Happy Thanksgiving, Interwebz!

Oh, HAI Interwebz! heh I guess I didn't see you there. I've been meaning to call, you know. I've just been so busy. You know me! Busy, busy, busy! Sorry 'bout that! haha I mean, I've only casually been seeing this other blog and it's not like it means anything. It's just better for me. My only true love is you, of course. heh

So anyway, how are you Interwebz? I want to hear alllllll about you. I have a turkey sitting in the oven getting all cooked without any intervention from me, so I have approximately four more hours to hear about you.

Oh, who am I kidding? Blogging = self-centered chit-chat about me, right?

I have been very busy working and also I hate school now. I wanted to quit, but instead I'm just trying to get done super fast so I don't have to go anymore. My new need to spend all spare time on homework has brought out the crazy in my kids. For every hour I spend working on that, they spend two either making messes or learning new words they aren't allowed to say.

At church on Sunday, Donovan was being a terror as usual. He was making noise and running through the pews and banging the kneelers and hitting his siblings. I took him outside and had a Big Talk with him about being good. He promised me he would. We sat back down and he climbed behind me in the pew while I was kneeling down. It occurred to him that I may need a child to hang from my back, so he made a flying leap onto me and used my sweater to hold on. Only my sweater was designed more for a quiet day at the office rather than flying monkey children, which didn't occur to Donovan until he slid all the way down to my feet, taking my sweater with him.

We come from a fairly traditional parish, and people losing clothes halfway through mass is frowned upon to say the least. I was glaring at him, trying to telepathically convince him that he was in HUGE amounts of trouble as soon as I could put my clothes back together. He crawled into my lap, put his arms around my neck, looked deep into my eyes with this innocent little expression on his face, and ever so sweetly whispered the one word he knew would get a reaction out of me: "Butthole"

First Day of School

School started today (for the rugrats), and it went very well. It took about an hour to get from the road to the parking lot, prompting phrases like "Oh sure, just park right there, SNOB...your kid is WAY more important than the eight thousand other people waiting out here." And the hallways were jammed -- not with kids finding their classrooms, but with parents who decided to stand right between all the boxes of school supplies to catch up on the summer gossip. I may or may not have yelled "Everyone please find a doorway and just STAND in it -- CLEARLY you didn't graduate from the elite school you are sending your children to!" I don't know why I don't have friends there. But if having friends means getting in the way of people trying to claw their way through their damn day, then I don't want friends anyway.

Today, I heard a story about Huston standing up for Emma on the playground. I was so proud! Big brother defending little sister from some (stupid-face-booger-butt) kid punching her....makes me want to take him to Disney World or something. So he was telling me how the kids was saying that it was an accident, and then Huston said, "But clearly he was lying." (Wow -- he does listen to me -- what 8 year old says "clearly"?)

When Madi started Pre-k two years ago, she said "I missed you today, Mommy, but I didn't get all sad about it." (Which is just smartass enough to also sound like her mother.) Today was her first day of first grade, meaning her two and a half hour school day turned into seven hours. She did get a little sad about it today, but then she "got over it and got back to hanging out with her friends."

Donovan's only criteria in making decisions is whether something is absolutely fatal. If not, he will go ahead and do his thing.

Me: Donovan, go to bed.
Donovan: Am I gon' die?

Me: Donovan, put shoes on before you go outside.
Donovan: Am I gon' die?

Me: Brush your teeth.
Donovan: Am I gon' die?

So when he was telling me about his first ever day of school:
"We ate a snack, we didn't watch movies, we colored, and I didn't die."

Sounds like a success.

Oh yes, another smoking rant

Here's the thang, yo...I frickin smoke.

I know it's bad. I know that people die from cancer and heart problems and other crap that may or may not have been worsened by smoking. You probably know someone with some sort of anti-smoking story that you could tell me, but guess what? I don't want to hear it. I know someone, too. And anyone born after 1960 knows someone and can give me all the reasons cigarettes are bad for you.

One thing that isn't plastered all over cigarette boxes or coming out of the mouths of smoker-haters is the danger of living my life "smoke free".

WARNING: This is a rant and if you are reading this to be cheered up tonight, you may want to go here.

:::inhales deeply::: :::as in breathing, not smoking, get off my back:::
I don't need passive-aggressive comments about how I shouldn't smoke because it'll mean certain death (and won't I please think of my children?) because certain death is pretty much a certainty as far as I'm concerned and at this point in my life, smoking cigarettes is keeping me from driving over a cliff, which I may be wrong about but am quite sure is going to kill me faster than smoking and if you say anything else about it you are quite possibly putting both our lives at extreme risk or maybe just yours but then I'll go to jail and won't anyone think of the children????

Is this a little passive-aggressive? Absolutely. How do you fight passive-aggression, anyway, if not with it's own kind?

:::catches breath because that was a lot of things to say in a row for a smoker::: :::coughs::: :::lights a ciggy:::

Ahhh....thank you, I feel better.

PS: I have had the worst month of my life. Please don't give me advice, especially about quitting smoking. I'll quit. Just not right now. Thank you.

Guest Post: Redneck Woman

Breaking up is hard to do, or at least that what some song says. 

Tonight, I am fed up.  I have been breaking up for a year, now, and you know what?  It's freakin' hard, because you can't just break up and have it done with, now, can ya?

When I broke up with the guy I dated before my future ex husband, he told me I couldn't break up with him, because we were both in the relationship, so we both had to break up.  He wasn't breaking up, so neither could I. 

And life just comes full circle, huh?  So now, I am being serenaded by the little noise my phone makes every time I get a text message, because some people just don't understand the words "leave me a-freaking-lone".

I'm done answering messages.  I'm not accepting anymore phone calls.  I'm putting all emails into the "show the judge" folder without reading them first. 

I am not going to give you one half of the children any more than I would give you one half of one child.
I am not going to "lean on you" when my friend is ill.
I am not going to give you helpful friendly advice the same day that DHS shows up at my house because you called them.
I don't care if you managed to get yourself on the VIP list at DHS.  Of course your house is clean, you live with your mom, and she has a staff.  And no kids live there.  (Nor will they ever.)  I am one adult living with six children, so I am completely positive your house is cleaner than mine.  But that's not what makes a home. 
The number one thing that makes a home is love.  The number two thing that makes a home is not being a complete asshole.  The number three thing that makes a home is get a freaking job.  The number four thing that makes a home is I hope you get paid for sending text messages, and if so, you owe some child support.  The number five thing that makes a home is you don't teach your kids to talk back to police officers.  The number six thing that makes a home is you don't tell your kids they're too dumb for school so they should sing.  The number seven thing that makes a home is yes, I'm using this list to bring up an infinitesimal number of things you have done to piss. me. off.  The number eight thing that makes a home is if my dog doesn't eat you, there are more vicious things inside, and only six of them are the kids. 

Finally, the number nine thing that makes a home is I will fight tooth and nail for my kids.  Not to keep them.  Not to prove a point.  Not to get you back.  But for them to have an opportunity to develop and grow into the men and women they are supposed to be.  Don't get in my way.  Do. Not. Get. In. My. Way. 

To my readers:  I am sorry.  This is a rant.  I hope it's out of my system.  It's probably not.  It takes a lot to make me mad.  It takes a lot more to make me mad enough to say anything about it, especially on the Interwebz.  But you know what?  It's been more than a lot, and I've had it.  My inner redneck has kicked her way to the outside, and I'm afraid she's here to stay for a spell.  Please be nice to her. She isn't even a decent writer, but she doesn't know that, and she's quite outspoken, so just bear with her, please.  Her expected departure is October 26th, please pray that nothing delays it. She's kind of a bitch.

Parking Nazis

Went to the state fair today.  The "theme" this year was State of a Fair.  Which, when you think about it, fits just perfectly, because that is the best thing I can say about it this year.

First of all, when you get there you have to park, so they have these guys in orange vests holding orange flags telling you where to go.  I'm sure this sounded like a good idea when some one thought of it, but here's the thing...it sucks. 

For one thing, they are in charge of telling you where to go, only they don't know where you want to go.  They think they should just shuffle you to the parking spot that best suits their needs, but I usually don't want to go there.  First, I want to pick the lot in which I park, because if I don't, I get lost after I drink beer, and I need it to be the same lot every year.  Also, I had another point, but I forget more stuff after I drink the other beers.

Then, the flags are just idiotic.  Is there an international flag code that I don't know?  What does it mean when they spin it in circles?  I always thought that was color guard, but I guess there's a point to it with the parking dudes, because they do that a lot, and get mad at you when you don't obey them.  Or what if they move it up and down like the soldiers from Wizard of Oz and start singing "Oh, we love the old one"?  What is my car supposed to be doing at that point?  Because I was waiting for flying monkeys to pick it up and park me somewhere, but they didn't and the guy just yelled at me. 

And that brings up another point.  These guys probably get paid minimum wage (or lower?  Because they always look like the fair just hired whoever happened to be standing on the corner that day), and probably have very little training past flag school, but they are the Kings of the World.  If you don't obey their flag-symbols, they use The Force to roll down your window and then they berate you in front of the whole fair until you just wanna' go home and crawl into bed and cry. 

When we left, I had forgotten where I parked, so my sister drove me around and got bossed by the flag Nazis until she finally started ignoring them and just got us lost by her own self.  Except for the part where it's not really true, because what really happened is I remembered exactly where I parked up until the beer.  Then I got us lost trying to find my car.  Everything else was her fault, though, because she's pregnant out to here, so obviously, she's a little crazy just for being at the fair in the first place.

Forgo-ing

I got to go to my kids' school today for "Parent Orientation".  This has been the final straw for me on any type of orientation.  I hate it.  A lot.

When I started school (this time around), I spent the first two weeks on orientation.  I got two handbooks.  Then I had to take a class on what was in the handbooks.  Then some tests on what I learned in the handbooks.  Then four videos in which they pretty much read the handbooks word-for-word.  Also a couple of PowerPoint presentations, again, word for word what was in the original handbooks.

When I put my son in daycare, I had to watch two more videos on daycare policies, and received two more handbooks. 

When I put my kids in school this year, I got five handbooks.  When they started classes, all five of them came home with another class-specific handbook.  Tonight, I got to go listen to each teacher read the handbook.

DO PEOPLE NOT KNOW HOW TO READ?!?!?!

Sorry.

But really.

Can those of us who know how to read just sign something that says we have read and understand the stupid handbook, and we are willing to accept the consequences if we chose to forgo having it read to us?  Please?  Because I've wasted nearly three weeks now learning things I already knew because I had already READ the information GIVEN TO ME.

Also, forgo is a word we really should use more. 

"I'd like to forgo informational videos, please."
"Can we just forgo being read to if we're not in Kindergarten?"
"I'm gonna' forgo this ticket, officer, but thanks!"
"I would like to retroactively forgo the last ten years of my life, please.  Thanks so much!"

The Post is to Keep Her Reading, The Subject is Because She Doesn't Pay Me Enough

Because my third sister has worked my blog into her nightly ritual, and because I'd hate for her to lose sleep, and because she thinks this is my job, and because she doesn't pay me anything at all to do this...this one is for Rochelle...

Why I love smokers... (lol @ Rochelle...but please keep reading!)

I know that smoking is bad for you.  It's also bad for me.  Also, bad for the world, pretty much.  And it probably endangers things, and pollutes things, and pisses people off.  So, for allll my readers (all three of you, I know you're out there!) who don't ever comment, and think that today is the day to give me comment-crack, please do so.  I was going to ask you not to tell me how unhealthy and un-PC this is, but you know what?  Say what you want, because crack is crack, yo.

Smokers are chill.  I love chill.  Stress = headaches.  Chill = smiles.  Chill smiles + smoking = smiles that last forever because of the awesome wrinkles you get way too early when you smoke.  (Yes, smoking is baaaad.)  Who doesn't want a permanent smile?  I know I do.

Smokers are also social.  I know you think they aren't, because they're always standing away from the crowd, preferring to puff away in silence rather than join the group.  They aren't being anti-social, they'll talk to anyone else to wants to join them, as long as that person isn't telling them why they shouldn't smoke.  They are actually being nice, because they know the smoke will bother people, so they take it away.  So see?  Even though they miss out on a lot (smoking is baaaaad), they aren't anti-social at all.

Smokers will do anything for you.  If you walk up to a smoker and ask for a cig or a light, they will go to great lengths to get you what you want.  If you smoke menthols and they don't, they will offer you one of theirs and also tell you who to ask for a menthol.  If their lighter is in their car, they will go fetch it.  They will huff and puff all the way there and back (because...smoking is baaaaad), but they'll come back with a lighter.

Smokers are rebels.  It takes guts to smoke these days, what with all the cancer, and the people hating you, and also being banned from everywhere.  They deal with judgemental looks everywhere they go (again, we know, smoking is bad), and even random strangers telling them how to live their lives, so you know there has to be a little rebel in every smoker.  (There is a big rebel in me, but I shut her up with ciggies and beer.) (Also, various drugs and parties and things.) (Also, please don't bad-mommy me, because I'm exaggerating.) (Or maybe I'm not...shut UP, you don't know me.)

So, that's why I like smokers.  I sorta' like other people, too.  It's a ratio thing, and I can't explain it lest I blow you away with my awesome math skilz.

First Week of School

I have been away from my computer for two whole days because I had to start school.  Also, the kids had to start school, and it's been nuts.  School is kind of a bummer, because they want you there at a certain time, and they think they should tell you what to do and when to do it...they operate on their schedule only, like school is Important, and naps are not.  Psh.

I like everything about school except the driving and all the being told what to do.  After I go to class, I go pick up my kids at their school, where all five of their teachers get to tell me what else to do.  Then I go home and make dinner and then pretty much fall asleep at my keyboard after trying to think of something to write about. 

I keep thinking about the olden days, like last week, then I wish for Christmas Break.  I'm not kidding, the first thing I did during my first day of class was check the schedule to see when our first break would be.  (Labor Day, yo....my house will be rockin' with lazy.)  Then I got very jealous because my kids' school is letting them have a second day off that I don't get.  So they get a four day weekend when I'm stuck with three measly days...not fair.  If you ask me, that's what's wrong with kids today...too many four day weekends and not enough sit down and work.  It's all good, though, because I'm going to make them cook and clean while I'm at school...call it Role-Reversal Day.  Then they can bring me cookies and ask me how my day went.

Circa 1995, With Sound Effects and Everything

During the crazy day I had today, I thought of over 1000 topics for this post.  Unfortunately, I forgot all of them.  So, because I just moved and had occasion to drag out all my old stuff, I thought maybe I would post for you from fifteen years ago.  :::time warp noise::: 

...wait, I forgot something...:::time warp back noise::: One of my new favorite blogs, SteamMeUpKid, should get some credit here, as she has posted some of her high school journaling, and even some insanely grown-up stories she wrote at age eight.  She's a little less filtered than I, so don't click the link if you don't like that stuff, but if so, check her out, because she's Funny, yo.

:::time warp back again noise::: (the parts in blue are from now...everything else is embarrassingly real)

January 25, 1995

Dear Journal,
...we went skating for my birthday.  It was lots of fun.  Everybody gave me lots of great stuff (happy birthday to me!  I STILL love Great Stuff).  I even got a silver ID bracelet with my name on the front...I love it!!!!  Jason was really understanding about it (Jason is so nice to allow me to receive a gift on my birthday and be all understanding).  I'm really grateful for it, too (not sure if I meant the Great Stuff or the understanding).  I  suppose I'll have to talk to Braden sometime about the fact that I already have a boyfriend.  I guess I'm putting it off because I don't want to hurt him.  I do love him...like a brother....

January 26 (the next day, yo)

Dear Journal,
I'm still worried about Braden.  The strange thing is, I'm starting to wonder if I really do like Braden more than Jason (Even though he was practically my brother yesterday.  I'm sure this had nothing to do with the fact that he gave me something sparkly for my birthday.).....I guess I just need to realize that I'm only fifteen, and that I don't have to make all of my life's decisions right now (Exactly.  Only make one or two right now.  Fifteen year olds know a LOT, but not everything, sheesh).   Maybe I should just wait, but something tells me that I might lose Braden right when I realize that he's "Mr. Right." (Again with the not making decisions right away...I mean, you can't let these fifteen year old boys slip away!  You gotta' grab 'em when you get the chance because they're so hard to get!  Also, clearly he was Mr. Right...sparkles for the birthday pretty much tell you anything you need to know.)

January 30

Dear Journal,
I have Jason wrapped around my finger (or so it seems). (See how humble?)  I would just love for him to get mad at me - and show it (Because, hi, who doesn't want that?) - just to see if he will, so I've devised a plan.  (Humble and sadistic...those were my best features.)  (Ok, you got me...those are my best features.)  On Friday, I bunch of us are going out...and I could work this out with Braden and AJ to flirt a lot (a LOT, not just a little...because, really, I don't even know what flirting is, so a little probably wouldn't show up much.) with them, and for them to completely ignore me.  That way Jason would have to be mad, but he couldn't be mad at them. (Brilliant!  My other Awesome Feature is brilliantness!) I know this is mean...maybe I will, maybe I won't.  (I know, Journal, you're dying of suspense...just hang on, ok?)

January 31

Dear Journal,
Well, I won't.  Be mean to Jason, I mean.  He's not going on Friday.  At least that means I don't have to worry about if I should wear the bracelet from Braden, because Jason won't be there to see it, and it will make Braden happy.  So, problem solved.  Except we have to dissect frogs that day, so maybe not. (A girl can't have her controversial sparkly things all covered in frog bits.) WAIT!!!! (Seriously, stop reading and just pause for a second, because you're gonna' want to sit down or something for this next part.) I just talked to Jason and he is going.  Oh, well.

February 2

Dear Journal,
I'm in big trouble now.  I really did it this time.  I can't believe it.  I fell in love with Braden!!!  I'm so mad (sort of).  (Yes, so sort of mad is a real emotion, yo...TRY BEING A FIFTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL!!!)

February 5

Dear Journal,
...I broke up with Jason. (I'll bet you didn't see this coming...you thought I would torture him with my flirting plans forever, but no...the flirting thing never worked out, because I wasn't any good at it and Jason didn't notice.) I just told him that I wanted to, and he said "OK".  My cousin said that I never liked Jason and that I was just goin' with him because he's older and he gave me jewelry (wha....???  Where did my cousin get this idea?).  I'm gonna kill him.  That is not true.  I loved Jason!!!!!  (Or at least I thought I did) (Exactly!  C'mon...who would question the love a fifteen year old girl will admit to thinking she had, maybe, sort of?) Anyway, It's over, and I'm glad.  I feel so free.  (bwahahahahaha!!!)

February 16

Dear Journal,
...My dad is about to freak out because he thinks I wanna go out with Braden. (What?!?!  Where did he get this idea?  That man must be crazy!  Silly Dad!  LOL!)  I do like Braden, but I don't want a boyfriend right now.  Probably not for a year. (yup, I'm thinkin' a year sounds good...)

March 20 (did I say a year?  I meant a month.  Silly typos!  or whatever you call them when they're hand written....HA!)

Dear Journal,
Braden asked me to be his girlfriend!!!  I'm so happy!!! (Me too!!!  I think it's all the exclamation points!!!!!) He called me and we talked for about ten minutes.  (I just don't know what to say here, but I feel the need to snark on this whole ten minutes thing...:::says something witty and snarky:::  There.)
Braden:  I have a question to ask you.
Me: OK
B: It's a really important question.
Me: OK
B: I don't care if you say no. (What? He doesn't care if I say no? Should this have told me something? Nah...)
Me: OK (My vocabulary is amazing, I'm sure this is what attracted Braden in the first place.)
B: Will you be my girlfriend?
Me: Yeah (:::nearly faints from the romance:::)
B: Think about it, I don't care if you say no.  I don't want you to feel sorry for me. (Again with the not caring...and throw in a "don't feel sorry for me"...this guy needed me to save him, yo! Look at the poor thing. Nobody wuvs him...he needs me.)
Me:  I don't feel sorry for you.
B: Yeah, ri...
Me: Braden!  Yes, ok? (I said this just like a movie star would have, too.)
B: Ok, bye.
Me: Bye.

I still can't get over that conversation. (Who could get over this conversation?  I probably shouldn't have shared it with you, Internet, because you'll never sleep again what with all the thinking of this conversation.) When I told mom, she got mad, but I love him and no one, not even myself can stop that. (That's what I always say....not even myself, y'all...this was Real Love.  I mean, I couldn't stop myself, and neither could my mom, and she's kind of a ninja.)

The Job

I have been separated from my husband for eight months, and living in my own place (as opposed to my grandma's house) for two.  It's been an interesting time for me, and I feel a little like I did when I was sixteen and trying to figure out Who I Am.  (side note:  I HATE people who feel the need to "Find Themselves".  This causes me great annoyance and displeasure.  I think people say they are Finding Themselves when what they really mean is that they are being Lazy at Life, Don't Judge Me Because I'm Only Experimenting and this May Not Be Me At All.  That being said, Finding Myself is exactly what I'm talking about here, but I don't hate myself for it, only everyone else.)

Biggest problem here is that I kinda' remember who I am as a "single" person, but that girl has been locked away since she was nineteen.  I have discovered that the nineteen year old me is a little too wild for the person thirty year old me has to be.  The good news is that, once I figure out how to merge those two people, I will only be twenty-five, which is totally sweet.

The first thing I have to do right now is Get a Frickin' Job, yo.  So that's going to pretty much consume my life until it's done.  I hate it.  I haven't had a real boss for ten years.  And to be honest, I'm not really great at being bossed around (this is part of the younger me who never bothered to grow up). 

I also despise working for women, because they tend to think under the influence of sentiment.
I also hate working for men, because they like to power-trip.

I completely despise being told what to do.

So, I need a job with no boss.  I'm really good at lots of stuff, including correcting grammar (not my own), texting, smoking cigs, drinking coffee and I can read fast.  I'm a fast learner, but I hate being taught as much as I hate being bossed, so DPMO.  I seldom cry at work, but I was voted Most Likely to Come After You All With Weapons at my last job, so it's kind of a wash.  I'm sure I'll be getting tons of job offers with this glowing resume. 
And I just noticed that, when I'm talking about going to work, I start using phrases borrowed from my dad.  What's up with that?