#@$$%$%&$%^*&$%&$#%^$#@

I am not, by nature, an angry woman.

I am so frustrated with my ex that I could just scream.

As a cheerleader and touchy feely support system for our son, he is superb...And that concludes our recap of his good points.

Wrestling is Big O's thing, he gets that from his dad's side of the family, and I support it enthusiastically if not always with full comprehension. I also foot all of the bills because things just aren't looking up right now for his dad financially. Things have not looked up for him financially since... jeebus, since he decided to pursue real estate.

I pay for a gym membership so that Big O can train in the off season. For his birthday, his father joined the same gym, not knowing how he's going to pay the membership dues, but because if he joined it came with one free session with a personal trainer. Which is what he gave Big O for his birthday. His Free session.

I did not mock or make fun. Turns out, this MAMON of a trainer (That's basically cocksucker is spanish, if you were wondering) told my son that he could make him a champion for the bargain price of $1350 for a 90 day session.

Guess who promised his son that he'd do his best to make it happen?

Now I am the great Satan for telling my son the TRUTH. That if $1350 is too rich for MY blood it's waaaaaay too rich for his father's.

Now I am the Shiva of Dreams and aspirations.

Am I wrong to be honest with my son?

देफिनितेली माय बेस्ट वर्क.

Okay, continuing with my southeast asian titles! Niiiice.

Not the best picture, but definitely my Best Work!

वो.

Holy shit. I was going to blog about this stupid fake and yet lifesized rooster that my mother in law gave to Little O two years ago. But let's talk about the fact that blogger is currently changing my title into some malaysian script. wow.

Okay, no, let's talk turkey chicken.

My mother in law is old school, y'all. As in from the old country. El Campo. But she's had forty + years to absorb the culture. She did in fact buy a to-scale replica of a rooster, covered in feathers. But it WAS being sold in a major american retail store. I know, because when Little O fell in love with it, the tag was still attached. They were selling it as fall decor. Really? You didn't think a hay bale or a scarecrow or a cornucopia? No, a Chicken.

Mmmm'kay.

I believe that thing is still around, stuffed into the back recesses of a closet, because when Little O finds it, she drags it out and it sheds a few more feathers for my enjoyment.

Gracias, Mama Dina.

Well I will bitch about the bird no more, because Dina's tenants have one upped her on the chicken scale. How, you ask?

They have a chicken on a string. A live chicken. A rooster. On a string. As a pet.

Nothing could make me happier than to hear Little O announce that we're ready for a chicken. Baby, I'm not sure Floaty made it six months in our house. Our chicken comes on a styrofoam tray preferably boneless and skinless (I am SO giving my kid nightmares--Must.think.before.I.speak.).

I admit that this poor bird is very well behaved. Being the prized plaything of a six year old that drags you around by the string attached to your leg probably takes alot of the fight right out of you. It's nerve wracking to watch the kids play with the bird. In all fairness, she only goes too fast and actually pulls him occasionally. But it's a live bird. On a string. And now Little O wants one.

shit.

Maybe we'll drag that old rooster down from the back of the closet and tie a string to it's leg? OOOH! We'll upgrade and put him on wheels! Float him in a now half-empty fishbowl?

Bueller? Anyone?

*********************

Big O's campaign of treachery and deceit tomorrow!!!

Sorry.

I've been away. Still reading, just not writing.

Remind me to tell you about the quinceanera that I will be selling body parts to help pay for.

Or the Honey's (super secret) birthday plan.

Or the Nazi usher at the Wiggles Live.

Or Little O's picture day hair.

I still want to talk about my blog party (I think it's time for another one, but my gawd, I can barely POST anything, let alone host a link fest.)

Or Big O's musical education...

yeah. soon.

just not tonight.
again.

I suck, but not in a way that would make the Honey any happier. (When is steak and BJ day again?)

SATAN in a fishbowl the size of a grapefruit.

Freaking blogger lost my post!

So no poetic ode the chocolate lab, most noble of dogs, boon companions and killers of overpriced toys. (My brohter's mammoth sized lab got to sleep inside when it was freezing, and snuck into the pantry and ate....wait for it... a box of crackers and my brother's Silpat. HA! This is in the fine family tradition, since our dog when we were kids snuck into the garage and ate my father's wet suit.) I find it astonishing that both dogs survived--not so much for the eating of the Silpat as the PASSING of the Silpat, but definitely for the EATING of the wetsuit.

I am not a person who yearns for eighteen pets. I would love a dog for the kids if I didn't know that I would be the one scooping up after it. I scoop up enough non-smelly oozy things in my role as mom. Literally adding shit to the list is not high on my priorities. But I figure pets in all forms teach kids, and so I caved last weekend and bought a fish.

Big O has been down the aquatic path, and he learned about the sometimes brief lifecycle of a carp. I thought we should get something hardy for Little O, and so we bought a Betta. People keep those in their offices in tea cups for pete's sake. We could manage this...

Until I got home and googled how to set up your tiny new fishbowl. That's when I found out that I am Beelzebub for confining the noble Betta to such hideous living conditions. I think one website may have suggested that I might also live in a baby seal coat, with a steady diet of veal, and list michael vick as a friend on MySpace.

Our Betta seems okay in the wee bowl that I bought for Big O's cell model for seventh grade science. But I have yet to see it eat the pellets the pet store sold us. sigh.

Back to the pet store on Friday for a bigger bowl (One gallon of water per inch? I have to buy a TWO gallon tank for the stupid desktop fish? AND freeze dried blood worms?)

Would I get called in for a parent teacher conference next year if my kindergartner tells her class she has a fish named Beelzebub? Can I convince her that was Belle's full name in Beauty and the Beast?

Wednesday Hero

This Weeks Hero Was Suggested By Sunni Kay




Ryan Rahe has been active in the Special Olympics since he was in Middle School. The now 25-year-old has won quite a few medals over the years, but not all of his medals are at his Tennessee home. Some of them have been sent, by Ryan, to soldiers fighting the War On Terror for "good luck".

Jayne Rahe, Ryan's mother, said the idea of sending support to the soldiers in harm's way came about when she and Ryan were talking about news coverage of the war in Iraq. Jayne visited www.anysoldier.com and discovered how she and Ryan could let the men and women in Iraq know their efforts are appreciated.

Ryan, named 2006 Special Olympics Athlete of the Year for the Blount County Sports Hall of Fame, said he felt good when he received the box from the soldiers. He said if he could talk with them face to face, he would say, "Thank you."

The Rahes plan to continue sending care packages to soldiers, including the medals.

"Ryan is a pretty generous fellow," Jayne said. "He doesn't mind giving things to people."

In a letter that Ryan received, Chief Warrant Officer 2 Anthony W. Grillett wrote:
"I and the Battalion can never thank you enough for sending us your medals. They have brought us luck and good fortune, and now as we prepare to deploy home we send them back to you with our eternal gratitude.

That you would send us something so precious is a reflection of your character. As you called us heroes; to me you are the hero. For I believe it is not who you are, or what you are that makes you a hero, it is the ability to give all especially when it is never asked.

Your courage to face the challenges required earning those medals and then so freely send them to us here in Iraq will forever make you a hero to me. I will never be able to truly express in words how honored I was when I read the letter from your Mother. It truly humbles me and shows me that what I fight for in our country will always be worth the small sacrifices asked of me. Thank you again."

Sometimes a hero is one who sacrifices everything in their life to help others. And sometimes a hero is one who sacrifices nothing more than their time.
We Should Not Only Mourn These Men And Women Who Died, We Should Also Thank God That Such People Lived

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. To find out more about Wednesday Hero, you can go here.

Has anyone noticed that people with the least amount of STUFF are frequently the most generous and sharing when it comes to others?

Waaaah.

Enough whining and crying.

Let's get to the good stuff.

My new favorite time wasting blog?

Come with me as we Judge a Book by it's Cover! We did a lot of this at the bookstore, and this blog is very nostalgic for me. I love the old smutty porn covers. I was tempted to stop at the mexican novels at the flea market today (yep anther trip to the boiling hot flea market, this time the scary one!), because they had some great ones!

My secret love, even though I can't make even a third of them show up on my blog?

The Generator Blog

The fact that I can't get them to show has nothing to do with them, and everything to do with my technopathy. It's only through the blessed wonder buttons at the top of the blogger box that I manage what few pics and links are here. If it doesn't give me an HTML code to cut and paste, I am screwed. Like a phillips head facing a makita, my poor head (or my poor computer) is powerless against the spinning vortex of technology.