local pizza/salad/sub place, which was good. The workshop went well, although this was the day that I had more trouble with. I'm not good with graphic organization of info, which was essentially the entire research method. Still, it was handy and interesting. We went to get some Penn State t-shirts on the way home. That night the RSA had a dinner outside, so we hit that briefly to make an appearance and then went to a local bar. They had a sort of street fair with an excellent band playing just outside, so we had a good time for a little while and then left. We stopped and got some ice cream and then just wandered the streets and chatted until we went back to the hotel.

Sunday morning was the workshop wrap up. We ate at a local sandwich shop and then took off for the airport. We were traveling from around noon Eastern time until midnight Mountain time. Miserable. Got home at around one in the morning.

The university there was beautiful, and the cool New England houses ruled, but it was clearly way too expensive for me to ever consider living there. The campus was awesome.

for my fellow word nerds

A study in the use of positives for words we use as negatives.

How I Met My Wife
By Jack Winter
(From The New Yorker, July 25, 1994)

It had been a rough day, so when I walked into the party I was very chalant, despite my effort to appear gruntled and consolate.

I was furling my wieldy umbrella for the coat check when I saw her standing alone in a corner. She was a descript person, a woman in a state of total array. Her hair was kempt, her clothing shevelled, and she moved in a gainly way.

I wanted desperately to meet her, but I knew I'd have to make bones about it, since I was travelling cognito. Beknownst to me, the hostess, whom I could see both hide and hair of, was very proper, so it would be skin off my nose if anything bad happened. And even though I had only swerving loyalty to her, my manners couldn't be peccable. Only toward and heard-of behavior would do.

Fortunately, the embarrassment that my maculate appearance might cause was evitable. There were two ways about it, but the chances that someone was flappable as I would be ept enough to become a persona grata or a sung hero were slim. I was, after all, something to sneeze at, someone you could easily hold a candle to, someone who usually aroused bridled passion.

So I decided not to risk it. But then, all at once, for some apparent reason, she looked in my direction and smiled in a way that I could make heads or tails of.

I was plussed. It was concerting to see that she was communicado, and it nerved me that she was interested in a pareil like me, sight seen. Normally, I had a domitable spirit, bu t, being corrigible, I felt capacitated—as if this were something I was great shakes at—and forgot that I had succeeded in situations like this only a told number of times. So, after a terminable delay, I acted with mitigated gall and made my way through the ruly crowd with strong givings.

Nevertheless, since this was all new hat to me and I had not time to prepare a promptu speech, I was petuous. Wanting to make only called-for remarks, I started talking about the hor d'oeuvres, trying to abuse her of the notion that I was sipid, and perhaps even bunk a few myths about myself.

She responded well, and I was mayed tha tshe considered me a savoury character who was up to some good. She told me who she was. "What a perfect nomer," I said, advertently. The conversation becamse more and more choate, and we spoke at length to much avail. But I was defatigable, so I had to leave at a godly hour. I asked if she wanted to come with me. To my delight, she was committal. We left the party together and have been together ever since. I have given her my love, and she has requited it.

my fake eharmony profile matches

Note to Brian, Grant Writing Consultant from Thibodaux: Do not say you love literature and then list the last book you read as a John Grisham novel.

Note to Josh, Civil Engineer from LaPlace: It's called punctuation. Look it up. Use it.

Note to Lee, Network Administrator from Dallas: You used the word "food" seven times in your short profile. Fat much?

Note to Kris, Business Owner from Austin: Don't mention kissing as one of the things you are passionate about. It's gross.

Note to J, "Business" (?), from Port Allen: First, "J" is not a name. Second, using only the "adjective" non-witchy (with three exclamation points) under "The most important thing I'm looking for in a person" isn't probably going to attract women.

Note to Christopher, IT guy from Metairie: Two things—(1) Following your admission that you are thirty pounds overweight with the statement "under this exterior portion of protection is a body of a Greek god" does not make the thirty pounds go away in my mind. (2) The last book you read quote from profile: "The History of Christianity, it was about The history of Christianity." Really, genius?

Note to Mark, Operations Manager from New Braunfels, TX: Saying "Just because I don't have a smile on my face, it doesn't mean I'm upset about something" screams ISSUES.

Note to Gary, Firefighter/Paramedic from Vicksburg: Saying "Its not all about looks, its what is inside thats most important" just means you're someone I probably wouldn't want to look at.

Note to William, Naval Officer from New Orleans: If you answer "What leisure time?" to the statement "What do you do in your leisure time?", perhaps you shouldn't be thinking about dating.

Note to Ufuk, Reservoir Engineer from New Orleans: Your name is Ufuk, yet you are listed as White. WTF? Is this a subliminal message attempt?

Note to Justin from Lafayette: "d" is not an occupation. Is that a grade point average?

Note to Christopher from Franklinton: If you're 33 and in "retail," please come up with a fake fancy name for your job. Otherwise, girls will think you're a cashier at PayLess.

criteria for the perfect man

So my sister and I have laughed continually over the past several years about this list, so I felt like posting it. When I got divorced, I was damned if I was going to be getting into another relationship that was going to turn out like that, so I created this massive list of characteristics that any guy I dated would have to fit in order for me to be serious about him. Some of it is realistic, and some is ridiculous, but only a few were missing in Tony… Just a good laugh, now.

1. Smart but not arrogant
   
2. Very secure and strong
   
3. Emotionally independent
   
4. Funny
   
5. Understands I will never be his mother
   
6. Self-sufficient
   
7. Accepts everything about me – I am talking clothes, hair, personality, EVERYTHING
   
8. Takes care of me – treats me like a girl – I don't want to have to ALWAYS be the dominant person.
   
9. Not Catholic
   
10. Understands and accepts my parents' religion – enough to not ridicule and to be able to take my parents talking about it
    
11. No overbearing family
    
12. No rich parents – did not grow up rich
    
13. Dad treats Mom/wife well
    
14. No kids
    
15. Never married
    
16. Creative in some way (music, art, writing, etc.). If musical, ABLE TO LISTEN TO A BAND WITHOUT BEING ANNOYING
    
17. Open-minded (politically, religiously, musically, about lifestyles and genders)
    
18. Can talk to me for hours and listens well
    
19. Likes Mexican food – or at least doesn't only eat steaks
    
20. Wants to travel
    
21. Gives a good massage
    
22. Fairly well-educated
    
23. ULTIMATELY RESPECTFUL in all ways
    
24. Likes birthdays and Christmas
    
25. Takes care of me when I'm sick
    
26. Not an obsessive clean freak
    
27. Likes TV/movies and preferably books
    
28. Appreciates my favorite movies: American History X, Reality Bites, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Legend of Billie Jean, Better Off Dead
    
29. Can sit and chill
    
30. No more than five years older/three years younger
    
31. Worships the ground I walk on
    
32. Likes my family
    
33. I like his family
    
34. We like each other's friends
    
35. Has to fit in with Cheyenne and them
    
36. Good kisser
    
37. Doesn't think everyone unlike him is stupid
    
38. If he wants to have kids, agrees with my ideas about them
    
39. Isn't anal about his finances but isn't a spending freak either
    
40. Good looking
    
41. Can argue without being mean
    
42. Happy at job or willing to leave if not – preferably career-oriented
    
43. Not too materialistic
    
44. Cooks well. And a lot.

something i suck at

I may or may not be the worst parent you know, unless you know some child abuser or something. I just either (a) have no idea what to do with Aidan or (b) have screwed things up too much already.

Aidan has some issues that I wish would resolve themselves or I knew how to resolve them. He is SO NEEDY. And I don’t mean like attention-hungry or something. I mean physically needy. He needs constant hugging, and even though he’s four and about half my size at this point, he’s had a resurgence of wanting me to hold him constantly. It’s just not feasible. Between his massive size and my back issues, I just can’t hold him all the time, and I can’t hug him every second of the day.

Today was his first official t-ball game. He was the only kid on the field whining and wanting to leave the field. And he’s not the only four year old there. In fact, when he was on the field, he actually kept lifting his arms toward me, wanting me to hug him. At some point, it’s a problem. I mean, not only is it affecting his ability to participate with the other kids, but he’s getting to the age where I’d think he’d want to be a “big boy” and not be considered a baby. Even Liam is way more independent than Aidan is, emotionally.

I don’t spend any more time with Liam than I do Aidan, and I don’t give them any real difference of physical affection, so it can’t be a logical jealousy thing. I just keep thinking, what can I do to make him be more independent? If I keep him with me all the time, he’s too dependent on me, and I can’t get ANYTHING done. If I bring him to daycare for a regular routine, I feel like maybe that’s why he needs more attention from me, even though I know he’s fine once I leave. I let him do things for himself around the house, like try to get his own snacks and get dressed himself and bathe himself and stuff like that. It’s only the emotional stuff.

I just feel like he’s so whiny that it’s starting to make me feel like a horrible parent. I don’t know what to do to make him not whine. He doesn’t whine like that around Carol, so why me?

feelin’ mighty ashy

Okay, so I bought this stuff at Bath and Body Works a while back. It was a new product - a scented body oil that allegedly turned into lotion. I am all about any type of new lotion that may actually moisturize my dry dry dry skin here in the desert. I hadn't tried it yet, so I thought I'd try it the other night. I think it was Wednesday. I lathered myself up with it before I went to bed.

The next day, my legs were like cracked, parched desert patches. My arms were almost just as bad. I was itchy and disgusting. I was like, WTF? I used copious amounts of my most expensive lotion on both legs and arms to repair. No dice. I put lotion on more than once that day. The next day, more copious lotioning.

Yesterday, I was cleaning up and grabbed the stupid new bottle to throw it in the trash. My eye then caught a phrase on the front: "Body Wash." Yes, I had lathered my arms and legs up with soap and then went straight to bed. Because that's good for the skin. Needless to say, my skin is still recovering. Ugh.

the little munch

So I walk by my bedroom door and see Aidan is a suspicious spot, so I say, "What are you doing?"

He immediately pops up and I see that he's playing with my sewing box, which he doesn't normally go around. It was my aunt Beverly's before she died, so I keep them away from it. I say, "Get away from that box."

He says, "But, Mommy, I'm using it as my evil instrument of torture."

update on elderly jerk

A few updates on the old man jerk who bought our old house. First, I did some Googling. Turns out he lived a full SEVEN MINUTES from our house. Yeah, that warrants constant pressure on us to move immediately.

Secondly, when Tony went to bust the couch up, he said that EVERY TIME he said "sir" to the man (because you know Tony was all "yes, sir" and "no, sir", the stupid old man consistently said, "reverend." In other words, he expected Tony to refer to him as Reverend, even just in common conversation. Tony said he specifically never used the word, not only because it's ridiculous and "he's not my reverend," but specifically to tick the old man off.

I can just see my dad going around forcing everyone on the planet to refer to him as some clerical name. That is so stupid, and it makes me want to punch that old man in the face.

On a related note, for all his "reverendship", I have been unable to locate any reference anywhere that affiliates him with any church for which is a reverend.

mismatch

So my sister Candace sometimes messes around on those online dating sites. She's not looking for love, just for some interesting people to hang out with, maybe make some friends to go out with occasionally. This week, while she was here, we did some fun jacking around on eharmony. We laughed at some of the people that they matched with her, answered some questions that some of the decent ones sent. I was curious about it in general, wondering who they'd match with me, so I filled out a profile for myself under a fake name. You can do it for free, you just can't see anyone's pics or actually contact anyone, and since I don't care, I don't have to pay to see any of that.

I actually got some pretty decent matches, profile-wise. They could all be trolls, since I couldn't see the pics, but their profiles were pretty interesting. A construction engineer (28), a music professor from SLU (who, coincidentally, I found online, and while his looks aren't appealing, he's not a total troll). A biologist (30), a surgeon (34), some other sundry individuals. Two of them requested communication and multiple asked that I post photos. Hehehehe.

Candace thought I was getting pretty good matches, so she got me to fill out a profile under her real name with my attributes, and she actually found some decent potentials. The main thing was that most of mine were "local" (I said I was from Prairieville, and mine were all Baton Rouge, Hammond, surrounding areas), while Candace was getting a bunch in like Texas and north Louisiana.

Then, for fun, we also filled a profile out for Tony. We used all his real info except his name, and we said he was an attorney rather than a teacher. He got some awesome matches as well (in the Prairieville area). Nurses, several doctoral students. So we've both been having fake profiles on there for a few days, but with our real attributes… And apparently, we do not match, since eharmony has not matched us up yet. Weird. Anyway, it's hilarious to see what some people put.

house selling rant. hopefully the last one.

Okay, so we have moved totally into the house. Everything is here, although not yet put away; we have our check from the remaining money; all the papers are signed.

When we were moving, we left this couch in the downstairs living room. God knows how we even got it down there in the first place, but we've never been able to move it out. They tried and couldn't do it, so we just left it there. Frankly, the jerks who bought the house have been difficult asses the entire process. They came up suddenly and wanted to give us THREE WEEKS to find a house and move out of our old house. We thought maybe they were coming in from out of state (which is total BS anyway, because who waits till three weeks before moving to find a house to purchase?), but NO. They are from here. And I've never heard of an apt or house lease that ended on the 8^th of a month, so it was just a matter of being jerks that made them have us out so fast.

So we fly around, find a house, get all our paperwork, inspections, appraisals, loan stuff, everything done. THE WEEK we are supposed to move out, they still haven't had their bank appraiser come to our house, and so three days before we are supposed to be moving out, their appraiser comes and we find out we have to extend our gutters and take bars off the downstairs living room windows. So we fly around doing that so the sale can go through. Yeah, you need us out hurriedly by the 8^th, but you are too dumb to even have your crap together by the 3^rd. We had less time, and all our stuff was done, including actually finding a house.

We go to the closing, and they show up to do their paper signing in another room. The couple is about, no exaggeration, AT LEAST 80 years old. And not a spry 80. A decrepit, we-can-barely-walk 80. And the lady is walking with a freaking cane. Yeah, because you need a five bedroom house. Those bastards are not even making it down the stairs. I can't even make it down without falling, and I don't have a cane or a hunch back. We go to meet them to be friendly, and the jerks don't even make eye contact with us. They stare into space in front of them while they pretend to make small talk, which you know I hate. I am being nice with the small talk, and you're being a jerk, which makes me want to shout expletives even more than I already want to with the banter.

All this past week, we've toted carloads of crap from old house to new to be ready to move on Saturday, since we HAVE to be out by the 8^th. Saturday, Tony, his dad, and two friends work like Egyptian slaves behind a whip loading a moving truck and driving back and forth, and we make more numberless trips between houses. By Saturday night, we've got everything out except for the couch, which we just left. Admittedly, they might not want the couch, but on a massive time constraint and without wanting to destroy their stairway, we just left it. I'm saying, they can't even make it down the stairs, and frankly, free couch. In a room they'll never see.

I went by this morning to leave the second key and to leave a note saying that we'd left the couch for their discretion because with the time constraints, we didn't have time to get the couch out without messing up the walls. Oh, in their BIG EFFING RUSH to move into the house, no one is there. Nine am, and nary a truck or box to be seen.

So we get a call from our realtor, who, frankly, I am done with. He's annoyed the crap out of me for six months. The deal is done, papers signed, commission paid, now get out of my life. Apparently, they are all up in arms about the couch. Tony tells our realtor that he will go over there and break the couch into pieces and carry it out to the trash. He drives all the way over there, and no one is there. He uses the garage door code, but the door inside the garage is locked. He comes all the way back home, and calls our realtor, who, jerk that he is, just gives Tony their realtor's number rather than taking care of it himself. Tony calls her to set up the meeting at the house. According to their realtor, that couch, in ONE room of the downstairs, which again, THEY CAN'T WALK DOWN ANYWAY, is apparently holding up their entire move. Yeah, because you can't move furniture in the upstairs or bring boxes or clothes or anything in, because the couch downstairs is preventing the entire move.

All I can say is, they better be glad Tony is going and not me. The stupid old man is meeting him there, and if it were me, I don't think I'd be able to get through it without rudely saying something about our having to be out so fast and their jerkiness when clearly they aren't in any rush to get into the house.

Yet another reason for me to hate HATE HATE the general public. And a little statement that I should never be a realtor, because I am reminded that home buyers are jackasses and idiots just like the general public.

reality tv possibly too ridiculous even for me

Okay, here are some highlights for those of you not watching "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here." I ran across it last night when nothing was on (must we show wrestling on my SVU/House rerun channel?). Then tonight, it's on again, and I'm watching it, which is just a testament to my dislike for the particular House rerun that's on. Although, wait, I just realized that regular Law and Order is on, so perhaps I won't be watching the rest of the show. Anyway, back to IACGMOOH: It's truly unbelievable. I don't know if I'll be watching it regularly, but how hilarious is it when I catch it? Mucho.

So tonight, Heidi, of "The Hills" fame (Is that the right show? I don't watch any of those shows, so I mainly know Heidi and Spencer from watching "The Soup") professes that her plan in life is to be godly, in her words, "like Mother Teresa." This in a conversation with Stephen Baldwin, who went through a speech about how Spencer needs to be baptized. So, in the process, they go to the confessional camera with Spencer. He goes on to explain how it astounds him that Heidi prays every day, and that things come true when she prays for him. His example? That one time Heidi convinced him to pray for something he really wanted, and he prayed that they could double date with Miley Cyrus. And they got the date within a month. Yes, that's what I'd like to waste my heavenly gifts on. A double date with Miley Cyrus. This after last night they literally got into a shouting/cussing/Spencer-hitting-females match partially because one of the co-campers tore Heidi's name label off of her designer dry shampoo bottle.

I like Frangela, whom I know from those shows like Best Week Ever. And Janice Dickinson is obviously a reality show whore. The wrestler girl I've never heard of, and really, is Sanjaya from American Idol doing anything else? (On a side note: I love that every time any show plays a clip of Sanjaya from American Idol, it's ALWAYS the one where he sang that Gwen Stefani song, when according to the Hollywood rumors, Gwen Stefani tried to prevent him from singing that song because she thought he sucked so bad.) But, really, Lou Diamond Phillips? Doesn't he have either (a) enough money to avoid these types of things and/or (b) other opportunities that don't involve eating a rat's tail?

Then, tonight, Spencer insists on competing with Heidi on one of the competitions because he refuses to allow Sanjaya to go into the woods with Heidi. Would anyone really be jealous of Sanjaya with his girlfriend? And isn't Sanjaya gay?

I particuarly enjoy, after Spencer's big Christian speech, he then proceeded to describe, by referring to himself in third person, that he doesn't care about his team, that he'd throw their fish dinner in the river just as soon as give it to them.

So just before I changed the channel, Heidi and Spencer tell everyone they're quitting the show (way to commit to something, Pratts) and then decide that Stephen Baldwin is going to baptize him in the river. It's pretty bad when Janice Dickinson is the voice of reason, saying that the baptism is totally bogus. My finger depressed the button the remote just as Spencer came out of the water with his hands raised yelling hallelujah.

 

 

house update

I've gotten several questions about what's going on with the house, so here's the update.

Our house is sold. That is completely finished. All we have to do for that is sign the papers at closing. We have to be out by June 8. I think we're going to sign papers with the buyers of our house on June 2.

The house we're buying is pretty much done too. We just got the appraisal back from the bank, and all is well. All we have to do in order for the loan to be accepted is have a few shingles replaced on the roof, so we called our realtor yesterday, and he's going to make sure that the owner/selling agent get that taken care of ASAP. As soon as that is done, the bank underwriter will do a final inspection, and we're on. Our planned closing for that house was June 5, but we were supposed to be doing simultaneous closings on that date with both houses, so I guess that date could be changed too. It'd be awesome if we could get it all taken care of on the 2^nd; that would give us more time to move stuff.

So if I haven't told you about the new house yet, here's the description. It's a rusty brown color stucco. It looks tiny from the front, but it's like 2800 SF. It's on an incline, so the front makes it look like one story, but around the back, you can tell it's at least two story, because there's a little porch with stairs coming to the lower ground. It's actually four levels (not full stories, like half levels, for you LA people who don't have a lot of experience with the many-leveled house). The top level is the master suite and a loft room we're going to use as an office/Xbox room. From both the loft and the bedroom, you can walk out to the back porch and down to the ground. The second level (the one you walk into from the front door) is basically almost a completely open great room that has the kitchen on one end, the dining area in the middle, and the living room on the other end. The living room has a gas log fireplace. The third level (which is half underground) has two big bedrooms (for the boys), a full bath, and a small laundry room. The bottom level (the basement) has a bedroom, a ¾ bath, and another living room (where all the toys and the ugly furniture will go).

Between each level are like six stairs, so there are no massive lengths of stairs for me to fall and injure myself on, although I'm sure I can fall down six steps. Most living areas are like a creamy colored Berber-type carpet, and most other areas are those large ceramic tiles in a light color. All we'll have to buy is a washer and dryer. And it sits on a little over an acre of land… although the entire back part of that (most of it) is deserty dirt. We're probably going to pour concrete for a big patio in the back, so the boys have somewhere to ride bikes and somewhere for us to sit and hang out. It's about 12 miles from our current house. Further from daycare, but about fifteen minutes closer to UCCS.

Other than the fact that it's new and I won't be somewhat embarrassed to have people come over like I do in my old somewhat cheesy seventies house, there is one major benefit: separation = more quiet. Like, the only thing over Liam's room will be either our bedroom or the office room, so we won't have to be fussing at Aidan to stop stomping over Liam's room anymore. There are two major areas where we can keep toys, etc., that won't have to infringe upon the areas where guests might come over and hang out. The kitchen is over the guest room, where Jordan will be staying, but we walked around and I didn't hear any creaking. I think it's going to be much more peaceful, particularly if we can enforce the "all toys stay on the bottom two levels unless you're actively playing with them" rule that we want to have.

So there we are. We should have specific moving details by the end of the week.

tony’s sonnet

Tony's taking this poetry class this summer--it's the only grad class the program offered here. Anyway, he had to write a sonnet, and it rules, so I thought I'd share.

Mortal Gods

My gods spoke to me when I was a boy
They cupped me with shelter and taught me of
The world. Immortal, young, none could destroy.
I thought they did no wrong; I felt their love.

As I grew up, my gods grew old and died.
They breathed as before, now flaws plain to see:
A sight all too human, unwelcomed, pried
By eyes not as young as they used to be.

Now I'm the god, with two- pair eyes who watch
My every move; the wonder they mirror
Is sometimes too painful to bear. Too much
I see, I saw before my gods' detour.

Their loss, transformed, exchanged for mortal years.
My flaws, no worse, what cause have I for fears?

my trip

Here's my brief recap of my trip, since a few people have asked me how it went.

Kristi, Aidan, and I took off at 3 am on last Wednesday. The day of driving went okay, but it was a little much for Aidan, and Kristi was about to tear her legs off by the time we got to Gonzales. We arrived at my mom's house at 1 am or so, central time, and passed out.

Aidan was up at like 6 am, of course, so I was too. We hung out with my mom, and then with my grandma, who had come over for a hairdo. After getting dressed and hanging out for a while, we heard Kristi get up (she slept till 11, lucky dog). After she got introduced to everyone properly and got dressed, she and I headed to Tanger. We walked around and bought a few things after stopping at Starbucks, and then headed back to Mama's. If I remember correctly, that night we just hung around Mama's house… it seems like we had to have done something else, but I can't remember.

Friday morning we got up and went with Mama and Candace and Shannon and Tiffany to get stuff for Jordan's graduation party. We hit a party store, ate at Cain's, and then Kristi and I headed out on our own. She and I went to Borders and got stuck there for a while during a downpour, then we went back to Gonzales. We changed our clothes and left early for Jordan's graduation. On the way there, Aidan fell asleep in Daddy's car, so we went into the Lamar Dixon rodeo place to sit in the stifling heat and hope that Aidan wouldn't wake up cranky. HA. After sweating our yayas off for an hour, he woke up when a large woman nearly knocked Mama clean off the bleacher she was sitting on. He was miserable (as was I, in the heat), and he didn't want anyone but me, so I took him and we went to sit in the car in the AC. Daddy followed with a drink for Aidan, and we sat in there for a while and chatted about the new house while Aidan watched Tom and Jerry on the car DVD player. We went back in after a while, but we didn't make it up to the bleachers. Daddy took off with Aidan and I lurked waiting for them, but they didn't come back, and then Jesse came up with Aidan. After talking to them and realizing that the bleachers were jam packed, I texted Kristi to head down, and we left. I didn't get to see Jordan walk across the stage, which I mainly wanted to see out of the entire thing, but it was blazing hot, it was getting dark and the bugs were starting to carry me away, and Aidan was ready to go. So we headed to Mama's and waited until it was time for Jordan's party, then we went there and hung out for a while.

Saturday morning, after we got dressed and stopped for coffee, Kristi and I went to the home of Micah, hairstylist extraordinaire, for my haircut. We chilled there while he cut my hair and gave me a few styling tips and heard what each other had been up to for the past several years, and then Kristi and I went to pick up Aidan. We went to Jenny and Mike's for lunch (poboys!), and stayed there for a few hours. Then it was Jordan's family party time, which we went to briefly and then went back home to try to nap.

Saturday night was supposed to be our hang out night, where a number of people were going to meet us to have a drink. A few people had mentioned The Loft in Perkins Rowe, so we had planned to go there. Can I just say… Perkins Rowe is so weird to go to after having been away from LA for four years. It was like being in another state. The Loft seemed cool, but it was really more a date night place. There was nowhere to sit with more than two or three people. Kristi and I were there for a while, eventually joined by Kari and Michael, Jenny, my cousin Erin, and Kimberly. We had appetizers and discussed how pretentious the place was before deciding to head out. We had waited two hours, but no one else showed up, and the Park Place calendar online said that Saturdays was karaoke, so we headed there. It wasn't karaoke (way to update your website, jackasses), but we stayed there anyway. It was pretty full of people, and Kristi got a real taste of "Gonzales" there (LOL). We left at the band's first break.

Sunday my mom didn't wake us up, and we ended up all sleeping to at least ten. After church, the entire crew came to my mom's house (my parents, my grandma, my Aunt Toni, my cousin Gregory, my Aunt JoAnne, Kimberly, Maddie, and Hannah) for lunch. We ate and chatted for a while, but it was getting a little loud and obnoxious, so we headed out. We went to get coffee and then called my mom and said we were going to the mall. We walked around there for a while (I got those awesome leopard print shoes, and Kristi got gifts for family members), then went back to Mama's, after picking up Brewbacher's for dinner. We watched TV and packed our things and loaded up some of the car before bed.

We left Monday morning at 6, stopped in Texas for the night, and drove in to Pueblo on Tuesday at around lunchtime.

just in case you thought our children were safe under governmental watch…

So as some of you know, my sister and her psycho ex-husband have been fighting a pretty gnarly custody battle, most of which had been settled until he married a girl my age who apparently hasn't mentally left high school. This week, we had more crap happened that has reaffirmed my complete lack of belief in the legal system as far as protecting children from abusive situations.

I've blogged about this situation before, so for a more thorough description of what was going on before, read this: http://fourfieldpeas.blogspot.com/2008/12/more-reason-to-hate-people.html.

This week there was another, just as disturbing, more violent incident.

Jordan (who anyone will tell you is incredibly easy-going) went over to his dad's house (he's been staying with his mom) just for a second to bring something to one of his brothers (after having been asked to do so by them). When he got there, Jake and Jason (the dad) were in a physical altercation, apparently over some stupid argument that escalated way too much.

Okay, first off, YOU ARE THE PARENT, ASS. At what point do you think it's appropriate to be in a physical altercation with your CHILD? And they were outside, for anyone on the earth to see!

So Jordan jumps in to try to get Jason off of Jake, who is, AGAIN, the child. Jason then throws Jordan. Throws him. Enough that later, when Candace takes Jordan to the emergency room, Jordan has a concussion and a ruptured ear drum. Thankfully, Jacob didn't have any physical injuries.

The cops show up (I think Jake called them), and after talking to Jason and adolescent wife and then talking to Candace and Jordan about it, they basically do nothing. NOTHING. Candace asked the cop, what does he have to do in order to get in trouble with the law? The cop says, physical violence. Candace says, no, that's not the case, because we have that here, so WHAT EXACTLY does he have to do? No real answer. No consequences for Jason.

The ER reports the incident to child services. Then the next day, Jake talked to his counselor at school about it, and she called child services. Child services talked to him, and then later this week, talked to Candace and Jordan. And apparently, again, NOTHING is happening. Candace said it sounded like they weren't doing anything about the situation. Candace's attorney is going to file for another custody hearing to be held quickly, but really, the judge let him have the kids before even after seeing the video where Jason called his own children names that you normally wouldn't even SAY in front of your children, much less TO them.

Jason is pretty much useless and deserves to have a can of whoop ass opened on him. And I just have a question for psycho wife. Didn't you say on the video where you cussed out and screamed at the top of your lungs at your stepsons that you "would die for your son"? How would YOU feel if someone inflicted a concussion and a ruptured ear drum on YOUR son?

I am so done with this whole system. I will be posting that video when I get home, if I can get it to upload on here. If you watch it, you will be shocked at the way abusive parents talk to their children.

house

So here's the 411…

We've had the house on the market for six months, with hopes of moving to P. West to a newer place. We got a call today that someone was bidding on it. We're counter offering tomorrow, and we'll see if they take that. I had already just gotten nonchalant about the sale and the move, since it's been a while, but here we are, back on the stressful house hunting train. And just when I'm about to go out of town… Great timing!

special olympics

When a group of twenty-somethings in a band travels around, staying in free hotels and with access to lots of free alcohol but little income otherwise, they come up with creative ways to entertain themselves.

We were in Natchez, Mississippi one weekend, playing at a regular club on our gig rotation, a small underground bar that was probably one of our favorite places to play. They always put us up at this terribly low end hotel on the opposite side of town, a hotel that didn't raise a fuss when the guys used the nightstand drawers as their ashtrays and that eventually filled the swimming pool in with concrete, presumably because their clientele wasn't of swimming pool caliber.

We'd finished our gig at the club and made our way back to the hotel, at least one female hanger-on in tow, a somewhat homely girl that I was charged with befriending in order to keep her entertained watching the guys until their antics were over. Having drunk more Crown and sevens than I care to mention, I had no problem chatting with the total stranger that was now part of our crew for the night.

Our typical continual drinking and occasional pot-smoking aside, the guys were looking for something new. Something competitive. Something maybe a touch athletic… which isn't really the forte of musicians, in most of the cases with which I have experience. And so, the Hotel Room Olympics was born.

The first order of business was naming the national affiliation of each competitor. Kyle, the muscle-bound guitarist who had the only athletic physique, was dubbed the German competitor. Brent, the dark-complexioned drummer, was declared from Mexico, since his band nickname was Taco, contrary to his Cajun background. Mike, the bass player who had a skin condition labeled of the Bovine Nation. Randy, the barely over five foot tall rapper in the band, was named of a Chinese country, possibly less for his short stature than for the effect his frequent pot-smoking had on his eyes. And the games began.

The game that was the most indicative of typical evenings with the guys was the backfarting competition. This was an event that the drummer had invented that had grown to epic proportions. While a damp bathtub was the best medium of sound, we eventually moved the event to the requisite table in all cheap hotel rooms.

Backfarting consisted of a damp table, a shirtless contestant, and stomach muscles at least strong enough to lift one's legs up by the gut. If you do this with an ample amount of back fat, it makes a sound like, you guessed it, a fart. This was a crowd favorite, causing us to interrupt more than one cheap traveler's night in neighboring rooms with our raucous laughter. The "Mexican" contestant, whose nickname was Taco, always ruled this particular event. As the gold, silver, and bronze medalists stood on stacks of pillows at varying heights, the room burst into "Frito Bandito," the closest we could get to a "Mexican" song in our drunken stupor.

The other events didn't have the regular victor that backfarting did. They included the high jump (over a pile of pillows), the bed vault (which led many cries of "WHAT A DISMOUNT!") and the floor exercise. The hanger-on and I cheered after each event, laughing at the "national anthems".

As the floor exercises died down, and the last beer was drunk, and the laughing turned into snoring, I could only think one word, one word suitable for these nights. Special.

why, if you’re a stay-at-home mom, you’re better than me

So yesterday I was stuck at home with the two kids because their "grandma" was sick with the flu, and man, what an adventure, if an adventure is someone systematically burning all the hairs out of your body with a red hot poker and then shoving it in your eye.

For two days in a row, I didn't get more than three or four hours of sleep. Then yesterday morning, despite my exhaustion, I had a sinus headache, so I took some medicine, which I guess exacerbated the problem. I could barely keep my eyes open the entire day. And since my patience lasts about as long as my hair is at the moment, adding miserable sleepiness is not a good thing.

Liam didn't nap for more than thirty minutes, which is ridiculous, since sometimes he'll nap for two hours of the day. I couldn't get either of them to eat anything worth a crap. I got Liam to eat one slice of cheese, and they each ate a bite or two of a hot dog, but that was it. Lots of Cheerios, pretzels, etc. I tried to take Aidan outside for Liam's short nap to give him a break, and we weren't out there for ten minutes before he saw a bee and decided he wanted to go back in. I took them to the store, which is always "fun."

By about 12:00, I started thinking, maybe Tony will come home early to relieve me. No such luck. He has to take hours off his vacation to do it, but I was getting desperate. By 2:00, I was slowly losing my mind. I picked up all the toys in the living room and tried to make myself busy with Facebook quizzes while they played on the floor with one another. By 2:30, I started watching out of the window. By 2:45, I had the two boys up on the couch, all of us watching out of the window for Tony's car. When I started seeing the kids that walk home from the school pass by, I started getting angry. I called the classroom, no answer. I called his neighboring teacher's cell phone, no answer. I called his classroom again, and again, no answer. By 3:00 I was irate. And building. 3:10, no Tony. Finally, at about 3:15, I relented to letting Aidan take a bath, which I'd been trying to put off till Tony got home. I stripped them down and stuck them in the tub. When I went to throw Liam's pj's into the living room to have them ready to dress him, I saw Tony's car pulling in.

I checked on the kids until I figured he'd be walking up. When he walked in the door, my purse was on my arm, I was about to explode, and I just said, "They're in the tub" and flew out of the door to my car. I took a Xanax, and it took me a thirty minute errand-running cool down break to even get back to where I could breathe regularly and my heart would slow down. I had worked myself into a panic attack. Great. One day, someone is going to figure out that I'm a terrible mom and come and take these kids away. Thankfully, their "grandma" is much better at dealing with them than I am.

why same-sex marriage is "wrong"

1) Being gay is not natural. Real Americans always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning.

2) Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.

3) Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract.

4) Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all; women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and divorce is still illegal.

5) Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed; the sanctity of Brittany Spears' 55-hour just-for-fun marriage would be destroyed.

6) Straight marriages are valid because they produce children. Gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.

7) Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children.

8) Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in America.

9) Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That's why we as a society expressly forbid single parents to raise children.

10) Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms. Just like we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans

hilarious stuff you take for granted

So today, Aidan was finished eating his "dinner" (a "warm hot dog", his daily meal), and I had told him if he ate something he could have some pudding. He walks into the kitchen to retrieve the promised pudding and he's looking at his foot and walking weird. He said, "Mommy, look at my foot." I said, "What's wrong with it?" I didn't see any marks or anything. He said, "It's invisible."

He walked funny over to me staring at his foot, and I figured out what he meant. I mean, do you remember when you learned that your foot falls asleep? I thought that was a pretty hilarious way for him to explain it, that his foot was invisible.

requiem for a mundane life

As Aidan burst in to interrupt my bath time for the fourth time, I had a vision, sweet and beautiful.

In this vision, I leisurely take a bath without being interrupted. I leave the bathroom to put on my pjs without tripping over toys in the hall. I enter the living room where one of my rerunning sitcoms or SVU marathons is on, instead of Veggie Tales or Scooby Doo. I am surrounded by only furniture, and I am able to light a candle on a coffee table, a coffee table that I can actually use to rest my drink.

I put a DVD on, a DVD that doesn't include animated stars or talking animals, and I decide to paint my fingernails. I grab the fingernail polish and sit, without realizing what freedom this is, painting my nails while watching a film.

Unfortunately, I am awaken out of this reverie by Aidan pulling his drawers down and repeatedly saying, "Mommy, look at my oinky butt" while sticking his rear end in my direction.

stairs: 4, jamie: 0

Yes, I fell down the stairs again. Just to recap my previous death matches:

First, I slipped down the stairs just after Liam was born, while I was holding him, only a few weeks old. I had to take all the impact in my back rather than drop him, which began the juicily delicious chronic back pain I've had since.

Next, I fell down the same stairs running down to bring medicine to one of the boys. Took the impact on one side of my back mostly, to avoid spilling medicine. Note to self: wiping up medicine is better than further damage to back.

The last encounter I had was at school. I was going to my car in the parking garage in my slip on brown shoes with the slickest bottoms ever, and it was *gasp* raining, one of the few rainstorms we actually have here per year. As I am now unaccustomed to the rain, I wasn't taking care, and my feet flew out from underneath me on the incredibly sharp concrete stairs going into the parking garage. That one provided some awesome scraping and bleeding in addition to the putting a cherry on top of the back injury.

So last night, after downing some Nyquil and falling asleep on the couch, I awoke at around midnight and came out of a stupor to head down to bed. No socks this time, which I blamed on my falling on the carpeted stairs the last two times. Nope, this time, it was just my bare feet. And the added bonus this time? I slipped on like the second stair, which means I slid down probably eight to ten steps, again on my back.

If anyone's got any spare Vicodin, send it my way!

idiots

Note to self:

The YoVille world is not a real world in which you live. This means a few things. First, there is no need for the avatar to look exactly like you. A longer hairdo choice is acceptable! Secondly, and most importantly, you do not have to actually live in and maintain the house! In other words, don't feel compelled to choose a coffee table based on how much easier it would be to dust than another one that you like better.

the joy of omissions, baby version

So after a weekend of trying to keep our sanity from slipping between our slick fingers with the two boys at home all day, it was finally Sunday night, 6 pm, bedtim for Liam. Oh happy day! I grab him and his water-filled sippy cup and head downstairs, where we've actually gotten him into the habit of just being put in his bed awake and walking out and closing the door behind us.

I get down there, he's ready for bed, putting his head on my shoulder, and I go to lay him in the bed. As soon as his head hits the pillow (he's totally subdued, thank the good Lord), I feel that the pillow is wet. I think, oh lord, did he pee in the bed earlier or something? So I pull him back out and put him on my hip. The entire pillow is soaked, along with half the sheet. I smell it, and thankfully, it's not pee. Just water. I am like, how in the L did so much water get in his bed?! Did Aidan throw a cup in there or something?

I had to wander around the entire downstairs to get the stuff fixed. Get a new pillow from Aidan's bed. Get a thick blanket to line the sheet so I don't have to change the entire sheet with a steadily second wind-ing baby on my side. Lay it all out. By the time I get all that together and lay him in the bed, he is PISSED. So I've just expended much more energy than was necessary and have made him truly awake, giving him hope that he's going to get to play longer.

I come upstairs and say, "Man, Liam's bed was soaking wet!" Tony says, "Oh yeah, he spilled a bunch of water in there earlier."

Okay, two notes:

1. He cannot "spill" water. He drinks from spill-proof sippy cups. Unless this eighteen-month-old pulled mouthful after mouthful of water from the cup and into his mouth and then systematically spit them into various parts of the bed, one after the other, that cannot be possible.
   
2. Couldn't Tony have (a) changed the bed or (b) at least told me about it, so I could have avoided the angry infant at bedtime?
   

Just a note for future fathers… A soaked bed is not something that can be kept secret. Even in the desert where we live.

not quite twilight. maybe mid-afternoon.

Okay, am I the only one who was disappointed royally with the Twilight movie?

On a strictly personal OCD note, I picture myself in the leading role of any book like this that has a narrating character that I identify with at all. That said, the girl who played Bella (while I enjoyed her in other things I've seen her in), was much too large of a person. I need the small, strong type!

In the first place, I think the movie making was not nearly as good as it could have been. The development of the story could have been better with not very major changes. One of the most significant things that makes the book so good is its completely accurate portrayal of what it's like to fall in love, particularly as a young person who hasn't been crapped all over and still believes in the "we'll be together forever in bliss" stuff. I think they could have spent a little more time developing that part of the story. Even eliminating the extraneous school friendships and setups would have been a good thing to add more time for their relationship growing.

Secondly, the casting was off (other than the big-boned Bella). I didn't think the dude playing Edward was a very good actor, and frankly, I thought he was supposed to be beautiful. That dude looks like someone bashed him in the face with the flat end of a frying pan. And how dumb was his facial expression as Carlile made him stop sucking Bella's hand? Jacob is fairly unattractive in my opinion as well… his is the nose that ate Manhattan, and his hair looks very unnatural on him. One of the dudes who came with Jacob to the beach at the beginning might have been a better fit. They actually looked Native American. And speaking of Carlile, how horrible did cool guy from Can't Hardly Wait look with blond hair? HORRIBLE. Lastly, while it couldn't be helped and he did a decent job with the small part he had, I couldn't stop picturing Laurent when he was Big Love on "House."

When it comes down to it, I won't be pirating a copy of this movie. Congratulations on deterring crime, moviemakers!

alexandria

When I was in college, I sang in a cover band, the only girl in a group with between five and seven guys depending on the band and the year, traveling around the Bible Belt singing such powerful future classics as "Get Your Groove On" and "Set U Free." While there was never a lack of marauding around the Deep South committing unspeakable act after unspeakable act, one particular incident sticks in my mind, and not just because of the clear presence of E. Coli.

The band, which was suitably named after a profane term of endearment, played at a club in central Louisiana named after one of the greatest inventions in history. No doubt, then, that some of the major memories I have of this club include (a) their selling nitrous oxide balloons on the left hand side of the dance floor, (b) having an apparently bisexual girl seduce me by discussing a song called "Orgasm" and offering me free draft beer, and, much to the guys' chagrin, my choosing not to take her home, and (c) hearing the story of the stabbing in the men's bathroom, an event that didn't stop the flailing about on the dance floor.

On what I think was my first gig at this club, we decided that in order to safely drink our body weights in free liquor, we would require a hotel room, to avoid the two-hour drive back home. We booked at the closest, cheapest place we could find, but then ended up happily accepting the invitation of two girls at the club, who offered their home to us for the night. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence: the stories you've heard about girls and their love for guys in the band is true, something I marveled at throughout the years I sang with these guys. While I was friends with them and wouldn't characterize them as unattractive or not fun to be around, I never understood the magnetic attraction they held for girls… that is, until I considered the mental (or should I say, chemically influenced) states of said girls.

On this particular night, there were two interested parties, neither of whom had a name that I remember. One was a very nondescript, average-looking brunette, and the other was a blonde with a somewhat large face that was still on the other side of pretty. That they were happy to invite six total strangers (me, two male vocalists, a guitar player, a bass player, and a drummer) to their home should have indicated something about them, but we were just happy for the free room. We promptly cancelled our hotel reservations and took off for Chez Sluts once we'd packed up our gear.

After stopping at a grocery store for more alcohol, we drove to their house, a two story home that I have very little memory of. In retrospect, I'm sure it was in an incredibly seedy neighborhood, but on the forty bucks a week I was making as an undervalued female singer in a band with guys who saw me as a potential lay, I was just happy not to have to pay to sleep on a semen-stained hotel bedspread from 1974. Their desire to hook up with two of the band guys, one of which had a serious girlfriend and wasn't known for philandering, didn't affect our decision at all, of course.

The house was the typical college-age place. Mismatched furniture, poor lighting—none of which made a rat's ass of a difference to us. Immediately upon entering, the brunette, having realized that her hoped-for partner for the night was only interested in free lodging, lit up some incredibly rank smelling weed and promptly passed out on the couch. Her roommate, the moon-faced blonde, welcomed us with drunk cordiality and put on a Bad Company CD. As she began to sing along in operatic tones, we put the squeeze on her potential partner to get her out of the room. He was only happy to oblige, as you can imagine, and we were left to our own devices, since the brunette was still mentally MIA.

As soon as the coital trip upstairs was taken, the remaining (coherent) guys in the band took over the house, determined to corrupt everything they could touch. And by touch, I don't mean with their hands.

The first order of business was to raid the fridge, since drinking from six pm to three am tends to make one hungry, especially after a four-hour stint in a sweaty bar. After consuming what they could find (during which time I was scoping out the place), they began their invisible destruction.

After depositing some pubic hairs into a bag of frozen boneless chicken breasts and doing other damage to the foodstuffs, the drummer, who had an unnatural and hilarious (to everyone who wasn't dating him) preoccupation with his ass, decided that his posterior was his weapon of choice. The other guys were only too happy to assist him in his endeavors. Over the next few hours, he put his behind on everything that was sitting still, including perhaps the brunette, but I can't swear to that. I was too busy checking out the clean load of laundry, since the girls were about the same size as I.

Before the night came to a close, the drummer's ass had come into contact with most of the girls' eating utensils, all the downstairs doorknobs, and as much of the banister as could be made vile without risking splinters in his nether region. And mysteriously, at least one of their polyester fly-collar hippie-flowered shirts went missing and was never seen again.

The next morning, we were awakened by a banging on the door. When the brunette, finally awake, opened it, it was apparently someone's mom, which was a total buzzkill. Like any good party band, we immediately grabbed our crap and rolled out, the bass player and I jumping in the dilapidated band van with no air conditioning to follow the other cars back to our hometown.

As we were pulled over by a policeman for following the guy singer in his three-lane veer to reach a hotel bathroom on the way home, I happily held my somewhat heavier bag in my lap, sweating buckshots like a whore in church. It was a story I knew would become a story even before the story was over.

And any time I hear "Feel Like Makin' Love" to this day, I feel compelled to sing it in operatic tones.