So. Back in the days when I was married w/out children, we lived in a nice 3-story apartment complex, on the second floor. Below us lived a very nice older woman, Minerva, who was pretty hard of hearing; we didn't see too much of her but had let her know to tell us if she needed anything and had occasionally helped her move things in or out of her place and so forth.
And again, so. One day, this couple moves into the apartment above us. The guy is a big guy--tall and thick. We rarely see him. But we hear him. OH YES. We hear him. With his girlfriend. At 2:00 a.m. I have absolutely nothing against hot monkey sex, you understand, except when it's coming through the ceiling directly above my head at 2:00 in the god-forsaken morning. And this, people, was not just hot monkey sex, it was like hot monkey sex if one of the monkeys is actually a rhino and the other one is practicing for a career in the opera. This was back in the days when I worked two jobs and only got 5 hours of sleep a night. I really liked my sleep.
After one particularly...wakeful...night listening to the Monkey Sex Duet, the (not yet) Ex and I woke up (not so) bright and early, and I--knowing that the Rhino and Carmen the Operatic Monkey couldn't have gone to bed more than a few hours earlier--said to my husband, "I will have my revenge." So I grabbed a broom and began jumping up and down on the bed, slamming the broom into the ceiling and squealing in what I hoped was a completely ear-splitting manner.
Bam! Bam! Bam! OOOOOHHHH GAAAAWWWWWWDDDDD YEEEEEESS! Do it! Dooooo it nooooowwwww! (And so forth, and so on.)
After about 5 minutes of this, I hopped down off the bed, threw on some clothes, and skipped into the kitchen to make some coffee. Nothing makes me so happy in the morning as a little justified vengeance, you know? And I didn't worry about dear Minerva below us, because like I said, she was pretty deaf and I was sure she wouldn't have been disturbed by my gymnastics.
But as I opened the living room curtains, I saw several fire engines and an ambulance parked below. Oh no! I thought, something's happened to Minerva! I ran downstairs and up to the paramedics, explaining who I was and asking whether our downstairs neighbor was all right. The nice man assured me that she was fine, she'd basically had a panic attack and called 911, but she was fine. Relieved, I went back upstairs. It wasn't until I was explaining what had happened to my husband that I realized....I'd just simulated hot monkey sex right on top of a room full of paramedics. And then introduced myself to them.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Thursday, July 28, 2005
DITTO!
OMG. I was going to write something about embarassing moments but then a damned wasp stung me and now I can think only of how much my leg is friggin' KILLING ME! Argh, I hate wasps! Tomorrow, then. Aye-ai-ai....
Shit!
I've decided we all have Tourrette's. That's all I'm saying. And yes, I know that the majority of people with Tourrette's don't yell out swear words. I know this because WE ALL HAVE IT HERE! You think I'm kidding, but I'm not.
Cats: Getting along splendidly. I'd forgotten what idiots kittens are.
Boy: The Boy is getting over strep, which always throws him (behavior-wise) into the pit of despair. Oy. So it's been...challenging. I miss him when he is like this...I wind up spending so much energy on staying calm and putting out his emotional fires, that at the end of the day I realize how little time I had to just be with him, the sweet him that's in there somewhere underneath all this strep- or medicine-induced shittiness. Sigh.
Girl: Quote of the day--"No matter." She actually told me, "No matter." She's 2 going on 70, seemingly.
Ex: Has some weird mystery pain and is getting tested for Hepatitis. Holy mother.
Whew!
Cats: Getting along splendidly. I'd forgotten what idiots kittens are.
Boy: The Boy is getting over strep, which always throws him (behavior-wise) into the pit of despair. Oy. So it's been...challenging. I miss him when he is like this...I wind up spending so much energy on staying calm and putting out his emotional fires, that at the end of the day I realize how little time I had to just be with him, the sweet him that's in there somewhere underneath all this strep- or medicine-induced shittiness. Sigh.
Girl: Quote of the day--"No matter." She actually told me, "No matter." She's 2 going on 70, seemingly.
Ex: Has some weird mystery pain and is getting tested for Hepatitis. Holy mother.
Whew!
Friday, July 22, 2005
Careful what you wish for
Jungian archetypes: valid theory or total bull hooey? Discuss. (If you've been paying attention you already know where I stand on this one.)
*************
Ten years ago my neighborhood and the ones surrounding me were just empty fields. And on what was then the edge of town and is now about a 1/2 mile from my house, was an old gas station, disused for years, with a little house next to it. A few years ago, it got a new resident: Psychic May. She was there for a year or so, then left for a while, then I noticed that her palmistry sign was back in all its pink neon glory. I drive by Psychic May nearly every day, and I almost always wonder: Who is she, this Psychic May? Why did she leave? And did she know she'd be back?
*************
Go over to Urban Muse and read about this complete miscarriage of justice. WTF?
*************
The Boy badly wants to live in a palace. I explained the necessity of being royalty. He is not happy. "I guess you'll just have to find some princess to hook up with," I shrugged. (Hey, it's over 100 degrees, my brain is curdling, don't expect a lot out of me.) "What!?" he cried, "I just walk up to some princess and ask her to marry me?!" Uh, yeah. Pretty much. Good luck with that.
*************
Ten years ago my neighborhood and the ones surrounding me were just empty fields. And on what was then the edge of town and is now about a 1/2 mile from my house, was an old gas station, disused for years, with a little house next to it. A few years ago, it got a new resident: Psychic May. She was there for a year or so, then left for a while, then I noticed that her palmistry sign was back in all its pink neon glory. I drive by Psychic May nearly every day, and I almost always wonder: Who is she, this Psychic May? Why did she leave? And did she know she'd be back?
*************
Go over to Urban Muse and read about this complete miscarriage of justice. WTF?
*************
The Boy badly wants to live in a palace. I explained the necessity of being royalty. He is not happy. "I guess you'll just have to find some princess to hook up with," I shrugged. (Hey, it's over 100 degrees, my brain is curdling, don't expect a lot out of me.) "What!?" he cried, "I just walk up to some princess and ask her to marry me?!" Uh, yeah. Pretty much. Good luck with that.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Guilty as charged, Miss Trisha
"If, as you live your life, you find yourself mentally composing blog entries about it, post this exact same sentence in your weblog."
Friday, July 15, 2005
Touched by His Noodly Appendage!
Okay, I'm totally stealing this link from Mrs. Kennedy, who stole it from someone else, but hey. Haven't we decided that this is what the Internet is for? Larceny, pure and simple.
My main question is, if I start worshipping the Flying Spaghetti Monster, will I be forbidden to follow a low-carb diet? Cause, score one more for the FSM, I'm thinking.
My main question is, if I start worshipping the Flying Spaghetti Monster, will I be forbidden to follow a low-carb diet? Cause, score one more for the FSM, I'm thinking.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Psycho Kitty, indeed
Hey, did you ever hear the one about the single mom with two kids and a 12-year old Marshmallow Cat and a house that sorely needed Spring Cleaning even though it was halfway through summer and a million things to do for work and moving and cleaning and children and sanity and so on and so forth, but what she started thinking, for some unknown insane reason, was "Hey! What we really need is a kitten!" And then she thought, "What, am I unknowingly insane? For the dear Lord's sake, woman, you are 37 years old and know better by now than to avoid thinking about everything you need to do and everything you are afraid to do and everything you have already done by finding another creature to come into your house!" And then she went and did it anyway?
Yeah. Well, now you have.
Yeah. Well, now you have.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
The Women
An old friend with whom I've reconnected over the past year told me last week that she's finally come to realize that her family are not the people with whom she's joined by blood, but those with whom she's joined by love. Sometimes, for some of us, those lines cross. But it's a strange country, this thing we call family, and its borders are ever shifting. And who lives there? There are men in my family, certainly, many of them greatly beloved, some of whom I would die for, but tonight I am thinking of the women.
of my mother, who loves me despite our differences, who never asked me to hang back to keep her from her own demons, who might not understand but does her best to accept
of the Chica, my sister in every other way that matters, from whom I've learned so much and from whom I can't imagine being separated
of my daughter, who is so like me and yet so unlike, who hasn't yet learned to hold back her desire or fierceness
of my grandmother, who no longer walks with me on the earth but who still whispers to me in my heart
of my aged cousin, who opened the world up before me like a field of flowers and taught me to love each one, even those that have thorns
of the mothers of my mothers, whose faces flash past me out of brown photographs, crumbling letters, lists of names, dusty gravestones, the eyes of my children
of the myriad women who move past and around and through my life, who stay for a moment or years, who teach me and learn from me and laugh with me and mourn with me, whether I've never even seen their faces or could recall their features from memory, the friends, the soulmates, the writers, the poets, the artists, the students, the teachers, the mothers
of the Bitch, and the Wolf, and Lady of the Lake, and the Fire Walker, and Girl in the Woods, of all the threads in the weave
of the earth, of the moon
I am blessed to live within these borders. I am fortunate in my family.
of my mother, who loves me despite our differences, who never asked me to hang back to keep her from her own demons, who might not understand but does her best to accept
of the Chica, my sister in every other way that matters, from whom I've learned so much and from whom I can't imagine being separated
of my daughter, who is so like me and yet so unlike, who hasn't yet learned to hold back her desire or fierceness
of my grandmother, who no longer walks with me on the earth but who still whispers to me in my heart
of my aged cousin, who opened the world up before me like a field of flowers and taught me to love each one, even those that have thorns
of the mothers of my mothers, whose faces flash past me out of brown photographs, crumbling letters, lists of names, dusty gravestones, the eyes of my children
of the myriad women who move past and around and through my life, who stay for a moment or years, who teach me and learn from me and laugh with me and mourn with me, whether I've never even seen their faces or could recall their features from memory, the friends, the soulmates, the writers, the poets, the artists, the students, the teachers, the mothers
of the Bitch, and the Wolf, and Lady of the Lake, and the Fire Walker, and Girl in the Woods, of all the threads in the weave
of the earth, of the moon
I am blessed to live within these borders. I am fortunate in my family.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Beat it good
Now, I wonder. Where is all this motivation when I need to be cleaning my floors or doing laundry? I could be doing laundry now, but am I? No, I'm answering emails and blurbing up more of this stupid stuff that keeps zooming around my brain. Why, egads, why???
Shrug. Oh well.
So my car. A few of you have been...erm...lucky enough?...to have seen my car. It isn't such a bad car, really, except for one thing. It's slowly turning into a beater. It's sort of like when the family dog starts to get a bit aged, but you still love him, and then he starts peeing on the carpet and getting the mange. And yeah, you still love him, but damn that dog!
So, first, there's the inner door handle that the Boy broke. Not too bad, all things said and done--no one really sees it and I don't want him opening his door anyway. But I think it started the downhill slide. The kids started putting their bank stickers on the windows. The front corner has a ding that knocked out the light. Which means I'm not comfortable taking it through a car wash.
I think the time has come to finally bite the bullet and take it into the shop. Maybe then it'll quit peeing on the rug.
Shrug. Oh well.
So my car. A few of you have been...erm...lucky enough?...to have seen my car. It isn't such a bad car, really, except for one thing. It's slowly turning into a beater. It's sort of like when the family dog starts to get a bit aged, but you still love him, and then he starts peeing on the carpet and getting the mange. And yeah, you still love him, but damn that dog!
So, first, there's the inner door handle that the Boy broke. Not too bad, all things said and done--no one really sees it and I don't want him opening his door anyway. But I think it started the downhill slide. The kids started putting their bank stickers on the windows. The front corner has a ding that knocked out the light. Which means I'm not comfortable taking it through a car wash.
I think the time has come to finally bite the bullet and take it into the shop. Maybe then it'll quit peeing on the rug.
Most peculiar, Mama
I just want you to know that I had brilliant, brilliant posts running through my head all damned day long. And then I actually found the time to sit down and write, and--POOF! Gone, daddy, gone. Oh well.
I haven't really said anything about London. It's upsetting, obviously, and tragic, and awful. And for me, having lived there during the Gulf War and the IRA bombing of Victoria Station, very ... I don't know. Strange, in a way I can't describe. I remember being late to get to Clapham Junction, and then getting there and it being just a mass of people and no train and then hearing what had happened, and trying to get all the way across London by bus. Planting the bomb on that bus, that, I think, was especially horrible. The friends I have there are safe, thankfully, but I'm just so saddened by violence, and by the diatribes against the villainous "them". I can't help but believe that all this "us" and "them" is what puts us all in the middle of this shit in the first place. It's easy to demonize a faceless enemy, a "them" that has no heart. And once people start losing those they love, it becomes harder and harder to break out of the cycle of revenge. All I can do is find kindnesses to put out into the world, I think, and breathe, do tonglen, pray, love as much as I can, try not to live in anger. Try to see people, and not shadows. In some small way, maybe that will help. I don't know.
I haven't really said anything about London. It's upsetting, obviously, and tragic, and awful. And for me, having lived there during the Gulf War and the IRA bombing of Victoria Station, very ... I don't know. Strange, in a way I can't describe. I remember being late to get to Clapham Junction, and then getting there and it being just a mass of people and no train and then hearing what had happened, and trying to get all the way across London by bus. Planting the bomb on that bus, that, I think, was especially horrible. The friends I have there are safe, thankfully, but I'm just so saddened by violence, and by the diatribes against the villainous "them". I can't help but believe that all this "us" and "them" is what puts us all in the middle of this shit in the first place. It's easy to demonize a faceless enemy, a "them" that has no heart. And once people start losing those they love, it becomes harder and harder to break out of the cycle of revenge. All I can do is find kindnesses to put out into the world, I think, and breathe, do tonglen, pray, love as much as I can, try not to live in anger. Try to see people, and not shadows. In some small way, maybe that will help. I don't know.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Bah.
Why, oh why, does 303 keep calling my cell phone? Who or WHAT the hell is 303? 303. It isn't even a real phone number. And if I answer, there's no one there. So why? WHY? It's TORMENTING me.
I bet it's Tom Cruise. Bastard.
I bet it's Tom Cruise. Bastard.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Hosta? Who's hosta?
I'm obsessed with shrubs and trees and chair rails and all the projects I'll be working on in another 6 months. Of course that gives me plenty of distractions from the projects I should be working on now. Funny how that works, eh?
Monday, July 04, 2005
Head like a planet
Happy 4th, everyone. I have to admit that I like the idea of a holiday that celebrates our country's liberation from a lousy administration. Ahem.
Well, here are words I never thought I'd write, but here goes: The reunion was So. Much. Fun. Seriously. I went to the 10th and it was just like what Muse pictured...everyone trying to prove they were no longer the same as in high school or that they were exactly the same as in high school. But this one was just a bunch of people who had, for the most part, figured out a thing or two--enough to know that they hadn't figured out much of anything, really--and just thought it was kind of cool to see people who knew them when they were kids. I talked with people I used to hang out with in junior high, people I'd never said more than two words to in high school, the guy who once tried to beat me up in 3rd grade...and everyone was nice. Everyone was happy. Everyone was actually pretty wonderful, even the people I knew had nothing in common with me. It was as though everyone had given up those chips on their shoulders. And the folks who weren't ready to that--well, I guess they chose not to waste their time on the thing. It was the most relaxed, enjoyable social gathering I've been to in years. Totally surreal, because let me tell you--I hated high school. I mean, I was unbelievably shy and totally neurotic. And I'm certainly not at my best now...or maybe I am. Hmm.
And the Chica and I drove out together with the Chiclette, who was, as usual, a riot. We picked up a copy of the Weekly World News on the way back for entertainment and I'll tell ya. I admire a rag that doesn't even try to hide the fact that it is total BS. "Noah's Second Ark Found" by "Dr. Adam N. Deeve". Ohhhh, that wacky World News. I did some work for my Mom around the house, and we sat around and paged through old "Better Homes & Gardens" for ideas for the new house. It was a great weekend, and I hope things were just as lovely for all of you. And thank you all, btw, for the kind words, as always.
Well, here are words I never thought I'd write, but here goes: The reunion was So. Much. Fun. Seriously. I went to the 10th and it was just like what Muse pictured...everyone trying to prove they were no longer the same as in high school or that they were exactly the same as in high school. But this one was just a bunch of people who had, for the most part, figured out a thing or two--enough to know that they hadn't figured out much of anything, really--and just thought it was kind of cool to see people who knew them when they were kids. I talked with people I used to hang out with in junior high, people I'd never said more than two words to in high school, the guy who once tried to beat me up in 3rd grade...and everyone was nice. Everyone was happy. Everyone was actually pretty wonderful, even the people I knew had nothing in common with me. It was as though everyone had given up those chips on their shoulders. And the folks who weren't ready to that--well, I guess they chose not to waste their time on the thing. It was the most relaxed, enjoyable social gathering I've been to in years. Totally surreal, because let me tell you--I hated high school. I mean, I was unbelievably shy and totally neurotic. And I'm certainly not at my best now...or maybe I am. Hmm.
And the Chica and I drove out together with the Chiclette, who was, as usual, a riot. We picked up a copy of the Weekly World News on the way back for entertainment and I'll tell ya. I admire a rag that doesn't even try to hide the fact that it is total BS. "Noah's Second Ark Found" by "Dr. Adam N. Deeve". Ohhhh, that wacky World News. I did some work for my Mom around the house, and we sat around and paged through old "Better Homes & Gardens" for ideas for the new house. It was a great weekend, and I hope things were just as lovely for all of you. And thank you all, btw, for the kind words, as always.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
The (Wo)man Behind the Curtain
Oh, hey! Hi! Hiii...yeah! Yes, I know I said I would be posting a nice long post any...uh...any day now. I did say that, didn't I? Sure. Sure I did. And I meant it. Yep, I sure did. Mmhmm.
Um...yeah. So. Hi!
Wow. I have so neglected you, Blog.
The thing is, the thing is that there have been so many things thinging along out this way. And if I've already told you about them, well, go grab a cup of chai or something because I'm going to be a lame ass and say them all over again. Like your old Gram who keeps forgetting that she already told you the story about how her sister ate the chicken crap that she found out on the front porch back when they were kids, because she thought it was peanut butter.
That example would be much less disturbing if I hadn't had an old Gram who ate chicken crap as a kid because she thought it was peanut butter. But I digress.
So. I put a contract down on the new house, and I went through that whole crazy Design Center thing where you have to pick out tile and carpet and knobs. (I told you I'd talk about knobs. But actually I didn't get knobs, because dear God, do you know what a ripoff knobs are? Holy cow.) So all that's moving forward and I have about 7 months to pack up my house and sell it to the Ex and find someone to buy my Mom's place and rent the Ex's place and okay I'm freaking myself out now. Next.
My neighbor, my great neighbor who makes the kickass Skippies, gave us a piano. A beautiful antique full-sized upright piano. Gave it. To us. For free. Just because she "knew we'd appreciate it." Have I mentioned how friggin fortunate I am to have such lovely people in my life? So now I'm taking piano lessons because people, I have wanted a piano for 35 YEARS. I can't stop looking at the thing. The kids can't keep their hands off it. The cat can't keep away from it. That piano's getting more action than I've seen in years.
The kids and I took the cat to the vet today to get his vaccinations, long overdue (I know, I know. He doesn't go outside, at least. The last time he got out he got in a fight with something and ended up dislocating his jaw and sprouting some sort of abscess and having to wear one of those stupid cone things and oh, did I mention? This happened 2 days before I went into labor with the Girl and cost like $400. Yeah. He doesn't go outside.)
I don't know why I'm telling you about the cat. See? This is what happens when you don't get any nookie and spend all your time fondling the neighbor's piano.
What else? Uh...oh! The Boy! The Boy, my dear lord, you have no idea. That kid is blossoming. He's already gotten his orange belt in Tae Kwon Do, he's learned to read, he's learned to ride his bike without training wheels, and he's this close to being able to swim. All this since Memorial Day. In general, his moods are stable, his meltdowns less frequent and less severe. Although he keeps cutting out my heart with utterances like this one at breakfast: "When I grow up, I'm going to be a builder. And a papa. And I'll always stay married and never get divorced, because I don't ever want my little boy to feel the way I feel." Ohhhhhhkay, and oh, could you pass the marmalade and the razor blades so I can put out my eyes now? Oh, my aching heart.
And did I mention? I'm heading out of town tomorrow for my 20th high school reunion. There's so much I could say about that but I will save it for your birthday.
So that about covers...hello? Ummm...you, uh, have a little drool there in the corner of your mouth. Mmmhmm. Oh, of course not. No, I didn't think you were asleep. Hey, did I ever tell you about the time my Gram...oh. Right. Peanut butter.
Um...yeah. So. Hi!
Wow. I have so neglected you, Blog.
The thing is, the thing is that there have been so many things thinging along out this way. And if I've already told you about them, well, go grab a cup of chai or something because I'm going to be a lame ass and say them all over again. Like your old Gram who keeps forgetting that she already told you the story about how her sister ate the chicken crap that she found out on the front porch back when they were kids, because she thought it was peanut butter.
That example would be much less disturbing if I hadn't had an old Gram who ate chicken crap as a kid because she thought it was peanut butter. But I digress.
So. I put a contract down on the new house, and I went through that whole crazy Design Center thing where you have to pick out tile and carpet and knobs. (I told you I'd talk about knobs. But actually I didn't get knobs, because dear God, do you know what a ripoff knobs are? Holy cow.) So all that's moving forward and I have about 7 months to pack up my house and sell it to the Ex and find someone to buy my Mom's place and rent the Ex's place and okay I'm freaking myself out now. Next.
My neighbor, my great neighbor who makes the kickass Skippies, gave us a piano. A beautiful antique full-sized upright piano. Gave it. To us. For free. Just because she "knew we'd appreciate it." Have I mentioned how friggin fortunate I am to have such lovely people in my life? So now I'm taking piano lessons because people, I have wanted a piano for 35 YEARS. I can't stop looking at the thing. The kids can't keep their hands off it. The cat can't keep away from it. That piano's getting more action than I've seen in years.
The kids and I took the cat to the vet today to get his vaccinations, long overdue (I know, I know. He doesn't go outside, at least. The last time he got out he got in a fight with something and ended up dislocating his jaw and sprouting some sort of abscess and having to wear one of those stupid cone things and oh, did I mention? This happened 2 days before I went into labor with the Girl and cost like $400. Yeah. He doesn't go outside.)
I don't know why I'm telling you about the cat. See? This is what happens when you don't get any nookie and spend all your time fondling the neighbor's piano.
What else? Uh...oh! The Boy! The Boy, my dear lord, you have no idea. That kid is blossoming. He's already gotten his orange belt in Tae Kwon Do, he's learned to read, he's learned to ride his bike without training wheels, and he's this close to being able to swim. All this since Memorial Day. In general, his moods are stable, his meltdowns less frequent and less severe. Although he keeps cutting out my heart with utterances like this one at breakfast: "When I grow up, I'm going to be a builder. And a papa. And I'll always stay married and never get divorced, because I don't ever want my little boy to feel the way I feel." Ohhhhhhkay, and oh, could you pass the marmalade and the razor blades so I can put out my eyes now? Oh, my aching heart.
And did I mention? I'm heading out of town tomorrow for my 20th high school reunion. There's so much I could say about that but I will save it for your birthday.
So that about covers...hello? Ummm...you, uh, have a little drool there in the corner of your mouth. Mmmhmm. Oh, of course not. No, I didn't think you were asleep. Hey, did I ever tell you about the time my Gram...oh. Right. Peanut butter.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Well hey there, Horatio
If this isn't the coolest thing I've read in forever, I don't know what is:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/4116778.stm
Also, that stupid All Consuming list is totally jacked. So I'll just say this: Go and buy "The Historian". I pretty much never buy books unless I've already fallen in love with them or have read other works by the author and trust him or her. This one I bought sight-unseen. And I have no regrets. I keep telling myself I'm going to put it aside until autumn, because the atmosphere will be so much more appropriate, but I can't do it. I'm totally hooked.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/4116778.stm
Also, that stupid All Consuming list is totally jacked. So I'll just say this: Go and buy "The Historian". I pretty much never buy books unless I've already fallen in love with them or have read other works by the author and trust him or her. This one I bought sight-unseen. And I have no regrets. I keep telling myself I'm going to put it aside until autumn, because the atmosphere will be so much more appropriate, but I can't do it. I'm totally hooked.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Do I look like St. Effing Francis? (Thanks Krup)
What is it? Is it the love for all creation that I radiate? Was it that "I love wildlife" post I wrote a while back? Do I send out an "I watched too much Disney as a child and can't make myself kill things" vibe? Cause whatever it is needs to STOP. NOW.
I opened the garage door this afternoon and something ran across the floor. So I went in search of it. Ha. Right. I actually screamed and shoved my Mom back inside the house cause what the effing ef WAS THAT THING THAT JUST RAN UNDER THE CAR???? Then Whatever It Was starting making some sort of noise. I was pretty sure it wasn't one of the rabbits because it moved too fast. And it didn't sound like a rabbit. So I did what any sane person would do and called my next-door neighbor on the cell phone and asked her to come over and stand in my driveway and see if she could see it under the car while I cowered on the hood.
She brought her teenage son and her dog and we all sort of tiptoed around the cars--nothing. Then I opened the car hoods and dropped them--and Whatever It Was ran out from under the cars and into the pile of junk at the side of the garage and yesIknowIknowmygarageisawreckdon'tbugme. Then there was banging on boxes with rakes and standing on ice chests and so on and so forth and then the thing started keening again and do you know what it turned out to be?
A prairie dog.
I do not live on the bloody prairie, people. Now, in theory, I like those little critters just fine and I always feel sort of bad for them in an "I read Watership Down too many times as an adolescent" sort of way, and they're actually very smart and have a complex social structure etc, etc, but they carry the PLAGUE. Remember the plague?? The Black Death?? Shit. And the thing did...all over the bloody garage. Argh.
I think it's gone now. We left the doors open and hopefully it has returned to nature, but I'm telling you. Did it have to pick a closet hypochondriac's house? Party at Snow White's. Bring your own bleach.
I opened the garage door this afternoon and something ran across the floor. So I went in search of it. Ha. Right. I actually screamed and shoved my Mom back inside the house cause what the effing ef WAS THAT THING THAT JUST RAN UNDER THE CAR???? Then Whatever It Was starting making some sort of noise. I was pretty sure it wasn't one of the rabbits because it moved too fast. And it didn't sound like a rabbit. So I did what any sane person would do and called my next-door neighbor on the cell phone and asked her to come over and stand in my driveway and see if she could see it under the car while I cowered on the hood.
She brought her teenage son and her dog and we all sort of tiptoed around the cars--nothing. Then I opened the car hoods and dropped them--and Whatever It Was ran out from under the cars and into the pile of junk at the side of the garage and yesIknowIknowmygarageisawreckdon'tbugme. Then there was banging on boxes with rakes and standing on ice chests and so on and so forth and then the thing started keening again and do you know what it turned out to be?
A prairie dog.
I do not live on the bloody prairie, people. Now, in theory, I like those little critters just fine and I always feel sort of bad for them in an "I read Watership Down too many times as an adolescent" sort of way, and they're actually very smart and have a complex social structure etc, etc, but they carry the PLAGUE. Remember the plague?? The Black Death?? Shit. And the thing did...all over the bloody garage. Argh.
I think it's gone now. We left the doors open and hopefully it has returned to nature, but I'm telling you. Did it have to pick a closet hypochondriac's house? Party at Snow White's. Bring your own bleach.
Friday, June 17, 2005
I'm Having Home Depot's Baby
There's a whole heckofalotta lovey goodness floatin' around these days. Yes, I know I have been forsaking y'all while I roam the aisles of Home Depot--rolling around in the carpet display, fondling cooktops, rubbing up against new refrigerators with LOCKS ON THE WATER DISPENSERS thankyouJesus. But it doesn't mean I don't love you, baby. Really. I think about you all the time.
Actually, this week what I've been thinking about all the time is how I am NOT getting any NOOKIE. A lot of cap-locks here, I know. Perhaps a bit of sugar mania from sucking down a late-night Dr. Pepper after hitting Target with my madre and buying more pajamas for my children. How many pajamas do they need, you ask? My house is like the Bermuda Triangle of sleepwear. But I digress. Nookie. Me. Not getting any. That nice little Lexapro sex-drive-dive side effect seems to be wearing off. Which would be, you know, good in most circumstances but is sort of shitty here in Single Motherhood Central. More trips to Home Depot for me, I guess. Let's see how many hormonal urges I can sublimate into architectural design! Wheeee.
Is this too much information? Next week, I'll talk about knobs.
Actually, this week what I've been thinking about all the time is how I am NOT getting any NOOKIE. A lot of cap-locks here, I know. Perhaps a bit of sugar mania from sucking down a late-night Dr. Pepper after hitting Target with my madre and buying more pajamas for my children. How many pajamas do they need, you ask? My house is like the Bermuda Triangle of sleepwear. But I digress. Nookie. Me. Not getting any. That nice little Lexapro sex-drive-dive side effect seems to be wearing off. Which would be, you know, good in most circumstances but is sort of shitty here in Single Motherhood Central. More trips to Home Depot for me, I guess. Let's see how many hormonal urges I can sublimate into architectural design! Wheeee.
Is this too much information? Next week, I'll talk about knobs.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Movement
Things are afoot out this way. Where do I begin?
I think--I hope--that later this week I'll be signing a contract to begin building a new house. A new Home. I won't be able to say this for certain until I talk with the Money People this week, but I've found a place about a 1/2 mile from here, and it feels right. The Ex has agreed to buy this house, the house we once owned together. He's already put a lot of work into it, designed the landscape, put in the sprinkler system himself, had the garage and basement finished to his specifications. He's been searching for a house for the past year, but everything comes up short. Too much money, or not the right design, or something. A few weeks ago, he said, "I wish I could find a house like this one." So I said to him, "Why not this one? Buy it from me."
And me? Why would I want to move? The new place will cost me the same as this one does, but it will have two advantages: So far, it looks as though the neighborhood it's in will stay zoned to the Boy's current school, preventing the dreaded Changing of Schools. And, the layout will allow me to section off part of the house as an apartment for my mother.
How do I tell you about my mother and me? We are so different and yet so alike. We give each other shit constantly, but I have never for one hour doubted that my mother loves me or supports me. Even when we disagree, we respect each other. And one of the primary concerns in my life over the past several years has been her financial well-being. She lives about 7 hours away, and financially, she's not in such great shape. Combining our living spaces will allow her to retire in a few years (she's 70), something she won't otherwise be able to do. This town offers many more opportunities for activity, work, and community than the place she lives. She misses the kids and me.
It's so strange. For so much of my life, I fought tooth and nail not to end up like my mother. I loved her fiercely, but I saw her misery and I didn't want it. A single, older mother (she was only 32 when she had me, but in the '60s, that was quite old for a first-time mother), she made poor choices when it came to men. She and I lived with my grandparents until she remarried when I was 8. She didn't know how to stand up for herself, she didn't particularly like herself, and she was so sad. I hated her sadness. It enraged me. Now I find myself a single mother in my late 30s, fighting that same sadness. But the thought of being in that extended family again is somehow comforting, even while being a bit frightening. I loved living in the same home with my grandmother. I loved feeling a part of something larger. I hope my children will feel the same. Our family hasn't turned out at all as I'd hoped it would, but it still has love at its center, and I hope that will be enough, especially for the Boy. I do love him so.
I think--I hope--that later this week I'll be signing a contract to begin building a new house. A new Home. I won't be able to say this for certain until I talk with the Money People this week, but I've found a place about a 1/2 mile from here, and it feels right. The Ex has agreed to buy this house, the house we once owned together. He's already put a lot of work into it, designed the landscape, put in the sprinkler system himself, had the garage and basement finished to his specifications. He's been searching for a house for the past year, but everything comes up short. Too much money, or not the right design, or something. A few weeks ago, he said, "I wish I could find a house like this one." So I said to him, "Why not this one? Buy it from me."
And me? Why would I want to move? The new place will cost me the same as this one does, but it will have two advantages: So far, it looks as though the neighborhood it's in will stay zoned to the Boy's current school, preventing the dreaded Changing of Schools. And, the layout will allow me to section off part of the house as an apartment for my mother.
How do I tell you about my mother and me? We are so different and yet so alike. We give each other shit constantly, but I have never for one hour doubted that my mother loves me or supports me. Even when we disagree, we respect each other. And one of the primary concerns in my life over the past several years has been her financial well-being. She lives about 7 hours away, and financially, she's not in such great shape. Combining our living spaces will allow her to retire in a few years (she's 70), something she won't otherwise be able to do. This town offers many more opportunities for activity, work, and community than the place she lives. She misses the kids and me.
It's so strange. For so much of my life, I fought tooth and nail not to end up like my mother. I loved her fiercely, but I saw her misery and I didn't want it. A single, older mother (she was only 32 when she had me, but in the '60s, that was quite old for a first-time mother), she made poor choices when it came to men. She and I lived with my grandparents until she remarried when I was 8. She didn't know how to stand up for herself, she didn't particularly like herself, and she was so sad. I hated her sadness. It enraged me. Now I find myself a single mother in my late 30s, fighting that same sadness. But the thought of being in that extended family again is somehow comforting, even while being a bit frightening. I loved living in the same home with my grandmother. I loved feeling a part of something larger. I hope my children will feel the same. Our family hasn't turned out at all as I'd hoped it would, but it still has love at its center, and I hope that will be enough, especially for the Boy. I do love him so.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Nope. Nada.
I know you're wondering, now that I'm all New With Less Depression!, why the heck am I not writing anything of interest?
Um...got me. Send in likely excuses and I'll throw one out there.
On a good note, the VBS has shmoffee and the small children have yet to defeat, er, tire me out. But tomorrow we do nature rubbings. Hey...shut up. You! Over there, I see you sniggering. Watch it.
Um...got me. Send in likely excuses and I'll throw one out there.
On a good note, the VBS has shmoffee and the small children have yet to defeat, er, tire me out. But tomorrow we do nature rubbings. Hey...shut up. You! Over there, I see you sniggering. Watch it.
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