Part 2b: the fosterening continues

when we left our intrepid gang, they were stuck in Shelbyville for Christmas and New Year's, living in the basement of a foster home, and missing their ancient cat....

THE ACTIVITIES

One night, we went to the son's school Christmas play. It was a public school but they did a full-on Santa and Elves deal with no attempt to pretend they were down with non-Jesus December. I thought that was a little weird. Isn't it? Don't most schools stay away from the red and the green, because of all the kids that will feel left out? Or is everyone in Shelbyville a Jesus Christian? Weird.
Another time we went to the mall. This was the site of our very first (by no means last) super dumbass parenting trick. We totally forgot the diaper bag. I was so ashamed of this I didn't mention it to the foster mom or the other adopting family because, hello, I didn't want to be reported. We were still under surveillance! Now that I think about it, the other mom would totally have shared her kid's diapers and milk with us. As it was...we were standing in an enormous Shelbyville Mall (which had no bookstore, by the way.) with a starving hungry baby who was screaming. Luckily, we have other ways to feed the baby a little bit. So I stood in a bathroom stall, not touching anything, feeding the baby to calm him down. He didn't get a full meal but I was very pleased. Always prepared! like a boy scout!

Another time we went to the zoo! Shelbyville has a big zoo with all kinds of animals. The foster mom's sister in law works at the zoo and not only got us in free but brought out a snake for the kids to pet! Sadly, the kid is a bit young for snake petting. But the older kids enjoyed it. They had a whole "Herpaquarium" which comes from "Herp" which means "Disgusting" and "Aquarium" which means "Revolting". I am hoping to not pass on my crippling fear of creeping, crawling, swimming, sliming creatures, but I absolutely could not open my eyes walking through there. Shiver.

THE GAMES
We went to walmart (did you know I had never been in one before this trip? Well, I hadn't. But it was not that interesting.) and bought Connect Four, Don't Break the Ice!, Barrel of Monkeys, and Set. We later realized that perhaps the young children of the house might also enjoy the games. That is how we ended up spending entire days playing Barrel of Monkeys. At which I kicked the asses of everyone under 10. HA!

THE COOKING
I was desperate to eat something that had not originated in any type of pouch, and the foster mom told me she hated to cook, so I made pizza with the kids. It was hilarious but not as crispy as I like really. We also made cookies which was the messiest mess that ever messed. I wish we could have done it twice. It was fun.

THE COURT DATE
In Shelbyville, the parents have to go to a judge in order to relinquish. This is where the judge asks if they are OK with this etc. I don't really know exactly how it goes down. All I know is that the day was the 20th, at ten AM. We talked with Suzanne the night before. We didn't talk about the adoption at all...just about her other kids, and Christmas, and stuff.
The morning of the 20th I watched the clock creep closer and closer to ten. I kissed the baby one million times and whispered that I would miss him if this didn't happen. The four year old made me sit still while she did my hair (six bows! I looked hot, I tell you what). I was sitting still when the phone rang. It was the social worker calling to tell us that it was complete. Suzanne and Richard were still certain that they wanted to do this and had declared such to the judge.

The big part was over. I cried. The four year old asked me why I was crying. "Like your mom was talking about, grownups sometimes cry when they're happy. I'm happy because Godot gets to come home with us," I said. "You mean the birthmom and birthdad decided?" "Yes, they decided."

THE PLOT THICKENS (OR ANNOYS)
A couple hours later, we got a call that the Shelbyville agency needed one more piece of paper from Massachusetts. HOwever, the Massachusetts social worker was in an all day meeting and could not be reached before 1:30, when they needed this magical paper. A pissed-off Octuplet Dazzle set out for a long walk, since this would mean we were definitely here for New Year's. Our one percent had evaporated just like that.

THE TWIST
About thirty minutes after Octuplet Dazzle left, I heard the phone ring upstairs. Foster mom answered. "OK, I'll tell them," I heard her say. Then she came down the stairs. I thought she'd update me on this magical piece of paper (never did hear what that was), but she said "It's done. You can go home."

I was stunned. After all that angst? We could go where? I looked around then remembered that OD was gone. "She went out for a walk," I said lamely. (Octuplet Dazzle Loses Her Cell Phone Days Before This Trip is a different story)

I invited the family out to dinner but they had plans, so I ordered in CHinese for them. I waited and waited desperately by the door for OD to return but she was out walking around, probably still pissed off. Finally I left the baby with the foster mom and drove out to find her, which I did not.

Two hours after she'd left, she came back. "We can go home," I said, "it's done!"
She did a total cartoon double take "Whaaa?" thing. I had to explain a couple of times.

"We have a flight at ten AM. We're going home."

Part 2: The Fosterening

I have to start by explaining that I have never, ever, ever been a good journaler. My past is littered with lovely blank books that have the first six pages written on. Every overseas trip I've ever taken began with long and loving journal entries and ended with "Soup for dinner. Aiport noisy. Ran out of kleenex." So this next bit is a bit jumbled.

THE PLACE
We followed the social worker's tiny car about 15 miles across town (I know! why are towns so big out there!), desperate to not get separated from the car that held our kid. The area was very suburban, very residential, very new. The houses were enormous by our standards, and modest by other people's.

THE FOSTER MOTHER
This woman turned out to be the nicest woman on the face of the earth. Seriously. I had been very worried since finding out that the family was very religious. First of all, we are not religious in the least. You have to go back three generations in my family to find churchgoers of any sort. Octuplet Dazzle's mother is more religious but only in a way that an Evangelical Christian would describe as "heathen". Then, obviously, we're hugely gay. So.
But forget all that. She was super, super nice. She welcomed us, and her 17th baby of the year, into her home.

THE ROOM
we stayed in their basement, which was a nice big room with a fridge and a microwave and a rocking chair and a TV. And a bed, duh. We unpacked all our delicious microwavable foods that we'd had at the motel. Here are foods you can make in a microwave:
rice a roni (the san francisco treat)
indian food in a pouch (tasty bite and similar)
frozen peas
baked potatoes
nachos
soup

We put the baby in his bassinet. So cute!

THE FAMILY
Later that night the kids were home from school and came down to see the baby. The five year old daughter of the house, I'll call her Sharky because her real name is a lot like my real name, is crazy for babies. She gave him a little kiss. We gave the family the chocolates that I had lovingly made and brought all the way from Boston. We chatted with the family a little. The dad is big into movies. I secretly had known that already, having googled him. heh. The seven year old boy was a total grinning ball of motion. We watched Sharky perform her Cinderella Ballet DVD dance steps, and I felt lucky to have a boy. Not that there's anything wrong with Cinderella Ballet DVDs.

THE DAYS AND NIGHTS
Nights: awake often, at every sniff and sneeze and snore. The days: kinda dull. It was super warm in Shelbyville, and we went for walks. I felt nervous that we'd never find our way back because I am not used to winding cul de sacs and identical architecture. But we did. One night we went to the library. They were very sweet and checked out books for us to stave off the boredom. We weren't allowed to take the baby anywhere by ourselves really. SOmetimes I would drive to walmart for diapers and rice a roni and canned pineapple. Mostly we hung around in the house or outside in the sun.

THE OTHER BABY
two days after we arrived, another baby came on the scene. She was a little bigger and a little younger than Godot. She didn't have a family yet. THen they found her a family in Minnesota (yah). I could only imagine that family's excitement. Imagine! one minute no baby, the next minute, a baby!

THE MINNESOTANS
They arrived in a huge pack. Mom, Dad, two small children, and Dad's parents. Holy crap! We found them friendly and interesting. Their other two children had been adopted from another country and were 4.5 and 2.5 years old. we ordered in chinese food with them. Their 4.5 year old daughter was really fun. She loved the baby too. We let her hold him and feed him. She was also absolutely mystified by our status. Are you his mom? Is he your brother? Is she your sister? Friend? Cousin? Mom? (ouch, that) Do you have a husband? She eventually decided that I was merely a large and awkward kid. "Pretend you're a grownup," she'd say. I'm trying, I would think. Have been for years. Her dad laughed when he heard her call Godot my baby brother. "You can explain it to her," he said, "we don't mind." Which I know he meant nicely and it was nice, he was very nice, but still, really, you don't mind my existing, that's big of you, really....ouch.

THE SOCIAL WORKER
We had to have a post placement visit there in the foster home. It was fine, but that was the point when we were informed that Kentucky ICPC was all run by one woman. One woman who was taking vacation between the 22nd and the 2nd. THe court hearing was for the 20th. "THere's a one percent chance it could happen on the 21st," she said. "But you should make plans for Christmas and new year's here." So we did. We also did our best to ensure that that one percent was at least doubled. But what could we do? YOu can't fight City Hall, as they say. We tried to put a good spin on it. After all, Christmas is not a big deal for us (see above re: religiosity). THe big deal was that we wanted to be in our home! with our food! and our cat!

THE LAZY BLOGGER
Here's where the lazy blogger takes a break.

Next: The Fosterening Continued; The Homecomening

Part One: The Hospitalening

Not like I'm all organized and shit with the parts. I am going to forget all kinds of stuff here and do a bad job. but read on! some things might be funny!

November 29, 2006

We battled late takeoffs with short connections to arrive in Shelbyville, USA in the early afternoon. It was warm, not Novemberlike to me at all. We jumped in our rental car (smelled strongly of cigarettes) and drove to Babies R Dumb to buy a carseat (subsidized by Great-Grandma McLazy: "get the safest most expensive one"). Unable to decipher the instructions, we left it lying crazily in the backseat, hoping no one would notice and call CPS on us. No baby, no foul, right?

We checked into the motel and rang up Suzanne, the expectant mom we'd met three weeks before. We got a disconnect message. Which, of course, made us plenty nervous. But we called the social worker and learned that she was doing well and would check into the hospital at 5 AM the next day. We were to accompany her and DON'T BE LATE. A sleepless night.

November 30, 2006
The nauseating hour of 4:30 AM arrived and we walked the three blocks to the hospital, where we found an unstaffed registration desk and no Suzanne. We wandered the halls of the place for a while until we found her waiting by the desk, wondering where the hell the registration clerk was at this hour. A call to the ER (always staffed) and someone appeared to check her in for her surgery. We walked up to the L&D unit and were shown to the waiting room, which smelled strongly of pee.

You imagine yourself in this situation and tell me if you could sit still. I could not. We passed out truffles to the nurses, hoping to bribe them into treating us well, which turned out to be unneccessary since they were all just about the nicest people on earth.

Eventually I went to the bathroom. Which also smelt of pee. When I returned, Octuplet Dazzle told me to run and get my bracelet, because the baby was born.

While I stood swooning, they strapped my bracelet on my wrist and tried to explain to me that the baby was having trouble breathing, or, as the nurse put it, "being a pain in the butt." We followed his bassinet down the hall to the intermediate nursery...not the NICU but one step down from that. "Wait about 30 minutes," they said at the door, which then was shut and locked. We couldn't even see inside, but we stood outside shaking as we called my mother. "How big? How long? what time?" We knew nothing.

Hours later, we were finally admitted to the intermediate nursery. Nurse Dire Predictions talked about holes in the heart, apnea, oxygen at 70%, blah blah blah. Where was the doctor? Not there*.

The baby, who we barely dared to call our own Godot, had IV with antibiotics, oxygen cannula, and a feeding tube. Later we would learn that most of this was excess treatment by a kind of old fashioned hospital. But at the time...poor baby. They let us hold him if we wore gowns and gloves.

We spent the rest of the day by his bedside and with Suzanne, who was in some pain besides being ravenous and not allowed to eat yet.

*Small world tidbit: the doctor was at a conference with my grandfather, in DC, at that very moment.

December 1, 2006

In and out of the Intermediate Nursery all day (you have to wash your hands for three whole minutes every time) and out just to get food for us and for Suzanne. We watched TV and she talked about her family and music and other regular things.

They let us hold him without gowns.

In the evening we went out to find a computer to upload the first pictures. While we were at Kinko's, the social worker called us to tell us to "let Suzanne get some rest". I was terrified that we had somehow overstayed our welcome in her room and had bothered her. Five minutes later she called us asking us to please come back and bring a fish sandwich. So I guess we weren't that bad.

December 2, 2006

This would normally have been the day that Godot got out of the hospital. But they still weren't discussing discharge. We booked another night at the motel. We met Richard, Godot's father, who came to stay the night with Suzanne. He was kind of quiet but sat and watched TV with us and did a crossword puzzle and had some chicken wings.

Suzanne was discharged around noon. She came to say goodbye to us as we sat by Godot's bed. I cried a tiny bit.

I started to get a rash from the hospital soap and the three minute scrubs.

December 3, 2006

They took Godot off the oxygen. We really thought he would be able to go home, but the nurses wouldn't talk about discharge yet. With Suzanne gone, we spent most of the day with Godot, and out doing errands. We bought food to cook in the motel.

I made ramen in the motel room coffee pot.

December 4, 2006

More of same. Baby OK. Us tired and afraid to leave the hospital even for a little while. Every errand seemed to take ninety minutes, we got so lost in the city and couldn't find parking. We were tired and cried. I cried to my mom. I cried in the motel. I cried in the car.

December 5, 2006

Today they said that he would not go home until friday. When I reported this to my mother, she was furious and called my grandfather to tattle. (A little boasting, a little background: my grandfather is a neonatalogist and a big shot one too. He was running a conference in DC that week) My grandfather demanded the name of the doctor, who we still hadn't seen (he was at the conference).

The baby was eating regular style now instead of the feeding tube.

We moved to a cheaper hotel.

December 6, 2006

We finally met the doctor. I name-dropped and he promised to call my grandfather. The baby was off oxygen, eating well, and healthy. He agreed that we could leave the next day.

Driving away that night I cried, because even though the nurses were nice and kind and very good, I knew that they didn't have time to hold him every time he cried. And we weren't there.

December 7, 2006

We got up early and went to the hospital. We waited until noon, feeding, changing, and bothering the baby. Taking endless pictures. Finally the social worker arrived to take custody of the baby and drive him to the foster home--we were to follow in our own car. We were not allowed to drive the baby anywhere.

One more heel stick, one more test, one more lost paperwork and we were good to go.

Next: part 2: The Fosterening

Guy walks into a bar

I don't know how to start my story here, folks. The middle's muddled, but the ending ends with Me, Octuplet Dazzle, and Godot in our VERY OWN HOME.

trapped in the south

very little internet these days, folks. sorry. We are trapped in a maze of bureaucratic requirements and untimely vacations of ICPC workers. Possibly we could escape on the 21st but if not...we're here until 2007.

The sad part is that we will have to leave the baby here in the foster home and go to a hotel for the holiday...because, you know, these people have lives and family of their own (WHAT NERVE!).

Trying not to think about that and cry.

Baby doing very, very well. Small and cute. Nothing we brought fits him. Eat and grow fat, baby!

Godot McLazy Dazzle

Probably not his real name. He won't say one way or another though.

welcome

Clementine starts us off strong with two doozies

If it was a baffling comments contest, I might stand a chance

my own entry

This weekend my mother in law said

"Why don't you get a white one? It'll fit in better."

Please keep in mind this is not a white woman speaking, nor is anyone but me in the family white. If she is all about fitting in, you'd think she'd tell us to get an "Indian one". But the logic of Mother in Law is not to be understood by mere mortals.

PS she followed up with "I can't be excited about it, because it's not your own." Which was at least predictable.

The contest: whose relatives said the most retarded/hilarious thing about adoption
The rules: it doesn't have to be a mother in law but any kind of relative.
The prize: candy! candy! candy! I made candy. If you are diabetic or whatever we'll think of something else.
The entrants: more than just me, I hope. Just send a link to the blog post where you describe the hilarity and then I'll have a vote. The winner gets the prize and The Satisfaction Of Winning. Everyone else gets to feel better about their own Mothers in Law or other insane relatives.

waiting for the locksmith or someone like him

Just in time for thanksgiving, some fucking asshole attempted to burgle our building. The front door lock is all fucked up now. I am waiting for the locksmith instead of driving to syracuse. yay! I think it will probably cost one million dollars to fix. Plus, the cat sitter has the old key. *&%^$^$&%*^%@!#$%

I believe I will go eat a cupcake.

Guest Post by Octuplet Dazzle

Dazzle’s Candy Review

A little bit about me:

I have to admit that have been a bit influenced by Steve Almond’s Candyfreak. Upon reading this book I have been a bit obsessed with candy of the south, west, and Midwest. My obsession was renewed upon tasting an “Idaho Spud” which my mother-in-law obtained at some number cruncher’s conference in Las Vegas. Recently I went a bit nuts and bought all these old time candy from an online candy store with the idea of using them as stocking stuffers. I also did the same with my obsession with LUSH body products, but that is for another guest entry. Upon receiving my box o 35 candy bars, I have tasted several. Here we go:


SPACE FOOD STICKS – for nostalgic purposes only

I have dreamed of tasting Space Food Sticks after listen to my sister go on and on about eating them in Australia and loving them and never ever seeing them again. They come in a blue wrapper and are actually called “The Original Out of This World SPACE FOOD STICKS Delicious protein power snack. 10 Space Stick Bites in Every Pack”. The second I saw “protein power snack” I immediately worried. All this time I had envisioned sticks looking like elongated tootsie rolls, so was puzzled on seeing a package in the shape of a starburst bar. Upon opening the white wax paper packed piece you notice a rectangular brown chew with a fake chocolate scent. With your first bite, you notice the if-chalk-were-soft texture, with eventual consumption you realize you are eating the first Power Bar. Yick. Don’t try it folks.



CupoGold – giant mallomar

My sister also got me into Whipped Cream Pumpkins made by Chocolate House. They have a thin chocolate shell and a delightful melty marshmallow cream center. After tasting those I have bought every other seasonal Chocolate House product and was disappointed to not find them at my local DollarTree as I have in years past. To compensate – I buy every new-to-me item with a chocolate coating and a marshmallow like center. CupoGold satisfies. Its claim to fame is almonds and coconut in the very satisfying thickish chocolate shell. Nothing blow-your-mind here, but satisfying for those who enjoy the occasional mallomar.


Coconut Long Boys

These come in two inch long tootsie roll like wrappers with a red and yellow logo. Aside from feeling like your eating something from seventy five years ago, these were okay. I am not a big fan of the coconut, but these are good for those desiring a little zazz with their tough-to-chew caramel.


Cherry Ball

I’m not sure what these are actually called. They are spheres with a stripe of red, green, blue and yellow on a white candy like a beachball. The cherry is not satisfying like the cherry of a Jolly Rancher. It is Candy Cane Cherry, or Christmas Ribbon Cherry, and only meant to be eaten by Grandmas.


Peanut Thing in an translucent orange wrapper

This was a candy in the shape of a peanut. I was skeptical. The packaging caused me to expect teeth breaking brittle with rancid peanut paste on the inside. This was actually an unexpected delightful item. Forerunner of the butterfinger with out the chocolate. A satifying ratio of peanut flavored shell to tasty peanut butter innards.

for the time capsule

Things I Say I Won't Do as a parent, but probably will not be able to stop the train of destiny:

let the kid watch TV
teach kid to roll eyes
swear in front of kid
give kid candy
dress child in stupid cartoon character clothing
permit toys of an irritating and noisy nature in my home
call my mother in the middle of the night
dismiss mother's advice with scornful tone and feel bad about it later

ONE

Is the loneliest number. Of trickortreaters. THat's how many we got. Whaaat? are we ugly? not ugly enough? Could hear them up and down the street all night but they did not ring our bell. We even had a jack o lantern. Maybe they heard we had bad candy or something. Which is untrue. We don't even have candy. we have superballs. Currently like 143 of them, and what the hell are we going to do with them?

In the words of a famous New Jerseyan

WhooooaOH! We're halfway theeeeere! WHOOOOOOOOAAAAAOH! LIVIN ON A PRAYER!


heh.

Phrases that make your email sound xxxxtra bitchy

Collected from actual office emails (mostly)

"For your information"

"Fine."

"Do you even know how"

"Calm down"

"As I told you before"

"Am I to assume you will be doing this correctly?"

"Your mom is so ugly"


Yes, it's true, everyone I work with has suddenly become a huge asshole. So, I welcome Friday with xxxxtra love this week. Happy Diwali, yo.

World Land-Speed Record

It didn't take long.

We broke the car.

I don't know how, but I feel ridiculous. It's such a stupid thing, but pivotal to the function of the vehicle. Quite simply, we can't put gas in the fucker.

We don't drive much, and since purchasing it (the seller had kindly filled it with gas) we had never needed any. Last night it was finally getting low. So I toodled off to the neighborhood Sunoco. Drove up to the pump. Turned off the car. Yanked the thingy that opens the tiny gas door. And exited the vehicle to find--closed gas thingy. Huh? My usual method of problem solving (try the exact same thing over and over) failed me, and I had to get back in and drive away with no more gas than I had arrived with. The shame!

I tried to yank it open with a butter knife, to no avail. I stopped there (thinking of yesterday's chair cushion bonfire). Now I have to bring it to the fixit place. He said it will take three hours. That's three hours that I wouldn't have to spend, if I didn't have a stooopid car.

Car? You are not being my friend. What gives?

Add it to the list

The Answer:

The cat barfed on it.
So I tried to clean it up.
But could still detect a faint outline of cat puke.
So I washed it with soap and a scrub brush.
Then it was wet.
So I tried to dry it.
With the hair dryer.
Which set it on fire.

The Question:

What the fuck happened to the chair cushion?

The List:

Things I have made worse by "fixing" with very dubious "skills".

Other items on the List:

Roomba battery (attempted to save money by replacing cells myself; not realizing I don't know how to solder)
Kitchen switch controlling disposal and light (wanted to replace face plate only; could not find matching; thus had to replace entire electric box; now disposal works but not light, and the whole thing is a little crooked too.)
The refrigerator (too embarassing to discuss)

Harvest Loon

Call me a copycat but I have dreams like that all. the. time. So far, they have been almost entirely non-predictive.
Last week I dreamed:
--I was given a two-inch baby, which I stored in my mouth to keep warm.
--A blond woman handed me a baby and went to the "snack bar". I thought she would come back for the baby, but it turned out to be a robot, so she didn't.
--I was surrounded by dozens and dozens of children, none of them were mine.

Psychic score: 0
Weird score: One Million

Many, many moons ago...when our homestudy was being hastily finished, I had a dream that our kid would be born in October.

October's here. Prove me psychic, October! Except no two-inch babies please!

Enough of that

Not that I'm done with whining and feeling insulted! I could do that forever! But it has been determined that only 50% of sisters in law hate my guts. So I'll play half-full for now, and plot revenge for Thanksgiving. Mwa ha ha!

The blue car is a learning experience. We are pretty much learning how to drive all over again. And that is challenging in this town. When I first learned to drive, as a wee lass, the soundtrack went like this:

"Okay, you're a little close on the right side. Okay, now you're a little over the center line. Now turn left. No, LEFT. NO, NOT THERE! THAT'S THE HIGHWAY! STOP THE CAR! I'LL DRIVE HOME!"

But I'm no longer the worst hazard out there. Drivers here deserve all their bad reputations. Now the experience is like this:

"They're not honking at you. Don't worry about that guy. Okay, worry about that guy. Okay, there's a huge SUV trying to cut you off. Just let him. Let him go. No, you watch the road, I'll flip him off for you."

Beyond driving, there's parking, moving the car for street cleaning, and remembering to lock the car without locking the keys in it. Cars! Sheesh!

The extravagant thing we got (more extravagant than a car? what?) is a GPS for the car. We are cursed with very, very poor navigational skills and decided that the only way we could ever do this is with technological assistance. And it is very cool. Very cool indeed. It has a little voice (named dave) that tells you where to go and when to turn and even (this is great for me) which lane to be in. Dave is the best! True that! Double true!

My true calling

Everyone I've talked [complained] to about the recent throw-down drama-fest bitchparty has commiserated about their in-laws. Everyone's in-laws are such cows! What the hell!
Once I remember my mother telling her brother-in-law to put a lifejacket on the baby (we were on a boat.) He told her to fuck off. She is still pissed about it! The baby is in high school!

It's those kind of Classic In-Law Moments that make me think, wow, everyone has these people in their life, and would like to honor that special relationship, but there's very little exploitation of that market.

So, I present to you, Greeting Cards for In-Laws. Look for them in better stores everywhere.

Don't read this

Seriously. I am going to sound like a big baby whiner and a real bitch in about three seconds. So beat it.

I guess I got my comeuppance for posting about my in-laws, the Bickersons. Sister in Law--may I call her Queen of Bossy?--sent an extremely hostile and insulting email (Email: the Choice of Emotional Cowards) all about ME! I can't tell you how flattered and humbled I am to be the star of such a long and windy diatribe, describing my percieved flaws in every detail.
DID YOU KNOW?
I am bossy and controlling (Which is like Stephen Hawking saying, "hey, you're pretty smart!". SUCH AN HONOR.)
I am unpleasant to spend time with. (As unpleasant as listening to someone browbeat a hotel clerk or other service personnel?)
All her friends (SHE HAS FRIENDS?) agree with her on these points. I've never even met them! But I'm famous!
I am probably suffering from bipolar disorder, I am that bitchy. (Doctors, they love to diagnose!)
Our "relationship" is troubled (You know, we really should be bickering more. Eight years of love and devotion is Not Normal.)

And probably some other delightful bits of cheer I am forgetting.

So if you see me stomping southward carrying a sharpened spoon handle, you know where I'm going. And let this be a warning: if you refuse to be bossed by the Queen of Bossy, you will pay the price.

I feel like such a cliche (can't get along with her in-laws), but at least I know I'm in good company.

This weekend we went to cape cod with my sister in law and her husband. They are exhausting. Here are the topics of conversation they enjoy:

1) You made a wrong turn/why didn't you warn me I was making a wrong turn/you're a terrible navigator
2) How many calories/fat calories are in this food item
3) Americans are stupid/fat/lazy/ignorant/diabetic

Nothing puts me off my feed more than hearing how healthy or unhealthy something supposedly is. It saps all the love out of the food for me. The more they talk about sugar and its evils, the more I want to eat ten pounds of frosting off a cupcake shaped like kermit the frog. The more smug they are about watering down their orange juice, the more I want to pour the stuff straight down my gullet.

But then, I am just a stupid, fat, lazy, ignorant American! I don't know any better!

We have nearly almost kind of purchased a car (used! the horror!). I believe it will be in my possession today or tomorrow. Then we can drive our own asses and not have to ride with the Bickersons. And I might eat a cupcake too. So there.

A Valuable Lesson (in song)

Hot Pepper!

Don't put it in your eeeeeyyyyyyeeee!

Hot Pepper!

Don't put it in your EEEEEEEEYYYYYYYEEEE!

Hot Pepper!

Keep it out of your EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!

The End.

How Capitalism is Working For Me

Here's how the car buying has gone so far:


Me: I have some money. Will you take it, and give me a car in exchange?
Car dealer: No. No I will not.
Me: It is American Dollars!
Car dealer: get the fuck out of my face!


It may have something to do with the exact number of American dollars I am offering to exchange for a working vehicle. Which happens to be less that Car Dealer would like to obtain. I can see how this will be a problem for me, probably ending in my spending more than I want to/getting a lamer car than I want to. And damn, it is hard to be a lamer car than the one I want.

heh

"We all took a taxi to St. Peter’s, which we had already been through. At a small side door we were admitted to the Vatican palace. Mother and my sisters had to cover their heads with little black veils that were supplied there. Some men were in full white tie evening dress. There were about 200 people at the audience. We were conducted upstairs to a huge ornate renaissance room with beautiful ceiling paintings and wall frescos. Soon papal attendants lined us up standing in rows to wait. Then the Pope entered in a white gown and white skullcap. We were all told to kneel. He held his two fingers up and gave us all a blessing; then walked slowly along the kneeling lineup presenting his hand with a ring on it, which each person in turn was expected to kiss. The “audience” did not mean that we were able to say anything to him nor he to us, except for his blessing at the beginning and at the end. Many people had brought rosaries and little crosses that they held in their hands when they took the Pope’s hand, so that he would have touched it; and that would have given, I suppose, some special quality to the cross or rosary. When he came to Betty Jane, 2-years-old, who was standing because she was so small, he held his hand out to her just like everybody else. But she didn’t rise to the occasion. He waited a few seconds and Mother whispered “Kiss it, kiss it.” But she answered very audibly, “I don’t want to.”


(Look, I don't know what they were doing there. They were not even Catholic.)

Done! (Bathroom Edition)

Take a good look, because it will never be this clean EVER AGAIN!

I am going to scream

Never try to improve your home, I say.

The tiling guy totally flaked on Saturday (which was his suggested time! not mine!). He did show up on Tuesday, about an hour late, but he did come. He and his helper worked a while and argued some and then left at the end of the day, promising to return to finish the job on Thursday morning. "I will be here at 9," I said. "Not before 9, because I have to drive my wife to work. I will be back at 9."

Is that clear to you? Because guess what.

While I was out driving Miss Lady to work, he left a message on the machine. "I want to come in before 9, because 9 will be too late," he says, "I have to be somewhere else at 9."

When I returned at 8:30 and heard this message, I was pissed off, and I called him up. "I'm at another job already," he whines. I don't know if he really whined. It's for the story. Just go with it. "I can come in tonight, though," he says. Dude. DUDE. NO. "I took off work today, and that's kind of a big deal for me," I said (assertively, I hope). (No laughing. It was a big deal. Though I do next to nothing at work, they are really weird about having people there anyway. Go figure.) "Grumble, grumble," he said or something like that. "I'll see what I can do." Oh THANK you. Thank you so much for going out of your way to SHOW UP WHEN YOU SAID YOU WOULD YOU BIG DORK.

9:30, he rolls in. I point out where he has installed a fucked-up piece. "That is going to drive me crazy," I explain. He tried to blame it on me but what the fuck? I sure as hell didn't install it that way. YOU DID.

Now he has gone out to "get stuff" while I sit here, not at work, and I CAN'T EVEN USE THE BATHROOM.

I have already paid this guy for Tuesday's work, so I'm in this for good. Just have to tough it out (and go to whole foods to pee.)

No stories about your fabulous experience hiring home repairs, okay? Misery loves COMPANY, people, not tales of terrific handymen.

update: he is here, but he is not speaking to me or something. Yes, I hired a thirteen year old. What is UP with people?

Done!

Because I never know when to end a joke

more hilarious faces from the hilarious internet

Me, as a Monkeyman:


Me, as different evil gnome baby:


my wife, as the world's fattest baby:


and me, as "drunk" (how is that a face?):

wanna see something scary?

This site here has provided me with my face, transformed into a "baby"

Introducing..... evil gnome baby from 1000 miles below the surface of the earth!

Hold the phone! A car could be blue!

Okay.
Here's what we've learned from our car research:
we can maybe afford this vehicle.

We might also want to look at something in a bicycle. Maybe even a tricycle!

Right now I am wondering whether we should try to buy a car off, you know, some guy, or go to a dealership. If I'm buying from some guy, my own ignorance dooms me. If I go to a dealership, my paranoia and suspicion combine with my ignorance to create a Perfect Storm of Mishap.

Am I overworrying? Is car buying actually fun and puppies? Someone lie to me, quick.

PS High five to anyone who IDs the post title!

Sharks will EAT YOU, is all I'm saying

This weekend we drove through miserable, awful traffic to Maine for a cousin's wedding. Spending time among these particular cousins always makes me feel very, very lame. They are excellent people in all respects: kind and thoughtful and good with names, easy conversationalists, accomplished musicians and lobsterwomen, and they have a herd of adorable blond children who never, ever, ever cry. I know my dad wishes one of his daughters was seaworthy (we suffer from motion sickness, and in my case, a crippling phobia of ocean-dwelling creatures that keeps me land-based whenever possible). These girls know how to tie knots and talk about boats just like my dad likes. How'd he end up with a pair of lubber kids, I'm sure he's wondering. Meanwhile I feel a little embarassed all the time I'm there, while they ask oh-so-kindly about the adoption and I have no information to give them. No, I don't know where my kid is. I don't even know if/when he/she will be born. I felt a little envy watching everyone tickle the babies, and then hated myself when my cousin, who nearly died having her child after years of IVF, sympathetically said, "It must be so hard not knowing when this will end." Well, I would have complained of exactly that a minute ago, but now I feel like a jerk. Adopting will not physically try to kill me nor land my kid in the NICU for five weeks.

Why is everyone so nice?

Due to circumstances beyond our control, we may finally cross over to the dark side and become car owners. There is no describing how many different ways this terrifies me. Here's a start:
1. I hate driving
2. I am a very bad driver
3. And a worse navigator
4. I have never owned a car
5. How much do I know about cars? They have four wheels. Generally. I think.
6. I will never ever be able to fool a salesman or mechanic into thinking I know more than that. I might as well have a shirt made that says "Pigeon" to wear when car-shopping.
6. I hate spending big money. Especially on things I won't enjoy.

I am happy to have advice about car buying, car driving, car care, and how to not hate cars. Bring it on (she said to the empty auditorium).

Greetings from Boredomville

I have been kind of grumpy lately, and though I know that suffering is the wellspring of comedy, I'm not actually miserable exactly so there's no funny.
For one thing, I am trying to get the bathroom floor tiled, and "The Guy" won't call me back. Why must he be such a cliche, I ask? For another thing, I am trying to eat less candy*, which is ridiculous and I don't even see why I'm doing it except I realized that I probably eat enough candy in a year to fill a dumpster, and that grosses even me out. Then, one of the agencies where our profile is was like, we are missing one of your forms, which isn't a big deal except it makes me think that they are only NOW looking at our file, three months after sending it in, and what the hell is up with that? Then of course, there is the lung-crushing soul-sucking brain-frying HEAT we've been putting up with for the last few days. I like to eat my lunch outside, I have never set foot in the cafeteria (five years now), I always go to the park and sit by the fountain like all the other blue-shirted office drones. (In the winter I go to the library or someplace.) But the heat has caused some kind of bacterial bloom in the fountain water and it smells like hobo feet.
And of course we've had no indication of any kind that we will ever, ever, see the other side of this adoption thing. Which is more discouraging than you might think only three months would be. The thing is, it took us a dog's age to get to the waiting stage so I feel like I've been waiting more than a year. I am getting older! The world is getting crappier! Hurry up!


*and ice cream, cookies, brownies, cake, frosting straight from the tub, popsicles, candy that comes free in sample copy shipments, and old candy I found in my purse.

what'd I say

Still the King of Jackasses

Dear Cat-sweatshirt people

(tm Mimi Smartypants)

Besides being absolutely gross, what does finding a dead ladybug in my purse mean?

Ew.

Ass of the Day!

Today's champion is:

MITT "RHYMES WITH SOMETHING" ROMNEY!

Come collect your lovely prize! A kick in the nuts, from me to you!

his winning entry

my ebay advice to the world

If you're anything like me, you never read an ebay seller's feedback until a month has gone by since you paid for your ridiculous item with no sign of a package on your doorstep. Then, when you realize you may have bought something from the ebay equivalent of the guy who sells stolen library books down in the Common, you go and read all the feedbacks they've every gotten.
My advice to the world is to read what has been written, and then multiply it times "fuckin' A".
Everyone on ebay is a big ol wuss and is afraid to put down anything accurately negative. Or else someone will say something nasty back. Feedback deterrent. So when you read:
Was a bit testy in emails
you should think:
Writes in all caps, calls mother a whore

When you read:
Slow shipping
you should think:
Start your christmas shopping in May

When you read:
Some miscommunication
You should think:
Seller is dead, corpse does not answer emails

When you read:
Item arrived slightly damaged
you should think:
Seller employs a grizzly bear as packer/shipper.

When you read:
Item not as described
you should think:
Item was actually anthrax

My other advice to the world is, stay away from ebay. It is a delicious drug, but still a drug.

progress

As you can see, I have done 7 characters. Or one week of waiting.

idle hands

We're settling in for a long eighteen month wait. (I figure, it's better to have low expectations. Then, a pleasant surprise is possible) So, I have invented a project to occupy me.

This project will keep me busy for over one month and also decorate the walls of the second bedroom at the same time. How efficient!

Every day I'm making one of these:





And every day I'm hanging one up on the wall:



You can't see the elaborate system for aligning these properly. It involves thread and tape. Very sophisticated.

The problem is that nice as these look, I am still shaky on what they sound like. But the idea is that the kid will see them every day and become A GENIUS. My wife has a belief that bright colors make you smarter. I have a belief that other languages make you smarter. Obviously, our child will be an UNSTOPPABLE SUPER GENIUS. But in a good way.

Anyway, there are 36 letters I'm doing. So this will take 36 days. And then, there will be only about 452 days left to wait. No sweat, right?

to take the sting off NY and GA rulings

"Conscientious and nurturing adults, whether they are men or women, heterosexual or homosexual, can be excellent parents. The rights, benefits, and protections of civil marriage can further strengthen these families."

http://pediatrics.aappublications.org/cgi/content/full/118/1/349

thanks, opa.

Surly Bird

You know what store I hate? Pearl. Aren't those retail workers lazy and arrogant? Or maybe they all just hate me in particular. Either way I always forget how much I hate them until I'm already in the store, climbing over half-unpacked boxes of stock to get to the dusty, shelfworn item I want, and then standing in line behind someone returning 75 tubes of paint while the cashiers one-up each other with ohmygodiwassodrunklastnight tales. I always swear I won't go back but I do. Cause I'm dumb like that.

Do you know what is fun? Fireworks! Plus, they make your mom grumble disapprovingly like Marge Simpson! Which is funny! Then you can tease her by hiding your fingers like they got blown off!

In related news, if anyone needs a gross of sparklers, call me. I may have gotten carried away at the Fireworks, Candy, and Puppydog Store. EVERYTHING WAS 2 FOR 1.

in the supply cabinet

dear pilot vball grip extra fine (black)

i love you.


dear leaky pilot V5 precise rolling ball extra fine (green)

you may now go to hell.


dear scotch tape

I am sorry. it's an addiction.


dear china markers

what are you even for? marking....china?


dear self-inking stamp refill bottles (red)

what do you say we splash you all around and then shout "murder!"?
no?
you used to be cool, man. What happened?

baby smeagol

anyone out there expecting a child...you must sometimes, secretly, worry that your baby will not be cute. What? No? Just me? And I'm a shallow bitch? It's true, I probably am.
I encountered such a baby last night. Instead of delicate baby ears, he had jug handles. Instead of a wee flower of a mouth, he had a mick jaggeresque maw. It didn't help that he was wailing, either.
My mother tells me that A) I will think the baby is cute even if it is not and B) no one will dare to tell me that it is not cute, so I will never know. What this says about my own baby-looks, I do not guess. Her B) sounds suspect though, knowing my own father to have greeted brand-new infants and their parents with "Gee, I bet you can't wait for the kid to get cute!". Which was funny at the time but now makes me worry.

I am Grampa Simpson

Yes, yes, thirty is the new twenty, but what of those of us who were fifty when they were twenty? How old are we now? Not too old to ROCK OUT, are we?
The truth is I was always lame, and have never really rocked out. We went to the radiohead concert on Monday and everyone there was about 16 years old, which makes no sense. You people were little bitty babies when Creep came out!
I kind of wanted to have a nap before the concert but Monday nights are the nights where I imprudently play flying baby and horsey rides and dinosaur is chasing you. So I was a wee bit worn out beforehand and secretly wished all those people would sit down so I could sit down and not look like Granny At the Show. I also got some earplugs. I know! I've always been lame! We also had binoculars, since I can't see. And we needed to see as well as hear, for the crazy little dances that Thom does are not to be missed. We came home smelling of weed and extreme youth, but it was awesome, they sounded awesome, and it'll be a good long time before I feel like I need to prove my vigor again.

I was tired on tuesday though.

the intern that everybody loves

What's the deal with that guy? he's not so great.

Ask the Grandparents!

Everyone's favorite game, where we ask our grandparents how to wisely handle situations of everyday life!

You are viewing a community sporting event. Someone blocks your view. How do you ask them to move?
A) Excuse me, I can't get a good look. Would you mind stepping back?
B) Down in front!
C) MOVE YOUR FAT ASS!

When the person above objects to your verbal abuse, what do you say?
A) Sorry, sorry, I got carried away
B) Hey, we're cool, right?
C) FUCK OFF!

When your children and grandchildren object to your behavior, what do you say?
A) Aw, you know I don't mean it
B) I said What?
C) You'll miss it when I'm dead!

The devices used by those who cannot run in a marathon are called:
A) Hand cycles
B) Wheelchairs
C) Cripple Carts

I don't really need to give you the answers, do I?

ring ring

Somewhere, deep in Amazonia, on the humid, mosquito-swarmed banks of a muddy, broad river, where strange birds call out and sharp-toothed fish lurk beneath the surface of the water, there is a dude who makes his living by tapping a stand of rubber trees, collecting the resin, and smoking it into a ball that he can sell to traveling rubber merchants. That fellow lives in a small tent with a plank floor, cooks his meals along with his rubber ball over an open fire, and works fourteen hours every day.
That guy, unlike me, has a cell phone.

I've always thought a cell phone, for me, is a big waste. I work all day at a desk where I have a phone, and then I go home to my house where I have a phone. In between, I'm on the train, and there's no signal anyway. I am not a fan of the whole "we'll call you when we pick a restaurant!" thing where cell phones render humans incapable of making a plan and sticking to it. And I don't see a need to be constantly reachable. Plus I'm bad about losing things, and breaking things, and forgetting things. Most importantly, I am a cheap bastard. So no phone for me.

Last night I was out with my buds, and they managed to hit me right where it hurts cell-phone-wise. They said that it would be nice for my friends if I had one. Those sneaky bastards have to know that the way to manipulate me is to tell me I'm doing it for my dear friends.

So maybe I'll get a cell phone. dammit. But a cheap one.

high school nightmares

I do love my parents, but they do some stuff I can't bear. One of which involves being friends with the parents of kids I hated in high school. They're always talking about "the Smiths* were over for dinner last night, and they said Jonathan is living in LA," or some such nonsense. Thing is, Jonathan was a grade-A asshole when he was ages 6 through 18, so I don't want to hear it. Hearing it puts me back in a frame of mind I don't want to go. This is my problem, I realize. But it makes me do stupid stuff. I just spent twenty minutes sitting here thinking of what to wear on Friday when we go up there for the weekend, because The Smiths and the Jameses will both be over for dinner that night, and somehow, in my addled mind, I have to dress up, and wear makeup, and look nice, so that they will not all go home and email Jonathan and Sally about how that Shirky, you rememeber, from school? The ugly one, with the glasses, and the little head? She looks a fright!! She must be eating twelve cupcakes a day, poor thing.

Ahem. No fair pointing out I'm insecure. I know that already. I just can't make it stop.

My parents are even going on a vacation this summer with the Jameses, to a tropical locale (SO not like them, I have no idea what's gotten into them) where they will no doubt sit around and discuss boring grownup stuff, but I will worry that the Jameses will think poorly of my parents because I am not successful. And that would be terrible because it is not my parents' fault I don't really like working for a living/haven't found my calling/am a lazy ass bastard. And oh, just thinking of these people makes me think of their horrible children, who probably aren't even that bad, but one time, Jonathan Smith told me I was stupid and annoying when I asked what the fuck was going on during some weird ass japanese movie he made everyone watch, and another time I heard him making a twenty-dollar bet with some other douchebag over who could seduce a freshman first, and that is just nasty, and he is nasty, and I hated him, so there.

So yay! Three-day weekend! Rock out!

*not their real names. None of these names are real.

to persistent voicemailer

1. Sudeepta does not in fact work here
2. Voicemail is not capable of responding to questions. It is a robot.

scraping the bottom of the blogging barrel

--attention: the following is boring--
It's another rainy day here. Unfuckingbelievable. I have been sitting around trying to come up with projects and plans to distract myself for the next 18 months (give or take.) I got nothin'. Except eating. Look for me in your local bakery, licking cupcakes clean of all the bomb frostings.


Work is so slow lately, it's nearly approaching the boredom level of the Old Job. The Job That Broke My Brain! I really hope it doesn't go that far. For one, I hate looking for new jobs and two, I begin to sense that the problem may not be the jobs, but me, as a person who cannot occupy herself for more than five minutes without employing cupcakes.

Ideally I would find a hobby that could be engaged in from my desk at work without anyone noticing (breeding fancy chickens is probably out, and hog-calling is a definite no) that costs nothing and makes me smarter, not dumber. Perhaps I should run a side business of some sort from my cube. Is there a market for home-based cupcake testers?

ooh! blogging about work!

The woman in the cube across the aisle is being Angela. You know, the religious nut on the The Office. She's on the phone with someone, complaining a lot about the Da Vinci Code. She and I probably don't agree on much. But we can agree that that book is lametastic.

I hear lots of phone conversations because we have just cubes. One woman seems to be running a financial consultancy out of her cube. She is always giving advice on investments and IRAs and so on. I wonder how good her advice is, though, since she still works here and is not living it up Trump-style.

This is why I always find an empty conference room, even just to make a dentist appointment. Super secret ninja style personal calls!

Seriously, she is still going on about the Da Vinci code.

a new fad that's sweeping the nation -- wasting food!

We went to New York this weekend. Rather than bring a traditional hostess gift such as flowers, we brought hijinks!

After a nice brunch, we went over to a nearby park to be a bad influence on the local children.

We stopped on the way to purchase 2 liters of diet pepsi and a pack of mentos. Both of which I consider inedible, which is good, because wasting food is not easy for me.

Here, you see the pepsi, awaiting its fate:
And the mentos:

And Lauren:



Aaaaaand, the mischief:


Kids: definitely try this at home.

damp

Seattle,

Some of your things are still at my place. I put them in a box for you so if you could just come and pick them up that would be good. There's drizzle, mist, clouds, and some dave matthews CDs. Anyway, if you could come get them pretty soon, that would be great, I don't have a lot of room.

--Boston

cat in doghouse

At about four AM every day, the elderly feline resident of our home begins her "Wake UP, you guys" routine. She howls in the hallway, she saunters back and forth across our heads, and worst of all she climbs up on our dressers and begins pushing little objects off one by one.
I keep a squirt bottle of water by the bed to discourage her. I know she remembers what the bottle does because I only have to hold it up and she runs off. But thirty seconds later she is back, making sure that the force of gravity is still acting upon all the items on our dresser. She's robbing me of hours of sleep! I was so tired, I tried to turn off the alarm clock by squirting it with the water bottle.
This morning she raised the stakes by throwing down a glass of water that was up there. It was just pulverized. We'll be finding glass crumbs for months, I'm sure. Good morning! Step on glass! feed me, bitches! Or the next one falls on your head!

gone

Twenty-two painstakingly assembled copies of our profile are now in the mail.
they had better arrive safe and sound, after all those trips to staples and oh my god the pages are upside down moments.

I feel like we'll never be finished though: there is often one more form to complete, one more thing to sign, one more document to get witnessed (every agency has their own requirements, their own forms, and so on).

It has taken a sick long time to get this far, what with the homestudy social worker dragging her feet and then up and quitting (so she got laid off. It's not her fault! still! It was an inconvenience!) I'm not too worried about time--going into this we knew it would take a while and we were in no rush. The longer it takes, the more dough we have saved, the more chances we've had to pick up and go to NYC on a whim, and all that stuff. I'm trying to really savor all that instead of letting my brain swirl itself into an anxiety smoothie.

brain smoothie is a nasty drink, by the way. Very salty.

douchebag rundown!

Today's list of worthless tools who tick me off!


David Blaine
James Frey
Samuel Beckett
Steven Pinker
Mary Cheney

Congratulations, you all suck!

edited to add:
how could I have forgotten Mel Gibson? The King of All Jackasses.

owie

I have been attending a series of lectures at BU Med School. I like science; I like to hear about research; I thought it would be fun. They had important doctors lecture on their area of research. Some were better than others. You know--some actually talk, and others read right off the powerpoint. The stuff they presented was a little boring--I was ready to hear about some amazing new discoveries, and they were all like "Smoking leads to heart disease." But it was OK.
There were two things that I hated though: one, the building the lectures were in has a constant smell of week-old garbage. Two, there were several other attendees who delighted in asking the most obnoxious followup questions.
Now, some of the mainly-elderly audience was asking kind of strange questions, but clearly they needed to know the answers, and I can't have a problem with that.
But then there was Pre-Med Asshole. Every time he raised his hand, I rudely rolled my eyes. He would invariably ask a "question" that was really just a list of vocabulary words he'd recently memorized, with no real point. The speaker would listen politely, blink, and try to form a question out of those words that he or she could answer, and end with "Does...that answer your question?" Pre-Med Asshole was a fucking showoff, but not even really smart. The worst kind!
Then there was My People Are Superior in Every Way Guy. Oh god. This guy did not ask questions. He would raise his hand and say "I have an observation," and I would shrink down in my seat because I was actually embarassed for him. For example, when the topic was Depression, he offered that His People do not suffer from depression, due to their "fighting spirits." The speaker respectfully repeated the main topic of her presentation: depression is caused by chemistry in the brain and central nervous system. She guessed that cultural coping mechanisms could mask or exacerbate depression. But MPASEWG wasn't having it. "We had a man in my country named Gandhi," he continued, "who had this fighting spirit! I have a fighting spirit!" The speaker allowed as how Gandhi and MPASEWG might have the somewhat-protective allele of a particular gene that has been recently discovered. But MPASEWG insisted on the more scientific conclusion of "fighting spirit". I wanted to ask his spirit to step outside to settle it mano a spirito.

Last night the topic was BOOBS! Or breast cancer, specifically. And oh my god, am I the only person on earth who still doesn't understand how mammograms are possible?? The boobie...in the machine...and squashing....holy crap, that has got to hurt. Also I still can't look at my own chestal area and imagine how mine would get in the machine. They're ATTACHED, for pete's sake. And there is not much there! They don't stick out very far! And I just imagine this horrible pinching machine scrabbling at my chest trying to squash something that isn't there. And it misses like 30 percent of tumors? Why is it still used? That's insane!

That was before I learned to swear

heh.

When I was in high school, my worst subject was English. Also math. But English I hated on a personal level--all the literature we were forced to read pissed me off extraordinarily for some reason. I also hated my teachers. I found them smug and hateful.
In 12th grade I took one semester of a class where we had to read "Man and his Symbols", which still triggers boiling rage. This is how much patience I have for bullshit pseudoscience: . We also read, and were supposed to perform, "Waiting for Godot", which I find profoundly irritating. I know! Smart people like these things! But I am not that smart, so I don't.
The play only has two parts. (Spoiler: Neither of them is Godot.) So two students would act for a while, then the two more would tag in. Somehow I was either absent or stubborn on that day. Since I remember it, obviously, stubborn. And I didn't take my turn. So, to make up for it, I had to come after school to perform "The Lesson" with another kid who had been legitimately absent.
Are you familiar with this play? There are again only two real parts. A tutor and a pupil, and the tutor hates the pupil by the end. By the end (Spoiler: the tutor kills the pupil in a scene of barely-disguised sexual violence!) the guy is shouting and yelling at her.
I took the role of teacher, and Pete took the role of student. In retrospect I should have read it through before choosing, because the tutor has this line (while stabbing):
"That'll teach you, bitch!"
When the time came for me to speak this line, I gagged on it, and skipped the word. I was young! My teacher was there! I couldn't do it!
Afterward, Pete was mad, as he thought maybe our grade would be lowered because I failed to swear.

And so I am not much for absurdist plays. And now I can say that Beckett, Ionesco, and that fucking Godot are all bitches.

Comin' back from Cali

Dude. Do not come back to Logan at 5 AM. There are no taxis. There is no train. It is cold. It is raining. It sucks ass.

California, on the other hand, is mild and sunny and beachtastic. Too bad I was born with new england tattooed on my butt.

I managed to sneak around Santa Cruz without running into my former co-worker. I told my sister "She's a vegan, and she drives a car that runs on vegetable oil," and she was like "yeah, her and everyone else in town." Yes yes. I know what the town is like. If it weren't for the ocean breeze mixing with the patchouli and feet, it would smell like my own home town. Also, we were there on the twentieth of April, so, you know, there was that smell as well.

We have these friends who are moving to Asheville, NC, which means when we visit our family and friends, we will be hitting the neo-hippie trifecta. Like medieval pilgrims visiting Rome, Jerusalem, and Santiago. Maybe we get some kind of holy dispensation from Phish for it, I don't know. I feel like I should get something, though, for eating vegan cookies. Do you know, vegan cookies have no butter in them? Not even a little butter. They play a dirty game, those vegans.

whoa!

did you know you can get podcasts with tivo?

Of course you did. You are not an idiot like me.

But I am delighted! Podcasts all the time! On the Tivo!

guh?

So at CVS they have a new display of these fancy expensive hair products. There are two varieties to choose from. One for "fine" hair and one for "thick" hair. They're both meant for curly hair. The line is called "curl conscious". Here's what the boxes have on them.

In case I have bollocksed up the pictures again, the 'fine' hair trio says:
Nordic Angel
English Rose
Wispy Waif
Botticelli Muse
Baby Doll
Belle du Jour

The 'thick' hair boxes say:
Latina
Hot Mama
Vixen
Temptress
Amazon
Kinky Chick
Wild Child
Warrior
Brunette
Mamacita

I...don't even know what to think. My mind...she is blown.

Tuesday impersonates Monday

This morning I woke up late from a dream in which I was running to escape a vengeful ghost (wtf?). I realized that both of my pairs of pants were dirty (it is hard for me to buy pants that fit, ok?). I thought I would wear a skirt. I knew it was cold and rainy, so in order to wear a skirt I needed a pair of tights. I found only navy blue (no go) and grey, which, with a black skirt just made me look like I got dressed in the dark. I ended up wearing the dirty pants from yesterday (my volunteer night--they have baby boogers and fingerpaint on them. yes!) I showed up late for work, and without my pass, so I had to sign in and knock on the door, and now I'm trapped here for the day, unless I want to get stuck out there again.
Woo! Go Tuesday!

I should really do laundry more often, and possibly buy more pants. Yesterday I went into the one store that has pants my size but everything there is like sixty bucks and I am a super cheap bastard. Whenever I express pants-buying frustration to my friends, they always exclaim, "The Gap has 'long' pants!" or something like that. Here is Gap's idiot-ass idea of 'long' on me:




Damn you, pants!

Operation BookHoard

The mission to collect all DCF winners is going well. My first stop was of course half.com, which worked out well, and Goodwill, good ol' goodwill, has also been helpful.

As I get them, I'm also reading them. I read them while I blowdry my hair in the morning. Even so, they are pretty quick reads, not nearly as substantial as I remember them. Which makes sense, since I last read many of these twenty years ago or more.

There are only a few genres represented so far. I like to think this is because there are certain things that really, really appeal to the kids who are voting on this award, but maybe authors are just damn copycats. Here's what we're looking at:

Alone in the Woods
Magic Stuff Happens to Regular Kids
Confrontation With a Bully

Classic themes, all.

I can't keep my grownup brain from analyzing them as I read, though. I pick out stereotypes and gender role enforcement and ecologically unsound camping practices (some of these are from the fifties, okay?), and none of the books is free of all that stuff. In fact, there's one book--well, I'll post a photo later. Still, I like them all okay and I still think they are young reader gold.

	Naughty words	Children alone in woods	Child confronts bully	Magical happenings	My complaints	Other
Two in the Wilderness		Yes			Sister sweeps; brother hunts
Bones on Black Spruce Mountain	Piss AND shit!	Yes			Kids in the woods cut down trees, build fires, very naughty	Adoption figures in this story
A Bundle of Sticks	"faggot"		Yes
The 18th Emergency			Yes
Time for Andrew			Yes	Yes
Jennifer Murdley's Toad			Toad confronts bully	Yes
Castle in the Attic		Briefly		Yes
Summer of Fear				Yes	Girls is bitches
The Boggart				Yes	Gang of "friends" really just a collection of stereotypes
Small Steps: The Year I Got Polio						One of these things is not like the others...