If you read yesterday's post and wondered, here's the story:
We're having some remodeling done. And my paneling is gone.
Hallelujah!!!
And the new floors go in sometime between Tuesday and two weeks from Tuesday. Mom can't remember.
So I have unpainted drywall above floors that are going to be replaced.
I needed to paint. Now.
Bean helped me decide on colors, and vetoed the one I really liked.
Then he went to the store for Oliver's project supplies and took Tallulah to see bluebonnets.
And then he slept. All day.
Don't get me wrong. He hurt. I know he did. And he went to Oliver's school carnival on Friday.
But I had to prime and paint the entire front section of the house while getting over the plague and working.
I'm still not done.
So I have definitely decided.
I want a wife.
Because a wife would have gone to the store and taken Tallulah and then made lunch and sat on her ass for an hour and then looked at me drenched in sweat, coughing up a lung and picked up a paintbrush no matter how much she hurt.
A single 30 something female. To live in my home and share all responsibilities involved. Including, but not limited to housework, child-rearing, errands and husband husbandry.
The ideal candidate would be handy and crafty. Preferably with an unnatural love of laundry.
Sexual involvement is unnessary but for the right candidate could be discussed.
First, let me just say that this post is not a comment on anyone.
Having said that, I know I'm not the only one who gets these emails.
You know the ones, there's a beautiful or hilarious story and maybe some great pictures and you read it and it brings you to tears either because you're laughing so hard or because it's just that moving and then you get to the bottom and it says something like:
Forward this on to 3 people or you'll have bad luck for 50 years!!
I hate them!! I don't need anyone's help to have bad luck. Seriously.
And the ones that say something like this:
Only 1 in 100 people will forward this on because they are the ones not ashamed of Jesus. Are you 1 in 100??
They drive me up the fucking wall. Seriously?? I was planning on forwarding until I read that.
Did I miss the chapter in the Bible where Jesus guilts us into following him??
And I do forward some, but often I delete the bullshit at the end, so that those I send it to can just enjoy the flipping email.
Why am I getting these?? I'm 29 years old. I'm not in high school anymore.
Why are people even writing these?? Just so they can feel good that their creation made it around the world 52 times??
I don't get it.
So, I thought I'd try it to see if it gives me warm fuzzies (though somehow I don't think so):
If you don't comment, then you hate the sweet baby Jesus.
If you leave 3 comments then something good will happen.
If you leave 5 comments what you've been waiting for will occur.
If you leave 20 comments, you'll win the lottery.*
*And if you do leave 20 comments and you do win the lottery, you'd better pay off my house.
It just happened that yesterday when I was reading my father's journal full of bitching about his situation I was also watching "Our America with Lisa Ling" about registered sex offenders.
What the fuck.
Where do they get off with this "Woe is me?!?!" attitude??
I understand the 18 year old who sleeps with his 16 year old girlfriend and gets labeled. But if you are a grown man and you molest a child, or you commit a rape or some other atrocity, what kind of justification do you have so that you can ask for sympathy and expect to get it?!?!
Child molesters and rapists deserve nothing less than castration.
So, for all of you sex offenders out there, I'll offer an apology for my dad, the pedophile: I'm so fucking sorry that you had trouble at work, Dad. And that you couldn't play with your friends for a few months. And I'm sorry that I haven't apologized sooner, I've been busy picking up the pieces you left of Mom's life, and trying with all of my being to hold on to the relationship with Amara that you destroyed. I've been doing my damnest not to repeat the cycle. And rebuilding my self-esteem that you tore down at every opportunity. So if this apology was too long in coming, kiss my fucking ass you sick self-righteous bastard.
P.S. - I'm still searching for my usual self. Patience please.
I've also never been so angry and hurt and conflicted.
I'm not sure that I've mentioned this before, but my father, who died when I was 15 was a pedophile and I was his victim.
It's not something I talk about often and it doesn't define who I am. But it's one of those things that occassionally rears its ugly head and comes back to bite me in the ass.
Like tonight.
Mom was cleaning out her desk a few weeks ago and found a journal that Dad was forced to keep for his probation after I outed him.
Mom wanted to know if I wanted to read them and I didn't that particular day, but she left them on her desk and everytime I walked through her room they were there staring at me.
So tonight I didn't have the kids and Mom was gone, so I went and got them.
I should have left it alone.
The vast majority of the entries, that spanned two months, were complaints: about writing, exhaustion, lonliness, work, money and chores. He wrote about how his situation was hard for him - he wasn't allowed contact with children of any kind. How he missed the family enviroment, my mother and my sister.
In two months worth of entries my name appeared 3 times. He hadn't seen or spoken to me in 7 months, and never would again, he died within a month of the last entry.
I am hurt, and angry and confused.
I never idealized him, and saw him as a sick bastard that sometimes could be very kind and loving. But I guess I thought he was remorseful in the end. And that in his deluded, sick way, he loved me.
But his journal tells me a different story.
He never said that he was sorry, or that he regretted what he did to me. They gave me more of the impression that he was sorry he got caught, not really that he did it.
He also never says he missed me. He mentions Amara and missing her and being sorry that he hurt her (he never laid a hand on her), but never me.
What kind of father doesn't miss his child when separated from them for 7 months?
(and let's not get into the obvious - "the same kind that could molest said child".)
And I was sick during this period - passing out for no apparant reason at least once a week.
He talks about Fantasy Football 50 times more that he talks about me!!
I'm angry. And outraged. And really I don't have many coherent thoughts. I just needed to vent.
I promise I'll be back to my old snarky self soon.
This is not a real post, because as you read this I will be in Colorado recovering from 18 hours alone in the car with my monsters darling children.
But I am ridiculously excited about this, so I had to share..
If you have no idea what this is all about, then I'll tell you.
This is an HBO adaptation of one of the best fantasy series ever written. The series is actually called "A Song of Ice and Fire" and its written by George R. R. Martin.
You may remember that I am a fantasy fan. But if you've read a few fantasy novels, you understand that they often follow a pattern:
Young person (usually a boy) finds out that he's not who he thought he was - maybe its a family history thing or maybe he himself is just special.
He goes on a journey because of some tragedy that's happened.
He is guided by someone (usually an old man) that he's known for awhile, if not his entire life.
He discovers that said guide is really someone very powerful and well known.
The reason why I love George R. R. Martin's books is that they follow no formula. I have read many, many fantasy novels, and most of them don't surprise me anymore. GRRM throws me for a loop at every turn. You never know what he's going to do. In fact, though there are dozens of unsolved questions in his series, there's only one that I am fairly sure I know the answer to.
I won't spoil it for you, but I highly reccommend reading the books and watching the series. It promises to be amazing.*
*And for you guys out there - there should be quite a bit of T & A.
Lately, life has been throwing me alot of curve balls, and really, I suck at baseball (and every other sport known to man).
Oliver is being bullied at school. The kids are all calling him gay and saying he has a "mangina" and asking if he's a girl. So he cut his "luscious locks" that he loved. And he's having trouble with his teachers. They refuse to make accomodations for him. At all. He's brilliant, but he's also forgetful and high energy and unfocused. As a result, his grades are in the toilet. So he wants to be medicated.
I hate that. I love my silly, eccentric, crazy, imaginative boy. I don't want him to change. But he's 11 years old and if he feels like he needs help, I have to respect that.
Bean's health is appalling. He can barely walk he's in so much pain from the osteonecrosis in his hips. And because he hurts so badly, he's nauseated. So he can't hold down food much. We've been to the urgent care twice and the hospital once in the last 6 months for dehydration.
It hurts me so much to see him in pain. But I can't mother him. It doesn't work when his mother does it and it's not going to work if I do it.
Tallulah's growing up. And my sweet compliant child has gotten an attitude. Now instead of having an ally who helps me with just about anything without being told twice (and in some cases without being asked at all) is arguing with me about everything.
I knew it was going to happen, but at 7??
Mom is still Mom. Nosy as all get out and touchy about everything.
I can't expect her to change after 60 years of being this way.
And I still can't find a Doctor who will listen to me about my weight gain and fatigue.
With all of this going on, I've decided that I need a theme song and this is what I've chosen:
Bring on the Rain by JoDee Messina
Another day has almost come and gone, Can't imagine what else could go wrong. Sometimes I'd like to hide away somewhere and lock the door. A single battle lost but not the war.
'Cause tomorrow's another day and I'm thirsty anyway So bring on the rain.
It's almost like the hard times circle 'round. A couple drops and they all start comin down. Yeah, I might feel defeated, I might hang my head, I might be barely breathing, but I'm not dead.
No, cause tomorrow's another day, and I'm thirsty anyway, So bring on the rain.
No I'm not gonna let it get me down. I'm not cry, and I'm not gonna lose any sleep tonight.
'Cause tomorrow's another day, and I am not afraid, so bring on the rain.
To me, this song is about acceptance, which is something I have a really hard time with. I can handle just about whatever comes, but for some reason I can't accept that this is my life.
I will always have drama, I will never be rich. I'm not a skinny girl and I never will be. The love of my extended family is conditional and my sister is a bitch. I may never finish school or even go back at all and my dreams of being a Rock Star are just that, dreams.
But I am loved, by two of the most amazing children God ever created and a man who is so strong of heart that it brings tears to my eyes. I have friends that I don't have any idea what I did to deserve and I have two sisters in spirit that will love me no matter what.
But the best part is even though the rain is pouring, I am happy.
For the last 2 months I've been contemplating what I want to do with ROwlf's hair when it finally grows out from all the horrendous haircuts he's had lately. (After the poodle cut there was an incident involving a mat on his ear so they had to be shaved.)
Because really there are so many options..
There's the sweet floppy way he use to wear it..
Or we could go with a VanDyke.
Or perhaps a peacock look.
Tallulah loves cats, so maybe a lion cut.
Oliver needs something to get him more interested in History, so we could have a buffalo in the house.
Or maybe something a bit more laid back to go with his personality.
But my personal favorite is the mohawk.
Bean said I could. But I don't think he realized that I wasn't joking, so after our Colorado trip, I'm thinking a trip to the groomers is in order.
At least as far as some of my favorite bloggers go. I feel like they're the amazing fantastical creatures who are so much cooler than I am and I get amazingly excited over the stupidest shit, like:
Did you know that Candance knows my name??
So imagine the Groupiegasm I had when I got an email from Aunt Crazy last month asking if me & Miley wanted to go to the Symphony with her.
Me?!?!
I mean I know that Miley's all kinds of cool, and everybody loves her.
But ME?!?!?!
Holy fuck. What does one wear when meeting a RAWKstar??
I have no fucking clue. But I wore a dress. Because Miley wanted me to wear a dress. And black stockings because I'm a Southern girl and we cover our legs in public. And heels.
However, I forgot to take into account how much I've been slumming it at work for the last 6 months in my jeans and tennis shoes and occassionally flats.
Nine months ago I could have run to the Symphony in heels (or at least I could have just as well as in tennis shoes). And when I put the bitches on they felt fine.
And then we walked. And y'all, Miley is TALL. So she walks fast. I'm not. So even in flats sometimes its hard to keep up with her. Plus, I'm an asthmatic smoker. I'm slow.
We were way early so we sat outside and smoked and talked (or at least Miley & Aunt Crazy talked - I listened trying to pretend like I was just like the other cool kids) and I got to rest my screaming feet.
Then we went in.
Y'all, I almost busted my ass. I'm walking in behind Miley looking for our seats and shit, and I hit that ramp down into the chairs and almost went Jill on everybody.
Miley and Aunt Crazy weren't looking at me, so I did the only thing I could think of.
I took off my shoes. At the symphony.
I know.. I KNOW.. My grandmother would have killed me.
But the good news is, I don't think Aunt Crazy noticed.
Anyway. Good symphony. Aunt Crazy liked it and Miley & I took turns distracting each other..
Miley: Jenn.
Me: ??
Miley: The bass player is talking to his bass!!
Me: No, he's counting..
For the record, Miley was right. He was talking to his bass. I know because I was attempting to read his lips for the rest of the concert.
And later..
Me: Miley.
Miley: ??
Me: That second horn is really brassy don't you think??
Miley: ?????
What can I say, I'm not as amusing as Miley is..
Anyway. Good times were had by all. I fully intend to enthusiastically accept if I ever get another invitation from Aunt Crazy, and I may even prod Miley into inviting her out with us (because I am far too chicken shit to do it myself).
I've decide that my new pink laptop makes me Supergirl.
And not the 1980's blonde version (with a weirdly hesitant voice/accent) but the adorable pink Supergirl version (I know this version well, since this was Tallulah's Halloween costume a few years ago) - and of course my version has crazy brunette hair..
Anyway.
I had my desk all set up all day with my work computer in front of me and my laptop carefully set up so that you had to actually walk your happy ass around behind me in order to see that I was blogging and playing farmville.
Of course, there may or may not be cameras in our new office (did I mention that the office moved out of the ghetto?? That's a whole 'nother post), so its entirely possible that Money Boss and Anal Boss were watching me blog and play farmville while they ate popcorn.
So it was all set up & I had my snazzy insanely massive bag under my desk. And I blogged. Twice.
Because I'm Supergirl and I can blog and work and plant/harvest crops and plot to take over the world all without breaking a sweat all because of my pink laptop.
Ages and ages and ages ago, I promised Bluzdude a couple of pictures from my family album.
But I didn't have a printer/scanner at the time, and I have no memory, so it never happened.
Tonight, I hooked up a printer/scanner (and it worked!!) and the very first thing I scanned were pictures for Bluz and I sent them on to him.
But I thought I'd share them with you too.
As I told Bluz - they're old. But if you tilt your head sideways and squint a little you might notice the guy in the back with the guitar (at least in one picture he has a guitar).
According to my Aunt, who presumably was there, that's Stevie Ray Vaughan.
And the blonde next to him is Lenny, my cousin, his wife.
Next to Lenny is my great-grandmother, who was a hoot and a half. (Think Weezer from Steel Magnolias and you wouldn't be far off.)
The thing that sucks about being gone so long from the blogging world (besides the obvious) is that shit changes. And when you're gone you have no idea what the fuck is going on..
I went to all of my favorite peoples blogs today and most of them look completely different. I feel like I'm in the fucking twilight zone. Where are the layouts I remember?? It's so sad.
And since my memory is like a colander (or maybe even a funnel) it makes me wonder "is this the blog I think it is?? Maybe I went to the wrong blog thinking it was Christy's, maybe this is really Stephanie's blog and oh fuck. What if I have their names totally wrong!!"
Someone please remind me of these troubles if I ever decide to go on hiatis again.
And by the way. Blogging at work is freaking awesome.
I'd like to tell you about my fantastic trip to Morocco while I was away, but as I don't know anything about Morocco (including how to spell it really), I'd just be pulling shit out of my ass.
The truth is, I've been bitchy.
About everything.
Mom, kids, work, friends and Bean. I've got nothing productive to say about anyone but Rowlf. He's still stinkin' adorable. (And I'm seriously considering getting him a mohawk - but that would actually make a good post)
And I'm still feeling bitchy. And I haven't been here because I didn't want to bore everyone with my constant complaints. But today I have one that I had to share and I thought y'all would find amusing.
Bean bought me Christmas/Birthday laptop today. (It's pink and I love it.)
The only problem was that I couldn't remember the password for my wifi. So I called Comcast to see if they knew it.
They didn't.
So they sent me to Netgear.
The guy had a VERY heavily accented English and was snappy if I didn't understand him.
And then he tells me that he can't help me unless I pay $100.
Fuck that.
So I hung up and went digging around on the old computer where the router lives.
And there was a little icon that said "Router" on it.
So I opened it.
And there's all my info. Definitely NOT worth $100.
