Lalalalalalala (I can't hear you)

Ok. I am going totally crunchy. Believe me. I am. No petroleum-based food dyes, preservatives--I'm even buying the soy-based fabric softeners. So I realize--I really do--the type of crap that is probably in Oxyclean. Do you know what's in that stuff? Well, if you do--

Don't tell me. No, I mean it. DON'T TELL ME. Because I love that stuff. It gets out anything. Stop it. Stop it! I can't hear you! I'm not listening!

Lalala laaaaalaaalaaaa, laaa laaa laaa, laaalaaalaaa...

Sharper

How do the Buddhists do it?

How do you maintain the awareness of all you have to be grateful for? Last night, around 1:00 a.m., about the fifth time in an hour that the Girl woke me up, I lost all sense of perspective. I stood there, in the middle of her room, exhausted, knowing that I should be deliriously happy ... because she was healthy enough to keep waking me up, because she was not lost at sea after a horrible disaster, because she doesn't do this every single night like she did when she was a baby ... and all I wanted was to go. to. sleep!*!$!! Such are the limitations of the human heart, I guess. Or else I just suck.

*******

After another political ... "disagreement" ... with my mother, I growled in exasperation, rolled my eyes, and said to the Girl, who was running around under foot, "Honey! Repeat after me: Democrat in 2008!"

The Girl: Blank stare.

"Ok," I said, "How about just 'No more Bush!'?"

The Girl: Blank stare.

"[SB]!" my mother snapped, "Don't go putting words into the child's mouth. She can't even tell you what she thinks."

The Girl: Blank stare.

"Sure she can," I said. "Can't you, sweetie? Tell Grammy what you think."

The Girl: "NO MORE BUSH!"

Sniff.

***********

For someone who used to be the epitome of "shy"--I'm talking glasses-fogging, knee-shaking, nail-biting, whispered-word shy--I'm pretty thick skinned. I really don't care too much what people think of me, I have no problems with speaking up in a crowd, cocktail parties only scare me if they run out of vodka, and even being left for another woman hasn't dampened my confidence in my ability to be ignored by men. (See? I'm not even afraid to make really stupid jokes.) Heck, I figure, I know I'm a dork, and some people like me anyway, so hey--either you will or you won't, but why should I get all in a lather about it? Except when it comes to one social group:

Other mothers.

Dear lord, why do other mothers--specifically the mothers of the Boy's classmates--make me feel like a junior high girl again? I always end up feeling completely inadequate--because I'm divorced, or because of the Boy's behavioral challenges, or because I work, or because I eat stinky cheese--I don't get it. I HATE feeling this way. And it's absolutely ludicrous! And I don't even think it's them, I really don't! I think it's time for my bi-annual return to therapy. I spent 10 minutes today going through the class directory trying to figure out if I was the only single mom in his class! What is WITH that?

Speechless

No funny stories today. Too sad about the disastrous tsunamis. I'm going upstairs to kiss my kids and my mom.

Memories...

Have you ever had one of those days when you wake up late, throw on yesterday's jeans, rush out the door, run to the train, take the train to another station, switch to the tube, sit there like a sardine for 30 minutes, reading your book and studiously ignoring your fellow stiff-lipped travelers, only to realize, as you pack up your book and get ready for your final stop, that the underwear you wore the day before (and stripped off with the jeans last night) has migrated down the leg and has been hanging out the bottom, stuck to the velcro on your sneaker, for God only knows how long?

No? Oh, no...um...me neither.

Just for a moment

I have this feeling, this saddish, almost guilt-ridden feeling, and I'm not sure why. I feel like I'm saying goodbye to someone or to something. Is it holiday letdown? Is it because when the kids left with their dad today, my first thought, just for a moment, was "Ahhh, freedom!" Is it because I might finally make the decision to get on with my bloody life?

I'm reading some poetry by Veronica Patterson--it's lovely. My favorite so far is "This House". I love the last few lines:

The funny thing is how the house is situated. A woman is holding it up
on one finger. If she needs to put the house down--just for a moment--

where will she set it?

King of the Bungle

King of the Bungle
Okay, first off, I own a cat, I love my cat, I am a cat person. I would never do this to my cat, so don't anybody go gettin' all Dr. Dolittle on me.
Second...oh dear lord, I am laughing my ass off.

Gentle Reader

Because I could not seem to shut up yesterday, and because I will be busy sending out my holiday cards today (hey, New Year's is a holiday) and schlepping presents over to the Ex's and buying more Bailey's and so forth, and so on, and because I bought new books and will buy more new books next week and have been looking at my bookshelf trying to figure out where to put them all, and because I suddenly have the urge to write the longest, most convuluted sentence ever written anywhere, ever, and because I will fail because (thank you Sweet Jesus) I am not Samuel Beckett, I give to you:

Random Book Samplings Chez SBFH
What Your Kindergartner Needs to Know
Little Earthquakes
Born to Be Wild
Traveling Mercies
Mini Encyclopedie: L'indespensable de la culture generale
The Neverending Story (hardback, thank you very much)
Tess of the d'Urbervilles
Microsoft Exchange 2003 Deployment & Migration
Even the Stars Look Lonesome
La Terre
Cunt
Start Where You Are
Lolita
Eats, Shoots and Leaves
Spiritual Divorce
Ahead of All Parting
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
Winter's Heart
Anna Karenina

Getting to Know You

I've been mulling over a discussion at Bad Mother regarding the "blogger/bloggee" relationship. Coincidentally, it's something the Chica and I were discussing the other day. She reads my blog--she's one of only a few people who actually know me and know that this is my blog--but hasn't felt comfortable commenting on it because it feels too public. Of course, she doesn't really need to do: We see each other at work every day and she can tell me whatever she wants, right to my face. Still, we've been discussing the public nature of something that contains so much private information and, at times, so much emotional weight.

I think blogging and reading blogs is a bit like going to a fabulous cocktail party. You have the chance to strike up conversations with new people, and some of them turn out to be rather engaging. Some of them turn out to be odd but interesting, and some of them make you start giving your date the "find a reason to leave here NOW" signal. If you don't feel like talking to anyone, you can always nurse a drink and listen in on other interesting conversations. Sometimes you start talking to someone and think, Holy cow, this is someone I'd love to talk with again. But you aren't about to give out your home number because, hey, you don't know any of these people.

I have friends, and family, and work, and it's all good. But most nights, I have two little humans asleep upstairs, so I don't find myself at as many cocktail parties as I used to. I have friends and acquaintances who are writers, actors, lawyers, mothers, fathers, politicians, entrepreneurs, educators, scientists--but rarely do we have the chance anymore to get together as often as we'd like. And rarely do we get the chance to all hang out together, regardless of location or vocation.

As far as emotional involvement goes...I do have a weird, gate-crashing kind of feeling when commenting on a blog for the first time. As though I am interrupting a conversation that I just happen to have overheard. And it is amazing how sympatica you can end up feeling with people whom you know you don't really know. Still, I once heard a wise woman quote Terence: "I am a human being; nothing human is alien to me." Is getting a glimpse into the emotional or intellectual or professional lives of other humans--and enjoying it--weird? Voyeuristic? Or just something that we humans are wired to do--connect to other humans? It seems that we as a society don't get as much opportunity to do that as we used to do. What do you think?

Excuse me, but do we know each other? No. But thanks for the lovely evening. Maybe we can do it again sometime.

Curse of the Hamtaros

I had never even heard of these little monsters 'til Ayelet over at Bad Mother mentioned them a few days back, and lo, the curse has come upon me. I should know better than to make smart-ass comments about these things. Today was the first day I let the Boy pick out all his own books and movies at the library--not because he isn't capable, but because today was the first day I had my mom around to run interference with the Girl so that I could actually hang out with the boy in the main library without dragging around the Screaming Banshee. And which movie did he pick?

Yeah. Friggin' Hamtaros. Why Lord, why?

Well, worse things could happen. He never like Barney or those god-awful, drug-induced Teletubbies, so I should thank my lucky stars that the dream lasted this long.

But no more smartie comments over at Bad Mother. Just to be on the safe side.

One might look first

After an evening of vodka and conversation with one's girlfriends, one might, as one strolls down the street with one's dearest friend, want to look up before loudly bemoaning the fact that one hasn't gotten laid in AGES and probably won't get laid in AGES and really, really needs to GET LAID RIGHT NOW!! Just in case, for example, one's male coworker might be standing, oh, 2 feet away. Because then one might feel completely mortified, and not just because one used the term "get laid" in polite company.

One is just, you know, saying.

Well, why didn't you tell me?

According to my OB/Gyn, removing your IUD is a sure way to attract a lover. Like the Call of the Uterus or something.

Heck, if I'd known that, I would've done it 6 months ago! Who knew?

Bah humbug

When the mother of one of your kid's classmates calls you and says, "We're collecting for a group gift for the teacher, so that we can get her something nice instead of 20 smelly candles. Plus it'll be easier for everyone that way. Would you like to contribute?" what do you think that means? Does it mean, "Hey, we're all chipping in and you can, too" or does it mean, "Hey, we're all chipping in but we're also all going to get the teacher a smelly candle." Because if it means the latter, then you might end up feeling kinda like crap when the teacher sat there and opened all of those freakin' candles at the beginning of class and there was nothing. from. your. kid. Right? Or, more accurately, you might end up sitting there thinking, "Why the hell are you opening all your presents in class? And why the hell didn't I spring for a friggin' smelly candle? And why do I feel guilty that I didn't spring for a friggin' smelly candle when I don't even like the way you treat my kid?"
Bah. This is thoroughly testing my resolve to practice a little holiday zen.

Virtual Discord

Ack. My imaginary friends can't even get along. WTF? Next thing you know, Hugh Jackman's gonna start getting a little friendly with Keanu Reeves in Fantasy World. Or, you know, Keanu will talk or something. Not good, people, not good.

Hayley

Hayley Thomson
God, this is the most painful experience I can imagine.

Many of us have been hoping for a happy ending for this family, whose baby girl has been sick for a long time. It's so hard to accept this outcome, and yet her parents' incredible courage and faith are an inspiration to me. They're in my thoughts and prayers tonight.

Mummy!!

Let me preface this by saying that 99% of the time, I tend to at least attempt the facade of a mature, independent, 30-(somethinggrumblegrumble) woman. But the other 1% of the time, I say,

My mommy gets here tomorrow! MUMMY!

You see, folks, she gets bored, and she cleans out my cupboards. And my linen closets.

I know, I know. BK (before kids), that kind of thing got on my nerves, rather. After the Boy, it mostly made me feel guilty. After the Girl--heck, I'm saving up a big ol' pile of laundry just to keep Mom happy. Knock yourself out, Mom!

In all seriousness, though, I am soo looking forward to her visit. It will most likely mean spotty posts here, however. So just in case--happy holidays to everyone--and don't forget Winter Solstice next week. It's a perfectly good excuse for a little celebration, in case you aren't getting enough of them as is.

Virtual Defense

When I was a kid, I used to have imaginary friends. But I never made up my own imaginary friends--they were all characters from my favorite stories.

Why do I feel like I'm 5 again?

Each week, I read Catherine Newman's excellent "Ben & Birdy" column. I usually skip the comments, but sometimes I take a peek or drop in a line--and what do I find in one of the recent columns but a huge wacked-out comment thread with people freaking out over the fact that there's a picture of Ben in pink pants and is that okay and why can't we say it isn't and blah blah blah and then we wind up with some discussion of whether the author is married to her "boyfriend" and blah blah blah and all of a sudden I realize that I'm thinking, Hey! You people leave her alone! Those pants are fine, and she's a great mom, and Michael's a great dad, and what business is it of yours, anyway!!? Because I remember reading once that she reads all the comments. And some of those comments would hurt my feelings, I know. And she's a great person, and how dare they say such hurtful things! And then defend themselves because "this is a forum for discussion, blah blah blah..." I'm getting all bitchy and feisty, as though I actually know this woman. As if these people were walking up to her on the street and insulting her choices--my friend's choices! How dare they?!

So apparently Catherine Newman is now my imaginary friend. I figure this means either that she is an extremely talented writer, capable of eliciting great empathy--or I am an extremely pathetic adult who uses the phrase "blah blah blah" more than any one person should be allowed to do. I'm sure it's the first one. Yeah, that's it, the first one.

But if any of my "friends" were ever to read this blog, I'd say...

Honey, those pants are just fine. And what the hell do they know, anyway? Stupid Betties.

Inner Peace

Dr. B's most recent comment reminded me of this oldish joke, which I have taped up to my office bookshelf:

I got inspired by an article in a magazine: "The way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you've started."So I looked around the house to see all the things I started and hadn't finished… and before coming to work this morning I finished off a bottle of red wine, a bottle of white, the Bailey's Irish Cream, Kahlua and the Wild Turkey, the New Year’s bottle of Tequila, my Prozac, some valium, my cigarettes and a box of chocolates. You have no idea how freakin' good I feel...

Karma

My big ol' karmatic challenge is to learn to quit making myself Responsible For Everyone. Not only does it make me nuts, it really shortchanges everyone whose problems I take on, because really it's just a neurotic way of me saying "Oh, no no, I really don't think you can handle this; I'll do a much better job; better give me *complete control right now*! I did this to the Ex (which would probably count as one of the Big Contributing Factors from my side of the fence). I'd gotten better, but realized that as he's gone through this period of disintegration, I've started doing it again. And I finally realized the other night that I'm doing it to my son. Ok, he's only 5--but we were in a Situation and I was trying to figure out what to do without doing the wrong thing, blah blah blah, and I had a sudden recollection of myself as a child and what a Truly Horrible Temper I had. I mean--really. REALLY. And I thought, well, hold the phone.

One thing that makes me absolutely batty is my inability to decide where "normal childhood behaviors" meet "slightly odd behaviors but nothing worse than I did, and I turned out mostly functional ('mos-tly')" meet "junior psychopath" behaviors. I am waaaay too analytical for my own good. And I think that there are a number of contributing factors in this situation, which does not help balance out my need to take each and every one into great microscopic account at least 10 times a day. Sheesh.

But anyway, I just want to say--thanks. (Dr B., I do appreciate the advice; I'll look up that book.) And it sooo helps to hear that other kids do have some of the same behaviors. I think the danger of having a "diagnosis" is that you can get a sort of tunnel vision and start taking things too seriously, sometimes. Ah well.

So enough Despair from me for one week. Next post will be shallow and entertaining if I can at all manage it, I swear.

The Moving Target of Fixated Desire*

When it comes to this crazy whirlpool of emotions in which the Boy seems trapped, one of the most difficult things for me to deal with is his inability to just get over it. Something will happen, something seemingly insignificant--a pencil taken away, a small slight--and he fixates on it. He can't just let it go. Instead, he brings himself to the point of fury or tears because of some moment that can't be changed and that now is long past. He can't just put it down and walk away.

Friday was a hard day. The Fixation (as I like to call it) took its toll at school, where he and a friend got into a disagreement, which disintegrated into a fistfight. As is typical now, after the kids were separated and both were reprimanded, after they made up and shook on it, the other child went on with her day--not so the Boy. He seemed fine, but the slightest upset triggered this underlying muddle of resentment, which continued to snowball until finally the teacher had to send him "up front" out of fear that he would break into another fight. When we talked later, she seemed at a loss to understand. "I told him, 'Honey, sometimes you just need to walk away. You have to learn to walk away!'"

After school, the afternoon was fine--for a while. I hung the outside lights while the kids played. But at some point, the breakdown began, and within a half an hour, The Fixation was in full swing. Usually, I cope pretty well; today, I lost it. This is my baby, the little boy who just 6 months ago would get on our case for saying "stupid", who tells me over the phone in his little-boy voice that I'm his favorite mommy and he loves me, and here he is, his face contorted with rage, shouting that I'm not his real mommy and that he wants to kill me. I know the issues behind this--emotional, mental, behavioral, monumental. Usually, I know how to deal with it, I know how to diffuse the situation. Today, I just burst into tears. I handled it, but not as well as I knew I could, which made me feel even shittier. And in the middle of it, Ex called.

"How're the kids?" he asked, and then, "What's wrong?" I am so tired of carrying this load, so tired of trying not to upset him, of trying to hold this world by myself out of fear that if I ask him to share the burden, he will disappear or be crushed under its weight.

Tonight, I tell him. Crying, I tell him that I don't know how much longer I can take this. I don't know if the things we're doing to help him are the right things, but I can't bear to move ahead with the other options, either. I feel paralyzed and helpless. "He says those things to you?" Ex asks, astounded; the Boy's behavior around him is not necessarily better, but it is different. Ex tells me, reasonably, "We have a good idea what's wrong. And we're doing things that seem to help. And if they don't help enough, well, there's medication out there. And it's okay to use it." "I know," I sob, "but I can't help but feel like he's so unhappy because his world has gone to shit, with everything, with the divorce..." "You know," Ex says, quiet, "I have a lot of issues around that. Around the divorce. Because I'm the one who left. And I...I've been talking with the doctor about it, and I'm really having a hard time. I keep thinking, every day, what if...what if I really..."

"...what if I've really fucked up our kids by leaving?"

And I start breathing again. And I tell him, of course, that he did the right thing. Staying in a marriage with someone you realize you don't love is much, much worse in the long run, for everyone, than walking away. And I believe that. But as I say this to him, in my head, what I say to myself is,

"Oh, honey. Why can't you just learn to put it down and walk away?"

-------
* This is the title of some book that I've never read but damn, it's a good title.

yeah, yeah, I know

For an editor, I am Crap All for consistency with my title capitalization. Whatever.
And I'm posting spazmodically; again I say: Whatever.

I've been reminiscing of late over the following incident, because it still stands out as one of the most entertaining things that happened during my time in London (which was a Really Long Time Ago, in case anyone wonders). Immature? Sure. But somehow, so satisfying. So, as told to the Manolo:

When my ex and I were first dating/living together, he managed a bar in London. He's a very handsome french guy, btw. At one point, there was this Fugly Hussy that kept hanging out at the bar and hitting on him; her friend was trying to snag one of his friends who also worked there and who lived with his girlfriend. One night, ex and his friend are working; friend's girlfriend was there with some Canadian women friends. Fugly Hussies show up and spend the night hitting on the men IN FRONT OF the girlfriend and company. Tres tacky. End of the night, everyone's waiting for cabs--and everyone's had a bit to drink. Girlfriend is hopping mad. Her friend walks up to Fugly Hussies, looks them up and down, and says what has to be the most super-fantastic putdown in the history of the world:

"You're sluts. And you have bad shoes."

Now, that had to hurt.

Ass Girl Triumphs!

And what bedtime lullabies did my own darling, my behaviorally challenged progeny, request over the phone tonight?

The "Cow Song" (aka Magical Trevor) and the Egg Song.

Also, and I quote: "Papa says you don't sing so good, but I think you sing beautiful."

Yep. He's gifted in all the ways that count, that one is.

Argumentative? Am not!

So, after talking to the teachers, I'm feeling both better and worse. The problem seems to be that he's becoming very defensive and thus becomes argumentative because he thinks he's being attacked even when he isn't. (Hmm, wonder where he gets that from?)

It comes down to this: Is he feeling defensive because that's just one of the behavioral issues he has? Maybe. I've seen him do this, and I agree it's a problem. But I also know that his dad is having a lot of trouble right now with his patience level and is snapping at him a lot and giving him a lot of negative input. Everything is a battle and when it isn't, dad is emotionally removed. (And I also know that dad feels really bad about this and that it's really out of his control. I'm not blaming him, I actually feel for him because I know how much he loves the kids and I know he really is going through a lot of crap right now and he's doing the best he can, but right now he needs to be self absorbed. But this adds a lot of stress for me, and I can't even say that without making the situation worse. How do I diffuse the damage? How do I explain to a 5 year old that his idol is treating him this way because he's under emotional/mental duress of his own?) There's also the breakdown in his diet (because his dad is feeling too overwhelmed to deal with it), which I know makes him more emotionally sensitive. And his teacher, who I'm sure is totally well-intentioned, is on his case all. the. time. Today I asked her if she was finding chances to give him some positive reinforcement when he managed to do the things she had asked him to do, and the answer was not reassuring. Basically, she has to point out a problem to him every day, but I think she feels too busy to point out as many or more positives. Classic trap: you're so busy putting out fires that you don't feel you have the time to build up the structures that would keep the fires from starting. With this kid, though, that just makes the problem worse. I don't want him coddled, but hell--who isn't going to start feeling like crap if all they ever hear is what a screwup they are? And who can keep it together when they think they're crap?

And why do I feel like this is all SO SERIOUS? When I was a kid, kids were just hyper. They grew out of it. They weren't disabled and every move you made wasn't this huge weight hanging over your head, as if one wrong move would scar them for life. It's like the whole issue of weapons and violent play--what boys when I was a kid didn't play cops and robbers or cowboys and indians or some form of war play? And even as a girl--we all made guns and chased each other around with them. Now, everyone fights against that. I finally realized, about a year ago, that I was probably doing him more harm than good by fighting that. Way to give him a neurosis: "Oh, you like that? Well, I don't like it, and it's wrong, wrong, wrong. Don't even talk about it!" God, Carl Jung is rolling in his grave.

And has everyone noticed by now that I'm a completely over-analytical freak? Oh, did I forget to mention that? I remember when I was about 4, I used to bug my mom constantly about--I'm not kidding--the fact that there was no way to tell whether everything that was happening was really happening or whether it was a dream. And if it was a dream, how did we know it was even our dream? What if it was somebody else's dream, in which case we might not even exist at all?

Bah.

I got spam today from "Ass Girl". That's gonna be my new superhero name. Ass Girl. Me likey.

Ugh, Ugh, and Ugh Again

The discussions over at Flea's and Profgrrrrl's have reminded me that one of the reasons I started this thing was to work through some of the challenges of divorce, new-single-parenthood, and dealing with the Boy's behavioral problems--and maybe get some feedback from other people who might have an inkling of what those things feel like. I intend to write about these things, I really do--but then I get tired and find it more entertaining to research the Egg Song or post photos of my kids (or delete photos of my kids) or just be a smart ass in general. Entertaining to who, I'm not sure... But here it goes, and it's a long one (and kid related), so feel free to bail now.

The SB is out tonight, and she is not happy.

A note came home with the Boy today. His version of the story is that at recess, a friend pushed him onto a snowpile, which they're supposed to stay off of. When a teacher saw him and called him on it, he said it wasn't his fault. She kept saying it was, he kept saying it wasn't. Finally, he yelled that it wasn't. She took him to another teacher, who said, "This wide mouth owes you an apology." This is specifically what this little form note said:

Your child, ____________, broke one of the school's code of conduct rules today. [Check mark next to "Respect"] for [and this part was filled in] arguing with several teachers at recess.

And this is what goes through my mind:

Good for him.

First off, no, I have not gotten the teachers' story yet. I called his teacher but she was on her way out to another appointment; we're going to talk in the morning. I will say right off the bat that I do not dislike this woman, but I do not like her teaching style. I realize that she's overwhelmed (24 kindergarteners and only 1 hour of para assistance per day, plus whatever parent volunteers show up). I also realize that the stupid No Child Left Unscarred requirements mean that she has to tear through material left and right. But from my observations while volunteering in her class, she does not have the emphasis on positive reinforcement that I wish she had, and she comes across as very overwhelmed and hence rigid, which I'm sorry, is the kiss of death when you're dealing with my son (and not the best method of cultivating any child, IMHO). Yeah, I'm not a teacher, so take it with a grain of salt.

Second, if I find out he was calling the teacher names or something like that, of course that's a problem. He needs to be respectful of other people. He needs to follow the school's rules. He needs to follow instructions. But I'm getting this bad feeling that when there's a situation where somebody's going to get into trouble--it's going to be him, and not necessarily because he's a trouble maker. I'm getting the feeling that his teacher expects him to be difficult.

And here's the big thing on my mind. I was a very compliant child. I always did as I was told, and I never talked back. Guess what happened when I turned 12 and my mother's pervert husband decided to get fresh with me?

I was a very compliant child.

I started a discussion with the Boy about the need to do what your teachers ask you to do, the first time they ask, and without talking back. I said, "I know sometimes their decisions might not seem fair. If that's the case, what do you think you should do?" (Talk with the teacher after you've complied, talk to me or your father after school...) His response: "Do whatever they tell me to do anyway, no matter what."

Hell, no. No, no, no. I do not want my kid to join the ranks of human beings who do what they're told, whether or not it's fair, whether or not it's just, because someone in authority has told him to do it. Pardon my french, but fuck. that.

I also know my son. He's going through a lot of challenges. He's probably ADHD; he might be bipolar. (His father has just been diagnosed, and that raises the possibility.) He does things that worry me. I'm not naive, and I'm not in denial. But I will not tell him that he's supposed to take the whipping no matter what. I'm sure he'd end up being a very nice little citizen. What worse thing could I do to him?

Scorpio: Good at beginnings and endings

Notice how the holiday surprise idea has fallen by the wayside?
I just want to take a moment to ask: Who is Elise Looney, and why does she want me to #8!`?X-Mas?

And still I Love Egg

The more I watch it the more psychotic pleasure I get from it. Like this strange, surreal little explanation (click the ILOVEEG link).

They want to be reborn?? The EGGS want to be reborn?!?

And what's up with the egg bomb? And that spiky egg--what is that? Is that supposed to be a subsurface mine? What in the hell????

I'm teaching the Egg Song to the children, now. I wish I could hook up a recording of the Girl singing the Unhinged Melody... "JINGUH EGG! JINGUH BELLTH! LUUUV EGG! JINGUH! HEY! HEY!"

Damn, Korea must have some goood drugs.

oh.dear.lord.

I have got to get a life. I think I've hurt myself laughing at the Egg Song. It's all that damned Trevor's fault.

Transbuddha : Where Stu meets Pid.

Wow...

Satisfaction

Let's hear it for the subconscious!
I had the most therapeutic dream: Among many other Alice-in-Wonderlandish happenings, I hooked up with Young Jimmy Stewart. Could there be a more seasonally appropriate dream for the lonely straight woman?? I think not. Plus, Betty Davis was our buddy and kept saying all sorts of clever bitchy things.
Thank you, subconscious. Ah, I feel refreshed!

So refreshed, that I'm going to do a little practical blogging here, on two fronts. First, does everyone know about the nuns who are serving several years each for sabotage? These women are still in prison. If nothing else showcases the need to step up to the plate and fight the McCarthy-ist nature of this administration, this situation sure does it for me.

Second, for those of you in academia, I'm interested in your thoughts on this story. As an editor, I cringe at the cavalier attitude regarding anonymity, which is one thing that seems to have lit this bonfire...

Only the Lonely

You'll be happy to hear that no busboys were harmed in the making of this month's set of hormones.

I seem entirely unmotivated this week and am procrastinating like mad. Sure sign that I'm feeling overwhelmed. Looks like there's a chance I'll get to tag along on the next Paris roadshow, if the budget allows, so all those years learning French might not have been for naught. We'll see. Not holding my breath.

I am feeling a bit down on myself tonight because of my complete failure to accomplish anything this week. And I think I'm going through a lonely phase. Most times, I really don't mind being single; I have so many personal and parental challenges to address that frankly, I'm rather glad to be able to focus solely on myself and my kids, without having to take anyone else's thoughts or needs under consideration. But now and then, it gets to me and I just think, how on earth will I ever find a relationship? Having children puts a whole different pile of baggage on the luggage rack, there. Oh, blah blah blah. Anyone got some cheese to go with my whine?

Free at last

All-day company meetings exhaust me. By the end of the day, I lose all concentration and wind up daydreaming about how great it would be if I could get freaking laid. Or even laid sans freaking. Anything! Sigh. Oh, well.

HS: Sorry, too hard up to think of one of these today. I know. A nice Holiday Surprise would be if I got some Vitamin F. So there.
FFFM: Number of college buddies who have since appeared in a porn film: 4 (that I know of). No, not the same film. And no, not me, thank you very much. And yes, I have sex on the brain. If I had it somewhere else, it would no so much be on the brain.

And I get to go back for day 2 of this Meeting Monstrosity tomorrow. Expect me to lose it and jump a busboy by lunchtime.