Fresh sKWeez'd, Daily

Da Man ruins opening day

2011-04-08T19:06:00.002-04:00

At work today, we had a pot luck and had a projector set up for the game at 2:05. Unfortunately, management saw too many people with their eyes transfixed upon the action, and decided to shut it down at 3:15. They tried to flip the fluorescent lights back on (which had been turned off to optimize viewing of the game), but they just flashed and went nuts since apparently they hadn't been cooled down long enough. I'm pretty sure that was God punishing them for fooling with Red Sox Nation. Douchebags.

Wow

2011-02-05T21:58:00.002-05:00

I haven't looked at this blog in more than 2 years, long enough in fact that I forgot the email address I used for it, had to do a password recovery, the whole deal. For a few minutes, I actually panicked that I wouldn't be able to get back into it; I've had it fully shut off to all readers since the last time I logged in, so without my log in information, I wouldn't be able to read it ever again. So many stories, photos, odd little snippets from 3 crucial years of my life when I went from "completely fucked and lost in my role as a wife/mother/career woman" to "having a few things figured out," it would be a shame to lose.

I spent the last 2 hours reading back through my oldest posts, and found many stories about my then-small children and odd career pit stops that I'd flat out forgotten. It was like re-connecting with an old friend.

I'd forgotten how important this blog was to me during that time. It was the only forum I had to completely unload my fears, frustrations, hopes and joys. I had a couple hundred loyal followers at one point, who supported and cheered me on as I attempted to navigate my daily life. It was the only real therapy I ever had, and I don't think I would have survived the mid 2000's without it.

In any case, I write this more for myself than anyone else; who even FOLLOWS blogs anymore, much less writes them. Almost everyone I linked in my sidebar has either deleted or abandoned theirs, which is sad because they were so witty and honest, but I guess I'm not the only one who found other outlets over the years. I may put in a post or two here and there just to document what's happening in my life. Dear Diary...

Dancing Elmo

2008-10-21T22:15:00.004-04:00

I was at Target last night, wading through the Halloween costume aisle, looking in vain for a skeleton costume when I heard a bit of a commotion around the corner. A man who looked to be about 30 was making some noise, babbling...his mannerisms made it clear that he was handicapped. The noise got louder as he approached the toy aisle, and he stopped in front of an end cap that had dancing Elmos on display.

He got very excited at that point, and his companions tried to shush him a bit, but Elmo was just too much for the guy and he started dancing and singing right along with the furry little red thing in the box. Seeing the joy on his face, I couldn't help but smile. Obviously his mentality was that of a child, and to see such innocence in a 200 pound man with a 5 o'clock shadow was powerful. Good for him for being happy in his own little world.

Of course the smile I had didn't last long. I looked around and saw the other shoppers staring, some pointing, a few even laughing at this disabled man who was causing a minor scene in the toy aisle. My mind immediately wandered to my Andrew, who is autistic, largely non verbal, and considered handicapped by society's standards, though I still can't bring myself to call him "handicapped" even 6 years after he was diagnosed. He is just Andrew. My baby. If anyone ever called him "handicapped" in front of me, I'd probably punch them. If I ever saw anybody reacting to him as these shoppers were reacting to the Elmo guy, I really can't even attempt to gauge the potential violence of my reaction.

I often think of what Andrew will be like when he's 30. Will he be like the man I saw at Target, dancing and singing with a stuffed Elmo doll? Will he draw the same stares? Will people laugh at him? So there I stood, with a Halloween mask in my hand, crying like an idiot.

My poor baby. He doesn't deserve that kind of bullshit ignorant reaction. It's not his fault that he is the way he is. It's not fair that I can't somehow make the world understand so as to spare him the cruel reactions of the ignorant few.

I'm fairly convinced that the Elmo guy was completely oblivious to the assholes that surrounded him, and for that I was thankful. Nobody rained on his parade. Nobody made him feel like he was a freak. All he knew was that there was this big red toy on the end cap that totally ROCKED and that he got to play with it for a few minutes.

Elmo Guy: 1 Assholes: 0

I hope my Andrew, if he is functioning at a similar level when he's 30, is so happy and content that he won't realize how mean people can be, but I have a feeling we won't be so lucky.

Bad omens

2008-10-15T21:29:00.002-04:00

So the friggin' Citgo sign goes up in flames today...

I draw one of two conclusions...

Faulty wiring. It happens, right? Coincidence, no cosmic meaning.
Sign would rather destroy itself than bear witness to another beating like the one the Sox took last night.

Things that made me happy today

2008-10-07T19:54:00.003-04:00

Filling the tank of my car
Coughing up phlegm
My kid coming down with a virus
Same kid puking in the waiting room at the doctor's office
A lone forest green crayon stain (dried and set in) on a brand new pair of jeans
The passenger side window in my car falling off the track just as I pulled from the driveway

No, I've not lost my mind:

It only cost me $40. I've spent up to $60 in recent months.
I've been congested for 5 days and I'm finally coughing it all up. Whee!
At least it's not a bacterial infection, otherwise we'd have to take him to the hospital for an antibiotic shot (he's autistic and cannot be coaxed into taking medication orally).
Hey, better than puking all over Daddy's car, which is where he was 30 seconds prior to entering the waiting room.
The entire load of laundry got covered in magenta and green, so for one pair of jeans to survive with a single green streak was pretty freakin' lucky.
If it had fallen off at work, I would have had to drive home an hour with my window open and rattling violently in chilly weather.

Your expectations for happiness certainly take a big fuckin' dive once you reach your thirties.

Anyone out there?

2008-10-05T12:49:00.002-04:00

Probably not, but here goes nuthin'.

First, a quick update to bring all 3 of you up to speed on the recent happenings in my life. I last left off having started a new job in a new office with a fucked up new boss. Little did I know when I started that job that it would completely consume my life and negatively affect most of my relationships.

60 hours is an average week for me these days. I rarely take a lunch or otherwise leave the building during the day. I work under unreasonable deadlines and my workload could easily be divided between 2 people. The last 2 "vacations" I took ended up being more like a "working from home" pseudo-vacation. The place literally falls apart in my absence, as we are understaffed and growing too quickly to keep up. I spend my days putting out fires and addressing various one-off mini disasters, which leaves me little time to actually do the job that I was hired to do. While my boss is very cool and allows me flexibility and autonomy, the job itself is highly stressful and I'm starting to notice the effects in my health. I've had 2 bad colds in the last 6 weeks, I'm not sleeping well, and I think I actually had a panic attack the other day.

My husband hates it. He hates that my attentions are constantly divided, that I check my email several times after I've come home, that I take phone calls at 7:30pm from programmers at my office. He's annoyed with the long hours. He certainly isn't pleased that my temper is shorter than it normally is because I'm so tired and overextended. He hates that I'm not as available to address household issues as I once was. In short, he hates my job and secretly wishes the place would burn to the ground so he could piss on the ashes.

Unfortunately, it pays, and a family of 5 in this day and age needs 2 strong incomes to maintain itself (especially in Taxachusetts), so he can't really complain as much as he'd like to.

What gets me is that I spent the first 10 years of our relationship dealing with this situation in reverse. He would work 6 or 7 days a week, wouldn't walk in until 8pm or later some nights, and would regularly take calls during dinner (which he actually still does). I didn't like it, but I dealt with it and bit my tongue because I knew he was doing what he had to do.

In recent years, his work load has lightened, almost simultaneously with my work load picking up. All I ask if for the same courtesy I extended him during all of those years, and he's having a very hard time, but I don't think it's because it's more work for him to pitch in more with the kids or the housework. In fact, he's always been very hands on, so it's not anything out of the ordinary for him to clean the kitchen or pick up around the house. I think it's because our roles have changed, and it's made him increasingly uncomfortable as my paycheck has grown.

Sometimes I feel that he thinks I will leave him if I pursue any kind of career or social life outside of our home and relationship. Maybe this is a common male insecurity, but it's certainly taken me off guard. I see pursuing a career as helping the family, and I see having friends outside of the household as maintaining self-fulfillment, balance and sanity. He probably feels I am purposely distancing myself from him, when what I am really trying to do is not to lose my identity.

I need to pursue a career, have friends I can lean on, and interests outside of these walls; otherwise, I will forget who I am. This is what happened during my first 5 years as a mother, leading to struggles with depression and self-esteem, and I don't ever want that to happen again. I wish I could make him understand that.

On the up side, my boss has hired some people to take some of my work on, and it will hopefully start getting easier over the next 6 months. I just hope that we can make it that long.

Fuckin' snow...

2007-12-13T21:48:00.000-05:00

3 hours for me to get 30 miles from work to home this afternoon. Fuck New England sideways with a chainsaw...

Awkward Moments in the Workplace, Volume 2

2007-12-09T11:37:00.000-05:00

My new boss is a guy. I'm pretty psyched because I'd rather work for a guy than a woman any day of the week. You don't get the drama, the competitive undertones, the conspiracies, the drama, or the PMS that comes with having a female superior. I'm all for women advancing in the workplace, but I've had nothing but negative experiences. Maybe it's because I tend to think more like a guy than a girl. But anyway...

So my new boss is pretty cool. He doesn't care if I'm 5 minutes late. He doesn't care if I take a long lunch. He could give a shit if I choose to work from home if my kids are home from school. All he cares about is that I'm dependable, that I know my shit, and that I get it done in a timely manner. Pretty much my dream situation. Woo-fuckin-hoo.

Of course, every "dream" situation has to have a down side, and mine is that my boss is a "guy" in every sense of the word and he makes no effort to hide it while in my presence. He pretty much talks to me like we're in a bar and I've got a penis too. He started dropping the F-bombs by day two. By day 5, he engaged in sexually suggestive banter with a female co-worker while in my presence. By day 12, he had used the c-word while referring to a particularly retarded female client. He jokes to other co-workers about it by saying that I'm "all broken in" and used to his antics, so it's "cool" to do this in front of me.

I don't really mind it, as I have a pretty graphic sense of humor myself...but I'm not one to let it all hang out at work. Needless to say, this is a bit of a culture shock for me, and while I'll nod and smile and comment on occasion, I am by no means going to play into it. I don't need shit like that coming back to bite me...but anyway...

The first thing that really, really shocked me was when he professed his undying devotion to the Howard Stern program...and proceeded to describe a bit that had gone on that morning.

Boss: "Do you listen to Stern?"
K: "Um. No."
Boss: "Yeah. I didn't figure you for the type."
K: "I'm vaguely familiar with it, but I don't have Sirius, so I haven't listened in years."
Boss: "I stayed in my car an extra 10 minutes to listen to this bit this morning..."
K: "Oh yeah?"
Boss: "It was so friggin' hilarious...nasty..." [looks to me for some hint of interest]
K: [stares blankly]
Boss: [excitedly looking around] "Ah fuck it. This guy Richard...you know Richard? Well, he decided to get his asshole bleached."
K: [instant shade of crimson comes to cheeks] "Ummmm..."
Boss: [starts getting into his story-telling groove] "Yeah, and he didn't shower for 3 days beforehand..."
K: "Oh God..."
Boss: "IT GETS WORSE! He also took a shit right beforehand...AND HE DIDN'T WIPE!!!"
K: "EEEWWWWW!!!"
Boss: "AND IT WAS SOME GAY GUY THAT WAS DOING THE BLEACHING!!!" [hysterical laughter]
K: [polite smile] "Wow. That poor bastard..."
Boss: "Well you get into that line of work, whaddya expect???"
K: "I suppose so." [fakest laugh I've ever mustered]

I thought that was the end of the Howard Stern Bleaching Special Presentation. But no...he proceeded to recount it all over again to a male co-worker (who looked over at me nervously as the story was told, to which the Boss said "Oh she's cool, don't worry.")...and then AGAIN via email and phone to a CLIENT.

Then the next day, after he'd seen it on Howard TV at home, proceeded to describe the horror in vivid visual detail.

The day after that...he decided to keep Howard streaming from his laptop the entire day, while I sat in his office.

Several days later, while in his car headed to another of our offices for a meeting, he chose to leave Howard playing on his radio.

Can I ever walk into a "normal" situation, or am I destined to live my life in the land of the Fucked Up?

Why Black Friday Rocks

2007-11-23T10:41:00.000-05:00

1) I'm home from work

My company does not give us the day after Thanksgiving off...instead, we get a "floating holiday" that can only be taken between May and September...but this year, I opted to splurge with 8 PTO hours and have myself a grand old day of ME time.

2) DVD's

Every year, I make a mini-pilgrimage to Target, as they normally have a very impressive selection of cheap DVD's without the mess and aggravation of having to go to one of those Big Box places like Best Buy. Since I've decided that Best Buy is evil, and have vowed to never step foot in there again, Target is my destination of choice for anything DVD related. The great thing about Target is that they literally restock ALL DAY, so even if you go at 5pm, you'll still get that $14.99 Family Guy DVD set you've been jonesing for.

This year, I got:

$3.98
Spiderman 2
Batman Begins
The Goonies (oh the nostalgia!!!)
Charlie & The Chocolate Factory
300
Eragon
A Christmas Story

I also got "Memoirs of a Geisha" for $3.98, which really, really pissed off my husband because it's a Japanese story and there isn't a single Japanese person in it. We got into that whole "hey, why is it a big deal when Asians are used interchangeably when 'white' people have been used interchangeably for years?" discussion. My point is that Irish people play Italians, Germans play Swedes, Brazilians play Puerto Ricans...so what? It doesn't make the movies any better or worse. He doesn't think I understand, but whatever. While I'm on a roll, I might as well go buy some Minute Rice and really piss him off.

$5.98
The Pursuit of Happyness (I twitch when I read this title, the spelling snob inside me is just screaming for a red pen.)

DVD Sets
The Office, seasons 1 and 2 for $24.98 total
Family Guy Volume 4 for $14.98

Fuckin' sweeeeeeeeeet.

Which is a nice segue into...

3) The bragging rights

"You're having a hard time finding Nintendo Wii? Hmm, yes, that's a pity...I got mine last week. Black Friday. I froze my tits off waiting in line at Best Buy, Santa ain't got shit on me."

4) I get to watch ordinarily rational people completely lose their shit

Old ladies elbowing each other to get at the $3.98 board games.

5 foot tall women attempting to squeeze 3 video rocker chairs into a single cart, then knocking over a small child when one of the chairs falls off the stack.

Henpecked men forced to stand in a line that wraps around the store while their women spend all of the hard-earned money in the checking account.

Harried shoppers excitedly sharing stories of stampedes at WalMart

Women screaming across aisles at each other: "BARBARA, HOLY SHIT GET OVER HERE, THEY JUST RESTOCKED THE BARBIES! THEY JUST RESTOCKED THE BARBIES! BRING THE CART OVER, FASTER BARBARA FASTER!!!!!!!"

People fighting over the parking spaces that border Outer Mongolia.

Grown women yelling "NO CUT-SIES! NO CUT-SIES!" at perfect strangers who are letting their friends into line.

5) I get to watch me, an ordinarily rational person, completely lose my shit

I went through the checkout at Target four times. Yes, four. Every time I stood in a line, I saw someone walk buy holding a coveted item that had been out of stock the last time I checked...the iPod alarm clock with charging docking station, Family Guy Volume 4, The Office Season 2...("Where did you get that?!? WERE THERE MORE? HOW MANY MORE?!? TELL ME!!!!!!!")...so I would check out, walk back to the scene of said restocked coveted item, grab it and hop into the express lane with my single prized object.

Four times. Yes, my girlfriends mocked me.

6) Breakfast with the girls

I met up with 2 friends during the Target trip (they were up and out of the house by 5am to go to Old Navy, crazy bitches) and went to a diner, where a middle aged woman in a banana clip served us lots of coffee and runny eggs.

7) Leftovers

On this one day out of 365, it is considered perfectly normal and acceptable to pile all of the leftovers from the previous day's meal (includes vegetables, mashed potatoes and gravy) into a single sandwich. It is also acceptable to stuff a huge glob of stuffing into your mouth at 5am on your way out of the house to go shopping. It is also acceptable to wash it down with coffee.

8) The look on the husband's face when you come home weighed down with bags and boxes

Always priceless. I generally make sure to get him something he likes to soften the blow. This year I climbed over a couple of shopping carts and an old lady to reach for his copy of 300. Love ya baby. Kiss kiss.

9) The sport of it all

I may go back out later when the crowds die down...not because I need anything, but because I might luck out and see some highly prized item that miraculously appears as a result of late re-stocking.

10) Instant infusion of Christmas spirit

What a pain in the ass to wait and wade through the crowds...but damn it can be fun. You see lots of random people, sometimes even old friends from high school, and you pass the time in line chatting it up with people you otherwise would never have met and holding a stranger's spot in line so she can run and grab one more Polly Pocket for her daughter without losing her hard-earned spot in line. The assholes really are the exception to the rule. People are mostly nice...as long as you're not competing with them for a big screen TV or a $300 laptop bundled with a free printer.

Good evening, folks...

2007-11-11T21:57:00.001-05:00

I can't imagine that anyone is even reading this right now. I turned the blog off a couple of months ago and really didn't even look back. I've pared down my internet consumption quite a bit, and have tried to focus on things that are more constructive "I.R.L."

The words simply don't come as easily as they used to, and I'm not sure if it's because of time constraints or if something has changed in me. In the beginning, my readership was only a select few people that I actually "knew I.R.L." By the time I pulled the plug, I had a couple hundred people who poked their respective heads in from time to time to check on my progress, or in most cases, lack thereof. I think my writing changed a bit as readership grew, though I didn't realize it at the time. In the beginning, I used my writing as a form of emotional vomit, getting it all out of me so I would finally feel better; by the end, every word I wrote was with an audience in mind. Not how I ever wanted this to be.

I think I'm going to get back to the basics of visceral spewage. Stay tuned for all that mess.

Before I expose all two of you to a screen full of upchuck, an update; I've been semi-promoted. Semi-, meaning that I've taken a position with a clear path to a position greater than the position I am currently in. I'm hoping to be promoted for real and working 10 minutes from my house by spring. Yee haw. I start the new job a week from tomorrow.

Whether I've made the jump from frying pan to fire remains to be seen, but one thing is always certain; I will continue to land in stupid fucked-up situations, no matter how hard I try not to. It's just what I do.

Getting ready for school

2007-08-29T19:05:00.000-04:00

Vacation Hell

2007-08-21T18:19:00.000-04:00

My longtime readers know that family vacations always yield interesting stories, but this year really did take the taco. We were ambitious; we planned 3 days in North Conway, NH, 2 days in Philadelphia for the King Tut exhibition at the Franklin Institute, and a day for local museums. Little did we know that we would pay for our ambition in spades.

Day 1

Radiator decides to explode halfway to North Conway, costing us several hours of valuable vacation time.

Day 2

Youngest Child almost drowns in hotel pool.

Day 3

StoryLand with the kids...quiet. AKA "The Calm Before the Storm"

Day 4

Return home...K sees doctor for 2 weeks of a sore throat and stiff neck. K is told that it is "viral" and to suck it up. Tire blows on the way to the museum.

Day 5

We are robbed. 2 complete sets of tires and rims are stolen from under our deck in the backyard. Hooligans leave gate open, allowing Casey the Retarded Wonder Corgi to escape, 5 hours before we are due on a plane. I make out a will and have my dad and grandma witness it, as I am convinced that there have been too many bad omens to take any chances.

Day 6

Arrival in Philly...hot and disgustingly humid weather makes the City of Brotherly Love stink like The City of Someone's Ass.

Day 7

Plane home is delayed for lightning. Annoying businessman attempts to cut us in line to board the plane (Southwest is open seating) and the husband gets into it with him. People in line behind us cheer, and the flight attendant made the guy wait so he was the very last one of the plane, much to everyone's amusement. Turbulence all the way home convinces me that we are all going to die. I decide that the will was not such a bad idea.

Day 8

K checks voicemail, finds a message from the doctor about the positive strep culture that came back into the office the day before. While on the phone, Middle Child sets the couch on fire.

6 months to accrue a week of vacation and THIS is what I get? Fucking hell.

Several prospects

2007-07-07T10:11:00.001-04:00

I'm expecting an offer from a company 15 minutes away from me, early next week. Low stress, great bennies, I can work from home if I need to and I'd work for a GUY (women generally suck to work for), small office but it's part of a huge company (hence the great bennies)...I'm trying not to be too excited, because shit inevitably blows up in my face if I bank on it, so I'm trying to pretend like I don't care.

I'd love nothing more than to give my notice and tell my VP to stuff it up his ass. Please please please...

How I amuse myself on a Saturday

2007-06-30T12:24:00.000-04:00

The husband is on his way to a bachelor party today. Earlier, he put a blanket and a pillow into a bag, as it's probably going to be a competitive sleeping situation at the house they're going to, and he's sure as hell going to be in no shape to drive home. He forgot them, so I called and he was coming back to get them...

I ran into the kids' room and grabbed a teddy bear and a pair of overnight training pants and wrapped them up in the blanket. He didn't notice.

Heh heh.

Old Ass Goddess

2007-06-30T10:53:00.001-04:00

I was perusing the personal care aisle at WalMart, looking for razor cartridges when I came upon a bonus kit. Women just love a good bonus kit...they are generally about the same price as the normal product, but with free shit. There's generally no down side, and the packaging was this really cute shade of purple, so I picked it up.

I got to the checkout, and the lady (who was probably in her early 40's) saw it and commented that she'd gotten one for her daughter and how much she loved it. "I'm sure yours will too!" she said brightly as I wheeled away. This comment confused me...it's a shave kit, do I have to have a daughter in order to buy one?

I arrived home and took it out of the packaging...

It's the "Girl 2 Goddess" shave kit. There's directions on how to give yourself a pedicure, and stickers. Fucking STICKERS.

I kinda feel like an ass right now.

Another f'ing interview

2007-06-18T18:29:00.000-04:00

This one's in Boston, which is good and bad because of transportation issues (good: can take train, as the company is very close to the train station, train is way cheaper than gas. bad: I have no car to get my ass home in a timely manner should the shit hit the fan.)

So we'll see.

Fuck me, I'm a liar again. Damn this blog and it's crack-like addictive ways.

Make a liar out of me

2007-06-17T10:55:00.000-04:00

Figures, I write this swan-song post and then I actually have a good story to tell. Whatever, I left it open that I could drop a post once in a while, so here goes.

The night before school let out, of course I was running around like a nut getting teacher gifts together. Having been a teacher myself, and knowing what my satanic spawn have most likely put their teachers through this school year, I realize that this is a very important gesture. I bought candles, gift bags, various little trinkets and cards and was putting them all together when the husband drops the bomb.

H: "What did you get the bus driver?"
K: "'scuse me?"

Now, I leave for work at the ass-crack of dawn, and never have even met this individual, but the husband is apparently quite friendly with her as she has been flexible with pickup times and is very nice to Andrew...like she actually talks to him and pretends to like him, unlike the other bus drivers with their stony faces and screechy voices. Shit shit shit...it was 10pm, and I was just about to hit the sack at a decent hour for a change, but we can't skip the damned bus driver so out I went in search of Dunkin Donuts gift cards. I needed to get gas anyway, so two birds with one stone and what not.

I stop at the gas station closest to my house, and find myself unable to purchase gas due to a "pin number error." Fuck...now, I could just use my credit card, but I'm stubborn and decided that I would just hit another gas station on the way home from Dunkins. I drive across the street and walk in, determined not to be one of those lazy motherfuckers who sits in drive-thru for no good reason.

Our Dunkins is also a Baskin Robbins on the other side, and this particular night the Dunkins' side had a big sign that said "THIS SIDE CLOSED." So I walk over to the Baskin Robbins side, only to find 3 chicks standing around ordering ice cream.

Chick1: "What flavor should I get?"
Chick2: "Girl, the strawberry swirl is off tha HOOK."
Chick1: [to the girl behind the counter] "How big is a small?"
Girl: [holds up small cone]
Chick1: "What about the waffle cone?"
Girl: [holds up waffle cone]
Chick1: "They the same price?"
Girl: "No, waffle cone is more."
Chick1: "But why? You still gettin' one scoop either way."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw 3 guys in Tae Kwon Do uniforms practicing their moves on each other. One of them knocked over the metal napkin holder on the counter, sending it flying across my feet. Time to go.

During all the time I spent by the ice cream counter, I saw someone working drive-thru. Sweet. I storm out of there, heading to my car, only to push the glass door on the side that doesn't open, sending me bouncing off of it like a ping pong ball. Fuck. Fuck. The ice cream bitches snickered at my misfortune. I silently cursed them to wear their strawberry swirl on their already considerable thighs for the rest of their lives. Out to the car.

I got in and started pulling around the building, only to find that the Dunkins parking lot is apparently the local hangout for the suburban kids who are too young to buy booze. I sat behind a Crown Victoria (obviously Daddy's car) with a teenager leaning into the passenger side window for a solid 2 minutes, increasingly ready to jump out and beat the fuck out of the driver as each second passed. Finally, there was room to go around, and I had to restrain myself not to mow one of these little fucks down. Into drive-thru...

I ordered the gift cards, and the chick at the window looked very, very confused. Oh man. They always put the new staff on the night shift, I should have known better. Fuuuuuuuck.

Window Chick: "So, 2 gift cards?"
K: "Yes please."
Window Chick: "5 dollars each?"
K: "Yes."
Window Chick: [tapping away, beeping can be heard]
Window Chick: "5 dollars...that's five-zero-zero, right?"
K: "I'm pretty sure, yeah."
Window Chick: [more beeping, receipts flying out of the machine, BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP]

10 minutes later, I had gift cards. To this moment, I don't know if she even did it right, I probably gave the bus driver gift cards that aren't even activated. That would be just my luck.

Now all I needed was gas. Gas, and I could go home and go to bed. Finally.

I pulled into the 2nd gas station, and saw signs on the pumps. No, God, please God no...

"WE ARE OUT OF PREMIUM AND PLUS. SORRY!"

Per my husband, I am not allowed to put anything below plus into my car. So I couldn't get gas. What the FUCK kind of gas station runs out of PREMIUM and PLUS with gas prices being the way they are? Who the FUCK can afford PREMIUM and PLUS right now??? And you're SORRY??? Yeah, you'll be fucking SORRY when I come back with a fucking GUN because you bastards won't give me the gas I want... Swearing and beating the steering wheel, I headed to the convenience store to pick up milk and bread, which is the standard stop that I make almost daily to keep my bottomless-pitted children fed.

I walked in, and of course there's only one guy working so late at night, and I've got one of those fuckers who stands at the counter scratching tickets and ordering more with the winnings. 5 minutes I stood there. I was actually shaking and feeling very, very violent by that point. I just wanted to go to bed, and this son of a bitch with his $20 lottery tickets was standing in my way. He's lucky I wasn't armed.

I walked into the house at 11:30. Over an HOUR to get milk, bread, Dunkins, and gas that I never even ended up getting. I was red in the face and sweating, and the husband was looking at me like I was a crazy person. I ranted to him about the entire experience, finished up the cards and bags and went to bed all worked up.

I didn't get to sleep for another hour. And I knew I still had to get up early to get gas.

Dear Readers,

2007-06-12T21:03:00.000-04:00

It's been nearly 2 years since I started this blog, almost 400 posts full of reflection, observation, and some often nonsensical crap that has no place on the Internet or anywhere else. I started it during a time in my life when everything was terribly confusing, a time when I needed an outlet badly enough that I chose to pour every thought in my twisted little brain out onto the web for strangers to peruse. I was 27, questioning everything in my life and everything I thought I'd ever believed in, all the things I'd ever held to be absolutely true...it was all up in the air, and I was searching for some magical thing that would turn my life into something that would finally make sense, something I could finally feel proud of.

2 years later, I feel no closer to that magical thing. I'm in a different career, but not one that I feel the least bit good about (though my paycheck is quite a bit larger than it was 2 years ago...remember, this side of 2 years ago I was slinging packages at UPS). I've made a few new friends, but none I couldn't live without. I'm a little smarter, perhaps a bit wiser, and have even sprouted a few gray hairs to match.

My children are thriving, and I'm starting to think that maybe I haven't fucked them up too bad after all. 2 years ago, Cameron had just been diagnosed with Autism (which he seems to be outgrowing, thank GOD), Andrew still wasn't talking much or progressing academically, and Brandon's behavior issues were just starting to escalate...so in that area of my life, I can say there's been definite progress. Really, that's what's most important, and as far as the "legacy" that I will leave behind, they are and will continue to be my proudest accomplishment. Everything else is trivial. If they're ok, then nothing else matters.

The kids are out of school as of today, and my heart is just aching because this will be the first summer that I won't be there for them during the day. It doesn't feel right. I'm praying that this will be the first and only summer that I have to be away from them. I know they'll be well cared for and will have a ton of fun without me, but I hate it all the same.

My marriage is good, too. I'm married to someone who makes me laugh every day and who would lay down in front of a train for me and the kids, so again, what more can you ask for? I'm lucky. The husband is a good doobie. There aren't many like him.

In spite of these "good" things, I'm still terribly disappointed in myself as a person, and I'm starting to think that maybe I'll never get to a place where I'm content with myself and my accomplishments. Perhaps my expectations are too lofty, but at the same time I feel they should be. A professor of mine once said, "You're either green and growing, or you're ripe and rotting." Personally, I'd rather not rot, but at the same time I'd rather not be dousing myself with pesticides in order to grow into the nice tall vine that I wish I could be. Perhaps climbing the trellis isn't for me; maybe I should stick close to the ground and end up growing into a nice healthy shrub.

For now, I'm staying in my job, but actively looking to greener pastures. I won't make any rash decisions, but my plans for the long term definitely do not include my current employer. I'm hoping to go back to teaching, not this year, but the following year at the latest. The husband has some prospects on the horizon that could allow me to do just that, so fingers crossed that it works out. I miss it so much; when I was teaching, it was the one time in my life that I actually felt like I was accomplishing something. I need to get back to that place. I wasn't meant to be a cubicle warrior.

So here I am, 2 years later, better off in some ways and worse off in others...I suppose this is normal, the ebb and flow that is life, but I'd truly hoped to be further along in the life plan than I am. At the same time, I don't feel the inner conflict that I had when I started this thing, hence I don't feel the need or have the inspiration to write as regularly as I used to. Even when I have a good story, the words don't come as easily as they used to, probably because I work full time and don't have the hours that I used to have to put my thoughts into type. Perfectionist that I am, if I don't have the time to dedicate, I simply won't do it.

Anyway, if anything major changes, I'll drop a post. Otherwise, I don't think I'll be stopping in much any more. To my few loyal contributors, I thank you for "listening" when I really needed it, and for putting up with my increasing absences and decreasing post quality. You rock. And you helped me more than you'll ever know.

Waiting some more.

2007-05-31T18:42:00.000-04:00

This company moves like my grandma after her stroke. I have now been relegated to waiting until Monday or Tuesday to get an answer.

Waiting

2007-05-24T20:57:00.001-04:00

I had nothing short of the greatest job interview of my life today. I find out tomorrow if I get the one on one meeting with the CEO, fingers crossed!

2 Interviews & A Dentist Appointment

2007-05-23T19:44:00.001-04:00

I've got my black pinstriped slacks, crisp white shirt, dressy heels, leather portfolio (filled with resumes printed on fancy paper) and designer handbag all ready to go. Wish me luck, peeps, for tomorrow it's on like Donkey Kong.

TGIF

2007-05-18T22:56:00.000-04:00

I just got back from 3 hours in the ER. Middle Child (7) had an ingrown hair in his groin area yesterday that I'd covered with ointment and put a bandaid on, but by the time he got home from school he'd itched the shit out of it and gotten it all infected. It was big and pus-filled with a raised red area all around it Needless to say, we weren't about to fuck around at that point, so we were packing him up to go when Youngest Child (4) decided to fuck around in the living room and whacked his head on the coffee table...which is slate. Blood everywhere. So we packed up the two of them and headed out.

We had them both in the same room, waiting for the doctor, so of course they're fucking around, bugging each other. MC managed to kick YC in the head, of course, causing the cut to open up more. Screaming ensued. Doc finally showed up, drained MC's abscess, then turned to YC and decided that Dermabond was the way to go.

20 minutes later, he's superglued, eating a popsicle and ready to go. Just as we were leaving, in one fluid motion, he reached up and PULLED THE DERMABOND OFF. Blood pouring out again, what the fuck...called the doc, she said she's NEVER had a kid pull Dermabond off, and that now would have to have real stitches.

The husband, at this point, was ready to kick YC's ass, so he took a walk to cool off. I stayed behind, wrapped the kid in a sheet like a burrito and held him down for 3 stitches right next to his eye. Fun.

Husband came back with MC, who still needed his antibiotic shot for the infection...it took 3 nurses and my husband to hold him down for 2 simultaneous shots, 1 to each butt cheek. He was bullshit. We then had to keep him from touching his butt for 10 minutes to make sure he didn't break out in hives as a reaction to the shot, during which time he screamed his head off in the waiting room.

While this was going on, Cameron started pulling on his stitches (it was still numb), actually pulling on the fucking threads. We took him back and got him a bandaid to cover the stitches.

As we sat in the waiting room, I looked at the husband and said, "You know, none of this would have happened if you'd just kept it in your fucking pants." He gave me the finger and walked away.

Make that 4

2007-05-16T19:41:00.000-04:00

Pimpin' ain't easy, that's fo sho.

3 interviews coming up

2007-05-15T19:27:00.001-04:00

Wish me luck, my minions.

Might as well have it tattooed on my forehead.

2007-05-12T16:50:00.000-04:00

Loser. That's me.

Once again I've gotten myself into an untenable job situation. What I wouldn't give just to find a job, just one job, one that doesn't drive me crazy and fuck me over sideways. A job with health insurance, one that is within 30 miles of my home, one that doesn't pay like shit. Apparently, all of these things together are too damned much to ask. Over the last 24 hours, I've sent out almost 20 job applications. I'm done with this shit.

I'm done with working 56.2 miles from my front door. I'm done with cut-throat office politics and bullshit drama. I'm done with VP's promising one thing one minute and backstepping over it the next.

Does every job suck this bad? I'm starting to think the problem is me, and not them. I continue to be amazed at the dynamics of the corporate world, how people will step on your face sooner than look at you, how there are these weird politics and undercurrents to every seemingly innocent situation and GOD HELP YOU if you get swept up in it. Clearly, my skin is not thick enough for this crap. It has become painfully clear that I am far better suited teaching 8 year olds how to multiply than I am taking shit from grown-ups.

Now, the age old question; back to teaching, or do I stick with a business job closer to home? The problem with teaching is that the crappy jobs you get stuck with during your first 2 years or so don't come with benefits, and I've always carried the health insurance. The problem with a business job is that I'll probably never have an opportunity to go back to teaching.

Decisions decisions.

Ode to 'Half Baked'

2007-05-08T00:01:00.000-04:00

I just watched this classic on a 50" high def flat screen, and I have to say I have a newfound appreciation. Fucking awesome movie, if you've not partaken, I highly recommend.

My favorite quotes:

Scarface: "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you're cool, and fuck you, I'm out!"

Scarface: "You said you gave Mary Jane a pearl necklace! How much did THAT cost?"
Thurgood: Obviously you missed the whole point of that story.

Thurgood: " You have smoked yourself retarded."

Kenny: [to horse] "Hey, girl! You hungry?"
Overweight Woman: [walking by and overhears] "Fuck you, nigga!"

Brian: "No man. No Billy Bong Thornton without Kenny. That wouldn't be right. Get Wesley Pipes."

Thurgood: "If I wasn't Jamaican, why would I wear this hat?"

Brian: [after falling from building] "AWWW, my NADS!"

Scarface: [surrounded by S.W.A.T.] "Yo, I'm a make a run for it, B!"

Ghengis recently bought a ridiculously large TV himself (56" to be exact) and he told me that you see things on a high def TV that you wouldn't normally notice, and it's funny because Half Baked doesn't have anything visually fancy to it, but now I can see what he was talking about.

G: "You know what looks really good on high def?"
K: "Um. Porn?"
G: "No, no, no... Dancing With The Stars."
K: "You're fucking with me right. You don't watch that."
G: "I'm serious! The girls, they wear these sparkle things on their skin, and with high def, you can actually see all sparkles, I shit you not."
K: "That's really exciting."
G: "I'm telling ya. It's cool."

Damned if I didn't notice all these little highlights in Mary Jane's hair, and the light catching her curls...even the sheen on Samson's velvet burn-out pants. I'm so impressed that I may even try to muster up some estrogen this week and watch Dancing With The Stars.

My Soundtrack

2007-05-07T18:31:00.000-04:00

Stolen from Bukes. So rare that he actually posts something like this!

IF YOUR LIFE WAS A MOVIE, WHAT WOULD THE SOUNDTRACK BE?
So, here's how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don't lie

And these are all the order they came up in, no shit. Some of these are actually pretty hilarious.

opening credits;
Metallica - Sad But True

waking up;
Army of Anyone - Father Figure

first day of high school;
Default - Wasting My Time

falling in love;
Cold - Suffocate

fight song;
Sublime - D.J.S.

breaking up;
Howie Day - Brace Yourself

prom;
Wallflowers - One Headlight

life;
Green Day - Holiday

mental breakdown;
Third Eye Blind - Semi Charmed Life

driving;
Maroon 5 - She Will Be Loved

flashback;
Human League - Don't You Want Me

getting back together;
Prince - Kiss

wedding;
Nine Inch Nails - Terrible Lie

birth of child;
Kay Hanley - Princely Ghetto

final battle;
Sheryl Crow - The First Cut Is The Deepest

death song;
Everclear - Volvo Driving Soccer Mom

funeral song;
Ben Lee - Nothing Much Happens

end credits;
Nirvana - Jesus Doesn't Want Me For a Sunbeam

What I did at work today

2007-05-07T18:13:00.000-04:00

Probably the most productive 2 hours I've had in weeks.

"She's a sudoku maniac."

Uh oh

2007-05-05T11:25:00.000-04:00

Youngest Child has a girlfriend. She is younger (4 to his almost 5) and has little blonde curls and blue eyes. Her nickname is Pippah. She follows him around like the sun rises and sets on his head.

They sit on the couch to watch movies and feed each other popcorn. They hug, but my son won't give in to the lip action just yet; he's no manwhore, I've taught him well.

So yeah, my kid is dating. It's only a matter of time before I'm casually leaving the bulk pack of Trojans on his dresser. God, I feel older by the minute.

How 'bout a nice big cup of "GoFuckYourself?"

2007-05-03T19:48:00.000-04:00

Today I received a packet in the mail from the school department. My heart jumped a little when I saw the return address, but I quickly realized exactly what kind of packet this was:

"Dear Ms. K,

We want to thank you for the wonderful work you did as a substitute for the xxxx Public Schools this year. We hope you enjoyed the experience enough that you will want to keep your file active for next year's substitute teacher pool. Please fill out the enclosed forms by June 1st."

I rolled my eyes and tossed it into the trash. Yeah, please, sign me up to sub for 80 bucks a day with no benefits and no idea of where I will be working day to day until I get a phone call at 6am. Fan-fucking-tastic. Where do I sign.

This little incident did get me thinking, however; what if those bastards actually offered me a permanent job? Would I take the 10 thousand dollar hit in pay and accept? For the first time in quite a while, I started thinking about it. I honestly don't know what I would do.

I miss teaching. I miss the kids. I miss feeling like I was actually using my brain all day long. I'm so unchallenged in what I'm doing right now that I'm ready to flat out lose my shit.

This is one of those weeks where I really wonder if I did the right thing. I know I did the right thing for my own sanity and for my family, but what if I made a short-term gain kind of decision that will fuck me in the long run?

Why can't I just make a decision and know it was right? Am I doomed to second guess myself until I'm dead? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Major Jones For Spinach

2007-05-01T19:21:00.000-04:00

Meet my newest friend: "Spinach"

Spinach is a good dude. He's full of folic acid, so I guess if I'm looking to get knocked up any time soon I'm all set. He's also known to ward off cancer by means of some kind of leafy voodoo magic. Hey, I'm not askin', I just eat the stuff and trust, son. I trust.

Spinach is great in salad, as it is far tastier than that iceberg lettuce shit...I mean, really, an iceberg is probably tastier than that breed of lettuce, am I right? He also a far more pleasing shape, and you don't have to tear it off of a "head" to eat it.

Lately, I can't get enough of this shit. I crave it like a pregnant woman craves the entire snack aisle at the supermarket. I could snort the stuff and still find it delicious.

So if you haven't already, please, give Spinach the play it deserves. Thank you.

Never satisfied

2007-04-29T10:39:00.000-04:00

So I've been giving the husband the silent treatment for the last 24 hours or so, and of course he thinks I'm just being a bitch for the sake of being a bitch. We do this every now and then; one of us will get pissed off, and not speak to the other for a day or two until we get over it and pretend like it never happened. I suppose it beats screaming at each other in front of the kids, but I find that as time goes on, these silent treatments increase in frequency. I also find that there is little to no satisfaction or resolution in such a routine.

The issues are usually the same: one of us feeling hurt or neglected, and expressing our displeasure in the only way that we know how. My main issue as of late is feeling like I am further down on his totem pole than he is on mine. He would rather be in the driveway working on a car than in the house with me and the kids. He "works late" all the time when I know that he's just hanging around with his dealers, shooting the shit, generally avoiding coming home.

Logically, I know that the majority of the time he spends away from me is legitimately for some kind of work, but I know that he pads these hours as an excuse to get away. It hurts. I know I'm being a brat, but I miss feeling like he couldn't wait to get home to be with me. I haven't felt that way in a long, long time.

Perhaps because I don't do the girl thing and cry when he hurts me (I prefer to go the bitch route) he doesn't realize it. Perhaps my expectations are too high. As time goes on, this feels less like a marriage and more like a business arrangement. Maybe this is normal, but right now, it feels like shit.

Strange but true

2007-04-26T21:24:00.000-04:00

This is what I've been doing to relax lately. I suppose it's better than hitting the vodka.

Fishy

Awkward Moments In The Workplace

2007-04-26T19:59:00.000-04:00

Running Into Your Boss In The Bathroom

It wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't started talking to me through the stall door while simultaneously doing her business.

Boss: "Hey K, do you know who sings that song about not wanting to go to rehab?"
[peeing]
K: [washing hands] "Uh, I think it's Amy Winehouse."
Boss: "I think you're right." [wadding of toilet paper is heard] "What's it called?"
[feet slide across the floor, she's probably wiping. oh god...]
K: "I'm pretty sure it's called 'Rehab'."
[flush]
K: [runs out the door]

I was just waiting for her to rip one. I don't think I could have held it together if she had. It's one thing to talk to your girlfriend through the stall...your boss is quite another story.

Hearing Your White, Corduroy-Wearing VP Attempt To Use Street Slang

Salesguy: [swaggers into VP's office] "Yo yo yo!" [throws up "gang" sign]
VP: "Wassup, wassup!!!"

[door closes]

[entire row of cubicles breaks into hysterical laughter]

I am an idiot.

2007-04-23T18:10:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I left the house with a single goal in mind: new Birkenstocks. My old ones, which have served me well for over 5 years, are all but dead and those who associate with me in real life know that I live in my Birkenstocks from April to November. There has to be snow on the ground before I will give them up. I had to drive half an hour to the nearest authorized dealer, but dammit, I had my sandals by 4pm and I was thrilled.

I had called my girlfriend earlier and mentioned getting pedicures, but being a Sunday, no place was open. We resolved to wait until later in the week, but my brand new Birkenstocks taunted me from the box...I busted out my foot bath and other necessary accessories and began a do-it-yourself pedicure. How hard can it be? It wouldn't be as nice as a professional job, but I wanted to wear my new sandals and I could not be deterred. The need for instant gratification certainly is a bitch.

I did my nails while I soaked my feet in warm water treated with a raspberry scented thingie that was shaped like a butterfly and fizzed when you dropped it in. Fabulous! My reptile-like feet were on their way to improvement already. I dried them and grabbed a callus-shaver, a deceptively simple-looking device that that is designed to de-scale ugly feet like mine.

There is a razor blade inside. Now, I knew this logically, but the dead skin was coming off so easily that I think I momentarily forgot. It was just like a cheese grater! Swish, swish, swish...it was so easy! All was going fine until I headed to the outer heel region, which is difficult to see unless you're a contortionist, but since it was going so well I decided to go in blind.

Big mistake.

I caught an edge and suddenly there was blood.

It didn't really hurt, but I could tell that something bad had happened even before I saw red, but when the blood came, it was practically shooting out. My oldest son walked in just as the blood pool on the towel was nearing the size of a donut...

OS: "MOMMY! YOU'RE BLEEDING!"
K: "Uh, yeah, just a little bit."
OS: "That's more than a little bit, Mommy."
K: "Can you just get me some toilet paper, honey?"
OS: [yelling from bathroom] "HOW MUCH?"
K: [trying hard to maintain composure] "Just a handful."

He came back with several handfuls. "You're gonna need more than that!" I forced the "everything's ok, sweetie" smile and assured him that it was merely a flesh wound. He reluctantly headed back to his room.

I hobbled to the bathroom trying not to leave a blood trail. I knew I had to take a shower, and that I shouldn't bandage it until I'd done so. I propped my foot up on the side and took my shower. By the time I was done, it looked like a small pig had been slaughtered in my tub. I hopped out and covered what I'd done with several bandaids. 20 minutes later, I had bled through and had to replace them. Not wanting my injuries to have been all for naught, I finished my pedicure, being careful not to bleed through onto the cushion of the chair upon which I propped my gimped-out foot.

When I was done, I hopped around with a bottle of 409 and a roll of paper towels, attempting to clean up what was looking more and more like a crime scene. I hopped into bed and admitted my folly to the husband. He looked at me like I was retarded.

This morning, I woke up to find that I'd not only bled through the bandaids but through the sock I'd worn to bed as well. Real cute. I changed the bandaids again and found that I was only oozing at that point, much to my relief, as I was starting to think I was going to need medical attention.

As I headed for the door to go to work, I took stock of my shoe choices: good supportive shoes that I could wear nice thick socks with, or my god-forsaken Birkenstocks. The Birks won, as I was still not willing to let the whole thing go. Perfect example of the genius that is woman.

I limped into work, explained to my coworkers ("Yeah, I got a little crazy with the callus shaver," which was inevitably met with the painful groans that could only come from women who have done it themselves at some point), and dragged myself into my cubicle. I even showed them when I had to change the dressings (twice)...Stephanie actually jumped back and started freaking out, which was highly entertaining. I hobbled around all day, my coworkers wincing every time I went by as though I was a reminder of the pain that we all put ourselves through to be "pretty."

But hey, my ugly toes look a tiny bit better, so the blood loss and days of hobbling around will almost be worth it.

And for those who want to see the gore, you can click below. For the sake of my squeamish readers, this is one image I am not embedding:

Hole in Foot

Yes. I am an idiot. So much for going to the gym this week.

Shit that makes me cry

2007-04-21T21:44:00.000-04:00

I don't consider myself a "girly girl" by any means. I'm not a fan of pink, makeup is a nuisance, I have a filthy mouth and I feel that high heels are a tangible incarnation of the devil himself. In spite of my lifelong resistance to being delicate, I do find that there are certain things that inevitably turn me into a quivering pile of sobbing mush, despite my best efforts at being a bad-ass.

Eulogies

Even if I never met the stiff in the casket in my LIFE, the eulogy will always force me to fuck up my rarely-applied makeup.

The Mad Elephant Jail Scene in Dumbo

You know the part where the poor mama elephant is locked up, and she sticks her trunk out to rock Dumbo, and "Baby of Mine" is playing in the background...

OH MY GOD, I can't even handle it. I put Dumbo on for the kids to watch earlier, and I walked into the room only to see the trunk coming out of the bars. I actually turned on my heel and ran out of the room. And those fucking BITCH elephants that made fun of poor little Dumbo...even as a small child I wished death and destruction upon their wrinkly asses. To this day, when I see circus elephants, I think of that and involuntarily wonder if they're good elephants or bitch elephants. It just goes to show that Disney movies really can have quite a profound effect on your view of the world as an adult.

Seeing My Dad Cry

I could watch my crazy mother sob all day long and barely bat an eye, but if my Dad turns on the waterworks, holy shit, I start bawling like a baby. I think seeing men cry in general is far more emotional than seeing women cry, since we do it all the fucking time. You know if a dude wells up, it's gotta be really, really bad. Like "balls in a vice" bad. Poor bastard. Someone get that man a lapdance.

Kodak Commercials

Those motherfuckers at the ad agency really know what they're doing when they put together a Kodak Commercial. It's like they tweak it over and over again until they've got the focus group huddled together on couches, clutching their kleenex and sobbing "OH MY GOD, that's so beautiful...WAAAAAAAAA!" Ok, now it's perfect, send it to the client. Cha CHING!

Lifetime Movies

You know when you're sitting on the couch on a Saturday afternoon, and there's nothing on TV but infomercials, reality television, bad 80's movies and Lifetime movies. The actors are B-list, the dialog is poorly written, and the subject matter is trite...but goddamn it, when that teen mother turns her baby over to the nice childless couple because she knows it's what's best for him, I'm doubled over with tears streaming down my face. And let's not forget the rape victim who finally musters up the courage to testify, and the middle aged woman who finds love after her fucknut of a husband leaves her for his 22 year old blonde secretary...all heroines. All capable of turning my face into a swollen punching bag. Bravo, ladies, bravo.

Back in the day, when I was popping antidepressants like they were tic tacs, I never cried at all. I was numb, like if my house was burning down around me I'd take a look and calmly say, "Wow, this kind of sucks." It just wasn't right, like I was holding something in that needs to be vented in order to maintain homeostasis (kinda like farting, I guess), so I stopped taking them. Now I'm a raging lunatic, but dammit, it's my God-given right to cry when I watch Dumbo and Zoloft ain't gonna take that away from me.

300: PG

2007-04-18T19:47:00.000-04:00

You're kidding, right?

2007-04-18T18:54:00.000-04:00

Mr. B's funeral, as is everything else in my life, was a complete fiasco.

My father insisted on going to the wake with me, so I drove over to his house to pick him up. As I walked through the door, I smelled a familiar smell...oh no...

K: "Dad, you didn't..."
D: "It's been a bad week."
K: "DAD!!!"
D: "Honey, it was only half, no big deal."
K: "You really just got stoned before Mr. B's wake."
D: "I'm just buzzed, it's like a beer! Relax!"
K: "You're walking in by yourself. I can't believe this."
D: "Nobody can tell, you're overreacting."
K: "Put some cologne on...Jesus Christ..."

I drove there with the windows open, and it was cold. That'll teach Dad to burn one on my watch.

We walked in and got into line, me trying to distance myself from Pothead, and Pothead chatting up the ladies in the line. After about 10 minutes of waiting, my uncle walked in and came up to me, wearing a dirty sweatshirt and ripped jeans. Good Lord...

U: "Hey K, how you doing."
K: "I'm ok. Isn't the line outside the door?"
U: "You know what I'm gonna do right now?"
K: "What?"
U: "I'm slipping in right in front of you."
K: "WHAT?"
U: [cuts in, receives icy glares] "I won't be long."
K: "I can't believe this. You just cut the line at a wake."
U: [laughs]
K: "Great. My tires are going to be slashed when I get out of here, and you laugh."

We paid our respects and got out of there before the real crowd started. By the time we left, the line was around the corner, so I had to walk past all these normal people with The Pothead and The Guy With Dirty Jeans And No Manners.

The next morning, the husband and I were getting ready for the funeral...

H: "K? Would you care if I wore dark jeans to the funeral?"
K: [musters up the iciest glare imaginable]
H: "I guess not."

At the church, as we stood by the stairs, waiting for the casket to roll on up, whose phone rings but the husband's, and his ringtone is "Animal I Have Become" by 3 Days Grace, and it's on the loudest setting. More dirty looks. Dear God.

We ended up getting cut off on the way to the cemetery, and stuck at a red light [the girl in front of us wasn't keeping up, and allowed 3 cars to get in front of her, what the fuck!!!], so we completely lost the processional with about 20 cars behind us. We whipped the funeral flag out of the window, cut through downtown and were doing about 50 trying to catch up. A call to my father revealed that we were actually ahead, as they'd taken some roundabout route all over the damn town, so we parked at what we knew would be the last stop and waited to sneak back in.

D: "This is taking forever! This is the first funeral where I've busted out the one hitter!"
K: "DAD!!! JESUS CHRIST, OPEN YOUR WINDOWS."
D: [hysterical laughter]
K: "THIS ISN'T FUNNY, I'M NOT STANDING NEXT TO YOU AT THE CEMETERY."

We casually pulled in to the back of the line, and as we arrived at the cemetery we discovered that the 20 cars that were behind us downtown had gone straight there and were waiting. This one lady saw our car, pointed, and said, "Well, we WERE behind THOSE people." Great, so everyone thinks WE fucked up the processional. Somebody kill me, now.

What a scene. Mr. B was probably laughing his ass off. I don't think I've ever been so horrified in my life.

Another day, another funeral

2007-04-11T20:41:00.000-04:00

Today, I buried my mentor.

I knew Mr. B my whole life, as my grandmother shared a fence with him. He used to yell at us "damn kids" to stop hanging on it all the time. I'd yell over that fence to see if his daughter wanted to come over and play. It was over that fence that half his tree toppled into my grandmother's yard during Hurricane Gloria when I was 8. Gram screamed at him that he'd "better get that son of a bitchin' tree outta my yard or I'm calling the cops." Just to spite her, he left it for a good 2 weeks. His daughter and I had a grand time using it to climb into each other's yards.

According to the neighbors, Mr. B was a little crazy. He was gruff, he was cranky, and your hands were as good as broken if you touched that fucking fence. I didn't know him too well back then, so I took the neighbors at their word. It wasn't until my first year of college, when I called the financial aid office with some questions about my scholarship, that I started what would turn out to be 10 years of friendship and guidance. Mr. B ran the scholarship office, and he picked up the call. Within 6 months, I was assigned to be his work-study student.

I spent 2 years working for Mr. B...well, more like shooting the shit than working. Sure, I handled his calls and his secretarial work, but most days we'd just talk. He'd ask me about my family, what was going on in my life, what I planned to do with myself after graduation. I'd go to him for advice and for general therapy. This one time, when my mother had beaten the hell out of me, I ran away from home and stayed with my grandmother for a month. He gave me a ride back from school almost every day and just listened. Sometimes I'd chatter about inane things, other times I'd cry. He'd just listen.

He quietly arranged for me to stay in a dorm for the next semester, and did all he could to talk me into leaving home for good. I eventually allowed my mother to talk me into coming home, but in retrospect, Mr. B was right. I should have listened to him. He always knew the right thing to do.

He'd make bets with me about my grades. I took 7 classes one semester, and he wagered a lunch date that I couldn't get straight A's. When I walked in with my grade report, he was prouder of me than I could ever have been of myself. Every semester, he would be the first to whom I would report my grades, as his opinion was the only one that was worth anything to me.

Without Mr. B, I wouldn't have made it through college. I wouldn't be where I am today. I credit him almost entirely for setting my stupid ass straight. Never did he doubt my abilities, never did he lead me to believe that I wouldn't succeed. He never lost confidence in me. He was the only person in my life up to that point to give me that gift.

We kept in touch over the years. I'd stop in, get the update, hear stories about his trips to Ireland and what his kids were up to. I'd tell him about my job situation and whatever bullshit I happened to be wrapped up in at the time. He'd generally shoo me out after 15 minutes or so and tell me to "go take care of those kids, don't waste time visiting an old man." I wanted to spend more time, but he was insistent. Get home to your family, kid, they're the ones who need you. I did as I was told. Mr. B always knew best.

2 years ago, he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. My father, who had run into him in town, gave me the news. I immediately went to his office to ask him how he was doing, and he just shrugged. "Every day is a miracle. I'm just taking it a step at a time." I'd check in on him, get the update, and of course he would downplay it every time. I started getting my information from the girl who had an office across the hall from him, as she'd been his work study student before me and was just as close to him as I. I knew she'd tell me the truth. She was the one who told me he'd gone into Boston for his latest hospital trip, and that things didn't look so good. To Boston I went, dropped everything and went straight from work. I had a nagging feeling that I had to see him. I prayed I was wrong.

I walked into the hospital room and saw a person I hardly recognized; skinny, haggard, his hands and feet covered in sores which are apparently a side effect of chemo. His wife, who had been soaking his feet and wrapping his hands, left us alone for a bit, and we talked. He was amazed that I'd driven into Boston just to see him, as he knew full well that I do NOT drive in Boston. I told him I would have driven to Timbuktu. He insisted he was going back to work and that I could have gone to see him there. I told him he was crazy and needed his rest.

I asked if he was finally going to retire, and he laughed. "Never! What the hell would I do with myself all day? I'm going back next week." As per usual, he updated me, I updated him, and he told me not to waste my time and get the hell out of there. I told him my time was never better spent. I kissed him on the head and said goodbye for what turned out to be the last time.

At the services, his wife and children told me how proud Mr. B was of me. They said he talked about me all the time, and went on and on about how wonderful it was that I came to see him in Boston...which of course sent me into an hysterical crying fit. I felt like I had done so little for him when he'd done so much for me, and to have his family say such nice things and be the ones doing the comforting instead of being comforted...all I could really do was thank them for sharing such a wonderful man with the rest of the world. I was honestly embarrassed every time a member of his family came up to me and went on about it, because I didn't feel it was deserved.

I'm not sure why he thought so highly of me. Perhaps he saw some potential in me that I've yet to realize. It was that endless confidence that he had in me, the encouragement that he gave that was a big part of what drove me on to be academically successful. He must have seen something in me that I still don't. Perhaps I still have work to do.

I left the service and went to work for half a day. I sat at my desk, numb, doing my damnedest not to cry. Nobody at work really understands why I'm so upset, he wasn't a relative after all...and frankly, I don't care to explain. I feel like I've lost a father, and I don't give a flying fuck what anybody thinks. Let them think I'm out of my mind, they don't need to understand.

On my way home, I had to stop for gas, and the station was about a mile from the cemetery. I don't really know why, since I'd been there not 6 hours before, but I turned in and headed to his grave. They'd buried him by then, and put all of the flowers over the dirt. Mr. B was in the ground. I completely lost my shit.

I sat on the grass next to his headstone for a good 10 minutes, sobbing uncontrollably. Now, I've done my share of crying already this week, but that was the first time I flat out lost it. Nothing brings reality to a situation such as this like staring at the freshly-dug hole in which your loved one was just planted. I pulled myself together, looked around, and started getting angry.

Mr. B is dead, he's fucking DEAD, and he's in the ground and he's only 67. I went from grieving to pissed in 3 seconds flat.

Where was God for him? There are plenty of people I can think of that belong in a hole, and he is not one of them. He went to church every week, raised money for the poor, sat on every committee the church had...where was God when he was throwing up blood and too weak to eat anything? Some people find comfort in these situations by saying he's gone to a better place, God called him home, blah blah blah fucking BLAH. Right now, I'm not buying it. Maybe I'm selfish and immature and a heathen, but he should be HERE. He should be healthy and happy and raising hell HERE. He should have lived to see grandchildren. He should have died in his sleep, warm in his bed, because THAT is what he deserved. Not this. Mr. B should not have suffered as he did, but here we are and it is what it is. This is what leading a good Christian life got him.

Just as fast as it came over me, the flash of anger was gone...Mr. B wouldn't have wanted me to feel that way. I mumbled a prayer and an apology for being such a brat. He wouldn't have liked me getting all pissed at God. I know Mr. B would say God had nothing to do with his cancer, and that it must have been His will that he be called home so soon. I wasn't exactly buying it, but for Mr. B, I figured I had to try. I got myself together and said what I came to say.

I sat by his grave and told him I was sorry. I'm sorry you're in a hole. I'm sorry you're cold. I'm sorry you suffered so much at the end. I'm sorry I was powerless to help.

I'm sorry you couldn't have seen me finally grow up and be the person you knew I could be.

I'm sorry I couldn't tell you how much I loved you, and how much you meant to me while you were alive. But something tells me you already knew.

The world is a little less interesting today without him in it. Rest well, Mr. B, and know that there was and never will be anybody quite like you.

Grandma-isms

2007-04-07T11:56:00.000-04:00

"I got shaved before my surgery. Just like one of those whores on The Bachelor."

Grandma discussing her newfound Brazilian look.

Looking in the mirror:

"I need a razor. My chin hair is out of control. You sons of bitches better not put me in the ground without shaving me first."

When my aunt brought her dinner:

"I didn't want fucking lasagna, I asked for pizza."

Response to my uncle ranting about how much he had to pay for my other uncle's funeral:

"Go fry your ass, you cheap bastard."

On her own funeral arrangements:

"I want the lining to be black leather. And I want feathers. Lots of feathers. And don't cheap out on my coffin, if I get eaten by bugs because you bastards were cheap, I'm coming back to haunt you."

"I don't want that old bastard in my hole."

Grandma on the subject of my grandfather's ashes being placed in her grave after she dies.

More immaturity

2007-04-03T22:28:00.000-04:00

[at work today]

Guy: "Hey K, do you know who handles the Cox account?"
K: "Hang on, let me look it up."

[taps information into computer, a bunch of accounts with Cox in the title pop up]

K: "Well, here's all your Cox business, pick one."
Guy: [snickers while writing down names] "Ok, thanks."

[later at lunch]

K: "Hey [Guy], did you ever figure out who handles that account?"
Guy: "Yeah, Joe down at the other office."
K: "He handles Cox all by himself?" [Steph starts choking on her chicken salad, I hand her a napkin]
Guy: "No, Susan helps him."
K: "So they handle Cox together?"
Guy: [turning red] "I guess they must."
K: "Great! If I need help with Cox, now I know who to call!" [Steph, who gave up on the sandwich, now starts choking on her water]
Guy: [keeps straight face, walks away calmly. laughter is heard as he rounds the corner]

Sure signs of my immaturity

2007-03-27T18:40:00.000-04:00

[while husband was explaining the goings-on at a job interview yesterday]

H: "What I really liked was when they said to me, 'Usually, with a new employee, it's a matter of cramming a square peg into a round hole. If you come to work with us, we're willing to fit our hole around you.'"

K: "AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA."

[at the circus]

Ringmaster: "And now, ladies and gentlemen, before your very eyes...our Skymasters are going to attempt a dangerous mid-air pole-to-pole exchange!"

K: "HAHAHAHAHAHA HE SAID POLE TO POLE EXCHANGE. GET IT??? AHAHAHAHA."

[at work, speaking with coworker Stephanie]

S: "So I got this new deodorant, and it's so good. I keep smelling my own armpits."

K: "You're doing WHAT?"

S: "Seriously, this stuff is awesome. Almost like a Yankee candle."

K: "Oh, I know what you're talking about...like the McIntosh apple one, you almost think you could take a bite out of the wax, it smells so good."

S: "EXACTLY!!!"

K: "So Stephanie..."

S: "Yeah?"

K: "May I take a bite out of your armpit?"

S: "K, THAT'S SO GROSS."

K: "Don't be such a prude. Just let me lick it a little."

S: "WHAT THE FUCK! That's not even funny."

K: "Tease."

[a short time later, a whiff of citrus comes over the cube wall]

S: [peeling] "Hey K, can you smell my orange?"

K: "Sure can. It's quite strong."

S: "It's really citrusy...almost offensively so."

K: "Maybe you should put your arms down."

S: "WHAT?"

K: "Your deodorant smells a little too real. I may have to come over and lick it."

S: "JESUS CHRIST K, WILL YOU STOP WITH THE ARMPIT STUFF?"

K: "I'm sorry. I...I just can't help myself."

S: "You are so sick."

For the pervs out there

2007-03-25T13:09:00.000-04:00

http://www.nu-photos.com/repository/

"Nude Photos With Soul"

It's all chicks, but women are prettier to look at anyway. Some very interesting camera angles and shadows.

Profound? Not really.

2007-03-24T10:48:00.000-04:00

As I'm sure the two of you who still read this have noticed, the blog has been a bit sparse since I started working full time. I actually have a life outside of my home, and have less and less time to dedicate to staring at my portable idiot box, can you fucking believe it? I do, however, miss the therapy associated with my writing...and I haven't been writing lately simply because I haven't had any crazy adventures that I thought worthy of an entry on the blog. These stories actually do require a lot of thought as far as structure and flow, and to be completely honest, I am a lazy piece of shit when it comes to using my brain outside of work these days. I'm coming up on the six month mark of "being a normal person who works a normal 40 hour week," and I think I'm finally getting used to it, so I'm going to make an effort to write more.

I am, however, going to take a different approach.

I am not going to hold myself to the old rule of "if you don't have a substantial story to write, then just don't write at all." Every day, I come across interesting and humorous things, but they are generally not enough to which I can dedicate an entire entry, at least by my normal standards. I think I'm going to post more entries, but with less content, and save the big long and drawn out stories for the weekends, or for when something worthy happens.

For today, I will tell a short story of the circus that we went to the other night. Youngest Child was really, really into it...the other two, not so much, but the little one pretty much thought it was the most awesome thing he'd ever seen.

This is the part where the Sky Masters did their "sit on a big tall pole and wave themselves around" routine. They had this whole dramatic thing where they pretended to almost fall, and the entire audience was dead silent...all of a sudden, Youngest Child stood up on his chair and screamed at the top of his lungs, "GET DOOOOWWN!!!!!" Our entire section busted up laughing. In his logical little brain, he just couldn't understand why these assholes would endanger themselves voluntarily.

Then came the elephants. Youngest Child had taken a ride on them during intermission (10 bucks for twice around the ring, whoop de fuckin doo), and was completely fascinated. Every time they did a trick, he's stand up, applaud wildly and yell "GOO JOB EPHANTS!!!"

I don't normally endorse circuses, since they mistreat the animals and make the monkeys eat their own shit and stuff like that, but we were invited and we thought it rude to say no. It was a pretty good time though.

Hope

2007-03-17T16:55:00.000-04:00

The other night, I was watching some reality television when "True Life: I'm Autistic" came on MTV. Now I'm a junkie for those True Life shows, but I pretty much jumped up and announced that I couldn't watch this one.

As my long time readers know, Middle Child is autistic, and it's a sensitive subject to say the least. I have a hard time watching older autistic individuals on TV and in the community because it forces me to think about my son's future, and what kinds of struggles he's going to face...but after a few minutes, I forced myself to go back into the room. Lately I've been working on not running from things that upset me, and I figured it to be an exercise in self control.

I pretty much cried through the whole thing. Each of the three individuals profiled had a little piece of my son woven into his personality. The lack of eye contact, the odd hand movements, strange verbal outbursts, temper tantrums...thinking of him retaining those behaviors into adulthood is almost too much to bear. We'd always assumed that he'd be ok, that he'd grow out of it, but we've realized that this just isn't going to be the case. We take joy in what he can do, and try not to dwell on what he can't.

The worst part of the show was when the non-verbal boy wrote about how hard it was to not be able to communicate with his peers and to interact with the world around him. As a parent, it's almost easier to assume that your autistic child doesn't know any better, that he's happy in his own little world...sadly, this isn't the case. More likely than not, my son is of normal intelligence, and knows exactly what he's missing out on. I can't think of many things that are more heartbreaking than that.

I've been struggling with it for a couple of days, watching my son closely, trying to get a sense of what he's thinking...all to no avail. He's got these beautiful sea-blue eyes, and almost always have that same far-away look in them. So much for windows into the soul. My son keeps his secrets well hidden.

For all we know, he can read, write, recognize words, do math...it's all a matter of finding a way to unlock his potential. For now, we watch, and wait.

Today, as I walked down the hallway to the kitchen, I noticed him sitting on the floor playing with a Magna Doodle; not an unusual sight, but for some reason, I knelt down and took a closer look.

I think that this is the first time since he was diagnosed that I have felt so much joy. I've been crying since it happened, and I'm still shaking as I type this. My baby wrote his name.

I grabbed the board, I showed my husband, I made the poor kid pose for about a half dozen shots, and then I gave him free reign of the snack cabinet. He sat with his favorite snack, Cheetos, and looked at me like I was out of my mind. For the first time, I knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Jesus Christ Mom, I just wrote my name, take a pill."

"Your Way" My ASS

2007-02-23T18:16:00.000-05:00

I had the worst fast food experience of my life last night. Due to the enormity of my mommy guilt at having ignored the children for the past 2 weeks, I decided to take them to the Burger King that's down the street from my house. They have this play area with an enormous train and these caboose-looking tables, and they really like going there, so off we went. My first hint of trouble came when I ended up having to park a solid 20 spots away from the front door...looking inside, it looked empty, so I was rather confused...but whatever. The kids had already seen the bright lights of flame broiled goodness, so there was no turning back.

We walked in to find an absolute ruckus at the front counter. There had to be 8 teenaged boys standing there, ordering food, shooting the breeze with those on duty...it became clear that they worked there, and it was their night off. Free whoppers, bitches! Guess that's why I couldn't get a parking space. I got up to the cashier and started ordering, when she suddenly stopped and turned to the crowd at the other end of the counter.

"GUYS. I CAN'T HEAR THE CUSTOMER. SHUT THE HELL UP."

The ruckus continued...

"HELLOOOOOO!!! KNOCK IT OFF. FUCK!"

My jaw dropped. She didn't bat an eye, kept right on tapping away like it never happened. I smiled and continued ordering. I earmuffed Youngest Child in case of another cashier outburst.

As if on cue, Youngest Child started whining for chocolate milk, which I promised him was forthcoming. The cashier handed us white milks and announced that chocolate was all gone, and the poor kid promptly delved into an emotional breakdown. I handed him a tissue to blow his nose while I filled up Oldest Child's cup with Hawaiian Punch. By this time, our tray was ready, and I noticed that my onion rings were actually french fries. I brought this to my friendly cashier's attention who, without a word, turned to grab an order of onion rings and literally dropped them on my tray.

"Uh, could I have some sauce please?"

This request was met by a sharp intake of breath and a roll of the eyes. She had to go out back, and was not pleased at the prospect. She took her sweet time as I continued to comfort Youngest Child, who was still wracked with sobs and mourning his lost chocolate milk. Again, sauce was dropped from a height of 2 feet from the counter.

We walked into the kiddie area, and Youngest Child, who had calmed a bit, started wailing again. The big train was GONE, leaving the caboose tables looking mighty dejected and lonely, but we were at a point of no return so we sat down and tried to make the best of it. As we settled in, we noticed that our ears were being assailed by Christmas music (it IS almost March, right?) being blared from the overhead speakers, literally twice as loud as it was in the normal seating area. The TV with cartoons was drowned out by some chick wailing about trees being cut down for the holidays. I was going to just deal with it until I noticed that I ended up with 2 hamburger kids meals and 1 chicken tender meal instead of the other way around. Middle Child opened his bag and started bawling when he saw this renegade burger, so I grabbed his bag and took him to the counter for his tenders.

The cashier, again, was not thrilled to see me. She turned, grabbed a box of tenders, and dropped them on the counter. Her manager was even standing there. "Maybe you could apologize for the mix up, Adrienne?" She walked out back without a word. While I was there, I asked the guy if he could turn down the Christmas music just a tad. He promised he'd get right on it.

As we were finishing up, this 16 year old kid wandered into the room. "Did you want the music turned down?" Uh, sure, but we're almost done at this point, so whatever. He walked back to the counter and started messing with knobs. The music got louder, and the air conditioning kicked on full blast, blowing directly onto our table. Youngest Child started crying...again. Middle Child put his coat on and shivered. I saw the kid walk away from the knobs, satisfied that he'd done his duty, so I knew we were screwed. We stuffed what was left of the kids' meals into the bags and ran out of there.

As we walked out, the BK off-duty hooligans all sped away in their respective vehicles, leaving 8 empty spots right up front. I gritted my teeth and kept walking to my own car, which was about 5 miles away. Youngest Child decided to jump into a snowbank and soaked himself right up to his butt. I have pretty much vowed never to go to Burker King ever again. That place sucks donkey balls.

Thank-You Letters

2007-02-17T16:04:00.000-05:00

Dear Aunt C:

Thank you for torturing me this past week. Watching my Grampa die apparently wasn't hard enough, as you felt the need to nitpick my every reaction. I rubbed his foot and you told me I should stop because it was causing his leg to twitch a bit. You took off the whole morning on that last day, and you yelled at me when I called as we were waiting on you to discontinue life support. Fuck this, fuck that, blah blah blah...now I can't go to the bank and clean out Grampa's safe deposit box, fine, I'll fucking come back right now [click]. Thank you for remembering what was really important: his stuff. God knows we'd all try to take it from you if you didn't get to it first.

I was particularly moved by your "constructive criticism" of me the first time he stopped breathing. Remember? You told me it was my fault he didn't die right then because he wasn't going to move on if he was still hearing my voice. I looked upon him and cried after he was gone and you told me to knock it off. Every emotion I had, you critiqued. Thank you for being there to remind me that nothing I did was right. Next time somebody near and dear to me dies, I'll remember you and try to do better.

Rot in Hell,
K

Dear Aunt S:

Thank you for calling me while my Grampa was gasping for his last breaths to get directions to a good restaurant. I'm glad you ate so well while you were here...God knows you kept the local restaurants and liquor stores afloat with all of your patronage! Also, I wanted to say that starting a fight with Aunt C at the Chinese place and driving her to throw terriyaki at me was quite entertaining! Genius really, bravo...oh, and thank you for bitching behind everyone's back, and going on about how you'll be contesting the will. I don't know what I would have done without you.

Kiss Kiss,
K

Dear Mom:

Thanks for not showing up to your own father's wake, and leaving me to fill your place in the receiving line and explain to everyone why you weren't there. I didn't expect you to be there to support me, and I deeply appreciate you proving me right. I'm sure Grampa didn't mind, I mean he's already dead so who cares, right?

Wishing You Were Normal,
K

Dear Great Aunt L and Uncle J:

Thank you so much for bringing a level of sanity and grace to a situation where there was so little. I wished every day that our family could have been more like yours, and that Grampa could have had a marriage like yours instead of the craziness & infidelity he ended up with. I bet you don't make your kids go to a Chinese restaurant on Christmas Day. God bless.

Hoping You'll Adopt Me,
K

Dear Grampa:

I love you and miss you terribly, and I'm so sorry that we're all completely insane. We mean well. We're just...retarded. I sincerely hope you're in a better place in death, and not surrounded by crazy bitches as you were in life. Just know that I wanted better for you, even if I didn't have the power to make it right.

Love Always,
K

Goodbye

2007-02-13T00:13:00.000-05:00

Love ya, Gramps.

Grampa

2007-02-11T10:07:00.000-05:00

My Grampa had a heart attack on Friday, and is not expected to pull through. My aunts are all fighting, and we had a huge scene at a Chinese restaurant last night...which is strangely appropriate considering how many scenes we've had in such a setting over the years.

Anyway, they're probably pulling the plug on him tomorrow, so please keep him in your prayers. I just wish I didn't have to witness all of this petty bullshit when all I want to do is sit by him, hold his hand, and cry. What the fuck is wrong with people?

Still can't cook for shit

2007-02-06T20:32:00.000-05:00

I was attempting to make Stove Top tonight...not even ON the stove top, mind you, I was taking the easy way out and using the microwave...and I was attempting to slice up the half stick of butter into the bowl when my hand slipped.

I managed to flip the bowl over, dump half the contents all over the counter and floor, and even get some of it into the cabinets under the sink (which were closed. ???) I covered both my arms (long sleeves today, of course) and even got some on the dog, who happened to be meandering by at the time.

Cooking sucks. I don't think I'm going to do it anymore.

Craftmatic? Not quite.

2007-02-06T00:22:00.000-05:00

I've been going to see Grandma Hooters just about every night, as has most of the rest of my family. Most nights, the nurses are actively kicking us out at 8, insisting that Gram "needs her rest" when really Gram's roommate is sick of listening to us and needs her rest. I think my Dad hopes that if we're obnoxious enough as a whole, the nursing staff will give in and get Gram a private room...but we're in week 3 or 4, so I'm pretty sure we're wasting our efforts, but tell that to the large child who is my father.

To amuse himself this evening, Dad decided to play with Gram's hospital bed.

D: "Hey, how far does this thing go?"
G: "Goesprtyhi."
D: "Well, let's see." [presses UP button, Gram starts sitting up]
G: "Tom...stopit."
D: "The straighter you sit up, the better you'll swallow, Ma." [still pressing]
G: "Jeezummchristomcutheshit!" [now sitting at 90 degree angle]
D: "How far do the legs go?" [presses other UP button]
G: [looking alarmed] "ohshit."
D: [laughing] "Wow, look at that, it's just like those commercials!"
G: [unintelligible gurgling]
K: "Dad, cut the shit, she can't breathe."
D: "Oh she's fine. Hey Ma, don't you wanna find out how flexible you are?"
G: "notfuckinprezeltom!"
D: "What's that Ma?"
K: "SHE SAID SHE'S NOT A FUCKING PRETZEL."
D: [stops pressing]
G: "samwich...feelikesamwich..."
D: "What? You hungry Ma?"
G: "PUMEDOWNYOUSUMBITCH."
K: "GODDAMNIT DAD!"

My cousin finally intervened and put the bed back into a normal position once the nurse walked in. Gram's neighbor had pushed her call button, and the nurse went over to see what she needed.

"IT'S NOT FOR ME. THEY'RE TRUSSING THAT POOR LADY UP LIKE A THANKSGIVING TURKEY."

Something tells me she may be bunking up with someone else tomorrow.

Feel the love, people.

2007-02-05T11:34:00.000-05:00

Grandma Hooters is currently in rehab and has improved. She is most likely permanently paralyzed on her left side, but she's feeding herself and her speech is better every day. We'll see how much functionality she gets back, but it's looking like nursing home city for her. She suffered a major setback a couple of weeks ago when her youngest son, Marty, died. He was mentally disabled (in state care) and couldn't bounce back from his latest bout with pneumonia. Needless to say, the month of January super sucked for our family.

My uncle Ed, her oldest son, is a bit of a whacko, and hasn't dealt well with all the recent events. He's turned to religion, which is interesting considering what a heathen he's been these last 50 years or so. He's at the local church nightly, getting stuff blessed, lighting candles, praying, reading Bible passages...then he goes home and rubs the giant Buddha he has sitting by his pool. I figure he's either confused or just trying to cover all angles. But anyway...

The day Marty died, he showed no emotion and basically walked out of the hospital without saying a word, which seriously worried my Dad. He called home to my aunt to see what Ed was doing:

D: "Eileen, what's he doing now?" [listens] "He's doing what??? Jesus Christ, keep an eye on him, something's not right." [hangs up]
K: "What?"
D: "He's pulling out the couches and vacuuming underneath."
K: [stares] "Are you shitting me?"
D: "Ed's never cleaned a day in his life. Something is seriously wrong with him."

Eileen called back a couple of hours later to inform us that Ed had pitched all the furniture out the front door because it was dirty. He was later seen praying to his Buddha in the backyard.

Every time he's at the rehab, he starts going on about stuff like how he lit 60 candles at the church the other day (2 bucks a pop, you do the math) and prayed for all us bastards even though we don't deserve it. He had a tenuous relationship with Gram long before all of this occurred, and lately it's just no better. They both like to stir up shit from the past, and it gets pretty uncomfortable for others in the room when they start going at it. Worse, Eddie can never understand a word she says.

E: "Ma, I gotta go to work."
G: "Figomheyoudoncamanway."
E: "Hey mumbles, speak up."
K: "She said 'Fine, go ahead, you don't care anyway'."
E: "How the hell do you know?"
K: "You get used to it after a while."
E: "What do you mean I don't care?"
G: "Youmdribyhosnevermmstpnevercad."
E: [looks at me]
K: [sighs] "You'd drive by the house, never stopped, never cared."
E: "THAT'S NOT TRUE, MA."
G: "Yaritismmedyousomubich."
K: "Yeah it is you son of a bitch."
E: "YOU WANNA BRING UP SHIT FROM THE PAST, MA?"
G: "Yehbringiton." [no translation required]
E: "You always loved Tom [K's Dad] better."
G: "Yoummkidyafadasass."
K: "You kissed your father's ass."
E: "WELL YOU WEREN'T KISSING MINE, THAT'S FOR DAMN SURE."
G: "Yurhatfu."
K: "You're hateful."
E: "YOU'VE GOT EVERYONE FOOLED INTO THINKING YOU'RE SOME SWEET OLD LADY."
K: "Ed, can you cut the shit? Come on..."
G: "Gofyerased."
E: [looks at me]
K: [holding in laughter] "She just told you to go fry your ass."

Grandma proceeded to flip him off with her good hand. He promptly stomped out of the room, yelling about all the candles he was going to light for her.

Later, my cousin showed up, and my uncle called him.

C: "Yeah, she's still awake, still pissed at you Dad."
E: [unintelligible yelling]
G: "Tellthasumbichtofyhisass."
C: "Gram says to fry your ass. Gram, are you flipping the bird?" [laughter]
E: [more unintelligible yelling, hangs up]
C: "Wow Gram, you got him worked up."

And she started laughing hysterically.

G: "GOOD!!!"

The first couple of weeks after Gram's stroke, everyone was all nice to each other, hugging and whatnot...I guess it doesn't take long for all that novelty to wear off.

Welcome back to fried asses and obscene gestures, people...welcome back.

A sign from God that I should never cook again.

2007-02-04T10:50:00.000-05:00

The last couple of days that has been an unexplained smell in our kitchen/dining area. At first, we thought one of the kids had farted, but the hours of lingering quickly debunked that theory. Then we figured it was coming from the mudroom, stinky feet and such...but a sniffing mission blew that one out of the water as well. As we sat eating breakfast this morning, both of our noses wrinkled up and looking around, the Husband theorized that there could be a dead mouse behind the stove. This got me thinking...

During this past week, the Husband and I were kinda fighting, so we obviously weren't communicating as we usually do. Keep that in mind as you read on.

K: "A dead mouse would smell that bad? Really?"
H: "It could...we could pull the stove out and see."
K: "Wait a minute..."
H: "What?"
K: "You found that ground beef I left out the other day, right?"
H: "The pound in the fridge? Yeah, I used it last night for the sloppy joe's."
K: "No no...Wednesday night, I was making a casserole..."
H: "Uh huh..."
K: "And I was gonna use ground beef and changed my mind..."

I had discovered that I didn't have all the ingredients I needed, and switched to a chicken dish. The thawed ground beef had been sitting on the counter, but Youngest Child kept trying to stick his fingers in it, so I had quickly stuck it into a pan that had been on the counter. I didn't put the pans back into the oven at the end of the night, and left for work the next morning and forgot about it. When I got home, the pans were put away, so I assumed the Husband had found the ground beef, shaken his head at what a fucking airhead I am, and thrown it away.

H: "I never found any ground beef, K."
K: "WHAT???"

The husband walked over to the oven, pulled the big frying pan out of the oven (which had a lid on it), took the lid off...and found my ground beef.

He looked at me like I was completely insane and ran outside with it. He then came back in, sprayed everything down with Lysol, and again looked at me like I was insane.

K: [laughing hysterically]
H: "That's so fucking gross."
K: "Good thing I have tits huh? Makes me easier to put up with."
H: "No shit, huh?"

Sometimes I wonder how I became such a functional retard.

Success

2007-01-20T19:57:00.000-05:00

Seems everyone around me lately is enjoying immense personal & professional success. The husband came back from a trade show with an expensive watch for being a top salesperson in the country with one of the manufacturers he deals with and a big job offer from another. I have a couple of friends who have been recognized/rewarded/promoted/bonused in their jobs as well, and a bunch of friends who are getting married, having babies, buying houses...just good things happening all around me. It's kind of weird how it's all happening at once, but I guess this is how it goes when you're approaching your early 30's; shit starts to come together. Good for them.

Most of the success I've had in my life has been directly related to school. Scholarships, Dean's List, double majors, blah blah blah. I started having kids before I'd even finished undergrad, so I never had a chance to build a career like my friends have. Having just recently forayed into the professional world, I'm sure it will be quite a while before I make any kind of impression, but I can't help but feel like I'm behind.

Logically, I know that I put all of that aside to raise a family, and that it's not like I'm some slacker, but I'm finding that part of me has this need to be constantly overachieving. If someone isn't petting me on the head and telling me I did a good job, I don't feel like I am. Sick, right? I have 2 college degrees, I'm raising 3 children & working full time, yet I still feel like I haven't done enough with my life thus far. I'm starting to think that I'm slightly mental, and not in a "funny haha" kinda way.

I'm not jealous in the least, and I'm genuinely happy for everybody...but it's all making me that much more aware of what I'm doing (and not doing) with my own life. And of course my natural reaction is to go back to school. See? M E N T A L.

The husband says I'm a glutton for punishment, but what can I say; the MBA is calling my name.

"K...come get me...I'll pet you on the head and tell you that you're doing a good job..."

Fucking mental. That's me.

Dumb Shit is home; Grandma Hooters improving

2007-01-09T20:20:00.000-05:00

So I found my dog.

Dumb ass was picked up about a block away from my house. Some kind hearted soul found him, didn't want him to get run over, but couldn't hang around for animal control...so she stuffed him into a Bank of America ATM and went on her way. To think I drove past that plaza 3 times and never looked in the direction of the ATM.

The city pinched me for $170 between room, board and the associated leash law fine. Needless to say, the husband is beefing up yard security when he comes back from his business trip.

Grandma is better. She's out of ICU, has her wits about her, and could very well be heading into rehab in the near future. So we'll see. Thank you all for keeping her in your thoughts.

This week has been the suck. I think I'll be taking a trip or two...or ten...to Long Island this weekend.

Regret

2007-01-06T21:28:00.000-05:00

Grandma isn't well at all. The next 72 hours will tell us exactly how much improvement she will be capable of, and will give us the information we need to make important decisions.

This all started Thursday afternoon at about 2pm. Grandma knew she was having a stroke, but for some reason called nobody. My cousin showed up a few hours later, just to check on her, and called the ambulance as soon as she realized that Gram couldn't speak. At the hospital, they ran a cat scan, some blood work, etc. and didn't see any blockages or bleeds right off the bat, leading them to conclude that she perhaps had had a mini stroke. They gave her an aspirin, some tylenol, and a sedative and put her to bed. I left her resting comfortably at about 1am; by 7:30am, she'd had another stroke, this time major. Nobody knows exactly what time it occurred, as she was not hooked up to a monitor overnight, but by the time anybody realized what had happened, it was too late.

As it turns out, her carotid artery was 100% blocked. The doctor insists that this would have happened whether they had known about the blockage the night before or not. My father has already called a lawyer, but from where I stand, the damage is done, and this is what 60 years of 3 packs a day will get you. It's horribly sad, but the spectre of "I told you so" can't help but loom in the background.

As I tend to do, I've been beating myself up a bit. I should have stayed with her overnight. I should have spent more time with her lately. The last time I saw her was Christmas, and I was mad at her at the time because she had been so rude to everyone. If I hadn't been such a bitch, maybe I would have equated her change in personality to something being terribly wrong with her.

I could go on all day about how I feel I contributed to the situation, but again, the damage is done. Truth be told, we've all been on her ass to see the doctor and get a full work-up, but she's been putting it off. "If there's something wrong with me, I don't wanna know." Classic avoidance, the calling card of my family. A family full of fucking ostriches; Christ, you think we'd learn that it gets us nowhere fast. Mildly retarded does not begin to describe.

On top of everything else, my dog is missing. My son didn't close the gate last night, and out he went. Now I have to spend tomorrow putting up flyers and calling shelters. Like I really want to be dealing with this.

Pity, party of one, your table is ready.

Shit.

2007-01-05T18:59:00.000-05:00

Grandma Hooters had a major stroke today. She can't use her left side at all.

I'm a realist, and I certainly realize that this is the beginning of the end. I'm just praying that she isn't suffering, and that she can pass on peacefully, because I know she wouldn't want to linger like this. If you can, please pray for the same.

F Christmas Anyway.

2007-01-04T18:12:00.000-05:00

As per usual, my holidays have thus far been completely disastrous. My die-hard fans surely remember last year's debacle (available in the archives), and my family, true to form, did not disappoint in the way of shenanigans this year either.

I started writing this the day after Christmas, but have only had time to finish it this evening. I apologize to all 10 of you that still read this for the delay.

December 23rd:

Stayed up until 3am wrapping presents...but that was actually more enjoyable than usual, as I busted out a bottle of booze and got shitty while laughing uproariously at Clerks 2.

Buffalo Bill Dance

Hilarious. Mental note to get drunk again while wrapping every year from now on.

December 24th:

This year it was decided that Christmas Eve festivities would take place at my aunt' s house, as opposed to the nicotine-soaked abode of Grandma Hooters. I was pretty psyched, as Grandma's house is really, really small and even if you only spend 2 minutes standing in the doorway, you will have to wash your coat of the smoky stench as soon as you get home. Auntie's house is big, smoke-free, and has a racist African Grey Parrot for amusement. Perfect. Into the car we piled, to Auntie's house we went.

Grandma didn't show up for about 2 hours, and when she did, was she in a fucking foul mood. Everything annoyed her, from the selection of food to the color of the chair she was sitting on. She had nothing good to say, and refused to open her presents, barking at my cousin to put them in the car. The worst part was when she called the 7 year old daughter of my Godmother "a little bitch" within earshot of the kid's father because she was running around playing with the rest of the children. She only stayed for about 90 minutes, and demanded to be taken home. As the door slammed behind her, we damn near cheered, and continued on with a semi-normal family party.

By the end of the night, 2 of my kids ended up falling into the pool (thank God for those elephant covers, they ended up wet and not drowned). Thankfully, Little Bitch's mother got my kids clothes, so they didn't have to go home naked. Mental note not to leave my 20-something cousins in charge of my children ever again.

December 25th:

The kids were pretty good, they didn't drag us out of bed until about 8...yes, they are quite well trained. They tore at their presents for about an hour, completely ignored the robotic dog that cost us an arm and a leg, and then started demanding food. The husband had just finished making breakfast when the phone rang...the caller ID read "Unknown." Now, this usually means that we're a week late on the mortgage, or that somebody from India wants to sell us an extended warranty on one of our Dells, but seeing as it was Christmas I figured that couldn't be the case, so what did I do? I answered it. I fuckin' answered it. Stupid ass.

K: "Hello?"
Female Voice: "K?"
K: [silence. shit shit shit double motherfucking shit.] "Hi Mom."

As you are probably aware, I haven't spoken to my mother in almost 3 years. Long story short, she insulted my children and I basically told her to fuck herself sideways. She's blown off the "K Family Annual FA RA RA RA RA Chinese Food Extravaganza" for the last 3 years due to our falling out, but this year she apparently decided to come on down. Great. Fucking great.

You'd think that after 3 years, she'd be maybe a bit reserved in our first conversation...oh no. Guns blazing. She actually yelled at me.

Mom: "I JUST GOT OFF THE PHONE WITH MY FATHER."
K: "Uh. And?"
Mom: "HE SEEMS TO THINK I SHOULDN'T COME TO DINNER BECAUSE YOU'LL BE UPSET!"
K: "Look, I've made it clear to all involved that it doesn't bother me if you come to dinner."
Mom: "WELL THEN YOU NEED TO CALL HIM."
K: "Uh. Ok."
Mom: "AND CALL YOUR AUNT TOO, SHE DOESN'T WANT ME THERE EITHER."
K: "Uh. Ok. Just head down, I'm sure it'll be fine."
[click]

Fuck fuck fuckity motherfuck. How this became my problem I'll never know...

Aunt: "Hello?"
K: "Hi. It's K. I just talked to Mom."
Aunt: "SHE'S NOT RUINING MY FUCKING CHRISTMAS WITH HER BULLSHIT DRAMA. I'M NOT GOING."
K: "WHAT?"
Aunt: "I CAN'T BE BOTHERED."
K: "Please, don't leave me alone with her."
Aunt: "THERE'S NO FUCKING WAY. I'VE HAD IT WITH HER SHIT."
K: "Please please please..."
Aunt: [click]

Bitch! I called Grandpa...

G: "Hello?"
K: "Hi. It's K."
G: "Hey baby! How are ya?"
K: "I just heard from Mom. I guess she's coming to dinner."
G: "Oh yeah...for chrissake, she's changed her mind about 3 times in the last 24 hours..."
K: "Well I just wanna make sure that you know I'm ok with it."
G: "Well good. I did tell her that she should call you first."
K: "Ok. So I'll see you there."
G: "Goddammit, I just wanna eat some friggin' food and see my family. I don't want fighting."
K: "You won't get any from me, believe me. I think it's retarded. Bye Gramps."
G: "Bye baby." [click]

Then I tried the Aunt back, hoping she'd calmed down...fat fuckin' chance.

A: "K, I'm not going."
K: "Please. Please don't leave me alone with her. Grandpa's fine with it."
A: "I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK. I'M NOT GOING."
K: "Don't do this to me."
A: "I'M OPENING PRESENTS WITH MY SON AND I'M THROUGH WITH THIS SHIT." [click]

Great. I got dressed, bid the husband and kids adieu as they headed to the father in law's house, and set off to face the music.

My Aunt ended up showing, albeit a half hour late...she just had to dig her heels in, make it clear that she wasn't pleased. As soon as she showed up, she started torturing the waitress.

A: "THIS ISN'T THE TABLE I RESERVED."
W: "Excuse me?"
A: "This table sucks. We can't hear the Christmas music, and it's too far away from the buffet. We need to move."
W: [looks at the rest of us, confused, as we already had our plates and drinks]
K: [waving her off and smiling] "We don't need to move. We're fine, really."
A: "NO WE'RE NOT."
K: [makes crazy sign behind Aunt's head] "I don't think that's necessary, do you?"
A: "YES."
K: [through gritted teeth] "If that will make you happy, fine."
A: "I'LL BE PLENTY HAPPY WHEN I'M STUFFING MY FACE FULL OF CRAB RANGOON."
K: [smiling brightly] "Believe me, I want nothing more than for your mouth to be full, Auntie."

The rest of the dinner went fine, as the Aunt got her way and had no more reason to berrate the waitress. Conversation was stilted, but we all pretended to like each other and got through it without major incident. I said goodbye to my mother, who promised to call me next week.

Fuck. I have to keep talking to her now. Son of a bitch!

I resolved to think about that tomorrow.

I left the Chinese place and headed to the father in law's house, where I managed to find some holiday spirit after polishing off the better part of a bottle of Kahlua.

Never was I so relieved for Christmas to be over as I was when I collapsed into bed that night. Next year, I'm staying home, and everyone can kiss my ass. Christmas sucks.

Nucking Futs

2006-12-23T11:05:00.000-05:00

Odd happenings at my job this week:

I was walking through the break room and I saw these two 20 something guys staring intently at stacks of cards, one of them on the phone. From the seriousness of the situation, it looked like a poker game or something...upon closer inspection, I saw Yu Gi Oh cards. As I walked slowly by, trying not to completely lose my shit, I gathered that one of the guys was using some kind of card combination to beat the other guy's Grand Master Wizard of the Breakdancing Dwarfs or something...and that guy was on the phone with some other guy, trying to find out if this was a "legal" move. Grown men play Yu Gi Oh...and worse, in PUBLIC? What. The. Fuck. I'm finding out more and more about the secret lives of adult males this month, and I'm not sure I really want to know.

This girl I work with was looking through some files, came across a police report, and began laughing hysterically...I walked over to see what was going on, and between gasps for breath, she pointed out the narrative of the incident: apparently, 2 "domestic partners" had a bit of a domestic dispute, and one of the guys grabbed the giant double ended dildo (the "18 inch pocket rocket" per the investigating officer), went outside and starting whaling on his boyfriend's Mini Cooper. He did about $8,000 in damage. All I could think of was that scene from Me, Myself & Irene with Jim Carey waving the thing around making it talk like a puppet.

Charlie: "Well look who joined the party !!!! DId you have fun ? Huh ? [waves giant phallus around] '*ooohh yess I did yeah*' so I guess old Hanky-Panky wasn't enough for you huh?"

Irene: "It wasn't for me ."

Classic.

This same girl's boyfriend works in another department, and he was telling us this story about when he'd just gotten back from Kosovo and was out partying with his army buddies. This dude doesn't drink (because he gets "a little crazy" by his own description) so his pals spiked his drink with Everclear. They ended up at a Victoria's Secret at the mall across the way, where this guy was arrested for sexually assaulting the mannequins, putting merchandise on his head, and harassing the sales girls. As the female officer tried to get him into the car, he in turn tried to bend her over the hood and hump her, which led to an "assault on a police officer" charge. He woke up in jail with no recollection of the night's events. The security tape was played in court, and his drink-spiking buddies were made to fess up, so the judge had a good laugh and let him off with community service. This same guy's wife cheated on him while he was away, and he found a video of her getting tag teamed by three guys...which he copied and labeled as "Joey's Birthday Party" (his wife's son's name) and mailed it off to her entire family. He's got some good stories.

I found out that there are 2 supervisors who are having some kind of grand love affair, which isn't strange unless you know that they are both married to other people who don't work for the company. On top of that, they use the Breastfeeding Room to get it on. Ew. I had to go in there for a flu shot recently, and I literally tiptoed around and tried not to touch anything. The nurse looked at me like I was completely out of my mind.

These people make me feel normal. Me. Normal. Sad, no?

Lemme tell ya a story...

2006-12-18T18:54:00.000-05:00

So there's this family...married couple, both with grown children from prior relationships. The woman (we'll call her S) has this daughter (A) who got knocked up by a convicted felon (D) when she was 18; the guy also has been known to smack her around, and is none to popular in the family. The husband (E) has a big mouth, and is known to shit talk S's daughter in the presence of others, telling them how stupid she is, etc. This does not generally sit well with S, and it's been going on for about 2 years now. The marriage is definitely suffering, as every time D decides to use A as a punching bag, she comes home and it starts shit.

Anyway, S & E were having company over last weekend, and A pulled up with the baby. D had roughed her up, and she wanted to stay the night; of course S took her in, while E rolled his eyes and shit talked. The situation escalated later that evening, when D showed up and started screaming and yelling in the front yard that he was going to kill A...all this with the guests still inside. S calls the police, and D gets hauled away for making threats and for having assaulted A earlier that evening. The guests leave, and E decides to open his mouth about A and tell her mother what a loser she is. S tells him to cut the shit, and locks herself in the bedroom to get away from him. E breaks down the door, chokes S, and punches her in the mouth. S calls the police, they show up and haul E away for assault.

E shows up at the jailhouse and they give him some prison skivvies...apparently in this particular jail you are color-coded according to your offense; murderers, for example, get red, which is the worst. Assaults and batteries generally get you blue and green type colors. E was given a blue outfit and tossed into a cell...directly across from none other than D, freshly decked out in a green suit of his own. Blue is indicative of a worse offense than Green, so D immediately started pointing and laughing at E, who at this point was ripshit. They spent the weekend in cells opposite each other, verbal assaults flying, reaching through bars trying to rip each others' throats out. They each posted bail Monday morning and respectively had to find new places to call home for the next 30 days until the restraining orders are up.

Outside of the horror of domestic violence...a rather ironic and almost comical situation, right?

Grandma certainly thought so, and laughed her way through this entire story. "Your aunt never did know how to pick a decent man!" My jaw hung agape. "S is sooooooo embarrassed, don't tell anybody I told you. I just hope it doesn't hit the papers!"

A quick google revealed the inevitable:

Merry Christmas to everyone else in the world that has a fucked up family. I'll be getting drunk repeatedly this holiday season, and toasting every last one of you while I do.

Random Childhood Memories, Vol. 3

2006-12-15T20:56:00.000-05:00

1st grade:

My mom made me wear a truly horrendous plaid dress with a balloony skirt for the first day of school, and I was instantly mocked. I came home and told her that I wanted to wear plainer clothes to school, so what does she send me off in the next day? This white rabbit fur jacket my grandmother gave me with a matching muffler. A fucking rabbit fur coat. Thus began the eternal struggle of me trying to fly under the radar and my mom purposely sabotaging me.

2nd grade:

I tackled Ghengis and tried to kiss him. I don't think he looked in my direction for a solid 2 years after that. Funny thing is, he has no recollection of this event today. These days, that shit would get you suspended for a week and go on your "permanent record" as sexual assault. Hot damn, was I a bad ass or what? In retrospect, this was the first, and not the last, time that a male thought me too aggressive.

I got a bad grade on a math paper...I was so convinced that I was going to get my ass kicked that I attempted to forge my mom's signature with my newly-acquired fancy cursive handwriting. My mom called my dad to inform him of this horrible juvenile delinquence, and he started laughing hysterically. She hung up on him. Mom stopped calling Dad to inform him of my antics.

I ended up with a C in cursive, too. Ain't that a bitch. Clearly, they didn't appreciate the skillz.

3rd grade:

I skipped home with my school pictures only to get completely reamed out by my mom. Not only was I smiling like a serial killer, but I had this giant piece of hair hanging right between my eyes that neither I nor the photographer noticed. She ranted and raved and told me I'd better get my shit together for the retakes or else. I ended up missing retakes because I got pneumonia, and it was my fault I got pneumonia because I must have let some sick kid breathe on me. Clearly, I was purposely coughing & wheezing to deprive her of my 3rd grade school picture.

4th grade:

I sprouted boobs. Man did that suck. I was so jealous of the boys, why didn't anything bad ever have to happen to THEM??? Fuckers.

5th grade:

We had a class mascot that year; a bear that sat in a swivel chair at the front of the room. The resident kiss ass, Jasmine, brought the teacher a girl bear so the boy bear could get his groove on...the teacher, batshit crazy as she was, decided it wouldn't be appropriate for them to be together unless they were married. We had a whole ceremony, the kiss ass kid acted as minister, and we wheeled their chair into the closet afterwards so they could have their "honeymoon."

One day a few weeks later, we came into class to find girl bear ass up and boy bear slumped over her in their chair. This kid Steve got bagged for it, and suspended. That same year, he got in trouble for attempting to smuggle a starfish out of the aquarium in the back pocket of his jeans.

6th grade:

This was the year that testerosterone was suddenly floating in the air and the boys started getting into more trouble. We had this one hoodlum that was constantly getting suspended...I think his name was Angel, if you can fucking believe that. Anyway, one day Angel got fed up with the resident fat kid and started chasing him around the classroom. Our poor elderly English teacher, Mrs. Nelson, attempted to intervene and got her ass thrown into a barrel for her efforts. Angel was never seen again. Back then, bad kids could disappear and nobody would think anything of it.

This was also the year that we had the "tower project." Some bunch of tree hugging yahoos brought us a buttload of recycled IBM punch cards and had us build these giant structures out of them.
We were also supposed to get the towers to implode. Hell, I'm an adult now, and I sure as hell couldn't get SHIT to implode now, how the hell are a bunch of 11 year olds to accomplish such a task??? Nobody managed to do it, and the winning team only won because they built their tower against a wall and instead of falling over, it hit the wall and dropped straight down. This controversial fact was revealed when we all sat down as a class to watch the video of the day's events a few weeks later. Everyone was pissed, as the winning team had gotten an ice cream party or something. When you're 11, not getting ice cream is a big fucking deal. I would stab those cheating bastards in the eye if I ran into them today, believe you me.

For your consideration

2006-12-14T20:52:00.000-05:00

Middle Child is being considered to be the 2007 sponsored child for a very well known local charity event. This is the write up I sent in to the committee. It has been narrowed down to three children, any prayers you can spare are appreciated.

Writing this was very therapeutic, and seeing as therapy is what this blog has been for me, I thought it appropriate to share his story with you.

~~~~

To Whom It May Concern,

I am writing to tell you a little bit about my son, A, who is 6 years old and diagnosed with autism.

When he was born, A weighed in at just under 8 pounds. By all accounts, he was a beautiful baby. Perfectly round head, chubby cheeks, rosy skin, and a pleasant disposition that drew in everyone around him. He was quite the little porker, too; he started gaining weight before we even left the hospital, and by 8 months of age had outgrown his infant car seat…a seat that should have lasted him at least a year.

“You need to cut back on his formula,” the doctor would say. “He’s never going to sit up or crawl if he keeps gaining weight like this.” Granted, he did bear a striking resemblance to a bowling ball, but he had reflux and it was very difficult to determine exactly how much he was digesting, so we couldn’t worry about it. In fact, he sat up and crawled right on schedule, which we took great pleasure rubbing in the good doctor’s face. He continued to hit the milestones just like all the other babies…walking, talking, pointing, laughing…and then one day it just stopped.

A’s regression started with his speech. By the time he was 18 months old, the few words he had picked up disappeared. He stopped looking us in the eye, and started obsessively lining up his toys. He would run in circles, always counter-clockwise, for a half hour at a time. The happy and social baby boy that we loved more than anything else in the world was slipping away before our very eyes, and nothing we did seemed to make a difference. It was terrifying.

We looked to our pediatrician. We asked if we should be worried, and what we should do. He was of the opinion that it was “second child syndrome,” and that second children are often speech delayed when they have a chatty older sibling. He assured us that A would develop at his own pace, and that we shouldn’t worry. We believed him, and precious months were squandered while we waited for A to “snap out of it.” That wondrous “snap” never came.

By the time he was 2, we were adamant that something was wrong, and requested a referral for an early intervention evaluation. He was deemed eligible for services, and started speech therapy when he was 27 months old. Several months went by, during which time we researched speech delay and its causes. One word kept popping up in the course of this research: autism.

Autism scared us to death. Like many people, all we knew of autism was Rain Man. No, no, that couldn’t be what was wrong. Not our child. No.

A’s therapists danced around the subject. We’re not doctors, we don’t diagnose. We were on a waiting list to see the only pediatric neurologist in the immediate area, and our appointment was months off. Finally, his caseworker gave us her professional opinion of what was wrong with A.

“It could be mild autism. Something called Pervasive Developmental Disorder.”

Hearing those words associated with our A was devastating, but we felt better to be able to put a label on it. Armed with this information, we pored over medical journals and bought books. All of A’s therapists said that he was on the milder end of the spectrum, and with therapy, he could be in a normal kindergarten class and could live a normal life. We were so relieved! It wasn’t Rain Man, it was mild, and we felt like we could fix it. He wouldn’t be picked on, he would speak eventually, and he would go to college and get married and be on his own some day. We thanked God. We thought it would be okay.

A has been fortunate. He’s had wonderful teachers and has come a long way with his therapy. His tantrums decreased, and he learned to use pictures to communicate. His progress has been slow…slower than we expected…but it’s been steady, and he continues to surprise us every day.
Sadly, he is still largely non-verbal, and cries with frustration when we can’t understand what he’s trying to say. He gets very upset when he sees his younger brother talking in sentences. He is so intelligent, yet can’t express it effectively. We try to imagine what it would be like to not be able to talk, and our hearts just ache for him. How awful it must be for him to be so misunderstood.

Overall, A is healthy and happy in his own little world, but our biggest concerns for him thus far have been safety-related. He’s managed to circumvent almost every bit of childproofing that we have in the house. He knows how to work all of the locks, and has managed to escape more times than we care to admit. We live on a very busy street, and he’s even been known to climb out the window if he can’t get out the door (thank heavens we live in a ranch!). On one particularly disturbing occasion, he walked out of the house early on a Sunday morning (in his diaper no less) to play in the puddles in the middle of the street, only to have people drive around him rather than stop to make sure he was ok.

Recently I have come across more and more news stories about autistic children wandering off and being abused, injured, exploited, and even killed. As our son grows older, the danger actually increases because his desire for independence has started to quickly surpass his own abilities to control his actions and impulses. Finding a way for him to explore a little more independence while remaining safe has become a #1 priority for our family.

We find it sad that our culture has changed so much that nobody watches out for anybody else anymore. We recognize our own weaknesses as humans, and know that we can’t sleep with one eye open for the rest of our lives. We realize that A needs more supervision and protection than we’ve been able to provide, and have come upon a solution of sorts.

In recent years, several organizations have taken to training service dogs specifically for children with autism. Generally, autistic children have problems recognizing danger, and will walk right into hazardous situations if left to their own devices. A service dog would not only help us to keep tabs on A, but would also help him in his social and emotional development. It would enable him to become more independent, secure, and confident in his daily activities. Such an animal generally costs upwards of $13,000, a sum of money that is simply too much of a burden for your average working family. For our son, we are determined to find a way.

We’ve recently come to the painful realization that A will probably never be completely mainstreamed in his schooling, as was the original hope. He may never go to college and get married and have a family of his own; in fact, he may never leave home. We’ve had to let go of all the normal expectations that parents have of their children, and learned to live in the moment. Most parents of 1st graders celebrate grades on a report card, a Little League home run, a performance in a school play…we celebrate when he puts his shoes on the right feet and buttons up his own coat. We rejoice when he calls us Mommy & Daddy, something he was unable to do until just this year. We marvel at his bubble-blowing talents. To us, he is perfect just the way he is.

A fund-raising effort would not only help A to get a service dog to call his own, but would also enable our family to explore the possibilities of additional therapy and high-tech equipment that would make it easier for him to communicate. We look to your organization to partner with us in making it possible for our child to live a fuller and more productive life.

Despite his disability, A is bright, loving, creative, and sensitive, and he teaches us every day that it’s best to not to concentrate on why you can’t, but on finding ways that you can.

Thank you for your time. Please let us know if any further information is needed. No matter who you choose to sponsor with your fundraising efforts this coming year, we wish you the best of luck and commend your organization for all the good that it does. You truly do make a difference.

Sincerely,

K & Family

Lady

2006-12-10T12:14:00.000-05:00

Lately I've been hanging around with Yvonne's group of friends more often. We are all about the same age (roughly 27-33), but almost none of these chicks have jumped on the "marriage and children" bandwagon just yet. Hazel has 2 kids and is going through a divorce, but lives at home and has her mom watch her kids so she can go out 4 nights a week, so she fits in far better than me...then there's this other chick who has one kid from a previous marriage and leaves him home with her fiancee so she can go out 4 nights a week as well [except for that one night where she actually brought the poor child to Beerfest]. Other than that, they are all single and rapidly approaching the "cougar" years.

They maintain themselves much as a golf course superintendent maintains the green...there is hairspray, layers of makeup, glitter [yes, apparently women in their 30's still wear glitter], giant handbags full of supplies, spike heels and tiny little tops worn with just the right push-up bra to attract maximum attention...yet they roll their eyes at the "dirty old men" who check them out, as if they'd done nothing to attract such attention. They tease the younger boys, mock and ridicule those who are too old and/or poor, and scheme against each other to attract the gainfully employed men with six pack abs and the right designer jeans.

Then there's me. 29, chubby, married mother to three and a former school teacher with a cynical streak a mile wide. These are the bitches I roll with.

Yvonne is currently dating a guy that is a cousin by marriage to another one of these chicks, who has a crush on the cousin-by-marriage's younger brother [she insists that 'by marriage' isn't real family anyway]. One of the other chicks has a crush on the cousin-by-marriage, but blew him off to make out with another guy at the bar a couple of months back, and got pissed that he started talking to Yvonne, so she started plotting behind Yvonne's back to find out what was going on between them. Then, she made out with this other guy who's had a crush on Yvonne forever...sadly, he's older and chubby, so he's out of the running for any "serious" dating, but this other girl teased him for a night anyway just to get Yvonne's ass. Now he's all obsessed with her, and this chick is like, "What EV, I was drunk, he can just get OVER it. [insert eye roll here]"

I've never seen such a corrupt group of "friends." They take smiling self-portraits for their myspace pages and caption it, "ME AND MY BESTEST FRIEND! BFF!!!" yet they'll talk shit behind your back and steal your boyfriend. It's survival of the bitchest, and you'd best watch your back, yet they continue to hang out together as if nothing is going on.

Is this normal? Do all women have these weirdly incestuous friend-circles where everyone is shit-talking and fucking behind everyone else's back?

The worst part of the whole thing, to me anyway, is the fact that they all refer to each other as "lady."

"Hey lady, you going to the bar tonight?"
"LADY! Where you been, bitch?"
"I'm hanging with my ladies tonight."

And the myspace comments...sweet Jesus...the following are from ONE FUCKING PROFILE. Don't these chicks feel REDUNDANT yet?

"Happy weekend lady!!"
"Nice background lady! How was your night?"
"Happy Turkey Day Lady!!"
"Happy Gobble Gobble day Lady."
"Hey lady?!?!?! You heading out tomorrow night?"
"Hey lady whats up? give me a ring and let me know..."

I seriously want to strangle them with their designer purse straps whenever I hear the word "lady" roll off of their sticky painted lips. I got my first "lady" comment on myspace this morning and I felt dirty.

So here I am, talking shit behind their backs, but at least it's anonymous and won't be causing drama amongst the fembots. None of them really consider me part of "the group" anyway because I can't go out 4 nights a week. I just hate that they're turning Yvonne, my best friend for 10 years, into one of them. A fembot. Dear God. I have to get that girl married off before it's too late.

I'm starting to think something is wrong with me, as I can never find a place to fit in. In high school, I was more comfortable with guys...you know, the ones who tell you all their relationship issues but never want to date you...and could never deal with that clique shit that girls inevitably fall into during high school. As an adult, I could never bond with the other "mom" types at my kids' schools because they honestly freak me out...they're the PTA soccer mom types who bake for school functions and sing in the choir at the church. They all live in the same neighborhood, they all went to high school together, and it's like their little clique from high school simply carried over into adulthood. In college, I was pregnant my senior year, and most of my friends got freaked out and stopped calling. Since then, I've been on mom duty, forgoing most outside relationships to focus on my family. Yvonne is one of a few that I've remained friends with, and now I feel like we have less and less in common.

One of the chicks got drunk a few weeks back and started running her mouth..."Do you think any of this is REAL? It's all a front. Do you really think any of us are FRIENDS?" She was promptly dragged off and put into a cab so everyone else could continue taking myspace self-portraits and downing shots, but I think it really rattled everyone because deep down, everyone knows she's right.

If you can't look at your friends and know they'll be there for you when shit really goes wrong...not "wardrobe malfunction" wrong, but "life and death" kind of wrong...then can you truly call them friends?

Seems like it's the norm to have a bunch of acquaintances that you call your friends rather than cultivating real relationships with real people. Maybe we're all too busy for that shit these days, or maybe I'm just old fashioned, but it seems a bit too contrived for me.

Crazy bitches

2006-12-08T18:54:00.000-05:00

The new job is going well, besides my incident with that asshole from Finance, nothing else has gone too horribly wrong. I'm finally coming to the end of my training period, and should start doing some real work next week. The only real downside to the place is the crazy fucks that work in the department next to mine. Every company has 'em, but sadly they are in direct proximity to my little corner of the world.

The office as a whole has a speaker system that is tied into some horrible radio station...most days when I walk into the bathroom, where it is at the loudest volume, my ears are assaulted by the musical stylings of Culture Club or Seal. Do you know what it's like trying to pee when Boy George is telling you that he'll tumble for ya? It's fucking difficult, and the fact that nobody likes to turn the heat on makes the toileting experience that much worse. One day, I swear that my ass will stick to the seat in a Christmas Story-esque kind of freak accident, and I'll be trapped in a stall with bad music.

Anyway, I digress...back to the bitches. These particular "ladies" prefer to work in absolute silence...hell, I hate the lousy music as much as the next person, but the background noise is preferable to nothing at all...these chicks will actually scale the walls of the cube farms and teeter on top to reach up to the ceiling and manually turn the volume all the way down. I found this to be slightly peculiar, but didn't think anything of it until our weekly staff meeting, when our boss told us that H.R. had received a complaint about our department.

Apparently, the bitches next door find our department "distracting" and feel that we need to keep our voices down.

The funny part is that the very nature of our respective jobs is to be on the phone, be involved in conference calls, interact with each other for various purposes...now, we're not rowdy by any means, we're all professionals and have not behaved in any way that would attract any kind of normal attention. We speak in a normal tone of voice to each other, but apparently that's just not good enough; these assholes actually want us to whisper. And no, they're not kidding.

My point of view is that if you don't have enough of an attention span to do your job with normal human interaction going on in the background, maybe you need some Ritalin, or perhaps earplugs and blinders.

Anyway, I'm told that these people had put in complaints long before I ever showed up...the support person actually got dragged into H.R. a few months ago for "foul language" because the crazy bitches heard her mutter "Oh SHIT" when her computer crashed. Another person was on the phone with a client when one of them stomped up to his cube wall and actually SHUSHED him.

Are there nuts like this in every office? I'm dreading the day one of them has the nerve to shush me, because I'm not sure I could restrain myself from hurling a Swingline.

Black Shit

2006-12-04T19:19:00.000-05:00

Middle Child has been coming home with this black, tar-like substance under his fingernails on and off for about 5 months. At first, we thought it was something on the bus...ruled that out when the bus driver swore that his fingers were already black when he got on the bus. Finally, we figured out that he was picking at the sealant around the windows while he was waiting in the hallway for his bus. His teacher swore they'd keep a better eye on him...but it kept happening. Every now and then, my poor kid would come off the bus with black fingers and black lips from trying to get it out from under his fingers.

I'd call...and call...and call again. I find it to be a quite reasonable request for a teacher to watch a special needs child closely enough that he isn't sticking window sealant into his mouth. Every time, she swears she'll direct her aides to watch him more closely...well the other day, it fucking happened again. So I called...again.

K: "Hi Miss [SPED], this is [K].
MS: "Oh hello Mrs. [K].
K: "Listen, [Middle Child] came home with that black stuff all over his fingers again.
MS: "Oh yes...he gets into the windows while we're waiting for the bus."
K: "Yeah, I know how it's happening."
MS: "Well his bus always comes last...we keep complaining to the bus company..."
K: "I understand. But what I need is for him not to get into the windows anymore."
MS: "But he's really sneaky about it..."
K: [starting to cop attitude] "Yeah, well he doesn't know any better."
MS: "Oh I know...but it's so difficult..."
K: "I appreciate any effort you can give. I don't think that stuff is good for him."
MS: "We'll do what we can. But he's sneaky."
K: [hangs up before telling Miss Sped to fuck off]

Am I nuts? What the fuck? So if he gets into the janitor's closet and starts drinking bleach, it's his fault because he's SNEAKY? Isn't public school grand?

I think Ghengis is mad at me...

2006-12-01T00:51:00.000-05:00

I was at work the other day, talking to a coworker of mine who has dealings with Ghengis in our other office (as you may recall, Ghengis was the one who set me up with the interview and such. I owe him, like, a bundt cake or something). We were discussing the new PS3, and the conversation wandered off to the Nintendo Wii and shit like that...when he suddenly started selling Ghengis and his video game habits right down the river. Apparently, Ghengis is the proud owner of "Guitar Hero," which is a Playstation game that comes with a toy guitar so you can pretend to rock out to fabulous hits such as More Than a Feeling and Sharp Dressed Man.

The mental picture was almost too much. I was actually considering this game for Oldest Child, who is 8...never did the thought of grown men owning such things cross my mind. Clearly, I could not let this go unacknowledged, so I sent him a short email this morning entitled "What's up, Guitar Hero?" Anyone who knows me well knows that this is a standard, and harmless, K ribbing. If you're on the receiving end, consider yourself loved.

He tersely replied that it was a great game, and that the coworker-guy likes to run his mouth. I then proceeded to rib him about buying a Nintendo Wii, and he got even more defensive.

Finally, I playfully accused him of owning Dance Dance Revolution. He stopped replying.

I kinda felt bad at that point...perhaps this is a "guy" thing that I was not supposed to know about. Do men have secret "Guitar Hero" duels on the weekends, between bar-hopping and football? Fucked if I know, but I started over-thinking the whole thing and became sincerely concerned that I bruised his ego. If he wants to prance around his living room, wailing on a 3/4 scale Gibson with no strings, who am I to mock? It's really no different than the hairbrush that we have all used as a microphone, the steering wheel that serves as a drum, and the shower that makes you feel like you actually can warble those Celine Dion high notes without completely embarrassing yourself. Man, am I a bitch or what. I am not one to piss in anyone's cheerios, but I felt as though I'd throughly soaked his.

So Ghengis...I don't even know if you read this anymore, but I'm sorry I picked on you. I pledge to never question your gaming habits ever again, and to be supportive and nonjudgmental of whatever it is that you do in your spare time, even if it is a little "different." Cuz that's how GREAT of a friend I am. In fact, let's duel motherfucker...Fly to the Angels shall we?

Random Childhood Memories, Vol. 2

2006-11-30T00:17:00.000-05:00

My teacher in Kindergarten was named Miss Patrick. All the other Kindergarten teachers carried stop signs to use while the children were in line, but not Miss Patrick; she held up a giant cardboard cut out of an ice cream cone...it was strawberry, I remember this distinctly.

"When I hold this up, it doesn't mean it's time to eat...it means it's time to stop. and when I say 'ice cream' you should stop what you're doing and look at me." We'd be on the playground, and all the other kids would look over like what the FUCK when she whipped out the strawberry ice cream.

Bitch, if you want us to stop, why the fuck can't you just say STOP? I'd bet my ass she's still teaching someplace, fucking with little kids' heads with her giant cardboard ice cream. TO THIS DAY, if someone says the words 'ice cream' I immediately think 'STOP'. I guess it's a good thing she didn't try out some Pavlovian shit on us or I might be drooling instead.

Miss Patrick was an asshole outside of the whole ice cream thing, too. She rushed us at lunch time so we'd get to recess faster, where she would dump us off on her aide for half an hour. I could never finish my peanut butter sandwich in time, so I'd finish it on the bus on the way home. These identical 2nd grade twins used to scream "PEANUT BUTTER FACE!!!" in perfect unison out the school bus window as I ran down my driveway at the end of the day. One day my mom saw and screamed if they didn't shut their fucking mouths that she was going to run their dog over with her car. They stopped. Mom was kind of a weirdo like that.

She's lump...she's lump...she's lump...

2006-11-29T19:50:00.000-05:00

I apparently have a lump in the vag again. Some of you may recall last year's lump incident, but while that one was about the size of a seed bead, this one is about the size of a pea. Probably nothing, but best to check.

The husband found it. I had just worked him over with some oral magic and he was going in for the kill when he whipped his hand back like it was on fire.

H: "You've got a lump in there!"
K: "Really? Where?"
H: [pushes on it] "There."
K: [feels around] "Oh yeah, huh, whaddya know."
H: "That wasn't there before. Are you gonna call the doctor?"
K: "Yeah, yeah, I'll call Monday." [continues to grope husband]
H: [mini-H deflating fast, despite best efforts] "Aren't you worried?"
K: "There's not a fuckin' thing I can do about it until Monday, can we just do this?"
H: [mini-H reaches maximum flaccidity] "Well what do you think it is, should we google it?"
K: "Dude, whatever, I can do that later...can you just fuck me now?"
H: [looks down] "We're gonna have to start over..."
K: "It's probably nothing, can't worry about it now...God, the least you could do is give a girl her last big O before she dies of hoo-ha cancer."

He didn't like that.

He's worried, and that's sweet, but girls have so many defective parts that bumps pop up in the oddest of places and disappear like they were never there sometimes...so it's most likely nothing. So I see the miniature Asian man with small hands tomorrow, and hopefully he'll keep his lube prescription to himself this time.

Dogs

2006-11-28T21:45:00.000-05:00

I was puttering around a message board and came across a post from this woman who had recently spent 2 grand on treatment for her two cats. She posted that she was having trouble getting one of the cats to take his anti-nausea pills (they MAKE those for cats?), and someone suggested that she get the suppository version...since the in hole ain't workin', try the out hole right? Well this reminded me of my Grandma and her dog Mikey. For those who have followed my blog for a while, this is Grandma of Hooters and Meet The Fuckers fame.

My Grandma used to have this dog, Mikey...I think it was some kind of terrier mutt, small, white, real mangy looking. Well Mikey was kinda high strung and prone to these fits where he'd flip the fuck out and run all over the house like a maniac, then he'd stop and twitch for a while with his tongue hanging out before passing out from sheer exhaustion. He was also one to pick fights with the neighborhood doberman, who literally shit bigger than Mikey...Grandma tells this story about the time the doberman really fucked Mikey up, and she had to stuff his eyeball back into the socket when he came home. This is a woman who to this day will stick her bare finger into a diaper to determine if shit is present, needless to say the old bat has a strong stomach.

Anyway, Mikey really hated thunderstorms, and would do his flip-the-fuck-out routine for the entire night and Grandma wouldn't get any sleep. Grams was a bit of a pill popper at the time...well, a lot of a pill popper truth be told, she was doing the Elvis Presley routine of uppers during the day and downers at night...so she decided to share the wealth with Mikey and started stuffing half quaaludes up his ass whenever it rained. After a few months of this, Mikey was noticeably calmer, but he drooled and twitched a lot more and started spontaneously pissing himself when you turned a light on. Really odd. I was probably only 6 years old when all this went on, but I remember thinking that maybe dogs shouldn't have pills up their poo-hole.

My dad, years later, named his youngest son Mikey. I don't think he named him after the pill popping dog, but I can't help but think of that weird little mutt every time I see my brother.

Now that I've conjured up this particular memory, I'm sitting here wishing I had some normal childhood stories...like apple picking or baking cookies or something. What the fuck?

Welcome to the real world.

2006-11-18T17:03:00.000-05:00

Well I ran into my first bit of corporate bullshit this week. Not going into too much detail, let's just say that a certain manager of another department was offended when I leaned forward onto the conference table and rested my head on my hand as I looked up at the projector during an internal training meeting. He told my boss, the VP, that it looked as though I was "napping." Needless to say, I was horribly offended myself, and seeing as the guy was making off-color jokes and leaning way back in his chair with his hands behind his head the entire time, I'm kind of pissed that someone who has his own issues with professionalism had the gall to raise any question about mine.

I've also come to realize that about 20 people interviewed internally for my position, and that some of the unfriendliness I've been feeling is a direct result of that backlash. Great. Like that's even my fault.

I'm still training, and it's boring...but I'm trying to stay positive. I should start doing some real work, and having a little more autonomy, come January, but I fear that my ass will permanently conform to the "ergonomic" chairs in the conference room before that ever happens.

Best Day Ever

2006-11-11T09:39:00.000-05:00

The other day, Youngest Child was pulling some shit, as is customary...picking on Middle Child, stealing his toys, following him around. Middle Child doesn't really talk, so he just generally points and screams as his means on "telling on" the little demon.

The husband yelled at Youngest Child, told him to go sit in time out and sent him on his way, much to his chagrine. He's crying, carrying on, saying Daddy's mean...Middle Child comes out of the bedroom with a big smile on his face, steps over Youngest Child (who was having a tantrum on the floor), singing the melody to "The Best Day Ever" from Spongebob Squarepants.

SpongeBob Best Day Ever (for those not familiar)

YC: "THTOP IT!!!!"
MD: "Ih uh essss aaaaayyyy eeeeeee rrrrrrrrr....."
YC: "THTOOOOOOOOOOP IT!!!!"

When you can't talk, you get satisfaction where you can.

Update

2006-11-04T13:43:00.000-05:00

Well week 1 at the new job is complete, and I've not been fired, so that's positive. Sadly, I was unable to give hellhole the notice they so richly did NOT deserve, but I can't seem to muster up any guilt over that.

I had full intention of giving a week of notice...standard for a part time gig. I walked in Monday and could not get my boss alone to save my life. It was a busy night, and when I finally did get her attention, she gave me a rash of shit about something that wasn't even my fault. Then she started being rude to the people who worked for me. Then she started saying over and over, "Well I'm not going to be here tomorrow night, so you'd better get suchandsuch resolved before then," basically rubbing it in that she gets to be home with her kid for Halloween and the rest of us couldn't because she wouldn't give us the night off. Every time she decided to unleash her inner bitch on me, I just smiled. I walked out that night with no intention of ever going back.

The next day (Halloween), I called in sick at 2pm (my shift starts at 5, plenty of time to call in a replacement) and enjoyed Trick or Treating with my kids. I came home to several angry messages...delete...delete...

Wednesday, I drove over to HR after I got home from work and dropped off my letter of resignation. More angry messages. Delete...chuckle...delete...delete...

Haven't heard anything since then. I would say I've burned that bridge right down to the ground. Fuck them anyway. The only thing that bothers me is that I've NEVER bagged on a job like that and that it would have been better to go in and face the music, but I just couldn't deal with a bunch of guilt trips from people that I don't even like. I don't make purely selfish decisions often, so I'm allowed every now and then.

The job is good, I really like the people I work with, and the commute isn't bad at all...little to no traffic. I won't start taking on clients until I'm fully trained (probably January), but I have a pretty good idea of what I'll be doing and I have no regrets.

I'm trying to stay positive and stop expecting some shit to hit the fan...as it usually does...but with my luck, who knows.

Tonight I'm stuck going to a birthday party at a bowling alley with all three of my demons. That should turn into a good story, I'll keep you posted.

Serious Preparations

2006-10-29T12:23:00.000-05:00

In anticipation of my first day on the job tomorrow, I have done many relevant and important things to prepare.

1) Kohl's was having a killer sale, so in the last week I have purchased several pairs of pants, 6 shirts and various matching accessories.

2) As is customary, I purchased a new purse to go with aforementioned new clothing. This was actually quite a find, as it came with matching accessories, such as cosmetic case and cell phone holder. SCORE!

3) I then realized that the shoes I have simply won't do. Payless was having BOGO, so I got 2 pairs of shoes in black and brown that are quite comfy. I actually shopped around at some more expensive places, fully willing to pay more, but I've found that Payless actually has more comfortable and durable shoes. $22 bucks for 2 pairs of loafers? How can you beat THAT?

You would think I'd be doing something logical, like brushing up on Excel or gathering necessary paperwork...but no, excitement has reduced me to being a girl.

I think I need trouser socks now. Shit. BRB.

I got it.

2006-10-26T12:17:00.000-04:00

(happy dance)

Now the only question that remains...do I give the hellhole notice, or do I waltz in and moon the manager? Thoughts?

Waiting

2006-10-23T14:43:00.000-04:00

According to my insider info, an offer is being worked up today. Whether I'll see it today or not, I don't know, but it's COMING! I've relaxed a bit, but I'm still ready to jump out of my skin. I really wanted to go into the hellhole tonight and tell them to kiss my ass, but I'm still waiting.

Now it's just a matter of how much they're going to offer. God, I'm going to puke. NOW DAMMIT, NOW!!!

It's that time of year again...

2006-10-22T15:51:00.000-04:00

Some of you may remember last year's craft fair adventure with Yvonne. Now, I had no intention of going again this year, (they sucked me in with their homemade chocolate and floral arrangements once, but never again!) but Youngest Child yanked the carrot nose right off of my poor little snowman head, so I knew I had to go see Snowman Lady for a replacement. I forgot all about the craft fair, however, until Yvonne called me up on Thursday.

Y: "K, what are you doing Saturday?"
K: [suddenly remembers] "SHIT! Craft fair."
Y: "Yup."
K: "You whore! Why didn't you remind me?"
Y: "Bitch, I'm not your social planner. Are you going or what?"
K: "Dunno. Let me check with the husband."

So I checked the husband's schedule and managed to schedule a couple of hours to hang with the old bitties in a land filled with hand-carved "Welcome" signs and scarves with love in the stitches. Snowman Lady, here I come.

As you may recall, I had two resolutions for future craft fair attendance: 1) arrive earlier and 2) bring a bigger bag. I handled #1 by arriving right at 9am and cutting further up into line with early birds Yvonne & Hazel, giant tote bag over my shoulder. I got some very dirty looks from several freezing old ladies clutching Dunkin' Donuts coffees, but I stared them down and they went back to yacking about the topic du jour: Snowman Lady. Seems everyone in the line was prepared to rush downstairs to grab armloads of handmade snow people come hell or high water. I knew that I would have to really be on top of my game to get what I needed this year.

The doors opened and the crowd was off; down the stairs and through the maze of hallways to snowman paradise. We passed by Yvonne's mother and her friend Gigi on the way there, and having been at the front of the line, they'd already surveyed Snowman Lady's wares.

G: "You guys JUST got in?"
Y: "Uh, yeah. It's only 9:05."
G: "Well good luck."
K: "Why?"
G: [chuckling] "She won't have anything left by the time you get there!"

They wandered off, bags in hand, muttering about "amateurs." We walked faster, filled with the terror of my snowman head being out of stock. We rounded the corner to find a line 20 bitties deep, all with various puffy white objects clutched in their wrinkly little hands. It was officially ON.

I quickly surveyed the remaining merchandise to find an identical snowman to the one I'd bought last year. I reached over a head of blue hair and snatched it with triumph. Yvonne tisked and insisted that I get something different, so I begrudgingly chose another color and put the original one back (and was immediately snagged by someone else). I clutched my snowman and stood in the line to pay while Yvonne and Hazel continued browsing.

As I waited for Yvonne to pay, I spotted a cute little stuffed gingerbread person wearing a chef hat and an apron that I just had to have. But the line was so friggin' long...

Alarmed, I spun around and saw Yvonne getting her total from Snowman Lady.

K: "WAIT!!! WAIT!!!!"
Y: "Huh???"
K: "You have to get this for me. I'll give you the money!"

Unable to fight my way through the sea of bitties, I literally had to throw it to her. It was like watching a football pass in slow motion on ESPN. She snatched it out of the air and dropped it on the counter. Gingerbread person was MINE. I happily took my prize from her as we walked to the next crafter.

I picked up a few nice items, but once again, the highlight was Snowman Lady. I heart that bitty, I do.

Freaking

2006-10-22T09:54:00.000-04:00

I'm supposed to hear for sure tomorrow whether or not I have this job. I interviewed with four people, got along famously with each, and was flat out told that I am the "ideal candidate for the job" by three of them. Ghengis tells me this is pretty much a done deal, but I am not counting my chickens until I have an offer in my hands.

I think he's under the impression that I'm not excited about it. He keeps asking me if I am, and I guess I've been non-committal and perhaps a little too cool...right up until my last interview on Friday, I was very level-headed with an "if it happens, it happens" attitude, but right now I want this job so badly I can taste it.

I've come to the conclusion that I'm afraid to care about anything because I know from experience that it will eventually blow up in my face. I've lost jobs, been through rejection more times than I care to admit, watched my children struggle, and trudged my way through so much shit that I've come to expect anything and everything to go wrong. I'm pretty sure that makes me emotionally handicapped, and it pisses me off to no end. I've always been a bit of a pessimist, but never like this. I hate that this so-called "defense mechanism" has seemingly taken over my entire life.

So basically I've been reduced to a place where I feel like this ONE thing could turn it all around, and if it doesn't happen I'm just going to bed for a week. How UNBALANCED is that? I went one extreme of feeling like this will never work out because nothing ever does to planning out childcare and figuring out when I can quit the hellhole. My stomach is in knots. This just has to work out.

I conveyed a bit of this to Ghengis, and he said to me, "K, there is no other shoe to drop." He doesn't understand why I'm so tense about the whole thing, and I guess it's hard to explain. I wish I could just relax and believe him, but in my experience, even when both shoes have dropped, stray shoes seem to keep on finding me.

Interview. Not for teaching.

2006-10-18T09:42:00.000-04:00

The other night, I broke my wedding ring at the hellhole when I slammed my hand in a metal bin. It's fixable, but one of the prongs on the setting is bent and the band is snapped. I'm so pissed I can barely see straight. Now I have an impression on my ring finger and no ring to wear until it's fixed. So. Pissed.

Coinciding with my "last straw" ring mutilation, a good friend of mine got me an interview with his company tomorrow morning. It's a bit of a commute, but it sounds like the salary would be far beyond anything I would ever see teaching. Seeing as I'm working 2nd shift now (roughly 5:30-10:30), I barely see the kids as it is, so a regular day job may be the way to go. They're all in school now, so I'd just be looking at some after school care, which isn't bad since I have a great home daycare lady.

I'm just so sick of working in a place where I constantly ruin my khakis, tear up my hands, and come home looking like I just rolled around in dirt. That place sucks so fucking bad. I don't know if it sucks worse than it used to, or if I'm just at the end of my rope, but it's clear that I have to get the fuck out of there before I lose it.

The timing is a bit sucky, because of all the issues I'm having with Oldest Child, but I guess I'll worry about all that if I even get an offer.

Wish me luck. God knows I'll probably fuck this up too, but hope springs eternal.

Great. Just great.

2006-10-16T16:11:00.000-04:00

I received a call today that Oldest Child "trashed his classroom," and that I needed to come in. It's gotten so every time I see the school department on my caller ID I start having a panic attack...I used to get excited, thinking maybe it was a job opportunity, but now I know it's going to be nothing good. I packed up Youngest Child and headed in to survey the damage.

"Trashing the classroom" is apparently defined as 5 chairs tipped over and a pencil box tossed on the floor. He was annoying other students by waving his folder in their faces, and refusing to do his work. When I got there, the I asked the vice principal what normally happens to kids like this, and she informed me that he would go to an alternative classroom environment that normally is home to emotionally/mentally disturbed kids. My knees literally almost went out from under me.

He's never hurt anyone else...well, not intentionally, he did throw a pencil that ended up sticking a little girl in the neck...and I don't consider him dangerous, but apparently they do and they're documenting everything they can to support their case for shipping him away. Never would I classify him as mentally disturbed, but at the same time I recognize that I'm too close to this whole thing to be 100% objective. The thought of him being in such a place is making me want to throw up.

So now the fight is not to get him the services he needs, but to keep him out of an alternative school where I'm terrified that he will leave worse off than when he goes in.

So much for Harvard.

0 for 3

2006-10-10T10:30:00.000-04:00

Today we had a meeting about Oldest Child's struggles in school. I went in with a tiny bit of a 'tude (after last week's incident, I guess I was a bit on the defensive), very much against referring him for a special ed evaluation...and left handing the vice principal a letter requesting the full work up. I didn't want to do it, but I feel we have no choice.

He's been throwing chairs, pencils, books...the same little girl's whose hair he cut last week ended up with a pencil stuck in her NECK a few days ago, which I knew nothing about until today. He refuses to do his work, he purposely distracts the other children, and he actually had the gall to go into the teacher's desk to retrieve his confiscated Yu Gi Oh card collection (which he knew he shouldn't have brought to school in the first place). My husband and I sat in horror as we listened to the summary of his recent behavior.

Perhaps it's because my other two children are already on education plans that I was so reluctant to request one for him...logically, I know better than that, I know that what matters is the best interests of the child and getting him the services that he needs...but by putting in that request it's almost like admitting failure as a parent. I should have done better. I fucked up yet again.

So I've got 2 children on the autism spectrum as it is, with ed plans in place...now the one kid I thought would be ok is going down the same path. I'm starting to think I'm genetically defective or that I didn't take enough vitamins while I was pregnant. Perhaps I wronged somebody really important in a previous life, and my punishment is having to watch my children struggle. Who knows, but I think I'd better find a Mistress Cleo type to cleanse my aura before something else goes wrong, just to be safe.

Look what the husband made me

2006-10-08T21:17:00.000-04:00

He built the box for the valance, and put notches in it so it could rest on the trim, wrapped it with a thin foam, then wrapped it with the material I picked out, covered the seams with the wood pieces that are painted to match the crown molding and the walls and screwed it into the wall.

He's a good doobie. This place looks less white trash every day.

Mashed Potato Martini Bar!

2006-10-08T11:51:00.000-04:00

I got dragged to a wedding last night, and was introduced to the single most awesome thing I've ever seen at a catered event: The Mashed Potato Martini Bar.

You get a martini glass, a scoop of mashed potatoes, and a selection of toppings for your starch-filled treat. Various veggies, sauces, bacon bits, sour cream...it was seriously the coolest thing I've seen in a while, and it was a huge hit.

My girlfriend and I (she's the one who dragged me as her "date") were completely in awe. This wedding was at the snootiest country club in the state, so of course we got some rolling eyes from the wait staff as we fawned over the mashed potatoes.

Anyway, it was kind of a bore, as I didn't know too many people (my prom date was there, though...good God), but I did get some incriminating video from the dance floor that I thought I'd share. The lighting is poor, but you get the idea.

Here we see the groom and 2 of his friends getting down and dirty to "Dancing Queen" by Abba. Apparently, they requested it.

And then we had the chubby accountant leading a stirring rendition of the "Cotton Eye Joe" dance.

Finally, we had a full out performance of "Ice Ice Baby."

They opted not to have a videographer (probably to avoid the capture of moments such as these) but never fear...K was on the case.

Perhaps I'm mean to laugh. But what's the point of going to a wedding where you don't know anybody if you can't make fun of a few drunks? If I did some horrible dance to "Ice Ice Baby" then I personally would not blame anyone for pointing and laughing.

Problem Child

2006-10-05T13:55:00.000-04:00

Today the husband and I headed in to our sons' school for a meeting about Youngest Child's progress in preschool. As we sat outside the office, I heard voices and saw Oldest Child's teacher standing in the hallway, speaking to 2 people from the central office downtown.

It was clear that they were from the Special Education department, and that his teacher was talking about a problem child, diagnosed with ADHD and a recent transfer to the school. It was apparent, after a minute or so, that she was talking about our son.

She went on about how he's out of control, that she doesn't know what to do with him, and that she's "keeping a log" of every little thing he does that is inappropriate or against the rules. The other people in the conversation were like, "Oh yes, you do what you have to do," nodding in agreement and sighing with those "Oh you poor thing" kind of looks on their faces. She went on for about 10 minutes about how awful he is. We just sat there and stared at the wall. I looked over at the husband, and I don't think I've seen him that sad in quite a while.

Oldest Child is 8, but he reads at a 5th grade level. We've never had his IQ tested, but I would dare to guess that it is far above those of his peers. He's been medicated since he was 4, and has a lot of social issues, but this change in school has really hit him hard and he's been acting out all over the place, at home and at school. His neurologist has suggested a mood disorder, possibly even Asperger's Syndrome (a form of autism)...me, I'm seeing a sad and angry little kid who has no idea how to deal with his frustrations. Apparently, all his teacher sees is a huge pain in the ass that she'd rather have out of her class.

She wrapped up her conversation and turned around. From the look on her face, she looked about ready to shit twinkies at the thought of us having heard every word that she said about our son. She pretty much pretended that it didn't happen, proceeded to tell us about how he threw something that morning, and was quickly on her way.

I am not a parent who thinks my child can do no wrong. I know he can do plenty of wrong, but I also know that he has a hard time determining exactly what wrong is. I don't understand why we feel the need to LABEL every kid who has a hard time in school, be it academically or socially. Why do we need to slap a label on him every time he pulls his shit? Oppositional Defiant Disorder, ADHD, Autism...every time he acts out, there's a new name for it. What ever happened to, "He's a kid, we'll punish him, and he'll straighten up." Why does everyone want him on a new med every time he is difficult? It's all about instant gratification, the quick fix, forcing a square peg into round hole by shaving it down by any means necessary.

I understand that his behavior is a problem, but I don't understand how he became the topic of water cooler conversation within earshot of everyone who walked by. I realize that these conversations go on...hell, I've HAD these kinds of conversations with fellow teachers...but hearing it about your own child is far more difficult that I ever would have imagined. And I refuse to fill him full of narcotics just so his teacher can have an easier time.

What?

2006-10-04T09:40:00.000-04:00

This morning, Youngest Child was watching It's a Big Big World on PBS. Now, we've generally never been a PBS family (my demons have generally preferred Nickelodeon), but lately Youngest Child is all about it. I commented to the husband, who was getting ready to leave for work, that this particular show seemed to be a cross between Fraggle Rock and Bear in the Big Blue House.

H: "Have you seen that other show, with the balls?"
K: "With the WHAT?"
H: "The balls. One of the balls is red, and it has a beak."
K: "So the balls talk?"
H: "Yeah, they're like ducks or something."
K: "Ducks."
H: "And there's this other ball...it's yellow..."
K: "Does it have a beak as well?"
H: "It's kind of pear shaped. With a beak."
K: [laughing hysterically]
H: "I'm SERIOUS! And then there's a blue one..."
K: "Another beaked ball?"
H: "Yeah. But this one is retarded."
K: [hyperventilating] "WHAT?"
H: "The blue one, it's 'special' or something. I don't know."
K: "And what channel is this on?"
H: "I don't fuckin' know. But it's stupid."

If anyone knows what show my husband is referring to...PLEASE...leave a comment. This I gotta see.

No inspiration...

2006-10-03T14:24:00.000-04:00

I've been a bit MIA as of late...I started a "new" job (I took a job as a supervisor on a different shift, as the motherfuckers completely screwed me over on my old shift), my oldest son has been getting in constant trouble at school (suspended today for cutting a little girl's hair...HA! We're so proud.), and my house is a shambles from various remodeling projects we have going on.

I still have no teaching job, in fact I've not gotten a call for an interview since the last rejection debaucle. I start subbing again next week, which I really hoped I wouldn't have to go back to, but here I am. $80 a day and a bunch of little bastards telling me I'm not the "boss" of them, woooooooo, can't wait.

My birthday was a few weeks ago, even THAT sucked. Historically, my birthday has always been a fucking disaster. On my 25th birthday, I got my first antidepressants; on my 28th, I got a speeding ticket, and this year was no different.

The day started out nicely enough, I had lunch with my godmother and went shopping. She's the only one in my family who still treats me like a kid on my birthday, and it's kind of nice. I got home, and the husband took me out shopping for a new digital camera, as Middle Child murdered it last month (along with the cake topper from my wedding and an antique Japanese screen...aaaaaahhhhhhh). We went to three different places before finally deciding on a very nice Olympus with 15x zoom and tons of nifty little useless features. We stood at the counter at Best Buy, practically waving money around to get some attention (the lone salesperson was busy with some guy browsing for a camcorder), for a solid half an hour when I finally went over to customer service.

K: "Hi. We'd like to spend money. Can someone else help us over at the camera counter?"
CS: "No."
K: "Um. What?"
CS: "There's only one person working over there tonight."
K: "Look, we know exactly what we want, we're not looking for someone to hold our hand like the dude with the camcorders over there. We just need someone to get it out of the case and ring it up."
CS: "We can't do that."
K: [glancing over at the 5 guys in blue shirts doing nothing over by the computers] "So none of those hardworking fellas over there can scoot on over and help us out?"
CS: "No."
K: "So you'd rather I not spend $300 in your store."
CS: "Uhhhh..."
K: [storms off pissed]

We gave it 5 more minutes and were just about to leave [camcorder guy was still hemming and hawing between 3 models...I wanted to stab him in the eye with my car keys] when a Blue Shirt swooped in and offered to help us. Halle-fuckin-lujah. We pointed out the model and he got kinds stiff.

BS: "Ummm..."
K: "Christ. What."
BS: "I think we're out of stock..."
K: "WHAT???"
BS: [opens case] "Yup. Fresh out. You can order it online though."
K: "I'D RATHER DRIVE NAILS INTO MY EYEBALLS. WE'RE SO OUT OF HERE!!!"

So we stormed off, me ranting about how I'd never set foot in that shithole ever again for as long as I lived. I'm fairly certain I scared several small children on my way out.

Needless to say, I will never buy another thing at that place again. Every time I've ever been there, it's been the same story; not enough help, lousy customer service, and long lines. Fuck that place. I got the camera from Amazon 20 bucks cheaper and shipped for free, so FUCK YOU BEST BUY. Fuck you AND your seductively low prices.

I was in the worst mood the rest of the night, and drowned my sorrows in an alcoholic beverage at The Outback. Another birthday, full of suckage.

If I have anything interesting to write about, I'll be sure to check in. Right now...NADA.

Fear, Violence, and Religion

2006-09-17T12:08:00.000-04:00

I've always been put off by the major organized religions. Catholics (which I am), for example, seem to gather support by instilling the fear of going to hell (and let's not forget those dirty pedophile priests). Jehovah's Witnesses and Mormons (at least in my town) actively recruit with pushy door-to-door tactics. I've never felt that I needed to sit in a church and hand over large chunks of my paycheck to have a relationship with God, but that's just me. As far as the Muslim faith is concerned...well, I'll be honest in saying I don't know very much about the Muslim faith...but it does seem that it is marked by extremism and violence when things don't go a certain way. They call it "jihad," a blanket term that can mean anything from ongoing peaceful struggle to full out bloodshed. I call it a sorry excuse to have a temper tantrum with explosives.

Take for example the reaction to the Pope's comments this week:

CNN

How many times have important figures in the Muslim faith denounced Christians publicly...yet they get pissy when someone throws a stone back in their direction. And now that the Pope hasn't apologized sufficiently (as far as they're concerned), extremists are going to run around killing people until he does.

"If the pope does not apologize, Muslims' anger will continue until he becomes remorseful."

The Muslim community at large is pissed at the Pope for saying that their religion has been historically spread by violence, yet they are resorting to violence to force an apology?

If an important figurehead in the Muslim community had said something similar about Christians, it wouldn't even have been a blip on the radar. The Pope certainly wouldn't be calling for his followers to start blowing up mosques and gunning down innocent people.

The Muslim community wonders why the rest of the world views them negatively in general. How are we to understand their beliefs if their first reaction to any kind of criticism is to blow shit up?

Before anyone gets pissy with me, I'm not saying that all Muslims are terrorists or that they are bad people, just as I am a Catholic and I don't run around molesting altar boys. I just find it sad that those who are considered leaders of the Muslim faith aren't more responsible in their rhetoric, and that they passively encourage violence among their followers.

It's shit like this that will bring on the end of the world. I think we're definitely on the path.

Religion, in my opinion, should be about helping people, the greater good, spirituality, finding peace...all that happy crap. Why is it that NONE of the leaders of mainstream religions seems to be interested in these things???

Dog Butts & Maggots

2006-09-10T13:55:00.000-04:00

A Comcast customer from Castro Valley, California found me with this query. Fabulous.

With her finger and her thumb in the shape of an L on her forehead...

2006-09-08T16:12:00.000-04:00

Fuck.

[cry]

Crap.

2006-09-08T12:19:00.000-04:00

So I had my interview this morning. Turns out the position is in a middle school, tutoring ESL students. I have no idea why they called me, since I have no experience teaching middle school, nor as a tutor, nor as an ESL teacher, nor does my certification cover middle school. Odd. But the interview itself seemed to go well, and they sure seemed desperate, and I'm supposed to get a call by the end of the day.

My 300th post

2006-09-07T19:02:00.000-04:00

I had hoped it would be something far more interesting, but alas, here it is. Thank you to those 75 or so people who still loyally check my blog, even though this place has pretty much turned into Fresh sKWeez'd weekly. You guys rock.

I talked to some higher-ups at work (people I've worked for in the past who are pulling for my promotion) and someone must have talked to my pieceofshit boss, because he's now decided to review my packet tomorrow night as opposed to in 2 weeks. Thank you for your positive thoughts, and a special thanks to Sue, Sandi and Riss for their kind words...a special shout out to Riss for so eloquently (and violently) using filthy language to describe the goat fucker. It brought a smile.

Tomorrow morning (9am sharp, no sleep for me...AGAIN!) I have an interview for a tutor position. 20 hours a week, 30 bucks an hour. Unemployed loser say WHAT!?! If I get this job, I'd have the best of both worlds: great health insurance (which is pretty much all the hellhole is good for) and between the two jobs I'd FINALLY be making decent money.

There is light in my tunnel, I don't dare to hope. Pray that I don't fuck this up, you guys.

Hellhole Strikes Again

2006-09-02T12:09:00.000-04:00

For the last month, I have been working as a menial wage-laborer in preparation for being re-promoted to being a supervisor. I took a huge pay cut, and was told from the very beginning that the supervisor job was mine and that me working was just a matter of paperwork and a bunch of union crap. Whatever. I've been busting my ass, running around like a nut, and doing a good job while I am stuck in the position I'm in. It's not like I'm biding my time and doing the bare minimum, because that's not who I am. When I do something, I do it right. Never mind that my paperwork was screwed up by some clerk and I have yet to get paid even after a month of working, never mind that I have been jerked around and told a dozen different stories about when I would be promoted...I do my job well.

Monday, I came back from a few days off (I had management approval to take the week off, and was told I'd be promoted the week I came back) to find that the job I was supposed to have was given away to some bald-headed teenaged guy. I didn't even hear this from management, I heard it from another hourly employee. Needless to say, I was upset, as that position was promised to me by the manager weeks ago.

The whole week, my boss blew smoke up my ass, telling me that he was waiting on my paperwork to sign off so I could be promoted. He played it off like it was no big deal, and that it was in fact a done deal. I waited, and waited. Thursday came, nothing.

Thursday night, for some reason, my boss was really riding my ass. He had me doing the work of 2 people, and it was a bit much for me. I was coming off of a week of bronchitis, and I've been really tired lately adjusting to the vampire schedule, and HELLO I'm a chubby chick, so running around like a nut is a bit rough for me in my already compromised respiratory state. I asked him to ease up on me a bit, and was very honest in telling him it was too much for me. He told me to suck it up. He was so callous about it that I actually left work in tears. And that is something I simply don't do.

I came in last night and he said that he wouldn't have me doing 2 jobs that evening because "he doesn't want me to get all upset again," since I'm apparently an hysterical female who needs to be handled. At the end of the night, he called me into the office to go over my supervisor paperwork, and he informed me that he would not be approving it at this time. Based on the incident the night before, he thinks I have a "bad attitude," that I am "unable to multitask," that I am "taking for granted that I was a supervisor previously," and that he "doesn't feel that I respect him." He said that he will review me again in 2 weeks, during which time I'm "just going to have to impress him."

I feel ill.

I don't kiss ass, that's not who I am. Everyone I've ever worked for in that company has had nothing but good things to say about me and my work. I had a glowing performance review just before I left, and was given the maximum raise. I was Supervisor of the Month for fuck's sake, yet this piece of shit eg0-laden powertripper thinks I am not ready to be a supervisor because I have no interest in standing around and listening to his stupid stories about his master's degree and his son and how he's a single father and wah wah wah. For 2 weeks, I am supposed to "impress" him, and all I want to do is punch him in the nuts.

I came home bawling. The husband wants to find the guy and beat the hell out of him. As attractive as that sounds, I know it would solve nothing. He also thinks that unless I can get this resolved with the powers that be (who were all on vacation this week) on Tuesday, that I should just quit.

I don't see how quitting is an option. I am jobless. My kids need the health insurance. I won't find another part-time job that offers benefits, so I'm looking at doing the normal 9-5 thing, which would take me out of the running for teaching jobs. I feel like I've worked too hard and put up with too much bullshit to give up on that. I don't have the luxury of telling pencildick to go fuck himself, I need the job.

I'm starting to cry again just thinking about going back there on Tuesday. Why can't anything just go smoothly? I'm sick of being told that I'm not good enough in EVERY FUCKING ASPECT OF MY LIFE. I'm sick of feeling like a failure.

Bwahahahahahaha

2006-08-28T18:28:00.000-04:00

Woman Crashes When Teaching Dog to Drive

By Associated Press

Mon Aug 28, 8:13 AM

BEIJING - A woman in Hohhot, the capital of north China's Inner Mongolia region, crashed her car while giving her dog a driving lesson, the official Xinhua News Agency said Monday.

No injuries were reported although both vehicles were slightly damaged, it said.

The woman, identified only be her surname, Li, said her dog "was fond of crouching on the steering wheel and often watched her drive," according to Xinhua.

"She thought she would let the dog 'have a try' while she operated the accelerator and brake," the report said. "They did not make it far before crashing into an oncoming car."

Xinhua did not say what kind of dog or vehicles were involved but Li paid for repairs.

I don't have much to say about this except...

Another week of family vacation hell...

2006-08-19T23:21:00.000-04:00

We're leaving tomorrow to go camping for the week. I'm sure there will be something hellishly worthy of writing about when we get back. You can get the stories of last year's family hell (and the year before, for that matter) in the August 2005 archives, if you so desire.

Anyway, the hellhole is still hell, I'm still without a phone call for a teaching job, and I spent the last 3 days fighting off a cold. Oh yeah, and I'm PMS'ing, due for the visit from Aunt Flo on Monday, much to the husband' s chagrine. No vacation sex for him I guess.

So I leave you with a fairly hilarious video I found on compfused. Since we're probably taking the kids to a water park during our grand family adventures, I found it appropriate.

Fun With Slides

Watch Video

The Chronicles of Hellhole: Day 4

2006-08-11T18:45:00.000-04:00

It was a short night, thankfully, as my supervisor took mercy on me and let me go at about 1am (as opposed to 3:15, as is normal). As I was walking out, my previous supervisor, Kevin (you know, back when I wore a polo shirt and didn't break my nails) saw me coming and made a big gesture of looking at his watch. You see, the management is taking a lot of joy in ribbing me for being knocked back to being an hourly employee, and they throw out comments every chance they get. Aren't they sweet?

Kevin: [looking at watch] "Where do you think you're going?"
K: "Kevin, this right here is the beauty of being completely unimportant."
Kevin: "Well don't get used to it, lady. You'll be suffering with the rest of us soon enough."
K: "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind when I'm snug in my bed at 1:30."
Kevin: [smirks] "Eh, for $8.50, I guess you can have your early night this time."
K: "Yep. What time do you get out? 5 or so?"
Kevin: [smirk falls away] "More like 6."
K: "Well then I'll grab an extra pillow in your honor. 'Night Kevin!"

I ran out of there with glee. I'll take the small victories where I can, motherfuckers.

BJ's. Not that kind, pervert.

2006-08-11T14:43:00.000-04:00

We were down to practically nothing in the way of food, so I piled the kids into the car and headed to BJ's Wholesale Club, home of cheap booze and 50 packs of fruit snacks. As you know, I've gone back to working nights, so I wasn't exactly bright and chipper as it was...I just wanted to run in, get what we needed, and run out. Youngest Child insisted on the cart with the big plastic race car attached to it, much to Middle Child's chagrine, as he is now too tall for such novelties. Middle Child let his displeasure be known with loud and mournful wailing as we headed inside, drawing stares from everyone around us. Great. I made a mental note to NOT forget the 24 pack of Mike's that was singing to me from aisle 21a.

I stopped at the deli for a couple of pounds of Land 'o Lakes American for my growing brood. As I waited, I noticed a nice enough older guy manning one of the sample stations, so I was rather stunned when I heard the words "Fat bitch" come from his direction in a low and gutteral tone.

I spun around, ready to kick the guy in the nuts, when I noticed he wasn't facing my direction. In fact, he was busily folding napkins like nothing had been said at all. I started doubting myself...perhaps sleep deprivation was seriously taking its toll...but then I heard him say it again.

"Fat...fucking...BITCH!"

This lady walking by, who happened to be fat, stopped in her tracks. One of the other sample slingers came running over.

SS: "Now Bucky...what did we talk about?"
Bucky: "Fat..."
SS: "Noooo...Bucky...we talked about being quiet at work."
Bucky: "Bitch...fat..."
SS: "Bucky...you don't want to go out back, do you?
Bucky: "No. Quiet. Ok."
SS: "Good. I'll be back in a little while. Fold some more napkins."
Bucky: "Faaa...ok. Napkins."

At this point, it was clear that the poor bastard probably had something like Tourette's Syndrome, so I grabbed the kids and started rounding the corner as quickly as I could, giving a polite smile to Bucky, who smiled back nicely enough. Just then, another lady walked by.

Bucky: "Fat...BITCH!"
Lady: "WELL I NEVER!"
Bucky: "Would you like a sample?"

I looked back, doubled over as I tried to hold in my hysterics, and saw what he was passing out.

Tourette's guy was peddling Twix samples. Welcome to the world of employment without bias.

As was inevitable, a group of little girls came running up for their candy. I had my mouth open to warn their mother, who was trailing behind, when Bucky started up again.

Bucky: "Fat bitches! FAT BITCHES!!!"

Needless to say, they grabbed their candy and ran back to their mother. Sample Slinger came running over again to calm Bucky and his involuntarily foul mouth. I'd seen enough, and started heading to aisle 21a for a case of Mommy's Happy Juice.

As we ran away, I could still hear Bucky.

Bucky: "Would you like a sample? FAT BITCH!!!!"

He was led away shortly thereafter. It was a nice segue into a talk with Oldest Child about people who are handicapped and how we should be tolerant and as nice to them as we can be, as they sometimes can't help their own behavior.

OC: "But Mommy...he was saying BAD WORDS!"
K: "Yeah, but he couldn't help it. He has Tourette's."
OC: "So Mommy...do you have that too?"
K: "Keep walking, smart guy, or I'm putting the fruit snacks back."

The Chronicles of Hellhole: Days 1-3

2006-08-10T15:50:00.000-04:00

Day 1:

I showed up at the hellhole for processing, and was put into a room with 6 guys who were also starting work on Monday. As is customary in any work environment that is dominated by men, I got some pretty odd looks and smirks, and even a few hushed comments that my brainy male counterparts figured I wouldn't be able to hear from 6 feet away.

Guy1: "They hire girls up in this bitch?"
Guy2: "Well, you know how dey roll now...equal opportunity an' shit."
K: "Yeah, they do hire girls up in this bitch."
Guy1 & Guy2: [stare]
K: "Girls have excellent hearing, I'm not sure you knew."
Guy2: "Well hey, good luck to you. I hear some of dem packages are heavy like a mothafucka. You lift dat shit?"
K: "Yeah, I can lift that shit. Don't worry."

Just then, the recruiter walked in.

Recruiter: "K! How ya been?"
K: "Oh, I'm fabulous. Thrilled to be here."
Recruiter: "You're like a bad penny!"
K: "I know, right? I'll try harder to stay lost next time, trust me."

Guy1 and Guy2 were amazed at this point.

Guy1: "You worked here befo'?"
K: "Yep. For a couple of years."
Guy2: "So you already know what goes on in 'dis place?"
K: "I used to train the new hires. So yeah, I have a good idea."
Guy1: "So...how is it? Is it hard?"
K: "I've seen 6 foot 5 bodybuilder types walk out of here crying. So yeah."
Guy1: "Fo' REAL?"
K: "Yep. For real. We had a guy lose a finger last year."
Guy1 & Guy2: [stare in horror]
K: "But don't worry. I'm sure you'll be fine."

The human resources chick came in to escort us across the street to the main building, and she asked me if I'd mind giving the guys who had taken the bus a ride over, as she couldn't fit everyone into her car. I ended up with Guy1 & Guy2, of course, and they felt the need to pepper me with questions the whole time.

Guy1: "So, how come you work here?"
K: "I'm an unemployed teacher. I need the benefits."
Guy2: "A teacher? Fo' REAL?"
K: "Yes. For real. But I'm new, so I have to wait for a permanent job."
Guy2: "So, you been like to college an' shit?"
K: "Yup."
Guy1: "So why da FUCK you come back to a shithole like 'dis for $8.50 an hour?"
K: "Clearly, I'm retarded."
Guy1: "Word!"
K: "Indeed."

I bid my new friends adieu and headed into the coordinator's office, at which point I was told I'd be starting out as a supervisor, not as an hourly employee like I'd originally been told. Ok, whatever. I wasn't exactly properly attired, in my oversized t shirt and frayed jeans, but they still had me walk around my assigned area and introduce myself as the new supervisor. I even got to walk one of the conveyor belts at the end of the shift to check for stray packages. Exciting!

Day 2:

Coordinator: "So K, do you want the good news, or the bad news?"
K: "Oh for chrissake..."
Coordinator: "Bad news is that you have to be an hourly for a while."
K: [looks down at polo shirt and brand new khakis] "Ummmmm...."
Coordinator: "Good news is that I can get you promoted by the end of the month."
K: "Could you guys have called me and told me so I could have dressed down?"
Coordinator: "Oh, it's ok, I'll get you a t shirt."
K: "If it's one of those bright yellow safety shirts, I walk right now."
Coordinator: [laughs] "No, no, I'll get you a black one."
K: "Super."

I walked back up to my area, and started working, much to the confusion of the people to whom I'd introduced myself as a supervisor the night before. I got my brand new khakis all dirty too. Fuck.

Day 3

A normal night as a menial wage slave. Even though I had left the union at $10.50 per hour, I got knocked back down to $8.50. Pig fuckers. But whatever. It's only for a couple of weeks. I then found out that even though I'd gotten a raise just before I left the company, they are knocking my supervisor wages right back down to entry level. FUCKERS! God I hate this place.

Rat Bastards

2006-08-09T16:46:00.000-04:00

Dear Dr. Fuckhead,

I have requested that the medical records of all three of my children be transferred to Dr. Not A. Fuckhead in SumOtherTown, USA. We are not moving, nor has our insurance changed. Frankly, we are incredibly sad and disappointed at the treatment that our family has received in recent months, and no, I am not referring to the medical kind.

My husband and I were both patients with Fuckhead Pediatrics from birth. He saw Dr. Assbite, and I saw you. We had always experienced wonderful, personalized care from your practice, so naturally we wanted our own children to be treated there. Over the years, we’ve seen your practice grow practically exponentially…a new office in SumOtherTownFord, a new doctor every time we turn around, 3 month waits for physicals…all of this we accepted, as we valued the care we were receiving.

Seemingly overnight, we started seeing new signs on the wall. Additional fees for appointments after 5pm, for example…a $5 fee for a single photocopy of a physical form. We gritted our teeth and told ourselves, “Times are changing, costs are rising. It’s ok, we’ve been patients there for years and we can roll with the punches.” We figured this is just the way it is, and as long as our children were receiving quality care, it was worth it.

Then my son, MiddleChild, had an appointment on March 22nd, 2006, for a routine physical. During this visit, I asked you about a rash he had on his arm…you suggested hydrocortisone and moisturizer for his dry skin. 30 seconds of a casual question and answer from my son’s doctor, and you felt the need to code the visit in such a way that my insurance company was billed $75 in ADDITION to the $130 that was coming out of my own pocket for the visit. I was extremely disturbed by this impression of “double dipping” and I called your billing department to ask about it. The attitude was that I wasn’t getting charged for it, so I shouldn’t worry about it. The billing department told me that they would talk to you and get back to me, which they never did.

The final straw came today when I called to make an appointment for my youngest son’s physical and was told that there was a hold on my account due to the fact that we hadn’t paid for my other son’s physicals as of yet. I was under the impression that the account was still being researched, and hadn’t cut a check because I was waiting for that phone call back. I had planned on cutting a check when I brought YoungestChild in for his physical, but wasn’t even allowed to make an appointment.

We are not deadbeats. We have been loyal patients for over 30 years, and have never let our account go past due. I am absolutely horrified that I was coldly told that I had to contact billing before they could make my appointment.

Between exorbitant costs, your questionable billing practices, and the fact that the length of time that you spend on my sons’ visits seems to get shorter and shorter every year, we are moving on to a practice with only 3 doctors and a focus on personalized patient care. I am sad that it has come to this, but when it comes right down to it we are customers, and we are highly dissatisfied.

Since I have received no resolution from your billing department regarding the additional $75 charge, I have filed a grievance with ShitEatingInsuranceCompany. It is excessive and unnecessary charges such as this that add up and end up costing us when our ShitEatingInsuranceCompany premiums jump up 10-20% each year. I am extremely sad that such a wonderful and caring practice has turned into a mini-corporation based on the bottom line of a balance sheet instead of with family. Your priorities are all out of whack, and unless you want to become the fast-food version of the restaurant you once were, you’d better take a good hard look at what you’re doing and who you’re doing it to.

Perhaps you originally got into medicine to make a difference, but now you’re giving the impression of being in it for the bucks. If that’s the legacy you’re willing to leave behind, so be it.

Sincerely,

K & Family

P.S. Thank you for this last slap in the face of $15 + .50 per page for patient records. Haven’t you people soaked my insurance company for enough over the years? The whole thing makes me sicker by the minute.

The Chronicles of Hellhole

2006-08-07T18:19:00.000-04:00

I am due to report tonight at 10:10 to process paperwork. I am not looking forward to it. I left thinking I would never see the inside of that place again, so I can't help but feel quite defeated right now.

I am required to come back as an hourly employee for a couple of weeks before being re-promoted to supervisor...some crap to do with the union I guess. So I'm back to slinging packages. Go me.

Stay tuned for the recap of day one. I fully expect it to be a shitty experience.

...and so it begins

2006-08-04T11:58:00.000-04:00

The 11th hour phone calls from principals desperate for someone to fill in for the plethora of maternity leaves that plague the profession have started coming in...I expected this, as everyone new to a school system has to "do their time" as a substitute, but 1 month stints and weeks (sometimes months) of unemployment in between aren't really something I can do. I have a family, and I need health insurance, so anything less than 6-8 months at a time is just not do-able for me.

On the flip side, if I don't start getting out there and making myself known to the various principals in the city, I'll never get a permanent job. Fuck me.

Last week, I got a call from a principal in the ghetto for a 3 month sub job. Now, I have no problem working at an inner-city school...I actually prefer urban environments, and my own city is a very small step above "ghetto"...but I can get a short term gig here. I'm better off building relationship in this school system rather than foraying off into another where nobody knows me, so this one is a no-go. Moving on.

This morning, I got a call from a very nice woman that I've done some sub work for before. She has one job that would be for about a month, and another that would last until Thanksgiving. I really like this particular school, so I will definitely go on the interview, but the no-health-insurance problem persists. I'm already slated to start back at the hellhole Monday night, so I could do both, but of course I'll be setting myself up for yet another nervous breakdown with 70 hour weeks and very little sleep.

Fuck me. Again.

And then there's the issue of going back to school. I figure if I'm going to be forced to sling packages, I might as well soak the fuckers for all they're worth and take some classes, but I can't really take classes if there's a possibility that I might pick up a sub job during the school year. I could take an online program, but there are so few that are purely online, and the one I really want to take (a graduate certificate program for special education) is $1300 a class. Argh.

I need to somehow balance the needs of my family (not just for health insurance and income, but taking care of them as well), my career, and my own sanity without fucking the whole thing up by taking on too much (which I have a tendency to do). I feel like any decision I make could possibly end up screwing me over.

Somebody please tell me what to do. I need an omniscient being to come down and set me on the right path. Or Mistress Cleo. Either way.

Reflection

2006-08-03T13:28:00.000-04:00

I took a graduate course for teaching writing in the primary grades this week, and our first assignment was to reflect on either our first year of teaching or the reason we became teachers in the first place. I had such a bad first year that I really didn't want to write about it, but we took a vote and majority ruled. The worst part was that the instructor was going to reproduce them and pass every single story back to each of us in a book.

Writing it was really emotional for me, and I was incredibly uncomfortable sharing my feelings with 37 strangers, but I found that putting it down on paper helped me to work through some of it. I had to be vague in the details, as I don't know who knows who in this town, and I didn't want to point fingers or name names for obvious reasons, but it was still quite therapeutic.

As you know, I've been struggling with my decision to become a teacher, and trying to figure out if I should stick with it or take some time off to explore other paths. This class got me excited to get back into a classroom, but at the same time made me feel incredibly sad that I don't have a school to call home, and probably won't for several years. Needless to say, I'm torn. My heart wants a teaching job more than anything, but my brain is telling me to be sensible and let it go, at least for now. The next few weeks will determine my path, so I guess we'll see.

So here's my reflection. I've been so wrapped up in this class that I really have nothing else to post, so here it is. And there's no swears, if you can believe it.

~~~~~~~~~

It was Halloween when I got the call to interview for a position. I’d already had several interviews, and was quite discouraged at my apparent inability to impress anybody. I walked into the interview with full expectations of yet another failure, but with the faint hope in the back of my mind that maybe this would be the one.

The interview itself was a blur…I couldn’t tell you exactly who was there, or the questions that were asked, but I do remember the principal asking me to tell the panel a little bit about myself. Ah, the dreaded open-ended question, probably the downfall of many a candidate. I swallowed hard, and paused for a moment to think. What should I share? What tone of voice should I use? What can I say to impress? I should have gotten a manicure, why didn’t I get a manicure? I had answered all of the other questions well, and knew that the whole interview was hinging on this one last response. I put my hands in my lap to hide the telltale shakes and unpolished nails, and just started talking.

I talked about my education and work experience, why I became a teacher, and why I love it so much…I don’t think it was very eloquent, but it was honest and from the heart. I wrapped it up with a statement that summed up my feelings at that exact moment.

“I know I can do a lot of good. I just need someone to take a chance on me.”

No sooner had I walked in the door that my phone started ringing. I was hired. I cried, called my grandmother, and then headed straight to Staples. Now I didn’t really need anything at Staples, but damn it, I was a teacher, and that’s just where teachers go. I signed up for my Teacher Rewards discount card and proudly put the bright orange tag on my key chain. I was finally official.

Within weeks, excitement and exhilaration were replaced by feelings of frustration, confusion, exasperation and anger. Now don’t misunderstand…none of this was directed at or a result of my students, but was a side effect of the unique position and situation into which I was placed. My students were the only reason that I had to come back every day, and I focused on them as hard as I could to distract myself from the adult sources of my frustration.

I would pore over students' records to gain insight that would help me reach my most challenged students, only to have my suggestions and concerns overruled and dismissed. I would spend hours on a big poster, or cutting out extra large manipulatives for a child with fine motor issues to use during math only to have my lesson cut from the day’s activities. No matter how much I wanted to pull my hair out or simply run out of the building screaming, I put on a smile and rolled with the punches. I may have been unhappy in my situation, but I was determined that my students would NOT suffer because of it.

My decision to stick with it paid off. I learned more from the children that year than I learned in any class I’ve taken, or from any veteran teacher I’ve known. They taught me about patience and kindness, and kept me from breaking down and crying many a day with simple gestures (Don’t you just love those cards that you get on lined paper with the stick figures and stilted cursive?) and unspoken thank-you’s. Those breakthrough, “OOOOOHHHHHH, now I get it!” moments spurred me on and kept me focused. I was reminded that I was there for them, and nobody else. I was doing good. There’s nothing in the world that’s better than that feeling.

I finished my year, and walked out of the building on that last day of school with my arms full of boxes, clumsily moving toward an uncertain future. I had no job lined up for the fall, and probably should have been worrying about that, but I filled up the trunk, sat down in my car and smiled to myself.

“Someone took a chance on me, and I did a lot of good.”

Mission accomplished.